When you visit a Northeastern city like Shenyang or Changchun, you've got to catch a show of "er ren zhuan" (two-person act), a local form of standup comedy, singing and acrobatic stunts all rolled into one. It is becoming as de rigueur as a Broadway show is to a traveler to New York.

Unlike most theater entertainment you'll encounter in China, the "er ren zhuan" performances are not funded by the state, nor do they feature a battalion of performers with diplomas from vocational schools. In my mind, that is why they fill the house night after night.

For much of the past several decades, performing arts in China have been a kind of "official affair", with performers on government payroll and programs reflecting government policies rather than public sentiments.

Since the 1980s, these flowers of the "arts" have been withering. Occasionally, a troupe invests a few million yuan of taxpayers' money to put on a new show, which would be performed half a dozen times, get some awards from government agencies, find itself into somebody's work report of grand achievement and then fold forever.

As virtually none of its audiences are actual ticket-buyers, the show would reap only so-called "social benefits", a euphemism for losing one's pants financially but pleasing some higher-ranking officials. Truth be told, it is not devoid of artistic merit. It is just detached from the needs of ordinary people, including the high-brow ones.

Then, there are the wild flowers of grassroots entertainment, forms like "er ren zhuan" in the Northeast and Shaoxing Opera in Zhejiang. They tend to blossom not because of - but despite - government intervention. They may not be as polished as the routines by professional performers, but they make people laugh and cry, which is what good entertainment is supposed to do.

Some officials have the mistaken notion that arts and entertainment are all about prettily decked-out singers warbling praises of the latest official slogans that are in fad. They present squeaky-clean images and simulated joys. Like postcard sceneries, they are better to be marveled at than embraced with your heart.

If the official entertainment is like the powdered face of an aristocrat, grassroots entertainment is like the sweaty face of a young man toiling in the field. It may be gritty, but full of vitality and closer to life as we know it. The Northeastern comedy draws much of its gags from daily life. Unfortunately, the show I caught has already been "purified" due to censorship pressure.

Traditional "er ren zhuan" has bawdy jokes galore. That may get into trouble with censors who have obviously never read such literary classics as Chaucer's Canterbury Tales or Boccaccio's Decameron. So, the performers adopted a "greening" strategy, removing much of the R-rated banter, flushing away some of the boisterous vigor in the process.

My friends told me that if I want to catch a show with "original flavor", I'd have to venture out of downtown and into makeshift venues where roving performers have not yet caught the attention of authorities.

Pressures have also been growing on text-message jokes, one of the few remaining platforms where ordinary people can invent something funny and share with friends. Granted, there are messages that should not be sent unsolicited. But as long as the sender does not act out of malice, this is the cellphone equivalent of a silent "er ren zhuan" moment.

The best comedians may not be properly educated or certified, and may not be government sanctioned, but they know how to tickle an audience. Comedy, like all live entertainment, cannot thrive in an over-regulated environment. The more comedy is "greened", the less it'll be relevant to our times.

Email: raymondzhou@chinadaily.com.cn

(China Daily 06/09/2007 page4)