All language subtitles for HHH_ A Portrait of Hou Hsiao-hsien - MMC subs

HHH:
A Portrait of Hou Hsiao-Hsien

by Olivier Assayas

A Time to Live, A Time to Die
(1985)

This film is about my childhood,

and my memory of my father.

He was from Meixian, a district
in the province of Guangdong.

In 1947, 40 days after I was born,
he led a basketball team to Guangzhou,

for the Guangdong Area Games.

He was Meixian's
commissioner for education.

In Guangzhou, he ran into
an old school pal, Li Gui.

Li was then Mayor of Taichung, Taiwan.

He invited my father to come to Taiwan
to be his executive secretary.

A year later, my father
wrote home to us from Taiwan:

He said, "I live well here,
there is running tap water."

and that he wanted
the family to join him.

In 1949, my father was transferred to Taipei,
and made commissioner for education.

Our home was in Hsin-chu.

The weather in northern Taiwan
was extremely humid,

and my father was troubled
by asthma attacks.

We moved to Fengshan
when I was in first grade,

hoping the move south might
improve his health.

My grandmother used to make
lots of silver offerings,

to be used for her stay
in the afterlife.

She was over 80 years old then.

My father was a good son.

He would not start
dinner without her,

but she never started it
until she got me home.

She dooted on me a lot,
because a fortune teller once told her

that I would grow
up to be powerful.

Her pet name for me was A-ha,

which stuck and soon
everyone called me it.

Taiwan and its capital Taipei, are located
on the south eastern coast of China.

Japan colonised the island in 1885
before surrendering it in 1945.

By the end of the 1949 civil war, with
the impending victory of the Communists,

the Kuomintang's nationalist
army withdrew to Taiwan.

Taipei was named the capital of
the 'Republic of China' in exile.

With the support of the United States,
Chiang Kai-shek marshalled an army

oriented towards the hypothetical
goal of reconquering the mainland.

Martial law,
limiting freedom of expression

and prohibiting any political
opposition was maintained until 1987.

A-Ha!

Who's turn now?

It's mine, I won!

This here is Kaohsiung.

Later we'll arrive in Fengshan.

It's straight ahead, this direction.

Kaohsiung is the largest city
in the south.

Fengshan is nearby.

In the past,
it was a 20-minute bus ride.

And then we rode bikes to school.

Sometimes we walked there.

There was a track through the paddies,
a track leading to the school.

I loved walking through
the rice fields because,

on harvest day, we would often
see a man catching birds.

We called him the 'Birdman'.

Like in my film,

A Summer at Grandpa's.

In that film, he would set up a trap,

a huge net,

and then he would blow on a tiny whistle.

The sparrows would fly down

into the net

Once caught, there was no escape.

He wore a wide brim hat and off it came
to scoop up the birds.

Then "pop"... he'd snap their necks.

He never wanted the birds alive,
he'd sell them to barbecue vendors.

This is Fengshan temple,
we enter through there.

In the past, it was the
residence of the county chief.

Once there was this large garden,

and next to it, a huge mango tree.

The wall was here,

and the mango tree was here...

There was a garden,
trees,

artificial rocks...

I would slip inside
through this alley,

and I climbed the mango tree.

Right about there...

was the mango tree.

I'd steal the mangoes.

I ate some of them quite leisurely,

pocketed others
and then I was off.

From the top of the tree,
I strongly felt space and time.

And I also felt a...

... certain loneliness.
Yeah, I felt a strong sense of solitude.

This left a deep impression on me.

Maybe that's why
that I took to filmmaking.

As if, from a given angle, you can
stop and experience sense of being,

and feel immersed
in space and time.

This temple

is surrounded by
a network of alleys.

When we were fighting,

and the cops were trying
to catch us,

we'd escape through the
small pathways in the alleys.

As a child with all my
time ahead of me,

I'd always come here.

When I was a teenager,
all my friends were here too.

We'd chat, make bets,

eat sugar cane,
anything really.

There used to be a big tree there,
one over there too.

We'd hang up a pair of gymnastic rings,

and we'd try doing sports like that.

Or we would sing.

Do you see the stage?

It is in this temple that
the regional competition

for the seven south
opera companies was held:

Glove puppets, marionettes, theatre,
Taiwanese opera...

The season could last
up to two months.

When someone dies,

their soul comes to the temple.

Look at this inscription.

It means: "You are here".

When you are dead,
you come here.

"You are coming,"
you were destined to come.

Inside, there is
a large abacus,

as those who serve
to do the accounts.

It takes stock of the good
and bad deeds.

When I was a kid,
I heard it said

that at night you could hear
the sound of the abacus clicking.

The midnight count!

You've been here since 1949, right?

Since 1954.

1954? How old are you?

80 years old.

- I am Old Chen.
- I know!

- And who are you?
- I am Aha.

Have you forgotten?

I have often thought of you!

At first glance,
I didn't recognize you.

I have grown old!

Some said you came here
to shoot a film.

It slipped my mind!

I am too old...

- Do you make nice films?
- Yes.

No one comes back anymore?

I went to see Ah-Fu.

Shui-tsai
doesn't live here anymore?

Shui-tsai lived
behind the station.

- Has he moved?
- He left.

- The factory has closed.
- To-hsi is dead.

- Who?
- To-hsi.

The big brother of Shui-tsai?

- How? Was he ill?
- Yes, of illness.

Chong-yuan is dead too,
he was...

He was murdered.

- He was gunned down by Chih-shan?
- Yes, right.

People of my father's generation,

like old Chen;
on arrival in Taiwan,

thought it would be a short stay,
no more than two or three years.

But there you have it: at 80 years old,
he's still stuck here.

My father, when he first came here,
thought he'd work for a few years

and then we'd leave and return home.

All the furniture he bought then
was makeshift stuff.

Bamboo, the cheapest
and the simplest.

He thought,
he felt like...

there was no family graveyard.

It was not his home country.

Assayas: Had China left a major impression
on your father during his youth?

No, not at all.

Every day my grandmother

prepared for our
return to the mainland.

She would say to me:
''Come, let's go that way.''

She believed Guangdong
was just around the corner!

She wanted to die
in her homeland.

In 1981 or 1982, I went to
Hong Kong for the first time.

A festival of Taiwanese cinema
had been organised.

We all wanted to see
films from the mainland.

Such films were banned
here in Taiwan.

Even in Hong Kong we had to see
them in secret.

Many of us saw the mainland films
and we were all deeply moved.

Not by the plot or the
stories they were telling,

but more by the language
and the tongue,

as well as the landscapes
that we saw.

I understood when I saw them,
that my early education

cultivated in me a mental universe formed
under the influence of the mainland.

There was this profound excitement
about seeing your native land.

Assayas: Does he consider himself a
Chinese or Taiwanese filmmaker?

I'm a Taiwanese director.

From a cultural point of view,

you can't deny
that you are Chinese.

But in the current context,

the political reality...

with this separation
into two nations,

you also cannot deny
that you are Taiwanese.

I am a Taiwanese director.

Our esteemed director is here!

I grew up with you,

fighting and gambling!

I started gambling
because of Lo-kuo.

When I was in the first grade, he took
me home to gamble, starting with marbles.

Where's Wu-hsiung? Is he still here?

The family house is still here,
but he moved to Niaosong long ago.

Wu-hsiong was a slick guy.

Here are the king size marbles.

Our balls were different.
They were much smaller.

They are bigger now.
These are standard.

They were made of glass,
out of soda bottles.

Shall we play a game of spinning top?

A-Ha Ku!

A-Ha!

Assayas: His friends from back then,
have they all become gangsters?

A few of them, yes.
But the groups aren't run like a...

a well-oiled organisation.

They existed more as enforcement
if something arose in the neighbourhood.

As society evolved,
the underworld became highly complex,

because the interests at stake
were increasingly important,

such as the engineering
projects in this place.

They took advantage of the
opportunities to get into construction

and getting others to invest in
the projects taking place here.

With these benefits,
others want to come and get a taste.

Add to this generalised
trafficking,

in particular drug smuggling,

each aided by advanced transportation
and sophisticated communication networks.

The range of influence
is always expanding,

becoming so complex that
everyone is involved.

For some,
this process is deadly.

They die from drug use,
or get killed in shootings,

as my friends just informed me.

My elder sister and brother
were convinced

that I was a hopelesss case.

I gambled away the family's money.

Many things of this nature.

When it came time for the draft,

I was very happy
to join the army.

I had this self-awareness that I had to
break with my previous life - ka-cha!

It was overwhelming.

There was a mountain of
receipts from the pawnshop.

I'd taken valuables from home,

my father's watch,
for example,

and sold them off.

At that time I left everything behind
and tore up all the receipts.

In the army,
I decided to make films.

On Sundays, on leave,

I went to the cinema,
and I sometimes saw

four films in a day.

So I decided that when
I got out of the military,

I would go into the film industry,

whether I went to film school or not.

Back then, I had no clear
concept of anything at all,

I just liked movies.

If the question was asked,
"What exactly do you want to do?"

I actually had no idea.

I started working

as soon as I left university

as an assistant and scriptwriter,
without thinking about becoming...

a director.

At the very beginning,
I wanted to be an actor.

During my studies,
I participated

in the preliminary round
of a singing competition.

I loved singing,
but I was nervous.

I seized up with stage fright.

It was in this grand hall.
My voice was gone.

The first step was singing acapella,

and if you had talent, you could get to
the first round with accompanying music.

I was eliminated in
the preliminaries.

Translator: Was it cancelled later?

No, but there were no more
contests for me, ever.

In my early days, I discovered that
the major actors, the big stars

had to be 6 feet tall

and very handsome.

Since I'm that short,
I knew acting wasn't for me,

so I decided to work
behind the scenes.

However, films at that time
were commercially oriented

It had to be funny, comedic.

You had to make them very funny.

So, my first and second films

were both funny and
made a lot of money.

Assayas: They were comedies?

Comedies.

A-Digu!

A-Digu, hurry up!

A-Digu!

A Summer at Grandpa's
1984

My father's family retreated with the
nationalists from Shandong, in 1949.

My mother's family,
in her words, it was almost...

100 years ago when they migrated
from Guangdong province

and settled here.

Chu Tien-wen
Screenwriter

Probably because my father and
mother both wrote manuscripts,

many of the friends
who visited our house

all belonged to the literary world.

Whether it be writing essays or novels.

This likely influenced me.

I started writing in secret.

Then I submitted some of it
to the local newspapers.

I don't know if the editor knows
us or what, I just used my name.

After this,
I naturally kept writing.

I started when I was 15.

Next, the newspaper published
a 5000 word story,

"Xiao Bi's Story"

Hou read it and was interested.

He wanted to buy the rights
and adapt it to film.

At that time, there was no such
thing as buying copyrights in Taiwan.

When we made an appointment,
my parents were very worried.

They coached me on what
to do and what to say

It was said that people in the
film industry were very devious

and difficult to work with.

So I dressed myself
up to look older.

I think I wore
high heels and a skirt.

But when I saw Hou,
this idea totally evaporated...

I thought...

he was nothing like our
imaginary filmmaker.

Since our ideas were so closely aligned,
our first collaboration was very pleasant.

I first came across
Chu Tien-wen in a newspaper,

when I read her novelette
'Love Story', right?

- 'Love Story', right?
- Right.

I used it as the scenario
for the film Growing Up.

I thought the story was really
good, so I called her.

We met in an old café in Taipei.

We hit it off
immediately as we spoke,

and so I asked her to
help me with the script.

The film was well received
and made quite a bit of money,

so, for her, she got sucked into
screenwriting and couldn't get away.

and our collaboration
continues to this day.

- If it hadn't done so well...
- That would have been the end of it.

Ever since our work together
began with Growing Up,

she has worked on each and
every script for my films.

The Boys from Fengkui
captured some of my early life,

while A Summer at Grandpa's,
was inspired by her own.

Between the films, we began to
gradually come to understand

that our families were quite
different from one another.

Our upbringings were quite distinct.

It became really clear when filming
A Summer at Grandpa's at her home.

Her grandpa,

her grandfather had an old motorbike
that was 40 or 50 years old.

There was a clock that was similarly old.

The grandfather also
had an old gramophone...

At the time, everything was
about half a century old.

Now it's all about
60 years old.

Looking at all these belongings,

you come to see
how much our elders

must have treasured them.

Additionally,

although Tien-wen is a child
of the Mainland on her father's side.

However, her maternal
grandparents are natives,

and so you can feel like you
really belong to this place,

and experience a sense of stablility
rooted in living here for generations.

In the case of my own family,
everything was different.

For my parents,

everything was temporary, from
the furniture to the house itself.

With this psychology at work,

you felt like you were going
to leave at any moment.

The constant doubt and anxiety...

ate away at me without
really knowing it.

Understanding another's family background,

can help you understand your own.

So I decided that I would
film my own life story,

A Time to Live, A Time to Die.

While I was shooting A Summer at Grandpa's
and The Boys from Fengkuei back to back,

a lot of those who had studied
the cinema abroad returned.

They began sharing what they learned,
"This is a master shot, this is this and so on".

It became clear that there were many ways
to shoot films that left me at a loss.

At this time, the script for
The Boys from Fengkuei was ready,

it was written and complete.

However, I didn't know how
to put the script on film.

Tien-wen listened to my concerns

and agreed that something
may not be right.

Then she gave me
a book to read.

It's name was
'The Autobiography of Shen Congwen'.

After finishing it,

I felt it had a strange
but intuitive structure.

It has a standpoint,

a point of view.

The view is looking
down upon all events.

Looking down and observing
all the woes of the world

and watching objectively.

There was an extreme
breadth of mind.

When I was shooting
The Boys from Fengkuei

I kept saying to the photographer,

"Back a little, back a little."

Chu: And detached.

"More detached, More detached."

One year after The Boys from Fengkuei,

it was time to shoot
A Summer at Grandpa's.

I was facing the problem of form again.

What stylistic choices can
I make to express the story?

As before then,
form had never been an issue on my mind.

It was then on one occasion when
I was at Edward Yang's house,

that he showed me
Pasolini's Oedipus Rex.

I watched the film
and I thought,

"Wow, it's so clear."

I totally understood why the director
was choosing his shots and perspectives.

The point of view,

whether it's the objective one,

or the ''subjective'' view
of the character,

and sharing what the
actor or actress sees.

This is point of view.

After the film, I felt – "Ah!"

My feeling, when I was shooting
A Summer at Grandpa's,

was that there were three points of view
or perspectives in the film.

The objective one,
that of the filmmaker, me.

What the director's mind
and eyes think and see.

The other is that of the actor.

What the characters' mind
and eyes think and see.

Actually, there are only two.

There aren't three perspectives,
there are only two.

A-Gong, have you seen
A Summer at Grandpa's?

Yes.

Yes, he did. He saw it in Taipei.

Right.

Have you seen
A Summer at Grandpa's?

I can't recall.

When the film was being
screened in Taipei.

I took my grandparents
to see it.

They said it was done beautifully!

After you saw
A Summer at Grandpa's

what did you think?

This is hopeless.

I remember...

I remember him saying
after the screening

"My goodness, the house in the film
is more beautiful than in real life!"

That was then.

Later he felt that it
was a good memorial,

because the area has
changed completely since.

The first time Hou
and I met was in 1980.

It was shortly after I first
entered the film world.

I'd just entered the industry

and began work as a screenwriter
at Central Motion Picture

Wu Nien-Jen
Director and screenwriter

Central Motion Picture was in reality a
Kuomintang propaganda agency.

Before the abolition
of martial law in 1987,

it was the largest
production company in Taiwan,

and already, before I joined,
a partly state-run company.

It's strange that I
got a job there at all,

as it was a very
conservative organisation

and many of the films produced
beforehand were heavily propagandistic.

In 1980, Ming Ji was appointed the
new director of Central Motion Picture,

and was of the view that
Taiwanese films were entirely lacking

and that the industry
was in need of new blood.

A lot of my friends
tried to dissuade me

as many at the time
opposed the Kuomintang.

They'd say, "Why are you, a novelist,
working for the Kuomintang?"

However, at that time in Taiwan,
novelists were subject to strict censorship.

As a result, I thought that
literature was too limited,

and that the cinema was more likely
to affect the greatest number of people.

It just so happened that a number of
filmmakers had returned home from the USA.

It was serendipitous that we were
looking for them and they us,

so we looked at
their work and chose our men.

Given the urgency of
needing new directors,

allowing one director to make
one film wasn't efficient.

So, we thought if we had
four directors work together,

we'd produce four at once.

In Hong Kong, at the time,

there was a lot of discussion
regarding the "New Wave" filmmakers.

When I met them
in Hong Kong,

I found their way of
working very interesting.

They were a team,
they worked together.

It was mainly Tsui Hark,
Ann Hui and Allen Fong.

Hou Hsiao-hsien
and Chen Kun-hou,

they had taken charge of production.

The directors were Hou,
Tseng Chuang-hsiang and Wan Jen.

Each of them made an episode
of The Sandwich Man.

Chen Kuo-fu
Critic and Filmmaker

At that time,

you could feel a burning
energy in these people.

It was comparable to that of
the young revolutionaries,

who had, in the past,
answered Sun Yat-sen,

and his call to a
republican revolution,

which overthrew the Qing dynasty.

While we were not so young anymore,

in the cinema,
we were novices,

without pasts or prejudices.

We shared that same momentum.

It was in 1983 that, with the help of the
New Cinema guys on The Sandwich Man,

the potential of this
movement became clear to me.

Through my experience on the film I
began to understand

that it was possible to
think and act through film.

Right after that anthology film,
Hou shot The Boys from Fengkuei.

It took me by surprise,

as he had broken entirely with
the style of his previous films,

to assert a totally
confident and idiosyncratic approach.

In the cinema of Hou,

The Boys from Fengkuei represents
a decisive step and turning point.

A leap from the
ground level to the apex.

His 1985 film,
A Time to Live, A Time to Die.

Which remains, in my eyes

the very best film in the
whole of the Taiwanese cinema.

I would come here sometimes
when I had free time,

to think, read and take notes.

Almost all my scripts, ever since
A Time to Live, A Time to Die

have been completed here.

It's like an office that's totally mine.

I have my own habits here,

and the space clears my
mind for the creativity needed.

I'll jot up notes, as in here,

on moods,
plot lines and characters.

When all of this has been considered,
I move on to the actual filmmaking,

imagining the tone
of the opening scene,

after which each scene follows.

I write everything down,
constantly revising the scenes,

as I repeat this process every day,
over and over until I'm satisfied.

Afterwards, I'll discuss it all with her.

Basically, I listen to him,

and aim to give him feedback.

I may explore some adjacent notions,

and come back with ideas
not present in the script,

or that have nothing to do with the film.

If he likes them,
he'll integrates them.

Our sessions are quite different
to those of other creative teams.

We talk about our lives.
Everything, in full.

A personal detail of mine may
cause a cascade of memories,

and from that new ideas flow.

I'm too lazy to write.

I get tired of it all the time,

and it used to be a
one-man struggle.

They are brilliant writers,

so I write down my ideas,

basically some key words,
which we then discuss.

Chu then takes them
away and starts to write,

and I just relax and
wait for her to finish.

This is my next film,
Flowers of Shanghai.

Chu and I have already
discussed the structure,

and she's completed the full outline.

However, I want a different
approach this time.

This time I wanted
to write the screenplay

and all of the dialogue myself.

I'm doing a first draft,

after which we'll discuss it,
and perhaps have her then do a rewrite.

It's not finalised yet,
this is just a first draft.

This is my notebook.

It was the basis for the script.

He asked me to bring it.

It's A City of Sadness.

After discussing the
script that's pretty much it.

Changes are made if something isn't right,
or the actors don't like something.

I want the actors to be
able to get into the part.

I want them to
understand the scenarios,

and also feel like
they can improvise.

The script moves around a lot.

They sometimes think that
all the writing was for nothing.

I don't write the script for Hou.

I do it for Nien-jen,
as he needs it to write the dialogue.

I do it for the crew,

as they need to prepare sets,

and get the actors ready
and everything else right.

So, I write it as a guide,

- And hope it doesn't restrain him.
- She doesn't show it to me!

He doesn't want to read it,
it's basically a blueprint for the crew.

Sometimes, if I can't figure a scene out,

if I'm having trouble
getting a scene wrapped,

or if I think it is bad,

I'll shift to another scene.

One with similar atmosphere.

This preserves
the mood for the actors,

because I almost
never do rehearsals.

I explain the scene to them,

and when they've
understood everything with an,

"Ah!",

then we're "shooting."

Often, right after he calls cut,
you realise you never wrote this.

Fuck you!

You deserve to be dead by now!

Why aren't you?

You pulled one hell of a
dirty trick on Wen-leung!

A City of Sadness
1989

You piece of shit!

Huh!?

- What do you want?
- What do I want?

You know what you've done...

Don't say things
that you'll regret!

You wouldn't dare!

Try me!

Couldn't I?

You've got guts!

All talk!

Bastard!
I'll get you!

Boss!

Are you okay?

Call a doctor!

How bad is it?

Put the knife awayy.

Go and get the doctor quickly!

Wen-leung!

I came here a few times,

when we did A City of Sadness.

The gold mines had closed,
the town was very rundown,

because there were
no residents anymore.

You could feel the passage
of time very palpably.

When the mines were booming,
the bars flourished.

They were girl bars.

This place was perfectly
suited for the movie,

it had the exact
atmosphere I was looking for.

Especially in winter,
because it rains constantly.

Let's sit in here and have some tea.

Do you charcoal-roast your oolong?

Of course.

Most stores don't make
it this way anymore.

Yes, it has a different flavour,
when the oolong is roasted.

We'll have that.

How are the watermelon seeds?

The best, of course.

You'll know when you eat them.

We'll take them!

Would you like some tea?

Yes.

A Time to Live, A Time to Die
earned me violent attacks.

The clear message
behind the film was,

that this notion that we could
reclaim Mainland China was, ultimately,

a bunch of lies and
an impossible dream.

I was aware of the
political pressure.

It was harsh back then.

The slightest criticism
meant big trouble,

and no film was made without
the approval of the censor.

Ever since the nationalist
government had taken power,

our history books had
been China-oriented.

Our native history as
Taiwanese people was obscured,

and deliberately shortened
and oversimplified.

Before A City of Sadness,

I only knew Taiwan's
story in fragments.

Through the film, I wanted to
honour the dignity of the people,

especially those who had been
subjected to especially harsh oppression.

I knew I was at risk
addressing this issue.

However, I knew
it would be fine,

there was no need to be afraid
because I wasn't being critical.

I wasn't aiming to castigate,
but to look at everything objectively.

The interesting thing about
the film is its approach,

I wanted to explore the passage
of major power transitions,

from the Japanese to Nationalist
governments, to martial law,

through
the misfortunes of one family,

and, within that story,

explore a political and
economic turning point.

I was interested in this from a both
familial and individual perspective.

This is a very sensitive
point of history,

and we had our share
of troubles back then.

Fortunately for me, at the time,
martial law had lifted.

Furthermore, the...

the opposition
had gained ground.

Basically, I knew it wasn't possible,
given the situation,

for the KMT to bother with
the hassle of coming after me.

It would be a headache to attack a
director popular at both home and abroad.

Initially,
the censors demanded two cuts,

but the press
attacked them mercilessly,

so they backed off.

However, I learned that
in the south of the country,

based on some agreement between
the production company and the censors,

sensitive scenes had
been cut from the film.

From doing my own research,

I could see that in families
in Taiwan, no one spoke.

Adults said "keep silent".

Despite the policy changes
and a more benign government,

after four decades,
people still wouldn't speak out.

When the film was released,
everyone began to speak.

There were a lot articles and reviews,
all one after the other, like a fad.

It was as if a wave was breaking,
and now everything was out in public.

People let out what was buried inside,

and felt truly liberated.

It used to be that all
films were dubbed.

There were only a few
dubbing artists,

so, in the end, everyone's
voices sounded the same.

I prefered to have my
actors voice themselves.

For A City of Sadness,

we decided to shoot with
synced sound.

After discussion
with Tu Du-che,

we rented a Nagra.

We shot with a Nagra
and two microphones.

This meant there was,
on A City of Sadness,

a radically different nature
to the edit and assembly.

The sound became
a key element.

Tu Du-che
Sound engineer

Just like Director Hou said,

we did some tests
with Lee Tien-lu's voice.

We had done some tests
with sync sound on 16mm film.

Prior to A City of Sadness,

our experience was limited
to synchronised recording.

We were not as familiar
with sound editing.

The "New Cinema" era
was a milestone,

as the young directors
brought major changes,

and we technicians,
also got in on the act,

taking advantage of it to
push for what we needed.

It was Hou who enabled us
to realise our dream,

of shooting a whole
film in live sound.

On A City of Sadness,

we had very
rudimentary equipment,

just a Nagra,
a mono track and two microphones.

Hou later decided to back me up
and buy me additional equipment.

When I gave Mr. Tu money,

I told him not to worry
about paying me back.

So long as he was
making a secure living,

the principle was
that it buy equipment,

and fund the training of new people.

This equipment laid the
foundation for Taiwanese cinema

to improve the quality
of the sound recording.

As there was no
financial burden on me,

as Hou had paid for it all,

the money I was saving personally
meant I could buy things I needed.

This allowed me to help on
low-budget films,

with operational finance
coming from big-budget projects.

The box office was very good.

A City of Sadness
was a huge success.

The biggest of 1989.

This made it easier to find investors.

I've always refused
interference,

or the idea of relinquishing
control to get funded.

That had made fundraising
difficult in the past.

Prior to A City of Sadness,

some of my films had received
awards at European festivals like,

Rotterdam, Nantes or Berlin.

None had won major awards.

The Taiwanese press ignored me.

Some dubbed me the winner
at a provincial festival.

When A City of Sadness
won the Golden Lion at Venice,

suddenly investors
showed up everywhere.

Before, I'd had to mortgage my house,

borrow heavily,

just to co-produce my films.

I hadn't been able
to pay any of this off.

A City of Sadness
changed all of that.

Media attention and critical
recognition internationally

attracted the attention
of the government,

which, based on the success,
started to promote the cinema culturally,

and to even set plans in motion
to finance filmmakers.

In addition, every year,

festival managers
from around the world

came to Taiwan
to search for films.

As a result, art films
became big business.

Lee Tien-lu
Puppeteer and actor

After the funeral
of my father-in-law,

we returned to Taipei.

I had only 50 cents in my pocket.

What could I do with 50 cents?

I rented a rickshaw

to take my wife, daughter,

and baby home.

My son, Hong, and me,

we walked back to Duanlungtong,
taking 13 breaks along the way.

The Puppetmaster
1993

By a happy coincidence,
I met a former disciple when I arrived.

Since the defeat of Japan,
he played on Ping-chiang Street,

and he started a busy
season there on July 7th.

He came to see me on July 13th,

knowing I would be home.

He came to see me,
and he started by saying:

''Master,
the whole company is waiting for you,

''come and play with us.''

I replied by saying that I
still got malaria attacks.

What could I do?

He said not to worry about it.

A bed would be set up backstage,

and I could lie down if the
malaria attacks ever started,

he would take over
performing the show.

Dui, take my puppet.

He's shaking now.

Hurry, hurry.

He's shaking now.

Assayas: When was it possible for a Taiwanese
film to shoot on location in China?

I went there in 1988.

It had become as martial
law had been lifted in 1987.

In fact, it wasn't Beijing
that had forbidden us,

but Taiwan that was reluctant to let
us doing film and TV programs there.

China embraced us.

The film is set in old Taiwan,

but the Taiwan of old
no longer exists.

So I went looking for it
on the mainland.

Rice fields, landscapes,
houses and period clothing.

Both places are
similar in many ways.

Everything looks
identical to old Taiwan.

In particular,
country villages and rural landscapes.

We made this a police station.

Lee Tien-lu had worked
closely with the police,

doing a lot of promotional
work for them with his puppets.

Lee Tien-lu is like a walking
encyclopedia of Taiwanese history.

He has spent all of his life in Taiwan,

ever since the initial
Japanese occupation of Taiwan.

In my childhood,
I watched a lot of puppet theatre.

Lee's style was very
traditional.

The puppets are smaller,
about the size of your palm,

It's very refined.

I find his performances to be
very beautiful and fluid.

He also has in-depth
knowledge of Peking opera.

He sings it very well.

This type of theatre
is a local tradition,

but its repertoire
is closely linked to

to the model
of the Peking opera.

He is a very funny person,

as an artist, totally
unselfconscious.

He does not think of
himself as an artist.

He's bursting with
life and energy.

Despite our age difference,

I feel very close to him,
we are kindred spirits.

Like me, he was always fighting,

very temperamental,

and very strong-willed.

When I went to shoot
in China,

I brought my whole team with me.

There was about 100 of us.

Twenty on the Mainland side,
and eighty on ours,

and about a dozen trucks.

Lee brought along
a puppet troupe,

because I wanted the real thing.

They were all
older men,

50 or 60 years old.

If they made mistakes,
he would glare at them.

They were terrified,

despite their age
and experience.

I came here when I
was an assistant director.

There are many tunnels in
mountainous areas like this.

As a child,
I would get carsick,

so I always took the train.

Lee really is an encyclopedia.

He knows all about our
traditional customs and rites.

every detail about things we
no longer understand.

Thanks to his vision of the past,

my creative work can
access those dimensions,

and take on a wider view,

covering how we
Taiwanese acted in the past,

and interacted with
traditional Chinese values.

From mining my own experience,

I've tried to develop
a form of creation

that allows me to reflect
on myself.

Seeing my past and
background more clearly,

thinking about how I
have become who I am,

has allowed me to
understand others better.

My earlier films tended to be
more dramatic and romantic.

I often wanted to take
a different direction.

However, modern life
seemed hard to decipher,

and I had to take time and
consider how to look at it.

I wanted to reflect on it
with some distance.

It's just like when we
reflect on your past.

I wanted to make a movie
that does that with "now".

Man 1: Excuse me.

Man 2: Give us a hand, please.

Hou: Back up a little.

Hou: Bye.

Hou: It's Da Hua.

Assayas: How long until we arrive?

Hou: When will we arrive in Shih-fen?

How long will it take?

I shot two films here:

Dust in the Wind in 1986,

and Goodbye South, Goodbye
in 1996.

I wanted to film
in the present tense,

and no longer with
a look to the past,

then see the difference.

It feels like that
modern life moves fast,

and you can go anywhere
because it's convenient.

Filming in the present, as a result,
takes on another mood and form.

She is from Ping-hsi.

We became friends
when I shot there.

Did you shoot in Che-tong?

A long time ago,
but I rarely go there now.

I am very curious about
the thoughts of people,

those in the past and
of my contemporaries.

as well as the
world itself today.

If I see a man,
in a café,

who smokes constantly,

I want to know what
he is thinking about.

I would like talk to him,
get inside his head.

It's a new experiece.

Maybe sometimes on
my way somewhere,

a group on motorbikes
stop for the light.

Their thoughts on the world
must be totally different to mine.

Their way of
thinking about life,

their mindset and logic
must be different to mine.

This sparks my curiousity.

Now I've changed
in this direction.

The Puppetmaster was
about Lee and his family.

Then there was
Good Men, Good Women,

following Annie Yi and her life,

I still didn't feel it was enough.

After that I moved on to
Goodbye South, Goodbye,

and trying to capture the savvy
and ideas of real people today,

the authentic rhythms of
their lives and behaviours.

How about pak choi?

Do you have salted cabbage?

What's that?

Fried cabbage.

Assayas: How long has
it been like this in Taiwan?

Does he have any comment?

When the value of the Hong
Kong dollar fell and ours rose,

Taiwanese producers
invested heavily in films there,

so a lot of Hong Kong
films were imported.

However,
over the last three years,

audiences have
started to shun them,

as the stories and
casts are all the same.

As a result, distributors
started to buy in Western films,

They snatched up anything from any
studio, festival or filmmaker.

In the past, the import of
Western films was limited,

in order to protect the local
market from competition.

so the number of prints available
was set at a maximum of eight.

That's finished, so now
there are at least 50 prints around.

Western films
monopolise the rooms.

It looks like a supermarket,

where the only product
would be foreign cinema.

Have you considered ways in which
you could distribute your own films,

perhaps by renting screening
rooms or opening a cinema?

My dream is to build a theatre.

Distribution here has been
monopolised by the major chains.

My films should be released
in a few venues,

and stay there longer,

in what in Europe you call
an arthouse run.

In the current chain system,

if a film is to be distributed,

it will be in 40
theatres at a time,

and require 40
prints of the film,

Imagine the cost for
40 prints of your film?

And then you factor in
the costs of promotion.

If the film doesn't work,

it's a complete disaster.

Some films are ideal
for an arthouse run,

an extended screening period
on only one or two screens.

I've been mulling over if I could
develop an arthouse cinema,

with only a screening
room or two,

a small coffee shop,

where people can meet
and talk all about movies,

and buy special publications
and film merchandise.

They're abundant abroad.

It could be next to a university.

Students and cinephiles
could find their way there.

It should be a nice
place to socialise,

like the temple was for me
and my friends back then.

Now, for young people today,
it's McDonald's.

This is where they meet.

Interpreter: Does Hong Kong's
return to China affect Taiwan?

Of course, Hong Kong acted as an
intermediary between Taiwan and China.

Direct relations
were prohibited.

Now that's all changed.

There's just the Mainland now.

We've lost this
intermediary point.

How will the Taiwanese
government respond to this?

Before it was Taiwan and
Hong Kong investing in China,

now China is getting
global attention.

Before, the relationship between
Taiwan and the Mainland was –

they used to want us to come

Now we must push for it.

The relationship is
not the same anymore.

Dealing with this
issue requires wisdom,

but I sincerely doubt the
capabilities of our decison-makers.

This is why there was the missle crisis
between Taiwan and the Mainland in March.

It's a question of wisdom.

When a U.S. aircraft carrier
sailed through the Taiwan Strait,

China understood that it was
really dealing with Washington.

So now China negotiates
with the United States,

and entirely ignores Taiwan.

United States also wants to patch up
relations with Communist China,

and ensure that
relationship is strong,

because the market
in Asia is booming.

For the best interests
of its own economy,

Washington has to re-establish
good relations with the CCP.

In my opinion,
regarding the current situation,

Taiwan's future is likely
to get more difficult,

unless our politicians
can begin to act wisely.

In my filmmaking,
the character is decisive,

and the character is based
on real people I encounter.

Who Jack Kao will play,

or who Lee Tien-lu, Annie Yi,
Wu Nien-jen will be,

It is only when they
have been defined,

that a story is
developed around them.

I begin with the people.

Lim Giong has a
background as a musician.

He will struggle to make
the transition to acting,

unless he can access the bigger
picture in a way he understands.

However, with Jack Kao,
I give him less,

otherwise his imagination
runs wild with ideas.

I direct the actors in a simple way,
with only a small amount of discussion.

They're free to move and
develop their own rhythms.

They know what needs
to be said in a scene.

I'm there to remind them to not
focus to entirely on the words,

to draw their
attention to others,

the space and how they
could interact with it.

The script is there to
give them a direction,

to let them know what is
there to be said in a scene,

but they need to be free
to think while they perform.

The dialogue must be
the result of a reaction.

Speech is always spontaneous.

Sticking to script can,
sometimes will,

make a performance unnatural.

It's much more powerful and moving,
I believe,

if the reactions are spontaneous.

Generally, my rule is
not to have a rehearsal,

as I think rehearsal makes
the scenes too familiar.

It restricts the actors if they
know the material too well.

In general, I find one or
two takes are enough.

If it's taking too long,
I'll stop,

and attempt the scene
the next day.

If the scene still isn't
working, I'll cut it,

and figure out an alternative.

If I have to design
another scene,

I make sure it's
new for them,

to ensure that it's
novel and unfamiliar.

A film is a world
that you create,

and a place to put
all that you feel.

You can't do this in real life.

If you expressed all of
your feelings in daily life,

for some it would be unbearable,

some people find it
very hard to handle.

I think this what I am like,

and I always will be.

It's only by making films,

that I can understand
myself better.

As in Goodbye South, Goodbye,

I find myself drawn to
these characters.

I especially like their energy,

their passion, their vitality.

I can't be critical
of my characters.

I present them as they are.

If you love what you see,

you need to present it.

Then I observe them objectively.

About them I feel...
not tragedy,

but a kind of
inescapable isolation.

They seem trapped by history
and their own experience,

as if it were destiny or fate.

Many filmmakers in
their fifties get preachy,

their work is brimming
with their philosophy of life.

They get every idea in there.

As a result,
the films are bad.

Whereas before,
with these directors,

their first films were strong,
precise and affecting.

People were genuinely
touched by them.

So I think we should
all try and return to that,

the approach seen in
these early films that was...

powerful and direct.

Just like when we
first got out of school,

and learnt that we had
to begin to face the world.

That is the way we should be.

Goodbye South, Goodbye
1996

Its exhaust system
looks fucked up.

Is your bike going to explode?

"Ha! Go! You're nothing special"

"Everything's about you,
while I depress myself"

"Although I love you,
you can't be so childish"

"Not even a lonely duck
would want you"

"Ha! Go! You're nothing special"

"Everything's about you,
while I depress myself"

"Although I love you,
you can't be so childish"

"Not even a lonely duck
would want you"

When I met Jack Kao,
I felt this he was very capable.

He brings a real presence with him,
when he is on screen,

especially with his eyes and face.

How long have I known Hou?

Almost 10 years.

Jack Kao
Actor

The first time I met him,

he didn't give
me anything to do.

He made me wait for two days.

My work began on the
third day of the shoot.

Lim Giong
Musician and actor

For me it began with
The Puppetmaster.

Yeah, The Puppetmaster.

I was just starting out in film,

I knew nothing about it.

I was looking at
how they worked.

I didn't know how
to talk to the crew,

the cinematographer
and lighting technicians.

Hou: You were meant
to be busy creating.

With experience,
you learn to manage quite well,

creating the details of
your role is quite fulfilling.

If you mention it to Hou later,

he will say:
"Oh, you were creating for yourself.''

I wasn't really doing anything!

I wasn't very confident
with my acting.

He is a musician.

Perhaps he wanted my help at the
box office, since I was doing well?

I saw you in concert,

I noticed the energy
you were giving off.

I hoped to get this
energy into the movie,

but first he had to
make the adjustment.

The two are quite different,
you need to adjust.

Then you could be more controlled.

It was when doing
Goodbye South, Goodbye,

that you finally
made the transition.

I was very conscious
of the camera.

Hou: He's very self-conscious.
Lim: I'm always aware of it!

I find that, here in Taiwan,

the society is still imbued
with something primitive.

Suffused with a fierce machismo.

At every turn,
you have to prove you are a man.

Like a wild animal.

I find it quite fascinating,

the symbols of strength
in this male world.

Politics is a similar world, as it's all
about countering an other's power.

But, honestly,
I'm less interested in it.

Why? It's too calculating,
too base.

The gangster scene, though,

it's a world founded on machismo,

which is more romantic,

more forceful.

In Taiwan,
this primitive side still exists.

I have experienced
this male world myself,

and I've always been around men,

it takes me back to the past,
to where I grew up.

There, it was always necessary to
be the best,

to strive after
becoming the big man,

or the leader of the thugs,

otherwise you were nothing.

As a man, I feel that a man
has to do what a man has to do.

Today, men are less assertive,
more neutral.

Women will eventually
surpass men.

I am certain the world
will change completely.

I'm nostalgic for
the macho world,

its rivalries,

competing like
a pack of dogs,

fighting to be in charge.

"Although you and I
meet in the air every day"

"Because your soft
and sweet voice is cute"

"I can't help it"

"I'm lost for you"

I've always loved the
early pop songs of Taiwan.

They probably remind me of
childhood memories,

what I felt
towards my family.

They are mostly sad songs,
correlating to my past feelings.

I picked up a lot of them then.

"Although you and I
meet in the air every day"

My bearing is quite
different when I sing,

and my friends all notice
I'm very serious about it.

I enter a song
completely when I sing.

I inhabit the mood of the song,

its atmosphere and tone.

It cleanses your soul and allows
you to express your happiness.

When I'm writing a script,

or even thinking about one,

maybe thinking of a
time I was happy too,

I will start to sing,

or start to a hum any tune
that comes into my head.

"I only miss you."

For me, singing is an excellent
way to, you know,

let out pent up emotions
and express my feelings.

I find it exhilirating.

And you sing that much better
when you are in love.

"After many struggles,
do you ever feel tired?"

"I've felt that way before,
many times"

"When someone broke my heart"

"And no one understands"

"I think we both
feel truly exhausted"

"Cheers friends, let it all out"

"And think of the
past as a hangover"

"Tomorrow's wine glass is
free of yesterday's sadness"

"Raise your glass with
me and celebrate the past"

[Singing in Japanese:]

"After many struggles,
do you ever feel tired?"

"I've felt that way before,
many times"

"When someone broke my heart"

"And no one understands"

"I think we both
feel truly exhausted"

"Cheers friends, let it all out"

"And think of the
past as a hangover"

"Tomorrow's wine glass is
free of yesterday's sadness"

"Raise your glass with
me and celebrate the past"

"Cheers friends, let it all out"

[Singing returns to Mandarin:]

"And think of the
past as a hangover"

"Tomorrow's wine glass is
free of yesterday's sadness"

"Raise your glass with
me and celebrate the past"

"Cheers friends, let it all out"

"And think of the
past as a hangover"

"Tomorrow's wine glass is
free of yesterday's sadness"

"Raise your glass with
me and celebrate the past"

"Cheers friends, let it all out"

"And think of the
past as a hangover"

That's a wrap!