It's not easy being gay anywhere (try
Montana), but in Communist China it's all but
impossible. I remember reading about crackdowns on gay
cruising areas in Beijing where guys were clubbed on the
head, their bodies later seen floating, en masse, down a
nearby river. Let a hundred flowers blossom, the
official policy seems to be, except for the flower that
dare not speak its name. Such state-sponsored terror
makes a film like Zhang Yuan's East Palace, West
Palace, which will have a single screening next
Thursday evening at the Memorial Union's Fredric March
Play Circle (at 9 p.m.), nothing short of remarkable.
Billed as "China's first gay feature" during its limited
U.S. run last summer, East Palace, West Palace
had to be smuggled out of China and edited in France. As
far as the People's Republic is concerned, it doesn't
exist.
And yet, here it is, halfway around the world,
spreading the news about the irrepressible power of gay
desire. Drenched in lust, the movie opens in one of the
public toilets that flank either end of Beijing's
Forbidden Palace. A routine police raid brings our two
protagonists--a gay writer and a straight cop--together
for a night of interrogation and...whatever. Forced to
confess his crimes, the writer (Si Han, in a quietly
ferocious performance) starts spinning a Scheherazadean
tale about thwarted and unthwarted love, and before you
can say Kiss of the Spider Woman, the cop has
learned much more than he bargained for, both about the
writer and about himself. "Squat down!" he keeps
shouting to his prisoner, and the order seems to turn
them both on. As in a play by Genet, jailer and jailed
lock themselves in and throw away the key.
East Palace, West Palace isn't a perfect
score. Its emotional development is too schematic, and
Hu Jun, who plays the cop, doesn't seem to know what to
do with himself through large parts of the movie. As
with the Raul Julia character in Kiss of the Spider
Woman, it's a difficult, perhaps impossible, role to
pull off--an essentially straight man who turns out to
be a not-so-essentially straight man, all this
accomplished in 91 minutes of screen time. The movie
starts to wobble as the writer gradually reveals just
how much he loves a man in a uniform, finally tripping
over that old conundrum of how one punishes a
masochist--by inflicting pain or by refusing to. I'm not
sure Zhang has thought through all the implications of
this dreary, dreamy one-night stand. But that he has
thought about them at all is a great leap forward for
Chinese film.