Hello hello~
You know, after tomorrow, I will be officially halfway through my last semester of college. Unbelievable! I will have exactly 8 weeks left until I fly home. Wow.
I thought it might be helpful this week to share some writing I did for my Chinese Cinema class–you know, just to give you a taste of the kind of writing that is done in college.
(My professor also liked my essay, which is helping my confidence in being willing to share this publicly!)
For some context, this essay was written about the film Rouge (1987), which is actually on Youtube in its entirety: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XKyTjP6VJJs. It’s in Cantonese but has English subs!
Here also was the prompt for the essay:
Write an analysis of the visual and narrative strategies in Rouge’s representation of memory and romance.
Questions to think about but you do not need to cover all of these questions:
Are there any familiar elements of genre films that you can recognize in Rouge? How are they de-familiarized and mixed in the film?
Do you consider this film realistic? or conventional? or provocative? How?
How does the film contrast the past with the present? How does it create Hong Kong’s “history,” its cultural identity, and its disappearance?
Aaaand without further ado, my essay: (apologies that the formatting is a bit weird)
Rouge (1987): Provocation Through Contrasts and Parallels
Stanley Kwan’s 1987 film Rouge is a powerful evocation of love, cultural identity, and the irretrievable nature of the past. He uses a combination of film genres and techniques to create countless juxtapositions, comparisons, and parallels. In this essay, I will argue that this film is provocative and touching precisely because of the emotions it evokes through these contrasts and parallels.
The film takes a particular form—mostly flashbacks to bygone glory days—because this form evokes a particular emotion. It shows a pining for the past, for happier times. Fluer was once at the pinnacle of her career, but now she is a wandering ghost with unfulfilled promises. Hong Kong is not what it used to be, just as Fluer is not what she used to be. The city has become modernized and unconnected to its cultural roots; she no longer fits in. There is craving, desire, and nostalgia for what once was.
Contrast between colors further accents the pining for what once was. The present world is filled with harsher colors—bright, strong, searing colors. The pale white of her face in contrast with her bright red lipstick; the dark nights on the streets of 1980’s Hong Kong in contrast with the flashing neon lights. On the other hand, 1930’s Hong Kong is warm, filled with soft, mellow colors. A lot of orange, gold, and red symbolizes rosy memories. Fluer looks more alive and in-the-flesh during the flashbacks.
Not only are colors used to evoke nostalgia, but past and present Hong Kong also differ in very physical, tangible ways. The brothel is now a kindergarten, the restaurant Fluer knew is now gone, and human-powered pull-carts are now taxis. Big overhead bridge-roads, bright neon lights, more skyscrapers…these all signify present Hong Kong. The shoes Chu wears, her and Yuan’s clothing, and their apartment—with its electric lamps and boxes of electronic appliances—are all in contrast with 1930’s Hong Kong. Even their bedframes and blinds are different. There are buses and telephones; Fluer’s old neighborhood is unrecognizable.
These contrasts signify Hong Kong’s change in identity as well. Hong Kong used to have such a rich cultural identity. Brothels may have been brothels, but they were also cultural icons, serving cultural food in cultural dress, singing cultural songs. Now Hong Kong is modernized, with Yuan’s 80’s-era eyeglasses, and his and Chu’s Western sweaters and jeans. Traditional Hong Kong has disappeared. Before, opera was a big part of Hong Kong culture, and could fill an entire room full of audience. Now, it is just a street-side performance, with a handful of people passing by and standing to watch before they continue on their way.
The contrasts in this film, however, are coupled with parallels, and these parallels are no less significant. Fluer’s voyeuristic watching of Chu and Yuan’s lovemaking emphasizes their parallel to her own romance; she reminisces about lovemaking with Twelfth Master. Chu and Yuan’s discussions about love, passion, loyalty, and death also parallel Fluer’s situation. It allows an outside voice, almost a sort of narration, to dissect what has happened to her—to discuss the pro’s and con’s; the baseness (or admirability) of doing what Fluer and Twelfth Master did. Chu asks if Yuan would die for her; almost uncannily, Fluer and Twelfth Master’s suicide scene begins with her asking him similar questions—what sorts of things would he do for his cousin that he would have done for Fluer?
Furthermore, Yuan and Chu’s roles are flipped compared to Fluer and Twelfth Master—Yuan is the one wholly devoted to Chu and Chu is the one thinking marriage is too restrictive, that it would be nice to have more freedom and options. The opposite was true for Fluer, for whom it would have been a luxury, a privilege, to be married to one and only one man, to have the devotion and fidelity of one man in marriage, rather than be a prostitute. It would have been a luxury to even be considered marriage material, in Fluer’s case, as she did not have the approval of Twelfth Master’s parents.
Not only is Chu and Yuan’s relationship juxtaposed against Fluer and Twelfth Master’s, but past and present expression of romance is contrasted as well. Present romance is more physically lustful, whereas past romance is very concealed, very modest. The audience isn’t showed nudity or actual lovemaking in flashbacks to Fluer’s romance, just kissing and at most undressing. In present day, however, we are shown Chu and Yuan’s passionate lovemaking. Passion is expressed differently in these two time periods—one is more restrained (but equally as lustful and powerful) and one is unleashed in a modern, free-spirited way.
The antique store is also a parallel, linking the present with Fluer’s past—Yuan looking to buy a rouge box for Chu reminds the audience of when Twelfth Master bought a rouge box for Fluer. Ironically, that same rouge box—or what we are made to think is the same rouge box (it can’t really be, for Fluer has been wearing it this whole time)—resurfaces at the 1987 antique shop. It ends up not being the same rouge box, but the dress it falls out of appears to be one Fluer used to wear. The faux rouge box also lands on old newspaper articles documenting Fluer’s death and Twelfth Master’s subsequent revival, aiding Yuan and Chu in their quest to solve Fluer’s past.
It is because of these newspaper articles, in fact, that Fluer finds out Twelfth Master is still alive, and eventually finds him. Thus the audience are led to an old and withered Twelfth Master, sleeping in the back of the film studio, still smoking opium—a stark contrast to the Twelfth Master we remember from 1834. His bad lifestyle has caught up with him, and he has long since squandered his wealth. We even pity him, seeing him in the deplorable state he is in now. We are struck by how old, pained, and worn out he looks, and we almost think Fluer had it better. She preserved her current state, leaving the world at the peak of her career and life. She died a glamorous death (similar to how Ruan Ling Yu died while she was still famous for being a phenomenal actress), and her image is forever frozen in time. Now, however, we see the unfrozen, continued, worn-out life of Twelfth Master, and we realize perhaps Fluer did not really lose after all.
For most of the film, however, Fluer is indeed the victim. She is the one who was betrayed. Kwan’s film technique, however, cleverly sets up the start of the film so the audience thinks the exact opposite. The film begins so different from how the rest of it plays out: Fluer is coquettish and self-assured in the first scene, almost disdainful of Twelfth Master when he sings an additional line to her song and she replies, “That is too much sorrow.” The many close-ups of their face-to-face interaction during her singing show his growing lust for her. She, however, remains aloof, looking down her nose at him, her eyes half-interested. When she comes back to toast the whole group and the theme song begins to play in the background as Twelfth Master looks up longingly at her…the audience can hardly imagine that the majority of the rest of the film will be about her faithful, almost slavish, search for him, and his betrayal of her.
Thus, the film may not be realistic or conventional but it is provocative. Provocative because the hero is also the victim. Provocative because it warns the audience against overly zealous love—against forbidden, unreachable, and unrealistic love. Provocative because we feel for Fluer when Twelfth Master’s family rejects her. We are especially pained when they measure his cousin’s dress up against her, signifying that she is the practice subject but not the real thing, just as she is Twelfth Master’s temporary lover, but will never be his real partner. She is a lesser substitute for his eventual true wife.
Therefore, this film is both provocative and touching; we are touched because we are pained by Fluer’s suffering. The pain continues to the end, too, as Kwan spends the entire film building up nostalgia, setting our hopes up, only to have everything converge in one grand, crashing disappointment. The entire time, viewers hope Twelfth Master will show up. We hope Fluer and Twelfth Master will be reunited. We hope to re-witness their love. But that hope is never realized, when we see him old and in the back of the movie studio; when we see him unsuccessfully chase after Fluer; when we see her finally repay his rejection and betrayal in full, giving back the rouge box he once gave her. In doing so, she is returning his love; she no longer wants it. This is the final separation, the final cutting of ties. Our pining and nostalgia for what once was will never be fulfilled; we realize at the same time Fluer does that we can never return to 1930’s Hong Kong.
Hence, the entire film’s buildup to nostalgia culminates in disillusionment. There was once love, but by the end it is gone. Passion, lust, happiness—all are gone. A shattering of dreams, a disillusionment—a coming of age and a taking off of rose-colored glasses from 1930’s Hong Kong to finally see the bleakness of 1980’s Hong Kong. Surprisingly, however, we are also simultaneously satisfied, because Fluer has finally gained closure and moved on. This effect—this mixing of emotions, feeling torn between old and new Hong Kong, and hanging in limbo between the two romantic storylines—is the masterful effect Kwan created with a film full of juxtapositions, contrasts, and parallels.