Classic Stage Company’s “Snow in Midsummer” revives an epic tale from China’s theatrical golden age, bringing ancient lore to life for a modern audience. 

The rule of the Yuan Dynasty (1260-1368), though relatively short, was notably influential for Chinese ethnic, cultural, and artistic development. In addition to conceiving new forms of written language and pioneering techniques in the visual arts, the Mongols were ardent patrons of the theater. The country experienced a theatrical golden age. 

Of the many Yuan dramatists to come to prominence during that auspicious window, none were more lauded than Guan Hanqing, one of four “Yuan-Period Masters.” Widely known as the Father of Chinese Dramatic Literature, his most notable work, “The Injustice to Dou E That Moved Heaven and Earth,” is about a young widow executed for a murder she didn’t commit. She vows that her innocence will be proved when a three-year drought strikes the province and snow falls in midsummer. 

It’s this epic tale that playwright Frances Ya-Chu Cowhig has chosen to revive. Suffice it to say, she has big shoes to fill. 

The original production would have been performed as a “sung variety opera” in a prologue and four or five acts, integrating the since-lost Yuan zaju music, mime, and elaborate costuming and sets forming a dramatic whole — a style preserved by the Beijing Opera. It would also have relied more heavily on archetypes and binaries: good widow, bad son. 

Ms. Cowhig takes a decidedly more modern approach, inspired by Japanese horror movies and ghost stories like “The Ring.” It’s clear that costume designer Johanna Pan did, too, as Dou E, played by Dorcas Leung, crawls over the stage on hands and knees in a Samara-inspired white organza gown. 

Additionally, “Snow in Midsummer” fleshes out those character archetypes that, as Ms. Cowhig says, “wouldn’t be very interesting to a contemporary audience.” Whereas the original text was influenced heavily by Buddhist cosmology and a return to natural order, this version of the wronged spirit wants something more. 

“Dou E wants vengeance,” the director of the 2017 “Snow” premiere at Stratford-Upon-Avon, Justin Audibert, said. “It’s not justice alone; it isn’t quite enough. People need to pay for what they’ve done.” 

By setting the piece in New Harmony, a factory town in present-day China, Ms. Cowhig opens the door for commentary on many modern themes. Women’s rights are front and center, as a wealthy businesswoman played by Teresa Avia Lim takes ownership of New Harmony’s industries and, when Dou E’s story is uncovered, pursues justice in her name. Gay relationships, climate change, police brutality, “late-stage capitalism,” and China’s race to global power also play important roles. 

Most compelling is Ms. Cowhig’s emphasis on China’s “large, hidden” death toll related to organ harvesting. Her timing is uncanny. In early May 2022, a researcher who published a paper detailing the Chinese Communist Party’s forced organ-harvesting techniques presented proof to a congressional panel that Chinese doctors killed patients.

“Another expert,” columnist Jimmy Quinn wrote for the National Review, “presented an analysis indicating that 25,000 to 50,000 Xinjiang prison-camp detainees are subjected to organ harvesting, then cremated, each year.” 

Such was the fate of Dou E. After her execution by firing squad, an organ-harvesting doctor played compellingly by Kenneth Lee dissects her body and scatters her limbs to the farthest corners of the earth. Her hands are attached to a man with phantom pains. Her eyes cross the ocean to a land she’s never seen. Her stomach digests types of food that her tongue never tasted. Her heart? It beats nearer to us than we realize. 

When her same heart, beating and bloodied, was pulled from a man’s chest onstage by Dou E’s vengeful ghost, there were no gasps. One audience member rested his cheek on his palm. Another yawned. There was no reaction to her gruesome execution, or her rape. In spite of Ms. Cowhig’s assist, Classic Stage Company’s shot doesn’t quite hit. 

What interferes with the audience’s ability to suspend disbelief? Is it the underwhelming, strangely quiet sound design, or house lights raised one time too many mid-production? Is it the strident, melodramatic performances, or the show’s marathon length? Is it a lack of cohesive direction? Perhaps all of the above. 

Although these shortcomings may undermine the show’s effectiveness, they do not undermine its importance. Just as Guan Hanqing’s script served as a form of passive resistance against the Mongols’ relentless censorship and oppression, Ms. Cowhig’s honors his vision and resists the unjust treatment of China’s citizens at the hands of the Chinese Communist Party. 

Look up: It’s snowing in June.