Contested Images of China, Japan, and Russia: Landscape and Language in Purple Sunset (2001)
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1-2 _________________________________________________________ Contested Images of China, Japan, and Russia: Landscape and Language in Purple Sunset (2001) Yingjin Zhang Abstract This paper analyzes the innovative ways in which film director Feng Xiaoning contests conventional images of China, Japan, and Russia and resituates racial identities at a life-and-death threshold at the end of WWII in Purple Sunset (2001). The spectacular natural landscape of Northeast China (or Manchuria) provides an unusual stage for three isolated human beings (a male Chinese laborer, a Japanese schoolgirl, and a female Russian soldier) who are lost in the wilderness and struggle to outsmart their enemies and outgrow their predesignated identities, and their different uses of language heighten the fragility of human communication and existence. The outcome is at once tragic and heroic, and the film succeeds in capturing the beauty of life and death and the contested nature of memory and identity. Keywords landscape, language, images, memory, China, Japan, Russia, war film Introduction: Staging the Purple Sunset Near the end of Purple Sunset (dir. Feng Xiaoning 2001), the battle is over, and Nadja (Anna Dzenilalova), a female Russian army nurse, admires the beautiful sunset—“Look at the sunset; it’s purple,” she says in Russian. Against the huge glowing sun, we see the silhouettes of Japanese POWs throwing down their guns one by one. The soundtrack switches to English as we hear a radio announcement: “After this inhuman war, peace returns to the world. All races, the white, the yellow, and the black of all beliefs can live together peacefully to build a new world. In that world, people will respect each others’ life and dignity.” The symbolism of the sunset, referenced in the film’s title and captured several times at critical moments in the film, can hardly escape the viewer, for its breathtaking beauty at once signals the end of one era and the beginning of another. Within the film’s diegesis, World War II has just ended, and the era of peace is announced to have arrived in which surrendered Japanese POWs as well as Japanese civilians are going home. Yet, the purple sunset is staged here not so much as a joyful celebration of the victory of China and Russia over Japan as a somber reflection on the indescribable human costs of the war, as evident in the final on-screen list of 74 million wartime deaths in major countries, including 2 million in Japan, 6 million in Poland, 7 million in Germany, 20 million in the former Soviet Union, and 35 million in China. - 15 - Yingjin Zhang Alongside the public acknowledgment of tragic numbers, traumatic private remembrances persist. Yang (Fu Dalong), an able-bodied male Chinese laborer forced to work in the Japanese concentration camp who has survived acts of war atrocity one after another, has no family to return to. The film’s ending sequences cut to Yang in his old age, holding a Japanese female doll-head music box (bayinhe), which originally belonged to Akiyok (Chie Maeda), a Japanese schoolgirl who grew up in Northeast China (or Manchuria, as preferred in the Japanese parlance then) and was ruthlessly gunned down by a Japanese officer after the announcement of Japan’s unconditional surrender in August 1945. The image of old Yang holding the music box also appears at the very beginning of the film and thus bookends the entire narrative, encoding Yang as an aging, inarticulate witness to the fragility of human memory. After Yang’s death, the music box is re- turned according to his wish to the Northeast wilderness, gradually buried under a flurry of golden maple leaves. Objects of human memory may perish, but the natural landscape remains resilient and vital, composing an image of transcendence beyond national, racial, and linguistic barriers. It is my contention that the war film constitutes a public arena of remembrance in which contending parties—from rival nation-states to rivals within a nation-state and generations of artists and audiences—produce, exhibit, and receive war images and narratives in their respective efforts to reshape history and memory and to reassert their agency and identities in drastically different sociopolitical environments. By emphasizing screen images as acts of remembrance, I am following Jay Winter’s recommendation that we “shift from the term ‘memory’ to the term ‘remembrance’ as a strategy” to rethink “the notion of memory as unstable, plastic, synthetic, and repeatedly reshaped” (Winter 2006: 3-4). As with many other national cinemas, Chinese cinema has propagated certain images of public memory and national identity; as with memory and identity, screen images are unstable, plastic, and repeatedly reshaped. Through a survey of war film in Chinese cinema and an analysis of Purple Sunset, I draw attention to the intricate ways in which private remembrances on the Chinese screen corroborate, challenge, or subvert officially sanctioned collective memory in China. In Purple Sunset, conventional images of China, Japan, and Russia are revisited, and racial identities are reshaped during a life-and-death struggle at the end of World War II, a struggle that heightens the contested nature of memory and identity, foregrounds the gap between language and culture, but ultimately aspires to a transcendent view of natural landscape. War Film: Paradigms of Nationalism, Patriotism, and Heroism A brief survey of war film in China in this section is meant to help us understand the formation of public memory and conventional images in the twentieth century. For people familiar with war film in China, the dominance of official history and collective memory is all too obvious. In terms of large-scale warfare, Chinese cinema covers the following: (1) the War of Resistance against Japan (kangri zhanzheng or the Second Sino-Japanese War; hereafter “the Resistance War”) in 1937-1945, which devastated much of China’s territory (Zhou and Zhang 1995); - 16 - Contested Images of China, Japan, and Russia (2) the Civil War between the Communists and the Nationalists in 1945-1949, which concluded with the former’s victory on the mainland and the latter’s retreat to the island of Taiwan; (3) the Korean War in 1950-1953, during which the Chinese “volunteer army” fought side by side with North Korea against South Korea and the U.S.-led United Nations troops. In terms of political interpretation, the Communists shared with the Nationalists (during the latter’s rule on the mainland before 1949 and in Taiwan from the 1950s through the 1990s) a sustained effort to glorify Chinese heroic resistance and to denounce Japanese wartime atrocities. However, the Nationalists became the arch-enemy when the Communists established the People’s Republic of China in 1949 and its state-own studios started to produce war films in large quantities in order to legitimatize its rule and indoctrinate its audiences.1 The Korean War provided the Communists with another stage to propagate its ideology of anti-imperialism and self-reliance in the socialist period of the 1950s-1970s, although films exclusively addressing this war would become increasingly fewer from the 1980s. As a genre, war film refers to “films about the waging of war in the twentieth century,” in which “scenes of combat are a requisite ingredient and these are dramatically central” (Neale 2000:125). In fact, “dramatic” and “central” are two appropriate words to describe much Chinese cinematic treatment of the Resistance War since the early 1930s, which typically aims to promote heroism and martyrdom in times of national crisis, and the trend continued from wartime through the postwar period in the late 1940s. When it comes to the socialist and immediate post-Mao periods, Chinese war films are dominated by what I elsewhere describe as the “paradigms of nationalism, patriotism, and heroism” (Zhang 2002: 182-85). Not surprisingly, the Chinese term “hero” (yingxiong) is prominently featured in several early socialist films: both Heroes of Lüliang Mountain (dir. Lü Ban and Yi Lin 1950) and New Story of Heroic Sons and Daughters (dir. Lü Ban and Shi Dongshan 1950) dramatize Chinese villagers’ resistance against Japanese invaders under Communist leadership. During the socialist period, war films could be further divided into two subcategories: (1) Communist hagiography and (2) military strategy. Daughters of China (dir. Ling Zifeng and Zhai Qiang 1949), which glorifies eight female resistant fighters in Northeast China who drown themselves in the Mudan River rather than letting themselves be captured by the Japanese, would join similar war films in an extended list of historical figures enshrined in the hall of fame by Communist screen hagiography. As for military strategy, From Victory to Victory (dir. Cheng Yin and Tang Xiaodan 1952) restaged major battles in the Civil War and paved the way for exhilarating combat films to come. Large-scale fighting and intricate military strategy would produce a “thriller cycle” (jingxian yangshi), which includes Reconnaissance across the Yangtze (dir. Tang Xiaodan 1954). Interestingly, twenty years later, when Chinese feature production was resumed after a hiatus in the early chaotic years of the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976), 1 Large state-own studios (for example, Beijing, Changchun, and Shanghai) were given annual quotas for war film productions from the early 1950s onward, and the August First Film Studio was established in 1952 to specialize in the production of war- and military-themed (junshi ticai) films (Zhang 2004: 189-99). - 17 - Yingjin Zhang Reconnaissance across the Yangtze (dir. Tang Huada and Tang Xiaodan 1974) and From Victory to Victory (dir. Cheng Yin and Wang Yan 1974) were two prominent color remakes in the war film genre that were judged politically safe by studios and artists in a precarious time besieged by ultraleftist ideology. Similarly, Guerillas on the Plain (dir.