Taiwan New Cinema

Dr Ming-yeh T. Rawnsley

• A version of this article has been published in English and in French in Corrado Neri & Kirstie Gormley (eds), Taiwan Cinema (Lyon: 15th Lyon Asian Film Festival, November 2009), pp.78-96.
• A version of this article is also recorded as part of Themes in World Cinema Studies Podcast, School of Modern Languages and Cultures, University of Leeds: http://www.leeds.ac.uk/italian/worldcinemapodcast.htm

(book cover of Taiwan Cinema)

Introduction

In 1987, when Taiwan’s authoritarian government lifted martial law, society began to experience a new wave of cultural liberation and pluralism. In the same year cultural and film critics proclaimed the death of Taiwan New Cinema (Taiwan xin dianying). However the filmmakers associated with Taiwan New Cinema, such as Hou Hsiao-hsien and Edward Yang (Yang De-chang, who passed away in 2007), not only continued to make movies after 1987 but also exercised profound influence on future filmmakers in Taiwan including award-winning directors such as Tsai Ming-liang and Wei Te-sheng. It is important to situate Taiwan New Cinema of the 1980s within the broader context of Taiwan film history to fully appreciate the uniqueness of this movement and its impact. This article will examine the significance of Taiwan New Cinema from three aspects:

1.                          From a historical perspective, what does Taiwan New Cinema mean to the development of the Taiwan film industry? What is ‘new’ about Taiwan ‘New’ Cinema culturally, socially and politically?

2.                          How does Taiwan New Cinema push artistic boundaries and catch the attention of the international art-house cinema circuit?

3.                          What is the impact of Taiwan New Cinema on the future development of the Taiwan film industry?

Before we can try and answer the above questions, it is important to offer some background information about Taiwan New Cinema. Although the question of which film launched the movement is contentious, it is fair to say that In Our Time (Guangyin de gushi, 1982)[1] brought realistic images of contemporary Taiwan to the public’s attention for the first time; Growing Up (Xibi de gushi, 1983)[2] proved the commercial appeal of such ‘new’ cinema by young filmmakers; and finally The Sandwich Man (Erzi de da wan ou, 1983) formally announced the launch of a new cinematic movement.

The Sandwich Man is a collection of three short films based on stories by a nativist novelist, Huang Chun-ming. The three segments, set in Taiwan during the early period of industrialization in the 1950s and the early 1960s, were directed by Hou Hsiao-hsien, Zeng Zhuang-xiang and Wan Ren.[3] While The Sandwich Man was showing in theatres, another film was also released which similarly consisted of three integrated stories full of familiar film stars in Taiwan, The Wheel of Life (Ta lunhui, 1983). This film told a reincarnation romance set in ancient China and was directed by three then far more established filmmakers, Li Xing, Bai Jing-rui and King Hu (Hu Jin-chuan). Interestingly while Hou, Zeng and Wan of The Sandwich Man were either born or raised in Taiwan, Li, Bai and Hu of The Wheel of Life all grew up on the mainland. The latter failed both commercially and critically. In contrast, The Sandwich Man did not only become a surprise box-office hit but also attracted serious attention from the media and from cultural commentators. The success of The Sandwich Man confirmed the arrival of Taiwan New Cinema as a phenomenon.

Historical Context

The film industry in Taiwan was commercially successful during the 1950s, the1960s and the 1970s. When the island was returned to the Republic of China (ROC) after the Second World War after half a century of Japanese colonialism between 1895 and 1945, the majority of its inhabitants could only speak Taiwanese and a little Japanese. Political sensitivity in the post-colonial period meant that local filmmakers avoided social realism and instead began to make Taiwanese-language films based on traditional folk opera (gezai xi) or modern melodramas to entertain the domestic audience. When they realized that there was a huge appetite for locally produced cinema, an increasing number of Taiwanese-language films were churned out. Over a thousand Taiwanese-language movies were made between 1956 and 1970. Many of these films were produced within ten days, meaning their quality was extremely uneven.

When the Kuomintang (KMT, or the Nationalist Party) fled to Taiwan after their defeat by the Communists in 1949, the government strongly promoted Mandarin, the ROC’s national language, to enhance national unity on the island. Yet Mandarin-language cinema did not take off until the 1960s when a series of historical musical productions broke box office records. As the popularity of Mandarin-language cinema grew, the number of Taiwanese-language films dwindled. There were only ten Taiwanese-language films made in 1970, one of each in 1971 and 1972, and another four in 1980. The last traditional Taiwanese-language film, an adaptation of a folk opera, Chen san wu niang, was made in 1981. It is noteworthy that many filmmakers of Taiwan New Cinema returned to using Taiwanese-language in their work. However in terms of form and narrative these films are very different from the traditional Taiwanese-language cinema of the 1950s. I shall explain this point later.

In addition to historical musicals and dramas the Central Motion Picture Corporation (CMPC), owned by the KMT, began to champion in the 1960s a new style of films branded ‘healthy realism’ (jiankang xieshi). Although being named ‘realism’, it is

a didactic construction of romantic melodrama and civic virtue… It mixes the interior/private mise-en-scène specific to family melodrama with the civil, public space to accommodate government policy, enabling a smooth integration with the state ideological apparatus (Yeh, 2007, p. 206).

Hence today the products of healthy realism are often considered part of the KMT’s propaganda activity. Nevertheless many films of this genre enjoyed both commercial success and critical acclaim in the domestic market at the time. Prominent filmmakers of healthy realism, such as Li Xing and Bai Jing-rui, have influenced many younger generations of filmmakers in Taiwan, including Hou Hsiao-hsien.

While healthy realism gradually faded away, in the 1970s Taiwanese viewers embraced a variety of different genres, including traditional martial arts films (wuxia pian), and kung-fu movies (gongfu pian) that penetrated the international consciousness because of the popularity of Bruce Lee (Li Xiaolong). In addition military, political and campus dramas reflected the KMT’s worldview when the ROC lost its seat in the United Nations in 1971, and severed formal diplomatic ties first with Japan in 1972 and then with the United State in 1979. Furthermore, a significant number of contemporary female romance novelists, most notably Qiong Yao, provided rich escapist materials for screen adaptation. This genre is called aiqing wenyi pian (literally ‘romance, literature and art movie’) and was popular not only in Taiwan, but also in Hong Kong and many South East Asian countries. As Emilie Yueh-yu Yeh (2007, p. 206) has pointed out, ‘the literary wenyi feature helped create a distinctive reputation for Taiwan cinema abroad’.

Although the 1970s were regarded as the golden age of Taiwan film production, the challenges from the much more energetic and commercially-driven Hong Kong film industry also intensified during the same period. Unfortunately the ROC government introduced several policies which damaged the Taiwan film industry, including tax breaks for Hong Kong film companies, and was unable to manage the emergence of the market in bootleg videos. Taiwanese filmmakers responded to fierce competition by repetitively copying popular formats from Hong Kong cinema but with a much smaller production budget in the hope of earning a quick buck. Consequently at the beginning of the 1980s the quality and quantity of commercial films produced in Taiwan began to face a serious crisis.

A New Beginning

The arrival of Taiwan New Cinema at the beginning of the 1980s via the screening of In Our Time (1982), Growing Up (1983) and The Sandwich Man (1983) generated new hope within Taiwan’s film industry. Firstly, the filmmakers made a conscious decision to film the island’s society and history as they understood it, not as the official rhetoric preferred. Their films challenged government censorship and became thematically very different from the locally produced commercial films with which Taiwanese audiences were familiar. Secondly, the filmmakers chose to use more realistic dialogue which did not always conform to standard Mandarin, in turn forcing the government to reform its language policies.

The creation of Taiwan New Cinema occurred in parallel with the process of democratization. In other words, the cultural, social and political achievements of Taiwan New Cinema are intertwined with the experience of complex political, social, economic and cultural transformation. Therefore it will be misleading to suggest that the filmmakers of Taiwan New Cinema single-handedly changed the face of the nation’s film industry and undermined the system of censorship. It will be equally misleading to suggest that, prior to the appearance of Taiwan New Cinema there were no remarkable local films or filmmakers. For example, Li Xing’s Brothers Wang and Liu Touring Taiwan (Wangge liuge you Taiwan,1959) sets the standard for Taiwanese comedies, while Song Cun-shou’s The Hour of Dawning (Poxiao shifen, 1967) portrays the complexity of Chinese officialdom; and  Bai Jing-rui’s Goodbye Ah-lang (Zaijian ah lang, 1970) captures the Taiwanese working class in a new light. Nevertheless, the story of how Taiwan New Cinema has changed so quickly and dramatically the way movies are made in Taiwan remains fascinating.

When The Sandwich Man was completed, a member of the Film Critic Association (Yingpingren xiehui) secretly informed the KMT’s Department of Cultural Affairs that the content of the third segment of the film, The Taste of Apples (Pingguo de ziwei), was ‘inappropriate’ because it satirises the relationship between Taiwan and the US. Consequently the KMT pressured the CMPC to edit the film. When the United Daily (Lianhe bao) revealed what happened, public opinion was very much behind the film and the filmmakers. The media seriously questioned the professionalism of many film critics and proposed altering current censorship practices.

The Sandwich Man also battled with the authorities over its use of Taiwanese, the language used by the majority of the people but which was suppressed under the Mandarin-only policy in the post-war period. To reinforce the KMT’s belief that Taiwan was part of the ROC, the government suppressed local languages, including Taiwanese, and this extended to prohibiting the use of local languages in films. However, this policy politicized the issue of languages, and the Mandarin-only policy was a core theme around which the democratization movement coalesced, especially in the early 1980s.

In contravention of this policy one third of The Sandwich Man used the Taiwanese dialect. All of Taiwan’s major newspapers united in support of the film as it awaited approval for release from the Government Information Office (GIO). Cultural and social elites appealed to the government to loosen the ban on local languages in films, and the government obliged under the climate of democratization. The GIO also approved the release of Hou Hsiao-hsien’s Boys from Fenggui (Fenggui lai de ren, 1984) with half of its dialogue in Taiwanese. The government finally lifted martial law in 1987, and since 1989 there have been no restrictions on the use of local languages in films.

Although Taiwan New Cinema has encouraged filmmakers to use local languages since the late 1980s, this does not mean the films use the Taiwanese dialect exclusively. It is important to point out that the KMT government managed a very successful and vigorous campaign in the 1970s to promote Mandarin until this language became embedded in everyday social life. The population today is generally said to comprise 73 per cent of Taiwanese, 13 per cent of mainlanders, 12 per cent of Hakkas and 1.7 per cent of Aboriginals. Yet most people in Taiwan are equally fluent in Mandarin and one local language. Mandarin proficiency is especially widespread among those who received their formal school education after the late 1960s. For the generations that experienced the Mandarin campaign in the 1970s and for younger speakers, Mandarin has become their daily and most familiar language, even though many of them can also identify another local language as their mother tongue. In other words, Mandarin is widely used across ethnic boundaries in Taiwan today although the standard Mandarin widely spoken in Taiwan is somewhat different from the Mandarin spoken in Mainland China in its accent, slang and terminology.

In this way one of the major contributions of Taiwan New Cinema has been the freedom to use the languages of ordinary people on the island – Taiwanese and Hakka certainly, but also Taiwan’s own version of Mandarin. This helps to explain why the rise of Taiwan New Cinema is perceived as closely related to the processes of cultural, social and political democratization and is regarded as an attempt by the young generation to render their vision of Taiwan on film. The most commercially successful Taiwanese film to date, Cape No.7 (Haijiao qi hao, 2008), uses several languages throughout the film, including English, Japanese, Aboriginal languages, Taiwanese and Mandarin to reflect the island’s reality as a multi-lingual society. The popularity of Cape No.7 shows that the use of languages in Taiwanese cinema has indeed come a long way since the early 1980s.

Artistic Tendency of Taiwan New Cinema

Although Taiwan New Cinema was accepted as mainstream because of its early popularity, it is hard to deny that it pursues an elitist agenda. Many filmmakers of Taiwan New Cinema shared with their predecessors of the 1960s a similar sense of cultural idealism. The major difference is that while the masters of healthy realism looked at Taiwan from a KMT-oriented Chinese perspective, the directors of Taiwan New Cinema tried to reconnect with the local society by drawing inspiration from the realist tradition. Their preference to cast semi- or non-professional actors instead of movie stars is a common method to capture their vision of realistic and contemporary Taiwan.

The pursuit of observational realism marks the artistic departure of Taiwan New Cinema from previous cinematic works produced on the island. First, the filmmakers began to avoid theatrical conflicts with their meaningful characterization and purposeful dialogue. However the natural, realistic and minimum style of performance, weak plots and slow pace to reflect real life require ‘an actively engaged audience rather than a passive one’ which for ‘an audience accustomed to commercial entertainment’ (Berry and Lu, 2005, p. 6) is neither familiar nor appreciated. Subsequently, despite of the commercial and critical success at its early stage, since the mid-1980s the movement has lost support from the domestic audience. As ticket sales diminish, producers and investors also turn their backs. In contrast the low-budget cutting-edge works by the filmmakers of Taiwan New Cinema have since earned international admiration on the art-house and film festival circuits.

The international recognition of Taiwan New Cinema may be due to the second common feature among these filmmakers in terms of how they observe and accentuate reality in their work. Many of these filmmakers are much more interested in cinema as an art form than their predecessors and often pay equally close attention to images, music and languages. Through the experiment of balancing and composing these filmic elements, they have uncovered hidden layers of meanings that are close to ‘real’. Tsai Ming-liang once said he rarely uses background music in his films because the natural environment in which a character is situated, in addition to his internal world, are almost always more noisy and powerful than any extra added music or sound.[4] For example, in Tsai’s Vive l’amour (Aiqing wansui, 1994) there is no music and even very little dialogue. In a movie that portrays the loneliness and alienation of postmodern urban dwellers, the silence of the film heightens the noise of their surroundings – car horns, motorbike engines, shrieks of bicycles, etc. – and in turn exposes vividly the emptiness the characters feel inside. Moreover, the characters’ mental state of isolation reflects and is reflected in the images on the screen such as dismal concrete, neon streetscapes, an abandoned park, and so on.

Another shared attitude among Taiwan New Cinema filmmakers is that many of them prefer to keep the audience at an arm’s length. They try to (re)present an observation or an experience objectively and then leave it to the audience to make their own interpretation. For example in Hou Hsiao-hsian’s Dust in the Wind (Lianlian fengchen, 1986) there is no real indication in which decade the film is set. Although there are some not-so-obvious clues for the viewers, they would need to pay close attention to detail and be familiar with Taiwan’s history. Similarly, Edward Yang’s The Terrorizer (Kongbu fenzi, 1986/1987) also keeps an observational distance in order to make its cultural commentary sharp. Set in urban Taipei, The Terrorizer satirises the middle-brow culture of the 1980s and is a chilling tale of art imitating life with disastrous consequences. Yang maintains throughout the film a calculated and precise structural form which prevents the complicated narratives from becoming melodramatic and the audience from sinking into sentimentality.

The Future of Taiwan Cinema

As previously discussed, Taiwan New Cinema is generally believed to have started in 1982/1983 and have ended in 1987. However it is very difficult to make sensible distinctions about films of Taiwan New Cinema and that of Post-Taiwan New Cinema. The reasons are twofold: First, the filmmakers of Taiwan New Cinema continue to have creative output even after the movement was pronounced dead. Second, New Cinema gave rise to a generation of film scholars and tutors who have since nurtured new talent in colleges, universities and in the studios. For example, director Lin Zheng-sheng, whose Betelnut Beauty (Ai ni ai wo, 2001) won Silver Bear in the Berlin Film Festival, used to work with Hou Hsiao-hsien and has been influenced by Hou’s style. Director Wei Te-sheng, whose Cape No.7 (2008) picked up several prizes in Taiwan and abroad, used to work with Edward Yang and admitted that he has learned a great deal from the old master.[5] Therefore, it can be said that one of the major legacies of Taiwan New Cinema is that Taiwanese filmmakers have enjoyed a significant international presence since the late 1980s. However, while the style and subject of the cutting-edge movies have certainly made an impact, their strong art-house tendency has gradually alienated general viewers on the island. When the audience in Taiwan has become increasingly reluctant to pay and watch local films, the number of domestically produced movies has rapidly declined since the mid-1990s. Taiwan has been one of the most prosperous film markets in Asia and one of the ten largest film markets in the world for Hollywood productions, though locally produced feature films today number less than 20 each year. Many of these do not have the opportunity to obtain theatrical release in Taiwan. If they succeed in doing so, they have usually disappeared from cinemas within a week.

Critics of Taiwan New Cinema often argue that it drove domestic audiences away and caused the collapse of the film industry. However as previously mentioned, local viewers have shown signs of disappointment in Taiwan’s films since the end of the 1970s because of the intense competition from the commercially more appealing Hong Kong imports, as well as a series of government policies which damaged the industry. In other words, the rise of New Cinema has in fact prolonged the life of the film industry in Taiwan and has encouraged home grown talent to produce low-budget art-house cinema.

Nevertheless, if there is any lesson to be learned from the fall of Taiwan New Cinema it is that a healthy film industry cannot be sustained by a small number of art-house films alone. For this reason the box-office success of Cape No.7 is particularly significant for Taiwan’s film industry. It is a locally produced commercial film that the local audiences have been waiting for over two decades to see. Its popularity proves that there is a local market for Taiwanese commercial cinema, and it demonstrates that there is talent in Taiwan that is capable of producing financially viable films in addition to art-house cinema. Moreover, Cape No.7 has restored the faith of audiences, investors and theatre owners in local cinema. Several locally produced films in the same year, such as Orz Boyz (Jung nanhai, 2008) and Winds of September (Jiu jiang feng, 2008), enjoyed a re-run in cinemas after Cape No.7 and all performed solidly in the box-office. While Cape No.7 has rekindled some hope of a renaissance in Taiwan cinema, it forces us to re-evaluate the artistic, social and cultural contributions of Taiwan New Cinema. More importantly, it also provides a reason to address issues such as the management of bootleg videos, the protection of release windows, the management of distribution networks, and the awarding of grants to filmmakers, etc. In this way Taiwan’s film industry may yet have a rosy future.    

[5] I was invited to attend a press conference with Wei Te-sheng in London, organized by Taipei Representative Office in the UK on 20 February 2009. Wei talked about what he learned from Edward Yang then.

References

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Mizou and Liang, Xin-hua (eds) (1991), The Death of Taiwan New Cinema (Xin dianying zhi si). Taipei: Tangshan (in Complex Chinese).

Rawnsley, Ming-yeh T. (2009) ‘Observational Realism in Taiwan New Cinema’, in Lúcia Nagib and Cecília Antakly de Mello (eds), Realism and the Audiovisual Media. London: Palgrave Macmillan.

Scott, Mandy, and Tiun, Hak-khiam (2007), ‘Mandarin-only to Mandarin-plus: Taiwan’, Language Policy 6 (53): 53–72.

Yeh, Emilie Yueh-yu (2007), ‘The Road Home’, in Darrell William Davis and Ru-Shou Robert Chen (eds), Cinema Taiwan. London/New York: Routledge.

Yip, June (2004), Envisioning Taiwan: Fiction, Cinema, and the Nation in the Cultural Imaginary. Durham/London: Duke University Press.