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

Meet The Lanterns, the new kids on the block in Shanghai. Given the difficulty of making a break-through in the local alternative music scene – read rock scene – it's just as well that the members of the band aren't driven by the twin illusions of fame and fortune. "We don't think of the money," explains lead singer Martin Wong. "We didn't sign with a label because no one wants us – Chinese people want Dao Lang!" True, rock acts don't make a buck in China, let alone in Shanghai. Rampant piracy and free music downloads have crippled the local industry and made producers lose confidence in taking a punt on unknowns. "The whole industry is bulls__t," protests Wong. "There are no managers because they know it's not going to make money."
Wong has a point. The band was able to release only 500 copies of their debut album To the Light House in the alternative market. Their follow-up Turning All the Clouds due out this year, is a remix of the first album and includes a new single. Only 5,000 to 10,000 official copies will be distributed in the Chinese mainland and Taiwan. All this despite the fact that The Lantern's music has a highly engaging, commercial sound. Influenced by British bands like The Verve, they deliver a kind of Chinese Brit Pop with melodies they use to great effect to convey a conservative message. "We write Chinese lyrics to bring traditional literature and Chinese feelings to the fore," says Wong. "We try to give confidence to young people in Chinese traditions." The band's Chinese name sounds like "Lan Ting" (Orchid Pavilion), a masterpiece poem anthology with calligraphy by Wang Xizhi from the Dong Jin Dynasty. "Sometimes you can read music from calligraphy; actually you can find rhythm in a lot of things," says Wong. When not performing, the members of the band eke out a living through an assortment of odd jobs and music tuition. With any luck they'll release their sophomore album next summer with an entirely new repertoire of original material.
According to Wong, their lyrics have to deal with love and have an easy-to-remember chorus which everyone can sing along to. The 'drama inside' comes from the band member's life experiences, which in some cases play out like distorted guitar riffs. Take bass player Jack Dye for instance. Dye came to Shanghai to escape the memory of seeing one of his best friends crushed beneath an airplane. Wong says he got his vocal skills from his mother who used to argue vociferously with his father. "As a young kid I was a real dreamer, and I thought I could do the same as the bands on the tapes I used to listen to," says Wong. Their collective past might explain why the band's music is full of soul. The five members of the band – all of them in their mid-twenties – say that it's music alone which brings them faith in everyday life. They don't seem at all perturbed by the fact that making any headway in the local music scene is an uphill battle. For them it's all for the music. But producing good music is no magician's trick and you have to find a good melody. And that's what The Lanterns is all about.
Catch one of The Lanterns' gigs in Harleyís bar in Xujiahui or The Ark in Xintiandi

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

At the risk of going out on a limb without a safety net, A Chinese Tall Story is the perfect family entertainment for the New Year holiday. An hilarious, feel-good movie full of lighthearted drama and gut-busting sight gags. More fun, in short, than a barrel of monkeys. To make a tall story short, a long time ago, even before Star Wars, a monk fell in love with a monster and an alien princess. Reduced to twenty-five words or less it doesn't sound like much. But the movie is as impertinent and comical as its director, Hong Kong-born Jeff Lau Chun-wai.
Lau is a playful man, with a permanent smile and ready with the jokes. He's in his fifties, but a child at heart. Much like the Monkey King, one of the characters in this three episode saga, inspired by the Chinese classic, Journey to the West. However, in the latest installment, Lau departs from the source material and delivers a surprisingly modern tale full of witty ideas, colorful characters and dazzling visuals.

In the business for more than two decades, Lau's been involved in the production of more than thirty films. He's often associated with Wong Kar-wai (2046); indeed, they are best friends, since they co-funded and co-founded the Jet Tone film company in 1993, a project that was set up to produce both art-house and commercial films (Eagles Shooting Heroes, 1993; Ashes Of Times, 1994; A Chinese Odyssey 2002, 2002). Which is not to say that they think alike. Wong's preference is for realist cinema. Lau, on the other hand, is fascinated by the magic of a medium in which the impossible becomes possible. Thus, Lau's stock-in-trade is the nonsensical, cartoon-ish sight gag. Indeed, Lau spearheaded Hong Kong's special brand of humor, moleitau (literally 'nonsensical'), and in the process made a name for himself as a sort of Chinese Tex Avery (creator of Daffy Duck, Droopy and Screwy Squirrel).
He's also made another of his best friends, Stephen Chow Sing-chi, a superstar with a string of unforgettable comedies: All for the Winner (1990); Out of the Dark (1995); and A Chinese Odyssey Part 1 and 2 (1995) to name but a few. If Chow's now known as the 'King of Cantonese comedy', the title, in large part, is due to Lau.

Which brings us back to the Monkey King saga, more familiarly known as Journey to the West a work that has no equivalent in Western literature. Ten years ago, Lau wrote a three-chapter screenplay based on the classic sixteenth-century novel written by Wu Cheng-en. (Wu, in turn, was inspired by a real monk, Xuan Zang, who lived during the Tang Dynasty.) Two of Lau's chapters were shot in a row – A Chinese Odyssey: Pandora's Box and A Chinese Odyssey II: Cinderella – with Stephen Chow playing the Monkey King. "We made only two films considering the bad box office at the time," recalls Lau, adding that the period movies were, perhaps, too avant-garde as such. "No one dared invest in a third installment."
Of course, what is avant-garde one year, becomes classic the next, or the next. Two years after their release, the films developed a following – on video. A very large following. Today, both films are considered masterpieces. And their acceptance provided both Lau and Chow with an opportunity to display their full potential.
In the latter's case as a comedian and a thespian. Chow's character, Monkey King or Sun Wukong, is half-human/half-monkey. Born from a rock, he lacks manners and discipline; he's mischievous, yet pure of heart. Brave, too – he frequently challenges gods and monsters alike. It's these qualities that make the cheeky Sun Wukong the best-loved folk character in China. Such is his popularity that disobedient children are often (affectionately) said to be 'As naughty as Sun Wukong'.
For those unacquainted with the novel, the 100-chapter Journey to the West is an adventure tale, albeit one filled with humor. It relates the journey of the monk Tripitaka as he travels to India in search of enlightenment and with the purpose of bringing the Buddha's Holy Scriptures to China. Tripitaka, escorted by animal spirits, the Monkey King, the pig monk (Zhu Bajie) and the river/sand monk (Sha Wujing), finds himself in danger any number of times; 81, to be exact.
For those of you unacquainted with Chinese TV and cinema, Journey to the West has been adapted almost as many times as Tripitaka broke a sweat on his journey. Still, this rich source material allowed Lau plenty of room for innovation, especially in this third episode.

A Chinese Tall Story, budgeted at RMB100 million, is a prequel of sorts, focusing on Tripitaka prior to his famous journey. Lau has also added some bizarre new elements and goofy characters. During the production of Kung Fu Hustle for Stephen Chow in 2003, Lau discovered that the Chinese mainland film industry had mastered the art of computer generated imagery – which was not the case in 1995 – and was confident that they could put his ideas on film. That confidence extended to the decade-old script, which he submitted to the producers at Hong Kong-based film company Emperor Motion Pictures (EMP). "The audience," he declared to his new employers, "is now more receptive to change."
But after reading the script, they weren't so sure. For one thing, Lau updated Journey to the West, including a scene featuring UFOs. "When they found out there were flying saucers in the script, they came to check the rushes everyday!" he says with a laugh.
Indeed, Lau's unconventional sense of humor, his blending of parody and slapstick, might well offend the average banker. Though the film's dramatic scenes, that seamlessly combine fantasy and CGI effects, would have that same banker counting the box office receipts. As for the UFOs, Lau says they weren't meant to introduce an element of science fiction, rather the intent is to challenge the Chinese superstition that sky-dwelling gods control the universe. "Once aliens are there, gods stands no chance with their kung fu," says Lau. "Aliens have scanners and guns; they're so powerful!" Well, you can't argue with that.

Lau may not be serious about aliens, but he's on firm ground, after ten years thinking about it, with his casting. Tripitaka, the leading character of the film, is played by Hong Kong pop idol Nicholas Tse Ting-fong (The Promise, 2005). In the book, the monk is an honorable, decent man. The same cannot be said for Tse, at least not if you believe what's written about him in the Chinese tabloids. "If I can make the audience believe a not very decent young man can play a decent monk, then the character will be even more powerful," says Lau of his casting strategy, adding that, "It's a huge challenge!" Lau had to be firm with Tse: "I didn't let him do his look à la James Dean," explains Lau. "I didn't want him to be seen as a hero."
The supporting players are equally powerful, and cast against type, which is to say different from the characters in the novel. In the film, the three animal spirits are: Xin Wukong (Monkey King), who constantly makes a fool of himself; Se Bajie, a handsome, obedient and innocent version of the Pig, a fallen deity punished for his uncontrolled libido; and Men Shaseng, the sand monk, who hides his naivety behind a mustache. (Without giving too much away, two young girls trap the inept monk in a love triangle.) Then there's the beautiful Princess Xiaoshan from outer space, portrayed by Chinese mainland actress Fan Bingbing (Twins Effect 2, 2004), and the young lizard imp Meyan, played by Hong Kong singer/actress Charlene Choi (All About Love, 2005). The latter, by the way, falls in love with Tripitaka, though that stretches belief. Lau sadistically forced the pop starlet to wear make-up that makes her a match for Quasimodo; her teeth are the stuff of a dentist's nightmare.

Less repellant, though equally stunning, the film's visuals are the result of big budget, solid CGI, several months of post-production and experienced artists at the head of every department (action director Corey Yuen, art designer William Chang and visual-effect master Eddy Wong). Indeed, we'll go further: this film's SFX make the Lord of the Rings look as cheap as Ed Wood's Plan 9 from Outer Space. The action scenes, especially those set in outer space, are brilliantly staged and reminiscent of Tsui Hark’s best work in the Legend of Zu, Stars Wars and even a few Japanese animation movies involving giant robots (Macross). If trivia interests you, some of the earth scenes were shot on location at Shennongjia, a gorgeous Chinese national reserve in Hubei province.

In sum, Lau has raised the bar, and brought new life to the tale of Sun Wukong. But best to let the man speak for himself: "When I make a movie, I first think of myself and how I can have fun out of it." Which sounds like a quote from the Monkey King himself. In fact, Lau is an endangered species, one of the few directors who doesn't live for box office receipts and one of few people in show business who hasn't always got an eye on the next project. A good family man, Lau is jovial and cunning, upright and subversive. Who knows, perhaps one day mothers will be saying to their mischievous children, 'You're as naughty as Lau Chun-wai!'

Special Thanks to EMP/H. Brothers Film/David Vivier/HKCinemagic.com

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

It's been 100 years since China's first film, The Battle of Dingjunshan, essentially a recording of a Chinese opera performance, appeared on the silver screen. In the decades since, the medium has had its share of difficult times, but there is much to celebrate. Tributes have been extensively organized in China and the rest of the world; the 62nd Venice International Film Festival, for instance, opened and closed with contemporary Chinese movies and featured a retrospective of classic Chinese films. And in October this year, the City University of New York organized an international symposium and a retrospective of more than 30 Chinese movies. Professor Ying Zhu, who teaches cinema studies in New York, coordinated the event. The Shanghai-born expatriate, author of Chinese Cinema during the Era of Reform, offered that's a short history of Chinese cinema.

that's: How would you describe the evolution of Chinese cinema?
Ying Zhu: Tumultuous, yet inspiring.

that's: What are the most important periods in Chinese film history?
YZ: Chinese films are divided into six generations. The first generation was the pioneers of Chinese cinema, such as Zhang Shichuan (Burning of the Red Lotus Temple, 1928) and Zheng Zhenqiu (Orphan Rescues Grandfather, 1923). The second generation includes 1930s/1940s left-wing filmmakers who cultivated a realist tradition blending Classical Hollywood with the tradition of Chinese performing arts (Wu Yonggang's Goddess, 1934). The third generation consists of both the second-generation disciples such as Xie Jin (Two Stage Sisters, 1964) and the self-taught left-wing filmmakers of the 1940s.
The fourth generation was the first generation of professional filmmakers, including Wu Yigong­ (My Memories of Old Beijing, 1983). They received formal film training in the late 1950s, early 1960s, under the socialist educational system. The fifth refers specifically to the 1982 graduating class of the Beijing Film Academy and includes Chen Kaige and Zhang Yimou; famous for making experimental art films in the early to mid-1980s, they challenged the socialist-realist tradition. Finally, the sixth generation is a group of internationally-known young filmmakers from urban centers who appeared during the post-Mao era (Jia Zhangke with Platform, 2000).

that's: How would you describe the Golden Age?
YZ:Historically, there were two 'Golden Ages', the pre-war 1930s and the post-war 1940s. In the pre-war phase, the emergence of the leftist Lianhua Company revived national cinema and successfully pushed for the industry's early institutional restructuring. Leftist films achieved an astonishing critical and popular success with many classic movies (Street Angel and Crossroads). The post-war phase (1946-9) witnessed an output of films of artistic quality and popular appeal despite ideological divisions (Long Live the Mistress and Crows and Sparrows).

that's: And more recently?
YZ:The arrival of Chinese cinema's Art Wave/New Wave in the early to mid-1980s is certainly a "Golden Age" with the Chinese fifth generation films creating critical splashes all over the world. From the mid-1980s until the early 2000s, the Chinese film industry entered a recession. Several factors contributed to this downturn, including privatization of film infrastructure and competition with cable TV, video and Hollywood films.
However in 2004, for the first time in decades, China produced more than 200 movies and the total industry revenue increased by 66 per cent to nearly USD 435 million. Domestic film production, distribution and exhibition fields benefiting from new government regulations have permitted private and overseas investment in the cash-starved industry. Most significantly, domestic Chinese film receipts exceeded those from foreign films for the first time since 1994. Feng Xiaogang's A World Without Thieves and Stephen Chow's Kung-Fu Hustle earned handsome profits. Despite relatively small film output and rampant piracy, Chinese cinema looks to be at the dawn of yet another Golden Age.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
December 2005 issue

It’s no secret that film directing in both China and the West is a predominantly male métier. But try telling that to director Peng Xiaolian. Not only has she defied the odds with a string of critically-acclaimed films, but she continues to go against the grain by making films in Shanghai, her hometown. While the city has become an attractive backdrop for major foreign film companies (most notably Warner’s The Painted Veil starring Edward Norton and Paramount’s Mission Impossible 3 with Tom Cruise), local filmmakers still struggle to get Chinese films off the ground. But Peng remains doggedly undeterred. The fifth-generation filmmaker insists upon shooting in Shanghai despite the fact that Beijing remains the best place by far to get a movie made in China.
Her latest film, Shanghai Story, was shot in 2003 and released in cinemas this year during the mid-autumn festival. The film, Peng’s tenth, is about the legacy of the “cultural revolution” in today’s China. Shot in just 45 days, the film was selected for competition in five international film festivals and swept a record four Golden Rooster Awards [China’s equivalent to the Oscars] in 2004, as well as the Best Actress Award at the 2004 Shanghai International Film Festival.
Peng always writes her own scripts, including dialogue from real-life conversations she has recorded. It’s a method she’s used to great effect since her student days in the late 1970s when studying at the Beijing Film Academy with alumni Zhang Yimou and Chen Kaige. Upon graduation and after a couple of art-house successes under the Shanghai Film Studio’s umbrella -- Me and My Classmate (1986) and Women’s Story (1989) -- she furthered her studies at the New York University. In 1996, she returned to Shanghai, a city she’s since made her permanent home. In the last nine years she has directed no less than six feature films. Amongst them, Once Upon A Time in Shanghai (1999) achieved cinematic release in the US, while Shanghai Women (2002) was a sleeper hit in Japan, running for 13 consecutive weeks. In an exclusive interview with that’s she discusses the film industry, and her favorite movie themes – Shanghai and Chinese women.

that’s: What drew you to filmmaking?
Peng Xiaolian: When I was young there was no one to take care of me at home during the summer vacations so my mother brought me to the studio where she worked as a translator for Russian films. I saw there how they made and processed films. I thought it was what I knew best and so, in 1978, I applied for entry to China’s only film school at the time, the Beijing Film Academy [BFA].

that’s: Your generation – the first after the “cultural revolution” – is referred to as the “fifth generation” filmmakers.
PX: That’s what a lot of people call it. But I don’t care for labels. Maybe it’s important to others, but not to me. The most important thing to me is that people care about who you are, what you’ve done, and if it actually makes sense.

that’s: Shanghai itself is a central feature of your films, Shanghai Story, Shanghai Women, and Once Upon a Time in Shanghai. You obviously have a special affinity with your hometown.
PX: Yes, Shanghai is like a character in my movies. The culture is so different from the rest of the country. It’s the most interesting, modern and artistic city in China. During the 30s and 40s there were many colonial concessions here. It was – and still is – a multicultural city. It’s like a foreign city in China. That’s why I pay a lot of attention to Shanghai, to its culture and to people who live here.

that’s: It makes sense; you grew up here.
PX: Yes, since I returned from New York, I love Shanghai more than ever. Shanghai is to China what New York is to the US. When I grew up here, I never appreciated how interesting Shanghai was. Everything was so commonplace. New York gave me the critical distance to appreciate just how interesting Shanghai really is. It wasn’t until then that I realized that Shanghai is the city I love the most.

that’s: What’s your latest film Shanghai Story about?
PX: It’s the story of a Chinese family and set after the “cultural revolution”. During this time many people were hurt emotionally and that’s what the film is about. Chinese people couldn’t cope with their feelings or with the shadows of this era. Shanghai Story is about a country – China - and its people. It’s about the lives of modern Chinese, their feelings and their thoughts resulting from the “cultural revolution”. So, this movie, like most of my films, is based on ordinary people’s lives, which is what I really care about.

that’s: Was it difficult to put the project together and how was it received?
PX: I was lucky with the Film Bureau in Beijing which gave the film a very favorable reaction. The final cut passed through the censorship process without a single word being changed. We won many Golden Rooster Awards in 2004. All 22 of the jury members voted unanimously for Shanghai Story as the best picture. So people were really moved by the film. It was also the first time they gave the Best Director Award to a female director.

that’s: You like to use real-life dialogue in your movies. Why?
PX: In Shanghai Story, the family story had to be natural; that is, they shouldn’t talk in a dramatic way. I wanted to give the film a docu-drama style. Actually we did a lot of beautiful photography and camera work so it doesn’t really look like a docu-drama at all!

that’s: Shanghai Story features strong female characters. How has the situation of Chinese women evolved since you made Women’s Story (1989) and Shanghai Women (2002)?
PX: Women’s Story told of the struggle of three peasant women in the 1980s when China started to reform. They flee from the country to the city and fight to change their lives. The situation for women is very different now. I couldn’t say it’s better, just different. Shanghai Women (2002) is about women in the big city who try to find their own spirit and space in life. Chinese society today is changing in a very commercial way. Now a lot of women who try to be independent have difficulties getting a job, whereas it’s easier for men. Company managers will hire a 45-year-old man but not a women older than 35. They encourage women to retire at 40 or 45. In the work environment they think a 30-something woman is already old! So there’s a gender and age issue here. It’s stupid. They just like pretty women and don’t care whether they’re smart or educated.

that’s: What about women in the film industry?
PX: It’s very difficult for women to make movies nowadays in China. The market is driven by commercial concerns, not cultural ones. In the ‘80s there were a lot of female directors. Now only a few women filmmakers make feature films. Most work in TV.

that’s: Is Shanghai the place to make modern Chinese films?
PX: It’s extremely difficult to make movies in Shanghai. I don’t really know why. I don’t think Shanghai will be the new cinema center in China any time soon. The Beijing film industry, however, is getting stronger and stronger. Not just because there’s the Beijing Film Academy, as people don’t care about school. What they care about is the market, the current situation and the powers that be. That’s what Beijing currently offers. It’s easier to make movies there and it’s very attractive for foreign investors.
Shanghai is simply too complicated and weak.

that’s: Filmmaking also takes center stage in your next project…
PX: Yes, it’s a movie called Shanghai Rumba starring celebrated actor Xia Yu [Waiting Alone]. It deals with filmmakers in the late 1940s, their work, lives and loves. They try to make left wing movies and have a lot of trouble with the national government of the time. They try to shoot secretly and to protect their low-budget films. Nowadays we still face the same financing problems. Like the characters in the film, we don’t have nearly enough money but we still try to make the best film possible.

Special thanks to Tomson Films and Runa Zhou.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
November 2005 issue
Photo courtesy Mick Ryan www.mickryan.com

Guanzhou Chief editor: Christopher Cottrell
November 2005 issue

Although a film about antelope poaching in Tibet may not be everyone's cup of yak tea, in his highly acclaimed Mountain Patrol (Kekexili), Xinjiang-born director Lu Chuan tells the valiant story of a group of Tibetans and their battle against such poachers. "To make a film requires a lot of courage," says Lu. Indeed it does. Tackling thorny social issues isn't easy in China and like the mountain patrol, Lu has sometimes had to sacrifice principle for commercial reality.
Lu's sacrifices have not always been restricted to the financial end of things. His first film, The Missing Gun, was a "nightmare" for the young Beijing Film Academy graduate. Two years later, he went back for more, shooting Mountain Patrol on the 5000-meter high Qinghai-Tibetan plateau. Warmth and oxygen were luxuries; Lu became severely ill and one member of the production team fell victim to Tibet's notoriously risky roads.
For his hardship he was awarded the chance to represent China in the Foreign Language Film category at the Academy Awards in March 2006. But the world of film financing being what it is, his newfound fame did little to attract investors, and he had to abandon his plans for Nanking! Nanking! -- a film about the Nanjing Massacre. Yet Lu is not the type to surrender so easily. Like the yaks that graze the Tibetan plateau, he thrives in harsh environments.
His latest project, Border Area (Bian Jiang), is currently in production in the Xinjiang-Uyghur Autonomous Region. The plot has broad appeal and casting Hong Kong singer/actor Leon Lai should help increase the film's earning potential, so hopes are high. Produced by Huayi Brothers & Taihe Films, Border Area is adapted from the Wang Gang novel "Yinggelishi" with a screenplay written by Lu's father, Lu Tianming. The film follows a Xinjiangnese student who tries to learn English for the love of his classmate; a decision that brings unexpected turns to his life. Something Lu himself should be familiar with.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
October 2005 issue

Wang Xiaoshuai, director of Beijing Bicycle, and more recently Shanghai Dreams, which brought home the Jury Prize at Cannes, met with us at Duolun Museum of Modern Art to discuss the trials and tribulations of filmmaking and deliver a lecture on his craft to an eager audience. The museum was a fitting backdrop for the lecture – as chief curator Gu Zhengqing sees it as “a site to rethink societal problems” a favorite topic for Wang’s company, Sixth-Generation films.

Wang’s lecture, Carving My Time — from The Days to Shanghai Dreams, explored the parallels between life and cinema, and between the lines, the reality of China’s current production methods and distribution.

While Wang Xiaoshuai might be considered successful – he has produced several well-respected works – realizing his dreams in the film industry has proved to be an arduous journey, along a road strewn with compromise.

Shanghai Dreams – the fruit of Wang’s real life experiences growing up in grizzly Guizhou – also serves as a metaphor for the current, rather desperate, situation of the Chinese film industry. As it turns out, the film was no dream to produce. Between having to beg film-star Wang Luodan to participate in the film, and scrounging for money to complete the project, Wang and co-producer Pi Li certainly had a rough go of it.

Their situation is typical of most non-commercial film producers who rely on private investors. With a single phone call, Wang might dial up RMB 500,000 or conversely, struggle for months to scrape together enough coin to cover the basics. Without box office revenues, enticing investors in China is reliably difficult. Most revenue comes from sponsorships – advertisements which air before the film starts. Sponsors therefore see the film as a mere pretext for audiences to watch their commercials. And even with sponsorship and decent box office revenues, many films end up in the red.

Shanghai Dreams came dangerously close. Riding a wave of euphoria following his victory at Cannes, Wang was encouraged by the film’s distribution company to release Shanghai Dreams two months ahead of schedule. Suddenly short of time, Wang cut a few deals and lost 50 per cent of the expected sponsorship revenue. He calculated the risk by banking on an early release and a higher box-office gross improving his chances of securing financing for his next film. The math is straightforward. Shanghai Dreams cost RMB 10 million, and the box-office brought in a “rather satisfying” RMB 3 million. This amount is shared between cinemas, distribution companies, PR agencies and film reproduction labs. International sales, which begin at around RMB 8 million (USD 1 million), 80 per cent of the initial investment – will help recoup costs. In China directors don’t make money with movies. Says Pi: “Our own profit will come from DVDs and CCTV – and it’s a very small profit.”

Despite their sobering financial circumstances, Pi and Wang are optimistic. Together they founded the “Debo” or “Huge Morals” production Company. Both men believe in the old Chinese saying: “With high morals you can solve any problem.” Wang and Pi realize how important it is to offer more opportunities to young filmmakers. “With Debo, we plan to do more commercial projects to support independent films,” explains Pi. A necessary evil perhaps, but one they hope will subsidize a broader array of local artistic films.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
Photo courtesy Hugo Hu www.huphoto.cdd.cn
October 2005 issue

In a real coup for Chinese cinema, Director Tsui Hark’s martial arts epic, Seven Swords, opened the Venice International Film Festival last month – the first time an Asian production has opened any Western film festival. It also closed with a Chinese film. What’s more, restored Chinese classics from the 1930s and 40s were shown alongside new Asian movies for the duration of the ten day extravaganza. Festival director Marco Muller, a fluent Cantonese and Mandarin speaker, directing the festival for a second year, said in an interview, “This reflects the importance of Asia and the variety of its cinema.” Tsui has been tirelessly devoted to the creative possibilities in Chinese culture, and that variety is there in large part thanks to his hard work, talent and dedication to Chinese cinematic culture in all its styles.

His most recent film, Seven Swords is born out of Wuxia tradition, “Wuxia literature is an art and culture of its own” says the Hong Kong-based Tsui. “These are imaginary stories developed from our everyday lives, expressing the spirit of justice, heroism and humanity.” Wuxia (Chinese chivalry) novels grew out of a deep cultural heritage; they are for the most part tales of Chinese knights in ancient China moving in a world of martial arts, or Jiang Hu. There is something particularly magical about Seven Swords (Qi Jian), and it’s not just the USD 7 million (RMB 56 million) it grossed in its first two weeks on Chinese screens – despite the foot-wrinkling typhoon which should have kept people at home watching reruns of The Wild Bunch.

Wuxia pian is the film genre derived from this magical literature (Kungfu movies fall into this category) and, in these action-packed stories, characters practise martial arts and possess all manner of magical skills – they fly through tree tops and perform acrobatics that would give Schwarzenegger or Stallone a slipped disc. Add to the mix a seemingly endless cast of characters and intricate, interconnected subplots and audiences end up with a spectacle that is the equal or better than anything produced in Hollywood. Indeed, Tsui is called “Hong-Kong’s Spielberg” (though he was born in Vietmam), and his latest production attempts to seduce Chinese audiences by conjuring the ultimate Wuxia spirit onto the silver screen.

In the trade for more than 25 years, Tsui has delivered some of the best Wuxia movies ever made in the Chinese mainland and Hong Kong. Trained in Hollywood filmmaking methods, he’s always on the lookout for new ideas and experimenting in order to explore and expose China’s cultural heritage to new generations of filmgoers.

Tsui began making 8mm-experimental films at age 13, but his career took off in the late 70s directing the acclaimed Wuxia TV-series The Golden Dagger Romance. In 1981, he was internationally acclaimed for the gravity-defying martial-art’s tale Zu Warriors from the Magic Mountain. Despite being the first Hong Kong movie to integrate Hollywood special effect techniques (blue screen), it was a domestic flop.

Since then, with more than 60 movies produced and 40 directed, Tsui has tried to find the right balance between personal experimentation, ambition and commercial success with his own company, the Film Workshop. He co-founded the Film Workshop in 1984 with his wife Nansun Shi, one of Hong-Kong’s top producers. In this laboratory for cinematic experiments, the couple has been busy reviving all sorts of film genres. “We think that the Chinese heritage has a lot to offer,” says Nansun, “[although] we’re still trying to find the stories which would be successful in both domestic and international markets.”

Tsui has paid tribute to Chinese folklore and arts; not only revitalizing period dramas and Wuxia pian in the 80s and 90s, but also breaking new ground. The trilogies, A Chinese Ghost Story, Swordsman and The Lovers are among his most outstanding works. That said, as original, iconoclastic and experimental as the 55-year-old director may be, he has managed to produce a series of commercial successes.

It’s no overstatement to say that Tsui Hark almost single-handedly fueled the local film industry from 1986 to 1996 with new ideas, trends and filmic formulas. Pragmatic Hong Kong producers copied his stories and style at will, in effect establishing a new genre. It seemed good for everyone. Producers flooded the market with about 200 films a year and made big money. At the same time, this golden age of filmmaking allowed new filmmakers and actors. Still, the market was limited. Most of these movies were made for the Hong Kong market, with Taiwan Province and South Korea as junior financial territories. Those days are gone. Now it has become unrealistic for a big-budget film to recoup costs just from the Hong Kong market.

Tsui Hark learnt this fact of life the hard way. In the mid-nineties, the Asian film industry went downhill, because of the Asian financial crisis, the rise of piracy, Hollywood and Chinese mainland competition, and the exodus of film-talent to the West. Industry vitality declined for nearly a decade. Productivity at The Film-Workshop also dropped, with an average of only one movie a year since 1998, compared to five movies a year between 1986 and 1994.

After a brief period in the US around 1997 (where he found Hollywood-studio policies far too restrictive), and several attempts in Hong Kong with foreign investments, Tsui finally produced a couple of low-key -- and unsuccessful -- movies in the Chinese mainland. Perhaps they were an attempt to assess the local market and Chinese film-production methods, but the experience certainly paved the way for his next ambitious step. “You should not define yourself just in a certain place; it’d be good to go to different places to make movies,” said Tsui at a press conference in Shanghai in July. “It’s my dream to do so and as the majority of the audience is in the Chinese mainland I should do my best for them.”

And so he has. Seven Swords provided just the right opportunity for him to return to the spotlight and expand his fame (and craft) into the Chinese mainland market. With a simple plotline – seven warriors come together to protect a village from a diabolical General – but much attention drawn to characterization and production design, the movie, in a sense, made material Tsui’s ambition. Three teams, three action choreographers and three directors of photography shot 11 principal characters day and night, for three months, to complete the USD 18 million Chinese mainland/Hong-Kong/Korea/Singapore co-production.

An important Chinese TV-production company originally approached Tsui for creative inputs for a local TV series based on Liang Yu-Shen’s classic novel, Seven Swordsmen from Mountain Tian. With genuine knowledge of the source material and a deep understanding of the creative potential the story could offer, Tsui managed to stretch the project into a series of feature films and TV series, to be shot with Hong Kong crews and a Chinese mainland cast. Indeed, Tsui and his wife and partner, Nansun, believe bilateral cooperation is the best way to keep the Hong Kong cinema alive. A Seven Swords producer and industry maven for three decades, Nansun says: “We are the people who can make it up to the HongKong film industry. If we don’t try, who will?” Extremely motivated and excited by the project, Tsui dropped the production of Initial D, for which he had already started pre-production work in Japan. This film was eventually made by Andrew Lau and Alan Mak, who, sad to say, delivered a flat vehicle for pop-idol Jay Chou.

Seven Swords is also Tsui’s attempt to reconcile Chinese audiences with the ‘pugilistic world or martial arts’. Since Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon hit global screens in 2000, numerous ‘high-aesthetic’ Wuxia pian have been made to capture the taste of global audiences. The somewhat more ‘understated’ tastes of the Chinese audience felt the true Wuxia spirit was compromised to please foreign market expectations. Says Tsui: “Nowadays Kungfu movies are becoming more and more abstract, so abstract that I felt it was time to take the genre back to the real thing.”

With Seven Swords, Tsui has found a license to experiment - and make money. Ironically, he’s doing it the Hollywood way, à la the Matrix trilogy with its movie-related products. Seven Swords will become a series of feature films, a TV series, video games and comic books. Can Seven Swords dolls be far behind? Although a multitude of characters and several subplots are common in Wuxia, the complexity of the story may have as much to do with the bank as the story. Which may explain why many critics and audience members came out of the film confused. Explains Tsui: “The clues left in this first movie are necessary and directly linked to the following stories.”

To clear up the confusion, Tsui wrote the “Seven Swords bible”, detailing the characters’ development and the world they inhabit. “Society is composed of many human beings, [and] so is Jiang Hu,” he says. “I just want to make Seven Swords close to real life and provide emotion.”

Seven Swords isn’t flawless; but it’s a success for its creator in the sense that he’s become more ‘bankable’. In the wake of that accomplishment, Tsui is piling up forthcoming projects, including a France-produced movie, The White Phoenix, and a kungfu/comedy starring Stephen Chow.

It seems likely Tsui Hark will carry on his role of cinematic ambassador of Chinese culture for many years to come. May the force be with him.

Special thanks to Film Workshop/Mandarin Films/Ms Nansun Shi/Mr. Gu Ming/www.hkcinemagic.com

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
October 2005 issue

French fashion-design houses have always been ruled by strong-minded and creative individuals including Coco Chanel, Jean-Paul Gaultier, Karl Lagerfeld and the likes. Nelly Biche de Bere is no exception and may soon find her name among this prestigious list. Combining artistic aptitude and a strong entrepreneurship spirit, Biche de Bere's designs are creating an international roar that is currently rumbling through the Middle Kingdom.

"China is a bit like the US 30 years ago" says Biche de Bere. "At that time, there was this same kind of energy, which I find here to be 10 times stronger." In 2003, she set up a fashion boutique in Shanghai and a workshop in Xinzhuang. "I always have been fascinated by Shanghai. There is an incredible energy."

Biche de Bere's own energy has been her primary strength in making a name for herself. After 10 years in the US and another 10 in Europe to develop her business, Biche de Bere is now in Asia for yet another decade, with Shanghai as her headquarters. Her company has set a foot in four continents and reports a current world-sales turnover of US$19 millions. In late 2004, she received the Pierre Cardin "Best French Designer in China" award in Beijing and currently dresses Chinese stars Mimi Sun, Anna Wang, Lu Yi and Jane Zhang. For another feather in her oh-so-fashionable cap, this year the French business magazine L'Expansion named Biche de Bere one of France's five most influential business owners.

"She is full of energy" says Shanghai-based communication assistant Vivian Dong. "[Biche de Bere] is a woman with a strong character, if she has a goal, she will simply do it."
But achievement isn't possible without a tad of luck and loads of talent and ambition. After graduation, Biche de Bere left France for New York to pursue the American dream. Already pragmatic and business orientated, Biche de Bere sold her "anti-atomic shelters" thesis to the France Ministry of Defense to finance her departure in 1985. She fought her way up the New York fashion ladder by creating evening jewelry from recycled materials, which led to a surprise 30,000 piece order and a full-time career.

Returning to Europe in 1993 with her husband and associate Christophe Cais, she launched the Biche de Bere Company, specializing in jewelry and ready-to-wear collections for women. They've since diversified into kids, men and couture lines, as well as sportswear, house linens and general design. The company currently employs 350 personal, owns two factories in France and delivers 15 collections a year. This is what you'd call productive, creative and successful. Born in Brittany, a French region where traditions are highly valued, Biche de Bere graduated in industrial design. This influence is clearly seen in her creations which combine traditional style with modern techniques. Such concepts have successfully attracted American and European women in the past and are whipping Chinese into a frenzy since the move to Shanghai a year and a half ago. "I am fascinated by China, because it is a place so different, with a huge history" she says. "But despite this, the country has a strong desire to come into the third millennium at full speed."

Dressing women of the new millennium - to enhance each female's individuality - is her prime motivation. "There is certainly a common point between all women," explains Biche de Bere. "They want to feel pretty, to satisfy themselves and others when dressing." But the Biche de Bere brand aims to take fashion past the basics by using unique fabric, color and style combinations, leading to their motto: "Difference is that wonderful thing that we all have in common."

Weekly cocktail parties are held every Friday at the Xintiandi boutique, among displays of Biche de Bere's new collections. For those not lucky enough to live in mainland China's fashion mecca, check out Biche de Bere's line at www.bichedebere.com.

(c) City Weekend, national edition
Editor: Lydia Holden
Photo courtesy Biche de Bere
September 1-15, 2005 issue

Belgium may be a small country, but it's big on talent. Like Benoit Franquet, a master of musical composition, who's delivered a 24-carat debut with "Zero Gold".
Immersed in classical music from an early age, Franquet has become one of the leader's of house and techno music. He's wrote a number of early club anthems at his own studio, including 'I'll Be Right Here" and "Angel". Later, he signed with the respected UK label Bedrock Music and released another hit single "Apollo Vibes" under the pseudonym Pole Folder. After 18 months in production, Franquet released his first full album of material, Zero Gold in May 2005 which was immediately boosted by DJs round the globe.
Distributed in China by Hinote Records, this release is far more that the usual sequencer sounds and beats. "Zero and Gold represent two human fears," says Franquet, "which characterize the main theme of the album. Human fears govern our acts more than our own desires."
Zero Gold is a mix of electronic music, pop, atmospheric melodies and the human voice. Several tracks ("Before It All Changes" and "Fall In Violet") are clearly influenced by film. "When I was younger," Franquet says, "I was composing for imaginary movies. This vision of the music is strong in me and this feeling came naturally during the creative process."
In the studio, Franquet starts with the drum track, later adding melody with a bass line and pads. Then he wraps the music with mental elements, "the mainstream melodic atmosphere is present but the psychedelic side makes it special, and allows listeners to feel the music on different levels."
And feel it you will. This CD is richly rewarding, whatever camp you're in.
Asks Franquet: "Is this a psychedelic pop album or a progressive electronic album. I let you choose."

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Shanghai Chief editor: Steven Crane
August 2005 issue

Guanzhou Chief editor: Christopher Cottrell
August 2005 issue

So what's in a name? This band's moniker was borrowed from Haruki Murakami's novel Hardboiled Wonderland and the End of the World. But which version? Various translations of the book gave the band three choices: Cold Fairyland, Cool Fairyland and even Frozen Fairyland. At different times, they have used them all. "The name Cold Fairyland already carries a contradiction," explains singer/composer Lin Di, "and that's the feeling we want to deliver to the audience."
In Shanghai's relatively unsophisticated alternative music scene, Cold Fairyland, stands out. Arguably, the most original ensemble in the city, this quintet cultivates an image of ambiguity. In a recent gig at Creek Art's damp and dusty warehouse, the band offered a blend of guitars, drums, pipa and cello, accompanied by all-but-indecipherable vocals, that was impossible to pigeonhole.
"Typical Shanghai bands make posh fashionable music, but I think we bring a deeper meaning," Lin tells that's.
Formed in 2001, Cold Fairyland has just two unofficial releases to its credit: Flying and The Zoon of Stranger (only available on their website www.miyadudu.com). Composer, lead vocalist, pipa and keyboard player, Lin is the band's creative muse and the only band member that's doesn't have a day job. In addition to her work with Cold Fairyland, she's released two solo albums in Taiwan, Ten Days in Magic Land and Bride of Legendin. Both CDs offer her take on 'world music' and have yet to be released on the Chinese mainland.
On stage the band performs her solo works and their own music, but the studio versions of Lin's solo work bear little relation to the band's live renditions. In concert, the tone is darker, much darker. "We want to express despair rather than hope," says Lin. "When both coexist, hope comes second; it is a comfort from pain."
Cold Fairyland's unique brand of music is miles away from the Britpop often favored by local bands. But Lin is at a loss to describe her style. "It belongs to Chinese-folk music mixed with other elements—it's hard for me to identify. We never follow a pattern," she says.
While many musicians resist labeling, Cold Fairyland is one of the few groups who legitimately cross genres — from one song to the next, their style is never the same. On stage, in just one set, they go from jazz improvisation to world music —stunning the audience with their seamless transformations.
Currently, the band plans to release a collection of tracks from the first two CDs, and is working on a CD for release in the US. Meanwhile Lin is preparing for her third-solo release, a Stone Age throw back, so to speak, employing the percussive sounds of wood and stone. Says Lin, "It will be more experimental and less accessible."
Once these projects are wrapped, the only thing that's certain, is that nothing is certain. "We are considering performing only instrumental tracks in a near future," says Lin.

Cold Fairyland will play on Aug 14 at Ark Live House, 15 North Block Xintiandi, 180 Taicang Lu (6326 8008)

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
Photo courtesy Hugo Hu www.huphoto.cdd.cn
August 2005 issue

"Many young, talented actors in Hong-Kong can do three flips and give three kicks in a row," said Kung-fu star Jackie Chan at the 8th Shanghai International Film Festival (SIFF) in June. "I am very impressed, but none of the producers want to bet on them!"
A major player in the film industry over the past four decades, Chan is getting a bit old for back flips but he knows the film business intimately. When Chan talks, people listen. And one of his biggest concerns is that this new generation of Chinese actors and directors lack industry support, without which, he fears, Chinese cinema will find it difficult to compete in both domestic and international markets.
"Nurturing new generations of moviemakers and actors should become a priority of the industry," stresses Chan. He hopes to set an example with his company JCE Movies, and has produced several films such as House of Fury and Rice Rhapsody with young actors and emerging directors. Despite his efforts, he remains worried about China's film industry: "I really don't know what will be the next step," says Chan.
One thing is clear; the future of the industry is likely to involve compromise on both sides, creative and commercial. True, the Chinese mainland is pulling ahead of Hong Kong in film production; the former released 212 films compared to 63 in Hong-Kong. But the challenges are the same. New filmmakers are under tremendous pressure from investors, stars and the media to play it safe. Few investors are willing to back novice directors, and even when they do they frequently insist on controlling the shape of the film. What's more, the field has become extremely competitive, just as investors have cooled towards the industry. As a result, young filmmakers have become more and more timid — one mistake and they're out of the biz.
Take award-winning Hong Kong filmmaker and actress Barbara Wong (Wong Chunchun), for example. Wong spent nine long months building a network of connections to finance her first project — A Carburetor for Suzy – some of whom wanted to make significant changes to her script. Says Wong, "You need to persevere and to talk to many producers, but shouldn't be influenced by others' opinions." Unlike her early non-mainstream work featuring relatively unknown actors, Wong's latest movie Six Strong Guys, starring Ekin Cheng and Chapman To, was a modest success at the box office.
But hiring 'names' is something of a doubled-edged sword. Many investors are more interested in the cast, than the script. For Chinese mainland director Lu Chuan, filmmaking is a power struggle. The first battle is to convince investors the project is commercially sound; the second is to maintain authority with often pompous and petulant stars. "I don't feel comfortable with stars," says Lu, recalling his directorial debut, Missing Gun, starring Jiang Wen. "I will never use a star that ruins the direction of my movies."
The Xinjiang-born director's second film, Kekexili, with a cast of unknown mainland actors, won many awards for its poignant story and minimalist cinematography. Indeed, awards are near essential for young directors. "The media are so picky," says Lu. "If you don't get an award you're a nobody." But making films to please festival judges, is no guarantee of commercial success.
Lu's latest project, Bian Jiang, will be shot in Shanghai in Shanghainese, and concerns a local teacher who travels to Xingjiang to teach English. To increase the film's commercial potential, Lu agreed to the producer's request to cast big names – on one condition, that he maintains full control of the process.

Special thanks to the organizers of the 8th Shanghai International Film Festival.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
August 2005 issue

Arguably, Germany gave birth to electronic music. As anyone who’s ever partied there can attest. Of course, electronic music has branched out considerably since its early days, from pounding house, to, well, Naomi’s unique brand of chill-out electronic pop. "Pappelallee is a slow and relaxed album," Nico Tobias, one-half of the Berlin-based band told that’s.
Before forming Naomi, Tobias and friend Bernd Lechler, gigged in separate bands, with little or no success. Fed up with straightforward songwriting (and no money), the pair decided to try their luck with electronic music.
"We started to play around with samples and drumloops and that's how Naomi started," says Lechler. Several tracks and remixes later, they perfected their now trademark sound with the release of their debut album Everyone Loves You in 2002. The single "Go", chosen for an Amnesty International TV spot and broadcast all over Germany, won instant success.
This second album, released in Shanghai by Hinote Records, is more personal and named after the street, "Pappelallee" or Poplar Alley" in Germany, where the band lives. The CD cover features a blue monkey face. Says Lechler, "There’s one song on the album called "King Kong Is Not Dead", and that title inspired our art designer to try out the monkey cover. Once you've seen it, you won't forget it."
"King Kong", along with "Fade Out" and "October", are as warm and consoling as a cup of coffee sipped in a comfortable armchair on a rainy day. Pop elements with acoustic guitars, melodeon, jazz ballads and a hint of reggae are thrown into an electronic universe. Vocals add another distinctive ingredient, and play an important part in the catchiness and accessibility of Naomi’s music. "Including vocals is natural for us," says Lechler. "We like to build instrumental tracks, but at the same time we are songwriters in our hearts, and that will always come through. Call us electronic songwriters."

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
July 2005 issue

Since the birth of the Chinese film industry a century ago, Shanghai has played a starring role in works by talented filmmakers from all over China, a part she continues today. In the last month alone, Hong Kong director Stanley Kwan (with Jackie Chan as executive producer) wrapped The Song of Everlasting Sorrow (Chang Hen Ge) at the Shanghai Film Studio in Songjiang District, and Chinese-American actress Vivian Wu announced plans to produce and star in a series of movies based in the city. Cheng Liang shares the seemingly endless fascination with Shanghai's distinctive personality. In person, he's the sort of guy who arrives for an interview wearing a checked shirt and a peaked cap, covering his prematurely balding pate. Just 25 years of age, he flashes a warm boyish smile. Indeed, at first he appears rather shy which is altogether fitting for this young man who spends a great deal of time communicating from behind a camera lens.
Shanghai-born, Cheng studied at the prestigious Beijing Film Academy where he produced 15 short films. Since then he's divided his time making TV commercials, TV series and mainstream movies, as well as directing more personal films, with Shanghai center stage. In his spare time, this Wellesian wunderkind writes scripts and novels.
Cheng's short films have been screened (and nominated for awards) at numerous film festivals, including The Toulouse and Cannes Festivals in France, and the Independent Short Film and Video Awards in Hong Kong). His most recent release, Network (Wang), was shown at theaters China-wide, earning big box office receipts. He's currently at work on a major film production in Beijing.

that's: Why did you become a filmmaker?
Leon Cheng: A lot of film directors make the transition from watching movies to making them after realizing that it is a good way to show off their talents – and attract girls. I wasn't really a film buff, but I did want the girls to like me.

that's: You're joking, of course.
LC: Well, I never dreamed about making films as a boy, but I did dream about Shanghai. At film festivals, many works are associated with a city or country; I'm a city filmmaker. There's Chen Kaige in Beijing; Zhang Yimou in the North West; John Woo in Hong Kong and Luc Besson in Paris; I shoot in Shanghai.

that's: Describe your style and theme.
LC: My influence is Shanghai. I'm passionate about the city. I think it's unique in China and the world. Growing up in Shanghai, we are exposed to eastern and western culture, and as a kid I absorbed it all. Beijing is different, more traditional. I live in the former French Concession; it's small but full of subtlety and beauty. This is what I like to film. In Beijing, people say Shanghai is too small. Sure there's more open space there, but in Shanghai, people are more independent. Maybe that's because unlike other Chinese, we think more like foreigners.

that's: Your short film On My Way Home, made when you were a student, is a love story, but one that could have been shot anywhere. What makes it typical of Shanghai?
LC: Shanghai people are very different. Especially the women. They don't want to live quiet lives. In this film, the girl is a very typical Shanghainese. Like most Shanghai girls she wants to make friends with foreigners, to be trendy and live a fashionable life. On the other hand, Shanghai boys are weak; they live ordinary lives. In the film, the boy must attend the University entrance exam; he doesn't have any choice. He's destined to be as ordinary as his parents.

that's: You also directed a famous romantic TV series in Shanghai, Red Apple Garden which relates the story of four boys and a girl.
LC: It wasn't good. I discovered the lead actress, Huang Sheng Yi, who's now one of the most famous actresses from Shanghai! She is in Stephen Chow's Kung Fu Hustle. Anyway, after graduating from the Beijing Film Academy, I wanted to live alone, without roommates, so I needed a lot of money. The plan was to bring a lot of pretty girls from the Beijing Film Academy to play in the TV series, and that's what happened. I brought in some girls and I got this job. One other thing, the TV series was shot by a Taiwanese director and I was the second-unit director. In the Chinese mainland we cannot credit a Taiwanese director, only locals can be credited so they used my name. The series was bad, but it was very hot in China at the time.

that's: You've directed a lot of commercials. Why?
LC: For the money! One or two days' work shooting an advertisement is equal to what I earned on my last two films. The money allows me to take a few months off to think about my own movies and write novels and scripts. It is worth doing.

that's: Tell us about your latest release, Network.
LC: The movie was shown in every city in China. It's about young people so addicted to online gaming that they neglect their studies, their family, everything. And they argue a lot. The producer gave the film this horrible name, Network, I suppose, because a lot of older people think that the Internet has a terrible influence on young people. The film is really about human relationships, but the producers wanted to send a message. In the end, they were right; the title attracted a large audience so I have to eat my words. I shot the film for RMB 1 million, one of the lowest budgets ever for a major studio release in China. But because of the so-called educational content (Chinese schools pushed every student under the age of 16 to see the movie at the discount price of RMB 5 per ticket) it earned between RMB 6-8 million.

that's: What's it like to work in the official Shanghai film community?
LC: The organization is okay, but there's a generation gap. On my first three films, the combined age of the producers was 180 years! While my cameraman and I add up to less than 50 years. So we had a few problems because young people see things differently. For example, we use a German-made camera, "Ariflex"; the producers had never even heard of it. They just don't know the techniques of modern filmmaking. They are more interested in making money for their children which is understandable, and I respect them for that.
that's: What changes would you like to see in the film industry?
LC: I'd like to see more independent film production. Each filmmaker should be allowed to make a movie in his own way. It doesn't require a lot of money; with my team I can shoot on a very low budget.

that's: Changing the industry won't be easy; the Shanghai film industry is said to be the most powerful in China.
LC: The Shanghai film studios formed the first major film center in China many, many years ago. Today it is still one of the leading studios, but not number one. That position belongs to Beijing – practically every good Chinese film is made there.

that's: What's your next project?
LC: My next project is co-directing a big-budget movie with female director Xu Jinglei in Beijing. Independently, I'm working on a movie that will be titled, Zoo Bride or Animal Baby. Yesterday, I was in Suzhou interviewing a girl who owns around 28 cats, five or six dogs and a lot of tortoises. She's crazy about animals, and she's kind of crazy herself, but beautiful too. She's a crazy beauty. I'm fascinated by all the attention she lavishes on animals. It's a very hot topic in China; more and more people are in love with their pets, especially girls. They don't love boys anymore or, don't even want to touch them. They love their dogs more! In the Zoo Bride the main character marries a foreigner, but they fight every day because there are too many animals in the family. I'd like to cast Gao Yuanyuan [lead actress in Shanghai Dreams, winner of the Jury Prize at the Cannes Film Festival] in the lead role, but now that she's famous she may be too expensive for me.

that's: Casting Shanghai as one of the 'lead characters' might cut costs.
LC: Actually, you are wrong. It costs a lot of money to shoot in Shanghai; no matter what the location, you have to pay authorization fees.

(c) that's Shanghai Magazine
Chief editor: Steven Crane
Photo courtesy Hugo Hu www.huphoto.cdd.cn
July 2005 issue