Book contents
- Frontmatter
- Contents
- List of Figures
- Dedication
- Acknowledgements
- Introduction
- Part I From the Past: Subjectivity, Memory and Narrative
- Part II In the Present: Camera, Documentary and Performance
- Conclusion: China's Luckless but Hopeful Angels of History
- Notes
- Selected Filmography and Bibliography
- Index
Introduction
Published online by Cambridge University Press: 05 September 2016
- Frontmatter
- Contents
- List of Figures
- Dedication
- Acknowledgements
- Introduction
- Part I From the Past: Subjectivity, Memory and Narrative
- Part II In the Present: Camera, Documentary and Performance
- Conclusion: China's Luckless but Hopeful Angels of History
- Notes
- Selected Filmography and Bibliography
- Index
Summary
In the summer of 1966, a young Chinese worker makes a decision that is going to change his life and that of his family. He swims down the Yangtze River, calcu-lating his strokes in such a way that he would arrive in the waters of Wuhan on 16 July. Chairman Mao, at the age of seventy-three, had his swim there that day as a famous message to the world: he was still robust and strong enough to be the leader of the state. Three weeks later, the Cultural Revolution started. However, the pious young worker arrives one day too late and misses the Great Leader. At around the same time, his wife gives birth to their son. After returning to Sichuan where he works and lives, the man lies about his experience, elevating it to an enviable tale of his meeting with Mao. He soon becomes the head of the local ‘rebel faction’ (zaofan pai) in the Cultural Revolution, which in his city deteriorates into armed fights between factions that all claim to be Mao's devoted followers and guards. Bullets fly, weapons strike and limbs thrash about, killing and injuring many. The man becomes increasingly violent at home as well, submitting his wife and son to frequent abuse. The young boy grows up with accumulating hatred and pain.
Such is the background of Born in 1966 (Shengyu 1966), an unrealised screenplay by the film critic Cheng Qingsong (b. 1968), who edited My Camera Doesn't Lie (Wo de sheyingji bu sahuang) – a quintessential dossier of Sixth Generation filmmakers of China. In my interview with him in November 2005, Cheng spoke in particular about the ending of the story. The son, also the first-person narrator, finds himself aboard a ship on the Yangtze River. The year is again 1966, but the narrator is at the same age as his father when he made his fateful swim. The ship is about to depart. A young man yells from the bank, ‘Wait, please wait!’ The narrator, recognising the man as his father, helps him to get onboard. Unaware who the helper really is, the young father offers him a cigarette. ‘Are you going to Wuhan?’ asks the narrator.
- Type
- Chapter
- Information
- Memory, Subjectivity and Independent Chinese Cinema , pp. 1 - 22Publisher: Edinburgh University PressPrint publication year: 2014