CHINA, NATIONAL, MOVIE REVIEW: Chinese Cinema:Long March to Oscar

By April Zhang

It's been some time since Chinese director Zhang Yi Mou came back from 79th Oscar Academy Awards empty-handed. His latest blockbuster Curse of the Golden Flower missed all awards, including the much-aspired best foreign picture.

The film, again, told a story about treachery-crippled ancient Chinese court, full of intricate plot developments, familial obligations, martial arts action, and even more deception. Costing $45 million, starring a best-ever cast and based on a Chinese favorable drama story, Curse of the Golden Flower should have done better. Captain Zhang Yi Mou, among routine clamor from domestic media, sailed for New York Harbor the third time; his voyage was, as it always is, chanted with passionate prediction for the first Academy to befall China; His latest hit was also remarked as "empty extravaganza".

Before Zhang's chrysanthemums-loaded liner was shut outside Oscar, Chinese cinema has long entered the pursuit of Oscar. At 60th Academy Awards, The Last Emperor, a film based on Chinese emperor, Pu Yi's life story, pocketed nine awards; thirteen years later, Ang Lee amazed Oscar judges with the first Chinese martial arts picture, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon and took home four awards. Besides Zhang Yi Mou, the pious pursuers also include Chen Kai Ge, director of Farewell My Concubine and Promise, Feng Xiao Gang, director of The Banquet. The three are regarded as the best triad in today's Chinese cinema, yet none of them had touched the Academy award, despite these expensive attempts and glorifying nomination.

Chinese audiences were not in much mood for complaints or reproach this time, as they know Chinese ace directors' style only too well. Piling up money, calling up stars, and cameras are rolled up; movie makers take care of film promotion, cinemas take care of projecting time, and domestic box office will be taken care of. As for Oscar, it is the icing on the cake. In China, pictures vying for the Academy Award plays no worse than the awarded in drawing audiences. Some go out of patriotism, more of curiosity, and a few to find stuff for mockery.

Film is for sale; filmmaking is no charity. To make a real fortune on films, mere domestic market is not enough. Zhang Yi Mou's first Oscar attempt, Hero, scored around 250 million yuan from domestic market, but more than 5.3 million dollars (about 400 million yuan) from U.S. cinemas. Every director understands the magnitude of overseas market--particularly the U.S. market. The question remains that how to make way to American movie screen. Despite the progress of Chinese cinema in the last half century, very few of our domestic movie stars ring a bell to overseas audiences. But Oscar is a universal passport less than crucial to Chinese directors who are eager to make a name and a lot of money. Box office is the target, and an international position for Chinese cinema is just a bonus prize.

Again, the question comes in: without Brad Pitt and Spielberg, what can convince overseas agents of the profitability of Chinese films? Wait a minute, we have 5000-year–old history which can serve as a resourceful mine of exotic stories; we have the best landscape that nature can offer for shooting backdrop. On top of all, our ancestor has left us an amazing legacy--Chinese martial art--which is rarely seen in the West. Ang Lee made the lucrative discovery and put it to good use. Since Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon introduced to western audiences the jianghu world, or "wild west" underworld inhabited by outlaw heroes and primarily governed by noble ideals and individual sense of justice, other Chinese directors jumped on the bandwagon of touting martial arts.

Certainly, they added innovation too. Interesting is that great minds think too much alike. From Zhang Yi Mou's Hero to Feng Xiao Gang's The Banquet, stories are inevitably set in the transit of dynasties, preferably Qin dynasty or late Tang dynasty; there would be a callous emperor dictating everything, a suffering empress who committed infidelity (or woman kong fu master involved in loving affairs with two men); there would be conspiracy to topple the authority, lots of deaths and double-crosses and plot twists and an epic battle; when everything is back to order, the film ends.

The films are too formulized to allow characters movement room. Zhang Man Yu, a main actress in Hero, turned out a glamour girl not because she had lost her acting proficiency overnight but was bounded by the plot.

Ang Lee called wuxia warriors who are the leading characters in martial arts genre "mythical, larger-than-life heroes in the Chinese imagination". Well, his fellow directors have made them hollower-than-life forms on screen.

Everything has a focus. Sadly, most of the blockbusters had audiences overwhelmed by things other than acting. In Hero, Zhang Yi Mou boldly employed luscious color to awe-struke American audiences. He tried to tell a suspense-packed clear story but left foreign audiences confused over the connection between calligraphy and swords; Chinese audiences have no difficulty understanding the story, though, they are also confused---why bother telling a simple story three times as if intending to play with audience? His other hit House of Flying Daggers continued the dazzling color style and confused audiences further.

To clear his name as a bad story teller, Zhang turned to an easy alternative this time. Curse of Yellow Flowers borrowed the story from Thunderstorm, a classic Chinese drama by Cao Yu. But gee, it is better he didn’t borrow. Set in 1930s, the plot of Thunderstorm revolved in a feudal wealthy family and the tragic ending was the only way that then social illness could drive things to. However, Zhang's adapted epic deprived the tragedy of its backdrop, thus it left nothing to provoke thoughts.

The same deficiency is seen in other blockbusters. Promise (directed by Chen Kai Ge) is set in a made-up land among fabricated confronting interest groups. Not inspired from any figure or occasion in reality, the movie is hardly identified by the audience.

No wonder Oscar gave them refusals repeatedly. If Chinese directors continued this way, they will have to count on the awards committee's sympathy for a minor comforting award.

News just went out that John Woo (director of Face off and Dragon Squad) has his hands on a new production, The Warlords and has decided on a cast dominated by Chinese actors and actresses. Its budget amounts to $750 million, a new high in Chinese cinema. Presumably, it will be China's next attempt for Oscar. Thank God, it's John Woo. Consider that he is a high-profile director whose work has been approved by Oscar adjudicator panel and discerning audiences, the colossal budget should be safe with him.