前車之鑒：某些演出“一輪游”的緣由

說(shuō)起來(lái)有點(diǎn)奇怪，有些人你只會(huì)在喪禮中遇見。幾年之前，在我老家的一個(gè)嚴(yán)肅的告別儀式上，我和一位高中老同學(xué)重逢，一下子拾回多年前的友誼。但是，在聚過(guò)幾次后，我們又再次失聯(lián)。

幾周前，我們又一次相遇——你猜得很對(duì)，是另一場(chǎng)嚴(yán)肅的喪禮上——所幸，這一次我們交換了更為全面的聯(lián)系方式。在接下來(lái)的幾天里，我們交流了不少冷笑話以及一些好問(wèn)題，更有幾次電話中的暢談?？墒?，我們一直都沒(méi)有機(jī)會(huì)討論她早先提出的一些疑問(wèn)。帕蒂（Patty）和我在青年時(shí)代都踴躍參與各種音樂(lè)和戲劇的課外活動(dòng)。她也知道，如今的我除了撰寫演出評(píng)論以外，還曾參與過(guò)一些戲劇與歌劇項(xiàng)目的創(chuàng)作或制作過(guò)程。她的問(wèn)題是：因?yàn)槲以鴧⑴c其中，當(dāng)我看演出時(shí)，是否會(huì)有不同的視角和觀點(diǎn)？

對(duì)不起，帕蒂，我們一直都沒(méi)有抽出時(shí)間探究這個(gè)問(wèn)題，但是，現(xiàn)在我有答案了。事實(shí)上，正因?yàn)槲医?jīng)歷過(guò)幾臺(tái)舞臺(tái)制作都是從零起步，直至面向公眾舉行首演，所以現(xiàn)在我明白為什么很多此類項(xiàng)目會(huì)一敗涂地。

這其中的大部分因素其實(shí)是根深蒂固的，所以你未必會(huì)留意到某些細(xì)節(jié)，但是威廉· 戈?duì)柕侣╓illiam Goldman）極具洞察力，把這些情況清晰地用文字記錄了下來(lái)。在這位暢銷小說(shuō)家與奧斯卡獲獎(jiǎng)編劇說(shuō)出精辟的金句去描述好萊塢之前（“沒(méi)人能知道任何事”，意思是沒(méi)有一位藝人或監(jiān)制能夠刻意解釋出一部電影為何風(fēng)行一時(shí)），他曾經(jīng)深度研究過(guò)百老匯舞臺(tái)上失敗的例子。在他撰寫的《演出季》（The Season ）一書中，戈?duì)柕侣ㄋ约壕驮且晃皇〉奈枧_(tái)編劇）總結(jié)出所有失敗的舞臺(tái)制作都是出于五種問(wèn)題中的某一種或幾種。

或許是劇本寫得爛，或者是戲演砸了；也有可能是該制作還未準(zhǔn)備充分卻不得不匆匆公演（當(dāng)然這樣就更暴露出劇本或演員的短板之處），又或者是每周的運(yùn)營(yíng)成本過(guò)高（這明顯要?dú)w咎于制作人）。但是，最有趣的失敗原因是：主創(chuàng)團(tuán)隊(duì)中的每一個(gè)人其實(shí)都在創(chuàng)作各自的、截然不同的舞臺(tái)秀——這一點(diǎn)，尤其當(dāng)你曾經(jīng)親眼看見過(guò)，當(dāng)它再次出現(xiàn)時(shí)， 你一眼就能發(fā)現(xiàn)。

早在2008 年，我有幸參與到《接骨師之女》（The Bonesetter’s Daughter ）的世界首演制作中。作曲家是斯圖爾特· 華萊斯（中文取名惠士釗）， 編劇是譚恩美，她負(fù)責(zé)將自己的同名小說(shuō)改編成歌劇劇本。他們倆曾多次游歷中國(guó)大江南北，其中有兩趟我參與其中，并介紹了當(dāng)?shù)氐囊魳?lè)家給他們， 讓他們感受到中國(guó)城市與鄉(xiāng)村的氛圍。兩人都完全沉浸在故事情節(jié)中，而劇本與總譜都含有敘事性精華：這兩位藝術(shù)家的合作程度十分專業(yè)，成果可謂是音樂(lè)與文本的完全融合，引人入勝。

可惜這部歌劇在登上舊金山歌劇院的舞臺(tái)時(shí)， 卻變得困難重重。一直以來(lái)，導(dǎo)演陳士爭(zhēng)都把譚恩美的故事賦予神話式的敘事比重——這種處理手法在一定程度上是相當(dāng)合理的。但是陳士爭(zhēng)想締造的神話卻不是譚恩美心目中的；排練期間，舞美設(shè)計(jì)就分散了故事自身的張力。很多觀眾都質(zhì)疑為什么一個(gè)關(guān)于三代中國(guó)女性的家庭故事里會(huì)有那么多雜技演員的出現(xiàn)？舞臺(tái)上的那幾條龍?jiān)谏厦娓墒裁矗?/p>

然而，《接骨師之女》出現(xiàn)的問(wèn)題與《變蠅人》（The Fly ）相比又是那么的微不足道。曾幾何時(shí)，《變蠅人》這部歌劇被認(rèn)為是我畢生看過(guò)的最糟糕的歌?。ê髞?lái)我考慮再三，甚至不想給它冠以任何“第一” 的頭銜，哪怕是倒數(shù)的）。

《變蠅人》在洛杉磯歌劇院的演出檔期剛好與舊金山的《接骨師之女》撞上。要是用好萊塢術(shù)語(yǔ)來(lái)形容《變蠅人》，應(yīng)該是“高概念”（high-concept）①?；旧?，歌劇的故事根植于大衛(wèi)· 柯南伯格（David Cronenberg）1986 年拍攝的經(jīng)典同名電影，由霍華德· 肖（Howard Shore）作曲（作曲家也為同名電影譜寫了原創(chuàng)配樂(lè)），編劇是美籍華裔作家黃哲倫（他曾與肖及柯南伯格合作過(guò)1993 年拍攝、改編自舞臺(tái)劇的電影《蝴蝶君》）。

為了《變蠅人》，我從舊金山特別飛往洛杉磯。正因?yàn)樵谂f金山看到的是譚恩美與惠士釗兩人的合作無(wú)間，我在洛杉磯歌劇院看《變蠅人》的時(shí)候， 簡(jiǎn)直目瞪口呆——大部分的歌詞與旋律不太吻合， 好像是在反芻模仿巴托克的某些音樂(lè)元素?？赐暄莩霾痪?，我找到黃哲倫，問(wèn)問(wèn)他這部歌劇究竟發(fā)生了什么。

“你跟霍華德· 肖有沒(méi)有交流過(guò)彼此的想法？” 我問(wèn)道。

“沒(méi)那么多交流的時(shí)機(jī)，”他很坦白，“肖的電影配樂(lè)往往都是以浪漫的長(zhǎng)句組成的，因此我寫的歌劇唱詞就依據(jù)了這種風(fēng)格。但是，當(dāng)肖開始譜寫這部歌劇時(shí)，他改變了意圖，要當(dāng)一位‘嚴(yán)肅’的現(xiàn)代作曲家。”

對(duì)于《變蠅人》的失敗，我們還要將柯南伯格考慮進(jìn)來(lái)。我們一眼就能看出，他缺乏舞臺(tái)劇執(zhí)導(dǎo)經(jīng)驗(yàn)。無(wú)論是何種藝術(shù)載體，敘事手法中的很多元素大體都能很好地相互交替轉(zhuǎn)換。比如說(shuō)，電影與音樂(lè)都將時(shí)間作為交替的媒介。可是，空間在敘事手法中的交替，則完全不一樣。而且，坦率地說(shuō)， 柯南伯格對(duì)于如何處理舞臺(tái)上的合唱團(tuán)，簡(jiǎn)直是無(wú)從下手。

作為一個(gè)徹底的失敗個(gè)案，《變蠅人》的“地位” 在2019 年被《龍泉鳳舞》（Dragon Spring Phoenix Rise ）徹底取代，這是紐約一座新的、靈活的藝術(shù)展演空間“棚屋”（The Shed）真正浮夸的處女作， 是一場(chǎng)由導(dǎo)演陳士爭(zhēng)（再一次榜上有名?。┡c電影《功夫熊貓》的編劇喬納森· 阿貝爾（Jonathan Aibel） 和格倫· 伯杰（Glenn Berger）聯(lián)合創(chuàng)作出的大秀。該劇被描述為一部由國(guó)際現(xiàn)代舞大師阿庫(kù)讓· 漢（Akram Khan）和功夫名家張俊擔(dān)任編舞和動(dòng)作指導(dǎo)的“功夫音樂(lè)劇”，但在舞蹈性和武術(shù)性這兩方面都以驚人的失敗而告終。“音樂(lè)”部分僅由三首歌曲組成，其中沒(méi)有任何一首能夠推進(jìn)故事的發(fā)展（甚至可以說(shuō)是與故事毫無(wú)關(guān)聯(lián)）?！都~約時(shí)報(bào)》對(duì)此評(píng)論的標(biāo)題是“瞪大眼睛，頭腦宕機(jī)”。

但是，在這么多可供指責(zé)的問(wèn)題中，有一個(gè)是壓倒一切的：劇本。正如編劇們?cè)凇豆Ψ蛐茇垺分兴龅哪菢?，故事有一種向前推進(jìn)的勢(shì)頭，但需要其他元素賦予動(dòng)力。和陳士爭(zhēng)以前的舞臺(tái)史詩(shī)制作一樣，《龍泉鳳舞》上至天花板下至地板，所有的空間都被演員們的動(dòng)線填滿。故事是橫向的，舞臺(tái)是縱向的——就像一部由太陽(yáng)馬戲團(tuán)上演的動(dòng)作片。基于上述的問(wèn)題，《龍泉鳳舞》沒(méi)任何一絲機(jī)會(huì)可以成功。

用不了太久，你就會(huì)察覺(jué)到那些征兆。每當(dāng)眾星云集的主創(chuàng)隊(duì)伍第一次聚集在一起時(shí)，你就必須開始提防。很有可能因?yàn)檫@些人都太成功了，所以他們就不愿意聽取他人的意見，更何況這類制作中通常沒(méi)有一個(gè)核心人物來(lái)執(zhí)掌創(chuàng)作的全過(guò)程。

然而，在我個(gè)人排名的失敗劇目排行榜中，位居榜首的是1986 年的音樂(lè)劇《破布》（Rags ），由約瑟夫· 斯坦因（Joseph Stein，他寫了《屋頂上的提琴手》）負(fù)責(zé)音樂(lè)，斯蒂芬· 施瓦茨（Stephen Schwartz，創(chuàng)作了《福音》《魔法壞女巫》）和查爾斯· 施特勞斯（Charles Strause，創(chuàng)作了《安妮》）作詞。《破布》總共只在百老匯上演了四場(chǎng)；我是最后一場(chǎng)日?qǐng)龅挠^眾。

當(dāng)年，許多人指責(zé)該劇的主演特蕾莎· 斯特拉塔斯（Teresa Stratas），一位才華橫溢但喜怒無(wú)常的歌劇歌唱家，埋怨她沒(méi)有演出音樂(lè)劇的專業(yè)經(jīng)驗(yàn)。但斯特拉塔斯并不是問(wèn)題所在。主創(chuàng)們沉浸在各自的世界里工作，沒(méi)有人負(fù)責(zé)統(tǒng)領(lǐng)，這才是這部音樂(lè)劇致命的缺陷。

說(shuō)實(shí)在的，情況有點(diǎn)復(fù)雜。《破布》顯然沒(méi)有準(zhǔn)備好就匆匆上演——后來(lái)，規(guī)模縮小的復(fù)排版的效果更為成功。另外，初版的制作顯然太貴了。早在20 世紀(jì)80 年代中期，它每周的運(yùn)營(yíng)成本就超過(guò)了百萬(wàn)美元。

事實(shí)上，我會(huì)保留《破布》在我的榜首，是因?yàn)榛氐健堆莩黾尽芬粫腥タ?，?duì)照威廉· 戈?duì)柕侣岬降陌倮蠀R各種失敗原因，它贏得了大滿貫。

Strange as it seems， some people you run into only at funerals. Several years ago， I was reunited with a high school friend at a solemn gathering in our hometown. We fell back into our old groove pretty smoothly， but after getting together a couple of times we lost touch.

A few weeks ago， we met once again—at， yes， another funeral—though this time I think we were better about exchanging contact information. Over the next few days， we traded many bad jokes and a few good questions， several of which we discussed at length over the phone. But one of her initial queries we never discussed. Patty and I had both been heavi-ly involved in music and theatre in our youth， and she knew that， in addition to writing about performancesnow， I’ve also been involved in the creation of several theatre and opera projects. Did that， she asked， make me watch performances any differently？

Sorry we didn’t get around to that， Patty， but I now finally have an answer. Indeed， seeing first-hand what goes into creating stage productions has taught me a lot. Now I know why most shows fail.

Much of this becomes so ingrained that after a while you stop noticing the details， but William Gold-man had the insight to put it clearly into words. Long before the bestselling novelist and Oscar-winning screenwriter made his famous observation about Hollywood （“Nobody knows anything，” meaning no artist or producer can honestly explain why a film is a hit）， he did exactly the opposite for Broadway. In his book The Season ， Goldman （himself a failed play-wright） explained that all failed plays fail in one of five ways.

Plays can either be badly written， or badly per-formed. A show might open before it’s ready （whichwould also emphasize some bad writing or acting）， or the weekly operating costs might be too high （which is clearly the fault of the producers）. But the most inter-esting cause of failure， once experienced， becomes un-missable when you see it happen again： the collabora-tors have been working on entirely different shows.

Back in 2008， I was involved in the creation of The Bonesetter’s Daughter by composer Stewart Wallace with a libretto by Amy Tan （based on her novel）. The two of them traveled together extensively in China; twice I was there on hand to introduce them to mu-sicians and to show them the difference between urban and rural settings. Their full immersion into the story’s narrative trail eventually translated to the page： the two became professionally inseparable and ended up spinning a mystifying mind-meld of music and text.

The show became a bit problematic， though， once it got to the stage at San Francisco Opera. Director Chen Shi-Zheng had always viewed Amy’s story in mythic proportions—a thoroughly legitimate ap-proach， as far as that goes. But Shi-Zheng’s myths were not Amy’s， and the visual elements soon dis-tracted from the story. Why， many observers wonderedat the time， did essentially a domestic tale of three gen-erations of Chinese women have so many acrobats on stage？ And what were all those dragons doing there？

Bonesetter ’s problems， however， were nothing compared with those of The Fly ， which for a time I considered the worst opera I’d seen. （I’ve since recon-sidered， because I didn’t want to give it the honor of being number one.）

Appearing at Los Angeles Opera at the same time Bonesetter was in San Francisco， The Fly was what they call in Hollywood “high-concept.” It was essen-tially a stage retelling of director David Cronenberg’s 1986 film， with music by Howard Shore （who scored the film） and libretto by David Henry Hwang （who had worked with Cronenberg and Shore on the 1993 film of his play， M. Butterfly ）.

Flying to LA from San Francisco， where I’d seen Amy and Stewart still in close tandem， I sat listening and watching The Fly in total disbelief. Very few lines of dialogue actually fit with the music， which seemed to be regurgitating Bartok. Shortly afterward， I ap-proached David Hwang to ask what happened.

“Did you and Howard even discuss this show？” I asked.

“Not so much，” he admitted. “He usually composes long romantic lines in his film music， so that was the kind of dialogue I wrote. But once he started writing an opera he wanted to be a ‘serious’ modern composer.”

Then there was Cronenberg， whose inexperience working on stage was immediately palpable. Many elements of storytelling translate quite well across different forms， since both film and music use time as a medium of exchange. Space， however， is a com-pletely different thing. And also， to put it bluntly， Cronenberg had absolutely no idea what to do with a chorus.

But as an utter failure， The Fly was knocked off its pedestal in 2019 by Dragon Spring Phoenix Rise ， the truly pompous inauguration of The Shed， one of NewYork’s more flexible performing arts venues. Director Chen Shi-Zheng （again?。?helmed a production written by Jonathan Aibel and Glenn Berger， writers of the film Kung Fu Panda . Described as a “kung fu musical，” with choreography by Akram Khan and martial art-ist Zhang Jun， the show failed spectacularly at both. The “musical” component consisted entirely of three songs， none of which advanced （or indeed， had any relationship to） the story. The headline of the New York Times review was “Eyes Wide Mind Numb.”

But with so many places to point fingers， there was a single overriding problem： The script， as the writers had done in Kung Fu Panda， had a certain momen-tum begging to be pushed forward; Shi-Zheng， as with his previous stage epics， set out to fill his space with floor-to-ceiling activity. The story was horizon-tal， the staging vertical—an action film as staged by Cirque du Soleil. It never had a chance.

After a while， you can see the signs. Whenever star-studded creators come together for the first time， consider yourself warned. Odds are high that the individuals are too successful to listen to others， and that no central vision will be guiding the proceedings.

Topping my personal Pantheon of failed projects， though， is Rags ， a 1986 musical written by Joseph Stein （who penned Fiddler on the Roof ）， with lyrics by Stephen Schwartz （Godspell， Wicked） and Charles Strause （Annie）. It ran on Broadway for only four performances. I was in the audience for the final matinee.

At the time， many people blamed the show’s star， Teresa Stratas， a brilliant if temperamental opera singer with no professional experience with musicals. Stratas was not the problem. The fatal flaw was that the creators were working in their own respective worlds and no one was in charge.

Actually， it was a bit more complicated. Rags clearly wasn’t ready—later， more modest reworkings of the show have proven more successful. And the show was obviously too expensive; back in the mid-1980s， it had a weekly running cost of more than million dollars.

In fact， I’ll keep Rags at the top of my list simply because， looking back at The Season ， as a Broadway failure it was a full William Goldman trifecta.