"Once the director has decided to put on a particular work, the actor cannot allow herself to be consumed by the work, nor can she ride herd over it. The actress has to be sufficiently skilled to strike a proper balance." With these words, director Robert Wilson of Orlando communicated what he expected of Wei Hai-min, and she delivered just what he was looking for, proving that she was not limited to Peking Opera, but a true actress capable of working in any style. (courtesy of the Wei Hai-Ming Chinese Opera Foundation)

After turning professional at age 20, stage actress Wei Hai-min won an Armed Forces Culture and Arts Award every year for four years running. At age 30, to keep her word to a friend, she threw herself headlong into an experimental takeoff on Macbeth, earning the scorn of many who lambasted the performance as "neither fish nor fowl" and a bloody-minded trashing of Peking Opera traditions. But with creepy images of the Chinese "doppelganger" of Lady Macbeth still lingering in the minds of theatergoers, Wei reverted back to traditional opera and became the standard bearer of the understated performance style espoused by followers of Mei Lanfang. Nearing age 40, she received the Plum Blossom Award, the most prestigious honor of all in the world of Peking Opera in mainland China.

In 2008, she took on the challenge of performing the best known roles of Mei Lanfang, Cheng Junqiu, Cheng Yanqiu, and Zhang Hui, the four great masters of Peking Opera female roles, as a gesture of respect toward the great masters of the stage. This was Wei's big breakthrough at age 50. Then in less than half a year, working with Robert Wilson, a noted American director of modern theater, she turned into an oriental version of Orlando. After finishing a recent tour in Russia, she returned immediately to Contemporary Legend Theater. Oddly enough, given the avant-garde bent of Contemporary Legend Theater, what she brought back for them to perform was a work of traditional opera.

As one of the leading Peking Opera performers in Taiwan, Wei has received intense media scrutiny for many years, but the footlights don't even move fast enough to keep up with the pace of her transformations on the stage. Wei's continual breaking with the past has opened up new frontiers in Taiwan's Peking Opera, and made it more appealing to audiences.

Wei appears on stage in black shirt and pants, with only simple makeup, departing radically on both counts from Peking Opera tradition. She careens quickly about, now laughing dementedly, now going completely silent. And then suddenly she is stock-still. On-stage illumination is limited to a small, roaming spot that calls attention at different times to a hand gesture, a pose, a facial expression, and then... wait a minute! Where has she gotten off to? Oh, there she is! Not standing, not sitting, not jumping-no, she's lying down. That's right, flat out on the floor. But what's that in her hands? A sword? Lance? Scarf? Folding fan? No, it's a human skull!

It is early 2009, and Wei is appearing in Orlando, one of the main attractions this year at the National Theater and Concert Hall. The East Asian version of Orlando was created specifically for Wei by renowned American theater director Robert Wilson.

During the performance, the European Orlando of Virginia Woolf's original novel is converted into a man from the Tang dynasty, and like Woolf's character he lives for 400 years and switches gender. Wei is stretched to the limit as she bounces between yin and yang, masculine and feminine voices, depression and elation. Her character is by turns mysterious, ambiguous, enchanting, alluring. Even though it's just Wei on the stage, the members of the audience are glued to their seats through the whole performance.