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writing docudrama. Frankly, I didn’t want the “truth” to interfere with my own speculations. I told Stuart Ostrow, a producer with whom I’d worked before, that I envisioned the story as a musical. I remember going so far as to speculate that it could be some “great Madame Batterfly-Mke. tragedy.” Stuart was very intrigued, and encouraged me with some early funding. Before I can begin writing, I must “break the back of the story,” and find some angle which compels me to set pen to paper. I was driving down Santa Monica Boulevard one afternoon. and asked myself, “What did Bouriscot think he was getting in this Chinese actress?” The answer came to me clearly; “He probably thought he had found Madame Butterfly.” The idea of doing a deconstructivist Madame Butterfly immediately appealed to me. This, despite the fact that I didn’t even know the plot of the opera! I knew Butterfly only as a cultural stereotype; speaking of an Asian woman, we would sometimes say. “She’s pulling a Butterfly,” which meant playing the submissive Oriental number. Yet, I felt convinced that the libretto would include yet another lotus blossom pining away for a cruel Caucasian man, and dying for her love. Such a story has become too much of a cliché not to be included in the archtypal East-West romance that started it all. Sure enough, when I purchased the record, I discovered it contained a wealth of sexist and racist clichés, reaffirming my faith in Western culture. Very soon after, I came up with the basic “arc” of my play; the Frenchman fantasizes that he is Pinkerton and his lover is Butterfly. By the end of the piece, he realizes that it is he who has been Butterfly, in that the Frenchman has been duped by love; the Chinese spy, who exploited that love, is therefore the real Pinkerton. I wrote a proposal to Stuart Ostrow, who found it very exciting, (On the night of the Tony Awards, Stuart produced my original two-page treatment, and we were gratified to see that it was, indeed, the play 1 eventually wrote.) I wrote a play, rather than a musical, because, having “broken the back” of the story, I wanted to start immediately and not be hampered by the lengthy process of collaboration, I would like to think, however, that the play has retained many of its musical roots. So Monsieur Butterfly was completed in six weeks between September and mid-October, 1986. My wife, Ophelia, thought Monsieur Butterfly too obvious a title, and suggested I abbreviate it in the French fashion. Hence, M. Butterfly, far mo-

re mysterious and ambiguous, was the result. 1 sent the play to Stuart Ostrow as a courtesy, assuming he would not be interested in producing what had become a straight play. Instead, he flew out to Los Angeles immediately for script conferences. Coming from a background in the not-for-profit theater, I suggested that we develop 1 the work at a regional institution. Stuart, nothing if not bold, argued for bringing it directly to Broadway. It was also Stuart who suggested

John Dexter to direct. I had known Dexter’s work only by its formidable reputation. Stuart sent the script to John, who called back the next day, saying it was the best play he’d read in twenty years. Naturally, this predisposed me to like him a great deal. We mot in December in New York. Not long after, we persuaded Eiko Ishioka to design our sets and costumes. 1 had admired her work from afar ever since, as a college student, I had seen her poster for Apocalypse Now in Japan. By January, 1987,

Stuart had optioned M. Butterfly, Dexter was signed to direct, and the normally sloth-like pace of commercial theater had been given a considerable prod. On January 4, 1988, we commenced rehearsals, I was very pleased that John Lithgow had agreed to play the French diplomat, whom I named Rene Gallimard. Throughout his tenure with us, Lithgow was every inch the center of our company, intelligent and professional, passionate and generous. B. D. Wong was forced to endure a five-month audition period before we selected him to play Song Filing. .Watching B. D.’s growth was one of the joys of the rehearsal process, as he constantly attained higher levels of performance. It became clear that we had. been fortunate enought to put together a company with not only great talent, but also wonderful cmaraderie. As for Dexter, I have never worked with a director more respectful of text and bold in the uses of theatricality. On the first day of rehearsal, the actors were given movement and speech drills. Then Dexter asked that everyone not required at rehearsal leave the room. A week later, we returned for an amazingly thorough run-through. It was not until that day that I first heard my play read, a note I direct at many regional theaters who “develop” a script to death. We opened in Washington, D. C., at the National Theastre, where West Side Story and Amadeus had premiered. On the morning after opening night, most of the reviews were glowing, except for The Washington Post. Throughout our run in Washington, Stuart never pressured us to make the play more “commercial” in reaction to that review. We all simply concluded that the gentlemen was possibly insecure about his own sexual orientation and therefore found the play threatening. And we continued our work. Once we opened in New York, the play found a life of its own, I suppose the most gratifying thing for me is that we had never compromised to be more “Broadway”; we simply did the work we thought best. That our endeavor should be rewarded to the degree it has is one of those all-too-rare instances when one’s own perception and that of the world are in agreement. Many people have subsequently asked me about the “ideas” behind the play. From our first preview in Washington, I have been pleased that people leaving the theather were talking not only about the sexual, but also the political, issues raised by the work. From my point of view, the “impossi-