Misa-Lisin

Heavy in symbolism, strong in ritual, this operatic retelling of a Taiwanese myth is nothing if not vivid.

So tangible that you can smell, feel and even taste its burnt residue on the tongue, Langasan Theatre’s piece is a fable of betrayal and horror, preceded by a series of spiritual vignettes. The stage is set with a white floorcloth, the cast surrounding it traditionally dressed in vibrant colours with a range of Taiwanese aboriginal props and instruments at their feet.

A man blesses the space with a banana leaf and rice wine; a woman in white dances with beautiful command and power, sprinkling herself and the floor with black—and later red—ink until both are sodden, the woman ecstatic and drained. Later this mess will be scooped up and hurried off stage, to be replaced by an earthier puddle, clay that three of the cast smother themselves in while tumbling across the floor.

There is a power in the reverence the performers give to their work, and it’s impossible not to be awestruck by the violence of their stamps, the roar of their voices, the tension in their bodies as they writhe.

It may be wise to have a cursory look at the programme notes before it all begins, in order to catch the measure of the story and its rich significance - but even if you don’t, the solemn magic of Misa-Lisin will without a doubt tangle you up in its surprise sensations and startling images.