Lincoln Center Theater is currently home to a Broadway production of The King and I, starring Kelli O'Hara. I saw it in previews in March, and was completely blown away by the lavish set and the enthusiastic performances, if not by Ken Watanabe's enunciation of English words. I quickly recommended it to most of my friends, and then felt prophetic when it won the 2015 Tony for Best Revival of a Musical.
But listening to last week's Slate Culture Gabfest, I learned that this musical has its fair share of detractors. Julia Turner, the editor in chief of Slate, noted that she was uncomfortable with the show's racist overtones. "What a racist document that everyone was watching at Lincoln Center!" she said. Some critics have indeed asked whether The King and I should still be performed now that it's the Twenty First Century.
For those who aren't up on their 1950s musical theater, The King and I tells the tale of Anna, an English woman hired by the King of Siam (now Thailand) in the 19th Century to governess his 80 plus children. Like most Rodgers and Hammerstein works, The King and I is a moralistic tale about overcoming prejudices with the help of a governess. Anna assumes the Siamese are uncivilized heathens who advocate polygamy; the King assumes that women are inferior specimen meant to be treated like property. He keeps several wives, and sends a search team to hunt one down when she tries to escape with her lover. Anna furiously takes a stand by leaving her governess post. "I am from a civilized land called Wales, where men like you are kept in county jails," she says. But--surprise, surprise--the King eventually acquiesces to some of Anna's criticisms, and abolishes the demeaning act of kowtowing on his death bed. Reminds you a little of Dangerous Minds where Michelle Pfeiffer saves a schoolful of black children, no?
While there's no denying that the musical is racist on its face, it shouldn't be put to bed for good. In contrast to the original staging which starred white actors and was performed to a white audience, Lincoln Center successfully updates this production by casting Asian actors for the Asian roles. I'm not saying that just because Asians are in a show the show can no longer be racist against Asians. Rather, casting Asians shifts the viewpoint from a white gaze to an Asian gaze. As a result, the audience is more likely to interrogate what Anna--nearly the sole white character--is saying throughout the show. We don't take her word that Western views on the disgrace of kowtowing are right. Instead, she is the presumptuous outsider who must be questioned. The show becomes as much an indictment of the views of Western imperialists, as it is of Siamese culture.
Performances that focus on the individuality of each character instead of reducing the Asian characters to cartoonish stereotypes also remind the audience that this is a specific story about specific people, and not a commentary on Thailand and other Asian countries in general. Ken Watanabe acted like an egoistic, and somewhat insecure King. Watanabe's King was worried about the changes that modernity would wrought. He reminded me more of Lord Grantham from Downton Abbey than Mickey Rooney's Mr. Yunioshi.
Ruthie Ann Miles as Lady Thiang.
Ruthie Ann Miles' portrayal of the first wife, Lady Thiang, is even more impressive. Miles plays her as a resigned, but powerful woman. Even though her station is circumscribed, she has agency. In this production, Lady Thiang is a constant presence on stage, even when she's not speaking, keeping watch over court. Her song "Something Wonderful," ("this is a man who stumbles and falls/this is a man who tries") where she implores Anna to come back to court, becomes a heartfelt testament of her own love for the King. She is neither the devious dragon lady nor the timid Geisha of Hollywood past.
Finally, The King and I is Rodgers and Hammerstein, so the songs are terrific. No one will learn anything about Thai culture from seeing this production, but it manages to deliver solid music, scrumptious sets and a non-racist tone in an otherwise dated piece from a more tone deaf era.