Hong Kong Shooting for Screen Comeback

When director Peter Chan heard about Walt Disney Co.’s recent tussle with China over a film on the exiled Dalai Lama, he was hardly surprised.

After all, in recent months Hong Kong’s leading movie makers--who led the charge into mainland China--have quietly suffered far greater censorship by Beijing officials, including having their films banned, slashed and sanitized.

In this cinematic version of the ancient Chinese torture, “death by a thousand cuts,” it is celluloid rather than skin that has felt the sharp blade of China’s censors.

But where Hollywood sees government repression, these Hong Kong artists see opportunity. Like many others who plan to remain here after control of this British colony reverts to China in July, they believe they have more to gain than lose from their giant Communist neighbor, even at the hands of China’s dreaded Ministry of Propaganda.

Besides, Chan has not made any films about such politically volatile subjects as China’s banishment of the Dalai Lama, the popular Tibetan leader, or the 1989 massacre in Beijing’s Tiananmen Square. And he doesn’t particularly want to.

He would rather dissect human emotions at the most personal level. Obsessive love, thwarted dreams, the absurdity of Chuppie (Chinese yuppie) angst.

“We’re just not very political people,” explained Chan, whose latest hit, “Comrades, Almost a Love Story,” portrays the on-again, off-again relationship between two mainland immigrants.

Censorship is hardly the worst problem facing Hong Kong filmmakers. They have suffered a sharp decline in popularity in their traditional Chinese-language markets in recent years because of a deluge of poor-quality films and growing competition from Hollywood blockbusters, low-cost video rentals and karaoke lounges.

At its peak in 1993, Hong Kong produced 234 feature films, according to the Hong Kong, Kowloon & New Territories Motion Picture Industry Assn. Last year, that number had plummeted to 116.

Although a few popular action directors such as Jackie Chan, Ringo Lam, John Woo and Tsui Hark are launching careers in the West, most agree the resurrection of Hong Kong’s troubled industry will be found not in Hollywood but in Beijing, Taipei, Singapore and Manila.

After all, it is the Chinese-speaking diaspora of 57 million people that allowed this tiny outcropping to create the world’s third-largest film industry, behind the U.S. and India. And it is that same market--plus China, the world’s most populous country--that has the box-office potential to bring Hong Kong’s film industry back from the brink of irrelevance.

Driven by that hope, Hong Kong filmmakers are pushing their worst fears aside and plunging ahead with plans for Chinese co-productions, new theaters in Beijing and Shanghai and avenues of creative expression that will not alienate what promises to become their most important audience--China.

“If you’re talented enough, there must be some way to say what you want to say. Just try not to point your finger at somebody and yell,” said director Lam, who recently completed his first Hollywood movie, “Maximum Risk,” starring Jean-Claude van Damme.

Low-Cost Filmmaking

Pragmatism has long been a hallmark of Hong Kong, which developed its commanding presence in the entertainment world by leveraging a few big talents into a low-cost filmmaking machine.

Hong Kong’s movie industry dates to the 1930s and ‘40s, when mainland filmmakers began moving their operations across the border to escape the political turmoil leading up to the Communist takeover of China.

But it wasn’t until the 1970s and ‘80s that the British colony became a world-class movie machine, dominating the Chinese-speaking world with the productions of two giants, Sir Run Run Shaw, founder of Shaw Bros., and Raymond Chow, the Golden Harvest chairman who turned kung fu artists Chan and Bruce Lee into global legends.

In the 1980s, several filmmakers started their own ventures, the most famous of which was Cinema City, the now-defunct home of Woo, Lam and Hark.

Savvy Hong Kong filmmakers initially saw the potential for building audiences in Taiwan, the Philippines, Singapore, Indonesia, Malaysia and ethnic Chinese communities in North America, Australia and Europe. They bankrolled their films by pre-selling the distribution rights--offering their products dubbed in Mandarin, Cantonese, Tagalog and other languages.

By shooting close to home, keeping salaries low and moving quickly, they were able to complete the average film in less than three months for less than $129,000.

Even a high-budget Jackie Chan movie like last year’s “Rumble in the Bronx”--which has grossed more than $32 million in the U.S. alone--cost less than $15 million to produce. The average Hollywood film costs $54 million to make.

Hong Kong earned its reputation as the action genre capital of the world--and the admiration of such Western filmmakers as Quentin Tarantino and Oliver Stone--by guaranteeing its fans a heart-pumping mix of death-defying stunts, high-voltage action and emotional intrigue. Trick photography was often used, although a few actors including Chan are known for doing their own stunts.

But while Hong Kong films occasionally garnered international awards, most were better described as examples of fast-food movie-making. The pressure to play it safe and profitable led to a deluge of look-alike films, whether action-thriller, romantic comedy, swordsmen drama or ghost story. Filming often started before the script was finished. Popular actors juggled several productions at once.

Director Gordon Chan, who got his start at Shaw Bros., spent several years as a freelance scriptwriter working for less money than a secretary. Once he mastered the formula, he could churn out scripts, finishing one in a record 24 hours.

His first major directing hit, “The Yuppie Fantasia,” was shot in the late 1980s on a budget of $833,000 and grossed $20.5 million at the box office. But even after a few successes, he had a tough time getting financing for projects that ran counter to the filmmaking flavor of the day.

“People weren’t talking about creativity,” he said. “They were talking about trying to find something that [makes money].”

The Hong Kong industry’s biggest allure--and some say its downfall--was its reputation as a place to make and hide large sums of money. That attracted the attention of less honorable types, including the triads--the ancient Chinese criminal societies that have traditionally prospered off gambling, prostitution, extortion and smuggling.

Detective Chief Inspector Mark Ford McNicol of the Royal Hong Kong Police said most of the triads that got into movies were looking for another way to make a fast buck, although a few took filmmaking seriously.

Charles Heung, a former actor and son of the alleged leader of the powerful Sun Yee On crime family, is chairman of Win’s Group. Win’s recently became one of Hong Kong’s largest entertainment companies with its acquisition of Star Entertainment, a public company specializing in karaoke laser discs.

Heung denies widespread rumors that he has triad ties, pointing out that he passed a “very strict” inspection by Hong Kong stock market regulators before being allowed to buy Star. Indeed, several people in the industry praised Heung as a strong supporter of quality filmmaking.

“He’s one of the good gangsters,” said one well-known director who has worked for Win.

But other alleged triad leaders used violence to muscle their way into the business, according to the police. In 1992, the violence escalated with the murders of two prominent producers and numerous incidents of extortion and threats. Armed thugs began delivering offers of employment to popular actors or directors.

Pursuing Crime Lords

The Hong Kong police special triad squad responded with pressure of its own, according to McNicol. In 1994, the government created a powerful disincentive when it passed a law that allowed the police to go after the legitimate financial assets of crime lords.

But many believe it was slumping box-office receipts that eventually drove most of the gangsters to greener pastures. By the mid-1990s, even the most loyal Chinese-speaking audiences were shunning Hong Kong offerings, particularly when the competition included flashy Hollywood films such as “Jurassic Park,” along with videos and karaoke lounges.

Hong Kong also began getting more competition for Chinese-speaking audiences from other parts of the world, including mainland China’s so-called Fifth Generation filmmakers Chen Kaige (“Temptress Moon,” “Farewell My Concubine”), Zhang Yimou (“Shanghai Triad,” “To Live”) and Tian Zhuangzhuang (“Blue Kite”).

And at the same time, Hollywood started to look across the Pacific, attracted by the untapped markets in Asia and the directing skills and budgetary talent found in filmmakers such as Woo, Lam and Hark. A new wave of Hong Kong filmmakers was also producing quirky comedies and art films that caught the eye of the West, such as Wong Kar-Wai’s stylized thriller “Chungking Express.”

For some of Hong Kong’s most talented or bankable, the West offered not only bigger salaries and filmmaking budgets but a welcome escape from the uncertainty of life after the hand-over.

“I really think we left at the end of the golden era for Hong Kong film,” said producer Terence Chang, who moved to Toronto seven years ago and has formed a production company with Woo. He is currently in Los Angeles producing “Face Off,” a Woo film starring John Travolta and Nicolas Cage.

But while Hollywood agents in Hong Kong are becoming as common as cellular phones, the number of Hong Kong filmmakers and actors who have successfully crossed the Pacific remains small. Yee Yin Leung, who represents popular actor Tony Leung (“The Lover”), said Hong Kong performers are limited by their lack of English skills and a dearth of good scripts offering strong roles for Asians and an international flavor.

A ‘Hungry’ Market

“The international market is hungry for that kind of story,” said Yee Yin Leung, the director of Hong Kong’s MCM Ltd., which has affiliates in London and Taipei.

Limited opportunities in the West are one reason Hong Kong’s beleaguered industry moved so quickly when mainland China began opening its doors in the early 1990s.

China’s appeal, in addition to its market of 1.2 billion potential moviegoers, was a vast array of exotic locations, low-cost labor and a pool of filmmaking talent chafing to be freed of government control. By 1995, companies like Golden Harvest, the Shaw Bros., Media Asia Group and others had signed numerous co-production deals and were investing in studios and cinemas on the mainland.

Then last spring, China’s door unexpectedly swung shut again, catching even the most seasoned Hong Kong entertainment executives by surprise. Fearful that the growing popularity of Western films would undermine domestic movie makers as well as socialism, the government launched a campaign against “spiritual pollution” in the industry.

Making or distributing a film in China has become extremely difficult for foreigners. Even films being co-produced with state-owned companies and the military were held up or banned for unexplained reasons. And discussions over the construction of theme parks and movie theaters slowed to a crawl.

The list of taboo subjects included graphic sex and nudity, violence, gambling, marital infidelity, ghosts and the ridicule of officials.

Sometimes, the censorship bordered on the absurd. One Hong Kong filmmaker was told to cut a scene in which a policeman dives into a swimming pool and is electrocuted by an electric eel. Apparently, death by eel is not a respectable way for an officer to die.

In other cases, the political sensitivities were obvious. It took more than a year for Golden Harvest to get China’s go-ahead to distribute the “The Soong Sisters,” the tale of the sisters who married revolutionary leader Sun Yat-sen, Nationalist leader Chiang Kai-shek and powerful businessman and politician Kung Hsiang-hsi. And that was after Beijing had approved the script and filming was completed.

Golden Harvest executives--who have 10 films in the pipeline in China and four being filmed there--did not want to discuss the rumored censorship of “The Soong Sisters.” But Peter Tam, a director at Golden Harvest, said it is common for China’s censors to disagree with the way a film “interprets” history, particularly if the subject is controversial.

Other industry sources said “The Soong Sisters”--which is scheduled for release this year--suffered at least 72 cuts by the censors, including the removal of anything shedding a favorable light on Madame Chiang Kai-shek.

However, Tam and others pointed out that China is hardly the only country that controls its filmmakers. They described fierce battles with Hong Kong authorities over censorship of sex, violence and occasionally political content.

“I already have very strict censorship in Hong Kong, so I’m used to it,” said Ringo Lam, whose popular thriller “School on Fire” suffered significant editing by Hong Kong authorities because of concerns about glamorizing violence.

Gary Yeung, assistant commissioner at Hong Kong’s Television and Entertainment Licensing Authority, denied that his government’s censors are unnecessarily restrictive. But he acknowledged that some political censorship might have occurred before 1988, when Hong Kong adopted a four-tier rating system similar to the one used in the United States.

Yeung is confident that Hong Kong’s distribution and rating systems will remain unchanged after the hand-over, given China’s agreement to allow Hong Kong to retain its economic and political system. The Hong Kong government is sponsoring the territory’s first international film trade fair in March 1998.

There is no denying that Hong Kong filmmakers have survived by being nimble, whether the hurdles were a limited home market, language barriers or government censors. And they are counting on that nimbleness to ensure their success in a world where China, and not Britain, calls the shots.

‘Step Back and Wait’

When Beijing clamped down last year, Wellington Fung, general manager of Media Asia Distribution, shifted his energy to opening a distribution outlet in Taiwan. He wants his company, which owns the world’s largest library of Chinese-language films, to have several options for delivering films once China’s door swings back open--which he is confident will someday occur.

“Basically, we’ll just step back and wait” until China relaxes its grip, said Fung, whose company has co-produced four films in China, including the award-winning romance “A Mongolian Tale,” directed by the mainland’s Xie Fei.

Gordon Chan has already decided he could live with the worst and is hoping for the best after July. But that doesn’t make the months of uncertainty any easier for him, as a businessman or an idealist.

Will the people heading into Hong Kong’s theaters after the takeover want car crashes and chase scenes or a romantic comedy? Will they want to laugh or cry?

“How am I going to make films for people who don’t have dreams?” asked Chan, who is placing his current bets on an out-of-this-world science-fiction thriller. “Right now, they are having nightmares. They don’t know what to expect.”