So This Is Chinese Cinema 2

"Is this what China looks like?" "Their clothes are so bizarre—it's like everyone wears the exact same thing." "Wait, China has tall buildings too!" Toward a Chinese mainland that had only recently opened its doors, Westerners were filled with curiosity and an air of superiority. They knew very little about it, but they were certain China was backward. Sure enough, the entire theater was greeted by outfits strictly limited to four dull colors—gray, blue, green, and white; low-slung, single-story brick houses; only the rarest glimpse of a multistory building; streets overflowing with bicycles; and citizens whose faces looked sallow and grime-streaked due to technical limitations in lighting and makeup... All of it seemed like a series of labels plastered squarely over their preconceived notions of China. It matched their imagination all too well! "..." Noticing the stir in the audience, Fu Jingong asked, unable to understand what they were saying, "Xiao Yu, what are they talking about?" "I can't hear clearly either; they're too far away," Fang Yurong comforted him with a smile. "Your film is wonderful. We wouldn't have selected it for the competition otherwise." The plot of *Return of the Swallows* was very simple: a married couple had a daughter; the wife, the female lead, was branded a Rightist; the family of three was torn apart; the wife was exiled to the frontier, and the husband remarried. Years later, the daughter grew up and found a boyfriend, only to discover that his father was the very man who had denounced her mother as a Rightist years ago. The daughter was a dancer, and in her grief and despair, she suffered an accident and broke her leg. And the surgeon who operated on her leg was none other than the male lead—her father, whom she had been separated from for years. By this time, the female lead had been rehabilitated, but she refused to return to her hometown in the big city, choosing instead to remain on the frontier to support medical care there. She even forgave the man who had denounced her: "The psychological trauma of our generation must not be paid for by our children..." *Return of the Swallows* was a classic product of its era, steeped in critique, repentance, redemption, selfless dedication, and all the rest of it. Domestic audiences were used to this sort of thing, but foreigners couldn't make head or tail of it. Once the initial novelty wore off and the story dragged on, the audience's brows furrowed deeper and deeper, their expressions growing increasingly bewildered. Fu Jingong, however, remained absorbed in the screening. He watched especially closely when the male and female leads reunited after their long separation. This was a scene he was particularly proud of: the two strolled along a lakeside talking, reminiscing about the past with boundless sighs of bittersweet nostalgia... Then, in the next second, the proud smile froze on his face. He hastily tapped Fang Yurong and pointed down toward the aisles. "Xiao Yu! Xiao Yu! Why are they leaving?" "Huh?" Fang Yurong looked over, and sure enough, several viewers were getting up, preparing to walk out. "Th-this... I'll go ask!" She hurried over, stopped them, and asked with the utmost politeness, "Excuse me, pardon the intrusion. I'm with the film's production unit. Did something come up? Why are you leaving early?" "Because it's terrible!" Philippe said bluntly. "We paid for tickets to watch a movie, not to sit through an ideological lecture!" Matteo added, even more bluntly. "Exactly! We paid good money. Why are you showing us this garbage?" "..." Mortified, Fang Yurong forced a tight, awkward smile as she watched the group walk out. She returned to her seat and said, "They... they had urgent business come up. They apologized for having to leave in the middle." "Oh, oh, that's fine then, that's fine!" Fu Jingong let out a sigh of relief. At last, the 107-minute screening of *Return of the Swallows*—which felt agonizingly tedious to the journalists—came to an end, immediately followed by the press conference. At the conference, no one showed the slightest interest in *Return of the Swallows*. The questions asked most were: "How does it feel visiting here for the first time?" "What do you think of this city?" "What are your thoughts on the tumultuous upheaval?" "What is your view on Chairman Mao?"... Fu Jingong was an honest man, so he answered candidly, "I was just a kid from the countryside. I went to the Film Academy and became a director. I have to thank the Party, thank..." "Haha!" Laughter suddenly broke out from the floor. Fu Jingong was baffled and looked toward Fang Yurong. Fang Yurong had no experience dealing with this either and turned to Hadeln. Hadeln was deeply embarrassed, but having bet on mainland China as his new breakthrough, he had no choice but to carry on. Stepping in to smooth things over, he said, "Let's keep the questions related to the film. There is no need to ask about those matters. "Does anyone else have a question? "All right, that concludes today's press conference!" The reporters didn't care in the least. Shrugging, they trickled out of the screening hall, thoroughly disappointed across the board. "Good grief! Is this what Chinese cinema is?" "I skipped a major director's premiere specifically to catch a Chinese film, and it turned out to have zero artistic value!" "I couldn't even make sense of it. I couldn't understand why the characters did what they did, and every single one of them was preaching at me. It felt like a movie from decades ago—I didn't see the slightest trace of modern civilization!" "It wasn't completely useless. At least it showed us China in its raw, authentic state, pretty much exactly as we imagined it." The two journalists chatted as they walked, preparing to head to their next scheduled screening. But as they passed by another auditorium, they faintly caught the sound of applause coming from inside and stopped in their tracks. "What's playing in there?" "Let me check... Oh, it's another Chinese film..." Even as he spoke, another round of applause erupted from within. The two exchanged puzzled glances. Right then, two guys came bursting out of the doors. Philippe's eyes were practically shining as he shouted, "Man! You've got to listen to me—this movie is so damn cool!" "Hahaha, we just ran out to tell you guys!" Matteo roared with laughter. With that, the two lunatics bolted right back inside. Mystified, one of the journalists walked up to the poster for a closer look. Crossing his arms, he asked, "Do you know what this title means?" "It seems to refer to something supreme. I've studied the term before!" The two stood before the poster, discussing the words *Tai Chi*. *Tai Chi* was the English name for taiji. It was said to have first entered the Western world in 1736 during the reign of Emperor Qianlong, and Westerners generally understood it to mean the "supreme ultimate." Many English terms had migrated over from China, such as *kylin* (qilin), *tuchun* (warlord), *Confucianism*, and the legendary gamer cry: *ka le* (lagging). Back during the Dota 2 days, when network connections were unstable, Chinese players frequently typed "kale" into chat, which over time became an established linguistic habit. "Tickets, please, gentlemen!" "We're press!" "Oh, go right in!" Thoroughly intrigued, the two stepped inside. They found the auditorium about sixty percent full—not packed, but the atmosphere was wildly enthusiastic, filled with whoops, hollers, and piercing whistles. Looking up at the screen, they saw the scene where Yang Yugan, having infiltrated Prince Duan's Residence by night, was discovered and chased across the nocturnal streets of the capital. Li Lianjie, clad in black night-reconnaissance garb, sprinted across the deserted streets. Suddenly charging toward a high wall, he leaped into the air and dashed several rapid, horizontal steps across the brick face, caught the lip of the wall, and flipped cleanly through the air. Suspended by unseen wirework, he resembled a sparrowhawk showing off its aerial maneuvers as he swooped onto the roof of a tavern with a crisp flutter. His posture was so nimble and swift, his movements so effortless and dashing, that it instantly drew another storm of applause. Clap, clap, clap! Down below, the foreign audience's eyes shone bright. Viewers who had been bored to tears by clumsy Hollywood brawls—where opponents merely took turns sluggishly trading punches—were suddenly treated to the finest Chinese culinary feast, as though stepping through the gates of a whole new world. "Chinese kung fu! Cool!" "How the hell did they pull that off?" "My God, this is sci-fi! It has to be sci-fi!" A commercial screening was nowhere near as stiff and formal. Those two knuckleheads, Matteo and Philippe, were shouting louder than anyone. After sneaking out halfway through *Return of the Swallows*, they had slipped straight into this auditorium. They couldn't begin to fathom that these two films had come from the very same country! The two journalists who entered later had long since settled into their seats, their eyes glued to the screen. That was the beauty of action films: every fight scene was its own self-contained climax, so you could dive right in and enjoy the spectacle! They caught the second half of the movie, leading right up to Yang Yugan storming the pagoda. A seven-story pagoda! Seven distinct duels! With nearly every level he fought through, the entire theater clapped and cheered. And when Yang Yugan finished the climactic boss battle against Prince Duan and the credits began to roll, the applause surged like a tidal wave, refusing to die down. "I swear on the Jews, this is absolutely the most thrilling movie I've seen in the past two years!!"