Wu and Wen cinema: An Exploration of the Hong Kong First New Wave
“This is the difference between Hong Kong and Chinese cinema – Chinese cinema was made for their own communities. It was for propaganda. But Hong Kong made films to entertain.”[1]
Wong Kar-wai, 2013
In the 1970s, Hong Kong was a British colony on Chinese soil, a city state with cultural influences from all over the world. It was a place many came to seek fortune, or to escape terror. In the words of Hong Kong film historian Law Kar: “Hong Kong is a kind of free pot open to all kinds of influences from all around the world”[2]. It was towards the end of this decade that Hong Kong cinema underwent its First New Wave. Young, passionate filmmakers who had studied abroad and come up through the TV networks in the city, brought a breath of fresh air and Western influence to a cinema dominated by genre. I will be exploring this period through the work of two of its most prolific directors, Tsui Hark and Ann Hui, who each embody opposite but key aspects of the New Wave.
Hong Kong cinema has always been dominated by genre. As with many film markets, audiences wanted to know what film they were going to see. However, the Eastern approach to genre is slightly different to what we are familiar with. Film historian Law Kar asks how to “define ‘genre’ in the Chinese sense?”, noting that often “we take a trend for a genre”[3]. There have always been two main genres in Hong Kong cinema, with various trends within those genres offering progression.
‘Wu’ and ‘Wen’ are opposing principles in Chinese that translate as ‘martial’ and ‘literary’ respectively. This duality manifests in many aspects of Chinese culture, particularly cinema. As Law Kar explains, “for the literary category you have social critical films, romance, light comedy, different musicals. For the martial category you have kung fu, swordplay and even some kind of opera films, and modern action films”[4]. In particular, Wuxia Pan (martial arts) films have been a staple of Hong Kong cinema since the 1920s, with an explosion into a mass-production studio system in the late 1950s. Studios like Run Run Shaw and Golden Harvest churned out Wuxia films throughout the 1960s to massive audience appeal, and in the early 1970s, Bruce Lee erupted onto the scene and catapulted the genre into international acclaim.
This is the world the young filmmakers of the 1970s were inheriting. An increasingly global country in an increasingly global world, battling with international influence and on a one-track-line through the martial arts genre. Many of these young people felt dissatisfied with their Hong Kong, painfully aware of its lack of identity, British colonial control, and the sharp inequality experienced across the Chinese border. As with many Hong Kong citizens, they were immigrants themselves, people with mixed heritage and families who had been displaced by conflict who had come to Hong Kong for a fresh start. Many of these future leaders of the New Wave engaged in their inherited history and left, studying film in the West. On their return, most were employed by TV stations in Hong Kong, many of which were newly formed and looking for cheap, educated labour. These filmmakers had a deep cultural pool to draw from, with families from all over Asia, an upbringing in Hong Kong, education in the West, and work experience in the newly formed TV industry. These influences coalesced in 1979 with many of these directors stepping out from the TV networks and starting to make their own work.
A fusion of East and West, these films transcended the traditional genres of Hong Kong cinema, playing with new, exciting technologies and techniques, social commentary and psychological nuance. Inspired by the world they had grown up in, these directors also took less interest in the period and fantasy settings of tradition. “The greatest achievement of the Hong Kong New Wave” says Jenny Kwok Wah Lau, “lay in its resurrecting realism on a screen which had been dominated by fantasy images”. She goes on to say that “‘Art Direction’… gained importance in the New Wave”[5]. These films utilised settings and costume with arguably more imagination than their predecessors, taking the Western approach to continuity and creating distinct worlds within their films, rather than stages for the action, a habit carried over from traditional Cantonese opera and theatre.
All of these aspects and influences culminated in an explosive five-year period in Hong Kong cinema which followed on from the wild financial success of Bruce Lee’s action flicks by bringing some critical and artistic merit to a previously overlooked cinema. By incorporating a wide range of cultural and cinematic influences, these directors were able to create something completely unique without having to reinvent the industry. “They were not revolutionists” says Pak Ton Cheuk “but they were unquestionably reformists and innovators”[6].
Wu Cinema: Tsui Hark
“I have always been a fan of Wuxia movies. They give us a refreshed view of what we had before, of the values and of the way we looked at life.”
Tsui Hark
Tsui Hark (pronounced Choy Hok) was born to a large Chinese family in Vietnam in 1950. He and his family emigrated to Hong Kong when he was 13, and he went on to study film in Texas. He returned to Hong Kong in 1976, having adopted the name ‘Hark’, meaning ‘Overcoming’, after suffering some racial abuse while in the States. He wasted no time on his return, and released his debut feature, The Butterfly Murders, in 1979. Tsui spent time drawing comic books as a child, and drew influence from Japanese Manga, both of which fuelled his visual style. He also had a keen understanding of the genre cinema of Hong Kong, firmly standing in Wu cinema, making his start in the Wuxia genre.
The Butterfly Murders is a Wuxia horror with elements of mystery, at its core a fusion of many different genres, bringing influence from John Carpenter, who had made Halloween the previous year. This influence can be felt in the film, it occupies a middle ground between many genres and tones, making for a fascinating viewing experience. As Law Kar says, Tsui aimed to “absorb the influence from Japanese and European films and put it into that kind of Chinese genre to create something that was more surprising”[7]. The story centres on a swarm of killer butterflies, and the figures who assemble to try and solve the mystery. Visually, the influence from comics can be seen in the framing, with elements in the foreground boxing the subjects in the frame, as well as the use of a visual motif that is repeated in his later work, a particularly stylish double shot conveying secrecy and intrigue. A dense film, particularly for a debut, The Butterfly Murders is “brimming with enthusiasm and ideas”[8]. Tsui tackles both a man vs nature and man vs man conflict, fuses multiple genres and styles, and incorporates action techniques that would go on to become staples of the genre.
Tsui’s following film, 1980’s We’re Going to Eat You, built on the genre fusion of The Butterfly Murders, bringing comedy to the horror Wuxia. Once again incorporating Carpenter-esque influences, the film follows Agent 999 as he journeys to a mysterious village in pursuit of a gangster named Rolex. This village, as he soon discovers, is populated by cannibals. Simply by looking at the characters’ names you can see the Western influence, and watching the film it is also hard to miss. The film dances between scenes of intense graphic violence and slapstick comedy, often combining the two. Simpler, but more refined than The Butterfly Murders, he utilises “conflicts in static and in dynamic moments”[9], demonstrating a keen understanding of pace and tone, resulting in both incredibly effective comedy and horror. He also explored some social commentary in We’re Going to Eat You, using the social structure of the cannibal village to poke fun at Communism and organised religion, effectively employing the supporting cast to build the tone.
Perhaps the boldest film he made during the New Wave is Dangerous Encounters of the First Kind, also released in 1980. He built on the social commentary of his previous work and brought it into the modern day, with his first foray into modern storytelling. The film takes an unblinking look at youth crime and domestic terrorism, following a group of teenagers who become infatuated with explosives. It carries this heavy plot and themes off with style, utilising a smooth, seductive visual strategy that sharply juxtaposes the subject matter. What is most fascinating about Dangerous Encounters is its critical stance it takes towards Hong Kong. It takes the cultural conscience of his generation and exaggerates it, depicting a grotesquely cynical view of the city and its issues.
Tsui’s first commercial success came in 1981 with All the Wrong Clues, an absurd, over the top film noir spoof. Again, he brings in Western influences, naming the gangster villain ‘Capone’. He displays these with a tongue-in-cheek comedic style, utilising distinctly Hong Kong techniques to poke fun at the genre. All the Wrong Clues was produced with Cinema City, a studio that capitalised on the success of the New Wave. They began making low budget films focused on the struggles of the working class, but pivoted to formulaic action comedies after audience interests waned. These proved to be hugely successful, and set box office records through the 1980s. It was Cinema City’s dominance of the box office that ended the New Wave.
Commercial success is something important to consider when talking about Hong Kong cinema at large. In a culture already dominated by genre, it is not surprising that audience opinion was seen as the number one priority. Even in periods of innovation, “any breakthrough in film aesthetics and innovation in form [were] promoted by trade”[10]. Perhaps it is because of the business context of the city, a place run by trade and international investment, or the explosion of the Wuxia genre in the early 1970s, and a desire to keep it in the global consciousness. Either way, the mentality of box office figures as a metric for success is prevalent throughout Hong Kong cinema. Tsui agreed with this, saying that his films “must appeal to the masses”[11] and “reflect the general feeling of the public”[12].
In 1986, Tsui Hark produced a film that has since transformed Hong Kong action and reinvigorated Hong Kong cinema in the global market. John Woo’s A Better Tomorrow is arguably the most influential action film of the period, popularising the trend within Wu cinema known as ‘heroic bloodshed’ which would go on to define action films internationally for decades. It is also responsible for the explosion in the careers of John Woo and actor Chow Yun-Fat, a New Wave actor who went on to become one of Hong Kong’s biggest exports.
Throughout Tsui Hark’s early work, it is clear to see that he had his finger on the pulse of audience taste. He played with incredibly popular genres and melded traditional Eastern archetypes with Western influences to create something completely new. His first three films, despite being a little rough around the edges, contain a spark of something, a fresh perspective that would go on to redefine the industry.
Tsui is still making films today, and has continued to push boundaries, making genre-defining works that continue to bring audiences to the cinemas. His success lies not only in bringing Western influence to his films, but by having a deep and profound understanding of the Eastern genres he was using. “He aims at something higher than just [showing] heroism” argues Law Kar, “he knew the historical context or the spiritual context of wuxia pan”[13]. As David Bordwell summarises, Tsui “suggests that by reviving older traditions you don’t simply indulge in nostalgia; you link your life to a vital heritage”[14].
Wen Cinema: Ann Hui
“I’m not conscious of what I’m really trying to do when I shoot a movie. I was just looking at it as more or less like a toy, something which I like to play with and try to impress people.”[15]
Ann Hui, 2000
Ann Hui (pronounced Ann Hue) was born to a Japanese mother and Chinese father in mainland China in 1947. She moved to Hong Kong when she was five and was raised in a traditional Chinese family. She became involved in theatre while at school and studied film at the London Film School after getting her master’s in Hong Kong. Upon her return, she worked in television, largely on documentary projects, where her team was asked to look “for cases and stories which happened in the streets” Hui said in an interview with Ken Smith, “we got to like it very much”[16]. It was this love of real stories and the process of finding life in news reports that went on to define much of her feature work. She very much embodies the Wen of the New Wave, telling slow, character driven stories with a strong social conscience.
In 1978, after writing and directing a few TV documentaries, Hui was asked to direct three episodes of Below the Lion Rock, a series about the lives of people in Hong Kong. One of these episodes, The Boy from Vietnam, became the first part of her ‘Vietnam Trilogy’. This collection of work from Hui’s early years focuses on the lives of Vietnamese people in the fallout of the American War, and is a perfect example of what would go on to define her films - a deep social awareness and illumination of contemporary issues. There is also a sense of hopelessness and inevitability in the face of overwhelming oppression, the characters rarely come out on top despite their best efforts to make a better life for themselves. This does not come across as pessimistic however, there are moments of light to contrast the dark and we see the endless resilience of humanity in the face of hardship.
Boat People (1982) is the final and most successful of the trilogy, and also the only to be set in Vietnam. It follows Shiomi Akutagawa, a Japanese photojournalist who has come to Vietnam to document the rebuilding of their society after the war. The title refers to the name given to the flood of Vietnamese refugees who fled the country en masse after the fall of Saigon. Hui denies that this film is strictly anti-communist, saying it would “implicate too many people and get them into trouble”[17] in an interview with BOMB magazine, since this was the first Hong Kong film to be shot in communist China, however the commentary within it is pretty pointed. The first act of the film consists of Shiomi being shown around by members of the new Vietnamese government and being showered in positive propaganda. After he witnesses the violent culmination of a police chase, he decides to go out by himself to see the country for himself. Through his solo exploration he meets Cam Nuong, a teenage girl and her family, and is exposed to the brutal reality of post-war Vietnam.
The film ends in a deeply troubling way, after we see character after character fall to the cruelty of the post-war government. Eventually, with Shiomi’s help, Cam Nuong and her infant brother get onto a boat to leave Vietnam, looking forward to a brighter future. Boat People is a beautiful yet troubling watch, the cinematography lends a romantic nostalgia to the disturbing imagery, and we are often wrenched away from the brutal reality to Cora Miao’s crimson-soaked bar or to the decadent restaurant the government officials treat Shiomi. It is this duality that defines this period of history and that Hui was attempting to illuminate. Boat People, and the rest of Hui’s Vietnam Trilogy, is an impeccable example of Hui’s conscious filmmaking. She delivered important and relevant messages in a time when that could have been dangerous for her career, and created some beautiful work in the process.
Taking a couple of steps back to Hui’s debut feature, The Secret (1979) and we see where the seeds for her later work were planted. A murder mystery based on real news stories, this is an example of Hui taking the skills she learned while researching for Television Broadcasts Limited and applying it to fiction filmmaking. Telling the story of the murder investigation of a young woman, we are introduced to the suspects, who have weaved a tangled romantic web between each other, endlessly complicating the investigation. The plot, much like the real life story, is tangled and confusing, occasionally to the detriment of the viewing experience. However, the explosive final moments and the melancholy tone that pervays throughout make up for the lack of clarity. The film is set in the old Western District of Hong Kong, and makes effective use of its setting. The architecture, infrastructure and background characters all coalesce into a dark cloud that hangs over the central characters. These characters are buried visually, obscured by objects in the foreground and oppressed by internal framing.
In 1984, she released Love in a Fallen City, an adaptation of the romance novella by Eileen Chang and starring Chow Yun-Fat in one of his early roles. This is the most polished of her early work; between the more straightforward plot; the endlessly charismatic performances of the leading actors; and a wonderfully expressive visual strategy, we are whisked away to 1940s Shanghai. The protagonist of the film, Bai Liu-Su, is a divorcee and suffers immense pressure from her family. Fan Liu-Yuan, a successful businessman, sweeps her up, determined to marry her, and takes her with him as he leaves Shanghai. The feminist narrative in Love in a Fallen City is often hard to spot. Liu-Su is introverted and quiet, a trait that instantly makes her an outsider in the eyes of her family and society at large. She is pressured, occasionally physically, by a wealthy man who loves her, yet remains true to her nature. We see her undergo hardship after hardship, a theme prevalent in Hui’s feminist narratives, and as such it is easy to read the film as removing her agency. However, it is this lack of agency, and Liu-Su’s determination not to bend to it, that is what lasts.
The films Hui made during this early period are indicative of her perspective as a filmmaker. She agrees with Pak Ton Cheuk, saying “it’s technique, more than cultural identity or a common theme”[18] that defined the New Wave movement. She applied this mentality to all aspects of filmmaking, ensuring that her films had her signature on them throughout. “My thought process begins at the scriptwriting stage”[19[, she says, speaking to Justin Chor Yu Liu. She puts a lot of thought and energy from the very beginning, ensuring that the foundations are laid for the story she wants to tell. As with many New Wave directors, Hui took the lessons she learned from working in television - “In television, the story is conformed to fit a certain structure. That’s why, in cinema, I think it is very important to let your story dictate structure”[20], it is this freedom that she felt when stepping out from the constraints of the television format that allowed her to take such liberties with structure and pacing, creating the tangled chaos of The Secret or the slow melancholy of Boat People.
Ann Hui is arguably the most critically acclaimed director of the New Wave; she has won numerous awards, including two Grand Slams (winning best picture, best director, best screenplay, best actor, and best actress) at the Hong Kong Film Awards, the only two films to have achieved this. She also served as the president of the Hong Kong Film Director's Guild from 2004 to 2006. Her films have defined the Hong Kong New Wave in terms of social commentary and a resurgence of realist cinema, and her work continues to be applauded to this day.
Tsui Hark and Ann Hui each embody the Wu and Wen of the New Wave. One brought style and flair to an already popular genre whereas the other brought the heart back to Hong Kong cinema. Both changed the scene, leaving a legacy that they have both continued to work on and mould since. Watching both of their films, it is clear to see that the New Wave was not defined by a particular style or subject matter, but by an abundance of them. Daring directors brimming with energy and tired of seeing the same things again and again brought new, exciting and heartfelt styles to existing genres, challenging audiences while also giving them what they wanted. The period is defined by this duality, and these opposing influences manifested in some of the most exciting work to come out of an already explosive film industry.
Bibliography
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[11]Reid C. D. (1995) ‘Interview With Tsui Hark’, Film Quarterly, 48(3), p.40
[12]Accomando B. (1997), Giant Robot, 8, pp.27-30
[14]Bordwell D. (2000) ‘Plante Hong Kong: Popular Cinema and the Art of Entertainment’. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press
[15]Singapore International Film Festival (2020) ‘In Conversation with Ann Hui & Man Lim Chung’. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fT-7lyGwm5k (Accessed 24/01/2022)
[16][18]Film at Lincoln Centre (2021) ‘In Conversation with Ann Hui’. Available at: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18BmJEXsrv4 (Accessed 24/01/2022)
[17]Chua L. (1991) ‘Ann Hui by Laurence Chua’, BOMB, 36, pp.28-30
[19][20]Chor Yu Liu J. (2021) ‘Interview: Ann Hui Discusses Style, Purpose, and Expression Across Her Illustrious Career in Hong Kong Cinema’. Available at: https://www.cinemaescapist.com/2021/08/interview-ann-hui-director-nyaff/ (Accessed 24/01/2022)
