Something Wonderful
By Yan Li
We start in neutral. Sounds of a busy city slowly receding. Birds. Wheels. People walking home. A spotlight hits a single stool downstage center. The sounds get more distant. We throw up a slide of a fishpond. And then Annabelle enters and walks to the stool singing “Something Wonderful,” Lady Thiang’s torch song from The King and I. What’s that? No, a summer dress. Aquamarine. Oh, and if it matters, I would like there to be a wood block but do not need there to be a wood block. What do you think, Yan? Is it okay?
The director looks at me with saucer eyes. The atmosphere in the rehearsal room is tense. The youngest tenor stands up for some reason, like he’s about to receive arbitration from the judge in To Kill a Mockingbird. Sweet Annabelle, raised under the I of Idaho, tries her best to look impartial but invested. Everyone is waiting for the Person of Colour take.
I have no fucking clue.
I could bring down the hammer; dredge up issues like appropriation till they not only take out the song but cancel the concert. That would not be the worst thing. I hate schlepping to that weird Ripley Grier location anyway (you know the one). I could also let it slide, though I’d probably get an earful at the next Asian meeting. Those things are loaded enough. Thankfully, my inscrutable face translates confusion into deep, racial analysis. It is one of my best features and used to be my icebreaker on Tinder.
Was there anything offensive about Annabelle doing “Something Wonderful”? Not to me…ish. It’s written by two New Yorkers who made Siam sound like how two New Yorkers think Siam sounded like if they were asked what Siam sounds like. There’s a special kind of red flag reserved for shows that are banned in the country they’re about. When I see amazingly talented Asians tuptiming on stage, an inner voice whispers “oh, this would be what it’s like if I did yellowface…”. No dig against the terrific work on display. Not in the least. But I’ve always felt shows like The King and I and The Mikado should be done by non-Asians. Better it’s clear that those shows aren’t Asian than for Asians to be thought of as those shows. But then again, I’m not a cultural analyst. Who am I to take money out of people’s hands? Mao? I wish.
Speaking of comrades, shouldn’t I be more of one to my community? A consensus has been reached on this issue- if the story has Asians, cast Asians. End of debate. With so few shows out there about us, it would be extra dickish not to have us tuptiming on stage. Right? Although who reached the consensus? Was it Asians or Asian Americans? Those groups are as different as garlic and garlic bread. What’s good for one isn’t always good for the other (if you’re reading this aloud, coughing the word “Mulan” right now would be apt).
Garlic products aside, does the casting consensus extend to individual songs? “I Enjoy Being a Girl” is universally acceptable. “Getting to Know You” is just good manners. I’ve only seen non-Austrians perform “Edelweiss.” By that standard, “Something Wonderful” should be open to anyone who wants to channel a female character written by men. He may be wrong but you should love him cause he has dreams.
But the principle, Yan! You’re not helping the cause by highlighting grey areas. Maybe our children or our children’s children will live in a world draped in greys, but in 2019 (or 4717 by the Chinese calendar #notmychronology), we are still emerging from an epoch of monolithic narratives and whitewashing. Be an ally, you ignorant apologist paradigm recidivism enabler!
The youngest tenor has sat down.
A quick glance at Ripley Grier’s Reagan-era clock shows that 20 seconds have passed (a.k.a. half a line of “Something Wonderful” at Annabelle’s performance tempo). The director maintains her vigil. I’ve uttered nothing beyond a concerned moan, paralyzed by the conflicting thoughts in my head and my duties as the newly-vested Ombudsman of Asia. As fellow ombudspeople know, when one is the only person in a room with skin the shade of stale cinnamon, one is empowered to speak for all 2 billion+ Easterners. I make a quick tally of all the demographics whose feelings I am creating a baseline for in this rehearsal. The list is more than any abacus can handle. “Yan liked Tilda Swinton in Doctor Strange! Guess all Japanese and Laotians do too!” “Yan thought Crazy Rich Asians was overrated. I never knew Buddhists felt that way!” “Yan doesn’t mind the word ‘oriental’ and neither do pandas!” Was I truly ready for this responsibility? Hell no! Even if I felt all of those things, I’m the ombudsman, and the ombudsman speaks for the continent, not themselves. But- BUT- America has taught me to be myself. It has taught me to speak my mind. It keeps pushing me to tell my story. What’s it gonna be?!
And then I remember I am not American, nor am I Asian American. I am Asian. And Asians place the wellbeing of the community over the crazy, irresponsible mind tangents of the individual.
“So what do you think, Yan? Is it alright? Don’t even worry about the wood block. It’s cut.”
“…It’s not the greatest idea…”
“Okay.”
“But there are worse ideas…”
“…Okay…”
“The cinematography of Crazy Rich Asians was great!”
“…Cool.”
We are back in neutral. Was it a cop-out? Probably. I relied on my spine posture to say what my spineless mouth couldn’t. Let it put a kibosh on the song without making me look pro-kibosh. Cause I’m not. Am I? So many feelings! I was all set to say, in no unequivocal terms, that we should reconsider Annabelle’s song choice; that despite “Something Wonderful” not being specifically rooted in a racial identity when taken out of context, the history of appropriation and the lack of visibility surrounding the situation would start conversations we are not intending to start with this concert, but those conversations should always be happening regardless of where we are cause we need to deal with it sooner rather than later, but also not like “always be happening” cause I don’t wanna talk about it while eating ice cream or whatever; that it sucks to be Ombudsman of Asia just cause there are no other cinnamon people in this room; that you have no idea how much agonizing circular thinking is racing through my head in these 20 seconds while you wait for a “solution”; that no one person, no matter how much they’ve studied a subject, is qualified to make a judgement call on behalf of an entire race; that my feelings are worth no more or less than anyone else’s and you should speak to a whole spectrum of Asians to get an idea where an issue sits, and by whole spectrum I don’t mean a couple of your Asian friends who share your politics, financial situation, age, and field; I mean a whole spectrum of generational, political, vocational, and financially diverse Asians from all 5 quadrants (South, Southeast, East, North, and Taiwan), some of whom will need to listen to The King and I for the first time to get caught up to speed; that although I resent being put on the spot right now, on some level, I appreciate the consideration and will probably say more about how I feel when we’re at the bubble tea karaoke place after rehearsal.
But instead, I said it’s not the greatest idea. With a shrug.
The rest of the rehearsal went fine. Our young tenor got to walk through his rendition of “Greased Lightning.” All good there. After a thorough night’s sleep, I went back the next day ready to unpack more of my complicated thoughts for the director. Turns out I didn’t have to. Annabelle booked a 29 hour reading and dropped out of the concert. “That solves it!” said the director. “Are you as relieved as I am?”
I have no fucking clue.
Yan Li gads about town doing stuff. He is clearly a Gemini.