"Yang Ban Xi: The 8 Model Works" is a fascinating look at the impact of cultural propaganda on the participants, the resisters and the different generations in the audience.
Outside of China, we had heard how Mao Tse Tung's wife, former actress and later labeled as Gang of 4 conspirator Jiang Qing, had been the force behind propaganda presentations, but in the West we had neither gotten to see them nor understood that they were the only performances allowed, both in live theater and as films.
A highlight of this documentary, especially as seen in a theater, is the excerpts in faded Technicolor. Because they are surprisingly good. They did not follow the Soviet Socialist realism style, but rather were inspired by Hollywood. Discounting the silent film style superficial acting, which isn't that different from operatic acting anyway, and the lyrical worship of Mao, the talent on display is enormously appealing, especially the dancing and the instantly earworm melodies that also incorporated musical elements from the Beijing Opera. But it is striking how much they drew on MGM and other musicals; many of the women seem to do identical moves as Cyd Charisse. How different is equating Mao's victories to the glory of the rising sun than that paean to capitalism at the height of the Depression of Ginger Rogers dressed only in a large silver dollar in "Golddiggers of 1933" singing "We're in the Money"? And the Democrats used "Happy Days are Here Again" from the 1930 "Chasing Rainbows" as a theme song for decades. George Orwell had Big Brother's minions create politically correct pop songs in "1984".
While the excerpts are interspersed throughout the documentary, writer/director Yan Ting Yuen, who we hear on screen frequently asking quite pungent questions, does not tell their story just chronologically. We meet people today of various generations and only gradually is it revealed what their direct or ironic connection is to the people and productions of the model works. The people in their '60's range from dancers, conductor, writer to censored (and punished) lyricist to performers of the Beijing Opera who lost their livelihoods when traditional arts were banned. Though not having been able to perform for almost 20 years (we see the impact of the political winds changing again), the dancers' marvelous kinesthetic memories recall the divas in "Ballet Russes" as they put youngsters to shame in their expressiveness. (One confides to the camera: "They're all so young! I'm 57 and they're 17!" then she outshines them.)
The people in their '30's who are now benefiting from the loosened economy remember the difficulties of the Cultural Revolution nostalgically, as we saw in "Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress (Xiao cai feng)", including the guys preferring the work where the dancers were wearing shorts, revealing legs usually banned from sight. I was curious if man on the street reactions would have gotten the same musical memories as some interviews that seem staged or if Germans felt the same way about Leni Riefenstahl's films. The horrors of this period are not glossed over, however, as filmed scenes of the violence are included.
The very contemporary teen agers are the most fun, as we see them pursue their musical and dance interests that would have been banned, from folk lore to rock 'n' roll and disco clubs. Very similar to Jennifer Garner's time traveling reenactment of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" choreography in "13 Going On 30" or Janet Jackson bringing back Cab Calloway in the Simon Temple-directed video for "Alright," the very talented kids stage two reinterpretations of the model works that are enchanting, even though they are quite obviously done only for this film.
This staginess also intrudes in having a fictionalized silhouette and voice of Jiang Qing explain her purposes. While we are used to having actors take on the voices of famous people from Ken Burns' documentaries, these are not exact quotes but loosely based on information from Ross Burrill's biography "Madame Mao: The White-Boned Demon". This weakness is accented when we finally do see the dragon lady herself in a very brief video at her trial where she's even more formidable than fictionalized. Has no other audio or video of her survived?
Though an effort is made for the English subtitles to be legible, the thin yellow lettering is frequently unreadable against pale backgrounds. Some words seem quizzically translated.
What a shame that though this was being shown just down Houston Street from Chinatown at NYC's Film Forum there were no Chinese-Americans in the audience among the handful at a matinée.
Outside of China, we had heard how Mao Tse Tung's wife, former actress and later labeled as Gang of 4 conspirator Jiang Qing, had been the force behind propaganda presentations, but in the West we had neither gotten to see them nor understood that they were the only performances allowed, both in live theater and as films.
A highlight of this documentary, especially as seen in a theater, is the excerpts in faded Technicolor. Because they are surprisingly good. They did not follow the Soviet Socialist realism style, but rather were inspired by Hollywood. Discounting the silent film style superficial acting, which isn't that different from operatic acting anyway, and the lyrical worship of Mao, the talent on display is enormously appealing, especially the dancing and the instantly earworm melodies that also incorporated musical elements from the Beijing Opera. But it is striking how much they drew on MGM and other musicals; many of the women seem to do identical moves as Cyd Charisse. How different is equating Mao's victories to the glory of the rising sun than that paean to capitalism at the height of the Depression of Ginger Rogers dressed only in a large silver dollar in "Golddiggers of 1933" singing "We're in the Money"? And the Democrats used "Happy Days are Here Again" from the 1930 "Chasing Rainbows" as a theme song for decades. George Orwell had Big Brother's minions create politically correct pop songs in "1984".
While the excerpts are interspersed throughout the documentary, writer/director Yan Ting Yuen, who we hear on screen frequently asking quite pungent questions, does not tell their story just chronologically. We meet people today of various generations and only gradually is it revealed what their direct or ironic connection is to the people and productions of the model works. The people in their '60's range from dancers, conductor, writer to censored (and punished) lyricist to performers of the Beijing Opera who lost their livelihoods when traditional arts were banned. Though not having been able to perform for almost 20 years (we see the impact of the political winds changing again), the dancers' marvelous kinesthetic memories recall the divas in "Ballet Russes" as they put youngsters to shame in their expressiveness. (One confides to the camera: "They're all so young! I'm 57 and they're 17!" then she outshines them.)
The people in their '30's who are now benefiting from the loosened economy remember the difficulties of the Cultural Revolution nostalgically, as we saw in "Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress (Xiao cai feng)", including the guys preferring the work where the dancers were wearing shorts, revealing legs usually banned from sight. I was curious if man on the street reactions would have gotten the same musical memories as some interviews that seem staged or if Germans felt the same way about Leni Riefenstahl's films. The horrors of this period are not glossed over, however, as filmed scenes of the violence are included.
The very contemporary teen agers are the most fun, as we see them pursue their musical and dance interests that would have been banned, from folk lore to rock 'n' roll and disco clubs. Very similar to Jennifer Garner's time traveling reenactment of Michael Jackson's "Thriller" choreography in "13 Going On 30" or Janet Jackson bringing back Cab Calloway in the Simon Temple-directed video for "Alright," the very talented kids stage two reinterpretations of the model works that are enchanting, even though they are quite obviously done only for this film.
This staginess also intrudes in having a fictionalized silhouette and voice of Jiang Qing explain her purposes. While we are used to having actors take on the voices of famous people from Ken Burns' documentaries, these are not exact quotes but loosely based on information from Ross Burrill's biography "Madame Mao: The White-Boned Demon". This weakness is accented when we finally do see the dragon lady herself in a very brief video at her trial where she's even more formidable than fictionalized. Has no other audio or video of her survived?
Though an effort is made for the English subtitles to be legible, the thin yellow lettering is frequently unreadable against pale backgrounds. Some words seem quizzically translated.
What a shame that though this was being shown just down Houston Street from Chinatown at NYC's Film Forum there were no Chinese-Americans in the audience among the handful at a matinée.