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

Despite his kung fu prowess, Jackie Chan is no match for China’s DVD pirates. For one thing, he’s vastly outnumbered. But that hasn’t stopped Chan from fighting for his rights. Indeed, at every personal appearance in China or elsewhere in the world, he declares his position with no punches pulled: “They’re robbing the creative industry.”

Of course, robbery is a crime, and consequently Chan has become something of a caped crusader, which is not to say he’s battling alone. Recently, he joined forces with a group of more than 60 film producers to lobby the government to take stern action against those who pilfer creative works.

The pilfering takes place on a grand scale. Last year, the Chinese film industry produced in excess of 260 films, which collectively earned about RMB 2 billion (USD 250 million) at the box office, states a report by the Chinese Academy of Social Sciences. Yet in 2005 alone, piracy cost the China film industry USD 2.7 billion (RMB 21.6 billion), according to LEK Consulting. Motion Picture Association (MPA) senior vice president, Asia Pacific, Michael Ellis says that China’s losses account for 55 per cent of the worldwide loss of revenue due to audio-video piracy. Put another way, the numbers suggest that in 2005 bootleggers made ten times the total revenue of the PRC film industry.

In short, the level of piracy in China, which is at an extremely high level indeed, is crippling. It hurts Hollywood, of course, but Ellis says that the “first victim is the national [Chinese] cinema”.

The root of the problem is weak intellectual property rights. As late as 1982, China had no IPR laws to speak of. Since then, laws have been enacted, and anti-piracy campaigns have had some impact. In 2005-2006, police made 2,600 arrests and seized a total of 167 million pirated products. MPA, however, says the government needs to make greater efforts to crack down on pirates, including stiffer deterrent sentencing.

But the most effective method to weaken the pirate’s grasp on the industry lies not in the courtroom, but rather in the classroom. In other words, educating the public on the importance of IPR protection. As such, the government launched IPR Protection Week in April, and a host of new IPR protection plans and arrangements.

But even if these efforts succeed, with the number of Chinese Internet users reaching 111 million, it’s going to take more than a few big character posters to stop the bleeding. Illegal downloading cost the Chinese film industry RMB 8 billion (USD 1 billion) in 2005. No wonder Chan’s anti-piracy slogan is “Fakes Cost More”.

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

One might think that fair-haired, well-muscled Nordic warriors and dark and slender Chinese swordsmen have little in common. Yet in Jade Warrior (Jadesoturi) Finnish film director Antti-Jussi Annila has constructed a cultural bridge between his homeland and China.

A Sino-European co-production – involving Finland, China, Holland and Estonia – the RMB 27.5 million film is based on The Kalevala, an epic 19th-century poem still influential in Finland to this day. “The heroes in The Kalevala are not typical heroes; no matter what they do they can never get the women they love,” says Annila.

Jade Warriors follows the travails of one hapless warrior (Tommi Eronen) as he fights to be reunited with his beloved Zhang Jingchu (Peacock). To achieve that aim, he travels across time and place, from ancient China to cold contemporary Finland. Along the way, the past feeds the story in the present day, and slowly reveals the warrior’s origin in China’s Iron Age, as well as his exceptional fighting skills. It’s an odd mix to be sure, but the 29-year-old filmmaker says the hybrid plot is not too far-fetched. Both The Kalevala, and China’s wuxia pian tradition of chivalrous marital arts’ spectacles, share a common theme: “melodramatic love stories of warriors, swords and sorcery”, explains the director.

Annila is both a student and fan of Hong Kong Tsui Hark and John Woo, both of whom are masters of the wuxia pian genre. Indeed, Annila says that his aim in making the film was to “find the source of the huge energy of those Hong Kong action films”.

That said, Jade Warriors promises to be more than your average kung fu flick; rather, it offers an exploration of the cultural connection between the two countries which extends back to the late 19th century. Those ties are perhaps best exemplified in a running motif in the film based on a Finnish artifact, sampo. In Finland, it is said to bring good fortune to the Nordic people, while its Chinese counterpart, sanfu, or sampo in Mongolian, means ‘the secret source of all happiness’.

The Finnish sampo concept then, which is central to The Kalevala, closely resembles the shamanistic cosmologies of Mongolia, and those of Tibet. The Kalevala has been translated into 54 languages, and inspired J.R.R. Tolkien to learn Finnish so that he could read it in the original language. In light of the above, that Jade Warrior is the first ever Finnish kung fu film is really not so surprising; after all, the quest for happiness is universal.

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

I had arranged to interview Shu Haolun, an independent documentary filmmaker and teacher at the Shanghai University Film and Television School, following the June premier of his second directorial effort, Nostalgia, at the Shanghai Film Library in Hongkou District. However, after the screening and a heated Q&A session with the audience, Shu, a graduate of Southern Illinois University, was far too agitated to answer any more questions, especially questions posed in English.

Instead, we arranged to meet the next day, and though the temperature was fiery, Shu appeared composed. Needless to say, appearances are deceiving. In short time, the 34 year-old filmmaker revealed himself as a man of passion, one who relies on his gut instincts. Indeed, Shu is as intense as the summer’s heat, though his energies are filtered through the camera lens. Which is to say he shines a bright light on selective subjects: his family, the city in which he was born, China’s rapid development and its effect on ordinary Chinese people.

While that may seem a rather broad spectrum, it’s not. Shu’s brand of non-fiction filmmaking is highly personal. Nostalgia puts his family center stage, along with his own memories of growing up in a neighborhood of shikumen (stone-gate houses), one that has been slotted for demolition. Though Shu’s documentary is highly subjective (in one scene he recalls a childhood sweetheart), his sense of nostalgia, indeed his memories of Da Zhongli, an area of 7,000 residents in the Jing’an district, is one that has universal appeal, grounded, as it is, in humanist principles.

As mentioned above, Shu is passionate, but he is also compassionate. A trait that is evident in his directorial debut, Struggle (2001), a film that concerns three migrant workers who lost their hands while working in one of Shenzhen’s sweatshops, and their struggle, aided by lawyer Zhou Litai, for a better life, fundamental rights and justice. While in production, Shu became intimate with the workers and their lawyer, and as a result, Struggle is more than just an exposé; it expresses an undeniable sympathy with the suffering (and the struggle for human dignity) of its subjects.

For his next project, Shu will revisit territory covered in an earlier work, How Yukong Moved the Mountain, a 12 episode, 763 minute documentary on the “cultural revolution” by the late Dutch documentary filmmaker Joris Ivens (1898-1989). Entitled A Letter to Ivens – a revisit to Yukong, Shu’s version will once again center on the experiences of his family, childhood and his hometown.

that’s: Why did you chose to study filmmaking in the US?
Shu Haolun: At the time [mid-1990s], the only film school [in China] was the Beijing Film Academy (BFA). It was quite a closed system; you had to be extremely smart and to perform very well in the entrance examination to [gain admission]. Or you needed to have the right connections. I failed the entrance exam [and wasn’t connected]. So it seemed impossible for me to enter the BFA, which had a superior air because of its monopoly, as if it were the kingdom of filmmaking in the Middle Kingdom. So I studied English and went to the USA. I wanted to see other parts of the world, and I think I’ve made the right choice.

that’s: What inspired you to make documentaries?
SH: Back in 1998, I was studying at the Southern Illinois University [SIU]. My university advisor signed me up for the documentary classes. I had already missed the orientation week because I was late due to some visa issues and didn’t know what the classes were about. One of them was about documentary history, from the late 1960s to late 1990s.
In China, we weren’t much exposed to documentaries. The films I was watching in the US were very different, like Chris Marker’s La Jetée (1962) and Alain Resnais’ Night and Fog (1955). Later on, I saw a documentary that blew my mind, Barbara Kopple’s American Dream (1990). It was about a workers’ union at a meat factory. It wasn’t done in the style of 1960s Cinéma Vérité, but it was a very powerful work, maybe one of the most powerful non-fiction films [I’ve seen].

that’s: Why did you return to China?
SH: At SIU, we had to make a film as an assigned project. At the time, I wanted to make a fictional film. But I couldn’t get approval from the teachers’ committee, who wanted a more realist story. That upset me, so I came back to China to make films.

that’s: How did you choose Struggle as your first project?
SH: The story is fascinating; there’s no question about it. I think the human aspect of the film is also very strong. One of the migrant workers, Xiao Hongxing, is from Hubei Province; his family couldn’t support his studies, so he went to a technical school instead of college and got a technical degree. Later, he went to Shenzhen [as a migrant worker], and unfortunately suffered an industrial accident that left him crippled. The story of Xiao and the other workers is shocking.

Although we live in different worlds and have almost nothing in common, besides nationality and language, I felt we were connected. In the beginning, they called me ‘journalist Shu’. I am not a journalist, but they basically thought that anyone with a camera was a journalist. But gradually I won their confidence, and they told me their story. After they knew me better, they called me Xiao Shu, or ‘Little Shu’. And these victims from the newspapers became human beings to me. We developed a personal bond.

that’s: You had European funding for this project.
SH: I applied for, and received, funding from the Netherlands’ Jan Vrijman Fund, and from the Swiss Agency. So I was well funded for my very first project, which surprised my US professors. Back in China I started to work on topics I really liked. And this time, no one said the subject wasn’t realistic enough. Later Struggle was screened at many festivals around the world and won the Best Documentary Award at the Fribourg International Film Festival (Switzerland).

that’s: Let’s talk about Nostalgia and your motives in keeping memories of an old Shanghai neighborhood alive.
SH: In 2002, as I was finishing my studies in the US, I learned that the place where I’d always lived in Shanghai, the neighborhood of Da Zhongli, was sold to a Hong Kong real estate developer who planned to build skyscrapers in place of the existing shikumen.
Da Zhongli is our family home, the place my family has always lived. I was worried that if I didn’t film it then, the opportunity would be lost forever. Another source of inspiration was a series of essays in the Shanghai Literature magazine entitled My City Map, which described the writers’ favorite places in Shanghai, be it their birthplaces or where they grew up. Nostalgia was my own My City Map but in the form of a documentary film. This project was personal; I really wanted to do something for my home and my family.

that’s: You might have named your documentary My Home, rather than Nostalgia.
SH: Not exactly, because I miss my home and the 1980s. I miss that particular place and time, which are mixed together; it’s not possible for me to separate them. I also show [in Nostalgia] my personal experiences when I was a teenager.

that’s: Both Struggle and Nostalgia examine some of the negative effects of rapid modernization. Does that mean you are a conservative?
SH: No, I think everybody likes modernization. Nobody wants to live in a cave like during the Stone Age. However, modernization shouldn’t mean unhealthy development.
A while ago I went to Jakarta, Indonesia, but I wasn’t able to see much. The traffic was so packed that if I wanted to go anywhere it would have taken at least two hours. Yes, there are super highways across the city, but the city is not designed on a human scale. You can also see a lot of foreign cars and banks and international brands – it’s like anywhere else in the US. I am afraid that might happen in Shanghai. Modernization isn’t about how many skyscrapers and highways a city has. It’s about how we can share wealth and how everybody can enjoy it. In other words, if modernization is about money it’s wrong; if it’s about people it’s right.

that’s: What about your next project, A Letter to Ivens?

SH: This documentary, currently in development, is about Joris Ivens, who in the early 1970s was invited by then Prime Minister Zhou [Enlai] to make a film about almost every aspect of the “cultural revolution” [in How Yukong Moved the Mountain (1971-1977)]. It ran to 12 episodes, but I will only revisit three. One of them is about a factory in Shanghai that produces generators, a typical Soviet-style factory where they have everything (a school, hospital, dormitories), and where my father worked for decades until he retired. I’ve a personal connection with this place; I used to go to the swimming pool there when I was young. The second episode’s about a [local] pharmacy, which is more representative of a small working environment, while the third episode is about the Da Qing oil fields.

that’s: Is this project a comment on Ivens’ documentary?
SH: The whole project is about how Ivens portrayed the events of that period. I am not interested in whether his work is true or not; my angle is to shoot discussions with common people who experienced that time. Currently, I’m negotiating the rights for footage from Ivens’ film – my concept is to reunite past and present images.

For more information see Shu Haolun's homepage:
http://spaces.msn.com/haolunshui
This article also features in Shu Haolun's homepage

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

Jasmine Women, a classy cinematic adaptation of Su Tong’s novel Women’s Life (co-produced by Tian Zhuangzhuang), deals with the loves and losses of Shanghainese women over three generations, from the 1930s to the1990s. Their fate is far from pretty. The real beauty is in the telling; the life of each character is subtly mirrored in the mores of a given period, as evidenced, for example, in the tale of a single mother circa 1930s. After three years delay, Jasmine Flower (Mo Li Hua Kai in Chinese, a play on the protagonist’s names) was finally released this past April. The late release was due to objections among the film’s investors, who were unhappy with its unusual, yet intriguing, structure. The movie is broken up into three medium length films (129 minutes in total) with each segment (1930s, 1960s and 1980s) having its own distinctive flavor (and form of intrigue). Zhang Ziyi and Joan Chen play three different characters, with both actresses excelling in their multiple roles. Zhang’s performance is of special note; indeed, this 27-year-old Beijing Dance Academy graduate (who pocketed the 2004 Best Actress Golden Rooster Award), is clearly China’s most gifted young actress.
Wanji Group

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

“As a common intellectual, I feel responsible to show the reality of my country and its contradictions – especially the tribulations of people,” declares Beijing film director Wang Chao. Tribulations aside, Wang’s third film, Luxury Car (LC), is not just another bleak social-realist take on modern China. This last entry in Wang’s thought-provoking trilogy (The Orphan of Anyang; Night and Day) won the ‘Prix Un Certain Regard – Fondation Gan’ at Cannes this May. And deservedly so: Luxury Car is Wang’s most personal work, inspired by his own tribulations. As such, it concerns failure, fatalism and the absurdity of the human condition, all of which have been at the heart of his triptych. This film, however, goes deeper; it is dedicated to his family, and to a wider extent, all Chinese parents.

“I’m the unworthy son of wonderful parents,” says the 42-year-old, Nanjing-born filmmaker as if he needed to justify his motive for making the film. Like many a modern Chinese youth, Wang left home for the big city to study, and eventually further his career. Typically, he now looks back upon his roots with sentimentality. In the early 1990s, he entered Beijing Film Academy, later working as an assistant to Chen Kaige, and he’s since made the capital his base for his own successful films. In the meantime, though, he neglected his parents, visiting them just twice in a decade. Sadly, in 2005, he became aware that his mother had terminal cancer; indeed, that she had been under treatment for some time. Wang’s relatives had concealed her illness from him so as not to distract him from his work. To Wang’s regret. In a society where “families suffer the negative effects of distance, setbacks and the inability to help each other”, he feels that fundamental values have been lost.

Which goes a long way in explaining why family miscommunication is a central theme in his latest film. Luxury Car, a Sino/French co-production tells the story of a retired country teacher who comes to Wuhan to look for his son. With the help of his daughter, a prostitute, he tries to fulfill his wife’s last wish (she is terminally ill), which is to see her son one last time. What follows is a moving exploration of the generation gap, and the erosion of traditional family values. In the modern world, it seems anything and everything is subject to market forces, even the members of one’s own family. As such, the film is an apologia, an attempt by Wang to make amends for all the years he dedicated to his own advancement at the expense of his family. In other words, this work articulates the director’s need for atonement, in a world where, as he puts it, “progress also means there’s a cruel price to pay”.

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

Competition in the Chinese entertainment industry is so intense, that were it permitted, agents would scout maternity wards for the next sweet young thing. Indeed, ‘the younger the better’ might could be the modus operandi for the companies like the Emperor Entertainment Group (EEG), that is if its recent discovery, rising superstar Isabella Leong Lok-Si, is at all representative.

EEG is a Hong Kong-based artist management/record company that courts the youth market with its hand-picked assets, including such heartthrobs as the Twins, Edison Chen and Nicolas Tse. The company recruited Leong at the age of 12, and has since taken the former teen model and groomed her for a spot on the A-list.

Some might say the market is already saturated with product (especially now the amateurs have entered the idol competition), but in Leong’s case, she was in the right place, at the right moment, with the right attributes. She’s tall (172 centimeters), beautiful (wide forehead, large eyes and perfect complexion) and talented. And a touch exotic. Indeed, in China she’s been dubbed Xiao Zhang Bai Zhi (young Cecilia Cheung), in reference to the actresses shared profession and, no doubt, their mixed blood (Cheung’s mother is half English half Chinese). “I am half Chinese, half Portuguese, and half English,” says the 18 year old starlet. Meaning, of course, a third of each.

Since signing Leong in 2000, EGG has done much to expand her visibility (TV, music, film and stage) and, of course, bankability. At 16, she’d already released an EP (Isabella), made several guest performances at the Hong Kong Hung Hom coliseum and won various awards (Guangzhou Radio Golden Hits Awards; Yahoo! Hong Kong Buzz Awards). In 2005, at seventeen, she made her film debut in Law Chi-leung’s Bugs Me Not!, for which she was nominated Best New Performer at the 42nd Golden Horse Awards and the 25th Hong Kong Film Awards. Later that same year, her sophomore movie, the Pang Brothers’ psycho-thriller The Eye 10 was released, while she was in Macao shooting Isabella a Media Asia production helmed by Edmond Pang Ho-cheung. She also played a supporting role (a fiery urchin) in Jeff Lau’s A Chinese Tall Story.

In addition, as of the end of last year, Leong had appeared in 20 TV commercials and print advertisements (Coca Cola, Maybelline Cosmetics) and won more awards (e.g., Guangzhou TV Station Great Potential Newcomer). Not bad for someone who at the time had yet to blow out 18 candles.

That said, the actress’ stand-out performance was in the art house film Isabella, wherein she was more than a pretty young face; indeed, she proved her acting chops in a performance that one critic called “compelling and genuinely impressive”.

While Leong didn’t take home an award for her effort, following the film’s screening at the Berlin Film Festival last February, Chinese music composer Peter Kam won the Best Film Music Silver Bear, vying against celebrated composers like James Horner (The New World, Braveheart) or Klaus Badelt (Wu Ji). One might argue that other honors were due. The film is clearly different from the usual Hong Kong fare; its pace, aesthetic, music, and emotional and lyrical mood are unusually thoughtful and well-crafted.

Shot entirely on location in Macao, the low budget (USD 1.3 million; RMB 8 million) Isabella takes place on the eve of the Portuguese-governed territory’s return to Chinese sovereignty. The plot concerns a thirty-something, womanizing cop, Shing (Chapman To, who also co-produced), suspended for corruption. In a chance encounter, he meets Yan (Leong), the daughter he never knew he had. Yan insists on living under his roof, challenges his girlfriends and generally disrupts his life. The film’s title does not refer to its leading actress, rather to Yan’s runaway dog. She and her father search for it, and in the process become acquainted, but, of course, they never find it. The pooch is a metaphor – Yan’s last link to her late mother and the yet-to-be-found connection with her newly-discovered dad.

Pang, whose style of direction was described by Variety as “a mixture of Claude Lelouch and Wong Kar-wai”, offers more depth and subtexts than this simple synopsis may suggest; for Pang, Macao’s historical significance is as a symbol of the clash between the culture of East and West, and as such, appropriate for this story of long lost daughter reuniting with her father.
Leong’s personal history was also significant in her winning the role, as it parallels that of the character she plays. Born in Hong Kong in 1988, she was raised in Macao and suffered the loss of a parent. Says Pang: “Her personal experience made her the perfect candidate for this part.”

Pang also stresses that the title is in no way meant to promote the actress, insisting that the choice was nothing more than coincidence. “We cast Isabella long before I decided on the title,” says the 33-year-old director, who claims he did not write the script with Leong in mind. “I liked her name, and later found its meaning [God’s promise] matched the theme of my film.”

Leong agrees that her character in the film “resembles me in a lot of respects”. And she drew on her personal experience (the death of her father in Macao, for example) when playing the part. “My personal experience was important for my performance,” she says. ”A lot of memories just came back; I always felt depressed there and quickly sensed the character’s state of mind.”

Both Pang and Leong say the shoot was an emotional one, intensified, perhaps, by To’s physical resemblance to Leong’s late father. A resemblance that was a little too close to reality.

“When I cried [on the set],” says Leong, “it wasn’t acting; it was natural emotion.” An emotion that Pang encouraged, advising the actress not to analyze her character.

As a result, Isabella works; the drama is poignant, and the sentiments appear genuine, which greatly benefits the overall mood of the film. Leong’s performance is surprisingly mature for a young, and relatively inexperienced, actress. At 17, she captures the essence of a rebellious-cum-ingenuous and fatherless girl.

In past roles, Leong’s directors seem entranced by her charm, youth and freshness; yet only Pang has managed to capture her teen angst and bring out an exceptional performance. Says Pang: “Though I didn’t get the chance to watch Leong’s previous movies, I realized she really exceeded herself with her performance in Isabella.”

Indeed, Pang thought Leong a shoe-in for the Best Actress Award in Berlin. Though Leong appeared more concerned about an outbreak of acne than her chance to win the top award. In fact, she behaved as a typical teenager, joking that “I’ve never had a pimple in my life. Perhaps the festival has disrupted my hormones.”

Leong, didn’t win, of course, but the festival did provide plenty of exposure, and considerable international respect. Film critic Tim Youngs wrote that “[Leong] displays considerable range in her first leading dramatic role, exuding a rough edge and displaying believable emotion.”

In the wake of such acclaim, Leong has received a number of offers, some of which may provide equally good roles. Or not, as the case may be. However, two are worth mentioning. One is High Tea, in which Leong is cast opposite fellow EEG star Deep Ng and the veteran Hong Kong actor Kenneth Tsang. Here, Leong plays a young adventurous kung-fu expert involved in a hunt for lost treasure. Part Da Vinci Code, part Mission Impossible, this promising action movie was shot in Shanghai and Europe early this summer by Spanish B-movie director Germán Monzó. Those of you fortunate enough to have caught Monzó’s very amusing exploitation film, Kibris, which artfully combined choreographed high kicks and long-toothed vampires, at the 2005 Shanghai film festival will have an idea of what to expect.

Leong has made several public statements expressing her desire to take on challenging roles, including that of a prostitute. That aim has yet to materialize; in the meantime, however, Leong has agreed to take on a rather daring role in Taiwanese filmmaker’s Zhou Mei Ling’s Tattoo. Currently in production, it is the story of a half-Japanese/half-Taiwanese tattoo artist (Leong) and her relationship with another woman, played by the pretty Taiwanese idol Rainie Yang. Leong’s management was concerned (before later agreeing) that such a role might tarnish her image. For two reasons. The first is obvious – lesbian roles are not the stuff of mainstream box office. The second less so: Leong’s co-star is just as young and cute as Leong herself. That said, Leong is hardly one to worry about the competition.

-- SIDE BOX --
In praise of youth
“Isabella’s like a piece of white paper. Her naturalness is a virtue hard to get from mature [self-conscious] actresses. I hope she can always keep her intuition.”
– Hong Kong filmmaker
Law Chi-leung.

“… One of the most naturally gifted young actresses to have emerged in Hong Kong in recent years. She found it a little hard to memorize all her lines in the beginning [of Bugs Me Not!], but managed to overcome that by sheer hard work. Her single-mindedness was simply astonishing!”
– Emperor Motion Pictures CEO
Albert Lee.

“She has the opportunity to be one of the important actresses of her generation.”
– Hong Kong filmmaker
Pang Ho-cheung.

“It seems to me that Isabella’s an actress with a promising future ahead”.
– Spanish filmmaker
Germán Monzó.



(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
Photo courtesy Hugo Hu www.huphoto.cdd.cn.
July 2006 issue

(c) that's PRD
PRD Chief editor: Christopher Cottrell
July 2006 issue

In Isabella, Pang Ho-cheung, known in Chinese entertainment circles as a deadpan comedy director, tries something completely different: family drama. The plot concerns a cop based in Macao (Chapman To), a bachelor whose personal and professional life is a mess. One fine day he meets a young woman (Isabella Leong), who claims to be the daughter of a girlfriend he impregnated sixteen years ago. Pang spends on average a full year to complete a movie, extremely slow by Hong Kong standards. But not by Western standards, especially considering that Pang acts as director, writer and producer on most of his films. In Isabella, Pang’s sixth film, he combines drama and nostalgia, with a dash of comedy in a highly-stylized personal flick. The visuals, as always with this thirty-something filmmaker, are stunning. But his most impressive achievement here is to push both lead actors – 17 year-old teen idol Leong and legendary comedian To – to deliver the greatest performances of their careers. With help from a solid supporting cast, Isabella offers depth and genuine emotions in one of the best Hong Kong dramas released in years.
Media Asia

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

Of late, most Chinese films fall in one of two categories: the flashy blockbuster or the intellectual art-house flick (in the main, aimed at the foreign film festival market). You and Me is no blockbuster, nor is it another dreary grab for offshore recognition. This film pleases both domestic and Western audiences. Produced on a small budget, You and Me relates the conflicting coexistence between a sharp, elderly widow and her young, bullheaded tenant. The deceptively simple plot – the landlady rents her dilapidated Beijing siheyuan for an excessive fee to the student – takes place in a single locale over four seasons, and is devoted to the pair’s daily clash of wills (wonderfully illustrating the Chinese saying: ‘two tigresses cannot stay on the same mountain’). Ma draws on her own experience as a student at the Central Drama Academy in the 1990s, and the story is full of deadpan humor, sparks of tension and bursts of non-contrived emotions. There are no extravagant twists or cliff-hangers here; the accent is on detail (despite the limited budget the film is exquisitely lit). You and Me may not have earned millions in box office receipts, but it does prove that a simple human story is at the heart of good filmmaking.
Beijing Film Studio

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Chief editor: Steven Crane
June 2006 issue

(c) that's PRD
PRD Chief editor: Christopher Cottrell
June 2006 issue

In the midst of the Korean War, a US Navy pilot and five Korean soldiers – from both sides of the conflict – arrive at a peaceful village inhabited by some rather strange peasants, who are completely unaware there’s a war in progress. The plot may suggest an offbeat comedy, but this 133 minute film is an exercise in disappointment. The main problem is that the director wavers between fantasy and reality, never choosing a side. Once the initial surprise is exhausted – the military’s discovery of the village – the film descends into a series of predictable, hackneyed situations. True, the eccentricities of the villagers, do, on occasion, add some much-needed spice, but overall the characters are so obviously contrived that much of the humor is lost. As is the viewers goodwill; Welcome poses as a fable, but at the same time pretends to present historical reality. The result is a naïve and bogus representation of the relations between North and South Korea, and the US. Having said that, Park Kwang-hyeon’s directorial debut, the fourth-highest grossing South Korean movie of all time, was the country’s official entry in last year’s Oscars.
Showbox

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Chief editor: Steven Crane
June 2006 issue

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PRD Chief editor: Christopher Cottrell
June 2006 issue

Compared to their Chinese counterparts, Korean filmmakers aren’t very adept at making martial art films (see Musa or The Duelist). And Shadowless Sword provides yet another conspicuous example of what not to do. This film was shot in China, enjoyed a large budget and has excellent production values. Trouble is, it lacks authenticity without which audiences just don’t care about the characters. Or the mise en scene: in 926 AD, following the assassination of the Prince of Balhae, a female warrior is assigned to escort Prince Dae back from his 14-year exile, to ascend the throne and restore order to the kingdom. The rest is filler. In his sophomore film, Kim Yeong-joon delivers a simplistic road movie cum buddy movie/romance/martial art film. One littered with predictable twists and monotonous dialogues. Despite the film’s many faults, the camerawork is quite breathtaking, and the climax is almost worth waiting for. But the choreographed action sequences merely duplicate scenes from its betters, so-called gems of the genre like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and House of Flying Daggers.
CJ Entertainment

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Chief editor: Steven Crane
June 2006 issue

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PRD Chief editor: Christopher Cottrell
June 2006 issue

Although popular with audiences, Hong Kong comedies have never really been highly praised by critics on the Chinese mainland. These films are at worst considered shallow, lowbrow, amusement, and at best, the source of a few guilt-inducing guffaws. 2 Become 1 may not be a revolutionary departure from this genre, but it does provide more substance than is the norm, enough to last beyond the theater exit door. The plot concerns a young, independent woman, Bingo (Miriam Yeung), who works as a ‘creative’ at an advertisement company. Her carefree chuppie lifestyle is turned upside down after a laid back doctor (Richie Jen) discovers a lump in her breast. Produced by seasoned filmmaker Johnnie To, renowned for his commercial comedies and ‘auteur’ gangster flicks, the film uses comedy to deal with serious matters indeed: breast tumors; cancer prevention; male impotency; women in today’s corporate world, and so on. Of course, the film offers the usual sight gags and the usual broad commercial reach with two big name leads, a pop music score, and not least, the screen debut of Hong Kong’s singer/songwriter superstar of the month, Justin Lo. Nevertheless, 2 Become 1 proves HK comedies can convey universal themes with maturity and if not tact, at least some understanding.
Media Asia

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

(c) that's PRD
PRD Chief editor: Christopher Cottrell
June 2006 issue

http://www.hancinema.net/

Since the late 1990s, the Korean entertainment industry, in the form of movies and TV dramas, has exploded across Asia and the West. In part because the Korean government has a quota system which favors domestic product, but also because the product is generally of high quality, though not always. Of late, however, there’s likely to be a big fall off in quantity, following a change in Korean policy; but in the meantime, banked product will continue to pour out. To help one keep track (and au courant), the ‘Korean movie and drama database’ Hancinema.net is a handy, English-language resource, offering a comprehensive database of film personalities, movies and TV dramas (with names listed in English, Korean and Chinese). The content is exhaustive: fact sheets, news, filmographies, box office figures and industry data, photo galleries, BBS and links to e-stores. Hancinema.net also provides an efficient and smartly-designed search engine. With this site, Hanju mania is here to stay.

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

Los Angeles-born Anna May Wong (1905-1961) was the most prominent Chinese-American actress during the silent era, though her career extended to the early 60s. From 1919 to 1960, she played in more than fifty US and European movies (The Thief of Baghdad, 1924; Shanghai Express, 1932) with stars such as Douglas Fairbanks, Sr. and Marlene Dietrich. More celebrated in Europe and Japan than in the US or China, Wong, despite her many roles, still suffered from racial typecasting. At the time, the Hollywood system cast whites in Chinese roles, while ‘real’ Chinese were relegated to (often demeaning) supporting parts. In addition, mixed race romance was forbidden on the screen. As a result, Wong’s enormous potential as an actress was never truly given reign, though decades after her death she was given a star on the legendary Hollywood Walk of Fame. In this compelling biography, professor of history Graham Hodges provides copious accounts of the glamour, and the prejudice, that was the fate of many an actor of Chinese descent in the first half of the twentieth century.
Palgrave Macmillan

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

(c) that's PRD
PRD Chief editor: Christopher Cottrell
June 2006 issue

No sane Hollywood producer would intentionally devalue a pop culture icon. Audiences won’t ever witness, say, Superman kicking the crutches out from under a cripple, or Batman caught drunk behind the wheel of the Batmobile. Yet in his directorial debut, Lost in Wu Song (LIWS), the multiple-hyphenated scriptwriter-director-actor-producer Lu Yitong deftly deconstructs one of China’s prominent literary figures Wu Song. Wu Song, of course, isn’t a pop icon, not yet. Rather he’s a popular, traditional Chinese hero from the pages of the 14th-century classic novel The Water Margin. Idolized by Chinese everywhere, Wu Song is considered the quintessence of manhood. Fond of fighting and drink – once, while under the influence [of alcohol], he killed a tiger with his bare hands – Wu Song is, like his Western counterparts, a righteous man, one whose reputation must remain unsullied. Yet in LIWS, Lu portrays this mythic character as a dumb, violent boozer.
Quite obviously, this is not a mainstream film. It has no big stars; it is not backed, financially or otherwise, by a big studio. Nor does it have a plot constructed by formula. It is neither an art-house flick, nor a product of the sixth-generation school of social realism. Rather, this is an independent production, a deadpan, offbeat comedy by first time, Beijing director Lu. Four years in the making, LIWS was financed solely by private investors, mainly Lu, his relatives and friends.
Which is why this wry, thought provoking tale of an idealist, wannabe filmmaker, Men Desong, is so refreshing. Men, still a virgin at 30, has a dream: to make the definitive film about his childhood hero Wu Song, and then retire and become a Buddhist monk. Men’s biggest problem is finding the right actor to play Wu Song, one who is a living embodiment of the legendary brute. Men pursues his quest with a daft, bullheaded tenacity, in spite of pressure from his producers to compromise. What follows is a series of Don Quixote-like misadventures, the outcome of which changes Men for good.
Equally stubborn, Lu, 43, never compromised his independence in the production of LIWS. While this is his film debut, he has worked in, and around, the industry for two decades, in France, the US and India. And his experience, as well as his love for cinema, is evident in the reception this film has received at various international festivals and with critics. To name but one tribute to Lu’s skills as a filmmaker, LIWS won the 2005 International Federation of Film Critics award (FIPRESCI). Nevertheless, Lu, much like other independent filmmakers, has yet to secure a deal for domestic release of his film.
In the meantime, he’s just completed a short film that will be part of an omnibus movie project, wherein seven directors were randomly assigned a color as the theme of their work (Lu received green, representing spring, hope and vigor); the resulting seven films will be screened at the Calcutta Film Festival in November 2006. In addition, the director is planning his next feature-length film, set in Shanghai.
We spoke with Lu about his enthusiasm for cinema, his approach to deconstructing myths, and the state of independent filmmaking in the Chinese mainland.

that’s: LIWS is a film-within-a-film. Is it based on your own experience?
Lu Yitong: LIWS has very little in common with my life or experience. It has much more to do with my inner intellectual world. This film’s a fable; it’s suggestive. It relates to the process of modernization in China, which is based on Western models, and filled with contradictions and absurdities. One of the consequences of the process, in particular China’s economic growth, is that idealism has been destroyed. It has also created extreme uncertainty. I have observed this process – from a distance – and [in the film] I express my thoughts on it also from a distance.

that’s: Tell us about the characters in the film.
LY: Growing up as a boy, Wu Song was for me the perfect super hero. But now I see him as a symbol of the contradiction between traditional and modern values. Pan Jinlian is Wu Song’s sister-in-law. In the legend, she poisons her husband, Wu Song’s brother, because she wants to be with her lover, Xi Menqing. Wu Song avenges his brother and kills the couple. In LIWS, Pan Jinlian symbolizes a reality [that the dreamer and would-be filmmaker] Men Desong must confront. If Pan were living today, excepting the fact that she kills her husband, she would be a very modern and independent woman.

that’s: One of the film’s themes is the conflict between fantasy and reality.
LY: [Of course] there’s no such thing as a living Wu Song; he’s the product of my character’s [Men’s] imagination – Wu Song is a symbol. All the characters around Desong are symbolic of reality. Mei Li [the modern Pan Jinlian] doesn’t just represent love; she represents reality through sex. I wanted to tell the story of an idealist, Men Desong, who confronts an all-powerful reality. He’s like Don Quixote trying to fight his enemies which turn out to be windmills. Like him, Desong is bound to fail. He’s ridiculous; yet at the same time, he inspires respect. In the film, it’s not clear whether, in the end, he accepts reality or not. He may very well continue to struggle against his windmills. My main interest is to show the failure of my characters.

that’s: In the movie-within-the-movie, the cast is constantly rehearsing but they never actually begin shooting.
LY: The [interior] film only exists in Desong’s imagination. LIWS’s plot traces the progression of a quest, a quest for Wu Song, i.e., a quest for an ideal. As such, the rehearsals show different actors portraying Wu Song, all of whom perform the same scene. Desong compares their performances in his search for the ‘real’ Wu Song. When he finally finds the right one, his film is ruined because the living Wu Song shatters Desong’s illusions.

that’s: Can Chinese viewers accept your deconstruction of the Wu Song myth?
LY: I didn’t want to cause my compatriots too much grief by completely annihilating their hero; the destruction of idols and heroes is a painful process. [But] to reverse and to deconstruct [a myth] is also a pleasurable experience. This contradiction is, in my opinion, both inspiring and fruitful. In artistic terms, the process falls in the grey zone between affirmation and negation.
This film also addresses issues such as the contradiction between idealism and reality, tradition and modernity, money and art, etc. These contradictions are very much a fact of life in contemporary China. If I told you that heroes of ancient times are the criminals of the present day, what would you think?

that’s: Is black comedy a reflection of your personality?
LY: I’m a skeptical person. I like to explore that which is hidden, its multiple implications and multi-layered significance. In my past life, when I was an artist, I liked [French Dadaist] Marcel Duchamps and post-modernist concepts and art. Satire, provocation and playfulness are the most important characteristics of the post-modernism movement. So when I saw films that featured these qualities, I naturally liked them. For example, the films of Stanley Kubrick, the Coen Brothers, and Quentin Tarantino’s early works.

that’s: Is Men Desong and his approach to filmmaking a portrait of the current state of the industry in the Chinese mainland?
LY: No. Desong could never become a director; he’s [probably] too thick and slow-minded for that. Yet he may also be too smart. There’s a Chinese saying that goes “very intelligent people appear to be stupid.” So who knows, perhaps he could be a director after all.

that’s: Describe the role of a Chinese independent filmmaker.
LY: The Chinese independent cinema scene is much more political than the Western one. But I want to keep a distance from politics. My criticisms are [aimed] at the cultural level. I believe problems with reality, including political problems, are all related to and rooted in the cultural tradition.
I really like Arthur Rimbaud’s poem about “art being elsewhere”. And Milan Kundera’s interesting modification to that poem: “life is elsewhere”. I believe both life and art are elsewhere; only by having an ‘elsewhere’ can you really be independent. China’s current independent film scene is ambiguous and awkward. Many independent Chinese films are independent from the Chinese film system, yet they’ve fallen into the system of Western film festivals and film critics. It is very difficult to reconcile this contradiction, but not impossible.

that’s: Where does LIWS stand then?
LY: From LIWS’ financial investment to the production process to the inner spirit of the film, you can say it’s a 100 per cent independent film. But I don’t want to overemphasize this concept of independence because if you’re independent for the sake of being independent then you’re no longer independent. Independence doesn’t have a particular form – it’s a spirit, a state of mind.
LIWS is not a ‘realistic’ film but rather a ‘post-expressionist’ one; it goes back and forth between dream and reality. Yet, for a debut film and a Chinese independent film, the budget was slightly higher than the norm.

that’s: How do you expect audiences to react to such a film?
LY: To be able to balance art and commercialism is the highest aim in cinema. LIWS is trying to head in that direction. On the surface it’s funny, and underneath there’s satire and criticism. This can satisfy different types of audiences. In China, we say “people who have ethics will see ethics; wise people will see wisdom; common people will see the ordinary.” I hope that with LIWS I’ve come close to realizing this thought. It’s my deepest wish that the largest number of people can see my film, as it touches on universal themes.

Special thanks to Caroline Nath.

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

Perpetual Motion was promoted (and sold) as a Chinese version of Sex and the City. Though this reviewer looked in vain for any trace of sex, or city for that matter (a house serves as the sole location). False advertising aside, the plot is of interest: Niuniu is convinced that her husband has had an affair with one of her acquaintances; to discover the truth, she invites three of her girlfriends, each of whom is a suspect, to a Spring Festival celebration. Indeed, Director Ning Ying has devoted most of her effort to the narrative; Perpetual Motion is almost as devoid of production values as it is of sex. Admittedly, the point here is substance over style, but the film’s cheap look undermines its appeal, and the message. But what exactly, is the message? If Ning Ying’s aim was to present a new, feminist representation of women, she went astray; the film is more of series of sessions with a psychoanalyst: a sort of group-therapy where the main characters are neurotic, manipulative, haughty and pompous. The screenwriter hasn’t helped. Perpetual Motion is full of stereotypes – the very thing Ning is supposedly trying to fight against. Take this line, for example: “Americans aren’t romantic enough, while French are too romantic.” Ahem.
Beijing Happy Village

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