Bringing it Home: How We Live Our Lives

After a long semester featuring films from several different cultures and many a skilled director, we as students must now bear the responsibility of putting it all together. There are all too many ways to go about this, but as a senior with less than a week left in his college career, I felt like it would be a suiting end to go back to CIE one last time. Through these films, what are we told about human life? How should we live our lives? What is important? What can we expect from the world? Though the answers to these questions vary between cultures, ultimately, there is much to learn.

Brotherhood and Action: A Better Tomorrow

                A Better Tomorrow is a film in which life choices are placed at the forefront, with Ho desperately trying to get himself out of the criminal life he has led, for the sake of both his brother and his father. After a job gone wrong, he pays for his crimes in full and is unable to quit while he is ahead; instead, he is turned to a villain in his brother’s eyes, and the quest for vengeance leaves his best friend, Mark, crippled. Eventually, through much hardship, Ho and his brother Kit are reunited at the cost of Mark’s death, but what can be said about the journey?

                Perhaps the most powerful theme is simply that of consequences for one’s actions. Ho thought he was doing the right thing by trying to leave the criminal underground that he was a part of, but in reality, the damage had already been done. A result of his and his father’s ties to this criminal underground is his father’s assassination, and with it, the loss of Kit’s respect for him as a brother. Once finished with his jail time, Ho attempts to live a clean life at a taxi business, but he is unable to do this either, as Shing eventually attacks the place with his henchmen. Though Mark gets vengeance for his blood-brother’s betrayal by shooting down the man who ambushed him, he is crippled and quickly falls out of favor with the syndicate. As if his fall from grace isn’t enough, Mark is subsequently used as a bargaining chip for Ho throughout the film as Shing attempts to bring him back into the fold. Like a rock thrown into a still pond, Ho’s actions, even though he tries to stop them, puts things into motion that cannot be stopped. One is forced to live with one’s choices, as they cannot be so easily reversed. The consequences are not always immediate, or even personal, but these actions will always see something come of them. As such, Ho teaches his audience to treat his or her actions with care, as they may very well become their undoing, be it immediate or delayed.

                There is also much to be learned from the relationship between Mark and Ho. Despite the lack of actual blood between them, the friendship the two share is a powerful theme throughout the film. Supplemented by scenes of their bond, the soundtrack in their scenes together, and the sacrifices made by one for the other throughout make it stand out in the minds of those in the audience. Mark cripples himself in an attempt to get revenge for Ho’s betrayal, but his loyalty extends farther than that; despite taking shots to his pride, he stays with the syndicate solely for Ho. In the closing scenes, he returns from an escape in order to fight with his brother one last time. This bond helps carry Ho through many of his difficult decisions in the film, as he knows Mark’s support will be there. As such, this movie tells us to take care of our friends. Though family is important, as Ho’s longing for a relationship with Kit shows, it can be our close friends who become our brothers. Through these bonds we form with those closest to us, we may achieve the impossible, as Ho does when he finally kills Shing. Furthermore, it is through our “brothers” that we may sometimes find redemption for our foul deeds, and with their support, move forward in life.

Never Accepting Fate: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Jen in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon does not have all she wants in life. Though she secretly trains in the martial arts and inwardly lusts for a life of a warrior, she is instead a victim of tradition. Arranged marriage represents the chains that attempt to bind her, but her response, rather than the more subtle rebellions seen in Raise the Red Lantern and Yellow Earth, it to rebel fully. Before even revealing herself, she trains with the outlaw Jade Fox, and steals the Green Destiny sword to test her own skills. Throughout the film, Jen denies tradition and her position by fighting where she should not fight, using a sword where she should use a brush, and ultimately, pursuing the path of the warrior. Though her way is not the best one, as Shu Lien and Li Mu Bai often chide her for, she takes action. Her actions, though brash, remind the audience that there is always another way. Like many things we may fear in our own lives (a lack of job, family issues, etc) there may not always be an apparent way out. However, with effort and some creative thinking, a life may change dramatically. Though she defies tradition, she is able to follow her dream and escape the prison of her looming marriage, at least for some time. Furthermore, her ability to resist the norm allow her a brief glimpse of a life she could enjoy with Dark Cloud.

However, with this one must also remember the needs of others, and note the boundary between freedom and selfishness. Though Jen does break away from her marriage for a time, it causes no end of hardship for many people, most visibly the men who wanted her to teach them, only to have her beat them down. Furthermore, the end of her path with Jade Fox and her rebellious actions end in the death of the hero Li Bu Bai, and with it, a momentous loss for Shu Lien, a woman she once called sister. As such, the film reminds us to be be mindful of our actions and their consequences, much as  A Better Tomorrow does. Jen’s ambitions and wish to be free were noble goals, but her methods were sometimes too extreme, and her decisions too guided by pride. She turns down a marriage to Dark Cloud, whom she seemed to love, and an apprenticeship under Li Mu Bai, who could have been the teacher she so longed for. Both of these could have allowed her an escape from her marriage, but it is pride that forces her to refuse each time. Thus, we must be mindful of our emotions and our decisions, lest they be made too selfishly or with too much emotion. And though we may achieve our goals, we must constantly ask ourselves what the cost is, and whom it may harm in its execution.

Are We Really Alive?: Ikiru

The opening scene of Ikiru presents a dilemma to the audience. Watanabe-san is a seemingly successful man, working for the city as a section manager, but the narrator tells us that the man has hardly lived a day of his life as a result of his job. Throughout the film, we are shown bits and pieces of the life he had missed because of his job, namely in moments that his son, Mitsuo, needed his support, but he was far too busy. Watanabe’s struggle of living versus making a living strikes the audience because nearly everyone is in the same position. Watanabe’s position, though it is obviously not one that has given him an overabundance of money, is respectable and relatively successful, which is something (especially a class full of college students) wishes for. However, once Watanabe-san discovers that his remaining life is far shorter than he imagined, he panics, desperately trying to fill the gaps of his life that his job had left empty for so many years. Perhaps the best phrasing for the lesson here is, like the earlier films, to note the consequences, and be aware of the price you pay. Watanabe-san’s work left him unfulfilled for most of his life, but the times he spent when trying to live were clearly some of the best he had had. The smile on his face when running around with his “Mephistopheles” and his lunches with his ex-coworker showed a different man beneath the “mummy” that he appeared as during his tenure as section chief. As the title suggests, we must live our lives; success is a wonderful thing, and to be strived for, but not at the cost of our humanity. Save money, but have a drink. Work hard, but spend time with your family afterwards. Achieve success, but always remember your family and your self are far more important than any position.

                Besides teaching us to live, this film also tells us to learn. In Watanabe’s waning months, he goes all out to make his one small mark on the world, going through gangsters and the mayor himself in order to get a park built for his community, which his job had originally stalled indefinitely. While many refused to give him credit, one of his coworkers eventually convinces the rest of Watanabe-san’s great deed, and they all vow to remember it in their own lives. However, at the first chance, Watanabe’s memory is forgotten as the office reroutes an issue to another office, just as it did before Watanabe’s transformation. The coworker rises indignant, but sits down again, drowned out by the paperwork on his desk. The message we receive here is to be mindful of the past. It’s very easy to fall into the status quo, doing the easy thing instead of the thing one knows to be right. Though Watanabe’s actions were inspiring, it is only through his workers that his memory and his actions can be carried on. Though they fail to do so, the audience can see this injustice, and try to take it into their own lives. Though it may be difficult, don’t forget what inspires you, or what truly makes a difference. Remembering this may be just what the world needs for a change for the better.

Live and Learn: Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…And Spring

                Whereas the first three films I have discussed are concerned with the consequences of one’s actions, Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…And Spring takes a somewhat softer stance on this. The Buddhist values inherent in the film teach the audience even as the old, wise monk teaches his young student. We cringe as the young boy tortures animals, but always the old master is there to teach him. The young boy, however, becomes discontent with the old man’s way of life, and once his lust is awakened by the arrival of a young girl, he connects to the audience through his desire for mainstream society. The young boy eventually returns after leaving for several years, and it is revealed that he murdered the young girl he was so involved with. Though raging at first, the old man brings peace to his heart before he is taken away. The most important part is the return: once his time is served, the young man returns to the shrine, now empty with his master’s death, and takes up his mantle, learning martial arts and meditating in order to better become his master. The lesson here is not in the consequences, but in the redemption. Though the young boy is punished for his actions at every turn, it is the old man’s ways of redeeming him that win out in the end, and make a difference. Though the young man’s rage turns inward and he tries to kill himself, the old man teaches him and helps him to leave it be, eventually paving the way for his peace and his ascension to being a true monk. Even though he killed, the darkest of sins, through peace and understanding he is able to transcend his wrongdoings and become the very figure that taught him. Here, then, we learn that we must be responsible for our actions, but that our sins are not unforgivable; if we strive to overcome them, then we may rise above them.

                The cyclical nature and sometimes inevitability of life are also important themes of the film. In the young man that begins his training in the final scenes of the movie, we see many of the same mistakes being made by this child as in the now older monk. As such, we can also imagine that the wise figure that we had for most of the film made many of these same mistakes in his youth. Through their actions the audience can glean that their sins and mistakes have been made before, and will inevitably be made again. However, it is in how these sins are dealt with and learned from that makes all the difference. Our elders and those we trust may have some stains on their conscience as well, but in learning from them and using their approaches in one’s own life, we may achieve a more righteous way of life for ourselves. Through this redemption, we may see reason not to worry and stress over every decision, as life goes on, and we very well may be able to move through whatever issues hold us down.

How We Live Our Lives

                Through these films, then, we are given a way of life, or tenets to bring our lives to greater fulfillment. Like Mark and Ho, we must appreciate those around us and create a bond that none may break, but also be aware of the consequences of our actions. Like Jen, we must free ourselves of what binds us or holds us back, never giving in to inevitability, but also be mindful of how our actions may affect others. Like Watanabe, we must live our lives while we can, but also be mindful of the past, and never let go of what is truly inspiring. And like the young monk, work to redeem ourselves for our inevitable failings, but also recognize the consequences of our actions and the interconnectedness of our lives. And thus, after four years, the CIE question finally receives closure. 

Seven Samurai: Reality and Heroism

Seven Samurai is a film that certainly receives a lot of praise as one of film’s greatest epics, and after watching, it’s clear why. Beyond the surface of the samurai epic, however, many themes and commentaries can be found, ranging from perceptions and expectations of a hero to the reality of war. In a way, I feel that these themes culminate to make Seven Samurai a sort of anti-epic, in which the audience is still granted a thrilling and powerful story with all the action, but subtly, some of the themes add up to something a bit less straightforward.

PLOT

                Seven Samurai begins with a group of bandits marauding about, who decide to attack a nearby village in the coming months once their crop has been harvested and there is something to steal. As they ride off, one of the villagers comes out from hiding and runs back to the village, where he tells this terrible news. Amid much debate and despair, they finally consult the village elder, who advises them to go to the nearby town to try and recruit samurai to protect them. Though the plan is met with controversy, they agree, and a small group leaves for the town.

                Unable to offer the samurai much more than a bowl of rice initially and three meals a day during the job, they encounter no shortage of difficulty finding samurai, most denying them outright. They are at the point of leaving when they watch a samurai, Kanbei, selflessly intervene to break up a hostage situation. They follow him, eventually getting him to agree to help them. He decides that he can defend the village with a total of seven samurai, so they begin the recruiting process. Eventually, he assembles Katsushiro, a young, idealistic samurai, Gorobei, a man looking for an adventure, Heihachi, a carefree samurai, Shichiroji, an old comrade, Kyuzo, a master swordsman, and Kikuchiyo, a young, drunk buffoon.

                When they return to the village, instead of being celebrated, no one even comes to greet them. Many of the villagers become concerned that the samurai will seduce their daughters, and one villager even forces his daughter to cut her hair in order to avoid this. Kikuchiyo dissolves this situation on his own terms by ringing the alarm bell, causing the villagers to come out screaming in panic for the samurai’s aid. Kikuchiyo berates them for this, asking why they called out for them when danger came, but treated them as pariahs when they arrived. With this uneasy introduction, Kanbei and the others begin making plans to defend the village, from constructing walls to training the men to fight. During this time, Katsushiro begins a relationship with farmer’s daughter, and the samurai show their goodwill by giving some of the food they are paid with back to the less fortunate villagers, especially the children. When Kikuchiyo brings armor and weapons from the villagers that Shichiroji perceives is looted, Kikuchiyo flies off the handle, berating both farmer and samurai alike for their foul ways, and then storming off as Kanbei realizes he is a farmer’s son.

                When bandit scouts appear on the village outskirts, the samurai do their best to hide their presence, but Kikuchiyo ruins their stealth. He and Kyuzo quickly move and dispatch the scouts, and learn of the bandit hideout. These two, Heihachi, and one of the villagers ride to the bandit base and set it ablaze, cutting down the bandits as they come outside. As they escape, the villager runs back to see his wife, who had been in the hut, but when he does so, Heihachi returns for him and is shot dead. Shortly after the funeral, the bandits begin their attack, and Kanbei’s defenses prove to be worth the effort. The bandits make a few precautionary strikes and are driven off by the villagers a few times, with the samurai and farmers killing a few each time. Kyuzo bravely goes out and kills one of the three gunners and returns with his rifle, but when Kukuchiyo tries to do the same, Kanbei berates him for leaving his post (which Kyuzo did not do) and the bandits attack again. One of the elder farmers dies in this attack, as well as Gorobei, both of which Kukuchiyo takes personally, lingering at the graves. Before the final battle, Katsushiro sleeps with the village girl, causing an uproar which Kanbei and the others intervene in. In the final attack, the bandits are driven off, but not before both Kyuzo and Kukuchiyo are both killed. The final scene shows the villagers celebrating their victory, though Kanbei comments that they have won nothing: only the villagers are victorious.

CONSTRUCTING A HERO

Seven Samurai is unique for its sheer number of protagonists. While some are more static than others, everyone has their own personality and goals to meet. Katsushiro, as a young samurai, embodies the audience in a sense- seeking the ideal samurai to pledge himself to in order to learn what it is to truly be a hero. Heihachi is more static, but he shows his compassion when trying to comfort and later save the villager he offended by speaking of his wife. Kyuzo is quiet, modest and skilled- what many expect samurai to be, and Katsushiro praises him for it. Kukuchiyo desperately searches for things to make him more of a samurai instead of a mere farmer (His sword is the longest of any of the seven, he scavenges samurai armor, he steals a scroll to “prove” his birthright, tries to mimic Kyuzo’s brave excursion). Kanbei is perhaps the most complete hero and what the audience expects as a samurai- skilled and brave, but also cunning, wise, and always willing to protect and serve.

                The difference in the characters of these heroes makes a very clear claim that heroes come in all shapes and sizes, and all heroic acts are not full of glory.  When Kukuchiyo leave his post in order to capture another of the enemy’s guns, he mimics Kyuzo, killing the bandits and proudly handing his prize over to Kanbei. However, while his act was brave, it was also brash, leaving a hole in the defenses and leading to the death of the very villager he had assured would be safe. Katsushiro insists he be part of the fight despite the older samurai dismissing him for his youth, and consistently tries to help the villagers in what ways he can, evidenced most obviously when he tosses them coins in light of their stolen rice. While this film has established heroes in samurai such as Kanbei and Shichiroji, it leaves room for these younger heroes to find their place as heroes. The villagers themselves becomes heroes in their own right, as by the end of the film their spears had killed more bandits than the samurai’s swords had.

HEROICS AND REALITIES OF WAR

                One thing that struck me about Seven Samurai were the battle scenes. Many times, in these sort of epics, the audience will see the heroes fighting off hordes of foes with only their skill, shrugging off wounds and putting down foe after foe. That is not necessarily the case in this film. Kyozu gives perhaps one of the few examples of this when he swiftly cuts down the bandits with all the skill and calm one would expect from a samurai warrior, and Kanbei shows this when he takes up the bow amid the battle and shoots down horsemen. Besides these moments of samurai “expectation,” the battles seem to reflect more the chaotic and frantic nature of battle. Unconcerned with the honor or fairness of their actions, Kyozu, Kukuchiyo, and Heihachi burn the bandits’ hut with them still inside it. There are women inside, many of them likely captives, but they make no attempt to heroically save them; they simply spare them from the blade as they run out of the hut. The bandits flee the scene, only to be slaughtered by the samurai waiting outside. There is no honor or glory in this: most of the bandits don’t even have a sword drawn to defend themselves as they flee. This scene best shows that the wars and battles the samurai fought were not always glorious conquests of the righteous hero fighting against the cowardly, evil bandits. In truth, the samurai here, having no other recourse, resort to a technique that, if done by the enemy, the audience would have found underhanded and foul. War is not always righteous: sometimes it’s about who’s left.

                Death is another way this film shows the realities of war well. Heroic deaths in which the hero falls with a smile on his face, knowing he has died well, do not exist. Kyozu, the samurai perhaps most composed and skilled of the seven, when shot, stumbles around, throwing his sword out of blind reaction before falling to the ground, apparently dead. Gorobei dies off screen without so much as a word as to how he died, or any parting words to his comrades or audience. Heihachi and Kukuchiyo, too, die quickly and suddenly, without a word, and without any of the glory that surrounds death. However, the samurai are not the only ones who die deaths more realistic than may be comfortable. Though some of the bandits find themselves quickly slain by the deft blade of a swordsman, more often than not, the samurai leave the wounded bandits to the villagers. Armed with nothing more than sharpened bamboo pikes, the farmers descend upon the wounded bandits like vultures as they desperately flee, eventually catching them and stabbing them to death as a mob. While we are not made to feel sympathy for the bandits, being stabbed to death with a dozen sharpened bamboo rods is, frankly, a horrible way to die. Lacking the sharp edge of a metal blade, strikes from these pikes would often take multiple strikes to pierce armor and skin, and death would be slow and very painful. The film, then, seems to suggest that there is no such thing as a glorious death, and even the most skilled may be slain in the quickest of ways.

BRINGING IT BACK

                This is not the first time Kurosawa Akira has messed with preconceptions in this course. In Ikiru, Watanabe-san, as the protagonist, is as far from a hero as we can imagine in many ways. He is soft spoken, lacks confidence, and has trouble acting on his feelings, far from Kanbei, who is played by the same actor. When Watanabe dies, he does so without a speech to the audience, or resonating final words; his death comes when the audience does not expect it, leaving them questioning. In both films, Kurosawa makes us question what a hero is and our expectations of one, and the reality that surrounds it. A hero may not be quite what we expect, and life may not only be about glory or righteousness. Sometimes, it’s just about making a difference in whatever way one can.

BONUS ROUND: WHY KYOZU AND KUKUCHIYO SHOULD HAVE LIVED

                My blossay is effectively over, but this was bothering me and I did a little research. I know, message and plot have to do their thing, so details have to be ignored a little bit. But, frankly, Kyozu was pretty great, and Kukuchiyo I’m sure is something of what Mizenko-sensei imagines I would be if I were alive 450ish years ago. In the time period of this film (late 1500’s), Japan’s firearms were primitive at best, and were just coming into prominence in the hands of different warlords. Their strength often lay in numbers, best shown when Oda Nobunaga trained his men to fire while another reloaded, in order to essentially create continuous fire. He had to do this because the guns were painfully inaccurate, weak at the tail end of their range, and reloading was a rough process. According to Wikipedia, it was generally said that an archer could loose 15 arrows in the time it took a gunner to load and fire a single shot. Also, the powder was very susceptible to the elements, so even a moderate amount of rain could often render them useless. All this being said, consider the final part of the last battle. Kyozu is shot,  but this alone is problematic. The gunner doubtlessly would have shot a shot earlier (it’s the only weapon he seems to be carrying), so he would have needed to reload. It is raining torrentially during this scene, and as a bonus, he probably fell off his horse, since everyone else did. As such, I find it hard to believe that he had the powder dry enough to carry a charge. Even assuming he did, when Kukuchiyo rushed him, there is no actual way he could have reloaded in that period of time. And this is also assuming this bandit gun was of good make and accurate. Which everyone seems to have perfect accuracy with their weapons in this. Anyway, this ends the bonus Wieczerak rant on 16^th century guns in Japan.

                

Women, Tradition, and Chinese Film

   Women and Chinese culture have a difficult relationship, if the films we’ve seen are any indicator. In a way, all of the films we have seen, from Yellow Earth to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon have something to say about this relationship. More often than not, we see a culture in which women are at times more commodity than person, to be shipped off or even used as a bartering chip (as in Yellow Earth, for the son’s marriage), with no choice in the matter. Marriage and tradition are at the core of this issue, and the films we have seen have taken several different angles at this problem, from giving the women ways in which to maneuver around and even fight tradition to making them witness firsthand its power. The two films I think show some of the most interesting views of the female place in society are Raise the Red Lantern and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. Beyond the scope of the story, the cinematography in these films serves to accent the messages the film has, and adds layers all its own.

   The opening scene of Raise the Red Lantern is one of the most powerful scenes in the movie, and makes its stance on Chinese marriage tradition clear from the start. Songlian’s face is all that is visible here, gazing past the camera with hollow eyes as she talks to her stepmother off screen. By having only her face with the traditional wall in the background, the mise en scene is focused on the human element of this question of tradition rather than the cultural side. This becomes all the more clear when the two are done speaking, and the scene continues to show the tears falling down her face despite her efforts to keep her face stoic. However, one of the most subtle yet eerie effects of the scene is the presence of tradition throughout. Though she is talking to her stepmother, the other woman does not appear on screen, instead representing the faceless, formless wraith of tradition that hovers over Songlian and women in her position. As her choice settles into her mind, traditional Chinese music begins playing louder and louder in the background as a reminder of the traditions that have brought her to this place and will drive her through the plot of the movie, against her will. Finally, the camera captures the scene as a fixed shot, never budging an inch, perhaps as a reminder of the rigid nature of the culture and tradition that about to consume Songlian.

   Songlian’s first meeting with the master of the household focuses less on Songlian as a woman or even a human being, but instead as another part of the culture- an item to be consumed. The camera is fixed for the start of the scene, and there is no music to take away from the master’s words towards her, the silence making the audience feel the same discomfort that Songlian feels. She is in the center of the shot, surrounded by several reminders of tradition, such as scrolls, silk, paintings, and, of course, the red lanterns themselves. She is, here, an item no different than the lanterns she is told to pick up- an item brought forth by tradition to be enjoyed by the master of the household. As such, the camera allows us to see more of her body as opposed to simply her face as in the opening scene, thus allowing the audience to study her just as the master does. The master, like the voice of her stepmother, remains mostly formless, as the audience never gets a glimpse of his face to give him identity. Instead, he remains a faceless symbol of traditional patriarchal power. As the scene captures, Songlian is desperate to escape this and hesitant to obey his commands, but must do so to satisfy the master and therefore tradition. The camera moves only to capture her movements; she is the object of the master’s gaze, and cannot escape it.

   Perhaps the most chilling scene of the film comes near the conclusion, when the third mistress is taken away and hanged by the master’s servants. It begins with Songlian in her room, which has changed to reflect the true nature of tradition; without the light of the festive lanterns, her room is a dark, empty place, devoid of natural light and given hollow meaning by the decorations about it. Songlian is stirred by a woman’s screams, and ventures out into the snow to follow the pursuers. Songlian acts as a voyeur, her gender and her position rendering her incapable of doing anything but watch. There is no soundtrack here; instead, only the methodical steps of the retainers and occasionally the third mistress’s muffled cries break the silence. Like in earlier scenes, the grounds themselves here represent tradition with their omnipresence, surrounding the women at all times. Here, as earlier in the film, the sheer scope of the walls often envelops and dwarfs the women, but here, the snow merely furthers this effect, the shrouding the actions of the retainers. Once they reach their destination, instead of being immediately granted confirmation, the scene lingers on, forcing the audience into Songlian’s horrified shoes as the third mistress disappears into the room. What follows is perhaps the most uncomfortable silence in the entire film, whereupon there is very little movement and no sound, and the audience merely waits for confirmation of the third mistress’s death. The silence here is made more meaningful when the third mistress’s earlier actions are considered; in her attempts to fight against tradition, she would fill the compound with her voice as it echoed off the walls, defying its size and strength by filling the empty walls. As she dies, her voice is taken from her, and she dies without as much as a scream. The men file out, and the door is locked- tradition and custom have been upheld.

   The scenes in Raise the Red Lantern often serve to show the plight of women in tradition. The scenery about them is often used to accentuate and even make real the prison that tradition cast around them. The medium and long shots tend to rob them of some of their humanity, while the rare close ups reflect the human elements of their struggles. Sound, like scenery can often serve to remind the audience of the tradition running throughout, while silence can reveal the truth harshly.

   Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, takes a different approach to tradition and customs. Jen, the main character, is presented as a woman with the same plight as Songlian: she is soon to be married. However, the film and the plot both do many things to differentiate itself from Red Lantern’s message, while keeping some of the elements intact. For example, the first shot in which Jen is introduced has her standing before a myriad of Chinese furniture and scrolls, and in a traditional dress. Her entire body is present, unlike the shot Songlian has, but the context pulls this shot apart from it. Jen is objectified with the rest of the room as a part of Chinese culture and tradition, but this is merely a shot, rather than a backdrop for the entire scene. In the following scene, the conversation between her, the retainer, and Shu Lien is followed by the camera to accommodate different views. The view is not masculine, but is neutral or even feminine, as Shu Lien is understood to be the most powerful character on screen. Jen’s pleasant and even happy demeanor are far set apart from Songlian’s misery in the first two scenes mentioned above. This shot is further complimented by a scene a few scenes later, in which Shu Lien and Jen converse as Jen does calligraphy. Again, Jen is set against a traditional background and is practicing calligraphy, which Shu Lien compares to swordplay (a more masculine form). Jen again fulfills her gender role here, but at this point it has been mentioned that there is more than meets the eye with her. This shot seems to suggest that while tradition certainly exists in this world, there exist ways to circumvent it.

   The first fight scene between Shu Lien and Jen is telling of the gender portrayal in the film. Unlike even Drunken Master, in which Chan’s aunt, while skilled, has a particularly feminine fighting style, Jen and Shu Lien have a fight that would denote power regardless of gender. The action is fast and the camera moves to capture it, but the fight is one that would be expected of two master martial artists; though the artistic “flying” is abound, in this particular clip, the fighting is centered on the ground, with both combatants using a fighting style that defies gender. Though there are some examples, their fighting styles avoid moves associated with extreme femininity, such as high kicks and flexibility. In her penultimate move, Shu Lien uses sheer brute force, a more masculine tactic, to put Jen on the defensive and nearly finish her. Unlike Red Lantern, the close camera shows their power and skills despite the intimidating traditional buildings looming around them, granting them personality. This, then, is a world in which fighting is equal opportunity. Though the Jade Fox exclaims later that women can be used for sex but not to learn martial arts, Shu Lien offers a counterpoint both here and when they fight later when she beats Jen, and seems to enjoy regard as Li Mu Bai’s near equal, and is an esteemed member of her academy. Though the tradition surrounding marriage exists, fighting is a way to escape it.

   The best portrayal of female power comes briefly but without answer. Once Jen returns to Shu Lien, and then again decides to flee, she decends upon the male practitioners and begins fighting them. Shu Lien quickly orders them away so that she may fight her herself. The men, with varying expressions of shame and disappointment, do as they are told. When the scene ends, the camera’s sole focus are these two women. Again, in this scene, the film defies tradition. Whereas men traditionally are the masters of the art, here they are first beaten by a girl, and then ordered away by another woman. Though brief, this scene exhibits the respect and power Shu Lien, a woman who defied tradition in order to fight, and Jen, a woman who was doing her best to defy tradition, hold in the film and in their world. This is a world in which action may be taken to go against tradition, in which training and hard work may bring not only an escape from tradition, but a place to go without it (Li Mu Bai and Dark Cloud, respectively). Tradition exists here in the weapons, the fighting styles, and even the setting itself, but the combatants are different entirely.

   Raise the Red Lantern and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon use their cinematography and mise en scene to build different perceptions of women and the tradition they find themselves in. While one shows a prison and the other a chance at freedom, both use camera, music, and other factors in order to portray their main characters. Tradition is problematic in these films, standing as something unjust and to be escaped from if possible, though the opportunity may not exist in reality. They portray the plight and difficulties of women during the time, and in doing so, enlighten the audience of a world unknown. 

Masculinity in the Films of Hong Kong

                What makes a man masculine? A barely contained rage, unleashed upon provocation? Being humiliated, but then having the ability to dust oneself off and better oneself in order to conquer obstacles? Perhaps it lies in fighting for brothers, both literal and adopted. Or perhaps it lies in knowing one’s desires and the way they want to go through life. But what other questions lie within these? What is the role of women? Of guns? Of power? The films we’ve seen in class all have a different approach to explaining masculinity, from Chow Yun Fat’s intense Mark to the quiet, yet somewhat self assured killer of Fallen Angels.

                Bruce Lee in The Big Boss is perhaps one of the more outwardly masculine characters of those we have seen. From the opening scenes in which his uncle must continually remind him of his promise to his mother, the audience is told not that he cannot intervene in the initial fight, but instead that he chooses not to. Though several fights occur during this time, there is not one in which Lee’s face doesn’t reflect the desire to fight, nor is there any hint that if he did, he wouldn’t triumph. Sure enough, once provoked into action at the mill, he easily tears through the Boss’s mercenaries despite their weapons, then later faces more heavily armed men, Hisao Chiun, and the Boss all. His powerful cries, tendency to show his chiseled, shirtless body, and tendency to strike his foes down with emasculating strikes to the groin all add to his masculinity. Lee’s overwhelming confidence, overwhelming martial ability, and overall invincibility make him into a very masculine character. Or do they?

Intensity, power, and invincibility: Bruce Lee's masculinity

     The Boss is perhaps the most interesting counterpoint to Lee’s masculinity. The Boss himself, despite his age, is a skilled fighter in his own right, able to at least match Lee for much of the final fight of the film. However, beyond his prowess in martial arts is the pure power he harnesses. He is in many shots surrounded by or attended to by one or more women, all of whom fawn over him, either as a result of his power or his status. He lusts after Chao Mei and her youth, wishing to add her to his collection of young women. He holds no reservations about asserting his power, leaving a mark on the prostitute Lee later meets, wounding a servant girl who makes the simple mistake of dropping a cup, and killing many of the workers for its convenience. Despite his foreign nature, he wields power over native mercenaries, the workers who he can use and dispose of without consequence, and perhaps even the police. He regularly exudes pure confidence, and has the power to remove any obstacle in his way.

                Lee, when introduced to the Boss’s version of masculinity, doesn’t stand up too well. Instead of being fawned over by women, he instead spends much of his night chasing around a prostitute. He doesn’t hold his alcohol particularly well, drinking too much too fast, and quickly losing control. Though he ends up sleeping with that prostitute, upon his awakening it’s apparent that this was not a situation he wished for, nor one he was in control of. Gaining the Boss’s brand of power gets him nothing but ridicule from his fellow workers, and only serves to alienate him from the woman he actually desires, Chao Mei. Thus, the film presents two parallel versions of masculinity: one that exudes power over others, and another that shows mastery over the self. As Lee kills the Boss at the film’s conclusion, it can be assumed that Lee’s mastery of himself and his use of power is the superior of the two, though his arrest leaves that up to debate.

                Jackie Chan in Drunken Master offers a slightly warped version of Bruce Lee’s masculinity. Like Lee, Chan is a skilled fighter right from the film’s onset, embarrassing one of his teachers and a young man making trouble in the market. However, the audience quickly learns that he is not invincible, like Lee, when he is handily defeated by an older woman, his aunt. In Chan’s kung fu there is none of the overpowering attacks that Lee used, nor any of the emasculating strikes to the groin that Lee uses so liberally. Instead, Chan’s character is a jovial one, one that uses tactics to humiliate his opponent to prove his masculinity, letting his style of fighting speak for him as much as the battered state of his opponents. He is confident and self assured, and shows that he’s a lady’s man by tricking a beautiful girl into kissing him (never mind that it was his cousin). His friends all seem to look to him and follow his plans, which sets him up as the alpha male of the group.

                Opposite him is a different sort of masculinity in Thunderleg. The primary villain of the film oozes confidence to the point of pure arrogance, and showcases his prowess even in the face of skilled opponents, as seen when he kills off his first target of the film. Unlike Chan, his personality fits more into Lee’s stereotype, as he allows no nonsense in his personality nor fighting style, and brutally lays into his opponent regardless of their strength. Thunderleg wields power like no other in the film, showcased best when he effortlessly defeats Chan at the temple. Chan, holding dearly to his pride, is continually beaten down while Thunderleg taunts him, clearly enjoying the experience from his superior position. He uses harsh language to put Chan beneath him, and when the fight is over, he forces Chan to humiliatingly crawl under him, kicks him again, and then burns his very clothes as he offers them to the younger fighter. Like the Boss, Thunderleg’s is a power that relies on the conquering of others and the constant exhibition of this power.

Thunderleg with Chan at his mercy. Here we see the domination and power necessary for Thunderleg's mascuilinty, as well as the emasculation that Chan rises up from. Lee could never be in such a position of weakness.

                Chan’s greatest masculinity, is shown after his lowest moment. Upon his utter defeat at Thunderleg’s hands (or feet), Chan essentially dusts himself off and gets himself back up. The scene immediately following the fight reflects his humiliation, which leads to the scenes following, in which he finally takes his training seriously in order to become a stronger fighter, retake his masculinity, and protect the masculinity of his father and family, threatened by Thunderleg’s beating. This single minded determination, showcased perhaps best when he goes through the different forms of his drunken kung fu, shows his masculinity in his ability to be defeated, but rise up again. When he fights Thunderleg, the assassin’s masculinity has no effect or influence on him, as despite his own newfound masculinity, he never reverts to any tactic or action Thunderleg would take, instead retaining his trickster style of fighting. Chan’s masculinity, then, lies in both self confidence and growth, an inner strength somewhat akin to Lee’s, while Thunderleg’s resides in his power over others, like his fellow villain.

Falling in defeat and rising again from the ashes is what makes Chan's masculinity unique.

                 A Better Tomorrow relies on a far different sort of masculinity. The masculinity here is not a single entity, but instead relies on brotherly bonds, namely those between Ho and Mark. One of the first scenes with Mark and Ho together shows their relationship; after several scenes of them outwardly looking very powerful and masculine, including the scene in which they make the deal with the counterfeit money, they playfully have a shoving match into the elevator. Contrasted by the overwhelming masculinity that these men have in these opening scenes, their bond here creates a different sort of masculinity. Traditional machismo, akin to Lee’s, is certainly here; Ho, upon being betrayed by Shing, takes a shotgun shell point blank, but manages to fight his way out regardless with a blare of his pistol, then even manages to retain his total composure when surrendering to the police. Mark effortlessly guns down the men who carried out this double cross, and even when crippled by shots to his knee, he retains his composure, riddling the attacker with bullets before storming over to deliver coup de grace shots to his head, execution style. In these opening scenes before their bond is more clearly developed, their masculinity lies in a power akin to that of the Boss or Thunderleg. Both men are in control; Mark cohorts with a woman on his way to shoot up the double crossers, both flaunt the counterfeit money they have, burning it as a show of power, and spending time in a bar and smoking, all signs of power, ease, and masculinity.

Power and disregard that oozes "cool". Mark's overt massculinity.

               The bond that is developed throughout the film showcases the masculinity through the effect it has on each other. Stringer states in his essay that their relationship, in its own way, paves the way for their actions: “The emotionally intense suffering the individual undergoes because of his attachment to a friend, brother, father, wife, or employer is there in order to provide the strength needed for the superhuman acts of heroism and violence” (Stringer 6). This core of masculinity can be said to account for many of the superhuman acts of the film, even if said acts are not necessarily one of these characters doing it for the other. For example, Ho’s heroic actions in the shootout following his betrayal, and his sacrifice in surrendering can be said to have come from a loyalty and duty to Shing as a brother in arms. Mark’s rampage in revenge involves impeccable aim and eventually a superhuman tolerance to pain as he stumbles forward on his now lame leg. Perhaps it becomes most obvious in the closing shootout of the film, wherein Mark, though out of the fight, selflessly brings himself in to help his brother in arms, Ho. Interestingly, though his lame leg is often very noticeable, in this fight his mobility is hampered only slightly as he darts to and from cover, dives away from explosions, and generally becomes an invincible gunman, shooting down anyone threatening his brother. Masculinity, for these two, lies in performing the superhuman, not for oneself, but for one’s brother. The brotherly bonds push them to do the impossible, and in doing so, they achieve a masculinity apart from any of the others we have seen.

                Last, and perhaps least clear on its ideas and perceptions of masculinity is the Killer of Fallen Angels. The Killer, described as lazy and nearly emotionless throughout the film, has a sort of masculinity similar to that of Bruce Lee’s- a mastery of the self. His character often remarks that he enjoys his job, not for its benefits, actions, or violence, but instead for its simplicity. The Killer generally finds himself totally self assured in any situation he finds himself in the film, and the few times he wants something, such as female company, he has no problem attaining it. In a film filled with characters constantly searching for something, such as his partner masturbating to the idea of him, the self assuredness he carries himself with is jarring. In his first assassination, he is entirely in control, picking his targets off with efficiency without ever so much as breaking into a run. Upon meeting his partner, an act long in coming, he is entirely composed as she struggles to keep a steady hand as she smokes. Unlike Lee, he is not invincible, as his death shows, but even in this, there is no voiceover of his regrets and other dying thoughts, but instead, he simply falls dead among the foes he already struck down. He has no power over others to call his own, being pushed to place to place by his employers and partner, so his masculinity is all internal- in his ability to carry himself without want in a movie in which that is unheard of.

Perhaps the best example of confidence, the killer is totally in control despite his partner's sadness over the same issue.

                The films we’re seen thus far on Hong Kong presents us with several different versions of masculinity, from invincible strength, to power over others, to brotherly bonds that provide the power to do the impossible. These conflicting versions of masculinity may simply be a result of story or director, but the conflict may go deeper, into the sort of fractured identity Hong Kong holds as a cross between the East and the West. These masculinities have affected audiences, from making Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan symbols for the people, to having a generation toting around dusters and sunglasses to imitate Mark’s style. Hong Kong is a place neither here nor there, so it’s only natural that there is no true version of masculinity, only several different suggestions of what it could be perceived as.

The Two Dragons and Gaming Culture

   Considering I know very little about film in general, when something comes up that's clearly more in my court, I feel the need to throw it out there. With all this reading on Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan, I realized that I kept going back to one of the most popular fighting games of the last decade or so: Tekken. Pretty big in the US, but even bigger in Japan, if the last installment, Tekken Tag 2, being played all over in arcades during my tenure there is any indication.

   Anyway, these games, among others, pay tribute to the two heroes we've seen these past two weeks. I took a look around and found two videos that show it off a bit.

This first video's all about Marshall Law, which is a thinly veiled attempt to NOT say Bruce Lee. If you watch even for a minute you'll get the idea. The fluid movement, costumes, and the characteristic cry all match up with the Bruce Lee we've been talking about. This one even conveniently has film clips showing how some of his moves (specifically grabs), have some of the exact same animations of some of the movies.

 

 

This one is a little less blatant than the Bruce Lee tribute, and doesn't have any film clips to back it up, but the kung fu, specifically that of the Drunken Master style of the character Lei Wu-long has been attributed to Jackie Chan. He stumbles, he humiliates his opponent, and he's more of an acrobat than his counterpart.

 

These certainly aren't the only fighters who have characters made as tribute to them, not even is this the only game to have done so (Lee supposedly has around 4-5 characters in different series). In any case, I thought this might be interested in anyone concerned with gaming culture, especially considering the prevalence and popularity of fighting games in Japan, particularly in arcades. Oh, and of course, all credit from the videos to the creators- I'm not nearly that good at those games.