Last year was very distinctive for both director Jia Zhangke (
"That year, reality was more theatrical than most films," said Jia, talking about his Cannes competition film Unknown Pleasure (任逍遙).
PHOTO COURTESY OF JIA ZHANKE
In the film, these actual events serve as the background for the stories of three aimless young characters in the remote provincial town of Tatung. A reflection on China in the wake of modernization, the subject matter is nothing new to Chinese films. But Jia, 32, offers a fresh and distinctive style. Using his camera to poetically observe people and reveal their humanity, his three most acclaimed works have made his talent recognized internationally. Unknown Pleasure, which was produced by a Chinese-Japanese team with Japanese, French and Korean financing, was the only Chinese-language film competing at this year's Cannes Festival.
The film project began as a documentary shooting in Tatung, Shanxi Province, Jai said. "At first it was the bleak and lonely buildings that attracted me. When I saw the streets filled with lonely, directionless people, I became interested in them," Jia said at a press conference last week.
According to Jia, because of Beijing's one-child population control policy, "they have no brothers and sisters, and often feel lonely."
Unknown Pleasure, pronounced "ren xiao yao" in Mandarin, tells a tale of solitude. Jobless slackers Xiao Ji (Wu Qiong,
"I was born in 1970 at the end of the Cultural Revolution when China was beginning to develop. But for the new generation, the development is nothing new. A new way of living and new values are available and have been spread fast by the media. Yet for a lot of people, the change in living conditions has been much slower than national development. This expanding gap created a lot of pressure ... on these young people," Jia said.
Having had previous films screen at both the Berlin Film Festival, (Xiao Wu, 1997) and the Venice Film Festival, (Platform, 2000), Jia this time makes a step forward to Cannes, competing for the Palm d'Or. But his film style remains the same.
Unknown Pleasure relies more on images than plot. Jia and cinematographer Yu Lik-wai (
"I have a particular preference for long takes because it allows you to feel time in the film," Jia said. "Other Chinese directors ... have explored a lot in cinematography. And I feel that time has not been explored," he said. "I like to gaze at ordinary people. By gazing for a long time, you don't need to ask what they're doing, what they've been through, you can feel that time is sculpting this person," he added.
Jia's perspective and film style is reminiscent of Taiwanese filmmaker Hou Hsiao-hsien (
"It is true that the spirit of his films has inspired me a lot," Jia said. He said his favorite of Hou's film is All the Youthful Days (
Challenging the status quo always involves risk. None of Jia's films have been permitted to screen in China, although pirated VCDs of all of them are widely available. "I am waiting. Time will solve this problem," Jia said casually.
He shouldn't worry. With international credentials and a ticket to Cannes, Jia will find audiences in Japan, France, Korea and, of course, Taiwan.
Nine Taiwanese nervously stand on an observation platform at Tokyo’s Haneda International Airport. It’s 9:20am on March 27, 1968, and they are awaiting the arrival of Liu Wen-ching (柳文卿), who is about to be deported back to Taiwan where he faces possible execution for his independence activities. As he is removed from a minibus, a tenth activist, Dai Tian-chao (戴天昭), jumps out of his hiding place and attacks the immigration officials — the nine other activists in tow — while urging Liu to make a run for it. But he’s pinned to the ground. Amid the commotion, Liu tries to
A dozen excited 10-year-olds are bouncing in their chairs. The small classroom’s walls are lined with racks of wetsuits and water equipment, and decorated with posters of turtles. But the students’ eyes are trained on their teacher, Tseng Ching-ming, describing the currents and sea conditions at nearby Banana Bay, where they’ll soon be going. “Today you have one mission: to take off your equipment and float in the water,” he says. Some of the kids grin, nervously. They don’t know it, but the students from Kenting-Eluan elementary school on Taiwan’s southernmost point, are rare among their peers and predecessors. Despite most of
A pig’s head sits atop a shelf, tufts of blonde hair sprouting from its taut scalp. Opposite, its chalky, wrinkled heart glows red in a bubbling vat of liquid, locks of thick dark hair and teeth scattered below. A giant screen shows the pig draped in a hospital gown. Is it dead? A surgeon inserts human teeth implants, then hair implants — beautifying the horrifyingly human-like animal. Chang Chen-shen (張辰申) calls Incarnation Project: Deviation Lovers “a satirical self-criticism, a critique on the fact that throughout our lives we’ve been instilled with ideas and things that don’t belong to us.” Chang
Feb. 10 to Feb. 16 More than three decades after penning the iconic High Green Mountains (高山青), a frail Teng Yu-ping (鄧禹平) finally visited the verdant peaks and blue streams of Alishan described in the lyrics. Often mistaken as an indigenous folk song, it was actually created in 1949 by Chinese filmmakers while shooting a scene for the movie Happenings in Alishan (阿里山風雲) in Taipei’s Beitou District (北投), recounts director Chang Ying (張英) in the 1999 book, Chang Ying’s Contributions to Taiwanese Cinema and Theater (打鑼三響包得行: 張英對台灣影劇的貢獻). The team was meant to return to China after filming, but