Taiwan Film Days ’13: Ripples of Desire

Public health is a bit iffy on this Ming era floating island.  Medical misconceptions will lead to some very bad decisions.  Old fashioned passion and jealousy will only compound problems.  Love and leprosy are contagious in Zero Chou’s Ripples of Desire (trailer here), which screens during the San Francisco Film Society’s annual Taiwan Film Days.

White Snow is the most coveted courtesan in the House of Flowers, but she harbors a dark secret shared only with her sister, White Frost. Snow is in the early stages of leprosy.  As the sisters contrive ways to withdraw her from daily courtesan life, Frost supplants her as the favorite of their madam.  When the commerce-minded Moon discovers the truth, she commands Snow to seduce Wen, the new resident music teacher, to “transfer” her disease to him. 

Obviously, it does not work that way. Regardless, Snow is not inclined cooperate, because of her burgeoning feelings for the awkward pedagogue.  Meanwhile, Frost plays a dangerous game, spurning the affections of Scarface, her would-be lover-pirate, in favor of the well-heeled, but shallow Sir Li.  Whole-heartedly assuming the femme fatale role, Frost concocts a scheme with Li and Scarface’s Master Hai to fake the tea merchant’s abduction, funding their new life with the anticipated ransom.  However, Li’s wife, Lady Jen, disrupts the plan, unexpectedly arriving to handle the matter in person.  Her courage and beauty make quite the impression on Master Hai, despite his pseudo-relationship with Moon.

Right, there will be no shortage of betrayals in Ripples.  Given its cocktail of pirates, courtesans, and leprosy, it is safe to assume there will not be a lot of happily-ever-afters for anyone. Known for her lesbian-themed indie films, Chou branches out into more mainstream commercial territory here.  For a historical epic, Ripples is unusually stripped down and small in scope, but the intimate scenes crackle with love and intrigue.

Ivy Chen and Michelle Chen are not actually related, but they certainly look like sisters, just as they did in the relentlessly sweet rom-com Hear Me (a prior Taiwan Film Days alumnus).  The former is particularly impressive as the deeply complex Frost, while the latter trembles like a delicate orchid. 

Of course, Simon Yam brings the appropriate swagger as Master Hai, but he also nicely ups the tragically romantic ante in his scenes Li Xiaoran’s Lady Jen.  Frankly, he is the MVP amongst the guys, easily outclassing pop star Jerry Yan and TV star Joseph Cheng.

At times, Chou over indulges the stylization at the cost of narrative clarity, but there is no mistaking the ardor and yearning.  Indeed, it jerks the tears quite effectively.  Recommended for fans of tragic historical romance, Ripples of Desire screens this Sunday (11/3) at the Vogue Theatre, as part of the SFFS’s Taiwan Film Days.

Taiwan Film Days ’13: Forever Love

It was known as Hollywood Taiwan and it sure was fun while it lasted. From the mid 1950’s to early 1970’s Taipei’s Beitou District was home to a scrappy Taiwanese Hokkien dialect film industry, until the big Mandarin change-over was mandated from above.  The Beitou Roger Cormans cooked up about a thousand films give or take, but only two hundred have been properly preserved for posterity.  The golden age of Hollywood Taiwan is fondly remembered in Aozaru Shiao & Kitamura Toyoharu’s nostalgic screwball rom-com Forever Love (trailer here), which screens during this year’s edition of the San Francisco Film Society’s Taiwan Film Days.

Liu Chi-sheng was once the busiest screenwriter in Hollywood Taiwan, because scripts needed to be turned out fast. Volume was more important than nuance. Hardly anyone remembers his films anymore, but his granddaughter Hsiao-jin used to have her own private screenings at his now shuttered revival house.  She has come to visit him in the hospital where he is recuperating from an athletic misadventure.  In the mood to reminisce, Liu reveals to her how he came to marry her now Alzheimer’s-stricken grandmother, Chiang Mei-yeuh.

It all started with a characteristically goofy James Bond rip-off called Spy No. 7.  When it opens to packed houses in Taipei, Liu’s boss, “Mr. Pig” orders him to write the sequel, Spy No. 7 on Monster Island, once again featuring the lovely but cold Chin Yueh-feng and the arrogant heel, Wan Pao-lung, Hollywood Taiwan’s superstars of the moment.  Like so many young women of her age, Chiang has a massive crush on Wan.  Despite a bad case of stage fright, she has a few advantages over her competition at the poverty row studio’s open casting call.  She has genuine charisma and the right surname.  Liu also takes an interest in her career, even though they start out on awkward terms, as is always the case with rom-coms.

It will be a great romance, culminating in a big tear-jerking finale, because anything else would not be true to Hollywood Taiwan.  Along the way, there are plenty of double takes, miscommunications, and flat out pratfalls in Forever, but the film has a romantic soul. Indeed, Shiao and Kitamura (who also appears as Liu’s hard partying art director crony) make no secret of their affection the old Taiwanese cinema, reveling in its gleeful energy and love for love.

With gloriously silly black-and-white sequences and kiss-me-you-fool fireworks, Forever Love proudly empties its kit-bag for the sake of audience satisfaction. It is a rather endearing antidote for cineaste cynicism, steadfastly avoiding irony in favor of unrepentant romanticism.  Granted, characters rattle all over the film like pinballs, but there are surprisingly touching low key moments too, such as those exploring young Liu’s relationship to the studio’s boozy veteran director and old Liu’s scenes with his granddaughter, a well cast Li Yi-jie, who looks and sounds like the spitting image of her grandmother Chiang in the 1960’s.

Lung Shao-hua brings Herculean dignity to the grumpy old Liu, enlivening the contemporary framing scenes.  Blue Lan is a bit bland as his younger analog, but former pin-up model Amber An is sweetly innocent yet undeniably Betty Boop-ish as the younger Chiang.  As Wan, Edison Wang hams it up like a champ, while Tien Hsin brings a bit of subtly to Chin, the ice queen.

Coincidentally but fittingly, Forever screens as part of Taiwan Film Days just as the former San Francisco International Film Fest selection Golden Slumbers opens in New York at the Anthology Film Archives.  Davy Chou’s documentary is a moving elegy to a lost cultural legacy: the Cambodian cinema almost completely destroyed by Khmer Rouge.  While Forever Love is far more upbeat and sparkly (thanks to Patrick Chou’s bold, candy-colored cinematography), it still wistfully honors the spirit and enterprise of Hollywood Taiwan.  Recommended for those who love old school movie romances and the wonderfully idiosyncratic craftsmen who made them, Forever Love screens Saturday night (11/2) at the Vogue Theatre during the SFFS’s Taiwan Film Days.

Taiwan Film Days ’13: Apolitical Romance

She takes her cue from government propaganda, whereas he takes inspiration from Gundam.  Advantage: his.  They will bicker constantly as a mutual attraction slowly but steadily develops in Hsieh Chun-yi’s cross-border rom-com Apolitcal Romance (trailer here), which screens during the San Francisco Film Society’s annual Taiwan Film Days.

Like any self-respecting slacker, Chen Yu-zheng (a.k.a. A-Zheng) took a government job.  Normally, it is not terribly demanding, but his boss is on his case over a report on various differences of etiquette for the mainland and Taiwan.  He has a week to fix it, but he has no clue when it comes to the PRC.  As fate would dictate, Qin Lang is in Taipei for a week, hoping to track down Chen Guang, her grandmother Li Huan’s fondly remembered lover from sixty years back.  They will sort of come to an arrangement.

Loud and argumentative, Qin Lang will not get very far on her own, but Chen was born to navigate Taiwan’s bureaucracy.  Before you can say “red tape” he has a list of Nationalist veterans born in Li Huan’s home province.  As they follow-up each lead, the sparks start to fly, but never past a certain point.  Apolitical is all about possibilities rather than consummations.  By rom-com standards, Hsieh’s film is wildly ambiguous, but that is its real charm.  We cannot even say definitely whether they ever will be a proper couple, but they clearly are in each other’s heads.

Apolitical also offers a fascinating look into the perceived differences between the Republic and mainland China, presenting the Beijinger as reflexively jingoistic and the Taiwanese Chen as a meek geek.  However, Hsieh never really delves into specific ideological differences.  Instead, he aims for nostalgic romanticism with every story of separated love Chen and Qin Ling hear in their quest for Chen Guang.

Bryan Chang and Huang Lu are ridiculously attractive would-be maybe lovers, but they never get too cute or cloying.  They get some rather sensitive support from many of the Chen Guangs, particularly Chien Te-men as number four.  Not surprisingly, there is an episodic quality to the film that mostly works quite well, but Hsieh pushes his luck with a flawed subplot involving Qin Ling’s former lover.  In contrast, Chen’s visit to his disgraced father packs some quiet power precisely because it is not over written or over played.

Apolitical is never as achingly emotional as Hsieh’s exquisitely poignant short Braid, but its restraint is a virtue.  It is a rom-com, more or less, but it is also a wistful commentary on the absurdly arbitrary things that separate people, like borders, ideologies, and health exchanges.  Recommended for those who prefer curve ball movie romances rather than a happily-ever-after fastball over the plate, Apolitical Romance screens this Sunday (11/3) at the Vogue Theatre as part of this year’s installment of the SFFS’s Taiwan Film Days.

Taiwan Film Days ’13: Soul

Plato, Aristotle, St. Augustine, and St. Thomas Aquinas all labored to define the soul.  Unfortunately, their scholarship will be of little practical use to Old Wang.  Rather instinctively, he protects his son A-chuan’s body, so it will be available for his soul to re-enter.  Just who or what is currently inhabiting that vessel is one of the great mysteries of Chung Mong-hong’s Soul (trailer here), which screens during this year’s edition of the San Francisco Film Society’s Taiwan Film Days.

A-chuan works as an assistant cook in a Taipei sushi restaurant—or at least he did until he passed out at work.  With the help of two co-workers, his sister Hsiao Yun shuttles him back to their father’s rustic mountain home, where the old man raises orchids and apples.  Beyond mere sickness, A-chuan does not seem to be himself.  Suspecting something is profoundly wrong, Hsiao Yun starts to raise her reservations to Old Wang, only to be murdered by A-chuan (or rather A-chuan’s body) shortly thereafter.

At this point, Old Wang springs into full cover-up mood, locking A-chuan (or whoever) into his utility shed.  Soon he and the whatever are speaking openly of the situation.  Supposedly he/it moved in when A-chuan temporarily vacated his body. He cannot really say why A-chuan left, but Old Wang eventually concludes it all has something to do with some painful family history.  Regardless, he is willing to dispatch whomever he must to keep this incident under wraps.

Is he protecting A-chuan’s bodily interests or the new soul, whom he comes to know rather well? That is one of the rich ambiguities of Soul.  It features a good deal of traditional genre trappings and a massively atmospheric setting, but it is hard to define it in pat terms. However, all cult film fans need to know is Jimmy Wong of One-Armed Swordsman fame stars as the conflicted Old Wang.

Wong perfectly matches the film’s subtly and understatement, keeping the audience completely off-balance yet totally invested in the domestic horrors his character is caught up in. Likewise, Joseph Chang’s quiet turn as A-chuan (and his possessor) stealthily sneaks up on you.  Vincent Liang also thoroughly subverts and surpasses expectations as Little Wu, A-chuan’s former schoolmate now working as put-upon patrolman.

Soul is an unflaggingly naturalistic yet unusually philosophical film.  Taut rather than terrifying, Chung maintains a pace that is patient but never pokey.  Serving as his own cinematographer under the open pseudonym of Nakashima Nagao, he captures some striking images of the dark, verdant woods, creating a vivid sense of place.

It is an accomplished film and a timely selection, given the fact Taiwan has officially chosen it as its Foreign Language Oscar submission.  On paper it does not sound like a good fit for the Academy’s tastes and preferences, but who knows?  Frankly, Soul could be thought as the sort of film Uncle Boonmee was supposed to be but fell short of.  Eerie and engrossing, Soul is recommended for fans of headier genre fare when it screens this Saturday (11/2) at the Vogue Theatre as part of the SFFS’s Taiwan Film Days.