(indieWIRE/ 01.25.02) -- When director Wang
Xiaoshuai conceived the idea for "Beijing Bicycle,"
his friends reacted incredulously. "In this day and age, who's
going to spend their energy fighting over a twenty-dollar
bicycle?"
But after viewing the film, a similar reaction would
overlook the point of the story, which focuses on China's
primary method of transportation to highlight intriguing
metaphors about capitalism and growing up. At last year's
Berlin International Film Festival, "Beijing Bicycle"
snatched the Grand Jury Prize (Silver Bear Award) and New
Talent honors for its co-stars Cui Lin and Li
Bin. The film, which goes into limited release on Jan. 25
from Sony Pictures Classics, is the latest vivid tale
of disaffected urban youth from the director of underground
urban films "Frozen," "The Days" and "So
Close to Paradise."
Profoundly nostalgic, "Beijing Bicycle" sets the
coming-of-age of two 17-year-old boys against the backdrop of
China's rapid commercialization and ongoing loss of innocence.
Guei (Cui Lin) is a boy from the countryside who gets a job as
an express bicycle courier. He looks forward to earning the
right to keep his shiny new bicycle, but it gets stolen and
turns up in the possession of Jian (Li Bin), a middle-class
high school student. A battle for the bike ensues, with
unforeseeable consequences.
"I wanted to capture nostalgia for
both the past and for growing up. It's a universal
sentiment; even in America, it may be the hottest new
Nikes instead of a bicycle, but it's still the same
sentiment."
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Jean Tang met with Wang in New York, where the director
reflected on youth and economic progress, the Chinese film
market, censorship, and twisting alleyways.
indieWIRE: Where did
you get your inspiration for this movie? Why a bicycle?
Wang Xiaoshuai: It wasn't specific; it kind of
evolved. Right now in China it's very popular for filmmakers
to follow the west and make these big action movies, these
box-office-oriented commercial films. Those are the fad. But
China, socially and economically, isn't yet at the point where
it has the capacity to compete with Hollywood. When I was
thinking about my next movie, I thought, "Why not just use
something organic to China?" I really wanted to preserve the
essence of China on film, and create a uniquely Chinese
expression. The bicycle is the most typical representative of
China. Hollywood has its fancy car chases, but we don't have
to do action sequences with a car, we can do them with a
bicycle.
iW: In the press notes
you say the bicycle is a symbol of China's "failure to move
forward." What do you mean by that?
Wang: Ten or twenty years ago, families had to have
four major things to be considered modern: a sewing machine, a
bicycle, a TV and a washer/dryer. Back then, you needed ration
coupons or a letter of introduction to purchase a bicycle.
That's now completely obsolete; for an urban family to be hip
today it needs a car, a computer, etc. Under contemporary
circumstances, if a family is struggling for a bicycle,
there's something wrong -- they're basically backwards and
very poor. By today's standards, Jian's family is not a
wealthy one. Back then, bicycles were a real status symbol.
Today, you can just go and purchase one in the store.
iW: So you were
operating from a standpoint of nostalgia. And yet, almost
everything in the film is about what happens with these boys
as a result of social progress.
Wang: In the film, the point of social change is
woven in with the idea of youth. The more advanced and
developed a society becomes, the more it tends to lose its
simple quality. It's the same for individuals; as you get
older, you lose the pristine sense of the world you have when
you're 17. A 17-year-old is so emotionally simple and sincere.
It's important to try to preserve part of that.
When I conceived the idea for the film, people said to me,
"Who would spend so much energy fighting about a bicycle in
this day and age?" But that's the viewpoint of someone who has
lost a certain amount of sensitivity or nostalgia about his or
her own youth. We all went through this at one point or
another; now we're simply on to the next major possession. So
you're right; I wanted to capture nostalgia for both the past
and for growing up. It's a universal sentiment; even in
America, it may be the hottest new Nikes instead of a bicycle,
but it's still the same sentiment.
iW: The censors
approved "Beijing Bicycle." Did you have to get permission
everywhere you shot?
Wang: If we were filming at a location for any
extended period of time, we had to get the permission of the
local neighborhood committee and local police department. If
it was an interior shot, all we had to do was find the
superintendent or the owner, give him some money, let him know
what we were doing, and that was fine.
iW: Mulish
stubbornness and determination are repetitive themes in recent
Chinese films like "The Road Home" and "Not One Less." Are
these traits viewed as assets in China?
Wang: Yes, those are important themes. The system of
law in China right now has a lot of holes, and a lot of people
seem to be struggling to find their own way. So in order to
deal with this increasingly complex society, which they might
not understand, stubbornness is what oftentimes gets them
through. It's certainly a common characteristic a lot of
peasants have, and in the big city, it helps them to survive.
iW: There are scenes
in which the peasant boy, Guei, is almost comically down on
his luck. Did you intend for these scenes to impart a black
humor?
Wang: I didn't consciously think about the humorous
aspect of depicting Guei as a peasant in the city, so no, it
really wasn't something I intended to stress. I admit there
might have been a little black humor, but it wasn't intended
to be a comic representation.
iW: Is the suburban
middle-class boy, Jian, as sympathetic a character as
Guei?
Wang: I intended for the audience identification
with both characters to be almost identical. Fundamentally, as
adolescents, the two characters are the same. The difference
is, as a peasant, Guei has a very simple way of dealing with
youth -- he uses silence. On the other hand, Jian's method of
growing up is more sophisticated: there's a certain air of
superiority that he has. This is completely the result of
their respective backgrounds. However, I don't really place a
moral judgment between these two -- they are just different
outlets of dealing with the same feelings of growing up. In
the end, they're both victims of the tragic story of youth.
iW: Speaking of
silence, there are so many parts of the film in which I wanted
Guei to fight back, but he remains frustratingly silent.
Why?
"The film market is poor for Chinese
films; the average filmgoer in China doesn't trust the
reality of native films. This is not because of
budgetary constraints. Films that pass our stringent
censorship don't typically reflect Chinese people's
lives."
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Wang: Today's China offers a lot of problems your
average citizen can't resolve through words. There are all
sorts of strange social phenomena that cause words to become
impotent. So a lot is relegated to action rather than word.
You get the feeling in the film that if Guei did speak, he
wouldn't know who would listen to him and his peasant-boy
issues.
iW: Can you tell me a
little about the censorship process?
Wang: When I made "So Close to Paradise," the script
passed the censors, but it went through three years of
revisions and cuts before passing the later censors. The
making of "Beijing Bicycle" was a similar, two-step process.
I'm only being semi-serious, but I could even say that I'm
a bit like Guei because as a director, I also have to deal
with being silent. If a film's been banned, or changed as a
result of the censors, and there are a lot of things I want to
say, I still have to maintain my silence.
iW: Why did you
refrain from showing most of the movie's violence on
screen?
Wang: Visible action sequences would look like an
action movie, and I didn't want it to. I'm much more
interested in the interaction of the characters after the
action takes place.
iW: How did you find
Li Bin, the actor who plays Jian?
Wang: We rounded up and auditioned anyone who could
perform acrobatics on bicycles, and he turned up.
iW: Why aren't women a
bigger part of the film?
Wang: (Laughs) I'm just not good at thinking from a
female perspective.
iW: The soundtrack is
wonderful, and so wide-ranging that it seems very global. Can
you talk about some of your choices?
Wang: In China, there is no clear distinction
between Eastern and Western music anymore. Tu Duu-Chih
(the sound designer) and I sat for hours at the keyboard,
playing around with different sounds and fitting in what
sounded good.
iW: Can you reveal
your budget?
Wang: The actual budget was roughly $400,000, not
including marketing in China or overseas.
iW: When you made the
film, did you have an overseas audience in mind?
Wang: As a filmmaker in China, my biggest challenge
was to satisfy Chinese audiences.
iW: Why was your focus
on Chinese audiences, as opposed to those overseas?
Wang: The film market is poor for Chinese films; the
average filmgoer in China doesn't trust the reality of native
films. This is not because of budgetary constraints. Films
that pass our stringent censorship don't typically reflect
Chinese people's lives. As a result, there's this artificial
feeling about some of these films -- people wonder, what the
heck is this and who are these people? There's a real
disconnect.
iW: Would you ever go
back to making underground films?
Wang: If I couldn't get something through the
censors, I absolutely would do it underground. My main focus
is to continue making films; however I have to do it, I'll do
it.
From indieWIRE LLC
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