Shaolin

Took the kids to see the Shaolin Kung Fu Monks at the Peacock Theatre in Kingsway on Thursday. It's always sort of interesting to experience real expertise, especially the best there is, and these guys were good at what they do – incredibly flexible, athletic and strong, but, as far as I could make out, everything done with a closed (or an unopening) heart. The epitome of the external – a testament to testosterone. They performed against a scaffolding with two female percussionists on a level above their heads. At one point one of these percussionists put down her mallets and moved to the front of the suspended platform on which she was standing and started to slowly move her arms around. At that point I felt her energy reach into me and start to move my heart. I suddenly woke up, ready to experience what I expected would be a superior display of heart-centred kung fu, when suddenly she instead broke into song – she was a singer not a martial artist. It summed up the evening really – all male bluster and rather coarse energy, none of it really refined or alive enough to actually communicate, transform or stimulate engagement. What was beautiful was their sincerity. What was alarming was the seeming lack of spiritual or philosophical content. I couldn't honestly see where all that physical work was leading. The Tai Chi they demonstrated was putrid by the way.