THOMAS PODVIN’S FREELANCE WORK
Freelance writer - translator - Editor

Fascinating for some, slow-moving for others, Sofia Coppola’s Lost in Translation nonetheless struck a chord with audiences. Many viewers could identify with its twin themes of the lack of communication in modern society and how alienating urban environments lead to an aimless existence. Lost’s concept was to thrust a US fifty-something actor (Bill Murray) into an ultra-modern Asian city he doesn’t understand – Tokyo. There, he finds solace with a much younger American woman (Scarlett Johansson) as they help each other realize who they are and who they want to be with.

New York-raised David Ren’s debut feature Shanghai Kiss is also a semi-autobiographical piece that follows the outline of Coppola’s bittersweet drama. However, Kiss finds its own voice as a valentine to Ren’s birthplace – Shanghai. The film concerns a young out-of-work Asian-American actor, Liam (Ken Leung, X Men 3), who turns his back on L.A. to connect with his Chinese ancestry. While in Shanghai, he leaves behind his one true love, Adelaide (Hayden Panettiere, NBC’s Heroes), and pursues a new romance with an older woman, Micki (Asian-American starlet Kelly Hu, The Scorpion King), who forces him to reconsider his Chinese roots.

At which point, Ren might shout, “It’s the story of my life!” Before making the film, he came to Shanghai in search of his own origins. Largely penned by Ren, the script draws from his own experiences as a 22-year-old filmmaker who as a child left China for America, and later, at 16, left New York for Los Angeles to escape his hard-drinking father.

When sharing personal-life vicissitudes on film, such intimate moments should find a framework that resonates with a wide audience. To tell the tale fittingly, Ren teamed with the Konwiser brothers (Miss Evers’ Boys) who co-directed and co-produced Shanghai Kiss in cooperation with China Film Group. Kip and Kern Konwiser is a critically and commercially successful US-based production team with multiple talents as writers, directors and musicians. With their Emmy Award-winning experience in storytelling, they helped Ren weave the comic and dramatic elements into a touching story that is as moving as it is comical.

Kiss is Ren’s attempt to reach out to his father, to communicate and find resolve. However, when the film premiered at the San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival in March, his father’s plane was grounded by a snowstorm. Frustrating, yet not surprising, for a filmmaker who uses his art to deal with the tragic ironies of life.

What follows is our interview with directors David Ren and Kern Konwiser, who elaborate on their love for Shanghai, their cooperative work and the quirkiness of fate.

that’s: Where does the film’s concept – a man torn between two cultures, two countries and two women – come from?
David Ren (DR): I wrote this film at a time when my father began to drink more and more heavily. It was becoming increasingly harder to communicate with him. So I moved to L.A. to make sense of my life and we began to grow farther apart. One day, I received a message from him telling me that his mother – my grandmother – was dying and her one wish was for me to go to Shanghai and visit her. At the time, I couldn’t have cared less about Shanghai or where I came from. Growing up in New York, I distanced myself as much as possible from my Chinese heritage, only wanting to be seen as an American. I reluctantly went to Shanghai and it changed my life. I realized that in China, family was the most important thing a person could have and I foolishly threw my family away. I moved to Shanghai for a few months in an attempt to connect with my family and my ancestry. For the first time in my life, I saw the beauty in my culture and I knew that I would always carry my Chinese heritage in my heart and treasure it always. I will always consider myself Chinese, first and foremost, and that is something I’m very proud of.

Kern Konwiser (KK): As his co-director, I felt something universal in the journey of a young man from self-indulgence to self-confidence and, subsequently, to finding genuine love. This was a central theme for us in making the film. To quote from a famous ancient text: ‘If I do not love myself, then who will love me? If I only love myself, then what good am I to others? And if not now, when?’ I always felt that those three questions pretty much tell the emotional narrative of Shanghai Kiss.

that’s: The film pays homage to the ‘Paris of the Orient’.
KK: The script was inspired by David’s time living here, and the film is intended as a love letter to Shanghai. That intent drove so many of our decisions, from shooting in anamorphic 35mm to take in the widest possible panoramas of the city, to selecting our locations. Not only on famous spots like the Bund and Nanjing Road, but throughout the different concessions and neighborhoods.

that’s: Where did you shoot, aside from the Bund and Nanjing Road?
KK: The courtyard and entrance to Liam’s [the main character] apartment is a neighborhood in the French concession. The interior of his apartment with the view of Pudong skylines was built as a set inside a condemned, palatial building at 3 on the Bund. We filmed the exterior of the Jin Mao Tower for Liam’s arrival, but Liam’s hotel room is actually a room on the top floor of the Bank of China building in Pudong. various other locations were found throughout the nine districts of the city.

that’s: How did you work with the director of cinematography, Alex Buono, to capture the spirit and the beauty of Shanghai?
DR: When Alex and I first arrived here, I took him around the city to get a sense of the culture, from the touristy spots to the smoky clubs, to the arcades, to the wonton stands, to the old temples and neighborhoods. I want the film to be affectionate to the city, but one that doesn’t look like a tourism ad. I want viewers to feel that a Shanghainese made this film. We also filmed Shanghai with a richer color palette than Los Angeles. L.A., by comparison, seems grey, bleak and dull. We filled Shanghai with smoke, neon lights and strong bright colors, and tried to film at night as much as possible.

that’s: Explain how you shared your tasks as co-directors.
KK: It was important for me that David always knew that we were working together to make his movie. It’s a very personal, largely autobiographical story for David. His instincts had to be the driving force. That said, David didn’t have any practical experience making movies when he approached my brother and me. By sharing the director’s duties with David, I worked with him to ensure that his vision was being articulated to the key crew (cinematographer, production designer, editor, etc.) and also to the actors. Filmmaking is a collaborative medium. I worked to get the ideas in David’s head into the hands of the people who would bring it to life. One advantage of this film having two directors is that every choice, every idea was challenged by the other. So we had to understand that idea well enough to describe it to the other director, to convince him that this was the right idea.

DR: Then, while filming, we could generally move twice as fast by having two directors with a shared vision giving orders. Sometimes, I would be at one location, finishing a scene, while Kern would move on to the next location, setting up. This really saved us a lot of time and allowed us to finish the film on our schedule, which was hectic.

that’s: You and your brother Kip have worked as music producers. Did you apply any of those talents to Shanghai Kiss?
KK: One musical connection in the movie is that we have always had a deep fascination with jazz – Duke Ellington, in particular – so the song that plays during the Shanghai nightlife sequence where Liam and Micki are dancing in the club is a Duke Ellington song called “Acht O’Clock Rock” that I remixed in an electronica style.

that’s: Kelly Hu isn’t from the Chinese mainland. How did you get her to play a Shanghainese?
DR: I know a lot of Westerners have a preconceived notion of what a Chinese girl should be and maybe Kelly doesn’t match this preconception. The reality is, with the globalization of China and the Westernization of the country in terms of media (Internet, movies, television, books), more Chinese, especially in a major metropolis like Shanghai, are becoming Americanized. When Shanghai women are watching Hollywood movies and Sex and the City, how different are they really from American women? In that sense, I thought Kelly perfectly played the balance between a traditional Shanghainese woman and one who has a more Western influence. By contrast, China is also influencing Western culture dramatically; Kill Bill and The Matrix didn’t come from nowhere.

that’s: Ken Leung is the product of two cultures, like his character in the film. Is that why you cast him in the lead?
KK: Ken connected with this role because he had just returned from his own first journey to China, where he visited his grandmother’s home, just as Liam does in the script. And then he read it only a few days after his return. It seemed like a natural fit from the start.

that’s: It’s flattering to see a Hollywood movie set in Shanghai, even if the city is still considered as a very exotic, mysterious place in the US. What’s your take on that?
DR: Shanghai is exotic because the architecture seems to have many different influences, from the British buildings on the Bund, to the French Concession, to the futuristic skyline of Pudong. That said, Shanghai is a city slowly losing its past. The old neighborhoods are being torn down to build bland apartment complexes and skyscrapers. While modernization is good, I would like the city to retain a part of its culture.

Shanghai Kiss has been selected in the Panorama section at the 10th Shanghai international Film Festival

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
June 2007 issue

In Proust’s Swan’s Way, he uses a peculiar literary devise – a madeleine dipped into a cup of tea – which releases a series of memories in the mind of the protagonist. Beijing filmmaker Zhuang Yuxin employs a similar device in his directorial debut Teeth of Love. Zhang uses injuries to call up spectral suitors and old love affairs, radiating pain in the same way nerves signal the presence of a phantom limb.

Though the premise of Teeth is somewhat harder to swallow than Proust’s soggy cake, the film nonetheless promises to be an interesting cinematic experience. The story unfolds through a series of flashbacks triggered by Qian Yehong’s (Yan Bingyan) dreadful visit to the dentist.

Sitting in the big chair, she falls into a series of reveries which are no less dreadful than having one’s teeth yanked. The first flashback takes her to the beginning of China’s reform era, where she humiliates a school mate before realizing the true extent of his love. In the next, she engages in a sordid affair with a married man, while in the last she reluctantly ties the knot with a third aspirant.

Each affair is etched upon her body through a physical injury (back pain, abortion and extracted tooth) and each time the pain flares up, the memories come flooding back.

“I found that pain and love are closely related to and rely on each other,” explains the multi-talented Zhuang, who in addition to being a film director, works as a television screenwriter, producer and distributor, and teaches literature at the Beijing Film Academy. Zhuang believes that contemporary romance lacks the pain necessary to engender deep romantic memories. “In the end, people really do not respect the experience of being in love,” he says. Unlike other more bitter cinematic efforts which use the reform era to explore the effects of change upon the individual, Zhuang sidesteps the social commentary to deliver a touching, albeit sometimes cruel, tale. Here, he doesn’t so much tackle changing times; rather he chooses to focus primarily on the complex interactions between pain, love, memory and the human experience.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
June 2007 issue

Lost in Beijing (LIB) revolves around an odd love rectangle, a ménage á quatre, to be precise. It tells the story of two couples living under the same roof, bound by emotional and financial ties. A creation of the young, Shandong-born filmmaker Li Yu (Dam Street,2005), the film offers a unique, albeit awkward, premise that has stirred much controversy at home and abroad.

Two outsiders, Liu Pingguo (Fan Bingbing) and her husband An Kun (Tong Dawei), venture into the big city to search for employment. Liu finds work as a masseuse while An works as a window cleaner. One evening Liu finds herself at a company party and while highly inebriated is abused by her boss Lin Dong (Tony Leung Kar-fai). An witnesses the assault and is furious, yet when he realizes his wife is pregnant, he considers the financial rewards of blackmail. Eventually, Liu, An, Lin and his wife find themselves an unconventional solution.

Li’s third directorial effort focuses on the urban nouveau riche and young rural workers against the backdrop of a fast-changing society. We caught up with 34-year-old Li to discuss just how she became lost in Beijing.

that’s: What inspired you to make this film?
Li Yu (LY): The concept of this film is to explore the value of life in today’s China in the context of its fast-growing economy and material modernization. Film to me is a dream that reflects my feelings about our world. The inspiration comes from my feelings of excitement and also my concern about these changes. Changes in our material circumstances often challenge our priorities in regards to money, love, family and friendship. I just hope that people won’t get confused during this period of transition. I hope this film will not upset people but remind them that there is something else, something that may be more important than money. We have to face reality and think carefully about the importance of love in our lives.

that’s: With its setting and multiple perspectives, LIB would make a good premise for a TV series. Did you have that in mind when you created it?
LY: I don’t know if LIB is suitable for adaptation. I personally don’t like TV series. I was working for CCTV for a while but I mainly shot documentaries. I benefited a lot from that experience in terms of exploring the lives of Chinese.

that’s: How was the experience of working with veteran Hong Kong actor Tony Leung Kar-fai and Chinese mainland actress Fan Bingbing?
LY: Even though I am a young director, I don’t consider these actors as stars. Rather they are partners working together with me to make the film. I respect their experience, but I pay more attention to their attitudes toward the characters. I am thankful for their effort and their contributions to this film.

that’s: Dam Street (which won the C.I.C.A.E. Award at the Venice International Film Festival in 2005) drew much more attention overseas than in China. With LIB were you trying to make a more commercial film for the Chinese audience?
LY: Dam Street could have had better distribution [in China] if we had experience, and worked with a more experienced domestic distributor. In general, I respect the producer (Fang Li) and the way he gave focus and direction to our film even while writing the script. We wanted to share our views with the audience, not just tell them what we think and feel.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
May 2007 issue

Also published in a different form in (c) that's Beijing Magazine
Deputy Chief editor: Oliver Robinson
May 2007 issue

While Chinese screens are often dominated by over-hyped, over-blown, over-budgeted epic films, a new, more subtle, more realistic and ultimately more relevant genre is beginning to emerge. Best described as down-to-earth tragicomedies, this genre places colorful working-class protagonists in tragic situations. Jiang Wen’s In the Heat of the Sun, produced in 1994, was arguably the first, followed by Peacock (Gu Changwei), Still Lives (Jia Zhangke), Getting Home (Zhang Yang) and The Postmodern Life of my Aunt, directed by Ann Hui On-wah.

The latter, set in Shanghai and Anshan (Dongbei), depicts Shanghai as a morally bankrupt city largely populated by shysters. The victim is played by sexagenarian Ye Rutang (Siqin Gaowa), a naïve, kind-hearted Dongbei lass, well schooled in the arts of honesty and citizenship. She thus becomes a magnet for dubious sorts, such as amateur opera singer Xiao Pan (Chow Yun-fat), who cajoles her into lending him money for trachoma meds and non-existent cemetery plots. Then there’s Ye’s roommate, Jin Yonghua (Shi Ke), who throws herself, porcelain vase in hand, in front of oncoming traffic in an effort to bilk insurance companies. Even Ye’s nephew Kuan Kuan (Guan Wenshuo) cons her by faking his own kidnapping to pay for his love interest’s plastic surgery.

This fresh and rambunctious script is the work of prize-winning novelist cum scriptwriter Li Qiang (Peacock) whose meticulous observations of Shanghainese lifestyle add depth and authenticity to the characters, especially its protagonist, Ye Rutang. In one scene, Ye, old-fashioned to a fault, knits herself a full-body swimsuit, but when she plunges into the pool the suit releases a slick of red dye.

“Our ambition was to shoot a movie which was highly entertaining as well as experimental and heartfelt,” says Hui. And that it is.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
May 2007 issue

A l’époque des Royaumes Combattants (Chine, 3ème siècle avant JC), le petit état de Liang, peuplé de paysans, est confronté à une invasion imminente. Leur chance de survie étant quasi nulle, ils engagent Ge Li (Andy Lau), un membre du clan Mozi (ou Mo-Tseu) réputé pour ses stratégies militaires défensives. Débarquant mal fagoté mal peigné, l’envoyé ne parvient déjà pas à sauver les apparences et les Liang doute de ses capacités à les mener à la victoire. Ils remportent cependant la première bataille. Mais le reste de la guerre s’annonce éprouvant.

Adaptation d’un manga extrêmement populaire en Asie, (”Mak Gong” ou ”Bokko” de Hideki Mori, Kenichi Sakemi et Sentaro Kobuta paru chez Tonkam en France sous le nom ”Stratège”), A Battle Of Wits est une grosses machine de guerre à tout les niveaux. Le film, sorti en novembre 2006 en Asie et dont le titre peut se traduire par ”jeux d’esprit”, est un modèle de coopération pour l’industrie du film pan asiatique. Mais trouvera-t-il preneur en occident ?

Un gros poisson

Réalisé par Jacob Cheung (Cageman, 1992), le film a demandé cinq ans de préparation. Avec un budget impressionnant pour un film chinois (12,8 millions d’euros), A Battle of Wits est un pur défi logistique et créatif. Certaines scènes tournées en Mongolie Intérieure ont nécessité 1000 figurants, 400 techniciens, quatre caméras simultanées et des douzaines de chevaux. C’est aussi une première pour Jacob Cheung, plus habitué aux films contemporains et aux budgets largement plus modestes. Avant de passer à la réalisation Cheung partageait déjà à 18 ans les bancs des cours d’art dramatique de la TVB avec Andy Lau et Tony Leung Chiu-wai (excusez du peu). N’ayant jamais percé en tant qu’acteur et il réalise son premier film en 1984 (Lai Shi, China’s Last Eunuch), avant de réaliser, produire et écrire dans les grands studios de Hong Kong (Cinema City, Golden Harvest, UFO, etc.). Il s’est principalement illustré dans les comédies, les mélodrames et les films sociaux. Ici, Cheung aborde donc ce projet monstrueux en refusant tout compromis comme pour un de ses films intimistes. Il saisit l’occasion de porter à l’écran sa vision sur l’état du monde actuel. Avouez qu’un wu xia pian (film de chevalerie chinoise, un genre généralement issue de la littérature et caractérisé par un univers fantaisiste et clos) qui s’ouvre à la société contemporaine est plutôt rare.

Bon espoir

Avec un casting énorme, une équipe technique et des producteurs de Chine populaire (Huayi Brothers), Hong Kong (Sundream Motion Pictures), Corée (Boram Entertaiment) et du Japon (Comstock), ce wu xia pian réuni a lui seul une bonne partie de l’Asie. Le film n’était pas encore sorti que les professionnels impliqués se félicitaient déjà du travail accompli. Un des producteurs, Tsui Siu Ming le grand patron de la Sundream Motion Pictures, s’explique : « avec un bon scénario, une production bien planifiée, des décors superbes, des producteurs et techniciens expérimentés et des investisseurs compétents, nous avons confiance en ce film et son énorme potentiel ». Tsui et les investisseurs espèrent aussi que ce format de coproductions pourra garantir un recouvrement des coûts et permettre au marché de s’ouvrir d’avantage. Un autre investisseur, le japonais Satoru Iseki, ancien producteur de Ran et L'Empereur et l'assassin maintenant à la tête de Tara Contents Inc, partage cet enthousiasme : « j’espère vraiment qu’A Battle of Wits puisse asseoir la supériorité des films asiatiques en Asie ». Tsui Siu Ming se réjouit aussi car « sans A Battle of Wits, Warner Brothers n’aurait pas investit dans un tout nouveau projet, Howling Arrow de Sammo Hung », son petit dernier et aussi une grosse production pan asiatique.

Passage à l’Ouest

Avec les stars Andy Lau, Fang Bingbing, Choi Si-Won et Ahn Sung-Ki le succès du film est quasi assuré à travers l’Asie. Mais, peut-il marcher en Europe et en Amérique du Nord ? Jacob Cheung est, sur ce point, soit très pessimiste soit trop modeste : « ce film se passe dans l’ancienne Chine avec des acteurs chinois, je ne m’attends pas à un gros succès à l’Ouest. » En général les wu xia pians destinés à l’export comme Hero, Tigre et dragon ou Wu ji fonctionnent grâce à un exotisme affiché. Satoru explique que « les films d’arts martiaux qui marchent en Occident ont des couleurs chatoyantes et offrent une perspective exotique aux spectateurs occidentaux», ajoutant que « les films de Zhang Yimou en sont la parfaite représentation ». Heureusement, A Battle of Wits évite soigneusement ces écueils visuels et propose une adaptation réaliste et viscérale d’une histoire chinoise appréciée à travers toute l’Asie. Le tout est saupoudré d’une vision pessimiste sur l’héroïsme et la guerre.
Croisons les doigts pour que ce mélange convienne à tous les publics.

Interview Jacob Cheung -- La guerre des méninges

Dernier gros wu xia pian en date, A Battle of Wits, est une aventure qui rassemble une bonne partie de l’Asie. Non seulement le film est un blockbuster bourré de stars orientales, mais il pose aussi des questions très contemporaines. Jacob Cheung, le réalisateur hongkongais, s’explique.

Quelles étaient vos intentions lorsque vous avez acheté les droits pour l’adaptation cinématographique du manga « Bokko » ?

En 1990, Eric Tsang [Infernal Affairs] m’a recommandé ce manga que j’ai tout de suite dévoré, car il est très émouvant et intéressant. C’est l’histoire de deux grandes nations, appelées Zhao et Yan, qui s’affrontent. Zhao envoie 100 000 soldats à l’assaut de Yan. Chemin faisant, ils croisent un tout petit pays de quatre milles paysans, Liang, qui peut être très vite vaincu. L’objectif premier de Zhao n’est pas d’envahir Liang, mais c’est un petit territoire si facile à conquérir. Le peuple de Liang se retrouve donc dans une situation inextricable et appelle à l’aide un mohiste [un adepte de la philosophie du sage chinois Mo-Tseu qui vécu au 4ème siècle avant JC] du nom de Ge Li (Andy Lau). C’est ainsi que commence l’histoire. A l’époque j’ai pensé que je pouvais injecter beaucoup d’idées contemporaines à l’adaptation. Comme des idées pacifistes, poser la question de l’héroïsme en temps de conflits armés et aussi comment empêcher la destruction liée à la guerre.

Avec cette réflexion sur la guerre et l’héroïsme, souhaitez-vous véhiculer un message politique ?
C’est l’idée principale du film. Le sujet fait directement référence à la situation actuelle dans le monde, entre les Etats-Unis et l’Iraq par exemple. C'est-à-dire une grande puissance utilise une excuse bidon pour attaquer un faible et petit pays. Dans le film, le peuple du petit état Liang se tourne vers le mohiste, qui n’aura recours qu’à la violence et la guerre. Mais est-il vraiment d’une grande aide ? C’est comme dans notre société moderne, si on résout les problèmes par la force, cela n’entraînera que plus de morts et de destructions. La véritable façon de résoudre un conflit est avec intelligence et des moyens non-violents. Nous devrions tenter l’impossible pour éviter toute guerre. De ce point de vue, je pense que les héros en temps de guerre n’existent pas.

La production réunit beaucoup de pays d’Asie. Parlez nous des difficultés que cela a entraîné.
En fait, il s’agissait plus de véritables défis. J’ai dû faire face aux investisseurs, techniciens et acteurs de quatre pays différents [Chine, Corée, Japon, Hong Kong]. Ce fut un travail fastidieux. Le problème principal fut bien évidemment la communication. Par exemple, notre cameraman japonais, Zensho Sakamoto, travaille suivant un système totalement différent de celui de Hong Kong. Pour lui faire comprendre mes désirs le plus précisément possible, j’ai dû faire des recherches. Pas seulement sur la façon d’opérer des caméramans japonais, mais aussi sur la personnalité de Zensho Sakamoto. Pour un cameraman hongkongais, il suffit de lui donner la position et l’angle de la camera et il fait le reste tout seul sans poser de questions. Pour un cameraman japonais, vous devez tout expliciter, ce qui demande énormément de temps pour chaque plan. Ce fut le même problème avec les acteurs. Même avec les acteurs de Chine continentale c’était un vrai challenge car leur système est totalement différent de celui de Hong Kong.

On raconte qu’après avoir lu le script Andy Lau a accepté le rôle immédiatement.
Andy Lau est dans le milieu du cinéma depuis environ 27 ans et lui et moi avons été camarades de classe sur les bancs de l’école d’acteurs de la TVB [télévision locale]. Il connaît ma façon de travailler. Il a demandé à lire le script avant notre réunion de production et sa première question fut : « Comment je serai coiffé ? » (Rire). Il fait très attention à son look. Je lui ai juste dit que je ne lui ferais pas porter de perruque ou de couvre chef. On ferait juste une coupe raz. Heureux, il a tout de suite dit oui au rôle !

Fang Bing Bing est une actrice très populaire en Chine et elle est en passe de devenir une nouvelle Ziyi Zhang. Comment s’est-elle impliquée ?
En fait, à l’origine il n’y avait pas de rôle féminin fort, car l’histoire était conçue d’abord avec des personnages masculins. Hors, pendant la dynastie dite de Zhan [à l’époque des Royaumes Combattants], les femmes et les hommes étaient égaux. Sur les champs de bataille, ils se battaient côte à côte. Dans le film, Fang Bing Bing joue un rôle fort, celui d’une cavalière. Il y a une scène très dure que nous avons tourné courant novembre 2005 dans la province de Hubei [Centre Est de la Chine] où il faisait très très froid. Fang était prisonnière d’une geôle qui se remplissait d’eau glacée. On ne pouvait ajouter d’eau chaude par crainte d’endommager la caméra avec la vapeur d’eau. Elle a dû rester dans l’eau avec une combinaison étanche. Fang est une belle femme et les medias chinois ont toujours plus porté leur attention sur sa vie privée qu’autre chose. Mais sur le tournage, je peux vous dire qu’elle était très dévouée et qu’elle a toujours fait de son mieux pour atteindre mes objectifs.

A Hong Kong on vous connaît pour votre intransigeance : vous évitez les compromis commerciaux. Qu’en est-il de A Battle of Wits ?
Je ne suis pas vraiment du type à transiger ou alors je n’aurai pas mis dix ans à finir ce film. Faire des compromis n’est pas une bonne solution. Avant de commencer le tournage, j’avais d’abord communiqué mes intentions aux divers investisseurs et donc les compromis ont été fait à ce moment. Par la suite, j’ai fait le film à ma façon. Il n’y a eu que deux compromis. Premièrement, j’ai accepté de livrer un final cut de 2 h. à 2 h. 10. En fait, il y avait tellement de choses à dire dans ce film que la durée initiale était de 3 heures. Deuxièmement, les investisseurs ne voulaient pas trop d’effets spéciaux numériques donc on a essayé de réduire au mieux leur utilisation.

Justement, ces dernières années, les films d’arts martiaux ont adopté les méthodes de production d’Hollywood avec énormément d’effets spéciaux numériques. Quel est votre point de vue sur ce phénomène ?
Dans A Battle of Wits, lorsque mille soldats sont tués par flèche, il faut nécessairement utiliser des effets numériques. Les flèches arrivent de toutes les directions. Sans effets spéciaux, c’est une scène impossible à réaliser. De nos jours, il s’agit d’un élément essentiel qu’un réalisateur doit utiliser, mais il ne doit pas laisser les effets numériques prendre le pas sur l’aspect général du film.
Il y a une utilisation trop évidente d’effets numériques dans Wu ji, la légende des cavaliers du vent ou même le Seigneur des Anneaux, alors que le spectateur ne les perçoit pas malgré leur abondance dans Il faut sauver le soldat Ryan. C’est ce que je veux que les spectateurs ressentent : un goût de réalité. Dans mon film, il y a 400 plans avec des effets numériques. J’ai inséré les effets à plusieurs niveaux. J’ai combiné plusieurs couches ensemble et ne suis pas parti de zéro en créant un univers numérique. C’était un processus très complexe. Par ailleurs, je ne voulais pas montrer des scènes dures comme dans Il faut sauver le soldat Ryan. Au Moyen Age il était très courant qu’un soldat se fasse coupé en deux. Je ne voulais pas montrer ce genre de spectacle aux enfants ou provoquer le dégoût. Je voulais faire comme pour les romans de wu xia avec lesquels les lecteurs se sentent réellement impliqués car ils mélangent leurs expériences personnelles avec le processus de lecture et établissent un lien avec le livre. Pour A Battle of Wits, je veux laisser libre court à l’imagination des spectateurs.

Propos recueillis par Thomas PODVIN.
Remerciements à Cherry XUE et Margaret YAU.

Cette article apparait en anglais dans that's Shanghai et that's PRD

(c) MAD ASIA
Rédacteur en chef: Julien Sévéon
Novembre-decembre 2006

For most Westerners, the name Jacob Cheung Chi-leung probably doesn’t ring a bell. John Woo, Tsui Hark or even Wong Kar-wai may be familiar to cinema-goers, but the accomplishments of this actor-at-heart turned filmmaker are no less praiseworthy.

Indeed, the 47-year-old Hong Kong-born filmmaker has some impressive credits, ranging from 1990’s This Thing Called Love, a delightful comedy about love and marriage, to 1992’s Cageman, a serious study of his native city’s ‘cage-house’ tenants, to 1999’s The Kid, a moving exploration of child/adult relationships. As is evident from even a list as short as this, Cheung emphasizes characterization and strong story telling over action, SFX and other visual excesses. Perhaps because he began his career in front of the camera. More than two decades ago he took acting classes along with such luminaries as Andy Lau and Tony Leung Chiu-wai, followed by years of mediocre roles in mediocre films. Tired of waiting for the perfect part, which, of course, never came, until Lai Shi, China’s Last Eunuch (1986). Since then, he’s tackled nearly every topics as a scriptwriter/producer/director and in almost every genre, from romance to ghost stories.

His latest directorial effort, A Battle of Wits (ABOW), is adapted from a famous Japanese manga Mak Gong/Bokko. It concerns a ‘mohist’, an adept of the Mozi philosophy. Mozi (aka Micius or Mo-Tzu who lived in 5th-4th century BC), argued strongly against Confucianism and founded a school of thought that emphasized universal love, self-reflection and authenticity. In ABOW, the mohist, Ge Li, battles to spare a small country invasion by a powerful kingdom. With a plot like this, ABOW would seem to fit the typical martial art’s or wuxia pian genre, replete with super-powered knight errants. Indeed, it is set in the Zhan dynasty (475 B.C.-221 B.C.), a hero-laden period according to Chinese folklore.

But ABOW is anything but a typical Chinese action film, rather Cheung has produced an ambitious historical work where there is little room for blind heroics. More impressive still, he has cleverly introduced a subtext that echoes events in today’s newspaper headlines. Ge Li’s attempt to bring peace becomes an excuse for war, while his commitment to duty adversely affects the very people he cares for most.

Slated for release on the Chinese mainland this December, the USD 16 million Pan-Asian A Battle of Wits boasts an international cast and crew (the Chinese mainland, Hong Kong, South Korea, Japan and Taiwan) and features many of the big names -- Andy Lau, Fang Bingbing, Nicholas Wu Chi-lung or Ahn Sung-ki.

In our interview with Cheung, he discusses his inspiration, his unwillingness to compromise and the role of world affairs in his current film.

that’s: ABOW is quite complex. How would you summarize the story?
Jacob Cheung: The movie’s about two big powerful countries fighting each other. One country, Zhao, sends 100,000 soldiers to attack another country [called] Yan. On their way, they pass a small country named Liang inhabited by only 4,000 peasants and which can be defeated very easily. The main objective of Zhao isn’t to defeat this small and weak country though it’s [a territory] very easy to conquer. The Liang’s people are thus trapped in a helpless situation and they turn to Ge Li, played by Andy Lau, for protection. As long as Ge Li can defend Liang for one month the country will be safe from [further] attacks. That’s how the story starts.

that’s: Is this the film you had in mind when you bought the rights to Hideki Mori’s and Sentaro Kubota’s Japanese comic book Mak Gong six years ago?
JC: Actually, I’ve been working on this film for eleven years. [But] the first time I read the comic book was in 1990 [after a recommendation from Hong Kong actor/filmmaker Eric Tsang] when I was waiting for my three sons to join me in Canada. I quickly became fond of it; it’s very touching and fascinating. [From the beginning], I wanted to add modern elements to the movie adaptation, including an anti-war theme, as well as my thoughts and reflections on heroism, and the destruction that occurs during war time. I believed it had to be a very big production and, at that time, I was just not good enough to make the film. Later, after discussing the project with colleagues, I became more confident and more impatient. This sort of movie requires a lot of stamina, and it took me a decade to prepare myself.

that’s: How would you describe the film’s view of heroism? JC: From the very beginning of the film, Mohist Ge Li appears keen on helping Liang’s people defend themselves against invasion. He seems an obvious hero to them. He convinces them he’s there to help and urges them to resist the invasion. But is he really helpful? Ge Li is not really a hero; he brings the idea of war to the peasants assuming it’s good for them, but in fact it is not. War is never a good means to solve problems. From this perspective, there are never any heroes in wartime. that’s: Can you explain how the film parallels events in today’s world. JC: The film’s subtext is about a big and powerful country using a far-fetched excuse to attack a small and weak country. It parallels the situation between the USA and Iraq. Here, the weak and small country Liang, turns to a Mohist for help, but his help only brings violence and war. If you try and solve problems with violence, the result is death and civil unrest. The real way to solve problems is through non-violent means.

that’s: ABOW involves film companies, cast and crew from five different countries. Was it a challenge working with such a diverse group?
JC: It was more than just a challenge; it was difficult and exhausting. The main issue was [of course] communication. For instance, the cameraman [Zensho Sakamoto] is from Japan, and in Japan they work under a different system. I had to do research not only on how Japanese cameramen work, but also on the personality of Zensho Sakamoto so I could make him understand my exact requirements. If the cameraman is from Hong Kong, you just need to give him the camera position and angle and then he does it without questions. For Japanese cameramen, you need to explain a lot, so it requires much longer to complete every single take.

that’s: Is it true that Andy Lau accepted the role of Ge Li immediately after reading the script?
JC: Lau was very confident in [the project] and knew exactly my style, so he agreed as soon as he read the script. But he did have four [tongue-in-cheek] questions. His first question was ‘How about my hairdo?’ (Laughs). Lau pays a lot of attention to his appearance. I just told him I won’t let him wear wigs or hats, we’ll just use a very short haircut. He was happy and agreed to do [the film]. (Laughs) Then he asked me if he needed to be dubbed in Mandarin, and I told him he’d have to try to say his lines in Putonghua. Lau asked if he could participate on the production side. I asked him ‘why?’ I asked him if he trusted me and if he had another agenda. He said he hadn’t, that he just wanted to be helpful. He said that because the film had such a lot of investors, from four countries, that he was afraid I would give up half way. Such a complicated situations required strong producers, he said, which is why he offered his services. His last question was: How long would it take to shoot [his part]?

that’s: It’s been reported that Fang Bingbing was exceptionally dedicated to her role.
JC: Originally, there wasn’t any female role; the story only concerned men. But during the period the film is set, in the Zhan dynasty, women and men were equal. In war time, for example, they would fight shoulder to shoulder. In ABOW, Fang was very dedicated to her role as a solider and horse groom. There’s one scene where Fang is trapped in an underwater jail; we shot it in mid-November 2005 in Hubei province when it was very cold. We couldn’t add any warm water because the steam would have damaged the camera. So she had to stay in the freezing water, though she was wearing a diving suit. In order to encourage the cast, I also went in the water with a diving suit and it was indeed freezing. But Fang never complained, she did her best to meet my requirements.

that’s: You’re known for refusing to make compromises.
JC: I am not really a director who compromises a lot or else it would not have taken me eleven years to make ABOW. [I believe] to compromise is the wrong way to go. Before starting the movie, I had already communicated my intentions to the various investors, so all compromises were made in the early stage; after that, I did the whole movie my way. In fact, I only made two compromises. First, I agreed to reduce the final cut from three hours to between two and two hours and ten minutes. Second, as the investors weren’t too keen on computer generated special effects, we tried our best to reduce the number. In this movie, there are 400 shots containing CG SFX.

that’s: Do you think the film will be a hit in the West?
JC: I don’t know how to answer your question. Though the topic of this movie -- war -- is universal, each game has its own rules. If you want a movie to be accepted by Western audiences, the rules say it has to be in the English language. ABOW is set in ancient times with Chinese actors; I don’t expect too much from Western audiences. If I wanted the film to work all over the world, I would have had to change the whole crew and cast, and make it in English. The film focuses on Oriental people, so whether it will work or not [In the West] we’ll have to let the viewers decide for themselves.

that’s: Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon is a typical Chinese film and a global success.
JC: I wouldn’t compare myself to director Ang Lee.

Special thanks to Margaret Yau and Cherry Xue.

This feature article also appears in French, in France bimonthly magazine Mad Asia

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
Photo courtesy Mick Ryan www.mickryan.com.
September 2006 issue

(c) that's PRD Magazine
Chief editor: Phil Boyle
December 2006 issue

"Everything you want to know about drugs, but never knew” is the tagline of Derek Yee’s entertaining yet frequently disquieting police drama Protégé, which opened last month nationwide.

A Hong Kong version of Traffic, the film, produced by Peter Chan (Perhaps Love), probes the seedy depths of the city’s heroin trade. Nick, an undercover cop (Daniel Wu), is the protégé of one of Hong Kong’s most powerful drug barons (Andy Lau). Torn between duty and greed, Nick seeks redemption by helping a young woman kick her habit, though her abusive, junkie husband played by Louis Koo works to opposite ends.

The director’s interest in this sordid topic began while researching his 2005 crime drama, One Nite in Mongkok. Yee was intrigued by the stories of drug addiction and trafficking told by his friends in law enforcement, and consequently spent eight months researching the topic before writing the script. Eight months is long by Hong Kong standards, but Yee felt the investment was necessary if he was to fully comprehend the complexities of the drug scene. Even so, Yee says his film barely skims the surface. “If we wanted to dig deeper into the topic, ten films wouldn’t have been enough.”

That said, Protégé does offer a fairly in-depth account of this very lucrative trade, from the farmers and drug lords in Thailand to the chemists, mules, pushers, junkies, prostitutes and drug barons scattered along the heroin food chain. As a result, the film is one of the most beautifully written and directed Hong Kong-Mainland co-productions to emerge of late, featuring some of the finest acting we’ve seen in years.

Zhang and Koo (the junkie couple) also did extensive research into the habits of drug addicts and deliver award-winning performances. Indeed, Zhang eclipses the two leads (Wu and Lau), while Koo goes further – challenging, and vanquishing, his pretty-boy image. With such powerful and convincing performances, perhaps those tempted by the money and false glamour associated with drugs will think twice before accepting an apprenticeship.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
March 2007 issue

On Valentine’s Day, moviegoing couples have two choices: romantic flicks or scary pics. The first choice is obvious, but the second is more useful primarily for the shudder that melts into a cuddle. Beijing-born filmmaker Teng Huatao (Sky of Love) and his backers, the film company Huayi Brothers, are releasing The Matrimony (Xin Zhong You Gui) around Valentine’s Day because they’re betting that lovestruck moviegoers will take objects of their infatuation to theaters in the hope of experiencing this phenomenon.

Teng says that when he and his producers planned the making of The Matrimony, they realized that China had a lousy track record with ghost stories, and that it fell to them to correct that. “In the past there were never really superior [Chinese] ghost movies, despite their popularity with audiences and critics,” says Teng. “There were only small budget films with simple stories.”

For this reason, he and his crew felt that they had to pack The Matrimony with the best in the business – a great cast, solid story, eerie ambiance and believable effects. The 38-year-old film director harnessed a budget of RMB 30 million (USD 3.83 million) to whip up something to please couples on Valentine’s Day: a piece blending romance with spooky intrigue.

The film’s plot concerns a newlywed couple who become mixed up with the world of ghosts. When the husband (Leon Lai) forbids his wife (Rene Liu) from entering the attic of their new house, the nosy wife inevitably defies his wishes. Inside the attic, she discovers a restless, spectral former girlfriend (Fan Bingbing) who died in a car accident before the two could get married.

The Matrimony is set in 1930s Shanghai, which evokes an era caught between tradition and modernity. Mainly shot on location in Shanghai, the film plays off the clash of ambiance between the thrilling, macabre moments and the romantic scenes.

Teng said that he wanted to avoid clichés from Western horror movies in order to achieve a more “Chinese approach” to ghost tales – that is, a ghost story with sexy specters. Ghost movies in China have often been associated with young beauties that passed away, but got stuck in the world of the living because there was something they couldn’t forget or forgive. A fine case in point was Tsui Hark’s 1980s trilogy A Chinese Ghost Story, which was set in ancient China and wherein a ravishing female ghost seduces a tax collector.

Teng’s choice for the role of the ghost was therefore key. He says that Fan Bingbing, with her full yet slender face, dark brow and huge, round eyes, was the best candidate for the challenging role.

“I’ve always thought she looked like a female ghost,” jokes Teng. “In China we have many famous novels in which ghosts are all stunning beauties, so inevitably people will associate her with ghosts.”

To beef up the movie’s star power, Hong Kong superstar Leon Lai was cast as the husband who cannot get over his late fiancé. Lai’s mellow personality matches his low-spirited character.

Still, Teng says that a good plot, a moody backdrop and big names aren’t enough to draw a crowd; top-notch production values are essential. “For a ghost and horror movie, the soundtrack is essential – if you turn off the sound, scary movies don’t seem horrific at all,” says Teng.

The visual and sound effects were processed by Hong Kong-based Chibi Digital Vision, which was responsible for the audio-visual extravaganza that was 2006’s Dragon Tiger Gate. Besides the soundtrack, the effects are responsible for metamorphosing Fan into a ghastly gui (Chinese ghost) desperately looking for love.

And while love draws Fan’s haunting spirit to the human world, Teng trusts that similar emotions will draw those in the mood into theaters – and into the embraces of their paramour.

(c) that's Beijing Magazine
Chief editor: Gwynn Guilford
February 2007 issue

Horror and romance are generally not compatible, but Beijing-born filmmaker Teng Huatao and China’s Huayi Brothers have created a match made in heaven, or so they say.

Set within the framework of a Chinese ghost film to its credit, The Matrimony boasts stars, story and special effects aplenty. “In the past there were never really any high-end ghost movies, despite their popularity with both audiences and critics,” says Teng. “They were mostly small budget films with simple stories.”

Indeed, the film promises to be a sensory extravaganza, with sound effects and visuals processed in Shanghai by Hong Kong-based Chibi Digital Vision (Dragon Tiger Gate). “For ghost and horror movies,” explains Teng,” the soundtrack is essential – if you turn off the sound you won’t think it’s horrifying at all.”

The emphasis on dazzle may seem a bit of a surprise for audiences familiar with the young director’s best known work, the art-house flick One Hundred (2001). For one thing, this latest work is definitely aimed at the mainstream. Set in the 1930s, a period that Teng says “was a bizarre time that fits the story”, The Matrimony was shot in Shanghai (at the former Dong Feng Hotel, next to Three on the Bund and the Science Hall on Nanchang Road).

The plot concerns a secret Shen Junchu (Leon Lai Ming) keeps from his wife Sansan (Rene Liu): in the attic of their home is a locked room which she is forbidden to enter. Unable to restrain her curiosity, she opens the door and finds a restless ghost, her husband’s former girlfriend Xu Manli (Fan Bingbing), who’s still desperately looking for love.

Implausible? Yes, but not within the context of the Chinese ghost genre. Compared to Western horror conventions, this is a whole different world – one where ghosts are not necessarily evil and scary, but coexist on the same plane as the living.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
February 2007 issue

When Sun Yat-sen proposed in 1919 to build a dam on the Yangtze River, he probably didn’t appreciate just to what extent such a Herculean project and the colossal impact it would have on the local population. Seventy four years later and the Three Gorges Dam (in Yichang, Hubei Province) eventually started and was completed in May last year, becoming the largest hydroelectric dam in the world, and involving the relocation of more than 1.3 million people.

Despite being such a huge project, director Jia Zhangke takes his usual insightful look into human struggle that has seen him hailed overseas for his depiction of contemporary China in Still Life (Good People of the Three Gorges), his fifth film to date and his second movie to be released in China nationwide after The World.

Shot on HD, and using a documentary-style approach, the 36-year-old filmmaker offers a contemplative look at the emotional malaise within the rubble of Fengjie, a city at the foot of the dam. Two unconnected individuals from Shanxi, a coalminer (Han Sanming) and a nurse (Zhao Tao), search for their loved ones while wandering in an odd Imagelandscape of ruins, mountains and flooded lands. Eventually, they found something they didn’t expect they would.

Just as unexpected, was Still Life’s last-minute entry in competition at the 63rd Venice International Film Festival in September where Jia pocketed the Golden Lion award, the Western world’s ultimate sign of acknowledgement of Jia’s cinematic significance.

Jia talks with that’s about Still Life’s balancing act of realism and surrealism.

that’s: What is Still Life about?
Jia Zhangke: The focus of this movie is the impact of the Three Gorges Dam construction project on the lives of common people. I didn’t want to elevate the film to a sociological piece; it isn’t a movie to address societal problems actually. What I wanted to do was to look at the dam project from the angle of the locals. Of course they’re always affected by the society, but I didn’t want to just stop there. I wanted to show the strong will of the residents to confront the difficulties and how they survive.

that’s: The number of displaced locals exceeds the State of Idaho population. Did you witness any of it?
JZK: I didn’t witness the departure of people. Everything was just gone forever. It is very surrealistic; 1.3 million people left their land instantly. When I arrived there, there was even no trace left [of their lives] on this land. The saddest thing is that such an old city just disappeared under waters. The city has more than 2000 years of history and is attached to some wonderful cultural heritage such as the poems of Li Bai and the story of The Romance of the Three Kingdoms.

that’s: Why was Still Life presented at the last minute at the Venice Film Festival?
JZK: After I completed the rough cut, the Venice selection committee watched it and loved it. Unfortunately my father passed away during this period and I suspended all my work. Even so, they were still very persistent and wanted me to go back to work in July 2006 [to complete post production]. We all were afraid that I wouldn’t be able to finish it on time for the festival. Therefore we reached the agreement to present it as a surprise film; if I couldn’t finish it on time they would have found another movie.

that’s: Some scenes are bizarre, surreal even; there UFO flying around, a tight-rope walker and a building launched like a space shuttle. Explain.
JZK: The movie blends the reality with the two lead-character difficulties, their memories and their hope and imagination for the future. At the end of this movie, there are acrobatics to show this surrealism. It’s true that it’s kind of magical. Actually surrealism might just be the reality of modern China. China develops at an amazingly fast pace and there’s strong surrealistic side effects resulting from this development. Here, a city with a 2,400-year history got demolished in two years and more than one million people vanished instantly. From a certain viewpoint it shows the situation in China.

that’s: The movie’s a slow pace, with sometimes comedic moments. Why?
JZK: It’s the real pace of this city. From this languidity, you can understand the quickness of the [city] demolition and the departure of people. [So] this reality is sad and heavy. The contrast between the sad parts and the humor serves to emphasize the vitality and optimism of these people.

that’s: The humor works very well; your next film might as well be a comedy.
JZK: I haven’t thought about that yet, but I do like humor. I think Chinese people don’t lead a daily life with a long face and a sad mind. People should live with a smile.

c) that's PRD Magazine
Chief editor: Phil Boyle
December 2006 issue

Published in a slighlty different form in that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
February 2007 issue

and in that's Beijing Magazine
Deputy chief editor: Gwynn Guilford
January 2007 issue

When the first Academy Award® ceremony was held in 1929 in Hollywood there was no suspense; winners had been announced three months earlier. Nowadays, the Oscars® election campaign in Hollywood is said to rival the craze and excesses of the quadrennial race for the US presidency. The tremendous suspense that surrounds the Oscars is nerve-wracking for US and international film professionals alike and is the object of the wildest speculations. That’s because in seven decades the Academy Awards – presented annually by a Beverly Hills non-profit professional organization, the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS) – have become the most influential film awards in the world. Just being nominated for one of the major awards (Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actor, etc.), never mind winning, means a huge amount to filmmakers – and their bankers.

Non-US films have been allowed to take part in the frenzy since 1956; the AMPAS has invited each country to submit one film in the Best Foreign Language Film category. This is a chance for foreign films to enhance worldwide awareness and boost international sales. Chinese filmmakers have strived to submit their films and chalk up nominations since the early 1990s. “For China, it’s largely about foreign profile; gaining face internationally by being ‘recognized’ by the world’s most powerful industry,” explains Derek Elley, a senior film critic from the US entertainment industry magazine Variety. This year, four Chinese contenders made the headlines, as they campaigned to represent the country. There were two period dramas: Zhang Yimou’s Curse of the Golden Flower, an expensive martial arts epic starring Gong Li and Chow Yun-fat; and Feng Xiaogang’s The Banquet, a mainland-Hong Kong historical drama inspired by Hamlet and starring Zhang Ziyi and Ge You. Two contemporary-set films were also competing: Zhang Yibai’s independent thriller set in Chongqing, Curiosity Kills the Cat, starring Hu Jun and Carina Lau; and Zhang Jiarui’s The Road, a modest production shot in Yunnan and starring Zhang Jingchu. In October 2006, it was finally decided that Curse would represent the Chinese mainland while The Banquet would be the Hong Kong SAR official submission.

So why is it so important for Chinese filmmakers to be nominated or to win an Oscar? “Getting an Oscar nomination can improve the status of the producers and directors,” answers John Chong, Media Asia CEO and producer of The Banquet. It certainly helps the career of both new and seasoned filmmakers. “Being a film director in China is quite hard,” says Zhang Jiarui, a director anxious to get international accolades and whose third film, The Road, was released in China in early 2006. New Chinese directors have to take the responsibility of financing and distributing their own movies. Says Zhang: “When a director has established his own brand (such as Zhang Yimou and Chen Kaige) money will start to look for them.” Oscar nominations look good on a résumé, and because everyone wants to read about the Oscars, they can be a tool for domestic promotions. In the case of Curiosity Kills the Cat, independent producer Jimmy Wu smartly used the opportunity to gain publicity for the film’s Chinese release and also to make some points about the whole selection process. “To send Kung Fu/Emperor type of films to the Oscars for six consecutive years made China film administrators [look like] morons,” laments Wu, whose strategy was to play with the “silly Oscars obsession in China” to promote his film, set in modern times. It worked. “It helped the promotion and awareness of the film,” said Curiosity director Zhang Yibai. The public release jumped from an original exhibition in five cities with 66 prints to a nationwide release with 200 prints.

If modest directors can expect to score a few more points at the local box office with the Oscar buzz, acclaimed filmmakers helming big-budget flicks also need the extra publicity. “The capacity of the Chinese market is limited,” explains Zhang Yimou. “A big movie which cost RMB 300 million needs to make RMB 700 or 800 million to cover the cost.” The only way to recoup such costs is to attract the international market – with an Oscar nomination or win, for instance. In 2001, Ang Lee’s Couching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (CTHD) was nominated for 10 Oscars and won four of them (Foreign Language Film, Music, Cinematography and Art Direction), a unique historical feat for a foreign language film.

After the Oscars ceremony on March 2001, CTHD’s cumulative US box-office takings were in the neighborhood of USD 100 million. That’s a pretty decent neighborhood. The film ended up being a USD 130 million blowout stateside. No wonder that even before they started shooting Curse of the Golden Flower, Zhang Yimou and his producer, Zhang Weiping, had already planned to vie for the Oscars. Curse was simultaneously distributed this December in China and in the US by Sony Pictures Classics (the CTHD distributor) and expectations for Oscar success run high.

Producer Wu’s concern is, however, legitimate. It’s always historical dramas, or wuxiapian, that are selected. “Chinese producers think they stand the best chance of winning with big-budget martial arts epics,” says Elley, “as voters go for ‘exotic’ movies or ones that fit their clichéd perception of a country, like costume pictures showing Old Europe or films with Jewish themes.” Sad but true, international markets only accept a single Chinese film genre – period, costume and martial arts movies. “Taking the international market as a big dining table, Chinese movies are seen as a small plate of peanuts, an appetizer or cold dish, which cannot be served for every meal,” deplores Zhang Yimou, who has had three films nominated at the Oscars, all of them period dramas, though not all kung fu orientated (Judou; Raise the Red Lantern; Hero). In retrospect, the modern Curiosity Kills the Cat and The Road stood virtually no chance of being selected for national submission. Western audiences still prefer martial arts fantasies and historical tragedies, genres rooted uniquely in Asian culture. “It is very much like we prefer Japanese sushi or French wine,” says Easternlight Films director Ying Ye, who distributed The Road worldwide. Even so, to propose a genre ‘accepted’ by voters isn’t necessarily a guarantee for success. Last year, China’s submission was Chen Kaige’s slick and expensive wuxiapian The Promise, which got very poor press in the US and wasn’t even nominated.

The odds of correctly forecasting the five nominees out of 61 official submissions for the Best Foreign Language Film Award are quite low. But luck isn’t the only determining factor. “To stand a chance of even being selected into the final five, you need a US distributor for your film and/or a savvy Hollywood PR, plus lots of money for screenings, trade ads etc.”, explains Elley. “The Banquet doesn’t yet have a US distributor (at least at the time this article went to print), creating a huge problem for the production companies, Huayi Brothers and Media Asia, who will have to push the film themselves. At least, Curse is distributed by Sony Pictures Classics, which has a history of opening Chinese films in the US (House of Flying Daggers in 2004 on 1,500 screens; Kung Fu Hustle in 2005 on 2,500 screens). Another obstacle to overcome is the taste of voters. The bottom line is, according to Elley, that “foreign language Oscar winners have simply something which appeals to specifically American tastes [and they] have often not been hits in their home countries.” Although Zhang Yimou has never won so far, he’s received three nominations. His latest kung fu epics Hero and House of Flying Daggers, widely distributed in the US, were branded as ‘wuxiapian for foreigners’ and received the cold shoulder from Chinese audiences and critics alike. Judging by Zhang’s history, Curse of the Golden Flower, a new lavish historical drama designed for foreign eyes, stands every chance.

For more information see http://www.oscars.org/

All interviews and research by Thomas Podvin.
Special thanks to Derek Elley.

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SIDE BAR
Oscar facts
by Thomas Podvin

• 5,800 is the current number of voting members from the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences (AMPAS). When AMPAS was founded in 1927, it consisted of 230 members.
• 16.5 in (42 cm) and 8.5 lb (3.86 kg) are the height and weight of an Oscar.
• 2,300+ statuettes have been awarded so far.
• On January 23, 2007, the nomination results will be announced.
• On February 25, 2007, the Oscars ceremony will take place at the Kodak Theatre in Hollywood, California.
• The Chinese mainland, Taiwan, and Hong Kong have respectively received 3, 3 and 2 Oscar nominations in the Best Foreign Language Film category. Only Taiwan province won an award.
• 61 foreign language films were submitted for this years’ 79th Academy Awards – a record.
• Rule 14 serves as the ‘Ten Commandments’ of the Oscars, a strict and rigid set of rules to be followed by filmmakers when submitting a foreign language film.
• Oct. 1, 2005 to Sep. 30, 2006 is the period during which the submitted foreign language films for the 2007 Oscars should be publicly released in their home country for seven consecutive days.
• Zhang Yimou was nominated three times as Best Foreign Language Film (Ju Dou, 1990; Raise the Red Lantern, 1991; Hero, 2002), while Chen Kaige was nominated only once (Farewell My Concubine, 1993). Ang Lee was nominated three times and won once in 2000 (The Wedding Banquet, 1993; Eat Drink Man Woman, 1994; Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, 2000).
• RMB160 was the ticket price for Zhang Yimou’s Curse of the Golden Flower during the mandatory one-week public screening held to meet the requirements for the Best Foreign Language Film application.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
January 2007 issue

(c) that's PRD Magazine
Chief editor: Phil Boyle
February 2007 issue

Chen Kaige (The Promise) and Zhang Yimou (House of Flying Daggers), the two most successful art-film directors to bring Chinese mainland film to the world stage, have now become synonymous with empty commercial fare. Of late, Chen and Zhang have been engaged in a battle to gain the recognition of both international audiences and film festivals. Yet, ultimately, Zhang’s costly wuxiapian (chivalrous martial arts film) which employ an expensive formula of jaw- dropping visuals, high-tech special effects, an all-star cast and a wafer-thin plotline, fails to shine like his earlier art-house films.

With Curse of the Golden Flower, Zhang’s latest effort simultaneously released in China and the US this past December, the 55-year-old director has upped the ante. Even before CGF’s shooting started, Zhang proclaimed some grand ambitions: to compete for the Oscars, to break the RMB 300 million mark in China and to exceed the American box-office takings of Hero in 2004 (over USD 50 million). This was a conspicuous attempt to surpass the USD 42.5 million Chen earned for The Promise released in December 2005.

CGF, which will come in at a mere USD 45 million, is nonetheless China’s most expensive film to date, and promises more gaudy costumes and sets and breathtaking cinematography. The director has marshalled 20,000 Chinese extras to play the troops, along with a team of tailors to sew 3,000 handmade costumes at a cost of USD 1.3 million. All in all, the battle scenes account for a sizeable chunk of the budget. Zhang recalls that “several hundred thousand RMB disappeared in one cut.”

His all-star cast also did little to rein in the film’s mushrooming budget. To connect with foreign audiences and critics, Zhang gathered a cast of bankable and internationally-famous movie stars, including his former girlfriend Gong Li (Miami Vice, Memoirs of a Geisha) and Chow Yun-fat (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) supported by two local sensations, Taiwanese pop idol Jay Chou and Chinese mainland thespian Liu Ye. What’s more, the lavish cinematography of cameraman Zhao Xiaoding (House of Flying Daggers) and the bombastic score of Shigeru Umebayashi (2046) help lift the film to international standards. Zhang is only frugal when it comes to CGI (computer generated imagery) as he has sworn to ”avoid bragging technology”.

Like many wuxiapian that came before it, CGF is an exotic and at times erotic piece. The story takes place in a harem with an array of luscious Tang Dynasty babes, complete with spilling cleavage, as was the fashion of the time. The original story, Thunderstorm, written by the ‘Chinese Shakespeare’ Cao Yu, was set in the 1930s and chronicles the disintegration of an aristocratic family before the Japanese invasion.

Set in the Tang dynasty, the film version takes the court intrigues and familial feuds to an almost excessive level. The film begins with Prince Jai (Jay Chou), who returns to the palace to reunite with his mother the Empress (Gong), whom he hasn’t seen for years. The Emperor (Chow) has had a falling-out with the Empress over her affair with Crown Prince Wan (Liu Ye), her son-in-law. Wan wants to elope with his sweetheart, Chan (Li Man), the daughter of the Imperial Doctor (Ni Dahong). Seeking a neat solution to the problem, the Emperor orders the doctor to drug and incapacitate the Empress.

The tragic conspiracies are intriguing, but the unravelling plots and unlikely revelations make the story hard to digest. CGF certainly has more to it than The Promise, with a plethora of twists and turns and some truly moving scenes, but when it’s too much, it’s too much. Zhang’s fifteenth movie will, no doubt, make film history on account of its excesses. One can only imagine what Chen will do to match it in his next effort (Mei Lan Fang).

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
January 2007 issue

Liu Jie swears to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. In that, he’s a rare breed: a fledgling director with little experience (though he worked with Wang Xiaoshuai on Beijing Bicycle and Drifters) but plenty of high ideals. Indeed, his directorial debut, Courthouse on Horseback (COH), is a poignant, unflinching exposé of China’s rural judicial system, one that earned him a Horizons Prize at the Venice Film Festival this past September.

COH is a low-budget film shot in semi-documentary format and is set in the isolated Ninglang County in Yunnan. It is based on a real-life character – a venerable old man named Feng, an itinerant, circuit court judge, who delivers justice to the backwater hamlets of the province; until one day, such are the demands of the job, he dies of exhaustion.

Like judge Feng, Liu is something of a martyr – he sacrificed his wedding money to finish off the film. At the same time, he sees himself as something of a visionary – one who will hopefully influence other Chinese film directors to resist the temptation of profit over integrity.

“Due to the impact of commercial culture in the past half decade, Chinese cinema has become more and more superficial,” laments Liu. Indeed, he views Chen Kaige’s Yellow Earth (1984) as an example of the golden age.
Unlike Chen, who has all but surrendered his artistic vision to special effects of late, Liu champions a minimalist approach to filmmaking. “I discarded all filmmaking techniques and filmed this movie using the most simple and unadulterated means possible,” he says.

Indeed, in COH the scenery is real; there are no special effects and with the exception of seasoned actor Li Baotian (Judou, Shanghai Triad) and the up-and-coming, Lu Yulai (Peacock), the cast is made up of non-professionals. As an unknown director with limited means, Liu, of course, had little choice. Still, his tale of a judge on the bumpy road to truth has much more relevance than many another current screen offering. The big question is: will it draw a crowd? Well, it might have, had it been given a fair trial, but with a mere five day theatrical run, and just one screening a day and not everywhere in China, one might say the jury is still out.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
November 2006 issue

Though produced and distributed by the highly-successful Huayi Brothers (The Banquet, A World without Thieves, Kekexili), Chen Daming’s One Foot off the Ground (OFOTG) isn’t conceived as a vehicle for Western film festivals. Rather, it presents a realistic and contemporary view of everyday life in China in contrast to the recent slough of fantasy films directed by other big name Chinese directors. “I wanted to show a different side of China,” says Chen, “something that you rarely see in Chinese films that make it outside of the country.”

Chen – a screenwriter/actor and Quentin Tarantino’s assistant-director on Kill Bill – wrote a strong script, later edited by Hollywood producer Chris Lee (Superman Returns). Lee describes the film as a Chinese version of Four Weddings and a Funeral – filled with emotional resonance and endearing quirky characters.

The story revolves round an out-of-work opera company, who are obliged to earn their living with a variety of odd jobs, including selling dogs with fake pedigrees, and training roosters for cock fights. No prima donnas, these characters are raw and leathery, a fact well-reflected in their nasal Kaifeng dialect. In the vein of Ning Hao’s Crazy Stone– a rollicking Sichuanese comedy about a band of thieves – the regional flavor adds spice and special meaning to this film.

“[OFOTG] is very Chinese,” says Chen, “but it also has very universal ingredients. It’s a strong character-driven film.” One that Chen is well-equipped to write.
His blowsy characters are informed by his own youthful experiences performing Peking Opera in Kaifeng – a third-tier city in Henan. At 17, he left home and toured China with an acting company, and later entered the Beijing Film Academy. After graduation he went to America, and worked in Hollywood for ten years.
Chen returned to Kaifeng in 2005, a full 20 years since he left town to make his mark in the world. OFTOG then, is in one sense a look back. A fond and wistful look back to Chen’s days with the Peking Opera and his memories of three good friends in the troupe.

Like many people who have been forced to adapt to changing circumstances in China, the three performers often stumble, but their years of hard training makes it a little easier to get a least one foot back on the ground.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
November 2006 issue

The past few years has seen a flowering of Sino-European co-productions: The White Countess; The World; Red Little Flowers; Love in the Year of the Tiger; Jade Warrior; Luxury Car; Summer Palace and Dam Street, to name a few. Why? In part, because foreign film producers have easier access to the Chinese mainland – and co-productions are seen to benefit both parties.

The results have been generally positive. “We work together; respect each other and appreciate each other’s work and opinions,” says Polish filmmaker Jacek Bromski who helmed the first Sino-Polish joint project (between Changchun Film Studios and Poland Studio Zebra), Love in the Year of the Tiger (LYT). Referring to the unusual degree of mutual respect, Bromski adds that “it’s often not like this when we co-produce with other countries.”

That said, foreign and domestic producers recognize that by definition, co-production means both partners share in the profit, and risk. Last year, proceeds for joint projects, which still account for just 10 per cent of the overall number of films screened, accounted for an astounding 35 per cent of the total box-office revenue.

That windfall can be attributed to various incentives, such as tax breaks (of up to 50 per cent) and better distribution opportunities. Co-productions are not considered ‘foreign’ films and thus are not subject to the ‘20 foreign films per year’ quota. In 2005, the top four box office films were co-productions.

Sino-European co-productions are in a particularly favorable position; they enjoy access to funding from European organizations (France’s Fonds Sud Cinema; Holland’s Hubert Bals Fund, etc.,), and at the same time they can participate in China’s national film competitions (The Hundred Flowers Awards and The Golden Rooster Awards). Indeed, LYT will vie for the Golden Rooster Awards this month in Hangzhou.

Though it’s no small achievement to take home a Golden Rooster, foreign production companies are much more interested in China’s expanding market. Some estimates state that China’s annual box office revenue will reach RMB 8 billion by 2010, up from RMB 2 billion in 2005. “China is a potentially huge market; there are not a lot of theaters but it’s a start,” says French producer Sylvain Butzteijn (Rosem Films), whose latest production, Luxury Car directed by Wang Chao, won the Un Certain Regard/Fondation GAN award in Cannes last May. Butzeijn, like many other European producers is bullish on the industry’s future in China; indeed, he believes the market will be huge in the next decade or two.

In addition to the numbers and the profits they imply, some foreign producers are attracted to China for artistic reasons. Butzeijn, for example, says Sino-European co-productions are a way of introducing Chinese films to the global market, and an opportunity “to take part in the development of a great international cinema.”

Of course, what appeals to an international audience doesn’t necessarily appeal to domestic tastes. A case in point: Jia Zhangke’s The World, a Chinese/French/Japanese co-production, met with a mixed response in Chinese theaters.

To cater to audiences in China and abroad, some filmmakers are combining cultural elements in their works. Producers Francesco Ferracin and Beth Sanders of the UK-based company Silk and Steel Productions have two film projects in development with Chinese partners. Jasmine, shot and set in Shanghai, will reinterpret the European myth of the Flying Dutchman and “blend the qualities of Far-Eastern aesthetics with a traditional European tale”, according to the press kit.

Bromski has taken a similar approach. LYT is set in the 20th-century and concerns a Polish prisoner of war saved by a Chinese hunter. “When the story is based on the natural confrontation of two different cultures,” he says, “both audiences can learn about our differences and similarities.”

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
October 2006 issue