Ju Dou (China-Japan, 1990)

Doomed

Doomed

Spoiler alert!

Ju Dou is an exemplary melodrama that uses its setting, a small-scale dye-works, and filters, to create an ‘excessive’ colour scheme that’s perfect for the overwrought narrative of sexual betrayal. Jinshan, the brutal owner of the works, buys a third wife, Ju Dou (Gong Li), after beating two previous ones to death in anger over ‘their’ inability to produce a male heir; it is he, in fact, that is impotent. His adopted nephew, Tianqing (Li Baotian), is sympathetic to her plight and she seduces him and produces a boy that Jinshan thinks is his. The child, Tianbai, grows up to be monstrous and kills both his ‘fathers’; one accidentally.

Zhang Yimou’s direction, partly no doubt due to Chinese censorship (it was still banned for two years), shoots the sex indirectly: the first time Ju Dou and Tianqing copulate an enormous cloth, dyed deep red, unravels from its position into what looks like a bloody mess on the floor.  Ju Dou had claimed to be ‘pure’ just before so, presumably, Jinshan is a bit confused when he thinks the child is his.

Obviously there are specifically Chinese elements in the melodrama such as the funeral ritual for Jinshan where Ju Dou and Tianqing have to try and prevent the coffin reaching the burial grounds 49 times. Propriety demands that the two be separated afterwards and so over the following years they can only see each other in secret. ‘Propriety’ doesn’t quite explain the situation as Confucian tradition would demand their death if they were found out. In western melodrama ostracism is often the highest price paid for breaking social mores, as in All That Heaven Allows (US, 1955).

Confucian values are highly patriarchal and the film is a critique on their continued prevalence in modern China. At the end the film steps into gothic horror as the boy Tianbai has committed the ultimate sin under Confucianism in committing patricide (twice in fact) and Ju Dou burns down the dye-works. The film ends with a freeze frame of her engulfed in flames.

Unfortunately the only copy I could get hold of, a DVD via Lovefilm, reminded me of watching much-used 16mm films at university. It was heavily scratched in places and although the colour isn’t too bad, I’m sure that the palette could have been better. It’s strange that one of the mosts feted of Chinese directors, Zhang was responsible for the Beijing Olympic ceremony, Hero and House of Flying Daggers, should not have a decent DVD available in this country.

Ballad of a Soldier (Ballada o soldate, USSR, 1959)

Living on the edge

Living on the edge

Grigoriy Chukhray’s (he co-wrote and directed) war film was made during the Russian Thaw, the Khrushchev years before Brezhnev re-froze culture, and was remarkable for the fact that it showed that World War II hadn’t been personally won by Stalin. Instead, Chukhray focused on ordinary people’s stories as a young man, played by Vladimir Ivashov, tries to get home, on a couple days leave, to fix his mum’s roof. The Private is an accidental hero, he destroyed two tanks when in a desperate situation, hence he is given a few days to go home. After the opening sequence there’s little fighting in the film; it’s more a picaresque narrative where he, warm heartedly, encounters soldiers and civilians. Central to the narrative is his meeting with Shura (Zhanna Prokhorenko) and the pair fall for each other.

So far so sentimental and I was afraid it might be too saccharine for my tastes as everybody, at the start, seems to be good. However, Chukhray, a veteran of Stalingrad, isn’t interested in painting a socialist realist scene (where things are as they should be rather than how they are) and we encounter the less admirable traits of humanity. The Private, though, retains his goodness and Ivashov’s performance shines with convincing naiveté. His relationship with Shura is beautifully developed and the moment, when they part, is brilliantly edited with her face superimposed on the passing landscape and his thoughts given to us in the voice over. This isn’t a spoiler, we learn that the young man is doomed from the start.

Chukhray, despite the Thaw, struggled to get the film made because, his critics on the artistic committee that had to pass the script, argued it was too frivolous a way to represent that giant sacrifices people made to win the war. However, as the Cannes Special jury recognised in 1959, it’s its humanism that makes it a great war film. It is noticeable, however, that all the authority figures are benevolent; an unlikely fact so probably a compromise that Chukhray had to make to ensure the film got made. This isn’t a Soviet issue, Hollywood films rarely question authority either in a meaningful way.

 

Valerie and Her Week of Wonders (Valerie a týden divu, Czechoslovakia, 1970)

The perils and pleasures of growing up

The perils and pleasures of growing up

Another dose of bonkers Czech cinema is good for anyone with a jaded palette; it’s good for anyone anytime.  The marvellously titled Valerie and Her Week of Wonders is based on a 1930s surrealist novel by Vítězslav Nezval, which was why the post-’68 censors allowed it, Nezval having been a ‘good communist’. As a good surrealist, he poked fun at bourgeois values but, as noted in the last post, bourgeoise sensibility wasn’t limited to the west of the ‘iron curtain’ so the Czech establishment got more than they bargained for in this exploration of a 13-year old’s ‘coming of age’.

Much of the imagery is startlingly beautiful, with wonderful stylised compositions; in one scene Valerie runs through a misty field – the film is worth seeing for that alone. The plot draws on numerous influences, Alice in Wonderland and the vampire genre are two obvious touchstones. Like Daisies, if is female-centred, the men are predatory with the possible exception of ‘Eagle’ who may, or may not, be Valerie’s brother. He does rush to her rescue a lot. Whether Valerie always needs rescuing is open to doubt as the film dramatises the excitement at, and fear of, sexual awaking. Valerie’s body, obviously, is important and the degree of nudity is surprising given that Jaroslava Schallerová was actually 13 when the film was made. The film, however, is far from prurient and Schallerová’s performance is magical.