After years of ignoring Shen Yun billboards, I finally bought a ticket so you don't have to

Before the show started at a Dec. 20, 2019 performance of Shen Yun at Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley. Before the show started at a Dec. 20, 2019 performance of Shen Yun at Zellerbach Hall in Berkeley. Photo: Alix Martichoux Photo: Alix Martichoux Image 1 of / 14 Caption Close After years of ignoring Shen Yun billboards, I finally bought a ticket so you don't have to 1 / 14 Back to Gallery

After years — and I really mean years — of aggressively ignoring ads on billboards, BART, bus stations and every single commercial break on local news, I finally did it. I bought a ticket to see Shen Yun, a roughly two-hour performance of traditional Chinese dance put on by seven dance companies that tour the world concurrently. The show bills itself as "5,000 years of civilization reborn" and — in some ads — claims to be "so inspiring it changes your life."

Attending opening night of Shen Yun at Berkeley's Zellerbach Hall didn’t change my life (shocker!), but things didn't unfold exactly as I had expected either.

It was Friday night and I headed out on the town. On assignment. By myself. The dress code suggests you might want to wear a tuxedo or evening gown since you're "in for a special treat," but it's Berkeley so I wore jeans.

There was nary a tux in sight as I got off the bus and walked toward the performing arts center on Cal's campus. I made my way to my seat in the orchestra. I had originally purchased the cheapest seat possible ($80 for a spot in the balcony), but I got upgraded because a projector was apparently blocking off that area. More on the projector later. Despite rows of empty seats, I somehow got sandwiched between two big groups and immediately asserted my right to an armrest like I would on the middle seat of an airplane.

As people continued to file in, I took the 20 minutes before showtime to read the program. Here came the first mention of Falun Dafa, also known as Falun Gong, in small print: "Shen Yun 2020 is presented to you by San Francisco Falun Buddha Study Association."

The artists who put on Shen Yun practice Falun Gong, also known as Falun Dafa, a belief system that encompasses meditation, tai chi-type exercises, and "strict morality" (smoking, alcohol, and extramarital or same-sex sexual relations go against the teachings). But nowhere in Shen Yun's advertising blitz are those beliefs mentioned, and when the show gets going the political and spiritual overtones catch some viewers off guard.

I've done a fair bit of Googling (and a bit of writing) abut Shen Yun and Falun Dafa, so this is the part I was actually prepared for. I was ready and excited for two hours of "CULT PROPAGANDA" — angry Yelp reviewer's words, not mine.

(Also included in the program was something I've never seen in a Playbill before: a full-page patent announcement for the stage's realistic 3D digital backdrop. The "projector" plot thickens.)

As the lights dimmed, an announcement to turn off cell phones and other electronic devices came first in Mandarin, then English. The orchestra seating had filled out since I arrived but the rows in front of and behind me were still mostly empty.

The curtains lifted, fog covered the stage floor, cheerful music played and a troupe of dancers in colorful costumes moved in perfect time. It was surprisingly pretty cool. As the number went on, I wondered what part of the background exactly was patented. Then God appeared on screen (You know, an old man with a white beard, floating in the sky. Classic God.)

God said something in Mandarin. I do not speak Mandarin. Then we were transported into space (Your guess is as good as mine). There were angels. There was an emperor. I furiously scratched down notes, trying to get a grasp on the plot of this show, but the most legible thing in my notebook is "I'm really lost."

There were two more traditional dances, followed by a "dance story," sort of like a ballet. In this number a young couple went to a Buddhist temple to seek a blessing for their wedding, when the woman gets kidnapped. Antics ensue, in that predictable guaranteed-to-get-laughs (if you don't think too hard about the sexist tropes) slapstick way.

The show continued in this disjointed way. Dances, ballets and vocal performances, each act completely separate from the one before it or after. I gave up on my desire to find an overarching plot. There were religious themes throughout, but no overt propaganda as far as I could tell. (Was it working so well I hadn’t even noticed? Doubtful.) At this point, I was far more concerned about falling asleep than being brainwashed. And let the record show, I’ve never fallen asleep in a theater.

Then came the eighth act, titled "Abetting the Wicked." It opened in a park in modern-day China. People were milling about. A man holds up a sign reading "Falun Dafa is good." Finally, we're getting to the good stuff. Bring on the "CULT PROPAGANDA" I was promised.

A group of communist cops swarmed the park and beat the Falun Dafa practitioners. A good guy jumps in to defend them, but is jailed along with the rest. In prison, the group was tortured. The man who interfered was blinded. After release, the practitioners headed back to the park. The man went back to standing in the same place with the sign "Falun Dafa is good." But, of course, the cops came back. Except this time, the newly blinded man was handed a yellow book of Falun Dafa teachings. He is transported to heaven and made to see again. Hooray?

An outro from narrators explains that Shen Yun celebrates ancient Chinese culture, but due to the persecution of Falun Dafa, they are not able to perform in China.

Now might be a good time for some more context. Falun Dafa/Falun Gong started as a form of exercise in 1992. Followers gathered in public spaces to do qigong, which combines slow movements and meditation. Falun Gong combined those physical practices with spirituality and Taoist moral principles. In the late 90s, as Falun Gong gained steam and millions of followers, the Chinese Communist Party may have felt threatened by its size and popularity, so it cracked down. Thousands of practitioners were imprisoned or in some cases tortured. The founder, Li Hongzhi, now lives in New York.

Today, the practice is still banned in China and persecution of practitioners continues. The Chinese embassy's website condemns Shen Yun performances explicitly and calls Falun Gong a "...cult that seriously harms the society and violates human rights, and is a cancer in the body of the modern and civilized society," without presenting concrete evidence to support that claim.

So yeah, the story is a little messier than a five-minute dance performance can convey. But Shen Yun doesn't dwell on the complexities and shades of gray. Instead, it jumps right into two more random dance pieces, one involving lanterns, the other inspired by the Mongolian grasslands.

Intermission couldn't come soon enough. When the house lights came back on I picked up my phone in an attempt to wake my brain up. I opened Instagram and was hit with — what else? — a Shen Yun ad.

I steeled myself for a second half of more of the same: disorienting dance numbers, operatic vocals and a sprinkle of politics. The second half’s opening number didn’t catch my attention like it did in the first half. The second dance ended in a mimicked suicide. Another dance story seemed to be about a guy who trips on drugs and sees angels. That piece was followed by a soprano vocalist whose talents were impressive, but my enjoyment of her performance was marred when I realized what she was singing. An English translation of the heavy-handed religious lyrics was projected onto the screen — excuse me, the patent-protected screen. (Beware evolution's deceptive doctrines / Modern thought and ways change humankind / We display the Creator's compassion / His ineffable grace brings rays of hope).

When the finale came along I felt relieved to be leaving soon. It was another Falun Dafa persecution story that started exactly the same as the last, with believers in a present-day park. Except this time, practicing qigong movements cured a man of a broken arm and another man of a limp. The communist police showed up to beat the Falun Dafa again, but then a tsunami (not joking) started hurtling toward the park. A man in a white robe (might as well be God, so let's just call him God) stopped the massive wave by waving his arms at it. Somehow, this bit was even more confusing than the last Falun Dafa-centric act.

Everyone danced. The show ended. There was no standing ovation, only people standing to leave.

Like some unsuspecting attendees before me, I also left the Shen Yun performance disappointed Friday night, but for very different reasons. Most of the disgruntled reviews I had read were from people who felt blindsided by the show's political and religious themes, thinking they were in for a life-changing show of dance and acrobatics, not expecting to be served any anti-China or creationist messaging on the side.

But my preparation for the show was the opposite. I had been forewarned. I was expecting more propaganda, and at least that would’ve been more interesting. Instead, I was just bored.

Shen Yun has performances in three Bay Area cities: San Francisco (Dec. 30, 2019 - Jan. 5, 2020), Berkeley (Dec. 20, 2019 - Feb. 2, 2020) and San Jose (Dec. 26, 2019 - Jan. 12, 2020). Tickets start at $80.

Alix Martichoux is an SFGATE digital editor. Read her latest stories and send her news tips at alix.martichoux@sfgate.com.