[In the following review of Pacific Overtures, Pang examines Sondheim's commentary on the Western cultural invasion of Japan, focusing on his use of cultural satire and juxtaposition of Japanese tradition with modernism.]

To christen its new expanded theatre in Los Angeles's Little Tokyo, East West Players (the nation's oldest Asian American theatre company) mounted its second production of Stephen Sondheim and John Weidman's Pacific Overtures. It is a fitting choice for the company, which seeks to prove that, despite the disappointment surrounding the outcome of the Miss Saigon controversy, the cultural war is not over; in fact, parody is the sweetest revenge. The Asian-Americans’ protest did achieve one victory: the awareness of a neglected voice. Thus, the all-Asian cast in the East West Players’ production of Pacific Overtures, with the use of half-or hand-held white masks for non-Asian characters, is one expression of this awareness.

The move to a mid-size 240-seat Equity house is an important step for East West Players, increasing professional opportunities for Asian-American actors. Aesthetically, it is a vast improvement over its old 99-seat home, but its insufficient wing space makes Lisa Hashimoto's set design of five mobile shoji screens and countless assemblages of wooden blocks and fly drops appear overbearing, though perhaps intentionally configured to represent the American invasion. Designer Naomi Rodriguez's ornamental and elaborate costumes worked best in the comic numbers. Her inventive dressing of the geishas and madam in kimonos with American flag motifs in “Welcome to Kanagawa” was the show's highlight. However, when the flag design was used again on Commodore Perry and on the American Ambassador, the effect proved heavy and unwieldy.

Initially, Sondheim and Weidman set out to devise a musical about Commodore Perry's subjugation of Japan from the Japanese point of view, by liberally borrowing elements from traditional Kabuki theatre. East West Players faithfully adopted such conventions including Kurogo, the invisible stage hands, a Reciter (the narrator), elaborate white-face make-up, and males impersonating female characters. While the presence of a hanamichi (bridge) and the technically demanding mie (poses) are sorely missed in this production, director Tim Dang took gender-bending one step further by having women play some of the male roles. At times, it worked effectively, especially Deborah Nishimura who displayed virtuoso acting and singing range with her portrayals of the insidious Emperor's Doctor in “Chrysanthemum Tea” and the innocent Boy in “Someone in a Tree.”

Addie Yungmee, on the other hand, was ineffectual as Commodore Perry. Her “Demon Dance” betrayed more of her training as an LA Laker cheerleader than as a Kabuki performer. The choreography was filled with enough hair tossing, jumping, and vaulting to suggest a caged bird in heat rather than the author's intent of a “strutting, leaping dance of triumph.” Nevertheless, this might have been part of the director's concept, since Dang acknowledged that he got permission from Sondheim to reinterpret the “Lion Dance” as a “Demon Dance.” His goal to transform the triumphal arrogance of Perry into a demonic expression of his monstrosity would have been an appropriate one, had the artistry sufficed.

Dang managed to establish East-West conflicts throughout, using cross-cultural satire. From the outset, he positioned the musicians on opposing sides of an upper-level proscenium platform. On one side sat the Japanese percussionists in kimonos, and on other, the keyboard players dressed in contemporary jeans. Perhaps the cultural artifice worked best at its quietest moment, in the ode to “A Bowler Hat.” Manjiro, a peasant turned samurai who personified cultural resistance, was pitted against Kayama, a Westernized convert, in a symbolic dressing ritual. As Manjiro conducted the tea ceremony and put on his samurai garments, Kayama donned the accoutrements of the West: monocle, bowler hat, steel pen, pocket watch, and a cutaway. Beneath the simple, disharmonious picture, lay many irreconcilable cultural struggles.

So, at what price progress? The economic expedition of Perry not only shattered Japan's isolation forever but turned its feudal society upside down. In the end, the success of the foreign infiltration is symbolized in the duel between Kayama and Manjiro. After the Western plunder, the new Emperor proposes “to drop the sword and learn the lesson from the West.” The lesson, ironically, is to attack China and Seoul, and eventually invade the American economic markets. A clever lesson, but one based on vengeance nonetheless. The politics of the moral are bewildering. Before we can recover, Dang abruptly segued into “Next,” which he adapted with contemporary references. One by one, the chorus entered, dressed respectively as a Honda racing driver, Godzilla, sushi chef, businessman, UCLA cheerleader, and ballroom dancer, while corporate banners (AT&T, Sumitomo Bank) dropped from the ceiling—an image of America awash in Japanese imports flooding the stage. The revenge is complete.

Tim Dang crowned this bold ending with an effective image by having Kayama and his wife reappear in traditional kimonos with fishing rods amidst the chorus in contemporary costumes. This sole frozen image of traditionalism within modernity suggests that Dang is looking into the past to examine the future. This parallels his new role as Artistic Director of the East West Players as he continues to fight for the rights of artistic expression for the Asian Pacific community. In spite of uneven and flawed production values, Pacific Overtures is an honest attempt to continue to raise consciousness. The war is still on.