Film Quickies 2: Asian Cinemas

Akira (1988)

Katshuhiro Otomo’s Akira is a morally and graphically charged film, preferring always to make its points in very large ways. In particular, Akira seems to be concerned with foreshadowing the dangers of uncontrollable technology. In a sense, this is an ideological reaction to the sort of industrialization and rapid population expansion that resulted from the post-World War II era in Japan.

The corruption of technology is a strong visual motif that pervades most scenes in the film. The city of Neo-Tokyo is a patchwork quilt of postmodern buildings in various states of ruin. Many of these buildings have illogical or asymmetrical additions, ranging from twisting ducts to exposed wiring. The overall feel is one of overcrowding, a sense that the very land on which the city sits has been ruined by the construction of buildings, that, if not already in a state of despair, are reduced to rubble by Tetsuo’s awesome power. The technologies wielded by most of the citizens of Neo-Tokyo are no better: they are either frivolous (as in the case of Kaneda’s bike, which is ultimately a bad object in that it causes so much tension amongst his friends) or purely destructive (the laser cannons and massive tanks utilized by the various soldiers). With such emphasis placed on man-made objects, gone is a general sense of humanity. The humans in Akira are bound to or by their technology, making them subordinate to something that should serve them. In a sense, we see the “need” for super-humans like Akira and Tetsuo. They are a sort of control, created by a society that is becoming baroque in all of the wrong ways. Much like the weapons that serve only to destroy human life, these mutants fulfill a different niche of the self-destructive human psyche: death by one’s own kind. It is as if humans, who have become corrupted and are far from their natural selves, need to be wiped clean, so as to start fresh. A very loose way of making sense of the film’s narrative deals with acknowledging the sequences of mass destruction. Thus, in 1988, humanity in Tokyo had become too far removed from its original intent and was purged by a nuclear bomb – again, at the end of the film, with a much faster progression, that same sort of destruction (or, arguably, rebirth) was necessary. While far too ambiguous to be read in any linear sense, Akira rings true as a film that warns against the evils of rapid progression. However, these ambiguities are what give it lasting appeal, making Akira the sort of film that constant expands to stay topical amidst a world of change.

Eat Drink Man Woman (1994)

Ang Lee’s multi-generational portrait of a family dealing with strife addresses many of the anxieties that Westernization and modernization have wraught. In Master Chu’s (Sihung Lung) family, his daughters are all but grown up and could likely support themselves, but at the beginning of the film, are still all living under one roof. The nature of the character’s jobs are of utmost importance, showing the various degrees of separation between the work that Chu does and the work that his daughters choose. These jobs, while mere surface detail to some, espouse a given character’s approach to tradition and the veneration of their father, as well as their approaches to the world as a whole. What results is as surprising as some of the film’s plot twists.

Master Chu, a renown chef, has the career by which to judge the careers of his daughters. He has been a chef for their entire lives, and as evidenced by the opening montage, is still committed to cooking a feast for his family every Sunday, probably well-aware that he is going overboard. As the head chef in a large restaurant, Chu is able to both create and teach- when asked to save the restaurant from the shark fin crisis, he has an eager group of young chefs following his every move and hanging on to his every word. Chu’s job is a passion, a hobby, and a career. Resonances of it cloud the rest of his life: he is so unable to keep from cooking good food that he continually replaces his soon-to-be-daughter’s lunch boxes. In addition to understanding the importance of tradition himself, Chu’s restaurant praises his wisdom and does not want him to go. He may be loosing his taste buds, but his experience and name more then make up for it in their eyes. The position of “Master Chef,” therefore, establishes Chu as a man dedicated to an age-old art, meticulous and in love with the work with he does. He garners respect from others, but has a seemingly stilted view of the modern world as a result of his level of involvement.

The daughters and their careers, then, make for some interesting contrasts with their father’s. Jia-Jen (Kuei-Mei Yang), the eldest, is both a rigid chemistry teacher and a devout Christian. Like Chu, she imparts her specialist wisdom to others, and the job of teacher seems only natural, as she has a very close link to that famous teacher known as Jesus Chirst. Her job is not only traditional, but in the realm of acceptable jobs for women. The youngest daughter, Jia-Ning (Yu-Wen Wang) is seemingly the most modern, but does bear similarities to her father’s. She works at the fast-food joint “Wendy’s,” serving mass-produced American food. Like her father, she serves food, but unlike him, so does in a way more acceptable to the youth of which she is a part. For her, this is not a career, but merely a means of making some money. Her food preparation does not have the sanctified air surrounding her father’s. Finally, there is Jia-Chein (Chien Lien Wu) the hardest daughter to “peg.” She is a business-woman, upwardly mobile and very involved with work that has only recently taken root in Taiwan. Working for an airline suggests access to all points on Earth, as well as interest in technology. Jia-Chein’s job has the least human interaction, and she is neither a teacher nor a food-server. From this reading, the viewer would be want to think that she has, in a sense, betrayed her father: however, this is far from the truth. Later in the film, she is seen to have a great talent as a chef, but it was at her father’s insistence (some mixture of sexism, pride, and forward-thinking) that she pursue a business degree. She was once the daughter who held her father in the highest esteem, but, like Icarus of Greek legend, got too close. While seemingly the most different from the old ways, she finally embraces that lifestyle and has the most “traditional” womanly relationships at the end of the film.

Contextual analysis aside, Eat Drink Man Woman is a touching film, but is perhaps too drenched in sentimentality. Yet, in showing the very real inner-workings of a solidly middle class family, serves the international community as a document on Taiwanese values. While Lee would soon move on to wholly Westernized works, Eat Drink Man Woman stands as a testament to his ability to serve up familial drama.

Once Upon a Time in China (1991)

Wong Fei-hung (Jet Li) was an enlightened warrior who did everything in his power to help China maintain its integrity when faced with the first hints of Westernization. The film Once Upon a Time in China takes the anxiety of a Western imprint to the extreme, reducing Western characters and ideas to their stupidest or most absurd. Over the course of the film, the traditional ways are constantly seen to be the best, in the end spelling defeat for the evil Western forces.

In order to establish a definite lens for viewing the film (in both a domestic and international setting,) the Western encroachers are clearly shown in a negative light. Jackson is a crude American who has no interest in China other then to recruit slave labor and find prostitutes. When forced into fighting at the end, he uses deceitful weapons and holds a hostage. His appearance is ragged, his manners bad, and his scowl blatant. The common American soldiers fare no better: situated in ill-fitting Union uniforms, they stumble around when on screen with dumb looks on their faces, hardly ever fighting effectively. In an interesting reversal of roles, the Americans are to this film what the Chinese would have been in an older Hollywood film. The British imperialists, who appear in less of the film, are treated with the normal stereotypes. Seeming haughty and aloof, they come off as clean-cut aristocrats.

Western ideas fare as bad or worse as Western characters. The guns, the most displaced objects in the film, cause the most pain to the traditional characters. However, martial arts do defeat these “devil-sticks” in the end, and throughout the film, guns constantly misfire, or are found to be too slow to efficiently use. In light of the way that the native characters eat, the complex dining utensils at the restaurant seem frivolous. For this film, Western culture is excessive in every way possible, be it the extra forks on the table or the badly-placed string ensemble. One of the more ambiguous objects in the film, Yee’s camera, proves worthless. After going to great lengths to save it, the picture in the end comes out poorly.

Despite the film’s almost constantly negative portrayal of the West, Once Upon a Time in Chinahas become a very successful film on the international market. Having worked at a video store for two years and never seen the film, I thought nothing of the fact that it, and its two subsequent sequels, were constantly getting checked-out. It is understandable that audiences would be drawn to Jet Li, who has achieved superstardom at home and abroad, but the content of the film could potential turn off some Americans. The popularity probably has something to do with the film’s advertising, which tries to sell this as a “period martial arts film,” and not a revisionist look at Western history. Additionally, it could be this “alien” perspective that gives the film such success. I, for one, liked the way that the colonizers were portrayed in the film, since I feel that most of the world only knows the story from the other point of view. Maybe American audiences as a whole like to see America belittled in foreign films, because not nearly enough domestic ones are willing to do so.

To Live (1994)

Zhang Yimou’s To Live, a film that is ostensibly about a couple’s attempts to deal with the changing face of Chinese communism, can also be viewed in more universal terms. In a series of carefully constructed events, Yimou’s film praises the virtues of moderation, not only in governing, but in daily life, finances and vision.

I found the film to operate on a very strict set of moral parameters: if anything is done to excess, it will inevitably lead to some sort of destruction. This, of course, is evident from the outset. Fugui Xu (Ge You), a once rich youth, literally gambles away everything that he and his family has. Despite his wife Jiazhen’s (Gong Li) attempts to the stop him, he spends all of his time and all of his money, eventually squandering everything but his devotion. Long’er, a man who appears to be entirely materialistic and somewhat unreasonable, wins all that Fugui owns, but also (perhaps inadvertently) gives him his greatest gift: a puppet set. However, this too provides for opportunities of excess. In order to make money for his family, Fugui must take to the road for a fairly unreasonable amount of time, which is further extended by his stints in the two opposing armies, Red (Communist) and White (Nationalist). When he finally returns from his travels, he finds his mother dead and his daughter mute – he shouldn’t have been gone for so long.

Later in the film, Fugui’s son Youqing falls victim to a spell of being tired. Because of the sorts of lives lead by his family, he is rarely able to sleep as much as a growing boy should. After a few days of being awake for particularly long stretches of time, he falls asleep behind a wall, spelling out his doom (ironically enough from Chunsheng, who’s love of cars has turned against him). This unnecessary death can be blamed on lots of things, but it is certainly almost equally the fault of the nature of the Communist system, the habits of the Xu family, and the instability of the wall.

Toward the end, the film manages to create a very powerful social critique of extremes and the general condemnation of an entire era, all nicely capsulated in the Red Guard-run hospital. The couple has very valid concerns as to the health of their daughter: since she is mute, it is important that a skilled doctor watch over her, as she cannot articulate her problems vocally. However, Chairman Mao’s establishment of a youth-lead culture has purged most of the skilled doctors from the hospital. Instead, children are in charge, causing Fengxia to die. This incident is but one that shows just how overboard the so-called “cultural revolution” had gone.

Notice, then, that most of the loses in the film could have been prevented had things been yielded to moderation. My interpretation may be something of a stretch, but I believe Yimou to be saying that communism could have been closer to the its utopianist dream had it adopted more centrist positions.