Women as Pleasure Seekers: Courtesans,Actresses,and Female Visitors in the Amusement Halls of Early Republican Shanghai

Introduction

Shanghai contributed to the golden years of China’s amusement industry in the early twentieth century. Between the mid-1910s and the end of the 1920s, amusement halls (youxi chang) such as Great World (da shijie), New World (xin shijie), and Eden (le yuan) occupied a central place in urban life and popular culture in Shanghai. ¹ These halls opened up not only a new world of entertainment but, more specifically, a new world of entertainment of women and sometimes for women. The argument of this paper is that these amusement halls, along with a few other entertainment establishments, provided a novel experience of pleasure for women in early Republican Shanghai.

Two dimensions of this experience of pleasure are illustrated with reference to the concept of the “pleasure seeker.” First, in the narrowest sense, the term refers to female visitors seeking fun in Shanghai’s amusement halls. Prior to the emergence of the amusement halls—the earliest of which was Lou Wai Lou (Tower beyond Tower), established in 1912—women had access to a few modern public entertainment venues, such as story-telling halls, gardens, night gardens (ye hua yuan), and new-style theaters (wutai), although their respectability was sometimes challenged. ² Against this backdrop, the management of amusement halls advanced the recognition of female spectatorship by designing policies and practices to attract women, thereby generating new conceptualizations and experiences of female-oriented pleasure. These aspects of the amusement halls in early-twentieth-century Shanghai have yet to be acknowledged and surveyed to further our present knowledge on the correlation between the cultural industry and the female audience. ³ Second, the term pleasure seekers questions the presumed relationship between women and pleasure, positioning them as both subject and object of the gaze. I argue that women were no longer regarded simply as pleasure providers; they entered into a much more complex connection with amusement and played more diverse roles in entertainment venues. Three themes, corresponding to three “types” of women, are, thus, pertinent to my discussion. The first involves the traditional connection between the courtesan industry and amusement halls. This relationship entered a new phase in the early twentieth century due to the introduction of new regulations governing prostitution and brothels and the need for courtesans, who were originally patronized within limited circles, to adjust to the rise of mass entertainment. The response made by the amusement halls was not merely a marketing adjustment but a restructuring of the pleasure and gender hierarchy to reposition courtesans and those who fell out of that traditional category. The second theme involves female performance and female spectatorship. Of particular interest are the actresses of the “new drama” (xinju), whose rise was promoted by the New World amusement hall and facilitated—perhaps paradoxically—by the hall’s persistence on same-sex casting. This happened in the context of the emergence of female performers and the introduction of mixed-sex casting in the wake of theater reforms. These actresses embodied a contested field of desire, and also attracted a group of female audience, whose presence raises the issue of female spectatorship. The third and final theme is about the female visitors. I ask whether the increased presence of female visitors redefined women’s position in the world of entertainment by surveying representations of women and the policies and services addressing them in this context. It is hoped that the exploration of these three themes will provide a more gendered perspective on amusement halls and the culture of play (youxi)—a perspective that appears to be underdeveloped in existing scholarship. The insights gained may also add a new dimension to our understanding of the roles and experiences of women during China’s early republican period, when important transformations were occurring. ⁴

The early years of the Republic are now recognized by scholars as an important period of modern Chinese history, having previously been overshadowed by extensive research on the late Qing dynasty and the May Fourth Movement. ⁵ Characterized by “profound and interrelated shifts in China’s epistemic, print and commercial cultures,” in Joan Judge’s words, the republican period is best examined through its periodicals, the main medium of the time, whose openness, interactivity, and contemporaneity reflected the complexity of the era. It is not surprising, therefore, that much recent research on modern Chinese history and culture has involved the study of magazines, journals, newspapers, and tabloids; among these, the amusement-hall newspaper stands out as a specific category registering the vitality of a bourgeoning entertainment culture. With late Qing entertainment newspapers such as Youxibao (Amusement News) (1896-1908) as their precedents, these amusement-hall newspapers featured playful writing, updates on courtesans’ activities, and opera/drama/film reviews, and were closely connected with existing institutions of entertainment. Each newspaper, for example, was issued by its parent amusement hall, starting with Great World Daily (da shijie bao), which was first published by Great World in 1916. Researchers investigating this kind of periodical have tended to focus on the robustness of the urban entertainment culture that they represented. Ling-ling Lien, for instance, details the link between department stores and associated amusement halls, ⁶ while Catherine Yeh highlights the connection between Shanghai’s amusement halls and the global culture of amusement. ⁷ Also relevant are accounts of the playful discourse of the late Qing and early republican periods, which has been regarded by scholars as an encompassing cultural phenomenon. This body of literature offers insights into playful writing as a “transitional” genre of literature, ⁸ as both an old and a new form of expression traversing various media and conveying different meanings for individuals and government bodies, ⁹ or as a discourse associated with “free speech.” ¹⁰ However, most of these studies are concerned primarily with the form and meanings of amusement culture; the recipients of such amusement have received relatively less attention. Yet the issue of recipients raises the following challenging questions. Did amusement mean the same to men and women? How should we account for the presence of women who formed a noticeable group of female performers and female visitors in Shanghai’s amusement halls? Among the more studied groups such as “female students,” “republican ladies,” and “revolutionists,” ¹¹ how does the discussion of women in the production and consumption of amusement enrich our understanding of women of Republican China?

Revisiting the Courtesan Connection

First let us revisit a familiar theme: courtesan culture. Studies on courtesans generally point out the transition between the late Qing period and the early republican era, during which the more “cultivated” kind of sexual trade waned and a less hierarchical form of prostitution emerged. ¹² The decline of the courtesan industry was part of a larger process of the growing commercialization of prostitution and leisure activities in Shanghai. ¹³ The demise of the already weakening industry was hastened by incessant calls for reformation—ranging from a total ban on prostitution proposed by the Committee on Moral Improvement (later known as the Moral Welfare League, formed in May 1918, and with primarily Christian and Western members) to pressure to eradicate courtesans as a “social devil” in the May Fourth discourse. ¹⁴ In this context, the close connection between Shanghai’s amusement halls and the courtesan industry was reviewed or even challenged. The interplay of the courtesan industry, entertainment culture, and popular periodicals had long been established since Youxibao began providing updates on courtesan activities in 1896. ¹⁵ The first crisis came from within, when the editor of Great World Daily, Sun Yushing (1863-1939), announced in 1918 the termination of the newspaper’s column on courtesan activities, as follows:

As the “flowery world” column contains mostly gossip from the courtesan world, which is dry and wearisome as well as improper, its title has now been changed to “friends-seeking world.” We welcome playful writings from writers from anywhere. ¹⁶

Prior to 1918, Great World Daily had published brothel gossip, introductions to newcomers, and the addresses of various courtesans. This was common among late Qing entertainment newspapers and republican amusement hall newspapers. As Sun himself had edited the entertainment newspaper Caifeng Bao (The Gazette of Customs) and written serialized novels on Shanghai brothels, such as A Prosperous Dream from Shanghai (Haishang fanhua meng), his description of courtesan-related topics as “dry and wearisome as well as improper” appears to be merely a token statement. Nevertheless, his note may reflect contemporary anxiety about the industry, which eventually led to the cessation of columns and reports on the “flowery world.” However, despite some calls for the elimination of prostitution and the closure of brothels—mainly from churchgoers and the Western population, and organized by the aforementioned Committee on Moral Improvement ¹⁷ —no legal enforcement had yet been established when Sun Yushing wrote the above announcement. In addition, located in the Shanghai French Concession, Great World enjoyed a particular freedom under a looser set of regulations than those governing entertainment institutions in the International Settlement, such as New World. ¹⁸ Great World even became infamous for hosting “romantic encounters”—allowing men and women to consort with each other casually, the so-called “diao bang zi” in Shanghainese (Figure 1), sometimes free of charge. ¹⁹ Therefore, neither authorial suppression nor social pressure adequately explains the changing attitude toward courtesans exhibited by Sun and Great World. However, this shift could be regarded as a self-conscious attempt at market differentiation initiated by Great World to distinguish itself from its major competitor, New World. New World, founded in 1915 at the junction between Bubbling Well Road and Tibet Roads, exempted courtesans from an entrance fee while charging visitors two coppers each. This policy was probably an attempt to compete with traditional amusement quarters to which courtesans could be called to accompany their customers (jiao ju). In December 1917, just two months before Great World Daily’s courtesan column was put to an end, New World organized a “flower election” in the late Qing style. As many have observed, this event reflected the political changes that had accompanied the emergence of the new republic, with the titles of the elected beauties inspired by the presidential election rather than the imperial examination. ²⁰ Little has been noted, however, about the playful tradition and political implications of this flower election, which mocked the democracy that the new republic failed to realize. The election was to take place at New World, an actual venue in Shanghai, enabling a wider public to participate, rather than being held virtually via a tabloid with its result decided by patrons and literati. Before the seven-day election process began, the courtesans were invited to submit a form to New World to confirm their right to candidature (Figure 2). On each of the seven days, a group of candidates came to New World; visitors watched them or listened to their singing, and purchased tickets to vote. To give an impression of seriousness, the unsealing of the ballot boxes was supervised, and the results were announced on a specific date. The election would be “very fair, unlike the previous flower elections,” ²¹ according to a promotion on New World Daily (xinshijie bao). I do not wish to exaggerate the transparency or fairness of such election but would like to draw readers’ attention to the care taken in the details of it. In the illustrations, the action of voting was depicted in a close up (Figure 3) while votes being purchased were depicted in a bird’s-eye view (Figure 4); both suggest that what mattered was the process of election rather than the physical beauty of a particular candidate. This was further confirmed—albeit playfully—by the famous filmmaker and dramatist Zheng Zhengqiu (1889-1935), who was also the editor of New World Daily: “this election makes people more aware of the importance of the right to vote, inducing citizens, although indirectly, to understand the concept of a genuine republic.” ²²

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Figure 1.

Hooking arms at Great World.

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Figure 2.

Application form for “flower election.”

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Figure 3.

A close up of voting.

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Figure 4.

Vote purchasing at New World.

In short, whereas Great World gradually detached itself from the courtesan culture, the management of New World tried to maintain its association with the courtesan industry by making adjustments such as “reinventing” the tradition of the flower election. This reinvented tradition could also be regarded as an attempt to help the courtesan culture come to terms with social changes within an evolving mass culture, in light of Zheng Zhengqiu’s vision of social reform and enthusiasm for entertainment. Known as the founder of Chinese cinema, a devoted advocate of the new drama and a long-time supporter of socio-political reform, ²³ Zheng believed in gradual social reform and cultural cultivation with a populist momentum. This belief was best manifested in his co-directorship of the short film The Difficult Couple (nanfu nanqi, 1914). The film, which was about the wedding of a couple in an arranged marriage, has often been over-generalized as a critique of the traditional practice of arranged marriage within a broader discourse of revolution. ²⁴ Yet as Zheng himself explained, the film concluded with a scuffle in the couple’s bedroom during which the couple and their respective families reconciled amid tears and laughter. ²⁵ The film did not harshly criticize the custom of arranged marriage, nor did it call for the custom to be replaced by “free marriage” (ziyou jiehun). ²⁶ Rather, the traditional marital system provided a source of amusement for a local audience who would probably be familiar with the situation depicted. Like many of his “old-school” peers, Zheng enjoyed a good laugh for a good cause, and such commonplace humanism cannot be simply categorized as either revolutionist or conservatism. Recognizing Zheng’s cultural position is essential to understanding his aforementioned remark on the political implications of the flower election, which was a bizarre mixture of serious social concern and light-hearted playfulness, intending to defend and justify the courtesan tradition. Zheng later expressed this reformist yet old-school attitude more explicitly in a scathing critique of the prospective ban on prostitution.

Applause!! Hurray!! We welcome the foreign members of the Moral Welfare Committee! . . . We don’t sort things out ourselves, but leave our troubles to friends from other countries . . . . ²⁷

This was the opening passage in a series of twelve articles named “My Thesis on Preserving Registered Courtesans (Wo zhi baocun guanji shui).” The first article was published in April 1919, and the series continued until the May Fourth Movement. His critique was fueled by an anti-imperialist sentiment directed against further “foreign” interference with local businesses and activities by the Committee on Moral Improvement. For Zheng, while Shanghai’s courtesan industry was not necessarily the city’s most valuable tradition, courtesans were less harmful to the society than the sex trade or casual intercourse that was becoming increasingly popular in the city. Zheng also insisted that the expense incurred by associating with courtesans kept most commoners away, and that the relatively stable connection that was based on “emotion (qing)” between courtesans and a limited number of customers was preferable to the physical indulgence of men and women engaged in casual relationships. On the practical side, the industry had been in decline for some years already. ²⁸ True to his old-school nature, what Zheng found more destructive than the courtesan culture was the increased access to private, individualized prostitution; he also censured the so-called “free love,” which provided young men and women with excuses for physical intimacy. However, for Zheng, the worst behavior was exhibited by those who attempted to revolt against the hierarchy of prostitution, “the bone-knocking, marrow-pricking, flesh-scraping and sperm-sucking revolutionists of the brothels” (qiaogu tisui guarou xijing zhi qinglou gemingdang) as he called them. These “revolutionists” even had a liberalizing appeal, after the fashion of the “Westernised female scholar” (xiyangshi nu xueshi), whose speech Zheng quoted as follows.

Women have been played with by men for a long time. Alas! I thus have a great ambition to play with amazing men of the world with my own body. ²⁹

As there is no way of locating the identity of the aforementioned “Westernised female scholar,” we might, for the moment at least, see the quotation as Zheng’s own invention. But even this unverified quotation tells us a lot about the gender politics underlying the controversy over courtesans. Despite its anti-imperialist opening, Zheng’s writing soon turned to a critique on the latest fashions of prostitution and male-female relationships. His defense of the courtesan industry was, thus, presented in the form of an “old” versus “new” paradigm, commonly seen in disputes of all kinds in the early republican period. From the old camp perspective, this paradigm opposed practices and values that were stable, traditional, and indigenous, although not necessarily perfect, with emerging practices and values that were modern and foreign but potentially hazardous. Behind this paradigm, more interestingly, lay fear of a new order of pleasure. As illustrated in the above quotation, the real threat was not to the old courtesan industry but to the status of men, as women renounced their stereotypical status as “playthings” and sought sexual gratification on their own terms.

Predictably, Zheng’s old-school position on the courtesan industry and the male-female relationship appeared ill suited to the coming May Fourth Movement, which Zheng nevertheless supported under the current of nationalism. By April 1919, New World Daily was publishing essays and illustrations that supported urbanites’ and students’ protests against feeble diplomacy over issues in Shandong. New World’s tabloid called for a boycott on Japanese products, and the amusement hall occasionally provided a gathering site for protesters. ³⁰ New World Daily consequently experienced political pressure that eventually resulted in its closure. Yaofeng Rikan (Healing Breeze Daily) was established in its place. As the paper’s editor went by the pen-name Yaofeng (Healing Breeze), the new tabloid was able to more freely and fully support political mobilization. With Zheng’s moral and financial support, the tabloid became a forum for student organizations and welcomed contributions from members of the younger generation, who were eager to change China not only politically but also culturally. Among them, there were students like Qian Xingcun (1900-1977), who later became a well-known Communist literary critic. Therefore, the targets of their criticism included not only political figures but also practices and customs that were seen as retrogressive. In contrast to Zheng, who saw courtesans as a stabilizing force, these young contributors regarded the industry as a remnant of an old society and an obstacle to progress in Chinese society. Opposition to Zheng’s defense of courtesans became more and more common; one critic went as far as to describe prostitutes as “the lowest and the most lascivious of humankind” (ren lei zhong zui yin jian de). ³¹ Whereas the older generation of intellectuals discussed the social implications of prostitution from the point of view of the connoisseur, the younger generation produced merciless and demeaning criticism of prostitution and courtesans alike. This, intriguingly, echoed the voices from the Committee on Moral Improvement, to which Zheng had painstakingly opposed.

This “internal conflict” between young contributors and old-school defenders such as Zheng, and between Yaofeng Rikan and New World, continued until Yaofeng Rikan was closed down and New World Daily was republished in February 1920; meanwhile, New World was restructured and reopened. ³² In the aftermath of the May Fourth Movement, Zheng carefully revised his tone in promoting the flower election at New World, which was then in its third year. Adopting progressive and revolutionary rhetoric, he explained—using vernacular Chinese for the first time—how the election might have helped courtesans gain independence against the backdrop of rapid change.

The 5-year countdown to the eradication of prostitution has begun. . . . Just imagine, pessimistically, how many dangers would await [a woman in her situation]? . . . As long as we are aware of this, time will not be wasted. We should now give them some knowledge, help them to form communities to do crafts and learn how to read. This is the main goal of this third flower election. ³³

Such worries were later proven unnecessary as the plan to eradicate prostitution within five years had never been fully realized. ³⁴ Moderate regulations were introduced requiring brothels to be licensed; moreover, “sing-song houses” were exempted due to pressure from local merchants and the Municipal Council. This arrangement, in Gail Hershatter’s words, “reinforced tradition in encouraging the courtesans to downplay the sale of their sexual services.” ³⁵ New World, meanwhile, also alternated its entrenched assosciation with the courtesan industry propbably to address these new regulations. After 1920, the flower election was replaced with the Joint Concert of Numerous Flowers (qunfang huichang), also known as the Joint Concert of Famous Flowers (minghua huichang), which became established as a regular program from 1922. ³⁶ The courtesans performing at these concerts came to Liberty Hall at New World voluntarily more or less on a daily basis (whereas, previously, they had only come to New World as electoral candidates). They sometimes performed alongside professional sing-song girls, and their performances occasionally conflicted with their busy schedules and commitments at the brothels to which they belonged. ³⁷ With the publicity provided by New World, the courtesans had the opportunity to earn fame and establish connections despite the tightening regulations. Therefore, between 1920 and 1922, courtesan activities were revived at New World following the 1919 interruption. In contrast to the Yaofeng Rikan period, courtesans once again gained considerable coverage in the news. Their photographs were published consecutively. A few illustrations even suggest that while the presence of courtesans at the Liberty Hall was an attraction in itself, the courtesans also amused themselves with tea drinking and socializing (Figure 5).

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Figure 5.

Courtesans at Liberty Hall.

The establishment of Liberty Hall and the Joint Concerts further opened up the courtesan circle to the general public. According to one article, a visitor found the concert entertaining and of exceptionally good value.

The entrance fee was [only] 20 cents, but our eyes were opened by the experience. Not only were there many operas to listen to and many performances to watch, there were also six high-class “banquet songs” (tang chang). What a deal!

In the tone of a connoisseur, Tiannan Fotu, the new editor of New World Daily, remarked as follows: “I say, it would be almost impossible to have such a feast even if you were to call for many tang chang at a brothel.” ³⁸ The attraction here was the opportunity to experience “high-class” entertainment such as tang chang much cheaply than usual. Paradoxically, however, this also reflected the deteriorating status of courtesans, who were compelled to adjust to an evolving mass culture increasingly open to the rising middle class in Shanghai, ³⁹ well extended from its original circles of officials, merchants, and literati.

Female Performance and Female Spectators

In contrast to the waning courtesan industry, the careers of many female performers had improved since late Qing. ⁴⁰ Not only sing-song girls, with whom the courtesans now performed in Liberty Hall, but also actresses now became increasingly prominent during the early years of the Republic, following the introduction of female troupes and mixed-sex casting both in regional operas and new drama (xinju), also known as “civilised play” (wenmin xi). ⁴¹ These actresses were frequently seen as objects of sexual fantasies, as most clearly demonstrated by the case of the Peking opera actress Liu Xikui (1894-1964). Reportedly, Liu was once kissed by a male fan, who was then fined 50 yuan ⁴² ; the incident was recalled nostalgically as long as two decades later in a Shanghai tabloid with a title that irreversibly sexualized and commodified Liu: “50 dollars per kiss for Liu Xikui.” ⁴³ While this kind of sexualization and commodification of female performers seems unsurprising or even inevitable, other aspects of gender politics in the reception of female performance remain under-surveyed. In the following, I draw particular attention to the degree of female autonomy that the introduction of actresses and diversification of female profession may have permitted. I also discuss the pleasure mechanism underlying the relationship between actresses and women audience.

In 1917, Great World introduced regular mixed-sex casting to its theater, known as the Theatre of Heaven and Earth (qian kun da wutai). However, the tradition of same-sex casting was obstinately maintained at New World, to the extent that all-female casting was carried out in the North Building while all-male casting was held in the South Building. The management of the amusement hall justified this division in terms of a commitment to the reform of customs (gailing fengsu) and popular education (tongsu jiaoyu). ⁴⁴ Accompanying this insistence on same-sex casting and moral education was New World’s enthusiastic promotion of new drama: at least two plays were held each day, and an all-female troupe for new drama, called the Patriotic Drama Club for Girls (ai hua nuzi jutuan), was established for the amusement hall. The club recruited new members among “young women aged fifteen to twenty-five from ‘respectable’ families,” offering them six months’ free training “in dancing and the arts.” In many ways, this was no different from recruitment notices found in Shenbao a few years earlier, ⁴⁵ except that New World now appealed more directly to women dreaming of “independence.” ⁴⁶

It was no coincidence that emphasis was placed in this notice on the autonomy and respectability of the prospective actresses. This may be seen as a reaction to the popular reception of “female performers of the new drama (nü xinju jia)” at the time. One of the most famous actresses, Qian Tianwu (Figure 6), was described in a popular fiction—with the fictional name Qian Yuewo—as coming from a “dark family background” (hei jiating). Her performances at New World as well as other amusement halls such as the rooftop gardens of Wing On Company and Sincere Company were said to have attracted numerous hungry male audience. According to this fiction, a scuffle broke out in the rooftop garden of Wing On between two of Qian’s fans, both of whom had had intimate relationships with her. ⁴⁷ Suspicions about actresses’ morality and family background were found not only in fictional writing but also in the review columns of amusement newspapers. Although (or precisely because) New World Daily was published by New World to promote and recruit actresses for the new drama, the tabloid often featured gossips about these actresses. Once a story was told about a less than promising actress, who had previously been a “run-away concubine,” ending up in the brothels in Peking. ⁴⁸ While one might sensibly read this kind of account as a demeaning representation of female performers that to some degree catered to the sexual fantasies of male readers, I would like to propose a radically different hypothesis: could these stories and reports not be read as a fantasy of female autonomy? After all, was Qian not depicted as a woman who could make her own living and fool men regardless of her underprivileged origin? And although she ultimately failed in her quest to improve her life, was this “run-away concubine” not given the opportunity to fight against her fate by adopting the new profession of actress?

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Figure 6.

Qian Tianwu, cross-dressed.

Certainly, further contextualization and theorization is required before putting an affirmative “yes” to these questions. What is for certain, for the moment, is that the preexisting assumption about the actresses being sexualized objects of the gaze does not satisfactorily accommodate the presence of female spectators in the theaters of Shanghai’s amusement halls, especially for the performances played by new-drama actresses and female opera troupes (xiao jing ban) (Figures 7 and 8). Sitting next to each other and engaging in “girl talk,” female members of the audience were implicitly represented as a kind of sisterhood (Figure 9). However, the experiences of this group of spectators are unclear, as limited traces of their spectatorship are available other than a few illustrations.

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Figure 7.

A female audience at a performance.

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Figure 8.

Female spectators watching a performance by an all-female opera troupe.

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Figure 9.

Female audience members talking to each other.

Hence, the followings are only two preliminary alternative readings. One interpretation is that the relationship established between actresses and female spectators in all-female performances reinforced the idea of a secluded realm of femininity (gui mi), both onstage and offstage, in an enclave excluding men. This reading is in line with aforementioned illustrations that created an image of “sisterhood” and New World’s persistence on same-sex casting. The second alternative reading is based on the assumption that the pleasure mechanism for female spectators differed from that for male spectators; it suggests that female spectatorship and female performance provided transgressive channels for projecting, imagining, and/or negotiating female desire. ⁴⁹ Female new drama performers transgressed not only the traditional roles of women in projecting female desire onstage and offstage but, sometimes, also the very nature of the female sex in their cross-dressing performance. If the commonplace “cross-dressing” scenes in tanci provided an opportunity for the female protagonist to be “heroic,” ⁵⁰ these female performers went further to act out the opportunities themselves. They were celebrated for being not only as good as but also better than actors with their androgynous appearances. “Hero and heroine in the same body: how charmingly different and captivatingly novel!” ⁵¹ praised a columnist when commenting on the Patriotic Drama Club for Girls. The famous actress Qian was also advertised as mastering both male and female roles, even outperforming actors when playing some male roles. ⁵²

Female Visitors and Female Pleasure

An issue emerging from the discussion here about female participants is that these women could only be discussed at the level of representation, through illustrations depicting them, accounts written about them or even attributed to them. In contrast to numerous avaliable reports and diary entries written by male visitors such as Bao Tianxiao (1876-1973) and Zhou Shoujuan (1895-1968), the voices of female subjects are virtually nonexistent. Nonetheless, I propose that these illustrations and literary works can be read alongside the services and policies specifically designed for female visitors to Shanghai’s amusement halls to contextualize our discussion of female pleasure or even subjectivity.

First, the representation of female visitors, like that of actresses, was often sexualized. Their faces and outfits attracted more attention than those of their male counterparts, as is evident from comparing Figure 10, which depicts a woman at the donkey rink, with Figure 11, an earlier depiction of a male donkey rider. Sometimes this group of pleasure seekers was itself depicted as a spectacle for surrounding male visitors (Figure 12). It was not uncommon for female companions to be illustrated in pairs, readily evoking associations with the traditional imagery of sisterhood, whose private nature was thereby made visible to general viewers (Figures 9 and 13). Unlike other emerging “types” of modern women, such as female students (nu xuesheng) and actresses, the female pleasure seekers under study were seldom grouped as a specific category, and were neither described as female tourists (nu youke), female customers (nu guke), nor female visitors (nu fengke). Female pleasure seekers in amusement halls were often referred to in more generic terms as women (fu ren) or young ladies (nian qing nuzi). In Xiepu chao (Tides of Shanghai), for instance, Zhu Shouju (1892-1962) described the appearance of a woman visiting Lou Wai Lou from the perspective of an unfortunate middle-aged male visitor, whose brief encounter with the women made him a victim of fraud. ⁵³ For the author, the floating crowds in the amusement halls, comprising a mixture of men and women unknown to each other, created a great opportunity not only for intimacy but also for great danger, as manifested in his portrayal of a single female visitor as a femme fatale.

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Figure 10.

Portrait of a female visitor riding a donkey.

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Figure 11.

Portrait of a male visitor riding a donkey.

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Figure 12.

Female skating as a spectacle.

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Figure 13.

Two women skating hand in hand.

In some cases, however, this mixture of danger and intimacy was translated into a portrayal of a modern and sophisticated woman. In a short fiction titled “What a Leather Case!” Sun Yushi, the aforementioned manager of Great World, depicted how a female visitor escaped from a set up by another male visitor, after she entered the amusement hall’s stadium “in a very beautiful manner” ⁵⁴ :

The young man sat for about 2 to 3 minutes; seeing that the young lady was smoking a cigarette, and given that he himself was holding one only half-finished, he made an excuse to ask for a light. The young lady smiled faintly and passed her cigarette to him. In fact, his cigarette was still alight, but as he had not been puffing it for a long time, ashes had begun to pile up as if it were unlit. Flicking some of the ashes off, he touched his cigarette to the young lady’s one and took a few puffs. He glanced at her cigarette and returned it to her with the remark, “You are smoking a Garrick! It is very aromatic!” The young lady nodded, took the cigarette back and began to smoke again as if unaffected by the encounter. The young man then started to mumble to himself—nobody else knew what he was saying, and no-one seemed to care. Although the young lady made a few responses in a very low voice, she remained indifferent and focused only on the show.

As a literary representation, this piece shows smoking not only as a manifestation of consumer power but also as a learned social skill, which the female protagonist had mastered as beautifully as the way in which she entered the auditorium of the amusement hall. ⁵⁵ Smoking was also potentially romantic, as indicated in the depiction of the cigarettes of two strangers coming into contact with each other. However, the anticlimax here was that the woman was neither a seductress nor being seduced. Her cold manner was an indication of her sophisticated character, which came along with the moral lesson of the story. Toward the end, the author warned the reader about “shams” (chai bai) who targeted at wealthy young girls at the amusement halls. The young female visitor in the story was fortunate enough to discover the man’s real identity by the manner in which he smoked. Although a plot that aimed to expose the “darkness” of the society like this was not uncommon among “black curtain” fictions (heimu xiaoshuo), Sun’s portrayal of a single female visitor in the amusement hall was refreshing as compared with the representation found in earlier works such as Xiepu chao. Perhaps influenced by Sun’s own experience as the manager of Great World, the female protagonist was now represented as well-off, confident, and possessing social and intellectual “skills” appropriate to the newfound mobility of women, rather than as mysterious, thus dangerous. This depiction was also consistent with the increasing prominence of women in Shanghai’s entertainment quarters, and could be seen, perhaps, as a literary representation registering the evolving perception that “modernity” was marked by a woman’s “visibility”—in which “glamorous self-display” of women was regarded not only as not “shameful” but also as “positively modern” and “admirable.” ⁵⁶

In addition to visual and literary representations, evidence of female visitors can be found in policies designed specifically for the female audience. In July 1920, New World introduced a monthly pass that cost six dollars for male visitors and three dollars for female visitors. By March 1921, Great World had responded with a discounted annual pass for its female visitors. ⁵⁷ The discounts provided for female visitors can be interpreted as a recognition of the power of this group of consumers. At Great World, the annual pass may have even benefited individual prostitutes idling in the hall to seek “business.” ⁵⁸ The growing influence of female consumers was also recognized in the establishment of a “female shopping arcade” (nu shang chang) in the South Building of New World in June 1920, just a few months before the hall introduced an entrance discount for female visitors. The arcade was promoted as a forum for women’s employment. Well-educated young ladies from the Jiangzhe area were recruited to sell various goods such as pharmaceuticals, paintings, sweets, and products likely to be consumed by women, such as jewelry and cosmetics. ⁵⁹ Although the employment of “salesladies” was not widely accepted in Shanghai until the early 1930s, ⁶⁰ and has often been interpreted as a gimmick intended to attract male customers, the role of the salesladies in the female shopping arcade at New World was more than an attraction for male customers. Numerous transactions were carried out between salesladies and female customers, as shown in one of the illustrations provided here (Figure 14). Soon after the establishment of New World’s female shopping arcade, a “male shopping arcade” (nan shang chang) was created in the North Building. This arcade sold fans, bronze objects, play-things (wanhuo), leather products, and cosmetics. ⁶¹ The female shopping arcade was founded, in other words, probably as an alternative shopping experience that catered partially, if not entirely, to the needs and desires of female consumers.

OPEN IN VIEWER

Figure 14.

Saleslady and female customer at a female shopping arcade.

The notion of providing services and an appropriate environment to ensure the comfort and sometimes the security of female visitors was conspicuous in the publicity materials and policies of Shanghai’s amusement halls in the early 1920s. For example, the author of a promotional article titled “The Reputation of New World: Conversations between Two Young Ladies” (Xin shijie zhi koubei liangge miao ling nulang zhi tanhua) wrote of an exchange between two good-looking young ladies about the best leisure spot in Shanghai; eventually, the protagonists went to New World hand in hand. ⁶² The author tried hard to cultivate a decorous image of the two female visitors, and the article was followed the next day with another titled “Pertaining to Morale and Custom at the Cinema” (yingxichang weichi fenghua). The latter article introduced the newly employed guard at the cinema at New World, whose presence enabled female visitors to enjoy the show without worrying about their reputation. This guard, known as Mr. Yang, had previously been a member of the police force and was, thus, recognized and feared by bandits and swindlers alike.

Mr. Yang will be patrolling whenever there is a night screening in the cinema. Order will thus be maintained and ordinary swindlers will be kept away. In the past, women of good families dared not enter cinemas for fear of getting into trouble. But since learning that the New World theatre is respectable, they all come together. ⁶³

The aim of the passage quoted above was to impress on readers that New World was a respectable entertainment venue for women. Yet its hidden message was quite the opposite: the author suggested that it was rarely acceptable for “women of good families” (liangjia funu) to be seen in places of leisure, particularly the dark environment of a cinema, making the presence of a guard necessary.

These policies suggest that concern over the propriety of women’s presence in a physically condensed and gender-mixed entertainment complex genuinely existed among some female visitors themselves, rather than being unilaterally imposed on women by a male-dominated general public. This group of female visitors may, thus, have found resonance in the following piece from Xiaoshuo xinbao (New Newspaper for Fiction), written in the form of personal correspondence between two female friends on the possibility of visiting New World. The first letter was an invitation.

Dearest sister, one feels incredible indolence in such suffocating weather, and apathy as well, when alone in one’s boudoir. Regardless of the exuberance and lavishness for which Shanghai is renowned, houses are tiny, and people are always swarming. . . . A leisure spot is often difficult to find. Fortunately, my unassuming home is close to New World. Climbing up the stairs to have a look, I find the various towers and pavilions in front of me rather charming.

This was followed by a letter of rejection, excerpted below.

Dearest sister, . . . you suggested that we might spend some time together . . . As your senior, however, I have some cautionary reflections to offer. As you may know, the customs of Shanghai tend to be frivolous and luxurious. There is no serious business, but merely games and play among the crowds, the courtesans and the wine. Moreover, places of leisure like the amusement hall sometimes cast a spell over visitors. Loose young men and women make use of this spell to seduce someone for fun. This might go as far as locking eyes and touching shoulders; it might even trigger scuffles, jealousy and all sort of incredibly crazy and bizarre happenings. Numerous young women and gentlemen from respectable families have already fallen victim. As men and women are mixed together in the audience, which is crowded and full of free laughter, one cannot easily suppress an aroused emotion without a heart of iron. A faint smile may attract admirers, and a brief comment may entice followers. From then on, no matter how you might explain it, there will always be a slight stain on your reputation. This is like running water: regardless of its indifference, fallen flowers are always drawn to it. Followers may even create an opportunity to meet you on the street. Isn’t this like digging your own grave? I would say that it is much wiser to draw the translucent curtain quietly and recline on your embroidered bed to enjoy the moon and slow breeze. I am afraid I cannot say yes to your invitation, but offer you my advice instead. Please do not take my reply as unfriendly.

Here, neither the arguments for nor against visiting an amusement hall should be taken at face value, as they were written by the same author, who probably wrote in parallel prose to amuse readers. Nevertheless, this piece vividly illustrates the boredom experienced by female residents of Shanghai, in which living spaces were limited and traditional leisure activities such as visiting famous mountains were infeasible, as well as the temptation created by new entertainment complexes nearby. It also articulates the responses presumably made by female city-dwellers to the dispute between old and new values, in which female pleasure became a moral matter. Last but not least, in literary terms, the correspondence itself provides a kind of voyeuristic pleasure in unveiling the intimate emotions of two young women of the leisure class, not unlike illustrations of the sisterhood of female visitors. The disguised female voice(s) ensures that the representation of female subjectivity is not trouble-free, and solicits a hegemonic male gaze; the proposed visit to an amusement hall is first presented as fun and dazzling, but then warned against. The piece concludes with a retreat to the traditional literary image of “quietly draw[ing] the translucent curtain and reclin[ing] on your embroidered bed to enjoy the moon and slow breeze,” which in fact stands in sharp contrast with the earlier depiction of a highly modernized and busy Shanghai. In offering an apparently conformist yet self-contradictory representation of the correspondence of potential female visitors, the text metaphorically hints at an obstructed yet ineradicable female subjectivity.

Conclusion

With a growing female workforce and an increasingly prominent group of female consumers, women in early Republican Shanghai experienced a novel form of pleasure made available to them in amusement halls. These women gained an unprecedented opportunity for mobility and independence, as well as an experience of intersubjectivity, as they were simultaneously the subject and object of the gaze. Although much of our discussion was concerned with the representations of female pleasure, which is undeniably subject to the hegemonic male gaze, it also highlights the role of such literary and pictorial representations as a platform for the contestation of female pleasure and the negotiation of female subjectivity.