Following the capital’s literary and artistic circles’ celebration of the tenth anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic, the Beijing Film Studio invited me, along with Yu Zhenfei, principal of the Shanghai Opera School, and Yan Huizhu, its vice‑principal, to dine at Quanjude on West Chang’an Street one day in early November.

 

Wang Yang, director of the Beijing Film Studio, first outlined the plan to shoot “A Dream in the Garden” within the year, inviting me to play Du Liniang, Zhenfei to portray Liu Mengmei, and Huizhu to take on the role of Chunxiang. He also introduced us to the director Xu Ke, the cinematographer Nie Jing, the production designer Qin Wei, the production manager Hu Qiming, and others.


 

 

Director: Xu Ke

1912-1985

A native of Quanzhou, Fujian.

 

Photographer: Nie Jing

1921-1985

A native of Jinzhou, Liaoning.

Art Director: Qin Wei

1911-1994

A native of Handan, Hebei.
 

I mentioned to everyone that in 1955, we filmed a color opera at the Beijing Film Studio. Yet another four years have slipped by—on stage, one can still perform without looking too aged, but on film, it’s much harder to conceal any signs of wear.

 

Wang Yang said with a smile, “Over the past few years, we’ve made great strides in the techniques of makeup and film processing for color opera productions, and this time we’re sure to leave you thoroughly satisfied.”

 

He smiled and pointed to a young makeup artist, Sun Hongkui, saying, “You must take responsibility for getting Mr. Mei’s makeup just right—ensuring that on screen, Mei Lanfang looks even more beautiful and youthful than he does on stage.”

 

Sun Hongkui replied with a smile, “I will certainly do my utmost.”

 

Hearing them say this, I began to ponder: in the past few film shoots, I had always done my own makeup, with the studio’s makeup artists offering guidance and assistance from the sidelines—but the results never quite reached my ideal. This time, we should shift our approach: let the studio’s makeup artists take full charge, while we offer our suggestions and feedback. That way, things might turn out better than before.

 

During the meal, Zhen Fei remarked that the teeth would need to be extracted, replaced, and fitted with dentures; otherwise, the cheeks would appear sunken, detracting from Liu Mengmei’s youthful image. The colleagues at the Beijing Film Studio promised to arrange for him to see a dentist and have the dentures fitted as soon as possible before filming began.

 

That day, we also discussed matters related to the script, the music, the set design… and parted on a cheerful note.
 

The production crew has been formed.

The opera film “A Dream in the Garden”
 

November 13, 1959

2:00 PM

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Yu Zhenfei, Yan Huizhu, Zhu Chuanming, Yao Yufu, Li Chunlin, Xu Jichuan, Xu Yuanlai, Zhu Jiajin, and I subsequently went to the office of the director of the Beijing Film Studio to attend the inaugural meeting of the production team for “The Peony Pavilion.”

 

 

Art director Cui Wei introduced the colleagues from the Beijing Film Studio, after which everyone spoke enthusiastically, pledging to ensure that the production would meet the highest standards of quality and excellence.

 

Director Xu Ke chats with us about the intentions behind his film’s storyboard. This time, he plans to adapt the classical “The Peony Pavilion” using narrative‑film techniques while striving to preserve the stage’s exquisite performances. Accordingly, the storyboard delineates several key settings: a boudoir, a courtyard, a garden, the bank of a small bridge, and the banks of the Peony Pavilion itself.

 

I said, “As for the set design, let’s wait until the sketches are completed and everyone has had a chance to review them before we discuss it further.”

 

 

The director also recalled that during the National Day holiday, he had seen me perform “A Dream in the Garden” alongside Yu Zhenfei and Yan Huizhu at the auditorium of the Palace of National Cultures. In Kunqu opera, the singing is performed without interruption; for the film, he planned to insert musical interludes to better align the movements and stage presence with the realistic set design.

 

I said, “We can certainly give this a try, and as for how to integrate cinematic art with the art of Chinese opera, we need to boldly embark on some creative new explorations. As for the musical design, it would be best to invite Comrade Zhenfei to take charge.”

 

Zhen Fei said, “We’ve already discussed this matter. The guiding principle is to ensure that the entrance melody blends as smoothly as possible with the vocal style; occasionally, a line from the vocal part may even be repeated.”

 

Poster for the color opera film “A Dream in the Garden”

 

Xu Ke said, “Tomorrow we’ll invite Comrade Zhu Chuanming to the studio to review the storyboard, run through the entire sequence from start to finish, and then calculate the timing and work out the musical cues.”

 

Makeup

The opera film “A Dream in the Garden”

 

I wore a pleated skirt in pink, lake blue, and gray-blue, along with a shawl in lavender, pale cyan, and lotus‑root pink, and a bright red embroidered cloak. I shot several takes, including scenes with Zhenfei and Huizhu, to test whether our outfits harmonized and whether there were any awkward color clashes.
 

Color coordination: A stage term referring to the practice of having characters in the same scene wear costumes of similar colors.

 

I also shot a shot of the scene reflected in a mirror.

 

Cui Wei said, “Makeup for applying film strips and styling the big bun should not be too natural.”

 

Ji Chuan and Jia Jin thought the eyebrows I had painted on my face seemed a bit too thin, and suggested that the rouge between my brows and eyes could be a bit richer. So I deepened the rouge on both cheeks and around the outer edges of my eyes and shot two more takes.

 

Shortly after the test shoot, I reviewed the sample images and felt that the makeup on my face was too light, the mole stood out noticeably, and the eyebrows were drawn too thinly, with uneven height. As for the clothing, lighter shades didn’t work well; colors like blue-gray and lavender gray rendered well under the light, while red appeared washed out. The overall color tone of the negatives was soft and natural.

 

The director said: “This type of film stock is made in the Soviet Union and can be shot using tungsten filament lamps. I recall that when we filmed ‘Mei Lanfang’s Stage Art’ in 1955, coordinating carbon‑arc lighting was extremely time‑consuming; now that we’ve switched to tungsten lamps, these difficulties have been greatly reduced.”

 

Then, after another test shoot, adjustments were made to the makeup and hair accessories, and I borrowed from Huizhu a plain red, rose-purple floral cloak.


After shooting the scene, the director felt that a silk headscarf would not be as graceful and elegant as a sheer veil, so he switched to a pink and lake‑blue drape for Luo Shen’s head, and shot another take with each option.
 

When watching the second dailies, I noticed significant progress in the makeup: the moles have been smoothed out, the red highlights have been intensified to look more three-dimensional, and with fewer hairpieces and accessories, the overall look is noticeably better than the first time.

 

The cape in plain red has a more classical, elegant quality, evoking the feel of a figure from a painting; a rose‑purple floral cape, however, is less ideal. Pink and lake‑blue head veils are both quite nice, but their choice should be coordinated with the cape’s color. Comrade Sun Hongkui has invited me to the Beijing Film Studio tomorrow to have a facial model made, so that we can use it as a basis for experimenting with sculpted makeup.

 

The next day, Yu Fu, Jia Jin, and Ji Chuan and I went to a room at the Beijing Film Studio specially equipped for sculpting and makeup. Sun Hongkui had me sit in a writing chair, with a white silk cloth draped across my chest. He first applied oil to my face, inserted a rubber breathing tube into my nostrils, then poured plaster powder into a bowl, mixed it by hand, and spread it over my face.

 

Yu Fu said, “It probably won’t feel very pleasant to apply it.”

 

Sun Jiekou said, “Now the nasal tube allows for adequate ventilation, and I’m already feeling much more comfortable. A few years ago, during the initial trials, plaster was applied all over my face, making it hard to breathe. One comrade couldn’t bear it after less than a minute and ripped off the plaster from his face, smashing it on the ground in frustration. Only after everyone delved into the problem and studied some advanced techniques did we finally figure out the trick.”

 

Five minutes later, Sun came to remove the face mask for me.

 

Zhu Jiajin said, “At this stage, utmost care is required. The bronze artifacts reproduced by our Palace Museum, such as the ‘Guo Ji Zi Pan,’ are cast using plaster and sand molds, indistinguishable from the originals; however, if the plaster layer is not applied thick enough, it may crack or break when removed.”

 

Sun removed the plaster model and showed it to me; as expected, it was complete and clear. During the molding process, I worried that my head might shift, so a female colleague held it steady. Feeling uneasy, I suggested to Sun that we have several barber’s chairs made. He replied, “They’ve already been custom‑made; once they’re installed, things will be much more convenient.”

 

Preliminary art design proposal
 

  The opera film “A Dream in the Garden”
 

One day, Comrade Sun from the costume factory came to my home to discuss the design and color of the costumes.

 

He took out the peony‑patterned cloak and asked for my opinion. I said, “In the early days of the stage, cloaks embroidered with large floral motifs were mostly worn by martial dan roles; elegant dan characters typically donned solid‑color cloaks—bright red, silver‑red, rose purple, and the like—using color and design to convey a character’s personality and social standing. There was good reason for this approach. In recent years, I’ve often worn a cloak adorned with bold floral embroidery, intended for the role of Yu Ji in ‘Farewell My Concubine.’ Yu Ji is a character hard to pigeonhole into any single dan category, yet she has sword‑dancing scenes, wears fish‑scale armor beneath her costume, and finds herself in a military camp—so that cloak seemed perfectly fitting. For this shoot of ‘The Peony Pavilion,’ however, I don’t plan to use a heavily floral‑patterned cloak. During the test‑shoot that day, I felt a plain crimson hue would better suit Du Liniang’s temperament—what do you think?”

 

Sun said, “As you suggest, let’s make it a plain red cloak with embroidered trim—just enough to let the border of the collar slightly overlap.”

 

I agree with this approach. After examining the patterns of the shawls and pleats, I decided to select motifs from my own costumes for re-embroidery, as these have been refined through repeated stage performances and thoroughly tested in front of audiences.

 

  

 

The director and the production designer brought us samples of several set pieces—such as the boudoir, the garden, and the scene by the Peony Pavilion—for our review and discussion. I said, “In ‘A Dream in the Garden,’ Tang Xianzu poured painstaking effort into his descriptions of both characters and settings. In terms of color and composition, we must consider how to convey that subtle, understated poetic charm.”

 

Thus, the lines from the garden stroll—“the gallery’s gold dust scattered in sparse patches, the pavilions and ponds cloaked in a verdant expanse of moss”—must be contrasted with the dream‑like “a splendid scene beneath the bright sun, where myriad hues of purple and red bloom in profusion,” in order to highlight the disparity between the actual setting and the ideal realm.

 

Xu Ke said, “We strive to capture the spirit of the original work. Although the lyrics of the garden‑strolling scene contain some melancholy imagery, we must also bear in mind that it depicts a spring setting. Moreover, color films differ from painting in their approach to rendering color; therefore, a line like ‘…the broken well and crumbling walls’ cannot be rendered literally.” I agreed with his view.
 

Zhenfei said, “‘The hills are all awash with the crimson blossoms of the cuckoos’—is this a distant vista or a scene within the garden?”

 

Some scholars argue that the term “qing shan” (green mountains) was employed with considerable flexibility by literati of the Yuan, Ming, and Qing dynasties; whether it refers to real mountains or artificial rockeries depends on whether the scenery described takes place in the wild countryside or within a garden.

 

I believe that since the Ming and Qing dynasties, the construction of artificial rockeries has become an essential element of garden design. In the early Qing period, figures such as Li Lüweng, Zhang Lian, the monk Shitao, and Ge Yuchang were renowned masters of stone‑masonry, deeply versed in the principles of painting and aesthetics. Landmarks like Suzhou’s “Lion Grove” and “Gengyin Villa,” as well as Beijing’s “Changchun Garden,” “Yingtai,” and “Yuquan,” all owe their distinctive charm to the meticulous artistry of these celebrated craftsmen—some winding and intricate, revealing grandeur within modest scale; others expansive and imposing, with peaks and ridges vying for prominence.
 

 

Thus, it is clear that in “A Dream of Red Mansions,” the reference must have been to a rockery adorned with green moss and grass. However, when filming a movie, one cannot let a single line of dialogue dictate the entire set design. In the end, everyone agreed to use a vague gesture to suggest the scene, without specifying any concrete details in the set.

 

 

To be continued

 

The paragraph headings were added by the editor, and the article has been abridged.

Images and videos are sourced from the internet.