Farewell My Concubine

Reel Whirled Peas

The film Farewell My Concubine got me thinking about a theme that kept cropping up in Contemporary World and now in Reel World: How do people respond to sudden shifts in political power?

In Farewell My Concubine, the 50-odd years that the story spans covers 5 significant eras in Chinese history.

The story begins in the 1920s Warlord era, which came about following the end of the Qing Dynsaty and a short period of a republican government in 1916. Warlords had regional power bases, sometimes a village or two, or, in the case of the most powerful warlords, an area as large as 3 provinces. They ruled their regions with terror, and they became rich exacting taxes and protection money from their constituents. They provided their important soldiers with land in the province, and the opportunity to become rich themselves by controlling the commerce in an area. Rarely did the warlord have any political ideology, other than to become rich.

The Warlords fought with one another for regional control, in particular Peking, the capital, and the home of the Peking Opera. Peking was a strategic because from there the sitting Warlord could deal diplomatically with other nations. Because of its importance, there were battles constantly occurring and power in the government was constantly changing. Between 1916 and 1928, China had at least 7 heads of state and 25 cabinets. (http://www.thecorner.org/hist/china/warlords.htm#THE%20WARLORDS)

Into that milieu young Douzi is born, and subsequently enslaved by Master Guan in the training school for the Peking Opera. The Peking Opera was over 100 years old by that time, a venerable institution that may have been outside the reach of the extortionist warlords. There is an interesting scene early in the film where Master Guan and some of the boys appear to be performing in the street, when some of the boys run off and Master Guan is accosted by what looks to be a street thug. The situation is diffused as Shitou returns and breaks a brick with his head, to the amusement of the thug. The Master hurries the boys back to center. The crowded streets and the threat of violence depicts a sort of lawlessness. How does one establish allegiances in an environment like that?

Douzi and Shitou (later, as adults, Dieyi and Xiaolou) faced a number of political changes as their fame grew. The Nationalist-Communist Civil War saw the nationalists of Chang Kai-shek take power first. In the film, this was a great benefit to Dieyi and Xiaolou, and the Opera operated at its height under the nationalists. Then, the Japanese invaded China. In order to save the life of his friend Dieyi is forced to dance for Japanese Marshall Aoki, an expert and great fan of Peking Opera. That action, “conspiring with the enemy” resulted in charges of treason brought against Dieyi following the end of the Sino-Japanese War in 1945. His life was spared, and the charges essentially dropped, when a ranking member (Chang?) of the nationalists interceded so he could watch Dieyi perform. Then, the Civil War ended, and the communists were in control of Peking. The Opera, despite its bourgeois history and status, was allowed to continue operating, although the power structure surrounding the Opera company was decimated. Then, when the Cultural Revolution began in 1966, the Maoist zealots shut down the company and the persecuted the performers. The film ends with Dieyi and Xiaolou dancing once again in 1977, following the end of the Cultural Revolution and the reinstatement of the Peking Opera.

Throughout this 50 years Dieyi and Xiaolou, along with Xiaolou’s wife, Juxian, navigate these dramatic changes with little or no political sophistication. It is a scene played out in Russia, the Balkans, India, Nicaragua, Iran, Cambodia and dozens of other places around the world since 1945. Revolutionaries and Ideologues plan and execute strategies to seize power, often with brutal consequences for citizens with little understanding of the issues driving civil war. Most people simply want a government that works for them, whether that means providing them with sustenance and shelter or letting them perform operas. Dieyi and Xiaolou survived the tumultuous changes, sometimes at great cost to their friendship, integrity, and self-respect. Similar to the way many caught in the crossfire of revolution have survived.


Background Information

Wikipedia
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chinese_Civil_War#Anti-Communist_campaigns_.281927.E2.80.931937.29

The Corner
http://www.thecorner.org/hist/china/warlords.htm#THE%20WARLORDS

Shanghai Star
http://app1.chinadaily.com.cn/star/2001/0531/fo6-2.html

Chinaculture.org
http://app1.chinadaily.com.cn/star/2001/0531/fo6-2.html

Gandhi

Reel Whirled Peas: June 2006


I read reviews of Gandhi written by Pat Aufderheide and Hanna Lessinger.

Aufderheide, a professor of Communications at American University, was critical of the film, suggesting that Attenborough’s hamhanded story telling had effective turned Gandhi into a comic book character. She calls it the “kind of history that convinces people that they hate history…actors mouth historic lines in telegraphic dialogue, each interchange cartoonishly large with Historic Significance or quaintly domestic with human moments.” I also felt like the story was too neat, the expressions and dialogue too contrived, the resolutions too simple. At times it looked and felt like a long History Channel production, where the dozen or so most famous moments are “re-enacted”.

Aufderheide also criticizes the passive indifference to roles assumed by women in the film. She describes Gandhi’s wife as an “obsequious second-in-command, occasionally pausing in her constant service to show visitors the pleasure of dedicating her life to him”. Mirabehn, the admiral’s daughter, is “reduced to a somber statue of service…casting reproving glances at upstarts in the presence of the master”. American photographer Margaret Bourke-White “runs around Gandhi like a hectic, friendly terrier”. Her descriptions are right on. Mrs. Gandhi must have played an important role in the fight for independence. One of the most realistic moments in the film was when she challenged, the only time she challenged him in the film, his demand to rake and cover the latrine. She felt that it was work that was below her, and he responded with a “we are all equal in the ashram” response. He said she will do the job with joy or not at all. “Not at all then”, she replies, and he tells her she has to leave. She screams that she is his wife, and where will she go? He acquiesces, and then exhibits a real moment of self-doubt. This time she is the one with the compassionate heart, setting him straight about the differences between his expectations of himself and others expectations of themselves. She was the sounding board, the one he could be weak or doubt-ridden in front of. Had Attenborough provided more moments like that, rather than, as Aufderheide describes, the “close-ups (that) focus on the goo-goo-eyed crew of sycophants and flunkies”, the film may have piqued my curiosity more.

While most of Aufderheide’s criticism is the way the story is told, Lessinger’s review includes passages about Gandhi himself, the “contradictory and uncomfortable sides of (his) character”. She points to Gandhi’s “intensely religious and essentially Hindu view of life” as the basis for warring between the Hindus and Muslims. With Gandhi’s ascendancy to the forefront of the fight for independence, says Lessinger, Muslims felt there was no place for them in the new state. I think there is some validity to Lessinger’s statement. It seemed that earlier on, when India was under British control, Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs generally got along, at least so within the Indian Congress. Lessinger suggests that a more secular leader for independence may have allayed the fears of the Muslims and prevented the splitting of the state. Clearly history has shown that segregating the religions did little to improve relations between the two.

I also wondered why Gandhi did not use his almost celestial reputation to ease the burden of poverty. The film showed him moved by the suffering he saw, but not moved to fix the problem. Lessinger suggests that this is another result of his deeply-held Hindu beliefs. The caste system is predicated on the belief that people are born unequally based on their spiritual successes in past lives. Despite Gandhi’s admonition to his wife that everyone is equal in the ashram, he did not hold that truth for the general population.

India indeed gained independence, in large part due to Gandhi’s non-violent revolution. But it’s quite possible that colonial rule would have end a few years later anyway. Could the actions of a man capable of mobilizing an entire nation have been better used to alleviate the suffering of a nation? Let’s look 60 years hence. India and Pakistan are both independent, but there really has been no colonialism anywhere since 1970. India and Pakistan, Hindus and Muslims, still have strong animosities. And India, soon to have the largest population of any country, is still rife with poverty.

Burnt by the Sun

Burnt by the Sun weaves three universal themes that cross one another with sometimes comic, and sometimes tragic, results against the background of Stalinist Russia: The joys and pains of family; vengeance; and the fickleness of political loyalty.

The first theme plays out over a series of scenes, several of which involve Kotov’s immediate family, and others that include Marusia’s extended family and friends. The most striking scene, in my mind, and one of the most beautiful I have ever seen in a film, shows Kotov and 6 year-old daughter Nadya floating down the river in a boat. Their time I sspent doing and saying things that fathers and daughters say to one another. He compares her soft round feet to his large, rough feet, the sort of thing parents do with their children. He tells her about the grand future of the Motherland, the industrialized Soviet Union, a place where she will “run without fleeing”. He imparts that bit of wisdom, which all fathers feel the need to provide, about working hard, and remaining loyal, normal standards of conduct in his world. He gazes out across the water, thoughtful, perhaps reflecting that his life’s efforts were undertaken for a moment like this very one. Kotov is a true believer, a patriot, whose life of painful decisions seem to be justified by this moment. As they sit quietly, she tells him she adores him.

The second theme, vengeance, is played out very darkly in a scene where Mitya tells Nadya a story about a poor boy who was cheated out of his future. He tells the story within earshot of the entire family, who are all gathered around the table. The family sits in absolute silence, everyone in the room (except Nadya) knowing parts of the story, but no one the whole. No one moves to stop him, or to challenge his version of the story. It is painful to watch the discomfort that hangs in the room. Marusia’s hands begin to shake, as painful memories are renewed. At this point, only Mitya knows his reason for returning, and, after seeing the story through to the end, it shows just how cruel the telling of the story was.

Not all of Mitya’s vengefulness was directed at Kotov. Mitya, we find out later, was a White Russian, one who opposed the Bolsheviks during the civil war, and as such was on the losing side. Mitya must have loved life in pre-revolutionary Russia, an accomplished musician and a person of privilege. He was not an ideologue, (Kotov later reminds him of Mitya’s betrayal of 8 White Russian generals), and he later tells Kotov that all he wanted was to go back to Boris’s (now Kotov’s) house and resume his life. To Mitya there has been no choice in his fate, other than prison or death. It is against all that has happened the past 20 years that Mitya strikes out against. Near the end of the film, as Mitya starts to light a cigarette while talking to the lost trucker, he see the balloon raise the portrait of Stalin. Without thinking, Mitya begins to salute the image, there in the middle of nowhere, with no one of consequence watching. He becomes aware of his action, and ends his salute. He is lost for a moment in the chaos of his mind, then regroups and sets about to carry out his mission. His soulessness makes him another casualty of Stalin’s purge, even before he kills himself.

Throughout the film, we see photographs in the house of Kotov and Stalin. Kotov is a national hero, his picture is everywhere, and he is a good friend and confidant of Stalin. As Mitya apprises him of his pending arrest, Kotov seems almost surreally unaffected. As far as we know, there is no basis to the charges, and, according to the code by which he has lived his life as a patriot, his loyalty to Stalin will win the day.

The fickleness of political loyalty comes crashing down in the scene where Kotov is driven off with Mitya and the other NKVD operatives. Kotov’s swagger is in full bluster, as he offers drinks all around, suggests they stop at a restaurant (his treat!), and jokingly hands over his gun. He watches them squirm a bit as his informs them that he will soon call Stalin’s private line, and there will be hell to pay. The lost truck driver sees and recognizes Kotov, which leads to a fight between Kotov and 3 of the NKVD. After he is subdued, and the truck driver subsequently shot, Kotov begins to realize that the rules have perhaps changed, and, following a long stare at a passive-faced Mitya, breaks down and cries. One can’t tell whether the tears are for his own inevitable end, that of his family’s, or for what he sees as an end of his beloved Motherland.

I can only image how horribly similar days went for thousands during Stalin’s purges.

Finally, This bit is from the web site of Oleg Menshikov, the actor who portrayed Mitya, regarding the upcoming sequel to Burnt by the Sun. (http://www.menshikov.ru/eng/cinema/us2/us2.html)

This movie is a sequel to "Burnt by the Sun". Sergei Kotov, the colonel who was betrayed by Stalin and sent to prison or death at the end of the first film, escapes from the Gulag, which is bombed at the beginning of World War II, and finds himself at the front as a simple soldier.