Imagine what literary classics such as George Orwell’s 1984, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s The Gulag Archipelago or Vasily Grossman’s Life and Fate would have been like had the authors consulted with state censors and bureaucrats before launching their creative efforts.
This is now increasingly happening within the movie industry. Hollywood and other, smaller, bastions of the silver screen are bowing to pressure from China in order to access the world’s second-largest movie market after the US.
As the New York Times reported on Monday, moviemakers seeking access to China’s market have two choices: either avoid subjects that could hurt Beijing’s sensibilities and submit a final product for Beijing’s “approval,” or they co-produce with a Chinese company and do some shooting in China to increase their Chinese appeal.
In both instances, censorship becomes an inevitable component of the final product. So much so, that silence from the State Administration of Radio, Film and Television (SARFT) can be construed as an answer. It has become unacceptable for US fighter aircraft to engage in a dogfight with MiGs on film, which Paramount Pictures experienced with its new 3D version of the classic Top Gun. The remake of Red Dawn is another example.
In another example, the Times has reported that filming in China for Iron Man 3 has been taking place under the “watchful eye” of Chinese bureaucrats (so much for executive producers) who were “invited” to the set and asked to provide “advice” on creative content.
This should serve as a serious warning to Taiwanese filmmakers who increasingly cooperate with China on movie productions.
This has long been in the making. When the Taipei Times sat down with Taiwanese producer Will Tiao (刁毓能) in August 2010 to discuss his movie Formosa Betrayed, he already mentioned the risks of growing Chinese influence in Hollywood. Sadly, producers and movie studios do not seem to be as resilient as Tiao expected, and that’s bad news for all of us.
Director Steven Soderbergh of Traffic fame can use all the euphemisms he wants (he likens the participation of Chinese censors to “people’s interpretations” of one’s story), but the more we sacrifice our ideals, or simply good elements of storytelling, on the altar of the Chinese market, the poorer the entertainment industry will become.
As millionaire moviemakers and publishers yield to the great wall of censorship, those few Chinese artists who dare to speak the truth and who stand on the side of justice will feel all the more abandoned, all because of our inexcusable appetite for capital.
The industry already suffers from a near-terminal dearth of freshness and ideas. By prostituting themselves to the SARFT, the Communist Youth League and the Women’s Federation — not to mention wealthy Chinese who make the “right” productions possible — moviemakers risk forsaking all claims to artistic integrity and being purveyors of truth and justice.
Granted, like literature, not every movie must serve a purpose, and productions can be pure entertainment. However, think of the classics, those movies that stay with us. Very few are pure entertainment. In most cases, true classics become so because they speak to something that lies deep inside us all. That is what gives Hollywood its magic, not computer-generated special effects.
Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) caucus whip Fu Kun-chi (傅?萁) has caused havoc with his attempts to overturn the democratic and constitutional order in the legislature. If we look at this devolution from the context of a transition to democracy from authoritarianism in a culturally Chinese sense — that of zhonghua (中華) — then we are playing witness to a servile spirit from a millennia-old form of totalitarianism that is intent on damaging the nation’s hard-won democracy. This servile spirit is ingrained in Chinese culture. About a century ago, Chinese satirist and author Lu Xun (魯迅) saw through the servile nature of
In their New York Times bestseller How Democracies Die, Harvard political scientists Steven Levitsky and Daniel Ziblatt said that democracies today “may die at the hands not of generals but of elected leaders. Many government efforts to subvert democracy are ‘legal,’ in the sense that they are approved by the legislature or accepted by the courts. They may even be portrayed as efforts to improve democracy — making the judiciary more efficient, combating corruption, or cleaning up the electoral process.” Moreover, the two authors observe that those who denounce such legal threats to democracy are often “dismissed as exaggerating or
Monday was the 37th anniversary of former president Chiang Ching-kuo’s (蔣經國) death. Chiang — a son of former president Chiang Kai-shek (蔣介石), who had implemented party-state rule and martial law in Taiwan — has a complicated legacy. Whether one looks at his time in power in a positive or negative light depends very much on who they are, and what their relationship with the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) is. Although toward the end of his life Chiang Ching-kuo lifted martial law and steered Taiwan onto the path of democratization, these changes were forced upon him by internal and external pressures,
The Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) caucus in the Legislative Yuan has made an internal decision to freeze NT$1.8 billion (US$54.7 million) of the indigenous submarine project’s NT$2 billion budget. This means that up to 90 percent of the budget cannot be utilized. It would only be accessible if the legislature agrees to lift the freeze sometime in the future. However, for Taiwan to construct its own submarines, it must rely on foreign support for several key pieces of equipment and technology. These foreign supporters would also be forced to endure significant pressure, infiltration and influence from Beijing. In other words,
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