Art + Culture

My Mulan: A Story Told in Motion

There is an undeniable magic in live performance — a kind of energy that cannot be replicated. The anticipation in the air, the synchronized gasps of an audience, the seamless blend of light, movement, and sound — all these elements come together to create a moment of pure enchantment. This past Sunday, I, alongside other GYP Journalists Mona Liu and Erin Wu, had the privilege of experiencing such a moment at My Mulan.

Mulan, a name synonymous with courage and resilience, has captivated audiences for decades. This adaptation promised a fresh take on her timeless story, and from the moment I saw the poster — an enigmatic silhouette standing defiantly against a crimson backdrop — I was intrigued. Another version, depicting Mulan and the General standing side by side in battle-worn armor, conveyed both strength and unspoken resolve.

The venue itself felt fitting for a story of such grandeur. The P.C. Ho Theatre, boasting nearly 600 seats, was a vast yet intimate space, lined with plush red chairs that seemed to glow under the soft overhead lights. Though I had visited before, I had never seen it so alive— with eager spectators filling every corner, conversations humming like an overture before the first note. Outside the theatre, sponsor booths lined the walkways, offering an assortment of souvenirs — delicate headbands, toy inflatables, and keepsakes emblazoned with the My Mulan emblem. A refreshing offering of free juice was a welcome surprise amid the buzz of activity. Near the dressing rooms stood a striking photo-op booth, available in both red and white — the latter adorned with signatures from the cast, a testament to the effort behind the production.

Inside the dressing rooms, the air pulsed with pre-show anticipation. Performers of all ages moved about, adjusting costumes and refining last-minute choreography. Some were adorned in shimmering sequins, others in traditional Chinese garments, their flowing silk catching the dim backstage light. A group of warriors stood at ease, their wooden swords resting at their sides, while a cluster of dancers—postures poised, expressions focused—practiced intricate movements under the watchful eye of a music coordinator. In total, My Mulan featured over 110 dancers, performing 26 choreographed pieces across a breathtaking 90-minute runtime.

Among them were students from the Ana Maria Dance Academy, whose founder, Ana Maria, spoke with glowing enthusiasm about their role in the production. Her students, dressed in earthy tones accented by red and green scarves, were set to perform a chesspiece-themed dance—one of the earlier sequences. For many, this marked their first time on such a grand stage, a milestone both exhilarating and daunting. Their matching jackets, emblazoned with the academy’s name, reflected a shared pride that rippled throughout the performers’ community.

As 7:30 approached, the energy outside the theatre crescendoed. Audience members exchanged eager remarks, a mother expressing both excitement for the show and pride for her daughter, who would be performing for the first time. Nearby, filmmakers and photographers maneuvered through the crowd, positioning themselves for the perfect vantage point. From where I sat, I could see the sound engineers stationed at their control booth, their fingers deftly adjusting an array of switches and dials. Though this was only the 11th performance of My Mulan, their precision made it feel as if they had been perfecting it for years.

Then, the lights dimmed. The murmurs quieted. The curtains rose. And the story unfolded.

My Mulan does not attempt to retell the well-known tale, but rather, it reframes it. The narrative follows Michelle, a contemporary dancer who, upon receiving an audition invitation for a prestigious performance, begins to doubt herself. Surrounded by exceptional talent, her confidence wavers—until she is transported into the past, where she witnesses Mulan’s journey firsthand.

Mulan’s life is one of quiet strength, shaped by her father’s influence in a rural village. When war descends and threatens her family, she makes the fateful decision to disguise herself as a man and take her father’s place in battle. Through hardship and sacrifice, she rises as a leader, guiding her outnumbered troops with unwavering resolve. Even as wounds mark her body, she fights on, culminating in a final confrontation against Shan Yu. When victory is hers, Mulan declines glory, choosing instead to return home. Inspired by Mulan’s story, Michelle finds her own courage, stepping onto the stage once more—this time, with unshakable confidence.

At intermission, we were led down a narrow flight of stairs toward the dressing rooms, where the actors prepared for the second act. In a quiet alcove, three key performers awaited their cues: the General, the King of Barbarians, and the Bully. Despite the limited time, we had the opportunity to speak with them.

Kealan McLaughlin, who portrayed the General, was an imposing presence, clad in a flowing crimson cape and heavy armor. With a headband tied over his tousled curls, he embodied his character with a natural authority. When asked about the greatest challenge of his role, he spoke of the intricate choreography — “each step demanding precise synchronization with the music.” A graduate of the Canada National Ballet, Kealan’s technical prowess was evident, his movements commanding the stage with ease. He reflected that the General’s strength and determination were qualities he admired, hoping that the audience would take away a message of resilience: “when things feel really discouraging, remembering that if you reach out to a friend, get some support, you can get through pretty much anything.”

In stark contrast, Alan Gottem, the King of Barbarians, exuded raw intensity. A Brazilian dance instructor newly arrived in Canada, this marked his debut in a major production. His costume — adorned with thick furs and rugged details — matched his untamed energy. When asked what drew him to the role, he spoke of the King’s relentless spirit, likening it to his own journey of perseverance: “If you keep trying to conquer whatever you want, you have to keep doing it. Don’t give up, because one day you’re going to get there.”

Leon Schvaister, who played the dual roles of the modern-day Bully and a lead dancer in Mulan’s era, reflected on the duality of his character. Though his onstage persona was one of arrogance and cruelty, he himself was thoughtful and humble. He admitted that the choreography was among the most challenging he had ever tackled, but the camaraderie of the cast made the experience deeply rewarding. Having been part of My Mulan in previous years, he spoke fondly of the production, describing each scene as “a masterpiece.”

As the final act unfolded, the dancers moved with breathtaking precision, each step woven seamlessly into the tapestry of the performance. The battle sequences pulsed with urgency, while the softer moments lingered like echoes. Every movement, every expression carried weight, culminating in an ending that resonated beyond the stage. In line with its message of giving back, $2 from every ticket sold will be donated to the Toronto SickKids Hospital, ensuring that the impact of My Mulan reaches far beyond the stage, helping to secure the health and future of children.

My Mulan was more than a performance—it was an experience, a tapestry of movement and storytelling that lingered long after the final bow. I left the theatre with a newfound appreciation for the art of dance and the power of a story well told. It was, in every sense, a magical evening.

(This article was originally published August 13th, 2023. It has been adapted from https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/nyG-Vo9zUotUAApESfowWw.)