Showing posts with label urban. Show all posts
Showing posts with label urban. Show all posts

Sunday, June 23, 2024

Rebels of the Neon God (Qing shao nian nuo zha)


 



































Director Tsai Ming-liang

Lee Kang-shen with the director



























REBELS OF THE NEON GOD (Qing shao nian nuo zha)              B+                                         Taiwan  (109 mi)  1992

Do you have nothing better to do with yourself?     —Mother (Lu Hsiao-ling)

In the eighties and early nineties Taiwan witnessed an unprecedented cinematic portrayal of the contemporary urban sensibility, perhaps best reflected by Edward Yang’s modernist exploration of the alienation of the individual in the barren urban landscape of contemporary society, with his films emphasizing psychological complexity, That Day, On the Beach (Hai tan de yi tian) (1983), Taipei Story (Qing mei zhu ma) (1985), The Terrorizers (Kong bu fen zi) (1986), and A Brighter Summer Day (Gu ling jie shao nian sha ren shi jian) (1991), or the adolescent street gangs of Hou Hsiao-hsien’s autobiographical A Time to Live and a Time to Die (Tong nien wang shi) (1985), yet also the hauntingly quiet poetry of Dust in the Wind (Lian lian feng chen) (1986).  At the time, government film grants allowed budding directors like Edward Yang and Hou Hsiao-hsien to get their start, creating the Taiwan New Wave, breaking away from locally made melodramas or kung fu movies in favor of location shooting, long takes, and deliberate editing to reflect the rapidly changing world around them.  Born in Malaysia, having moved around from school to school, typically the kid nobody wanted to talk to, finding it difficult to make new friends, Tsai moved to Taiwan in 1977 at the age of 20 to discover an emerging generation in the thrall of Western values, where the soaring high- tech economic growth drove people to the cities, creating a society filled with contradictions in a clash between the old and the new, enrolling in Taipei’s Chinese Culture University, majoring in Dramatic Art, where he was exposed to European art cinema, including the aesthetics of Truffaut, Antonioni, Bresson, and Fassbinder.  After writing and directing several plays, Tsai went on to work in television, where it was during the making of The Kid, a 1991 TV film, when he was scouting for an actor that he encountered Lee Kang-sheng, who would eventually star in every single one of his feature films.  Writing his own scripts, Tsai’s characters are trapped in the banality of their existence, desperately trying to overcome their loneliness and inability to connect with others, making films that are distinctive in capturing the absurd frustrations and numbness of urban alienation, using long silences and almost no camera movement, eloquently shot by Liao Pen-jung, Tsai’s longtime collaborator, where his aesthetic is essentially minimalist and existentialist to the core.  In a strange twist of fate, this film was not released in America until 23 years after it was made, digitally restored as part of a traveling retrospective assembled only after the critical success of Stray Dogs (Jiao you) (2013).  The words Tsai Ming-liang and realistic action adventure wouldn’t usually be found in the same sentence, much less the same movie, instead we’d expect to see melancholic actor Lee Kang-sheng barely uttering a word, along with deluges of rain, a love for old style movie theaters, an uncommon interest in sex, the inside of the exact same apartments featuring a familiar rice pot on the table, in this case either his own or his sister’s apartment, and plenty of long slow takes, occasionally leading to an offbeat punch line, most often expressed through Tati or Chaplinesque silent film era sight gags.  Unlike his Taiwanese compatriots Hou Hsiao-hsien and Edward Yang who thrive on narrative detachment, Tsai’s films possess near perfect comic timing, not afraid to spend minutes setting up a single laugh.  This film actually foreshadows by a decade Jia Zhang-ke’s UNKNOWN PLEASURES (2002), as both are unflinching looks at alienated youth, one in Datong, a large city in the northern Shanxi province in China, almost to Inner Mongolia, the other in the bustling city of Taipei, both shot in near documentary form, featuring plenty of long tracking shots of excitable kids on motorbikes frenetically exploring their individual freedom only to discover their own restless energy turning against themselves, as there’s little hope for the future.  

After an amusing opening that oddly enough involves a mathematics compass and a cockroach, REBELS follows the exploits of two petty criminals Ah-tze and Ah-ping, Chen Chao-jung and Jen Chang-ben, who are seen expertly looting the cash boxes from several telephone booths before spending their idle time in a video arcade where Lee Kang-sheng by chance happens to notice them.  This is ironic, as that’s exactly how Tsai met Lee Kang-sheng, the phenomenally gifted non-professional actor who would not only become the camera’s focus for the rest of his career, but he would come to define Tsai’s work in the same way Jean-Pierre Léaud was associated with the work of Truffaut in the 60’s and early 70’s.  What immediately stands out is the depiction of urban malaise, where globalization has created small cracks for those living on the fringes of society, where we see parked scooters bordering the busy streets, and narrow lanes jam-packed with food stalls and hawkers selling their wares, with giant billboards advertising various products, as people must compete within this congestion for every little ounce of space.  Shot in the Southwest section of the city known as the West Gate District, the seedy neighborhood where Tsai lived as a student when he came to Taipei, so it has some personal significance, as it was known as a teenage district, the center of Taiwan cinema, with as many as 37 theaters clustered into the compact neighborhood in the early 90’s, becoming the neighborhood where he was introduced to world cinema.  At the time of the shoot, it was an old, run down, and crowded neighborhood under construction that has now been transformed into a worldwide shopping district, attracting more than 3 million shoppers per month, turned into a pedestrian area where vehicles are prohibited on weekends and holidays, where the film is an homage to the neighborhood’s nostalgic history.  Focusing on the details of daily habits, offering insight into the lives of listless young men in crumbling inner cities, Tsai’s characters are often engaged in trivial jobs that hold little meaning, giving rise to petty thieves who prey on the periphery.  Not only are there several quick cuts of bored teenagers dangling cigarettes out of their mouths, also (drawing from Hollywood) an image of Lee standing in front of an iconic movie poster of James Dean from Rebel Without a Cause (1955) which looms above him at the video arcade (though his character is more akin to Sal Mineo’s Plato), but there’s a pulsating, bass heavy musical soundtrack by Huang Shu-jun, the only canned music in any of his films, used quite effectively here as it matches the portrait of Taipei as a dingy, neon-lit wasteland, Tsai Ming-liang - Rebels of the Neon God 1992 YouTube (1:19), where disconnected relationships are short-lived and pointless, and meaningless violence can erupt at any minute over the least provocation.  Of course there’s a girl, Ah-kuei (Wang Yu-wen), the bored, yet hot to trot, short-skirted, roller rink attendant who tightens skates with a few pounds of a hammer, who flirtatiously tries to interest Ah-tze, but nothing holds his attention for long as his mind wanders with that typical male urban syndrome common in video arcades known as attention deficit disorder.  It’s amazing the girl gives these creeps the time of day, but she keeps coming back for more.  Lee Kang-sheng as Hsiao-kang hatches his own interest in them after witnessing Ah-tze brazenly destroy his father’s outside cab mirror with a tire iron, a senseless act that does get to the heart of what this film is about, a lifetime of a neverending series of senseless acts.   

In preparation to taking the standardized college entrance exams, Lee drops out of cram school and pockets the refunded tuition money, leaving his parents who paid for it outraged, knowing where reckless irresponsible acts will lead him, especially when his mother, invoking her folk beliefs, thinks he’s been infected by an evil spirit, describing him as the “reincarnation of the Neon God.”  About the same age as Ah-tze, Lee is drawn to him, shadowing his every move, as their lives mirror one another, often seen paired together in parallel shots making identical gestures, and while they lead very different lives, it’s clear the aimlessness and uncertainty of their futures are connected in this study of disaffected Taipei youth, offering insight into the lives of lost young men living in urban wastelands.  While Lee is physically and psychologically confined to a tiny room in his parent’s home, subject to their rules and jurisdiction, Ah-tze has apparent mobility and freedom to go where he pleases, yet it’s largely symbolic, as both move in restricted space that can feel suffocating.  The audiences in Tsai’s films are able to see things the characters can’t, as they’re too busy occupying the cramped space they live in, while viewers sitting at a distance who have the opportunity to observe what happens within that space.  Using an anti-narrative technique, feeling more like various slices of life episodes strewn together, the film explores how Lee attempts to push the boundaries of his physical constrictions, using a carefully choreographed visual design where the paths of two characters are constantly crisscrossing, Rebels of the Neon God (1992) - MEETING YouTube (1:39).  Ah-tze’s apartment continually floods with sewage water backing up from the drain, one of Tsai’s most common themes, where throughout the film he amusingly sloshes his way through the water which has a mirror-like reflection on the ceiling.  When he does a good deed, the water mysteriously flows back down the drain, but don’t expect that condition to last long.  The kinetic energy in this film is highly unusual for Tsai, a style he’s never returned to, instead becoming enamored with extended takes, but really the movie is a mysterious interconnection of several different Taipei-based storylines, the two goofs and a girl, rounds of casual sex, an elevator that always stops on the wrong floor, a dysfunctional family unit that never once feels like home, and Lee Kang-sheng slowly exacting his revenge, trashing Ah-tze’s scooter, cutting the seat and tires, spray painting AIDS on the side, while pouring glue into the ignition switch, which brings him a moment of temporary ecstasy, but ultimately a profound sadness at the realization of just how aloof and isolated he is from anyone else’s life, which is the true nature of any Lee Kang-sheng character.  The real irony here is that the two goofs have a love interest, someone who actually wants to love them, but their hedonistic, self-centered lives leave them no place for love, so they casually throw it all away as if it were worthless, replaceable parts.  This single act of throwing away what is most meaningful in life is similarly reflected back in all the less significant instances when they’ve done exactly the same thing, where the totality of arrogant disregard and nonchalance leaves them with no meaningful connections in the future.     

Watch Rebels of the Neon God Full Movie Online Free With ...  free online film from FShare TV (1:46:56)

Saturday, November 2, 2019

Ghost Tropic





Director Bas Devos



Filming on the streets with Saadia Bentaïeb











GHOST TROPIC           B                
Belgium  Netherlands  (85 mi)  2019  d: Bas Devos

But if suddenly, a stranger appearing from nowhere were to enter this room, what would he see, what would he hear?  And would he feel anything by being here?
―whispered opening question

A unique film experience premiering at Director’s Fortnight at Cannes, a small film that envisions things differently, eschewing any formal narrative, but simply evolving out of circumstances, falling asleep on the last running subway train at night, waking up at the end with no money to get home, as we watch a middle-aged woman take a nocturnal journey through time, making her way on foot as she traverses the city of Brussels one night, becoming that rare film that doesn’t reveal what it’s about, as there’s no real storyline, just chance encounters, allowing viewers the luxury to contemplate for themselves their own thoughts on what they’re watching.  Something along the lines of the Chantal Akerman film TOUTE UNE NUIT (1982), who according to the director is the most famous director from Belgium, where her influence is unmistakable, as the film unravels at its own pace, becoming an observation piece filled with minute details, yet by the time it’s over, viewers are intimately familiar with Khadija, Saadia Bentaïeb from 2017 Top Ten List #8 BPM (Beats Per Minute (120 battements par minute), a quiet and humble Muslim woman who works as an afterhours cleaning lady for some nameless corporate entity.  Shot on 16mm by Grimm Vandekerckhove, the static opening shot of a living room held for several minutes holds little interest, yet the duration allows us to notice the darkening night, making viewers acutely aware of the passing time.  The empty streets have a glow about them, wet from the cool night air, she wears an overcoat as we hear her steps, with no traffic whatsoever to contend with, but she’ll occasionally run into someone, like a security guard allowing her inside a closed shopping mall to use a cash station after hours for a taxi, but she has insufficient funds, leaving her near broke and alone, and a long way from home.  A haunting and hypnotic journey begins in the southeast of Brussels to Molenbeek, traversing all the way across town to the Northeast.

Among her initial encounters is stopping at an old building, peeking inside through the windows before being approached by a neighbor.  Apparently she worked as a cleaning lady for a family that used to live there, but the building has been vacant for years now.  The neighbor, apparently relieved that she’s not an intruder, confesses he’s currently unhappy with his Polish cleaning lady and expresses an interest, but she’s already got a job.  The brief episode, however, accentuates the curiosity that her presence brings, quickly alleviating growing fears when encountering a total stranger in the dead of night.  As she moves further on, she grows concerned at the state of a homeless man lying inertly on an old dirty mattress on the street with his dog tethered to a pole.  When he doesn’t respond, she alerts a nearby policeman who calls the emergency paramedics who transport him to the nearest hospital.  Concerned about his welfare, and that of his dog, she sticks around until he’s taken away, with the officer suggesting the man could obtain his dog the next day so long as he remains securely tied.  In this day and age, it’s rare for anyone to demonstrate benevolence or compassion for the homeless, with city dwellers growing callous, largely because some urban areas are overwhelmed by the staggering numbers (Homelessness in Brussels continues to rise), making it difficult to choose who among the many to assist.  Nonetheless, it quietly offers a glimpse of Khadija’s values.  Taking it further, she visits a hospital to check up on him, gets scolded for arriving outside visiting hours, then knowingly sneaks up several floors, asking a nurse to find out what happened to him, disheartened at what she discovers.  Thoughts immediately turn to the dog, with an abstract illusory dreamlike sequence suggesting a release from captivity.

Quietly spare guitar interludes by Brecht Ameel are played between vignette sequences as she continues to walk through an urban landscape of dimly lit streets and storefronts, while occasionally the sounds of birds intrude, yet the film is deliberately undramatic, consisting of the kinds of characters you’re likely to meet on a day to day basis on the street but never stop for a moment and actually see them, usually walking right on by.  But Khadija’s circumstances are different, as time expands, filling the vacuum of space between the screen and the viewers, where people are constantly adjusting their views on what they’re seeing, an odyssey into the night, dense and dark, moody, but never gloomy, perhaps surprised by the openness she brings in a beautifully restrained performance of what amounts to an unscripted one woman play.  Along the way there are passing cars and dots of light that fluctuate in the night air, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that are simply fleeting images.  What we see is not the typical tourist views, away from the well-lit modern features and beautiful architecture, passing instead through well-worn working class sections of town where most all of the businesses are closed, yet a few bars with party revelers are punctuated by the floating sounds of music.  Discovering a late night gas station still open, she warms herself inside, getting a cup of tea, but they’re out of teabags, asking the store clerk to find something in the back which she happily provides.  As she’s the last and final customer, looking weary, obviously using the store as a rest stop along the way, the store clerk (Maaike Neuville) offers her a ride home in her car just after closing, a kind offer that she accepts, engaging in brief conversational small talk, when remarkably she sees her daughter on the street, asking to quickly stop, getting out, but avoids being seen, where she’s actually able to watch from a distance, observing the early flirtations of a budding relationship, with her beautiful teenage daughter (Nora Dari) unaware she’s being watched.  It’s a lovely moment, unremarkable yet poignant, as she never reveals herself, eventually finding her way back to the safety of her home.  Yet that’s not the end of the journey, as a brightened image of her daughter at the beach appears on the screen as a final thought, a break from everything that came before, but clearly at the forefront of her mind, closing on a positive note.  The final end credits are unusual, featuring the job titles for everyone involved on the film with the names missing, then one-by-one the names fill in the blanks on each passing page.