Exclusive interview with Beijing People's Art Theatre Director Feng Yuanzheng and renowned violinist Yao Jue: We are very restrained, so that special effects do not "overwhelm" the story.

Each Daily Reporter｜Ding Zhouyang｜Song Meilu, Intern Chang Songzai Xun｜Each Daily Editor｜Chen Junjie

3月9日晚间，结束了白天密集的政协履职，姚珏与冯远征出现在《每日经济新闻》记者（以下简称NBD）的专访镜头前。

Their schedules have no empty slots. In addition to being members of the National Committee of the Chinese People’s Political Consultative Conference, Feng Yuanzheng is also the first actor-ever院长 (Dean/President of the Beijing People’s Art Theater) in the more than 70 years since Beijing People’s Art Theater (i.e., the “Beijing People’s Art Theater”) was founded; Yao Jue, born into a family of musicians, is not only China’s top violinist, but also founded the Hong Kong String Orchestra.

“ I often ‘ask Director Feng for advice’—how do you switch roles at lightning speed within a single day? After all, the logic brain areas for artistic thinking on stage are completely different from those for administrative management.” Yao Jue sighed. In fact, she is also a “slash” artist who moves freely among multiple identities. Faced with a new era, new audiences, and new practitioners, their shared view is: “You can’t just lie back and live off your old credentials on the gold nameplate.”

How to face it, how to face it? During her interview, Feng Yuanzheng repeatedly used the words “restraint” in reference to both temptations from the flow of traffic, pressure from commerce, and dependence on technology… Innovation can’t stop, but the underlying foundation of innovation is always people.

Left: Yao Jue Right: Feng Yuanzheng Interviewee-provided photo

Three curtain calls and still not finished—When ‘The Butterfly Lovers’ meets ‘Madame Butterfly,’ and when ‘Zhang Juzheng’ takes the stage in St. Petersburg

Boosting the nation’s cultural soft power is key to truly pushing works to the world and landing them overseas. Chinese stories and historical figures have the foundation to engage in dialogue with the world, but the outside world still doesn’t understand Chinese art and holds outdated, one-sided prejudices. Only when people truly see it will they genuinely come to like it. Cultural outreach can’t rely only on oral storytelling—it must be driven by real experiences that move people’s hearts.

NBD “‘A strong cultural power’ is an issue both of you commissioners care about. How is this closely related to the work you do in practice?”

Yao Jue: The “strong cultural power” as I understand it means bringing excellent Chinese culture to the world. Last November, coinciding with the 55th anniversary of China–Italy diplomatic ties, I led the Hong Kong String Orchestra on a thematic tour in Italy, titled “From Madame Butterfly to The Butterfly Lovers.” The Hong Kong String Orchestra became the first Chinese orchestra to enter the medieval ancient city of Gubbio.

We used “two butterflies” as our core symbol, blending traditional Chinese Yue opera elements into the violin concerto The Butterfly Lovers (“Legend of Turning into Butterflies”), while drawing on the lyrical melodies of Giacomo Puccini’s representative work Madame Butterfly. At the time, the response in Italy was especially strong—this was cultural exchange between the two countries, not just a concert. We also performed a medley of Hong Kong film golden songs. When the theme song from Bruce Lee’s film ended, the Italian audience was so excited they stood up and applauded. In that moment, Eastern and Western cultures achieved a seamless connection through music and embraced each other warmly. Those scenes made us feel the resonance of art and the meeting of hearts.

Interviewee-provided photo

Feng Yuanzheng: Looking ahead to 2035, building a strong cultural power is a crucial support for realizing the great rejuvenation of the Chinese nation. If Ms. Yao builds bridges through music, then our “People’s Art Theater” uses stories to convey our voices from the heart.

Last year, we brought the play Zhang Juzheng to St. Petersburg. From stage design to costumes and props, we brought Chinese traditional aesthetics to their utmost expression. Russian audiences were not only drawn in by the brilliant story; they also saw a three-dimensional, authentic image of a reformer. Amid the wave of global change today, we made them deeply feel how difficult—and how necessary—reform is.

Our stage looks simple, but in fact it’s extremely refined: three dragon chairs, ten pillars, and a wall made of old bricks. Yet when the curtain rose in St. Petersburg, even the local stage design experts were stunned. Those three dragon chairs were meticulously replicated in detail from the original pieces in the Forbidden City, and the craftsmanship was so exquisite that local professionals “didn’t even dare to touch them.” When the performance ended, the whole audience stood and applauded for a long time. The curtain call ceremony was repeated three times, and they still weren’t satisfied. In the end, I had to ask the translator to come onstage; after I delivered a speech, it brought an end to this enthusiastic back-and-forth exchange.

“For commercial co-branding, we always keep our restraint” Art is not a privilege—it’s light shining into everyday life

From the evaluation system for people in the arts and literature world to how classic art enters every household, the starting points and end goals that Yao Jue and Feng Yuanzheng care about are always about people.

NBD “This year, both of your proposals coincidentally focused on ‘evaluation and incentive mechanisms for arts and literary talent.’ In your view, why is this so urgent?”**

Feng Yuanzheng: My proposal focuses on building and improving reward and support mechanisms for people working in the dramatic arts. To be honest, drama workers are actually very hardworking and have achieved many outstanding accomplishments, but in China, there are still relatively few dedicated reward mechanisms specifically targeted at this group. So I call for establishing more authoritative awards and support programs aimed at frontline drama workers. This kind of reward isn’t about how much the money is—it comes from national recognition. It’s not just honor; it’s also confidence.

Interviewee-provided photo

Yao Jue: When Director Feng talked about encouraging drama talent, this year I also submitted a related talent proposal. Because the evaluation panel in Hong Kong is different from the mainland: the mainland has first-class actors and different categories of professional titles, but Hong Kong doesn’t. I think young arts and literature practitioners in Hong Kong also hope to serve national development more effectively, so I proposed how to bring the mainland’s arts talent evaluation and review mechanisms to Hong Kong, so that exchanges between both sides become closer.

NBD “In today’s cultural environment, arts institutions and individuals often face dual challenges: on the one hand, they need to deal with pressure from market operations; on the other hand, they also need to think about how to truly reach ordinary people. In your respective fields, how do you balance ‘maintaining artistic standards’ with ‘lowering the participation threshold’? What key choices have you made to ensure that art isn’t merely a privilege for a few, but can become a force that nurtures people’s spiritual lives?”**

Feng Yuanzheng: For years, ticket prices at Beijing People’s Art Theater have remained very people-friendly: the lowest is 80 yuan, and the highest is only 680 yuan. Just like our youth version of Hamlet we staged in a small theater—four young people performed more than 80 shows, with two ticket price tiers: 120 yuan and 280 yuan. If we calculate it purely economically, these ticket prices are indeed hard to profit from. But it’s our own theater—we don’t need to pay rent, which saves a huge amount of cost. So our most important responsibility is still to offer public-benefit performances. At the same time, the state also provides us with some subsidies. In addition, we have to do some touring commercial performances to bring in some revenue for the theater. We also do some derivative merchandise and products. During our production of Tea House, we launched fridge magnets and teamed up with Wuyutai to package and sell tea. But when it comes to commercial co-branding, we always keep our restraint.

Yao Jue: I was born into a musical family in Shanghai. My father is a well-known musician and the conductor of the Shanghai Film Orchestra. Under his strict requirements, I started learning the violin at age 4, practicing for three hours every day without fail. When I was learning instruments as a child, it was “driven along.” My father forced me to play the violin—if I didn’t, I would have to kneel on a washboard for half an hour.

Now I’m also a mother of two daughters, and I no longer educate them using the same disciplinary approach I received before. Learning music has its hardships and boredom. If you use an overly “iron-blooded, strict” approach, it can make children lose interest and patience. I wrote a set of courses for young kids, using interesting ways to help them feel the rhythm and build a family atmosphere for learning music—children and parents study together. At the beginning, parents might learn faster; in the end, it’s usually the children who surpass the parents. My philosophy is very clear: not every child has to become a performer, but every child can gain confidence, aesthetic sense, and willpower through music.

This belief also extends to our “Music Energy Program.” Over the past ten years, we’ve helped 900 children from ordinary families in Hong Kong open the door to music. Many of these children live in “cage homes,” which are cramped spaces carved out by partitions. The whole apartment is no bigger than the size of a bathroom. It’s stifling and suffocating. But in these corners where even turning around is difficult, music became light shining through the cracks. We bring instruments into their lives and personally witness how notes penetrate those temporarily cramped surroundings, lighting up each and every heart that longs to fly.

“When I enter the theater, I just want to see people” Audiences with an average age of “post-90s,” watching “post-00s” perform ‘Camel Xiangzi’

How does classic art attract young people? For Yao Jue and Feng Yuanzheng, both the practitioners on stage and the audiences offstage have changed. Today, classic art isn’t about simply sticking to tradition and following the old ways, but the core of the stage will always be people.

NBD: “Earlier we discussed how art can ‘take root downward’ to serve the public. Now we want to talk about how art can ‘grow upward’ and embrace the times. In promoting ‘younger’ and ‘modern’ art, how do you define the boundary between innovation and staying true to your original character? When facing the impact of new technologies, what is the ‘bottom line’ you insist on?”**

Feng Yuanzheng: Actually, it’s mostly “post-90s” who come into the People’s Art Theater these days. Young audiences don’t watch plays entirely to chase stars. They may like particular actors, but more importantly, they like the form of theater itself. Audience changes happened around 2020, and I think it’s a natural iteration of audiences—not something we intentionally went out to “cater to” or “feed” them with something.

The last year, we staged Camel Xiangzi. We arranged it according to the version that Beijing People’s Art Theater performed back in 1957. The set design, costumes, makeup, and performance all paid tribute to the earliest classic. But our performers are the youngest “post-00s,” with some older being “post-80s.” The average age is still “post-90s.” At the time, I thought audiences might not necessarily accept it, and if our occupancy rate could reach 60% to 70%, that would be good. I also told the young actors that the most important thing is first to let the audience get to know you through this play—yet unexpectedly, the occupancy rate for this play ended up above 90%. Beijing People’s Art Theater had a classic play in 1957 titled Feng Xue Ye Gui Ren. We restored it as well. We introduced modern elements into the stage design. The costume design combines the flavor of the Republic of China era with the modern aesthetics of “new Hanfu,” and it’s also deeply loved by young audiences.

So as theater moves forward today, it’s not simply a matter of adhering to old ways. We need to combine with the present and integrate technology to empower art—but we won’t cater to so-called popular fashions. We won’t use multimedia to dominate the stage, or use sound, lights, and effects to “consume” the actors. For flashy stage special effects, Beijing People’s Art Theater is very restrained. I think when people walk into the theater, the most important thing is still to see people. It’s like when I go to listen to Ms. Yao’s concert—I’m not just listening to the sound of the violin. If you can’t see Ms. Yao herself, then this isn’t theater art; theater art is still art of people.

Yao Jue: Director Feng put it perfectly. Innovation and keeping one’s ground are also two sides of the same coin in classical music. What repertoire do you perform? Can these pieces resonate with contemporary audiences? Our string orchestra has always been exploring new paths. For my part, I’m especially keen on blending pop music with classical music. In the process of collaborating with pop singers, I absorbed a lot of nourishment, which made my artistic expression more three-dimensional and full. And turning popular melodies into rigorous string works tests how deeply we understand the essence of music.

Whether it’s cutting-edge technology or artificial intelligence, they are only helpers—not the main characters. In a music theater setting, the main character can only ever be the musician and their works. The value of technology lies in helping audiences enter the work and understand the soul in a more imaginative and more immersive way—not to steal the spotlight.

The artist’s “two-sided life” “During this key period of generational change, we can only stay this exhausted”

The stage is a mirror that reflects reality. Today, Beijing People’s Art Theater still insists on “no microphones” performances. “Make sure the audience in the back row can hear the lines clearly” is a basic requirement for every actor of People’s Art Theater**.**

NBD: “Besides being actors themselves and also being musicians, you also take on other kinds of work. How do you define your ‘life as an artist’? Once you enter these career tracks, does it affect your artistic creation?”**

Feng Yuanzheng: I’ve loved the arts since I was young and pursued them. I experienced a journey from being not recognized to being recognized. In the stage when you’re not recognized, for our generation, the key is finding problems within yourself. For example, as an actor, if you don’t look especially outstanding, then you should study acting well to make up for the shortcomings of your appearance. After I truly entered the performance industry—especially after I walked through the door of Beijing People’s Art Theater—I thought: I have to be a good actor, and if possible, I should be a good actor plus an artist, like Teacher 于冼之—something to that effect.

Before 2015, I was rather laid-back at People’s Art Theater and never thought about taking on major responsibilities. But as one senior performer after another retired, I realized that it was my turn to step up. In 2016, I became the head of the actors’ team, and I started to feel responsible for the theater. I naturally developed this feeling: I can’t stand it when others don’t work hard. Later I also became deputy dean, though those roles were mainly responsible for certain departments. Then, when our previous dean suddenly passed away, the organization appointed me as dean. At that time, I originally only had a few months left before retirement… and that’s how I took on the dean’s responsibilities. Only after doing it did I realize it wasn’t as easy as it sounds.

The hardest part was the past two years: while also serving as a manager, I still had to perform, and I also needed to stage new plays. That’s why I couldn’t sleep well for a long time. Before becoming dean, my hair was black; now it’s already white. There’s no point in complaining, because once you take it on, you just have to do it. Since 2024, Beijing People’s Art Theater has tried a full-throttle production schedule. The workload of everyone has been beyond capacity. At minimum, we put on 35 plays each year, plus around eight or nine new plays. The year before last, we staged 11 new plays; last year, we staged 9 new plays. We performed more than 500 shows throughout the year, and last year our box office hit the highest point in history. So in terms of what I’ve put in over the past few years, I think the returns have been pretty good.

Being a dean and being an actor is the hardest balance. I can only say that I’ve managed to hold on until today by sheer grit. I often fantasize about what kind of life I would have after I retire. I’d sleep for a month, and nobody would manage me—but for now, that’s still not possible. For example, when I performed Zhang Juzheng, I was the last person in the entire cast and crew to memorize my lines. That used to be impossible. I get up before seven in the morning, handle work for the day at the theater. If rehearsals are needed in the afternoon, I rehearse—very likely I then have to perform another play at night. By the time I get home, it’s close to midnight. For years, it’s been like this. Colleagues say this line of work is very hard. But when I think about it, Teacher Yuanzheng isn’t that tired. I tell them not to learn from me. Right now is a special key period for generational change at People’s Art Theater—the “post-60s” generation of actors is retiring one after another. Whether the younger people can carry the banner depends on the next few years. So I can only be this tired for now.

Yao Jue: Director Feng and I have both been in the same group during two sessions of meetings as CPPCC commissioners. The generational change is also the focus of his work in these past few years. I also asked him for advice on how to rapidly switch my roles within a day. Because the brain we use on stage is completely different from the one used to do administration. If I don’t practice the violin in the morning and instead deal with administrative work first, then rehearse in the afternoon, I can’t concentrate. These days, I usually practice the violin for three hours in the morning. I try to arrange other tasks after my morning practice, as that ensures I’m in performance-ready playing condition when I take the stage.

In fact, if we’re talking about role switching, the longest time I’ve been away from the stage was when I became a mother for the first time. The role of mother scattered the time and energy I had as a performer. Later, when I returned to the stage, I treated motherhood as part of my life experience—how I express and understand music. Whatever sweetness and bitterness life brings, I can present it through music. So I don’t think there is any “dead time” or “junk time” in life. They all give me different growth.