Roundtable interview: 趙濤 (Zhao Tao) (山河故人 (Mountains May Depart))

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on Jun. 1 , 2015)

Some call "Mountains May Depart" Mr. Jia’s love letter to you.

I don’t see it that way. "Mountains May Depart" has actually been on his list of films to make for over a decade. The project just never came to be. When he told me he was going to make this movie last year, he described to me in very simple terms that it’s a love story spanning 26 years. Which meant of course that I’d be playing someone from her twenties to her fifties. This prospect really excited me. As an actress I think it’s a great fortune to come upon a role who lives through such a long period of time. It allows such breadth in a performance.

Was it a bigger challenge for you to play the younger or the older version of the character?

I think the hardest part was to put all three stages of this character side by side in one movie. In the 1999 segment, I had to come across as this guileless young girl. When she’s in her forties, I must look like a mother who’s already been through a lot. And in her fifties, I wanted to make the audience see an aged but happy lady. The character must seem real at every stage. Only when you can buy into her, would you be able to buy into her story. That has been the biggest challenge for me.

How did you go about achieving this goal?

To achieve that goal, I concentrated on many little details. For the 1999 segment, I conjured up and maximized the innocence in me. Act a little spoiled, let out squeals, break into running abruptly… When Jinsheng’s car was trashed, my character’s only response was: “Everything all right?” Watching it, I had to laugh and think: “What a foolish girl.”

In the segment 2014, this woman has just had the most painful experiences of her life. She lost her father and had to make a decision on the custody of her child, which she eventually gave up. At this time of emotional hardship, we’re looking at an entirely different person than the one from her youth. My hope was that the audience would be struck by their first look at this familiar but also new character, that they could tell this is somebody who has lived. To this end, I chose big, long hair for her look and had no make-up on. I hoped that, with all the spots and wrinkles plainly exposed on the big screen, it would be a face that touches you, one that tells a story; that when you see a face like this, you could feel the existence of the character. I also lowered my voice during this part of the story.

To give you an example of how I perceived the inner landscape of Tao: the scene where Liand’s sick and I went to visit him featured the same location with the same people, only 15 years have passed. Both then middle-aged and perhaps no longer sharing any romantic feelings for each other, but their friendship and their common past still bound them. So when Liand said; “I hope this is not asking too much of you,” my character replied; “No, it’s the least I can do.” The scene really moved me as I was playing it. I think this is what life and humanity is about. So the presence of Liand brought further complications to Tao’s emotional state in 2014, which ultimately led her to forego child custody.
Or the scene where she was standing by the river with her son and telling him; “Mom can’t give you much. It’s better for you to stay with your father.” That was a difficult scene to shoot because we were near a bridge with a lot of traffic we had no control over and I had to be in that complicated state. After the first day of shooting, I was not satisfied with my performance. On the second day, I finally sank into that feeling. I realized that, even though the lines weren’t long or epic, those were the hardest words for a mother to say. At the same time, she didn’t want to show her child the pain she was feeling. She wanted to keep up this strong, independent appearance in front of him.

For the segment of 2025, I took off my contact lenses. In my fuzzy view of the world, the sense of distance felt right to me for playing somebody that age, where you still see things, but not that clearly anymore. I also shrunk my eyes a little to portray the light aversion, hunched my back and dragged my steps a bit. But above all, I wanted to portray an old lady who’s happy and content. Even though she’s had a lot of misfortune and is now living in solitude, I wanted her to have a smile on her face. So in this whole late segment of the film, we see a smiling old lady, walking her dog in the snow, who suddenly hears a familiar melody from the past and can’t help but break into a dance. For that dance scene, my instruction from the director was simply “Stop crying”. Actually he was already shedding tears behind the camera when we were shooting the happy dance scene for the 1999 segment. So he knew that, after playing this character through these stages of her life, I would definitely be touched by the final dance sequence. And indeed, for the first couple of days, the tears just kept pouring out of me in the middle of the scene despite all my attempts at restraint. Through that final dance, as simply choreographed as it was, I hoped to convey all the joy, pain and loneliness of a woman’s life.

The movie seemed to really strike a chord with the Cannes audience.

On the night of the Cannes premiere, I watched the film on the big screen for the first time just like everybody else. I think the audience responded to it because this movie is about emotions that we’ve all experienced before or will experience at some point. It’s about something universal that we can all relate to.

You’ve worked with Mr. Jia Zhangke on many films by now. Was it any different this time around? 

The biggest difference this time – which I really appreciated – was that he finally shot the movie by the script. It never used to be that way. Usually he would only give me an outline of the story or the character and we would start filming. On "Still Life", for example, there was simply no time for screenwriting because houses were being torn down every day. So he would only tell me what my character’s name was, her age, what she did etc. We were literally fighting against time on that shoot.

This time around, he was able to shoot the film completely according to script. It was such good news to me, because it gave me plenty of time to prepare. I got to go to Fenyang, sit by the road and observe the people passing by. That I got to experience life in Fenyang was hugely important to my portrayal of this character. Also, I finally had time to discuss my character with the director face to face. It never happened on previous films because he was always too busy with other matters. This time we even had time for rehearsals! It was all just wonderful.

Has pop music, which is prominently featured in the film, informed you of your performance? 

Not really. I grew up learning classical dance in a very conservative environment. We were hardly exposed to any popular entertainment at all. So I never had much impression of pop music. Not until I first became part of Mr. Jia’s team – back in 2000 for "Platform" – did I suddenly realize I’d never heard of all these songs. I’ve only started to learn more about pop music through his films since then.

Some critics have noted that the movie “derailed” in the third part. Did you feel that way while watching it?

I didn’t feel that way. I knew going in that the movie wasn’t evenly divided between its three parts, but watching it at the premiere, I didn’t even notice the disproportion. That detail just completely went past me. For me there was no “derailing” in the third act. What it did was allowing me to imagine how we’ll live 15 years from now.

There are elements of melodrama in the movie. How did you make sure the performance didn’t become melodramatic?

By believing in the feelings of the character, I think. In the first segment, the key to portraying the young Tao is the fact that at she believes in what she feels. There are no ulterior motives to her choices. Back then the living standard was completely different from what we’re used to today. Actually Liand and Jinsheng were equals in 1999. They couldn’t have known that in 15 years’ time, their circumstances would become so drastically different. Tao couldn’t have known that either. She was won over by Jinsheng because he was a proactive guy and cared for her well-being, helping her get the CD back in time, for example. I think all young girls would be touched by such gestures. So I believe in her feelings.

Do you see Mr. Jia in the characters of the movie? It’s conspicuously set in Fenyang again. 

Not really. I understand why all his films are set in Fenyang. I also grew up in the Shanxi province. Our hometowns are about 1.5 hours apart by car. His description of Fenyang, the city, the people, the mentality, how it looks and sounds, all strikes me as authentic. He chooses Fenyang as background for his movies also because he has so many memories there.

Roundtable interview: 賈樟柯 (Jia Zhangke) (山河故人 (Mountains May Depart))

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on Jun. 1 , 2015)

Some are calling Mountains May Depart your most ambitious project to date.

I think it might actually be the least ambitious film I’ve made so far. At the same time, I would also call it the most intimate. It’s the film that speaks to my own emotions and experiences the most closely since "Platform". Most of my other films like "Still Life" dealt with societal changes and what they meant for individuals, whereby the existence of the individuals was always on the line, so their personal feelings only played a minor role.

As time went by, I entered my forties and have accumulated more and more memories. With it came the urge to tell a story that’s more about my emotions. And I also needed to tell this story at this stage of my life, because it probably won’t describe how I feel when I’m in my fifties.

As you just said, this is an emotionally-driven movie, but did you intend to make certain comments on the Chinese society through it as well? 

Individuals still exist within the context of society – I’m not making a fantasy film that’s completely separated from reality. Every person is at once his own self and a member of a larger community. The character Jinsheng, for example, is someone driven by the need to become rich. Tao is a woman with her own background who gets caught between two different types of guys. When I approach their love story, I also try to offer some thoughts on the value system reflected therein, like the materialistic way in which our mind works these days. Take me as an example: I’m always busy working and don’t spend much time with my mother. Whenever I do get to see her, I compensate by giving her money before promptly leaving again. I regretted doing that and finally brought my mother over to live with me in Beijing, because I’ve come to realize that money is not of the essence, time is. This is the kind of sad realization I gained with age, and I wanted to project that into this film. So Tao forgoes custody rights of her son because she thinks he’d be better off with his father for his wealth. But where does that reasoning leave her? She ends up alone and her son grows up not even able to speak his mother tongue.

What I also wanted to talk about in the film are the basic human conditions that we all go through, from life, sickness, accidents to death. So Tao gives birth, Liand falls ill, Tao loses her father and, notably, everybody ages. These are all life’s lessons; lessons you start to learn once you hit middle age. My first major lesson was the death of my father when I was 36. Before then, such a thing didn’t even cross my mind – just like in the 1999 segment of the film, when everyone is young and alive, notions of pain and misfortune seem simply inconceivable. But the movie wouldn’t be what it is if one only looks at this segment. Instead it moves forward in time. where everything changes. And as time goes by, the decisions we make based on materialistic reasons might lead to even more regrettable outcomes in the future, as foretold by the 2025 segment.

There are voices in the Chinese media which criticize you for overselling the “Chinese element” with this movie; others find the subplot of the teacher-student affair a bit too sensationalistic. How would you respond to such criticism?

I am a Chinese director, so there’s no separating my work from the so-called “Chinese element.” Even when I travel to Australia to film [the 2025 segment], it’s still very much a Chinese picture. As for the latter criticism, I think it speaks right to the point I was trying to make, namely the question of personal liberty. Can you still stay hopeful and find romance when you turn old? There are many restrictions posed upon us in life. Are we allowed to love someone much older or younger? Can we love someone of the same sex? It’s all a matter of liberty.

What are the reasons for the prominent use of music in this movie?

It’s true that I haven’t used so much music in a film since "Still Life". One reason is the overall lower density of dialogue. For this movie, I didn’t want the characters to talk too much. I wanted more open space in which to develop the contour of these characters. For example, the opening dance number shows a body language of the young Tao that’s drastically different from when she’s in her fifties, chopping vegetables and walking her dog. I find this visual contrast more striking than words. And music happens to be a good support for these non-verbal sequences. Also, I think music brings out those feelings you know are there but can’t put into words.

Some observers say the reason for the international popularity of your films is that they deal with the changes in the Chinese society. Do you see it that way?

I think in order for a movie to be appreciated, it ultimately needs to be an aesthetic creation. Who would care for a film depicting a lot of social realities but devoid of a sense of aesthetics? If my movies have appealed to an international audience, I hope it’s because on a substantial level, they bring the contemporary Chinese experience to the big screen, and that at the same time, they have an artistic quality to them.

There’s a considerable amount of English dialogue in the movie. Has that been a challenge?

The way I approached it was I first wrote the dialogue in Chinese, which I then had translated by a British film critic. When we first began shooting this part of the film, I’d listen carefully and make sure every word was pronounced correctly. After a while, I realized you only needed to listen to the rhythm of speech. It’s the same with Chinese dialogue. If an actor messes up a line, the rhythm is definitely off. When they get it right, the rhythm would naturally sound good. From there it all went smoothly and English ceased to be a problem. These past days, I was even approached to direct English-language films, which I’d like to try someday.

Did you have to make any compromise filming this movie?

No. I’ve been making films for 17 years now and have never made any compromises.

Roundtable interview: Jesuthasan Antonythasan & Kalieaswari Srinivasan (Dheepan)

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on Jun. 1 , 2015)

How was your reaction when you first saw the film?

Antonythasan: It was obviously an emotional, happy moment. I was doubly happy because, for the past 20 years, I’ve been writing about the struggles in Sri Lanka. So it’s really great to see that, through this film, those stories have found an international platform and can now reach more people.

When you saw the film, was it just like how you imagined it to be or were there differences?

Antonythasan: I’d read the script of course. And it’s a Jacques Audiard movie, so I pretty much knew what to expect.

Srinivasan: Yes, it’s the same because we had the script, but I also think it has evolved in a very subtle way that surprised us all in the movie. It was a very organic process which happened during the shoot and the period before that. To me personally, I discovered more about my character when I saw her on the big screen.

Did the conflict in your countries help you prepare for your performances? 

Srinivasan: I’m Indian, not Sri Lankan, so I have not experienced war in my life. To me, both the Sri Lankan and the European backgrounds of this film were totally new. There’s nothing I could relate to or have lived through. I knew about the conflict in Sri Lanka because I lived in Chennai, which shares a political history with Sri Lanka. I’ve grown up with the news but have never been a part of it. So I could never say I know the pain, the grief, the conflict. That’s why the way I approached and created the character with Jacques has been different.

Antonythasan: There are a lot of similarities between the character’s life and my life. I was also in the LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam), I’m also a political refugee, I also lost a lot of family members in the war. I have been in the same situations as the character. So I’ve been able to use my life experience for the character and the acting, as I was able to imagine what the character’s thinking, feeling or what his intentions were.

Where do you call home now? Are you still in danger because of your past and current activities?

Antonythasan: It’s been 25 years since I left Sri Lanka. I’ve been a political refugee in Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, before coming to France 22 years ago. When I first came to France, there were certain dangers from the side of the Sri Lankan government and the LTTE, because I was writing against both of them. Since the end of the war in 2009, there are no more threats from the LTTE. However, there may still be threats from the Sri Lankan government. That’s why the refugee status I have in France strictly prohibits me from traveling back to Sri Lanka, for my own safety.

Do you see your experiences as a refugee often reflected in movies?

Antonythasan: I don’t really remember seeing movies like this. There’s the Hollywood film "The Terminal" and some French-speaking African films that I’ve watched which kind of reflected my experiences, but it’s quite rare.

How do you feel about being in a male-dominated film?

Srinivasan: You can take it in any way, but are we not in a male-dominated world? And I see my character Yalini — not because it was me who played it — as the life force in the family. The movie, to me, is more about the relationship between the three main characters. She’s kind of steering and bringing life in their fake family, in her own way. So… it came as a surprise to me when you described the film as male-dominated.

What has been the most challenging aspect of the film for you?

Srinivasan: There were a couple of scenes where I needed to not just cry but go much deeper. Only then would it be true to the character of Yalini. To achieve that, you must let go, be naked and bare your soul to let the character take over. These soulfully demanding scenes, were, more than the physical stuff, the hardest part for me.

How did you work on the chemistry between the two of you?

Srinivasan: It just happened. The first time we had an improvisation, I didn’t know him much and vice versa, but we just clicked.

I gathered that your livelihood comes from your writing. Can you make a good living as a Tamil author?

Antonythasan: I’ve been writing for 20 years now. I’ve written about 15 books and novels but I’ve never really earned anything from my writing. I only spent a lot of money on publishing. There aren’t a lot of Tamil readers. Even the best Tamil authors get only 1200 copies published. For my livelihood I do various kinds of odd jobs.

There aren’t many French movies about the Tamil community. Do you hope this film will open a new discussion in the French society about the Tamil community?

Antonythasan: Yes. A lot of people here don’t even know why there’s a Sri Lankan refugee community in France. They just don’t understand why these people are here, especially when Sri Lanka has never been a French colony. So in some small way, this movie does help clarify a few things. Today, there are still about 20,000-30,000 stateless Tamil refugees in France.

As an author yourself, was it hard for you to be the actor and have no say in what the story should be about?

Antonythasan: Well, the story was better than what I could have written, so no complaints there.

What opportunities do you have as an Indian actress to break into western movies?

Srinivasan: I honestly don’t know. I do wish to work more in movies now that I have my first film credit. To me it doesn’t matter which part of the world it is, but I’d really like to continue working as a film actress.

Roundtable interview: Jacques Audiard (Dheepan)

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on Jun. 1 , 2015)

How did this project start for you? 

[whistles, pointing to right] This is my screenwriter (Noé Debré).

It didn’t start with the director?

Sure, but if a director talks, the screenwriter remembers the conversation.

What drew you to the project?

It’s probably the guy who sells roses at cafés. When you send them off, you don’t look at them, but they do have their own stories. That’s what we’re telling here.

Why did you choose the civil war in Sri Lanka as background for the film?

I’d say the film is about war in general. Noé [Debré] was the one who chose the location of Sri Lanka. In France, we hardly ever hear anything about the war over there.

Debré: There’s something very striking for us in Europe, specifically in France, about this subject matter. Ours is a very diverse population. In Paris you meet a lot of Sri Lankans – no, actually you don’t meet them, you just see them. You have no idea what their stories are. They are not represented in cinema, at least not in French cinema, or even in western cinema, especially not in genre movies. That’s what made the prospect interesting to me. Immediately you think, there’s going to be pictures that we’ve never seen before.

This is no doubt a very human story. Do you see it as a political film as well?

The film’s not political because it deals with the projects or immigrants. It’s political in the sense that it’s a French production with unknown, non-professional Tamil actors, co-produced by French national television. To me this fact is politically significant. And also just the fact that it shows how we live today in France, with faces that are not necessarily familiar because they’re from different parts of the world.

This film is also about how a fictional family becomes a real family.

I do think the real subject of the film is the family. And if you look at that family from a distance, you realize the film also becomes a comedy in a way, like a comedy about marriages. From there you arrive at a truth that’s even better than ordinary truths. In a way, the comedy supports the whole narration. The rest of it, like the depiction of the projects, is just background. It’s like making a film about the vigilantes by way of romantic comedy.

What often happens with your films is that, one thinks they’re watching a certain kind of movie, only to finds out later that it’s something completely different. 

I’m not necessarily aware of that, nor is it something I try to do deliberately. But I do realize that there’s a structure in screenwriting and a way of shaping the story that’s recurring in my films because it’s effective. The genre element, for example, is an effective means of storytelling, but there are people who take genre too literally and they end up making bad movies. It’s a matter of balance. Having too much action in an action movie can be counterproductive.

I recently re-watched "Straw Dogs" and I was very disappointed. I didn’t like it anymore. It aged in a bad way. It’s far from being the best Peckinpah film. I thought it was the perfect film but it’s not.

The depiction of the projects in the film is quite shocking. Were you going for a realistic portrayal or an exaggerated version? 

It’s a reflection and, as such, an exaggeration. It’s a stylized portrait of what is, at least from the point of the view of the characters – the idea of the film is that we see the majority of the events through the characters’ eyes. In cinema there’s no such thing as an objective view anyway.

Do you think there’s a moral code within the world of the LTTE (Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam)?

I wouldn’t be able to say. I know that it belongs to a completely different culture that’s very structured and has ancient myths. I know that the LTTE are fighters. They’re an army which has killed a lot people. Yesterday I also learned that Antony (lead actor Jesuthasan Antonythasan) was a leftist-communist, a Guevarist.

Can you talk about the choice of music for the film? 

The song Dheepan sings in the film is the actual hymn of the LTTE fighters. The other Tamil songs were chosen by Antony. As for the rest of the score, it was composed by Nicolas Jaar, an American-Chilean musician. I wanted him to also use classical tones and notes, which is why we had the Vivaldi piece.

Many European directors presented English-language films at this year’s festival. Will you also consider doing one? 

I’m no doubt the first French director to work in Tamil. [laughter] And that would be my answer to your question.

How important is the fact that your main actor has actually lived through the Sri Lankan warfare? 

You should ask him that question. For me it wasn’t an essential factor. I only found out that he used to be a fighter afterwards. In some respects it was good that he brought with him this experience, because he could provide me with details like the correct names of the places etc. Otherwise it wasn’t important.

Is it true that you’re inspired by Montesquieu’s The Persian Letters?

What Montesquieu asked was how to be a person. It was a great question that certainly interested me.

You have worked with both established actors and non-professional actors. Did you notice any difference and do you have a preference?

After “A Prophet” I became more and more inclined to work with non-professional actors because, first of all, I don’t know their faces. Also, allow me to exaggerate a little bit here, when a professional actor gives a bad performance, it’s just plain bad; whereas you can often still get something out of a bad performance by a non-professional actor. Someone who does things that you haven’t seen before can always surprise.

Your films tend to have a happy ending. Did you find it justified or necessary in this case?

In a script, you often have two endings. One is the ending of the characters, one the ending of the story. Often they don’t coincide, which is why you have epilogues or additional scenes in films. In this case, the end of the story is of course the violent fight and the end of the characters is the episode in the UK. To me that episode also functions as a vision of Dheepan, of this tranquil, quiet happiness.

You mentioned at the press conference yesterday that the film rejected many things by its very nature. 

Yes, the film rejected every attempt at aestheticization, for example, both in terms of using special lighting and narrative tricks. I could actually make a catalog of the things I said no to. Simply put, whatever went beyond the point of view of the characters was uncalled-for, because it would be excessive. When you think about it, this is really a film from the point of view of the three main characters. That doesn’t change throughout the film.

When you choose new project, do you look back on what you’ve done already and go for something vastly different?

I’ve only made seven films in over 20 years, which is not a lot. What I know is that every film meant something to me. I’m sure if you ask John Ford what he’d learned between his 68th and 69th films, he’d be puzzled and surprised by the question as well. For me, it’s always about looking for something that makes me question and re-examine what I thought I knew, but I can’t really specify what triggers the inspirations in me.

Roundtable interview: 侯孝賢 (Hou Hsiao-Hsien) (聶隱娘 (The Assassin))

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on May 27, 2015)

1. Why did it take so long to make this movie? What has been the most challenging aspect of the process?

I've wanted to shoot the film for a long time, but for about 8 years I was occupied with organizing various film festivals in Taiwan, namely the Taipei Film Festival and the Golden Horse Film Festival. At first I only intended to spend 2-3 years on the job, but whenever I realized something's not working, I'd feel compelled to restructure the whole festival. So I ended up spending 8 years upgrading both festivals and only got to filming "The Assassin" afterwards.

2. What made "The Assassin" so different from all the martial arts movies that came before it?

Whatever film I make, realism is always of critical importance to me. This realism can be staged, but if the footage doesn't seem authentic enough to me, then I have no use for it - which is why we had to stop and restart filming on "The Assassin" time and again, making adjustments constantly. The same thing happens again in the editing room. If any given shot doesn't look real to me - whether technically or in terms of the performances- I'll just take it out. Only after such a selection process do I even begin to do the edits. So my editing process is not dictated by the script. Even if a shot ends up ambiguous this way, I'm ok with leaving some room for the imagination.

3. Was making a kinetic, high-flying kung fu movie never the plan?

I could never have done that. When you're dependent on too much technical assistance, you necessarily lose control over the film you want to make. The material others present me with is never what I have in mind. Some of the fight choreography originally planned for this movie, for example, was just not what I wanted. What I needed for this movie was something closer to reality, which is the hardest thing to do, because it has to show the force, the impact in a plausible way. And the fights should be meaningful as well. When the action choreographer first described to me how the fight scenes were usually done, I immediately knew that's not what I was going for. It's just not something that interests me. To put it simply: the personality of a character should directly affect how he or she fights. Every character has their special qualities, and that should be reflected in the action sequences.

4. How did you come about picking this character to be your heroine?

The movie is based on a novella from the Tang Dynasty. Back then, they still used classical Chinese to write novels, where each single character meant something, thus enabling them to write really concisely. But even with such a short tale, I only used a part of it for the movie. What interested me above all was this character. Her name Nie Yinniang captured my imagination. The family name Nie is composed symbolically of three ears. The first character of her given name, Yin, means hidden. And Niang means woman. What I pictured in my mind when I saw the name was this female assassin, hidden from sight, eyes closed but always listening. When she detects sonic changes in her surroundings, she'd open her eyes, leaps out of her hiding place, and in one whoosh finishes the job. Little did I know then, that Shu Qi is afraid of heights and could never jump down from treetops, so we had to modify that.

5. The imagery of the movie is exquisite and breathes with such life. Could you talk about how you achieved that technically?

We used a lot of silk for the production. Back in the Tang Dynasty, they used a lot of partitions in forms of drapes and curtains. Even just a normal bed is often separated by screens. And these were basically all silk-based in material. My art director bought huge quantities of silk from Korea and India, picking the material according to what's envisioned in the script. The great thing about silk is that, when shot in a certain light, it looks just beautiful. This is a major factor for the look of the film.

6. Did you shoot this movie on film or digitally?

I shot it on film - using over 500,000 ft of it. But I needed to convert it into digital form afterwards, because all the post-production equipment these days only works digitally. Color grading on digital print turned out to be a completely different thing, which cost me a lot of time to learn and experiment, and I still think the quality of the result isn't as good as it was in the pre-digital age.

7. Does (long-time collaborating DP Mark Lee Ping-Bin) have a preference regarding film vs. digital?

We both prefer film, which is why we shot on film, but the post-production technology in Taiwan is still not up to par.

8. The idea of you doing a wuxia movie raised eyebrows. How do you think this film fits into your body of work?

To me it's still the same as my previous work, because ultimately it needed to pass the test of my eyes. If something looks fake or flawed to me, I won't use it. If the lighting in a scene is off, I won't use it. I don't even care that much about continuity. I have my own way of patching it all together, which is why this film might strike some as oddly discontinuous. Actually I was worried that my foreign investors wouldn't be able to understand "The Assassin", considering the way it was edited together. But it seems that they got it just fine, then it's all good.

68. Cannes: Dheepan

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on May 24, 2015)

Until losing its cool in the third act and ending on a relatively soft note, French veteran Jacques Audiard‘s "Dheepan" is a muscularly directed dramatic thriller about the difficulties of starting over and the inevitability of violence. Clear-eyed, tightly wound, and cinematically and psychologically immersive, it’s a furious ride of a movie that actually has something to say.

We first meet the three protagonists under fatally dire circumstances as a civil war-ravaged Sri Lanka burns with hellish intensity. A former soldier, a young woman, and an orphaned child, joined by chance and the common need to flee the country, assume the identities of a deceased family. Renamed Dheepan (Jesuthasan Antonythasan), the man who has seen too much death in his life becomes a janitor and caretaker at a housing project outside Paris. His pretend wife, Yalini (Kalieaswari Srinivasan), also starts working for a demented old man living in the compound. Their supposed daughter, Illayaal (Claudine Vinasithamby), is sent to French school and made to readjust, most notably by being told not to eat with her hands. In order to escape an atrocious past, they’re ready to fake, forget, and get lost in a new, unfathomable culture. Little do they know that, under the pacified surface of first-world civilization, things are not nearly as peaceful as they look.

The eventful, richly observant script touches on themes of humanitarian asylum, cultural acclimation, and the true makings of a family. Crossing continents and milieus, it sheds light on the misfortunes of those we don’t necessarily notice in our blissful oblivion. And while certain plot points that emerge later on carry with them a whiff of Hollywood-esque artificiality, this story mostly unfolds with a natural dynamic. Its message, whether political or sociological, is delivered through a strictly personal perspective based on the evolution of the characters, sounding earnest instead of preachy.

Even stronger is Audiard’s mise-en-scène, which has such a firm grip on the timing, visual composition, and tonal changes of these proceedings that, despite any thematic unfamiliarity, you fall right into its groove. Whether in moments of urgency or during the occasional breaks of levity, a sense of immediacy and presentness stands out. Also remarkable are the handful of fight-and-flight setpieces towards the picture’s end. While Audiard proved his knack for hard-hitting action in "A Prophet", the level of flesh-on-metal impact, made palpable here in a swiftly executed crash sequence — or the force field of breathless tension created within an apartment block at war — still stuns.

Antonythasan, once a Sri Lankan boy soldier himself, is superb in the lead role. Face etched with experience and posture weighed down by deep sorrow, Dheepan’s every move feels significant, sometimes heartbreakingly so, as it reminds you of someone who’s lived through such unspeakable horrors and forgets how to just be. All the more delightful, then, are his expressions of innocent curiosity and genuine relief, which would come out of nowhere and just light up the screen. Srinivasan, making her acting debut here, brings much tenderness and vulnerability to the equation, although her performance in a couple of emotional scenes could probably use some fine-tuning.

Considering the impeccable fluidity and narrative clarity of what came before, the last half-hour of "Dheepan" does appear distractingly messy. Flashbacks or insertions of purely fantastical frenzies get a little out-of-hand, while outbreaks of rage and frustration err on the excessive side. The actual ending, mere seconds of shockingly happy footage, also comes across as slightly awkward when concluding so much tragedy. One may argue that it’s nothing more than a wishful projection of unrealized dreams, but the sugary aftertaste it leaves only serves to reinforce a vague impression of mainstreamed sentiments that don’t reflect well. 

Informative, compassionate, technically polished, there’s no doubt "Dheepan" is a work of extraordinary craft and great heart. Still, one kind of longs for the day when Audiard would ride his gritty side all the way to the finish line, sending us off with a bang instead of a settlement.

68. Cannes: 聶隱娘 (The Assassin)

(Originally appeared in The Film Stage on May 22, 2015)

The Cannes Film Festival represents the pantheon of arthouse cinema, so it does raise eyebrows when a wuxia movie is included in its official selection. After all, this is a genre known for superhuman speed and loud, physical forms of expression, stuff that fantasies are made of but not exactly traits one associates with fine arts. That's until Taiwanese maestro Hou Hsiao-Hsien came along to deliver his version of kung fu. The resulting "聶隱娘 (The Assassin)" turned out to be the quietest, most introspective and deliberately-paced film in competition, a feat so rare and radical it casually revolutionized decades of filmmaking tradition.

This being a Hou movie, dialogue is predictably sparse. Details about the historical setting and the relationship between the characters are made doubly impenetrable by the fact that the script is composed in an archaic language used for literature. So much is clear: in 9th century China, when the prosperous Tang dynasty found itself in decline and increasingly held hostage by autonomous garrisons, a young woman named Nie Yinniang is sent home after years spent in seclusion perfecting her swordsmanship. To steel her mind against all worldly attachment, Nie's master orders the assassination of Lord Tian, the governor of a dominant province who also happens to be her cousin. Subsequently, secrets about Nie's past will be revealed and her killer instinct put to the test.

While this might sound like quite a meaty plot, you probably won't feel that watching the film. All main characters are hermetically un-verbal and what little is spoken can sound like a puzzling string of names or some intricately phrased but unspecified intrigue. Instead, the narrative is largely fueled by what's left unsaid, purposeful blanks framed in a sea of scenic shots - brooding, suggestive, never openly expository. You get the sense that Hou is interested as much in the rituals and decorums of a bygone era as in the events that are supposed to take place within such context. Rapt attention is paid, for example, to the preparation of a bath or the playing of an instrument. For minutes on end, we would seem to be looking at nothing but the ancient quotidian silently running its course. The overall impression of passivity and calm becomes so pervasive, in fact, that when the occasional fights do break out and emphatic music takes over from a soundtrack of minimal ambient noises, the tear in the stillness feels downright intrusive.

But yes, there are indeed scenes where people engage in balletically lethal combats, although expectations of elaborate, minutely choreographed setpieces à la Ang Lee's "臥虎藏龍 (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon)" or Wong Kar-Wai's "一代宗師 (The Grandmaster)" would go unmet. Further defying what conventions of the genre dictate, the action sequences here are clipped and to the point, not particularly fanciful in conception nor expansively executed. There's little flying around and the outcome of a duel is mostly decided within seconds. One smartly aimed slash of the dagger or a couple of strikes on the right spot is usually all it takes. If anything, these bursts of violence remind one of Japanese samurai movies which place reticence, calculation and the concentration of will above the outward grace of movements.

If a slight tone of caution can be detected behind these remarks, it's to signify that a movie so utterly, defiantly itself is never intended for the masses. To those who seek to be challenged by uniquely cinematic voices, however, the towering achievement that is "聶隱娘 (The Assassin)" should be apparent. Ever the master of slow-burning atmospherics and distilled human truths, Hou shoots and cuts the film with signature repose. Scenes often commence where you don't expect them to and end a beat or two after all is said and done, letting the meaning of the moment linger in the air. Collectively it injects a delicate, soothing rhythm into the picture that feels effortlessly classy. Meanwhile, longtime collaborating DP Mark Lee Ping-Bin dazzles again with an abundance of heart-stoppingly beautiful images. From the b&w intro sizzling with a cool sense of modernity to the dusk-lit interiors drenched in silken glow, the film looks consistently exquisite with a stripped-back aesthetic that contrasts starkly with the pompous CGI favored by mainstream Chinese-language productions in recent years. Restraint is also on display in Hou's use of music. Giong Lim's distinct, evocative score only accompanies certain parts of the proceedings, but every time it counts. The grandeur and poetry of the ending shot, for example, would not be complete without such inspired, reverberating sonic support.    

Shu Qi and Chang Chen embody their roles as the titular assassin in search of inner peace and the warlord troubled by a lifelong debt with great conviction, even if the storyline doesn't have room for acting fireworks. Sheu Fang-yi is well cast as the ruthless nun who might have sent her pupil back home with an agenda of her own. The placidity of her features and the precision of her gestures sell this chillingly unknowable figure who would and could terminate your life without batting an eye.

Ultimately this movie belongs to the mighty creative mind of Mr. Hou Hsiao-Hsien. By bringing an arthouse sensibility to the wild, imaginary world of wuxia, he's pulled off the unthinkable and reinvented the game. Unhurried, mood-driven, pregnant with a transcendent reflection on life and death, "聶隱娘 (The Assassin)" is a singular vision realized with absolute mastery of style and a lightness of touch that's to die for. Of all the competition titles in Cannes this year, it just might be the most vitally unmissable.