Hey folks, Harry here with another look at the Bruges Cinema Novo Festival in Belgium from Elaine, who is doing a second bang up job of reporting on a film festival this year! And she's really giving all of us a great insight into some foriegn cinema that might otherwise pass us by. Check it out....
BRUGES CINEMA NOVO FESTIVAL, PART III
CHINA/TAIWAN
Of the three Chinese/Taiwanese films I saw in Bruges, one had taken a fairly prestigious award, another had won a minor award and the third had (as far as I know) not won anything at all. The differences in status were adequately reflected in the films themselves. The two minor films, "Gege" (winner of the Fipresci Award at the Hong Kong festival) and "The Human Comedy" (a Taiwanese variation on the "Short Cuts" genre), were interesting but eventually somewhat pointless, while the third, Wang Xiaoshuai's acclaimed "Beijing Bicycle" (winner of a Berlin Silver Bear) was so good it made me angry - an effect not many films have on me these days.
I suppose I reacted rather more strongly to "Beijing Bicycle" than the average viewer because I am a sinologist. I know the situations depicted in the film from experience, and I tend to get angry at them because I know that the system which upholds them is not likely to be changed any time soon. However, one doesn't have to be a sinologist to appreciate the movie; it's a powerful film in its own right, which should strike a chord with "regular" cinema-goers as well as China freaks like myself.
The same may not be quite true for "Gege," one of the many road movies I watched in Bruges. Although "Gege" has interesting touches, that which I really loved about it (its recognisable depiction of the Southwest Chinese travelling experience) is not likely to be shared by viewers who have not been to China. Still, it should please those of you who are interested in such travelling experiences.
In addition to reviews of "Gege" and "Beijing
Bicycle," I'm including a review of Hung Hung's "Human
Comedy" for those who feel that the subject of
alienation in present-day Taipei hasn't yet been
exhausted by Tsai Ming-liang, Hou Hsiao-hsien and
Edward Yang. It's an interesting little film - no "Yi
Yi" or "The Hole," but worth checking out if you
happen to find yourself in its vicinity.
BEIJING BICYCLE (Wang Xiaoshuai, 2001)
Back when I was a student, I was once removed from the university library for laughing out loud at a sample sentence in a Chinese-English dictionary. The dictionary in question was a CCP-authored monstrosity from the 1970s which provided sample sentences for each entry; the sentence that got me kicked out, meant to illustrate the use of the word "natural," was, "It is only natural that people in capitalist countries should suffer great unhappiness." At the time, the example struck me as hopelessly hilarious; now that I have seen "Beijing Bicycle," though, I think I know how it came to be in the dictionary.
"Beijing Bicycle" is about that which Deng Xiaoping used to call "capitalism with Chinese characteristics." It's about the impact of capitalism and materialism on a country which is not ready for them - a country which, not too long ago, frowned on the notion of "possession" and in which the social gap between city dwellers and country folk is infinitely bigger than most westerners realise. Most of all, however, it's an indictment of the one-child policy and the terrible saving-face culture which, despite vast changes in Chinese society, continue to ruin people's lives. As such, it's a very Chinese film, but one whose plot is universal enough for western viewers to appreciate it quite a bit indeed.
The protagonist of "Beijing Bicycle" is Guo Liangui (Cui Lin), a 17-year-old from the countryside who, like millions of other poor peasants, has come to the capital to try his luck. After some initial setbacks, he lands a job at a courier service. His means of transport is a brand-new mountain bike which, he is kindly informed, will be his once he has delivered sixty parcels. Just before he reaches his target, however, his bike is stolen. As a result, Liangui fails to deliver a parcel and is fired - not because he has lost his bike, he is told, but because he has caused his boss to lose face, which is worse. Refusing to give up on his dream of owning a bike and making it big, Liangui roams the streets of Beijing in search of his bike. When he finally finds it, he steals it back, only to get in trouble with its new owner, a despicable school kid called Jian (Li Bin) who needs the bike to keep up with his rich friends. The friends, it turns out, practise bike tricks on one of the upper floors of an unfinished western-style high-rise building overlooking the city (the most appropriate metaphor for modern China I have come across in a while), and in order to be accepted by them, not to mention win the heart of the girl he loves, Jian feels he has to practise with them - on a bike of his own. He therefore refuses to give the bike back to Liangui, even when the latter makes it obvious that he needs it more than Jian does. The rest of the film centres on the relationship between the two boys, their friends and Jian's relatives, all of whom represent a certain class, lifestyle or idea. Needless to say, it all ends with a bang - the inevitable result of a situation that just keeps getting worse and worse, until there are no winners, just losers. By the time the film ends, the viewer has gained an insight in one of the main predicaments of modern China: traditional values versus modern imports, as illustrated by taijiquan-practising elders and kids doing tricks on mountain bikes, respectively. But more importantly, he has enjoyed a powerful film.
I confess "Beijing Bicycle" wrong-footed me. Fifteen minutes into the movie, I was certain that it was going to show us Liangui's rise to the top; that it would take us through a series of interesting but ultimately rather bland meetings between Liangui and his customers, one of whom would be so impressed with the boy's diligence that he would help him set up his own courier business, the wet dream of every naive economic refugee. Somewhere in the process, I felt, either Liangui or his loyal friend (who runs a little shop called The Good Friends' Store - the sort of detail that tends to get rewarded in Chinese films) would get involved with the pretty young lady in the house opposite the shop (Zhou Xun), who likes to parade in fine clothes in front of the window.
I was wrong. Not only does "Beijing Bicycle" stray from the run-of-the-mill rags-to-riches story, but it also turns into an astute (and ultimately grim) analysis of adolescent fears and desires. The relationship between the teenage boys, each in their own way ambitious, is explored to maximum effect; so is that between Jian and his family. But it doesn't stop there. On top of the personal drama, which gradually builds towards a shocking climax, there is an indictment of the two social issues underlying the private drama: the one-child policy and the face-saving culture, both of which are portrayed with terrifying brutality.
Now I'm in favour of the one-child policy. As cruel as it sounds, and no matter what disasters occasionally stem from it, I think it is right that the world's most populous country should curb its growth by unorthodox means. However, I do worry about the children who grow up under the system. Chinese kids tend to be spoiled when young, and now that they are their parents' and grandparents' only pride, they tend to get spoiled beyond all prudence. To some western observers, this is a good thing; spoiled children, they argue, grow up to be demanding citizens, and the more individualistic, the more demanding they get, the sooner western-style democracy will come about. What these observers forget is that until that western-style democracy comes about, China will be saddled with tens of millions of infuriatingly obnoxious brats who have never learned to share anything and so are more selfish than kids anywhere else in the world. The Chinese call them "little emperors," and their presence has been officially recognised as a nationwide problem.
The spoilt-children issue features heavily in "Beijing Bicycle." Part of the reason why events spiral out of control the way they do is the presence of Jian, a "little emperor" if ever there was one. Jian is used to getting his father's undivided attention and wages; when his father marries a woman who has a daughter from a previous marriage, he loses his unique position in the household, and his actions in the film are his way of asserting his "rights." They're a pretty harsh indictment of Chinese family life under the one-child policy - not so much of the policy itself, but of the excesses to which it occasionally leads.
But there's more. Apart from criticising the selfishness of spoilt brats, the film tackles the problem of "face" - the Asian idea that one should not be embarrassed under any circumstance, no matter how insignificant the embarrassment may seem. In "Beijing Bicycle," the face issue first arises when Liangui loses his job - not because he has lost his bike, but because he has made his boss lose face. Likewise, Liangui is advised never to let on that he is "not from here," as this would constitute an acute embarrassment to himself - even if owning up to his situation would make his life considerably easier. As for Jian, virtually every action he undertakes (with dramatic consequences) is undertaken in the name of face, as are those of another character who refuses to admit she is poor. The message is clear, to western audiences as well as Chinese ones: the face system results in tragedy, and people would save themselves a lot of trouble if they could simply own up to being poor/unfamiliar with the surroundings/incapable of doing something, etc.
The above is not to say that "Beijing Bicycle" is a
purely political film. Although it unmistakeably comes
with a message or two, it is first and foremost a
story about people, with credible characters,
universal sentiments and enough local colour to make
it interesting for fans of the exotic. More
importantly, the acting is convincing, the direction
and editing are fabulous, and if the beginning of the
film seems a bit bland, the second half more than
makes up for it. In short, it's a must-see film for
lovers of Chinese cinema, and not just for them.
GEGE (Yan Yan Mak, 2001)
The first minute of "Gege" (pronounced "guh-guh")immediately transported me back to my second year in college. In it, the protagonist is treated to the sort of socio-political treatise that sinologists spend their second and third years at university translating: a next-to-unintelligible lecture on feudalism, imperialism and how the communists got rid of them by "unifying" the country - "unifying" being a euphemism for imposing their will on the motley crue of peoples that is China.
Watching this scene, I was inevitably reminded of my second year as a sinology student, when I could barely order a meal in a Chinese restaurant but did know phrases such as "bianzheng weiwu zhuyi" (dialectical materialism), "fandong xiuzheng zhuyi" (counter-revolutionary revisionism) and "fengjian zhuyi" (feudalism). My favourite "zhuyi" (-ism) at the time was "zhuyi zhuyi" (ismism), which Mao Zedong (who had a peasant's dislike of big words) hated but which I, always on the lookout for interesting neologisms, couldn't help liking.
Those were the days.
Now the radio broadcast the protagonist hears on the train into the Chinese heartland is of course symbolic for the rest of the film. For while "Gege" does not deal with feudalism (thank God), it is in a way about cultural imperialism, and even more about unification. Unification of a family that has fallen apart, as well as of a country inhabited by people whose beliefs and customs clash, even if they are all considered Chinese. Unification, so to speak, of the different aspects of man's/country's character, without which the man/country cannot function properly.
Yes. Well. On with the story.
"Gege" (Older Brother) is a road movie about a young man's search for his elder brother and himself. Leaving behind a safe but empty home in Hong Kong, the well-to-do Ah Ming travels to a little town in China's remote Qinghai province, home of Hui (Muslims) and Han Chinese as well as lots of Tibetans. His goal is to obtain information on his brother, who disappeared three years earlier after sending a final postcard from the town. When Ah Ming first settles into the town, he is a stranger, neither really connecting with the locals (although he tries hard to find people who knew his brother) nor fitting in. It isn't until he lets go of his quest, learning as he does that he can't actively run the search operation but has to be content with the morsels he is thrown, that two people step forward who used to know his brother: a westernised rocker with a big motor bike and a Tibetan girl who may or may not have been his brother's girlfriend. Between the three, a relationship develops that not only teaches Ah Ming the fate of his brother (albeit in an offhand, blink-and-you'll-miss-it kind of way), but also more substantial life lessons, many of the by now familiar, but relatively subtle "look-what-we-pragmatic-Chinese-can-learn-from-the-spiritual-Tibetans" variety.
The best thing about "Gege," in my opinion, is the way it depicts the Southwest Chinese travel experience. As an old China hand, I couldn't but laugh at the compilation of recognisable images that first-time director Mak has concocted. Images of capsised lorries at the side of the road; toothless old hags who keep babbling at one without realising that one doesn't understand their dialect; dirty hotels with flickering light bulbs hanging from the ceiling; roadside pool tables where even novice monks come to play; train intercom systems that simply won't stop broadcasting infuriating messages; people who answer one's polite "Have you seen the man in this photo?" with "No!" without even looking at the photo; dead animals left to decompose in the middle of the road; buses that get stuck in barren places; prayer flags that add a touch of colour to an otherwise desolate landscape; rock music floating out of windows in unexpected places; fields of gently-swaying yellow lineseed flowers amongst the pale green meadows; et cetera, et cetera. They're all in the film, providing those who have made the trip themselves with a lot of nostalgia and those who haven't with an impression of what it would be like.
Sadly, the story itself is spread rather thin. Although plenty happens in the beginning, when Ah Ming still believes he can find his brother by harrassing complete strangers, little actually happens in the second half, while that little which does happen is rendered so subtly that many western viewers will fail to pick up on it. Although Ah Ming's transformation from outsider to part of the community and his consequent rise to self-awareness are rendered in a credible way, too little is made of his relationship with the rocker and the Tibetan girl, who are interesting but ultimately rather wasted characters. Furthermore, the resolution of the search-for-elder-brother plot is dealt with in an emotionally unsatisfying way; those who blink a moment and so miss the crucial clue are likely to find it frustratingly inconclusive. To add insult to injury, the song that plays over the final minute, which to me poignantly conveyed Ah Ming's confusion ("Where do I go now? Where am I to go?"), is left untranslated, and as if that weren't bad enough, the cinematography occasionally borders on the ugly. While it is refreshing to come across a pastoral that does not subject the Chinese countryside to the postcard treatment, more could have been made of the symbolic country in which Ah Ming finds himself - wind-swept, desolate and surprisingly colourful, even if it initially seems bleak. I would also have liked to have images that are actually focused (a hard thing to achieve, apparently, when one is shooting on video), but at the same time, the roughness of the footage does sort of suit the documentary-like feeling of the thing, while the blurriness of the images more or less corresponds with the confusion in Ah Ming's mind. Still, more professional cinematography would have improved "Gege" considerably.
I suppose one could sum up Yan Yan Mak's debut as a pleasant but ultimately rather indifferent effort that engages one on an intellectual and travel-minded level without actually touching one's heart. It is a promising enough start of a career, but Mak will be wise to include a bit more drama in her next film, in order to prevent the viewer's attention from wandering.
The unification message is praise-worthy, though.
China's early communist leaders would have been proud.
THE HUMAN COMEDY (Hung Hung, 2001)
"What is all this suffering for? Who wishes heaven on earth? Who is changing here? Who is there?" These are just a few of the highly relevant questions asked in the play-within-a-film in "The Human Comedy," a slightly pretentious but entertaining Taiwanese variation on the "Short Cuts" genre which attempts to bridge the gap between classical Chinese literature and modern film-making.
"The Human Comedy" is loosely based on four stories from "The Canon of Filial Piety," a Confucian compilation of stories which Chinese children used to have to learn by heart. In the book, much is made of the relationship between parents and children, the latter of whom should always be willing to sacrifice themselves for their parents' comfort; in the film, the relationships depicted are less parent-child-oriented, and not nearly as obsessed with self-sacrifice as those in the book. In fact, if it weren't for the illustrations from the "Canon" which alternate with the action, one would never guess that the book and the film are related. Far more discernible, I'd say, is the influence of Balzac's "Human Comedy" (to whom Hung's characters owe a debt) and Dante's "Divine Comedy," which presumably was the source of the Paradise/Purgatory/Inferno theme that characterises the film. Chinese speakers will easily pick up on the heaven-and-earth-related references littered all over the movie, while those who cannot read Chinese will at least appreciate the heavenly light which shines on those characters who have been redeemed. For yes, miracles do happen, on earth as well as in heaven.
"The Human Comedy" features four stories which are perfunctorily linked. The central story is that of a dreamy shoe sales girl whose life centres on Tony Leung, whom she worships with the kind of adoration of which only young Chinese women seem to be capable. Unable to tear her mind from the fantasy world she inhabits, the girl rejects all human contact, until a boy practically forces it upon her. Handing out leaflets advertising Leung's upcoming concert in Taipei, the boy and the girl meet some of the other characters, including a student who is afraid to go the full Monty in the avant-garde play in which he has a part and a young couple whose relationship is endangered by the cockroaches who haunt their flat. Finally, there's the couple's real estate manager, who has to brave a typhoon and his own vanity in order to save his ex-wife's life. Together, but more usually on their own, these characters make the journey from paradise to purgatory to inferno (and in a few cases back again), in a way which is not always comic but certainly very human.
"The Human Comedy" is not the most hilarious film you'll see. Like many stories which feature the word "comedy" in the title, it's actually more of a tragi-comedy, in which tragedy and happiness are represented in equal measure. Thus, while there are a few laugh-out-loud moments (mostly in relation to the dreamy girl and her vengeful actions against those who do not share her passion for Tony Leung), not to mention some pleasant self-deprecating humour in the stage-play segment (which would have been unbearably pretentious without it), there are also several genuinely painful moments, not all of which are redeemed by (literal) glimmers of hope; even when they would seem to qualify as piety. But if the film isn't quite the illustration of filial piety that it was supposed to be, it's up there with Tsai Ming-liang's work in the slice-of-life-in-modern-Taipei category. Take it from someone who spent a few years in Taipei and is still recovering from the experience of having a roommate like the Tony Leung fan in the film.
Ugh.
Elaine
