Wednesday, September 30, 2009

成傳入戲

2009年09月30日

葉問的傳記電影加碼追拍,然而,在二十世紀的中國,還有幾個風流人物,今後可以成為傳記的大片題材?

葉問是功夫之王,拍過了。梅蘭芳是戲曲大師,也拍過了。現代文學,只有一座金礦張愛玲,衍生無窮的話題與迷思,張愛玲這座礦,幾十年來不斷開採,也挖得差不多了。

民國時代的人物。葉問、梅蘭芳、張愛玲,還有小鳳仙和杜月笙,都是上一代的歲月風流。有沒有人想過,再過五十年,中國的電影,想找這一代──也就是中華人民共和國朝代──的人物為題,拍傳記片,有幾個可以入戲?

江湖界,拍賴昌星傳;政界,拍黃菊傳奇,還是五十年後,中國人會對余秋雨的身世和作品,懷有無限的好奇?今天的中國影藝,在拍人物傳記的時候,還可以狂吃民國時代的老本,因為葉問、梅蘭芳、張愛玲,無論現實和戲劇,都是引人入勝的人物──也就是英文所說的 Intriguing──因為引人入勝,所以「可以入戲」( Cinematic),但 Intriguing,又 cinematic的傳記人物?

沒有,因為這是一個平庸枯燥的時代。因為即使文學明星,縱橫四十年代,也只有張愛玲一人可供後世議論,擁有傳奇的市場,沒有人有興趣研究冰心的身世、丁玲的作品,或許,還有一個可憐女子蕭紅,其傳奇的迷思指數,可以與張愛玲相比,但其餘許多人,在民國時代,沒有一個人可以入戲。

成傳、入戲,像上鏡一樣,葉問、梅蘭芳、張愛玲、小鳳仙,杜月笙,都是可以入戲的民國人。巴金、朱自清、賴昌星、葛優、章子怡等,名氣是有了,但無法成傳而入戲。這是中國人才的歉收淡季,其實由民國時代已經開始,但民國還有許多真材實料有血有肉的名士、才人、俠客,因為中國文化傳到那時候,還有一縷濃濃的餘芬。

外國電影可以成傳入戲的人太多了,除了邱吉爾、拿破崙、布殊,只黑奴抗爭,就有馬丁路德金、毛康 X( Malcolm X),還有南非的史提芬貝可夫,都當過傳記電影的主角。將來緬甸的昂山素姬,也必然會拍成人物戲。五十年之後,中國人的下一代想拍這一代的人與事,他們會發覺無人可以入影,無事足以誦傳。這是將來的「危機」,當代的中國人,何嘗有想過子孫下代的幸福,未來的中國觀眾無人物電影可看,誰會在乎?這是連一個葉問,也搶爛了市的理由。

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Thursday, September 24, 2009

A Not-So-Honorable Exit

By Chip Tsao | published Sep 24, 2009

Earlier this month, Andrew Li Kwok-nang announced his resignation from the post of Chief Justice of the Court of Final Appeal. This was dynamite news for Hong Kongers who still believe in British-style judiciary independence as essential for upholding the so-called “one country, two systems” and “high degree of autonomy” principles of the Basic Law. Yet Li wasn’t sticking around that hot kitchen. No surprise. As Hong Kong has been under heavy political influence from the motherland, Li must have felt the heat after he was reprimanded by Chinese officials over a few cases—for example, the right of abode case among mainland-born children in Hong Kong who have a local parent—and even had his ruling scrapped, with Beijing eventually stepping out to “interpret” the true meaning of the Basic Law, like a primary school teacher lecturing her pupils about the right procedures for washing their hands. To be fair, it has not been impossible so far to maintain an independent judiciary since the 1997 handover. It can still be done—it’s a little like finding sex in prison; you can get it, but it’s a bit rough and may not be in the style you most prefer.

So Li has decided to seek a dignified exit. Asked whether he was planning to run for the job of Chief Executive, a visibly irritated Li launched into desperate denials, describing such speculations as “absolute nonsense.” The poor guy must have felt insulted. The post of Chief Justice constitutionally ranks second to the Chief Executive. Its image, with the black robe and the grey coiffure, is still reminiscent of the noble professionalism of the good old colonial days, and has not been tainted in the past 12 months. The Chief Justice has been humiliated by China, but he has not been reduced to a joke yet. What an insult to assume that Li, a local blue blood whose spoken English is occasionally reminiscent of James Mason in a black-and-white Ealing Studio movie from the 1930s, should run together with characters like C.Y. Leung and Henry Tang for this most un-coveted job in town?

But did he have to deny it in such a dramatic fashion, his face blushed, nearly clenching his fists in front of the camera? A Cambridge-trained elite, Li should demonstrate a better example of majestic composure. Would Winston Churchill, upon losing his election after the war, have shouted, “It’s absolute nonsense!” had he been asked by a Sun reporter to confirm whether he was to accept the post of Police Commissioner in Kenya? Or what if Chris Patten were asked to confirm his next post as curator of the London Zoo after leaving Hong Kong? The answer would most likely have been a fit of laughter. When Marrie Antoinette was on trial during the French Revolution, she was accused by the revolutionaries of assisting the young dauphin during masturbation. She was angered by the charge, which was clearly designed to demonize her. She sat upright in her seat, looking proud and undaunted. The moment of silence was broken as the brave mother stood up, looked around and said, “I refuse to answer such a question. I appeal to all mothers under the roof of this court.” For a man like him seeking an honorable exit, Li’s “absolute nonsense” quote was a waste of a perfectly good historical record opportunity.

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Thursday, September 17, 2009

False Awakenings

By Chip Tsao | published Sep 17, 2009

C.Y. Leung, Henry Tang, or John Tsang? How do these names make you feel? Do they arouse a yearning for a better future for Hong Kong? Do they turn you on politically?

These are the candidates for Hong Kong’s next chief executive. C.Y. Leung is fighting bitterly to clear his name after accusations surfaced that he is a clandestine Communist Party member. Henry Tang, a red wine connoisseur and an ana-chronistic Shanghai dandy, reveals little content in his eternal smirk. John Tsang, an MIT graduate and an amateurish fencer, sounds a bit more exciting, but his anti-charismatic moustache is rumored to be detested by Beijing because it looks too un-Chinese, although a spinster friend of mine who has never traveled abroad insists that the guy looks cute and puckish, and wonders whether he would kiss like Omar Sharif in bed.

The common problem with this trio is that they simply look too predictable and repetitive.

Recall a scene in the horror movie “An American Werewolf in London.” Lucy was having the most frightening nightmare. She was dreaming that wolf-like monsters have burst through the windows in her bedroom and started to tear her apart.

Then she awoke screaming, sweating and breathing heavily. She looked around her bedroom just to be sure, and let out a sigh of relief that it had all been a dream. Then, with a heart-stopping crash, lycanthropes burst through her window and attacked her, just as in her dream. The terror looked so real, because she remembered the nightmare she had just endured.

Then she awoke again, sweating more heavily, breathing faster. This was bizarre. It was a dream within a dream. The first time she had apparently woken up she was in fact still in her dream. Lucy looked around her room again. The windows were intact. It was quiet and peaceful. There were no monsters. But she shivered—how could she be sure she had really woken up this time?

This is what psychologists call a “false awakening.” When Tung Chee-wah was first elected in 1996, with his surrealistic blueprint to build Hong Kong into the hi-tech port of China, we thought the future would be brilliant. Tung was swept away by the economic recession and half a million demonstrators in the streets. Then we had the whistle-blowing Donald Tsang replacing the failed shipping tycoon, who promised he would safeguard Hong Kong’s values. Now Tsang’s credibility is in tatters after the global credit crunch.

People don’t trust Leung because of his alleged communist party membership; we all remember 1949. As for Henry, the surname Tang sounds very close to Tung, thus the tang of nightmares lingers in the air, especially while we’re still a bit allergic to Shanghai Tang. And the man with the moustache? Simply not another Tsang again.

How could Lucy be sure she had woken up this time? We all wait, pissed off, for time to tell.

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Thursday, September 10, 2009

Crying Aiya! at Ah-Yeh

By Chip Tsao | published Sep 10, 2009

Three Hong Kong TV journalists covering the massive protests in Urumqi claim to have been handcuffed, detained and beaten up by armed Chinese police. The incident has set a few democrats abuzz with shock and dismay. The SAR government has expressed “concern” and offered a meek demand to “follow it up” with Beijing. The TV stations, as their employers, have said nothing, apparently in fear of provoking Beijing by daring to defend their staff.

But if you look at the incident from a different angle, is there any point to being mawkish about China’s peculiar act of teaching Hong Kong a lesson about the freedom of the press? For the past year, Hong Kong government officials and the local media have been privately calling Beijing by the nickname “Ah Yeh,” meaning “grand-dad,” and second-guessing what Ah Yeh intends behind his inscrutable political movies—for example, in the early retirement of Chief Justice Andrew Li. Old grand-dad has been feeding us meat, water and tourism revenue for years. We have a good time at the seafood restaurants, karaoke bars and massage parlors scattered around the Pearl River Delta during the weekends. And as legislators and government officials call for greater economic integration with Guangdong, a kind of social reunion by means of food, sex, and shopping is taking place between mainlanders and Hongkongers. Indeed, we are preparing for a future without the aid of the geographical, social and cultural borders separating the New Territories from Shenzhen.

Hong Kong has changed the British red of its post boxes to a more politically correct green. Hong Kong’s police uniforms are now a pleasant blue, in line with the public security officers in Beijing and Shanghai. The Hong Kong SAR government talks a lot about “progressive development” and “harmony,” political jargon widely used in the editorials of the People’s Daily. Hong Kong’s TV news programs have been patriotically self-censoring by quietly deleting scenes of the Dalai Lama.

If old grand-dad has been looking after us and keeping us happy, it would be un-Confucian of us to ask why he has given our reporters a few beatings. And we already know what these smacks were for—intruding into the wrong place at the wrong time with a video camera that could embarrass “Ah Yeh” on the eve of his 60th anniversary banquet. We are one family. There is no point to justify our crimes against filial piety in the name of western-style “freedom of the press.” The Democrats staged an angry protest over this matter led by Albert Ho last week, who also staged an anti-colonial protest in 1982 against Margaret Thatcher and her efforts to renew Hong Kong’s lease to Britain. It’s been a quarter of century. Even Daniel Radcliffe hasn’t taken that much time to grow up to contemplate the implications of his role as Harry Potter. When will Hong Kong be more mature?

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Wednesday, September 09, 2009

夢詐

2009年09月09日

誰是下一任特首,現在的候選人,到底是哪一個黨的地下人員,時至今日,已經無關重要。

在政治的世界,平庸和災難時時重複。「選民」滿懷希望迎來一個領袖,過幾年,泡沫幻滅,新人上台,失望又轉化為希望,都只是泡沫的另一次重複。

法國哲學家笛卡兒有一卷著作,叫做《冥想錄》,其中有一章,探討過夢與現實的關係。笛卡兒的理論,引申這樣的故事──有一個人,從惡夢中大叫一聲,滿身冷汗醒了過來。

他剛剛夢見一頭狼魔,衝進卧室的窗子,撲上他的牀,張開血盆大口,把他咬成碎片。他拼命反抗,但狼魔還是把他咬得遍體鱗傷,他感覺到狼魔的尖牙齒和利爪撲咬時的創痛。

然後他在極度驚恐中醒來,坐在牀頭,大口喘着氣。他環視四周,他的睡房還是原狀,窗子雖然打開,夜風徐徐吹進來。他鬆了一口氣,幸好那只是一個惡夢。

但是,忽然之間,窗外一陣怪吼,一頭真的狼魔飛撲進來,衝上他的牀,張開大嘴,向他揮爪攻擊。由於剛剛夢到過同一樣的惡境,這一次,來真的,恐懼比在夢中更甚,感到更加無助。

就在危險關頭,他忽然又醒過來,冷汗比剛才更多,心跳更快,撕肝裂肺的驚怖更甚。這時他才發現,剛剛第一次,他沒有真正醒來,他上次的驚醒,不是真的。而是仍在夢裏。換言之,他做了一個「夢中之夢」。

他鬆了一口氣,環視四周,看見睡房環境一切如故,窗子仍打開着,夜風徐徐吹進來。他很高興,剛剛畢竟是一個夢。

但隨即他又驚駭莫名:一切都完好無事,但誰能保證他這次真正的醒了過來?他還會不會依然身在惡夢裏?他怔怔看着睡房的窗子,雖然一切平安無事,但冷汗又滲出來,他在靜靜等待狼魔的第三次降臨。

有沒有做過惡夢中的惡夢?心理學家認為,這種現像叫做「假醒」( False Awakening):以為剛從夢中醒來,一身冷汗,哪知道夢中的情節完全重複一次,通常還是驚慄的惡夢。醒來的時候,怎知道是真的醒來?甚至誰能真正確定,他這一生不就在不斷重複的惡夢裏,從來不曾醒過,也永遠不會醒來?

懂得一點哲學,就了解中國人的政治,一百五十年來,不知有幾次狼魔入侵,中國人一身冷汗,又不知自以為醒過來幾次?真正醒來的,是那些最終取得加拿大和美國護照,又隔洋遙看他曾經一度的睡房的人。當然,如果他還一頭鑽進那邊的唐人街,他還是沒真正醒來。

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Thursday, September 03, 2009

Chinatown Overcrowded

By Chip Tsao | published Sep 03, 2009

A recent report reveals that Hong Kong’s international schools have been swarming with local Chinese students since the handover. Hong Kong parents are voting with their children’s feet as they flee from the SAR government’s patriotic educational policies, despite the much higher school fees. Most international schools see half of their yearly intake consist of local Chinese students, and at the highest end of the spectrum, an overwhelming 80 percent are local Chinese students.

As ordinary consumers, can parents write in to the consumer council to protest these so-called “international” schools? After all, you pay triple the fare for a first-class cabin to New York because you are expecting caviar, Australian steak, a fine Burgundy and a relaxing conversation about Sino-American trade relations with the senile Henry Kissinger character seated to your right. You don’t expect a crowd of Mong Kok housewives who fall asleep belching after a boisterous chicken feet feast.

No, that’s not value for money. International schools in Hong Kong used to guarantee the highest quality of education, which was tacitly understood to have been achieved through apartheid. In the pre-1997 days, an international school only accepted children of colonial Taipans, British soldiers, German businessmen or Austrian diplomats. Even if there was the occasional Asian face in the classroom, they must’ve been there for a legitimate reason—say, they were Yo-Yo Ma’s child, and he had no choice but to live in Hong Kong because he accepted a two-year contract with the Hong Kong Philharmonic.

For most sensible Hong Kong parents, sending their kids to an international school is a bit like shopping at Lane Crawford. You don’t mind paying more for a set of Wedgwood porcelain as long as it’s made in England and not a warehouse in Shenzhen. Buying into an “international school” and finding yourself surrounded by Cantonese-speaking students is a commercial bait and switch, even if your Shakespeare class is taught by an enthusiastic young expat from Birmingham who is in Hong Kong for six months in-between backpacking trips to Kathmandu and Yunnan.

Most civil servants and government secretaries who are on educational allowances have their kids sent to boarding schools in Britain while they simultaneously promote mandatory mother-tongue teaching to Hong Kong parents. But the latter is why “international schools” in Hong Kong are more packed with Chinese people than the Printemps department store in Paris. Next time when you book your first-class flight to New York, make sure you are served the right caviar and wine, although you may resent having to sit next to someone like Henry Kissinger.

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