Goddess: Center Stage

She was one the biggest stars of her generation but the press was out to get her.  Eerily, Ruan Lingyu’s short life paralleled the trajectories of her most tragic roles.  Her career was marked by scandal, making her story a natural for big screen adaptation.  Mixing narrative with documentary snippets, Stanley Kwan She was one the biggest stars of her generation but the press was out to get her.  Eerily, Ruan Lingyu’s short life paralleled the trajectories of her most tragic roles.  Her career was marked by scandal, making her story a natural for big screen adaptation.  Mixing narrative with documentary snippets, Stanley Kwan sympathetically profiles Ruan in Center Stage (trailer here), which fittingly concludes the Asia Society’s Goddess film series tomorrow.

There are two divas in Stage, Ruan and Lily Li, played by two divas of a later generation: Maggie Cheung and Carina Lau, respectively.  A gifted actress, Ruan is often called the Greta Garbo of Republican China.  She gained fame as a romantic heroine, but is now best remembered for her more politically charged films.  Unfortunately, she fell for the wrong man at an early age.  Arguably, it was a mistake Ruan significantly repeated once, perhaps twice.  Ultimately, her ne’er do well ex would serve as the media’s willing tool.

Stage can be quite maddening, because it recreates scenes from many of Ruan’s films that are now considered lost.  Many of them look like they were really darn good, but we can only hope they eventually turn up in a mysterious film vault someplace.  Naturally, Kwan also gives the audience a behind-the-scenes look at the surviving classics, Goddess and New Women, which kicked off the Asia Society’s retrospective last month.

Cheung is not a bad likeness for Ruan, perfectly expressing her brittle vulnerability.  Her Ruan struggles to maintain a placid façade, but she obviously feels the sleights of others on a very deep level.  Indeed, screenwriter Peggy Chiao clearly ascribes a great deal of her success as an actress to her remarkable empathy.  It is a star turn from Cheung, justly awarded best actress at the 42^nd Berlinale.

Kwan’s talking head segments, both archival and original black-and-white interviews with cast and crew, give the film a stop-and-start rhythm that can be distracting.  Still, much of this commentary is rather interesting stuff, including the final sit-down granted by Li Lily, Ruan’s friend and fellow diva (represented in the Goddess series with Daybreak).  Cheung’s sympathetic take on Ruan adds an intriguing meta-dimension to the film.  Her candid segments also serve as a reminder how striking she is, considering how pale and drawn she often looks when appearing in character as Ruan.

At well over two and a half hours, Stage truly brims with ambition.  Sort of the HK equivalent of Jessica Lange’s Frances Farmer bio-pic, it is a finely crafted period production that should satisfy Ruan’s fans with its earnest ardor for their star.  Viewers will come to feel like they understand the exquisitely morose idol, yet suspect there is something about her that will always remain unknowable.  Anchored by a great lead performance, Center Stage is highly recommended for fans of Ruan, Cheung, and Hong Kong cinema in general when it screens tomorrow (12/8), wrapping up the Goddess film series at the Asia Society.

Goddess: Ashes of Time Redux

Ouyang Feng is an agent for freelance swordsmen looking for some dirty work.  You could call him a cutthroat’s cutthroat.  Likewise, when it comes to love, he is a cynic’s cynic.  If you suppose a woman was the cause of his hardened heart, you would be correct.  It is a logical guess, considering Wong Kar Wai’s Ashes of Time Redux (trailer here) screens this Friday as part of the Asia Society’s film series Goddess: Chinese Women on Screen.

Instead of adapting Louis Cha’s epic novel The Eagle-Shooting Heroes, Wong conceived of an original pseudo-prequel that can be fully appreciated without prior familiarity with its inspiration.  Every year, the swashbuckler Huang Yaoshi pays a visit to his friend Ouyang’s desert home.  Both are men with complicated pasts.  For his latest visit, Huang brings a bottle of supposedly enchanted wine that is said to induce forgetfulness.  Huang imbibes.  Ouyang does not.

After Huang disappears, apparently under the effects of the potent drink, Ouyang carries on with business.  However, his next clients are somehow involved with his soul-sick friend.  Clan leader Murong Yang recruits Ouyang to murder Huang in retribution for spurning his sister, Murong Yin.  Soon thereafter, the sister tries to hire Ouyang to murder her compulsively controlling brother.  In a hallucinatory evening (which is par for the course in Ashes), Ouyang realizes Yin and Yang are the same divided person.

The seasons pass, but it is hard judge time in the desert.  Ouyang recruits a wandering swordsman to defend the village from a band of outlaws.  His skills are formidable, but he is rapidly losing his sight.  The man’s one desire is to see his native land once again before going completely blind.  Eventually, Ouyang also yearns for home, where the woman he once loved lives as his brother’s wife.

Redux is the restored and reworked de facto director’s cut of Ashes Wong oversaw when he realized how many dubious copies of the film were in circulation.  Featuring fight choreography by Sammo Hung, it is quite stylistically daring by martial art film standards, bordering on the outright experimental.  There is indeed a fair amount of combat, but the action is rendered impressionistically blurred, almost like a series of freeze frames.

As promised, there are also several divas, including Brigitte Lin in sort of a dual role as the Murongs.  Although she is always recognizable, Lin brings a conviction to both personas that keeps the audience off-balance.  Yet, it is Maggie Cheung who really lowers the diva boom as the woman from Ouyang’s past.  Emotionally devastating but never indulgent or showy, it might represent the best second for second cameo ever.  As a bonus, Charlie Young is a genuinely haunting presence as the peasant girl out to avenge her brother.

While the film’s color palette reportedly varies depending on its various editions, any retrospective of cinematographer Christopher Doyle’s work ought to start or finish with Ashes.  The golds and burnt-umbers of Redux are absolutely striking.  Frankly, Ashes Redux is a daring classic of the genre that might be new to a lot of people who might think they have seen it already (like a wuxia Bladerunner).  Highly recommended, Ashes of Time Redux screens this Friday (12/7) at the Asia Society.

Goddess: Two Stage Sisters

Only a handful of films were produced in China during the Cultural Revolution.  While cinema was generally considered another manifestation of western decadence, it is not like people had the time for them anyway while they toiled in re-education camps.  At least, one of the final films leading up to the Gang of Four’s ascendency was an ideologically charged crowd pleaser, featuring a memorable star turn from era survivor Xie Fang. Fittingly, Xie Jin’s Two Stage Sisters screens this coming Tuesday as part of the Asia Society’s continuing film series, Goddess: Chinese Women on Screen.

Life on the road with an itinerant opera company was a hard proposition in 1930’s provincial China, but it still beat the alternate for a young indentured tongyangxi widow.  Desperate to escape her in-laws, Chunhua signs on with the Yue Opera, thanks to the support of Yuehong and her father, the company’s artistic director.  Unfortunately, illness exacerbated by stress cuts short the master thespian’s life, leaving the two sworn sisters vulnerable to the schemes of the company’s oily business manager, A’Xin.

Pretending it is a great opportunity for the two stage sisters, A’Xin sells their contract to Tang, a Shanghai theater owner, who recognizes exploitable talent when he sees it.  In due course, the duo becomes a popular attraction, but they eventually grow apart.  Yuehong tries to make the best of the situation by marrying Tang, while Chunhua falls in with a revolutionary leftist clique.  While her politics cause Chunhua no end of grief in the short term, being intimately associated with Tang and his cronies turns out to be more dangerous over the long run.

Stage is a strange film, starting off much like a traditional Hollywood backstage melodrama about competing ingénues.  However, it segues into some decidedly unsubtle political propaganda.  The exploiters and the exploited are presented in no uncertain terms and we are told by Chunhua’s Marxist mentor the only remedy is revolution.  Yet, Xie Jin still found himself facing criticism for implying reconciliation can be possible between the classes.  How scandalous—and perilous.

Without question, Stage is a reflection of the times and turbulent conditions during which it was produced.  Still, it has a spark of something typical propaganda grind-em-outs lack.  Dare we call it a soul?  Indeed, the evolving relationship between Xie’s Chunhua and Cao Yindi’s Yuehong is genuinely complex and ultimately rather touching.  As Sang Shuihua, the fading diva Tang spurns, Shangguan Yunzhu also defies stereotypes, getting some of the film’s juiciest moments of tragedy.

Surprisingly for a film produced under extreme artistic restraints, Stage is rather visually stylish, boasting some impressive period sets and strikingly colored skies.  Granted, it is hard not to scoff when Chunhua pledges only to perform revolutionary operas, because let’s face it, she will not have any choice in the matter.  Yet, there is an unlikely gentleness to Two Stage Sisters that could make it a compatible pairing with Ozu’s Floating Weeds.  Recommended for China watchers and those with a fondness for sweeping morality plays, Two Stage Sisters screens this coming Wednesday (11/28) as part of the Asia Society’s wonderfully rich Goddess series.

Goddess: Daybreak

Like Ruan Lingyu, Li Lili was a true diva of silent Chinese cinema.  If you think former diva status would not be particularly convenient during the Cultural Revolution, your suspicions are correct. Having upstaged Madame Mao in the 1930’s hardly helped either.  Yet, there should have been no complaints with the ideological content of Sun Yu’s Daybreak, which screens this Tuesday as part of the Asia Society’s current film series, Goddess: Chinese Women on Screen.

Ling Ling is a fresh faced country girl, who comes to Shanghai with her man in search of employment.  Briefly, things look promising when they find work at a yarn factory.  Unfortunately, trouble with the law forces him to ship out as a merchant seaman, leaving her vulnerable to the city’s predatory elements.

First, Ling Ling is drugged and raped by the playboy factory owner.  Later, when wondering lost through the city, she is sold into a brothel by an ostensive protector.  It might be a bad business, but Ling Ling adapts to it, reasserting command of her illicit destiny as a high-priced prostitute, but with both a heart of gold and a raised political consciousness.  Dispensing aid to her struggling neighbors while conspiring with subversive elements, Ling Ling truly becomes a new woman.

Of course, it ends tragically.  All the best propaganda does.  Although Daybreak is not as stylishly realized as Wu Yonggang’s The Goddess, the revolutionary hooker is certainly a much more attractive radicalizing agent than the clenched-fist factory worker.  The camera absolutely loves her, and just like Ruan, she knew how to milk a death scene for all its worth.

It is not hard to see why Li was such a Diva of the silent era (in fact, she was once part of a theatrical tandem known as the Four Divas).  Her Ling Ling is cute, innocent, and eventually saucy, but nobody’s dummy.  Despite all the wrongs done to Ling Ling, she is never a mere victim in Daybreak, which is a major reason why it remains such a notable work.

A product of its time, Daybreak is an interesting but imperfect film, whereas Li’s story is absolutely fascinating.  China’s last living silent film star, she led an epic life ways both great and terrifying.  Indeed, it raises a great historical “what if” question.  In the way we wonder about Hitler’s artistic frustrations, perhaps if Lan Ping (a.k.a. Jiang Qing) had been a better actress, the suffering of millions might have been avoided.  Recommended in its own right mostly for Li Lili’s luminous presence, Daybreak screens this Tuesday night (11/20) at the Asia Society, as their can’t miss Goddess series continues.

Goddess: New Women

Could a woman have it all in 1930’s Shanghai?  Not even close.  Wei Ming will try, but a vindictive former lover and an exploitative press will cost her dearly.  An eerie case of art foreshadowing life, Cai Chusheng’s New Women became one of Ruan Lingyu’s best known films, partly for reasons of tragic symmetry.  Appropriately, it screens this Sunday as part of the Asia Society’s new film series Goddess: Chinese Women on Screen, largely inspired by Ruan herself.

Often called the “Chinese Greta Garbo” Ruan appears to be something like the Chinese Joan Crawford in New Women’s early scenes. A music teacher at a progressive women’s school, she has written a debut novel so promising, a publishing house actually buys it, even though she is a woman.  Her only problem is Dr. Wang, a well-heeled but unwelcomed suitor, who already happens to be married.  Stung by her rejection, Wang bribes Wei’s headmistress, hoping sudden unemployment will force her into his arms.  For Wei, it could not have come at a worse time.

Like anyone, Wei Ming made mistakes in her life.  Eloping with the wrong man was one of them.  When he abandoned her and their baby, Wei was forced to send Wei Xiaohong to live with her aunt.  After years apart, Wei is finally about to take custody of the daughter she loves but never met.  However, when the young girl arrives, she exhibits rather worrisome symptoms.  Though quickly diagnosed, Wei and her sister lack the funds to pay for her hospitalization.

It is hard to imagine anything as manipulative as dying child and Cai duly milks it for all it is worth.  He innocently abetted by Chen Sujuan, who is absolutely heartbreaking as the young girl.  Yet, it is Ruan’s extended final exit that truly dominates the film, ranking with Garbo’s famous scene in Camille.

In some ways, New Women is surprisingly modern for a silent film, employing some rather feverish montages and displaying an unmistakable sexual frankness.  Moreover, its unflattering depiction of scandal-mongering journalists is just as timely here and now as it was in Republican China, but this led the press to vociferously turn against New Women and Ruan, by extension.  It is also an example of one of Cai’s more overtly leftist films, ending with a Soviet style march of women workers, not so subtly warning of things to come.  Sadly, it would be co-star Zheng Junli, a lifetime progressive, who was most in need of that warning, considering how greatly he would suffer during the Cultural Revolution.

Ruan was a beautiful, hauntingly expressive artist, with a presence of orchid-like fragility.  While Goddess is a fuller, more satisfying film, her gifts are readily apparent throughout New Women.   Recommended for silent movie buffs, students of early feminist film, and those who just appreciate a good weepy tragedy, New Women screens this Sunday (11/11) at the Asia Society as part of their must-see Goddess series, which starts with the title film this Friday (11/9).

Goddess: Ruan Lingyu, a True Diva of Chinese Cinema

Ruan Lingyu was often called the “Chinese Greta Garbo,” but unfortunately Marilyn Monroe might be a more tragically apt comparison.  Dogged by scandal, the celebrated actress would take her own life in 1935.  Awareness of her fate adds even more poignancy to her work in Wu Yonggang’s The Goddess, a classic of silent Chinese cinema, which inspired the title of the Asia Society’s latest film series, Goddess: Chinese Women on Screen.  Fittingly, it launches their retrospective this Friday.

Ruan’s character has no name.  Nor does she have a husband, but she has Shuiping, a baby boy for whom she will do anything.  With no other resources, the woman is forced to sell herself on Shanghai’s predatory streets.  There are no codes or euphemisms here.  She is a prostitute, plain and simple.  Operating outside the law, she has no recourse when “the boss” appoints himself her pimp.  While she tries to escape his clutches, he threatens to take the only bright spot in her life: Shuiping.

Nevertheless, as Shuiping matures, his mother sets aside money at great risk to pay for his education, at great personal risk.  Unfortunately, intolerant parents complain to the progressive headmaster, claiming the presence of a prostitute’s son would threaten their children’s morals.

Released the year before Ruan’s sad demise, Goddess is arguably like an Oprah pick for 1930’s Shanghai.  It forthrightly deals with issues of gender victimization and class exploitation, working towards a bittersweet conclusion, with the emphasis on the bitter.  Yet, Ruan elevates the film well beyond the realm of social issue melodrama. 

While the appeal of some silent stars, like say Mary Pickford, is not always compatible with contemporary tastes, Ruan has a timeless beauty and projects a devastating vulnerability as the unnamed woman.  She also has heartbreakingly touching chemistry with young Li Keng as the sweet-tempered Shuiping.  Li Juunpan, a stage actor who crossed over to silent movies, also brings remarkable presence and dignity to the film as the John Dewey-esque headmaster, while Zhang Zhizhi personifies sweaty odiousness as “the Boss.”

Ruan’s work in Goddess is so honest and powerful, it transcends time and fashion.  In fact, there are none of the grossly exaggerated performances that often date silent cinema.  A true classic in any era, The Goddess will leave viewers deeply moved, in a fully satisfying way.  Highly recommended, it screens this Friday (11/9) at the Asia Society.  The touchstone figure for the series, Ruan also stars in New Women screening this Sunday (11/11) and is the subject of Stanley Kwan’s biopic Center Stage, which concludes the series on Saturday, December 8^th.