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PICK any night in the past few months and the 1,300-seat Majestic Theater in downtown Shanghai would be packed to bursting. All eyes would be glued on the sole performer on stage – a 40-something man with slicked-back hair and a sharp black suit. Zhou Libo, the nation’s newly-crowned king of stand-up comedy, is giving his hallmark performance in the Shanghai dialect.
The topic – Mad for Money – is a retrofit of last year’s routine, but the speaker has spiced it up with recent happenings and ad-lib jests. Soon the laughter from the audience grows from trickles to tsunamis. “I have to restrain myself a little bit, for the sake of your health,” the comedian makes no effort to hide his delight at the reception.
“He is a guy who becomes more excited and creative the more boisterous the audience gets. He can spot what’s inspiring for that crowd and add impromptu jokes to his show,” said a stagehand. It’s said Zhou Libo maintains his record of bringing out giggles every 15 seconds, on average, throughout a 140-minute performance.
Though given in a dialect difficult for northerners to understand, Zhou’s comic monologues appeal to people all over the nation, particularly its growing middle class. Some critics even laud him as the kind of genius that appears once a century.
Jeers Pregnant with Social Relevance
“Zhou Libo discerns the amusement value of the daily trials of urban life, and what’s more, his jokes can provoke serious rethinking about social conditions,” commented Yu Qiuyu, a renowned writer.
Zhou’s name goes down with the nation’s cohort of comedians for the extent to which he publicly ridicules political issues and social scandals. To capture the most juicy topics for his art, he spends hours everyday scanning the 14 newspapers he subscribes to and ferreting out more commentary on the Internet.
But he doesn’t think his daring puts him above other entertainers. “I am an everyman. I express myself in my way and on the back of my understanding. It is a time of openness. Even if state leaders are present in the audience, I would give the show as I always do. Some people wouldn’t do this, maybe because they are not yet accustomed to this situation of greater democracy. So far, I have not received any admonition by phone or in a paper telling me what I can say or not, and how I should behave on the stage.”
Walking a thin line with extraordinary dexterity, the glib jester has seized the moment to win his fame. On June 27, 2009, a 13-story apartment building under construction tumbled onto the ground like an uprooted tree for no obvious reason, unleashing a national uproar about architectural quality. The wit Zhou Libo responded with, “The developer doesn’t have to be overly sad. The houses are still good for sale, as bungalows. For buyers who have moved in, try to take it in stride too. The only inconvenience is that you are on the bed in the evening and find yourself on the wall the next morning.”
After former Shenzhen Mayor Xu Zongheng was found embroiled in corruption charges last year, Zhou Libo commented on the smooth-talking official with a dash of vitriol: “When in office Mayor Xu was known for his mantra, ‘I am a son of the people’. How woeful that the people raise their sons only to have them sent to jail. In future officials better say ‘I am the father of the people’. A father never steals money from his children.”
As Shanghai natives are traditionally admired or despised for their business-shrewdness, Zhou Libo follows economic trends closely for the monologue and skit portions of his talk show. His skits about the roller-roster in share prices is widely quoted: “If China’s stock market before October 2007 was a science fiction film, by late 2008 it was a thriller. The New Year mood gave us a breather recently. Now the thriller sequel is back on our screen.”
Spokesman of Shanghai
The surge in Zhou Libo’s popularity since mid 2009 is hailed locally as a nod to the ascendency of the Shanghai way of life; the multi-cultural mix of the metropolis, neighboring provinces and the West established a presence here centuries ago. His dandy image of neatly parted hair, crisp and impeccable suit and shiny shoes is a vivid billboard for his townees’ attention to detail and devotion to fashion.
Zhou salutes his home city in his comic monologues, reiterating its unmatched contributions to the national GDP in the planned economy era, lauding its leadership in the fashion industry and bragging about its residents’ worldly sophistication. As Li Tiangang, a philosophy professor with Fudan University, sees it: “Zhou Libo decodes the Shanghail culture, its pride and its woes. The city has lost its privileges over the years: its population is dwindling and it is no longer the nation’s pace-setter for life style. As a native I felt gratitude when Zhou Libo reminded the audience that under a planned economy for every RMB 100 Shanghai people made, RMB 87 was handed to the state coffers, and only RMB 13 landed in a local pocket.”
Shanghai became the center of gravity for Chinese culture and the economy during the first 70 years of the 20th century. With the commencement of opening-up and reform in the 1980s coastal cities in the south like Shenzhen and Guangzhou underwent an instant and vigorous boom thanks to favorable state policies, stealing Shanghai’s thunder. And Shanghai culture steadily faded out of the spotlight too. For the new century the city plucked up and entrenched its position as China’s financial center. Then it returned to the stage as host of a serious of global events, with the latest one being the World Expo. That old pride is finding its way back into the hearts of local residents. Prof. Li believes that Shanghai people are yearning for a cultural altitude that matches their economic importance.
However, Shanghainese in fact have long been accused of parochialism for their inherent sense of superiority. The compliments being paid to Shanghai from every quarter are perceived by some as a slight to people in other parts of the nation. And the local dialect in which Zhou Libo delivers his performance, some say, is employed as an effective tool for separating natives from outsiders. “Zhou Libo’s fan base shows he speaks for the populist culture in Shanghai,” said Shanghai writer Cheng Naishan. “He caters well to the tastes of the common classes in the city.”
A Long and Devious Path to Success
Zhou Libo, now 43, showed comic talent as a teenager, and was recruited by the local farce troupe at 15, from among nearly 3,000 applicants. By the age of 23 he had been nicknamed the “Shanghai Imp.” Fate always seems to have a way of teaching young prodigies like him the limits of social tolerance: Zhou was imprisoned for 205 days for injuring his girlfriend’s father, who strongly opposed the relationship, in a bickering session that escalated into violence. He looks back on his days of confinement as an opportunity to do some soul-searching.
On his release Zhou Libo transformed himself from a funnyman into a businessman. In the 1990s China’s nascent market economy rocked under forces that might push its surfers to the peak of success one minute, then dump them into the abyss the next. Over a decade Zhou lived through the extremes that included owning nine private cars simultaneously, and losing his entire fortune in legal disputes. For a period he had to go abroad to escape his troubles at home.
In 2006 Zhou Libo returned to the stage at the encouragement of some friends, and became instantly notorious for his witty quips about his personal experiences and his hometown. His show My Thirty Years had a run of 31 nights at full capacity. And the 45 performances of The Great Shanghai was completely sold out on the first day. Wu Xiaoming, president of the SMEG Performing Arts Center, pointed out this kind of phenomena had not greeted a local artist for a long time.
The steep ups and downs of his life have barely worn off the rough edges of this somewhat arrogant jester. He once told the media he could sustain the steam of a performance as long as he cared to, but in reality he has been pulling back from the national audiences since the beginning of this year. He recently withdrew from the TV talk show program Libo This Week, and is planning to reduce his live shows from 125 performances a year to below 50. Some critics say this maneuver is based on yet another sober re-evaluation – this time of his wit and staying power.
The topic – Mad for Money – is a retrofit of last year’s routine, but the speaker has spiced it up with recent happenings and ad-lib jests. Soon the laughter from the audience grows from trickles to tsunamis. “I have to restrain myself a little bit, for the sake of your health,” the comedian makes no effort to hide his delight at the reception.
“He is a guy who becomes more excited and creative the more boisterous the audience gets. He can spot what’s inspiring for that crowd and add impromptu jokes to his show,” said a stagehand. It’s said Zhou Libo maintains his record of bringing out giggles every 15 seconds, on average, throughout a 140-minute performance.
Though given in a dialect difficult for northerners to understand, Zhou’s comic monologues appeal to people all over the nation, particularly its growing middle class. Some critics even laud him as the kind of genius that appears once a century.
Jeers Pregnant with Social Relevance
“Zhou Libo discerns the amusement value of the daily trials of urban life, and what’s more, his jokes can provoke serious rethinking about social conditions,” commented Yu Qiuyu, a renowned writer.
Zhou’s name goes down with the nation’s cohort of comedians for the extent to which he publicly ridicules political issues and social scandals. To capture the most juicy topics for his art, he spends hours everyday scanning the 14 newspapers he subscribes to and ferreting out more commentary on the Internet.
But he doesn’t think his daring puts him above other entertainers. “I am an everyman. I express myself in my way and on the back of my understanding. It is a time of openness. Even if state leaders are present in the audience, I would give the show as I always do. Some people wouldn’t do this, maybe because they are not yet accustomed to this situation of greater democracy. So far, I have not received any admonition by phone or in a paper telling me what I can say or not, and how I should behave on the stage.”
Walking a thin line with extraordinary dexterity, the glib jester has seized the moment to win his fame. On June 27, 2009, a 13-story apartment building under construction tumbled onto the ground like an uprooted tree for no obvious reason, unleashing a national uproar about architectural quality. The wit Zhou Libo responded with, “The developer doesn’t have to be overly sad. The houses are still good for sale, as bungalows. For buyers who have moved in, try to take it in stride too. The only inconvenience is that you are on the bed in the evening and find yourself on the wall the next morning.”
After former Shenzhen Mayor Xu Zongheng was found embroiled in corruption charges last year, Zhou Libo commented on the smooth-talking official with a dash of vitriol: “When in office Mayor Xu was known for his mantra, ‘I am a son of the people’. How woeful that the people raise their sons only to have them sent to jail. In future officials better say ‘I am the father of the people’. A father never steals money from his children.”
As Shanghai natives are traditionally admired or despised for their business-shrewdness, Zhou Libo follows economic trends closely for the monologue and skit portions of his talk show. His skits about the roller-roster in share prices is widely quoted: “If China’s stock market before October 2007 was a science fiction film, by late 2008 it was a thriller. The New Year mood gave us a breather recently. Now the thriller sequel is back on our screen.”
Spokesman of Shanghai
The surge in Zhou Libo’s popularity since mid 2009 is hailed locally as a nod to the ascendency of the Shanghai way of life; the multi-cultural mix of the metropolis, neighboring provinces and the West established a presence here centuries ago. His dandy image of neatly parted hair, crisp and impeccable suit and shiny shoes is a vivid billboard for his townees’ attention to detail and devotion to fashion.
Zhou salutes his home city in his comic monologues, reiterating its unmatched contributions to the national GDP in the planned economy era, lauding its leadership in the fashion industry and bragging about its residents’ worldly sophistication. As Li Tiangang, a philosophy professor with Fudan University, sees it: “Zhou Libo decodes the Shanghail culture, its pride and its woes. The city has lost its privileges over the years: its population is dwindling and it is no longer the nation’s pace-setter for life style. As a native I felt gratitude when Zhou Libo reminded the audience that under a planned economy for every RMB 100 Shanghai people made, RMB 87 was handed to the state coffers, and only RMB 13 landed in a local pocket.”
Shanghai became the center of gravity for Chinese culture and the economy during the first 70 years of the 20th century. With the commencement of opening-up and reform in the 1980s coastal cities in the south like Shenzhen and Guangzhou underwent an instant and vigorous boom thanks to favorable state policies, stealing Shanghai’s thunder. And Shanghai culture steadily faded out of the spotlight too. For the new century the city plucked up and entrenched its position as China’s financial center. Then it returned to the stage as host of a serious of global events, with the latest one being the World Expo. That old pride is finding its way back into the hearts of local residents. Prof. Li believes that Shanghai people are yearning for a cultural altitude that matches their economic importance.
However, Shanghainese in fact have long been accused of parochialism for their inherent sense of superiority. The compliments being paid to Shanghai from every quarter are perceived by some as a slight to people in other parts of the nation. And the local dialect in which Zhou Libo delivers his performance, some say, is employed as an effective tool for separating natives from outsiders. “Zhou Libo’s fan base shows he speaks for the populist culture in Shanghai,” said Shanghai writer Cheng Naishan. “He caters well to the tastes of the common classes in the city.”
A Long and Devious Path to Success
Zhou Libo, now 43, showed comic talent as a teenager, and was recruited by the local farce troupe at 15, from among nearly 3,000 applicants. By the age of 23 he had been nicknamed the “Shanghai Imp.” Fate always seems to have a way of teaching young prodigies like him the limits of social tolerance: Zhou was imprisoned for 205 days for injuring his girlfriend’s father, who strongly opposed the relationship, in a bickering session that escalated into violence. He looks back on his days of confinement as an opportunity to do some soul-searching.
On his release Zhou Libo transformed himself from a funnyman into a businessman. In the 1990s China’s nascent market economy rocked under forces that might push its surfers to the peak of success one minute, then dump them into the abyss the next. Over a decade Zhou lived through the extremes that included owning nine private cars simultaneously, and losing his entire fortune in legal disputes. For a period he had to go abroad to escape his troubles at home.
In 2006 Zhou Libo returned to the stage at the encouragement of some friends, and became instantly notorious for his witty quips about his personal experiences and his hometown. His show My Thirty Years had a run of 31 nights at full capacity. And the 45 performances of The Great Shanghai was completely sold out on the first day. Wu Xiaoming, president of the SMEG Performing Arts Center, pointed out this kind of phenomena had not greeted a local artist for a long time.
The steep ups and downs of his life have barely worn off the rough edges of this somewhat arrogant jester. He once told the media he could sustain the steam of a performance as long as he cared to, but in reality he has been pulling back from the national audiences since the beginning of this year. He recently withdrew from the TV talk show program Libo This Week, and is planning to reduce his live shows from 125 performances a year to below 50. Some critics say this maneuver is based on yet another sober re-evaluation – this time of his wit and staying power.