Shut out of school, migrant children study on the street in Cui Zi'en's "We Are the... of Communism"

Recently, both The New York Times and The Economist reported on the sudden closing down of dozens of unlicensed schools for migrant children on safety grounds in Beijing. This round of forced closures has been the largest in scale since a similar campaign to demolish migrants’ schools in Beijing in 2006, which was regarded and criticized for making way for the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games. How do such government ordinances affect the teachers and children whose work and education face abrupt termination? Cui Zi’en’s documentary We are the . . . of Communism (2006), which follows a group of pupils and their teachers from Yuanhai Elementary School of Beijing in the aftermath of its shutdown, offers some clues to begin thinking about this matter.

(2006), which follows a group of pupils and their teachers from Yuanhai Elementary School of Beijing in the aftermath of its shutdown, offers some clues to begin thinking about this matter.

Although different justifications are used for the government’s decision to close down unlicensed schools – to face lift Beijing, to protect the children’s safety, to push some migrant workers out of the capital, and so on and so forth, the fate of the children from Yuanhai Elementary School is similar to that of Dongba Experimental School profiled in the September 3rd issue of The Economist and Red Star Elementary School in the August 29 article of The New York Times. Parented by migrant workers, who do not have legal Beijing residence, these children are not allowed to enroll in local public schools. To make matters worse, because the parents earn a meagre living by working as cheap menial labor, they can hardly afford the city’s rich reserve of legally registered private schools either. Given the country’s nine-year compulsory education policy, the parents’ only other alternative, besides sending the children back to their birthplaces, is to enroll them in unlicensed but affordable elementary and middle schools, which are said to have sprung up in hundreds in Beijing during the most recent decade.

But how did these unlicensed schools get constructed in the first place? When school buildings shot up from the ground, some of which were eye-catchingly three- to five-story tall, local authorities should have noticed them, not to mention checking their licenses. If they fail to do so, they should not escape the blame and use someone else as the scapegoat. To demolish a building after it has been erected not only wastes resources but also pollutes the environment. And as the title of Wang Jiuliang’s important new documentary suggests, Beijing is already besieged by waste. Tearing down unlicensed schools could discourage migrant workers from bringing their children to the capital on the one hand, but on the other, it is only a temporary solution for a long-term problem.

That is probably why the government tries to justify the shutdown on safety grounds, as it has been criticized for the death of thousands of schoolchildren in the Sichuan earthquake in 2008. However, the irony is that the government reacted to the public outcry against their handling the education of migrant children by opening up a few replacement schools in slapdash buildings, whose lackluster conditions hardly impressed parents either. Although the official answer to the parents is centered on the safety and hygiene of the school buildings, the help that the government offers seems at best a half-hearted gesture.

Without schooling, majority of the migrant children will probably return to where they come from. If they stay, like the ones that Cui captures in his documentary, they will be lucky to find one or two devoted teachers who want to teach them for free. As the documentary states near the end: “There is no Yuanhai school anymore, but we are still there. As long as there are students and teachers, there is a school. We want to study, and no one can stop us.” Both the teachers and the children sound undeterred.

However, this kind of humanitarian arrangement will not last without financial support from outside sources because teaching materials cost money. Without these  resources, the streets are the classroom for these children in Beijing.

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Ou Ning (director of Meishi Street and San Yuan Li):

9/11 Berenice Reynaud curated the Thematic Retrospective – Digital Shadows: Last Generation Chinese Film for San Sebastian International Film Festival. It will screen 20 films, including Meishi Street. (9/18-9/19, two screenings).

9/11 The press conference for 2011 Chengdu Biennial will be held tomorrow. I’m speechless after I got this notice, “According to the official requirement of the government press conference, please wear light-color, short-sleeve shirt with a tie.” There’s still enough time to buy a light-color, short-sleeve shirt, but no one has ever taught me how to wear a tie …

Zhao Liang (director of Crime and Punishment):

9/13 F***, Money can do everything! (commenting on “the Most Beautiful Moon of the Mid-Autumn Festival)

Cui Zi’en (director of Enter the Clowns, Queer China ‘Comrade China‘, We Are the… of Communism)

Professors should put all their effort into teaching and their life condition should be similar to mine – a small apartment, no car, low class. Those who also work for the government or make a fortune through academics are excluded. (Responding to “The possession of an ordinary Chinese family.”)

9/3 September 1^st is the first day of school. 6,000 children from the immigrant worker’s family are out of school. I cried for a whole day and turned off my cell phone. Desperate. Woke up in the middle of the cool night, I don’t know if I should be angry or ashamed for living in this time-space.

Jia Zhangke (director of Dong)

9/8 Chinese cinema is facing too many taboos. One is the long-term film censorship, the other one I think that can not be ignored comes from the conservatism of Chinese audience. I once said, we are always discussing the issue of sex or violence, but it is always the case that the first one to write a letter of complaint is ordinary audience, even earlier than the government. ( Original article “Jia Zhangke talking about Chinese Cinema: Too Many Taboos.”)

Xu Tong (director of Fortune Teller)

9/3 Taiwanese scholar Guo Lixin visits Li Xianting at Songzhuang. Mr. Guo pays close attention to Mainland Chinese independent documentary. In 2009, he wrote the article “Right of Prostitutes, Sexual Morality and Self Rightness: Further Discussion on Moral Controversy of Wheat Harvest.” I leant a lot from it.

Li Ning (director of Tape)

9?9 We are now at our final stage of rehearsal and preparation! I ’m getting more and more excited! I’ve never expected that yesterday’s crazy experiment could be turned into a formal play… I told my surprised young guerrillas, “I’m always against art, against performance. What I want is presentation and discovery. You think it’s just a pretentious speech?! It’s what we are doing now!”

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The Olympic Stadium in Beijing, designed by Ai Weiwei in the city he now calls "a nightmare"

In his essay posted on The Daily Beast on August 28, 2010, artist Ai Weiwei rants about Beijing being a nightmarish city for anyone to live in. He says that the rapid economic progress of China has ironically made its capital unrecognizable and its people identity-less, and the country’s political rigidity has only worsened these problems.

In a depressing overview of the people living in Beijing, Ai sorts them into one of the two categories. One, he says, are the money-grabbers and power-worshippers who are distressingly predictable. “You don’t want to look at a person walking past because you know exactly what’s on his mind.” Frustrated, he goes on. “No curiosity. And no one will even argue with you.” The other category, which refers to the mass middle to low wage earners in the city, sounds just as pitiful. “I see people on public buses, and I see their eyes, and I see they hold no hope,” Ai observes.
The hopelessness that Ai tries to describe has a particular dimension. Working like dogs and making little money certainly could deject people, but the essay makes a turn as Ai brings up the issue of trust between the Chinese people and the Chinese government, which is known to be one of the biggest culprit behind China’s low Gross National Happiness index. In his own words, “[the] worst thing about Beijing is that you can never trust the judicial system.” This sense of mistrust chisels away people’s happiness whenever they find a need for justice. And that happens almost everyday in Beijing, as some films in our catalog can attest to.

Ou Ning’s Meishi Street, for example, zooms in on a common Beijinger’s struggle with the government about the demolition of his house for the 2008 Beijing Olympic Games. Cui Zi’en’s We Are the . . . of Communism, documents the capricious providence of education for migrant workers’ children in Beijing. What these two examples share in common is that the basic needs and rights of the common people in Beijing cannot be met, and the mechanism to obtain justice is often unavailable.

And yet, Ai’s portrayal of Beijing as a land of total darkness does not paint a complete picture of the complexity of life in this city of  nearly 25 million people. Liu Jiayin’s Oxhide and Oxhide II are examples of Beijing residents’ preservation of their cultural identity. Although the city of Beijing changes its face almost every day to the point of defiling its rich heritage, inside people’s homes time-honored traditions like dumpling-making continue, testifying to the resilience of their culture. Watching Liu’s intimate, heartfelt family dinner with her parents makes us temporarily forget the unpleasant world outside their home. Moreover, as Liu’s father says in the documentary, each person makes his own dumplings, just as each person has a distinct character. Ai may still believe and argue that the people of Beijing are uniform and predictable, but in the less conspicuous corners of Beijing we see how individual identities as well as non-mainstream group identities secretly flourish. We can count on the dedicated efforts of independent Chinese filmmakers to reveal those worlds to us.

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We Are the... of Communism (dir. Cui Zi'en)

By Ariella Tai

Earlier this month a study conducted by the Program for International Student Assessment, or PISA, showed Shanghai students placing first in the world, far outscoring the United States. The New York Times article reporting on these “surprising” test scores posits that a stronger “culture of education” is responsible for the stellar performance of Shanghai 15 year-olds, as well as raising anxieties that students in the United States are lagging academically. Collective investment in China’s reputation as reflected by the test scores, as well as an “amazingly strong” work ethic are also attributed to the high scores. Mark Schneider, commissioner of the Department of Education under the Bush Administration, suggests that the government may be allowing especially talented high school students to study in Shanghai instead of their home provinces in order to boost city performance on such exams.

In The Atlantic’s subsequent analysis of the test scores and related New York Times article, James Fallows makes the argument for examining the context of China’s educational environment rather than generally attributing high performance to cultural difference. He points to reaction of a scientist at a major US university who questions not only the efficacy of standardized tests such as the PISA, but also points out that a sample group of 5,000 students might not necessarily act as an accurate sample size for a population of half a million 15 year olds enrolled in secondary school.

In the 2007 documentary We are the…of Communism, director Cui Zi’en shines light on the darker side of the educational reforms taking place in China’s urban centers. He follows the struggles of students in The Yuanhai Migrants Children’s School in Beijing as they are forced to fight for their right to be educated. These students are workers of migrant workers who are not official residents of Beijing, and therefore are not eligible for public education in the city. Instead, they are enrolled in private institutions whose standing with the official education system and local authorities may be on shaky ground. This becomes the case one day when the students go to class one morning only to find that the government officials have shut down their school for unclear reasons. Cui Zi’en illuminates this heartrending case study as part of the larger problem of discrimination that the children of migrant workers face in China due to their marginal status. These students exist is a very different educational environment than those who are “officially” residents of these big cities, and their stories reveal an alternative side to the runaway success being reported in the news.

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Queer China, 'Comrade' China (dir. Cui Zi'en)

The current issue of Video Librarian includes a review of one of our hottest titles, Cui Zi’en’s Queer China, ‘Comrade China’. Here’s an excerpt from the review:

Openly gay filmmaker Cui Zi’en helmed this chronicle of the changes and developments in the LGBT community in China from the 1930s through the early years of the 21st century. China was relatively late in openly acknowledging basic civil rights for its homosexual population; in fact, the Communist goverment didn’t decriminalize “hooliganism,” as it was officially known, until 1997, and the acceptance of non-heterosexuals into mainstream Chinese society has been awkward… Queer China, ‘Comrade’ China includes frank interviews with more than three dozen scholars, activists, filmmakers, and writers, combined with rarely seen footage of the first-ever appearance of gays and lesbians on state television… This is a genuinely fascinating look at a continually evolving segment of Chinese society. Recommended.

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Lesbian wedding in China (Photo from crtv.nl)

by Isabella Tianzi Cai

In a “Letter from China” column for the New York Times on September 1, 2010, Howard W. French elaborates on China’s changing attitude towards queer culture based on his personal observations in Shanghai. Having worked and lived in Shanghai for just under a decade, French is well aware of Chinese people’s increasing psychological tolerance towards homosexuals in their midst.

French says that it is most evident in “public intimacy between women,” which he supports in the letter by recounting a few of his personal experiences, most memorably, witnessing two teenage girls kissing passionately in a Shanghai subway car, without regard for the older passengers watching them with consternation. It should be noted that this incident is without precedent; a similar event in 2008 was captured on video and created a stir when posted on the internet.

French offers his understanding of this social phenomenon:

As this society rapidly grows richer, its social fabric and mores have been changing in ways far more dramatic than even the physical landscape, and sexual choice and expression are arguably in the leading edge of this upheaval.

Although this trend, as articulated by French, is more or less inevitable, the transition from a conservative society to a liberal one is neither as easy or as fast as he makes it out to be.

In this vast country boasting the world’s largest population, French’s observations are but a drop in the ocean. While his experiences are valuable primary sources, this topic on homosexuality is more thoroughly and systematically explored in Cui Zi’en’s documentary Queer China, Comrade China.

Queer China has plenty of scholarly research and news footage to both clarify, correct or enhance conceptions about homosexuality in China. Its scope is wide and its understanding is deep, with rich historical and cultural references. Moreover, its organization of ideas provokes its audience to ask further questions.

Cui Zi’en’s long-established body of work, as a scholar, writer and filmmaker, is enough to prove that the expression and exploration of queer identities in China is nothing new. His groundbreaking debut feature Enter the Clowns caused an international sensation. In the film, Xiao Bo (Yu Bo) lives in a world where the lines defining men from women are constantly dissolving. He kneels at the deathbed of his father (played by Cui) who has become a woman, and whose dying wish is to have oral sex with his/her son. His boyfriend “Nana” has also undergone a sex change, but Xiao Bo no longer finds her attractive as a woman. A sexual chain reaction ensues that wreaks havoc on traditional Chinese roles that govern male and female, parent and child.

French also mentions the “Super, Girls!” singing competition as another example for the “sudden media exposure of lesbian and gay people” “the rapid decline of [restrictive] ideology in most every aspect of Chinese life.” For those who don’t know, this singing competition is a Chinese equivalent of “American Idol.” French interviews Feng Hui, an 18 year old lesbian, who cites “Super, Girls!” champion Li Yuchun for making a “critical breakthrough” for sexual identity and behavior among girls:

Ms. Li, who has sidestepped questions about her sexuality, wore her hair short and dressed in boyish fashions. Moreover, she won singing love songs written for men about women.

“Li Yuchun is the mother of unisex in China, and her comfort with herself inspired a whole generation of women like me,” said Ms. Feng.

But how do the young in China approach these issues of personal freedom, in their identities, their behaviors, and their pursuit of “alternative” lifestyles? The answers to these questions can be found in Jian Yi’s documentary Super, Girls! Jian allows his subjects sufficient space and freedom to explore these topics and express themselves, not within the context of the “adult” world, but on their own terms. The resulting film is a powerful exploration of the youth culture of contemporary China.

Relevant Classroom Use

At CinemAsia Film Festival in Amsterdam this year, Chinese queer activist, writer, and filmmaker Cui Zi’en’s Queer China, ‘Comrade’ China was selected for an official screening followed by a panel discussion titled “Queer Asian Imagination.” The film was grouped with eight other LGBT films in the Queer and Asia program, a key component of CinemAsia. Cui met with the program attendees after the film and answered their inquiries about LGBT culture in China. Below are some YouTube videos documenting the Q&A session with Cui. Also present at the discussion were Michiel Baas from the International Institute for Asian Studies, Hong Kong filmmaker Kit Hung, CinemAsia board member Jeroen de Kloet, as well as Yang Jin, who appears in the film.  In the videos below, Cui’s answers in Chinese are omitted, but were spoken in English by a translator (seen in the orange shirt).

Cui points out one major difference distinguishing Chinese gay population from that elsewhere in the world. “Many young Chinese gay and lesbians, they also go to gay bars,” he says. “But one difference is in China, they also aspire to get married as heterosexuals. I think that’s one of the biggest difference.”

Cui also notes the tension between the state and gay cinema in China today. He says, “The law environment in China is very different in terms of filmmaking. There are thirteen prohibitions in China in terms of movie-making. One of them is that you are not allowed to make a gay-themed film. That’s why you can’t see gay-related films in mainstream cinemas or film festivals. Even a Hollywood movie like Brokeback Mountain, when they tried to enter the Chinese market, it was impossible.”

Part One:

More after the break.

Part Two:

Part Three:

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Queer China, 'Comrade China' (dir. Cui Zi'en)

The newest issue of the online film journal Senses of Cinema features lengthy reviews by film scholar and Cal Arts professor Berenice Reynaud on new films from Mainland China. Titled  “Men Won’t Cry – Traces of a Repressive Past,” Reynaud covers a dozen international titles that screened at last fall’s Vancouver International Film Festival, giving special attention to four new films from the Mainland, as well as the Hong Kong feature Night and Fog by Ann Hui. Her analysis is particularly astute at discerning issues of identity, gender, power and nationhood in the formal approaches taken by each film. The following are some choice excerpts, though readers are advised to read Reynaud’s appreciations in full:

On Cui Zi’en’s Queer China, ‘Comrade China’

Cui’s most ambitious documentary,Zhi Tongzhi (Queer China, Comrade China). Espousing a more traditional form, and dividing the film in seven chapters, Cui covers incredible ground in a relatively short amount of time (60 minutes)…Fact-filled, yet fun-filled, Cui’s film pays homage to all the tongzhi warriors, male or female, prominent or unknown, who are bringing about what Li describes as a major sexual revolution.

On Oxhide II, Liu Jiayin’s sequel to Oxhide.

Niupi er (Oxhide II) pushes the previous film’s formal radicalism one step further: it breaks down an even smaller domestic space and its 133 minutes into nine shots of uneven lengths and varied angles that go around the table in 45-degree increments (performing a complete 180-degree match). Within this minimalist framework, several layers of emotion/narration intersect. Liu’s shots are carefully, rigorously, exquisitely composed. What is even more amazing is how tension is expressed within the frame, how every gesture, every verbal exchange reorganise the balance of power between the three protagonists.

On Du Haibin’s 1428:

The shadow of lost sons haunts Du Haibin’s 1428, an award-winning (Orizzonti Award in Venice) documentary on the aftermath of the Sichuan earthquake that killed tens of thousands of people, rendered millions homeless and turned the Beichuan area into piles of rubble. Echoing Du’s previous works (such as Tielu yanxian [Along the Railway, 2001] San [Umbrella, 2007]), it is shot in hybrid cinéma-vérité style, with his subjects freely addressing and interacting with him.

On Pema Tseden’s The Search:

A visual poem, as well as a bittersweet song of cultural identity, The Search unfolds at two levels: the classical codes of cinematic representation, and issues pertaining to “the national” (an ambiguous term, if any, for Tibetans born in the Chinese province of Qinghai)… Pema’s immense talent, however, prevents The Search from being yet another film about trying-to-make-a-film; with subtle humour, melancholic accuracy, and impeccable dignity, it opens a too-rare vista into what moves and ails the Tibetan men of his generation.

Read Reynaud’s full review.

Queer China, ‘Comrade China’, Oxhide, 1428 and Oxhide 2 (coming soon) are distributed by dGenerate Films.

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Cui Zi'en, director of Queer China, 'Comrade China', speaks at the Apple store in Beijing. (Photo: Robert Douglas)

Cui Zi’en is a director, film scholar, screenwriter, and novelist based in Beijing. He is an associate professor at the Beijing Film Academy. Cui Zi’en is a premiere avant-garde digital filmmaker in China. He has published nine novels in China and Hong Kong, and he is also the author of books on criticism and theory, as well as a columnist for magazines.

dGenerate Films distributes three of Cui Zi’en’s features in its catalog: Queer China, ‘Comrade China‘, Enter the Clowns, and We Are the… of Communism (coming soon).

The video of Cui’s interview is in four parts, with an English transcript following each video. Video of Part One is below. Click through to view both videos and the full transcript.

Note: English subtitles for each video can be accessed by clicking on the CC button in the pop-up menu on the bottom right corner of the player.

VIDEO PART ONE

JZ: As we know, being a director is only one of your different roles.  You are also a scholar, a novelist, and an activist.  In the past several years, you became quite popular in the media. So my first question is, how you see your role as a director?

CZE: I have different areas of focus in different periods.  I first spent ten years focusing on my research, and the next ten years writing novels.  In the past ten years, I’ve been working on images as a way to express myself.

JZ: So shall we say that being a director has become an important part of your life?

CZE: Kind of. But I see myself more as an organizer than a director. Forming a film crew is almost like having a party with my friends.  My role is to gather people for a big twenty-day party, like a party host.  Everyone brings cheese and wine. Of course in our party they bring a DV Camera, tapes and costumes.

JZ: That sounds interesting. As an independent filmmaker, I’m sure you’ve come across all sorts of difficulties, such as lack of inspiration or funding. How do you manage to turn filmmaking into a big party?

CZE: As long as you have a clear idea about what kind of film you want to make and what thoughts you hope to express, and you are able to present it to others, like holding an empty basket, God will fill your basket with pies quickly. Of course the precondition is that this has to be an empty basket without any concern for profit or other things.

JZ: So you can achieve your goal with a strong will and pure motivation.

CZE: For filmmakers who make all sorts of films, if you are running out of ideas or inspiration, you only need to slightly change your direction. For instance, if you’ve made too much avant-guard stuff, you can start to make narrative-based films.  If you feel that you can’t write an innovative story, maybe you can try to document real life. This is also my own trajectory, from the so-called avant-garde and experimental, to narrative films, and then documentary. My works cover all these different fields.

JZ: Do you have any suggestion for those who want to become an independent filmmaker on how to manage the equipment and the film crew?

CZE: My suggestion would be to go for whatever is the most convenient and easiest to use. Many film students have this “film complex” and always hope to shoot on film, seeing it as the highest level of filmmaking. I always want to subvert this concept. I embraced DV as soon as it appeared in China. I even claimed that the age of film would be over with the coming of DV, and I was criticized by many people in my circle.

JZ: When was that?

CZE: 2001, when the home video camera appeared in China.

JZ: How did you start to use the DV Camera?

CZE: I didn’t like shooting on film, so when there was an alternative, I picked it up quite naturally. It doesn’t require any preparation; you can just start right away.

JZ: Can you share with us any interesting story or particular feeling you had when you started to use the DV camera?

CZE: When we just started, we thought it was cool to use big cameras, the bigger the better. My cinematographer picked up the biggest one. I thought it was too big, but since we were having a party, I just let him choose whatever he liked. One scene was shot in an actor’s apartment. However, the apartment was too small for the camera movement we designed, and we used hand-held camera instead.  We had to adjust our idea to the actual shooting conditions.

JZ: From 2001, when you started to use DV, to 2010, digital technology has advanced quite dramatically. Do you think you’ve kept yourself updated with the most recent technological developments?

CZE:  In some ways I do. My camera size gets smaller and smaller.  But I also deliberately went against the trend.  Now even small cameras have HD format, but I still use the most common DV format for my films, because I want to preserve the natural and rough quality of DV camera, which better presents the scene of China’s development today. I want to show the dust of Beijing Station, not a perfect visual experience made up with artificial light. So I still haven’t tried HD yet.

VIDEO PART 2

JZ: I know you are always very special; you always stick to your own ideas and concepts.

CZE:  I always need to think it through before I accept new things. Maybe this is because of my ten-year research experience. Every time I come across new things, I analyze the content first, and then think about how to use and develop it in my own way.  I never passively accept whatever is given to me.

JZ:  Can you tell us your plan for 2010?

CZE: In 2007 and 2008, my trajectory turned into documentary making and I plan to carry it on to the new year. I have several projects at hand right now. I have two small Sony cameras, and I am using one of them to make what I call a “visual diary.”  Every time I go to lower-class areas, not a middle-class place like this, I carry it with me to document what I see, liking writing a diary. But I won’t call it a film project.

This year, I have one documentary project, and several narrative films. But my new narratives will be quite different from my previous ones. In the past I always tried to eliminate the narrative component in my films. Although the script was narrative based, when it is presented in visual form, narrative became almost invisible. But in my new project, I want to highlight the narrative, and make the visual narrative match that of the script.

JZ: You’ve been working as an independent filmmaker for many years. I’m sure there are opportunities for you to make commercial films for the mainstream audience if you want. Why do you insist on making independent films?

CZE: For me there’s no distinction between the so-called mainstream and alternative. For me, people are just like waves running here and there. There’s no mainstream or small branch. They are all part of the big waves. If there is such a thing as “mainstream”, I would be very resistant to this concept. What’s your data and what methodology do you use to collect it? If I can’t count these people one by one, then mainstream is just an illusion to me. So when I make a film, I only have myself and people around me in mind. As the Christian saying tells us, we should always love our neighbors.  You can’t love people who are out of your reach. It’s a lie if you say you love them. So my works are all related to people around me.

JZ: Your films are very unique among Chinese cinema and even world cinema. You have a very distinct aesthetic. Do you have any warning to people who first watch your film?

CZE: I always see each of my audience as myself. I wrote a book called The First Audience, which means that I’m my first audience. When I watch my own film, I feel that I was watching someone else’s work. I’m always surprised by the sense of unfamiliarity. I would think that this director’s work is so revolutionary. Everyone likes quick cut, but he uses long take. Everyone else is trying to make the picture more delicate, but his images are getting rougher and rougher. He must be someone really special. If I see some bad shots, I would think he’s such a boring director. He should have done it in a better way.  I’ve make about 30 or 40 films so far, my favorite one is a 110 min film with only about 10 shots. It’s very simple. There are only two characters and they are naked throughout the entire film.  We feel it’s thorough and free.  I have a good friend teaching at the University of California. She always talks about the difference and relation between my films and other directors’ work. She knows that I like Almodovar, and she says that actually you are freer than Almodovar. You can make whatever film you like without any concern for box office or success. But Almadovar has this pressure. No one is as free as you are.

JZ: That’s why your works are so pure.

CZE: Thanks.

JZ: Today is a very special occasion. We are having this conversation in the Beijing Apple Store.  What’s your impression of Apple products?

CZE: I have many friends around me who use Apple. I don’t use Apple computer, but I like to use Adobe for editing. I didn’t know that Adobe is related to Apple until I saw your questionnaire before the interview.

JZ: I personally think that the style of Apple is rather similar to yours, very free.

CZE: I like the design of its logo, a bitten apple.

VIDEO PART 3

Audience Q & A:

Q1: There are many different ways to express yourself, such as painting, photography, or writing as you did. What is the quality of moving images that makes it such a special way for expression? What are its unique features that other ways don’t have?

CZE: Thank you for your good question. I always think that the universe is God’s draft.   A draft is revised over and over again according to the change of time and space. Among the several professions I have, I like writing novels and making moving images the most, although I teach and do a lot of academic writing as well. Novels and films are the closet to my concept of draft. People used to say that film is the art of regret, but for me, it’s the art of draft. Any film, no matter how many time you shoot it, how you edit it, it is always a draft. Even the most carefully made Hollywood film or European masterpiece is still a draft. I like its sense of fluidity. That’s why I keep on working as a novelist and filmmaker.

Q2: Although you said that you don’t see the difference between mainstream and alternative, the concept of “mainstream” and “alternative” are widely accepted.  As a filmmaker, of course you don’t want yourself be the only audience of your film, but at the same time, I’m sure you don’t want to cater to the audiences’ taste at the price of your own creativity. I wonder if you have struggled over that? Have you ever made compromises for these considerations?

CZE: Of course I have all kinds of careful considerations about distribution, screening, audiences’ reception, etc.  My personal take on this is that the so-called mainstream and alternative is always relative, and differ from place to place. The mainstream in this area might be marginalized in another area. Some popular mainstream films in our country probably cannot be found in the West at all. On the contrary, the ones that we see as alternative sometimes can be very well accepted there. Take myself as an example; my films are screened at different universities in the States quite frequently. This is something that mainstream Chinese films don’t have.  If I show three of my films in ten universities, I’m likely to attract a wider audience than a mainstream film showing in one theater. The mainstream and alternative are not fixed concepts. They are constantly changing in a global context.

Q3: Some directors care most about cinematic styles, some pay more attention to their ideas. What do you care the most?

CZE: There’s no way for me to pay special attention on any particular issue. It all depends on what I’m filming.  Like today, I had no idea what the space would be, or who would come to my talk. It’s the same as making a film. When I get a general idea about what I want to film, I start to call my friends and ask if they would be interested in that. The process is always very simply and quick, no rehearsal, script or professional actors. We discuss the idea together and then I just need to have a few words with my cameraman about how long and how wide each take should be. I don’t really know about what we’ll get, but I do know that the friendly and harmonious environment of our film crew, the freedom beyond the Capitalist pursuit for profit and the censorship of the Communist Party will lead to something extraordinary. My successful experience is based on a cooperation bound by our friendship, not by profit.

VIDEO PART 4

Q4: It is always very different to resist the temptation of fame and profit. How do you see these two things?

CZE: I think a good artist should identify himself as lower-class. My definition of lower-class is different from proletariat, yet it’s not the same as middle-class either. The upper-class always have too much and don’t know what to do; while the middle-class always get the exact amount. So I consider the lower-class as more creative. The so-called fame and profit, failure and success are just social constructions. When we are by ourselves or with several true friends, we are not judged by these criteria and therefore in the most natural status. For example, when we celebrate Chinese New Year with our family, no one really cares about whether we’ve succeeded or not. I always try to situate myself in such a condition where I can be free from worldly judgments.  There are a lot of very successful film people around me, almost everyone in the Beijing Film Academy is only half step away from being a celebrity. But I always keep a certain distance from them and try to be true to myself.  I’m a Christian, and I think about the issue of death almost every day. My biggest wish is to be brave and truly happy when I die. This is the most important thing to me, and I’m training myself every day.

Q5: I only see your works about the subject of “queer,” and I think they are very different from other queer films without much emphasis on sexual desire. Many films that depict homosexual love are not that different from those about heterosexual love, and they only use the queer subject as a token to attract more attention. What’s your take on this?

CZE: I don’t think that the queer subject is that much different from other subjects. My reason for making films about that is because it’s too marginalized in China. I think it’s a very powerful subject because it is discriminated and repressed, not because it’s a popular theme right now. I’m quite familiar with the international film circus, I’m aware that many queer films emphasize on aesthetics, sexual desire etc. I intentionally work against this trend of queer cinema that gradually evokes your sexual desire first and then satisfy you. We call it “double ejaculation”, which means crying and masturbating at the same time. My films are always very straightforward without evocation for either sexual desire or tears, and I’m personally very critical about this so-called “double climax.” This is the trick of commercial films or popular films.

Q6: What kind of conclusion do you hope that people will make about you after you pass away?

CZE: As I said, this world is a draft, as well as my life, so any conclusion will be even rougher than the draft of my life. I don’t have any expectation for that. Thank you.

Interview conducted by Jane Zheng. Videography by Michael Cheng. English transcription by Yuqian Yan.

Relevant Classroom Use

Cui Zi'en, director of Queer China, Comrade China, speaks at the Apple store in Beijing. (Photo: Robert Douglas)

Following up on our recent “Meet the Filmmakers” series at the Apple Store in Sanlitun, Beijing, here are a couple of links to local coverage of the events.

At The Beijinger, Dan Edwards talks to Karin Chien about the Apple Store events and China’s digital filmmaking revolution.

At the Global Times, Robert Powers reports on Apple Store appearances made by filmmakers Jian Yi and Cui Zi’en.

We’re pleased to announce that the “Meet the Filmmakers” series will continue with other filmmakers appearing at the Apple Store Sanlitun over the coming months. Stay tuned for details.

Relevant Classroom Use