cinemasian

Trahn chooses depicts the life of Mui in a very soothing way, and everything is communicated through senses: the sound is extremely important, as few words are spoken. There seems to be this unspoken rule that servants should not talk  too much to their bosses; they have to make everything perfect for the family, without being noticed. The photography is very beautiful, tinted with shades of green, as nature is always  present: you feel like you experience living in the house through the Mui’s eyes. The images translate the stifling, tropical atmosphere of Vietnam. 

It really is a sensory experience, that nevertheless, translates, without words, the dynamics of domination, that take place within this limited universe. We are never outside of the house, which makes it feel like a golden jail, but also a little jungle.  However, through sounds, very slow shots, and silent confrontations between Mui and the younger boy of the family, a very disruptive feeling appears in the narration: the submission of the girl to this family is kind of unsettling. The fact, that, at such a young age, she has to work so hard for this family, depicts a sad reality of the colonized Vietnam, but that existed in other countries ( like in Mexico, depicter in Alfonso Cuaron’s Roma), and still exists today. 

But the second part, was, in my opinion, very unsettling. Ten years after the first part, Mui has grown into a woman. She still works for the same family, who has to let her go because they don’t have enough money to pay her. She is employed by a wealthy young friend of the family, who is also a pianist. Mui falls in love with him, and demonstrates her love, by taking care of him and the house. The two of them don’t even talk, but when he plays the piano, he seems to communicate with her. He lives with a woman who comes from the same upper social class. 

This second part  offers a new perspective on the life of Mui, and her work as a servant: even as a young woman, she pays attention to what is surrounding her, and because she spent her whole life working to facilitate other’s lives, she can anticipate their desires. However, i fond it unsettling that a love story could emerge from this relationship of domination and submission: through this story arc, the director seems to indicate that love can transcend social class. Thankfully, it can be the case: but when Mui, who spent her whole life serving others, falls in love with someone she used to serve, it doesn’t sit quite right with me. 

However, The scent of green papaya (1993) paints a beautiful and very poetic picture of Vietnam and its social classes; we oftentimes imagine that the wealthiest families were the colonizers, when there was also a vietnamese social elite. The sound editing as well as the images convey a real atmosphere, and the social tensions that take place within the house and within the relationships between Mui and the people for who she works. 

Now let's get a little more personal shall we? I lived in China as an exchange student for a year, and even though it was one of the most rewarding experiences of my young life, it was also hard to understand this society, regarding its past and present. Even though i was already familiar with some of Jia Zhangke's movies, i wasn't an absolute fan of his work. But after coming back to France, i rediscovered his filmography and had a brand new perspective on it.  His movies helped me to better comprehend the society i had lived in for a short while. From genre film, to film noir, to documentary, to historical film, his movies are always executed in a meticulous way, with beautiful cinematography, and virtuous writing. Through his filmography, it is the complex story of contemporary China that unravels; Jia Zhangke reveals the beautiful as well as the ugly, of a country that has yet to face its past and contradictions. His existence as a filmmaker, is a political act, as well as a necessity: his movies are oftentimes censored in China, because they are truthful, but he still is dedicated in giving us a real insight to his country. He also helps other independent chinese filmmakers to develop their project, so they can exist inside and outside of the borders of China.

One of the movies, that in my opinion, sums up his talent for filmmaking as well as the political charge of his work, is Mountains May Depart (2015). It starts in 1999 when Tao, a young girl leaving in Fenyang has to choose between her two childhood best friends, Zang and Lianzi. Zang is very ambitious and intends to make his way into the business world, while Lianzi works in a coal mine. The second part focuses on Tao, after her wedding, exploring the consequences of her choice on her personal life, as well as her regrets. The third part, set in 2025, in Australia, focuses on her son, Dollar, and his quest to reconcile with his origins.

With this movie, Jia Zhangke makes a very powerful statement on China’s overwhelming economical growth, and its impact in the personal lives of its characters. Their choices are led by economical, political and social dynamics that go beyond them. But it is also a very touching exploration on themes like love, regret, time passing and legacy. The little and the big story are intricated, and what was initially a story of friendship and young love, quickly determines the life paths of the three protagonists and their children. Jia Zhangke stages his home town of Fenyang, as well as Shanghai, and then Australia, as the theaters of intimate dramas. And i honestly can't think of a filmmaker, that knows how to capture the most beautiful - the mountains- as well as the ugliest - industrial mines- sceneries, in such a gorgeous yet not overly estheticized way.

Chang Dong began his carrer as an author, a talent which will help him craft his scenarios. The social divides on which the Korean society is built, are always mirrored in the way his characters act. All of the characters are impregnated with social determinisms. Chang Dong believes, that, due to South Korea’s past, every inhabitant of his country « wears a tear ». Even if his scenarios rely on very tangible stories, characters and genre, the director often leaves the mystery unanswered; the audience must interpret what they have perceived. 

At first sight, Burning (2018), seems to be a pretty conventional thriller: an apprentice writer, Jong-su, falls in love with Hae-mi, who used to be one of his classmates. She leaves unexpectedly to go on a trip in Africa, and when she comes back, she has met a very wealthy young korean, Ben. When the trio starts hanging out together, Jong-Su maintains a mistrust of Ben, until Hae Mi disappears. Jong-su becomes obsessed with the idea that Ben is guilty and goes on a disruptive journey to find Hae Mi. 

What striked me in this movie, is how Chang Dong is able to manipulate his audience, as well as instill an ever so present feeling of tension and danger. The director never takes the easy way out, by giving you the answers you are willing to have.  Burning relies on very unusual writing codes, and the characterization of the trio is very complex: even if on the outside, you could think of a love triangle, the incorporation of social classes, as well as the themes of manipulation, are offering very nuanced views of the movie. Burning also relies on gorgeous cinematography, and images are very important to trick your mind, and make you believe you saw something, when everything is subject to interpretation. I believe it is very rare for a director to capture things that can’t be seen, but are still felt very strongly - such as the interiorized violence of an unfair society and its consequences on individuals; but Chang Dong, maybe because he is a writer above everything else, really captures this something important without having to tell it or show it in a comprehensive way. He lets images and silences speak for him. 

In another of Lee Chang Dong’s movies i’ve seen, Poetry, violence initially seems left out of the plot. In a small province town, Mija leaves with her grandson, who is going trough puberty in a very unpleasant way. She decides to take a course of poetry, and discovers a new passion for writing. However, the tensions are arising with her grandson, who she discovers is accused of having raped a girl from his school with other classmates. This very violent revelation leaves the old lady with a dilemma: should she denounce him to the police? Should she make up for her grandson’s horrible actions to the girl? 

Once again, Lee Chang Dong manages to expose the intrications between love and violence: he examines how character would react when facing a horrible truth about a loved one. The images and sceneries are very beautiful, and the confrontation between the poetry, to which this woman is dedicated, and the horrible situation she is facing offers a very interesting dramatic outcome. 

Even though the beautiful music from Joe Hisaichi as well as the story and colorful images seem very innocent, there is a longing melancholy that inhabits the movie. It is a beautiful reflection on what it is to exist outside of the norms, in a Japanese society where they are the society's cornerstone. It also evokes the loneliness you can experience when you are a child, and how one can find parental figures through unusual role models.

This movie also is a mirror of its charismatic yet mysterious director and main actor, Takeshi Kitano. Takeshi Kitano is a key figure of japanese pop culture, a chimera with several heads: actor, director, writer, comic, painter, there is nothing he can’t do. He started his career by performing in cabarets as a comic actor. During this time, he adopts the pseudonym Beats Takeshi, whom will become his televisual double. He appears on various TV shows and gain a huge popularity, because people laughed at him. After several years, he decides to switch his career, and become a “legitimate” actor: he acts in very violent movies, as he his fascinated with the yakuzas, japanese mafiosos.  He also directs his own movies, that are extremely dark and violent, and tend to shock Japanese audiences; he achieves international recognition when he wins a prize at Venice's film festival, for his beautiful movie Hanabi. But the media tension is at its peak, because Japanese want to see Beats Takeshi again, a character created to entertain audiences, while film buffs want more movies from Takeshi Kitano, an acclaimed filmmaker.   The figure of Kitano seems to be a metaphor of Japan’s entertainment industry: who really is the comic? Who is the director? Who is the real man behind these alter egos?

The question still is unanswered today, but Takeshi Kitano is a multifaceted and fascinating artist. Through his filmography and other forms of art, he preserves an unconditional freedom of creation. With Kikujiro's summer, he offers a new image: one of an adult who wants to keep his child's soul alive. His career is an invitation to not take being a public figure so seriously, but rather enjoy every part of the creative process. Through his persona, he teaches us that you can make either very violent, or tender movies and still find excitement in each genre.

Hou Hsiao-hsien's earlier body of work is conveying a deep sense of nostalgia, representing his childhood in the Taiwanese countryside. Hou and his family immigrated from Mainland China and his childhood and adolescence helped shift his perspective on storytelling.

The Boys from Fengkuei (1983)his fourth feature film serves as an introduction to the Taiwanese New Wave, its naturalistic style and preoccupations; it is also Hou's first approach to autobiographical storytelling, as the movie is inspired by his own adolescence.

The first part focuses on a gang of young boys living in a fishing village: they drink, fight and are bored of their provincial life. But when they are arrested by the local police, three of them decide it is time for a change: they leave the village to look for work in the city of Kaohsiung. We follow these young people, essentially growing up trying to figure out who they want to be in an ever changing society, while encountering love, instability and heartbreak. It is a reflection on socio economical mutations, on the disappearance of the rural and traditional world, told through individual trajectories. The naturalistic yet beautiful images set the tone for the rest of Hou's filmography (even if he went on directing some movies with a lot more means). This movie is also formative for other directors from the New Wave, such as Edward Yang, as it contains many visual and narrative codes. Indeed, everything is substantially said about Taiwan, its history and politics: while youth and life in a very simple yet evoking way, these directors wanted to capture what would later on disappear because of the globalization.

Just after The Boys from Fengkuei,Hou started what is now known as The Coming of Age Trilogy (1984-1986), composed of A summer's at Grandpa's, A time to live and a time to dieand Dust in the wind. These films are also part of an autobiographical body of work, and capture very vividly what is on the verge of not existing anymore. These movies are not obnoxiously political, but they are still saying something really profound about the Taiwanese society.A time to leave and a time to die (1985),the second installment of the trilogy, tells the story of a family immigrating from Mainland China to Taiwan, and how the son Ah-ha, adapts to this new environment, while almost forgetting about his origins and the traditions he has been raised with. This movie perfectly captures the struggles of growing up in between two cultures, and how it affects individuals and their relationships. It is a really beautiful and moving family saga, that subtly insuffle sociopolitical issues. It is the perfect example of what the New Wave wanted to create, and perpetuate through these simple yet truthful movies: these filmmakers wanted to explore the relationship between town and country, between tradition and modernity.

Hou Hsiao-hsien is still one of the most prolific taiwanese director, and each of his more recent movies are masterpieces, in a more spectacular way. With his trilogy embracing the history of Taiwan (1989-1995) (A city of sadness, The Puppetmaster, Good men, good women),he went on recalling the intertwined, complex and violent pasts of Mainland China and Taiwan.

Tropical Malady (2004), his third feature lenght movie, is built in two parts. In the first one, which is pretty conventional, we follow the idyll between Tong, a young man who lives in the Thai countryside, and Keng, a young military. Despite it being a homosexual romance, in a country where homophobia is still rampant, there is no obstacle in the way of their love. If you're looking for action, you won't find it her. Instead, the director uses the camera as a tool to infuse every image with a soaring atmosphere; you can almost feel wrapped in the tropical air of the thai jungle. While this first part is very dreamy and apeasing, depicting the thai youth and its urban way of living, the second one is way more surprising.

After an unusual kiss, Tong disappears in the dark, leaving Keng alone. On a black screen, an other title appears, like there were two movies in one.  In this second part, Keng (or is it? The character is played by the same actor but seems completely disconnected from his former role) goes on a mission: to find the tiger that killed several cows in the village.   But this is an entirely different kind of hunt that is awaiting him: he is actually chasing a man-eating shaman, who transformed into a tiger.

With this figure, Weerasethakul projects love and profound desire into a spiritual dimension: it becomes unpredictible and devouring. By chasing this figure, does Keng hope his lover will come back? Or is he fighting Tong, who actually is the shaman?

The movie will probably leave you disoriented, just like i was. But is a genuine cinema experience: you are absorbed in a completely silent and frightening jungle. Even if you can't figure out exactly what is going on, you can't take your eyes off the screen. Now words are pronounced all through this second part, but in this silence, something unravels. 

It is, a surreal and almost hypnotizing experience, that Weerasethakul masterfully helps us to dive into. With his other magnificent movies, such as Uncle Boonmee, who can recall his past lives (2010), for which he won La Palme d'Or, and Cemetery of Splendour (2015),Weerasethakul has imposed his unique way of telling a story, with visuals reflecting spiritual and folkloric references.