[CN] Chapter 13 [CT] Cinema of Reindividuation and Cultural Extraterritoriality: “Chinese” Dialect Cinemas and Regional Politics [CA] Victor Fan “Chinese” cinemas, since the advent of sound, have been multilingual. Yet, we often use this term uncritically to describe our object of study, despite the fact that, as Rey Chow argues, it defines an epistemological space that has been historically configured by colonialism, Orientalism, and nationalism. “Chinese cinemas” thus erases contesting linguistic, cultural, ethnic, racial, geopolitical, and social values that circulate under the umbrella of “China,” “Chinese,” or “Chineseness.” 1 Alternative terms such as “ Chinese language cinema” and “ Sinophone cinema” have been proposed and debated. 2 However, most models assume a priori that the various topolects and languages used in Chinese cinemas are variations of a shared linguistic root. They have yet to 321
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[CN] Chapter 13
[CT] Cinema of Reindividuation and Cultural Extraterritoriality: “Chinese”
Dialect Cinemas and Regional Politics
[CA] Victor Fan
“Chinese” cinemas, since the advent of sound, have been multilingual. Yet, we often
use this term uncritically to describe our object of study, despite the fact that, as Rey
Chow argues, it defines an epistemological space that has been historically configured
by colonialism, Orientalism, and nationalism. “Chinese cinemas” thus erases
contesting linguistic, cultural, ethnic, racial, geopolitical, and social values that
circulate under the umbrella of “China,” “Chinese,” or “Chineseness.”1 Alternative
terms such as “Chinese language cinema” and “Sinophone cinema” have been
proposed and debated.2 However, most models assume a priori that the various
topolects and languages used in Chinese cinemas are variations of a shared linguistic
root. They have yet to fully examine how the relationship between a “dialect” and its
Chineseness has been constructed historically in the cinema, understood as a public
sphere––a space where contesting private opinions are shared, disseminated,
exchanged, and negotiated.3
In my research in the history and contemporary conditions of the Hong Kong
Cantonese cinema, I am especially fascinated with how a dialect cinema (a
contestable term) actively reimagines the relationship between the self and the other,
the regional and the national.4 In this chapter, I argue that dialect cinemas, as a form
of cultural extraterritoriality, insist within Chinese cinemas as a potential force that
resists the historical tendency to incorporate regional cinematic practices into a larger
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national imaginary. Rather, they engage themselves in a process of reindividuation by
performing the failure of any state or institutional attempts to contain these linguistic
practices within a national model. In the following pages, I will first introduce the
history of the Hong Kong Cantonese cinema and the critical debates around it. I will
then examine the theories that have been applied to this topic. Finally, I will explicate
my conceptual framework of extraterritoriality and use the film Duzhan (Dukzin/
Drug War, Johnnie To, 2013) as a case study of how contemporary Hong Kong
multilingual films function as a cinema of reindividuation.
[A] Dialect cCinemas before the 1960s
The term “national cinema” emerged in China in the 1920s.5 Between 1926 and
1928, the Kuomintang (KMT, aka Guomindang or Nationalist Party) under the
leadership of Chiang Kai-shek (Jiang Jieshi) was engaged in the Northern Expedition,
in an attempt to unify the eastern seaboard. The ideologues of the KMT adopted the
idea of political thinker Ch’en Kung-po (Chen Gongbo), who believed that in order to
fight against colonial capitalism in the urban areas, and feudalism in the rural regions,
the nation should be reconceived as a production machine, and each biological life
should be physically trained, educated, and disciplined as a national (guomin), a
mechanical component integral to the national apparatus.6
This idea was espoused by Ch’en Li-fu (Chen Lifu), head of the Central
Department of Propaganda (Zhongyang xuanchuan bu, established 1924), who
propounded that the state should mobilize national cinema to instill a national
consciousness into individual lives.7 Between 1930 and 1937, KMT’s Nanking
(Nanjing) government (1927–37) set up a system of committees, departments, and
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offices to regulate and manage film production, distribution, and censorship.8
Meanwhile, Peking (Beijing)-based theater-chain owner Lo Ming-yau (Luo Mingyou)
put together a merger between the China Sun (Minxin) Motion Picture Company, the
China Lilium (Da Zhonghua Baihe) Film Company, the Lo Hwa (Lehua) Film
Company, and his own Hwa Peh (Huabei) Film Company into the United Photoplay
Service or UPS (Lianhua Film Company), as a first step towards unifying the
Shanghai film industry.9
Nevertheless, the news that Cantonese-language films were being produced in
the Canton (Guangzhou)-Hong Kong region reached Shanghai in 1930.10 The
emergence of the Cantonese film was regarded as a business challenge to the
Shanghai film industry. Before the KMT promoted Mandarin as national language
(guoyu) in 1932, Mandarin films could only be understood in Shanghai, Peking, and
other northern cities. Meanwhile, Cantonese films could be marketed in the densely
populated and economically prosperous areas of Kwangtung (Guangdong), Kwangsi
(Guangxi), Fukien (Fujian), Hong Kong, Southeast Asia, and the diasporic
communities in North America and Europe.11 As a result, the Shanghai film industry
allied with the KMT cadres to try banning the production of Cantonese films, with the
excuse that dialect cinemas were detrimental to nation building. In spite of such an
accusation, studio executive Runje Shaw (Shao Zuiweng) moved his Shanghai
company Unique (Tianyi) to Hong Kong, renamed it the South Sea (Nanyang) Film
Company, and produced the Cantonese feature Bai Jinlong (Baak Gamlung or White
Golden Dragon, 1934). In response, Lo Ming-yau, Star’s executive Zhou Jianyun,
and other Shanghai filmmakers started a series of media tirades against the Cantonese
films, accusing them of being coarsely made and excessively produced (cuzhi lanzao).
Nonetheless, the Kwangtung-Kwangsi region was a semi-autonomous republic under
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the leadership of Hu Hanmin, whereas Hong Kong was a British Crown colony. The
KMT and the Shanghai film industry could do very little to control the situation.12
The death of Hu Hanmin in May 1936 finally allowed KMT’s Central
Department of Propaganda to send representatives to Canton to prepare for the ban. In
response, Cantonese filmmakers, led by Runje Shaw and director Lee Fa (Li Hua),
established the Association of Rescuing the Cantonese Film (Huanjiu Yuepian lianhe
xiehui or Waangau Jyutpin lyunhap hipwui). Shaw, Lee, and other filmmakers went
to Shanghai and Nanking to meet Lo Ming-yau, Zhou Jianyun, Ch’en Li-fu, and other
KMT ideologues in order to convince the government to postpone the ban. Shaw and
Lee argued that before Mandarin could be widely understood and spoken in the
Kwangtung-Kwangsi region and the diasporic communities, Cantonese cinema was a
much more effective tool to promulgate national consciousness.13 For the Shanghai
filmmakers and the KMT cadres, a nation is a centralized production machine
managed by the state. Meanwhile, for the Cantonese filmmakers, a nation is a
conglomeration of communities that speaks different languages and embraces
different sociopolitical beliefs,; and the cinema is a public sphere where contesting
notions of communal belonging are negotiated.
Such disagreement on how a nation should be defined has since then become a
determining factor in the way Cantonese cinema is positioned vis-à-vis the larger
national imagination. During the Sino-Japanese War (1937–45), the Central Studio
(Zhongyang zhipianchang) in Chungking (Chongqing) sent filmmakers Tsai Chu-sang
(Cai Chusheng) and Situ Huimin to Hong Kong to advocate the South China national
defense cinema (Huanan guofang dianying). Yet, despite the effort, period drama,
folktale films, gods and demons films, horror films, and erotic films dominated the
Cantonese market.14 After 1945, leftwing filmmakers who either worked under the
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sponsorship of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) or had socialist tendencies still
considered the Cantonese film an inferior cultural practice. However, around 1950
and 1951, the CCP decided not to take the sovereign authority over Hong Kong and
advocated the use of the Cantonese film as an educational tool to promote “soft”
socialist thoughts. The establishment of the Union Film Enterprise (Zhonglian
dianying gongsi or Zunglyun dinjing gungsi) in 1953, a cooperative operated by
Cantonese filmmakers and actors, helped shape leftwing Cantonese cinema into a
social-realist art form, until the production of Cantonese film was halted by a
recession in the 1960s.15
[A] Theorizing mMultilingualism in “Chinese” cCinemas
The gradual recession of the Cantonese film industry in the 1960s inspired film critics
to problematize the term “Chinese” cinemas. On October 6, 1967, Kam Ping-hing’s
(Jin Bingxing) article “Zhongguo xindianying de qiwang” (“Zunggwok sandinjing dik
keimong” or “My eExpectations for the nNew Chinese cCinema”) was published in
the Zhongguo xuesheng zhoubao (Zunggwok hoksaang zaubou or Chinese sStudents
wWeekly), a newspaper that features debates on politics, art, cinema, and literature.
Kam argues that Chinese cinema lacked any innovation not because of its “national
character”— – that is, cultural conservatism— – but because of the limitation of
industrial filmmaking and narrational codes, a problem common both in Hong Kong
and Hollywood.16
Kam’s criticism implicitly rejects the idea that a national cinema should be
defined by its “national character.” This inspired Lam Nin-tung (Lin Niantong) to
rethink Chinese cinema as an epistemological space. Lam points out that there were
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three terms used in the critical discourse at the time: national-language cinema,
Chinese cinema, and Chinese-language cinema. For him, the term national-language
cinema, used frequently to indicate Mandarin films, denotes only one kind of film
made by Chinese directors and effectively excludes Cantonese cinema as part of the
national discourse. Meanwhile, the term Chinese cinema fails to address the linguistic
differences among various regions and cultural spheres; it also ignores the political
contention between the People’s Republic of China (PRC) and the Republic of China
(ROC).17
Lam argues that the term Chinese-language cinema carries a conceptual
space derived from the English word “Chinese,” with its ambiguous reference to
language, culture, or nationality. Nonetheless, for Lam, while the concept of “Chinese
language” aptly describes the spoken and written language system (yuwen or jyuman)
used in these films, it fails to account for the actual dialogue (duibai or deoibaak)
spoken in them. Lam reminds his readers that the idea of the “Chinese language” is in
fact a constructed linguistic system based on Mandarin, but that in lived experience,
everybody speaks a regional language. Even someone from Beijing, who is supposed
to be a native Mandarin speaker, would still speak the local Beijing language. The
very idea of a Sinitic linguistic system that is internally coherent and unified is, for
Lam, a scholastic construction.18
In 1978, Lam raised this question again in “Wushi niandai yueyu pian yanjiu
zhong de jige wenti” (“Ngsap nindoi Jyutjyu pin jingau zung dik geigo mantai” or
“Several qQuestions on the sStudy of Cantonese cCinema in the 1950s”), published in
the film magazine Da texie (Daai dakse or Close-up). Lam argues that similar to
Mandarin cinema, Cantonese cinema should be considered a direct descendent of the
New literary movement (Xin wenxue yundong, 1919–21). As a result of the call for
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vernacularizing Chinese literature, intellectuals and writers employed regional
languages in their writings, before Mandarin was recognized as the standard in 1932.19
Lam considers Cantonese cinema in the 1950s as a public sphere that
negotiates the unique social and political conditions of the Hong Kong working class
by using its vernacular language:
[EXT] Most of the Cantonese films produced in the 1950s employed the
Cantonese language of the masses (Huanan dazhong yu or Waanaam
daaizung jyu), a vernacular Cantonese commonly used by the working class.
[We must acknowledge the Cantonese filmmakers’ focus] on not only the art
and culture of the masses, but also on the vernacular dialect culture and art of
the working class. It was a remarkable line of development out of the New
literary movement. From such a perspective, the renaissance of Cantonese
cinema [in the 1950s] should be studied with our attention to its [mass
vernacularism].20
Lam’s theorization of the Cantonese cinema presaged the debate on Chinese
cinemas that has taken hold in Euro-American film studies since the 1990s. A major
contention against the national cinema model is that the very concept of the nation
state has been historically a Euro-American construction. Its applicability in the
studies of Chinese cinema is often questionable, as notions such as nationality,
ethnicity, linguistic formation, and cultural discourse have been in various processes
of contestation under Euro-American colonialism, on the one hand, and, on the other,
under Chinese nationalism as a discourse and sociopolitical force constantly
responding to colonialism and postcolonialism.21 Chris Berry argues that the term
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national cinema is often taken as a preconceived notion that assumes a collective
agency, which then performs its constitutive power upon a cinematic practice:
[EXT] Drawing on theories of the performative, I will argue that the making
of “China” as national agency is an ongoing, dynamic, and contested project.
In a paradoxical fashion … the complex significations of the cinema
participate in the constitution of “China” as national agency by signifying the
existence of this collective entity prior to the very statements that constitute
them. However, the variety of such significations itself belies their frequent
significations of “China” as singular, essential, and naturalized, revealing
instead not that “China” is a nonexistent fiction but that it is a discursively
produced and socially and historically contingent collective entity. In this
sense, it is not so much China that makes movies, but movies that help to
make China.22
In the same volume, Rey Chow argues that Chineseness is constructed by
Sinologists as a fantasy of difference, first as the Other, as posited under the
Eurocentric gaze and epistemological system, then as the exceptional, as asserted by
Chinese scholastic and popular nationalistic discourses. Drawing from an observation
by Haun Saussy, Chow argues that such a myth of exceptionalism has been taken for
granted as an epistemological space in which fantasies are described, analyzed, and
understood as realities.23
The terms Chinese cinema, Chinese national cinema, and Chinese language
cinema therefore implicitly accept the constitutive power of the term “China” (or
“Chinese”) as a historically and sociopolitically naturalized entity, and its otherness
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with respect to Hollywood or even European cinemas. When these terms are pitted
against the term dialect cinema, the idea of the Chinese language as a scholastic
construction vested with the political power of constituting subjectivity is effectively
“put under erasure.”24 In this sense, Shu-mei Shih argues that the construction of
Chineseness is not only a nationalistic reaction against Euro-American colonialism,
but also a legacy of the Qing Empire’s (1644–1911) colonial conquests in its
“frontier” states (such as Tibet, Xinjiang, and Inner Mongolia), its settler colonialism
in Southeast Asia, and the construction of a belief that migrants who have been en
route to North America, South America and Europe are ultimately rooted in China as
a social, cultural and linguistic homeland.25
Shih suggests a replacement of the term “Chinese” in Chinese studies by
“Sinophone,” derived from the linguistic term Sinitic-Tibetan language and
modified by European colonial and postcolonial concepts of Francophone and
Anglophone spheres. It indicates our object of study as a construction, made out of a
history of Chinese and Euro-American colonialism, an active discourse of migration,
settlement and self-redefinition, and processes of resistance in some cases, and
integration in others. It “takes as its objects of study the Sinitic-language communities
and cultures outside China as well as ethnic minority communities and cultures
within China where Mandarin is adopted or imposed.”26 Sinophone studies can
therefore be understood as a scrutiny of the very process of negotiation between a
Mandarin hegemony and the constitutive and constituting forces that configure both
the communities under pressure and the hegemonic power itself.
Shih’s notion of the Sinophone takes the idea of the Sinitic language system as
a given, but also demands that we remind ourselves of the historical and sociopolitical
constructedness of such a concept. In literary studies, such conceptual tension is well
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instantiated since Shih’s initial object of study is the spoken and written language
(yuwen). The difference between the written script and its enunciation in literature is
precisely the locus along which such tension is negotiated. Yet, as Lam Nin-tung
argues, in the cinema, language is always already enunciated as dialogue. Throughout
its history, Cantonese cinema has put into question the very sense of belonging of
Cantonese to the Sinitic linguistic system by reminding its viewers of the failure of
any attempt to reduce it to a Sinitic script.27
[A] From tTheory to pPractice
I have recently used the term “cultural extraterritoriality” to theorize Hong Kong
cinema’s relationship with the larger national configuration.28 The term
“extraterritoriality” has its historical roots in a juridical mistranslation between the
Qing Empire (1644–1911) and the Euro-American nation- states. According to the
Qing codes, individuals had the right to be judged in court in accordance with the law
of the ethnic or geopolitical communities to which they belonged. When two
individuals from different communities were judged, a mixed court (huishen) would
be set up. Meanwhile, from the seventeenth century onward, European juridical
theorists believed that “Oriental” empires practiced legal systems that were
fundamentally incompatible with European law. Hence, they demanded that European
citizens have the right to be judged by the laws of their respective nation states. When
the United States demanded this in the Treaty of Wanghia (Wangxia), the Qing court
defined it as the right to be judged in a mixed court (huishen quan), whereas the
European nation states considered such rights a colonial privilege.29
Legal historians Pär Cassel and Teemu Ruskola argue that European
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colonialism in coastal China took the form of a complex and disorganized system of
extraterritorialities, which effectively eroded Chinese sovereignty.30 Mutually
conflicting extraterritorial rights were, in fact, the basis of what Shih would call
China’s semicolonialism: tTrading ports in late Qing and Republican China (1911–
49) were characterized by competing and fragmented legal systems, administrations,
linguistic formations, cultural discourses, and economic privileges.31 I argue that the
result is the configuration of an extraterritorial consciousness: a social, cultural, and
economic consciousness doubly or multiply occupied by conflicting notions of
identities and senses of belonging, each putting the other “under erasure.” The “extra”
in extraterritoriality does not indicate outsideness; rather, it refers to the contesting
and mutually incompatible notions that one is posited both outside the larger national
entity––or even, because of those colonial privileges and pleasures one enjoys or used
to enjoy, “above” the national community––and inside the sovereign authority which
one finds alienating.32
Cultural extraterritoriality, I propose, can help us rethink, rehearse, and
reconfigure the conflicting political affects, the senses of belonging and alienation,
that have shaped not only the postwar generations of Hong Kongers, but also the post-
1997 tension between Mainland China and Hong Kong. Extraterritorial cinema
performs the failure of the national imagination as a constitutive force when used
upon subjects that maintain this inside-outside relationship with the sovereign state.
However, as Thomas Elsaesser suggests, failure should not be understood negatively;
rather, as cinema instills sensorial stimulations into the sentient bodies of the
spectators, it offers an opportunity for conflicting political affects to be grafted onto
these bodies as lived experiences, thus encouraging spectators from sociopolitically
conflicting communities to rehearse these failed experiences and work towards mutual
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understanding.33
Hong Kong cinema has been legally defined by the PRC as “foreign films,”
which are subject to importation quota for theatrical release. In 2003, the Beijing
government signed the Closer Economic Partnership Agreement (CEPA) with the
special administrative region governments of Hong Kong and Macau, thus allowing
coproductions between Mainland and Hong Kong companies to be considered
domestic. While CEPA allows Hong Hong-based productions to receive Hollywood-
standard studio funding and resources, they are also subject to the market demands
and censorship of the PRC. Hong Kong film scholars and critics often complain that
post-CEPA coproductions led to the “Mainlandization” of Hong Kong cinema in its
aesthetics, political message, narrational style, and social values, while Mainland
scholar Yang Yuanying also believes that the challenge for post-CEPA productions is
the need to find a kind of narrative that could negotiate the conflicting sociopolitical
beliefs within the Mainland and Hong Kong communities, respectively.34
Linguistically, many Hong Kong filmmakers toy with multilingualism as a
tool to open up a discursive space. For example, Drug War, which appeared in a
Mandarin version in the Mainland, was released in Hong Kong in a bilingual version
in which Hong Kong actors spoke Cantonese. The result is an uncanny sense of
narrative incongruence, with Cantonese-speaking characters speaking Cantonese to
Mandarin speakers as though they could understand each other without any
interlocutor. This practice is highly unusual in mainstream Chinese-language cinemas,
and was first attempted by Ang Lee in E’hu canglong (Crouching Tiger, Hidden
Dragon, 2000), where actors from different Sinophone communities around the world
spoke Mandarin in their respective accents. It was used again in Peter Chan’s Wuxia
(Dragon, 2011, in Sichuanese and Mandarin) and Wong Kar-wai’s Yidai zongshi
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(Jatdoi zungsi/The Grandmaster, 2013, in Cantonese and Mandarin). Both of them
are Mainland-Hong Kong coproductions directed by Hong Kong filmmakers, in
which the linguistic incongruence among characters highlights the cultural plurality
and the regional conflicts within “China” as a national space.
However, these individual dialect-speaking characters do have an interlocutor:
the dialect-speaking spectator. In fact, the process of interlocution is built into the
narrative itself. In Drug War, Timmy Choi (Louis Koo) is a drug dealer from Hong
Kong, who is arrested by Mainland officer Zhang Lei (Zhang Honglei) after an
explosion in Timmy’s meth factory. In order to avoid getting the death sentence,
Timmy agrees to cooperate with the Mainland police. As I argue elsewhere, Drug
War dramatizes and negotiates the conflict between two homines sacri––bare lives
that stand outside the law, and can therefore kill or be killed as animal lives without
breaking the law. In this sense, Timmy, as a drug dealer, stands outside the law of the
PRC by breaking it, but also outside the protection of the law of Hong Kong (based
on the British colonial law). He can therefore be managed, controlled, used, and
eventually, executed as an animal life. Meanwhile, Zhang Lei also occupies a position
outside the law in order to enforce it; a position from which he can manage, control,
use, and eventually, execute Timmy by means that would otherwise be considered
illegal. In the film, state power is made sensible by a constant threat that Timmy could
at any time be executed by the law of the PRC, and that Zhang Lei would exercise the
authority bestowed upon him by the sovereignty to rein this Hong Konger into the law
of the land.35
Linguistically, before he meets his Hong Kong cohorts towards the end of the
film, Timmy is the only character that speaks Cantonese, and he delivers his lines to
his Mandarin-speaking counterparts as though there were no linguistic barrier. The
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unbelievability of such a situation effectively disconnects the addresser (Timmy) and
the addressee (his Mandarin-speaking counterparts) in the diegesis. This narrative
incongruence becomes especially remarkable when the dialogues are conveyed in the
classical shot-reverse-shot structure (see Figures 13.1– and 13.2). In visual terms, the
action shots in which Timmy delivers his Cantonese lines are disconnected from
Zhang Lei’s reaction shots. Such linguistic and visual discontinuity requires an
interlocutor who can understand both languages in order to reconnect and suture them