TPAC Campus Dramaturgy and Creation Course Spring 2025: Dramaturgy, What is It?

In the realm of theater production, “dramaturgy” often plays the quietest yet most pivotal role. It can be understood as a way of seeing—a capacity to shift between macro and micro perspectives—and as an art that organizes creativity, breaks down language barriers, and navigates between realities. Still, when one asks a dramaturg to define their work, the answers often differ—an ambiguity that reflects the complexity and multiplicity of the dramaturg’s role.

In spring 2025, TPAC Campus launched a special lecture series titled “Dramaturgy and Creation Course Spring 2025,” with four leading figures in Taiwanese theater—An-Chi Wang, Cheng-Han Wu, Hsiao-Chen Hu, and Chun-Yen Wang—shared their practical insights from field experience in the theater over the years, delving into traditional texts and the contemporary adaptations. Together, they raised such fundamental questions: What is theater? How should we view a text? And how can dramaturgy inject new vitality into performing arts?

The tension between “tradition” and “contemporaneity” has long been a central concern for theater practitioners. Dramaturgy functions as a vital force in this dynamic—identifying the gaps between cultural rupture and audience experience, and using creative design and structural adaptation to ensure that tradition is not merely preserved, but reanimated and regenerated. In this regard, the GuoGuang Opera Company stands as one of the most important pioneers in advancing a contemporary aesthetic of traditional Chinese theater.

An-Chi Wang, Artistic Director of the GuoGuang Opera Company, opened the series by reflecting on decades of dramaturgical innovation in traditional Chinese opera. By dynamically bridging the “traditional” and the “contemporary”, traditional texts become powerful tools for identifying cultural gaps and reanimating the classics for today’s audiences. At GuoGuang, the restaging of politically sensitive works and the reinterpretation of sacred rituals do more than revive tradition—they reconstruct it, allowing traditional opera to radiate with renewed vitality and contemporary resonance.

Wang reflected candidly on the many challenges of promoting traditional Peking opera in contemporary society—chief among them, how to capture the attention of modern audiences with wenxi (civil plays), which often lack strong narrative tension or literary depth. This, she noted, remains a central mission for GuoGuang Opera Company. Throughout the company’s efforts to revitalize and reposition Peking opera, Wang soon came to recognize a key disparity between how Kunqu and Peking opera are taught and received today. “Kunqu,” she explained, “is rooted in Ming-dynasty chuanqi drama, with a strong literary foundation. Even with slow pacing or unfamiliar language, audiences rarely question its artistic merit.” In contrast, “Peking opera scripts draw heavily from ancient folklore, marked by colloquial language and a strong focus on rhyme rather than literary refinement—making it harder for contemporary viewers to find emotional or intellectual resonance.”

Many traditional Peking operas place greater emphasis on singing than on dramatic storytelling. Highly specialized vocal techniques, while central to the art form, can be difficult for contemporary audiences to digest, creating a barrier to appreciation. To address this, Wang shared how the GuoGuang Opera Company curated two thematic series in 2006 and 2019 centered on “forbidden plays”—works that had once been banned due to political sensitivities. Capturing the attention of both the media and the public, the selected pieces evoked collective memory of Taiwan’s historical and political past. In doing so, the productions were reintroduced, reframed, and reinterpreted by the audience's new lenses.

Thus, these “forbidden plays” no longer serve merely as historical metaphors, but to also provoke critical reflection on contemporary issues of political and artistic freedom. For instance, The Reunion of the Fourth Son (Si Lang Tan Mu) was once banned in Taiwan for evoking homesickness among veterans, and was later altered to a “wifeless reunion” version to avoid conflicting Mainland marriage laws. The Jewelry Purse (Suo Lin Nang), which promotes reconciliation between social classes, was banned in 1950s China for its perceived ideological subversion. This process—from prohibition and adaptation to eventual unbanning and revival— invites audiences to reconsider the layered historical, cultural, and political forces that have shaped their reception, and helps explain why these plays continue to hold their place as enduring classics.

Wang An-Chi further emphasized that staging traditional opera is not merely a matter of rehearsal and performance—it is, at its core, an act of curatorship and historical narration. Every element—from repertoire selection and textual verification to casting decisions, thematic framing, and audience education—constitutes a large-scale curatorial endeavor. Such an undertaking serves a dual purpose: it educates the audience while simultaneously coordinating and mobilizing the internal resources of the theater company. When a classical piece is reintroduced through the lens of “forbidden plays” or reframed within a “mythic” or “magical” context, it is not simply revived—it becomes a site for reinterpretation and renewed understanding. This act of recontextualization, Wang argued, is precisely what enables tradition to be “polished”—not as a relic, but as a living, dynamic force.

Artistic Director of GuoGuang Opera Company, Wang An-Chi, shares over 40 years of experience in traditional Chinese opera dramaturgy. (Photo by Chen-Chou Chang)

Hsiao-Chen Hu, a scholar at Academia Sinica, offered a penetrating rhetorical analysis of the late-imperial Chinese novel The Tale of Heroic Lovers (Ernü Yingxiong Zhuan), focusing on the transformation of its central figure, Thirteenth Sister (Shisanmei). Her shift from a sword-wielding heroine to a woman entering marriage is not merely a narrative twist—it is the frontline of an ethical and ideological clash.

The novel follows Shisanmei, who sets out to avenge her father and lives as a chivalrous recluse. Along the way, she rescues An Ji, a young nobleman, and Zhang Jinfeng, a peasant girl, eventually facilitating their cross-class marriage. In a gesture of gratitude, An Ji’s family proposes that Shisanmei also marry into their household—sparking a moral conundrum that delicately balances propriety, gratitude, and agency. What emerges in this pivotal moment is not simply a plot device but what Hu calls a “rhetorical trap”: a finely layered sequence of narrative persuasion that coaxes the female knight into domestic life.

Hu’s analysis centered on rhetorical theory as well as gender roles and narrative strategies in classical literature. She argued that the core of The Tale of Heroic Sons and Daughters lies not in themes of martial valor or revenge, but in how rhetoric is employed to guide a female knight into domestic quarters. Though Shi Sanmei repeatedly rescues An Ji, she never anticipates that her journey would lead to marriage. Hu emphasized that this narrative turn is not one of coercion, but of persuasion—what she described as being “won over” rather than “forced in.” Through a carefully constructed web of rhetorical moves and plot devices, the novel subtly leads the protagonist to embrace a new path to life.

The Tale of Heroic Lovers also exemplifies the beauty of genre fluidity and narrative transformation. As Hu noted, the novel resists straightforward classification—it cannot be neatly labeled as a caizi jiaren (a scholar-beauty romance), wuxia (martial arts), historical, or patriotic novel. Instead, its hybrid structure becomes its most distinctive feature. This refusal to conform to a single genre allows the narrative to perform subtle inversions and enactments of values. 

Hu further extended her analysis by drawing a value-based dialogue between The Tale of Heroic Lovers and Dream of the Red Chamber. She argued that Shisanmei’s eventual transformation—from a roaming heroine to a wife—is not an act of submission, but a deliberate ethical choice. Within the intertwined logics of family and nation, performing kindness and repaying debts are recast as forms of heroism. In this framework, Ernü “sons and daughters” symbolize emotional and human impulses, while Yingxiong “heroes” represent the ethical enactment of goodness. Hu pointed out that the novel’s conclusion arranges for He Yufeng (Shi Sanmei), Zhang Jinfeng, An Ji, and the elder An to each demonstrate actions rooted in moral virtue, collectively forming a tableau of “heroic sons and daughters.” Ultimately, the novel is not about martial exploits or romantic fantasy, but about the art of persuasion—how a female knight is convinced to enter marriage. Through this rhetorical process, the narrative delicately constructs a value system that harmonizes Confucian ideals of loyalty, filial piety, and righteousness with female agency and ethical subjectivity.

Academia Sinica scholar Hu Siao-Chen explores the Fraudster’s Rhetoric in classic Chinese novels. (Photo by Chen-Chou Chang)

Drawing on extensive experience in rehearsal and production, drama consultant Cheng-Han Wu offered a systematic exploration of the definitions, functions, and historical evolution of dramaturgy. Using various versions of Macbeth as his entry point, Wu guided participants through the process of constructing a director’s text, shaping the audience’s interpretive journey, and navigating acts of cultural translation—highlighting the ethical and translational dimensions of dramaturgy in the contemporary theater landscape.

Wu identified dramaturgy as one of the theater’s most enigmatic yet essential domains. Tracing its intellectual lineage, he referenced Yale University’s bifocal definition of dramaturgy: first, at the textual level, it involves the analysis of a play’s themes, structure, narrative strategies, and creative intentions; second, in the realm of theatrical practice, it encompasses the conventions of staging, aesthetics of production, and directorial methodologies. Dramaturgy, in this sense, functions as an “invisible network” that connects the playwright, director, performers, and audience. Its role is not limited to textual analysis—it is equally invested in shaping the broader aesthetic, cultural, and political conversations embedded in a theatrical work.

The origins of dramaturgy, Wu explained, can be traced back to Aristotle’s classical breakdown of drama into six essential elements: plot, character, thought, diction, music, and spectacle. Among these, plot (mythos) holds the highest priority. Aristotle emphasized not merely what a story tells, but how it is told—a distinction central to dramaturgical thinking. Wu further unpacked the etymology of the term dramaturgy, derived from the Greek drama (action) and urgia (work), which is interpreted literally as “the art of making action happen.” In this sense, dramaturgy concerns itself with the mechanics and structural technologies that enable theater to function meaningfully and effectively.

Historically, the playwright was the original dramaturg. Since the 18th century, however, dramaturgy has become an institutionalized practice. In contemporary contexts, its role extends far beyond script analysis or artistic advising. Today, dramaturgs are cultural interlocutors: they cultivate audience literacy, mediate between theater and sociopolitical realities, and help reframe classical works into resonant contemporary forms. Wu invited audiences to reflect on a timely question: What kind of theater does Taiwan need, and what role can dramaturgy play in shaping it? Beyond the formal position of a dramaturg, he suggested that the dramaturgical spirit could permeate areas like education, programming, cultural curation, and media engagement. Taiwan, Wu proposed, may ultimately carve out a dramaturgical practice uniquely its own—distinct from the Euro-American model, and grounded in its specific cultural, linguistic, and theatrical ecology.

Dramaturg Wu Cheng-Han draws on years of practical experience to introduce the role and functions of a dramaturg. (Photo by Chen-Chou Chang)

Dramaturgy is a multifaceted artistic practice that bridges script, stage, audience, and society. Drama consultant Chun-Yen Wang, who describes himself not as a teacher but a “provocateur,” offered a penetrating exploration of how dramaturgy operates as a vital force in both the creative and production processes.

Wang addressed the very core and boundaries of dramaturgical work, inviting participants to engage with theater’s vast and intricate terrain. He first stressed that “dramaturgy is the art of solving problems.” It is not about mechanically executing a script, merely writing plays, or parroting theory. Rather, it is about identifying the right language, rhythm, and structure within the constraints of production realities, artistic intentions, and audience expectations. Wang urged practitioners to begin by asking fundamental questions: “Who is your audience?” “What are the spatial conditions—how large is the stage, is it indoors or outdoors?” “Where are the limitations of your actors?” “What is your timeline and budget?” Every act of creation and dramaturgy, he insisted, must be grounded in material conditions—not abstract theoretical ideals.

Everyone, according to Wang Jun-Yan, is a potential dramaturg and theorist. “The foundation of dramaturgy lies in perception, reflection, and social experience,” he explained. “Personal life histories and emotional experiences are not obstacles to dramaturgical thinking—they are its richest resources. In other words, perception and practice themselves hold the potential to generate theory.” On the practical side, Wang outlined three major challenges faced by dramaturgy in contemporary theater-making. Firstly, the fragmentation and inconsistency of source materials, which often come from disparate texts and traditions. Secondly, the gap between audience experiences and the content being presented, requiring dramaturgy to rebuild historical or emotional connection. Third is the misalignment between artistic vision and production realities—such as bursts of creative inspiration without the technical or financial means to realize them. Here, dramaturgy plays a crucial mediating role: connecting creators and producers, mapping out timelines and processes, allocating resources strategically, and bridging the gap between concept and audience reception.

Wang also reminded participants that history is not a static archive but a dynamic source of muses. For example, the architectural scale of ancient Greek theaters—open-air venues holding tens of thousands of spectators—shaped both the linguistic style and performance conventions of classical plays. Any attempt to “restage” a Greek tragedy today must take such contextual factors into account, rather than merely mimicking the original. Ultimately, Wang sees dramaturgy as a practice rooted in creative insight, grounded realism, and the ability to navigate difference. It is a discipline of mediation—one that enables progress by translating vision into action, and by reconciling the tensions between tradition, context, and contemporary constraints.

In closing, Wang reaffirmed that dramaturgy is not merely a professional role within the theater, but a way of seeing, questioning, and negotiating with reality. “Dramaturgy doesn’t grow out of textbooks,” he stressed. “It emerges from the immediate conditions of production. It’s not about proving someone’s theory; it’s about making this specific piece of theater work—here and now.”

Taken together, the insights of the four speakers revealed the wide-ranging and evolving nature of dramaturgy. It is a practice that stretches from text to space, from character to audience, from past to future. More than a stagecraft role, dramaturgy is a methodology of observation, interpretation, translation, and dialogue. Most importantly, dramaturgy reawakens our understanding that tradition is not an untouchable relic, that female characters can choose their own paths of transformation, and that aesthetic history is not an archive to be preserved but a soil from which new ethical practices in theater can grow. Every piece of theater, ultimately, is defined by how it tells its story—by the choices it makes in form, voice, and vision.

Participants in the TPAC Campus’ courses also offered thoughtful reflections on their learning experiences. One student from the Graduate Institute of Drama at the National Taiwan University of Arts, who had previously engaged in creative advising, shared how the lectures arrived at a pivotal moment—as he was immersed in Taipei Fringe Festival productions. The series sparked inspiration while clarifying his sense of role and responsibility within the creative process. He likened dramaturgy to a kind of “data bank” or “energy reservoir,” offering a wealth of ideas and perspectives that directors can draw from to advance their work. Another student, enrolled in the university’s interdisciplinary program in performing arts, noted how the lectures provided hands-on methodologies that contrasted sharply with the primarily academic theories encountered in class. The insights shared by the speakers, grounded in lived experience and production realities, reignited the student’s motivation to actively pursue opportunities for dramaturgical practice—with renewed ambition and a deeper sense of purpose.

Lead mentor Wang Chun-Yen guides participants in critically examining the classical and contemporary, the universal and the specific, within the theories and case studies presented by three speakers. (Photo by Chen-Chou Chang)