Exclusive interview with Beijing People's Art Theatre director Feng Yuanzhen and renowned string musician Yao Jue: We are very restrained and will not let special effects overshadow the performance.

Every Day Reporter | Ding Zhouyang Song Meilu Intern Chang Songzishen Edited by Chen Junjie

On the evening of March 9th, after a busy day fulfilling duties at the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference,姚珏 and冯远征 appeared in front of NBD reporters (hereinafter referred to as NBD) for an exclusive interview.

Their schedules were fully booked. Besides their roles as members of the National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference,冯远征 is the first actor-director in over 70 years of the Beijing People’s Art Theatre’s history;姚珏, from a musical family, is not only one of China’s top violinists but also founded the Hong Kong String Orchestra.

“I often learn from Director冯 how to switch roles rapidly within a day. After all, the artistic mindset on stage is completely different from the logic of administrative management,”姚珏 sighed. In fact, she is also a “slash artist” who navigates multiple identities with ease. Facing the new era, new audiences, and new practitioners, their shared attitude is: “We can’t rest on our laurels and rely solely on our reputation.”

How to face it, how to respond? During the interview,冯远征 repeatedly used the word “restraint,” whether in dealing with traffic, commercial pressures, or technological dependence… Innovation must continue, but the fundamental element of innovation is always people.

Left: 姚珏 Right: 冯远征 Photo provided by interviewees

Three Curtain Calls Yet Still Wanting More When “Liang Zhu” Meets “Madama Butterfly,” Watch “Zhang Juzheng” Debut in St. Petersburg

Enhancing the country’s cultural soft power hinges on truly bringing works to the world and establishing a presence overseas. Chinese stories and historical figures have a solid foundation for dialogue with the world, but external understanding of Chinese art remains limited, with backward and one-sided biases. Only when seen will they truly be appreciated. Cultural export cannot rely solely on oral storytelling; it must move hearts through authentic experiences.

NBD: “Building a culturally strong nation” is a topic both of you focus on. This should be very relevant to your work practices, right?

姚珏: I understand “culturally strong nation” as bringing excellent Chinese culture to the world. Last November, coinciding with the 55th anniversary of China-Italy diplomatic relations, I led the Hong Kong String Orchestra on a themed tour from “Madama Butterfly” to “Liang Zhu” in Italy. The Hong Kong String Orchestra became the first Chinese orchestra to perform in the medieval city of Gubbio.

We used “Two Butterflies” as the core symbol, blending traditional Chinese Yue opera elements into Puccini’s lyrical melodies from “Madama Butterfly,” creating a “butterfly transformation legend” with the violin concerto “Liang Zhu.” The response in Italy was extraordinary—this was cultural exchange, not just a concert. We also performed a medley of Hong Kong film classics. When the theme song of Bruce Lee’s movies ended, Italian audiences stood up and applauded passionately. At that moment, Chinese and Western cultures connected seamlessly through music. These scenes made us feel the resonance of art and the connection of hearts.

Photo provided by interviewees

冯远征: Looking ahead to 2035, building a culturally strong nation is a key support for realizing the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation. If姚老师 uses music to build bridges, then our “People’s Art Theatre” conveys heartfelt stories.

Last year, we brought the drama “Zhang Juzheng” to St. Petersburg. From stage design to costumes, we showcased Chinese traditional aesthetics to the fullest. Russian audiences were not only captivated by the compelling story but also saw a three-dimensional, authentic image of a reformer. In today’s wave of global change, they deeply felt the hardships and necessity of reform.

Our stage may seem simple but is exquisitely crafted: three dragon chairs, ten columns, an old brick wall. Yet, when the curtain rose in St. Petersburg, even local stage experts were stunned. The three dragon chairs were meticulously replicated from originals in the Forbidden City, with craftsmanship so exquisite that local professionals dared not touch them. The performance ended with a long-standing standing ovation, and the curtain call was repeated three times—still not enough. Finally, I had the translator come on stage, and I delivered a speech to conclude this passionate exchange.

“We always exercise restraint in commercial collaborations Art is not a privilege; it is light that shines into life.”

From the evaluation system for artists to how classical art reaches thousands of households,姚珏 and冯远征’s focus is always on people.

NBD: This year, both of your proposals focus on “evaluation and incentive mechanisms for artistic talents.” Why do you think this issue is so urgent?

冯远征: My proposal centers on establishing and improving reward and support mechanisms for theater artists. Honestly, our theater workers are very diligent and have achieved remarkable results, but there are relatively few dedicated awards and support programs for this group domestically. So I call for more authoritative awards and support projects aimed at frontline theater practitioners. These rewards are not about the amount of prize money but about recognition from the state—honor and confidence.

Photo provided by interviewees

姚珏: Director冯 mentioned encouraging theater talents. I also submitted a related talent proposal this year. Because the evaluation systems differ between Hong Kong and mainland China—mainland has tiered actor titles and various professional ranks, while Hong Kong does not—I believe young artists in Hong Kong also want to better serve national development. So I proposed how to implement mainland’s talent evaluation mechanisms in Hong Kong to foster closer exchanges.

NBD: In today’s cultural environment, arts organizations and individuals face dual challenges: one, market operation pressures; two, how to truly reach ordinary people. How do you balance “upholding artistic standards” and “lowering participation barriers” in your fields? What key choices have you made to ensure art is not just a privilege for the few but a force to nourish the spiritual life of the masses?

冯远征: Beijing People’s Art Theatre’s ticket prices have been very affordable for years—minimum 80 yuan, maximum 680 yuan. For example, our youth version of “Hamlet” in a small theater had over 80 performances, with ticket prices at 120 and 280 yuan. Economically, this is hard to profit from, but since we own the theater, we save on rent and costs. Our main responsibility is to serve the public, supported by some government subsidies. We also do touring performances to bring in revenue and produce related merchandise. During the run of “Teahouse,” we launched fridge magnets and collaborated with Wu Yutai to package tea leaves. But we always exercise restraint in commercial collaborations.

姚珏: I come from a musical family in Shanghai; my father is a renowned musician and conductor of the Shanghai Film Orchestra,姚笛. Under his strict discipline, I started learning violin at age four, practicing three hours daily without fail. As a child, I was “beaten into” learning music—my father forced me to play, and if I didn’t, I’d kneel on a washboard for half an hour.

Now, I am also a mother of two daughters. I no longer use the strict methods I endured to educate them. Learning an instrument can be tough and boring; relentless “iron fist” discipline can make children lose interest and patience. I developed a set of fun courses for children to feel rhythm and create a family musical atmosphere. Parents and kids learn together—initially, parents might learn faster, but eventually, the children usually surpass them. My philosophy is clear: not every child needs to become a performer, but every child can gain confidence, aesthetic sense, and willpower through music.

This belief extends into our “Music Energy Program.” Over ten years, we have helped 900 ordinary Hong Kong families’ children open the door to music. Many of these children live in “subdivided flats”—tiny spaces partitioned by boards, no larger than a bathroom, oppressive and cramped. Yet, in these tight corners, music becomes a ray of light shining through cracks. We bring instruments into their lives and witness how notes penetrate their temporary hardships, igniting their longing to soar.

“When I enter the theater, I want to see people” Average age of “post-90s” audience is “90” Watching “post-00s” perform “Camel Xiangzi”

How does classical art attract young people? For姚珏 and冯远征, both stage practitioners and audiences have changed. Classical art today is not about simple tradition but always about people.

NBD: We just discussed how art “takes root” to serve the masses. Now, let’s talk about how art “grows upward” to embrace the times. In promoting “youthful” and “modernized” art, how do you define the boundary between innovation and staying true to the essence? When facing new technologies, what is your “bottom line”?

冯远征: Now, most of the audience entering the People’s Art Theatre are “post-90s.” Young audiences don’t just come to chase stars; they have their favorite actors, but more importantly, they appreciate the form of drama itself. The change in audience preferences began around 2020. I believe it’s a natural evolution, not something we deliberately “cater” to or “feed.”

Last year, we staged “Camel Xiangzi,” based on the version performed by Beijing People’s Art Theatre in 1957. The set, costumes, makeup, and acting paid homage to the earliest classics. Yet, our youngest actors are “post-00s,” with older ones “post-80s,” averaging “post-90s.” I initially thought the audience might not accept it well, expecting a 60-70% attendance rate. I even told young actors that the goal was to let the audience get to know you through this play. Unexpectedly, the attendance rate exceeded 90%. In 1957, we had a classic play “The Snowstorm Night,” which we revived with modern stage design and a costume style blending Republican-era charm with “new Hanfu” aesthetics, and it was also loved by young audiences.

Therefore, theater today is not about mere conservatism. We must connect with the present, incorporate technology to empower art, but not chase fleeting trends. We avoid multimedia dominating the stage or using sound and light to “consume” actors. For spectacular stage effects, Beijing People’s Art Theatre is very restrained. I believe that when audiences enter the theater, what matters most is seeing people. Just like when I go to listen to姚老师’s concert—it’s not just about hearing the music; if I can’t see姚老师 herself, it’s not theater art. Theater remains an art of people.

姚珏: Exactly. Innovation and tradition are two sides of classical music. What repertoire do you perform? Can these pieces resonate with contemporary audiences? Our string orchestra is always exploring new paths. For example, I enjoy blending pop music with classical. Collaborating with pop singers has enriched my artistic expression, making it more three-dimensional. Transforming popular melodies into rigorous string works tests our deep understanding of music’s essence.

Whether it’s cutting-edge technology or artificial intelligence, they are helpers, not protagonists. The main characters of musical theater are always musicians and their works. The value of technology lies in helping audiences enter the piece with more imagination and immersion, understanding the soul, rather than overshadowing the art.

Artists’ “Dual Lives” “In the critical period of new-old succession, we can only be so exhausted”

The stage is a mirror reflecting reality. Today, Beijing People’s Art Theatre still insists on “no microphone performances,” and “making sure the last row of the audience hears every word” is a basic requirement for every actor.

NBD: Besides your roles as actors and musicians, you also undertake other work. How do you define your artistic life? Does entering these careers affect your artistic creation?

冯远征: I’ve loved art since youth, chasing after it, experiencing being unrecognized and then recognized. The phase of not being acknowledged was about self-reflection. For example, I am an average-looking actor, so I studied acting diligently to compensate for my appearance. Once I joined the Beijing People’s Art Theatre, I aimed to be a good actor, and if possible, like老师于是之, a great actor and artist.

Before 2015, I was more casual at the theatre, not thinking much about responsibilities. But as senior actors retired, I realized I should step up. In 2016, I became the head of the acting troupe, feeling a sense of responsibility. I naturally disliked laziness in others. Later, I served as deputy director, responsible for specific departments. When our former director suddenly passed away and I was appointed director—just months before retirement—I was thrown into the role. That’s how I became director, and I learned it’s not easy.

The hardest part was the past two years: managing as director while acting and rehearsing new plays. I often couldn’t sleep. Before becoming director, my hair was black; now it’s white. No complaints, though—I accepted the role, so I had to do it. Starting in 2024, Beijing People’s Art Theatre adopted a maximum production pace—at least 35 plays a year, including 8-9 new ones. Two years ago, we staged 11 new plays; last year, 9. Over 500 performances annually. Last year, our box office hit a record high. So, I think the effort paid off.

Balancing being a director and an actor is the toughest. I can only hold on and push through. I often imagine how I’d spend retirement—sleep for a month, no one bothering me. But that’s not possible now. For example, I played “Zhang Juzheng,” and I was the last in the cast to memorize lines—something impossible before. I wake up before 7 am, handle daily work at the theater, rehearse in the afternoon, and often perform another show at night, returning home around midnight. For years, colleagues say this work is exhausting, but I think of冯远征老师, and it doesn’t feel tiring. I tell others not to follow my example. Now is a critical period of “new-old” transition at the theatre. The “post-60s” actors are retiring one after another. Whether the younger generation can take over depends on these years. So I can only endure this exhaustion for now.

姚珏: I am in the same group as冯院长 at two sessions of the CPPCC. The “new-old” transition has been a focus of his recent work. I also learn from him how to quickly switch roles within a day. Because the brain used for stage acting is completely different from that used for administration. If I don’t practice piano in the morning and handle administrative work first, I can’t focus on rehearsals in the afternoon. Now, I usually practice piano for three hours in the morning, then arrange other tasks afterward, ensuring I stay in good performance shape.

In fact, the longest I’ve been away from the stage was when I first became a mother. Playing the role of mother divided my time and energy from being a performer. Later, I returned to the stage, viewing motherhood as part of my life experience, which deepened my musical expression and understanding. The joys and sorrows of life, I can express through music. I don’t see any “wasted time” in my life; every moment has contributed to my growth.