Illustration: Chen Xia/GT

Applause once filled the air as the curtain fell on The Stage's theatrical performances, but on film, that applause takes on a certain resonance. Having grossed over 200 million yuan ($27.8 million) within five days and earning an 8.1/10 on review platform Douban, Chinese veteran comedian Chen Peisi's self-directed adaptation of his celebrated stage play does not simply offer laughter as a tonic; instead, it peels back the layers of comedy to reveal a sobering portrait of struggle, dignity, and reflection on art. 

Beneath the surface humor, the film's true weight emerges - a meditation on how comedy is so often rooted in tragedy and how the two are, in reality, inseparable.

Set within the cramped confines of a theater during the chaotic age in the early 20th century, The Stage assembles a vibrant cast of characters whose personal and collective conflicts mirror the turbulence of their times. A beleaguered troupe of performers has to navigate a minefield of pressures, from the local warlord who commandeers their venue for private amusement to the disputes among patrons and the behind-the-scenes impresario. These layers of conflict, at once grand and intimate, lend the story a depth that transcends farce, grounding every laugh in the anxieties of survival and the fragile pursuit of meaning. 

"The depth of this film lies in the immense sorrow behind the laughter. I deeply admired how it portrays the yearning for dignity, the respect for art, and the perseverance of traditional opera performers in the face of oppressive realities," Luo Luo, a film producer and critic based in Beijing, told the Global Times. 

From the celebrated actor Feng Xiaotong, who refuses to share the stage with a layman to the aged artist muttering about things being "against the rules" - these characters represent a vivid cross-section of the traditional opera world and, more broadly, the oppressed common people during a turbulent era. 

In the end, though war rages outside the theater, Jin Xiaotian and Feng Xiaotong continue their performance at the stage. The audience, initially paralyzed by fear, is once again drawn to the stage. This "mutual pursuit" between the performers and the spectators builds a shared love and devotion to the art, a poignant tribute to resilience and passion, said Luo.

Measuring the worth of a comedy by its ability to provoke laughter risks missing its deeper artistic ambitions. The Stage crafts humor from the interplay of personalities and the absurdity of circumstance, yet each joke lands with an aftertaste of melancholy. The laughter it provokes is never hollow; it is tinged with the reflection that every jest is a coping mechanism, a way to improve one's life and the endeavor to preserve tradition. 

The film's construction is a testament to its theatrical origins, but it is precisely this heritage that gives The Stage its unique character. Going from stage to screen is more than a technical exercise; it is a test of creative transformation and narrative reinvention. The immediacy and exaggeration that work so well on stage must be recalibrated for the details of cinema. 

The narrative's structure remains robust, and the layered conflicts build toward a crescendo that is thought-provoking. The camera lingers on faces and small gestures, drawing the viewer closer to the inner lives of the characters and deepening the emotional resonance of their struggles.

However, Luo and Shi Chuan, a vice chairman of the Shanghai Film Association, also pointed out some problems with the adaption. For instance, the transition from stage play to film results in a narrative pace that does not quite align with the rhythm of cinema, particularly with the middle section feeling somewhat sluggish. At times, the character performances feel overly exaggerated, lacking a sense of subtlety.

Not every character survives this transition unscathed, Luo noted. Where the stage allows for broad strokes and archetypes - quickly grasped by a live audience - the camera reveals the limitations of such stylization. Some secondary roles risk becoming mere symbols rather than fully realized individuals, their complexity flattened by the relentless gaze of film. 

What lingers after the credits roll is not only the laughter, but the film's ability to capture the bittersweet reality at the heart of performance itself. The theater in The Stage is a microcosm of that chaos era, a space in which art and traditions are protected and ruined, where performers don their masks to earn their livelihood and guard their cherished "treasures."

Comedy is a treasure deeply cherished and protected by director Chen Peisi. In an interview with the People's Daily, Chen described it this way, "The weight of comedy is like an old theater trunk - at first, the audience is amused by its funny exterior, but when they open it, they discover the soul of civilization inside." 

A good comedy, he noted, must tell stories that are meaningful to individuals and beneficial to society. However, this meaning is not something forcefully imposed on the audience. Instead, it hides within the absurdity of the plot, within the predicaments of the characters, waiting for the audience to uncover it themselves. That, in Chen's view, is what comedy should truly be.

The author is a reporter with the Global Times. life@globaltimes.com.cn