Comic Delivery

I had moved to Beijing to learn Chinese so I could become a “real” news reporter that really got inside of the culture. But for that to happen, I felt I needed to become fluent in the language. 　

Never mind that I had already tried and failed to learn French, then Japanese, then German. This time it would be different, because I had a clear mission – to become a cultural bridge between China and the West. 　

Learning Chinese was a struggle for me. Even small talk was tough. Making things worse, every time I met a new Chinese person, or even stepped into a cab, people would say, “You are from Canada. You must know Dashan. His Chinese is amazing.” 　

I did not know Dashan personally, although like everyone else I certainly knew who he was. 　

Dashan, the Chinese name of Mark Henry Rowswell, became a household name in the 1990s for his appearances during the CCTV New Year’s Eve Gala, the most watched television event of the year. It’s China’s answer to the Super Bowl. 　

Dashan astonished the Chinese public by not only speaking fluent Chinese, but mastering the art of crosstalk, a traditional comedic form based heavily on sly wordplay and puns. 　

Dashan’s wholesome image and appreciation of Chinese culture left a positive impression of Canadians on a whole generation. 　

When I finally briefly meet him backstage years later he was as genuine and kind as he seems on screen. 　

But Dashan also left me with a generation of unfavorable comparisons of my Chinese chops to his, with people helpfully advising me I had a long way to go. 　

Fifteen years later, and I still have a long way to go. 　

I am now married to a Chinese woman, and my in-laws from Northeast China have moved in with us. 　

My wife loves to listen to comedians from Northeast China doing sketch comedy. 　

When I first visited Shenyang, Liaoning Province, my first wish was to see a traditional comedy show live. My mother-in-law, a judge who prides herself on her perfect standard Chinese, disapproved of such lowbrow entertainment. 　

However, my uncle, who speaks with a broad northeast accent, was amused and bought us tickets. 　

It turns out that while learning Chinese is quite difficult, I will surely never really be able to fully appreciate a comedy performance, let alone be able to deliver one myself. 

Yet somehow my life, with my wife and relatives all from Northeast China, has started to feel like an endless comedy sketch. 　

My in-laws don’t speak a word of English – not even “yes” or “no,” and have difficulty making out my Chinese. 　

My father-in-law is a retired police officer. Perhaps because he needed to deal with all types of people for his work, he is able to choose easy language and can occasionally successfully communicate with me. 　

My mother-in-law, as a retired judge, is used to speaking, not listening, and tends to use highly educated language with lots of literary allusions. I mostly have no idea what she is talking about, which is probably for the best. What I can make out is mostly her nagging at people, particularly my wife. 　

I comfort myself with the knowledge that Chinese people nag at each other to express concern and care for each other. By this measure, my mother-in-law is a very loving woman. 　

My father-in-law is the strong silent type, in part because he can never get a word in edgewise. 　

Similar to a comedic sketch, when my wife and her parents speak with each other, they raise their voices as if they were arguing – because they usually are. If not, they are fishing for something to fight about, which is practically the same thing. 　

My wife is expecting soon, and I have told my in-laws it is their duty to teach their granddaughter how to speak and write so she can be a real Chinese as well as a real Canadian. 　

I mentioned that I wanted her to speak with a broad northeast accent like my wife and her favorite comedians. 　

My mother-in-law sniffed and responded, “I only speak standard Chinese.” 　

Although I dreamed of helping China and the West understand each other, the real bridge of course will be my daughter. 　

She will hopefully grow up cracking jokes in English and Chinese. She will be able to see the humor and imperfection in both cultures she will be raised in. And despite the great hopes of me and her mother, she will probably understand northeastern humor perfectly – but will note in perfect standard Chinese that it is very lowbrow.