Hong Kong’s Final Cut?

HONG KONG — Pursued by police, an assassin drives higher and higher into the night-shrouded mountains above Hong Kong. The island’s towering cityscape falls away below him. He pulls over to the side of the road. Lighting a cigarette, the killer gazes out at the sea of lights that has come to symbolize one of the world’s most dynamic cities.

“I never realized how beautiful Hong Kong looks at night,” he says. “But something so beautiful can disappear so quickly.”

Those lines uttered by actor Chow Yun-Fat may seem to some more prophetic now than at any other time since the 1986 release of “A Better Tomorrow.” When director John Woo’s film premiered in Hong Kong, it spawned a new genre of filmmaking characterized by ultra-violent crime stories and fast-paced editing and came to influence a generation of Hollywood filmmakers. But as July 1 approaches, another new wave is about to sweep over the island--one marked not by a flourishing of artistic vision but by the unpredictable rule of Communist authorities.

On that date, the colony will be handed back to China after 156 years of British rule. And like many others, members of the Hong Kong movie industry--the world’s third-largest behind those of India and the United States--are waiting to see whether they can thrive under the new regime. The questions they face are emblematic of those confronting the entire colony. Hong Kong’s media outlets are grappling with issues of censorship, both self-imposed and mandated by China. But movies also mean big business, and many in the industry hope the hand-over will present new opportunities in the mainland marketplace.

“Once they open up the China market, a lot of Chinese studios will get involved with Hong Kong production companies,” actor Chow predicts. “A lot of independent production houses will produce stories which will be suitable for Hong Kong and mainland China. Movies will be shown in all of China. I’m very glad that China’s government will take over the Hong Kong government and open up opportunities for Hong Kong filmmakers.”

At 42, Chow is one of Asia’s most popular actors, his baby-face grin known from Shanghai to Jakarta. After “A Better Tomorrow” launched him to overnight fame, he became the most sought-after actor in Hong Kong. His roles in John Woo’s action movies are partly responsible for elevating Hong Kong cinema to cult status in America.

So why does Chow talk about opening up more opportunities? The answer lies in the plight of today’s industry. Like many of Hong Kong’s institutions, its movie industry was founded out of a need to escape the mainland’s poverty and political instability. Its roots can be traced to 1930s Shanghai, where a burgeoning film industry gained a reputation as the Hollywood of the East.

But as China’s political tumult worsened--from the Japanese invasion of World War II to Mao Tse-tung’s repressive Cultural Revolution of the 1960s and early ‘70s--directors either filmed government propaganda or were forced to abandon their personal visions. With intellectuals and artists often facing persecution, many filmmakers through the decades fled to Hong Kong.

It was here that Sir Run Run Shaw and his brothers, newly arrived from Singapore, set up their Clearwater Bay studio and began churning out swordplay epics. Although their work reached a wide overseas Chinese audience, it wasn’t until the 1970s, with the advent of the Golden Harvest studio and its martial-arts star Bruce Lee, that the industry achieved international recognition. These action movies propelled Hong Kong to the top ranks of the international film market. At its peak in 1993, the industry produced more than 200 films.

But three years ago, audiences here simply stopped flocking to see Cantonese films. Hong Kong’s Motion Picture Industry Assn. reports that local film revenues last year amounted to $85 million, a sharp drop from the $155 million of 1992. But the market share of imports has more than doubled in the past four years--to 46% in 1996 from 20% in 1992. When American heartthrob Keanu Reeves drew longer lines than home-grown matinee idols, local filmmakers knew something had gone wrong.

The dismal state has been attributed to rising star salaries, higher ticket prices and the proliferation of VCRs and karaoke bars. But many industry insiders cite another cause--low-quality movies partly motivated by the July 1 hand-over. With the future of Hong Kong in doubt, many filmmakers adopted a get-rich-quick mentality. Studios slapped together movies in assembly-line fashion, often banking on the selling power of their stars. It became increasingly difficult to distinguish conscious self-parody from unintentional kitsch.

“The height of the industry, from the mid-’80s to the early ‘90s, was a bubble economy, especially when you don’t have studios pushing for things 10 to 20 years down the stream,” says director Peter Chan. “Studios were shortsighted. They were making quick money on bad copies of good movies. Filmmakers turned independent because they could negotiate films on their own--not to make better films but to make more films for more money. There’s a mentality of the whole Hong Kong population from 1993 to 1995. People just wanted to make as much money as they could before 1997 so they could get the hell out of there.”

In 1991, actor Chow’s agent and producer foretold the impending collapse of Hong Kong cinema. They signed him with the top Los Angeles agency William Morris, which began looking at Hollywood scripts. After finding one that held promise, Chow, like many of the directors he has worked with, packed his bags and flew to Los Angeles.

His first Hollywood movie, “The Replacement Killers,” will be released early next year by Columbia Pictures. He stars opposite Mira Sorvino in a role familiar to his fans--a modern-day samurai who lives by a code of honor.

“July 1 didn’t affect my decision to move here at all,” Chow insists in a telephone interview from his new Westwood home. “It’s very important for me to go back to Hong Kong for the hand-over. We’ve been under British control for more than 150 years. It’s a tremendous moment for the Hong Kong people.”

A CHANCE TO STRETCH

Chow’s eagerness to continue working in Hong Kong half the year reflects his optimism in the territory’s future. When Chow flies back this summer, he plans to scope out projects with directors in Hong Kong, mainland China and maybe Taiwan. He believes the hand-over will mean even more cross-border cooperation in filmmaking. And he already has two favorite directors in mind--the mainland’s much-lauded Chen Kaige and Zhang Yimou. “Chen and Zhang’s movies have a very strong Chinese cultural feel,” Chow says. “Sometimes when I act in a lot of the commercial gangster movies, I want to do drama, to stretch my acting abilities.”

Chen’s and Zhang’s works couldn’t be farther from Hong Kong’s commercial fare. Their movies have won international festival awards and a dedicated following on the art-house circuit. But the films have been banned in China for addressing issues labeled sensitive by the Communist Party. Although many in Hong Kong’s industry may be loath to acknowledge it, the experience of these two directors points to an issue that filmmakers will have to confront after July 1--the shadow of government censorship looming over their productions.

“If censorship gets to the way it is in China, if it changes for Hong Kong, it will be a problem because filmmakers there are used to freedom,” actress Maggie Cheung said at this year’s San Francisco International Film Festival after striding out on stage wearing a black leather trench coat, black boots and a punkish buzz haircut--not exactly the party’s screen image of a model socialist woman. “Censorship will discourage filmmakers to make more personal films, ones that address political issues or films that are sexy. We’re all keeping our fingers crossed to see.”

The party has never been shy about censoring artistic works that question its politics or are deemed “spiritual pollution” because of their alleged depictions of moral bankruptcy. In 1994, China harshly criticized Hong Kong’s Legislative Council for dropping a law allowing censorship of any film that could “damage good relations with other territories.”

Blacklisted mainland director Tian Zhuangzhuang, responsible for the acclaimed “The Blue Kite,” has stopped directing movies. The party prevented directors Zhang Yimou and Zhang Yuan from going to the Cannes International Film Festival this year, the latter because his banned-in-China entry “East Palace, West Palace” depicts gay life in China. And in March, Propaganda Department head Ding Guangen said that filmmakers should produce more works depicting socialist ideals. To encourage compliance, he said, the party will keep a close watch on film development.

Wong Ain-Ling, a former programmer for the Hong Kong International Film Festival, says she often experienced pressure from the Beijing Film Bureau to withdraw illegally produced mainland films from the festival.

“We’ve had quite a number of problems,” Wong says. “We wanted to encourage more independent filmmaking. But the mainland Chinese side tends to interpret things on a political basis. They’ve expressed they’ve been unhappy with the festival and certain types of films. I think the festival will get more difficult to work with, but I guess my friends who are still working will try their best.”

TWO SETS OF RULES?

Even in mainstream cinema, filmmakers are beginning to wonder whether they will be able to continue getting their own movies past the Television and Entertainment Licensing Authority. The local censorship board’s guidelines are stricter than those in the U.S. but still allow room for the graphic violence and sex so prevalent in Hong Kong cinema. So far, under “one country, two systems,” Beijing has said nothing about changing these rules.

“The existing film censorship system and the freedom of expression as we now enjoy it will continue post-1997,” says Polly Ko, spokesperson for the board. “We do not take into consideration the views of any other governments including those of the Chinese government in our film classification system.”

But no mainland director has ever been allowed to make films dealing with controversial politics or the equivalent of Hong Kong’s Category III films, adults-only movies that indulge in soft porn and violence. And those Hong Kong directors who want to tap into the potentially lucrative Chinese audience will likely be more careful about addressing sensitive issues in their films--another manifestation of the self-censorship that has already gripped some of Hong Kong’s media outlets.

“If you’re satisfied with making films for the Hong Kong or international market, then you’re OK,” says director Peter Chan. “But the minute you want to satisfy China--the big fat China market--you’ll run into trouble. You’ll fall into Chinese censors. You can’t have your cake and eat it too.”

For the most part, Hong Kong filmmakers opt to make crowd-pleasing fare rather than tackling political issues. But those few auteurs filming sensitive subjects may suffer the same fate as the mainland’s banned directors. Critics favorite Wong Kar-Wai, who was named best director this year at Cannes for his gay-themed “Happy Together,” has said he will continue making movies legally or illegally. He has acknowledged some concern about the party rule that says Chinese censors have to approve a pre-production script and the film’s final cut for all films shot on the mainland.

EIGHTEEN LOST MINUTES

Mabel Cheung is one Hong Kong director who is all too aware of the gravity of these restrictions. Sitting in one of Golden Harvest’s air-conditioned offices, she talks eagerly about how her recent release “The Soong Sisters” almost never made it to the screen after running afoul of mainland censors.

Her movie heroically portrays Soong Meiling, the wife of Chiang Kai-shek, who led the Nationalists in their losing war with the Communists. After Cheung finished shooting on the mainland, Beijing censors reviewed the final print and demanded that several scenes involving Soong, as well as the entire ending, which used actual documentary footage of the Communist Revolution, be cut. The censors’ demands caught Cheung by surprise--her script had been approved by the Beijing Film Bureau before shooting began.

“Last year, they tightened everything,” Cheung says. “Censorship in China changes as the political situation changes. I felt very bad about what they had done, but I tried to reassemble everything, for the sake of the movie. They told me this film was very controversial in China and that I was lucky to get a permit to shoot it in the first place.”

After receiving the censors’ verdict, Cheung sat for a week in the falling snow outside the committee’s offices until they eventually heard her case. The censors released the film only after she agreed to cut 18 minutes of footage, although they insisted that the crucial end scenes be excised. Cheung says that after the controversy, the Chinese government has passed a new rule stating that all films shot on the mainland about historical Chinese figures can be made only by mainland directors and must not involve foreign funding.

“After the experience I had with this movie, I won’t make a movie with a political background,” Cheung says. “I would love to go back to China to make movies because they have very good actors, professionals and locations. But I won’t make political movies for the time being until I know it’s changed.”

Cheung says Golden Harvest will also be more careful about what movies it backs. It has plans for business ventures on the mainland, including opening a high-tech theater chain in Shanghai. Many studios also hope the hand-over will mean more screenings of Hong Kong films in mainland theaters; the Chinese government currently allows only 10 foreign movies, including Hong Kong productions, into mainland theaters each year. The success of Hong Kong movies like martial-arts star Jackie Chan’s “Drunken Master II,” the top-grossing 1994 movie in China, points to a mainland audience gold mine.

“Now that we’re getting closer to [the hand-over], we’re seeing a reemergence of the studio system,” says Peter Chan. “They want to plan for the long term. People who want to go have gone. People who want to stay are looking at the future.”

‘HOLLYWOOD ISN’T HOME’

Chan is among the most celebrated of Hong Kong’s new generation of auteurs. In April, his 1996 feature “Comrades, Almost a Love Story” swept the Hong Kong Film Awards with nine wins. By age 34, he has made 15 films and directed seven of them. And like directors John Woo and Tsui Hark, he is being courted by Hollywood.

After wrapping up “Comrades” in Hong Kong, Chan decided to take a year off to search out American projects. He wants to capitalize on the type of big-budget filmmaking that only Hollywood can provide. Producers in the States have expressed interest in remaking several of his romantic comedies for an American audience. But even with the hand-over, the young director says his most passionate filmmaking awaits him back home.

“The changeover to China did influence my move here to Hollywood. I wouldn’t shy away from saying that,” Chan acknowledges in an interview in the Beverly Hills offices of his stateside manager. “But I’m still as much a Hong Kong native. I don’t want to mix two very different things--the films I make in Asia and what I do here. What I do there is something very close to my origins and my roots overseas. Being Chinese is still being Chinese. To us, Hollywood isn’t home.”

At a time when Hong Kong is poised to reunite with the motherland, Chan wants to keep his options open, looking to both East and West for artistic and financial inspiration.

“Hong Kong will remain a unique place. Hong Kong will still be Hong Kong no matter what,” he says. “Everybody in Hong Kong goes into this new age with an open mind and the best of intentions, hoping everything will turn out for the best. It’s not fair to say it’s going to be better just as it’s not fair to say it’ll be [bad].”

NIGHT FOR NOSTALGIA

Mabel Cheung has already begun planning a love story exploring the confusion that afflicts Hong Kong residents who grew up under colonialism but face an uncertain future with China.

“It will be about a kind of lost generation who don’t know what the future holds,” she says. “Although I don’t like the British, I don’t like China either. With the coming of July 1, I don’t know whether I’ll be happy or sad. But I know I’ll be nostalgic on that night.”

That final hour will find Cheung standing on a rooftop overlooking Hong Kong harbor, shooting the first footage for her film. Her camera will be aimed at the grandest set piece Hong Kong cinema has ever seen: the hand-over ceremonies themselves, when the Chinese flag unfurls above the former crown colony, the last British governor sails into the twilight, and thousands of fireworks launch into the night sky. They will explode with brilliance before disappearing into the darkness, like the last luminescent glow on a celluloid screen.