People's Artist Thanh Tòng - A man of great character

The life of an artist, and the struggles and anxieties on the path to achieving the ideals of a dedicated professional like Thanh Tong, are not known to everyone.

1. I don't use the word "deceased" with him, because I feel his gentle smile still lingers somewhere in this world . On the day he passed away, a newspaper asked me to write an article about him. I told them: "As for Thanh Tòng, I only want to write a poem for him." The poem "Goodbye" was later published in the newspaper, with lines like: "...It's raining in Saigon, Thanh Tòng/ Remembering the old afternoons when we used to sit and drink beer/ We only talked about our profession, not a word about money…".

Everyone thought Thanh Tòng didn't know anything about beer or alcohol. But back then, about every ten days, he would come alone, sometimes with his wife Nhung, ring the doorbell, and we'd all head to a small roadside stall on Ngo Thi Nhiem street to enjoy a few beers. Our conversations revolved around his profession and his deep concern about the decline of traditional Vietnamese opera (cai luong). Like the late director Nguyen Dinh Nghi, he loved his profession so much that, aside from the stories of the ups and downs of the stage, he would just sit there with his eyes wide open, innocently like a child.

People's Artist Thanh Tòng in traditional Vietnamese opera costume. Photo: THANH HIỆP

That was the first 10 years we collaborated on the Tran Huu Trang Award for Cai Luong (Vietnamese traditional opera). I handled the organization of the award, while Thanh Tong was both in the directing team and a member of the selection committee. Along with People's Artists Huynh Nga, Diep Lang, Bach Tuyet, Thanh Vy… in the directing team, he was always passionate and dedicated to the performances of the participating actors. When it came to the selection committee, he was fair and discerning, making no distinction between actors from the city and those from provincial troupes, and there was no concept of "homegrown talent," in order to select the golden faces for Cai Luong at that time. The evaluations of the selection committee, the press committee, and the audience committee usually reached an absolute consensus. The resounding success of the Tran Huu Trang Award in its first 10 years left an indelible mark on the Southern Vietnamese Cai Luong (traditional opera) stage after 1975. More than anyone else, artists such as Huynh Nga, Diep Lang, Bach Tuyet, Thanh Tong, Thanh Vy, etc., deserve to be recognized for their contributions to the development of national art.

However, Thanh Tong once made a very "wrong" judgment in front of live television cameras at the Hoa Binh Theater. He was always so enthusiastic about judging any actor participating in the competition, but when it came to his own daughter, he... neglected her. He whispered to me, "Friend, Que Tran is competing tonight, please let me stop judging." I protested, "You're ridiculous. That's just imposing your personal bias on the young actors. If your daughter deserves it, then you should judge her."

After the performance excerpt and the draw for the stage knowledge test, all the judges gave Que Tran perfect scores, except for Thanh Tong, who held up a score of 8. Then, he covered his face and sobbed uncontrollably in front of the television cameras. The entire audience of over 2,000 people stared at him in amazement, then erupted in applause. They understood the heart and strictness of a father towards his child and saw in him the great character of an artist. Later, he confided in me: "Please understand. Seeing Que Tran mature, I couldn't control my emotions, but I didn't want her to become complacent or self-satisfied." I remained silent. It seemed I hadn't had a chance to tell him that it was the beauty of a time when we only knew how to live and wander aimlessly in the world of art.

That year, the Tran Huu Trang Award presented two gold medals to Que Tran and Huu Quoc. I think those were two truly well-deserved gold medals for discovering young talents in the Cai Luong theater. It's a pity that the Cai Luong theater of yesteryear is gradually fading into the past.

2. The public knows a lot about the life and career of a famous person like People's Artist Thanh Tòng through the press; a click of the mouse is all the information. But the life of an artist and the struggles and anxieties on the path to achieving the ideals of a dedicated professional like Thanh Tòng are not known to everyone. Thanh Tòng often confided in me privately about being discriminated against by some people who considered the art of the Minh Tơ traditional opera troupe as a hybrid product of Chinese opera. It seems he felt inferior because he lacked the theoretical knowledge and could not overcome the prejudices of the time to protect the heritage of his family and himself for a different direction on the opera stage. This is also the biggest deficiency in the theoretical research system for Southern Vietnamese opera. Nowadays, people rarely mention it or conduct systematic research on it, instead competing to seek illusory titles about heritage values.

3. I cherish Thanh Tong, first and foremost because he has always been kind to life and the paths he has traveled. I have never heard him speak ill of anyone; all his worries were solely due to his health. At the most recent congress of the Vietnam Stage Artists Association, I had to help him hobble from the restroom up the steps of the Hanoi Opera House, gritting his teeth. I said, "You're in so much pain, what are you doing here?" He immediately replied, "There aren't many opportunities left. I have to try to go out and have fun with my friends. It's fun, you know." Just like many times he complained about his joint pain and difficulty walking, but in a flash, I would see him appear in programs where he was invited to perform. I would see a different Thanh Tong, giving his all, nimbly dancing and transforming into his characters.

I was angry with Thanh Tong because every now and then when I called to ask where he was, he'd say he was way up in Hoc Mon. It wasn't until after his death, when I read the news, that I learned he'd moved right next door to me a year earlier. He had been avoiding me, like many self-respecting artists who are public figures and don't want anyone to see them in such a dilapidated state.

On the Monday after his death, my wife and I went to pay our respects early in the morning. I recited the poem "Goodbye" before his memorial tablet. Suddenly, a very large black butterfly flew in and fluttered over the coffin lid. I said to Que Tran, "That fake dad, he's afraid of embarrassing himself in front of anyone, why did he hide from me when he came back here? We could have talked to each other. Look, I only scolded him once, and he's already wandering around." Que Tran also said, "That's strange, Uncle. He hasn't been here for days, could that butterfly be him?" After seeing many pictures posted online, I also saw a large black butterfly perched on Que Tran's forehead, right above her head, during the funeral procession.

I'm not recounting this rather unusual story to spread superstition, but I vaguely sense that those who truly love this world will always be reluctant to leave. Now, every morning on my way to exercise past his house, which is always locked and bolted, I still see glimpses of Thanh Tòng, just like in the days when he was radiant and smiling brightly with "The Poem on the Horse" (a work by director Thanh Tòng).

(*) See Nguoi Lao Dong Newspaper, issue dated May 21st.

Source: https://nld.com.vn/van-hoa-van-nghe/nsnd-thanh-tong-nhan-cach-lon-20170527220019085.htm