The time when Coco Lee took on the PLA and won

Andy Lau’s Foreskin Saves the Day!

With the terrible news that we had lost Coco Lee, I thought I’d take you on a slight step backwards to a pre handover time when we in HK considered China the evil empire of the north…but that threat seemed almost cartoonish with somewhat silly looking mainlanders being recognized from across the street with sales tags still hanging off their suits, their wives by their big solid hair and their country’s leaders were plain old screaming chain smoking Stalanist dwarves. But those angry little men in their funny little Mao suits did like to party…as I found out.

A few years before the handover, I was sent to Shanghai to produce a waaay over the top tv concert/award show. The satellite tv group I was working for was owned by a rather large worldwide media group (whose scruples have been the subject of great debate since)…which had managed to get on the wrong side of the Chinese Gov’t by their CEO publicly saying China couldn’t do anything to stop the spread of information by satellite television. The Chinese gov’t said ‘oh yeah?’, then turned around and simply banned satellite dishes. Problem solved. My evil media megalord’s strategy to get back in communist good graces was to do pretty much anything they wanted, company-wide…which is why I was going to Shanghai.

My team and I had done a similar show the previous year celebrating the best in Chinese music from across the planet and broadcast it ‘live’ across Asia…from Taipei. The Chinese gov’t felt the same wonderful way about Taiwan then as they do today…which was a slight problem for us getting it shown on the mainland. The PRC wanted to demonstrate to the world how much more wonderful a show it would be when hosted by the glorious people’s republic. China wanted to rock…so off we were sent with the orders to do a great show and make the Chinese gov’t happy. Funnily enough, it turns out you couldn’t do both.

To clear all the permit/broadcast/regulations/license problems created by the same gov’t we were going to be doing this for, we had to be ‘partner up’ with an officially assigned Chinese broadcaster who were to co-produce the event with us. Before we even started searching for one, we were told the Gov’t had already selected a broadcaster to be our BFF.  

The Chinese broadcaster’s version of ‘co-produce’ turns out to be very different from the traditional understanding. Speaking to them, the impression given was that it was my team’s show and my role was to help in making it happen. Their role seemed more along the line of sitting on their asses while eating donuts. Getting all the performers, planning the show, designing the stage/look and feel, prepping editing the roll-ins and playbacks, putting in all the equipment, camera, lighting and wiring…arranging all the hotels, transportation and catering…the 2 full days of rehearsals…I don’t remember a single person from the broadcaster lifting a finger for any of that. Henry and our team did it all. Everything single friggin’ thing.

Henry Doo, a wonderful friend and fantastic live event director, had taken the Shanghai plunge with me and to be honest, this is the kind of thing that both of us really loved to do anyway. There’s no problem we couldn’t fix, get around or just plain ignore. That’s why, on the day of the event, when we were told that members of the Chinese gov’t officials attending were demanding a personal meet and greet with all the artists before the show…we weren’t really fazed at all. But our new BBF local broadcaster was. They got quite nervous as a matter of fact.

Only three years earlier, Deng Xiaoping had declared that Shanghai would be the “head of the dragon” that was going to pull China into the future. A massive amount of investment was thrown into rebuilding a city that had been pretty much neglected in comparison to the likes of Beijing…and it was starting to take shape. Today, the results are extremely obvious but at the time, not so much. Shanghai was under the spotlight…and by association, now so was our little show. Now that Gov’t officials were going to attend and mingle with the stars, our little show’s profile went way up…our BFF felt they needed to get their game on.

Today, China produces a massive amount of music talent but in the mid-90’s, not so much. There had been a couple of great mainland bands and singers at the time that had fully embraced the idea of rock n’ roll rebellion…but, as you might guess…rebellious attitudes weren’t really embraced by the powers that be…so, they weren’t invited. We did have a huge list of the top Chinese artists of the time and our guys had pulled out all the stops in getting them to appear…but not a single one was from the mainland. And all of them were going to be made to attend a little get together with the powers that be before the show and talking about the show…a show that our co-production broadcaster really hadn’t done anything with. Yet.

There were 25 superstars in total, people that are used to limos and rose petals…that we had to cram into a crummy bus and drive over to our last minute ‘red carpet’ venue. You’ve got to understand that the artists I’m talking about here were the biggest stars on the planet as far as Chinese entertainment is concerned. Fay Wong, Ah-Mei, Erik Kwok, just to name a few…but the biggest of them all then is still the biggest now…our headliner was none other than the one and only Mr. Andy Lau…

Andy carries a bit of weight wherever he goes. The hotel next to the venue told us there were no banquet rooms available for the get together. They told the local broadcaster there were no rooms available. They told the friggin’ Chinese Communist Party there were no rooms available. When Henry explained to the hotel Andy Lau was coming, suddenly there was a last minute banquet room available. That’s how big the guy is.

With all the heavyweight politicos coming, security went a little overboard. It seemed we had a whole division of the PLA underfoot. They were everywhere…including backstage. Even with that weirdness, Henry had the broadcast venue all under control…everything was set, all the gear was in place, all crew had been run through the show top to bottom…we had rehearsed what we thought were every contingency…they were just waiting on the artists to come in and do one last run through for their performances. But that precious time was being used to entertain a bunch of guys in military uniforms standing around a red carpet that everyone seemed to be scared shitless of. And they were throwing back drinks like they were going to war the next day.

The show we did from Taiwan the year before had been recorded and played back ‘as-live’ 24 hours later, giving us time to fix mistakes and make sure our broadcast was the absolute best we could do. The show from Shanghai was going to be the same…but for very different reasons. According to our local broadcast partner, any and all elements that could embarrass our hosts would have to be thoroughly expunged before this show came anywhere near a tv set. We just didn’t understand yet what they meant by embarrassing. Henry didn’t trust them and had couple other ideas he kept to himself.

At the time, what was missing from the Asian Chinese music industry was a big International Chinese-American star…a cross-over that could open the door for other artists to step through. One of the first to try to step up to the plate was a stunningly beautiful and talented San Francisco raised young lady named Coco Lee. She had lived in Hong Kong until she was 10 or so and spoke fluent Cantonese and Mandarin…but also came off as an all American package. She was pretty good too. And at entrances, she was unequaled. She knew she’d be with everyone on the bill and if the goal was to be noticed, she succeeded.

She stepped off the bus in white go-go boots and a pink furry jacket that came down just below where her legs came together. Just barely. And nothing between those but her very shapely bare legs. On her head, she’d gone for a wild red wig with several small white ribbons tied randomly all over. Kind of a super sexy Asian-Annie. All the men in military uniform were horrified and drooling at the same time. It was quite a site to behold. It didn’t take long until she was surrounded by admirers. Three…maybe four seconds. But one of the Stalinist dwarves didn’t seem happy at all. We called him Grumpy.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but what was taking place in front of my very eyes was very unique. The biggest stars in the industry were all gathered together in one room…not to be fawned over as they were more than used to…but for them to cowtow to their hosts instead. Weird. But when Ms Lee stepped off the bus looking like she did, most of these superstars found themselves in the uncomfortable position of having to entertain themselves. And that’s why across the room I saw Henry waving to me while talking to Mr Andy Lau...all alone. I ambled over.

Henry had done a few gigs with Andy before and they seemed fairly tight. He introduced me and, once we had finished expressing our appreciation for Ms Lee, the topic soon turned to the weirdness this event was in danger of embracing. We had no idea how this was going to end up, let alone what was going to happen along the way. And what was with all the army guys backstage? Being the only non-Asian running around, I was getting some pretty weird looks from the military set. Henry suggested that if I got into any problem I could just say I was Andy’s bodyguard. Andy giggled and then they gave me my first Mandarin lesson. “Wah-shoe Andy Lau de bow-bell”. I practiced it a few times until they both stopped laughing, taking that as sign I was in the right neighborhood or they were just bored of me.

Unknown to us, our local broadcaster buddy had decided they needed to be seen to be in the control seat. They had brought in some of their local on-air talent and demanded they be given the emcee duties. They tried to change the lighting to highlight their logo. They tried to change the show rundown and insert some of their channel’s artists. Henry and I had been warned to be nice and play nice…so when we found backstage two new people we’d never seen before now calling themselves the show producers, we just took it with a grain of salt. People can call themselves what ever they want…as long as they don’t get in the way. And way, way in the back, well away from the limelight and the artists, Henry could run roughshod over the production truck…where everything actually came together onto tape anyway. As long as we had that, we were fine. We could edit out whatever was rubbish later on.

While Henry’s responsibility was in the production truck, mine was front and backstage. That meant troubleshooting…which may seem kind of a silly role for an English-only Canadian to have on a Chinese music show…but strangely enough, when everyone knows what’s what, language is not really a big problem. All I really had to do was make sure the runners were prepping the right artists at the right time…getting them ready with make up and wardrobe…making sure that everyone was where everyone was supposed to be when they were supposed to be there. Because it wasn’t actually a live broadcast, getting everyone onstage on time wasn’t that big a deal…overall time was. So, unless it was a big problem it wasn’t really a problem at all.

In spite of all the local station’s silliness and strangers sticking their nose in, the show was actually going smoothly. We had a live studio audience who had been warned this show may take a while, but they actually seemed to be enjoying themselves. Backstage, the mood was fairly light. The hall we were doing this in didn’t have enough dressing rooms for all the stars so we had created a giant green room that the stars could mingle in and relax without the press or plebs having any access. It was terrific, and Coco seemed to be made welcome by the stars.

When I went back there two PLA solders in full dress, holding rifles, were guarding the entrance. Looking around backstage, and saw there were more soldiers guarding other access doors. While my spidey-sense should have been tingling, everything seemed fine so I just rolled with it. It didn’t last long.

One of the runners actually ran up to me in a panic. There was something wrong with Coco Lee and I had to come quick.

Ms Lee was standing at the edge of the side stage dressed just as wonderfully as I’d seen her before. The only difference now was that she seemed to have two PLA soldiers attached to her front…blocking her way. She wasn’t happy. “They won’t let me on”, she said. “Why?” I asked. Ms Lee gave me a look that communicated several things at once in layers. That she didn’t know, that I was an idiot for asking, and that I had absolutely no chance what-so-ever so get that out of your head too. So I asked the guards. Then asked them again slightly louder. “They don’t speak English” Ms Lee patiently explained through (probably) gritted teeth. I was looking fro any runners to help translate, none to be seen and Coco was getting pretty agitated, she wanted to perform well.

When a stunningly beautiful woman is in need of help, some men would use cunning…some savoir faire…and others perhaps force. I learned something about myself that day. I used stupidity.

I reached way back into my brain’s filing cabinet of only an hour ago to spring free the phrase Mr Lau himself had taught me. In the hopes of raising my chances ever so slightly, I looked as menacing as possible and used my best Clint Eastwood voice for what I thought would be the clincher.“Wah-shoe Andy Lau de bow-pee!” The two guards were obviously very impressed because their eyes opened wide…but they didn’t move out of the way. Ms Lee was obviously very impressed because she was no longer looking at me as if I were an idiot. More like she was repulsed. In my head at the time, that must have seemed better because I turned on the guards and repeated it over and over and louder and louder. “Wah-shoe Andy Lau de bow-pee! Wah-shoe Andy Lau de bow-pee! WAH-SHOE ANDY LAU DE BOW-PEE!”

It worked. The guards stepped aside and Ms Lee stepped into the limelight.

I ran to the production truck to see if there was any other weirdness going on. Henry and the production truck team seemed on their own. Inside, Henry was calling out the cameras and their positions for Coco’s performance. When I told him what had happened, he correctly guessed that Grumpy dwarf didn’t want Coco’s lovely decadent legs as part of the show…and that the local broadcasters had helped try and stop her. He thought that more trouble was on its way.

As soon as Coco’s performance was finished Henry called for a tape change. This is back in the pre-digital days…everything we did went onto tape. And we had back ups as well just in case. The tape assistant passed Coco’s performance tape to Henry while sliding a new one into the machine. Henry shoved Coco’s into the bottom of his gym bag. Minutes later, there was a banging on the truck’s door. Writing about this now, it seems so silly that something like this could have happened over something so innocent…but it did.

The two local producers were standing there with the two guards from the stage. They demanded the tape. Henry stepped back, nodded to the tape assistant…who then ejected the blank tape and handed it over. They seemed satisfied. They didn’t check it. They didn’t even take the tape’s box. They just walked away.

The rest of the show was comparatively uneventful…but Henry knew we still may have had a problem if they ever checked that tape. The local broadcaster had offered their editing facilities to help turn the show around but we couldn’t take the chance. We declined saying we were doing it all the next day in Hong Kong...but thanks anyway…grabbed all the tapes and ran back to the hotel. 

With Coco’s tape safely hidden away, we relaxed for a quick one or two at the hotel bar before heading to the airport. There enjoying themselves were a lot of the night’s performers, getting along famously as only the famous can do. A couple of them shared a joke while looking in my general direction. I hit the bar while Henry went to shake some hands.

Henry came back and raised his beer…like the cat that ate the thing that cat’s like to eat.

“People are talking about your stage confrontation,” he smirked. “Yup, your phrase really saved the day..at least confused them a bit.” “oh yeah….confused them for sure, or damaged them for life,” still smirking our Henry. “say it for me one more time”.

I obliged, and he looked down…biting his lip a little. He looked back up and said

 “no…that doesn’t mean you’re Andy’s bodyguard. You told those guards that you were Andy Lau’s foreskin. You screamed to the world that you are Andy Lau’s foreskin.”

Strangely enough I didn’t feel silly, or embarrassed or even dumb. I actually felt proud. I had stood up to tyranny, (well, a couple of small representations of it), screamed in its face complete nonsense about Andy Lau’s foreskin, and saved the day. And I’ve got a weird story to tell my grandkids. I wonder what version of the story those guards would actually tell theirs.