There’s a scene in Wasted Orient, a documentary about a Chinese punk band, where the singer is having a laugh with his band mates when suddenly he stands up, leans over a rail, and pukes his guts out. The camera moves in for a close-up of him heaving. When he stops, it pans down to show a pool of liquid and half-digested noodles. “This is beef noodles,” he says, laughing. Next scene: The band, obviously inebriated, playing a show, its young audience chanting, “We want beer! We want beer! We want beer!”
Filmmaker Kevin Fritz chose to film the band Joyside — a group of apathetic, binge-drinking youths if there ever was one — because he wanted to make a documentary showing what he believes is the real China. Not the China of gleaming skyscrapers and astonishing economic growth that’s romanticized in the mainstream media, but the China he inhabits: a place where there’re frequent power outages; where his computer is made from counterfeit hardware and it is impossible to find software that isn’t pirated; and where most young people, according to Fritz, are deeply unhappy.
“I always wanted to do a documentary to show China as it actually is, not how people with political and business aspirations hope it to be,” he says by phone from Beijing on Wednesday. “People are a little bit more confident and honest when they’ve had a little bit” to drink, “so I felt they (Joyside) would be the most forthright people to explain China to a foreign audience.”
Photo courtesy of Plexifilm
“I didn’t try to make anything overly intelligent. All I wanted to do is make a simple film and have something be honest. And basically tell all these other journalists — I’m not a journalist, I consider myself film editor — that this is a big middle finger to all of them because they make out China to be something that it’s not,” he says.
Wasted Youth follows Joyside on its first national tour, through gritty clubs and grittier cities. In most scenes, it seems, band members are either getting drunk or talking about how life sucks. When they sing, it’s about how they want beer and sex or about how life sucks. Joyside’s binge-drinking and apathy are so extreme that the band is a parody of itself, and the viewer gets the impression that they’re mugging for the camera.
According to Fritz, they weren’t. “They all acted the same as they did if the camera wasn’t on,” he says. “That’s the point right there: They’re trying to do their best and make rock ’n’ roll part of this society, but it fails over and over again for any number of reasons, the obvious ones I can’t go into [on the phone from China with a reporter in Taiwan].”
Fritz got his start as a filmmaker editing tractor maintenance videos. He applied for an overseas scholarship as a joke and ended up at Peking University. He met Joyside in 2003 and filmed the documentary in 2005 and 2006. Wasted Orient won the 2007 New Haven Underground Film Festival Best Picture award.
As a subject representing modern China, “I think they (Joyside) were great,” he says. “These guys can be quite gloomy.” Despite outward appearances, “I think there’s a lot of people [in China] who are very unhappy here. But I don’t think my film does justice to that feeling, because it might get me in trouble [with the government]. I only hint at it. I think it’s depressing.”
For Fritz, one of the film’s key scenes comes after the “I want beer” concert. Joyside’s former guitarist, who is Japanese, is standing on a bridge at night, smoking cigarettes, sipping on a tall bottle of beer, and talking in Mandarin about the state of Chinese rock ’n’ roll.
Then he switches to English: “OK, you play your rock ’n’ roll, I will play mine,” he says. “I will just play my guitar.”
He laughs, takes a swig from his beer, shrugs his shoulders, and walks away.
Wasted Orient screens tomorrow at 8:30pm at Paris Night Club (夜巴黎舞廳), 5F, 89, Wuchang St Sec 2, Taipei City (台北市武昌街二段89號5樓). The venue is above the IN89 (Hoover) movie theater in Ximending; and on May 4 at 2pm at Hsinchu Municipal Image Museum (新竹影像博物館), 65 Chungcheng Rd, Hsinchu City (新竹市中正路65號), tel: (03) 528-5840. Tickets are NT$200 or NT$150 with valid student ID. Copies of Wasted Orient can be purchased online at www.plexifilm.com. Joyside’s Web site is www.myspace.com/joyside.
The tropic of cancer bisects the city of Chiayi (嘉義). The morning heat is, predictably, intense. But the sky is blue and hued with promise. Travelers brave the heat to pose for photos outside the carriages lined up at the end of platform one. The pervasive excitement is understandable. HISTORIC RAILWAY The Alishan Forest Railway (阿里山森林鐵路) was engineered by the Japanese to carry timber from the interior to the coast. Construction began in 1906. In 1912, it opened to traffic, although the line has been lengthened several times since. As early as the 1930s, the line had developed a secondary function as
The Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) National Congress tomorrow will potentially be one of the most consequential in the party’s history. Since the founding of the DPP until the late 2000s or early 2010s, the party was riven with factional infighting, at times getting very ugly and very public. For readers curious to know more about the context of the factions and who they are, two previous columns explore them in depth: “The powerful political force that vanished from the English press,” April 23, 2024 and “Introducing the powerful DPP factions,” April 27, 2024. In 2008, a relatively unknown mid-level former
In Taiwan there are two economies: the shiny high tech export economy epitomized by Taiwan Semiconductor Manufacturing Co (TSMC, 台積電) and its outsized effect on global supply chains, and the domestic economy, driven by construction and powered by flows of gravel, sand and government contracts. The latter supports the former: we can have an economy without TSMC, but we can’t have one without construction. The labor shortage has heavily impacted public construction in Taiwan. For example, the first phase of the MRT Wanda Line in Taipei, originally slated for next year, has been pushed back to 2027. The government
July 22 to July 28 The Love River’s (愛河) four-decade run as the host of Kaohsiung’s annual dragon boat races came to an abrupt end in 1971 — the once pristine waterway had become too polluted. The 1970 event was infamous for the putrid stench permeating the air, exacerbated by contestants splashing water and sludge onto the shore and even the onlookers. The relocation of the festivities officially marked the “death” of the river, whose condition had rapidly deteriorated during the previous decade. The myriad factories upstream were only partly to blame; as Kaohsiung’s population boomed in the 1960s, all household