Review - Red Dust

September 19, 2021
 
Red Dust – Taiwan, 1990
 

Yim Ho’s 1990 film Red Dust is about a young woman named Shen Shao-Hua (Brigitte Lin) whose father locks her in the attic for a number of years. Exactly how long her imprisonment is, we’re not told, but it is long enough for her to attempt suicide, as well as adopt some of the mannerisms of a pack rat upon gaining her freedom. I mention this right away because it automatically casts her as either traumatized or eccentric, and since the movie does not explore the latter, I’ll go with the former. Prior to her imprisonment, which only ends after the death of her father, she appears to have had a boyfriend - it is he we see trying to scale the Shen family gate and screaming for Shao-Hua to be released in the opening scene – and she seems to have had a best friend named Yeuh-Feng (Maggie Cheung), though they curiously avoid the subject of her psychological abuse almost completely. Perhaps this is because neither the director nor the screenwriter, Sanmao (a.k.a. Echo Chen Ping), truly knows what to do with it. It is as if they hope we simply forget about it. After all, they clearly did.
 
Flash forward a few years – again, exactly how many is not clear – and Shao-Hua is living in a dinky apartment and making a living as a writer of romance novels, one of which the film needlessly shows us several moments from. One day a man named Chang Neng-Tsai (Chin Han) shows up outside her door requesting an audience with her and proclaiming himself to be one of her fans. Now, I have no doubt that both men and women read the kinds of novels Shao-Hua writes, but I seriously doubt people like Neng-Tsai are her target audience. The man is no longer a romantic teenager, and his job certainly does not really allow him much time to devote to reading anything other than official reports. And before you start thinking he’s the same person we see trying to break her out in the opening scene, which would have made a great deal of sense, that character reappears briefly as a happily married man with a baby on the way. Therefore, what’s needed is a simple scene, just a quick glance of Neng-Tsai sitting in a chair reading one of her stories. Alas, we don’t even get that.
 
What we get instead is a mixture of espionage and romance, with neither one receiving the focus it requires. We’re asked to simply accept that the couple is in love, something I would have had an easier time doing had Shao-Hua not put a thick scarf over their heads during a supposedly romantic moment dancing and Neng-Tsai not started exchanging flirtatious glances with Yeuh-Feng and holding hands with both of them as they stroll through a park. The film does a better job of depicting the danger and violence that existed during the years of Japanese occupation. In a powerful moment, we witness Shao-Hua leave her father’s home and encounter a parade of Japanese soldiers making their way through the city. The image is striking. She’d traded one prison for another.
 
There’s a lot at stake for these two characters, and yet the film takes detours that dampen its emotional impact. Scenes involving Shao-Hua and Yeuh-Feng are often treated as respites from the chaos, and as such distract rather than entertain. There’s also the little matter of Neng-Tsai’s separation from Shao-Hua. Although perfectly realistic under such circumstances and setting up a horrific scene of retribution, his absence takes away much of the film’s power, sending Shao-Hua into the nervous, bumbling arms of a character who it is hard to believe she’d ever give the time of day to – not even out of necessity. Meanwhile, all we’re told about Neng-Tsai – despite the fact the he narrates the film – is that he has become a man without a future.
 
There’s an old adage about sending audiences home happy with an exciting finale, the implication being that an audience will forget the disappointment they felt earlier if the ending packs a wallop. It is this sentiment that has given us the now standard climactic action scene, and it is clear from reviews of substandard films that ended well that for some people that is enough. Suffice to say, Red Dust has one of these endings. In fact, its final chapter convincingly portrays what it must have been like for people whose only hopes of escaping persecution seemed to be boarding the final ship out of China in the last day of Chang Kai-shek’s rule. And yet the film cannot even get this moment right, for in the madness that erupts we are asked to believe that someone as experienced as Neng-Tsai would believe that a ticket for one would actually work for two, and so as the two lovers etch closer to their destination, there is little suspense as to what will eventually transpire.
 
Red Dust was obviously an inspiration for Ang Lee’s Lust, Caution, and when it focuses on Neng-Tsai and the impact his decisions have on his and Shao-Hua’s future, it can be quite powerful. In fact, what is really wrong with the film is its perspective. Simply put, it is shown through the wrong eyes, for while Shao-Hua’s story has elements of tragedy, she is the less intriguing character. Yes, she’s put through the proverbial ringer, but her drama is frequently undercut by light-hearted conversations and elements of comedy. It is Neng-Tsai whose cold, broken stare drives the film. This is a man fully aware that his actions will inevitably result in the loss of the one thing that keeps him going, and yet carry on, he does, marching into a poisonous web of his own design. It’s fascinating, and yet our view of his fate is obscured by the film’s insistence on holding Shao-Hua up as some kind of national hero. And here is perhaps the film’s most fatal flaw. As portrayed in Red Dust, especially in its final scene, she is a rather mediocre writer. (on DVD and Blu-ray in Asia)
 
2 and a half stars
 
*Red Dust is in Mandarin with occasionally erroneous English subtitles.
*The film won eight awards at the 1990 Golden Horse Awards, including Best Picture, Best Director, Best Actress, and Best Supporting Actress.

Review - Behind the Yellow Line

December 3, 2015

Behind the Yellow Line – Hong Kong, 1984

When I first began watching films from Hong Kong, they had a terrible reputation. There was a belief that they were poorly dubbed (an ongoing gag in the Police Academy movies), that the scripts were often lacking in character development and rife with moments of such incredulity that dramas unintentionally became comedies, and that producers of the film had so little commitment to foreign audiences that subtitles were often impossible to understand. Taylor Wong’s schizophrenic 1984 film Behind the Yellow Line does nothing to dispel these beliefs.

The film stars the late Leslie Cheung as a social misfit named Paul Chan, and in its opening moments, we see him trying his best to get to work on his first day at a new job. The scene is somewhat promising, for it is reminiscent of the kinds of scenes that often signal that we’re in for a screwball comedy, one replete with physical gags and humorous facial expressions, both of which Mr. Cheung could do extremely well. Unfortunately, this is not the case. It is during this mad rush to get to work that Paul bumps into a young woman named Monica (Maggie Cheung), and it is obvious from the start that he has fallen victim to one of Cupid’s arrows. So just what does a shy, socially awkward man like Paul do when love finds him? Well, in this film, he acts like an immature high school student – he follows her from a distance, ducks when she looks in his direction, and becomes tongue-tied whenever he has an actual opportunity to speak to her. It’s as if he has become an adolescent stalker.

Just why Monica doesn’t report him to the subway’s security detail is beyond me, but perhaps it has something to do with her own lack of good judgment. In an early scene, we learn that she is in a relationship with her boss, a married man, and is therefore justifiably miserable. Eventually, Paul and Monica begin dating. The problem is that the film never truly establishes their connection. Instead of dialogue that addresses the awkwardness of their initial meeting and Paul’s subsequent childish behavior, we get a long montage of boyfriend-girlfriend moments that is meant to placate any skepticism on the audience’s part. Just trust us, the film seems to be saying. They really do like each other. Well, of course he does, but why does she? But I digress. Soon Paul is talking about marriage and buying a house, while also displaying moments of jealousy and pouting when he doesn’t get his way. In truth, I never rooted for the relationship, and buy-in is a must for a film of this sort to work.

Had the film devoted more time to building up the relationship, it may have been able to overcome its earlier deficiencies. However, it deviates from the romance far too often, and in these moments, its attempts at quirkiness and comedy simply fall flat. In one of its attempts to be humorous, the film adds a completely unnecessary character named Anita (Anita Mui). In Anita’s first scene, she embarrasses Paul on the Hong Kong subway by pretending that she is a sex worker and Paul one of her patrons. Why the film’s five writers thought such moments would be funny is beyond me. From then on, Anita pops up at the most inconvenient times and the most annoying of locations - in a department store, during a driving test, even at his home. I suppose Anita is meant to provide an alternative to Monica, yet the film never firmly establishes her feelings for Paul, not does it give Paul any reason to like her.

However, the film’s most egregious sin is Monica’s inconsistencies. The film makes Monica a character that blows hot and cold, one that can go from loving to destructive in the blink of an eye. In fact, in one scene, we see her lying next to the man she supposedly loves and intends to marry, and in just a few seconds, she’s breaking up with him. It’s as though no one associated with this film had ever heard of build up or establishing a motivation.

Here are a few other things that simply didn’t work for me – jokes about gorilla urine, conversations between Paul’s parents concerning their son’s sex habits, the threat of date rate used as comedy, break-ups that occur only because one person stands and watches the other person leave while looking dumbfounded and petrified, rudeness used as a device for humor, and the film’s entire insane finale, which is supposed to show once and for all how destined they are to be together. Instead, it comes across as slightly cruel and somewhat pointless. After all, even after it, I still didn’t care about their relationship.

All of this makes Behind the Yellow Line a slog to get through. It is a film that never truly finds its footing and seems content with characters that were not fully thought out or realized. And this is a missed opportunity. Leslie Cheung, Maggie Cheung, and Anita Mui are all talented performers, as they have demonstrated in other films. Behind the Yellow Line simply never gives them anything to work with. Sadly, they seem to be playing caricatures rather than characters, and no amount of hard work on their part can make up for that. (on DVD and Blu-ray)

2 stars

*Behind the Yellow Line is in Cantonese with English subtitles. The subtitles are not always understandable.

Review - Center Stage

June 6, 2013

Center Stage – Hong Kong, 1991

Stanley Kwan’s fascinating film Center Stage is a film within a film within a film. It is first a biopic about the short life of one of China’s greatest silent film actresses, Ruan Ling-yu, who rose to fame around 1930 and committed suicide just five years later at the age of twenty-four. Parts of the film resemble a documentary. In these parts, we hear real figures from the silent era, now in their later years, talk about Ms. Ruan and the times in which she lived. At other times the film is about the making of itself. At one point, we see Kwan having to reshoot a close-up of Maggie Cheung because the camera clearly picked up her breathing during Ruan’s wake. All told, we are watching an exploration of who Ruan Ling-yu was, a presentation of what people believe happened to her, and - if one looks between the lines – a thinly-veiled commentary on the media and the destructive power of sensationalism.

The film explores two aspects of Ruan’s life in great detail, and in doing so, it depicts her as a woman who was strong professionally, yet somewhat weak personally. At a time when actresses were often typecast based on their looks or previous roles, Ruan was able to branch out and play a range of characters. This was partly by design. In an early scene, a group of movie executives, including two legendary directors named Pu and Sun, sit around a bath house and plot a course of action that will culminate in Ruan Ling-yu being seen as an actress of great versatility. The plan is for her to play a prostitute in Reminiscences of Peking and a regular person in Wayside Flowers. Later, Ruan will extend her range further by getting herself cast in more modern roles. In this part of the film, we witness Ruan’s professionalism and see examples of the kindness she showed to those also in the movie-making business. We see nothing with even the slightest hint of indignity.

In her personal life, Ruan was involved with two men. The first was Chang Ta-Min, who was an immature, vindictive playboy whose vices included gambling and women. The two of them met when Ruan was sixteen. They briefly flirted with the idea of marriage but eventually settled into a relationship that had no possibility of bringing either one of them real happiness. They lived together, but slept in separate beds, and Ruan eventually became tired of taking care of him. When their inevitable separation occurred, Ta-Min demanded $300 a month in “separation” money for two years. This sum was negotiated down to $100 a month and paid by the second man in Ruan’s life, Tang Chi-shan. Unfortunately, he was only slightly better than Ta-Min, and their relationship left them both vulnerable to charges of scandal and impropriety.

There’s much to admire about the film, from its authentic recreation of 1930’s Shanghai to its equally mesmerizing recreation of Ruan’s films. I was also intrigued by many of the cast’s conversations about the people in Ruan’s life. Not only do these conversations answer many the audience’s questions as they come up, but they also provide a glimpse into how much society’s perceptions of right and wrong have both changed and remained the same. Also commendable are the performances of the cast. Tony Leung is quite effective as Tsai Chu-sheng, a director and the possible object of Ruan’s affection, and Lawrence Ng is equally impressive as Ta-Min, a young man undone by his personal weaknesses.  

Maggie Cheung is simply a revelation in the film, and the film demands a lot from her. First, she must portray a believable version of herself on screen, not a cautious or exaggerated one that the audience would see through instantly. Here, she comes across as inquisitive, slightly playful, and dedicated to the film she is making – all very authentic. Then she must play Ruan, faults and all, and adequately display those qualities that have made her such an unforgettable figure. Early on Ruan is described as being charming, enchanting, and sexy, all qualities on display in Cheung’s performance. Finally, Cheung must portray the characters that Ruan played in her movies. She does this by altering her normal acting style and matching Ruan’s movements precisely. Some may dismiss this as simple mimicry, but it is actually much harder than it looks.

I believe it is impossible to watch this film and not want to rush out and find the films it references. However, this may be one of the few biopics about someone that there is very little left of. It is said that only eight of Ruan’s films still exist, and many of them are said to be in very poor condition. Luckily, one of the ones that survives is her final film, New Woman or, as it is more commonly called, The Goddess. It is also the film that turned the media against her, and viewers can judge for themselves whether the film was as incendiary as they accused it of being. There is also some dispute over Ruan’s suicide note referencing the poisonous effects of gossip, which some people suggest was written by Tang to cover up his abuse of Ruan. Perhaps this is one of those cases of the legend being printed instead of the facts. Even so, the film is moving, fascinating, and eye-opening. It is about a time and a person that could easily have been lost to time and history. That she is remembered as fondly as she is today is a testament to her talent and her importance to Chinese films. (on DVD and Blu-ray)

4 stars

*Center Stage is in Cantonese, Mandarin, and English with white English subtitles. Alas, some of the subtitles are hard to read.