I. A film is made of a soft material—celluloid[1]
The motion picture is a form of drama—a new and modern drama. Its warm reception among the people of our time lies in the fact that it offers the most economical and flexible means of expression, and that it stands as a beautiful crystallisation of many arts and sciences combined.
Yet, in the end, cinema remains dramatic in nature. Though its methods of expression differ from those of the past, its essence should ever be preserved—the innate dramatic charm that holds man’s enduring interest in life itself.
Cinema is ice cream for the eyes, and an armchair for the soul.
A film is made of a soft material.
II. Chinese Celluloid Turns Hard
Yet such is the case only with the majority of films on the international market.
Once cinema reached China, it, like so many other things, underwent a curious transformation. The soft film, in the hands of our esteemed domestic producers, somehow turned rigid—stiffened as though soaked through with starch.
The result was that audiences, once filled with eager expectation, gradually lapsed into disappointment. Attendance at the theatres, once abundant, began to dwindle, while the producers themselves, quite at a loss, could not fathom why their soft films had all become hard.
Thus one may say that Western films are soft, while Chinese films are hard. Taken in general, this is indeed the case.
III. The Consciousness Debate of the Left
The reasons for the hardening of Chinese films at present are exceedingly complex. In general, the idle film journals of the day are fond of speaking at great length about consciousness (yishi, 意识)—and by that term, they nearly always imply something steeped in the colour of the Left. To be left-leaning is, in their view, to possess “consciousness”; to be right-leaning, or even not left enough, is to produce a film of “distorted consciousness,” and therefore, a bad film.
With this dogma as their rule, they proceed to criticize the films of Europe and America, forcing them, by sheer argument, into a leftist frame. Consequently, every Western film becomes, in their eyes, unworthy of attention because it presents a “distorted consciousness”. When they encounter Western pictures that are artistically superb and immensely successful at the box office, their criticisms take on a familiar tone:
“…A vapid indulgence of the late (or declining) capitalist era…”
“…A low-grade work suited to the petty bourgeoisie (or small-town citizenry) …”
“…A portrayal of the bourgeois ambition to oppress the masses.”
Having swept aside all Western cinema with such phrases, they then hint to Chinese producers that only left-leaning films will suit their taste—otherwise, they will show no mercy in print.
And so, these ignorant producers have at last been violated by this host of so-called “Mr. Consciousness.”
IV. The Subjects of Revolutionary Slogans
There is yet another sort of filmmakers who, unable to find sound material for production and blind to both the spirit of the age and the psychology of the audience, nonetheless assumes the pose of a pioneer of the times. The films they produce appear, on the surface, to be revolutionary, progressive, and full of struggle—grandiose and sensational in every respect. This much can already be discerned from the titles they choose. Yet, if one looks beneath the surface, the substance of these films proves hollow and anemic—forced, shallow, and utterly lacking in vitality.
Such pictures leave the spectator with nothing but the futility of shouted slogans. Indeed, they often drive those who go to the cinema for the enjoyment of art to stay away altogether, lest they be subjected, without reason, to the tedious preaching and propaganda of these so-called “revolutionary films.”
Modern audiences are, after all, more frank and practical. They care for usefulness in all things and have little patience for hypocritical sermons. Having just laid down the burdens of their daily responsibilities, they seek in the cinema a brief respite of pleasure. They do not wish to be confronted again, upon the screen, with unexpected lessons or duties.
Yet our producers, thinking themselves clever, insist upon forcing ideology onto the screen, turning soft film into a medium stiffened with dry and lifeless moralizing. Thus the soft film, soaked and starched into hardness, loses its natural quality—and this, alas, has become the surest way for our domestic cinema to dig its own artistic grave.
V. The Soft Films We Need
What we need in our cinema today is none of the kinds just mentioned, but films that are gentle and transparent—soft films in the truest sense. They should be filled with the original essence that drama has always imparted to life; they should be works of art worthy of appreciation, noble films that bring genuine joy and welcome to the people.
Such films ought to mirror the realities of life itself, allowing audiences to behold the richness and beauty of the world around them, and to awaken, of their own accord, a renewed interest and vitality toward life. This is the highest contribution of the motion picture, and the rightful path for all who devote themselves to the art of film.
Our motto is this:
“A film is made of soft celluloid; therefore, it ought to be soft in spirit.”
— Published in Modern Cinema, Vol. 1, No. 6 (1933)
[1] Huang Jiamo (1916-April 26, 2004) born in Du’an, Guangxi province in Southern China. Screenwriter, film theorist, and scholar. Coming from a family who worked at the renowned Shanghai publishing house West Wind (西風), Huang Jiamo got involved in the intellectual debates in the 1930s when he started publishing a film magazine Modern Film (現代電影) alongside modernist writers Mu Shiying and Liu Na’ou. In 1936, Huang became a screenwriter for the Shanghai Yihua Film Company. In 1944, he graduated from the Department of Political Science of National Central University in wartime-time Chinese capital city, Chongqing. After graduation, he joined the Foreign Affairs Bureau of the Military Commission of the Nationalist Government as a translator. After 1956, he engaged in historical research at the Institute of Modern History of the Academia Sinica. Died in 2004 in Taiwan.
sailuluo 赛璐珞 