July 30, 2005
On cloud nine
'Please tell people it's a dirty movie. There's sex.' So says Tsai Ming-liang of his latest movie The Wayward Cloud, which caused a furore with its explicitness
By Ong Sor Fern
Film Correspondent
HIS signature close-shaven head gives director Tsai Ming-liang the appearance of an ascetic monk.
But the image is shattered the instant the voluble 48-year-old starts speaking in rapid-fire Mandarin, accented with a smattering of Hokkien phrases.
With guttural spurts of easy laughs and much vivid gesturing, the youthful-looking director exudes Puckish charm and an earthy sense of humour.
On his new movie, The Wayward Cloud, he says with much mischief: 'Please tell people it's a dirty movie. There's sex. There's hair.'
More specifically, there is pubic hair in the film which tracks the relationship between a watch salesman-turned-porn actor (Lee Kang-sheng) and an alienated young woman (Chen Shiang-chyi).
Tsai's sexually explicit film, which incorporates musical numbers, caused a furore in Taiwan in March.
It was reviewed twice by Taiwanese authorities before it was allowed to be released without cuts. It made NT$7 million (S$365,000) at the box office on the opening weekend. In comparison, the highest grossing Taiwan film last year was the comedy Formula 17, which grossed NT$5.3 million.
Tsai has created eight award-winning features, all featuring a recurring cast of actors.
But this critic's darling has not been traditionally embraced at the box office.
His movies, with their nihilistic themes, long takes and minimal dialogue, have been accused of being obscure and inaccessible - even by Taiwan's own film financiers.
In a 40-minute chat in his suite at the Goodwood Park Hotel on Wednesday, the director recalls that in 1998, the criticism was so intolerable he fled back to his home country of Malaysia for a year.
Plagued by dismal box office takings, the industry was divided between producers who accused directors of making only arthouse fare and directors who defended their right to make what they wanted.
Kuching-born Tsai, who is still a Malaysian citizen, bore the brunt of attacks because 'firstly, I'm an outsider and secondly, my films are very weird'.
He lost his temper at one particularly heated gathering of producers and film-makers, and snapped at his accusers: 'So we should make Liang Shan Bo for you to watch?'
Liang Shan Bo is one half of the beloved Butterfly Lovers, a favourite story in Chinese operas and films.
Nonetheless, Tsai keeps an eagle eye on market forces.
The bachelor admits with a roar of laughter: 'When I do publicity in Taiwan, I'm very ruthless. I will lie if I have to.'
Hence his emphasis on the follicular aspects of his new movie. He explains his theory with a laugh: 'A hundred people come in to see hair. But five people will see not just hair.'
In other words, a spoonful of sex helps the art go down.
He sees no contradiction in being a market-savvy auteur. He says bluntly: 'I never said I'm an arthouse director. I only know how to film this type of movies. I want as many people as possible to see my movies.'
Dressed down in simple flip-flops, jeans and a windbreaker, Tsai radiates the homey pragmatism of a schoolteacher rather than the rarified air of an acknowledged auteur.
He concedes that there will be people who do not understand his languidly paced studies of urban alienation and youthful angst.
He asserts quietly that 'I don't really seek understanding', before adding the Chinese saying 'Ren shi bu ke li jie'.
The phrase, loosely translated, means certain things in life cannot be easily understood.
His outlook on life is inspired by Buddhist teachings. So too his advice to people perplexed by his movies.
'If you don't know, it's not a problem.'
In Buddhist circumlocution, he explains: 'When you say you don't understand, it's not because you don't understand but because you don't need to understand.
'Do you want to understand gongfu? The triad? Ghosts? You just gain entertainment from these genres. But when you watch Tsai Ming-liang and say, 'I don't understand', it is because you start to want to understand.'
All he wants to do is start the process of questioning. He adds jokingly that audiences must 'lian xi' (train) to watch his movies.
He tells his favourite story about Singapore.
Ten years ago, Vive L'Amour was shown here as part of the Singapore International Film Festival (Siff). The 1,500-seat hall was filled to capacity because the film had won the Golden Lion at the Venice Film Festival.
He chuckles as he recounts: 'About a third of the audience left 30 minutes before the movie ended. There was a big article in the newspaper the next day asking: 'What kind of movie is this? Anyone can make because it's about people eating, walking, shitting, having sex'.'
However, when Bu San (Goodbye, Dragon Inn) was shown at a sold-out screening at the 1,259-seat Prince at last year's Siff, no one left the hall. He crows delightedly: 'And there's a seven-minute shot in there where there's no movement, no people!'
But there is serious artistic intent buried beneath the prankster demeanour. He says with quiet conviction: 'Cinema is all about possibility. Film cannot tell audiences, 'You just come to see a story'. It exists not just because of a story. There are many possible reasons for its being.'
All that is required is an open mind.