Animated Films

Just as the domestic arts and literary circles were eagerly anticipating the Golden Rooster and Hundred Flowers Awards, the Cannes Film Festival—one of Europe's big three—had already opened. Isabelle Adjani took home the Best Actress award, having entered with two films simultaneously: *Quartet* and *Possession*! *Possession* is well worth a watch, featuring a rather notorious scene of Adjani getting down with a monster... Starting with the Berlin International Film Festival earlier that year, 1981 marked the official prelude to Chinese cinema venturing overseas. A Chinese film delegation traveled to Cannes for the very first time, bringing *Street Angel* and *The Wanderings of Sanmao* for exhibition screenings—screenings, mind you, not in competition. The first Chinese entry to actually compete in the main festival would have to wait until the following year's *The True Story of Ah Q*. Objectively speaking, although Western audiences were curious about Chinese cinema at this stage, they didn't really know what they wanted to see. That was until the Fifth Generation emerged, perfectly fulfilling that demand. Spearheaded by Chen Kaige's *Yellow Earth* and Zhang Yimou's *Red Sorghum*, Western critics took one look and went, *Aha! Yes, yes, yes, this is what we love! Keep making this!* And what was "this"? Stories steeped in ethnic exoticism, barbaric backwardness, societies bound by twisted feudal codes, oppressed men and women, and the struggles between enlightened individuals and entrenched conservatives—these were precisely what Western festivals favored. The earliest awards might have been serendipitous, like *Red Sorghum*. The subsequent wave of lookalikes, however, was a deliberate effort to cater to those tastes, as with *Ju Dou* and *Raise the Red Lantern*. This isn't a judgment on the artistic quality of the films themselves, but rather an observation that both these directors and their overseas financiers knew full well that this style of film enjoyed festival popularity and boasted high odds of winning awards. The West defined Chinese cinema, and at the same time, Chinese filmmakers scrambled to let themselves be defined. By the late 1990s, Chinese society had advanced, and stories about archaic feudal rituals began to feel far too distant. Thus, the Sixth Generation arose to meet the moment. They trained their lenses on the marginalized fringe groups in a transitioning China. Lo and behold, Western tastes found a whole new sweet spot. The Fifth Generation had at least attempted stylistic transformations, whereas the Sixth Generation plunged in headfirst, thoroughly molding themselves into whatever the West desired—a trend that continues to this day. Lou Ye, for instance, directed a film supposedly "reflecting" the domestic pandemic situation and took it to Cannes to curry favor. Yet it broke foreign audiences' brains so badly that many walked out midway through, slapping it with zeros in reviews. Lou Ye's original intention had been to critique various perceived inhumane excesses back home. But in the eyes of Western viewers, it read more like: *"Sure, your parents and children might be dying, and corpse-transport vehicles might stretch in endless lines, but we haven't been able to order takeout for three whole months! We couldn't leave our apartments for three months!"* Rather than seeing it as a satire of China, foreign critics felt he was mocking them instead. Even today, Chinese cinema's voice on the world stage has never quite kept pace with the nation's rising international influence. On one hand, it has struggled to step up; on the other hand, tracing it back to its origins, the root was planted right here in the 1980s. *** Returning to the present, Chen Qi remained in Hangzhou, working on his screenplay while waiting for the award ceremony, occasionally treating that chubby young girl He Qing to a meal. In the blink of an eye, May 22 arrived—the eve of the ceremony. It felt as if every prominent figure in the country's arts and literary circles had converged on Hangzhou all at once. Beijing Film Studio fielded a major contingent led by Wang Haowei for *Romance on Mount Lu*. Shanghai Film Studio boasted the strongest presence, having produced both of the smash hits, *Legend of Tianyun Mountain* and *Evening Rain*, and the renowned director Xie Jin had arrived in person as well. Put simply, this year's ceremony was a showdown between *Romance on Mount Lu* and those two Shanghai films. Everything else was merely along for the ride. In those days, there were none of the flashy modern trappings—no press conferences, no star fan meets, no red carpets. It felt more like a grand, cross-country reunion for the cultural community. Because people rarely had the chance to see one another during ordinary times, finally gathering in one place meant dropping by each other's rooms, chatting, and catching up. Chen Qi had checked out of the cultural department guesthouse and moved into the hotel arranged by the organizing committee. He, too, had people he wanted to visit—not famous movie stars or celebrated directors, but an exceptionally niche group within the cultural establishment. "I really don't know what the leadership was thinking, bringing *Street Angel* and *The Wanderings of Sanmao* to Cannes. Those films are decades old! When the French watch them, they'll think we're still living in the old society!" Inside one of the rooms, Xu Jingda held an industry magazine, chatting about the Cannes Film Festival. Ma Kexuan smiled. "At least they're safe. Who knows what kind of trouble might crop up if they brought something else? Hey, Lao Xu, from the looks of it, there's genuine interest domestically in making a push overseas. Shouldn't we submit an application too?" "An application to exhibit?" "No, to compete! When it comes to live-action films, we might not have much say, but animated films? Heh, Chinese animation has never bowed to anyone!" These two men were directors from the Shanghai Animation Film Studio. Their past directorial or production credits included monumental works such as *Havoc in Heaven*, *The Cowboy's Flute*, and *Nezha Conquers the Dragon King*. The project they had brought this time was *Three Monks*. "Sending *Three Monks* overseas? Could that work?" "It definitely could. Don't we know the quality of our own film...?" *Knock, knock, knock!* While they were conversing, someone knocked on the door. Xu Jingda went over and opened it to find an unfamiliar young man, who greeted them warmly: "Hello, respected seniors. My name is Chen Qi. I came specifically to pay you a visit!" *Chen Qi?!* Xu Jingda and Ma Kexuan had naturally heard of his name. Both felt utterly baffled. Why would he come looking for animation directors? "Oh, please come in! Come on in!" "Your visit is quite an unexpected surprise!" "Pardon the intrusion. I've watched your works at least a dozen times each, and I truly love them. When I learned you were staying here, I couldn't resist dropping by to say hello. Please forgive the imposition." Chen Qi was exceedingly polite, so naturally, neither man had the heart to turn him away. Smiling, they said, "Since you're here, have a seat. The awards are meant to be a grand reunion for the cultural circle anyway. We just didn't expect someone working in live-action cinema to have an interest in cartoons." "Ah, animated films are severely underestimated," Chen Qi said. "I've always believed that animation appeals to all ages and holds tremendous value. In a sense, it's even more worthy of global distribution than live-action film." Chen Qi heaped earnest praise upon their craft, quickly breaking the ice. The three of them launched into an animated discussion, covering a wide range of domestic and international animation industry topics. Beginning with *Havoc in Heaven* in 1961, through *Nezha Conquers the Dragon King*, *Three Monks*, *The Story of Afanti*, *Snow Kid*, *Nine-Colored Deer*, and *The Magic Brush*, down to long-form animated series like *Calabash Brothers*, *Shuke and Beita*, *The Magic Cube Mansion*, and *The Sloppy King*, Chinese animation had genuinely produced a dazzling string of masterpieces. Its animated films were once wildly popular overseas and had claimed numerous international honors. Regrettably, the industry would decline in the late 1990s, with *Lotus Lantern* serving as its swan song. It would take nearly twenty years before the medium experienced a true resurgence... Chen Qi had come to build rapport, as animation formed a vital part of his future plans. After chatting about anything and everything under the sun, he finally turned to his real business just before leaving. "May I ask—if one were to produce a film with the length and complexity of *Nezha Conquers the Dragon King*, or perhaps even slightly more demanding, roughly how long would it take?" "We started prep work in May 1978 and completed it in August 1979," Xu Jingda replied. "It took one year and three months." "That fast? Oh, I mean, I thought it would take several years!" "That depends on the complexity of the artwork. For *Nezha Conquers the Dragon King*, the character designs, costumes, backgrounds, and props were actually fairly stylized and streamlined. *Havoc in Heaven* was the truly complex one—drawing both parts alone took two full years." "And what kind of budget would that require?" "..." Xu Jingda and Ma Kexuan exchanged a glance, their interest quietly piqued. Without committing to specifics, Xu Jingda gave a ballpark figure: "Over a million yuan, at least!" "I see... Well, thank you both for your time today. I should take my leave!" Now equipped with a rough idea of the timeline and production costs for an animated feature, Chen Qi rose to bid them farewell. Of course, he couldn't start right now. He would wait until his company saved up some capital. But while Shanghai Animation Film Studio's elite master animators were still around and active, he would hardly be doing his second chance at life justice if he didn't produce several great animated films with them.