Han Xiaojie's dream has died. For the fourth time, the tenacious 23- year-old has failed to gain admission to the Shanghai Theater Academy's acting department.
"And I can't apply again," explains Han dejectedly. "The national university recruitment rules stipulate that after four consecutive applications, one can no longer apply."
Like Han, many young people in China return, again and again, to try to fulfill the elusive dream of becoming a star shining on big or small screen or stage.
In China, the most prestigious "cradles for movie stars" are the Central Academy of Drama in Beijing, the Beijing Film Academy and the Shanghai Theater Academy. The latter has even been acclaimed as "Asia's finest theater academy" by the Asian Cultural Council, part of the Rockefeller Brothers Fund in the United States.
Every year, tens of thousands of youngsters swarm into these academies to take the entrance exams. Only a few of them will be enrolled. Yet sometimes it is the candidates who don't make it who are the interesting ones, people like Han with a strong will and touching spirit sometimes even outshines that of their luckier, more successful fellow candidates.
"Why did I come here for the fourth time? Because I love acting," says Han simply, determination shining in his eyes. "It's my life's pursuit ."
Han was among the 1,500 applicants for the Shanghai Theater Academy's acting department, which accepts only 28 students this year.
It's a growing industry: This year, the Beijing Film Academy was swamped with more than 10,000 applicants for only 90 seats in their acting department. The proportion of applicants to matriculating students is even more selective than that of China's top universities: Fudan University, one of China's best universities, has a four to one recruitment proportion at its renowned journalism department, while the general matriculation proportion for universities in Shanghai is already above 80 percent nowadays.
"To be frank, our academy is elitist,"' says Zhang Zhongnian, vice president of the Shanghai Theater Academy. "While all other universities in China are expanding their classes every year, we're not going to make a change."
He adds that this is not due to some sort of misplaced elitism alone. Due to the limited number of professional acting jobs in the market, blindly expanding the size of the freshman class may lead to a greater number of unemployed actors.
"What if our graduates can not find a job due to a surplus of supply?" Zhang asks.
None of the 1,500 applicants seemed to care. Their primary concern, instead, was how to gain a coveted place in the department, rather than future employment.
Han arrived in Shanghai on March 12, the closing day of applications, in order to save money. He came all the way from Tianjin on a bumpy train. Before heading to Shanghai, he had applied to the Central Academy of Drama in Beijing, but was rejected after the second round.
Han left a good job as a PR staffer to prepare for the exams, a move his parent neither understand nor support.
"My parents aren't supportive," he says, forcing a smile. "They think that I can't possibly succeed because actors must have some family connections, but they are both workers. That, and the fact that the tuition is so high."
According to the Shanghai Theater Academy, the annual tuition is 10,000 yuan (US$1,200), which does not include fees like accommodation, teaching materials, attending performances and regular daily expenses. All told, the total cost for four years may reach 100,000 yuan.
However, Vice President Zhang points out that many of their students do come from ordinary families. One quarter have some family background connected with the movies or art industry, and a very small number are born with a silver spoon in their mouths.
During the application process Han met a fellow Tianjin resident, 20-year-old Cao Shan, an outgoing and energetic woman.
"I've wanted to act since I was a kid," smiles Cao. "I like imitating interesting characters and bringing happiness to my friends."
In order to take the exam in Shanghai, Cao gave up the opportunity of being an air hostess.
"The teacher at the airline company promised that I could fly soon, but I don't regret my decision," she explained. "I'm a Sagittarius and I love freedom and traveling. For me, an acting career is really attractive."
The exam is divided into three rounds, each lasting two days. The first round includes recitation and performing, singing and a "body language" test (dancing, martial arts or gym). Students can choose whatever they like among the three forms of test. The performing test is an impromptu one, where examiners give the students a role to improvise on.
The second and third rounds are almost the same as the first round, but the difficulties lie in the impromptu performing and recitation. The examiners take a more comprehensive and critical analysis of each student's competence during the interview.
It's completely different from a general college entrance exam, as it is actually a subjective test, depending largely on the examiners' impressions of the student. This is where another cruel point lies for the applicants.
Boisterous boys and girls packed the academy for the exams. Some were accompanied by parents, anxiously waiting outside the school gate.
"I'm here because I think I should support my son -- this is his lifelong dream," said a mother who only gave her surname as Ma. "I know the tuition is high, but if my son pulls through the exams, I will try my best to see that he gets to attend, even it means borrowing money for tuition."
Often the parents can be as dogged as their children.
"When we closed the application for the pre-training classes before the exam, a mother from Henan Province came to me, pleading to allow her son to attend the class," recalls Xu Weihong, director of the acting department. "After a talk with the boy, I persuaded him to give up since he's not suitable for the major. But his mother still insisted."
For these parents, the high cost isn't an object, either.
"I've asked some parents why that is," says Zhang. "They've told me directly that they've found that this industry has high returns."
There's no doubt about that. The profitable returns, along with the acting career itself, is an attraction for many young people and their families.
Li Bingbing, a promising young actress, comes from an ordinary family in Harbin, Heilongjiang Province. As a sophomore, she earned a 250,000-yuan (US$30,000) advertisement deal. Another student, once a "needy student," now owns three houses, two cars and one company. And there are plenty of other examples of movie and TV stars who can acquire contracts worth a million yuan.
Yet for those young students, most of them indicate that what they're striving for is more than just money -- it's their lifelong passion, their dream.
"I love acting. For me it's meaningless to sit there, staring at dull books," confesses Lin Jiajia, a boy with lovely big eyes. "If I fail, I won't regret it, because at least I've tried."
Han, Cao and Lin all passed the first round. Their expressions were filled with happiness and excitement.
"I was worried about the singing part since my voice is a bit hoarse," said Cao, beaming. "Now I can't wait for the second round."
For other 1,000 applicants who were kicked out on the first round, their tears and sad faces posed a sharp contrast. Yet many of them hadn't given up hope.
"I don't know why... I thought I could have passed," murmured Chen Lin through tears. "It is a blow for me. But I've decided to come again next year!"
The competition was ruthless for these youngsters. A much fiercer came in the second round, which eliminate all but 50 for the final round.
"I'm the shortest one of all the participants," said Han when he finished the second round . "The other boys are really good, handsome and versatile. I dared not look at the examiners. But if I could enter for final round, I would go nuts."
"I didn't do well in the performing part," Cao said in a low voice. "I was supposed to be a doctor but my mind went blank when the examiner called me to start."
Lin was also not quite sure about his performance.
"I'm not sure, I hope can survive this time," he said, curling his lips into a humorless smile.
They, together with other participants, suffered through long night before the release of the final round short list.
The morning dawned gloomy and soon began to drip with rain. Boys and girls, holding umbrellas, tried to find their names on the bulletin board. Big raindrops and a chilly wind beat against them. For some the depressing atmosphere lifted with good news.
"Wow, I've passed!" cried Lin. "I can go for the final exam! I must calm down and get ready for the last exam." He made a V sign, eyes glittering with excitement and expectation.
But for Han and Cao, it was the end of the road. Yet they appeared quite calm, as if they had known the result beforehand.
"That was my last chance," Han sighed. "I hate to say goodbye to the exam but...but I have to go. I've packed early this morning and I'll go home this afternoon. I will find a new job in Tianjin."
"Don't worry I can pull through," Cao smiled weakly. "I'll come back next year. Maybe I'll also try for the playwriting major as writing is also one of my hobbies."
So far Lin hasn't received a notification letter yet, but even that precious piece of paper doesn't mean final matriculation. The students are required to participate the national college entrance test and must achieve a certain mark stipulated by the academy to be accepted.
As to who will be among the 28 finalists, listen to what Zhang reveals.
"To be frank, acting is a career of aesthetics," he says. "A pretty face and good bearing always come in first place. Yet this competition is more than merely a beauty contest, acting skills, intelligence and personality also count."
For those who have failed this year, they may take Zhang's words to heart for their return journey next year. In fact, they are not losers since their courage and persistence have already won them a successful ticket that they use throughout their lives. Miracles do happen, especially in the magical world of acting.
(eastday.com April 13, 2004)
