Movie director Chang Tso-chi, one of the few survivors of a film industry battered by international competition, is winning kudos from critics for his tales of the triumph of the little man struggling against long odds.
Chang Tso-chi, the usually rumpled paladin of Taiwanese cinema, fidgeted under the glare of TV cameras at the 59th Venice Film Festival this past September looking slightly uneasy. "Writing a script is delightful, and so is shooting a film," he said during a press conference. "But wearing a suit and tie is miserable."
The forty-one-year-old director's third film, The Best of Times (2002), was the only Chinese-language film in the running for a Golden Lion for Best Picture, the Venice Film Festival's most prestigious award. The critical recognition of Chang's films has prompted the director to take on a role that he's not entirely comfortable with--spokesman for Taiwan's film industry. He clearly feels more comfortable behind the camera telling stories of average people struggling in gritty, lifelike settings. "We like to have people listen to our stories, but we don't like to open our mouths to tell them," Chang explains.
On a typical day, Chang might be found dressed only in boxer shorts and T-shirt, smoking a cigarette or chewing betel nut. His own persona seems not far removed from the characters in his films, very ordinary but with a distinct personality and a bit of a gangster's spirit. "I like to write and shoot stories that I'm familiar with," he explains. "Since I myself belong to the lower-middle class, for instance, I won't film a character wearing a suit and tie."
Unfortunately, there is no way for him to focus simply on making movies, given the doldrums of Taiwan's film industry. To gain attention for his work and the work of other struggling directors, Chang cooperates with film distributors and festival organizers in their promotional campaigns. The whole process both at festivals and in publicity interviews forces Chang, as he sees it, to become someone else.
Yet whether he likes it or not, Chang has gradually accepted this new role. His first two films, Ah Chung (1995) and Darkness and Light (1998), also caught the attention of film critics and sparked a modest following for the independent director. Made on a shoestring budget of NT$8 million (about US$290,000 at the 1994 exchange rate), Chang's first movie, Ah Chung, was selected to compete in more than fifteen international film festivals and garnered several awards, including the Special Jury Prize both at the 1996 Asia-Pacific Film Festival and Korea's Busan International Film Festival, as well as the award for Best Director at Greece's Thessaloniki International Film Festival and Best Photography and Jury Grand Prix at China's Zhuhai Film Festival.
His second film, Darkness and Light, also received high acclaim, winning prizes at film festivals in Tokyo, Singapore, and Cannes. In Taiwan, the film was selected as the Best Picture and Best Newcomer in the Taipei Film Festival and won Best Screenplay and Special Jury Prize in the Golden Horse Film Festival.
The international exposure has helped Chang acquire much-needed investment and explore overseas markets. His newest work, The Best of Times, for instance, was completed with funding from the Japanese broadcasting corporation NHK and attracted the attention of French and Spanish film distributors when it was showing at the Venice Film Festival. "It's definitely not enough for Taiwan-made movies to rely solely on the local market," Chang notes. "To survive, I need to strive for the support of foreign investors."
The Taiwan film industry has indeed fallen on hard times. The box-office returns for locally produced fare are so poor that there is no longer any such thing as a strong season or a weak season. As a result, directors are having trouble drumming up investment for new projects.
Chang himself witnessed the heyday of the domestic film scene, from the late 1970s to the mid-1980s, as well as its downturn after the government lifted its quota on imported movies in 1986. Since then domestic films have suffered a nearly total defeat in their head-to-head competition with big-budget Hollywood movies. "During the boom times," he recalls, "there were hundreds of local film companies in operation. And thousands of movies of different types, including romances, traditional tales, and kungfu movies, were produced every year. But now, only a few concerns are struggling to survive, and the number of locally produced films is less than twenty a year, even with government subsidies. Many people are asking if there is any hope for this industry?"
Impoverished directors, in fact, seem to be the byproduct of the Taiwan film industry over the past years. Many of them have either switched to TV or left the field entirely. But Chang and a few others refuse to let the downturn end their film careers. "It's no good just wringing your hands over how the domestic film industry is slowing down," he says. "I take the view that we just have to go ahead and do it, and then listen to the criticisms later."
Besides, being a film director is all that Chang ever wanted to be. After graduating from the Film and Drama Department of the Chinese Culture University in 1987, Chang joined a film studio as a set-dresser, moving props, setting up lights, and doing all sorts of odd jobs. He soon moved on to work as an assistant director for the well-known filmmakers Yu Kang-ping and Hou Hsiao-hsien. Chang then divided his time between assistant director jobs and writing and directing public-service short films and documentaries. And in 1994, he began shooting his first feature film, Ah Chung.
The movie tells the story of a group of teenage boys participating in gang-related Taoist temple ceremonies. Their lives are full of struggles and conflicts with family members, friends, and society, and set against a backdrop that feels true to life. "Teens are full of energy and like to take risks," explains Chang. "Their stories are thus more dramatic. In another sense, they help me accomplish the things that I dared not do or failed to do when I was young."
The drama and intensity of teenagers coming of age is at the heart of all three of Chang's films. His second film, Darkness and Light, captures the world of a girl living with her blind parents, who falls in love with an outsider only to see him killed in a gangland fight. His latest film, The Best of Times, is also a film about teenagers growing up in poverty and sickness, surrounded by gangsters and family discord.
"Chang's films are bittersweet tales of Taiwanese families at the lower end of the social scale, very realistic and touching," says Chang Yann, part-time lecturer and former head of the Department of Theatre Arts at the Chinese Culture University. "In certain ways, they're almost like documentaries. But the characters eventually rise above the suffering. That kind of optimism and confidence in people's strength is inspiring."
He goes on to argue that Chang's pieces contain strong entertainment and dramatic elements, in addition to his expression of concern for underprivileged groups. The audience is entertained, even as a serious story unfolds. "What amazes me is their vitality, dynamism, and modernism," he says. "I think these are important elements for a filmmaker to draw in the audience, particularly younger movie-goers, who have no patience for quiet, slow-paced, didactic stuff."
Feature and documentary director Yu Kang-ping has witnessed the growth of Chang's career. In Yu's opinion, Chang's latest work has achieved a mature and sophisticated style. He considers it a masterful telling of an urban fable. "Chang's movies are powerful and truthful in presenting elements of love relationships, family affection, friendship, violence, and aspirations," he comments. "They show how people grow personally despite or because of mishaps, illness, and difficult living environments. Though their situations are often dreary, the audiences can perceive the characters' toughness in facing the music."
One way that Chang achieves a lifelike feel in his movies is by using laymen as actors. "I like nonprofessional actors, because my work is rather like fishing, a process of waiting and sometimes getting surprises," explains the director. "Working with them can yield rich rewards and great pain in equal measure. Moreover, there's a quality and story in those people."
Chang looks for people who have similar backgrounds and work experiences to the characters. In his film Ah Chung, for example, the little boy who plays the younger brother Ah Chi, a mentally retarded child, is just that in reality. While the mother who makes a living by performing in revues is actually a member of a local revue troupe. Chang discovered the blind characters he cast in Darkness and Light on the street, and for the role of the father in The Best of Times, he recruited real veteran mainlanders in the parks frequented by senior citizens.
To prepare the amateur actors for their roles, Chang asks the entire cast to spend time together so that they can cultivate a sense of intimacy. "I usually rent a house and have all the actors move in," he explains. "They live, cook, eat, and even sleep under the same roof, so that they can get to know each other quickly. That makes the shooting go smoothly and their performances more natural."
While shooting the film, Chang looks for impromptu exchanges among the actors themselves and relies on portable lighting to give actors maximum freedom of movement. Sometimes when the actors think they are just chatting together, Chang is covertly recording their words and actions to use in his films. The results are strikingly realistic portrayals of average people moving through a story that gains momentum against a backdrop of everyday life.
Meanwhile, Chang continues to play the reluctant spokesman for Taiwan's film industry. To cultivate new blood, Chang opened his own film studio four years ago and offers students and recent graduates internships and encouragement. "I feel obligated to give young people opportunities to learn, just like we were given by our predecessors in the past," he says. "We need to pass on the torch. And I think educational and practical training is a good way to improve the fundamental structure of the industry."
Swamped by big-budget imports, Taiwan's film market is a tough place for a local director to succeed. Filmmakers are getting some support from the government through grants and hoping that recognition in international film festivals is accompanied by financial support from sponsors. Chang remains optimistic, not worrying too much about the future. "I don't feel disappointed or frustrated by the current environment," he says. "I just want to keep going until I can't go any farther, just keep on doing what I'm doing well." It is the same perseverance that marks the characters in his films. And with a little luck, perhaps Chang Tso-chi too will triumph over the odds.