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Imperialist? Check
Orientalist? Check.
Cultural stereotyping? Check.
Exoticized? Check.
Misogynistic? Check.
What should we think about Puccini’s Turandot in the age of cancel culture?
The past decade has witnessed a significant cultural and social shift toward greater awareness and critique of representation and cultural appropriation in artistic works. This shift is largely driven by broader movements advocating for social justice, equality and inclusivity, reflecting an increased sensitivity to the historical contexts and power dynamics that shape cultural production.
Works that are relics of a colonial, patriarchal, sexist and culturally retrograde past have faced harsh criticism and, in some cases, calls for cancellation.
The reasons for criticism and reevaluation are straightforward. These include an increased sensitivity toward historical injustices. There is a growing recognition of the ways in which colonialism, patriarchy and racism have oppressed and marginalized various groups. This awareness has led to a critical reevaluation of cultural works that perpetuate stereotypes, glorify oppressive practices, or erase the voices and experiences of marginalized groups.
The rise of social media and other platforms has given historically marginalized groups a more powerful voice in public discourse. This empowerment has led to increased calls for the reconsideration of cultural works that are seen as demeaning or misrepresentative.
There’s also been an ongoing debate about the line between cultural exchange and cultural appropriation. Works that are seen as expropriating from marginalized cultures without respect or understanding of the source material are particularly criticized for contributing to cultural erasure or exploitation.
Puccini’s Turandot, now playing at New York’s Metropolitan Opera house, is among the highpoints of opera’s golden age. But with its exoticizing portrayal of China and its characters, along with elements that can be interpreted as sexist, this work presents a complex and controversial case in the context of broader cultural shifts.
Turandot is often cited as a prime example of Orientalism, where Eastern cultures are portrayed through a Western lens, emphasizing exoticism and otherness. The opera’s portrayal of its female characters, particularly the depiction of the Princess Turandot and the tragic fate of the servant girl Liù, can be interpreted through the lens of misogyny, one as cruel, the other as servile.
How, then, should opera companies, critics and audiences respond to Puccini’s unfinished opera, and the charge that it reinforces harmful stereotypes and ideologies? Must this work be treated as “problematic”?
Turandot, the final work by the composer of La Boheme, Tosca and Madame Butterfly, is easy to criticize. After all, it relies on Western fantasies of Chinese culture, glorifies female self-sacrifice and portrays a heartless, bloodthirsty shrew who needs to be conquered and tamed.
And yet, Turandot represents one of the pinnacles of opera as an art form. Even those who have never seen it performed, may have heard “Nessun Dorma,” among the greatest male arias, performed by Luciano Pavarotti at the 1990 FIFA World Cup.
Mythic in its structure, themes and characters, Turandot resonates with deep, archetypal patterns that speak to fundamental aspects of the human experience. Set in a fantasy version of China, the opera, at its core, grapples with universal themes, including various forms that love can take—paternal, filial, selfless, erotic—and the power of love to humanize, redeem and heal.
The opera’s characters are archetypal. They include the title character, the seemingly unattainable ice princess whose heart is ultimately softened by love and self-sacrifice; the protagonist Calaf, willing to undergo seemingly insurmountable challenges for love’s sake; and the servant girl, Liù, who undergoes martyrdom as the ultimate act of self-sacrifice.
Central to the plot are three riddles posed by the Princess Turandot to her suitors.& More than mere plot devices, the riddles carry deep symbolic meaning and metaphorical significance. The answer to the first riddle—“What is born each night and dies each dawn?”—is hope, ephemeral but also perpetually renewed.
The solution to the second—“What flickers red and warm like a flame, yet is not fire?”—is blood, the sustenance of life and a symbol of vitality and passion.
The answer to the third riddle—“What is like ice yet burns?”—is the princess herself, cold, cruel, and unyielding, yet capable of deep passion and warmth.
Calaf’s success in answering the riddles serves as a catalyst that transforms the princess from icy detachment to vulnerability and emotional openness.
Turandot is among opera’s greatest spectacles. Its score is notable for its complexity, beauty, power and emotional grandeur, and features some of the most challenging and beloved pieces in the operatic repertoire. It offers a canvas for elaborate and imaginative set designs and visually stunning costumes. Most productions incorporate choreographed dance and acrobatics, adding another layer of spectacle. The inclusion of dozens the imperial guards, the populace and dancers creates visually striking tableaus and scenes of communal celebration, mourning or anticipation.
In light of contemporary concerns, there are several ways to approach works like Turandot. Opera companies can contextualize the artwork, discussing the time of its creation and the intentions behind its narrative and characterizations. They can recast the work in an effort to counteract orientalist stereotypes. They can reinterpret problematic aspects of the opera to highlight or critique its exoticized and misogynistic elements, or to provide alternative readings that resonate with contemporary values. Or they can perform the work as they did in the past, and trust audiences to reach their own conclusions.
Here, we might ask about modern China’s complex and evolving stance on the opera. At various points, the piece has been “rejected, reinterpreted, [and] reclaimed”—the subtitle of an important 2010 essay of history, interpretation and cultural criticism by Sheila Melvin and Jindong Cai. These differing approaches speak to China’s attempt to navigate controversial issues of cultural representation, national identity and cultural exchange in a globalized world.
For many years, no performances took place on the grounds that the opera misrepresented Chinese history and culture. At a time when China was keen on asserting its own cultural identity and historical narrative, Turandot seemed beyond the Pale.
The depiction of ancient China as a barbaric and despotic land, especially through the character of Turandot and the opera’s plot involving cruel riddles and executions, clashed with national self-perceptions and efforts to promote a positive image of China on the international stage.
Over time, however, there have been efforts within China to reinterpret Turandot in ways that aligned more closely with Chinese cultural sensibilities and historical perspectives. Beginning with a 1992 premier in Shanghai (apparently the first time a foreign opera was sung in its original language in its entirety in the People’s Republic), followed by a 1998 performance in the Forbidden City and the 2008 National Centre for the Performing Arts production in Beijing, presentations employed Chinese designers and artists, and introduced elements of traditional Chinese music and visual culture to make the opera more “authentic” and reframe the work more resonant with Chinese audiences.
In the 1995 production, the director Xu Xiaozhong felt it necessary to rework the opera. Melvin and Cai write:
“In an interview he explained that a Chinese audience simply would not enjoy the story because it was too obviously not Chinese. No Chinese princess would ever behave as coldly and cruelly as Turandot, he explained. Neither would she be so unfilial as to refuse to marry. Nor, for that matter, would her father ever let her choose her own husband through a series of riddles.”
To make the opera more palatable, “Xu simply changed the setting of the opera to an unnamed location in Central Asia somewhere along the Silk Road.”
A 2003 performance reworked the plot by portraying “a brave and selfless” Princess Turandot staving off “eighteen invading armies intent on conquering Beijing” and dropping the servile but devoted Liù.
These reinterpretations can be seen as part of a broader dialogue between Western and Chinese cultural forms, exploring how global cultural products can be adapted and integrated into local contexts while respecting cultural integrity and heritage.
The presentation of Turandot in China has also involved a process of reclamation, where the opera is seen as an opportunity to showcase Chinese culture and talent on the global stage. By staging Turandot in 2009 to mark the sixtieth anniversary of the founding of the People’s Republic in Beijing’s national stadium, the iconic Bird’s Nest, and incorporating authentic cultural elements, this production served as an act of cultural diplomacy, presenting China’s rich cultural heritage to international audiences. It also served as a symbol of Chinese cultural pride and national self-confidence.
We are in the midst of a cultural recalibration as opera and theater companies try to figure out how to present canonical works—including Porgie and Bess, Madame Butterfly, The Mikado and Verdi’s Otello—considered problematic by contemporary standards due to their portrayal of race, gender, ethnicity and cultural stereotypes.
Yes, we should contextualize these works. Yes, we should update staging and direction. Certainly, we should expand the repertoire, and also host conversations with scholars and critics and engage affected communities. But should we update librettos and alter racially insensitive and sexist language—or is that mere bowdlerization?
My own view is that we are wrong to sanitize knotty, troublesome, thorny and controversial works by erasing their problematic elements or canceling them altogether. Instead, we should engage with them critically and trust that audiences are sophisticated enough to make their own judgments.
Steven Mintz is professor of history at the University of Texas at Austin and the author, most recently, of The Learning-Centered University: Making College a More Developmental, Transformational, and Equitable Experience.
