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

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

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

“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

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

If more travel agents were to promote the Shaolin monastery as a major tourist spot, the current figure of 120 million annual visitors to China might double. That is, if those tourists believe, like the Irish lads from Westlife, that Shaolin monks are the one local attraction not to be missed. On their recent visit to Shanghai, the boys from the internationally-famous boy band said Shaolin was one of the reasons they came to China. In addition to seeing the Great Wall, trying their hand at calligraphy, experiencing acupuncture and “all these crazy things”. Of course, there was another small matter to attend to: promoting their act.
Like them or not, there’s more to a boy bands than just a band of boys (in this case Irish boys from Dublin and Sligo). One also needs an opportunistic music mogul and a goodly number of saccharine tunes with catch hooks, if one is to get anywhere at all. Not to mention a well-formulated plan to reassure parents and at the same time excite millions of prepubescent girls. That means a carefully designed, pristine public image, from hair styles to mannerisms, for media and fan consumption. No rock‘n’roll attitude here, no grabbing of crotches or groupies. Lastly, there’s stamina. The boys must stick together through thick and thin. Otherwise, as in the case of so many prefabricated bands, success is soon followed by disaster, which is to say, the band splits.
Not all of the above description applies to Westlife, a twenty-something foursome with white teeth and polished smiles. No, Kian Egan, Shane Filan, Mark Feehily and Nicky Byrne (Bryan McFadden left the band in 2004) are not quite your typical boy band. For one thing, they’ve managed to sustain their success for a remarkably long time – seven years. And their chart success is equally long-lived with multiple top ten hits such as “Seasons in the Sun”, “Uptown Girl” and “Flying Without Wings”. Indeed, the boys seem bigger than ever and are ready to face new challenges.
This year Westlife aims to conquer the world’s biggest market (China) with a flurry of audio-video products, high-profile promotions, and, not least, a major concert tour. Based, in part, on Face To Face, which sold 100,000 copies and went double platinum in the first week of its release in February.
The ‘West Meets East’ Tour is more than just a series of musical concerts. The boys want to meet, and be filmed, with ‘real‘ Chinese people, and not just big city Chinese people either; they plan to visit the hinterland as well. The result will be offered to the West on DVD, which will include a documentary and footage of their China gigs with local artists.
In the meantime, Egan, Filan, Feehily and Byrne, under the collective term Westlife, offered that’s their thoughts on life, motivation and success.

that’s: What has Westlife come to represent?
Westlife: Westlife has become more than just a boy band in the past seven years. We’ve become like a cult. For boy bands, everyone starts off at the same level. We’ve managed to go beyond that and become a pop version of a rock band, because most rock bands stay together for a lot longer than boy bands. We [all] share the same goal; we want to be as big as we can. We like to look at ourselves as a pop version of U2 or the Rolling Stones.

that’s: Before Westlife, you performed in Irish clubs such as “IOU.” What is the difference between now and then?
WL: Back then, we were just together for fun, playing like kids and not making money. We didn’t have the industry to work with; there were no lawyers and no producers. Now we’re living the dream we were only dreaming of then. We make a living, and we deal with the politics and the bad side of the [music] industry. Back then it was just good days and no worries.

that’s: Boyzone’s Ronan Keating is your co-manager. Has his boy band experience benefited your act?
WL: Yes. He was only involved at the very start, maybe for the first six to eight months. He helped us make some decisions and taught us about the music industry and how things work. But he didn’t do an awful lot; for us, the point was to get a lot of attention with his name.

that’s: It’s very common for boy bands to disband. What’s the story behind the departure of Bryan McFadden?
WL: Bryan wasn’t very happy in Westlife. He got to a point where he just didn’t want it anymore. It was a very big shock for us and we thought it was the end of Westlife. It was a very challenging time. Luckily enough, we came up very strong; we did a Wales tour after he left and most fans thought it was [sic] the best concerts we ever did. At the same time, it was important for Bryan to make this decision; he’s a happier person now. We realized then, that what we had could be taken away very fast. We became stronger after that. We are a happier band. We work hard together and make things happen. We have a lot more ambition [like] breaking into the China and Australia [markets]. The most important thing for us is definitively to maintain our success; we don’t want to continue unless we are very successful.

that’s: With four people, making decisions must be difficult. Is Westlife democratic, anarchic, or dictatorial?
WL: It’s more democratic to be honest. You can’t always get everybody totally happy. There can be someone who’s not fully happy, but is willing to go with the decision. You can’t decide if there is no majority. If three of us are willing, but one is really against something, then we’ve got to take that person into consideration and work out something.

that’s: Despite the competition, you stand out from the pack with 34 million in album sales. How do you explain your success?
WL: It’s quite difficult; a lot of bands are similar to us, yet they don’t have the same success. We were lucky; we came out at a good time. We have good vocals and good quality pop music; it’s very important in pop music to have very good standard pop songs. In pop music there are A-shelf songs, B-shelf songs and C-shelf songs; most of our songs are A-shelf songs. We’ve got the top producers to write us the best songs they could ever write. Besides, our record company and our manager really understand what is best [for us]. They see what needs to be done, and do it.
So far, we’ve made good decisions and chosen really good songs and that’s why we are still there. We love what we do and we want to continue as long as possible. We’d like to stay together for a minimum of two or three more years anyway.

that’s: Westlife’s one of the most downloaded bands in China. What are your thoughts on fighting piracy?
WL: Every market is so different, so it’s very difficult to get involved. For us it’s not all about money; it’s about our fans and our music. If they can afford to buy our record, then they buy it. If they can’t, let them [buy bootlegs]. We are not going to go after them. The record company might; they are there to make money. The record company has to come up with the best ideas to stop piracy.

that’s: What challenges did you face during the production of Face to Face?
WL: We had a big challenge in picking top quality songs. It took a year and a half looking for all these songs. Last year, the “Rat Pack” project [Allow Us to Be Frank: a cover compilation of Frank Sinatra standards] gave us more time to find songs. With previous albums we had great songs and some that never really had an impact. We didn’t want to repeat that, but to make sure that every fan had a favorite. There’s a lot more variety [here] than before. The quality of “You Raise Me Up” or the duet with Diana Ross, and songs like that, are above standard. It’s proven to be the most successful album we’ve had in the last four years. It’s just a great pop album.

that’s: Steve Mac and Swedish hit maker ‘The Location’ are important collaborators, especially on this seventh release. Describe your working relationship.
WL: When it comes to picking the songs for the album, it doesn’t really matter where they come from, who writes them or anything like that. We’re more interested in how good the song is. Since the very beginning we’ve been working with the best [songwriters] in the world. And that’s the main reason why we’re still here seven years later. We’ve four or five fantastic songs for this album. Steven Mac and ‘The Location’ are amazing producers. They gave us some top, world-class songs.
We also feel it’s good to stay with the same people because you get their best songs. Take the Backstreet Boys; they have Max Martin [to write their songs]. He would never give us a song before [offering it] to them.

that’s: The cut “She’s Back” sounds like Michael Jackson at his best. Are you fans of Jackson?
WL: Yes. It’s a complete rip off of “Billie Jean” [from Thriller]. Just listen to the backing track. Even the songwriter will tell you that. He wanted to create a song with the essence of “Billie Jean” without being “Billie Jean”. It’s not even half as good as the original, but it’s good disco/funk. It’s not a tribute to Jackson though; it’s actually a tribute to the backing track. “Billie Jean” has one of the most famous backing tracks in the world; so many acts have used it.

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

Though famous throughout the world for its macho Kung Fu flicks, Chinese cinema has yet to discover its feminine side. More often than not, female characters are mere prizes for the high-kicking champion to use as he sees fit. Sadly, three-dimensional female roles are few and far between. Recently, however, the subject of on-screen gender equality has received a kick in the pants.

Last month, the University of Hong Kong organized a symposium – The Film Scene: Cinema, the Arts, and Social Change – wherein local and overseas participants (visual artists, film and cultural studies academics) discussed gender in cinema, an issue that cuts across many interrelated fields.

According to Mirana M. Szeto, an assistant professor at the university and a co-organizer of the symposium, recent legislation has provided women with equal access to education, and, consequently, better career opportunities. That sentiment was seconded by Jason Ho Ka-Hang, a teaching assistant in the Department of Comparative Literature who claimed that female roles are gaining in importance.

As evidence, the members of the conference cited several films produced in the late nineties, in which the image of woman as simpering subordinate was replaced by a sexier, sassier image, a sort of Spice Girl. Examples include superstars like Sammi Cheng, Miriam Yeung, the Twins and Zhang Ziyi, who are said to symbolize the cosmopolitan, independent-minded, modern woman.

While it’s true that female roles have expanded in recent years, it is equally true that there’s still a long way to go before they are on a par with their male counterparts. Even Ho admitted that “roles like office ladies or silly teenage girls have little to do with issues of gender equality.”

Especially where it counts. Take SAR box-office queen Sammi Cheng, for example. Despite her box-office hits – Needing You and Love on a Diet – figures show she is far less bankable than Andy Lau. “I think this relates to the male-centric underpinning of the film industry,” said assistant professor Yau Ka-Fai. Szeto agreed: “The model for comparison is men.”

Nevertheless, some directors have recently adopted new models. Law Wing-cheung’s 2 Become 1, starring Miriam Yeung, tackles breast cancer, though the director’s approach is questionable. 2 Become 1 is a comedy, but to be fair, it doesn’t shy away from the issue. Indeed, the plot is one long health education lecture complete with instructions on self exams. Clearly, it is no easy task to make a film about breast cancer in a cinema culture traditionally dominated by males. While Yeung ostensibly plays the film’s central character, she receives strong support from Taiwanese star Richie Jen, who speaks to male and female audiences alike. Jen, a playboy cursed with erectile dysfunction (in the film), is the film’s role model, the caring lover. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he’s handsome and rich to boot.

Which is to say that directors who dare broach women’s issues still have many obstacles to surmount. Perpetual Motion is a case in point. A low-budget film by feminist filmmaker Ning Ying, it portrays a group of middle-aged women, and does so without cosmetic pretense. Critics, mostly male, lambasted the film for its lack of glamour. As Szeto said: “The re-introduction of capitalism [to Chinese society] has encouraged the swift reappearance of sexism.”

Ironically, Ning and the distributors chose to promote her film by focusing not on its social merits, but as a vehicle for actress Hong Huang, and as a vehicle of revenge on her ex-husband Chen Kaige. The strategy backfired, provoking the wrath of Hong, and worse, it undermined the movie’s significance.

Meant to be a milestone, Perpetual Motion turned out to be more of a speed bump. While the Hong Kong symposium, in spite of much optimism, proved there’s a long road ahead.

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

The business of acting is one of extremes. In China, as elsewhere in the world, actors face ruthless competition and, at times, near unbearable pressure. Of course, there are compensations: money and fame, for example, not to mention the sort of personal satisfaction that comes after giving a fine performance. In short, acting is far from dull. Little wonder then that Qingdao-born Xia Yu – devotee of skateboarding and other extreme sports – is so keen on his craft.

Indeed, Xia Yu thrives on challenge. At 29, he has already worked in a dozen films and several TV-series, with some of the best in the business: upcoming directors Dayyan Eng and Xiao Jiang; seasoned filmmakers, Daniel Lee and Peng Xiaolian; and acclaimed fellow actors, Edward Norton, Ge You, Ning Jing and Jiang Wen. Critics and peers alike attribute Xia’s success, in equal parts, to his love of film and his passion for study. A rare passion. After all, not many actors, after winning the 1994 Venice Film Festival Best Actor Award for In the Heat of the Sun (Jiang Wen, 1994), would think to return to school. But even with recognition from his peers, Xia enrolled at the Beijing Central Academy of Drama to improve his acting chops. And a good thing, too. There, he met another skilled actress, Yuan Quan, a Golden Rooster Award winner and Xia’s current girlfriend; Yuan, by the way, was a classmate of both Zhang Ziyi (Memoirs of a Geisha) and Liu Ye (The Promise).
In 2005, Xia co-starred with Yuan in the hip comedy hit Waiting Alone (Dayyan Eng). They also star in Shanghai Rumba, the latest film from Shanghai-based director Peng Xiaolian (Shanghai Story, 2005). One might say the couple has been typecast. Shanghai Rumba is a multi-layered film, set in 1940s Shanghai, which portrays a couple of actors in love, on and off stage, which, of course, echoes the two leads’ romantic involvement.
Xia’s performance in this film is extraordinary – even by his standards. And with this role, he displays acting chops on par with, or superior to, the Chinese mainland’s best actors: Jiang Wen, Ge You, and Chen Daoming.
We sat down with Xia, freshly returned from Switzerland – where he won a snowboarding competition – to discuss his new film, and much more besides.

that’s: You take roles in art-house and commercial films. What are your criteria for accepting a given role?
Xia Yu: I consider many factors. First, the script: is it impressive or not? Next, I think about the people I’ll be working with, the director and the crew. For Shanghai Rumba, I had advice from my girlfriend [Yuan Quan]. She had already worked with Peng Xiaolian [Once Upon A Time in Shanghai, 1998] and she told me Peng was a good director. In addition, I also saw one of her movies, Shanghai Story (2005), which really touched me. Besides, Shanghai Rumba is about Shanghai and Peng is Shanghainese, and she can tell a Shanghai story better than any other director.

that’s: In the film, your character, Ah Chuan, uses the Stanislavski acting method.
XY: Actually, there are several excellent film acting techniques, from around the world, that all originated in the theater: Konstantin Stanislavski from Russia, Bertolt Brecht from Germany and Mei Lan-Fang from China.
In university, I studied Stanislavski’s method; it’s very influential in China, and of course, in the US. Here though, we combine elements from Mei Lan-Fang’s method. In the period Shanghai Rumba [1940s] covers, both these methods were widely employed and considered the most important techniques in the world.

that’s: In Shanghai Rumba, you wear a moustache, which gives you a mysterious, cool look, something like Tony Leung Chiu-wai’s character in Wong Kar-wai’s 2046.
XY: The character in the movie-within-the-movie is supposed to be an underground communist. Hence, the fake moustache. Then later, he’s supposed to play a street vendor, so he dresses like one and goes to sell stuff on the street to get the feeling of a hawker. He truly follows the Stanislavski method.

that’s: Yuan Quan studied Peking Opera for seven years. What acting method does she employ?
XY: Every actor has his own preference. Today, we use a combination of techniques from Brecht and Stanislavski. But in the 1940s, actors preferred only the Stanislavski method. So in the movie, I have to portray an actor who just uses that [method]. As for Yuan Quan, I was impressed by the way she changed her voice pitch and body language to match the way prostitutes were portrayed in the 1930s/1940s movies. It seemed natural, not the result of a specific method.

that’s: To co-star with your real-life girlfriend is a good marketing coup for the film.
XY: For Shanghai Rumba, it was more like fate than a specific plan; it was a chance for us to act together. Yet the Chinese mass media only cared about our relationship and wrote stories about us. They didn’t really care about the movie. We’ve been together for nearly eight years. At the beginning, we really wanted to work together because we were both so busy and had little time together. Nowadays, that’s not so much of a concern.
Peng really wanted Yuan Quan to be the lead in this film, and initially, she didn’t think of me. Later, when she saw me – I don’t know why – she thought I was the right actor for the male lead. It was just fate.

that’s: Yuan has said that you are a creative actor. What creativity did you bring to Shanghai Rumba?
XY: I changed the script a bit as I found the first draft sounded a little bit too fake. I proposed amendments at the beginning and the end of the story to make the film a bit more realistic. In the beginning of the film, Ah Chuan and Wan Yu [Yuan] are supposed to be happy and in love in ‘real’ life, but it didn’t work for me. Here are these two kids: he’s very romantic, but his life is a mess; worse still, she’s married to a very stubborn husband. In the 1940s, it would have been very difficult for these two young people to find happiness.
So I asked for changes so that the love story happens within the film, and not in ‘real’ life. They kiss, but only during the shooting of a movie.

that’s: Director Peng said that the film is based on the life of actor Zhao Dan and his actress wife Huang Zongyin.
XY: Shanghai Rumba is not a mirror of Zhao’s life; it isn’t a Zhao biopic; it’s about more than just him. To prepare for the role, I watched a lot of movies from the 1940s, not only Zhao’s. I think my character is a mix of Zhao, and other actors of that period [Cai Chusheng, Shangguan Yunzhu and Wu Yin].

that’s: Compared to the 1940s, how is an actor’s life different today?
XY: Today the competition is ferocious, not just in China, but also from abroad. In the Chinese mainland market, we have films from all over Asia – Hong Kong, Japan, Korea, Taiwan Province, Singapore, Thailand and India – competing with domestic releases. In addition, a lot of actors from Korea, Japan and Hong Kong come to work in the Chinese mainland, which makes for tougher competition. It’s really a very competitive business now.

that’s: Some critics say that Hong Kong suffers from the ‘star syndrome’, which is to say that it boasts a number of big stars but no real actors. Was that your feeling while shooting Dragon Squad (Daniel Lee, 2005) in Hong Kong?
XY: I think they’re all real actors. It’s a cultural difference. In Hong Kong, the movie industry is much more entertainment driven. They produce a lot of commercial movies. You don’t see many mainland actors in that kind of action film. At the same time, in the Chinese mainland, you don’t find many Hong Kong actors who are suited to our more artistic movies.
I think real actors need real life experience. Acting comes from real life, but takes time to develop. In Hollywood, there are a lot of real actors. Before shooting a movie, they’ve time to rehearse and become the character they will portray. In the past, it was like that in China. But to give you an example, we had only one month to rehearse before shooting began on In the Heat of the Sun (1994). And in Hong Kong, a month would be a luxury; everything is just fast food. Most actors there work simultaneously on three or four movies. They don’t have time to rehearse, or to lead a life of their own. They lack sufficient ‘real’ life experience and that’s a problem. You need to experience ‘real’ life to be able to truly build a good character.
What’s more, you need talent, not just a pretty face.

SIDE BOX
Method masters

Konstantin Stanislavski (1863-1938) was associated with Russian dramatic realism. Stanislavski’s “method acting” is commonly used today. Its principle is: ‘the actor must live the life of the character.’ In Shanghai Rumba, Xia’s character Ah Chuan refers to this method.
Bertolt Brecht (1898-1956) was a German poet, playwright, and theatrical reformer. A prominent figure in the twentieth-century theater, his concept of ‘epic’ theater (narrative or non-dramatic) is still widely influential today.
Mei Lan-Fang (1894-1961) was a Chinese Opera star celebrated for his portrayal of ‘dan’ or female roles; he changed the standards of realism in the theater. His acting techniques are widely used by Chinese performers.
Zhao Dan (1915-1980), was the number one ‘people’s artist’ in the 1950s. He was held prisoner for five years during WWII, and then returned to Shanghai where he married actress Huang Zongying. In Shanghai Rumba, Ah Chuan’s background is partially based on that of Zhao Dan.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
Photo 1 courtesy Hugo Hu www.huphoto.cdd.cn and photo 2 courtesy Mick Ryan www.mickryan.com.
April 2006 issue

Suicide is no laughing matter, even when it occurs on April Fool’s Day. Indeed, when Hong Kong singer/actor Leslie Cheung Kwok-Wing leapt from the roof of Hong Kong’s posh landmark, the Mandarin Oriental Hotel, his fans were shocked. And devastated. That grim act was committed three years ago (April 1, 2003), and has not been forgotten. But sad to say, it has become the one fact of Leslie Cheung’s life that everyone knows.

- Photo by Thomas Podvin -

Which is a tragedy in itself. Cheung should be remembered for the innovations, and the dedication, he brought to his craft. He left behind a substantial body of work: sixty films including Happy Together, Temptress Moon and Farewell My Concubine, ninety albums and numerous live shows, some of which were recorded for posterity. His work on screen and on stage was both daring and deftly performed. Most critics agree that his role as a cross-dressing male opera singer in Farewell My Concubine was his greatest triumph. And that his performance was largely responsible for the film winning the Palme D’Or, and a spot in the top 100 Chinese Films of the Century at the Hong Kong Film Awards this March. In that role, Cheung mastered the art of playing a dan, or female, in just three months of study. Most actors need a lifetime to reach the level of skill the actor demonstrated, but Cheung achieved an expertise almost on par with legendary Peking Opera master Mei Lanfang.

Cheung’s contribution to the entertainment industry was also recognized by Red Mission, a Hong Kong-based fan association that organized “Closer to Leslie Cheung” this February. The exhibition, a commemoration of his life and work, was held in Shanghai, and sponsored by Tomson Film Company and ACT – a magazine financed by the Shanghai Film Group. Five thousand visitors attended the two day exhibition, which featured a display of film memorabilia, film screenings, behind the screen footage, a series of lectures with opera professionals, as well as taped interviews with the late actor and singer.

From the various offerings there emerged a common theme – Cheung’s dedication to his craft. “He placed greater demands on himself than the director did on him,” recalled Cheung’s co-star in Farewell My Concubine, Lei Han, who played his apprentice in the movie.

Lei is not alone in his sentiment. Cheung’s legacy – his joie de vivre, industriousness and creativity – has inspired a generation, and his spirit lives in the hearts of his disciples. On April 1, in Hong Kong – three years to the day of Cheung’s death – an international-fan association, the Leslie Legacy Association – will host a ceremony and candlelight vigil that will gather at the Jardine House podium, in front of the Mandarin Oriental. More than a thousand local and overseas fans are expected to attend the service and pay their respects to this Hong Kong icon.

Italian Nadia Guidetti, the Webmaster of Lesliepillow.com, and an LLA member, notes that Cheung “refreshed the content and the form of the entertainment scene … [yet] he had to pay for his uniqueness.” Which is to say that Cheung was ahead of his time.

In 2001, his Passion Tour concerts, featuring costumes designed by French fashion icon Jean-Paul Gaultier, were roundly criticized. Disappointed by the reaction, Gaultier stated he would never work for any Hong Kong star again. Cheung, too, was deeply wounded by the failure and fell into a prolonged depression.

One might say that Cheung’s quest for perfection was his Achilles’ heel. “He represents perfection in everything: [from] taste … [to his] attitudes towards work and people,” says LLA member Susanna Leung. In the end, his standards were not shared by the community at large. Cheung felt cornered and pushed to the edge. And made his fatal leap. But in doing so, he won a place in the pantheon.

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

This article was translated into Chinese in a Leslie Cheung fan forum

Recently, Chinese action movies have been breaking into overseas markets, opening doors with a powerful kick one might say. But far from being looked down upon as “niche films” or direct-to-video products, these Kung Fu flicks (Hero, Kung-Fu Hustle, Fearless) are vying for the top prize at all the prestigious film festivals, and winning lucrative international distribution deals.

True, way back in the early 1970s Bruce Lee had popularized sword scraping action and swift kicks to the groin, but in those days the films were not taken seriously; indeed, it has taken decades for this kind of cinematic language to enter the mainstream. But the chop-socky action picture has come of age with big budgets, Hollywood-style special effects and savvy marketing.
Take, for example, Dragon Tiger Gate (DTG), a co-production of three great Chinese studios – Hong-Kong Mandarin Films, Beijing Polybona Film and Shanghai Film Group. The film is an adaptation of the 1970s Hong Kong comic book of the same name written by Tony Wong Yuk-long. It features three upright brothers – played by Donnie Yen (S.P.L), Nicholas Tse (The Promise) and Shawn Yue (Initial D) – who fight organized crime and bring justice to Asia.
“This comic book talks a lot about righteousness … the main theme we’d like to bring to the audience,” says Hong Kong filmmaker Wilson Yip Wai-sun (S.P.L., 2005). The elements are hardly original – violence meets morality in a simplistic plot – but movie moguls have seldom gone broke by underestimating the audience’s intelligence.
Producer Raymond Wong, bills DTG as ”a big cinematic event in 2006”, and hopes the film will outperform an earlier, and rather similar, work, Seven Swords (which Wong produced in 2005). To be released this summer, DTG, like Seven Swords, has a big budget (RMB 80 million) and is chock-a-block with fighting scenes and special effects.

Indeed, the film might very well be just the sort of project Bruce Lee would trade his black belt for were he alive. It certainly carries on his tradition, including his weapon of choice, nunchakus, which is a handy instrument with which to beat righteousness into one’s opponent. Yes, this film is ultra-violent, but Yip claims the violence is not gratuitous. “As long as the motive behind [it] is to uphold righteousness, the action scenes in the film won’t be considered as violence,” he claims.
Perhaps. But when the nunchakus are flying who really cares?

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

A pastiche of personal memories mixed with snapshots of China’s modern history, Zhang Yang’s Sunflower is in one sense a semi-autobiograhical account of his conflict with his father. At the same time, the story’s thirty-year time span, including the “cultural revolution”, serves as a document of social changes.

Zhang was born at roughly the same time (1967) as the film’s main character, Xiangyang, and shared his sense of rebellion. In the film, Xiangyang’s father, a former painter, hopes to recapture his lost glory through the talents of his son. Yet Xiangyang is reluctant to pick up a brush; so reluctant that he explodes a firecracker in his hands to disable himself. “[In some ways] that part [of the film] was full of my own memories,” says Zhang. “It is just like my childhood; I was not well-behaved and was often beaten by my father.”

Zhang’s father, Zhang Huaxun, was a filmmaker who in the 1970s made some of the first Kung Fu movies on the Chinese mainland. But unlike his screen alter ego, Zhang’s act of rebellion was to pursue his father’s profession. His parents wished him to become a doctor, but he chose his father’s métier. In 1992, Zhang completed his studies at the Beijing Central Drama Academy and later joined the Beijing Film Studio as a film director. Says Zhang, “When I got older I became more sensible, but I’ve always remained quite rebellious, relatively independent-minded.”

This spirit has served him well in his career. Zhang’s directorial debut was an independent production called Spicy Love Soup (1997) that became a domestic box office hit and a success with critics overseas. Sunflower has also received its fair share of accolades after appearances at several international film festivals.
So in the end, much like Xiangyang, Zhang eventually won the respect of his father and the two were reconciled. Says Zhang Yang: “My relationship with my father was difficult, and for me this film was a way of resolving that.”

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

Until recently, the risks and profits associated with producing big-screen animated films based on comic books have been left to the Americans (Sin City and Heavy Metal) and the Japanese (Ghost in the Shell, Akira).

Enter the Dragon. Last July, two Chinese companies formed a joint venture to produce The Clash of the Storm Riders, a big budget animated feature inspired by Hong Kong-based Ma Wing Sing’s comic book Storm Riders. Hong Kong-based Asia Animation will produce the film (which will hit theaters in the first quarter of 2007) and the Shanghai Media Group (SMG) will handle authorization procedures, marketing and distribution in China. With a budget of RMB 40 million and more than 200 animators from Shenzhen and Hong Kong, this will be China’s first real challenge to the dominance of the US and Japan productions. To paraphrase Asia Animation’s producer Tommy Tse, this film will provide a chance to do good business.

Indeed, the name Ma Wing Sing, or Ma Wing Shing, all but assures big returns at the box office. Ma is considered one of China’s most influential comic book artists and has almost single-handedly transformed the Chinese comic book industry. His groundbreaking works – Chinese Hero and Wind and Cloud – feature longhaired, muscular heroes, the sort that young males and females alike can admire. And Storm Riders has already been adapted into a successful TV-series and a live-action movie. “This bestseller represents an important part of the local culture,” comments the film’s award-winning director, Dante Lam Chiu-yin.

That said, the very popularity of the work has put a lot of pressure on the film’s creative team. Lam (Heat Team, 2004) says one of the biggest challenges is to preserve the comic book’s Chinese flavor. “We have to … stimulate and develop our local style and not follow the Hollywood and Japanese models.”

And then there’s the technical problem. This project is Lam’s first venture into animation – all his previous work has been on live-action films. With no actors to direct, Lam says the emphasis must be on character development. “I am going back to basics,” he says. “I will focus my attention on scriptwriting.” Lam hopes to translate his ideas using a variety of techniques from hand drawing to the latest animation technology. He’s even promised one “secret” animation technique, which the studio is guarding closely.

Though it may seem like a disadvantage, the idea of having a live-action film director was part of the plan. The producers hope to combine a live-action sensibility with a variety of animation techniques – in a sense creating a “new kind of animated film”. Clearly, in an animated film, the visuals are important. As such, Lam has hired a stunt director to bring a sense of realism to the martial arts action scenes.

But the real trick is to combine creativity, technology and commercial appeal. “It is not easy to be creative as well as to always please picky audiences,” says Chen Bin, a SMG producer. But as Ghost in the Shell proved, it can be done.

This article also features in the film-production company Asia Animation Ltd. website: http://www.asiaanimation.net/company/index9.asp

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

Hong Kong-based director Stanley Kwan has seen the relationship between the Shanghai and Hong Kong film communities pass through three distinct phases: from indifferent to competitive and, of late, collaborative. "Throughout the last fifteen years, I experienced firsthand how Shanghai has changed," he says, adding that his interest in Shanghai, whatever the state of affairs, has never waned.

In one sense, Kwan's movies trace the industry's history and its relations. He was one of the first directors to shoot in the Chinese mainland with Center Stage (1991), a biopic of Shanghainese screen legend Ruan Lingyu. Says Kwan: "It was a real Hong-Kong movie shot in the Chinese mainland... though all the money came from Hong Kong." Nonetheless, the experience broke the ice, so to speak, and was a starting point for future cooperation.
After the 1997 handover, the Hong Kong film industry began to integrate itself into the Chinese mainland film industry, though the process was not always smooth. "Each side brings something," says Kwan. "The Chinese mainland provides the studios and beautiful locations; Hong-Kong supplies pop stars and money."
That said, Kwan has no problem holding up his end of the bargain. In his latest film, Everlasting Regret, based on a novel by Shanghainese author Wang Anyi, he cast two of Hong Kong's most bankable stars, Tony Leung Kar-fai and Sammi Cheng; Jackie Chan took the role of producer. Indeed, Kwan says that Shanghai Film Studios counted on him to attract big stars from Hong Kong and get some financial partners.

But the business continues to change and partners increasingly share in the investment and the risks. For Kwan's next project, a biographical film on the life of opera legend Mei Langfang, Chinese mainland investors, together with their counterparts from Hong Kong and the US, will contribute to the estimated RMB 80 million budget. This time Kwan will cast an even more bankable Tony: Leung Chiu-wai the star of In the Mood for Love.

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