King Hu's Kung Fu Cinematic Art: An Interdisciplinary Discourse 1036400298, 9781036400293

Table of contents :
Table of Contents
Editor and Contributor Biographies
Acknowledgments
Preface
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Bibliography

Citation preview

King Hu’s Kung Fu Cinematic Art

King Hu’s Kung Fu Cinematic Art: An Interdisciplinary Discourse Edited by

Ya-chen Chen

King Hu's Kung Fu Cinematic Art: An Interdisciplinary Discourse Edited by Ya-chen Chen This book first published 2024 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2024 by Ya-chen Chen and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner. ISBN (10): 1-0364-0029-8 ISBN (13): 978-1-0364-0029-3

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Editor and Contributors Biographies ........................................................ vii Acknowledgments ..................................................................................... xi Preface ..................................................................................................... xiii Chapter One ................................................................................................ 1 Who’s Afraid of King Hu? Introduction to King Hu Ya-chen Chen Chapter Two ............................................................................................. 50 The Chameleon Effect and Mimesis of King Hu’s Cinematic Art Heritage Ya-chen Chen Chapter Three ......................................................................................... 102 The Success and Failure of King Hu’s Martial Arts Feminism Ya-chen Chen Chapter Four ........................................................................................... 181 Women in King Hu’s Martial Arts Movies: Martial Arts Ladies, Women Thieves, and Female Ghosts Yu-ying Lee (translated by Ya-chen Chen) Chapter Five ........................................................................................... 196 The Female Images in Dragon Inn and A Touch of Zen Keng-hsiung Chen Chapter Six ............................................................................................. 213 Cultural Translation and Subtitling Norms: Focusing on the Subtitling Norms of the Taiwan Film and Audiovisual Institute Albert F. S. Pai

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Table of Contents

Chapter Seven......................................................................................... 249 Poetics, Atmosphere, Montage: Technics, Artistic Applications, and an Intertextual Study of King Hu’s Martial Arts Films Ting Ching Yu (translated by Ya-chen Chen) Chapter Eight .......................................................................................... 294 King Hu’s Aesthetic Strategies in Raining in the Mountain Hui-Chu Yu Chapter Nine........................................................................................... 322 Chinese Narrative and Cinematographic Thoughts in King Hu’s Wuxia Film A Touch of Zen Kang-fen Chen (translated by Ya-chen Chen) Bibliography ........................................................................................... 353

EDITOR AND CONTRIBUTOR BIOGRAPHIES

Editor Ya-chen Chen, Ph.D. Holding a Ph.D. with a major in Comparative Literature and a minor in Women's and Gender Studies, along with post-doctoral research credentials from Stanford University, Dr. Ya-chen Chen brings 16.5 years of rich experience in teaching, research, and administration within the landscape of US higher education. She also taught as an associate professor and served as the Director of Language Center at China Medical University, Taiwan. Presently, Dr. Chen is engaged as a guest faculty member at the level of associate professor at Chung Yuan Christian University, Taiwan. Her book-length academic publications include: The Many Dimensions of Chinese Feminism (Palgrave MacMillan); Women in Chinese Martial Arts Films of the New Millennium: Narrative Analyses and Gender Politics (Rowman & Littlefield); Early 21stCentury Power Struggles of Chinese Languages Teaching in US Higher Education (Cambridge Scholars); The Taiwanese Cinematization of Feminine Writing (Cambridge Scholars); New Modern Chinese Women and Gender Politics: The Centennial of the End of the Qing Dynasty (Routledge); Women and Gender in Contemporary Chinese Societies: Beyond Han Patriarchy (Rowman & Littlefield); Women in Taiwan: Sociocultural Perspectives

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Editor and Contributor Biographies

(University of Indianapolis Press); Higher Education in East Asia: Neoliberalism and the Professoriate (Sense Publisher); (En)Gendering Taiwan: The Rise of Taiwanese Feminism (Springer); Farewell To My Concubine: Same-Sex Readings and Cross-Cultural Dialogues (Nan Hua University Press), etc.

Contributors Yu-ying Lee, Ph.D. With a Ph.D. in Women’s Studies at Lancaster University, UK, Yu-ying Lee taught as an associate professor at Feng Chia University, Taiwan, in 2003-2010. She is currently a professor at Yuan Ze University, Taiwan.

Keng-hsiung Chen, Ph.D. Keng-hsiung Chen earned his Ph.D. in Comparative Literature from Fu Jen Catholic University and his MA in Foreign Languages and Literature from National Sun Yat-sen University. He currently serves as an assistant professor at the Center for Teaching Chinese as a Second Language at Minghsin University of Science and Technology. His academic expertise includes comparative literature, English and American poetry, translation studies, and cross-cultural studies. His research focuses on Ezra Pound’s translation and Robert Frost’s poetry. He has been awarded the Liang ShihChiu Literary Award for Translation in Verse seven times and has published the Chinese translation of Staring at the Sun: Overcoming the Terror of Death (updated version) by Irvin D. Yalom.

King Hu’s Kung Fu Cinematic Art: An Interdisciplinary Discourse

ix

Albert F. S. Pai, Ph.D. Dr. Albert F. S. Pai is currently an Assistant Professor and the Deputy Chair for the 4-year and 2-year colleges in the Department of English at Wenzao Ursuline University of Languages. He was awarded his Ph.D. in Translation Studies from University College London in 2017, supported by the scholarship granted by Taiwan’s Ministry of Education. His doctoral thesis, Subtitling Humour from the Perspective of Relevance Theory: The Office in Traditional Chinese, delves into the intricacies of language transfer of humorous dialogue in situational comedy. His areas of expertise and interests

encompass

audiovisual

translation

studies,

corpus-based

translation studies, pragmatics, and humor studies.

Ting Ching Yu, Ph.D. Ting Ching Yu, who graduated from the Interdisciplinary Program of Comparative Literature at Fu Jen Catholic University, Taiwan, with a Ph.D. degree, is currently an associate professor at the Department of Information and Communication, Chinese Culture University, Taiwan. She is also a film festival curator and a film screenwriter/director. As a filmmaker and academic, her short film ELF (2015) was selected for many international labor film festivals. Her publications include Exploring Visuality: On the Digital Writing and Directing of Image and Body, focusing on gender studies, film, and literature. Ting Ching Yu has also worked with the prestigious Women Make Waves Film Festival in Taiwan as festival

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Editor and Contributor Biographies

director for many years; currently the festival director for the TIQFF (Taiwan International Queer Film Festival).

Hui-Chu Yu, Ph.D. Hui-Chu Yu earned her PhD degree at National Sun Yat-sen University, Taiwan. She is now Chair & Associate Professor in the Department of English at National Pingtung University, Taiwan. Her major interests of research are Shakespearean drama, early modern women’s religious imagination, and women visionaries.

Kang-fen Chen, Ph.D. With a Ph.D. in Chinese Language and Literature from National Dong Hwa University, Kang-fen Chen currently serves as an Associate Professor at the Center for General Education at Chung Yuan Christian University in Taiwan. She is also the Director of the Global Hakka and Multicultural Research Center. Her areas of expertise encompass contemporary Taiwanese literature (including Hakka literature), popular literature, as well as literary, social, and cultural theory. Her notable publications include: The Aesthetic Revolution of Poetic Language: Debates and Modern Trajectories of Taiwanese Poetry in the 1950s and 1960s (Taipei: Wanjuanlou, 2018); Ideology, History, and Narrative: The Social Research of Taiwan's AntiCommunism Literature in the 1950s (Saarland, Germany: LAP Lambert, 2015).

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

My prior academic affiliation with Professor Chung Ling (揠䙻), the spouse of King Hu and a distinguished advisor on my inaugural Master of Arts thesis, indirectly initiated this book project. Fortuitously, this endeavor was financially endorsed by several prestigious organizations, including the Lin Jung-san (ߥ㴿І) Taiwanese Literary Lecture (of the Association for Taiwan Literature), the National Science and Technology Council, the Information Bureau of Taichung City Government, and the Taichung Film Development Foundation. My role entailed conceptualizing and executing a platform that fostered enduring scholarly dialogues, subsequently culminating in the contributions of several participants as authors and contributors to this publication. I extend profound gratitude to Professors Chung Ling (揠䙻), Wenchi Lin (ߥ‫ކ‬䃳), Yu-shan Huang (溈࣭ࣥ), Yong-jui Chen (暒⥭ࣶ), Ting Ching Yu (࢕〯㦞), Christine Chou (յ㈑ࣴ), Joan Chang (㑋䞆ۙ), Chung-Tien Chou (յИ‫)מ‬, Chang-hung Chou (յ㨟㐵), Albert F. S. Pai (ग嵊䬒), Keng-hsiung Chen (暒凼஢), Hui-chu Yu (ѿ㘸࣯), Han-chung Huang (溈䈯㓘), Han-hseng Wang (ࣦ৫暀), Yu-ying Lee (㬮ࣥ䜚), Youching Lin (ߥ߄㙇), Yung-hsun Chang (㑋ࡋ⦗), Hung-jung Yen (案ؐ壝), Kang-fen Chen (暒‫ډ‬ਮ), and others for their invaluable contributions and

Acknowledgments

xii

insights. In the medical fraternity, my heartfelt thanks go to the following medical doctors:

Jung-chih Lin (ߥ㴿‫)ں‬, Ching-hsuen Huang (溈㦞徖),

Yi-hang Cheng (憞悿ਡ), and others. Their medical expertise and support have been indispensable. Moreover, I extend my respect and gratitude to luminaries in the Chinese-language film industry: Ying-chih Lin (ߥ䥟‫)ں‬, Yao-hsing Chen (暒⸝厡), Chien-you Fan (ਸ‫ڏ‬䮳), Ching-chieh Lin (ߥ杙➡), Tsai Mingliang (嚁‫ޢ‬щ), Kuo-jung Tsai (嚁ⴚ㴿), Ang Lee (㬮‫)؍‬, Hark Tsui (‫ڰ‬ ұ ), Sylvia Chang ( 㑋 ਬ Ⱗ ), Lung Lee ( 㬮 潈 ), and others for their significant contributions to the field. Lastly, my acknowledgments would be incomplete without mentioning Jung-ta Linghu (ј劏㴿惕), Yung-chin Cheng (憞ࡋ㻄), and Yueh-yen Tsai (嚁߃䓃) for their pivotal roles and support in this endeavor.

PREFACE

It brings me immense delight to be informed today that the collection of academic papers from the 90th posthumous birthday seminar of the revered Director King Hu has successfully passed the review of Cambridge Scholars Publishing in the UK. With profound sentiments, I hereby pen down the following tribute: Director King Hu stands out as one of the earliest figures in the Chinese film industry to achieve global recognition. Not only was he the first from the Chinese cinema realm to receive accolades at the Cannes Film Festival, but his oeuvre also pioneered a unique style in martial arts films. Such is his influence that renowned international Chinese filmmakers like Ang Lee, Tsui Hark, Wang Tung, and John Woo have been deeply impacted by his works. Half a century ago, Director King Hu graciously mentored and elevated me, bestowing upon me the honor of the Asia-Pacific Film Best Actor Award. Following his passing, I initiated the establishment of the King Hu Film Culture Foundation, aiming to perpetuate his cinematic arts and allow more audiences to experience the master's filmmaking style and aesthetic presentation.

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Director King Hu was a man who crafted epochs. His life narrative is deeply moving, and the trajectory of his artistry, shaped by his destiny of wandering during tumultuous times, is an enduring legacy. We will forever cherish him and imbibe the unwavering spirit with which he pursued cinematic arts. I would like to extend my gratitude to Professor Ya-chen Chen for commemorating my mentor, Director King Hu, through the 90th posthumous birthday anniversary event in April 2022. The primary intent behind establishing the international foundation in honor of my teacher was to celebrate and promote his significant contributions to Chinese cinema, especially his iconic films, ensuring that future generations of Chinese cinema scholars recognize and learn from the versatile prowess of Director King Hu, spanning from screenplay writing, art design, shooting, storyboarding, and editing, to post-production. Originally, my vision was to commemorate King Hu primarily within the Chinese community. However, owing to Professor Ya-chen Chen's earnest dedication, King Hu's legacy now resonates more profoundly within the global film fraternity. My deepest appreciation goes out to Professor Chen.

Shih Chun ी曑 (Shi Jun)

King Hu’s Kung Fu Cinematic Art: An Interdisciplinary Discourse

xv

‫ݧٽ‬

ள‫ٯ‬௤厡֨я‫מ‬ऽଳ‫ی‬㍳劏୐拵㆏ࢦ 90 ⢌寀ू嬺㫵封‫ކ‬㑪‫ޅ‬ਸ਼ ‫ކ‬ㄥ妟修㫮ପ惐ਸ਼ⴚ⤿㷙ㄥৱӟ࣍॑ㅴ߲ପ惐澞 ࣔ⣫‫߄ڶ‬۱֪۟ㅶЈ ۟ઈ‫ײ‬Ј: 劏୐拵ީ啠ы‫ޝ߂⺫ڧ‬ц岧Ѝउङ朅‫םڧ‬㆏ࢦФ▲ͫЭީ啠ы‫ڧ‬ ⺫㧠ֽ֯‫يڧ‬䙃䘟ङআ▲ыͫѕङҁսЉѸ旇⤨д࠶✃朅‫ڧ‬ङ䘹ࣔ梏 ࠀͫ‫ך‬ѹⴚ暲ऽդ啠ы㆏ࢦ҆‫ײ‬㬮‫؍‬澝‫ڰ‬ұ澝ࣦॿՃ⩸؋࠙ঈ㆏ࢦङ ҁսୃՉҿ‫ڧ‬柸ࣾࢋ澞 ԡЍ伋Фӹ‫ی‬㍳劏୐拵㆏ࢦ‫ٸ◅ͫ۩ܣݕ‬惎ङ㴿䙃☓‫ڧן‬٪ͫ֨ ѕ惐Ѝ㒑۩Э䤚૜ۨॹ劏୐拵朅‫ކڧ‬ԗׂ୐㫵ͫ斴ߊ䤚㠸劏୐拵朅‫ڧ‬ 场妟ͫ岽޾‫ך‬ङ嫶䦾傁傑Օљर嫁‫ם‬㍳‫ܠ‬㥝朅‫ڧ‬ङ‫ڔސ‬չ朅‫ڧ‬২ㄥङ ղ䛂澞 劏୐拵㆏ࢦީ✫⤨ଭ㩌їङыͫѕ▲ࣿङࣿո‫ݻ‬зள‫۟ٯ‬ыͫѕ ֨‫ם‬㩌їЈ梫ࡢङ‫أ‬ոۨ䎹ѕҁսङ场妟徐庯ͫ۩✰㫵ࡋ惠俲㛆ѕͫ љՃㄥ农ѕଝࡌ朅‫ڧ‬场妟ङ଻ѡⷫੋত॔澞 ۟屈暒ண䅼‫݉ݾ‬䎹۩ङ৯㍳劏୐拵㆏ࢦ֨Ծ‫ ٶ‬90 㨝寀ਸ਼‫ކ‬䎹П ङ伋‫ͫ⥺ࡴھ‬ ۩䎹৯㍳ⴚ暲丼⯎ۨॹׂ୐㫵‫ީؼ‬䎹д伋‫ھ‬ѕ‫ݐ‬㐋ѕㆎ啠寉朅 ‫ڧ‬४߄嶙䙌ङ㎹ୂ侙Ӂҁս岽㒑Ѝ啠ы朅‫ڧ‬ㄥ‫׿‬宸岃劏୐拵㆏ࢦ޾ਈ ㄥ农Ҷਈङ劏㆏ࢦ(修⤺২妟孙嬴‫ܠ‬㥝ӣ摃ӿ‫ݎ‬㒑娸)ͺ۩ߎ⚵Ց‫۝‬љ ҙԉׂ୐㫵֨啠ы֪⧘伋‫ھ‬劏㆏ࢦ;ं㧠暒ண䅼‫݉ݾ‬ङ߄‫ڶ‬伋‫ھ‬㆏ࢦ ޾ਈ҅ⴚ暲ऄ‫ڧ‬उ宸岃劏୐拵㆏ࢦͺࢋࢋङ۟屈暒ண䅼‫݉͠ݾ‬澞

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Preface

ी曑

CHAPTER ONE WHO’S AFRAID OF KING HU? INTRODUCTION TO KING HU YA-CHEN CHEN, PH.D. This chapter explores King Hu’s (劏୐拵) odyssey between cinematic illusions and cruel realities in his life. It seeks to unveil the life and legacy of King Hu, offering an introduction to him and serving as a guide to this interdisciplinary book, which focuses on academic discussions about King Hu’s martial arts films. Renowned as an internationally award-winning filmmaker, King Hu devoted the golden age and most significant periods of his life to cinematic art, navigating the interplay between harsh reality and filmic illusion. He is a luminous figure in the world of cinema, with a name that resonates far beyond the confines of Chinese-language films. His status as an internationally acclaimed filmmaker is not only a testament to his technical skills and narrative expertise but also reflects the profound journey that marked the pivotal epochs of his life. King Hu’s cinematic era is aptly described as the “golden age,” a time when he fully immersed himself in the art of filmmaking. His dedication and passion stemmed not merely from a love for the medium but from a complex interplay throughout his life, balancing the stark realities of life

Chapter One

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against the malleable and alluring world of cinematic illusion. The duality of King Hu’s experience, oscillating between the tangible hardships of life and the ethereal domain of cinematic poetics, presents fascinating narratives. Through his films, one can discern the struggles he faced, the ambitions he harbored, and the vision he endeavored to impart to the world. This chapter aims to provide readers with a deeper understanding of King Hu by delving into the profound relationship between his personal journey and the cinematic masterpieces he left as his legacy.

Who's Afraid of King Hu and Virginia Woolf 1? When Edward Albee unveiled Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf 2 in 1962, he introduced audiences to a harrowing exploration of the stark dichotomies between reality and illusion. The play delves deep into the human psyche, unveiling how fabricated narratives can become intertwined with, and at times, overshadow, the truth. A notable parallel emerges between the thematic concerns of Edward Albee and the cinematic endeavors of King Hu, a distinguished figure in Chinese-language cinema. Like Edward Albee, King Hu’s career was characterized by an intersection of tangible reality and the ethereal allure of the silver screen, a blend that defined their artistic legacies. King Hu's filmic journey was an ongoing dance between the harsh realities of everyday life and the beguiling illusions offered by cinema. His films, often enshrouded in layers of narrative complexity and visual

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

3

splendor, provided audiences with an escape into fantastical worlds. Beneath the surface of his cinematic tales; however, King Hu subtly wove in reflections of real-world challenges, dilemmas, and cultural intricacies. This duality in his work mirrored the struggles faced by his characters, reminiscent of Edward Albee's protagonists, who grappled with their selfcreated illusions. “Who's Afraid of King Hu” could be an apt title for an introduction to the filmmaker's life and work. Just as Edward Albee’s 3 title posed a provocative question about confronting uncomfortable truths, this reimagined title raises inquiries about King Hu's cinematic journey. Did King Hu use cinema as an escape from reality, or did he employ its illusory nature to illuminate it? In the narratives of both Edward Albee and King Hu, audiences are invited to delve beneath the surface, peeling back layers to distinguish between the presented narrative and the underlying reality. In essence, the stories King Hu spun on the silver screen were not merely tales of fantasy; they served as mirrors reflecting life's complexities. Much like Edward Albee's exploration of the human psyche's fragility, King Hu's cinematic career stands as a testament to the ever-blurring lines between reality and imagination. In the vast expanse of literary and cinematic exploration, the tension between reality and illusion has consistently captivated artists. Edward Albee's Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, completed in 1962, is a monumental work in this realm. The play transcends a simple dichotomy; it

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Chapter One

delves into the tortuous labyrinth of the human psyche, where reality and fiction intertwine, often blurring the lines between the two. In this intricate interplay, there exists a parallel in the illustrious cinematic journey of King Hu, a luminary in Chinese-language cinema. Similar to the characters in Edward Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, King Hu navigated the boundaries between harsh reality and cinematic illusion.

The Realities and Illusions of Edward Albee's Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf In Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf, 4 Edward Albee's characters, George and Martha, inhabit a world where reality is not just malleable but is often a casualty of their own desires and fears. Their evening, filled with verbal duels and mental games, showcases how personal narratives can become distorted as means to cope with trauma, societal expectations, and unfulfilled dreams. The illusions they fabricate, sometimes out of desperation, serve as both a refuge and a prison. This dynamic reflects the complexities of human nature and the lengths to which individuals go to shield themselves from painful truths.

King Hu's Cinematic Landscape: Where Realities Blur In the vibrant tapestry of King Hu's films, audiences are consistently drawn into realms of grandeur, mythology, and profound cultural resonance. On the surface, these tales transport viewers to worlds of martial arts legends,

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

5

historical epics, and fantastical adventures. However, closer examinations reveal King Hu's intricate dance between the stark realities of everyday life and the cinematic illusions he masterfully crafts. Both King Hu’s work and Edward Albee’s "Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf" focus on the profound and unvarnished realities that underpin daily existence, juxtaposed against the meticulously woven tapestries of filmic fantasy that he adeptly conjures and refines. King Hu’s characters, much like Edward Albee's George and Martha, grapple with their own realities, be they societal expectations, moral dilemmas, or personal ambitions. But, instead of the confined setting of a living room, King Hu's protagonists traverse vast landscapes, ancient temples, and majestic palaces. These settings, while visually stunning, are more than mere backdrops. They amplify the internal conflicts faced by the characters, grounding the fantastical elements in a foundation of emotional and cultural authenticity.

The Dualism of King Hu's Craft: Reflecting and Escaping Reality King Hu's genius lay in his ability to use cinema as both a mirror and a window. His films not only reflected societal issues, ranging from class struggles to the clash between tradition and modernity, but also provided an escape into worlds where the ordinary became extraordinary. This was particularly evident in his portrayal of traditional Chinese-heritage women,

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who, despite suffering from severe chauvinism and patriarchal oppression in harsh realities, transformed into potent superwomen with unparalleled martial arts skills or supernatural powers. This dualism in his cinematic works resonates with Edward Albee’s exploration of the human psyche's fragility. As artists, both King Hu and Edward Albee challenged audiences to question the narratives presented, encouraging them to peel back layers and confront underlying truths. In the realm of martial arts cinema, few directors are as revered and influential as King Hu. His films are not mere displays of martial prowess but are deeply philosophical, often reflecting broader themes of human existence, aspiration, and societal constructs. A key aspect of his cinematic artistry is the recurring visual motif of martial artists defying gravity, effortlessly soaring through the skies or gliding atop water. While these scenes are immediately captivating, they carry deep thematic resonance, offering layers of meaning that elevate King Hu's work from mere action spectacle to profound philosophical discourse. Defying gravity in Director King Hu's films can be seen as a representation of humanity's age-old quest to overcome limitations. This theme encompasses not only physical constraints but also the broader struggles of the human spirit against societal norms, expectations, and selfimposed boundaries. In a world that seeks to tether individuals to certain roles or destinies, the very act of flight symbolizes the indomitable spirit's ability to break free and forge its own path.

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This transcendence is not just about individual freedom but also reflects societal aspirations. Set against times of societal upheaval or oppressive regimes, King Hu's characters' gravity-defying acts gain even more significance. They represent not only personal liberation but also the collective yearning of a society for change, justice, and progress. Furthermore, Director King Hu's utilization of nature in his films amplifies these themes. By setting many gravity-defying sequences amidst breathtaking landscapes, such as lush forests, towering mountains, or serene lakes, he draws a parallel between human aspirations and the boundless beauty of nature. Just as nature remains untamed, the human spirit seeks to be unrestrained. Lastly, the traditions and philosophies that inform King Hu's work, particularly Taoist and Buddhist principles, emphasize harmony, balance, and transcending the physical for spiritual enlightenment. The characters' airborne movements are a dance between Yin and Yang, symbolizing the harmonious interplay of opposing forces, leading to equilibrium and, ultimately, transcendence. While Director King Hu's wuxia 5 films can undoubtedly be enjoyed for their thrilling martial arts sequences, their true brilliance lies in the deeper philosophical underpinnings. The ability of his characters to defy gravity is more than cinematic magic. It represents a powerful metaphor for the eternal quest for freedom, enlightenment, and transcendence, despite various constraints.

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King Hu's genius lay in his ability to use cinema as both a mirror and a window into the human condition. While his films reflected societal issues, from class struggles to the clash between tradition and modernity, they also offered an escape into worlds where the ordinary could become extraordinary. This was especially true for traditional Chinese-heritage women, who, despite suffering from severe chauvinism and patriarchal oppression in reality, transformed into potent superwomen with unequaled martial arts skills or supernatural power in his films. This dualism in his cinematic works echoes Edward Albee’s exploration of the fragility in human psyche, as both artists prompt audiences to question the narratives presented and confront the underlying truths. At the forefront of his cinematic artistry is the recurring visual motif of martial artists defying gravity, effortlessly soaring through the skies or gliding atop water. While these scenes are immediately captivating, their thematic resonance runs deep, offering layers of meaning that elevate King Hu's cinematic works from mere action spectacle to profound philosophical discourse. The act of defying gravity in Director King Hu's films can be seen as a representation of humanity's age-old quest to overcome limitations. This isn't merely about physical constraints but also speaks to the broader struggles of the human spirit against societal norms, expectations, and selfimposed boundaries. In a world that constantly seeks to tether individuals to certain roles or destinies, the very act of flight symbolizes the indomitable

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

9

spirit's ability to break free and carve its own path. This transcendence is not solely about individual freedom but can also be seen as a reflection of societal aspirations. Many of King Hu's narratives are set in times of societal upheaval or against the backdrop of oppressive regimes. Here, the gravity-defying acts of his characters become even more significant. They do not just represent personal liberation but also become emblematic of a society's collective yearning for change, justice, and progress. One must also consider the traditions and philosophies that inform King Hu's filmic masterpieces. Drawing from Taoist and Buddhist principles, there is a clear emphasis on harmony, balance, and the idea of transcending the physical to achieve spiritual enlightenment. Montage, 6 in King Hu's films is utilized not merely as a tool for continuity but as a narrative device that contributes significantly to thematic depth and character development. Director King Hu’s approach to editing is akin to sculpture, carefully chiseling away at the raw footage to reveal the essence of the story. Through his visionary montage, he crafts sequences that juxtapose serenity with chaos and spirituality with the earthly. In doing so, he paints a multifaceted portrait of the struggle between good and evil, and between earthly desires and spiritual enlightenment. Film-editing in King Hu’s movies plays a crucial role in building tensions and emotions. He possesses an innate talent for knowing precisely when to hold a shot and when to cut, mastering the art of timing essential in

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pacing his action sequences, as well as in the delicate unfolding of the more contemplative scenes in his narratives. The emotional impact of these carefully timed cuts can elevate a scene from mundane to monumental, often leaving a lasting impression on the viewer. King Hu's editorial skills are particularly evident in his use of parallel editing. By cutting between two concurrent lines of action, he amplifies the dramatic tension, often culminating in a convergence that delivers a powerful narrative impact. In Director King Hu's hands, this technique is not just a method of storytelling but becomes a thematic statement on the interconnectedness of events and characters within his cinematic worlds. Reflecting on King Hu’s montage techniques, David Bordwell commented on the director’s distinctive approach, characterizing it as a nuanced interplay between clarity and obfuscation. David Bordwell observed that King Hu utilizes “constructive editing,” a technique traditionally aimed at presenting action coherently and comprehensibly. However, King Hu subverts this clarity by deliberately introducing elements that complicate and “sabotage” the straightforward interpretation of the scene. 7 King Hu's cinematic language introduced a dazzling new stylistic expression that seamlessly blended meticulously researched historical accuracy with a deep connection to northern cultural traditions, alongside a distinctive montage technique characterized by its abrupt and fragmented nature. His characters, warriors wielding swords, inhabit a realm teetering

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

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on the edge of the otherworldly. With movements that defy gravity, enabled by off-camera trampolines, they leap with the ease of space travelers. Their swift and sharply cut movements create a cinematic lexicon that is as much about the art of film as it is about portraying unearthly abilities. These characters are largely defined by their ethereal lightness, lacking the weight and imperfections of human form. As Sek Kei notes, martial arts in King Hu’s vision begin in the tangible world and ascend to a sublime state of intangible, spiritual existence. They are a journey that mirrors the ultimate aspiration of Chinese culture towards metaphysical apotheosis. 8

This cinematic editorial tactic engages the audience deeply with the unfolding action, challenging viewers to piece together the narrative from Hu’s strategically disjointed edits. Such an approach not only showcases Hu’s mastery over filmic language but also reflects his intent to create a dynamic and interactive viewing experience. Here, the audience becomes an active participant in constructing the story's meaning. King Hu’s films are a masterclass in the art of montage and film editing. His editorial decisions are as deliberate as they are poetic, elevating the visual narrative to a realm where every cut, transition, and juxtaposition becomes an integral thread in the intricate tapestry of his storytelling. His films are not merely watched; they are experienced, with each edit guiding the audience through the ebbs and flows of the narrative’s current. King Hu remains a paragon of film-editorial craft, inspiring generations of

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12

filmmakers to view the editing suite as a crucible of alchemy where raw footage is transformed into cinematic gold.

Who's Afraid of Confronting Truths? The reimagined title "Who's Afraid of King Hu" is not just a nod to Edward Albee's masterpiece, but also a provocative inquiry into King Hu's cinematic philosophy. Did King Hu regard cinema as a sanctuary from reality, or did he perceive its illusory nature as a tool to both illuminate and challenge it? Similarly, Edward Albee's title can be interpreted as an invitation, or perhaps a challenge, to confront our own constructed realities. Throughout his career, King Hu appears to respond to this question by further blurring the lines, creating films that are reflections and distortions of both harsh realities and cinematic illusions. He invites audiences into a special martial arts dance, where the distinction between what is real and what is imagined is fluid and often indistinguishable. In the works of both Edward Albee and King Hu, the world is not depicted in mere black and white. Their narratives flourish in the gray areas, where realities are subjective and often pliable. As artists, they challenge us to question, to probe, and to reflect, leaving legacies that continue to inspire and provoke thought. In an era increasingly characterized by curated realities, particularly in the digital media landscape, the works of Edward Albee and King Hu remain timeless, reminding audience members of the complex interplay

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

13

between reality and illusion. Their artistry shines as a beacon, guiding future artists and audiences alike to navigate the intricate dance between the real and the imagined with both caution and curiosity.

King Hu’s Lifelong Devotion to Cinematic Art King Hu was born in Beijing on April 29, 1932. His father, Hu Yuanshen (劏࢛ࢋ), was a graduate of the Department of Mining and Metallurgy at Kyoto Imperial University in Japan. After returning to China, Hu Yuanshen worked as a technician at a mine in Hebei and later ran a flour mill. King Hu's mother, Liu Qingyun (⤻㙇曾), was an expert in Chinese paintings in the realistic style. His granduncle, Jing Gui (ްࠁ), served as a high-ranking official (㒤՗) in the Qing Dynasty. Following the occupation of the northeastern provinces of Mainland China by Japan, the Hu family's fortunes declined. They moved back to Beijing after the Marco Polo Bridge Incident on July 7, 1937. King Hu, having been interested in ancient Chinese essays and painting since childhood, studied at Huiwen Middle School (⧋ ‫ކ‬Иㄥ) in Beijing. In 1950, due to the rise of the Chinese Communist Party in Mainland China, King Hu left Beijing for Hong Kong, where he worked as a proofreader in a printing company. The following year, Jiang Guangchao (嚃Ұ૝) introduced him to Fei Mu’s (嶲䲍) Longma Film Company (潈榆 朅‫ڧ‬Ҹ՛), where he worked as an art designer for posters, sets, and billboards. King Hu later joined the Great Wall Film Studio (斴ֽ朅‫ڧ‬Ҹ

14

Chapter One

՛) as a set decorator, earning the strong appreciation of Wan Guzhan (喗 Վ奍). In 1952, he began working as an actor and assistant director at Yonghua Motion Picture Company (ࡋ啠‫ڧ‬㴂Ҹ՛), where he also wrote stories and scripts, though they were not accepted. In 1953, King Hu made his acting debut in a motion picture titled Humiliation for Sale (՞৶Ұङ ы/ং利䄅क), directed by Yan Jun (ⳏ⛮). He also worked as a broadcaster at Radio Rediffussion (湞ङշ利߄俠朅Ֆ) and created scripts for radio programs. During this time, King Hu lived at 107 Boundary Street, Kowloon, with Feng Yi (榈㼼), Li Hanxiang (㬮৫䯅), Jiang Guangchao (嚃Ұ૝), Ma Li (榆ԃ), Shen Zhong (㿥୍), and Song Cunshou (؎‫)⻞؂‬, forming a group known as “the seven brothers.” In 1954, he edited Mandarin Chinese language programs for the Voice of America. From 1956 to 1964, King Hu acted in the following feature films: Golden Phoenix (୐沽) in 1956, Blood in Snow (ந娝) in 1956, The Long Lane (斴㍍) in 1956, The Three Sisters (І⾍⽸) in 1957, Love Fiesta (ަ਩䐘愄) in 1957, Lady Qiaqia (‫ )⿒⾎ۏۏ‬in 1957, Riots at the Studio (⡧⟊‫ם‬櫶㥝‫ )⸢ڧ‬in 1957, Little Angels of the Streets (榆૨‫ )҅מش‬in 1957, The Magic Touch (‫׳‬۴֛ަ) in 1958,

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

15

Little Darling (‫ەش‬ы) in 1958, The Angel (‫؍‬䛬⡓) in 1958, The Blessed Family (Ҷ‫؟‬侙) in 1958, The Kingdom and the Beauty (㿄ٌ২ы) in 1959, Dear Girl, I Love You (⽸⽸۩㗱҂) in 1959, How to Marry a Millionaire (ࣛ㛏) in 1960, The Deformed (䠠ы嵎〞) in 1960, Back Door (㒑於) in 1960, When the Peach Blossoms Bloom (▲㷇ࠂਰԞ㬙伐) in 1960, The Girl Next Door (ஜ䔯嵎՗) in 1961, The Swallow Thief (䓃‫׿‬䥩) in 1961, Kiss for Sale (巚հ孄) in 1961, The Fair Sex (॔☷৯੘ࣝ) in 1961, My Lucky Star (क़‫ޤ‬௤ࣁ) in 1963, Empress Wu Zetian (࠶⤄‫ )מ‬in 1963, and the Dancing Millionairess (喗ਰଌަ) in 1964. King Hu was born in Beijing on April 29, 1932. His father, Hu Yuanshen ( 劏 ࢛ ࢋ ), graduated from the Department of Mining and Metallurgy at Kyoto Imperial University in Japan and worked as a technician at a mine in Hebei before running a flour mill. His mother, Liu Qingyun (⤻㙇曾), was an expert in Chinese realistic-style paintings. His granduncle, Jing Gui (ްࠁ), served as a high-ranking official (㒤՗) in the Qing Dynasty. After Japan occupied the northeastern provinces of Mainland

16

Chapter One

China, the Hu family's fortunes declined, and they moved back to Beijing following the Marco Polo Bridge Incident on July 7, 1937. King Hu, who had been interested in ancient Chinese essays and painting since childhood, studied at Huiwen Middle School (⧋‫ކ‬Иㄥ) in Beijing. In 1950, due to the rise of the Chinese Communist Party in Mainland China, he left Beijing for Hong Kong, where he worked as a proofreader in a printing company. In 1951, Jiang Guangchao (嚃Ұ૝) introduced King Hu to Fei Mu’s (嶲䲍) Longma Film Company (潈榆朅‫ڧ‬Ҹ՛), where he worked as an art designer for posters, sets, and billboards. He later joined the Great Wall Film Studio (斴ֽ朅‫ڧ‬Ҹ՛) as a set decorator and earned strong appreciation from Wan Guzhan (喗Վ奍). In 1952, King Hu worked as an actor and assistant director at Yonghua Motion Picture Company (ࡋ啠‫ڧ‬㴂Ҹ՛), where he also wrote stories and scripts that were not accepted. In 1953, he made his acting debut in Humiliation for Sale (՞৶Ұङы/ং利䄅क), directed by Yan Jun (ⳏ⛮), worked as a broadcaster at Radio Rediffussion (湞ङշ利߄俠朅Ֆ), and created scripts for radio programs. Living at 107 Boundary Street, Kowloon, with Feng Yi (榈㼼), Li Hanxiang (㬮৫䯅), Jiang Guangchao (嚃Ұ૝), Ma Li (榆ԃ), Shen Zhong (㿥୍), and Song Cunshou (؎‫)⻞؂‬, they called themselves “the seven brothers.” In 1954, he edited Mandarin Chinese language programs for the Voice of America. In 1957, King Hu joined the Shaw Brothers Studio as an actor and later became a scriptwriter and assistant director, writing scripts for Bride Napping (ਰँ掑) and Redbeard (伐櫜‫)׿‬. In 1963, he worked as an

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

17

assistant filmmaker on Love Eterne (ࠍٌѲ厠॓ਸ਼Ֆ), directed by Li Hanxiang (㬮৫䯅), where he directed scenes of the school and Yingtai's (ਸ਼Ֆ) visit. In 1964, he directed The Story of Sue San (ࣥ‫)ަ׃‬, a costume comedy of folk melody starring Zhao Lei (幮ப) and Le Di (㶒੎), marking his full-fledged feature film debut. That same year, he directed Sons of the Good Earth (‫֪ם‬⡓‫)׮‬, a film about the Sino-Japanese wars during World War II. In 1965, he directed his first martial arts film, Come Drink with Me (‫ם‬懵✃). After parting ways with the Shaw Brothers Studio, he moved to the Union Motion Picture Company (刦଼Ҹ՛) as a production department manager, where he purchased equipment and trained new talent such as Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬㳪), Shi Jun (ी曑), Bai Ying (ग淃), Shangguan Lingfeng (Їؒ 杌沽), Han Xiangqin (柑䅶ࣴ), and Tian Peng (ँ洶). He then began shooting Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃) in Taiwan. In 1966, Sons of the Good Earth won the best screenplay, best film editing, and best advocate of Chinese spirits awards at the Golden Horse Awards. Come Drink with Me, released in 1966, was critically acclaimed and had an outstanding box office performance. Dragon Inn, released in Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Southeast Asia from 1967-1968, became a surprise box-office hit, setting a record for the highest box office in Hong Kong and grossing over 4.4 million NTD in Taiwan. In 1967, King Hu began planning for A Touch of Zen (✃‫)׮‬, which was shot in Danan (‫ם‬䆑), Taoyuan (ࠂⴡ). He also assisted in establishing the international film studio for the Union Motion Picture Company. In

18

Chapter One

1968, "Dragon Inn" won best screenplay and best feature film at the Golden Horse Film Festival and was invited to the Berlin International Film Festival. King Hu commenced shooting A Touch of Zen in 1967 and completed it in Hong Kong in 1971, with Part I released in Taiwan in 1970. During this period, he also finished the Wrath (㔄) sequence of Four Moods (֔㔄⫸ 㶒) and released it in the same year. In 1971, he established King Hu Film Productions (୐拵‫ڧ‬㴂Ҹ՛) in Hong Kong. In 1972, Part I of A Touch of Zen won the best color film art direction award at the Golden Horse Awards, and Part II was released that same year. In collaboration with the Golden Harvest Company (Ⱗग़Ҹ՛), King Hu completed The Fate of Lee Khan (ଌަ旟Ф梏ࡦ) in 1973 and The Valiant Ones (㓘ࢸⴥ) in 1975. He secured the rights to release A Touch of Zen in Europe and the US in 1975 and re-edited a 180-minute version for the Cannes Film Festival, where it received the "Grand Prix de la Commission Supérieure Technique du Cinéma Français." King Hu's films, including A Touch of Zen, The Fate of Lee Khan, and The Valiant Ones, were invited to several international festivals and wellreceived. In 1976, A Touch of Zen was presented at the New York Film Festival and, after being cut down to one feature and released in Taiwan, it became a box-office hit. King Hu married Chung Ling in Hong Kong on February 27, 1977, and published his book, Lao She and His Works, through the Hong Kong Cultural Life Press in the same year.

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

19

In 1977, King Hu collaborated with Luo Kaimu (兓旇䲍) and Hu Shuru (劏㷇⠞) to prepare for the filming of Raining in the Mountain and also worked with Huang Zhuohan to prepare for Legend of the Mountain. He shot both films in South Korea from August 1977 to October 1978. In 1978, the International Film Guide selected King Hu as one of the five filmmakers of the year. Raining in the Mountain premiered at the Hong Kong International Film Festival in 1979 and received heated discussion among critics. The Hong Kong Film Culture Center and Hong Kong Arts Center co-organized a special program for King Hu's works, and Raining in the Mountain and Legend of the Mountain were shown at several influential film festivals worldwide. In 1979, Legend of the Mountain received awards for best director, best art direction, best cinematography, and best film score at the Gold Horse Film Festival. In 1980, the Taipei Film Library organized a retrospective on King Hu's cinematic works, and he served as the president of the jury at the Golden Horse Film Festival. King Hu held a painting exhibition at the Dragon Gate Art Gallery in Taipei in April 1981 and completed his first comedy, Juvenizer, during the same year. In 1982, King Hu made All the King's Men for the Central Motion Picture Corporation, which was released in Taiwan during the Chinese New Year holidays. He also completed the first episode of The Wheel of Life with Taiwanese Film Studio during the same year, and both films were invited to join international film festivals.

Chapter One

20

King Hu immigrated to California in 1984 after closing his film company in Hong Kong. Retrospective exhibitions of his movies took place in several cities across the US during that year. He also designed the animated film Boiling the Sea for Wang Film Productions in Taiwan. In July 1985, the Hong Kong Cinematic Cultural Center held an exhibition celebrating King Hu's career, and in April 1986, he directed a live on-stage drama show titled Dream of Butterfly in Taipei. Unfortunately, in September 1986, King Hu underwent surgery for coronary artery problems and heart disease. In 1988, a film festival featuring nine of King Hu's movies included CD distributions, and he personally participated in on-site discussion sessions, interviews, and marketing activities in Japan. In 1991, King Hu returned to Mainland China and scouted in the Northwestern areas for Painted Skin with financial assistance from Wu Mingcai (⩸‫ޢ‬۵) and help from Hong Jinbao (ࡲ୐ㆁ). This film was released in 1992. The Chinese Taipei Film Archive also held an exhibition of King Hu's work that year, and the Hong Kong Film Directors' Guild honored him with a Lifetime Achievement Award. In 1994, the Hong Kong Academy for Performing Arts awarded King Hu the prestigious title of honorary academician. He wrote essays for the Ming Pao Daily News and East Week in Hong Kong and worked tirelessly to revise the screenplay and fund the film project Land of Destiny, though it did not reach fruition. King Hu continued seeking American distributors for

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

21

this project, which eventually secured half of its financial sponsorship from the Goldcrest Company in the UK, with Zhang Jizhen (㑋‫؟‬㞦) and Wu Yusen (⩸؋࠙, John Woo) as producers and Chow Yun-fat (յ䉮䤚) as the male lead. In early January 1997, King Hu traveled to Taiwan for the funeral of his friend Li Hanxiang (㬮৫䯅). Planning to focus on the new film project, he had a medical check-up at the Veterans’ Hospital in Taipei. Following their advice, he scheduled a percutaneous transluminal coronary angioplasty (PTCA) or balloon angioplasty for the morning of January 14, 1997. He planned to return to the US on January 19, 1997, to continue working on Land of Destiny. However, on the afternoon of January 14, following his heart surgery, King Hu suffered a heart arrhythmia and passed away at the age of 65 at 18:25. In February 1997, numerous memorial meetings were held in Taipei, Los Angeles, and Hong Kong to honor King Hu's life and work. His remains were cremated and placed in the Rose Garden in Los Angeles. That same year, the Golden Horse Film Festival and Directors' Guild posthumously awarded King Hu an honorary award for his lifelong achievements.

King Hu's Kung Fu Cinematic Art: An Interdisciplinary Discourse King Hu stands as a towering figure in the pantheon of filmmakers who have shaped the global perception of Chinese martial arts cinema. His pioneering spirit and cinematic genius earned him the distinction of being

Chapter One

22

the first to garner international acclaim for Chinese martial arts movies at film festivals worldwide. His oeuvre has not only captivated global audiences but has also served as a wellspring of inspiration for an entire generation of filmmakers, significantly influencing the trajectory of Chinese-language cinema. This interdisciplinary academic volume delves into a cross-field scholarly examination of King Hu’s films, dissecting the layers of his unique film language with a scholarly lens. The discourse encompasses a range of perspectives, from the analysis of King Hu's narrative strategies and feminist overtones to the intricate dissection of his portrayal of female characters, groundbreaking for its time. It examines the aesthetic strategies that King Hu employed and how his work bridges cultural divides, offering robust commentary on the norms of subtitling and cultural translation that his films necessitated. In scrutinizing films that have received less critical spotlight, such as Legend of the Mountain and Raining in the Mountain, alongside celebrated masterpieces like Dragon Inn and A Touch of Zen, the book uncovers the nuances of King Hu’s artistry. It sheds light on how his use of pioneering film technologies, his meticulous approach to shot composition, the dynamism of his camera movements, the rhythmic cadence of his editing, and the symphonic use of sound and image synergistically contribute to a potent montage effect that is both visually arresting and narratively compelling.

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

23

The text probes the intertextual threads that weave through King Hu's filmography and connects his works to the broader tapestry of Chineselanguage cinema. It anchors its analysis in the context of David Bordwell's celebrated theory of film poetics, offering a rich, in-depth perspective on King Hu's storytelling methodology. This tome stands as an invaluable resource for scholars, students, and enthusiasts of film studies, Asian cultural studies, gender studies, and the study of cultural translation. It not only salutes to King Hu’s remarkable contributions to cinema but also provides critical insights into the language of film as a transcultural and trans-historical medium. Through this book, readers are invited to engage with King Hu's cinematic universe, unraveling the complexities and celebrating the innovations that this visionary director brought to the silver screen. King Hu's influence on the cinematic landscape extends far beyond the breathtaking choreography and martial valor of his characters. His films are an intricate ballet of narrative depth, technical innovation, and cultural resonance that have forever altered the fabric of Chinese-language cinema and its reception on the global stage. The tome dedicated to King Hu’s work presents a rich, multifaceted exploration of his cinematic artistry. It delves into a detailed examination of his narrative structures and thematic preoccupations, including his revolutionary portrayal of women as central figures of strength and agency. This approach challenged the gender norms of his time and introduced a

24

Chapter One

feminist lens within a traditionally male-dominated genre. His female characters are not mere adjuncts to their male counterparts; they are complex, multifaceted protagonists who drive the plot and captivate the audience with their depth and vigor. Further exploring aesthetic strategies, the book highlights King Hu’s meticulous attention to historical detail and cultural authenticity. He weaves a visual narrative that is both enlightening and captivating. His dedication to historical accuracy does not restrict his creative expression; instead, it enhances his filmic landscape, offering viewers a deep dive into a brilliantly revived past era, animated with artistic freedom and visual elegance. In the technical realm, King Hu's innovative use of film technology set new benchmarks for filmmakers. His advancements in shot composition, employing a blend of panoramic shots and intimate close-ups, demonstrate his versatility and ingenuity behind the camera. The agility of his camera movements, coupled with pioneering editing techniques, creates an immersive experience that is both kinetic and evocative, enabling dynamic storytelling that keeps audiences riveted. This book not only touches upon King Hu’s artistic achievements but also places them within the larger context of world cinema. It maps out the intertextual connections between his films and other cinematic works, providing a thorough analysis of how his techniques have been echoed and adapted by other filmmakers. This intertextuality underscores King Hu's far-reaching impact, weaving his narrative and stylistic threads into the

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

25

fabric of international film discourse. It explores how King Hu's films have interacted with David Bordwell's film poetics theory, using this framework to understand the deliberate choices in his filmmaking process and how they inform the audience's cognitive and emotional engagement with his stories. For those interested in the practicalities of bringing King Hu’s vision to international audiences, the discourse on subtitling norms and cultural translation is particularly insightful. It examines the challenges and strategies behind preserving the cinematic cultural nuances and idiomatic richness in translation, ensuring that the subtleties of King Hu’s visual and narrative poetry are not lost in the inter-lingual transition. This seminal work is not just a tribute to King Hu’s cinematic genius but also a comprehensive academic resource that situates his legacy within the broader narrative of film history. It invites readers on an enlightening journey through King Hu's filmography, illuminating the enduring impact of his vision and celebrating the indelible mark he has left on the world of film.

Interdisciplinary Academic Hysteroscope into King Hu’s Cinematography In this definitive exploration of King Hu’s cinematic universe, readers are invited to traverse the diverse landscape of one of the most influential directors in Chinese martial arts cinema. The book is structured to guide the audience through a series of diverse analyses, each chapter contributing to

Chapter One

26

a multifaceted understanding 9 of King Hu's contributions to film. Chapter One serves as an introduction to King Hu, offering foundational insights into the man behind the lens. This opening chapter sets the stage, providing readers with the necessary background to fully appreciate the nuances of King Hu's directorial choices and his indelible impact on the genre. This chapter meticulously delineates King Hu, whose pioneering achievements as an award-winning filmmaker have established him as a paragon within the realm of Chinese martial arts cinema, especially on the international festival circuit. King Hu’s cinematic oeuvre has been extensively documented, resulting in a proliferation of scholarly inquiry, critical essays, and a wealth of audiovisual archives. The 2022 release of two seminal documentaries, The King of Wuxia Part 1: The Prophet Was Once Here and The King of Wuxia Part 2: The Heartbroken Man on the Horizon, has further amplified the discourse surrounding King Hu’s cinematic legacy and personal history. The existing body of literature interrogates King Hu’s films through multifaceted lenses, encompassing narrative structure, martial arts choreography, prop utilization, genre conventions, transnational cinema studies, cultural discourse, literary adaptation, as well as religious and Buddhist themes. Within this broad scholarly spectrum, this research provides an incisive analysis of some of King Hu’s perhaps lesscommented-upon directorial endeavors, namely Legend of the Mountain (ٌ

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

27

И⟂‫ )ר‬and Raining in the Mountain (ॱٌ杌஧), alongside an exploration of his critically acclaimed masterpieces Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃, 1967) 10 and A Touch of Zen (✃‫ ׮‬1971). This investigation elucidates King Hu’s distinctive filmic syntax and its application within the technical and creative domains of cinematic craft. Through meticulous dissection of compositional framing, camera dynamics, editorial rhythm, and the synergistic fusion of auditory and visual elements, this study endeavors to articulate the montage effects that typify King Hu’s film language. It aims to systemize King Hu’s cinematic lexicon in correlation with his editorial philosophy, foregrounding the textual examination of specific film segments. The scholarly pursuit extends to examining Chinese-language films evidently sculpted by King Hu’s cinematic influence, including A Better Tomorrow (ਸ਼஢ߎ਩, 1986), A Chinese Ghost Story (❃‫׮‬㎸欐, 1987), Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (厂੘੗潈, 2000), Goodbye Dragon Inn (Љ‫ށ‬, 2003), and House of Flying Daggers (ԝவⷃѥ, 2004). This analysis interrogates the aesthetic architecture of King Hu’s filmography, spotlighting the intertextual resonance among these works within the theoretical framework of David Bordwell’s film poetics. Utilizing a textual analysis paradigm, the study fosters a critical dialogue between the cinematic texts, thereby contributing to an enriched comprehension of King Hu’s directorial artistry and its enduring influence on the tapestry of Chinese-language cinema.

28

Chapter One

Chapter Two delves into the "Chameleon Effect" and mimesis in King Hu's cinematic heritage. This chapter investigates the adaptability and transformation in King Hu's work, drawing parallels between his films and the broader artistic traditions they both draw from and influence. The eminent King Hu (劏୐拵) occupies a distinguished position as the inaugural international laureate in the pantheon of Chinese-language cinema. Renowned for his groundbreaking forays into costume drama and martial arts filmography, his cinematic legacy, an amalgam of traditional narratives and kinetic artistry, has endured, leaving an indelible influence upon a constellation of contemporary auteurs, including Ang Lee (㬮‫)؍‬, Zhang Yimou (㑋场尫), Tsui Hark (‫ڰ‬ұ), Sylvia Chang (㑋ਬⰧ), Tsai Mingliang (嚁‫ޢ‬щ), Wang Tong (ࣦॿ), Li Long (㬮潈), Lin Jingjie (ߥ杙➡ Lin Ching-chieh), and Ann Hui (孝枋啠), to name but a few. The intergenerational reverberations of King Hu’s artistry are exemplified in Tsai Ming-liang’s feature Goodbye Dragon Inn (Љ‫)ށ‬, which evokes King Hu’s Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃) not only in its title but also through the meta-cinematic casting of Shi Jun (ी曑 Shih, Chun) and Miao Tien (呙‫)מ‬. Further testament to King Hu’s enduring impact is found in Ang Lee's Academy Award-winning Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (厂੘੗潈), where the casting of Zheng Peipei (憞҃҃ Cheng, Pei-pei), Michelle Yeoh (㳡ভ䞆), and Zhang Ziyi (ॾ‫׿‬㔒) traces a lineage from the forerunners to the subsequent vanguards of the genre. Beyond directing, Sylvia Chang (㑋ਬⰧ) exemplifies King Hu’s cross-disciplinary influence

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

29

as an actress, singer, and director, her multifaceted career resonating with the thematic and aesthetic sensibilities pioneered by King Hu. This chapter meticulously explores the intriguing concept known as the "chameleon effect" within the realm of psychology, alongside the venerable principle of mimesis, a cornerstone of literary and artistic theories. It meticulously dissects and examines the intricate and multifaceted influence exerted by King Hu’s comprehensive oeuvre on the artistic and narrative choices of subsequent generations of filmmakers. Through this analysis, the chapter illuminates the enduring legacy of King Hu’s creative genius, showcasing how his pioneering techniques and thematic explorations have continued to resonate with and inspire filmmakers across the decades. King Hu’s cinematic heritage is disseminated through both conscious and subconscious teaching, as well as through deliberate and inadvertent emulation. The films that have followed King Hu’s canon continue to reenact and reinterpret the quintessential and emblematic martial arts sequences that have become synonymous with King Hu’s stylistic fingerprint, effectuating a form of cinematic mimesis that intertwines homage with innovation. This intricate interplay of influence fosters a continuum of cultural and artistic expression, perpetuating the dynamism of King Hu’s cinematic vocabulary within the evolving narrative of film studies. The cinematic genealogy of King Hu traces a lineage of aesthetic mimesis that both harks back to and informs future generations of

30

Chapter One

filmmakers. King Hu, himself a recipient of global influences, synthesized disparate artistic paradigms to forge a unique filmic syntax that has subsequently been echoed and reinvented by later directors. This mimetic process can be dissected by examining the symbiotic relationships between King Hu, the world-class filmmakers who influenced him, and the cadre of directors whom he, in turn, has influenced. King Hu was indelibly shaped by the work of cinematic luminaries such as Akira Kurosawa (溔䊮‫)ޢ‬, whose epic storytelling and dynamic visual style can be seen as antecedents to King Hu's own narrative approach and cinematic techniques. Additionally, the influences of Peking Opera and its emphasis on stylized movement, as well as the use of space and rhythm in traditional Chinese landscape painting, coalesced within King Hu’s visual storytelling. This integration imbued his martial arts choreography and set design with a distinct operatic and pictorial quality.

King Hu's cinematic heritage thus represents a confluence of global cinematic traditions and indigenous artistic forms, creating a unique tapestry that has resonated across generations and geographical boundaries. His impact on the cinematic landscape is a testament to the power of film as a medium that transcends cultural and temporal barriers, inspiring a continuous evolution of narrative and visual storytelling in the world of cinema. The continuum of mimesis also extends to directors like Tsai Mingliang (嚁‫ޢ‬щ), whose films often reflect on the nature of cinema itself,

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

31

drawing upon the historicity of King Hu’s works to engage in a reflective dialogue with the past. Goodbye Dragon Inn (Љ‫ )ށ‬becomes an elegy to the era of King Hu, enacting a meta-cinematic mimesis that honors and reinterprets the themes of isolation and community in King Hu's filmography. The "chameleon effect" within this mimetic tradition speaks to the fluid adaptation and nuanced transformation of King Hu’s artistic legacy. Filmmakers absorb elements of King Hu’s cinematic language, adapting them within their own cultural and temporal contexts to create works that are both a homage and a reinvention. This process is reflective of mimesis in the Aristotelian sense—where art is not merely an imitation of life, but a re-creative

process

that

interprets

and

ultimately

enhances

the

understanding of the human experience. Thus, King Hu stands as a nexus in a transgenerational cinematic dialogue, his influence a testament to the power of film as a medium that transcends temporal, cultural, and geographic boundaries through the continual act of creative mimesis. Chapter Three critiques the successes and shortcomings of King Hu's unique brand of martial arts feminism. Through a gender studies lens, the author engages with the feminist undertones in King Hu's cinematic artworks. King Hu occupies a pivotal position in the annals of cinema, particularly for his innovative portrayal of female protagonists within the martial arts genre. His films, notably Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃) and A Touch

Chapter One

32

of Zen ( ✃ ‫) ׮‬, were instrumental in subverting conventional gender paradigms by crafting female characters who were autonomous and possessed formidable martial prowess. These characters, with their martial acuity, served to disrupt traditional cinematic narratives and established a new paradigm of female agency in Chinese, Asian, and global cinema, challenging the entrenched "glass ceiling" that historically constrained women of Chinese heritage. While King Hu's films were revolutionary in presenting empowered female images during the 1960s and 1970s, his oeuvre did not explicitly align with the contemporary discourses of second-wave and third-wave feminism. It is noteworthy that the ascendancy of his female protégés, such as Sylvia Chang (㑋ਬⰧ) and Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬㳪 Hsu, Feng), to prominent roles in the Chinese-language film industry appears more attributable to their individual feminist consciousness rather than direct mentorship from King Hu on feminist ideologies. The enduring issue of underrepresentation and lack of recognition for women—particularly women of color—in major international film festivals was not overtly addressed within King Hu's cinematic contributions. While a few Taiwanese female filmmakers like Huang Yushan (溈࣭ࣥ), Liu Lili (⤻ॹॹ), Yang Jiayun (㳡‫؟‬曾), Sylvia Chang (㑋ਬⰧ), and Ann Hui (孝 枋啠) emerged as notable exceptions, having been professionally nurtured during the 1960s and 1970s either directly by King Hu or by his distinguished male contemporaries, their success in women’s film festivals

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

33

and feminist recognition appears to be a result of their autonomous navigation through the film industry rather than a direct consequence of King Hu's artistic legacy. Thus, the "cinematic pen" of King Hu and his contemporaries, despite its progressive portrayal of female characters, could still be perceived as predominantly embedded within a patriarchal framework. This interpretation invites a nuanced reflection on the complexities of gender dynamics in cinema, recognizing the progressive steps taken by King Hu while also acknowledging the broader systemic constraints and the necessity for ongoing feminist critique and activism within the cinematic domain. Chapter Four turns the spotlight on the women in King Hu’s martial arts films. This examination of martial arts ladies, women thieves, and female ghosts illuminates the complex tapestry of female representation in King Hu’s films, which range from the empowered to the ethereal. This scholarly article scrutinizes the representation of female entities within King Hu's martial arts cinema through a gender studies lens. Predominant discourse among film scholars suggests that the martial arts sphere is traditionally an androcentric domain. King Hu's films, it is argued, introduce an ostensibly “feminine” strand to the narrative fabric of this genre. Nonetheless, the current analysis posits that, despite such innovations, the "jiang hu" ( 㿄 ࢖ ), or the knight-errant's world, perpetuates its hegemonically masculine character, with femininity deployed predominantly as an aesthetic adjunct.

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Female personages within these narratives, it is argued, are not central agents of the plotline; instead, the primacy is bestowed upon martial arts and the spectacle of combat. In the context of martial arts cinematography, which prioritizes fight choreography and physical combat, the depiction of women often succumbs to sexualization, catering to a presumed male viewership. In King Hu's cinematic universe, female martial artists are frequently costumed in masculine attire, enacting roles that accentuate traits traditionally ascribed to masculinity within patriarchal constructs. They are typically cast as female guardians protecting vulnerable men or as ethereal female phantasms ensnaring scholarly males. While King Hu's contributions have garnered praise for enhancing the aesthetic dimension of Chinese cinema and its global stature, the articulation of gender within his films invites more nuanced and rigorous scholarly engagement. This investigation will dissect the subtleties and complexities of gender portrayals in his oeuvre, interrogating the extent to which they reinforce or challenge the patriarchal paradigms historically prevalent in the martial arts film genre. Chapter Five offers a focused study on the female images in Dragon Inn and A Touch of Zen, two of King Hu’s most celebrated works. This chapter scrutinizes the roles these characters play and the broader implications for gender representation within the wuxia genre. In King Hu's cinematic tableaux, the characters of Zhu Hui in Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃) and Yang Huizhen in A Touch of Zen (✃‫ )׮‬are portrayed

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as embodiments of chivalrous femininity. Zhu Hui is depicted as surpassing her elder sibling, Zhu Ji, in intellect and martial prowess—attributes conventionally ascribed to male counterparts within the genre. Disguised as a man, she assumes the unconventional role of a male protectorate, though her character is tinged with naivety and impulsiveness. Conversely, Yang Huizhen's portrayal as a paragon of strength is more pronounced; she transcends the heroine archetype and becomes a matriarch, ensuring familial continuity. Her character arc, deviating from conventional masculinist narratives of martial arts cinema, is marked by reticence, allure, and an unapproachable aura, coupled with exceptional martial skills. Her singular focus on vengeance, and her subsequent disengagement from familial bonds with Gu Shengzhai and their offspring, further cements her portrayal as enigmatic and distant. The female characters in King Hu’s early filmography often emerge as formidable figures exhibiting traits typically aligned with masculinity. To afford a deeper comprehension and critical analysis of King Hu's oeuvre, this chapter employs the imagological framework of Daniel-Henri Pageaux, a prominent figure in French comparative literature. Through meticulous text analysis encompassing lexical choices, hierarchical dynamics, and narrative contexts, the study endeavors to unravel the feminine representations in Dragon Inn and A Touch of Zen. The findings suggest that the depiction of women as chivalrous entities, situated within a defined temporal and spatial context, serves to accentuate the dichotomy between

Chapter One

36

genders and dismantle entrenched stereotypes of femininity. Chapter Six is a treatise on cultural translation and subtitling norms. It focuses on the Taiwan Film and Audiovisual Institute's (TFAI) approach to making King Hu's films accessible to a broader audience without losing their cultural specificity. This scholarly inquiry seeks to delineate the elements pertinent to cultural translation within the subtitling norms as established by the TFAI. The focus of this examination lies on the Institute’s English subtitling style guide, which directs the subtitling procedures for films digitally restored by the TFAI. Initially, this chapter elucidates the constructs of cultural translation and subtitling norms within the field of translation studies literature. Subsequently, the discussion proceeds to a comparative analysis of the TFAI's subtitling norms against those of Netflix, recognized as a benchmark within the subtitling sphere. This juxtaposition spans technical, linguisticsemiotic, and cultural dimensions. The findings indicate that the broader cultural context shapes the subtitling standards of both entities. While the TFAI has integrated certain protocols aligned with Netflix’s methodology, its subtitling criteria exhibit distinct characteristics, notably: (1) providing counsel on subtitling complex cultural issues, (2) advocating a restrained approach in conveying culture-specific details, (3) exhibiting deliberate agency within the layers of norms, and (4) displaying a comparatively extrospective orientation.

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The TFAI’s efforts in enhancing cross-cultural comprehension through the inclusion of cultural considerations in their subtitling guidelines are commendable. This study aims to deepen the discourse on professional subtitling practices and highlight the significance of cultural translation in the endeavors of a state-funded institution to propagate its cultural heritage beyond cultural, linguistic, and national boundaries. Chapter Seven examines the poetic, atmospheric, and montage elements within King Hu’s films. This chapter provides insights into the technical and artistic applications of King Hu’s work and engages in an intertextual study that places his films within a broader cinematic context. The scholarly landscape has been notably enriched by a proliferation of research, treatises, and audio-visual records focusing on the oeuvre of King Hu. The 2022 release of the documentaries The King of Wuxia Part 1: The Prophet Was Once Here and The King of Wuxia Part 2: The Heartbroken Man on the Horizon has substantially augmented the body of information concerning this auteur’s contributions to cinema. Following these documentary forays, there has been a surge in film critique and multimedia examinations scrutinizing the breadth of King Hu’s artistic legacy and his personal accomplishments. The sources exploring King Hu’s filmography are multifarious, engaging with the subject matter through diverse scholarly lenses, including narrative structure, martial choreography, prop deployment, genre analysis, cross-cultural dialogue, literary exegesis, and the confluence of religious

Chapter One

38

and Buddhist scholarship. Amidst this rich tapestry of discourse, the present analysis focuses on two of King Hu’s comparatively understudied films: Legend of the Mountain (ٌИ⟂‫ר‬, 1979) and Raining in the Mountain (ॱ ٌ杌஧, 1979). Employing paragraph analysis, this work aims to delve beyond the well-explored realms of Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃, 1967) and A Touch of Zen (✃‫׮‬, 1971), illuminating the nuanced layers of King Hu’s directorial approach. The exegesis goes beyond mere technical critique, engaging with the thematic and semantic undercurrents of King Hu’s films and enriching the interpretations with varied cultural and religious insights. The objective is to refine scholarly comprehension and critique of King Hu's directorial imprint. Subsequently, the investigation transitions from a focus on authorship to a contextualized exploration of film poetics, scrutinizing King Hu’s use of his unique cinematic lexicon. This includes an examination of paragraphic shot composition, camera dynamism, editing prowess, and the interplay between auditory and visual elements. Collectively, these create montage phenomena that underscore the systemic integrity of his cinematic language in concert with filmic rhythm and syntax. This inquiry extends its scope to examine the influence of King Hu on the Chinese-language film landscape, tracing aesthetic and thematic resonances in films such as A Better Tomorrow ( ਸ਼ ஢ߎ ਩ , 1986), A Chinese Ghost Story (❃‫׮‬㎸欐, 1987), Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (厂੘੗潈, 2000), Goodbye Dragon Inn (Љ‫ށ‬, 2003), and House of Flying

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Daggers ( ԝவ ⷃ ѥ, 2004). Through a rigorous literature review, this research delves into the aesthetic constructs of King Hu’s cinematography, scrutinizing classic sequences and their larger narrative contexts. Embracing the theoretical framework of film poetics as outlined by David Bordwell, this study conducts a textual analysis, dissecting select cinematic excerpts to foster a critical dialogue among the cinematic texts. This exploration aims to deepen the understanding of intertextual dynamics within King Hu's filmic influence and its ripple effects through subsequent cinematic works. Chapter Eight explores the aesthetic strategies employed by King Hu in Raining in the Mountain. This analysis concludes the volume by offering a detailed examination of the aesthetic principles and techniques King Hu used to craft this visually stunning film. The contribution of King Hu to the martial arts film genre has been acknowledged through numerous contemporary cinematic tributes that continue to shape and define the field. This chapter conducts an analytical inquiry into the distinct creative aesthetic strategies that King Hu implemented to distinguish Raining in the Mountain as an exceptional work within the martial arts cinematic tradition. From a creative standpoint, the movie stands as a tribute to King Hu's fondness for weaving together aspects that echo Peking opera and the delicate nuances of classic ink painting. The film transcends being merely an audio-visual experience and becomes a canvas where King Hu’s

40

Chapter One

cinematic techniques, resonant with the art theory of the ancient Chinese landscape painter Guo Xi, bring forth an array of inventive features. These techniques are adeptly employed to harness natural vistas and meticulous production designs, culminating in a rich tapestry of visual effects that transcend mere spectacle to become a form of artistic expression. More crucially, the employment of these cinematic techniques transcends aesthetic purposes, serving as vehicles for creative representation. Through their application, King Hu crafts the character of the Buddhist abbot not just as a protagonist but as a symbolic swordsman, imbuing him with the potency of a gallant knight. This character is situated within a metaphorical space, constructed through cinematic artifice, where he is empowered to administer justice.

King Hu’s cinematic execution thereby weaves a complex moral allegory, illuminating the corrupting influence of avarice on the human psyche. Raining in the Mountain emerges as a cinematic narrative where King Hu’s strategic interplay of filmic techniques and narrative devices encapsulates the tumultuous interplay between greed and virtue, providing a profound commentary on human morality. Through this analysis, this chapter seeks to illuminate the layered complexity of King Hu’s work and its enduring impact on the martial arts genre. Chapter Nine focuses on classical Chinese narrative and visual thought in King Hu's wuxia film, A Touch of Zen. Readers are invited into the

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intricately woven world of King Hu's masterpiece, where the tapestry of classical Chinese narrative traditions and the philosophy of visual storytelling are artfully examined. This incisive analysis peels back the layers of King Hu's directorial finesse, unveiling how the cinematic narrative structure and character arcs are ingeniously crafted in the vein of ancient Chinese literary forms and operatic dramaturgy. This chapter provides an in-depth look at the sophisticated use of visual metaphors within the film and the deliberate aestheticization of cinematic space. Additionally, it scrutinizes the deliberate pacing of scenes that harmonize with Zen motifs, creating a visual poetry that guides the audience through a journey of philosophical “emptiness.” By dissecting these elements, this chapter not only solidifies A Touch of Zen as a cornerstone of the evolution of wuxia cinema but also posits its enduring impact on the visual and narrative dynamics in the oeuvre of subsequent generations of filmmakers. This segment of the text is crucial for understanding the transformative influence King Hu has had on the cinematic language of martial arts films and beyond. This chapter presents a threefold analytical exploration of the unique artistic expression evident in the seminal wuxia film, A Touch of Zen, directed by the globally acclaimed King Hu. It articulates how the film's distinctive approach to story and character arcs finds its roots in the narrative traditions of ancient Chinese literature and opera. Additionally, it investigates the film’s strategic use of visual metaphor and the sophisticated treatment of depth of field to enhance its visual storytelling. Furthermore,

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the analysis considers the film's cinematographic tempo, which draws inspiration from Zen principles, and its embrace of the artistic notion of "emptiness." The utilization of classical Chinese narrative methods and aesthetic sensibilities in A Touch of Zen has set a benchmark for King Hu’s directorial style in the realm of martial arts films, paving the way for subsequent generations of directors to engage with and expand upon King Hu’s iconic narrative structures and visual styles.

As elucidated through the nine comprehensive chapters of this academic volume, we emerge with a panoramic understanding of King Hu’s transformative impact on the wuxia genre. The discourse traverses the multifaceted dimensions of King Hu’s work, from the pioneering integration of classical Chinese narrative techniques and visual aesthetics to the subtle infusion of feminist perspectives within the traditionally maledominated martial arts sphere. Each chapter serves as a piece of an intricate mosaic, illustrating how King Hu’s films do not merely entertain but also engage with and contribute to broader cultural and social dialogues. The scholarly analyses presented herein unravel the chameleonic nature of King Hu’s cinematic art, revealing the malleability and adaptive resonance of his storytelling. The text reflects on the success and limitations of King Hu's portrayal of female characters, drawing attention to the progressive and sometimes contradictory elements of martial arts feminism as depicted in his oeuvre. The examination extends to the intertextual

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conversations between King Hu's films and broader Chinese-language cinema, highlighting the significance of cultural translation and the challenges it presents in maintaining the integrity of King Hu's narrative vision. Ultimately, the compendium positions King Hu not merely as a filmmaker but as a cultural auteur whose works have left an indelible mark on the canvas of global cinema. His aesthetic strategies, technical innovations, and thematic profundities have forged a path for a generation of storytellers who seek to balance spectacle with substance, and action with philosophical depth. As this book closes, the enduring nature of King Hu’s artistic contributions stands undeniable, ensuring that his films, especially wuxia films, continue to inspire and provoke thought within the realms of cinematic expression and cultural discourse for years to come.

Works Cited Albee, Edward (2006) Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf (Revised by the Author). Berkley: Berkley. Bordwell, David (2000) Planet Hong Kong: Popular Cinema and the Art of Entertainment. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, p. 163. Chan, Jessica Ka Yee (2015) “Anticipating Action: The Evolving Grammar of Action and Montage in Hong Kong Cinema.” East Asian Journal of Popular Culture 1.3: 403-419. Chen, Mo (1997) “Reconsiderations of the Early Chinese Wuxia Cinema.” Contemporary Cinema 1.

44

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Cho, Allan (2010) The Hong Kong Wuxia Movie: Identity and Politics, 1966-1976. Saarbrücken, Germany: Lambert Academic. Hector, Rodriguez (1998) “Questions of Chinese Aesthetics: Film Form and Narrative Space in the Cinema of King Hu.” Cinema Journal 38.1: 7397. Hubert, Niogret (2012) “King Hu, Une Empreinte Définitive.” Positif Vol. 612 (Paris:1952), p.74. Kei, Sek (2004) “Chang Cheh's Revolution in Masculine Violence.” Chang Cheh: A Memoir. Hong Kong: Hong Kong Film Archive, pp. 11-19. Law, Ho-Chak (2014) “King Hu’s Cinema Opera in his Early Wuxia Films.” Music and the Moving Image 7.3: 24-40. Steintrager, James A. (2014) “The Thirdness of King Hu: Wuxia, Deleuze, and the Cinema of Paradox.” Journal of Chinese Cinemas 8.2: 99-110. Teo, Stephen (2009) Chinese Martial Arts Cinema: The Wuxia Tradition. Edinburgh, UK: Edinburgh University Press. —. (1997) Hong Kong Cinema: The Extra Dimensions. London: BFI. Woo, Catherine Yi-Yu Cho (1991) “The Chinese Montage: From Poetry and Painting to the Silver Screen.” Perspectives on Chinese Cinema. Chris Berry edt. London: BFI Publishing, pp. 21-29.

Notes 1

Virginia Woolf, a seminal figure in both modernist literature and feminist literary discourse, has left an indelible mark on the landscape of 20th-century literature. Born Adeline Virginia Stephen on January 25, 1882, in London, Woolf emerged from an intellectually privileged background that profoundly influenced her career as a writer. Her father, Leslie Stephen, was a notable historian, author, and mountaineer, while her mother, Julia Prinsep Jackson, was celebrated for her beauty and also connected to the Pre-Raphaelite movement. This intersection of intellectual rigor and artistic sensibility within her family milieu played a critical role in shaping

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Woolf's literary vision and sensibilities. Woolf's contributions to literature are manifold, but she is particularly renowned for her pioneering use of stream of consciousness as a narrative device. This technique, characterized by the continuous flow of a character's thoughts and feelings, is vividly employed in her acclaimed novels such as Mrs. Dalloway (1925), To the Lighthouse (1927), and The Waves (1931). These works not only reflect Woolf's innovative narrative structures but also explore complex themes such as the inner psyche, the passage of time, and the impact of societal norms on individual identity. In addition to her narrative innovations, Woolf's essays and lectures hold a significant place in feminist literary criticism. Her extended essay, "A Room of One's Own" (1929), is a seminal text in feminist literature, where she famously asserted that "a woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction." This work scrutinizes the historical marginalization of women in literature and the cultural barriers they faced, advocating for both financial independence and intellectual freedom for women. Woolf's writing is noted for its deep introspection and probing into the human condition. Her exploration of mental illness, partly stemming from her own struggles with bipolar disorder, added a profound depth and realism to her characters. This personal experience, coupled with the tragic losses she endured throughout her life, including the early deaths of her mother and half-sister, and the sexual abuse she suffered at the hands of her half-brothers, infused her writing with a unique sensitivity and awareness of the complexities of human psychology. As a central figure in the Bloomsbury Group, a collective of English writers, intellectuals, philosophers, and artists, Woolf's influence extended beyond her literary works. Her role in this group positioned her at the heart of intellectual and artistic debates of her time, enabling her to shape and be shaped by some of the foremost thinkers of her era. Virginia Woolf's death in 1941, by suicide after a lifelong battle with mental illness, marked the loss of one of the most influential voices in modern literature. Her legacy, however, continues to resonate, her works remaining central to discussions in literary and feminist circles and her life and writings continuing to inspire new generations of readers and scholars. Woolf's contributions to literature and feminist discourse have cemented her status as a pivotal figure in understanding both the evolution of the novel and the role of women in literature. 2 For details, consult Edward Albee’s Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf (Revised by the Author). Berkley: Berkley, 2006. Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf and Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf are titles that play on common cultural references but lead to vastly different realms of creative expression. Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf is a song that harks back to

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the charm and simplicity of 1933's Disney animation, The Three Little Pigs. It is a ditty that encapsulates the buoyant spirit of overcoming adversity, an emblematic refrain that generations have hummed in the face of their own metaphorical “big bad wolves.” In stark contrast stands Edward Albee's 1962 play Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf, a searing exploration of the complexities of human relationships, the facades people construct, and the harsh truths that lie beneath. This Tony Award-winning play and its subsequent film adaptation present a darkly comedic and disturbingly honest portrayal of a middle-aged couple's emotional and psychological unraveling over the course of a single evening. The play's title, a pun on the song, suggests the characters' fear of facing the raw and sometimes brutal truth, akin to the fear of the proverbial wolf, with Virginia Woolf symbolizing the unvarnished reality of life that the characters grapple with. 3 Edward Albee (1928-2016) was an American playwright known for his sharp wit, profound understanding of the human condition, and keen exploration of the complexities of personal relationships. Throughout his career, he delved into themes of love, disillusionment, societal norms, and the boundaries between reality and illusion. Born on March 12, 1928, in Virginia, Edward Albee was adopted by a wealthy New York family. He began writing plays in his late teens and early twenties, but his first major success came with "The Zoo Story" in 1958, a one-act play that established him as a promising new voice in American theater. While Albee wrote numerous plays during his long career, he is best known for "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" (1962). The play, a scathing exploration of the breakdown of a marriage, won numerous awards and remains one of the most prominent works of 20th-century American theater. Other significant plays by Albee include A Delicate Balance (1966), Three Tall Women (1991), and The Goat, or Who is Sylvia? (2002). Edward Albee's works often explore the tension between societal conventions and personal desires, the nature of reality, and the intricacies of interpersonal relationships. His plays are known for their sharp dialogue, intricate character studies, and often absurdist elements. Awards and Recognition: Edward Albee received three Pulitzer Prizes for Drama: for A Delicate Balance, Seascape, and Three Tall Women. His contribution to theater was recognized with a Special Tony Award for Lifetime Achievement in 2005. Even in his later years, Edward Albee remained active in the theater community, both as a playwright and a mentor to younger writers. He passed away on September 16, 2016, but left behind a legacy of plays that continue to be studied, performed, and revered around the world. Edward Albee stands as one of the titans of American drama, with a body of work that continues to resonate with audiences and scholars

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alike. 4 "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" is a searing exploration of the breakdown of the marriage of a middle-aged couple, Martha and George. Set over the course of a single evening in the couple's home, the play exposes the deep-seated bitterness, anger, and disappointment that underlie their relationship. The title itself is a play on words, referencing both Virginia Woolf, the famous English writer, and the nursery rhyme "Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?". This dual reference hints at the play's exploration of the boundaries between reality and illusion, as well as the societal expectations and pressures that can strain personal relationships. The narrative unfolds as Martha and George invite a younger couple, Nick and Honey, over for drinks after a university faculty party. As the evening progresses, Martha and George engage in increasingly bitter and personal attacks against each other, using Nick and Honey as pawns in their verbal warfare. Through their interactions, Albee delves deep into themes of truth, illusion, ambition, societal norms, and the nature of love and marriage. A significant aspect of the play is its structure, divided into three acts titled "Fun and Games," "Walpurgisnacht," and "The Exorcism." Each act elevates the emotional tension and furthers the breakdown of boundaries between reality and illusion. When it first premiered, "Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?" was both praised and criticized for its frank and raw portrayal of marital discord and for its sharp, often caustic dialogue. The play went on to win the 1963 Tony Award for Best Play, and its popularity has endured over the decades. It's often heralded as a cornerstone of modern American drama. 5 “Wuxia” is a imaginary journey into heroic martial arts fantasy. "Wuxia" is a subgenre of Chinese fiction that revolves around martial arts, chivalry, and heroic adventures. For those unfamiliar with Asian cultural traditions, understanding wuxia can be likened to Western medieval tales of knights and their chivalric quests, but with its own distinct flavors and philosophies rooted in Chinese culture. The term "wuxia" itself breaks down into two Chinese characters: "wu" ( ), meaning "martial" or "military", and "xia" ( ), which refers to the chivalrous heroes central to these stories. Martial Arts and Supernatural Abilities: Central to wuxia narratives are martial arts. Characters often possess skills that border on the supernatural, allowing them to perform feats like flying, walking on water, or controlling inner energies known as "qi" or "chi" for combat. These skills aren't just about physical prowess but are deeply intertwined with spiritual and philosophical disciplines. The protagonists, often referred to as “xia,” are martial artists who adhere to a strict code of chivalry. They roam the land righting wrongs, defending the weak, and

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seeking personal honor or redemption. Their journeys often involve battling oppressive figures, seeking legendary martial arts techniques, or navigating complex interpersonal relationships. While many wuxia stories are set against the backdrop of historical Chinese dynasties, they often incorporate fantasy elements, creating a unique blend of history and myth. Ancient sects, hidden martial arts schools, and secret societies abound in these tales. Wuxia delves deep into moral dilemmas and the nature of righteousness, honor, and personal responsibility. Characters often find themselves in situations where they must choose between personal desires and greater societal good, reflecting Confucian, Taoist, and Buddhist philosophies. The world of wuxia is populated by an array of characters, from noble martial arts masters and cunning villains to wandering poets and secluded monks. Additionally, there's often a detailed exploration of various martial arts schools, techniques, and internal power struggles. Over the years, wuxia has transcended literature and has found its way into movies, television shows, and even video games. Films like "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon" and "House of Flying Daggers" have brought the visual splendor of wuxia to international audiences, showcasing gravity-defying martial arts sequences and intricate plots. “Wuxia” offers a rich tapestry of stories that blend martial arts, morality, and fantasy against the vast and culturally rich backdrop of Chinese-speaking realms. For those unfamiliar with Asian culture, diving into wuxia provides a fascinating lens into Chinese philosophy, societal norms, and artistic traditions. 6 Check details of Chinese montage in Catherine Yi-Yu Cho Woo’s “The Chinese Montage: From Poetry and Painting to the Silver Screen.” Perspectives on Chinese Cinema. Chris Berry edt. London: BFI Publishing, 1991, pp. 21-29. Also consult the following academic publications: Chan, Jessica Ka Yee. “Anticipating Action: The Evolving Grammar of Action and Montage in Hong Kong Cinema.” East Asian Journal of Popular Culture1.3 (2015): 403-419. Chen, Mo. “Reconsiderations of the Early Chinese Wuxia Cinema.” Contemporary Cinema 1, 1997. Cho, Allan. The Hong Kong Wuxia Movie: Identity and Politics, 1966-1976. Saarbrücken, Germany: Lambert Academic, 2010. Hector, Rodriguez. “Questions of Chinese Aesthetics: Film Form and Narrative Space in the Cinema of King Hu.” Cinema Journal 38.1 (1998): 73-97. Hubert, Niogret. “King Hu, Une Empreinte Définitive.” Positif Vol. 612 (Paris:1952), 2012, p.74. Law, Ho-Chak. “King Hu’s Cinema Opera in his Early Wuxia Films.” Music and

Who’s Afraid of King Hu?

49

the Moving Image 7.3 (2014): 24-40. Steintrager, James A. “The Thirdness of King Hu: Wuxia, Deleuze, and the Cinema of Paradox.” Journal of Chinese Cinemas 8.2 (2014): 99-110. Teo, Stephen. Chinese Martial Arts Cinema: The Wuxia Tradition. Edinburgh, UK: Edinburgh University Press, 2009. —. Hong Kong Cinema: The Extra Dimensions. London: BFI, 1997. 7 For details, consult David Bordwell’s Planet Hong Kong: Popular Cinema and the Art of Entertainment. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000, p. 163. 8 Refer to page 15 of Sek Kei’s“Chang Cheh's Revolution in Masculine Violence.” Chang Cheh: A Memoir. Hong Kong: Hong Kong Film Archive, 2004, pp. 11-19. 9 This book includes authors across diverse research fields, research methods, countries, language backgrounds, academic experiences. For instance, even authors’ English language expressions may contain various styles from the UK or the US. 10 According to a Chinese-language TV interview program, King Hu confessed that the English translation, “Dragon Inn,” was not accurate. He said that Sha Rongfeng (࡙㴿㉓ Sha Jung-feng) hired a senior British lady as a translator, yet this British lady’s Sino-English language abilities might not be perfect. He mentioned that the best English-language translation should have been “Dragon Gate Inn.” Inside of the same TV interview program, King Hu even revealed that a hotel in Los Angeles was truly name “Dragon Gate Inn” to promote the Chinese flavor of the hotel in terms of marketing strategies. For details, consult the Mandarin Chinese language TV interview program entitled “After Meals and Tea” (咰棻棓㒑): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u4_mDqO8LpU&ab_channel=fumingwang (online resources retrieved in October and November 2023).

CHAPTER TWO THE CHAMELEON EFFECT AND MIMESIS OF KING HU’S CINEMATIC ART HERITAGE YA-CHEN CHEN, PH.D. King Hu emerges as a seminal figure in Chinese-language cinema, garnering international acclaim as a pioneering director of costume drama and martial arts films. His enduring legacy profoundly influences generations beyond his tenure. This scholarly discourse elucidates the pervasive influence of Hu's oeuvre, which serves as a beacon to a distinguished cohort of directors including Ang Lee, Zhang Yimou, Tsui Hark (‫ڰ‬ұ Xu Ke), Sylvia Chang, Tsai Ming-liang (嚁‫ޢ‬щ Cai Mingliang), Wang Tong, Li Long, Lin Chingchieh (ߥ杙➡ Lin Jingjie), and Ann Hui (孝枋啠 On-Wah Hui). The cinematic language of Tsai Ming-liang's Goodbye Dragon Inn (or Busan Љ‫)ށ‬, notably borrows from King Hu's iconic Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬ 㲃), paying homage through veteran actors Shi Jun (ी曑 Shih Chun) and Miao Tian (呙‫ מ‬Miao Tien) from Hu's repertoire. This intertextual dialogue extends to Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, which harmonizes talents like Cheng Pei-pei (憞҃҃ Zheng Peipei), Michelle Yeoh, and Zhang Ziyi, resonating with thematic and stylistic echoes of King Hu's films, particularly in their portrayal of characters. King Hu's influence transcends cinematic boundaries, as evidenced by Sylvia Chang's (㑋ਬⰧ) multifaceted career, which reflects the aesthetic and thematic sensibilities of King Hu's canon. The treatise explores the

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"chameleon effect" and principles of mimesis in art and literary theories as frameworks for understanding the transgenerational transmission of King Hu's cinematic DNA. Filmmakers perpetuate King Hu's archetypal martial arts combat, cultivating a form of mimesis in their cinematic creations. King Hu's international accolades include multiple Golden Horse Awards and the distinction of being the first Chinese-heritage award-winner at the Cannes Film Festival. His films like Son of the Earth (‫֪ם‬⡓‫)׮‬, Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃), A Touch of Zen (✃‫)׮‬, Legend of the Mountain (ٌИ⟂‫)ר‬, and All the King’s Men (‫מ‬Јআ▲) have received critical acclaim and various awards, culminating in a life-long honorary prize from the Golden Horse Awards. The "chameleon effect" serves as a metaphor for the phenomenon of involuntary mimicry and explicates the subtle influence of King Hu's directorial mastery on subsequent generations of filmmakers. King Hu's indelible imprint operates like this effect, manifesting through an unconscious

assimilation

of

his

stylistic

nuances

and

thematic

preoccupations by other directors. The relationship between King Hu and his successors is deeply symbiotic. Directors like Ang Lee engage in a complex dialogue with Hu's filmography, refracting and reshaping his aesthetic and narrative idioms. This "chameleon effect" mirrors and transforms King Hu's visual syntax and rhythmic pacing within contemporary contexts, evolving emulation into innovation as these filmmakers blend King Hu's traditional motifs with their unique perspectives, perpetuating the dynamism of Chinese cinematic heritage. Their films become a crucible in which King Hu’s influence is alloyed with global cinematic trends, resonating with universal audiences

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while retaining the essence of King Hu's vision. Among Chinese-heritage filmmakers, the "chameleon effect" serves as a bridge connecting the rich historical past of Chinese cinema with the vibrant tapestry of its present. Directors like Tsui Hark and Sylvia Chang embody the adaptive nature of this influence, exemplifying how King Hu’s stylistic and thematic elements are not merely replicated but reborn within their films. In their hands, King Hu’s cinematic language undergoes a metamorphosis, acquiring new inflections and connotations while still paying homage to its source. This generational passage, akin to the psychological underpinnings of the “chameleon effect,” illuminates the nuanced ways in which filmmakers internalize and then externalize influences, weaving them into the fabric of their own distinct cinematic narratives. It is through this process of continuous reinterpretation and recontextualization that King Hu’s legacy is both preserved and perpetually reinvigorated, ensuring its resonance within the canon of global cinema. The literary concept of mimesis, elucidated by Aristotle as the artistic imitation of nature, serves as an intellectual scaffold for understanding the profound interrelations between King Hu's cinema and the body of work produced by world-class filmmakers and Chinese-heritage successors. In King Hu’s cinematic universe, the replication of martial arts lore and the aesthetic representation of Chinese philosophies were not mere reproductions of reality but rather transformative processes that elevated everyday experiences into the realm of the extraordinary. This principle of mimesis resonates in the works of contemporary cinematic artisans who draw upon King Hu’s ethos, not to create carbon copies of his narratives, but to capture the essence of his artistic spirit. The films of directors, such

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as Ang Lee, do not merely mimic King Hu’s storytelling; they absorb the quintessence of his method, refining and projecting it through their own prisms of cultural and temporal context, thus achieving a form of mimesis that is at once reflective and innovative. Within the realm of mimesis, King Hu’s influence acts as a catalyst for a kind of cinematic alchemy among a diverse cadre of filmmakers. The mimetic relationship is complex; it involves not only the surface-level adoption of genre conventions but also the deeper emulation of King Hu’s thematic preoccupations and narrative rhythms. This interpretative act becomes particularly evident in the way King Hu’s cinematic language, characterized by a distinctive choreography of action and a poetic visual tableau, is echoed in the works of subsequent filmmakers. Tsui Hark, in his vibrant reinventions of the wuxia genre, and Sylvia Chang, in her nuanced, character-driven dramas, engage with King Hu’s legacy as a fundamental source, reimagining his techniques to serve new stories and sensibilities. Through this ongoing conversation across decades, King Hu’s foundational aesthetics become a living tradition, reenacted and reimagined in a perpetual cycle of creative mimesis. The symbiotic relationship between King Hu and his progeny of Chinese-heritage filmmakers exemplifies mimesis as an active, dynamic process of cultural and creative transmission. The evolution of King Hu’s cinematic style into the visual and narrative vocabularies of filmmakers such as Tsai Ming-liang and Ann Hui reveals the multifaceted nature of mimetic influence. It is not a one-dimensional mimicry but an intricate process of adaptation, reinterpretation, and, ultimately, evolution. These filmmakers, while inheriting the mantle of King Hu’s artistic vision, infuse

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it with their own distinct voices and experiences, allowing for the emergence of new forms and narratives. In this way, mimesis transcends imitation, becoming a transformative engagement that perpetuates King Hu’s cinematic heritage while fostering its continual reinvention within the broader context of global cinema.

Chameleon Effect Tanya L. Chartrand and John A. Bargh conducted experiments that verified and defined the term "Chameleon Effect." This psychological phenomenon

enhances

emotional

and

conceptual

acceptance

in

interpersonal socialization by unintentionally mimicking body postures, speech patterns, accents, and facial expressions. 1 Tanya L. Chartrand and John A. Bargh argue that the term "chameleon" is more appropriate than "monkey" to describe the phenomenon of spontaneous mimicry and interpersonal influence, which differs from the English-language saying "Monkey see, monkey do." On January 8, 1789, The Wilmington Centinel published a story about "Monkey see, monkey do" in Wilmington, North Carolina: A sailor, having a number of red woolen caps to dispose of among the natives, went ashore for that purpose. His path to a settlement lay through woods densely populated by the species mentioned above. It being midday, he put a cap on his head and laid the others by his side, determining to take a little repose under the shade of a plantain tree. To his utter astonishment, when he awoke, he beheld a number of monkeys on the trees around him wearing the caps, having observed and imitated his use of them while chattering unusually. Finding every attempt to

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regain the caps fruitless, he eventually, in a fit of rage and disappointment, and under the assumption that the one he retained was not worth taking, pulled it off his head and threw it on the ground exclaiming, "Here, damn you, take it among you." No sooner had he done this than, to his great surprise, the observant monkeys did the same, enabling him to regain the majority of his property. 2

Esphyr Slobodkina first published Caps for Sale: A Tale of a Peddler, Some Monkeys and Their Monkey Business in 1947 and later released a sequel titled Pezzo the Peddler and the Circus Elephant. In 2002, Slobodkina reissued Circus Caps for Sale, and in 2015, More Caps for Sale was published. The latest addition to the series, Caps for Sale and the Mindful Monkeys, was released in 2017. Tanya L. Chartrand and John A. Bargh avoid using the monkey metaphor because the phrase "to ape" implies intentional imitation rather than unintentional mimicry. They believe that "chameleon" is a more fitting metaphor. As the popular meaning of the phrase "to ape" is "intentionally imitate," perhaps the monkey metaphor may not be the most appropriate for the phenomenon. We believe that "chameleon" is a better one. Such a "chameleon effect" may manifest itself in different ways. One may notice oneself using the idiosyncratic verbal expressions or speech inflections of a friend. Common to such cases is that one typically does not notice doing these things—if at all—until after the fact. The act of perceiving another person's behavior creates a tendency to behave similarly oneself. William James's principle of “ideomotor action” held

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that merely thinking about a behavior creates the tendency to engage in that behavior. This principle is in harmony with the proposed existence of a perception-action link, assuming that perceptual activity is one source of activity-relevant ideation.

Tanya L. Chartrand and John A. Bargh hold the following beliefs: (a) Behaviors are spontaneously encoded without intention in terms of relevant trait concepts. (b) Contextual priming of trait concepts can alter the perceiver's interpretation of an identical behavior by increasing their accessibility or readiness to be used. (c) Stereotypes of social groups are automatically activated upon the mere perception of certain features of a group member. 3 The theory of the "chameleon effect" is supported by several experiments. In one experiment, participants in a language test were exposed to vocabulary units about rudeness or politeness. Sixty-seven percent of the participants who were exposed to words related to rudeness tended to behave rudely by interrupting conversations, while eighty-four percent of those exposed to words related to politeness tended to behave politely by waiting for 10 minutes before interrupting. In another experiment, participants were exposed to vocabulary units about stereotypes of the elderly without any words related to slowness. As predicted, most people who heard the stereotype of the elderly unintentionally behaved slowly when leaving the hallway after the language test. In a third experiment, participants were shown images of young African American men's faces and tended to respond to a provocation with stronger aggression. 4

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Tanya L. Chartrand and John A. Bargh reference an experiment by Ap Dijksterhuis and Ad van Knippenberg in which participants primed with positive stereotypes or traits, such as the stereotype of a professor or the trait of intelligence, tended to perform better on a general knowledge test. They also conducted three major experiments: the first involved testing unintentional mimicry between strangers, the second explored the adaptive function of the chameleon effect, and the third investigated individual differences in non-conscious mimicry. Experiment 1 showed that participants' motor behavior unintentionally matched that of strangers with whom they worked on a task. Experiment 2 involved confederates mimicking the posture and movements of participants, demonstrating that mimicry facilitates the smoothness of interactions and increases liking between interaction partners. Experiment 3 revealed that dispositionally empathic individuals exhibit the chameleon effect to a greater extent than others. 5

They assert that the chameleon effect never occurs by accident. Furthermore, they believe that the chameleon effect has positive and desirable effects for both individuals and the groups to which they belong.6 The English-language saying "Monkey see, monkey do" implies intentional or purposeful mimicry and may be associated with legal taboos such as plagiarism or larceny, particularly in contexts where copyright is a concern. However, the chameleon effect, as proposed by Tanya L. Chartrand and John A. Bargh, differs from this conception. The chameleon effect is an unintentional or unconscious trigger for related artists, such as filmmakers, screenwriters, performers (including singers, dancers, actors,

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composers, conductors, etc.), writers (including poets, novelists, playwrights, etc.), photographers, painters, sculptors, and designers. These artists draw inspiration from their predecessors or previously anthologized classics through the process of artistic mimesis 7 or creative representation.

Mimesis Unlike the mimicry implied by the saying "Monkey see, monkey do," "mimesis" is a significant term in literary theory and criticism. Mimesis refers to the representation or imitation of the physical world in art, particularly in literature, drama, and film. The concept of mimesis can be traced back to the ancient Greek philosopher Plato, who believed that art is merely a copy of the physical world and is therefore inferior to reality. In contrast, Aristotle believed that art could be a powerful representation of reality, capable of evoking emotions and aiding in understanding the world. In Book X of "The Republic," Plato's Socrates proposes the metaphor of "three beds": one bed exists as an idea made by God, another is made by the carpenter in imitation of God's idea, and the third is made by the artist in imitation of the carpenter's. 8 In contrast to the mimicry implied by the saying "Monkey see, monkey do," an artist's intentional or purposeful imitation of their accomplished predecessors can be a good example of "mimesis." According to The Republic, mimesis is defined as "making oneself like another in utterance or in external characteristics." It is not conceived as mere “aping” in externals but becoming the fictional person you impersonate or represent. Plato primarily discusses the role of the poet in drama or in dramatic passages of the epic, who becomes the mouthpiece of their characters. 9

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In poetry, there are at least two types of mimesis: first, vocal mimesis, which involves writing in a unique accent or speech pattern to match the character in the story plot; and second, behavioral mimesis, in which characters react to scenarios in comprehensible ways. Because filmmakers are typically defined as people who utilize cinematic pens, 10 it is probably not irrational to compare filmmakers with cinematic pens to those whom Plato regarded as writers or “the poet[s], in drama or in dramatic passages of the epic, makes himself the mouthpiece of his characters” 11 according to Plato’s discourse on mimesis. Aristotle argued that mimesis involves not only imitation but also addition, as artists add symbolism and structure to their works, allowing audience members to derive meaning from them. It is the gap between artistic works and reality that enables audience members to experience empathy and catharsis when they engage with motion pictures. Mimesis is an essential element of Chinese martial arts films, as it allows filmmakers to create a world that is both familiar and fantastic, where the laws of physics and reality are suspended in favor of dramatic action and storytelling. These films often depict exaggerated, stylized, and acrobatic combat scenes that are not realistic but are designed to entertain and engage the audience. A prime example of mimesis in Chinese martial arts films is Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. The cinematic combat scenes, which draw from both ancient Chinese legends of kung fu and modern martial arts fictions, are choreographed to create a sense of fluidity and grace that is not possible in real-life combat. The characters defy gravity, running on rooftops and flying through the air with ease, creating a sense of

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otherworldliness that transports the audience to a fantastical realm. The use of mimesis in the film enhances the sense of wonder and spectacle and creates a unique cinematic experience. Mimesis is a complex concept that involves the interpretation and transformation of reality by the artist. In Chinese martial arts films, mimesis involves using physical movements of martial arts to create a representation of reality that is both different from and reflective of actual combat in the legendary "jiang hu" or gangster world. For instance, filmmakers use slowmotion in fight scenes to capture intricate movements that would be difficult to see in real-time. This technique creates a sense of hyper-reality that is more intense and more stylized than actual combat. Wirework is another technique used to create acrobatic fight scenes that defy the laws of physics, transforming the physical reality of combat into a graceful and poetic form of art. Chinese martial arts films utilize mimesis to transform the imaginary kung fu world into a work of art that is both entertaining and thoughtprovoking. With uniquely eye-catching techniques like wirework, slowmotion, and stylized fight choreography, filmmakers create a heightened sense of reality that is visually striking and emotionally engaging.

Mixture of Chameleon Effect and Mimesis Although theoretical frameworks traditionally delineate the chameleon effect within the psychological and educational domains from the discourse on mimesis within literary theory, practical interactions often blend these concepts. In the context of real-world engagements, the chameleon effect and mimesis can intertwine, encompassing both direct or intentional facets

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as well as indirect or unconscious dimensions. This synthesis acknowledges the complexity of influence and learning, where the distinction between purposeful emulation and involuntary mimicry may not always be clear-cut. The intertwining of the Chameleon Effect and the concept of mimesis offers a nuanced framework for understanding the enduring nature of King Hu's cinematic legacy. King Hu's films, replete with strong, autonomous female martial artists and captivating female specters, stand as vanguards of a visual and thematic revolution. The “chameleon effect,” with its psychological underpinnings, suggests that filmmakers may unconsciously embody and replicate the aesthetic and narrative elements of King Hu's style. This unconscious assimilation, however, operates in tandem with mimesis, where deliberate artistic imitation of King Hu’s work acts as a conduit for preserving and transforming narrative and visual motifs. Through this dual process, King Hu's cinematic signature persists within the industry: the robust female warriors and other characteristic elements of his films are reflected in the works of subsequent directors, who instinctively adapt these features to resonate with contemporary audiences and their thematic aspirations. This amalgam of instinctual adaptation and conscious imitation becomes a crucible for the evolution of King Hu’s influence. As his successors channel elements of his filmmaking through their own creative lenses, they engage in a mimetic process that transcends mere replication. Through this blend, King Hu’s cinematic innovations continue to reverberate through global cinema. Directors may, like chameleons, subconsciously echo King Hu’s pioneering spirit, while also intentionally employing mimesis to draw upon his narrative structures and character

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archetypes. The result is a rich, living tradition of film that, while rooted in King Hu's original creations, blossoms anew in the hands of each filmmaker who interacts with his enduring heritage. Through this complex interplay of influence, King Hu’s cinematic achievements persist, fostering a lineage of storytelling that is as transformative as it is homage-laden.

Globally Anthologized Filmmakers and Theorists’ Impacts on King Hu King Hu advanced his filmmaking techniques by exposing himself to globally well-established filmmakers and theorists. His unintentional and intentional exposure to influential filmmakers' techniques and masterpieces, as well as his close readings and interactions with these significant figures, likely facilitated the chameleon effect and mimesis. In 2013, Chen Yaoxing ( 暒 ⸝ 厡

Chen, Yao-hsing) made a

documentary film about King Hu. He attended an academic conference in memory of King Hu and commented on the Western theoretical impacts of Vsevolod Pudovkin, Sergei Eisenstein, and Béla Balázs on King Hu's filmmaking. After close readings and deep analyses of these theorists' cinematic perspectives, it is evident that King Hu's filmic works were significantly influenced by the cinematic theories and masterpieces of Vsevolod Pudovkin, Sergei Eisenstein, and Béla Balázs. Through the chameleon effect and mimesis during his exposure to these cinematic beliefs, King Hu undoubtedly advanced the quality of his filmic art creations. The master has passed away, but the example he set continues to inspire us. It has been over 25 years since Director Hu left us, but his achievements in art and righteousness delivered through his films have

The Chameleon Effect and Mimesis of King Hu’s Cinematic Art Heritage made him a great master always remembered by the world. King Hu is respected partly because of his high level of professionalism. He was very studious in the background research for his films. According to literature and reflections from those who worked with him, it is known that Hu paid studious attention to details. The cameraman, Hua Huiying (啠㘸ਸ਼), disclosed that King Hu studied the painting “Departure Herald and Return Clearing” (ӟઊҵ弜ⴥ) at the National Palace Museum while making Dragon Inn to understand how to shoot the parade scene when the eunuch left the city. It took him a long time to apply for a viewing of the painting. He was quite knowledgeable about textual research. On the other hand, King Hu's cinematic professionalism is also admirable. A key feature of his films is that characters often walked here and there. He also laughed at himself, acknowledging that many people told him walking was not very interesting. Actually, the scenes of walking can be necessary for storylines in films and can also be useful materials for understanding filmmaking. Why? They show us the application of traffic flow (੧悹俠) and the axis of action (ҝ‫۝‬俠) 12 in films. How did King Hu learn about different film theories? We know that before becoming a movie maker, he was a movie poster painter, an associate director and an actor. He had comprehensive experience in the industry, but he has never attended any cinematic school. His highest degree was high school according to what I know. Where did he learn about different film theories? We can find the answer in a book, Collections of King Hu’s Records (劏୐拵࠶✃朅‫ڧ‬ҁࡣ), written by two Japanese film critics. 13 In that book, King Hu mentioned the trend of studying Vsevolod Pudovkin, Sergei Eisenstein, and Béla Balázs’s

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Chapter Two theories in Hong Kong during the 1960s. He was very interested, so he read some of these books. At the time, he was an associate director and would ask directors about film knowledge. Some directors could give him an answer, but others could not. He thought that if he became a filmmaker in the future without relevant knowledge, or only obtained fragmented information from senior directors, he would not be able to acquire knowledge systematically. As such, he tried to obtain relevant books. But since Chinese translations of film theories were scarce at that time, King Hu tried to read books written in English. From the interview with King Hu, we also know that his English was very good. He learned about theories through reading, and as an associate director and actor, he then put film theories into practice. Therefore, when you watch King Hu's films, you might be surprised to see that the way he used cameras complied with film theories. This is where I feel he was superb. He combined theories with practice. Many people experienced in practice tend to ignore theories. Conversely, many scholars value film theories and tend to neglect the practical aspect. King Hu is respectable because he managed to combine the two dimensions perfectly. King Hu has another admirable quality: his learnedness. As mentioned, his English was excellent, so he read extensively. Apart from that, he also read Chinese books extensively, including works by Lao She (৯ਝ). He became an expert in Lao She and even took time out from filmmaking to attend an international Lao She Studies Association conference. This shows how serious he was about research. From his manuscripts, we also found that he planned to make animations. When he was in the USA, he attempted to create English material to help Mandarin speakers speak

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English upon their arrival in the USA. Actually, he had a variety of interests and researched deeply into what interested him. With this understanding, when we watch his films, we can feel the depth that distinguishes them from other regular martial arts films. 14

"Montage" is another example of Western impact on King Hu's filmmaking. King Hu's preference for adopting Western filmmaking techniques, such as "montage," may have originated from the chameleon effect of well-established Western filmmakers and anthologized Western cinematic works that he admired for a long time. Sergei Eisenstein, a Soviet film director, screenwriter, film editor, and film theorist, was likely one of the earliest to establish the cinematic editorial technique known as "montage" in the history of the worldwide film industry. The word "montage" is derived from architecture and refers to techniques of editing, rearrangement, assembling, and juxtaposing various filmic shots over a shorter span of time. Eisenstein believed that the editorial skills of short film clips or shots would better upgrade the quality of cinematic storytelling. His cinematic theories about montage include at least the following elements: metric, rhythmic, tonal, overtonal, and intellectual. 15 Frequently seen techniques of montage include music, quick cuts, voiceover narration, minimal or no dialogue, and repetition of camera movements. In a discussion with King Hu’s associate director Li Long (㬮潈 Li, Lung), You Tingjing ( ࢕ 〯 㦞 Yu, Ting Ching) mentioned that many Western films use the third-person establishing shot. In Yu Ting Ching’s opinion, King Hu's films do not seem to follow this approach. The style of King Hu’s establishing shot is more akin to Chinese landscape scroll paintings. Therefore, King Hu made use of the follow shot technique.

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However, the way he applied it was different from using a dolly. He tended to observe something gradually and slowly. Yu Ting Ching feels this approach complies with and echoes his respect for natural aesthetics. This way, King Hu was able to capture the flickering light and shadows, a sense of randomness, and the Taoist philosophy's value of governing by noninterference. 16 Chen Yongrui (暒⥭ࣶ Chen, Yong-jui) agreed with Yu Ting Ching's observations and added that King Hu combined music with his montage techniques. In Legend of the Mountain, viewers can see several scenes where a monk and a female ghost fight with the drum in the background. Here, a variety of editing techniques are used. Another example is the final part of Raining in the Mountain, in which Sun Yue (ㄘ૞) is chased by a group of people. The chasing scene at the beginning plays with time and space, and the editing techniques are effectively utilized. Chen Yongrui believes King Hu had great control over his films by utilizing montage techniques. 17 In addition to the influence of Western cinematic theorists, Japanese cinema also played an important role in King Hu's filmmaking. Both Fan Jianyou (ਸҡ䮳 Fan, Chien-you) and Zhong Ling (揠䙻 Chung, Ling) noted the Japanese (chameleon) effect on King Hu, as he was deeply influenced by the works of prominent Japanese filmmakers after appreciating their artistry. During December 1997 and January 1998, Fan Jianyou organized a film festival in Japan dedicated to King Hu. He recalled a book about an international film festival held in Tokyo in December 1997 and January 1998. The festival featured King Hu's Dragon Inn, A Touch of Zen, which

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won a great prize at the Cannes Film Festival, and The Valiant Ones. What is unique about this festival is that it was held exactly one year after King Hu's death on January 14, 1997. The festival was grand in scale, with Taiwan and Japan paying their greatest tribute to King Hu on this occasion. 18 Zhong Ling (揠䙻 Chung, Ling), King Hu's wife and playwright, drew attention to the influence of Japanese samurai films on the making of martial arts movies in China. She noted that both Zhang Che (㑋㒹 Chang Cheh) and King Hu, two of the most well-known Chinese filmmakers in this genre, were inspired by the Japanese samurai films of the time, particularly those directed by Akira Kurosawa (௲䊮‫)ޢ‬. During the period when Zhang Che (㑋㒹 Chang Cheh) and King Hu were making films, Japanese samurai movies were flourishing, and Akira Kurosawa's films were at the peak of their popularity. The Shaw Brothers (愬ࡆҬ‫)ژ‬, a major company in the Chinese film industry, also drew inspiration from these Japanese films. King Hu, in particular, was a great admirer of Kurosawa's Seven Samurai (Є࠶ ‫)ב‬, which had a significant influence on his filmmaking style. It is worth noting that Seven Samurai is a classic Japanese movie that has had a profound impact on the film industry worldwide, particularly in the martial arts genre. 19

Following Generations to Follow King Hu’s Foot-Steps An academic conference was held at Zhongshan 73 in Taichung City on April 29-30, 2022, to commemorate King Hu's 90th birthday. Attendees at the conference paid tribute to the renowned filmmaker and discussed the impact of his cinematic legacy, including how his use of the chameleon

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effect and mimesis influenced their own work. King Hu's kung fu movies, often featuring bamboo forests, hotels, and restaurants as settings for fight scenes, have significantly influenced the portrayal of traditional Chinese martial arts battles in popular culture. So influential have these settings become that many audience members, filmmakers, and screenwriters associate them with Chinese martial arts films. This unintentional adaptation of Hu's orthodox kung fu combats is likely a result of the chameleon effect his work has had on filmmakers and screenwriters. The influence of King Hu's work can also be seen in the casting decisions of filmmakers like Ang Lee, who grew up watching Hu's films. Ang Lee's choice to cast Zheng Peipei (憞҃҃ Cheng, Pei-pei), who played the female protagonist in many of King Hu's films, as Jade Fox in Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon is an example of the chameleon effect and his desire to emulate Hu's female protagonists, such as White Fox in Raining in the Mountain and Golden Swallow in Come Drink with Me. Oscar-winning playwright Cai Guorong further supports the idea of the chameleon effect and mimesis, noting that a bamboo forest fight scene in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon was intended as a tribute to King Hu's A Touch of Zen. This highlights the lasting impact of King Hu's work on subsequent generations of filmmakers and the continuing influence of his cinematic legacy on Chinese culture and society. Cai Guorong stated: I really admire Director King Hu. I feel that until now, his achievement in martial arts films has not been surpassed. I am a fan of King Hu, so my screenplay creation must have been influenced by him. In fact, the bamboo forest fight between Jen and Li Mubai in Crouching Tiger

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Hidden Dragon was intended to pay tribute to King Hu. As I recall, I discussed this with Ang Lee for days. We were concerned that the audience might not understand our admiration for King Hu, mistaking our work for imitation or plagiarism. Finally, Ang Lee made the final decision. He said, "Don't worry too much. Let's do it!" 20

Ang Lee (㬜،) Ang Lee's film, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, which drew inspiration from King Hu's work, was awarded an Academy Award, bringing belated recognition to King Hu's legacy of cinematic art. King Hu's portrayal of senior female martial artists and his iconic depictions of kung fu combats in bamboo forests, hotels, and restaurants influenced the film's style and narrative. Despite not winning any Academy Awards during his lifetime, King Hu's work continues to be revered by filmmakers and scholars alike, and his impact on the martial arts genre and Chinese cinema as a whole is widely recognized. The success of Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon has helped to further cement his legacy and bring attention to the rich tradition of Chinese martial arts movies, captivating audiences around the world. 21 Firstly, King Hu's Come Drink with Me (‫ם‬懵✃) and Zhang Che's (㑋 㒹 Chang, Cheh) Tiger Boy (੘✃㼫☭) initiated a new branch of martial arts films in the 1960s. Unlike actors or actresses such as Cao Dahua (㫯惕啠), Yu Suqiu (йপफ़), Chen Baozhu (暒ㆁ࣯), and Xiao Fangfang (囌吷吷), who displayed acrobatics only in past Cantonese martial arts films, the new martial arts films sought real fights and masculinity, reforming the filmdom teeming with the feminine trend,

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similar to actresses cross-dressing as men in Huangmei opera (溈ࠎ寪). Both filmmakers are pioneers and acclaimed as protectors of martial arts films. Zhang Che's films featured clean and powerful actions, but the storylines only involved underworld grievances, rarely touching upon historical interpretation. On the contrary, King Hu's films featured delicacy and exactness, with storylines embedded in a historical background. He sought fineness in costumes, props, and details. His works stress collective willpower to fight against evil, showing a vintage style, sometimes even revealing a sense of Zen. Therefore, both directors have their personal styles. Thirdly, King Hu was awarded Best Screenwriter twice for Sons of the Good Earth (‫֪ם‬⡓‫ )׮‬and Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃) at the Golden Horse Film Festival. King Hu was renowned for being a director. How did he receive this award? The Golden Horse Film Festival was once criticized as lacking good judgment. It was not until the release of Legend of the Mountain (ٌИ⟂‫ )ר‬that he received the Best Director Award. From another perspective, King Hu's screenplays are filled with hidden gems. Apart from using historical materials and seeking historical language, he connected his films with traditional novels, dramas, and oral literature. He was adept at using a pagoda structure, continuously introducing one Kung Fu master after another. His characters also stick to the prototypical roles in traditional dramas. When certain characters made their debut in Dragon Inn, the background music was made with gongs, drums, and suona (Ⰷ⩻), as if they were making their debut on stage. Moreover, the dialogues in his script have never been mixed with modern language, successfully delivering the

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ancient Chinese style. I believe this comes from his serious attitude toward reading and research. Fourthly, we shall not ignore the action scenes he managed. He blended the dynamic with the static and also used the standstill moment to foreshadow continuous sword actions that follow. He used spring mattresses to create cursive jumping actions, created straight lines with the chopping of swords, and finally brought them together through editing. The aesthetic effect was extremely eye-catching and amazing! 22

Ang Lee verified King Hu’s valuable impacts on his cinematic masterpieces in Anthony Kaufman’s English-language interview. 23 Ang Lee discussed his martial arts film, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, in this interview. When asked whether the film was an homage to King Hu, Ang Lee acknowledged that King Hu's work had influenced him, but he also emphasized his desire to update the martial arts genre in his own way. He noted that the trend in martial arts films had moved away from the dramatic, as martial arts scenes require a significant investment of time and budget, making it challenging to balance drama and martial arts. Ang Lee emphasized the significant effort and time required to achieve a balance between drama and martial arts in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. He also acknowledged that he had to push the actors to their limits to achieve the desired result. Ang Lee expressed his hope that the film would break the barrier on how foreign films play in the United States and reach out to a younger audience. As for the ability to create such a diverse range of films, including British period dramas, Westerns, and martial arts movies, Ang Lee believed that making movies was an adventure, and he deliberately avoided

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categorizing his work. He expressed his desire to learn and explore different genres and work with renowned filmmakers such as Yuan Heping (姄չ‫ٵ‬ Yuen Wo-ping), who served as the fight choreographer for Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. Ang Lee praised Yuan Heping as a man of invention and a great filmmaker who cared for the traditional classic Chinese fighting styles. He noted that the biggest thing he learned from Yuan Heping was that martial arts films were not just about martial arts, but were also about cinema, expression, and finding the best angle for the human body to express itself to the audience. Ang Lee discussed the challenges of covering highly choreographed action scenes, noting that he did not rely on traditional coverage but instead worked on one shot at a time, creating assemblies that were more like guerilla filmmaking. He also discussed the famous bamboo sequence, which he described as his fantasy and a significant challenge for Yuan Heping and his team. Ang Lee also compared working with a Hong Kong crew to working with a western crew, noting that Hong Kong crews were westernized but adapted to the Chinese film industry. He noted that they were more sophisticated and efficient, particularly when it came to action sequences. Nonetheless, he acknowledged the importance of flexibility in Chinese filmmaking, especially with regard to budget and the nature of the filmmaking process. Ang Lee emphasized the significant effort and time required to achieve a balance between drama and martial arts in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. He also acknowledged that he had to push the actors to their limits

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to achieve the desired result. Ang Lee expressed his hope that the film would break the barrier on how foreign films are perceived in the United States and reach a younger audience. As for the ability to create such a diverse range of films, including British period dramas, Westerns, and martial arts movies, Ang Lee believed that making movies was an adventure, and he deliberately avoided categorizing his work. He expressed his desire to learn and explore different genres and work with renowned filmmakers such as Yuan Heping (姄չ‫ٵ‬ Yuen Wo-ping), who served as the fight choreographer for Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. Ang Lee praised Yuan Heping as a man of invention and a great filmmaker who cared for traditional classic Chinese fighting styles. He noted that the biggest thing he learned from Yuan Heping was that martial arts films were not just about martial arts but were also about cinema, expression, and finding the best angle for the human body to express itself to the audience. Ang Lee discussed the challenges of covering highly choreographed action scenes, noting that he did not rely on traditional coverage but instead worked on one shot at a time, creating assemblies that were more like guerrilla filmmaking. He also discussed the famous bamboo sequence, which he described as his fantasy and a significant challenge for Yuan Heping and his team. Ang Lee also compared working with a Hong Kong crew to working with a Western crew, noting that Hong Kong crews were westernized but adapted to the Chinese film industry. He noted that they were more sophisticated and efficient, particularly when it came to action sequences.

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Nonetheless, he acknowledged the importance of flexibility in Chinese filmmaking, especially concerning budget and the nature of the filmmaking process.

Cai Mingliang (嚁‫ރ‬ш Tsai, Ming-liang) Cai Mingliang (嚁‫ޢ‬щ Tsai, Ming-liang) emphasized the chameleon effect and mimesis stemming from his childhood appreciation of King Hu’s cinematic works. He expressed the significant influence of King Hu's films on his artistic style. Tsai Ming-liang's exposure to King Hu's films during his formative years was instrumental in shaping his creative vision. He underscored the tendency of filmmakers and screenwriters to draw inspiration from the works of others and adapt their style accordingly. He noted that his admiration for King Hu's work was not only due to the quality of his films but also because of the impact King Hu had on the Chineselanguage cinematic industry and beyond. King Hu's influence on Tsai Ming-liang's work is evident in his use of similar themes, characters, and storytelling techniques. Moreover, Tsai Ming-liang's films are characterized by a minimalist aesthetic, which follows in the footsteps of King Hu's cinematic art style. The use of long takes, static shots, and slow pacing are features common to both filmmakers' work, reflecting their shared focus on the power of visual storytelling. Tsai Ming-liang's emphasis on the chameleon effect and mimesis underscores the profound impact of King Hu's cinematic art heritage on Chinese cinema and subsequent generations of filmmakers. King Hu's influence on Tsai Ming-liang's artistic vision is a testament to the enduring relevance of his work and the lasting impact he has had on the cinematic

The Chameleon Effect and Mimesis of King Hu’s Cinematic Art Heritage

industry in China and beyond. He delineated, When I was nine or ten, I watched King Hu's Come Drink with Me, which was quite special to me. I have watched martial arts films since childhood, particularly those Cantonese-speaking martial arts films made in Hong Kong during the 1950s and 1960s, by the Shaw Brothers and the Cathay Organization. But when I watched Director King Hu's Come Drink with Me at only nine, I could strongly resonate with it without specific reasons. Perhaps I could feel it was different from other martial arts films. The modeling of characters and the deployment of scenes were very delicate. As a child, I found the fighting actions eyecatching. I had a strong impression of Zheng Peipei's portrayal of Golden Swallow in the film. It was a very delicate film. We liked to imitate actions from martial arts films after watching them. For a long time, I imitated Golden Swallow with two short swords in hand, using two small pieces of wood as my swords. I was addicted to this character for a long time. Later, when I was about 11 or 12, I heard that Dragon Inn suddenly became a blockbuster and was very profitable in Hong Kong. Southeast Asians always know which Hong Kong movies are profitable. We would follow the trend to watch the films. The watching experience of Dragon Inn deeply impressed me. At that time, I felt it had exceeded all other martial arts films. Dragon Inn revealed a sense of realism to me. Suddenly, martial arts characters were very close to you, not living in a distant fantasy world anymore but having mission objectives, like protecting the righteous. The appearance of swordsmen was no longer flying here and there but walking. I remember that Shi Jun (ी曑 Shih, Chun) walked to the Dragon Inn with an umbrella in his hand.

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Background music was made by “xiao,” a traditional flute, which was atmospheric. In King Hu's films, you suddenly find the characters in the martial arts world to be so beautiful and realistic. They live in reality; they need to eat and sleep, walk and don't necessarily ride on horses. Of course, the actions in his films were very attractive, beautiful, and rhythmic, unlike those in other martial arts films that mainly featured fighting. I love the scenes of jumping created with spring mattresses. They are extremely beautiful. The second swordswoman, played by Polly Kuan (Їؒ杌沽), was very attractive with her character dressing as a man. Zheng Peipei was beautiful in her first appearance. Suddenly, you feel the martial arts world became so realistic. I like the feeling that it comes close to me. When I was in high school, I paid attention to all of Director King Hu's films. I started to know about King Hu, and for other directors, I had very little knowledge. I paid special attention to him, so I watched his The Valiant Ones, The Fate of Lee Khan, and not to mention A Touch of Zen. 24

Lin Jingjie Lin Jingjie (ߥ杙➡ Lin, Ching-chieh) stressed King Hu’s impact on his cinematic creation and verified the chameleon effect and mimesis in the process of how he upgraded his filmmaking by learning from King Hu. He highlighted the significant impact of King Hu's cinematic works on his creative process. By learning from King Hu's style and techniques, Lin Jingjie was able to enhance his filmmaking, emphasizing the chameleon effect and mimesis in the process. Through his exposure to King Hu's works, Lin Jingjie incorporated similar themes and visual techniques into his own

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films. King Hu's influence on Lin Jingjie's work is evident in the use of long takes, static shots, and the portrayal of martial arts combats, all features characteristic of King Hu's style. Lin Jingjie's appreciation for King Hu's films extends beyond their visual elements; he also emphasizes the thematic complexity and cultural significance of King Hu's work. This appreciation has encouraged him to explore similar themes in his own films, such as the struggles of individuals to maintain their cultural identity in rapidly changing societies. Lin Jingjie's testimony underscores the significance of King Hu's influence on the Chinese-speaking film industry and beyond. King Hu's legacy continues to inspire and shape the work of subsequent generations of filmmakers as they draw on his visual and thematic elements to create their own unique contributions to the world of cinema. I was surprised that long before the emergence of New Taiwanese Cinema, directors like King Hu had already achieved a high level of aesthetic in camera movement, particularly through the use of the dolly to create reframing effects. By the time my generation of filmmakers began making films, this technique had nearly been lost, a fact that greatly shocked and inspired me. Previous generations of filmmakers have elevated cinematic aesthetics to a pinnacle. Isn't it the responsibility of the current generation to exert more effort, while standing on the shoulders of these senior directors, to explore further possibilities in cinematic aesthetics? When we observe senior directors making films with immense concentration, steadfast dedication, and a serious attitude, we realize that despite changing times, the earnest approach to making good films should never be compromised. I am deeply grateful for the

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inspiration bestowed upon me by the documentary director. From my perspective, a film should be a combination of engineering, commerce, and art. I do not understand art films, as I have never made one. However, even art films are inseparable from these elements. I believe the classification is made by film critics and outsiders. When I made my sixth film, I discovered an old theater, which reminded me of the times I watched King Hu's films. As a young person, I attended his films during midnight sessions, and the theater was always full. Consequently, I re-enacted the same scene in my film to pay a profound tribute to Director King Hu. 25

Tsui Hark (‫گ‬Ұ) Lin Jingjie has discussed the chameleon effect and mimesis in the works of Tsui Hark, King Hu, and other award-winning filmmakers. He pointed out that Tsui Hark's admiration for King Hu's work is significant, given that the two had previously collaborated on the cinematic project entitled Swordsman. Although their collaboration did not end harmoniously, Tsui Hark agreed to be interviewed and discussed his appreciation for King Hu's work. Tsui Hark recalled King Hu's meticulous attention to detail and his willingness to wait for the perfect scene and lighting. This dedication to perfection is similar to the approach taken by Akira Kurosawa, another renowned filmmaker known for his masterful use of visual elements in his works. Lin Jingjie's testimony highlights the profound impact of King Hu's legacy on subsequent generations of filmmakers, who have drawn inspiration from his visual style, attention to detail, and thematic complexity. King Hu's influence on the cinematic industry in China and beyond is a

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testament to the enduring relevance of his work and the lasting impact that he has had on the art of filmmaking. 26

Sylvia Chang (㐛৻⯷ Zhang Aijia or Chang Ai-chia) Sylvia Chang's success in her acting and filmmaking career serves as a testament to the impact of the chameleon effect and mimesis in the cinematic industry. Her exposure to King Hu's works since childhood and adolescence has undoubtedly influenced her artistic vision and helped shape her approach to filmmaking. 27 In 1974, Sylvia Chang began watching many films by King Hu and Li Hanxiang, which significantly impacted her career. As she continued to immerse herself in their cinematic works, she became increasingly drawn to the idea of playing a role in one of King Hu's movies. 28 King Hu and Sylvia Chang were long-time acquaintances. Sylvia Chang's maternal grandfather, Wei Jingmeng (欝ް੏), and her mother were acquaintances of King Hu. Sylvia Chang encountered King Hu early in her childhood when he and her family members were regarded as adults in her eyes. Her understanding of King Hu's cinematic creations deepened when she signed a job contract with the Jiahe (Ⱗग़ Golden Harvest) Company and began her early career in Hong Kong in 1974. She fell in love with Jin Chuan (୐ٕ), an actor and voice actor. Sylvia Chang often accompanied him to recording studios and was exposed to a considerable number of Chinese-language films. Notably, whenever Jin Chuan worked as a voice actor in motion pictures directed by famous filmmakers, such as Li Hanxiang (㬮৫䯅), there attracted many viewers. Among the crowds, Sylvia Chang watched Li Hanxiang's movies and

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Wu Yusen (⩈؊ߺ John Yu-sen Woo) Sylvia Chang is not the only filmmaker to have known and interacted with King Hu since childhood or adolescence. For example, Wu Yusen collaborated with King Hu when he was still a high school student. While attending high school, I frequently worked as a temporary actor. One of the movies in which I acted was King Hu's first film, entitled Son of Good Earth (‫֪ם‬⡓‫)׮‬. Because I was short at the time, I played the role of a Japanese soldier. The first well-established filmmaker I interacted with face-to-face was King Hu. Lying on the ground, I portrayed a dead Japanese soldier. Before the cameramen began their work, the associate director asked all the teenage temporary actors to line up and join the queue. King Hu came over and inspected every temporary actor playing a Japanese soldier, checking whether their costumes, including buttons, were correct. These details are usually managed by associate directors; however, King Hu took care of these details himself, without depending on his associate director. Upon

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discovering an incorrect detail, King Hu requested an immediate correction on site, such as changing costumes or cutting long hair. 30

King Hu invited Wu Yusen to serve as one of the executive producers for the film project about Land of Destiny ( 啠 ٗ ੦ 䄅 ՗ ) in the US. Unfortunately, King Hu passed away on January 14, 1997, following an unsuccessful heart surgery, just one month before filming was scheduled to begin. In honor of King Hu's cinematic art heritage, Wu Yusen donated one of the cemetery plots purchased by his wife's family to be used as King Hu's burial ground. This gesture demonstrates Wu Yusen's deep admiration and respect for King Hu, and serves as a testament to the enduring impact of King Hu's work on subsequent generations of filmmakers. King Hu invited Wu Yusen to serve as one of the executive producers for the film project Battle for Ono (啠ٗ੦䄅՗) in the US. Unfortunately, King Hu passed away on January 14, 1997, following unsuccessful heart surgery, just one month before filming was scheduled to begin. In honor of King Hu's cinematic art heritage, Wu Yusen donated one of the cemetery plots purchased by his wife's family to be used as King Hu's burial ground. This gesture demonstrates Wu Yusen's deep admiration and respect for King Hu and serves as a testament to the enduring impact of King Hu's work on subsequent generations of filmmakers. 31

Martial Arts and TCM in King Hu’s Cinematic Kung Fu World As a licensed medical doctor in both traditional Chinese medicine (TCM) and Western medicine, Huang Jingxuan highlights the chameleon effect and mimesis in the practice of traditional kung fu and Chinese martial

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arts by TCM medical experts, as well as in King Hu's cinematic representation of martial arts choreography. Huang Jingxuan comments on King Hu's Chinese martial arts films from his perspective as a TCM practitioner: "Martial arts films have some key points, the first one being martial arts itself. Wuxia (࠶✃) consists of Wu (࠶) and Xia (✃). The Chinese word Wu (࠶) can be broken down into Zhi (࠲) and Ge (‫)ۦ‬, which means to stop the use of weapons. Current students and I might be unfamiliar with traditional martial arts, which may seem strange to modern students and myself. Unlike today's students who might go to karaoke in their free time, our teachers practiced martial arts in the playground when they were younger. They would compare the martial arts techniques they had practiced that day. I might say I practiced the Shaolin Twelve Kicks (ԝ и૨㑜ਓ). What about you? Did you practice Sanzhan boxing (І㛸㝹, Yong Chun White Crane Sarm Tseen boxing)?" 32 Huang Jingxuan's insight underscores the deep cultural and historical significance of martial arts films in Chinese society and their influence on traditional Chinese medicine (TCM). He emphasizes the interconnectivity between martial arts and TCM, noting that both practices share a profound history and cultural relevance in Chinese-speaking areas. His perspective demonstrates how the chameleon effect and mimesis in King Hu's films and martial arts choreography have had a significant and lasting impact on various fields beyond cinema. Martial arts hold an important place in traditional Chinese culture. However, as Huang Jingxuan observes, modern-day students have become Westernized and are less likely to engage in martial arts practice during their free time, unlike in the past when his teachers would often practice martial

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arts rather than engage in activities like karaoke. Despite this shift, Huang Jingxuan maintains that martial arts and TCM are deeply interconnected. According to the Huangdi Neijing (溈٪⡦侙 Yellow Emperor’s Canon of Internal Medicine), TCM practitioners are esteemed between gods and humans. Consequently, when sanitizing acupuncture needles, they traditionally placed a needle in the patient's mouth—a practice that may seem odd from a modern perspective but underscores the close relationship between TCM and martial arts. Huang Jingxuan contends that it is impossible to depict martial arts realistically in novels and films, as realism lacks appeal. Instead, movie scenes are often exaggerated and romanticized, enhancing their allure. Having viewed several of King Hu's films, Huang Jingxuan notes that the storylines are relatively simple, typically featuring a conflict between the forces of justice and evil, with disadvantaged characters ultimately being saved. Through these simplistic narratives, King Hu conveyed deeper cultural values, such as the importance of justice and honor. 33

Conclusion The influence of King Hu's kung fu movies or wuxia films on subsequent filmmakers has been profound, as evidenced by the appreciation expressed by filmmakers such as Tsai Ming-liang and Sylvia Chang. This influence can be seen as an example of the "chameleon effect," as even children or teenagers who viewed King Hu's motion pictures were influenced by his work. As these filmmakers grew up, they incorporated King Hu's classic or stereotypical kung fu combat scenes into their own cinematic careers, paying tribute to King Hu's cinematic art heritage. For

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example, Ang Lee's depiction of martial arts fighting scenes in bamboo forests in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon is a prime example of his respect for King Hu's classic kung fu movies. This artistic representation of King Hu's filmic classics is an exceptional example of "mimesis," or the purposeful imitation of an artistic style or genre. In the case of these subsequent filmmakers, they have successfully captured the essence of King Hu's cinematic works and incorporated it into their own films while also adding their unique touches. This process of mimesis allows for the continuation of a cinematic tradition while also enabling filmmakers to put their own stamp on the genre. Overall, the influence of King Hu on subsequent generations of filmmakers is a testament to his enduring legacy and the impact of his work on the world of cinema. The chameleon effect and mimesis have played a significant role in this process, allowing for the continuation and evolution of a cinematic tradition that has captured the hearts and imaginations of audiences around the world.

Works Cited Bargh, John A., Mark Chen, and Lara Burrows (1996) “Automaticity of Social Behavior: Direct Effect of Trait Construct and Stereotype Activation on Action.” Journal of Psychology and Social Behavior 71: 230-244. Chartrand, Tanya L. and John A. Bargh (1999) “The Chameleon Effect: The Perception-Behavior Link and Social Interaction.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 76.6: 893-910.

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Chen, Mark and John A. Bargh (1997) “Nonconscious Behavioral Confirmation Processes: Self-Fulfilling Consequences of Automatic Stereotype Activation.” Journal of Experimental Social Psychology 33: 541-560. Chen, Ya-chen (April 29-30, 2022) Academic Conference on King Hu’s Cinematic Art (in Memory of King Hu’s 90th Birthday) (劏୐拵㆏ࢦ࠶ ✃‫ڧ‬场Ф‫ूޓ‬嬺㫵:‫ڧ‬嫌澝‫ކ‬场澝И或坂૧厠‫ך‬ҫ封⺫) in China Medical University and Zhongshan 73 (Иٌ 73): https://www.tfdf.org.tw/news_show.php?id=166

(online

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retrieved in February 2023). Cross, Liam, Gray Atherton, and Natalie Sebanz (January 12, 2021) “Intentional Synchronisation Affects Automatic Imitation and Source Memory.” Scientific Reports 11.1: 573: https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-020-79796-9 (online data access in October and November 2023). Crossey, Benjamin Philip (July 23, 2021) Gray Atherton, and Liam Cross. “Lost in the Crowd: Imagining Walking in Synchrony with a Crowd Increases Affiliation and Deindividuation.” Plos One 16.7: https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0254017. Dijksterhuis, Ap and Ad van Knippenberg (1998) “The Relation between Perception and Behavior, or How to Win a Game of Trivial Pursuit.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 74: 865-877. “Domestic Intelligence.” The Wilmington Centinel. Vol. I. Number 42. January 8, 1789: https://newspapers.digitalnc.org/lccn/sn83025833/1789-01-08/ed-1/ (Online resources retrieved on January 10, 2023).

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Eisenstein, Sergei (1949) Film Form: Essays in Film Theory. New York: Hartcourt, pp. 72-82. Ge, Dawei (嗄‫ם‬侳) (June 15, 2012) “One Year in the Mountain, Respect for the Teacher for an Entire Life: King Hu in Sylvia Chang’s Heart” (ٌИ▲‫سͫٶ‬㍳▲Ѝ͹㑋ਬⰧ‫ڶ‬Иङ劏୐拵㆏ࢦ). Electronic News and Blog of the National Film Archive (ⴚ‫؟‬朅‫ڧ‬嶾‫މ‬椋朅‫੊ୂ⸟׿‬ ࠀ): https://ctfa74.pixnet.net/blog/post/45648572 (online audio-visual data access in February 2022 and November 2023). Kaufman, Anthony (November 1, 2000) “Interview: Ang Lee, Director of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.” IndieWire: https://www.indiewire.com/2000/11/interview-ang-lee-director-ofcrouching-tiger-hidden-dragon-81314/ (online resources retrieved in March 2023). Li, Chengyang (㬮‫܈‬暙) (October 7, 2022) “Tsui Hark Appears in Knight King Hu, Hong Jinbao Also Returns to His Childhood Memory with King Hu” (‫ڰ‬ұ䛂૯澦‫✃ם‬劏୐拵澧ࡲ୐ㆁЭ䎹ѕ֛ަ). China Times News: https://tw.news.yahoo.com/news/%E5%BE%90%E5%85%8B%E7%8 F%BE%E8%BA%AB-%E5%A4%A7%E4%BF%A0%E8%83%A1% E9%87%91%E9%8A%93-%E6%B4%AA%E9%87%91%E5%AF%B 6%E4%B9%9F%E7%82%BA%E4%BB%96%E5%9B%9E%E6%98 %A5-201000933.html (online information accessed in October 2022). Plato (2016) The Republic. Book X. Benjamin Jowett trans. Alexander Kerr intro. Overland Park, KS: Digireads, [v]:௘596–9. Philip, J. A. (1961) “Mimesis in the Sophistês of Plato.” Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 92: 453-468, p.

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454. Slobodkina, Esphyr (1967) Caps for Sale: A Tale of a Peddler, Some Monkeys and Their Monkey Business. New York: Harper Collins. —. (2002). Circus Caps for Sale. New York: Harper Collins. —. (2015). More Caps for Sale. New York: Harper Collins. —. (2017). Caps for Sale and the Mindful Monkeys. New York: Harper Collins. Wei, Junzi (欝⩧‫( )׿‬August 8, 2012) “John Yu-sen Woo Talks about King Hu” (⩸؋࠙寲劏୐攺͹٥߈⟂‫܈‬ӹ忭‫ם‬㍳梏௣). Sina Entertainment ( ‫ ⿕ ࡾ ޏ‬㶒 ): http://ent.sina.com.cn/m/c/2012-08-08/10413706026. shtml (online data accessed in November 2023).

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Appendix Anthony Kaufman's Interview with Ang Lee Question: Is this film an homage to King Hu, the famous martial arts director of the 1960s and 1970s [A Touch of Zen and Valiant Ones]? Ang Lee: In certain ways, because I grew up with it, but then I have to update the martial arts film in my own fashion. More and more, martial arts films have moved away from the dramatic. As I was making it, I realized why. You spend 80% of your budget and your time on martial arts. They are very time-consuming. It's almost impossible to have both drama and martial arts. Even in the martial arts scenes, it is very difficult and can be dangerous for actors who have to think about acting while hitting each other precisely. Question: How did you achieve the balance? Ang Lee: Time, effort, and I really pushed the actors. There's no easy answer to that. Question: What are your expectations surrounding the release of the film in America? Ang Lee: I hope it will break the barrier on how foreign films are received in the States. I'm accustomed to subtitles, as is everyone else from where I come from, but it's not the same in America. Subtitles are seen as very art-house, for mature audiences. I hope the film starts the same way and then breaks the barrier, reaching out to a younger audience and getting into the shopping malls.

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Question: You have made so many different kinds of movies. From a British period drama to a Western to now martial arts, how do you do it? Ang Lee: It is like the line in Ride with the Devil, when Tobey's watching Jewel breastfeeding, and she says, "Are you going to always watch like that?" He says, "As long as I can." Movies are an adventure. I purposely do not want to pigeonhole myself. How else am I going to share the great experience with Yuen Wo-Ping, the great martial arts choreographer and filmmaker and learn about his world except by doing it? How else am I going to do a war with guns and horses without doing it? These are childhood fantasies that I keep having, and some material hits me, I always match the genre with drama and then have fun. Question: Can you talk about working with fight choreographer Yuen Wo-Ping? Ang Lee: He is a man of invention who cares for traditional classic Chinese fighting styles, not just wire work; he likes working on the ground. I’m a great admirer of his, and I think he is one of the great filmmakers. It is my luck to have worked with him. I had many dreams and fantasies about doing this genre, some of them inspiring, probably silly to him. The biggest thing I learned from him is that martial arts film has very little to do with martial arts. It is cinema. It is expression. It is about what looks good on screen, how you work out the shots, what is the best angle, and how the human body can express itself to the audience. That was a great inspiration as a tool for drama. And we had a great relationship. At first, it was more of a pain for him, but he let me enter his world of filmmaking, and it was a blessing.

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Question: How did you cover all those highly choreographed action scenes? Ang Lee: I learned that my previous method of coverage is not a good idea. You do it by assembly. You work on one shot at a time and proceed that way. It is more guerrilla filmmaking than student film. Meanwhile, there are sophisticated ways to cover, way more than Hollywood does, in terms of choreography. But you do assemblies because you only have so much time. There's no time to do coverage, then decide in the editing room and have rich coverage from all possible angles. You work just for that angle. And they have to be short because, in a long take, it is very hard for everyone to memorize the blocking. And you always make mistakes. After 30 takes, you've worn the actors out. You might want to do it once or twice and really persevere to get that result, but most of the time, you have 20 other shots that you want to do, so you work on a specific angle. Question: So how did the famous bamboo sequence come about? Ang Lee: Everybody does swords in a Chinese fantasy martial arts film in a bamboo forest, but nobody ever gets on top of them. I had to do it; it was my fantasy, and we had to make it happen. It was a 10-day company move for us to get to the location. We did not know if it would work or not. Yuen Wo-Ping took the challenge begrudgingly, and then we worked his men to death. Question: What is the difference between working with a Hong Kong crew and a western crew? Ang Lee: The Hong Kong crew is quite westernized but adapted to the Chinese film industry. Most of them had worked on Western movies,

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but we cannot apply the Western style to Chinese filmmaking, especially kung fu. You have to be very flexible, not only because of the budget but the nature of the filmmaking. You do one set at a time and figure out what to do next. You assemble your fight sequences, and meanwhile, I want artistic value in the non-fight sequences. The crew is very adapted to the Western style of filmmaking, but in some ways, they are more sophisticated and efficient — especially when it comes to action because that is their specialty. They know how to cope with lighting and whatever is necessary. They also use this crane named the Power Pod — I have worked in the West, and nobody can do it like they can. It is a big deal to set up and it's never really accurate. So I get to enjoy the best of both worlds.

Notes 1

In 1999, Tanya L. Chartrand and John A. Bargh co-authored and published an academic journal article entitled “The Chameleon Effect: The Perception-Behavior Link and Social Interaction” in Journal of Personality and Social Psychology. 2 Online resources retrieved on January 10, 2023: https://newspapers.digitalnc.org/lccn/sn83025833/1789-01-08/ed-1/ The original article was released on Thursday, January 8, 1789. 3 The source of this citation derives from Tanya L. Chartrand and John A. Bargh’s “The Chameleon Effect: The Perception-Behavior Link and Social Interaction.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 76.6 (1999): 893-910, p. 894. 4 These experiments may be traced in the following sources: Bargh, John A., Chen, M., and Burrows, L. “Automaticity of Social Behavior: Direct Effect of Trait Construct and Stereotype Activation on Action.” Journal of Psychology and Social Behavior 71 (1996): 230-244. Chen, M. and Bargh John A. “Nonconscious Behavioral Confirmation Processes: Self-Fulfilling Consequences of Automatic Stereotype Activation.” Journal of Experimental Social Psychology 33 (1997): 541-560. 5 The source of this citation derives from the abstract of T. C. Chartrand and John A. Bargh’s “The chameleon effect: The perception–behavior link and social

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interaction.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 76.6 (1999): 893-910: https://doi.org/10.1037/0022-3514.76.6.893 (online resources retrieved on January 9, 2023). 6 Chartrand, Tanya L. and John A. Bargh. “The Chameleon Effect: The PerceptionBehavior Link and Social Interaction.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 76.6 (1999): 893-910, p. 907. 7 Different from mimicry, “mimesis” is an influential professional terminology in either literary theories or literary criticism. One of the most frequently seen sources of the theory about “mimesis” is Plato’s Book X of The Republic. 8 Ibid. 9 For details, consult J. A. Philip’s “Mimesis in the Sophistês of Plato.” Transactions and Proceedings of the American Philological Association 92 (1961): 453-468, p. 454. 10 Many film critics use the phrase “cinematic pen.” For example, the Historic Journal on Film, Radio, and Television mentioned, “documentaries can serve as authentic essays, written with a cinematic pen.” For details, consult page 137 of Historic Journal on Film, Radio, and Television 18.1 (1998): 137. In Time Magazine, Richard Corliss also mentioned the phrase “cinematic pen” when he commented on Zhang Yimou’s movie entitled Hero. He said, “Zhang Yimou may have dipped his cinematic pen in “mere” genre, but in doing so, he has inscribed a masterpiece.” For details, consult the web-page about Zhang Yimou’s Hero: https://www.nziff.co.nz/2004/archive-1/hero/ (online resources retrieved in Febrary 2023). The spring 2003 edition of Americana: The Journal of American Popular Culture also includes the phrase “cinematic pen” in the interview of Professor Peter C. Rollins: “He really set me on a course toward writing essays with a cinematic pen.” For details, consult the web-page: https://www.americanpopularculture.com/journal/articles/spring_2003/rollins.htm (online resources retrieved in February 2023). 11 Ibid. 12 This professional term is also named “180° line.” 13

The two Japanese writers are Yamada Hamada ( ٌ ँ ؐ ▲ ) and Udagawa

Yukihiro (؋ँٕ‫)࡭ٸ‬. This book was published by Zhengwenshe (࠳‫ )॑ކ‬in Hong Kong during 1988. Hu Weiyao (劏侳⸝ Cantonese pronunciation: Wu, Waiyiu), King Hu’s niece, is the most significant collector of data in this book. 14 Records about King Hu’s chameleon effect in the academic conference derive from Bai Fengshuo’s (ग嵊䬒 Pai, Feng-shuo) translation. Here is the Mandarin Chinese version of Chen Yaoxing’s original statement: ⬡ы‫ޙ‬ٝ惠ͫӁֺ֨⻴㨥澞

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劏㆏ࢦ曤ࣀٝ侙曰旇۩✰ 25 ‫ࣀͫٶ‬৲劏㆏ࢦङ场妟ۨ‫ͫؼ‬љՃࢋࠛ֨朅‫ݻڧ‬ зङ✃兴ত॔ͫ䎹ЍउऊЈдЉ㬠ङ‫ם‬㍳梏䷤澞劏୐拵㆏ࢦјы㦞҃ङ֪‫ͫސ‬ 惾֨㧠ѕङㆋ㴂প森ͫѕ֨朅‫ڧ‬ङৰ㤜Їவள‫ٯ‬屆९澞㒡‫ކךڮ‬䙌惾߄૦ѕ‫ܠ‬ 惐朅‫ڧ‬ङٗҁы⬔ՍИୃऽଳѕㆎѠѾ伶䷠ୃள‫ٯ‬屆९澞۩孄‫ڱ‬啠㘸ਸ਼㥝‫ڧ‬ ㍳寕ͫ‫ܠ‬潈於‫ؚ‬㲃ङ㩌Ҙͫ䔜ддઆ࣌栦旇‫׷‬ӟ⚵ङ‫ם‬㸠栦ӟֽ暄☶੽‫ۂ‬溁 ‫ͫܠ‬ѕࣔ⣫Ծ‫ݻ‬ㅅरд澦ӟઊҵ弜ⴥ澧ͫਰд‫ڮ‬斴ङ㩌族۵रӱͫः寶֍э溁 ङͫѕҿㅲ֨ৰ㤜Їவ‫ू߄ڮ‬९澞Ր‫ސ▲י‬வͫ劏୐拵㆏ࢦङ朅‫ڧ‬প森Эள‫ٯ‬ јы㦞҃ͫ䎹э溁;ѕङ朅‫ࣔ✫▲߄ڧ‬਩:‫ީؼ‬Пઅ֨࣌И㫵૚⚵૚Ծ澞ѕਘ ٜЭ߀旇ࣨং寕ͫ‫ךڮ‬ыୃ寕悤㶲૚⚵૚Ծ‫ڮ‬㿮۞‫ۃ‬澞ҿㅲ悤㶲ङ૚⚵૚Ծͫ ஔд֨朅‫੽ڷڧ‬ङ‫݌؍‬Ф‫ͫי‬ㆎ۩✰⚵寕ЭީЉ掑ङ朅‫ͫߕݾڧ‬䎹э溁;֜䎹 Օљरӱ੧悹俠Ճҝ‫۝‬俠‫ײ‬Ѿ㚙ऀͫ⭶桅ީ劏୐拵㆏ࢦީ‫ײ‬Ѿㄥ农ӱ悤п朅 ‫ࣲڧ‬封ङ? ۩✰ऽଳѕ֨ҟ朅‫ڧ‬ӹͫ䠔惐朅‫ڧ‬रߡͫࣀ㒑䠞惐Ԁ㆏ࢦͫ䠞惐ࢦ ⬔澞ѕ‫✫ޅ‬朅‫ڧ‬ङ侙㻴ள‫ͫޅ؏ٯ‬Օީѕ㿮߄Ї惐朅‫ڧ‬ㄥஓ澞ѕ߂௤ङㄥ㻴۩ ऽଳީ௤Иͫ଻ѕङ朅‫ڧ‬悤п朅‫ࣲڧ‬封ީ㒡Ѿ⚵;֨⡧✫‫ڧߎޙ‬宁‫؟‬ङ▲ߎ 㫮Ւҟ澦劏୐拵࠶✃朅‫ڧ‬ҁࡣ澧Иͫ۩✰‫܇‬ӱдઆঋ澞劏୐拵㆏ࢦ֨଻ߎ㫮И 寕ͫ䠞㩌௚࢔ 60 ‫ٶ‬їङ㩌Ҙ厡૜дㆎޯ‫୐נך‬澝ਬ࠙‫ַގ‬澝惾߄ٞ‫ܞ‬ٞ‫ࣲގ‬ 封ङू९澞ѕЭ‫ڮ‬䒠ੱͫԾ‫܇‬д▲п㫮र澞ѕ଻㩌ҘЭ֨䠞Ԁ㆏ࢦͫѕ寕‫ךڮ‬ 朅‫ڧ‬ङऽ岃ୃީԾ⭶㆏ࢦͫ߄п㆏ࢦਈ佬ѕઆঋͫ߄п㆏ࢦЉਈ澞ѕ嫰‫ߧײڱ‬ ѕߌ⚵੽䠞㆏ࢦͫ悤пऽ岃‫ߧײ‬ЉӀ➩ͫՑީ㒡ҿѕ嶾ࢋ㆏ࢦ‫܈‬傁Ј⚵ङ宝ͫ ѕ㿮恗ࡣ‫ڱ‬ӱ▲✫࠳䬢ङ嶾嬶ͫ۱љѕ‫ؼ‬Ծ‫܇‬㫮ͫѸީ䠞㩌悤пࣲ封ङ㫮ͫИ ‫ކ‬৬岙Љ‫ͫך‬۱љ劏୐拵‫ؼ‬Ծ‫܇‬Խ‫ީؼކ‬ਸ਼‫ކ‬ङ㫮⚵र澞۩✰֨孖寲ИЭऽଳ 寕ͫ劏୐拵㆏ࢦङਸ਼‫ͫױڮކ‬۱љѕީӯऀर㫮ㄥ农ӱऱङࣲ封ͫࣀ㒑Ձ֨ㅲ ⥽Иͫѕ֨䠞Ԁ㆏ࢦͫࢦ⬔֨ㅲ⥽ИԾ㚙樱ѕ۱尭ङ朅‫ࣲڧ‬封, ۱љ۩✰र劏 ୐拵㆏ࢦङ朅‫ڧ‬ङ㩌Ҙ,҂㫵‫ڮ‬孉䠙ѕङ଻п摃栦惾߄㚙ऀୃள‫ٯ‬ՠЧ۱尭ङ 朅‫ࣲڧ‬封, ଻۩嫰‫ڱ‬悤‫ީؼ‬ѕ⨩‫؞‬ङ֪‫ސ‬, ‫ީؼ‬ѕՕљㆊࣲ封૦ㅲ⥽佖ՠ澞▲ ਢ‫ךڮ‬ыՕਈ㒡ㅲ⥽ӟ䤚ͫ‫ؼ‬㫵‫ڿ‬ऋࣲ封ͫ଻߄‫ךڮ‬ㄥஓࡵङ,Օਈ୍嫌ࣲ封 ‫ڿؼ‬ऋдㅲ⥽㚙ऀ,଻۩嫰‫ڱ‬劏୐拵㆏ࢦј۩✰㦞҃ङ‫ީؼ‬:ѕՕљ֨悤⡧‫ސ‬

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வҟ؏২ङ佖ՠ澞劏୐拵㆏ࢦ惾߄Ր‫✫▲י‬岽۩✰㦞҃ङ֪‫ީؼͫސ‬ѕङԨ ㄥ澞⤔۵屆惐ѕङਸ਼‫ͫױڮކ‬۱љѕ㫵‫୏ם‬旭岪ͫѸީҿㅲЉ࠲澞ѕरд‫ךڮ‬ И‫ކ‬ङ㫮ͫࣾਙҦ৯ਝͫѕ‫֜ؼ‬䎹र৯ਝङ㫮ͫࣾਙۨд৯ਝㆋ‫؟‬澞۩孄‫ڱ‬ѕ ֨‫ܠ‬朅‫ڧ‬ङ㩌Ҙͫୃ惾੽‫ॱܚ‬Ծ⨷Ԇⴚ暲৯ਝू९㫵澞҂‫ؼ‬Օљऽଳѕㆎㄥ⭶ ू९ङ宸ऱͫࣀ㒑֨ѕङ惶७Иͫ۩✰Эरӱѕ߀侙ѣ⤶惐⥺䠔࣌澞ѕ֨২ⴚ ङ㩌ҘЭ߀侙宒ⴥ‫੽۝‬ҟ▲✫屆啠寉屆И‫ކ‬ङыӱ২ⴚ੽‫ײ‬Ѿ屆ਸ਼‫ީؼͫކ‬ ‫۝‬ҟ▲✫ਸ਼‫ͫߕݾކ‬۱љҿㅲѕङ厡ૠ‫ךڮ‬ҫͫѸީѕङू९Ձ‫ࢋڮ‬澞悤✫ҿ ㅲ岽۩✰֨रѕ朅‫ڧ‬ङ㩌Ҙͫ‫ؼ‬㫵嫰‫ڱ‬ѕ朅‫ڧ‬㒑வङࢋ‫ͫ⻸ڮچ‬৲ЉީՑީ▲ ਢङ࠶✃࣌澞 15

For details, consult Sergei Eisenstein’s Film Form: Essays in Film Theory. New York: Hartcourt, 1949, pp. 72-82. 16 Records about King Hu’s chameleon effect in the academic conference derive from Bai Fengshuo’s (ग嵊䬒 Pai, Feng-shuo) translation. Here is the Mandarin Chinese version of You Tinejing’s original statement: ‫ސ੼ךڮ‬朅‫ڧ‬㫵߄আІы 䱺ङ‫ॹڏ‬摃栦ͫ۩嫰‫ڱ‬劏㆏ࢦङҁսࡁ忇Љީ悤溁૚澞ѕङ‫ॹڏ‬摃栦ࡁ忇Ҧީ Иⴚ㫮䠔ङͫࡊ‫׎‬䠔ङԲ徼ֺङ梏ࠀ, ۱љѕ‫ؼ‬㫵ऀ૦‫܉ܠ‬妟澞Ѹީѕङ૦‫ܠ‬ ‫܉‬妟ՁЉ‫ן‬Ҧ۩✰रӱऀ徐ଳङ‫ͫڔސ‬ѕީۣۣ֪Љੋक庯֪Ծर▲п㭆੼澞 ۩嫰‫ڱ‬ѕ悤㶲ङҟࡣީ‫ڮ‬অՠ◅֛㚙дѕㆎ㧠ਘࣀ২ㄥङ‫୍ͫس‬惾߄ѕԾ݂ ݀Ұ‫ڧ‬չ暽㷬۟ͫ঑ީ䐘䎹৲࡞ङ଻䱷۟嫰澞 17

Records about King Hu’s chameleon effect in the academic conference derive

from Bai Fengshuo’s (ग嵊䬒 Pai, Feng-shuo) translation. Here is the Mandarin Chinese version of Chen Yongrui’s original statement: ѕऀ஺㶒୆ՠ੏‫רן‬,۱љ ۩✰֨澦ٌИ⟂‫ר‬澧娝வՕљरӱ߄㎹⸢ࡣ㍳૦‫׮‬௦۸௴櫴ࡣऀ‫ךڮ‬ङӿ‫ݎ‬۴ 化澞Ր‫ީ…✫▲י‬澦ॱٌ杌஧澧߂㒑வͫ▲৩ы֨ଝㄘ૞ङ࣌࠼ӿ‫ݎ‬澞旇⸢ङ 㩌ҘЭީͫଝଦङ㩌Ҙ-㩌族ॱ族 -ㆎ...悤䱷ӿ‫ݎ‬ङ‫܉‬ٙ澞଻۩‫۝‬劏୐拵㆏ࢦ‫ؼ‬ ީऀ੏‫܉רן‬ٙ‫܋‬ѕङ朅‫ڱݗ݋ڧ‬ள‫ױٯ‬澞 18

Records about King Hu’s chameleon effect in the academic conference derive

from Bai Fengshuo’s (ग嵊䬒 Pai, Feng-shuo) translation. Here is the Mandarin

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Chinese version of Chen Yaoxing’s original statement: ۩۴Їܳङ悤▲ߎީ▲Ь ЬЄ‫ٶ‬ԝи߃ӱ▲ЬЬҷ‫߃▲ٶ‬悤࠼ߊ族֨㭆ч恗ङ▲✫ࢁ‫ͫيڧי‬娝வ߄ ߄劏୐拵㆏ࢦङ澦潈於‫ؚ‬㲃澧澝惾߄ֽ֯‫ڱيڧ‬䘟ङ澦✃‫׮‬澧澝惾߄澦㓘ࢸⴥ澧ͫ 悤п‫֨ୃ࣌ڧ‬悤✫‫يڧ‬ФИ澞悤✫‫ࣔڮيڧ‬⣫ङ㩌族溟ͫ⤔‫֨ީؼױ‬劏୐拵㆏ ࢦ 1997 ‫ ٶ‬1 ߃ 14 垹‫ࣿڪ‬ङ▲悸‫ͫٶ‬厢恗д悤㶲▲✫‫םڮ‬ङ‫يڧ‬澞۩‫۝‬悤✫ ީՖ䍪૦‫ߎޙ‬ㆎ劏୐拵㆏ࢦ▲✫߂‫ם‬ङਂؔ澞 19

Records about King Hu’s chameleon effect in the academic conference derive

from Albert F. S. Pai’s (ग嵊䬒) translation. Here is the Mandarin Chinese version of Chung Ling’s original statement: ࠶✃朅‫ͫڧ‬㑋㒹Э‫ױ‬劏୐拵Э‫ͫױ‬ѕ✰ҿㅲ Խ⚵ୃީㄥ...֜䎹଻✫㩌Ҙީ‫ב࠶ߎޙ‬ଳ朅‫ڧ‬धߊͫ௲䊮‫ޢ‬ङ朅‫ڧ‬धߊ…֜䎹 愬ࡆҿㅲ▲फर‫ב࠶ߎޙ‬ଳ朅‫ͫڧ‬劏୐拵ީ‫ݐڮ‬㉪澦Є࠶‫ב‬澧ͫㆎ! 20

Records about King Hu’s chameleon effect in the academic conference derive

from Albert F. S. Pai’s (ग嵊䬒) translation. Here is the Mandarin Chinese version of Cai Guorong’s original statement: ள‫ٯ‬㉪‫ܦ‬澝‫ݐ‬㉪劏㆏ࢦͫӱ䛂֨䎹࠲۩嫰 ‫ױڱ‬Ҧ㿮߄ੴ૝૞ͫ劏㆏ࢦङ࠶✃࣌澞۩ҁ䎹劏୐拵ङ‫ڧ‬ଛͫ۩ङ⤺ߎ⤨ҁͫ 䠞ࣀ㫵Չӱѕङ‫ڧ‬柸澞ࣾਙЉ尜ઈͫҦ澦厂੘੗潈澧ࣥヂ潈澝㬮ۢगঁߥс㛸 ङ଻⸢㛺‫ީؼ‬䎹дէ劏୐拵ਚ㦞ͫ惾孄‫ڱ‬䠞㩌۩૦㬮‫؍‬嬺封д‫ױ‬㎹‫߄ͫמ‬溟㔇 嫶䦾Љ‫ࣲן‬આ۩✰ㆎ劏୐拵㉪㦞ङ‫ڶ‬㘟ͫ寏љ䎹۩✰ީࠥѢ۪ީ‫܊‬媫ͫ䠞ࣀ߂ 㒑ީ㬮‫ࠄؔߡܠ؍‬澞ѕ寕: “⣫঒଻溁‫ך‬дͫ۩✰‫ݹ‬۴ҟլ!” 21

Records about King Hu’s chameleon effect in the academic conference derive

from my own English-language digest of Albert F. S. Pai’s (ग嵊䬒) translation. Here is the Mandarin Chinese version of the original statement: ۩✰ऽଳ劏㆏ࢦ ֨ࣿӹ㿮恗ࡣ૦⼮‫ގ‬Ԫ佖俩, Օީ۩✰ऽଳ 2000 ‫ٶ‬㬮‫؍‬㆏ࢦङ澦厂੘੗潈澧 娝வ߄▲࠼ঁߥ۸櫴ङ࣌࠼, 悤✫ҿㅲީէ澦✃‫׮‬澧ਚ㦞ङ, ৲⼮‫ގ‬Ԫ‫ڱ‬ӱЍ उङਂؔ, ۩嫰‫ڱ‬Э屴‫ޢ‬劏୐拵㆏ࢦՉӱ惯⚵ङਂؔ澞 22

Records about King Hu’s chameleon effect in the academic conference derive

Chapter Two

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from Albert F. S. Pai’s (ग嵊䬒) translation. Here is the Mandarin Chinese version of Cai Guorong’s (嚁ⴚ㴿 Tsai, Kuo-jung) original statement: ֨悤娝۩⟔љ朅‫ڧ‬ ू९ৱͫ▲✫修⤺ङޮ忭ͫࣾਙީ▲✫‫ڧ‬ଛङ૯ѡͫ‫ݕ‬ӟ㎹溟۞嫁‫ݾؼ‬㧠՟ѹ: আ▲溟ͫ劏୐拵ङ澦‫ם‬懵✃澧૦㑋㒹ङ澦੘✃㼫☭澧ͫѕ旇⤨д 1960 ‫ٶ‬їИ ߊ愬ࡆ‫࣌✃࠶ࡵޏ‬ङ‫ޏ‬Ѝ伋ͫ߄⣫㧠㫯惕啠澝йপफ़澝暒ㆁ࣯澝囌吷吷ঈыͫ ѕ✰Пࢦङਰ㝹偦ਓਢङ仇寉࠶✃࣌ͫ৲ީљ㝹㝹ӱ৾澝ӢӢ嫁੦ͫ悤䱷暙⤔ 㾎ͫ▲࡮惐Ծ‫⺫ڧ‬溈ࠎ寪朅‫܁׮ڪڪڧ‬अ娙ङ暏߰梏澞ѕ✰ީ‫⤨ޏ‬ৱͫ‫ޙ‬㒑Э ੴ岧䎹ީ࠶✃࣌ङ⡧‫ם‬岡ࡣ澞 ब忇㑋㒹ङ‫ם‬Ӣ昆‫ތ‬澝⥺ҁ屆९丼䉟߄ԃͫ⡦‫ؠ‬Ց寲㿄࢖‫ͫۆی‬㴊‫ࢄص‬Ճ㻴՗ ۪ৱࢦ偾劏୐拵ङҁսͫত伶杌‫߄ୃͫ׳‬ѕङ㻴՗ਅް澞䐘封ީ߆娙ଳӀͫߨ ‫ࡌ⥽ީୃ䷠ߍڳ‬ত倁ͫ‫ך‬㦧屆ࡌ㦤㘓գ☭ङத檥۞‫ͫں‬梏ࠀީՎ㷆⢹୍ͫ߄㩌 惾ଥӟ▲п䰆ㄥङ۞նͫ۱љѕ✰ୃީ✫ы梏ࠀৱ澞 আІ溟, 劏୐拵߀侙љ澦‫֪ם‬⡓‫׮‬澧չ澦潈於‫ؚ‬㲃澧⡧‫چ‬䙃‫୐ڱ‬榆䘟ङ߂҄修 ⤺䘟ͫ‫ޢޢ‬ѕ߂ы䱺ଳङީ㆏ࢦԅԃͫ‫ۂ‬溁‫ڱ‬д修⤺䘟;۱љ୐榆䘟▲㩌惾ੴ 屺宁嶮㹩惾࣯ͫЉ岃嶟ͫ▲फӱд澦ٌИ⟂‫ר‬澧ѕ۵䙃‫୐ڱ‬榆䘟ङ߂҄㆏ࢦ䘟澞 ҿㅲ۩嫰‫ڱ‬㠹✫અ‫⚵چ‬रͫ劏୐拵ङ⤺ߎङ䬢ީ侺䈏д࣯ࣥ澞ஔдӹவ寕ङѕ 㒡㻴՗Ոߕ‫⚵߄؁؁‬㻴Ф‫ͫי‬৲Ќѕ૦⟂佷ङ寕ୂ۪ৱ㛺޼ͫୃ߄ੋਿ‫ם‬ङ昘 刦澞ѕ֑ऀ▲ٌ惾߄▲ٌ௤悤䱷Є㇍ㆁ‫׈‬佖㵜ͫ௤۴▲✫‫✫▲ݎ‬ङ悪俅৲ӟͫ ѕङы࣒Э㕒،ੋࣿ‫ޚ‬⢧ߍ▻悤䱷અ਩੧䠞ͫࣾਙҦ潈於‫ؚ‬㲃ы࣒ӟ⸢ङ㩌 Ҙͫ惾୆ੋ擞௴溟‫׿‬澝Ⰷ⩻利ङ悤䱷୆㶒ͫ߄ੋઅ਩֨ՖՍщबङ۞ն澞Ӈৱͫ ѕ䵳Ј㿄࢖ङㆎगͫ㒡⚵Љ߀⼋曪䛂ї寉㑪ͫ‫ڮ‬ਈ⟂惕ӟՎїИⴚङ梏柴ͫ۩ 嫰‫ڱ‬悤ީѕ匜߄宕㫮㾎ਘ啠ङ▲䱷੮䛂澞 আ֚溟ͫЉՕЉ‫ݕ‬ङ䠞ࣀީѕ侙䓍ङ⥺ҁ⸢வͫЉ⟔ީ⥺И߄杞ͫ杞И߄⥺ͫ ৲Ќѕӯऀह族ङ⢹䈀ͫҟӟЈ▲࠵੽悪俅㤎ӟ⤿‫ܥ‬ङѥ䵳澞ѕ惎ऀ㑜চ‫ٽ‬娸 ଭӟ‫ڥڜ‬ङ૩当⥺ҁͫࣀ㒑फ俠㡊䪀Ӣ⤿ͫࣀ㒑⡧ৱㆎबӿ忳ͫ丼फՒыघर Љ⨤ͫ㻑䔜嫶࠲͠ 23

Anthony Kaufman interviewed Ang Lee on November 1, 2000. For details,

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consult the news report: https://www.indiewire.com/2000/11/interview-ang-leedirector-of-crouching-tiger-hidden-dragon-81314/ (online resources retrieved in March 2023). Also consult the appendix to this article. 24

Records about King Hu’s chameleon effect in the academic conference derive

from Albert F. S. Pai’s (ग嵊䬒) translation. Here is the Mandarin Chinese version of Cai Mingliang’s (嚁‫ޢ‬щ Tsai, Ming-liang) original statement: 㚙实ީ֨۩Ь 㻯۪ৱԝ㻯ङ㩌Ҙ, र劏㆏ࢦङ澦‫ם‬懵✃澧, 悤✫朅‫ࣔڮڧ‬⣫ͫ֜䎹۩㒡‫ؼش‬ र࠶✃࣌ͫмż‫ٶ‬їҹż‫ٶ‬їङ࠶✃࣌रд‫ࣔͫךڮ‬⣫ީ௚࢔ङ଻п㐋㭆࠶✃ ࣌ࣔ⣫‫ͫך‬㒑⚵߄愬ࡆङ澝߄ⴚࡪङ澞Ѹީ劏㆏ࢦङ澦‫ם‬懵✃澧▲ӟ⚵ͫ۩۵ Ь㻯ͫ‫ࣔؼ‬⣫߄۟嫰ͫЉऽଳ䎹э溁ͫՕਈީ嫰‫ڱ‬ѕ૦⣫ङ࠶✃࣌Љ‫▲ן‬㶲澞 㒡ы࣒ङଭֺӱ⸢ްङ଻п⚄৥ͫୃள‫ٯ‬ङ伶午澞۩‫ؼشڮ‬Օљ۟嫰‫ڱ‬ӱ଻✫ ۸櫴ङ⥺ҁЭީள‫ױٯ‬र֍! ࣔ⣫ㆎ憞҃҃ङ଻✫ଭֺ惾߄੮䛂‫۟߄ڮ‬嫰ͫ‫װ‬ ࢦ୐䓃‫ؼͫ׿‬嫰‫ڱ‬ள‫ٯ‬ত倁ङ▲✫࠶✃࣌澞۩✰‫ش‬㩌Ҙर؏࠶✃࣌ୃ㫵ࠥѢͫ Ծࣨ࠶✃࣌ङ⥺ҁͫ۩‫ڮ߄ࠢם‬斴▲࠼㩌族ୃ֨ࠥѢ୐䓃‫ܳͫ׿‬⡧‫܋‬ि⤿ͫ⡧ ✫‫ش‬िङߋ栦ͫ䠞ि⤿֨ࣨͫ‫ੋڮ‬ଛͫੋଛд‫ڮ‬斴▲࠼㩌族澞㒑⚵ͫ‫ࠢם‬ԝ▲澝 ԝи㻯ͫ߄▲✫朅‫ࣀॳڧ‬族ள‫ٯ‬怣⥺ͫ刴ы‫؟‬寕଻✫朅‫֨ީڧ‬௚࢔‫ם‬巚掄澞۩ ✰֨㭆ԧ☓ङыୃऽଳͫ௚࢔э溁朅‫ڧ‬㫵巚‫ͫڇ‬㫵૦ੋ૦梏‫੽۝‬Ծरͫ‫ީؼ‬ 澦潈於‫ؚ‬㲃澧ͫЭީऊЈள‫ࢋٯ‬ङԭ઻ͫ૝૞Ҷୂङ࠶✃࣌ͫ䠞㩌ङ۟嫰ͫ澦潈 於‫ؚ‬㲃澧佬۩▲䱷䈏ࣔ࠺ङㅶㅲङ۟嫰澞ॳࣀ族嫰‫✃࠶ڱ‬ы࣒曰҂ࡁ忇ழ଎ͫ Љީ଻䱷‫۝ٹڮ‬ङͫ惙惠ङͫѕҿㅲީ߄▲✫Ѡ⥽֨૯Їͫґ岡㓘ਧङ଻䱷澞 ଻п✃‫ؚ‬ङӟ䛂ͫЉީ棁⚵棁Ծङ澞ѕީ૚૨ङͫ۩孄‫ڱ‬ी曑ީ૚૨૚ӱ潈於 ‫ؚ‬㲃Ծङͫܳ▲‫܋‬஧➨ͫਅްީ▲✫久利ͫ久ङ஺㶒ͫࣔ⣫߄㾎㾇澞ॳࣀ族䤚 䛂࠶✃Ѝउङы࣒ࣔ⣫২ͫՕީЭࣔ⣫ऱㅲͫЉީ垵‫ٹ‬ङ澞߄▲䱷ͫㆎͫ߄▲ 䱷ㅶㅲ۟澞ѕ✰੽՞棓੽श嫰ͫѕ✰㫵૚૨ͫЉ▲ؔ੽槨榆ঈঈ澞䠞ࣀ劏㆏ࢦ

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ङ଻п‫ୃڔܥ‬ள‫ױٯ‬रͫள‫ٯ‬⠶২৲Ќள‫ͫ۟ת䷠߄ٯ‬૦⣫ङ࠶✃࣌۸⚵۸Ծ ީЉ‫▲ן‬㶲澞۩߂㗱रѕ଻✫㑜চ‫ٽ‬ङ৬૩ͫࣔ⣫২ͫӟ䛂আи✫✃‫ީؼͫ׮‬ Їؒ杌沽଻✫ଭֺͫ‫܁׮‬अ娙ङଭֺͫள‫ױٯ‬र澞憞҃҃֨ӟ⸢㩌ள‫ٯ‬䈒щͫ ۱љͫ҂‫ࣀڿ‬族嫰‫✫଻ڱ‬Ѝउީ‫ڮ‬ऱㅲङͫ૦҂ࡁ忇ழ଎ङ۟嫰ͫ۱љ۩ள‫ٯ‬ ֔㻤澞㒑⚵࠿▲ୂ劏㆏ࢦङ朅‫۩ͫڧ‬Иㄥङ㩌Ҙٝ侙旇‫׷‬ऽଳ劏୐拵㆏ࢦͫҿ ѕ㆏ࢦ۩Љ‫ן‬ऽଳ‫ࣔؼ‬⣫ऊ۞ѕͫ۱љѕङ澦㓘ࢸⴥ澧澝澦ଌަ旟Ф梏ࡦ澧澝 澦✃‫׮‬澧޾Љ੽寕д澞 25

Records about King Hu’s chameleon effect in the academic conference derive

from Albert F. S. Pai’s (ग嵊䬒) translation. Here is the Mandarin Chinese version of Huang Jingxuan’s original statement: Խ⚵֨‫ޏ‬朅‫ڧ‬ङӹ▲ї‫ީؼ‬劏㆏ࢦѕ✰ 悤▲їͫҦ劏㆏ࢦ悤㶲‫׿‬ङ㆏ࢦѕٝ侙‫܋‬㥝‫ڧ‬㷬惎⥺ङ২ㄥҟङ悤溁䈒щ澞ѕ ֨‫ܠ‬㥝࠿▲ୂ朅‫ڧ‬ङ㩌Ҙͫ惎ऀ徐ଳଭۨ reframe ङ‫ߧݼ‬澞֨۩✰悤▲їङ㆏ ࢦ旇‫ܠ׷‬朅‫ڧ‬ङ㩌Ҙͫ㎹Чٝ侙‫⟂ע‬д澞悤ўз‫۩ە‬嫰‫ڱ‬佬۩ள‫םٯ‬ङ஭㤁૦ ⭺䤚ͫ۩✰ङӹ忭澝ӹӹ忭ٝ侙‫܋‬朅‫ڧ‬২ㄥ‫ݐ‬ӱ悤㶲ङ㴊ਚ澞଻۩✰悤▲忭ީ ի㚙实੽޾Ԋԃ▲溟?޾Ծ֨ӹ忭ङׂ䭳ЇͫԾ旇䤚朅‫ڧ‬২ㄥ޾‫ם‬ङՕਈ‫?ۅ‬ रӱӹ忭ㆎ朅‫ڧ‬场妟ङㆋࡨ澝ⷫੋ澝宸ऱͫ惾߄଻䱷‫࣌ܠ‬㘟‫ͫچ‬岽۩✰޾ऽଳͫ 㩌ї曤ࣀ▲फ֨ࢦ岴ͫѸީ଻䱷ㆎ朅‫ڧ‬ङ伟ণङ㘟‫▲ީچ‬溟ୃЉਈ۸ܑ‫ۻ‬ङͫ ள‫۟ٯ‬屈‫ܠ‬㥝伋捦࣌ङ㆏ࢦ佬۩悤㶲ङ⮆ॐͫ屈屈澞۩✫ыङ‫ͫࡣ۝‬朅‫ڧ‬㚙实 ީ߄ٗ߄֌߄场妟ͫऱ࠳ङ场妟࣌⪢଻۩‫ؼ‬Љ‫֜ͫۤן‬䎹۩Э㿮‫ܠ‬惐澞۩嫰‫ڱ‬ ЭӣЉ‫ם‬旇ͫㅲ暲Ї悤пӣ桗۩‫ڧީ۝‬宁ы۪ৱ‫י‬愄ы悤㶲ӣ桗澞۩‫۩ܠ‬ङআ ҹୂ朅‫ڧ‬ङ㩌Ҙͫ଱ӱ▲✫৯㛺ஓͫ۩फ‫۝ؼݎ‬ӱͫ۩֨৯㛺ஓर劏୐拵ङ଻ 䱷۟嫰澞劏୐拵ङ朅‫ߎׂڧ‬Ї֨۩଻✫‫ٶ‬їͫ۩孄‫ީڱ‬Ԡ‫⸢כ‬ङ㩌ҘԾरङͫ ‫ࣇؼ‬䈏澞۱љ۩‫ݞް⸢✫଻܋‬ӱ۩ङ朅‫ڧ‬娝வ⚵ͫㆎ劏㆏ࢦҟ▲✫‫ࢋڮ‬Ӷङਚ 㦞澞 26

For details, consult the National Film Archive’s video of Tsui Hark’s (‫ڰ‬ұ)

interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rwd9FJejUTI (online resources retrieved in February 2023).

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Sylvia Chang is certainly not the only actress who knew King Hu since her

childhood. In addition to her, Qin Pei (䰶㿶 Chin, Pei) and Hong Jinbao (ࡲ୐ㆁ) are other examples. Qin Pei and Hong Jinbao co-worked with King Hu since their childhood. They feel a tremendous amount of spiritual comradeship with King Hu. For details, consult Li Chengyang’s (㬮‫܈‬暙) “Tsui Hark Appears in Knight King Hu, Hong Jinbao Also Returns to His Childhood Memory with King Hu” (‫ڰ‬ұ䛂 ૯澦‫✃ם‬劏୐拵澧ࡲ୐ㆁЭ䎹ѕ֛ަ). China Times News (October 7, 2022): https://tw.news.yahoo.com/news/%E5%BE%90%E5%85%8B%E7%8F%BE%E8 %BA%AB-%E5%A4%A7%E4%BF%A0%E8%83%A1%E9%87%91%E9%8A% 93-%E6%B4%AA%E9%87%91%E5%AF%B6%E4%B9%9F%E7%82%BA%E4 %BB%96%E5%9B%9E%E6%98%A5-201000933.html (online resources retrieved in February 2023). 28 Intentional acting in synchrony can trigger and even accelerate automatic imitation and source memory. For details, consult Liam Cross, Gray Atherton, and Natalie Sebanz’s “Intentional Synchronisation Affects Automatic Imitation and Source Memory.” Scientific Reports 11 (January 12, 2021): 573: https://www.nature.com/articles/s41598-020-79796-9 (online resource retrieved in January 2023). Also consult Crossey, Benjamin Philip. Gray Atherton, and Liam Cross. “Lost in the Crowd: Imagining Walking in Synchrony with a Crowd Increases Affiliation and Deindividuation.” Plos One 16.7 (July 23, 2021): https://doi.org/10.1371/journal.pone.0254017. 29

For details, consult Ge Dawei’s (嗄‫ם‬侳) “One Year in the Mountain, Respect

for the Teacher for an Entire Life: King Hu in Sylvia Chang’s Heart” (ٌИ▲‫ͫٶ‬ ‫س‬㍳▲Ѝ͹㑋ਬⰧ‫ڶ‬Иङ劏୐拵㆏ࢦ). Electronic News and Blog of the National Film Archive (ⴚ‫؟‬朅‫ڧ‬嶾‫މ‬椋朅‫)ࠀ੊ୂ⸟׿‬. June 15, 2012: https://ctfa74.pixnet.net/blog/post/45648572 (online resource retrieved in February 2023). 30

For details, consult Wei Junzi’s (欝⩧‫“ )׿‬John Yu-sen Woo Talks about King

Hu” (⩸؋࠙寲劏୐攺͹٥߈⟂‫܈‬ӹ忭‫ם‬㍳梏௣). Sina Entertainment (‫⿕ࡾޏ‬㶒). August 8, 2012: http://ent.sina.com.cn/m/c/2012-08-08/10413706026.shtml (online resources retrieved in February 2023). 31 Ibid. 32 This kind of Chinese martial arts is also called “Yong Chun White Crane Sarm Tseen” (ࡋަग浾І㛸㝹). It derives from Yong Chun county of Fujian Province in Southern China. “Yong Chun Bai He Quan was founded in the late 1600… by

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Master Fang Qiniang (‫ސ‬Є⿒), and remains famous in China to the present day. It is still being taught, many generations later, at the style’s birthplace by Master Su Ying Han. The original system of White Crane Kung Fu is unusual because its founder was a woman who remained undefeated in a very male-dominated martial world. In order to achieve this, this graceful style contains many innovative methods designed to defend against persons who are physically bigger and stronger. Hence it is still ideal as a self-defence art in the modern day. Yong Chun White Crane is one of the oldest systems of Kung Fu still in existence, and has been influential in several other martial styles which developed in this part of the world, including Okinawan Karate.” (Online resources retrieved on January 19, 2023: https://tigercranekungfu.com/martial-arts-styles/yong-chun-white-crane-kung-fu/). Fang Qiniang inherited her father’s Shaolin kung fu and created the White Crane kung fu after observing white cranes at the Bailian Temple (ग俺ㆃ). The White Crane kung fu was so well-known and influential that the name of the temple was changed from Bailian Temple to Jiaolian Temple ( ‫ ݾ‬俺 ㆃ literal meaning of Chinese language: Couching Temple). After the failure of her first marriage, Fang Qiniang started her second marital relationship with Zeng Si (߀ ֚) and moved to her second husband’s hometown, Young Chun County of Fujian Province. She continued teaching the White Crane kung fu in Yong Chun. The White Crane kung fu, which Fang Qiniang coached, was so famous in Yong Chun County of Fujian Province that this type of martial arts is named Yong Chun kung fu. 33 Records about King Hu’s chameleon effect in the academic conference derive from Albert F. S. Pai’s (ग嵊䬒) translation. Here is the Mandarin Chinese version of Huang Jingxuan’s original statement: ࠶✃࣌߄㎹✫୍溟ͫআ▲✫䠞ࣀީ࠶妟ͫ ࣀ㒑߄࠶ͫ߄✃ङୂӣ澞࠶ީэ溁;۩✰寕࠲‫ۦ‬澞悤✫㭆੼Օਈㆎ䛂їㄥࣿչ ۩‫ڮ‬晰ࣿ澞۩৯▲忭ङ৯㍳ͫ‫ٶ‬忙㩌Ҙㄥ农И或ङ惐३Иͫ‫ࠢם‬旍޷Ф棻ͫЉ ީҦ䛂֨ㄥࣿ֋ KTVͫ旍޷Ф棻ͫѕ✰㫵֨‫⸢ݱ‬Ї俺࠶妟澞‫؟ם‬㫵лबࡁ忇ͫ я‫מ‬俺д▲✫э溁妟‫۩ͫڔ‬я‫מ‬俺д▲✫ԝи૨㑜ਓͫ҂俺ङީэ溁;І㛸㝹! 悤✫૦И啠‫ކ‬ԗ߄‫םڮ‬ङ昘⛨ͫѸ䛂֨И啠‫ކ‬ԗ... ۩✰悤愄ङㄥࣿͫੴ੼ԗ ङࡁ忇‫ͫך‬旍޷Ф棻⚵俺࠶妟ङ‫▲صࠢם‬溟澞ࠍ৪ࣿ寕࠶✃‫ش‬寕ީۨ‫ٶ‬ыङॿ 宝ͫ澦溈٪⡦侙澧寕或ࣿѐ㧠॔૦ыФ族ͫ۱љࢃࡀङ㩌ҘՑ஬੽‫܋‬所Ӏխ֨ ֗ٞ‫ͫױؼ‬љ䛂֨ङઅ‫⚵چ‬रͫୃ߄п哊屗ͫѸީ‫ش‬寕۪ީ朅‫ڧ‬娝வरӱङୂ ӣͫ۩‫֜۝‬䎹Љਈ‫ןܠ‬ㅶㅲͫ‫ן‬ㅶㅲЉ‫ױן‬रͫ۱љԆд‫ࡁߧݼ‬忇害‫ם‬ङୂӣͫ

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CHAPTER THREE THE SUCCESS AND FAILURE OF KING HU’S MARTIAL ARTS FEMINISM YA-CHEN CHEN, PH.D. King Hu's oeuvre is distinguished by his innovative cinematic depiction of female characters, portraying them as formidable martial artists or enigmatic female specters. His films, notably Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃) and A Touch of Zen (✃‫)׮‬, have played a pivotal role in crafting narratives featuring strong, autonomous female leads proficient in martial arts, capable of rivalling their male counterparts. Such portrayals subverted entrenched gender norms, ushering in a novel paradigm of female agency within Chinese-language films, with influence extending across Asian and global cinema. These characters symbolized a challenge to the metaphorical "glass ceiling" that traditionally confined women of Chinese descent. Despite the revolutionary nature of King Hu's films during the 1960s and 1970s in terms of female representation, his works did not overtly align with the prevailing feminist discourse of the era, including the second-wave and third-wave feminist movements. Nevertheless, two of his protegees, Sylvia Chang (㑋ਬⰧ) and Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬㳪 Hsu, Feng), carved successful careers for themselves as actors, producers, and directors within the

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Chinese-language film industry, further dismantling barriers to female representation in cinema. Their active involvement in women's film festivals and contributions to feminist film culture stemmed from their own feminist consciousness rather than direct tutelage under King Hu. Feminist critique has often highlighted significant gender and racial imbalances in the recognition of women of color and Caucasian women within major international film festivals. Such disparities were not overtly addressed or rectified within the sphere of King Hu's cinematic influence or among his female contemporaries and disciples. Filmmakers such as Huang Yushan (溈࣭ࣥ Huang, Yu-shan), Liu Lili (⤻ॹॹ Liu, Li-li), Yang Jiayun (㳡‫؟‬曾 Yang, Chia-yun), Li Meimi (㬮২㑠), Sylvia Chang (㑋ਬ Ⱗ), and Ann Hui (孝枋啠 Xu, Anhua) represent a minority of Taiwanese women in filmmaking who received mentorship from King Hu or his esteemed male colleagues during the 1960s-1970s. However, the extent to which their feminist successes in the domain of women's cinema or at women's film festivals can be attributed exclusively to the legacy of King Hu or his male peers remains uncertain. It suggests that the "cinematic pen" wielded by King Hu and his contemporaries may still be predominantly maledominated or patriarchal in nature, rather than guided by a feminist ethos.

Prelude While numerous scholars and critics in the academic realm of film studies have extensively examined the works of King Hu, there exists a

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noticeable gap in the discourse, as the feminist perspective often remains sidelined in their analyses. The concentration of feminist research within this field, particularly in relation to King Hu's work, is noticeably scant. Consequently, there is an urgent need to spotlight the intersection of feminism and martial arts in King Hu’s films. This chapter seeks to address this lacuna by critically investigating the successes and failures of King Hu’s unique brand of martial arts feminism both within his cinematic representation and its implications beyond the silver screen. By casting a feminist lens on King Hu's work, we aim to enrich our understanding of the multifaceted implications of his filmmaking, revealing untapped areas of critical inquiry and providing a robust analysis of the intersection of gender, martial arts, and cinematic narrative in his oeuvre. In the diverse and multifaceted domain of film studies, the works of King Hu have been meticulously dissected by numerous scholars and critics. His remarkable body of work— both rich and compelling— continues to engage academia, inviting interpretation and analysis from various perspectives. However, upon careful observation, one can discern a marked gap in this substantial discourse. A critical feminist perspective, an aspect that is of pivotal importance in contemporary academic dialogue, appears to be significantly underrepresented in the existing scholarship on King Hu's films. Feminist theory, having found resonance in numerous academic disciplines, has propelled groundbreaking inquiries and insightful debates.

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Despite these strides, its integration into film studies, particularly in the context of King Hu's prolific corpus, remains disappointingly meager. The paucity of feminist research within the broader analysis of King Hu's work signals an academic deficiency, one that not only limits our understanding of King Hu's oeuvre but also curtails the potential for comprehensive, interdisciplinary discourse. In response to this oversight, this chapter aims to recalibrate the academic focus by delving into the successes and failures of King Hu's distinct form of martial arts feminism. King Hu’s cinematic repertoire often features martial arts, an arena traditionally saturated with masculinity. However, King Hu subverts these traditional gender norms by populating this sphere with powerful female characters, resulting in a unique synthesis of martial arts and feminism. The objective, however, extends beyond merely identifying this synthesis. A more profound engagement requires an in-depth exploration of its successful and unsuccessful manifestations. We must critically examine the ways in which King Hu has effectively incorporated feminist principles within the martial arts framework. Conversely, we also need to scrutinize areas where his attempt to integrate feminism within martial arts might have been less successful. Furthermore, a comprehensive investigation of how his on-screen representation of martial arts feminism reverberates beyond the silver screen is imperative. Does King Hu's martial arts feminism succeed in challenging traditional gender norms? Does it alter audience

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perceptions and engender societal change? These crucial questions form the nucleus of our investigation. By situating King Hu's work within the framework of feminist theory, we can unveil the hidden layers of his narrative strategy. This feminist lens allows us to critically engage with overlooked aspects of Hu's films, thereby enriching our understanding and presenting new areas for scholarly exploration. Moreover, it paves the way for a comprehensive examination of the intricate intersections of gender, martial arts, and film narrative within Hu's creative landscape. The critical adoption of such an approach has the potential to significantly broaden the scope of the academic discourse surrounding King Hu's films. It also underscores the importance of feminist theory in film studies, illuminating new avenues of research and encouraging further interdisciplinary dialogue. The body of scholarship pertaining to the oeuvre of King Hu, a prominent figure in film studies, is considerable, reflecting the depth and complexity of his work. However, this extensive academic discourse appears to overlook an essential aspect - the perspective of feminist studies. While feminist discourse has made significant strides in academia, its integration into film studies, particularly in the context of King Hu's films, appears inadequate. This absence of a feminist standpoint within the broader analysis creates a research gap, one that warrants urgent attention. Given the nuanced intersectionality that characterizes King Hu's films, this chapter seeks to bridge this academic gap by concentrating on the

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successful and unsuccessful aspects of his distinctive martial arts feminism, as portrayed in his films and its real-world implications. King Hu's films often center on martial arts, a sphere typically associated with masculinity. By introducing strong female characters within this realm, he disrupts the traditional gender dynamics and injects an element of feminism, thereby creating a unique blend of martial arts feminism. However, to simply identify this blend is insufficient; an in-depth exploration of its successes and failures is necessary. What aspects of his martial arts feminism have been executed effectively? Where does it fall short? How does his cinematic representation of martial arts feminism influence real-world perceptions, and does it indeed succeed in challenging or changing established norms? These are the questions this chapter aims to answer. By scrutinizing King Hu's work through a feminist lens, we can gain a deeper and more nuanced understanding of his films. Such an analysis enables us to unveil the layers of his works, shedding light on overlooked facets and offering new areas for critical inquiry. Moreover, it provides a comprehensive exploration of the interplay of gender, martial arts, and film narrative within King Hu's creative space. This approach not only enriches the academic discourse surrounding King Hu but also extends the boundaries of feminist research within film studies.

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King Hu’s Cinematic Martial Arts Feminism on the Silver Screen King Hu holds the distinction of being the first filmmaker of Chinese heritage to receive accolades at prestigious international film festivals. Among his numerous award-winning cinematic contributions, one that particularly stands out is his innovative portrayal of women and feminist roles in martial arts films. 1 Consequently, this chapter concentrates on what we have termed as King Hu's "cinematic martial arts feminism," as it is manifest on the silver screen. King Hu, a figure of considerable renown within the global cinema sphere, holds the distinguished title of being the first filmmaker of Chinese heritage to earn accolades at significant international film festivals. His work, marked by its artistry and innovation, has garnered widespread attention, establishing him as a seminal figure in the industry. However, amongst his many celebrated cinematic contributions, one stands out and commands special attention: his groundbreaking portrayal of women and feminist roles within martial arts films. Indeed, this unique aspect of King Hu's films, referred to in this chapter as his "cinematic martial arts feminism," significantly distinguishes his work from others in the martial arts genre. Through this concept, he takes the martial arts film, a genre often laden with traditional and stereotypically male-dominated narratives, and introduces a potent feminist dynamic. King Hu’s innovative approach, by incorporating strong, self-reliant female

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characters into the masculine realm of martial arts, challenges the customary narrative and invites the audience to rethink established gender norms within this genre. King Hu's films do not simply feature female characters in martial arts roles. Instead, they embed feminist principles within the very fabric of the narrative, leading to a reinterpretation of the genre itself. In this context, martial arts become a medium to portray female empowerment and challenge patriarchal assumptions, marking a significant departure from traditional martial arts films. This chapter unpacks King Hu’s unique cinematic martial arts feminism as it unfolds on the silver screen. We will delve into the ways in which King Hu has utilized martial arts as a narrative tool, to not only entertain but to construct a nuanced dialogue on gender roles and power dynamics. His cinema offers a reimagined portrayal of women, which goes beyond mere surface-level representation and instead, positions them at the center of the narrative, equipped with agency and resilience. However, while celebrating King Hu's innovative feminist approach, it's also necessary to critically assess its execution. Are there areas in which the attempted subversion of gender norms falls short? Does the cinematic martial arts feminism always serve to empower, or are there instances where it inadvertently perpetuates stereotypes? These are some of the critical questions this chapter will consider in our exploration of King Hu's work. It is also pertinent to consider how King Hu's martial arts feminism has

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resonated beyond the realm of cinema. While the silver screen is his primary medium, the effects of his films have far-reaching implications. How does his portrayal of female characters in martial arts roles shape societal perceptions and potentially drive changes in real-world gender dynamics? By placing a magnifying lens on King Hu’s cinematic martial arts feminism, we can better understand his contribution to the martial arts genre, and to the wider discourse on gender representation in cinema. This exploration aims to shed light on a somewhat underrepresented aspect of his work and provide a nuanced interpretation of his films that extends beyond their surface spectacle. In other words, the objective of this chapter is to not only spotlight King Hu’s unique cinematic martial arts feminism but to also critically engage with it, evaluating its successes and limitations both within and beyond the cinematic realm. This will enable us to appreciate King Hu's cinematic legacy in its full complexity and offer a more comprehensive understanding of his impact on the cinematic world and beyond.

Feminist Roles to Break the Glass Ceiling on King Hu’s Silver Screen King Hu has been acclaimed for his artistic portrayal of female protagonists, a groundbreaking practice evident in the first two films he participated in: The Story of Sue San: Confessions of a Concubine (ࣥ‫)ަ׃‬ in 1964, and Sons of Good Earth (‫֪ם‬⡓‫ )׮‬in 1965. In both films, the

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renowned actress Ledi (㶒੎) expertly embodies Hu's vision of empowered, complex women, challenging the established norms of female representation within the genre. In The Story of Sue San: Confessions of a Concubine, the central character, Su San (坤І), is skillfully depicted as navigating her world as a courtesan and concubine, unjustly accused of her husband's murder. Her struggle against the prevailing stigmatization embodies the cinematic manifestation of traditional feminist themes: the battle against societal injustices and women's resistance to oppression. Su San's narrative, fraught with her battle against prejudice, resonates profoundly with audiences as it draws parallels to the tribulations endured by female protagonists in subsequent films. These include characters like Yang Huizhen (㳡㘸嶕) from King Hu’s A Touch of Zen (✃‫)׮‬, who covertly aspires to avenge her father's death by retaliating against corrupt government officials. Similar themes resonate in Zhang Yimou’s (㑋场尫) The Story of Qiu Ju (फ़唼۸ؒ՛), and in the character of Jade Fox from Ang Lee’s (㬮‫ )؍‬Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (厂੘੗潈). In the latter film, Jade Fox (䬐ऴ䖨䗌) vehemently accuses Jiang Nanhe (㿄ԧ浾) of deceiving and violating her under the pretense of teaching her martial arts. Another example is found in Feng Xiaogang's (榈‫ )⤔ش‬I Am Not Madame Bovary (۩Љީ䉣୐噏). Through Su San's narrative, King Hu introduces themes of women's resistance and their struggle against societal and patriarchal constraints.

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These motifs resurface and reverberate throughout later cinematic productions, creating an enduring dialogue on the representation of women’s struggle and retaliation within the film industry. In Sons of Good Earth (‫֪ם‬⡓‫)׮‬, King Hu continues to disrupt the typical representation of women in film by transforming the female protagonist, Lotus ( ਾ ਰ / 噏 ਰ ), from a kidnapped victim from the countryside into a formidable heroine. Instead of succumbing to her circumstances, Lotus bravely confronts her Japanese enemies in a heroic attempt to rescue her husband. This bold representation of a female character exemplifies King Hu's commitment to foregrounding female agency and strength in his films. Both films demonstrate King Hu's commitment to foregrounding strong, complex women within his narratives. His female characters are not merely token inclusions; they are central to the narrative, displaying resilience and courage in the face of adversity. This innovative approach to gender representation is a hallmark of King Hu's cinematic martial arts feminism, a concept that challenges traditional gender norms and offers new perspectives on women's roles within the martial arts genre. King Hu's groundbreaking depictions of female protagonists set a precedent for later films, contributing to the gradual evolution of gender representation within Chinese cinema. King Hu's 1966 film Come Drink with Me (‫ם‬懵✃) marks a significant milestone in his cinematic career, where he first presents a striking image

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of a female character exuding both masculinity and power within the realm of martial arts. The film features the character Golden Swallow (୐䓃‫)׿‬, portrayed by Zheng Peipei (憞҃҃ Cheng Pei-pei), and a group of female soldiers who break free from traditional patriarchal constraints. These characters reject conventional restrictions such as foot-binding, limitations on their freedom of movement, economic dependence, and lack of access to literacy and education. They assert their independence by adopting typically male attire and engaging in fierce battles against men. By doing so, they challenge the gender norms prevalent in the period and society they represent. In his subsequent film, Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃), released in 1967, King Hu takes this portrayal of female power a step further. The character Zhu Hui (㬕忡), played by Shangguan Lingfeng (Їؒ杌沽), is depicted as even more masculine than Golden Swallow. Her presence on the screen challenges traditional notions of femininity and masculinity, portraying a woman who embodies both physical strength and assertiveness typically associated with masculinity. Despite their differences, both Zhu Hui and Golden Swallow are united by their shared objectives: to rescue and protect people. They embody the archetypal hero, traditionally a male role, thereby disrupting the traditional gender binary and expanding the range of possibilities for female representation in cinema.

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These films, Come Drink with Me and Dragon Inn, demonstrate King Hu's innovative approach to gender representation. He showcases powerful, independent women who break free from the restrictions of a patriarchal society, engaging in heroic acts typically associated with male characters. This depiction of strong women in martial arts challenges traditional gender norms, paving the way for more complex, nuanced representations of women in martial arts cinema. King Hu helmed the movie A Touch of Zen (✃‫ )׮‬in the years 19701971. This film is noted for its distinct treatment of the female protagonist, Yang Huizhen (㳡㘸嶕), portrayed compellingly by actress Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬ 㳪). 2 In King Hu's narrative, Yang Huizhen emerges as a character who deviates significantly from the traditional roles often assigned to women in films of that era. With a character arc that aligns more closely with feminist activism, Yang's primary focus within the plot is her mission of revenge against her enemy. Interestingly, the typically gendered tasks traditionally assigned by a patriarchal society—such as domestic chores, breastfeeding, child-rearing, or parental responsibilities—do not define or limit Yang Huizhen in the film. Instead, these roles appear almost incidental or inconsequential to her character's development and storyline. The only exceptions to this pattern are her pregnancy and the birth of her child, which serve as pivotal plot points. These events are framed not as societal expectations but rather as a gesture of gratitude towards the male protagonist, Gu Xingzhai (桠म漉), who assists her in her mission of

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retaliation. Even these elements of her story, however, do not detract from her central role as a woman dedicated to pursuing her objective, with or without the support of male characters.

Hong Kong director and film critic Liu Chenghan (⤻ۨ䈯), known in Cantonese as Lou Shing Hon, points out that Yang Huizhen displays no traditional romantic love or deep emotional ties to her baby's biological father, effectively disassociating romantic love from sexual relations within her character's narrative. In this way, King Hu's cinematic depiction of Yang Huizhen in A Touch of Zen effectively challenges traditional gender norms and provides a strong, independent female character who takes on roles and responsibilities typically ascribed to men, marking a significant departure from the norms of cinema at the time. In 1970, King Hu collaborated with renowned Taiwanese filmmakers Bai Jingrui (गްࣶ Pai Ching-jui), Li Xing (㬮੧ Li Hsing), and Li Hanxiang (㬮䌡䯅 Li Han-hsiang) on an ambitious filming project titled Four Moods (֔㔄⫸㶒). Each director was responsible for an individual episode, with each episode corresponding to one of the four moods or emotions suggested by the title: joy, wrath, sorrow, and pleasure. King Hu took on the task of directing the episode titled Wrath (㔄). In this segment, a remarkable female character emerges: the wife of Liu Lihua (⤻ӯ啠), the owner of an inn, portrayed by actress Hu Jin (劏授). The innkeeper's wife is a character of note because of her strong resemblance to the female inn

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owner in King Hu's celebrated film Dragon Inn. Just as the female inn owner in Dragon Inn stands as a central figure in the narrative, the innkeeper's wife in the Wrath episode of Four Moods similarly attracts attention. Both women share common characteristics, such as their assertive demeanors, which contrast starkly with the traditional depictions of women in films of the period. These parallels suggest that King Hu might be deliberately drawing a connection between the two characters, possibly to reinforce themes of female independence and strength that are present in both films. Continuing the narrative trend established in King Hu's earlier films, the lead female characters in his 1973 film, The Fate of Lee Khan (ଌަ旟 Ф梏ࡦ), 3 and 1975 film, The Valiant Ones (㓘ࢸⴥ), also embark on a path of resistance and defiance. The Fate of Lee Khan showcases powerful images of martial arts ladies, including Li Wan'er (㬮、⡓) portrayed by Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬㳪), Black Peony (௲䕅Н) portrayed by Mao Ying (咁䜚), Peach (ࡊ塯ࠂ) portrayed by Hu Jin (劏授), and Tuberose (‫⚵כ‬௚) portrayed by Helen Ma (榆ࢁ❅), among others. In the storyline of "The Valiant Ones," the character Wu Ruoshi (♝ਲ਼宕), brought to life by actress Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬ 㳪), is depicted as a woman of moral integrity, bravely battling against Japanese pirates. The Fate of Lee Khan showcases powerful images of martial arts ladies, including Li Wan'er (㬮、⡓) portrayed by Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬㳪), Black Peony (௲䕅Н) portrayed by Mao Ying (咁䜚), Peach (ࡊ塯ࠂ) portrayed by Hu

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Jin (劏授), and Tuberose (‫⚵כ‬௚) portrayed by Helen Ma (榆ࢁ❅), among others. In the storyline of The Valiant Ones, the character Wu Ruoshi (♝ਲ਼ 宕), brought to life by actress Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬㳪), is depicted as a woman of moral integrity, bravely battling against Japanese pirates. The year 1979 represents a pivotal moment in King Hu's cinematic legacy, as it is the time when he began to profoundly highlight the infinite potential of women to break free from the societal chains that bind them. By challenging both the brittle stereotypes assigned to women by patriarchal traditions and the societal “glass ceiling” established by male-dominated norms, he fosters a new vision of feminine strength. To enhance this notion of female empowerment within the confines of traditional Chinese settings, King Hu adopts an innovative approach: he transforms his female characters into otherworldly entities. For instance, Legend of the Mountain (ٌИ⟂‫ )ר‬introduces us to Zhuang Yiyun (唀҉ 曾) played by Silvia Chang (㑋ਬⰧ) and Yueniang (㶒⿒) played by Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬㳪). These female characters navigate the narrative as spectral beings, thereby embodying a sense of ethereal mystique. In a similar vein, Raining in the Mountain (ॱٌ杌஧) features the character of White Fox (ग䖨), a female thief with excellent martial arts skills. Her character evolves throughout the film, drawing comparisons to a fox spirit (䖨䗌ত) 4 that eventually finds solace in Buddhism, symbolizing a profound personal transformation. King Hu's decision to depict his female protagonists in such roles

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boldly disrupts conventional representations, thereby redefining women's capabilities within the filmic universe. This pioneering approach challenges traditional societal conventions and establishes a fresh perspective on women's empowerment in the context of Chinese-language cinema.

Not Chinese-Language Women’s Films Mary Ann Doane mentions that women’s film is a film genre with women-centered narratives and female protagonist to attract female audience members. She believes that the woman's film differs from other film genres in that it is primarily addressed to women. 5 It seems that King Hu’s cinematic concentration on the harsh and strong image of martial arts ladies to challenge the glass ceiling for women on the silver screen can match the definition of women’s films. However, Taiwanese or Chinesespeaking film critics and scholars in the field of Chinese-language cinema studies seldom regard King Hu’s films about martial arts ladies as Chineselanguage women’s films. Instead, some of them believe that Edward Yang’s (㳡‫ڴ‬㨟 Yang Dechang) That Day, on the Beach (ࢁ䍟ङ▲‫ מ‬1983) is probably Taiwan’s first women’s film. Silvia Chang (㑋ਬⰧ) 6 happens to be the female protagonist of this film. Li Ang (㬮‫)ޠ‬, Taiwan’s wellanthologized feminist novelist, remarks, It would be presumptuous to assert that the film That Day on the Beach lays out a new path or establishes a fresh value system for women—this is because the solutions to one's problems are inherently personal and

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subjective. However, the film does provide a moment of reflection and a point of reference. More importantly, it underscores the fundamental notion that genuine happiness and the design of one's life lie within one's own agency, rather than being dictated by external influences such as a father, husband, or family. This perspective asserts that each individual holds the reins of their destiny and has the power to steer their life toward fulfillment and self-actualization.. 7

Why are King Hu's martial arts films, with their distinctive emphasis on female martial artists, not traditionally categorized as Chinese-language women's films? Furthermore, it is intriguing that King Hu never seemed to explore the potential of women's film festivals. The potential explanation could lie in the incomplete portrayal of feminist liberation within King Hu's filmography. Despite the central focus on female warriors in King Hu's movies, these films might not fully address the complexities and myriad experiences that define women's films. The genre of women's films, beyond just showcasing female leads, frequently delves into the multifaceted realities of women's lives in a predominantly patriarchal society, touching upon themes such as personal autonomy, identity, love, societal norms, and the quest for equality. Even though King Hu's films indeed provide compelling representations of female strength and independence, they may not thoroughly interrogate these broader facets of women's experiences. Consequently, while they contribute to diversifying female representation in film, they might not offer

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a comprehensive portrayal of women's lives and struggles, which is central to the ethos of women's films. This potential gap in representation could be one reason why King Hu's films are not typically included in women's film festivals and why they are not classified within the Chinese-language women's film category.

One might question why King Hu's martial arts films, with their central focus on female warriors, are not typically classified as Chinese-language women's films. Moreover, it is worth examining why King Hu never ventured to explore the potential of women's film festivals. A potential explanation for this could lie in the incomplete representation of feminist liberation in King Hu's cinematic oeuvre. While King Hu's films feature strong female leads in martial arts contexts, these characters may not fully encapsulate the breadth of experiences and identities relevant to the concept of women's films. Women's films, beyond merely featuring female protagonists, often delve into the nuances of the female experience in a patriarchal society, exploring themes of personal autonomy, identity, love, societal expectations, and the struggle for equality. While King Hu's films may indeed offer powerful depictions of female strength and agency, they may not sufficiently explore these broader aspects of the feminine experience. Thus, despite their value in diversifying female representation in cinema, they might fall short in providing a comprehensive

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portrait of women's lives and struggles, a core objective of women's films. This could explain the absence of King Hu's films in women's film festivals and their classification outside of the Chinese-language women's film category.

The Incompletion of Feminist Liberation on King Hu’s Silver Screen Whether the aforementioned feminist roles that tend to challenge the glass ceiling truly complete their feminist liberation on King Hu’s martial arts films deserves deep thoughts. 8 The significance of the martial arts genre in Chinese cinema, often referred to as "wuxia" (࠶✃, martial arts), has historically been male-dominated, with women often relegated to supporting roles. However, in King Hu's wuxia films, female protagonists or martial arts ladies serve as the leading roles instead of supporting roles. On the one hand, this truly reflects King Hu’s feminist efforts to alleviate the male-centeredness of the martial arts cinematic world and to underscore the feminist power of female protagonists or martial arts ladies in his story plots on the silver screen. King Hu’s female protagonists or martial arts ladies indeed break some parts of the glass ceiling of gender egalitarianism in this sense. Under the circumstances, King Hu’s martial arts films, to some extent, really subvert traditional gender roles and showcase complex, nuanced female characters. These films do provide a glimpse of how the genre could evolve to represent the possibility of feminist ideals in King Hu’s martial arts world.

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On the other hand, this outward appearance of feminism often masks an underlying reality. While women are portrayed as strong and independent in these films, they still often operate within a framework defined by patriarchal values. Their strength is frequently attributed to their relationships with male figures, such as a father or a mentor. Their power, therefore, is not completely their own but rather is derived from their relationships with men. The archetype of woman warriors in King Hu’s martial arts world may seem to embody feminist ideals of strength, independence, and defiance of traditional gender roles on the surface; however, the reality is more complex. Many of these characters' narratives still revolve around male figures or are tied to a quest for love or revenge for male characters, suggesting that their motivation and narrative significance remain linked to men. Regardless of the female protagonists or martial arts ladies' physical prowess and apparent defiance of traditional gender norms, they often meet tragic ends as if this trope underscores a form of narrative punishment for their transgression of gender roles and further emphasizes the incompletion of feminist liberation. King Hu’s kung fu movies strongly emphasize the dichotomy of the female characters in the martial arts world on the silver screen. These characters often embody two opposing stereotypes: the femme fatale (ਚո‫ۅ׮‬, dragon lady with the power to terminate people's lives at any time) or the attractive lady. Both character types are heavily defined by their relationships with men and are often objectified. The

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femme fatale is usually portrayed as dangerous, while the attractive maiden is depicted as sexy or seductive, needing men’s guidance, instruction, or protection, and sometimes serving as men’s Dutch wives, scapegoats of men’s immoral sexuality, or birth machines. For instance, the character Yang Huizhen in A Touch of Zen offers an example of the limitations within these portrayals of women. While she is depicted as a courageous woman, she is also criticized as lacking in wisdom. This perceived deficiency necessitates the guidance of the male protagonist, Gu Xingzhai, for strategic planning and decision-making, reinforcing the stereotype of women as dependent on men for intellectual pursuits. Moreover, Yang Huizhen's role as a mother further contributes to her traditional feminization. She becomes pregnant and gives birth to a baby boy to chuanzong jiedai (⟂ؑ‫ݎ‬ї to have a male heir to carry on the family line and surname), ostensibly as a token of her gratitude towards Gu Xingzhai and his mother, without any feminist interrogation of the undeniable gender inequality that prefers baby boys and looks down upon baby girls. Here, her primary contribution to the narrative appears to be her reproductive capacity, reinforcing her as a maternal figure and reducing her role to that of a "birth machine." Even more problematically, Yang Huizhen's sexual relationship with Gu Xingzhai is depicted as a result of her seduction, reinforcing a stereotype that places the onus of sexual initiation on the woman. The film suggests a societal misconception, common in patriarchal narratives, that she must act

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as the seducer or scapegoat that prompts Gu Xingzhai's sexual union with her before any legally sanctioned contract of marriage. This narrative perpetuates the idea of women as the initiators and bearers of the consequences of premarital sexual relationships. This portrayal is similar to the character Yueniang's fate in Legend of the Mountain, where she is stereotyped as a fox spirit or a sexy supernatural ghost. These characters are often associated with seduction and deceit, once again placing the burden of sexual agency and its potential fallouts on the woman. Despite the seeming empowerment offered by their martial skills or supernatural powers, these women are still caught within the web of patriarchal expectations and stereotypes. Their narratives are restricted by societal norms and gendered misconceptions that limit their full realization as independent, multifaceted characters beyond the binary of traditional gender roles. In addition, the portrayal of martial arts ladies often adheres to heteronormative expectations and lacks representation of diverse sexual identities, which contributes to the incomplete feminist liberation. They are often reactive, responding to actions taken by male characters, rather than being the ones to initiate action. This lack of agency can undermine their representation as independent and empowered characters. Furthermore, in terms of narrative agency, these women warriors rarely drive the plot themselves. The cinematic representation of women in King

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Hu's martial arts films is a mixed bag. While there have been considerable advancements in King Hu's portrayal of female characters or feminist roles, there is still a long way to go in terms of achieving the maximum of true feminist liberation. The challenge lies in creating narratives where women are not only warriors but are also complex, independent individuals with agency, devoid of stereotypical gender constraints.

More Hurtful than the Dearth or Absence of Feminist Liberation Confining women, who have tasted feminist liberation akin to the martial arts heroines in kungfu films, back into the oppressive clutches of patriarchal injustice in terms of gender ideology, is cruel and arguably more torturous than never having experienced liberation at all. Despite signs of feminist liberation in King Hu's martial arts films, the journey towards true liberation is still unfinished. Specifically, the manner in which these “martial arts ladies” or warrior women are portrayed often paradoxically constrains them within traditional gender roles even as they seemingly defy them. This dichotomy presents a unique form of injustice, as these women, much like their real-life counterparts striving for liberation, are allowed to taste freedom and empowerment only to be thrust back into the confines of patriarchal ideologies. This cycle can be seen as cruel, even torturous, as it offers a glimpse of liberation without fully realizing it. In King Hu's films, women characters often display significant martial

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prowess, physical strength, and courage, which are qualities typically associated with male characters. Yet, despite their strength and independence, these women are often still circumscribed by traditional female roles and expectations. These include their roles as romantic interests, maternal figures, and their dependence on male characters for guidance, strategy, and validation. Take, for instance, the character of Yang Huizhen in A Touch of Zen. She embodies the woman warrior archetype, exhibiting courage and fighting skill. However, her character is still beholden to the male protagonist, Gu Xingzhai, for wisdom and strategic planning. This portrayal subtly reinforces the stereotype of women being emotionally strong but intellectually dependent on their male counterparts. Similarly, Yang Huizhen's character arc includes her becoming a mother as a sign of gratitude towards Gu Xingzhai and his mother. While motherhood in itself is not a negative portrayal, the context in which it is presented reduces her role to that of a reproducer. In doing so, the film limits her narrative contribution and impact to her reproductive capability, thus confining her within traditional feminine roles. The sexual dynamics of King Hu's films also contribute to the perpetuation of patriarchal norms. The women characters, like Yang, are often depicted as seducers leading men into immoral or illegal sexual relationships. This portrayal puts the onus of sexual agency on the woman, making her the instigator and bearer of the consequences of these

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relationships, further reinforcing patriarchal biases. Moreover, the narratives often feature an absence of diverse and intersectional representations. The women warriors in these films are predominantly young, attractive, heterosexual, and able-bodied, ignoring the experiences of older women, those of different sexual orientations, and those with disabilities. This lack of diversity hinders the cinematic potential for a more comprehensive exploration of female experiences and identities. King Hu's films, like many martial arts films, undoubtedly offer glimpses of women's empowerment and challenge traditional gender roles. However, they also often inadvertently reinforce the very same patriarchal structures they seek to subvert. These representations simultaneously liberate and confine, offering a taste of freedom only to snatch it away, revealing an incomplete journey towards true feminist liberation. Therefore, while the martial arts ladies in King Hu's films represent a significant step towards better gender representation, they also underscore the complexity of breaking away from entrenched societal norms and the necessity for a more nuanced, diverse, and intersectional portrayal of women's experiences.

Female Heirs of Filmmaking or Film-Production Beyond the realm of his films, King Hu demonstrated a commitment to fostering female talent in the film industry. He was instrumental in mentoring and supporting two notable women in the industry: Silvia Chang

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(㑋ਬⰧ), who became his cinematic heir in filmmaking, and Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬ 㳪), who followed in his footsteps in film production. Much like the martial arts world depicted in his films, the film industry has traditionally been a male-dominated field. It has often been labeled a "men's world," both behind the camera in roles such as directing and producing, and in front of the camera, with lead roles typically written for male actors. The landscape of the film industry, akin to the martial arts world King Hu often depicted, is decidedly male-centric. It is a sphere where, traditionally, men have dominated all aspects, from directing and producing to acting, creating what is often referred to as a "men's world." This systemic bias is starkly evident when looking at recognitions like the Oscar Awards, which, despite its long history of over eighty years, has only honored a minuscule number of female filmmakers. One of the most glaring evidences of this gender bias can be seen in the history of the Oscars, a globally recognized awards ceremony. Throughout its more than eighty-year history, only a handful of female filmmakers have ever been bestowed with an award. This disparity underlines the gender imbalance within the industry. Against this backdrop, King Hu's mentorship of women, like Sylvia Chang and Xu Feng, takes on significant importance. By fostering their talent and supporting their careers, he challenged the prevailing norms within the film industry, which often overlooked and underrepresented women.

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In such an industry, King Hu's dedication to nurturing female talent was not just progressive but revolutionary. He provided mentorship and encouragement to Chang and Xu, giving them space to grow and make their marks in a landscape that was largely skewed against them. In a sense, King Hu's mentorship of Chang and Xu can be seen as a real-life extension of the narratives of his films. Just as his warrior women defied traditional gender norms within their fictional worlds, Chang and Xu defied the gender norms within the real-world film industry. However, it is crucial to recognize that despite the strides made by these women, the battle for gender equality in the film industry is far from over. The challenges faced by Sylvia Chang, Xu Feng, and countless other women in the industry echo the struggles of King Hu's warrior women—struggling against societal norms and expectations to forge their own paths. King Hu's mentorship of Silvia Chang and Xu Feng is an undeniable part of his legacy. It is a testament to his recognition of female talent and his commitment to fostering it in an industry that has often been reluctant to do so. Moreover, it highlights the essential role that mentors and allies can play in helping to level the playing field and advance gender equality within the film industry. In essence, King Hu's real-life mentorship of Sylvia Chang and Xu Feng mirrored the narratives of his films. The way his on-screen warrior women defied societal norms mirrored Chang and Xu's real-life defiance of industry norms. King Hu's films and mentorships acted in synergy, each

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reinforcing his commitment to challenging gender biases both in and outside the realm of fiction. It is essential to acknowledge that despite the achievements of Sylvia Chang and Xu Feng, the industry still has a long road to travel to achieve gender parity. Their experiences of breaking through barriers reflect the struggles of countless other women within the industry, echoing the battles faced by King Hu's on-screen heroines. King Hu's mentorship of Silvia Chang and Xu Feng is not just an aspect of his legacy. It is a beacon, showcasing his belief in the power of female talent and the need for it to be nurtured in an industry often resistant to change. This part of his legacy underscores the crucial role mentors can play in fostering a more balanced industry, highlighting how such alliances can support the progression towards gender equality in film. King Hu’s influence extended beyond the frames of his films, spilling into real-life mentorship and championing of female talent in the film industry. This was realized most notably through his guidance of Silvia Chang and Xu Feng, who respectively emerged as his female heirs in filmmaking and film production.

Xu Feng Xu Feng, King Hu's female heir in film production, has distinguished herself in the field. Production is an area often overlooked in discussions of gender representation, yet it is just as male-dominated as other areas of the

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industry. Xu Feng’s accomplishments, under King Hu’s mentorship, represent an essential step toward more balanced representation within this field. Xu Feng’s journey in film production is equally significant. Production, though often overlooked in discussions around gender representation, is as male-dominated as the more visible aspects of filmmaking. Under King Hu's mentorship, Xu Feng excelled in this arena, showing that women could hold their own even in traditionally male-dominated behind-the-scenes roles. On May 3, 1979, Xu Feng married the distinguished entrepreneur Tang Junnian (䆍⩧‫ ٶ‬Tong Junnian). Subsequently, in 1984, they co-founded Tomson (䆍ਗ) Film Company, marking Xu Feng's transition from her former on-screen roles to a vital position behind the scenes as a film producer. She has been involved in the production of 26 films: 1984 The Ugly Duckling澦戇‫ش‬泲澧  1984 Kill the Husband澦㼲‫נ‬澧  1985 Portrait of a Beauty澦২ыⴥ澧  1985 Spring Beyond the Bamboo Fence澦ঁ亅䴹‫י‬ङަ‫מ‬澧  1985 Old and Young Warriors澦৯‫ص‬㿄࢖澧  1985 Good Lad (episode 1)澦‫׿شױ‬澧আ▲த  1986 Old Rascal and Little Trouble澦৯栊ॿ厠‫ش‬௯䑜澧  1986 Heart Lock澦‫ڶ‬揸澧  1986 Good Lad (episode 2)澦‫׿شױ‬澧আиத  1987 A Street Urchin's Travels澦਴⡓ࡶࡾ孄澧 

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1987 I Have Something to Say澦۩߄宝੽寕澧  1987 The Time-Traveling Kid澦૧૞㩌ॱङ‫׿ش‬澧  1987 Yellow Story澦溈਩‫ݻ‬з澧  1988 Kitchen Knife and Six Friends澦੃Ӣ厠ҹ✫߅Մ澧  1988 Everlasting Old Love澦厣‫ە‬俅俅澧  1988 The Almighty Athlete澦喗ਈ惎⥺⬔澧  1988 Speeding City澦梭ֽ澧  1988 Starry Is the Night澦я‫ޤכ‬Ұ䓔䔈澧 Starry in the Night 1988 Dream Crosses the Boundary澦⻺惐उ澧  1989 Little Dragon Crosses the River澦‫ش‬潈惐㿄澧  1990 Pass the Customs澦۸ପ昘澧  1990 Red Dust澦䈎䈎伐⹟澧 Red Dust 1991 Five Women and a Rope澦м✫‫׿׮‬厠▲߿偮‫׿‬澧  1992 Farewell My Concubine澦朼ࣦ⣫⾧澧 1996 Temptress Moon澦梏߃澧 2003 Beautiful Shanghai澦২湞Їࢁ澧 Among all the movies that Xu Feng produced, the internationally acclaimed masterpiece Farewell My Concubine ( 朼 ࣦ ⣫ ⾧ ) perhaps deserves the most attention. This film not only received high praise both domestically and internationally but also garnered numerous awards globally, solidifying its status as a classic in Chinese cinema. Farewell My Concubine is a significant production helmed by Xu Feng. It stands as a monumental achievement in the realm of Chinese cinema.

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Directed by Chen Kaige (暒⣉࠱), the film is an epic narrative that explores complex themes of love, loyalty, and identity against the tumultuous backdrop of 20th-century Chinese history. The cinematic narrative spans over half a century, following the lives of two male opera performers, Dieyi (੤੬) and Xiaolou (‫ش‬㶣), from their upbringing within the Peking Opera School, to the pinnacle of their performing careers, and through the subsequent social upheaval during the Chinese Communist revolution. The film effectively intertwines their personal sagas with the historical transformations of the period, reflecting the broader societal and political shifts through the lens of their individual experiences and their relationship. One of the hallmarks of Farewell My Concubine is its exploration of gender and sexuality, including themes such as homosexuality, bisexuality, transvestism, and transgender identity. Dieyi's character, who is trained to play female roles (‫ ޚ‬dan) in the Peking Opera, blurs the line between performance and reality. His identity and affection for Xiaolou challenge traditional gender norms and provide a nuanced portrayal of queerness, a topic rarely addressed in mainstream Chinese cinema. Farewell My Concubine made an unprecedented splash on the international stage by winning the Palme d'Or at the 1993 Cannes Film Festival, sharing the honor with Jane Campion's The Piano. This marked the first time a Chinese film had received this prestigious award. It also earned nominations for two Academy Awards and won the Golden Globe

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for Best Foreign Language Film, among other accolades. Xu Feng's role in producing Farewell My Concubine was integral to its success. Her commitment to bold, authentic storytelling, coupled with her ability to marshal the resources necessary for such a grand-scale production, facilitated the filmic realization. The film's international acclaim solidified Xu Feng's reputation as a producer and underscored her significant contributions to the global recognition of Chinese cinema. Nevertheless, Xu Feng's ambitions reached beyond these accomplishments. After achieving success in the film industry, she further broadened her business scope, assuming the role of Chairwoman of the Tomson Group. The Tomson Group is a large-scale conglomerate with a diverse portfolio encompassing entertainment, real estate, and investment sectors, holding an influential role in the advancement of the Chinese cultural industry. Xu Feng's successful transition from an on-screen star to a film producer, and subsequently to a leader of a major business conglomerate, demonstrates her remarkable leadership abilities and business acumen. Under her stewardship, the Tomson Group is poised to continue propelling the development of the Chinese cultural industry, contributing a wealth of high-quality entertainment content to the Chinese-speaking world.

Silvia Chang Similarly, Silvia Chang stands out as a testament to King Hu's influence and progressive stance. An acclaimed actress, writer, and director, Chang

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has become a prominent figure in the film industry, leaving her mark on both sides of the camera. Silvia Chang's trajectory under King Hu's tutelage is particularly noteworthy. Chang evolved into a powerhouse of the industry, boasting a multifaceted career as an actress, writer, and director. Under King Hu's guidance, Sylvia Chang did not just navigate the male-dominated sphere of filmmaking. She thrived in it, becoming a distinct and influential voice, particularly in crafting narratives centered on women’s experiences. Silvia Chang's directorial style is predominantly centered on a feminine perspective, presenting a stark contrast to the machismo-driven action films typical of Hong Kong cinema at the time. Her representation of female characters is characterized by depth and subtlety that reflect her profound understanding of female psychology and social roles. Her filmography has consistently featured an in-depth exploration of women's inner worlds. Sylvia Chang's works consistently reflect the various challenges and dilemmas women face in society through her unique female perspective, simultaneously showcasing women's resilience and determination. Her work exerts a significant influence on the advancement of cinematic culture and the discussion of women's issues. Some of Sylvia Chang's well-known works include Passion ( ߂ 㗱 1986) which depicted the delicate and profound emotional entanglement between two women; In Between (‫ޏ‬գ ‫ل‬㩌ї, 1994), a light-hearted comedy portraying modern cohabitation in cities; Siao Yu (‫ش׮ص‬䈑, 1995), a nuanced portrayal of a rural girl's

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coming-of-age story; Tonight Nobody Goes Home (я‫מ‬Љ֛‫؟‬, 1996), a film delving into the predicament of marriage and love; and "Tempting Heart" (‫⥺ڶ‬, 1999), a profound movie discussing life, love, and choices. In the new millennium, Chang's creativity has remained unabated. Her 2002 film, Princess D (‫۝‬棁), narrates a young girl's dream of becoming a dancer. In 2008, Silvia Chang, with her film Run Papa Run (▲✫‫ױ‬䔡䔡), earned a nomination for Best Screenplay at the Golden Horse Awards and a nomination for Best Director at the Hong Kong Film Awards. In 2015, her directorial venture Murmur of the Hearts ( ‫ ) ھ ھ‬was selected as the Opening Film for the Hong Kong International Film Festival and was shortlisted for the Busan International Film Festival, the London International Film Festival, the Toronto International Film Festival, and the Tokyo Filmex International Film Festival. In 2017, her latest directorial effort, Love Education (ब㗱慺嫠), though not yet released, has already been chosen as the Closing Film for the Busan International Film Festival. Among her works, the 2004 film, 20-30-40, stands out as one of her representative pieces, providing a detailed portrayal of women in different stages of life. Set in contemporary Taipei, the film narrates the life stories of three women in their 20s, 30s, and 40s, respectively played by Angelica Lee (㬮‫ڶ‬䉟), Rene Liu (⤻ਲ਼ਸ਼), and Sylvia Chang herself. In 20-30-40, Sylvia Chang's sensitive perception of female life and emotions is apparent. The woman in her 20s, portrayed by Angelica Lee, is seeking her place between love and career; the woman in her 30s, played by

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Rene Liu, is dealing with the pressures of marriage and life; and the woman in her 40s, portrayed by Sylvia Chang, reflects on her self-worth in her middle-aged life. The personalities and experiences of these three characters, and how they navigate self-discovery and love in life, constitute a realistic drama brimming with life's essence. The exceptional performances in the film received recognition from audiences and critics alike. At the 41st Golden Horse Awards in 2004, both Angelica Lee, who played the woman in her 20s, and Kate Yeung (㳡䃳 Yang Qi), who had a supporting role, received nominations for Best Supporting Actress. Subsequently, in 2005, Rene Liu was nominated for Best Actress at the 11th Hong Kong Film Critics Society Awards for her excellent performance in the film. The same year, Silvia Chang and Kate Yeung respectively received nominations for Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress at the 24th Hong Kong Film Awards. 20-30-40 is not only a remarkable directorial piece by Sylvia Chang, but it also embodies her profound insight and contributions to femaleoriented themes. The film vividly and authentically captures the dilemmas and challenges faced by women at different stages of their lives, offering a deeper understanding of women's living conditions. Sylvia Chang's works consistently position women at their core, unveiling women's diverse roles and struggles in contemporary society through her keen insight and deep understanding of human nature. Her work provides a perspective that illuminates how women, within a male-dominated society, resiliently

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confront challenges, seek self-identity, and pursue love and happiness. In 20-30-40, Sylvia Chang successfully integrates these profound human themes into a lifelike narrative, allowing audiences to directly experience the pursuits and predicaments of women at various stages of life. Such portrayal elevates the film beyond an artistic creation, rendering it a social representation of modern women's lives. This film holds significant importance to Sylvia Chang's own film career. As a director, Sylvia Chang captures the women's inner worlds and emotional fluctuations with precision. As an actress, her profound performance effectively portrays the midlife crisis and self-seeking journey of a woman in her 40s. The success of 20-30-40 not only affirms Sylvia Chang's directorial talent but also stands as the best testament to her unique insights into and deep passion for the art of cinema. Her film works, with their in-depth portrayal of human nature, meticulous insight into social realities, and extensive exploration of female issues, offer us a valuable perspective to better understand and appreciate the diversity and richness of our world. Silvia Chang’s success is undeniably a continuation of King Hu's legacy, a demonstration of how his faith in nurturing female talent could create influential filmmakers. Her cinematic works has been instrumental in cracking the glass ceiling, facilitating a shift towards a more balanced industry where women's stories and perspectives are valued and given space.

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As King Hu's cinematic heir in filmmaking, Sylvia Chang has carried forward his legacy, breaking through the glass ceiling in the predominantly male world of filmmaking. She has proven herself as not only a capable filmmaker but also a trailblazer, creating films that often center on women and their experiences, thereby bringing fresh perspectives and narratives to the screen.

More Female Heirs of Filmmaking: Rene Liu and Angelica Lee Silvia Chang inspired two next-generation female filmmakers: Rene Liu (⤻ਲ਼ਸ਼ Liu Roying) and Angelica Lee (㬮‫ڶ‬䉟 Lee Xinjie). Her illustrious career in the film industry, nurtured under the mentorship of King Hu, served as an inspiration for the next generation of female filmmakers. Two such filmmakers who drew influence from Silvia Chang's trailblazing career are Rene Liu and Angelica Lee, both of whom have made significant strides in their respective careers. Rene Liu, a renowned actress and singer, successfully transitioned into directing with her debut feature film, Us and Them (㒑⚵ङ۩✰), in 2018, which garnered critical acclaim and box office success. Her nuanced storytelling and in-depth exploration of human emotions bear the marks of Silvia Chang's influence, especially in the way she depicts the complexity of modern relationships and the female perspective. Angelica Lee, on the other hand, is an award-winning actress who has delivered powerful performances in a variety of roles. Angelica Lee's

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portrayal of strong, complex female characters in films, such as The Eye (嫁 ௦, 2002) and Koma (㦈ո, 2004), echoes Silvia Chang's advocacy for stronger roles for women in film, a testament to the legacy Chang has created. In 2023, Angelica Lee directed her own movie, Dear Child, How Are You? Hilltop House (؇‫ͫ׿‬҂‫ٌ;⯬ױ‬査‫)وش‬. It is a documentary film about childhood education and reflects Angelica Lee’s role as a mother of a stepdaughter and a pair of twin sons in her real life. Angelica Lee also supervised an award-winning feature film, Abang Adik (‫ୃئ‬ற‫)ٶ‬, in 2023. Both Rene Liu’s and Angelica Lee's impressive bodies of cinematic works and their contributions to advancing the representation of women in the film industry underscore the far-reaching impact of Silvia Chang's pioneering career. They exemplify how Silvia Chang's mentorship and her strong female-driven narratives continue to inspire and shape the trajectories of the next generation of female filmmakers.

Silvia Chang's mentorship, which extends to inspiring a whole generation of filmmakers including Rene Liu and Angelica Lee, attests to her immense influence in the film industry. By breaking barriers, she encouraged a generation of women to do the same, contributing significantly to increasing gender equality in the industry. Even more crucially, the emergence of filmmakers like Rene Liu and Angelica Lee signifies an essential shift in the industry, marking a move towards a more balanced representation of gender. The influence of Silvia

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Chang's legacy on their careers serves as a beacon of hope and change, showcasing how the baton of progress is being passed down from one generation to the next. However, the strides made by Rene Liu, Angelica Lee, and others do not signify the final termination of the journey towards gender equality in film. The challenges faced by women in the industry persist, and overcoming these obstacles requires a collective effort. The lessons learned from Silvia Chang's career, and the success of her successors, serve as reminders of the importance of continued mentorship and support in fostering a more inclusive and equitable industry. The impact of Silvia Chang's career extends far beyond her own body of work. Her influence on the next generation of filmmakers, including Rene Liu and Angelica Lee, demonstrates her enduring legacy in the film industry. The continuation of her legacy, passed down through mentorship and inspiration, not only validates her contributions to the industry but also emphasizes the importance of fostering and supporting female talent in cinema. Through the work of Rene Liu and Angelica Lee, we can witness the ongoing impact of Silvia Chang's trailblazing career. It is noteworthy that both Rene Liu and Angelica Lee transitioned from acting to filmmaking, echoing Silvia Chang's own journey. This transition is not just symbolic; it is a testament to their resilience and determination in overcoming industry norms and biases. Their respective shifts into filmmaking underscore the continued relevance of Sylvia Chang's trailblazing career.

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Through the lens of Rene Liu and Angelica Lee's careers, it is clear that Silvia Chang's influence extends beyond her personal accomplishments. Her impact can be seen in the growth of female representation in filmmaking, the emergence of more nuanced female characters, and the greater focus on women's narratives. There are still significant barriers to gender equality within the industry. continuing need for more female voices in cinema, both behind and in front of the camera, highlights the importance of mentorship and support for female talent. In a broader perspective, Liu and Lee's successes serve as proof that progress is possible. Their accomplishments, along with those of other women in the industry, provide hope for the future. Their stories highlight the importance of perseverance and resilience in breaking down barriers and carving out space for women in film. In the end, the impact of Silvia Chang's mentorship has shaped the paths of emerging filmmakers like Rene Liu and Angelica Lee, inspiring them to challenge industry norms and contribute to the ongoing fight for gender equality. Silvia Chang's legacy, therefore, is not just confined to her personal achievements. It resonates within the careers of the female filmmakers she inspired, amplifying her influence across generations. Through the lives and works of filmmakers like Rene Liu and Angelica Lee, the power and impact of Silvia Chang's legacy continue to echo across the film industry. Their stories stand as a testament to the strength and

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resilience of women in film, painting a hopeful picture of a future where gender equality in the industry is not just a dream, but a reality.

Rene Liu Rene Liu, originally known for her acting and singing talents, eventually turned her gaze towards the world of filmmaking. Undoubtedly, Rene Liu's transition to directing and her subsequent success in the industry would not have been possible without the groundwork laid by pioneering women like Silvia Chang. In 2017, Rene Liu embarked on her directorial debut with the film Us and Them (㒑⚵ङ۩✰). The movie was released on April 28, 2018, in China and achieved impressive box office success, grossing 1.36 billion RMB (the official currency of the People's Republic of China). This commercial triumph not only validates Rene Liu's directorial prowess but also resonates with the audience's high appreciation. Us and Them narrates a tale about love, growth, and life choices. Under Rene Liu's nuanced direction, the film powerfully portrays emotional subtleties on the silver screen, striking a chord with the audience and making it a beloved cinematic piece. Beyond its commercial success, Liu earned nominations for Best New Director and Best Adapted Screenplay at the 2018 Golden Horse Awards in Taiwan, testifying to her exceptional performance in her directorial career. These honors are not only a testament to Rene Liu's directorial abilities but

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also an acknowledgment of her passion for film creation and her profound understanding of narrative storytelling. Silvia Chang's influence is readily apparent in Rene Liu's cinematic style and storytelling, particularly in her nuanced portrayal of female characters. Rene Liu's films often explore the intricate layers of women's lives, a characteristic she shares with her predecessor. The depth and authenticity in her characters reflect the legacy of Silvia Chang's dedication to bringing well-rounded, realistic female characters to the screen. Furthermore, Rene Liu's films frequently explore themes of independence and resilience among women, echoing Silvia Chang's narrative style. These shared elements reinforce the generational impact of Silvia Chang's influence and illustrate the continuation of her legacy.

Beyond the stylistic similarities, Rene Liu's career path itself reflects Silvia Chang's influence. Like Silvia Chang, Rene Liu began her career in acting before transitioning to filmmaking. This shift, while not unusual, is particularly meaningful considering the industry's traditional gender biases. Rene Liu's success in directing thus stands as a testament to Silvia Chang's impact. Sylvia Chang’s inspiration has been particularly profound on Rene Liu's directing style, which echoes Silvia Chang's commitment to realistic and multi-dimensional female characters. Rene Liu's narrative focus on women's resilience and independence is a clear reflection of Silvia Chang's

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cinematic legacy. This connection underscores the power of mentorship in film, particularly in how it can lead to an enduring legacy that inspires successive generations of filmmakers.

Angelica Lee Angelica Lee is another noteworthy female filmmaker who has been influenced by Silvia Chang. Lee, an accomplished actress, has received critical acclaim for her compelling performances, which often echo the depth and complexity found in Chang's characters. Like Liu, Lee's acting success paved the way for her to delve into the world of filmmaking. In 2023, Angelica Lee marked a significant milestone in her career by directing her own movie titled Dear Child, How Are You? Hilltop House (؇‫ͫ׿‬҂‫ٌ;⯬ױ‬査‫)وش‬. This film, classified under the genre of documentary, delves into the subject of childhood education, a topic that has gained increasing global attention and concern. Beyond its thematic significance, this documentary also holds a personal connection to Angelica Lee. As a mother of a stepdaughter and twin sons, Angelica Lee's experiences and perspectives are inherently tied to the content of the film. This intimate relationship with the subject matter lends a unique authenticity and depth to the documentary, as it reflects Angelica Lee's personal journey through motherhood and her observations on education, learning, and children's development. By addressing the pertinent subject of childhood education, this

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documentary film underscores the crucial early years of children's life. It also reflects the challenges and rewards of parenting, providing insights that resonate with parents, educators, and anyone concerned with the holistic development of children. Angelica Lee's foray into directing with Dear Child, How Are You? Hilltop House not only adds another facet to her multifaceted career in the film industry, but also showcases her commitment to social issues and her ability to bring a personal touch to her work. This project stands as a testament to Angelica Lee's continued evolution as a filmmaker and her passion for engaging with topics close to her heart. Angelica Lee's directorial style is heavily influenced by Silvia Chang, characterized by a focus on a strong, well-developed female parent’s thoughts about children’s education, and an exploration of their roles within society. Much like Silvia Chang and Rene Liu before her, Angelica Lee's film emphasizes the portrayal of a mother’s thoughts about children’s education rather than mere supporting characters or stereotypes. Angelica Lee's career bears the distinct mark of Silvia Chang's influence. Rene Lee's storytelling reflects Silvia Chang's pioneering approach to female narratives, with a similar emphasis on the intricate complexities of women's lives. Angelica Lee’s work contributes to the growing chorus of female voices in cinema, reinforcing the transformative effect Silvia Chang's legacy has had on the industry.

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Female Heirs as Celebrities in Chinese-Language Women’s Films or Queer Films Although King Hu's kung fu movies, which underscore martial arts ladies, are not traditionally labeled as Chinese-language women's films, King Hu's female heirs are truly significant figures in Chinese-language women's and queer films. While King Hu's martial arts films might not fit the traditional mold of women's films, his influence has undeniably rippled through the careers of several key figures in the field, significantly contributing to the evolution of Chinese-language women's and queer cinema. Xu Feng's production of Farewell My Concubine is a proven, successfully award-winning feature film that delves into themes of homosexuality, bisexuality, transvestism, and transgender issues. Sylvia Chang, Rene Liu, and Angelica Lee are all important actresses and filmmakers in numerous excellent women's films. Take, for example, Xu Feng, who has produced internationally acclaimed films that explore themes of queer issues. Farewell My Concubine, one such production, has been celebrated with numerous awards, a testament to its critical and commercial success. Moreover, the legacy of King Hu's cinematic contribution extends to influential individuals such as Sylvia Chang, Rene Liu, and Angelica Lee. These women have excelled not only as actresses but also as accomplished filmmakers, leaving indelible marks on the landscape of women's films.

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Sylvia Chang, in particular, is notable for her vast body of cinematic creative works, which often present nuanced and diverse portrayals of women. Rene Liu's directorial debut, Us and Them, further demonstrates this influence, as it offers a unique perspective on romantic relationships, reflecting the complexity and emotional depth of women's experiences. Similarly, Angelica Lee, with her diverse range of roles and recent foray into directing, continues to add to this rich tapestry of women's cinema and explore themes related to her own motherhood, such as children’s education.

The Second and Third Waves of Worldwide Feminism King Hu witnessed the second and third waves of worldwide feminism from the 1960s to the 1990s, and he was married to Dr. Chung Ling (揠䙻), a professor of literature who was undoubtedly aware of feminist literary theories, women's literature, feminist writers, and feminist activism. His personal life intersected with these pivotal social movements through his marriage to Dr. Chung Ling, a literature scholar who would have undeniably been aware of the contemporaneous developments in feminist literary theories and activism. It is not illogical to assume that King Hu was knowledgeable about the rise of women's films and women's film festivals before his death. However, it presents a fascinating line of inquiry as to why the director did not integrate the principles and perspectives of these feminist waves more deeply into his portrayal of female martial artists in his films. While King

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Hu's body of cinematic works is punctuated by strong female characters who challenge traditional gender norms, the absence of overt feminist themes raises questions about the possible disconnect between the socio-political milieu of his time and his cinematic output. It is, therefore, an intriguing question why King Hu did not deeply merge the second and third waves of worldwide feminism with his design of martial arts ladies in kung fu movies on the silver screen. Given King Hu's prominent position and substantial influence within the Chinese-language film industry spanning the 1960s to the 1990s, his potential championing of women's narratives could have considerably accelerated the evolution of the genre. A more active incorporation of feminist themes in his works might have been instrumental in catalyzing the advent of Chinese-language women's films and film festivals in Taiwan and Hong Kong, possibly a decade or two earlier than they actually emerged. King Hu's commitment to featuring strong female characters, although not overtly feminist in nature, did establish a precedent for the exploration of women-centric stories in the Chinese-language film industry. His contribution to placing women in the foreground of his narratives inadvertently set the stage for the evolution of women's cinema in the region. However, one can only speculate on the impact that an earlier, more deliberate, and pronounced exploration of feminist themes in his works could have had on the industry. It could potentially have incited a more rapid societal acceptance and institutional recognition of women's films, thus

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leading to the earlier establishment of women's film festivals in these regions. In essence, King Hu's considerable influence on the Chinese-language film industry suggests that a more robust incorporation of feminist themes could have significantly shifted the landscape of women's cinema and potentially resulted in an earlier blossoming of women's film festivals in Taiwan and Hong Kong. With King Hu's leading role and enormous influence in the Chinese-language film industry of the 1960s to 1990s, Chinese-language women's films and film festivals in Taiwan or Hong Kong might have been initiated one to two decades earlier.

King Hu’s Peer Female Filmmakers After moving from Mainland China to Hong Kong and Taiwan, King Hu truly encountered the rise of Taiwan's earliest female and feminist filmmakers, beginning in the 1950s. He migrated from Mainland China to the thriving film scenes of Hong Kong and Taiwan, where he encountered the emergence of the earliest female and feminist filmmakers in the 1950s. This transition period was marked by a vibrant shift in cinematic narratives and perspectives, spurred by the female directors who dared to challenge the traditionally male-dominated film industry. During his early years in Taiwan, King Hu's work intersected with the rise of a generation of pioneering women filmmakers. Their creative perspectives introduced an unprecedented feminist lens into Taiwanese cinema, challenging traditional narratives and reshaping storytelling

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conventions. This surge of feminist cinema marked the beginning of a transformative era in the Taiwanese film industry, bringing a plethora of untold stories and unheard voices to the forefront. The 1950s were a critical time for the industry; this was when Taiwan's first female filmmakers made their mark, opening up cinema to broader and more diverse perspectives. This period signaled an evolution in the Taiwanese film industry. It is improbable that King Hu was completely unaware of these trailblazing women in Taiwan’s film industry. He was inevitably exposed to Taiwanese female and feminist filmmakers' unique cinematic visions and innovative storytelling techniques, which undoubtedly further shaped the development of Taiwanese cinema.

Chen Wenmin Chen Wenmin (暒‫ ݽކ‬Chen, Wen-min 1919-2022 original name: Chen Fen 暒ঞ), 9 for instance, is Taiwan’s first female filmmaker with the reputation of Taiwanese cinematic tearjerker in the 1950s. Chen Wenmin, hailing from a prominent family in Taiwan's Sanchong (І୍) district, is acknowledged as Taiwan's first female film director. Alongside her husband, Lin Xincun (ߥ‫ ߖޏ‬Lin Hsin-ts'un), she invested in various businesses, notably establishing Guoguang Ironworks (ⴚҰ撗ٗ㐈) in 1940. Chen also led the construction of Daming Theater (‫ޢם‬㛺ஓ), which, despite initial financial difficulties, flourished under her management, hosting a series of popular films that rivaled older, established theaters in Sanchongpu (І୍‫)־‬.

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Famed as the Master of Tearjerkers in the 1950s, Chen Wenmin directed numerous films that deeply explored contemporary familial and emotional issues, especially resonating with female viewers. She was a pioneering figure in the early days of Taiwanese dialect films, overseeing all aspects of film production. Recognized as the first female director in Taiwanese cinema history, Chen Wenmin emerged as a leading figure at a time when women's rights were still under-acknowledged. In 1957, Chen Wenmin and her husband, Lin Xincun, resided in Sanchong District, Taipei, where they purchased the Daming Theater. Constrained by the limited availability of high-quality Hollywood films, Chen was unable to secure outstanding films for her cinema, which led her to contemplate investing in filmmaking to sustain her theater business. Consequently, the couple established Daming Film Company and produced two Taiwanese-dialect films, Women's Enemies (‫ۅ׮‬ङ☭ы) and Xue Rengui's Eastern Conquest (囹☨嶫‫ګ‬㭆), both scripted by Chen Wenmin and directed by Gao Laifu (௤⚵क़) and Shao Lohui (愬兓忡) respectively. Despite Chen Wenmin's education only reaching the elementary school level, she had a knack for storytelling with remarkable intelligence. Through reading picture books, she taught herself how to create scenes and storyboards, and her theater business provided her with a deep understanding of audience psychology. Shao Lohui was a well-known director of Taiwanese films at the time. During the production of Xue Rengui's Eastern Conquest, he abandoned the project halfway due to a

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disagreement with Chen Wenmin. In response to this predicament, Chen Wenmin, relying on her experience from watching films, took up the director's role to complete the film. Nevertheless, she strategically included Shao's name on the film's copies and posters. Upon the completion of Xue Rengui's Eastern Conquest, Chen Wenmin realized the prohibitive cost of making historical dramas and decided to only make contemporary films henceforth. In 1957, she wrote the script and codirected Lost Bird (咥咥沯) 10 with Chen Yixing (暒兴厡 Chen I-hsing). She spent 200,000 NTD and completed all the filming work in just 16 days. This motion picture is also entitled The Reformed Husband (࠾‫׿‬խ⢋孄). It is Taiwan’s first Southern Min dialect film directed by a female filmmaker. The movie was released in Singapore in 1960. Chen Wenmin also directed Bitter Love (਴㛏 1957), Farm Girl (恡‫ ׮؟‬1958), Seductive Women Snatch Husbands (⽘⾧⼱‫ נ‬1958), Pitiful Daughter-in-law (Օ㙡ङな〞 1959), and Beggar’s Call for a Son-in-law (◦►‫ 〷׮ܥ‬1959). These films portrayed the plight of Taiwanese women in a conservative and underdeveloped society, creating a series of compelling characters such as formidable mothers-in-law, oppressed daughters-in-law, seductive women, and weak virtuous wives. These films resonated deeply with the audience, particularly female movie-goers, and achieved decent box-office returns. However, in the 1960s, with the temporary decline of Taiwanese-language films and due to personal reasons, Chen Wenmin withdrew from the film industry and later moved to the United States.

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Wang Manjiao Wang Manjiao ( ࣦ 䈏 ヂ ) directed the film The Cloth Vendor's Adventure in the Peach Blossom Palace (巚٢Ҭւ‫ם‬櫶ࠂਰㅅ, 1967) over several months from 1966-1967. This period of her career was marked by diligence and a strong commitment to the craft. Despite the lack of clearly defined roles in film production, she navigated through multiple tasks with the goal of keeping the project within budget. She appreciated the skill and experience brought by the professional actors on the team, yet she also recognized the high demands of film production from start to finish—from the editing process to dubbing, and ultimately to promoting the film via posters. She recalls the high level of professionalism and work ethic at the time, even though tasks were not highly specialized and individuals were often responsible for multiple roles. As the director, her primary duty was budget control to prevent overspending. The actors were all experienced professionals, yet the production process was demanding, from editing to dubbing, culminating in the promotion of the movie via posters. The long production cycle and low income compared to acting, coupled with the birth of her child, resulted in her departure from her directorial career. Contrasting her experience as a director with that of an actor, she found the former to have a longer production cycle and less remuneration. However, her passion for performing never waned. She continued to actively participate in the acting arena, demonstrating her love for the arts and her dedication to her craft.

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In 2016, the documentary, A Touch of Charm: The Cinematic Life of Wang Manjiao (ヂ溟ņࣦ䈏ヂङ朅‫ڧ‬ыࣿ), was released, recording her 54 years in the Taiwanese film industry. This film was a tribute to her enduring presence in the industry, capturing her journey over five decades from a young actress to a respected figure fondly referred to as the "national grandma" (ⴚࡇ஋ペ). In recognition of her extensive contribution to the film industry, the documentary stood as a testament to her resilience, talent, and dedication in an ever-evolving industry.

Liu Lili Liu Lili graduated from the Department of Drama and Film at the Political Work Cadre School (‫ݺ‬㛸ㄥ߻‫⤺ڧ‬঩) in 1962. She served on the stage of the General Art Troupe of the Ministry of National Defense (ⴚஅ ୂ场ٗ偃暥). Her film career commenced in 1963, during which she initially undertook roles such as script supervisor, assistant director, and associate director. Her acquaintance with the renowned playwright Qiong Yao (䞆䜢) began on the set of I Am a Cloud (۩ީ▲࣌曾). In 1979, the Giant Star Film Company (ٚ‫ޤ‬Ҹ՛) invited Liu Lili to direct for the first time, marking the start of her successful directorial career. Subsequently, Liu helmed a string of Qiong Yao films, including One Red Bean (▲栿伐઺ 1979), Wild Geese on the Treetops (曔⡓֨ߥ㱈 1979), Colorful Clouds Fill the Sky (‫ڦ‬朣䈏‫ מ‬1979), Marigold (୐䥫ਰ, 1980), Gathering and Parting (ৼ‫ށ‬⡧҉҉, 1981), Dream's Costume (⻺

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ङ੬娯, 1981), Burn Phoenix! (ࣆ䓀լ͠ࢮ沯, 1982), Still on My Mind (⧼ Ї‫ڶ‬栦, 1982), Asking the Setting Sun (⭶‫ފ‬暙, 1982), and Lamp of the Previous Night (ާ‫כ‬Ф䒶, 1983). While many prominent directors have interpreted Qiong Yao's works, Qiong Yao praised Liu Lili's interpretation and grasp of the characters' emotions in her scripts as the most accurate. In the 1980s, Liu Lili shifted her focus to directing Qiong Yao's television serial dramas, earning extremely high viewer ratings. However, in 2007, at the age of sixty-nine, she made a comeback and successively directed the Qiong Yao television drama I'll Stay by Your Side to the End of the World ( 暉 ҂ ӱ Ѝ उ ङ 䥭 栦 ). Liu Lili also directed other films, including One Matchstick (▲߿ࢮ㮴 1980), Warm Winter Sun (޸޸⢓暙 1980), Your Cold Little Hand (҂଻‫ױ‬Ӓङ‫ش‬۴ 1980), Hold onto the Clouds (曾Ќऊѻ, 1981), A Fire in Winter (⢓‫מ‬娝ङ▲‫ ࢮ܋‬1982), establishing her as the most productive female director in the history of Taiwanese cinema. Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, Liu Lili was the most frequently mentioned female director in Taiwanese newspapers. Her story was scripted by Qiong Yao and directed by Zero Chow (յ২䙻) into the TV film, Three Makes a Whole (‫ݗ‬ІЈͫ۩㗱҂, 2019).

Yang Jiayun Born in 1947, Yang Jiayun ( 㳡 ‫ ؟‬曾 ) entered the Taiwanese film industry in 1967, contemporaneously with notable directors Ann Hui (孝枋

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啠 ) and Hou Xiaoxian ( Ҍ ㄏ 巙 Hou Hsiao-Hsien). At that time, the Taiwanese cinematic landscape was virtually dominated by directors Li Jia (㬮Ⱗ), Li Xing (㬮੧), and Bai Jingrui (गްࣶ Pai Ching-jui). During her sophomore summer internship at the Arts Specialist Film and Drama School, Yang began working as a script supervisor for Li Xing. Under the guidance of renowned directors like Li Xing, Bai Jingrui, and Chen Yaoqi (暒৮ⵄ Chen Yao-chi), she served for many years as a script supervisor, assistant director, and associate director, participating in the making of fourteen films. In 1978, ten years after her initiation into the film industry, Yang Jiayun penned the screenplay for First Love Storm (Ӭ㛏梏޺) and assumed the director's role independently for Morning Fog (㩮本), starring Brigitte Lin (ߥற朣) and Qin Han (䰶䈯 Chin Han). Subsequently, she directed Rain Tapping on My Window (伶஧‫)ॶ۩ބ‬. adapted from female author Xuan Xiaofo’s (䙕‫ش‬Ҁ Hsüan Hsiao-fo) original work and starring Lin Fengjiao (ߥ沽ヂ Lin Feng-chiao) and Qin Xianglin (䰶䯅ߥ Chin Hsiang-lin), as well as Beauty and Sadness (২湞厠⫸㗘 1980) produced by Li Xing. This period marks her transition into the realm of art-house cinema. In 1981, Yang Jiayun collaborated with female writer Xuan Xiaofo (䙕 ‫ش‬Ҁ Hsüan Hsiao-fo) on the production of Little Gourd (‫ش‬嗓坣). During this time, Taiwanese cinema was teeming with social realist films, particularly those revolving around themes of female vengeance. Yang Jiayun directed a series of films including Who Dares to Offend Me (寛‫ހ‬ 㗐۩ 1981), and others like Mad Woman Killer (䢪ࣛ‫׮‬䑒‫ ޤ‬1981), Wow!

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(⫽巴 1982), Cold-Blooded Killer (Ӓऴ㼲㷬 1982), and Mad Girls' Camp (䢪ࣛ‫׮ص‬䓍 1982). Although these films contain elements of violence, the protagonists are primarily women fighting against their destinies. Following the completion of her last feature-length drama, Women Soldiers of Kinmen (୐於‫׮‬Ҿ) in 1983, Yang Jiayun transitioned to television production. In 1998, however, she returned to the film medium, earning the Best Documentary award at the 35th Golden Horse Awards and a nomination at the Yamagata Documentary Biennale (ٌ‫ڥ‬伋捦࣌曧‫ )يٶ‬in Japan for her documentary film, Secrets of the Grandma: Stories of the Taiwanese “Comfort Women” ( ஋ ぴ ङ ॢ ‫ — إ‬Ֆ 书 澨 㙁 ‫ 〞 ؍‬澩 ङ ‫ ݻ‬з ). This documentary, by illustrating the audiences' warm welcome and heartfelt encouragement to the grandmas during the screening, offered healing to their wounded souls and allowed them to finally find forgiveness and relief. This film is continuously mentioned in the context of long-standing advocacy for the rights of comfort women and subsequent documentary productions related to comfort women in South Korea and Mainland China.

Li Meimi Li Meimi (㬮২㑠) graduated from the Department of Broadcasting and Television at Shih Hsin University (Ѝ‫ޏ‬㐋朅) in 1969. She swiftly entered the film industry and began her career as a script supervisor on the set of Fengshen Bang (‫)ࠣ॔د‬, directed by Tetsuya Yamanouchi (ٌ⡦撗 Э 1934-2010). In the following years, she accumulated directing skills

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through various film productions, and in 1972, she directed her first film, a Taiwanese-dialect film titled Pure Love (伟‫ە‬ङ㗱). She continued to engage in multiple film productions in the following years. In 1973, she assisted Liu Shifang (⤻㍳ⵐ also named Liu Shouhua ⤻⻞啠) to finish Taiwan’s first Hakka film entitled Love Song in the Mountain of Tea (咰ٌ ‫)࠱ە‬. In 1975, she transitioned to television directing, where her drama series Cold Current (‫ )ࡶا‬set a viewership record for the year. In the early 1980s, she stepped into the role of an independent producer, directing a series of feature-length films that depicted urban women in Taiwan. These works, known for their unique female perspectives, refined cinematography, and rich female characterizations, exhibited her distinctive directorial style and left a lasting impression of women's portrayal in Taiwanese cinema. Not only did she participate in the creation of these films' scripts, but she also broke away from conventional directing techniques, synchronizing camera movement with the emotional expression of the actors. The oeuvre of Li Meimi is directly influenced by the feminist movement that emerged in Taiwan beginning in the 1970s. In the early 1970s, Lu Xiulian (⪅ज़噏 Lü Hsiu-Lien) proposed a concept of "New Feminism," predicated on the second wave of feminism. This framework emphasizes the roles of women beyond domestic confines. Li Meimi’s film entitled Evening News (ޮ族‫ޏ‬刖) reflected and responded precisely to these controversies surrounding working women.

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However, in comparison to certain male directors, such as Zhang Yi (㑋㼼 Chang I) or Wan Ren (喗☨), who focused on women in their new wave cinema but attempted to dissociate from feminism, regrettably, King Hu never closely related himself to feminism, women’s literature, women’s films, or women’s film festivals. During the same period, it is the relatively small number of female directors, who were not included in the canon of the new wave cinema, who served as the actual conduits bridging the histories of Taiwan's women's movement and Taiwanese cinema. To elaborate, these female directors, through their intimate understanding and personal experiences of the sociopolitical circumstances of women's lives, were able to portray an authentic representation of women's narratives and struggles. This was often overlooked by their male counterparts, who tended to approach women's issues from a distanced or theoretical standpoint, thereby unintentionally creating a disconnect with the actual lived experiences of women. As such, the female directors' works not only fill a gap in the filmic portrayal of women's realities but also resonate more profoundly with the broader feminist discourse and movements in Taiwan. Their films, therefore, serve as critical cultural artifacts that encapsulate the synergy between Taiwan's women's movement and its cinematic history.

Wang Ying Born in Hong Kong in 1940 and moved to Taiwan at the age of twelve, Wang Ying (ࡓ䜧) is a multilingual individual fluent in Cantonese. Upon

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her graduation from the Law Department at National Taiwan University (Ֆ 䍪‫ם‬ㄥࡣ‫گ‬঩), she pursued an M.F.A. at Boston University. With a prolific writing career, she has contributed numerous essays and columns to periodicals such as Comprehensive Magazine (侢ՠ曪宷), China Times (И ⴚ㩌⸟), United Daily News (刦ՠ⸟), and Xin Sheng News (‫)⸟ࣿޏ‬. After returning to Taiwan in 1968, Wang Ying initially joined China Television as a director and editor. In 1974, she returned to the United States to serve as a producer and director at KQED Television Station in San Francisco, California. Her creative journey diverged from the aforementioned three directors; she transitioned from television to film and back to television again. Her works in both domains have earned prestigious recognitions, including the Golden Horse Award for film and the Golden Bell Award for television. Her debut feature film was Diary of a Lady Soldier (‫׮‬Ҿ‫ޙ‬孄 1975), an adaptation of Xie Bingying’s (屈ӎ䜧 Hsieh Bing-Ying) novel of the same name. The film, produced by China Film Studio, was planned by Li Jia (㬮Ⱗ) and scripted by Zhang Yongxiang (㑋ࡋ䯅). It assembled a cast of female stars and garnered acclaim, winning the Best Feature Film Award at the 12th Golden Horse Awards. Her second work, Champion (授㶩 1979), recounted the story of a Taiwanese boxer competing abroad and is a rare instance of an international co-production. In addition to feature films, Wang Ying directed a documentary film entitled A Day in the Central Market (И‫ס‬١⸢ङ▲‫)מ‬, a precious work

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from the 1970s that authentically depicted people's work conditions in a historical landmark. Despite the scarcity of funds and inadequate lighting equipment, this film documented the reality of the time and was ahead of its era in concept. It eventually caught the attention of the public at the Taiwan Documentary Biennial in 2021, offering modern audiences a glimpse into the past.

Esther Eng or Ng Kam-ha Esther Eng or Ng Kam-ha (♝授朣 Wu Jinxia 1914-1970) is Hong Kong’s first female filmmaker. She was the only Chinese-heritage female filmmaker in Hollywood at that time. In her life-time, she directed five Cantonese films in Hong Kong and six Chinese-language films in Hollywood. She stands as a pioneer in introducing Western feminist consciousness and the nationalistic sentiments of overseas Chinese into Chinese-language cinema. As early as the mid-1930s, she ventured into transnational and transcultural creative endeavors. No matter the context, even within the most commercialized environments, she remained steadfast in expressing her emotions and upholding her ideologies. Esther Eng's work represents an early effort to integrate the consciousness of Western feminism and the ethnic sentiments of overseas Chinese into Chinese language cinema. Even in the mid-1930s, she was already exploring transnational and transcultural themes in her work. Regardless of her working environment, including in highly commercialized contexts, she

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remained committed to portraying her emotions and ideas consistently. Esther Eng is recognized as a trailblazer who, early on, incorporated Western feminist perspectives and the national consciousness of the overseas Chinese into Chinese language films. In the mid-1930s, she started to experiment with cross-national and cross-cultural themes in her works. Unyieldingly, even amidst commercialized settings, she persistently pursued and expressed her personal feelings and principles.

Ann Hui Ann Hui (孝枋啠), a luminary figure in Hong Kong cinema, has forged an illustrious career defined by an eclectic array of both commercial and arthouse productions. She has emerged as one of the most influential filmmakers in the history of Hong Kong cinema, known for her keen social commentary and deep exploration of human nature. In the 1960s and 1970s, Ann Hui combined her educational backgrounds in comparative literature at Hong Kong University and film studies at the London Film Academy. The M.A. program in comparative literature in Hong Kong trained her to complete a master's thesis about film criticism. The London Film Academy trained her to record everything with her cinematic pen and advance her filming skills. King Hu hired her to promote his films in London in 1974. In the 1980s, she enjoyed considerable commercial success with The Boat People (܎⼞㔄ࢁ), a poignant story that followed three Vietnamese

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teenagers embarking on a treacherous voyage across tumultuous seas on a dilapidated boat in search of freedom and better lives. The film garnered international acclaim and won numerous awards. Throughout the 1980s and 1990s, Hui also created more artistically inclined films, such as The Story of Woo Viet (劏૞ङ‫ݻ‬з), Love in a Fallen City (⟍ֽФ㛏), Eighteen Springs (ԡࣿ俩/ԝҷަ), and Summer Snow ( ‫ ׮‬ы ֚ ԝ ). Through intricate cinematography and compelling narratives, these films delivered insightful examinations of societal realities and the human condition, resonating deeply with female audiences or viewers at the social class of ethnic minorities. In 1990, King Hu served as one of the producers for Ann Hui’s semi-autobiographical film The Song of Exile ( ‫ ؚ‬ନ फ़ 㕑 ), which focuses on the mother-daughter emotional complex between Ann Hui and her mother and won the prize for Best Film at the 35th Golden Horse Film Festival and the Award for Best Original Script at the 27th Asian-Pacific Film Festival. In the 2000s and 2010s, Ann Hui ventured into more challenging narratives, exemplified by The Way We Are (‫ⴜࡊמ‬ङ‫ޙ‬厠‫ )כ‬and A Simple Life (ࠂ⾍). A Simple Life employed a quasi-documentary style to recount the societal changes and effects on individuals' lives precipitated by the construction of the Three Gorges Dam. The Way We Are, on the other hand, focused on marginalized individuals grappling with life on the fringes of urban society. Ann Hui’s filmmaking often spotlights individuals living on the

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societal periphery, revealing societal injustices and human vulnerabilities through their stories. Her unique and profound style, which merges the appeal of commercial films with the depth of art-house films, has positioned her as a representative figure of the Hong Kong New Wave. Whether crafting a gritty social drama or a whimsical creation, Ann Hui consistently showcases her profound artistic sensibilities and superior directorial skills. Her body of work has become an invaluable resource for scholars studying Hong Kong's society and culture. Ann Hui (孝枋啠) and King Hu were both influenced by Japanese filmmaker Akira Kurosawa (௲䊮‫)ޢ‬. In 1974, Ann Hui served as King Hu’s assistant, helping him promote his movies The Fate of Lee Khan (ଌ ަ旟梏ࡦ) and The Valiant Ones (㓘ࢸⴥ) in London. Although other filmmakers, such as Li Long (㬮潈), mentioned that King Hu taught Ann Hui how to edit films, Ann Hui did not specifically highlight how King Hu inspired her cinematic creative works, particularly in women’s films. On the contrary, she points out that she admires Japanese filmmaker Mikio Naruse’s (ۨ䌯㍊֔अ) cinematic masterpieces of women’s films and underscores that Mikio Naruse is extremely adept at interpreting women’s literature, especially the works and life stories of Eileen Chang (㑋㗱䙻) and Xiao Hong (囌伐), as well as women’s films and actresses’ body languages, eye movements, facial expressions, and emotional nuances. She believes that Mikio Naruse significantly influences her approach to women’s films.

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Huang Yushan Huang Yushan (溈࣭ࣥ Huang, Yu-shan), after graduating from the Department of Western Languages and Literature at National Chengchi University, initially served as an editor for Artist (场妟‫ )؟‬magazine and, through a fortuitous encounter with Director Li Xing, found herself entering the film industry as an intern. There, she participated in the production of several renowned films such as A Ship in the Open Sea (ࡓ࡭Иङ▲㱃ਥ), Good Morning Taipei (‫؍ޝ‬ՖԘ), and Native Land (Խ慺ы). Driven by her passion for film, she resolutely pursued an M.F.A. at New York University. Her contemporaries in New York at the time included Zheng Shuli (憞䃽湞), a digital artist, Director Li Daoming (㬮ଳ‫)ޢ‬, and worldrenowned Chinese Director Ang Lee (㬮‫)؍‬. During her studies in the United States, Huang directed her first documentary, Zhu Ming (㬕拺). Despite this accomplishment, she had not considered directing as a profession at the time. When asked why she decided to become a director, she amusingly attributed it to a provocation by a veteran filmmaker who doubted the capabilities of women in directing roles. This became a force that propelled her forward. Huang Yushan's work, ranging from early films such as The Cave of Desire (੊ٌ梏) and Twin Bracelets (曧撔) to The Song of Chaotian Mountain (‫ٌמݖ‬Ф࠱), have always had profound connections to literature. In 2005, with financial support from Taiwan United Communications Technology Co., Ltd., Huang completed the feature film Southern

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Chronicles: Floating World, Flickering Shadows (ԧ‫ސ‬伋зФࡿЍҰ‫)ڧ‬. This movie narrates the tragic incident of her own uncle, the painter Huang Qingcheng (溈ࢎⷋ), and his pianist girlfriend Gui Xiang (ࠁ௚), who boarded the ocean liner Takachiho Maru (௤Ԟ䲞М) from Kobe, only to be fatally struck by a torpedo fired by a U.S. submarine. This event ranks as the third-largest maritime disaster in the world and an important event in Taiwan's history. Another film of hers, The Song of Chaotian Mountain (‫ٌמݖ‬Ф࠱), is adapted from a novel of the same name by Hakka literary writer Zhong Zhaozheng (揠刾‫)ݺ‬. Zhong Zhaozheng has always been a favorite writer of Huang's since her university days, and the inspiration for The Song of Chaotian Mountain was conceived during the production of the documentary Zhong Zhaozheng's Literary Journey (揠刾‫ކݺ‬ㄥ૨). In addition to her directorial work, Huang has curated various film festivals, including the Women's Film Festival, Southern Film Festival, Kaohsiung Film Festival, and Taipei International Film Festival. In the film industry, "Huang Yushan" is not only synonymous with directorship but also as the founder of women's film festival in Taiwan.

King Hu and Women’s Films or Women’s Film Festivals Huang Yushan vividly recalls her experiences witnessing King Hu's visits and dynamic interactions with Li Xing during her tenure as Li Xing's assistant director on the film project The Wheel of Life (‫ם‬忮悎). Had King

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Hu extended his professional interactions to encompass not only his male contemporaries such as Li Xing but also female associate directors like Huang Yushan, such encounters might have served as pivotal case studies in understanding the potential dynamics between influential figures like King Hu and female personnel within the film industry. Such collaboration would have provided valuable insight into the potential of cooperative work between established male directors and emerging female talent during that era, potentially catalyzing an earlier shift towards inclusivity within the industry. However, it is regrettable that King Hu did not seize the opportunity to closely interact with Huang Yushan during that time. A collaboration between them could have led to richer filmic narratives that fused King Hu’s innovative portrayal of strong women with Huang Yushan's perspective as a female filmmaker. This unexplored partnership represents a missed opportunity in the realm of Taiwanese and Chineselanguage cinema, which could have further broadened the portrayal of female characters, and potentially paved the way for a more inclusive industry. Such interactions could also have helped normalize the involvement of women in significant roles within the industry, challenging traditional gender roles both on-screen and off-screen. Consequently, this could have contributed to creating a more balanced and diverse film industry. Although this collaboration did not occur, it should serve as a lesson for current and future filmmakers about the importance of diverse partnerships in fostering a broader and more inclusive perspective in cinema.

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Regrettably, despite his esteemed status in Taiwan's film industry, King Hu did not deeply engage with women's cinema, nor did he involve himself with women's film festivals. This absence of involvement implies a missed opportunity for early development and recognition of women's films and women's film festivals in Taiwan, potentially as early as the 1960s or 1970s. Indeed, had King Hu actively championed women's cinema and participated in women's film festivals, it is conceivable that the evolution of women's films in Taiwan could have been significantly accelerated. This advancement could have reshaped the entire trajectory of women's cinema in Taiwan, effectively highlighting women's cinematic contributions far earlier and leading to a dramatically different landscape in terms of gender representation in the Taiwanese film industry. King Hu taught Sylvia Chang and inspired her to be a filmmaker and also advanced Ann Hui’s editorial skills and upgraded her filmmaking. However, King Hu did not actively engage in Chinese-language women's filmmaking or participate in women's film festivals. Had King Hu proactively engaged in Chinese-language women's filmmaking or participated in plans related to women's film festivals, his involvement could have nurtured an environment more welcoming of diverse narratives and voices within Taiwanese cinema. This could have allowed for a greater exploration of women's experiences, concerns, and perspectives, thereby broadening the scope of Taiwanese cinema. Consequently, the potential societal implications regarding the representation of women in Taiwanese media

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and arts could have been vast, leading to a more nuanced and inclusive understanding of gender roles in Taiwanese society. This deviation could have significantly rewritten the entire history of Taiwanese women's films, marking a different course of events concerning the recognition of women's contributions to the Taiwanese film industry and leading to monumental societal implications regarding the representation of women in Taiwanese media and arts.

Conclusion While it is undeniable that King Hu’s portrayal of strong and independent female characters constituted a major shift in cinematic norms, it must be underscored that this did not translate into overt engagement with the feminist movements of his era. Indeed, his filmography demonstrates a remarkable creative diversity in depicting female agency, but it doesn't directly confront or actively contribute to the feminist discourse of the time. Likewise, while his mentorship had a profound influence on the careers of several talented female filmmakers, the ensuing feminist trajectory of their careers seems to have been more a product of their individual convictions and feminist awareness than a direct result of King Hu’s instruction. Their successes in women’s film festivals and women-oriented cinema thus reflect their own efforts rather than a legacy handed down from King Hu. This further affirms the notion that King Hu’s cinematic pen, though innovative in its representation of female characters, retained elements of

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patriarchal influence. Consequently, while King Hu deserves recognition for pioneering a novel archetype of empowered female characters in Chinese-language cinema, he should not be misconstrued as a promoter of feminist movements or a feminist cinematic tradition. His contributions to the portrayal of women in film mark a significant milestone in the narrative of cinematic history, yet they remain somewhat detached from the broader feminist currents that emerged concurrently in the latter half of the 20th century. While King Hu indeed provided models of strong and independent female characters, his work did not explicitly echo or project the philosophies of second- and third-wave feminism that advocate gender equality, asserting that women should enjoy the same rights and opportunities as men. His female disciples, such as Xu Feng and Sylvia Chang, although successful in the film industry and marked by certain disruptive breakthroughs, also mentored their own female disciples. For instance, Sylvia Chang inspired Rene Liu and Angelica Lee to balance acting and directing, but their participation is not sufficient to assert an obvious feminist component in King Hu's film legacy. Meanwhile, many internationally recognized female directors from Hong Kong and Taiwan, such as Ann Hui and Sylvia Chang, have achieved success in the film industry. However, their success does not stem solely from the influence of their male director peers like King Hu or contemporaries such as Li Xing (㬮੧ Li Hsing), Zhang Che (㑋㒹 Chang Cheh), Bai Jingrui (गްࣶ Pai

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Ching-jui), Song Cunshou (؎‫ ⻞؂‬Sung Tsun-shou), but more likely from their own talent, diligence, concerns about women’s issues, and persistent advocacy for feminism. Consequently, we can argue that despite King Hu's profound influence on Chinese-language cinema and female representation, the "cinematic pen" of him and his male directorial peers remained largely male-dominated, not feminist. The portrayal of female characters in King Hu's classic films demonstrates sensitivity and concern towards gender issues. However, to interpret this as his being profoundly influenced by feminism and thereby committed to promoting gender equality through film necessitates careful consideration. King Hu's films have created numerous independent and strong female characters. Yet the emergence of these characters may also stem from the particular context of martial arts culture in Chinese-language cinema and the audience's appreciation of dominant female characters (particularly ancient heroines or female ghosts from the Tang or Ming dynasties), rather than solely from King Hu's own feminist tendencies. In fact, many examples in Chinese legendary stories or martial arts novels show that female characters in martial arts films are often endowed with power and influence that transcends traditional gender frameworks. Objectively speaking, although director King Hu possessed English proficiency sufficient for free travel between advanced regions in Europe and the United States, he never personally participated in any global international second- or third-wave feminist movements or gender studies

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of the time. His favorite Chinese writer, Lao She (৯ਝ), was a male author, not a contemporary female literary author or female literary work. In-depth exploration of the influences on King Hu's depiction of female characters cannot overlook the significant influence of his first wife, Professor Chung Ling. Professor Chung Ling (揠䙻) has a rich background in comparative literature, including feminist literary theory, women's literature, and female authors, all of which may have influenced King Hu's creative concepts and his portrayal of female characters. Professor Chung Ling's academic training and feminist perspective may further have shaped the image of female characters in King Hu's films and influenced his understanding of gender equality issues. For instance, in a paper presented at a conference on King Hu's martial arts cinema, held on April 29-30, 2022, in Taichung, Taiwan, Professor Chung Ling, the recipient of the Lin Rongsan Taiwanese Literature Award (ߥ㴿ІՖ䍪‫ކ‬ㄥ䘟‫ )ڇ‬from the Taiwan Literature Association (Ֆ䍪‫ކ‬ㄥㄥ㫵), explicitly stated that many of the love triangle plots in King Hu's award-winning martial arts period romances originated from her ideas. However, when analyzing Director King Hu's actual behavior in the film industry, his gender concepts may not have been fully reflected in his films. In real life, King Hu seemed not to have fully implemented the independence and capability of the female characters he depicted in his films. Like many male directors of the time, he habitually treated his female colleagues or female industry workers as female assistants, female

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secretaries, female disciples, female sexual partners, female script supervisors, female assistant directors, and other lower-ranking subordinate roles. This may reflect that he did not fully accept feminist perspectives, or at least did not fully implement the concept of gender equality in real life. Examples abound, such as hiring director Ann Hui as a female assistant to assist with film marketing and publicity, marrying Professor Chung Ling as a female sexual partner to assist with screenwriting, location scouting, and other studio affairs, and employing Lin Yu (ߥ✁) as his female assistant and live-in female partner after his divorce. On March 21, 2023, Taiwanese filmmaker Chen Kunhou ( 暒 ⵢ Լ ) mentioned that most of his male predecessors in Taiwanese film industry, such as King Hu, tended to follow patriarchal traditions in terms of how they interacted with female staff members in their film studios or women in their real life according to his memory. The issue of gender parity in the global film and drama industry has been frozen over time; this did not occur overnight. For instance, the number of Best Director awards given to women by the Oscars over decades can be counted on one hand. Aside from the awards for female actors, other awards are predominantly won by men, illustrating an imbalance in gender representation. Other major domestic and international film and drama awards have not fared any better. With the recent surge of the #MeToo movement, one cannot help but wonder: could things have improved if director King Hu, a dominant figure in the Chinese-speaking film industry,

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had raised his voice on time? Could women's cinema and film festivals in the Chinese-speaking film industry in mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan have advanced to the 1960s and 1970s, when he was primarily promoting female martial artists in his films? Regrettably, King Hu did not take these steps. Even though he claimed to have initiated the first martial arts direction in the film industry, Yang Jingjing (㳡唳唳, Yeung, Ching-ching), the first and still one of the few female martial arts directors in Hong Kong, has never really made it onto King Hu's collaborative list or focus of attention. King Hu's films indeed offer a new image of women and have a significant impact on challenging traditional gender roles. However, this does not necessarily mean that his works are feminist or that he himself was dedicated to promoting gender equality. On the contrary, King Hu's works may simultaneously reinforce and challenge gender stereotypes at different levels. This dichotomy reflects the complexity and diversity of gender issues in King Hu’s martial arts films. While his portrayal of female characters is innovative and influential, it does not automatically align him with feminist ideologies or movements. Instead, his approach should be understood as part of a broader narrative, one that includes both advancements and limitations in the representation of women and gender roles in Chineselanguage cinema.

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Works Cited Billson, Anne and British Film Institute (2005) Buffy the Vampire Slayer. London: Macmillan, p. 12. Chen, Mo (暒‫( )׎‬2004) Montage of Flashing with Knives and Swords—on Chinese Martial Arts Films (ӢҰ✃‫ڧ‬੏‫רן‬ņņИⴚ࠶✃朅‫ڧ‬封). Beijing: Chinese Films, 2004. —. (2006) History of Chinese Martial Arts Films (Иⴚ࠶✃朅‫ڧ‬՗). Taipei: Fengyun shidai (梏曾㩌ї Changeful Time with Winds and Clouds), 2006, p. 170. Chen, Yenjun ( 暒 㑴 ⩧) (2013) “Inspection of the Ups and Downs of Taiwanese Filmic Genre from Taiwanese Policies of Cinema” (㒡Ֆ䍪 朅‫ݺڧ‬ঌࢦ岴रՖ䍪桗ֺ朅‫ڧ‬ङ厡ੰ). Academic Journal of Beijing Film Academy, p. 52. Chen, Ya-chen (2011) Women and Gender in Chinese Martial Arts Films of the New Millennium: Narrative Analyses and Gender Politics. Lanham, Maryland: Rowman and Littlefield. —. (2004) Farewell My Concubine: Same-Sex Reading and Cross-Cultural Dialogues. Jiayi, Taiwan: Nan Hua University Press, 2004. Chen, Yensheng ( 暒 䎏 ࣿ ) (2003) Taiwan’s Daughter: Taiwan’s First Female Filmmaker Chen Wenmin and Her Family’s History of Settlement and Struggles (Ֆ䍪ङ‫׮‬⡓͹Ֆ䍪আ▲ѹ‫׮‬㆏ࢦ暒‫ݽކ‬ङ ‫ޕ؟‬१⺣⼵櫴՗). Taipei: Yushan (ٌࣥ॑). Chung, Ling (2018) Deep Layers of the Text: Cross-Cultural Fusion and Gender Exploration (‫ࢋߎކކ‬㇍: ૧‫ކ‬ԗ壝ՠ厠‫ۅ‬⣫‫ݍ‬ফ). Taipei:

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National Taiwan University Press, p. 383. Doane, Mary Ann (1987) The Desire to Desire: The Woman's Film of the 1940s. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, pp. 3 & 152-153. Hu, King (1990) “Techniques I Picked up from Traditional Drama” (۩֨ ⟂佷㛺޼И۱ㄥӱङ▲п‫܉‬ٙ). Taipei: (Speech at the) National Film Archive. Hu Wai-yiu (劏侳⸝) (2014) “Collection of King Hu’s Records 1958-2014.” City Entertainment Magazine. Hong Kong: Lingnan University Archive. Jiao, Xiongping ( ࢾ ஢ ‫ ى‬Chiao Hsiung-ping) (1999) “Dianying ruxia huainian dashi Hu Jinquan” (朅‫ڧ‬⠞✃㛆‫םھ‬㍳劏୐拵 Cinematic Master of Confucianism: In Memory of King Hu). Shujian tianya fusheng xianying: dashi Hu Jinquan xingzhe de guiji (㫮⤿‫מ‬䃝 ࡿࣿ 桨 ‫ ڧ‬: ‫ ם‬㍳ 劏 ୐ 拵 ੧ ৱ ङ 徐 庯 Books and Swords Shown in Life Record at the End of the World: Master King Hu’s Traces as a Doer). Taipei: National Film Archive, p. 34. Kang, Xiaofei (2006) The Cult of the Fox: Power, Gender, and Popular Religion in Late Imperial and Modern China. New York: Columbia University Press. Li, Ang (㬮‫( )ޠ‬November 17, 1983) “Women’s Comments” (‫ۅ׮‬ङ۞嫁). Li Ang’s Column (㬮‫ޠ‬ㆋ㺐) in China Times (Иⴚ㩌⸟), pp. 91-93. Liu, Chenghan (⤻ۨ䈯) (2007) “Discussions on Authors and King Hu” (ҁ ৱ封չ劏୐拵). King Hu’s Artistic World (劏୐拵ङ场妟Ѝउ). Taipei: Yaosheng (当㨚) Cultural Company, p. 45.

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Luo, Feng (࡯㳪) (2007) “Pingzong jianying. Riyue guanghua lun Hu Jinquan dianying denuxing renwu yu shanshui meixue” (啻૭❃‫ޙͭڧ‬ ߃Ұ啠封劏୐拵朅‫ڧ‬ङ‫ۅ׮‬ы࣒厠ٌࡊ২ㄥ Traces of Duckweek and Shadows of Beauties. Sun Moon Light: Discussion of Female Roles and Landscape Aesthetics in King Hu’s Films). Hu Jinquan de yishu shijie ( 劏 ୐ 拵 ङ 场 妟 Ѝ उ King Hu’s Aesthetic World). Taipei: Yaosheng (当㨚) Cultural Company, pp. 38, 50-51. Ryan, Tony (1999) “The Form and Structure of King Hu’s Cinema.”Lin Jiabao (ߥⰧㆁ Lin Chia-Pao) trans. Included in Shujian tianya fusheng xianying: dashi Hu Jinquan xingzhe de guiji (㫮⤿‫מ‬䃝ࡿࣿ桨‫ڧ‬热‫ם‬ ㍳劏୐拵੧ৱङ徐庯 Books and Swords Shown in Life Record at the End of the World: Master King Hu’s Traces as a Doer). Taipei: National Film Archive, p. 29. Teo, Stephen (2011) “King Hu's The Fate of Lee Khan and The Valiant Ones.” Sense of Cinema: https://www.sensesofcinema.com/2002/cteq/king_hu/ (online information retrieved on July 4, 2023).

Notes 1

For details, consult Luo Feng’s (࡯㳪) “Pingzong jianying. Riyue guanghua lun

Hu Jinquan dianying denuxing renwu yu shanshui meixue” (啻૭❃‫߃ޙͭڧ‬Ұ啠 封劏୐拵朅‫ڧ‬ङ‫ۅ׮‬ы࣒厠ٌࡊ২ㄥ Traces of Duckweek and Shadows of Beauties. Sun Moon Light: Discussion of Female Roles and Landscape Aesthetics in King Hu’s Films). Hu Jinquan de yishu shijie (劏୐拵ङ场妟Ѝउ King Hu’s

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Aesthetic World). Taipei: Yaosheng (当㨚) CulturalC ompany, 2007, pp. 38, 50-51. 2

For details, consult Jiao Xiongping’s (ࢾ஢‫ ى‬Chiao Hsiung-ping) “Dianying

ruxia huainian dashi Hu Jinquan” (朅‫ڧ‬⠞✃㛆‫םھ‬㍳劏୐拵 Cinematic Master of Confucianism: In Memory of King Hu). Shujian tianya fusheng xianying: dashi Hu Jinquan xingzhe de guiji (㫮⤿‫מ‬䃝 ࡿࣿ桨‫ڧ‬:‫ם‬㍳劏୐拵੧ৱङ徐庯 Books and Swords Shown in Life Record at the End of the World: Master King Hu’s Traces as a Doer). Taipei: National Film Archive, 1999, p. 34. 3 For details, consult Stephen Teo’s “King Hu's The Fate of Lee Khan and The Valiant Ones.” Sense of Cinema: https://www.sensesofcinema.com/2002/cteq/king_hu/ (online information retrieved on July 4, 2023). 4 White Fox in King Hu’s Raining in the Mountain probably reminds audience members of Jade Fox in Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. For details, consult Kang Xiaofei’s The Cult of the Fox: Power, Gender, and Popular Religion in Late Imperial and Modern China. New York: Columbia University Press, 2006, as well as Ya-chen Chen’s Women and Gender in Chinese Martial Arts Films of the New Millennium: Narrative Analyses and Gender Politics. Lanham, Maryland: Rowman and Littlefield, 2011. 5 For details, consult Mary Ann Doane’s The Desire to Desire: The Woman's Film of the 1940s. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1987, pp. 3 & 152-153. 6

Li Lie (㬮ࢸ), Taiwan’s feminist filmmaker and film-producer, plays the role of

female supporting role in this film. 7

Here is the original wording in Mandarin Chinese language: ۩Љ‫ހ‬寕 “ࢁ䍟ङ

▲‫܇׮〞߁”מ‬ӱ▲✫‫ޏ‬ङ‫ސ‬է厠⠅қ嫶—֜䎹҂ङ⭶桅Ց߄҂ਘٜਈ‫܇‬ӱ આঋФଳ澞Օީͫ؉⧼‫҈ݕ‬҂▲✫Նमङ㷬㫵厠▲柾⨷ৰͫ଻‫ީؼ‬: ֨悤✫岴 ԗ伦伧ङ䛂ї॑㫵娋ͫऱ࠳ङ‫ٸ‬क़厠ࣿոФଳͫީ‫֨ݗ݋‬҂۴Иͫ৲Љ֨҂ङ ࣋嫠澝▷‫נ‬澝‫؟‬ы۴И澞For details, consult Li Ang’s “Women’s Comments” (‫׮‬ ‫ۅ‬ङ۞嫁). Li Ang’s Column (㬮‫ޠ‬ㆋ㺐) in China Times (Иⴚ㩌⸟). November 17, 1983, pp. 91-93. 8 For details about academic consideration of women and gender in Chinese martial arts films, consult Ya-chen Chen's "Women and Gender in Chinese Martial Arts Films of the New Millennium." This comprehensive examination explores the evolving roles and representations of women and gender in Chinese martial arts films from the turn of the 21st century. While the exact content of the book is unknown without specific details, here is a general summary based on the title and

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common themes found within such texts: The book initiates a conversation on the portrayal of women and gender constructs in Chinese martial arts films at the dawn of the new millennium. It begins by establishing the historical and cultural context of Chinese cinema and the traditionally male-centric focus of martial arts genre films. The introductory section likely traces the evolution of female roles from passive damsels in early cinema to somewhat more empowered, though still stereotypical, depictions in later films. The central portion of the book delves into an analysis of specific films from the early 2000s, likely using a selection of iconic films as case studies to highlight changing narratives and themes. These might include films such as Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon and House of Flying Daggers, both of which are renowned for their strong female leads and the exploration of gender roles. The author would compare and contrast these films to illuminate the shift in gender representation. A key part of the analysis could be the exploration of the 'woman warrior' archetype. The book might scrutinize how this trope has been used both to challenge and uphold traditional gender stereotypes. The woman warrior is a character type that has long existed in Chinese literature and folklore, but its transformation and usage in modern cinema would make for an engaging discussion, particularly regarding its impact on gender norms and societal expectations. The book probably also discusses the intersectionality of gender with other elements such as class, race, and sexuality within these films. Such a nuanced analysis would provide a deeper understanding of the complexities of gender representation, going beyond merely viewing characters as one-dimensional representations of feminism or masculinity. In its conclusion, Women and Gender in Chinese Martial Arts Films of the New Millennium would likely speculate on future trends based on the patterns observed. This might involve a discussion of how gender roles in these films are expected to evolve, or how filmmakers might continue to use the genre to explore gender politics. In essence, this book promises to be a compelling exploration of the multi-faceted and evolving portrayal of women and gender constructs within Chinese martial arts films. It could serve as an invaluable resource for film scholars, gender studies researchers, and fans of the genre alike. 9

For details, consult Chen Yensheng’s (暒䎏ࣿ) Taiwan’s Daughter: Taiwan’s

First Female Filmmaker Chen Wenmin and Her Family’s History of Settlement and Struggles (Ֆ䍪ङ‫׮‬⡓͹Ֆ䍪আ▲ѹ‫׮‬㆏ࢦ暒‫ݽކ‬ङ‫ޕ؟‬१⺣⼵櫴՗). 10

Taiwan Film and Audiovisual Institute keeps the poster of this film: https://tfai.openmuseum.tw/muse/digi_object/dfd77325f6c0af77b22a3187d30c4171 (online resources retrieved on July 7, 2023).

CHAPTER FOUR WOMEN IN KING HI’S MARTIAL ARTS MOVIES: MARTIAL ARTS LADIES, WOMEN THIEVES, AND FEMALE GHOSTS YU-YING LEE, PH.D. TRANSLATED BY YA-CHEN CHEN, PH.D.

This chapter aims to analyze the portrayal of female roles in King Hu’s martial arts films from a gender studies perspective. Although some film critics have observed that the martial arts world is predominantly male, King Hu's films introduce a more "feminine" tradition to the genre. However, this article contends that, despite this introduction, the "jiang hu" remains a male-dominated realm, where women are primarily included for visual appeal. In these films, female characters do not serve as the central focus of the narrative; instead, the emphasis is placed on martial arts itself. In martial arts films that prioritize combat and fighting scenes, there is a tendency to sexualize female characters to appeal to male audiences. In King Hu's films, female martial artists often dress in men's clothing and accentuate traits typically associated with masculinity, rather than embracing their femininity as defined by patriarchal societies. These characters usually take on roles

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such as female bodyguards who protect powerless men or female ghosts who seduce male scholars. While King Hu’s films are lauded for their contributions to Chinese cinematic aesthetics and global recognition, the gender roles within his films still necessitate more comprehensive academic exploration.

Prelude This article examines female roles in King Hu's martial arts films from feminist perspectives. In martial arts cinema, particularly those emphasizing "kung fu" (ԅ‫)נ‬, the portrayal of women and female bodies plays a crucial role in attracting male audience members. Female protagonists in King Hu’s films often defy the traditional Chinese cultural definitions of femininity, instead embodying a lady-like appearance with masculine-style characteristics. Many of these characters adopt male attire. For instance, Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬㳪 Hsu, Feng) in A Touch of Zen (✃‫)׮‬, Zheng Peipei (憞҃҃ Cheng, Peipei) in Come Drink with Me (‫ם‬懵✃), and Shangguan Lingfeng (Їؒ杌 沽) in Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃) are portrayed in men’s clothing, accentuating their masculinity as they assume the roles of martial arts heroines. Contrary to the portrayal of women as fragile and passive figures awaiting rescue by male heroes in Western movies or Hollywood action films, King Hu’s martial arts ladies often play the role of saviors, actively rescuing powerless male scholars in poor health. Some film critics argue that the "jiang hu" (㿄 ࢖, gangster world) is inherently a male-dominated domain, and King Hu’s

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films introduce an element of "femininity" into this martial arts imaginary world. 1 In this article, I argue that the "jiang hu" ( 㿄 ࢖ ) remains predominantly a male-dominated realm, and King Hu's approach merely involves incorporating women into this setting without significantly altering its dynamics. In King Hu's martial arts cinema, women are essentially positioned as the 'other,' serving primarily to facilitate the conveyance of ethical discourses encompassing loyalty, filial piety, and other moral teachings on the silver screen. These female characters are not portrayed as independent entities with their own aspirations and life paths.

Women/Female Bodies to Be Watched In King Hu’s martial arts films, many women adopt masculine attire, but in this article, I contend that this is not indicative of King Hu’s progressive stance on gender egalitarianism. Rather, I argue that King Hu reinforces the patriarchal norm where men are accorded prestigious priority and women are relegated to secondary or lower status. Traditional Chineselanguage legends, storytelling performances, and fictions often feature archetypes of cross-dressed women such as Hua Mulan (ਰߋ垊), Zhu Yingtai (॓ਸ਼Ֆ), and Meng Lijun (‫؃‬湞⩧) from Zhaisheng yuan (Ӈࣿ 俩). These characters don men’s attire and temporarily enjoy the rights and freedoms reserved for men within the traditionally male-dominated public sphere. Their cross-dressing underscores the limitations patriarchy imposes on women’s bodies. Without masquerading as men, women had little

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opportunity to pursue education, knowledge, diplomas, and professional careers. Instead, they were confined to domestic spaces, engaging in embroidery or garden activities like butterfly-catching. In ancient China, gender boundaries were stark and dictated by appearance—clothing and hairstyles. Women dressing in men’s clothes were perceived as men. Ladies bound their feet and remained in the boudoir, rarely stepping outside the private sphere. For those desiring the adventure of the "jiang hu" (㿄࢖) or gangster world, cross-dressing was a pragmatic, albeit temporary, solution. It not only avoided scandal but also conformed to ordinary folk customs. In King Hu’s martial arts films, most female characters, such as Zheng Peipei in her role as Gold Swallow (୐䓃‫ )׿‬in Come Drink with Me (1966), Shangguan Lingfeng as Zhu Hui (㬕忡) in Dragon Inn (1967), and Xu Feng as Yang Huizhen (㳡㘸嶕) in A Touch of Zen (1971), wear men’s clothing. Their cross-dressing aligns with the cinematic narratology. If these stories set in the Ming Dynasty featured women with unbound feet, it would appear inauthentic; however, their masculine attire and gender neutrality emerge due to various incidental mishaps. Some critics note that King Hu’s films post-A Touch of Zen initiated a novel aesthetic taste. 2 In this article, while I acknowledge the commendable portrayal of martial arts heroines and their masculinity in King Hu's films, I argue that this was not a deliberate design by King Hu. Instead, I view it as an accidental outcome or a byproduct. The success, in my opinion, can be attributed to the fact that the cinematic appearances of Zheng Peipei, Shangguan Lingfeng, and Xu Feng in costume

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and makeup are heroically attractive, impressive, and aesthetically pleasing. This portrayal not only fosters empathy among female audiences but also meets the male audience’s expectations for a visually engaging subject to observe intently. In this article, I argue that in King Hu’s martial arts films, the portrayal of martial arts heroines primarily serves to satisfy the male audience’s "gaze." King Hu's inclusion of a female lead, typically a martial arts lady, in each film seems more a requisite cinematic formula than a progressive gesture. These martial arts ladies are introduced as decorative elements in the "jiang hu" (㿄࢖) or gangster world, a realm defined by its masculinity. They do not, however, fundamentally alter the entrenched rules of this world. This phenomenon is not just confined to the narrative on the silver screen but extends to real life as well. Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬㳪 Hsu, Feng) once remarked, "I have grown up in the cinematic world of martial arts for 15 years since the age of 16. Traditional moral rules, such as loyalty, filial piety, kindness, ethics, and the spirit of swordsmanship, had their deep roots inside of me." 3 This statement underscores that women, even when influenced by traditional moral principles, do not significantly challenge the established norms of the "jiang hu" with their femininity. There is no escape from male dominance in these movies. For example, the female protagonist Golden Swallow (୐䓃‫ )׿‬in Come Drink with Me (‫ם‬懵✃) relies on Fan Dabei (ਸ‫ם‬㖒), portrayed by Yue Hua (㈙啠), for assistance. Therefore, this article emphasizes that the "jiang hu" remains a male domain, with women

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merely serving as ornamental additions. However, the martial arts ladies in King Hu’s films represent a departure from the stereotypical femininity found in traditional Western action films, where the hero’s possession of a beautiful woman is often deemed essential. In King Hu's cinema, these female characters, while still confined within a male-dominated world, exhibit a distinct identity that goes beyond being mere decorative elements. Through psychoanalyses, feminist theorists of cinema studies have published a number of studies on the male gaze and female audience (Mulvey 1975; Kaplan 1983; Stacey 1994; Partington 1991). In her influential 1975 essay, Laura Mulvey analyzes the pleasure of viewing movies through the lens of the male gaze. She argues that the pleasure derived from cinematic narratives includes at least two types: first, the voyeuristic pleasure that objectifies images, and second, the narcissistic pleasure that involves narcissistic identification with images. Mulvey highlights the fact that classic Hollywood films, produced predominantly by male photographers and editors, cater to voyeuristic pleasure from a male perspective. Audiences view movies through the lens of men, directed to identify with the idealized hero—namely, the male protagonist. For example, in traditional Hollywood adventure films, male protagonists are often depicted as chivalrous heroes who rectify injustices and assist the marginalized. Women in these films are typically categorized into two archetypes: ladies and prostitutes. A common narrative thread in these movies involves heroic male protagonists rescuing beautiful women.

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Women are portrayed as incapable of self-defense and often place male protagonists or heroes in difficult or perilous situations. These beautiful women exist in films primarily to serve the heroic male protagonists; they are exiled, kidnapped, or even killed to facilitate the narrative of male heroism. Comparatively, the cinematic portrayal of martial arts ladies in King Hu’s works presents them as formidable and independent. They act as protectors upon whom men rely. For instance, the female protagonist Yang Huizhen ( 㳡㘸嶕) in A Touch of Zen (✃‫ )׮‬is highly skilled, silent, secretive, and aloof, yet she actively approaches the scholar Gu Xingzhai (桠म漉), becoming a proactive and strong image of a martial arts heroine. In Dragon Inn (潈於‫ؚ‬㲃), the female protagonist Zhu Hui (㬕忡) is wiser and tougher than her brother Zhu Ji (㬕樿). In Raining in the Mountain, the female protagonist White Wolf (ग䖨) relies on other characters to amplify her powerful image. Her partner Jin Suo (୐揸), portrayed by Wu Mingcai (⩸‫ޢ‬۵), is less skilled in martial arts compared to her. Wen An (‫؍ކ‬ played by Sun Yue ㄘ૞), who hires her, lacks a martial arts background and attempts to sexually harass her, but she resolutely refuses him. In Legend of the Mountain (ٌИ⟂‫)ר‬, the character Yueniang (㶒⿒) is skilled in sorcery. She leads a group of female ghosts, using them to achieve her goals, including the theft of a Buddhist sutra. These female thieves, ghosts, and martial arts ladies are portrayed not only as brave but also as intelligent, in stark contrast to the passive and fragile beauties typical of

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Western action films. In this regard, King Hu seems to encourage his female protagonists and actresses to “act like men.”

Female Protagonists’ Masculine Bodies and Expressive Eyes King Hu encouraged his female protagonists and actresses to eschew traditional femininity and wield weapons with a masculine prowess. He once remarked that Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬㳪 Hsu, Feng), despite being exceptionally quiet and gentle in real life, did not fit the passive roles typically seen in cinema. “My request for her to handle knives like men, I believe, creates a balanced beauty in her. As an actress, she comes closest to embodying my cinematic vision.” 4 Furthermore, the women portrayed in King Hu’s films are characterized by their serenity. In crafting the narratives of his martial arts films, King Hu extensively incorporated elements of traditional Chinese opera and music, with a lesser focus on dialogues. Instead, his cinematic storytelling heavily relies on the actresses’ actions, body gestures, and expressive eyes. For instance, King Hu’s films, including Raining in the Mountain, feature numerous scenes of the martial arts lady White Fox and her colleague Jin Suo ( ୐ 揸 Golden Lock), moving fluidly to the accompaniment of drum and gong sounds. In discussing his approach to filmmaking, King Hu acknowledged that Xu Feng’s reticence might stem from his preference for less talkative female characters. 5 Judging from stereotypical gender ideologies, women in traditional patriarchal societies are often disciplined to be obedient and submissive,

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discouraged from voicing their opinions. Women who speak courageously and eloquently are typically criticized as being noisy, annoying, or gossipy; consequently, patriarchal traditions tend to prefer silently speechless women, defining them as “good” women. King Hu likely inherited this patriarchal expectation of women’s wordlessness and silence, tending to minimize his female protagonists’ or actresses’ verbal expressions of their inner thoughts. In King Hu’s cinematic works, the emphasis on women’s physicality underscores their femininity, without the need for lengthy or frequent verbal expression. For example, women in King Hu’s films often communicate through their expressive eyes. Rather than having his female leads speak extensively in the plot, King Hu opts to let them convey their emotions and messages through powerful visual expressions. To transfer these emotions and messages to the audience, his camera intensely focuses on their facial expressions and gazes. At the age of fifteen, Xu Feng (‫ڰ‬㳪 Hsu, Feng) achieved the highest scores in the audition for the female lead in King Hu’s "Dragon Inn" for the United Company. King Hu remarked, “Her eyes are expressive. She was chosen solely because of her expressive eyes.” 6 Although King Hu deliberately created female thieves, ghosts, and martial arts ladies who blur the boundaries between masculinity, femininity, yin, and yang, it is regrettable that his female characters are ultimately confined to traditional biological female characteristics. Female physicality and eroticism in his films still primarily serve to satisfy the male gaze, underscoring a fatal attraction from which lustful men seemingly cannot escape.

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Seductive/Productive Bodies of Women In Raining in the Mountain, the highly respected Buddhist monk, Master Wuwai (㖂‫ࡣי‬㍳), introduces a group of young and attractive girls into the Buddhist temple, causing disturbances among the monks. A scene in the same film depicts meditating monks surrounding a stream where maids bathe naked, ostensibly to test whether the monks can resist their physical desires and sexual urges in the presence of women’s naked bodies. In this context, women are reduced to their mere physicality. In Legend of the Mountain, Yueniang intoxicates He Yunqing (portrayed by Shi Jun) with sexual ecstasy to obtain the Buddhist sutra. This plot point emphasizes the role of female physical and erotic seduction, likened to the Lethean effect, leading He Yunqing to forget his original heroic mission of transcribing the sutra. Despite their portrayal as martial arts experts, the female characters in King Hu’s kung fu films ultimately revert to traditional roles defined by female physicality, regardless of their cross-dressing as men. For example, Yang Huizhen seduces Gu Xingzhai and later becomes a Buddhist nun after giving birth to a child. Regrettably, the film offers no clear exploration of their emotional connection; the heroine appears devoid of romantic love for her sexual partner. From an audience perspective, it is challenging to discern Yang Huizhen’s thoughts after viewing the film. In terms of the narrative's conclusion, Yang Huizhen's giving birth to a son for Gu Xingzhai appears more an act of gratitude towards him and his mother, rather than a pursuit

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of romantic love or familial joy. After exacting revenge on her enemies and expressing her gratitude to those who helped her, she departs, suggesting a lack of erotic love in King Hu’s portrayal of martial arts ladies. The only sexuality present in the narrative is functional, aimed solely at producing an heir. The female body, used as a seductive device, is ultimately portrayed as nothing more than a vessel for childbirth.

Female Bodies Whose Destiny Is Controlled The central theme of King Hu’s narratology in his kung fu movies revolves around moral values such as loyalty, filial piety, ethical diplomacy, and integrity. Although the inclusion of female characters is necessary for the plot, they are not portrayed as indispensable. In fact, they often end up in a state of emptiness by the conclusion of Hu’s cinematic storytelling. For instance, in Legend of the Mountain, Yueniang, powerful with sorcery and evil desires, loses her soul and transforms into dirty water at the end. Similarly, Yang Huizhen in A Touch of Zen and the female thief White Fox in Raining in the Mountain both shave their heads and become nuns in Buddhist temples at the conclusion of the film. Throughout the plot, there is no explanation as to why these two female protagonists make this choice, leaving audiences unsure if it is their own decision or a punishment imposed by patriarchal authorities. White Fox’s case is particularly perplexing. She enjoys freedom in the "jianghu" (㿄࢖) or gangster world, yet is hired to steal a Buddhist sutra for

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a substantial reward. Lacking religious beliefs, her motivation to become a Buddhist nun is unclear. It seems more plausible to interpret this plot twist as a form of admonishment from Buddhist masters, stripping her of her freedom in the gangster world and condemning her to a life of reading sutras in a temple. In King Hu’s martial arts films, women appear unable to determine their own destinies. Their cross-dressing, pregnancy, childbirth, and entrance into religion are all seemingly dictated by men, rather than being choices of their own. The "jianghu" remains a male-dominated patriarchal world, offering little opportunity for women to exercise selfdetermination.

Conclusion: A Touch of Zen King Hu's A Touch of Zen won the Grand Technical Prize at the 28th Cannes International Film Festival, bringing Chinese-language films to global attention and establishing King Hu’s formidable reputation on a worldwide scale. As a leading figure in cinematic martial arts, King Hu set a new milestone and created a legendary legacy for Chinese-language cinema. However, this is not the focus of this article. Instead, this article aims to discuss the portrayal of women in King Hu’s martial arts films from the perspective of female audience members. It highlights the fact that women in King Hu’s films are not the true leading roles. The so-called "heroes" are the "men" whom the women cross-dress to become. Martial arts ladies ultimately revert to their biological roles, giving birth to heirs and

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then vanishing or disappearing. Regardless of whether Yueniang turns into filthy water, or Yang Huizhen and White Fox depart from the ordinary world, these women become invisible to the regular folks by the end of King Hu’s kung fu movies. Interestingly, the English-language title of the film about Yang Huizhen’s story is A Touch of Zen (▲溟䰆۞), rather than a literal translation of its Chinese title, ;LDQ‫ ׮✃( ܄‬Martial Arts Lady). King Hu’s martial arts films typically feature elements such as restaurants/hotels, old temples, bamboo forests, male martial artists, monks, government officials (or eunuchs), knives/swords, martial arts ladies, and scholars. Additionally, these films present a dual value system: the ordinary world, emphasizing didactic moral lessons of loyalty, filial piety, companionship, integrity, swordsmanship, and chivalry, and the Buddhist world, highlighting Zen seclusion and the emptiness of all things. The religious world is portrayed as superior to the ordinary world. This is why the English title of this movie is A Touch of Zen, unrelated to its Chinese title ;LDQ‫܄‬ (✃‫ ׮‬Martial Arts Lady) or to women in general. This choice underscores King Hu's focus on holy benevolence and the Zen principle of renouncing all desires and lusts of the ordinary human world. The martial arts ladies are merely incidental, a sprinkling of fortuitous additions.

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Works Cited Kaplan, Ann (1983) Women and Film: Both Sides of the Camera, New York and London: Methuen. Mulvey, Laura (1975) Visual Pleasure and Narrative Film, reprinted in (1989) Visual and Other Pleasure, London: Macmillan. Partington, Angela (1991) Melodrama's gendered audience, in S. Franklin et. al., eds. Off-Centre: Feminism and Cultural Studies, London: HarperCollins Academic, pp 49-68. Sijia (‫( )Ⱗۃ‬December 26, 2018) “Bei beiying zhijing de ta, shi zhongguo nü yanyuan de ta” (ੴԘ‫䷠ڧ‬ਚ㦞ङ‫ީͫװ‬Иⴚ‫⬔ࢦ׮‬䐘࠸અ؏২ۨ ԅङӁ䷤The Perfect and Successful Role Model for Chinese Actresses Saluted by the Taipei Film Festival): https://www.gushiciku.cn/dc_hk/109807107 (online resources retrieved on March 2, 2022). Stacey, Jackie (1994) Star Gazing: Hollywood Cinema and Female Spectatorship, London; Routledge. Xisheng (٥利) (March 20, 2022) “Xianggang wuxia dongzuo dianying de ‘rou’ yu ‘gang’—cong Dazuixia yu Dubidao tanqi” (௚࢔࠶✃澝⥺ҁ朅 ‫ڧ‬ङ’߰’厠’⤔’—㒡澦‫ם‬懵✃澧厠澦䘹ਖӢ澧寲૜ The “Tenderness” and “hardness” in Hong Kong Martial Arts and Action Films— Discussions from Come Drink with Me and One-Armed Swordsman). Dianying wenxue (朅‫ކڧ‬ㄥ Cinematic Literature): https://movie.douban.com/review/12757517/

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Notes 1

Xisheng (٥利) (March 20, 2022) “Xianggang wuxia dongzuo dianying de ‘rou’

yu ‘gang’—cong Dazuixia yu Dubidao tanqi” (௚࢔࠶✃澝⥺ҁ朅‫ڧ‬ङ’߰’厠’ ⤔’—㒡澦‫ם‬懵✃澧厠澦䘹ਖӢ澧寲૜ The “Tenderness” and “hardness” in Hong Kong Martial Arts and Action Films—Discussions from Come Drink with Me and One-Armed Swordsman). Dianying wenxue (朅‫ކڧ‬ㄥ Cinematic Literature): https://movie.douban.com/review/12757517/ 2 Ibid. 3

Sijia (‫( )Ⱗۃ‬December 26, 2018) “Bei beiying zhijing de ta, shi zhongguo nü

yanyuan de ta” (ੴԘ‫䷠ڧ‬ਚ㦞ङ‫ީͫװ‬Иⴚ‫⬔ࢦ׮‬䐘࠸અ؏২ۨԅङӁ䷤ The Perfect and Successful Role Model for Chinese Actresses Saluted by the Taipei Film Festival): https://www.gushiciku.cn/dc_hk/109807107 (online resources retrieved on March 2, 2022). 4 For details, consult note 1. 5 For details, consult note 3. 6 For details, consult note 2.

CHAPTER FIVE WOMAN IMAGES IN DRAGON INN AND A TOUCH OF ZEN KENG-HSIUNG CHEN, PH.D. In the films of King Hu, such as Dragon Inn and A Touch of Zen, characters Zhu Hui and Yang Hui-zhen embody the archetype of chivalrous women. Zhu Hui, surpassing her brother Zhu Ji in intelligence and strength, assumes a protective role over men by disguising herself as a man, despite her unsophistication and impulsiveness. Yang Hui-zhen, portraying a robust female figure, not only serves as a heroine but also ensures the continuation of the family lineage by bearing a son for Gu Sheng-zhai. Her depiction diverges from conventional masculinist martial arts films, as she exudes a quiet, glamorous, and distant demeanor, coupled with formidable martial arts prowess. Her focus on revenge, disregard for communication with Gu, and neglect of their offspring collectively project an image of unapproachability. Evidently, King Hu’s early films often feature robust female characters with masculine attributes. To facilitate a nuanced appreciation and analysis of King Hu’s films, this study, employing DanielHenri Pageaux’s imagology methodology, engages in a textual analysis of female representations in Dragon Inn and A Touch of Zen, exploring aspects

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such as the word, the hierarchical relationship, and the scenario. The findings underscore that the portrayal of women as chivalrous figures within specific temporal and spatial contexts serves to highlight gender distinctions and challenge entrenched stereotypes, thereby contributing to a deeper understanding of gender roles. In King Hu’s cinematic works, the characters Zhu Hui in Dragon Inn and Yang Hui-zhen in A Touch of Zen both manifest as valiant women, confronting adversaries characterized as eunuchs and thereby challenging conventional portrayals of female figures. Aged twenty-two, Zhu Hui exhibits prowess in martial arts and combat skills, having engaged in warfare alongside her father and brother since childhood. Persistently attired in male garments, her masculine guise introduces an element of amusement to the narrative. Beyond her attire, Zhu Hui must emulate masculine behavior, excelling in martial arts and even partaking in activities traditionally associated with men, such as drinking. Her mission revolves around safeguarding the offspring of a loyal minister. Notably, Zhu Hui surpasses her elder brother Zhu Ji in both intellect and power, the latter being characterized by bravery and recklessness. Adopting a male guise, she assumes the role of a guardian for men, despite her unpolished and impulsive nature. Regarding Yang Hui-zhen, she takes refuge in an ancient mansion, biding her time for an opportunity to avenge her father. Aged twenty-two, she possesses exceptional talent, maturity, and proficiency in both

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calligraphy and swordsmanship. Her father, Yang Lian, served as a significant minister of the Donglin Party during the Ming Dynasty. Due to his opposition to the courtier’s dictatorship, he was falsely accused by a eunuch, leading to the execution of his entire family. Yang Hui-zhen and her old maid managed to escape, residing in seclusion in a foreign land. Under the alias Zhi-yun, Hui-zhen awaits a chance to eradicate the malevolent forces responsible for her family’s tragedy. Yang Hui-zhen’s portrayal as a resilient woman is unequivocal. Beyond her role as a heroine, she bears a son for Gu Sheng-zhai, ensuring the continuity of the family line. Her depiction deviates from the archetypal female characters in martial arts films that emphasize masculinity. Displaying reticence, allure, and aloofness, coupled with formidable martial arts skills, she remains solely focused on vengeance, eschewing communication with Gu and neglecting her offspring. This renders her an unapproachable figure. Evidently, the female characters in King Hu’s early works often embody robust women with distinctly masculine traits. To foster a nuanced understanding and critical analysis of films written and directed by King Hu, this paper employs the imagological methodology of Daniel-Henri Pageaux, a distinguished French comparatist scholar. The objective is to delve into the portrayal of female characters in Dragon Inn and A Touch of Zen through a text analysis encompassing three dimensions: the word [le mot], the hierarchical relationship [la relation hiérachisée], and the scenario [le scénario]. Pageaux asserts that a comprehensive examination

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of the text serves as the cornerstone for image studies. While traditional intrinsic approaches are descriptive, contemporary methodologies incorporate structuralist and semiotic principles, emphasizing the synergy of intrinsic and extrinsic investigations. Pageaux further categorizes the intrinsic study into three levels: the word, the hierarchical relationship, and the scenario. The analysis of words involves exploring the locational markers, temporal references, intrinsic and extrinsic character descriptions, as well as the nomenclature of individuals and places. Additionally, it scrutinizes the transformation of a word into an adjective. Words from a specific period or cultural context can effectively convey the images of characters and settings. When integrated into a text, these words coalesce to form a repository of concepts and emotions, belonging to both the creators and the audience. This analytical framework enables a comprehensive examination of the nuanced portrayal of female figures in King Hu’s films, shedding light on the intricate interplay between language, imagery, and cultural representations. In examining hierarchical relations within a text, a pivotal approach involves discerning oppositions inherent in its structure, particularly the dichotomies between the self-narrator-native culture and the othercharacters-described culture. This analysis extends to the categorization of place and time, the character system, and presentations imbued with anthropological significance. A specific focus is often directed towards the analysis of place categories, such as North versus South, city versus

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countryside, distant versus familiar … (nord vs sud, ville vs compagne, lointain vs familier…) as elucidated by Pageaux (146). He elaborates further: Dans le detail, on s’efforcera de pénétrer les principles de distribution des éléments spatiaux, les lieux valorisés (seuil, frontier, faille, éminence…), les zones investies de valeurs positives ou negatives, tout ce qui permet la symbolization de l’espace (ce que d’autres appelleraient la de l’espace). L’imagologies ici aboutit à une topologie généralisée et différentielle. (Pageaux 147) In detail, we try hard to penetrate the principles of distribution of spatial elements, valued sites (threshold, frontier, fault, hill ...), the invested areas of positive or negative values, while allowing the symbolization of space (what others would call the “sacred” space). The imagology here leads to a widespread and differential topology.

It is crucial to delve into the process of organizing or reorganizing foreign spaces. Regarding the temporal dimension, Pageaux underscores the significance of the opposition between euphoric organization and dysphoric organization. He states, “For time and for space, the opposition of the euphoric organization versus dysphoric organization is quite fundamental” (“Pour le temps comme pour l’espace, l’opposition organisation euphorique vs organisation dysphorique est tout à fait fondamentale”) (Pageaux 147). When scrutinizing the portrayal of a foreign country, the temporal aspect may entail a mythical dimension that transcends precise

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temporal limitations. Pageaux categorizes the character system into various oppositions, encompassing distinctions between barbarian and civilized, the savage and the cultured, human beings and animalized human beings, man and woman, adults and children, and the superior and the inferior (sauvage vs civilisé, barbare vs cultivé, homme vs animal [être humain animalisé], homme vs femme, adulte vs enfant [Je est adulte, l’Autre est l’enfant…], être supérieur vs être inférieur) (Pageaux 148). Additionally, he explores presentations with anthropological significance, including arts, religions, costumes, music, diets, and more (“religion, cuisine, vêtement, musique, etc”) (Pageaux 148). Through the meticulous examination of words and hierarchical relations, these oppositions contribute to the development of images, themes, sequences, and scenes within the narrative. In conclusion, the consideration of the scenario involves not only the relationship between the text and its context but also the connection between the typical text and the social imaginary. Scenarios seamlessly integrate into the fabric of a text, becoming an integral and cohesive element within the narrative as a whole. This dynamic interaction between scenarios and the textual landscape underscores their significance in bridging the gap between literary representation and the broader social and cultural imagination. In terms of words, Zhu Hui in Dragon Inn emerges as a witty and composed woman, proficient in the art of wine consumption and attentive to her brother. During a dinner gathering with a group of men, she

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confidently proposes a toast, stating, “Let me toast you guys” [wo jing nimen jiwei yibei ۩㦞҂✰㎹ѹ▲ߞ]. The choice of the word “toast” [jing 㦞] implies her capacity to partake in wine-drinking. When her brother becomes excited about the prospect of imbibing a glass of poisonous wine, she intervenes. He, in turn, informs the others that she “controls me in all respects” [chuchu guan zhe wo 垰垰঒ੋ۩]. The term “control” [guan ঒] signifies her capability to care for her brother and exercise influence over him. As they prepare for bed, she suggests he sleep on the ground, possibly perceiving the bed as more precarious. In response, he acknowledges, “You have numerous clever ideas” [nide guizhuyi ke zhenduo a ҂ङ௦П۞Օ ऱ‫]֍ך‬, highlighting her clever and resourceful nature. In a skirmish with Xiao Shao-zi, who unintentionally touches her bosom, Zhu Hui’s gender is revealed when he exclaims, “You are female” [ni shi nüde ҂ީ‫׮‬ङ]. The use of the term “female” [nüde ‫׮‬ङ] directly underscores that Zhu Hui, despite her masculine attire, is unequivocally a woman. In the context of hierarchical relationships, the narrative unfolds at the Dragon Inn, situated during the Ming Dynasty in the year 1457 CE. The inn, bearing a commonplace name in ancient times, serves as a modest accommodation facility, reflecting the challenges of travel during an era predominantly characterized by walking. Due to poor traffic conditions, the inn caters to diverse needs—some travelers stop for refreshments, some lodge temporarily, and others partake in noodle meals. The Dragon Inn, though diminutive, maintains a reputation for cleanliness, yet the overnight

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gathering of various forces hints at potential intrigue. The upright manager of the inn, Wu Ning, a former subordinate of Yu Qian, transforms the establishment into a symbol of resistance against malevolent forces. When it comes to the temporal context, the story unfolds in the fifteenth century, a period witnessing the gradual decline of the once-magnificent Ming Dynasty. This era is marked by the dominance of eunuchs in positions of power, leading to the persecution of loyal individuals. A widespread purge of virtuous court officials has commenced nationwide, inducing widespread panic among the populace. The convergence of these hierarchical elements—centered around the Dragon Inn and set against the backdrop of the declining Ming Dynasty—provides a platform to depict women in the roles of chivalrous figures. This specific temporal and spatial context serves to emphasize gender distinctions and challenge traditional stereotypes, illustrating the resilience of women against the societal upheavals of the time. With regard to the characters, the narrative unfolds through the lenses of man versus woman, brother versus sister, and the overarching theme of good versus evil. Firstly, Zhu Hui, despite being a woman, assumes a male guise proficient in martial arts to engage in combat with adversaries, concealing her femininity until Xiao Shao-zi inadvertently discovers her true gender. This revelation underscores the inherent differences between men and women, emphasizing that Zhu Hui cannot fully dissociate herself from her female identity.

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Secondly, the traditional Chinese saying “The eldest brother is the father, and the elder sister-in-law is the mother” implies that the eldest sibling carries familial responsibilities, including caring for and educating younger siblings. Contrary to this norm, Zhu Hui in the movie consistently reminds and cares for her elder brother. Her intellectual acumen and martial prowess surpass his. For instance, during a toast, when Xiao Shao-zi hands her a note, she calmly holds it and discreetly reads it. Strategically, just as her brother is about to drink, she touches him, causing the poisonous wine to spill on his arms. Thirdly, the overarching conflict between good and evil unfolds through the machinations of Cao Shaoqin, the eunuch of Dongchang, who fears retaliation from Yu Qian’s descendants. Dongchang is dispatched to intercept and eliminate them en route to the border, while Yu’s former subordinates, including Ye Hui-an, Zhu Ji, Zhu Hui, and Xiao Shao-zi, covertly protect them. The climax of this conflict occurs in a store in the mountain gorge outside the frontier fortress, where the two factions engage in a fierce battle. Ultimately, Yu’s children are rescued and find refuge in the mountains, marking a pivotal moment in the struggle between good and evil. From an anthropological standpoint, this movie delves into aspects of diet, costume, and Chinese martial arts, providing insights into cultural practices. Firstly, the film highlights the significance of eating and drinking wine in Eastern culture. Oriental wine, beyond its qualities of taste, serves

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as a means of relaxation and joy, frequently featured at gatherings where people drink to enhance the festive atmosphere. The choice of beverages often carries symbolic meanings of “love” and “righteousness.” Wine serves not only to alleviate the day’s fatigue but also as a tool and medium for emotional communication. Eastern culinary practices often involve the use of wine or its substitution for tea, emphasizing the integral connection between wine and social events, ranging from weddings and spring celebrations to year-end parties and Chinese New Year festivities. Offering a cup of wine is a customary way to warm both the stomach and the heart. Additionally, the film portrays the Eastern tradition of “urging somebody to drink,” a unique custom that contrasts with the Western practice of selfdrinking. Pouring wine is a gesture of enthusiasm and welcome, and guests are encouraged to drink generously to demonstrate appreciation for the host’s hospitality. Chinese hospitality reaches its zenith during banquets, where toasting becomes a vehicle for emotional communication. The act of toasting reflects the host’s desire for the guest to consume more wine, symbolizing the fulfillment of friendship. The guest’s enthusiastic consumption is seen as an expression of admiration, while abstaining may cause the host to feel embarrassed. Secondly, the movie explores the theme of women dressing as men. The protagonist, Zhu Hui, adopts masculine attire, providing insights into the typical clothing styles of men during that historical period. Thirdly, Chinese martial arts, or kung fu, play a pivotal role in the film. Recognizable on a global scale, these martial arts are

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presented through unique action sequences characteristic of action movies, effectively engaging Western audiences and encapsulating profound Chinese cultural connotations. In the context of the scenario, the narrative unfolds during the midMing Dynasty, with Yu Qian, a loyal and upright minister of war, falling victim to false accusations and being executed by the malevolent and powerful eunuch, Cao. This nefarious figure dispatches assassins from Dongchang, the espionage agency, to carry out the murder of Yu’s three children, who have been sentenced to exile at the border Dragon Gate. Despite the grave danger, Cao’s sinister plan is thwarted due to the covert protection provided by a righteous swordsman named Xiao, along with Yu’s former subordinates. Among them is Zhu Ji, whose sister is Zhu Hui. The pivotal confrontation takes place at the Dragon Inn, where the two factions engage in a fierce battle. Ultimately, the eunuch meets his demise, and Yu’s children are successfully rescued from the clutches of danger. The storyline vividly portrays Zhu Hui as a courageous and astute character, embodying traits of bravery and intelligence in the face of adversity. Her role in this scenario reflects her resilience and capability in navigating the intricate web of political intrigue and danger during the tumultuous times of the midMing Dynasty. As far as the words are concerned, Yang Hui-zhen in A Touch of Zen is courageous, poor, helpless, romantic, independent, and reclusive. First, after Gu Sheng-zhai’s mother introduces Yang Hui-zhen to him, he says, “This

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woman is really courageous” [zhe nühai danzi ke zhenbuxiao a 悤‫׮‬؇卜 ‫׿‬ՕऱЉ‫]֍ش‬. The word “courageous” [danzi ke zhenbuxiao 卜‫׿‬Օऱ Љ‫ ]ش‬reveals that she is so courageous that she dare to live in an abandoned house alone. Second, Gu’s mother tells him that “the family is so poor that they have nothing” [jialia qiongde a shenme du meiyou ‫؟‬娝䳪‫֍ڱ‬э溁 ୃ㿮߄]. The word “poor” [qiong 䳪] proclaims that she is really poor; according to Gu’s mother, she is too poor to have needles and threads. Third, Gu’s mother tells him that “Miss Yang and her mother are helpless” [tamen niangliang wuyi wukao de ѕ✰⿒✦䐘҉䐘ழङ]. The word “helpless” [wuyi wukao 䐘҉䐘ழ] signifies that they really need help. Fourth, one night when Gu meets Miss Yang at her place, she is so romantic that she plays the Chinese zither and sings a song. After that, they consummate. The song she sings originates from one of the poems by Li Bai, one of the most significant poets in the Tang Dynasty in China. Two lines of the lyrics, “We have fun together when we are awake. We will scatter when we are drunk” [xingshi tong jiaohuan zuihou ge fensan ୉㩌գс㻤ͫ懵㒑՟ӣ‫]ށ‬, signify that Li Bai, the moon, and the shadow are happy with their companions when they are sober, but they are separated from each other after they are intoxicated, so Li Bai returns to the lonely state again. She is so independent that she enjoys their romance but never imagines a longterm relationship. Fifth, after a monk places an infant on the rock in the valley, Gu discovers it with a note that says, “I have entered the monastery. The Gu family has its heir” [nieyuan yijin guiyi kongmen gushi xiangyan

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mianyan bujue ㄪ俩ٝ䥭 䤡҉ॱ於 桠ࡆ௚䑍 俅‫ڍ‬Љ佛]. The sentence “I have entered the monastery” [guiyi kongmen 䤡҉ॱ於] underscores Miss Yang’s preference for a reclusive life over the establishment of a family with Gu. Concerning the hierarchical relationships within a historical context, the setting is situated in an abandoned village during the year 1457 C.E. within the Ming Dynasty. Specifically, the locale is identified as Jinglu Fort [jinglu tunbao 杙㐔㇘‫]ׅ‬, wherein Yang resides in a dilapidated residence known as Jingyuan General’s Mansion [jingyuan jiangjun fu 杙惠ㆊ徑‫]ڄ‬, the majority of which has experienced structural collapse, and the surrounding yard is strewn with debris and knee-high vegetation. Despite the mansion’s state of disrepair, its grand architectural form remains discernible. Temporally, the events transpire in the early 17th century, approaching the conclusion of the Ming Dynasty. During this period, Yang Hui-zhen’s father, Yang Lian, a prominent figure in the Donglin Party, authored a missive denouncing the authoritarian rule of internal officials. Consequently, he became ensnared in a conspiracy orchestrated by influential eunuchs, leading to the persecution and execution of his entire family. The character’s systems revolve around various dichotomies: man versus woman, mother versus child, good versus evil, and worldly versus unworldly. Firstly, Yang Hui-zhen, embodying the feminine, demonstrates martial prowess in her confrontations, providing a visible expression of her

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femininity. She is always bound to her female identity. Secondly, Gu, a man in his thirties facing financial hardship, rejects marriage and parenthood despite his mother’s aspirations for him to partake in the imperial examination for an official position. Thirdly, the narrative introduces Yang and her old maid, refugees hiding in a mansion. Her father, a loyal official, is slain by the nefarious eunuch of East Chamber, who dispatches guards to chase her and other loyal generals. Lastly, Yang embraces an unworldly life after following the monk, Master Huiyuan, renouncing worldly ties. This transition marks her departure from mundane existence to a life characterized by spiritual detachment. From an anthropological standpoint, this film showcases elements such as costume, medicinal practices, music, Chinese martial arts, forging, and weaving. These aspects are intricately designed by King Hu, contributing to the distinctive features observed in the movie: Every scene, every picture and even every detail of King Hu’s movies are all carefully designed and have a long charm. The gestures, eyes, and postures of the characters, as well as clothing, props, accessories, and so on, mostly have their expressive functions. (Chen 254)

Firstly, Yang Hui-zhen, embodying a chivalrous spirit, typically dons white attire and carries a short knife at her waist, a departure from the conventional images associated with ordinary women. Secondly, Yang Huizhen’s preparation of a decoction for Gu’s ailing mother showcases her knowledge of medicinal practices and underscores her considerate nature in

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caring for others. Thirdly, during an evening encounter when Miss Yang invites Mr. Gu to her boudoir, she demonstrates her musical prowess by playing the zither and singing a song. This highlights her proficiency in musical arts. Fourthly, having acquired Chinese martial arts skills from Master Huiyuan, she adeptly employs kung fu to repel adversaries consistently. Fifthly, she exhibits the ability to forge metal into weapons. Lastly, she displays skill in weaving cloth, showcasing a diverse range of capabilities beyond traditional expectations. Various aspects of Yang Hui-zhen’s character are obvious throughout the scenarios depicted in A Touch of Zen, portraying her as a victim, an appreciative individual, indifferent, and devout. Initially, she and her mother, acting as refugees, are discovered seeking refuge in a mansion. Tragically, her father, a loyal official, falls victim to a malevolent eunuch, leading to Yang and fellow loyal generals being pursued by guards dispatched by the eunuch. This establishes her identity as a victimized refugee. Subsequently, she and her mother find sanctuary in an abandoned house, where Gu Sheng-zai, a neighbor, extends support and care. In gratitude for his kindness, she spends a night with him, aiming to reciprocate his benevolence. Her deep sense of gratitude compels her to earnestly repay his kindness. Thirdly, she departs from Gu without bidding farewell, clandestinely gives birth to their child, and later presents the infant to him. In her role as a mother, she displays indifference, showing little concern for the child’s future. Eventually, an esteemed monk covertly aids Yang in her

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quest to combat malevolence, subsequently guiding her to embrace monastic life, thus transcending worldly grievances. Devoting herself to the monk’s teachings, Yang exhibits profound religious commitment. Following these events, guards reappear, engaging in intense conflicts with righteous individuals. Master Huiyuan intervenes, imparting lessons to the guards, sustaining injuries from a cunning adversary. Despite his injuries, Master Huiyuan valiantly strives to eliminate the villain, ultimately succumbing in the pursuit of justice. In conclusion, the formation of distinct character images is significantly influenced by specific temporal and spatial contexts. The prevalence of eunuch rule during the Ming Dynasty resulted in egregious actions, inevitably sparking opposition. In the context of a dichotomy between good and evil, combat scenes become an inherent component. Conspicuously, the uniqueness of these two films lies in the presence of two female warriors— one intentionally adopting a male disguise, and the other not. Zhu Hui, attired in men’s clothing, purposefully projects masculine attributes and martial prowess, exhibiting superior intelligence compared to her elder brother. Throughout the narrative, her character diverges from conventional portrayals of women. Similarly, Yang Hui-zhen assumes the role of a martial arts heroine, embodying both masculine and feminine qualities rooted in traditional ideals. She transitions between traditional familial roles and that of a chivalrous woman seeking retribution for her father’s murder. In contrast to Zhu Hui, her character undergoes a more intricate and diverse

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transformation. Ultimately, her character shifts from a familial role to a religious one, choosing to forsake secular life by converting to Buddhism and becoming a nun, thereby abandoning her family. From an anthropological perspective, Dragon Inn explores dietary habits, attire, and Chinese martial arts, whereas A Touch of Zen delves into costume, medication, music, Chinese martial arts, forging, and weaving. In these two costume action films, the portrayal of swordswomen with exceptional kung fu skills challenges conventional depictions of delicate women sheltered in a patriarchal milieu. Zhu Hui, characterized by righteousness, wit, and composure, contrasts with Yang Hui-zhen, who exudes vengefulness and otherworldliness through her sharp and intense gaze. Both characters exhibit bravery, determination, introspection, independence, and a protective instinct toward men, challenging traditional stereotypes of women and prompting a reconsideration of their contemporary roles and status.

Works Cited Chen, Mo (暒‫( )׎‬2006) Bainian dianying shanhui घ‫ٶ‬朅‫ڧ‬斿֛ [Film Retrospect of a Century]. Taipei: Storm & Stress (梏曾㩌ї). Pageaux, Daniel-Henri (1989) “De l’imagerie culturelle á l’imaginaire.” Précis de littérature comparée. Pierre Brunel and Yves Chevrel edt. Paris: University Press of France, 133-161.

CHAPTER SIX CULTURAL TRANSLATION AND SUBTITLING NORMS: FOCUSING ON THE TAIWAN FILM AND AUDIOVISUAL INSTITUTE’S SUBTITLING GUIDELINES ALBERT F. S. PAI, PH.D. This chapter intends to underscore cultural translation within the subtitling norms of the Taiwan Film and Audiovisual Institute (TFAI). It scrutinizes the TFAI English subtitling style guide (TFAI 2019a), which regulates the subtitling practice of its cinematic productions, including the films that TFAI restored into digital formats. This study introduces cultural translation and subtitling norms in the literature of translation studies. The discussion covers the TFAI’s subtitling norms by comparing its English style guide with that of Netflix, a prominent benchmark in the subtitling industry, from technical, linguistic-semiotic, and cultural perspectives. The comparison highlights the significant role of the broader cultural context in shaping the subtitling norms in both cases. While TFAI has embraced some of Netflix’s conventions, still its subtitling norms exhibit several distinctive features: (1) providing guidance on subtitling to address culture-related

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challenges, (2) proposing the minimalist approach in rendering culturespecific information, (3) demonstrating agency in the multi-layered norm structure, and (4) displaying a relatively extrospective orientation. Undoubtedly, TFAI has made significant efforts to enhance cross-cultural understanding by taking cultural considerations into their subtitling guidelines. Hopefully, this study will enrich our understanding of professional subtitling and elevate the prominence of cultural translation in our appreciation and research of films delivered across cultural-linguistic boundaries. Cultural translation, or cross-cultural translation, is a concept that has been widely discussed in translation studies, such as Bassnett (2003), Hermans (2003), and Buden et al. (2009). Susan Bassnett (2003: 13) asserts that the onset of the cultural turn in translation studies can be traced back to the publication of the edited book Translation, History and Culture (Bassnett and Lefevere 1990) in the late 1980s. In that book, the two editors advocated turning to the broader cultural context of the source text and the target culture instead of focusing on the faithfulness of language transfer, and they encouraged importing cultural studies into the thriving field of translation studies. Lawrence Venuti (1993, 1995, 1998), an influential scholar on cultural turn, initiates a debate between the two polarized concepts: domestication, i.e., taking the writer to the reader, and foreignization. i.e., taking the reader to the writer. He criticizes that prioritizing fluency and naturalness in

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translation risks damaging the readers’ appreciation of what is foreign and minoritizing the source culture. According to Koskinen (2012), Venuti’s foreignization stands for anything that can cause the reader to pause and be aware of the foreign nature of the translation. Foreignization is similar to defamiliarization or ostranenie that Russian formalists have advocated in the arts field. Venuti (1998) talks more about resistant translation than foreignization in later years. The debate surrounding the concepts of foreignization and domestication goes beyond the scope of this article. Still, it is valuable to heed that translation scholars have different attitudes towards transferring lexical items from the source language and culture that do not have equivalent references in the target culture. In literature, the concept of norms has been discussed by a good number of scholars, including Toury (1995/2012, 2000), Hermans (1996, 2000, 2013), Chesterman (1997, 2004), Schäffner (1999), and Kenny (1999). According to Hermans (2013: 4264), norms refer to “the individuals’ decision making by foreclosing certain options” and “a problem-solving device by offering ready-made templates for action.” In other words, norms regulate human behavior, including the decisions made by subtitlers. Furthermore, he points out that conventions are weaker forms of constraints compared with norms, but they might eventually be accepted as norms if they stand the test of time. Subtitling norms govern professional subtitling and further play a crucial role in the pedagogy and evaluation of subtitling in academia

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(Ivarsson and Carroll 1998; Díaz-Cintas and Remael 2007; Lertola 2015). In the realm of professional subtitling, various institutions may have unique subtitling norms, but they tend to assimilate each other as they evolve over time. According to Pedersen (2018: 86), the subtitling norms for audiovisual products in different countries have become more harmonious and international than they used to be because the market forces have changed the landscape of translation. Another reason is the fact that the Genesis files, i.e., the pre-spotted intralingual subtitle files used in the United States, have been widely accepted as the template in the subtitling practice. Cultural translation has been a popular subject in the literature related to subtitling norms. For example, Pederson (2007a, 2007b, 2011, 2018) investigates the transfer of cultural references in the subtitles of televisual productions between Swedish and other Scandinavian languages. Altahri (2013) explores how cultural references were addressed in subtitling the Harry Potter movies from English into Arabic. Omer and Aminzadeh (2023) examine the subtitling strategies used to transfer cultural references in the film Scent of a Woman (Brest 1992) from English into Kurdish. Since the inception of the cultural turn, the term ‘cultural translation’ 1 has been used in different ways. The various usages of the term can be categorized into the following two definitions: (1) In a broader sense, cultural translation refers to taking the wider cultural context in the source and target cultures into account when studying or conducting translation.

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(2) In a narrower sense, cultural translation means the rendering of the lexical items from the source language and/or culture that do have explicitly equivalent references in the target language and/or culture.

Considering that the cultural context is central to the concept of cultural translation, the author has chosen to adopt the first definition of the term for this study. However, the decision does not imply the exclusion of cultural translation in the narrower sense because it has been encompassed within the scope of the first definition. Further to the previous discussion about Venuti’s foreignization, it might be interesting to examine whether subtitling norms encourage the subtitles that allow the audience to pause in reading subtitles when they are displayed on the screen. Moreover, with the concepts of cultural translation and subtitling norms in mind, the author wonders whether or not the elements of cultural translation can be found in the subtitling norms observed by TFAI and what they can tell us about the role of cultural translation in the task of subtitling Taiwan’s early films into English across cultural-linguistic boundaries. TFAI is the single legal administrative entity in Taiwan responsible for preserving Taiwanese and Mandarin Chinese audiovisual productions. Its missions include conducting the preservation, research, and education about Taiwan’s televisual-cinematic productions and improving the accessibility of the cultural legacy to the public (TFAI 2023). Since 2008, TFAI has been dedicated to the digitalization and digital restoration of Taiwan’s early films.

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Until 2022, it has preserved over 18,000 movies in 35-mm nitrate films, has digitalized 324 movies with high-level scanners, and has restored and digitalized 95 Taiwan’s early movies (Lee 2022).

Comparison of the Style Guides The subtitling norms of an institution can be examined in the style guide it provides for subtitlers. The TFAI Style Guide for English Subtitling, Typing and Proofreading 2 (TFAI 2019a), which will hereafter be called the TFAI English Style Guide or the TFAI style guide, has been followed by the interlingual subtitlers working on TFAI’s outsourced commissions. Thus, this study will focus on examining this style guide and discuss the elements related to cultural translation therein. In the belief that a thorough appreciation of the subtitling norms could be achieved through a comparative analysis of two similar documents, and, considering that Netflix’s subtitling standard has been acknowledged as an industry benchmark, the author decided to compare TFAI’s (2019a) and Netflix’s (2023) English subtitling style guide. Netflix’s document is broken down into a section about the subtitles for the deaf and hard of hearing (SDH), and the section about English subtitles for non-English language content. The author has selected the TFAI English Style Guide and the second part of Netflix’s English subtitling style guide, unless otherwise stated, for comparison. The following comparison consists of the technical, linguistic-semiotic, and cultural dimensions.

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Technical Dimension To enhance the readability of data, the author has collated and organized different subtitling constraints into three tables. Each table shows the full text or the gist of the original instructions in the two documents in a particular dimension, which comprises several relevant aspects. The information from the TFAI English Style Guide (TFAI 2019a) was translated by the author. An abbreviation system has been designed to pinpoint the source of instructions for each aspect. ‘TE’ stands for the TFAI English Style Guide (TFAI 2019a), and ‘NE’ refers to Netflix’s (2023) English subtitling guidance. The document symbols are followed by the numbers of the subsections in the documents and further followed by the subsection titles. In the technical dimension, the aspects investigated include (1) font style, (2) font color, (3) font size, (4) characters limit per line, (5) line limit per subtitle, (6) principles for two-line subtitles, and (7) reading speed. As shown in Table 1, both TFAI and Netflix accept the Arial style and the white color, but they both acknowledge the possibility of using other font styles and colors. Netflix uses Consolas as the regular on-screen font type (Design Your Way 2021), which is adjustable on different screens. TFAI uses modern software in their digital restoration, so font style should be of little concern for both institutions. TFAI does not specify any requirements for font size, whereas Netflix provides flexible guidance on the maximum number of characters. This could imply that TFAI allows for

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Aspects (1) Font style

TFAI (2019a) Sans-Serif or Arial (TE1Font)

(2) Font color

White in principle. Yellow and black can be used when words in white color are not clearly visible. (TE1-Font) None

(3) Font size

(4) Character limit per line

(5) Line limit per subtitle

x One-line subtitle: maximum 42 characters. x Two-line subtitles: maximum 72 characters for the subtitle. If all characters in the two-line subtitle are capitalized, limit the character number per line to 30. x Punctuations and spaces are included in the above limits. (TE6) Maximum two lines. Most subtitles should be one-line. (TE6-Character Number)

Netflix (2023) “Arial as a generic placeholder for proportional SansSerif” (NE2-9-Font Information) White (NE2-9-Font Information)

“Relative to video resolution and ability to fit 42 characters across screen” (NE2-9-Font Information) 42 characters per line (NE23-Characterer Limitation)

“Maximum two lines”; “Text should usually be kept to one line, unless it exceeds the character limitation.” (NE2-13-Line Treatment)

Cultural Translation and Subtitling Norms (6) Principles for two-line subtitles

x Use one subtitle for one dialogue exchange if possible. x Use a double slash (‘//’) in red to break a subtitle. A line break should not divide a semantic unit. x Preferably, make a trapezium with a broader base at the bottom. (TE6Character Number)

(7) Reading speed

x Watch the video with the subtitles. Examine whether the subtitle speed is on par with the aural rate. Condense the subtitles if they are too long. (TE6Character Number)

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x “Prefer a bottom-heavy pyramid shape for subtitles when multiple line break options present themselves, but avoid having just one or two words on the top line.” x A line should be broken after punctuation marks, before conjunctions, and before prepositions. x A line should not be broken between a noun and an article; a noun and an adjective; a first name and a last name; a verb and a subject pronoun; a prepositional verb and its preposition; a verb and an auxiliary, reflexive pronoun or negation. (NE2-13-Line Treatment) x “Adult programs: 20 characters per second” x “Children’s programs: 17 characters per second” (NE2-17-Reading Speed)

Table 1: Comparison in the technical dimension

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changing font size in post-production, and that Netflix shows its awareness of the capability of modern screen-based technology. Regarding the number of characters per line, TFAI provides more specific requirements than Netflix, including the maximum number of characters for one-line and two-line subtitles, plus the maximum number of characters when a two-line subtitle is entirely capitalized. These have implicitly taken the audience’s reading speed into account. Both institutions set the maximum lines per subtitle at two, echoing Pedersen’s (2018) observation about the harmonization of norms across institutions. Nonetheless, Netflix’s requirements are more specific, elaborating on the locations where a line break should or should not be added. The subtitling industry has adopted the reading speed requirement for many years, for example, BBC’s (2022) guideline for intralingual subtitles. A famous study by d’Ydewalle et al. (1987) indicates the existence of the ‘six-second rule,’ which means that the audience can comfortably read a two-line subtitle containing 37 characters in each line within six seconds. A shorter duration does not provide the audience sufficient time to obtain information in the subtitle, and a longer duration could unnecessarily trigger the audience’s re-reading. In other words, the audience can comfortably read about 12 characters per second or 148 words per minute, assuming each word has five characters. TFAI’s guidance lacks a high degree of specificity regarding the reading speed of subtitles; instead, TFAI relies on subtitlers to re-watch and make their sensible judgments. In contrast, Netflix provides

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specific guidelines for maximum reading speed for adult and children’s programs respectively. Regarding technicality, both institutions’ subtitling norms are similar in many aspects. However, the TFAI style guide shows a lower level of specificity in several cases. This tendency is likely to reveal their disparate economic status. Netflix is a global media enterprise and can afford subtitling rates higher than the market average. Netflix’s (2016) vendor rate card quotes the subtitling rate at $11 per minute for the origination of Chinese audio into English. Chen (2019: 185) also corroborates that American enterprises usually pay qualified subtitlers the highest rates in the market. In contrast, TFAI would have offered a lower subtitling rate given its objectives of preserving cultural legacy instead of making profits. The subtitlers with insufficient income cannot afford expensive professional subtitling software, such as WinCAPS Q4 (BroadStream 2022), which can compute and provide the exact reading speed of each subtitle. In other words, without specific reading speed requirements, TFAI tends to give subtitlers more freedom in making their sensible judgments according to their experience. The technical dimension of subtitling is usually not regarded as a domain where cultural translation would be at play. However, the larger socio-economic context in which the two institutions are embedded still has an impact in shaping the institutional culture, which further conditions the technical conventions followed by subtitlers.

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Linguistic-Semiotic Dimension The linguistic-semiotic dimension involves the interplay between language and the visual or aural channel. The dimension encompasses several aspects, including (1) proper nouns, (2) dialogue, (3) numbers, (4) off-screen sounds and narration, (5) on-screen text, and (6) songs. Aspects (1) Proper nouns

TFAI (2019a) x Provides the resources for the transliteration of Chinese names into English. x Directly quotes Netflix’s requirement on how to subtitle nicknames. Illustrates the requirement with examples. x Suggests transliteration when dealing with terms containing cultural meanings and free translation when dealing with semantically meaningful terms. (TE4Name Translation) x Explains how to present the English names of the staff and the cast. (TE3Cast List) x Specifies the format of presenting the names of subtitlers and proofreaders in the closing credits. (TE27Credits for Subtitlers or Proofreaders)

Netflix (2023) x “Do not translate proper names unless Netflix provides approved translations.” x “Nicknames should only be translated if they convey a specific meaning.” x “Use language-specific translations for historical/mythical characters (e.g., Santa Claus).” x Specifies the presentation of Korean and Chinese names in English. (NE2-4Character Names) x Use accents and diacritics in names and proper nouns as they appear in the source language. x Transliterate uncommon or unfamiliar letters/characters in names or proper nouns if they could cause problems in understanding or pronunciation. (NE2-11Foreign Dialogue) x “Proper names, such as locations, vessels names or company names, should not be italicized.” (NE2-12Italics)

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(2) Dialogue

x For fast dialogue, present a pair of dialogue exchanges in one line using full-width and halfwidth spaces and halfwidth dashes. A fullwidth space should be inserted between dialogue exchanges, and a half-width space should be added between the dash and the words. x If the speaker’s language shows hesitance or suspension, break a sentence into two and use an ellipsis. x Quotes Netflix’s instructions in an older version of the English style guide. 3 (TE7Dialogue between Two People)

x Do not use ellipses between two continuous subtitles when the pause is less than 2 seconds. Use ellipses when pausing is longer than 2 seconds or if dialogue trails off. x “Use two hyphens to indicate abrupt interruptions.” x “Use ellipses followed by a space when there is a significant pause or hesitation within a subtitle.” x “Use an ellipsis without a space at the start of a subtitle to indicate that a subtitle is starting midsentence.” (NE2-5Continuity)

(3) Numbers

x Paraphrases Netflix’s guidance as shown on the right-hand side. x Spell out non-precise large numbers but keeping precise large numbers as Arabic numerals. (TE12Numbers)

(4) Off-screen sounds and narration

x Always use italics for narrations, characters’ monologues, and radio sounds. (TE11-Offscreen Sounds and Voice-Over)

x “From 1 to 10, numbers should be written out.” x “Above 10, numbers should be written numerically.” x “When a number begins a sentence, it should always be spelled out.” x Illustrates the presentation of numbers and words when referring to times of a day. (NE2-14-Numbers) x “Avoid going back and forth between italicized and non-italicized subtitles when the speaker is on and off screen in a documentary. If the speaker is on-camera for at least

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x

(5) On-screen text

x Translate on-screen texts, including words on computer screens, newspapers, letters, and advertisement billboards, if they are prominently located and are plotrelated. Use double quotation marks and capitalize the first letter of each word. (TE9-Onscreen Text)

x

x

x

x

x

(6) Songs

x Quotes a part of the Netflix requirements in an older version of the English style guide. 4 x Capitalize the first letter of each line. Do not use punctuation at the end of each line except for question marks and

x

part of the scene, do not italicize. Leave italics for off-screen narrators.” (NE2-7-Documentary) “In trailers, where dialogue rapidly switches between off-screen characters, onscreen characters and narrators, do not italicize any dialogue from the characters and speakers and only italicize narration.” (NE2-12-Italics) “Forced narrative titles for on-screen text should only be included if plotpertinent.” “When on-screen text and dialogue overlap, precedence should be given to the most plot-pertinent message.” ”Forced narratives that are redundant (e.g., identical to onscreen text or covered in the dialogue) must be deleted.” Use ALL CAPS when adding forced narratives as on-screen text. Use an ellipsis if a forced narrative interrupts dialogue. (NE2-10- Onscreen Text) “Opening and ending theme songs should only be subtitled if clearly plotpertinent (e.g. for children’s content when the lyrics tell a story) or if instructed by Netflix. Normally, adult programs should not have the

Cultural Translation and Subtitling Norms exclamation marks. Use the above format for the lyrics for singing, not the lyrics quoted in a speech. x Be faithful to the meaning of the original song lyrics. Consider reducing some messages to match the visual information. Keep the gist or atmosphere of the source text. There is no need to keep rhymes and antithetic parallelism in Chinese poems. (TE14Song Lyrics and Chanted Poems)

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opening songs subtitled, except for SDH.” x “Italicize lyrics.” x “Use [an] ellipsis when a song continues in the background but is no longer subtitled to give precedence to dialogue.” (NE2-19-Songs)

Table 2: Comparison in the linguistic-semiotic dimension Proper nouns can pertain to the linguistic-semiotic or cultural dimension. However, due to TFAI’s guidelines emphasizing the presentation of the cast and subtitlers’ names on the screen, this aspect is categorized within the linguistic-semiotic dimension. As shown in Table 2, TFAI has accepted Netflix’s method of subtitling nicknames, which is using transliteration if the names convey a specific meaning, as can be seen in the instances in Example 1 (TE4-Name Translation) below:

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1. ぴ॒ [Sea of Goddess] 2. 䩣є [Shorty; é-á, in which á is a commonly used suffix in Taiwanese names] 3. ஋ࢮѲ [Uncle Fire; A-huo po, in which a is commonly used prefix in Chinese names] 4. ஋ࢮւ [Brother Fire; A-huo ge, in which a is a commonly used prefix in Chinese names] 5. 㑋ぴぴ [Mother Chang] 6. ৯㍳ҁ䎹‫س‬䱺 [‘Teacher’ as an honorific]

Transliteration 5 and Combinational Approach Mazu É Tsú [or é-á in Taiwanese]

Free Translation

Sea Goddess Shorty

A-huo-po Uncle A-huo Mr. A-huo A huo-ke Mr. A-huo [Chang-ma-ma] 6 Mrs. Chang Lao-shi Mr. [and Ms.] 7

Example 1: Translation of Characters’ Names As shown in Example 1 and Table 2, TFAI suggests free translation for the first two instances, i.e., delivering the underlying semantic content instead of the literal meaning, because they might contain some cultural significance. It advises using transliteration for the last four names, i.e., translating the sounds following the official romanization guidelines since they are common names. Under close inspection, the cases of Uncle A-huo, Mr. A-huo and Mrs. Chang, provided by TFAI, have combined transliteration and free translation. TFAI advises on the choice of free translation, transliteration, or a combination of both, depending on the cultural meanings carried by the source-language lexical item. In other words, TFAI shows a degree of flexibility by accepting foreignization and

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a hybrid approach of domestication and foreignization in delivering culturerelated proper nouns. Regarding dialogue subtitling, TFAI explicitly references Netflix’s guidance, but it provides further details on how dialogue should be presented in subtitles, particularly in cases where characters speak rapidly or intends to deliver humor. In comparison, Netflix’s guidance primarily focuses on the technical issues in subtitling dialogue exchanges. Notably, the TFAI style guide has rather precise demands about giving credits to subtitlers and proofreaders and presenting staff positions and cast names at the end of films. This requirement reveals their respect towards subtitlers and proofreaders and their understanding of the importance of subtitles in making a movie comprehensible to foreign audiences. Regarding the translation of numbers, TFAI’s style guide has accepted most of Netflix’s conventions, including showing letters or numerals according to the size of numbers and expressing numbers related to times of a day. The TFAI’s guidance further explains how subtitlers should deal with large numbers. It suggests that non-precise large numbers should be spelled out, such as yibaiwan (▲घ喗) should be spelled out as ‘one million,’ and precise large numbers need to be rendered as Arabic numerals, such as translating yiqian sanbai bashi wan ( ▲ Ԟ І घ ҷ ԝ 喗 ) into ‘13,800,000.’ These requirements can be considered a supplement to Netflix’s instructions.

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For off-screen sounds and narration, the TFAI style guide offers a straightforward solution: using italics for any sounds or voices not directly coming from dialogue exchanges, including narrations, characters’ monologues, and radio sounds. On the other hand, Netflix intends to reserve italics exclusively for the speech of off-screen narrators, thus demanding subtitlers to refrain from italicizing narrations if speakers appear swiftly on screen or have dialogue with on-screen characters in fast-paced trailers. Regarding on-screen texts, TFAI suggests using quotation marks and capitalizing first letters, while Netflix advises adopting capitalization for full subtitles when dealing with plot-related forced narratives. In general, TFAI tends to list as many situations as possible in its instructions, while Netflix stresses on using capitalized subtitle presentations sparingly. Regarding the translation of songs, Netflix’s instructions focus on formal presentations, such as the use of italics and ellipses. TFAI quotes a part of Netflix’s conventions in its guidance. However, rather than adopting italics for song lyrics, TFAI recommends a type of subtitle presentation, which capitalize the beginning of each line and minimizes punctuation usage at the end of each line. It also accepts reducing some messages and rhetoric styles in song lyrics to match the images on screen. TFAI provides three instances of song lyrics in its guidance, as shown in Example 2 (TE14-Song Lyrics and Chanted Poems):

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TT

1. ২湞றަՉஊ䭾 [Beautiful youth has been constrained.] ࠿‫ڶޙ‬姅ࢎ [Every day their hearts are unsettled.] 曧ы巤ੋ۞‫[ ں‬The couple bet with their willpower] ޾‫ڱ‬றަਘं [to get more freedom for their youth.] 2. ަ‫מ‬ङ䇃߰ [The gentleness of spring] ௲㪘惐㒑ㆊՁ⚵ [will return after the dark night passes.] ‫ݹ‬㟅‫ڶ‬㙓㗘 [Abandon the worries on your mind] 佊ۨ‫ڽ‬㶒‫[ ڈ؟ױ‬to make a good happy family.] ‫ࢎڶޙޙ‬㎸ [Every day, you feel tranquility at heart.] 3. Ѵ⫪‫ڶ‬㻤֔ [I am happy that you spend time with me.] 幙ੋ悤㩌㚙实ੋ⚵Ԇࢍ‫[ ۞ەױ‬We should seize the time to add good affection.] ਘя㒑҂۩‫▲ީؼ‬ㆎ‫ױ‬Ѵ⛝ [From now on, we are a good couple.] ߂‫ݹ⚵ੋױ‬㟖ੋ‫ڶ‬⡦懤਴ն [It is best to leave out the sour and bitter taste in our hearts.]

His mother disapproves Her father's dissolute Will they marry anyway? Will the dark clouds roll away?

The courtship is just beginning But trouble is never ending Let the young hearts freedom find Happiness and peace of mind Two quietly enter the station... Abandon all your woes and cares As we go skipping down the stairs Enjoy the breezes' soft caress Now's the time for happiness

Example 2: Translation of Songs According to the three instances in Example 2, it is evident that the target texts deviate from the word-for-word translation, nor can they be considered sense-for-sense translation, because the semantic units in the target text cannot always be found in the Chinese originals. This translation

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approach cannot be squarely categorized into domestication or foreignization either because it has the features of both. The subtitlers use English rhymes, akin to the domestication approach, to deliver the spirit and atmosphere in the film and the source culture, a feature of foreignization. It is interesting to note that the TFAI’s guidance explicitly states there is no need to use rhymes in the target language. However, the subtitlers still employ rhymes in the English lyrics, possibly to retain the song-like features and facilitate the audience to understand the storylines of the films. This approach can be perceived as transcreation harnessing a film’s song lyrics, plot, imagery, and atmosphere to create new lyrics, for the ultimate goal of fostering cross-cultural understanding. Different from Netflix’s instructions, which focus mainly on subtitle presentations, the TFAI’s guidance cares more about the aesthetic value or atmosphere of the film that is supposed to be appreciated by the audience. The subtitler’s creative approach could be seen as the result of an interplay between the TFAI’s emphasis on capturing the spirit of songs without taking the original semantic content as the ultimate criterion and the subtitler’s proficiency in creative writing. In the linguistic-semiotic dimension, proper nouns and songs are the two areas where cultural translation comes into play. In both cases, the TFAI’s guidance has given subtitlers some freedom to make sensible judgments and has even accepted rewriting song lyrics in the source language to deliver a new song that corresponds to the atmosphere in a film.

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Cultural Dimension The cultural dimension, distinct from the linguistic-semiotic dimension, pertains to a range of lexical items which subtitlers can render appropriately only by relying on special cultural knowledge or a profound understanding of languages. The different aspects that have been investigated across the two style guides include (1) offensive language, (2) foreign dialogue, (3) variants of English, (4) slang, (5) internet and colloquial terms, (6) historical language, (7) puns, and (8) cultural translation. The guidelines of the two institutions have been exhibited in Table 3: Aspects (1) Offensive language

TFAI (2019a) Do not euphemize offensive expressions. Consider minimizing them if their frequent and abundant use could overwhelm the audience. (TE17- Offensive Language)

(2) Foreign dialogue

x Foreign language refers to a language that is not the primary spoken language in the film, such as Taiwanese and Japanese in a Mandarin film. x Quotes Netflix’s requirement about which dialogue should be

Netflix (2023) x “Dialogue must never be censored.” (NE2-21Special Instructions) x “The n-word should only be spelled with the -er ending in historical contexts or as a racist slur; its use in slang, non-racist conversation, or song lyrics should be handled with the -a ending.” (NE2-21Special Instructions) x “Foreign dialogue should only be translated if the viewer was meant to understand it (i.e., if it was subtitled in the original version).” x “When using foreign words, always verify spelling, accents and

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(3) Variants of English

(4) Slang

Chapter Six translated and about italicizing unfamiliar foreign words. x Include the foreign language name within parentheses at the beginning of the subtitle, especially when understanding the plot depends on knowing the characters are using a foreign language. x If the speaker inserts foreign words into a source-language sentence, use italics for these words. x Japanese location names should be translated into English with widely recognizable spelling, such as ‫(בئ‬瀐濳) should be rendered as Fuji, not Huzi, and 㭆ч (̩͈̇̎̇) should be rendered as Tokyo, not Toukyou. (TE18-Tackling Foreign Dialogue) Use American English consistently. Do not use the British English spelling or the spelling used by other English-speaking countries. (TE19-British and American English) Avoid rarely used slang because not all the audience are English native speakers. (TE21-Slang)

punctuation, if applicable.” x “Unfamiliar foreign words and phrases should be italicized.” x “Familiar foreign words and phrases which are listed in Webster’s dictionary should not be italicized and should be spelled as in Webster’s dictionary.” (NE2-11Foreign Dialogue)

None

“Slang and other dialectal features should not be changed.” (NE1-1Accuracy of Content)

Cultural Translation and Subtitling Norms (5) Internet and colloquial terms

(6) Historical language

(7) Puns

(8) Cultural translation

x Avoid internet terms because the audience in the future might not understand them. x Reduce the use of colloquial language. (TE20-Internet and Colloquial Terms) Pay attention to the historical background of the film. Avoid using modern language in subtitles and heed the style of the film. (TE22Historical Language) Render a pun into the target language as wholly as possible, including its connotations. Raise the issue for discussion if the pun is too difficult to translate. (TE16Interpretive Freedom) Providing additional information based on the context is unnecessary. The audience has no time to read it in split seconds. Allow them to make their judgment based on context. (TE24-Cultural Translation)

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None

None

None

“When the word ‘black’ appears in reference to someone’s race or ethnicity, capitalize it as Black. Use this form when referring to an African American or Black person, when referring to the African diaspora and when referring to collective groups or institutions, e.g., Black cinema, the Black community, a Black person.” (NE2-21-Special Instructions)

Table 3: Comparison in the cultural dimension

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As presented in Table 3, in Netflix’s style guide (2023) there are limited subsections related to the cultural dimension, including Accuracy of Content in the first section and Foreign Dialogue and Special Instructions in the second section. In contrast, the TFAI’s guidance has provided more subsections instructing how to subtitle different varieties of culture-related content in the source text, such as offensive language, variants of English, slang, historical language, and puns. For offensive language, TFAI advises subtitlers not to tone down offensive language in most cases; likewise, Netflix explicitly refuses any form of censorship. Both institutions recognize the significance of preserving offensiveness in original dialogue as an integral part of creative works. Netflix further elaborates that the n-word should be spelled differently at the end depending on the racist or non-racist context, which has taken the political and social context of the United States into account. The two institutions have similar but slightly different norms regarding the foreign language used in a film. Netflix prefers to italicize the foreign words unfamiliar to English speakers. On the other hand, TFAI suggests incorporating the foreign language name in parentheses at the start of a subtitle for foreign dialogue, and italicizing the foreign words when they are embedded in a source-language speech. In terms of the variants of English, Netflix does not specify any requirement. However, TFAI explicitly demands the adoption of American English probably because it is the dominant English variant, and TFAI is leveraging this to achieve its missions.

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The TFAI’s guidance suggests avoiding infrequently used slang expressions because it needs to ensure the target text is intelligible to the audience in a broader range. Slang and offensive language can partially overlap, so it is natural that the TFAI’s instructions on these two aspects are related. For a slang expression, subtitlers need to determine how to deal with it, depending on whether the larger population could understand it. Netflix does not provide clear instructions on rendering slang in the interlingual subtitle style guide, but it advises preserving original slang expressions in the first section for intralingual subtitles. In comparison, TFAI shows an extrospective orientation in its guidance to cater to non-native English speaking audience. Conversely, Netflix is more introspective, prioritizing accuracy in the subtitling practice. About rendering the internet and colloquial terms as well as historical language, the TFAI’s instructions prefer using old-fashioned language to match the style of the film, and it rejects using newly created lingos. The two requirements are understandable because for propagating the cultural legacy of Taiwan to the public, it needs to offer subtitles that deliver the atmosphere of the film and to make sure the language in subtitles meets the expectations of the film-watching audience at present and in the future. Rendering puns across languages is always challenging, especially when the source and target languages are inherently distant from each other. The TFAI’s guideline advises subtitlers to raise the issue for further discussion if they cannot come up with an ideal solution. This shows the

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instruction is fully aware of the difficulty in translating puns, so it takes an open-minded attitude. Although Netflix does not mention cultural translation in its style guide, the subsection of Special Instructions demands that the word ‘black’ should be capitalized when referring to a race, a collective group, or an institution. Interestingly, this guideline contradicts Venuti’s initiative unexpectedly; domestication, just as foreignization, can be used to prevent minoritizing specific ethnic groups within the target culture. On the other hand, the TFAI’s style guide offers a subsection of cultural translation, which, following the aforementioned second definition, refers to the culturespecific lexical items not available in the target language and/or culture. Given that the prevailing notion would be supplying information for culturespecific terms, TFAI advises subtitlers not to provide supplementary information in subtitles when a lexical item does not have an equivalent reference in the target culture because the audience would not have sufficient time to capture the information. Another possible reason is that a long subtitle could easily break the technical constraints of subtitles. Unlike written translation, subtitles face constraints in the technical environment, which requires cultural information to be delivered in a nuanced way. In other words, when the original message is rich in culture-specific details, the visual language of the film and the audience’s world knowledge will play crucial roles in comprehending the subtitles. Subtitling might be considered restrictive in handling culture-specific references; still, myriads

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of culture-related elements can be delivered via subtitles, as demonstrated in Table 3. In the cultural dimension, it is evident that TFAI has paid special attention to the subtitling of certain items when the audience’s comprehension depends on a degree of cultural knowledge or a profound understanding of the source language. However, when the source text contains culturespecific references, the institution asks subtitlers to avoid overwhelming the audience by offering too much information. TFAI appears to have taken a circumlocutionary approach in delivering culture-related messages, such as preserving the offensive language, marking the use of foreign language, prioritizing American English, accepting old-fashioned language, avoiding modern lingos that could become obsolete in the future, and rendering puns as wholly as possible, among others. Interestingly, Venuti’s argument has inadvertently encountered a challenge from Netflix’s regulations on the proper reference to African Americans within the United States. The capitalized spelling “Black” is deemed a respectful way to acknowledge this ethnic group, considering their long history of repression in the American society. Domestication, like foreignization, can be equally powerful in prioritizing the symbols representing certain ethnic groups and preventing unfair treatment. In the cultural dimension, both institutions consider the broader cultural context in translation, yet they appear to have very different orientations. The TFAI’s style guide embraces the dominant American English and the

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global culture to achieve its missions, whereas Netflix’s guidelines show an awareness of domestic political issues and sensitivity to interracial relationships.

Conclusion In conclusion, cultural translation has a significant impact on TFAI’s subtitling norms. Undoubtedly, the larger cultural context significantly influences the subtitling norms of TFAI and Netflix. Many elements in the technical, linguistic-semiotic, and cultural dimensions are constrained by these norms, reflecting the impact of the wider context. In particular, these influences can be illustrated by the TFAI’s technical guidelines and Netflix’s requirements on the nomenclatures of domestic minorities. It is also evident that TFAI’s subtitling norms have been directly influenced by Netflix, given that Netflix’s instructions have been quoted multiple times in the TFAI’s style guide. The assimilation of subtitling norms, especially technical constraints, across institutions and nations is prevalent and international, corresponding to Pedersen’s (2018) observation. Nevertheless, individual institutions could still adopt different constraints, particularly in the linguistic-semiotic and cultural dimensions. Based on the examination of both institutions’ style guides, the TFAI’s document has demonstrated the following distinctive features: (1)

TFAI has made a great endeavor to propagate cultural

legacy to the foreign audience, not least because it has offered

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advice on subtitling in dealing with multiple culture-related problems, such as transliterating proper nouns with cultural significance, making sure the subtitles of song lyrics are comprehensible to the audience, preserving the offensive language, signaling foreign language in subtitles, selectively accepting slang expressions, rejecting internet and colloquial terms, accepting historical expressions, and rendering puns as wholly as possible, among others. In contrast, Netflix has relatively fewer categories dedicated to subtitling culture-related elements. (2)

Regarding subtitling the culture-specific references

unavailable in the target culture, TFAI suggests a minimalist approach, namely allowing the audience to comprehend the images without overwhelming them with too much information, which is at odds with the prevailing notion of supplying more cultural information. However, with this approach, subtitlers can still tactfully address these culture-specific references, such as choosing appropriate vocabulary to improve the audience’s comprehension, while still adhering to the technical constraints on the maximum character number for each subtitle. (3)

TFAI has shown its agency in the multi-layered norm

structure. TFAI’s subtitling norms, as shown in its style guide (TFAI 2019a), are regulated by the institution’s missions, which

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can be deemed part of the institutional norms. The institutional norms are further regulated by the norms at the higher level, including the English variant widely recognized across the globe and the cultural policy of the Taiwan government. TFAI’s preference for American English should not be hastily interpreted as a submission to the dominant English variant but should be considered a strategy for popularizing Taiwan’s cultural products to the world. (4)

TFAI has demonstrated a relatively extrospective orientation

vis-a-vis Netflix’s introspective norms. TFAI embraces the dominant English variant with an intention to reach out to the wider audience as part of the cultural policy of the Taiwan government. Netflix has exhibited much consideration in referring to African Americans in the United States to avoid unnecessary misunderstanding and to show respect to the ethnic group. Lastly, if TFAI considers revising its guidelines for subtitlers in the future, it is suggested to at least make the following two changes. Firstly, TFAI could enhance the level of specificity in several aspects in the technical dimension, especially the reading speed, which is a critical section in the subtitling guidelines in the industry. Secondly, there exists a dissonance between the TFAI’s instructions on subtitling song lyrics and

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the examples, which should be taken as the work of transcreation. If TFAI acknowledges the value of transcreation in subtitling song lyrics, the subtitling guidelines should clearly mention this as a viable solution to enhance the communication between the institution and the subtitlers.

References Altahri, Ahmed RM (2013) Issues and Strategies of Subtitling Cultural References Harry Potter Movies in Arabic, University of Salford (United Kingdom). Bassnett, Susan (2003) "Culture and Translation" A Companion to Translation Studies. Sandra Bermann and Catherine Porter (eds.) Clevedon: Multilingual Matters. Bassnett, Susan and André Lefevere (eds.) (1990) Translation, History, and Culture, London; New York: Pinter Publishers. BBC (2022) Subtitle Guidelines. Accessed on Feb. 10 2023. Available at www.bbc.co.uk/accessibility/forproducts/guides/subtitles. Brest, Martin (1992) Scent of a Woman. USA: Universal Pictures. BroadStream (2022) BroadStream's Online Store. Accessed on Nov. 26 2022. Available at broadstream.com/store/. Buden, Boris, Stefan Nowotny, Sherry Simon, Ashok Bery and Michael Cronin (2009) "Cultural Translation: An Introduction to the Problem, and Responses", Translation Studies, 2(2): 196-219. Accessed on Jan. 17 2023. Available at doi.org/10.1080/14781700902937730.

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Chen, Chia-Chien [昛⭞ῑ] (2019) ㆹ䘬借㤕㗗暣⼙⫿ⷽ侣嬗ⷓ烉ᶨ⸜侣 50 悐暣⼙䘬䦀⭮ [Working as a film subtitler: the secret of translating 50 films a year], Taipei: Jong Wen Books. Chesterman, Andrew (1997) Memes of Translation: the Spread of Ideas in Translation Theory, Amsterdam: John Benjamins. —. (2004) "Beyond the Particular" Translation Universals: Do they exist? Anna Mauranen and Pekka Kujamäki (eds.) Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 33-50. d'Ydewalle, Géry, Johan Van Rensbergen and Joris Pollet (1987) "Reading a Message When The Same Message Is Available Auditorily in Another Language: The Case of Subtitling" Eye Movements: From Physiology to Cognition: Selected/Edited Proceedings of the Third European Conference on Eye Movements, Dourdan, France, September 1985. J. K. O'Regan and A. Levy-Schoen (eds.) Amsterdam: North-Holland, 313-321. Design Your Way (2021) What font does Netflix use for subtitles? (Answered). Accessed on Jan. 28 2023. Available at designyourway.net/blog/typography/what-font-does-netflixuse/?hmsr=joyk.com&utm_source=joyk.com&utm_medium=referral. Díaz-Cintas, Jorge and Aline Remael (2007) Audiovisual Translation: Subtitling, Manchester: St. Jerome. Hermans, Theo (1996) "Norms and the Determination of Translation: A Theoretical Framework" Translation, Power, Subversion. Román Álvarez and M. Carmen-África Vidal (eds.) Clevedon: Multilingual

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Matters, 25-51. —. (2000) "Norms of Translation" The Oxford Guide to Literature in English Translation. Peter France (ed.) Oxford: Oxford University Press, 10-15. —. (2003) "Cross-Cultural Translation Studies as Thick Translation", Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, 66(3): 380-389. Accessed on May 29 2012. Available at www.jstor.org/stable/4146100. —. (2013) "Norms of Translation" The Encyclopedia of Applied Linguistics. Carol A. Chapelle (ed.) Chichester: Blackwell, 4262-4268. Ivarsson, Jan and Mary Carroll (1998) "Code of Good Subtitling Practice" Subtitling. Jan Ivarsson and Mary Carroll (eds.) Simrishamn: TransEdit. Kenny, Dorothy (1999) Norms and Creativity: Lexis in Translated Text, University of Manchester Institute of Science and Technology, PhD thesis. Koskinen, Kaisa (2012) "Domestication, Foreignization and the Modulation of Affect" Domestication and foreignization in translation studies. Hannu Kemppanen and Marja Jänis (eds.) Berlin: Frank & Timme, 1332. Lee, Louis [㛶㘢ṩ] (2022) ⼙夾倥ㇳⶾ[Notes of TFAI]. IN ⼙夾倥䓇㳣

娴 [IN: Diary of TFAI], 1 October 2022: 3. Lertola, Jennifer (2015) "Subtitling in Language Teaching: Suggestions for Language Teachers" Subtitles and Language Learning. Yves Gambier, Annamaria Caimi and Cristina Mariotti (eds.) Bern: Peter Lang, 245-267.

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Netflix (2016) GLOBAL NETFLIX PREFERRED VENDOR (NPV) RATE CARD. Accessed on Feb. 3 2023. Available at lafibre.info/images/tv/201612_netflix_remuneration_traduction.pdf. —. (2023) English Timed Text Style Guide. Accessed on Apr. 23 2022. Available at partnerhelp.netflixstudios.com/hc/en-us/articles/217350977-EnglishTimed-Text-Style-Guide. Omer, Hersh A and Sirvan Aminzadeh (2023) "Exploring the Strategies of Translating Cultural References in Kurdish Subtitling", Cihan University-Erbil Journal of Humanities and Social Sciences, 7(1): 5057. Accessed on Jan. 29 2023. Available at journals.cihanuniversity.edu.iq/index.php/cuejhss/article/view/671. Pedersen, Jan (2007a) "Cultural Interchangeability: The Effects of Substituting Cultural References in Subtitling", Perspectives, 15(1): 3048. Accessed on Feb. 17 2023. Available at doi.org/10.2167/pst003.0. —. (2007b) Scandinavian Subtitles: A Comparative Study of Subtitling Norms in Sweden and Denmark with a Focus on Extralinguistic Cultural References, Stockholm University, PhD Thesis. —. (2011) Subtitling Norms for Television: An Exploration Focussing on Extralinguistic Cultural References, Amsterdam: John Benjamins Publishing. —. (2018) "From old tricks to Netflix: How local are interlingual subtitling norms for streamed television?", Journal of Audiovisual Translation, 1(1): 81-100. Accessed on Feb. 15 2023. Available at

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jatjournal.org/index.php/jat/article/view/46. Schäffner, Christina (1999) "The Concept of Norms in Translation Studies" Translation and Norms Clevedon, UK: Multilingual Matters, 1-8. TFAI (2019a) TFAI Style Guide for English Subtitling, Typing and Proofreading [⚳⭞暣⼙ᷕ⽫劙㔯⫿ⷽ䷽ㇻ㟉⮵夷䭬]. Taiwan Film Institute. —. (2019b) TFAI Style Guide for Traditional Chinese Subtitling, Typing and Proofreading [⚳⭞暣⼙ᷕ⽫ᷕ㔯⫿ⷽ䷽ㇻ㟉⮵夷䭬]. Taiwan Film Institute. —. (2023) About Us. Accessed on Feb. 10 2023. Available at www.tfai.org.tw/zh/page/about-preserve.html. Toury, Gideon (1995/2012) Descriptive Translation Studies - and Beyond, 2nd edition, Amsterdam: John Benjamins. —. (2000) "The Nature and Role of Norms in Translation" The Translation Studies Reader. Lawrence Venuti (ed.) Revised version of 1978 article London: Routledge, 198-211. Venuti, Lawrence (1993) "Translation as cultural politics: Regimes of domestication in English", Textual Practice, 7(2): 208-223. Accessed on Dec. 5 2022. Available at doi.org/10.1080/09502369308582166. —. (1995) The Translator's Invisibility: A History of Translation, London: Routledge. —. (1998) The Scandals of Translation: Towards an Ethics of Difference, London: Routledge.

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Notes 1

The single quotation marks in this chapter are used for highlighting key terminology. Italics are used for non-English words. 2 I am deeply grateful that the TFAI staff generously provided their in-house documents for this research, including the TFAI Style Guide for English Subtitling, Typing and Proofreading (TFAI 2019a) and the TFAI Style Guide for English Subtitling, Typing and Proofreading (TFAI 2019b). 3 TFAI’s direct quotations include, “Do not use ellipses or dashes when an ongoing sentence is split between two or more continuous subtitles”; “Use an ellipsis to indicate a pause or dialogue trailing off”; “Use two hyphens to indicate abrupt interruptions”; “Use ellipsis followed by a space when there is a significant pause within a subtitle.” The above quotes could come from the first section of an older version of Netflix’s (2023) English style guide. 4 The TFAI style guide quotes, “Opening and ending theme songs should only be subtitled if clearly plot-pertinent (e.g., for children’s content when the lyrics tell a story). Normally, adult programs should not have the opening songs subtitled, except for SDH.”; “Use ellipsis when a song continues in the background but is no longer subtitled to give precedence to dialogue.” The above quotes could come from an older version of Netflix’s (2023) English style guide. 5 The TFAI style guide (TFAI 2019a) is not consistent in selecting a romanization system for transliteration. It adopts both pinyin (e.g., Lao-shi) and the Wade-Giles romanization system (e.g., A-huo-po). 6 The author supplies this translation. 7 The title for female teachers is not provided in the TFAI’s (2019a) document.

CHAPTER SEVEN POETICS, ATMOSPHERE, MONTAGE: TECHNICS, ARTISTIC APPLICATIONS, AND AN INTERTEXTUAL STUDY OF KING HU’S MARTIAL ARTS FILMS AUTHOR: TING CHING YU, PH.D. TRANSLATED BY YA-CHEN CHEN, PH.D.

Recently, there has been a wealth of research, articles, and visual records regarding the cinematic works of King Hu. The release of two recent documentaries in 2022, The King of Wuxia Part 1: The Prophet Was Once Here and The King of Wuxia Part 2: The Heartbroken Man on the Horizon, has further expanded the available information in this field. With the emergence of these new works, more film reviews and audiovisual materials have begun to discuss King Hu's films and his personal achievements. The sources of these materials are extensive, and many references approach the subject from various perspectives, including film narrative, martial arts elements, prop usage, genre analysis, transnational comparisons, cultural observations, and literary interpretations, as well as perspectives from religion and Buddhist studies.

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Within this vast literature context, the author specifically focuses on the discussion of two lesser-commented films by director King Hu: Legend of the Mountain released in 1979 and Raining in the Mountain released in the same year. These films are examined through paragraph analysis, aiming to provide a more in-depth understanding and evaluation of King Hu's directorial works, aside from the well-discussed films Dragon Inn from 1967 and A Touch of Zen from 1971. Through the approach of paragraph analysis, the author conducts in-depth research on these works. These studies not only attend to the technical aspects of the films but also explore the meaning and themes present within the works. The interpretations encompass diverse cultural and religious perspectives. The aim of these analyses is to offer a deeper understanding and evaluation of director King Hu and his works. This chapter therefore shifts its focus from authorship to a contextualized analysis of film poetics, examining how King Hu utilizes his established film language system and its application in terms of film techniques and creative aspects. Through the use of paragraph shots, camera movements, editing, and the combination of sound and visuals, King Hu generates montage effects, thus demonstrating the systematic nature of his film language and its correlation with film editing. This chapter meanwhile aims to explore Chinese-language films influenced by King Hu’s works, including A Better Tomorrow (1986), A Chinese Ghost Story (1987), Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (2000),

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Goodbye Dragon Inn (2003), and House of Flying Daggers (2004). Through an examination of relevant literature, it analyzes the aesthetic construction of King Hu's films and delves into his classic works and their segments. The study emphasizes the intertextuality among different films and draws upon the theoretical framework of film poetics proposed by David Bordwell. Employing a textual analysis approach, it investigates selected film segments to facilitate a dialogue among the texts.

Prelude The provided text is already quite well-written and demonstrates a clear understanding of King Hu's influence in the film industry. However, a few minor grammatical adjustments and enhancements could be made for clarity and fluidity: Director King Hu had a prolific career in filmmaking, spanning from 1964 to 1993, during which he directed fifteen films. His notable achievement came in 1975 when his film A Touch of Zen received the “Technical Grand Prize” at the Cannes Film Festival. His most acclaimed works include Dragon Inn (1967) and A Touch of Zen (1971). Throughout his career, King Hu worked in China, Hong Kong, Taiwan, and even ventured to South Korea to direct films such as Raining in the Mountain (1979) and Legend of the Mountain (1979). In recent years, director Lin Jingjie's ( ߥ 杙 ➡ ) documentaries, The King of Wuxia Part 1: The Prophet Was Once Here and The King of Wuxia Part 2: The Heartbroken Man on the Horizon have shed

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light on King Hu's filmography and his contributions, allowing younger generations to rediscover the artistry of King Hu's films. In the films of King Hu, his interpretation of Zen, martial arts, and action scenes have profoundly impacted subsequent decades of Hong Kong action films and Chinese martial arts films, even extending their influence to films of supernatural folklore. Notably, the works of directors such as Ang Lee, Zhang Yimou, Chang Cheh, John Woo, Tsui Hark, Ann Hui, Hou Hsiao-hsien, and Tsai Ming-liang have all been impacted by King Hu. For instance, in John Woo's 1986 film A Better Tomorrow, the antagonist's characterization, the harmony of motion and stillness in fight scenes, the aesthetic of sounds and colors, as well as the editing, all bear the marks of King Hu's influence. Furthermore, in the 1987 film A Chinese Ghost Story, produced by Tsui Hark, the opening scene where a weak scholar encounters the ghostly figure Nie Xiaoqian mirrors that of King Hu's A Touch of Zen in terms of atmosphere, character portrayal, action description, and even the handling of sound effects and music. In 2000, Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon reestablished the prominence of Chinese cinema on the world stage during a period of stagnation. A scene featuring acrobatic fighting on bamboo treetops is, in fact, a tribute to a similar scene in King Hu's 1971 film A Touch of Zen, demonstrating the thrilling aesthetics of Chinese martial arts novels once again. In Tsai Ming-liang's 2003 film Goodbye Dragon Inn, the screening of A Touch of Zen in the cinema and the appearance of Shih Chun and Miao Tien are all tributes to King Hu.

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Zhang Yimou's 2004 film House of Flying Daggers also reveals traces of King Hu's influence in its bamboo forest chase and fight scenes. Finally, in the 2015 film The Assassin by Hou Hsiao-hsien, the portrayal of the feminine spirit of chivalry bears an uncanny resemblance to King Hu's shaping of female characters in martial arts films, illustrating a form of ingenious borrowing. Within these texts influenced by the works of King Hu, the concept of “intertextuality” is manifested. This phenomenon of texts influencing each other creates an intertextual situation. In this wave of martial arts trends, the influences between works exemplify this intertextual circumstance. Film theorist Robert Stam articulates that once intertextuality is conceptualized, individual texts are interconnected according to certain principles with other representational systems. This intertextuality encompasses the composition and learning of film techniques. While engaging with the concept of poetics proposed by David Bordwell in Poetics of Cinema, the author revisits King Hu's film language—its language system, camera movements, performances, the coordination of imagery and music, and deeper concepts like montage— through the lens of fleeting glimpses of performances and camera movements.

Starting from André Bazin's The Myth of Total Cinema (1946) Film theorist André Bazin's concept of the “Myth of Total Cinema” underscores that, regardless of the importance of technology and technique, they often stem from pre-existing imaginings and conceptions. Essentially,

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film reverts to its most rudimentary form to capture instantaneous images. 1 As the author repeatedly viewed the works of Director King Hu, a profound realization emerged about King Hu's prophetic clarity and logic in manipulating the camera, narrative layout, and editing to construct character introductions. Set against backdrops such as bamboo forests, deep mountains, tree branches, rest pavilions, and ornately decorated temples, his meticulous storyboarding and editing designs are undoubtedly rooted in concrete ideas and realized through technical implementation. Films emerge from a collective consciousness intertwined within individuals' minds, originating from a myth, which Bazin refers to as the myth of “total cinema” (Bazin, 29). This myth not only permeates various genres of martial arts, supernatural, and strange tale films belonging to King Hu; it also extends to influence the development and conventions of martial arts, action, and even supernatural film genres in Mainland China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan. "In Frontier Techniques and Arts of Film Imaging” (朅‫ڧڧ‬Ҧӹ࡟‫܉‬妟厠场妟) by Zhang Yanju (㑋䓃唼), Yuan Wentai (Խ‫)ࡪކ‬, /ԉ Qianhua (⪅❃啠), and Li Qiaoxue (㬮㉈ந), the authors apply Bazin's concept of “complete cinema” to the technical aspect. From technology to art, the aesthetic display results from the practical application of aesthetic strategies, generating a wealth of innovative techniques and diverse creativity. It also necessitates the development of film technology and the evolution of the movie camera to achieve an effective result through a certain level of

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symbiosis. The “perfect form,” or ultimate form, of film development... Film technology gives rise to the unique medium of cinema, and the development of film technology is closely intertwined with the evolution of film forms. The pinnacle expression of film forms also gives birth to the socalled spectacle of cinema, leading to the emergence of new aesthetic strategies. 2 These visual spectacles are shaped by the use of moving camera shots, abstract concepts, lighting and color, music, and kaleidoscopic spatial arrangements, creating a landscape aesthetic that is accompanied by the innovation of media technologies. 3 By elucidating and structuring the texts of King Hu's seminal classic works through various technical levels, and by conducting an analysis of the narrative, storyboarding, montage, and editing, we can clarify the influence of King Hu's films on subsequent martial arts cinema in the Chinesespeaking world.

Discourses and Discussions on King Hu's Cinema In his work History of Chinese Martial Arts Cinema (Иⴚ࠶✃朅‫ڧ‬ ՗), 4 Chen Mo (暒‫)׎‬, introduces a discussion titled "King Hu's Film and Its ‘Shadow Play’ Aesthetics" (劏୐拵朅‫ڧ‬Ճҿ澨‫ڧ‬㛺澩২ㄥ).. He outlines the evolution of Chinese martial arts cinema in five stages starting from the 1920s. In this chapter, Chen provides an incisive analysis of King Hu's application of martial arts film aesthetics, particularly focusing on narrative plot analysis. Legend of the Mountain (ٌИ⟂‫)ר‬, adapted from the Song

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Dynasty story Ghosts of the Western Mountain (੼ٌ▲䳛௦), depicts a scholar's journey deep into the mountains to transcribe scripture, where he encounters female ghosts. Character-wise, Le Niang, the scholar's wife, has drumming as her forte, while Zhuang Yiyun excels at playing the xiao (a Chinese flute), pairing drumming and flute sounds for a distinctive audiovisual experience. In Raining in the Mountain, King Hu skillfully weaves elements of mystery and suspense into the chase scenes. He enjoys playing with illusions, creating misaligned spaces, and then having characters enter the scene with dramatic leaps and bounds. Scholar and film critic Jiao Xiongping (ࢾ஢‫ ى‬Chiao, Hsiung-ping) 5 offers a threefold analysis in her assessment of Director King Hu's cinema. First, she notes his adeptness in using skillful techniques to construct dramatic scenarios. Second, she comments on his harmonious and fluid camera movement. Lastly, she highlights his compositions filled with a sharp, poetic sense of aesthetics. Jiao states that King Hu's directorial prowess in camera movement, composition, and the creation of atmosphere and plot significantly influences the subsequent editing process, culminating in a distinct directorial style. His stylistic signatures include theatrical techniques of Peking opera, masks of Peking opera, masked characters, androgynous female figures, as well as the use of various musical instruments in his scores, such as gongs, drums, suonas (Ⰷ⩻), guzhengs (Վ䶴) or zithers, xiaos (久), and flutes. According to Jiao, even the faintest drumbeat serves as a forewarning of suspense and danger.

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In the 2007 issue of the Journal of Modern Chinese Literature, several prominent scholars provided in-depth discussions on King Hu's films. Li Oufan (㬮㻓㱘 Leo Lee), in his article “The Heroic Woman and the Battle in the Bamboo Forest” (✃‫׮‬厠ঁߥ‫ם‬㛸), 6 noted that King Hu viewed the bamboo forest as an “extension” of nature and even as an aesthetic symbol in Buddhism. Discussing the sequence of the bamboo forest battle, Li contrasted it with the filming techniques used in House of Flying Daggers (ԝவⷃѥ). He argued that while King Hu's approach was akin to setting up a complex trap, Ang Lee's (㬮‫ ؍‬Ang Lee) technique created a sense of immersion within the bamboo forest. In his treatise “Time and Space in King Hu's Cinema” (劏୐拵朅‫ڧ‬ङ '㩌族'厠'ॱ族'), scholar Cheuk Pak-Tong (Ԥ߭㱼) provides a precise and compelling analysis of King Hu's use of montage and the iconic bamboo forest battle scenes. Cheuk Pak-Tong contends that, despite their simplicity in terms of character plotlines, King Hu's films still showcase the director's distinctive style. King Hu skillfully employs diegetic sound, empty shots, and metaphorical image compositions. Through fragmentation and reassembly of space, coupled with the elongation of time, he creates classic scenes of martial arts montage, such as the masterful depiction of the bamboo forest battle. Film scholar Lin Wen-chi (ߥ‫ކ‬䃳), in his article “From Martial Arts Legend to National Allegory: A Narrative Comparison and Contrasts between Come Drink with Me and Dragon Inn” (㒡࠶✃⟂‫ר‬ӱⴚ‫؟‬ㅠઈ͹

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澦‫ם‬懵✃澧厠澦潈於‫ؚ‬㲃澧ङ㦏зࡁ忇), systematically organizes the use of filmic language in editing, such as shot composition and montage, to depict martial arts action in both Come Drink With Me and Dragon Inn: One-against-many: The camera remains stationary, allowing the besieged fighter to skillfully defeat the crowd with a few swift moves, one by one falling on the screen. One-against-many: The panoramic view presents the besieged fighter pushing back the crowd, then cutting to a medium shot or closeup to show a fatal blow delivered to one of them. One-on-one: The wide-angle shot captures the confrontation between two individuals, as they exchange probing moves, then cuts to close-ups of their faces in a back-and-forth sequence.

Film scholar Liu Yonghao's (⤻ࡋ㩭) 'The Embedding and Boundaries of Imagery: An Analysis of Tsai Ming-Liang's Film Goodbye Dragon Inn (‫ڧ‬Ҧङ擔ٔ厠उஒ: ӣߤ嚁‫ޢ‬щ朅‫ڧ‬澦Љ‫ށ‬澧) 7 focuses on exploring how the film 'Goodbye, Dragon Inn' incorporates A Touch of Zen into its screen. It further examines how the camera's framing gazes upon the issues of boundaries, space, and the aesthetics of A Touch of Zen within Tsai MingLiang's Goodbye Dragon Inn. In 2022, two documentaries featuring King Hu were sequentially released: King Hu, the King of Wuxia-- The Prophet Once Came (‫✃ם‬劏 ୐拵ͬүऽ߀⚵惐) and King Hu, the King of Wuxia-- The Heartbroken

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Man at the End of the World (‫✃ם‬劏୐拵ͬ㧜匛ы֨‫מ‬䃝). The former utilizes documentary footage to directly comb through the significant influence King Hu's films have had on contemporary Chinese martial arts cinema. The pivotal scenes, recreated by actor Shi Jun, detail how under King Hu's directorship, the quintessential image of the Confucian hero was presented on the silver screen. The first installment of the series includes interviews with key figures in the film industry, such as Ang Lee (㬮‫)؍‬, John Woo (⩸؋࠙), Shi Jun (ी曑), Zheng Peipei (憞҃҃ Cheng Pei-pei), Tsui Hark (‫ڰ‬ұ), and Wang Tong (ࣦॿ Wang Tung). In the interview, Lan Zuwei (圫॒噺 Lan, Tzu-wei) uses the term "outlining in red" (‫ݔ‬伐). In 2022, two documentaries focusing on King Hu were sequentially released: King Hu, the King of Wuxia—The Prophet Once Came (‫✃ם‬劏୐ 拵ͬүऽ߀⚵惐) and King Hu, the King of Wuxia—The Heartbroken Man at the End of the World (‫✃ם‬劏୐拵ͬ㧜匛ы֨‫מ‬䃝). The former uses documentary footage to delve into the significant impact King Hu's films have had on contemporary Chinese martial arts cinema. Pivotal scenes, recreated by actor Shi Jun, illustrate how King Hu's directorship crafted the quintessential image of the Confucian hero on the silver screen. The first installment features interviews with key industry figures such as Ang Lee (㬮‫)؍‬, John Woo (⩸؋࠙), Shi Jun (ी曑), Zheng Peipei (憞҃҃ Cheng Pei-pei), Tsui Hark (‫ڰ‬ұ), and Wang Tong (ࣦॿ Wang Tung). Lan Zuwei ( 圫 ॒ 噺 Lan, Tzu-wei) describes Lin Jingjie's documentary style as 'outlining in red' (‫ݔ‬伐), 8 indicating that only through reconstruction can

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we comprehend the challenges Director King Hu faced during filming. By rewriting and reconstructing, the film pays homage to King Hu's cinema, enumerating his important classic works, their significance, and the establishment of the influential Chinese martial arts film genre that continues to impact future generations. In the director's notes, Lin Jingjie vividly depicts King Hu's cinematic journey towards the Eastern concept of “dispersed perspective” (‫ށ‬溟ଥ嫌). 9 The documentary film, 'King Hu, the King of Wuxia—The Heartbroken Man at the End of the World,' focuses on the personal journey of King Hu, serving as a memoir-like account of the master's decline and his solitary later years in filmmaking, illustrating a sense of rootless belonging. In December 2022, the Inscribe Literature & Lifestyle Journal (ԭӶ‫ކ‬ㄥࣿࡴ 宷) featured 'King Hu, the King of Martial Arts' on its cover, publishing several articles. Scholar Lin Baocun (ߥґ‫ ؂‬Lin Pao-tsun), in his piece titled “History, Martial Arts, and ,QQVņ King Hu's Martial Arts Films” (㻴 ՗澝࠶✃厠‫ؚ‬㲃ͬ劏୐拵ङ࠶✃朅‫)ڧ‬, explores King Hu’s portrayal of “historical” martial arts from a historical perspective, as well as his utilization of “inn” scenes in his films. Historian Wang Hongtai (ࣦ洅ࡪ 0Wang Hong-tai) analyzes King Hu's films, from the shaping of knighterrant characters to the manifestation of knight-errant culture. The article articulates how King Hu laid the foundation for martial arts films, describing his cinematic journey from mainland China to Hong Kong and Taiwan, and the meticulous historical research accomplished through his

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collaboration with photographers and his team. Moreover, the piece depicts how his films transition from intense battle scenes to reflections imbued with philosophical and Zen-like spirits, and how the aura and feelings of Zen are integrated into his films. 10 In the succinct documentary entitled In Pursuit of Artistry: Ang Lee on King Hu, 11 Ang Lee delves into King Hu's profound love for cinema and Chinese culture. Ang Lee delves into King Hu's profound love for cinema and Chinese culture. King Hu adeptly intertwines the beauty of Chinese culture with Western aesthetics to engender an atmosphere imbued with ambiance and situational context in his films. He is committed to preserving and upholding Chinese culture within his cinematographic works, demonstrating a sterling interpretation of Chinese literature. Eastern aesthetics not only emphasizes plot but accentuates mood, milieu, and ambiance, including the concept of “negative space” inherent in Chinese philosophy. These elements collectively showcase King Hu's distinctive approach to interpreting Chinese culture within his works. In the interview, Ang Lee refers to King Hu's most renowned scene, "The Battle in the Bamboo Forest." He elucidates how Hu skillfully employs montage techniques across foreground, middle-ground, and background to achieve a seamless continuity of space and time. By adopting the “posturing” found in Peking Opera, Hu successfully cultivates a potent tension even before the initiation of a combat scene.

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David Bordwell posits that poetics should be a hypothesis, an exploratory perspective, and a means of inquiry. It aims to be experiential and strives to discover truths and facts about cinema. Renowned for his insightful research and commentary on Hong Kong action cinema, Bordwell employs 'film poetics' as a systematic framework for interpreting the evolution of film and its history. In this context, poetics is regarded as a process—an interpretation and transformation of various filmic elements and the myriad meanings that a film can construct. This principle should be steadfastly applied in film interpretation. Viewing the works of director King Hu from this perspective, if his contributions are recognized as establishing the golden rules in Chinese martial arts cinema, then one might also consider his works as foundational to the 'poetic' context of the genre. David Bordwell posits that poetics should be a hypothesis, an exploratory perspective, and a means of inquiry. It aims to be experiential and strives to discover truths and facts about cinema. 12

Cinematic Poetics: The Carrier of Chinese-Language Martial Arts Films David Bordwell introduces a concept titled “Poetics: A Program” in his discourse, which he summarizes with six “P” words that outline the features of his proposed research framework: Particulars, Patterns, Purposes, Principles, Practices, and Processing. These features are interconnected; examining any one of them may reveal connections to the others.13

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In King Hu's oeuvre, whether it is the female character dressed as a man in Dragon Inn or the multifaceted women in Raining in the Mountain, who appear dignified yet possess formidable martial arts skills and harbor various ambitions, these figures have significantly influenced the portrayal of women in subsequent martial arts films. This influence extends to A Touch of Zen, where both protagonist and antagonist female specters are depicted as powerful and magical. In these films, female characters often navigate between the visible and the hidden, playing a pivotal role in the development of the narrative. The way these characters are crafted is crucial for evolving the image of women in martial arts films and has successfully established a tradition of narrative progression led by female characters in Chinese martial arts cinema. For instance, the character of Jade Fox in Ang Lee's well-known film, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, transitions from appearing gentle and weak to revealing her resolute character and formidable martial arts skills. Similarly, in A Chinese Ghost Story, the character Nie Xiaoqian steps out from a painting, instilling a sense of suspense. Behind her seemingly fragile exterior, Nie Xiaoqian, a ghost, manipulates a gentle scholar, using narrative devices and situational arrangements reminiscent of the interactions between the female ghost and the gentle scholar in A Touch of Zen. In his films, such as A Touch of Zen, Director King Hu employs rapid editing, brief shots, and fast-paced montage to construct combat scenes imbued with a strong sense of immediacy. This manipulation of space and

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time creates a distinctive atmosphere in these scenes, a quality that Director Ang Lee describes as “qi yun” (㾎柴), which translates to rhythmic charm. 14 In the realm of martial arts cinema, King Hu often presents battle scenes set in forests, bamboo groves, and attics through the use of swift pan and crosscutting techniques, as well as rhythmically intense editing. Conversely, in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Ang Lee depicts actors fighting mid-air among bamboo groves, masterfully striking a balance between strength and softness by employing slow-motion techniques. In numerous interviews about cinema, King Hu was the first to introduce the role of martial arts choreography (࠶妟孙嬴), a practice that has since been incorporated into the production process of many martial arts films. In the film House of Flying Daggers (2004), the creative team utilizes the dual spaces of the bamboo grove's canopy and ground, continuing the innovative approach found in King Hu's films. Following the scene where each bamboo is chopped down, special effects transform the sharp bamboo tips into weapons akin to flying arrows, spread throughout the grove, entrapping the characters Xiaomei ( ‫ ) ⽸ ش‬and Captain Jin ( ୐ ݂ 栦 ). Simultaneously, the entire grove is shrouded in mist. Through the use of cross-cutting shots that highlight the numerical disparity between the protagonists and their adversaries, paired with ethereal music, the film emphasizes the resilience of the characters' love despite their pursuit. Whether in chase scenes or action sequences, the aesthetic approach of King Hu's films is echoed. Furthermore, the slow-motion technique used by Ang

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Lee in bamboo grove scenes is also incorporated, rendering a scene arrangement that is dominated by ambiance. In A Better Tomorrow (ਸ਼஢ߎ਩ 1986), there is a classic scene: as the protagonist, Mark, prepares to initiate a massacre at the tea house, he conceals his firearm behind a flower pot when entering, creating an air of mystique. Once the enemy is engrossed in lively conversation around the round table, he begins to fire, initially leaving the audience in suspense as to the origin of the gunfire. Then, after several swift camera cuts, the focus shifts to Mark's piercing gaze, employing slow-motion filming. Although this scene uses modern firearms, the handling of character movement, camera motion, and brisk cuts remains closely aligned with the editing rhythm employed in King Hu's films. In A Chinese Ghost Story (❃‫׮‬㎸欐 1987), the opening scene features a refined scholar, Ning Caichen (䟣୊ਗ), journeying through mountains and wilderness. This scene bears resemblance to Raining in the Mountain ( ॱ ٌ 杌 ஧ ), both featuring a similar scholarly figure and the act of journeying. However, A Chinese Ghost Story adopts a more commercial approach with a faster pace, primarily using musical rhythm for editing and scene transitions. Like Raining in the Mountain, the scholar rests in an ancient pavilion before descending to a small town after a rain shower, marking the beginning of an encounter with a woman from a painting. Both the plot and character designs show the influence of King Hu's films. The pairing of the scholar and the ghost, as well as the plot development, draw

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parallels with Legend of the Mountain (ٌИ⟂‫)ר‬, where a female ghost interacts with a scholar, and a deity or a high monk undergoes the process of exorcising the demon. These narrative structures share similarities. Through the creative traces of these subsequent Chinese films, it is clear that King Hu's works have had a significant influence on each decade, from the 1980s to the 2000s, on Hong Kong action aesthetics, intertwined with folklore and ghost stories. Moreover, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon won the Oscar for Best Foreign Language Film in 2000, further highlighting the influence and inspiration drawn from King Hu's works in Chinese martial arts aesthetics. In the context of Chinese cinema, elements such as action scenes, love stories involving female ghosts, and unique narrative structures starkly distinguish it from the aesthetics of films from other regions of the world. King Hu's films serve as paradigmatic examples of a particular genre in Chinese cinema, with significant influence on the technical and artistic applications in martial arts films. This influence is vividly portrayed in the documentary King Hu: The King of Wuxia ( ‫ ✃ ם‬劏 ୐ 拵 ), in which numerous veterans and directors recount the impact of King Hu's films on Chinese cinema, and his individual works' stylistic and linguistic emulation. Director Li Long once said, “King Hu claimed to have invented the position of 'martial arts director.' He personally took charge of art design, photography, and props. All film editors were merely his assistants, and Hu himself completed the final fine-cutting.” The emergence of martial arts

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films can be attributed to this specific genre of aesthetics. Renowned directors such as Tsui Hark (‫ڰ‬ұ), Ann Hui (孝枋啠), Ang Lee (㬮‫)؍‬, John Woo (⩸؋࠙), Wang Tong (ࣦॿ), and Tsai Ming-liang (嚁‫ޢ‬щ) have all expressed admiration for Hu's cinematic achievements. They acknowledge the substantial influence his works have exerted on Chinese cinema and the crucial role he played in shaping and carrying forward the key themes in the language of Chinese cinema.

Movements and Editorial Aesthetics David Bordwell, in his article “Poetics of Cinema: Kung Fu, Gunplay, and Cinematic Expressivity,” provides a detailed account and analysis of the “mechanics of movement.” He meticulously demonstrates through film snippets how “stunts are orchestrated, shot, and edited for clarity and readability.” 15 Regarding Hong Kong's kung fu films, David Bordwell provides a precise analysis: Hong Kong action cinema requires its actors to have the capability for swift and decisive physical articulation. Hong Kong actors often employ a technique reminiscent of what Eisenstein referred to as 'recoil.' Regardless of the swiftness of an actor's pivotal movements, they are frequently punctuated by distinctly noticeable pauses. This rhythmic convention is described as a 'pause/burst/pause' pattern or similar methods. 16

Director King Hu incorporates gestures and postures from Peking Opera, such as significant entrances, into his cinematographic approach. In King Hu's films, when a character enters the frame, the camera tends to

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stabilize, allowing the character to commence their dialogue and unfold the scene. This arrangement closely mirrors the entrance and spotlight moments in Chinese Peking Opera. David Bordwell, in “Richness Through Imperfection,” describes the incompleteness of action sequences in King Hu's films, observing them through the lens of the “aesthetics of the fleeting glance.” Beyond praising King Hu's influential impact on Chinese cinema and the poetic system he crafted, there lies an underlying 'aesthetics of the fleeting glance. Originating from the realm of editing, studies of his editing principles suggest that the aesthetics of the 'fleeting glance' can be successful only within a clear and convincing presentation context. It is precisely this interplay between stability and momentary ambiguity that yields the most original effects in Hu Jinquan's work. 17

In martial sequences, King Hu synergizes imagery with traditional Chinese instruments such as the zither, guqin, gongs, drums, and xiao, evoking a sense of poised dynamism. In his films, nuanced gazes—either static or anticipatory—precede action, reflecting a critical technical detail in Peking Opera, where a piercing gaze often follows an entrance and precedes movement. Furthermore, emphasis is placed on Director King Hu's editing techniques: the interplay between clear representation and localized ambiguity enables King Hu to maintain stability in certain stylistic elements while rendering others more elliptically. 18 By offering an aesthetic of a fleeting glimpse into the action, it creates an exceptional marvel In combat scenes, King Hu evokes a sense of imminent action by

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coupling traditional Chinese instruments like the guzheng (Վ䶴), qin, gong, drum, and xiao (久) with visuals. In Hu's films, the gaze—whether still or poised to move—always precedes action. This is an important technical detail in Peking Opera, where a piercing gaze often follows an entrance and precedes any movement. David Bordwell also underscores King Hu's editing technique: 'The interplay of clarity and partial obscurity allows Hu to maintain certain stylistic elements stable while rendering others more elliptical. This approach provides an aesthetic of fleeting glimpses into the action, creating extraordinary marvels.' Walter Murch, the editor of numerous influential films such as The Godfather, Apocalypse Now, and The English Patient, is a significant figure in contemporary film editing. He has always believed that “editing is the stage in film production that is most akin to the art of writing.” 19 Murch, citing Bresson's expression, outlines that a film undergoes three stages: scriptwriting, shooting, and editing. As stated by this influential editor, in the realm of editing theory and practice, new theoretical frontiers might lie in mathematical rules and navigational markers. When editing a combat scene, incorporating elements of disorientation is essential to heighten the intensity. This approach deliberately challenges the audience's attention, engendering a sense of chaos (Murch, 65).

In my conversation with Director Li Long (㬮潈), 20 he mentioned that King Hu's films often build suspense through a series of shot lengths, creating an atmosphere of deliberate obscurity, followed by the careful

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arrangement of one astonishing scene after another. This is analogous to punctuation in our psychological state. If cuts equate to blinks, they act as the medium for shifts in audience emotion. The result of such transitions is both natural and elegant (Murch, 167-168). The junctures of editing and the sudden outbursts in martial arts fighting scenes are ingeniously designed by King Hu. He utilized springboards, allowing the actors to perform bouncing shots, which are then edited to create a rhythmic sense. In the conversation between Lan Zuwei (圫॒噺 Lan, Tzu-wei) and Lin Jingjie ( ߥ 杙 ➡ Lin, Ching-chieh) on “King Hu's Magnificence and Sorrow” (昘㧠劏୐拵⻒昆厠⫸㗘), Lan Zuwei mentioned: In the end, it is through editing that one creates visually unforgettable and interconnected spectacles. It is precisely this editing technique that became the key reason for his receiving the highest technical award from the jury committee of the Cannes Film Festival. 21

The aesthetics of King Hu's films extend beyond just the action sequences; they also encompass the introductory scenes of mountains, mists, and character ambulation. Furthermore, through cinematic techniques such as panning, pushing, layering, and blending, Hu brings profound symbolism and meaning to frames featuring elements like lotus ponds, spiders, thatch grass, sunsets, and rays of sunlight through tree branches. During movement, the transient blurriness one might perceive signifies that with every rotation of the eyeball, there exists an unseen editor at work, editing out those unfavorable fragments before we even observe them. 22

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Walter Murch, a film editor who has contributed to numerous significant works, has begun to illuminate through interviews and books that an editor does more than just piece clips together. Various factors such as frame composition, continuity, performance, storyboard, space, time, scene, drama, sound, and rhythm are taken into consideration within the diverse types of film editing. This aspect is one that the author finds most interesting and challenging for research. The task is to deduce from countless complex shots the “editing code” that King Hu used to create Chinese martial arts films, to guide future generations in developing and invigorating the Chinese martial arts genre, and even to let the world recognize the unique montage in Chinese martial arts cinema. Reflecting on Russian montage theory, I intend to start from Vsevolod Pudovkin's discussion on structural editing and scene montage, especially the selection and editing of action scenes, to correspond and analyze the montage structure in King Hu's films. As for Pudovkin's structural editing, his montage theory is built on scenes, with action sequences linked from various shooting angles, and the relationship between scenes and actions. The sum of the shooting script is divided into sequences, each sequence into scenes, and, finally, the scenes themselves are constructed from a whole series of pieces (script-scenes) shot from various angles. 23 In the process of layering, Pudovkin emphasizes creating his own sequences and filmic language. He values the continuity of actions that can build scene implications through segments after connecting the actions. This

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approach showcases how editing not only determines elements within a shooting scene but also serves as a tool for creating new scene compositions and action styles Suppose that the meaning of scenes lies in the regular progression of actions. 24 The film is not merely a collection of different scenes. Just as the pieces are built up and into scenes endowed, as it were, with connected action, so the distinct scenes are grouped together to create complete sequences. The sequences are constructed (edited) from scenes. 25

Eisenstein emphasized the power of editing in combining images, thereby articulating the coherence of the narrative and plot. In this sense, editing is truly an art of selection and combination. Furthermore, regarding the process of motion in moving images, editing can generate tremendous force and produce unexpected effects. 1. Editing is the art of selection and combination. An editor combines shot and images in ways that illuminate character, communicate ideas, or stage conflicts, The editor also combines scenes into a coherent and unified narrative. 26 2. The interaction between the two produces and determines the dynamic, not just in the sense of space-time but also in the field of pure thought. 27 3.

The eye follows the direction of an element. It

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retains a visual impression, which then collides with the impression derived from following the direction of a second element. The conflict between these directions creates the dynamic effect in the apprehension of the whole. 28

Editing is a unique art form that directly filters what audiences want to see in a film, providing them with visual frames and controlling their cinematic experiences. Eisenstein noted that through editing, motion effects could be achieved within the frame. By initiating conflicts, the rhythm of the frame can be mastered, and conflicting and dynamic effects can be generated within its direction. King Hu's sharp editing and scene coordination exist at the intersection of stillness and motion, embodying the traceless spirit that Chinese culture values, which prefers spiritual resemblance over physical likeness, as exemplified by ink painting. The focus of the work is not on the plot but on conveying the spirit. Film scholar Wu Peici (⩸䚲㘜) Wu, Pei-Tzu), in her work 'The Act of Film $QDO\VLVņ Basic Thoughts' (‫࣌ڧ‬ӣߤङҁ䎹ņ▲ ✫ׂߎ‫ۃ‬ৰ), responds to the analytical activities in film studies and other disciplines. Where there is analysis, there must be deconstruction. In the process of deconstruction, the 'constituent elements of the object of study are deconstructed, and then the principles that promote the operation of this object are combed through or clarified.' Film analysis is an autonomous type of film writing, returning to the universal thinking of analytical tools, while

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also reflecting on the issues of theoretical paradigms and artistic methods.29 When I analyze the paragraph shots in the language of cinematography, there are three basic elements of editing: 1. the order of the shots, 2. the number of shots, and 3. the duration of the shots. However, the analysis of editing itself forms the foundation of film style and analysis. When analyzing paragraph shots, I attempt to discern the editing concepts and director's intentions from perceptual, narrative, and psychological perspectives.30

Aesthetical Analyses of Raining in the Mountain and Legend in the Mountain In 1979, Director King Hu concurrently produced two films in South Korea: Legend of the Mountain and Raining in the Mountain. Both works explore the processes of acquiring, transmitting, transcribing, and stealing Buddhist scriptures. Raining in the Mountain depicts the story of a late master passing down his mantle and bowl. To test the three senior monks, he asked them to fetch a bucket of water from the river. After their comprehension and realization of the Buddha Dharma, the master unexpectedly passed the mantle and bowl to Qiu Ming, a recent arrival. Meanwhile, this act invited outsiders such as generals and businessmen into the temple to surreptitiously vie for the authentic scripture, Mahayana Awakening of Faith by Xuanzang, initiating a suspenseful struggle. Raining in the Mountain begins with a journey into the Buddhist temple, taking place in the afterglow of sunset. Unlike Legend of the Mountain,

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which has a slower rhythm and longer length, Raining in the Mountain is paced faster with more detailed arrangements. Legend of the Mountain focuses on scenes taken while walking downhill from the temple, while Raining in the Mountain emphasizes the transitions between each building and pavilion after entering the temple. Once the characters enter, they begin a series of chases and hiding, unfolding a suspenseful drama. The 1979 film Raining in the Mountain emphasizes the scenes of descending from the temple and the transitions between each architectural structure and pavilion. Upon entering, the main characters initiate a series of suspenseful sequences involving chases and concealment. As the film enters its chase and leap sequences, the scenes proceed in a discontinuous manner, intercutting short shots of approximately 2-3 seconds, paired with the rhythmic beats of a small drum, thereby evoking a sense of tension and suspense. This is akin to the "appearance" (щब) movement in traditional Chinese opera, symbolizing the character's entry with specific demeanor and posture. The filmic scene coordination employs clear, forceful editing, along with the actors' movement and positioning, resulting in a neat and efficient presentation. This segment can be observed from 13 minutes 55 seconds to 14 minutes 10 seconds in the film. 31 During the chase and leap scenes in the film, the images are presented discontinuously, leveraging quick 2-3 second cuts along with rhythmic, staccato drumbeats to create an intense sense of suspense. This technique can be compared to the 'entrance stance' in traditional Chinese theater,

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which manifests the spirit and posture of the characters as they enter the stage. In terms of scene direction, there is a clear delineation between the interior and exterior with a powerful and succinct editing style and precise actor movements, resulting in a clean and efficient visual presentation. Through parallel editing, the film depicts the two characters entering the temple simultaneously, skillfully evading the gaze of the monks within the temple. This analysis covers the section of the film from 14 minutes 18 seconds to 14 minutes 50 seconds. 32 The 1979 film, Legend of the Mountain, adapted from the Song Dynasty tale A Cave of Ghosts in the West Mountain, explores the trials of a scholar engaged in transcribing Buddhist scriptures. After encountering a series of illusions, various female ghosts and demons aspire to obtain the scripture transcribed by the scholar in hopes of achieving immortality and enlightenment. In 1979, Legend of the Mountain employs techniques such as cutting, dissolving, close-up shots, and directional cues. From the very beginning of the film, numerous shots of vast, open spaces are used. The viewer gains an understanding of the creator's mastery over everyday life, space, and situations by observing the speed at which the characters move in front of the camera. It demonstrates the director's command and application of time and space through the storyboard. From the perspective of editing structure, the entire film delves into atmosphere, rhythm, montage techniques, and film language within time and space. The film incorporates copious scenes of "walking" stacking shots of a man's journey through natural landscapes,

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complemented with flute and drum sounds, as well as various camera movements and angles. The directional cues of spaces are manipulated through dissolve, cut, and join, accompanied by angle editing with percussive sounds, and displacement and shifting of movement and space. In large scenes, the camera zooms in on characters, akin to the delicate depiction of characters within landscape paintings. The credits are written in Director King Hu's calligraphy. The protagonist embarks on a journey through the mountains, ascending to the temple to retrieve and transcribe scriptures before descending towards the village. Along the way, the scenic beauty of the surroundings, as captured by Director King Hu, showcases his penchant for capturing the setting sun, withered branches, swaying grass, flowing streams, and misty atmospheres. The opening sequence, spanning nearly fifteen minutes, presents the protagonist's walking posture. Through a thirdperson narrative, the story introduces the ancient Chinese tale of a scholar who ascends the mountain to assist a master in transcribing scriptures as a means of livelihood. Upon reaching the Indra Sea Temple and receiving the master's permission and monastic name, the protagonist prepares to descend and continue his transcription work. While passing a pavilion, he encounters a woodcutter who guides him towards the village. In 1979, Legend of the Mountain emphasized martial arts and skills, with a focus on camera movements and action choreography. Within the architectural structures of temples and Chinese buildings, the camera's

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panning movements capture the rhythm and pace of martial arts, synchronized with the rhythmic beats of the accompanying music. Through spatial arrangements, camera angles, compositions, movements, and positioning, the film creates a splendid and compact aesthetic of juxtaposition. While the narrative appears to revolve around the pursuit of stolen scriptures by various parties, it actually emphasizes the Buddhist principles of justice, truth, and self-realization. Jiao Xiongping's argument suggests that King Hu's films demonstrate: 1) skillful application of techniques in staging scenes, 2) smooth and fluid camera movements, and 3) keen and poetic compositions. The film features female heroes and neutral characters, adopting the techniques of Beijing opera and facial makeup to portray the roles. The musical score incorporates instruments such as gongs, drums, suona, qin, guzheng (Վ䶴 zither), xiao (久 Chinese flute), and flute, with the gentle beats of the drums hinting at suspense and danger. 33

Regarding the rhythmic dissonance created by the misalignment of drum beats, the use of cross-cutting techniques generates a ghostly atmosphere and achieves a dialectical effect between image and sound through montage. Symbolic elements, such as the Chinese character “⳨” engraved on a plate during a wedding banquet, metaphorically represent the union of two individuals, while the imagery of fish and water symbolizes joyous harmony. These artistic expressions exemplify Director King Hu's adept utilization of the film's symbolic language system, merging technical

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expertise with creative ingenuity. Through this fusion and application of techniques and creativity, King Hu showcases the artistic depth and accomplishments of Chinese literature, drama, and spirituality within the realm of film

Conclusion Taiwan, China, and Hong Kong have conducted numerous studies on Director King Hu's films, exploring various aspects such as Chinese culture, the wuxia (martial arts) genre, and King Hu's distinctive film style. Many scholars have examined the adaptation of Chinese literary works into visual representations, meticulous historical research of different eras in China, as well as the use of art and props. Scholars have also approached the study from literary, historical, and aesthetic perspectives. Wuxia, as a unique genre in Chinese cinema, has not only influenced the development of martial arts and action films worldwide but has also contributed to the exploration of King Hu's film aesthetics. In this regard, the author summarizes the following themes based on a reexamination of King Hu's film aesthetics. 1. Performance and Editing: The aesthetic presentation of martial arts moments, fleeting glimpses, and theatrical entrances in Peking Opera. 2. Editing in the Bamboo Forest Battle: The intricate application of enigmatic editing techniques such as jumps, leaps, shifts, pushes, and pulls between detailed shots and scenes.

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3. Editing and Sound: The incorporation of traditional Chinese music, the juxtaposition of evolving sequence shots with different instruments and melodies, resulting in the creation of a Chinese cultural aesthetic. 4. Editing and Symbols: The utilization of symbols such as stone lions, spiders, pavilions, vine branches, mountains, and setting suns. 34

Bazin discussed how certain master-level film creators always run at the forefront and artistically transcend their peers. Most pioneers in the film industry have transcended various stages, aiming directly for loftier objectives. Their vision is to recreate an illusion of the external world, complete with sound, color, and three-dimensionality (Bazin, 26). The invention of technology made the emergence of cinema possible, but this alone is insufficient to understand the underlying reasons for cinema's inception. 35

During the chase and jump scenes in the film, images are presented discontinuously, leveraging quick 2-3 second cuts along with a rhythmic, staccato drumbeat to create an intense sense of suspense. This can be compared to the 'entrance stance' in traditional Chinese theater, which manifests the spirit and posture of characters as they enter the stage. In terms of scene direction, there is a clear delineation between interior and exterior, with powerful and succinct editing, precise actor movements, resulting in a clean and efficient visual presentation. Through parallel editing, the film depicts two characters entering the temple simultaneously, skillfully

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281

evading the gaze of the monks within. This analysis covers the section of the film from 14 minutes 18 seconds to 14 minutes 50 seconds. The 1979 film, Legend of the Mountain, adapted from the Song Dynasty tale A Cave of Ghosts in the West Mountain, explores the trials of a scholar engaged in transcribing Buddhist scriptures. After encountering a series of illusions, various female ghosts and demons aspire to obtain the scripture transcribed by the scholar, in hopes of achieving immortality and enlightenment. Legend of the Mountain employs techniques such as cutting, dissolving, close-up shots, and directional cues. From the very beginning of the film, numerous shots of vast, open spaces are used. The viewer understands the creator's mastery over everyday life, space, and situations by observing the speed at which characters move in front of the camera. It demonstrates the director's command and application of time and space through the storyboard. From the perspective of editing structure, the entire film delves into atmosphere, rhythm, montage techniques, and film language within time and space. The film incorporates copious scenes of "walking," stacking shots of a man's journey through natural landscapes, complemented with flute and drum sounds, as well as various camera movements and angles. The directional cues of spaces are manipulated through dissolve, cut, and join, accompanied by angle editing with percussive sounds, and displacement and shifting of movement and space. In large scenes, the camera zooms in on characters, akin to the delicate depiction of characters

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within landscape paintings. The credits are written in Director King Hu's calligraphy. In other words, merely approaching filmmaking from a technical standpoint without a broader imagination of the visual aspects would not result in creating an astonishing work that captivates the audience. In this article, Bazin emphasized the need for visionary filmmakers to have a profound understanding of how images, like illusions, can depict and represent the world. While cameras simulate the natural and everyday, they lack movement. Filmmaking is often not solely the domain of scientists or industrialists but rather those who are indulged in fantasy. The film techniques employed by Director King Hu have opened up a unique cultural system within Chinese-language cinema, particularly in the realms of martial arts, fantasy, and the bizarre. His films have propelled Chinese-language cinema into the realm of global film language. Through subsequent works by various filmmakers, King Hu's cinematic aesthetics have been fully showcased and diversified. His contributions have allowed Chinese-language cinema to achieve remarkable expressions and a multitude of variations on the world stage.

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Feng, Pinjia (榈ս҄) and Zhou Yingxiong (յਸ਼஢) (2007) Modernity under Shadows and Images (‫ڧ‬ҦЈङ䛂ї͹朅‫ڧ‬厠嫌嫰‫ކ‬ԗ). Taipei: Bookman (㫮ߥ). Hu, King, Yamada Koichi (ٌँؐ▲), and Udagawa Yukihiro (؋ँٕ‫ٸ‬ ࡭) (2015) King Hu’s Making of Martial Arts Films (劏୐拵࠶✃朅‫ڧ‬ ҁࡣ). Beijing: Zhongguo jiliang (Иⴚ嬴୏). Hu, King (劏୐拵) (2011) King Hu Discusses Cinema (劏୐拵寲朅‫)ڧ‬. Taipei: Sanlian (І刦). Huang, Ren (溈☨) (1999) King Hu’s World (劏୐拵ङЍउ). Taipei: Asia Pacific (☓‫)ן‬. Huang, You-chin (溈䘈㻄) (September 2014) “King Hu and the Shaw Brothers' ‘New’ Style Martial Arts Films of the 1960s: A Bricoleur in the Film Studios” (࣌⸢娝ङ暽⤨ৱͬ劏୐拵厠 1960 ‫ٶ‬їङ愬ࡆ‫ޏ‬ ࡵ࠶✃࣌). Journal of Art Studies (场妟ㄥू९) 14: 47-87. Lee, Ang (㬮‫( )؍‬2016) "In Search for Art: Ang Lee Comments on King Hu” (场妟ङଝㆌ͹㬮‫؍‬寲劏୐拵): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_AT5Kf73TI (online resources retrieved in October 2023). Lee, Leo Ou-Fan (㬮㻓㱘) (January 2007) “A Touch of Zen and the Bamboo Scene” (✃‫׮‬厠ঁߥ‫ם‬㛸). Journal of Modern Literature in Chinese (䛂 їИ‫ކކ‬ㄥㄥ⸟) 8.1: 82-89. Leung, Ping-Kwan (ࠍ䰠抁) (January 2007) “King Hu Cinema: Chinese Cultural Resources and the Cultural Fields of Hong Kong and Taiwan

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in the 1960s” (劏୐拵朅‫ڧ‬͹Иⴚ‫ކ‬ԗ嶾࢛厠ҹż‫ٶ‬ї࢔Ֆङ‫ކ‬ԗ⸢ ֿ). Journal of Modern Literature in Chinese (䛂їИ‫ކކ‬ㄥㄥ⸟) 8.1: 100-113. Leung, Ping-Kwan (ࠍ䰠抁) and Hu Weiyao (劏侳⸝)(2007) King Hu’s Cinematic Legends (劏୐拵朅‫)ר⟂ڧ‬. Taipei: Mingbao (‫)⸟ޢ‬. Li, Xiangling (㬮冞漞) (2017) From Stage to Screens: Nuxia, Ruins and Operatic Scores in King Hu Films (㒡㛺Ֆӱ拢‫ٳ‬͹劏୐拵朅‫ڧ‬Иङ ‫઻ڥ✃׮‬澝㐊⺆⸢ް厠擞௴溟). Taipei: National Taiwan University (Master Thesis). Lin, Jingjie ( ߥ 杙 ➡

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ta), Li Daoming (㬮ଳ‫ ޢ‬Li, Tao-ming), and Chen Yunyuan (暒Ҫҫ Chen, Yun-yuan) edt. Taipei: Chunshan (ަٌ). Liu, Yung-hao (⤻ࡋ㩭) (2022) “Mosaic and Boarderlines: Analyses of Tsai Mingliang’s Goodbye Dragon Inn” (‫ڧ‬Ҧङ擔ٔ厠उஒ:ӣߤ嚁 ‫ޢ‬щ朅‫ڧ‬澦Љ‫ށ‬澧). Advancement of Cinema Studies I: Heteronomy and Elites (‫ݐ‬悹朅‫ूڧ‬९ 1: 䠙曪厠ࡌত). Taipei: Henghe (㔲࡜). —. (July 2022) “Coexisting Filmic Texts: Analyzing the Intertextuality and Syntactic Citation in Tsai Ming-liang's Goodbye, Dragon Inn” (һ‫ކ‬ङ ‫ ࣌ ڧ‬͹ 嚁 ‫ ޢ‬щ 澦 Љ ‫ ށ‬澧 ङ л ‫ ۅ ކ‬厠 ‫ ऀ ږ‬Տ ࡣ 佖 㵜 ). Journal of Humanities and Social Science (ы‫॑ކ‬㫵ㄥ⸟) 22: 127-148. —. (October 2010) “Rain Pours Down in Cinema-Analyzing Transformations of Rains in Tsai Ming-Liang's Goodbye Dragon Inn” (஧੊֨朅‫ͬڧ‬ӣ ߤ嚁‫ޢ‬щ澦Љ‫ށ‬澧И஧ङ岴嶃). Journal of Humanities and Social Science of NHCUE (‫ݾঁޏ‬ਃ‫ם‬ㄥы‫॑ކ‬㫵ㄥ⸟) 3.2: 93-117. Ondaatje, Michael (2017) The Conversations: Walter Murch and the Art of Editing Filmͧ朅‫ڧ‬ԯӿ‫ͨݎ‬. Xia Tong (‫ח‬㑳 Hsia Tung) trans. Taipei: Yuandian (Խ溟). Pudovkin, Vsevolod (2016) “From Film Technique.” Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings. Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen edt. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rist, Peter (2018) King Hu: Experimental, Narrative Filmmaker (劏୐拵͹ ㅲ樱‫ۅ‬ङ㦏з朅‫ڧ‬ҁৱ). Huilang (ࢱ䗐) trans. New York and London: Routledge.

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Taipei: Doudian (଩溟). Wu, Hao (⩸㨝) (2004) Wuxia Films of Martial Arts (࠶✃ԅ‫)࣌נ‬. Taipei: Sanlian (І刦). Wu, Yingjun (⩸ଌ⩧ Wu, Ying-chun) (2011) Yiyang Boarder: King Hu’s Cinematic World (暏暙उ热劏୐拵ङ朅‫ڧ‬Ѝउ). Shanghai: Fudan University. Wu, Peici (⩸䚲㘜 Wu, Pei-tsi) (2007) In the Era when Cinema Thinks (֨ 朅‫ۃڧ‬ৰङ‫ٶ‬ї). Taipei: Bookman (㫮ߥ). Yau, Esther (2001) At Full Speed: Hong Kong Cinema in a Borderless World. Minneapolis: Minnesota University Press, 2001. Vanoye, Francis (2012) Récit écrite Récit Filmiqu (䠔வ㦏з 朅‫ڧ‬㦏з). Wang Wen-rung (ࣦ‫ކ‬壝) trans. Beijing: Beijing University Press. Yip, Man-Fung (喳޿Й) (2020) Martial Arts Cinema and Hong Kong Modernity: Aesthetics, Representation, Circulation (࠶✃朅‫ڧ‬厠௚࢔ 䛂ї‫)ۅ‬. Tan Yinou (岅љ尩) trans. Taipei: Shoumin (۴ࡇ). Zhang Yenju (㑋䓃唼), Yuan Wentai (Խ‫)ࡪކ‬, Lu Qianhua (⪅❃啠), and Li Qiaoxue (㬮⯌ந) (2019) Cutting-Edge Techniques and Art of Movie Images 朅‫ڧڧ‬Ҧӹ࡟‫܉‬妟厠场妟). Beijing: Chinese Cinema (Иⴚ朅 ‫)ڧ‬.

Notes 1

Consult André Bazin’s What Is Cinema, p. 24.

2

For details, check “Preface I” in Zhang Yenju (㑋䓃唼), Yuan Wentai (Խ‫)ࡪކ‬,

Lu Qianhua (⪅❃啠), and Li Qiaoxue’s (㬮⯌ந) Cutting-Edge Techniques and Art

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of Movie Images 朅‫ڧڧ‬Ҧӹ࡟‫܉‬妟厠场妟). 3

Ibid, Preface II.

4

Refer to Chen Mo’s (暒‫“ )׎‬King Hu’s Cinema and His ‘Drama’ Aesthetics” (劏

୐拵朅‫ڧ‬Ճҿ澨‫ڧ‬㛺澩২ㄥ), p. 174. 5

For details, see Jiao Xiongping’s ( ࢾ ஢ ‫ ى‬Chiao, Hsiung-ping) “Dynamic

Style—King Hu’s Cinema” (⥺۟梏ࠀ-寲劏୐拵ङ朅‫( )ڧ‬February 1983): https://www.taiwan-panorama.com.tw/Articles/Details?Guid=6789b850-81934769-aefb-de2369ce27c3. 6 Refer to Leo Ou-Fan Lee’s “A Touch of Zen and the Bamboo Scene,” p. 82-89. 7

Refer to Yung-hao Liu’s (⤻ࡋ㩭) (2022). “Mosaic and Boarderlines: Analyses of

Tsai Mingliang’s Goodbye Dragon Inn” (‫ڧ‬Ҧङ擔ٔ厠उஒ:ӣߤ嚁‫ޢ‬щ朅‫ڧ‬澦Љ ‫ށ‬澧). Advancement of Cinema Studies I: Heteronomy and Elites (‫ݐ‬悹朅‫ूڧ‬९ 1: 䠙曪厠ࡌত). Taipei: Henghe (㔲࡜). 8

For details about the phrase “outlining in red” or “highlight with red ink” (‫ݔ‬伐),

refer to “About King Hu’s Magnificence and Sorrow,” p. 31. 9

Refer to Lin Jingjie’s (ߥ杙➡ Lin, Ching-chieh) “The Filmmaker’s Notes” (㆏

ࢦ۴), p. 55. 10

For details, check Lin Liangwen’s “King Hu, Raining in the Mountain, 1979,” p. 268-282. 11 Refer to the documentary "In Search for Art: Ang Lee Comments on King Hu” (场妟ङଝㆌ: 㬮‫؍‬寲劏୐拵): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_AT5Kf73TI 12

Refer to David Bordwell’s Poetics of Cinema, p. 31. Ibid, p. 36. 14 In the documentary "King of Wuxia," Ang Lee described the inspiration Director King Hu provided him in his creative pursuits as possessing a certain "aura" or "ethereal quality." 15 Ibid, p. 445. 16 Ibid, p. 448. 17 Ibid, p. 425. 18 Refer to David Bordwell’s Poetics of Cinema, p. 473. 19 For details, check Michael Ondaatje’s Walter Murch and the Art of Editing Film, p. 17. 20 The author conducted an interview with Director Li Long in early February 2022 at the Tainan Science Park, Taiwan. From the discussion, a detailed account of 13

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Director King Hu's work process was compiled. According to Director Li Long's explanations, for all of Director King Hu's productions, he personally collaborated with the film editor at the editing desk to review and refine every shot. They meticulously ensured the accuracy of sequences, scene transitions, ordering, and even the minutest differences between frames, finalizing the last version of the film. 21

For details, check “About King Hu’s Magnificence and Sorrow” (昘㧠劏୐拵⻒

昆厠⫸㗘), p. 33. 22

Refer to Michael Ondaatje’s Walter Murch and the Art of Editing Film, p. 74. Refer to Vsevolod Pudovkin’s “From Film Technique,” p. 7. The original wording is“The sum of the shooting-script is divided into sequences, each sequences into scenes, and, finally, the scenes themselves are constructed from a whole series of pieces (script-scenes) shot from various angles.” 24 Ibid. The original wording is: “Editing of the Scene Suppose the significance of the scene consists in the general course of the action.” 25 Ibid, p. 9. The original wording is: “The film is not only simply a collection of different scenes. Just as the pieces are built up and into scenes endowed, as it were, with connected action, so the separate scenes are assemblings into groups forming whole sequences.” 26 Refer to Sergei Eisenstein, Michael Glenny, and Richard Taylor’s Towards a Theory of Montage: Sergei Eisenstein Selected Works, Volume 2 Paperback. I. B. Tauris & Company, 2010, p.70. The original wording is: “Editing is the art of selection and combination. An editor combines shot and images in ways that illuminate character, communicate ideas, or stage conflicts, The editor also combines scenes into a coherent and unified narrative.” 27 Refer to Sergei Elsenstein’s “From Film Form By the Shot: The Cinematographic Principle and the Ideogram” in Film Theory and Criticism: Introductory Readings edited by Leo Braudy and Marshall Cohen, p.24. The original wording is: “The interaction between the two produces and determines the dynamic (Not just in the sense of space-time, but also in the field of pure thought.)” 28 Ibid, p. 27. Here is the original wording: “The eye follows the direction of an element. It retains a visual impression which then collides with the impression derived from following the direction of a second element. The conflict between these directions creates the dynamic effect in the apprehension of the whole.” 29 Ibid, p. 38-46. 23

30

Consult Wu Peici’s ( ⩸ 䚲 㘜 Wu, Pei-tsi) “Summary of Narrative Cinema Analayses” (㦏з朅‫ڧ‬ӣߤࠢ੽) in In the Era when Cinema Thinks (֨朅‫ۃڧ‬

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293

ৰङ‫ٶ‬ї), p. 46. 31

The aforementioned analytical excerpt is derived from the symposium in April 2022 titled "Director King Hu's Journey in Martial Arts Cinema: An Interdisciplinary Forum on Film, Literature, and Traditional Chinese Medicine." A conference paper titled "On the Sound, Atmosphere, and Montage in King Hu’s Films: An Examination of Legend of the Mountain and Raining in the Mountain" was presented. 32 Refer to the analysis excerpted from the April 2022 symposium titled "Director King Hu's Journey in Martial Arts Cinema: A Multidisciplinary Forum on Film, Literature, and Traditional Chinese Medicine." The conference paper presented was titled "On the Sound, Atmosphere, and Montage in King Hu’s Films: An Examination of Legend of the Mountain and Raining in the Mountain. 33

For details, see Jiao Xiongping’s ( ࢾ ஢ ‫ ى‬Chiao, Hsiung-ping) “Dynamic

Style—King Hu’s Cinema” (⥺۟梏ࠀ-寲劏୐拵ङ朅‫( )ڧ‬February 1983): https://www.taiwan-panorama.com.tw/Articles/Details?Guid=6789b850-81934769-aefb-de2369ce27c3 34 I added bold text myself. 35 Consult André Bazin’s What Is Cinema, p. 29.

CHAPTER EIGHT AESTHETIC STRATEGIES IN KING HU’S RAINING IN THE MOUNTAIN HUI-CHU YU, PH.D. Many contemporary martial arts films have been dedicated to King Hu for his contributions to developing the genre. This paper investigates how Hu employs creative aesthetic strategies to make Raining in the Mountain a unique martial arts film. From an artistic perspective, the film demonstrates Hu’s preference for elements taken from traditional Chinese ink painting and Beijing opera. In addition, by exploiting natural landscapes and production designs for splendid visual effects and artistic expression, Hu also realizes some brilliant cinematic techniques that correspond to the art theory of Guo Xi. More significantly, applying these cinematic techniques helps characterize the abbot as a symbolic swordsman as potent as a gallant knight and thus configures a metaphorical space for him to exercise justice. In this way, Hu integrates cinematic strategies to enact a moral allegory in Raining in the Mountain that shows the impact of avarice on the human mind. The production of Burning of the Red Lotus Monastery in Shanghai initiated a trend of martial arts films in Chinese society. From the 1960s to

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the early 1980s, three directors of Shaw Brothers Studio, namely Chor Yuen, Chang Cheh, and King Hu, were dubbed as three pioneers known for their distinct characteristics in their productions of martial arts films and TV series. Chor’s films, primarily based on Gu Long’s novels, are celebrated for their surrealist representations of martial arts because his characters often show stunning acts. On the other hand, Chang Cheh’s martial arts films are renowned for “fierce fighting and brutal combat, featuring masculine aesthetics of violence” (Chen, “Analysis” 78). His heroes tend to be indignant defenders of justice equipped with chivalry and a code of honor. In contrast to Chor’s surrealism and Chang’s violent aestheticism, Hu’s martial arts films are renowned for their aesthetic strategies that contribute to a literati style. Hu deserves a high reputation for his innovations in filmmaking. The films Hu produced in Taiwan, such as Dragon Gate Inn, A Touch of Zen, Legend of the Mountain, and Raining in the Mountain, were more mature productions that brought him worldwide fame (Rist 161). Liu Wan-Li also hails Hu as the grandmaster of the cinema in Taiwan in the 1970s and 1980s due to the following remarkable traits: King Hu invented a new narrative model in the movies with rich Chinese cultural connotations, integrating bizarre stories and romance and condensing various cultures, arts, and traditional thoughts in symbolic and poetic visions. The performing arts, perspectives of Chinese ink

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painting, Chinese garden landscapes, and suspense in bizarre stories are all combined to create contemporary and historical image features. (1) 1

Liu’s comments single out the intricacy, which features combinations of generic traits, various arts, and visual representations of different eras. Though categorized as classic martial arts films, Raining in the Mountain and Legend of the Mountain do not have many fighting scenes. James Wicks proclaims that the two films Hu produced in 1979 “arguably demonstrate an intention to avoid the constraints of the wuxia genre” (137). Indeed, the two productions disclose Hu’s ambition to expand the scope of martial arts films by adding a wide range of innovations. To illustrate Hu’s distinct style, it is essential to reevaluate his artistic achievements in creating an exceptional artistic aura in martial arts films. This study also delves into how Hu’s creative aesthetic strategies contribute to the Zen mood and the moral allegory in Raining in the Mountain. Despite the fact that these martial arts films evolved during the political disturbances of the 1960s, the films tend to conform to the conservative values long upheld in a Confucian society, namely loyalty, filial piety, chastity, and righteousness. According to Chen Mo’s study, Chinese martial arts films were initially scorned since violence and brutality were seen as incompatible with a Confucian society. Even if it is necessary to use violence, the swordsmen are subject to the code of warriors for defending the weak and the wronged (Flashing Swords 222). The heroes’ muscularity and gallantry often embody the audience’s wish for influential figures to get

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everything straight or offer deliverance from oppression (Chen, History 136). Like the Arthurian knights in medieval romances, heroes in martial arts films are supposed to be chivalric and virtuous defenders of Heaven’s way. The practice of chivalry is preconditioned by moral restraints rather than despicable willful deeds. Thus, swordsmen and villains differ in their self-discipline, integrity, and motives for fighting. Hu commonly characterizes his protagonists as Confucian literati equipped with swords. However, with an abbot as its protagonist, Raining in the Mountain departs from this aspect. Hu defines xia (chivalry) in a broad sense; thus, it refers to “whenever someone is exerting himself/herself to defend the weak, justice, and righteousness” (Hu 98). Even though there are few fighting scenes, the new Abbot, Chiu Ming, embodies an innovative form of a spiritual warrior as one who defends justice, transforms those gone astray, and restores the world to a higher order. The composure of the new abbot is quite similar to the liberal state of mind of a chivalrous knight. The invisible sword in his hand is Dharma for upholding the collapsing system and its values. In contrast to the merciless swordsman in Chang Cheh, the abbot practices chivalry through Confucianism and mercy. As a result, Hu’s abbot in Raining in the Mountain tends to be more disciplined than the brutal fighters in Chor Yuen’s martial arts films. In addition to Confucian characterization, Hu’s intense interest in various regional dramas also contributes to the aesthetic aura of his marital arts films. He was keen on taking advantage of performing arts, especially

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acrobatic fighting, to create a sense of dynamism. Stephen Teo defines it as Hu’s “operatic cinema.” Hu’s uniqueness lies partially in his talent to represent Chinese cultural traits, for example, “precise rhythmic tempo and speed, the exaggerative frills and gestures, the mimetic action, the pratfalls, somersaults, foot stomping, the technical effects of smoke to emphasize space. . . in Beijing opera or its variations in the regional operas” (20). Likewise, as Law Kar observes, Hu was fascinated with folk culture; as a result, he developed his stories less with characters’ inner feelings and more with dynamic images (“From Folk Culture” 94). Such a statement reveals the central focus of Raining in the Mountain. Two parties of competitors vying for an ancient treasure neither brandish swords toward one another nor combat ferociously. They have more false swipes than ruthless punching, so they fight as martial roles or female characters versed in the shadowboxing of Beijing operas (Luk 23). The former refers to dance-like postures, while the latter dance-like martial arts moves. Hu consciously integrates acting and fighting from Beijing opera, an art form he grew up with, into his cinematic productions to render a combative atmosphere and depict a heroic spirit. Consequently, the martial arts moves are by no means random choices but well-deliberated designs to imbue nostalgic sentiment through Chinese accouterments. Besides the acting and fighting, the audience can also perceive the influence of Beijing operas through background musical elements and the characters’ looks and actions (Liang 167). The fights in Raining in the

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Mountain correspond precisely to the gong and drum beats to help create a rhythm while revealing the tense relationship between the pursuer and the pursued. When characters pursue their opponents, they tend to slip, flick, slide, and dodge rather than whack, chop, and beat. While their movements are brisk and nimble, they are mostly harmless, as if they were playing catand-mouse games; meanwhile, the gong and drumbeat contribute to the vibrancy and rigor of the characters’ movements. Apart from the elements of local drama, Hu’s production designs departed from the trend in Hong Kong in the early 1980s, when the second wave of filmmakers demanded more realistic representation. For example, delicate movie sets, costumes, and props were prerequisite features for the romantic love and sensational episodes in Chor Yuan’s films (Huang, “A Bricoleur” 49-50). Chor relied heavily on the movie sets in the Shaw Brothers Studio for more economical commercial productions, partly because of “the lack of natural scenery in Hong Kong and financial considerations” (115). The delicate sets in the studio make the fictional worlds of Chor’s films gorgeous and dreamlike, so they are often claimed to be surrealistic Arcadias for exceedingly sentimental love and soul-stirring feats (94). The heroes in Chor’s martial arts film are gallant warriors, while the surrealistic scenes make their improbable martial arts enchanting and legendary. Hu’s martial arts films are also different from those of Chang Cheh’s, which feature hyper-masculinity through the aesthetics of violence. Chang

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prefers to represent bloody, ferocious scenes, with macho heroes boxing or wielding weapons. Developed to counteract the modern productions of feminine types of movies, Chang’s movies are dominated by exasperated macho male protagonists whose tragic ends engender intense pathos (Chen, Flashing Swords 348). Besides Chang’s aesthetics of violence, Hu favors dance-like martial arts moves to display the characters’ vitality and elasticity. As a result, disgusting bloody scenes seldom appear in Hu’s films. In this case, it is necessary to explore how Hu creates the sort of dynamism the fans of martial arts films expect to see. Since Raining in the Mountain is about the theft of a treasured ancient Buddhist manuscript scroll, the characters involved often flee and pursue. The most intriguing scene is when the greedy treasure grabbers fight for the “Mahayana Scroll.” What is more inviting is the “nimbleness and humor inherent in the acrobatic-like performance in the enclosed space,” rather than gory cruelty (Law, “From Folk Culture” 98). The skillful treatment displays Hu’s attempt to initially associate artistic representation with a philosophical sense faintly revealed. Hu’s association with Li Shan Ji and fascination with martial arts literature had a noteworthy impact on his cinematic representation. Even though martial arts literature mainly focuses on plot and characterization, Li Shan Ji utilizes sensational descriptions of natural scenes to boost the poetic atmosphere of his writings (Zhang 246). Enthralled with the stories told by Li Shan Ji, Hu was also obsessed with poetic delineation through natural scenery. Unlike Chor, who produced many martial arts films for

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Shaw Brothers Studio, Hu abhorred the idea of producing films in a studio full of artificial sets because he preferred shooting with natural landscapes. He took advantage of natural scenery extensively for framing and shooting, not simply to show beautiful views but for various cinematic functions. One feature to focus on is Hu’s use of pictorial scenes to create fairy-tale atmospheres. As the Taoist or Buddhist characteristics featured in Li Shan Ji’s literature, many martial art films are often associated with some legendary masters living in reclusion; accordingly, it is expedient to take advantage of picturesque scenes to boost an illusory atmosphere. Another prominent feature of Hu’s production designs are elements derived from Chinese ink painting. Framing is not an exceptional technique in Chinese painting and garden design. Hu’s tactful use of framing for cinematic representations boosts the poetic atmosphere in Raining in the Mountain. Hu underscores landscape layout for his cinematic space narrative in a manner taken from Sung Dynasty Chinese painters. For example, he uses curved branches of an ancient pine tree as a frame to enclose a distant view of three travelers walking on winding tracks in the haze. The travelers look like the tiny figures in Chinese brush paintings, who are petty but significant. Their very existence in the landscape invigorates the static scenery—a stark contrast frequently represented to highlight tranquil moments. Such scenic images reveal Hu’s exceptional cinematic skill in creating nostalgic moods and atmospheres.

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Hu’s extensive employment of montage displays his creativity in exploiting techniques favored by many Chinese painters. As an important means of representation, Plan Séquence effectively creates “temporal continuity and spatial consistency” (Lin 9). Hu takes advantage of “unrealistic materials and unauthentic images to explore the infinite potential of cinematic language as well as the audience’s imagination” to reinterpret time and space (Cheuk, “Temporal and Spatial” 53). The choppy cutting may seem like a strange or defective representation of sequential action constructed through glimpses; nevertheless, it effectively maneuvers visual materials (Bordwell 34). At the beginning of Raining in the Mountain, the director takes a very elaborate horizontal shot to show a scene in which three travelers march among reeds in the haze. Similarly, the murky scene directs the audience’s attention to a remote location in the distant past, suggesting an ephemeral zone detached from the real world. Three blurry shadows moving in the woods are surrounded by the sunlight flooding from the top. The travelers in white are radiant; they look otherworldly as if they were supernatural beings rather than humans. However, they do not appear frightening; the colorful leaves in the woods foster a romantic atmosphere. Another scene shows the three travelers walking into darkness at dusk. The next moment, they seem to emerge from nowhere all of a sudden, like fairies floating above the ground. Their unexpected appearance out of the gloomy darkness arouses the audience’s curiosity about their identities and the purpose of their journey. The abovementioned scenes demonstrate Hu’s

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preference for montage for artistic representation since the cinematographic technique helps facilitate “the third movement” to create an ethereal space out of the mundane world. Hu’s treatment of space reflects his view of the world around him, which was then “turbulent, chaotic, violent and irrational” because of various cultural and political issues (Ng 44). Hu’s skillful spatial representation may divulge a desire to transcend the confinements of the real world. Hu’s tactful use of cinematic techniques creates a sense of speed. In a forum on the art of cinema, Hu revealed his tricks to create swift movement by using a wide-angle lens and placing objects in the shape of vertical bars in front of the camera (96). In addition, Hu found it useful to use the camera for close-up views to shoot dashing characters from a distance. He would also ask the actors to run in a semi-circle while the camera was positioned in the center (Hu 108). Some scenes in Raining in the Mountain might as well be regarded as a cinematic version of John Keats’ “Ode on a Grecian Urn” that manifests perceivable dynamism in stillness. Hu skillfully employs inventive cinematographic techniques to present the vitality and swiftness of the characters in motion. Alternating fast and slow tempos is another customary practice in the film. The pursuit of White Fox and Zhang Cheng in the woods looks dynamic and powerful because the fleeing lady in a red cloak and the pursuing man in black are dashing among the green bushes. Against the backdrop of green plants, the red and black colors flashing by the bushes create a figure-ground illusion as if both the bushes

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and runners are moving. In a similar scene, Hu uses black and white flickering shadows or shows moving figures against a still background to highlight the running characters. Chasing in dark woods creates a faster pace because the motionless pine trees help create flickering shadows. As a result, the pursuer and the pursued seem to dart much more quickly than they do on account of the “motion continuum” created with film editing. Technically, numerous shots are combined to reconstruct the whole process, while the missing moments tend to be filled up with the audience’s association and imagination (Cheuk, “A Pioneer” 59). This technique demonstrates that Hu relies more on creative montage editing to create dynamism than on lengthy shots of fighting scenes. Similarly, Hu consciously exploited cinematic techniques to present scenes mixing reality and illusion. He once stated that he did not pursue Italian neo-realism but to “design a procedure based on Chinese opera, dance, and acrobatics to present realistic, rhythmic, and beautiful action to show various levels of kung fu” (Hu 42). For example, Hu intentionally slows down the shooting speed as he did in A Touch of Zen. This is witnessed in Raining in the Mountain when the hermit’s maids jump from tall trees or into a deep valley. When chasing the two thieves fleeing from the monastery, the maids dressed in red and orange are made prominent against a grayish background. When the scenes are montaged with those in which they spring jumping up or down, they transform into a group of wonder women demonstrating unusual velocity and leaping ability; this

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strength and athleticism represents the fluidity of the flying apsaras in the Dunhuang murals. As demonstrated in these scenes, Hu is remarkable in taking advantage of camera movement and film editing to create a dynamic tempo using basic martial arts moves such as cross-body, tumble, somersault, roll, prance, and bounce. Chor Yuen’s and Hu’s production designs have fundamental differences. Due to the lack of natural landscape in Hong Kong, Chor Yuen relied heavily on movie sets in the studio. In the 1960s, the Shaw Brothers produced many new martial arts films, but most shared similar props, costumes, and settings (Chang 59). Chen Mo illustrates Chor Yuen’s surrealistic and dreamy setting as “extremely delicate, multi-colored, vibrant, resplendent, and dazzling . . . intricately carved, extravagant, wonderfully various, and gorgeous” (History 203-204). Huang Yu-Chin further points out four features of Chor Yuen’s martial arts films: “simplified compositions,” “tremendous framing,” “spectacular stage with little human figures with image/video stitching,” and “embroidered screens” (Huang, “Ch-ch-ch-change” 95). The production designs were economical devices to boost artistic representation. On the contrary, Hu preferred to exploit natural landscapes to reproduce the artistic moods reminiscent of Chinese ink painting. Initiated in his early childhood, Hu often presented mountains encircled by fog and clouds with unique cinematic designs. In a time without computerized visual effects, he tried all means to produce vaporous scenes resembling the landscape paintings of Mi Fu and Mi Yu-

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Jen, two renowned Chinese painters of the Northern Song Dynasty whose ink paintings feature clouds and fog. In Raining in the Mountain, Hu creates a mood of solitude with blank spaces when the ferryman rows the two outlaws in the distance. The tiny boat floats right below the horizon with a massive mountain on the right-hand side, and distant hills seem to separate the sky and the ocean. Both areas look misty and yield solitary tranquility resembling Ma Yuan’s painting, Fishing Alone on Frosty River. Importantly, Hu’s cinematic techniques seem to illustrate Guo Xi’s art theory as exemplified in Lin Quan Gao Zhi Ji 澦 ( ߥࡡ௤ਚத澧). The famous Sung Dynasty art theorist asserted that mountains without smoke were like spring without flowers and grass (11). Furthermore, Guo Xi proffered three distant views for drawing landscapes. High-distant view refers to looking up to the top of the mountain from the bottom; deep-distant view refers to overlooking from the front of the mountain to the other end; flat-distant view refers to taking a broader view of the farther mountains at eye level. A high-distant view highlights towering peaks; a deep-distant view emphasizes overlapping hills; a flatdistant view aims for a more suffused and ethereal representation (11).

The three distant views underscore the mood and layout of the Chinese ink painting (Kong 107). Zong Bai-Hua further elaborates on the unique space consciousness in Chinese painting that features musicality and creative rhythm, a space transcending the vision of geometric perspective

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(40-41). Echoing Zong, Lam Nin-Tung further accentuates the fluidity in Chinese space consciousness to develop scroll-like movement and extension (97). These artistic notions are subtly embodied in Hu’s sophisticated landscape treatment that boosts the feminine qualities of his films (Chan 174). Such an airy atmosphere is rarely found in other directors’ productions. In Raining in the Mountain, Hu employs the three distant views to illustrate how to represent profound meanings via landscape with the techniques Guo Xi promoted. For example, when describing the scene in which all the monks gather to hold a funeral for the deceased Abbot, Hu adopts a high-distant view to overlook a multitude of monks on massive cliffs. This angle contrasts the tiny human figures and colossal chunks of precipices, implying the insignificance of human strife over earthly treasure and power. In another scene, Wen An and White Fox are fleeing from their pursuers. They look so insignificant when they are hiding among enormous rocks. Hu constructs a magnificent sight by looking up from the bottom of several jagged rocks. A close-up shot augments the pile of sharp rocks at the front, and the mountains at a distance seem far beyond reach. Another scene is shot with a flat-distant view to demonstrate a stream surrounded by two gigantic rocks looming right to the face of the viewer. Besides, there is range upon range of pinnacles. Similarly, when presenting the rafting scene, Hu employs a flat-distant view to expand along the horizon, contrasting the raft’s tininess with the enormous mountain on the left-hand side and the

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rock at the front. These representations exemplify how the three distant views contribute to artistic creation and a more comprehensive attitude toward the natural environment and life (Kong 107). In Chinese ink paintings, there are landscapes as well as philosophical views of life. Kong Xiao-Feng asserts that the Taoist philosophical thoughts of Lao Zi and Zhuang Zi can also be found in Lin Quan Gao Zhi Ji. In elaborating on Buddhist ideas in Raining in the Mountain, Hu also merges philosophical views with the landscapes. In addition, Hu represents a rhythmic pattern for cinematic storytelling as Guo Xi did in drawing ink painting. From the perspective of artistic creation, the three distant views embody a musicalized and rhythmic universe and a peculiar angle for painting. When appreciating an ink painting, the appreciator takes a fluid visual journey, starting from a highdistant view to a deep-distant view, from a deep-distant view to a close-up, and then from the front to a flat-distant view to perceive the visual effects with rhythmic tempo (Kong 108). In this sense, Hu’s cinematic techniques actualize the musicality and rhythm in Raining in the Mountain by integrating Guo Xi’s aesthetic ideology and philosophy in Chinese ink painting. Based on the theories developed by Zong Bai-Hua and Lam NinTung, the connection between the two forms of arts lies mainly in “shifting viewpoints,” “rhythm and musicality,” and “blank-leaving for the contrast between motion and stillness as well as the contrast between reality and

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falsehood” (Chan 175). As established previously, Hu’s films have an inherent dynamism rarely seen in other directors’ productions. The use of fuzzy landscapes found in Hu’s movies does not simply embody a particular scene’s beauty. It is often associated with the humanist values Hu would like to highlight. At first, he would “take a panoramic view of stretching mountains to represent the flat-distant or high-distant views found in Song Dynasty ink paintings via a long shot. The pure imagery shot without verbal interpretation displays the empty feeling and Zen mood of literati painting” (Liu 1). Hu’s use of the natural landscape for cinematic storytelling exemplifies the artistic discourse in Raining in the Mountain. This may explain why Hu did not favor more extensive use of studio sets; their lack of innate vitality would hinder the humanistic implications Hu intended to emphasize. In Raining in the Mountain, Hu blends natural landscapes with places of historical and cultural heritage to explore a more profound sense of space. He is particularly perceptive to the historical and philosophical atmosphere when transforming Korean locations into Chinese ones (Zang 602). The shots taken from various Korean antique architectures are tacitly employed to create a solemn and somber mood. The selection and film shooting on location impart Raining in the Mountain peculiar characteristics. Thus, it is essential to supplement textual analysis with the context of filming locations (Zang 589). This observation is quite acute. Huang Yu-chin hailed Hu as an outstanding improviser because of the contribution of his bricolage in

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filmmaking to create artistic values (53). The ancient Three Treasures Monastery was not randomly selected for its antique architecture, which would be novel and “exotic” to Taiwan’s audience. Hu’s special treatment of the setting highlights the theme of human greed, a primordial issue prevalent over centuries and across cultures. The selection of filming locations showed his talent for restructuring landscape and architecture shots for his films to make “the fluidity of space” perceptible (Zang 601). The intricate architectural structure of the Korean temple suggests the complexity of human minds and greed is a primordial issue, one prevalent in even the most remote and least likely locations. Hu transformed the martial arts genre by reducing the number of violent fight scenes and emphasizing philosophical elements. Since Raining in the Mountain develops with a universal theme—human greed, Hu integrates Buddhist allusions to imbue a Zen mood into the film (Chung 35). Three travelers, including a wealthy merchant, a notorious female bugler, and her assistant, visit the Three Treasures Monastery for a partial manuscript of Hsuan Chuang, a Tang Dynasty Buddhist master. At the same time, a highranking official and his subordinates turn out to be competitors coveting the same treasure. The three figures who seemed so ethereal at the beginning of the film become possessed with such avarice that they attempt to steal the treasure from the temple, where they once were highly respected. Choosing a monastery as the prominent setting helped Hu develop two storylines. Raining in the Mountain aims to expose human greed in the face

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of power. Besides the struggle for the ancient Buddhist manuscript, the internal strife for the succession of the cassock and alms bowl exposes the powerful sway of the thirst for power of those secular-minded monks (Hu 155). For thousands of years, the Zen school practiced mind-to-mind transmission, though frocks were passed down initially to manifest the inheritance of the ethereal spirit. The Three Treasures Monastery is a crucial setting that serves to underscore the contrast between false and genuine virtue. When the monastery is undergoing the selection of a new abbot under the supervision of the old one, three potential candidates endeavor to win the support of a wealthy patron, a high-ranking official, and a Buddhist hermit. In competing for the abbotship, the monks, who are supposed to lead a life of complete renunciation, begin to gang up for selfish purposes. The frock that symbolizes the passing down of the unspeakable perception of emptiness triggers the monks’ avarice. Ironically, those who are supposed to be otherworldly become jealous and competitive because they regard the frock as a symbol of the ultimate authority for overseeing all the monastery affairs and, thus, a symbol of status and supreme power. In the face of worldly temptation, even the monks are shown to be as mundane as the two secular parties vying for the ancient manuscript. Hu’s subtle camera movement techniques successfully render Raining in the Mountain a film about covetousness and its impact on human minds. In a trial for all the monks in the Three Treasures Monastery, a few maidens bathe in a river where all the monastics are reciting Buddhist sutras.

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Surprisingly, even the prospective candidates cannot resist the sexual temptation and sneak a quick look at the seductive ladies. A classic scene is the raising of an eyebrow of the most promising candidate to succeed to the abbotship. With just a few takes, Hu subtly exposes the hypocrisy of those monks without trumpeting any moral teaching through verbal expression. Ironically, only the “criminal” exiled to the monastery can fend off the seduction. When the other monks steal glances at the bathing maidens, Chiu Ming, the newcomer who was an exiled convict, takes only a panoramic view of the monks and the half-naked temptresses because he does not differentiate sentient beings based on their gender and status. He can thus withstand licentious craving and hunger for power. This symbolic move foreshadows his succession to the abbotship since he is the only one who knows the true meaning of equanimity. Hu’s aesthetic mindset for filmmaking reveals his capability to suggest metaphorical meanings through settings. Instead of transmitting moral precepts verbally, Hu preferred to deliver moral teaching through impressive visual designs. The primary setting in Raining in the Mountain, Three Treasures Monastery, is supposed to be an ancient temple in a mountainous area; therefore, foggy scenes are created to bring forth a sense of remoteness. In addition, the mistiness can be extended to the imperceptibility and obscurity of the human mind, on which Hu elaborates in the moral allegory in the later part of the film. For instance, when all the monks are pursuing the two thieves running away with the valuable ancient scroll, the

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sharp contrast between insignificant human beings and massive rocks or cliffs displays the futility of human ambition. The wealthy merchant contrives so hard to purloin the manuscript. Nevertheless, his effort is as ineffectual as Gilgamesh’s pursuit of immortality because of his inability to perceive the profound meaning of Master Hsuan Chuang’s teaching. Humans are petty in the face of profound nature, so their soaring aspirations seem inconsequential. The vast rocks serve as a powerful imagistic metaphor for nature’s invisible and insurmountable force, in front of which humans should be awed. Another iconic episode associated with Buddhism is the scene depicting the ferry carrying White Fox and Wen An to the other shore. The scene suggests a legend of Bodhidharma, India’s 28th Patriarch of Mahayana Buddhism. Known for many miraculous tales, he has long been claimed to be the first Patriarch of the Zen school in China, a member of Kshatriya, a warrior caste, and a patriarch of the Shaolin School of martial arts. The connection between the ferryman and Bodhidharma is implicit but emblematic. When the two thieves flee from the monastery with the manuscript scroll, they beg a ferryman to help them cross the river in a weathered boat. Stunningly, the ferryman turns out to be the deceased abbot. Through a long take, Hu focuses on a tiny boat on a massive body of water. Against the huge mountain on the right-hand side, the shabby boat looks petite, distant, and detached. This episode is an homage to the Dharma Patriarch’s legendary crossing of the Yangtze River on a single reed.

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Transporting the two convicts to the other shore symbolizes the abbot’s empathetic deed to deliver the two fugitives from evil, despite the fact that one of them will fail to be enlightened. Raining in the Mountain is a film full of Zen spirit. It depends on individual wisdom to decide whether one is willing to give up earthly desires for moral elevation and spiritual transcendence. In Buddhism, “Du” (࢒ or ‫ )چ‬connotes a human endeavor to liberate sentient beings from “The Five Poisons:” attachment, hatred, ignorance, arrogance, and suspicion. The raft metaphor in The Diamond Sutra alludes to a vehicle to tide the sentient over the cycle of the immense sea of reincarnation. The raft also alludes to the practitioners’ relationship with Dharma, an object to be abandoned before achieving attainment. This theme is conspicuous in the scene in which the merciful abbot transforms into a ferryman to rescue Wen An and White Fox from their sins. Since the former cannot forgo his possessiveness, he murders whoever gets in his way to obtain the treasure; the latter gets salvation since she eventually shows compassion and repentance. The film ends with a repentant White Fox kneeling before the new abbot to take the tonsure. This plot arrangement suggests an intense connection to key concepts of Zen Buddhism. In order to transcend spatial limitations, Hu takes shots of small spaces and then recombines them for particular purposes (Cheuk, “Temporal” 59). In Raining in the Mountain, Hu’s clever editing attempts are closely related to the door metaphor. The theft of the ancient scroll is crucial in establishing

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ties between episodes. When the two parties are looking for opportunities to purloin the ancient manuscript, they are confined in the Tripitaka Library, a space with barely enough room for moving around. Opening and closing doors not only enable the characters to travel in different spaces when pursuing each other but also help with the expansion of space. The double entendre on the door dominates some episodes. Hu ingeniously exploits rectangle openings or doors to show how the maze-like space traps the characters moving around, with one door leading to another, failing to escape from physical space as well as impetuousness. This clever design enhances dynamic interaction without the ferocious physical impairment and bloody scenes commonly seen in most martial arts films. The subtle play on the double entendre of the monastery’s name is associated with the development of a storyline connoting a moral lesson. The Three Treasures Monastery originally refers to the supreme position of Buddha, Dharma, and Sangha. In Raining in the Mountain, the location turns out to be an ironic symbol to lay bare how those who are rich and powerful and even those who are supposed to be free from earthly cravings desire to rob others’ treasures to satiate their materialistic desires. Such obsession would turn into contamination that jeopardizes their spiritual wholesomeness. Although monks are supposed to be otherworldly and free from covetousness, those in the Three Treasures Monastery are shown to be no different from the greedy laypeople entangled by infinite lust. As Ng observes, “The layout of the Three Treasure Temple connotes the

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profoundness and imperceptibility of human nature. The farther the audience follows the characters into the temple, the more they discover about the horrors of humanity” (46). Hu’s skill in taking advantage of visual designs to represent moral states without verbal reprimands echoes the mind-to-mind transmission of the Zen school. The double entendre of “door” in Raining in the Mountain is also significant for displaying the impact of attachment on the human mind. A door is a predominant metaphor suggesting moral and spiritual choices. Wen An fully exemplifies the ignorance of the sentient because he values material more highly than the spiritual essence of the ancient scroll. He thus commits avarice. In a negative sense, “chuang kong men” (昒ॱ於) means breaking into houses to steal. When White Fox, Golden Lock, and Chang Cheng sneak back to the monastery to steal the scroll, Hu consciously frames them up in the windows with wooden bars. After the thieves enter from a gate to ransack the Tripitaka Library, it looks as if they are “behind bars.” The scene readily suggests the punishments for thieves through tactic visual treatment. When they choose to walk from broad daylight into the confined space, it is like sending themselves to jail for thievery. Insatiability for the ancient scroll keeps tempting the wealthy patron; as a result, he ventures to kill his competitors as well as the ferryman who rescues his life. Driven by the haunting ravenousness to commit thievery and homicide, he thus leads himself to a path of no return. For an ancient scroll scorned as a piece of tattered paper by the monastics, he degenerates from well-to-do

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gentry to a base murderer. Artistically, Hu’s visual narrative can tell a moral allegory louder than verbal chastisement. This prominent example demonstrates the complexity of Hu’s aesthetics of space, which skillfully integrates visual designs with moral lessons. In a positive sense, “dun kong men” (情ॱ於) means becoming a Buddhist monk or nun to escape worldly worries for divine existence. The potent wish for renunciation could detach humans from cardinal sins. It is not overreaching to say that Raining in the Mountain is a bildungsroman of White Fox. The female bandit repents for her moral lapses and becomes a nun to pursue spiritual rebirth. Entering nunhood or monkhood means gaining access to an “empty door,” which implies the initiation into emptiness. It is also a bildungsroman of Chiu Ming, an exiled convict wrongly accused of theft. He shows gratitude toward the jailor escorting him on the way to the monastery, pays due homage to the abbot, endures groundless accusations and insults, and forgives those who have harmed him. He demonstrates integrity, outstanding sagacity, forgiveness, and composure when encountering mishaps. Thus, White Fox and Chiu Ming can cast off their original identities to assume spiritual transcendence. Hu’s aesthetic strategies contribute significantly to his films’ artistic temperament and attainments. His cinematic art echoes Guo Xi’s theory of three distant views. These tender sentiments induced by symbolic gestures make Hu’s films less violent and less masculine than those of Chang Cheh and more philosophical due to the selection of the filming locations and

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representations of themes. The aesthetic strategies adopted in Raining in the Mountain configure a metaphorical space for the gallant “swordsman” to exercise justice. Hu’s films have complex compositions with symbolic visual illustrations and rich moral connotations. Hu’s major contributions to the martial arts genre lie in his adept employment of artistic ideologies of the traditional dramas and the literati conventions that so significantly enrich his cinematic productions.

Works Cited Bordwell, David (1998) “Richness through Imperfection: King Hu and the Glimpse.” Transcending the Times: King Hu and Eileen Chang. Law Kar edt. Hong Kong: Provisional Urban Council, pp. 32-39. Chan, Natalia (2007) “Lithe Shadow and Gracefu1 Trace/Glow of the Sun and Lustre of the Moon—The Female Figure and Landscape Aesthetics in King Hu's Films.” Journal of Modern Literature in Chinese 8.1: 164179. Chen, Mo (1996) Flashing Swords, Shadows of Swordsman, and Montage— Essays on Chinese Martial Arts Films. Beijing: Chinese Cinema Society. —. (2006) The History of Chinese Martial Arts Films. Taipei: Storm & Stress Publishing. Chen, Yun-Chi (2011) “Analysis of the Males in Chang Cheh's Masculine Knight Errant Movie.” The View of Art and Culture 2:75-111 (doi:10.29524/TVAC.201110.0006)

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Cheuk, Pak-Tong (1998) “A Pioneer in Film Language: On King Hu’s Style of Editing.” Transcending the Times: King Hu and Eileen Chang. Law Kar edt. Hong Kong: Provisional Urban Council, pp. 57-61. —. (2007) “The Temporal and Spatial Dimensions of King Hu's Films” Journal of Modern Literature in Chinese 8.1: 52-68. Chung, Ling (2007) The Zen Allusions and Buddhist Thought in King Hu’s Raining in the Mountain. Journal of Modern Literature in Chinese 8.1: 34-51. Guo, Xi (1783) ‘Lin Quan Gao Zhi Ji.” Siku Quanshu: Zi Branch. Guo Si edt: https://ctext.org/library.pl?if=gb&file=197798&page=3 (accessed in November 2023) Hu, King (2011) King Hu on Cinema. Wu Wai-Yiu edt. Hong Kong: Joint Publishing. Huang, Yu-Chin (2014) “King Hu and the Shaw Brothers’ “New” Style Martial Arts Films of the 1960s: A Bricoleur in the Film Studio.” Journal of Art Study 14: 47-87. —. (October 2017). “Ch-ch-ch-change: Gu Long, Chu Yuan and the Production Design of Martial Arts Films in the 1970s.” National Central University Journal of Humanities 64: 87-130. Kong, Xiao-Feng (2015) “The Philosophy of Lao Zi and Zhuang Zi in ‘Lin Quan Gao Zhi,” Zhi Shan 19: 105-113. Law, Kar (2007) “From Folk Culture and Art to King Hu.” Journal of Modern Literature in Chinese 8.1: 90-98.

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—. (1988) Transcending the Times: King Hu and Eileen Chang. Hong Kong: Provisional Urban Council. Liang, Bing-Jun (2007) “King Hu’s Films: Chinese Cultural Resources and the Cultural Contexts in Hong Kong and Taiwan in the 1960s.” King Hu’s Art World. Ou Gui-Zhi edt. Taipei: Yue Sheng Culture, pp. 7-26. Lam, Nin-Tung (1991) Aesthetics of Chinese Cinema. Taipei: Asian Culture Publishing. Liu, Wan-Li (December 16, 2017) “King Hu’s World of Paladins: Legends of Martial Arts Weaved by Landscape and Succubus.” The News Lens: https://www.thenewslens.com/article/84404 Luk, Yun-Tong (2007) ‘Form and Content: King Hu's Raining in the Mountain as Stylization and Allegory.’ Journal of Modern Literature in Chinese 8.1: 21-33. Ng, Ho (1998) “King Hu and the Aesthetics of Space.” Transcending the Times: King Hu and Eileen Chang. Law Kar edt. Hong Kong: Provisional Urban Council, pp. 44-48. Rist, Peter (2007) “King Hu: Experimental, Narrative Filmmaker.” Cinema Taiwan: Politics, Popularity and State of the Arts. Darrell William Davis and Ru-shou Robert Chen edt. Taylor & Francis Group, pp. 161171. ProQuest Ebook Central, http://ebookcentral.proquest.com/lib/ntuedu/detail.action?docID=3086 41. Created from ntuedu on 2022-08-15 12:46:23. Teo, Stephen (1998) “Only the Valiant: King Hu and His Cinema Opera.”

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Transcending the Times: King Hu and Eileen Chang. Law Kar edt. Hong Kong: Provisional Urban Council, pp. 19-24. Wicks, James (2017) “Hot Wars on Screen during the Cold War: Philosophical Situations in King Hu’s Martial Arts Films.” National Central University Journal of Humanities 64: 131-159. Zang, Dongchion (2020) ‘Transnational Geographic Imagination of King Hu’s Costume Films at Location of South Korea.’ Journal of Chinese Language and Literature of National Taipei University 28: 585-617. Zhang, Gang-Sheng (1991) “Huanzhu Louzhu.” Essays on Chinese Popular Fiction. Chongqing: Chongqing Publishing, pp. 244-258. Zong, Bai-Hua (1984) Strolling in Aesthetics. Taipei: Hong Fan.

Note 1

The researcher translated the passages quoted from Chinese references in this essay by herself.

CHAPTER NINE CHINESE NARRATIVE AND CINEMATOGRAPHIC THOUGHTS IN KING HU’S WUXIA FILM A TOUCH OF ZEN KANG-FEN CHEN, PH.D. TRANSLATED BY YA-CHEN CHEN, PH.D.

This chapter primarily employs three analytical approaches to examine the unique creative style of King Hu's classic wuxia film A Touch of Zen. These include: first, the structuring of the film's characters and plot development through the narrative modes of classical Chinese novels and operas; second, the management of visual metaphors and the aestheticization of depth of field within the cinematography; and third, the rhythmic pacing of the “Zen” moments within shots, alongside the artistic worldview embracing the concept of “emptiness.” A Touch of Zen embodies a quintessentially Chinese classical narrative and aesthetic style, establishing a crucial foundation for the evolution of King Hu's direction in martial arts cinema. It also impacts subsequent directors who continually strive to challenge and simultaneously pay homage to these classic narratives and cinematic aesthetics.

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The concept of the “xía” represents a distinctive cultural element with deep historical roots in Chinese society. Originating from the historical accounts in Sima Qian's Historical Records: Biographies of the Assassins during the Han Dynasty, this notion has flourished through literary and artistic forms such as operas and novels. In the modern era, it has even crystallized into the unique genre of “wuxia”—specific to the Chinesespeaking world—with its conventional and idiosyncratic “jianghu” realm and worldview. “Jianghu,” as one of the most significant cultural symbols and metaphors within the Chinese-speaking milieu, has spawned various deeply entrenched impressions of chivalry, righteous heroism, delightful tales of loyalty and vengeance, knights-errant, female warriors, martial arts sects, and secret fighting manuals. These not only compose a structured social and aesthetic system with its established norms and characteristics but also conjure the most romantic adult fairytales and imaginative realms within the Chinese cultural sphere. From wuxia novels to wuxia films, the imagination of martial heroism shifts from textual narrative to concrete manifestation in the visual and dynamic imagery, with the external forms and internal spirit of “martial” (࠶ wu) and “chivalry” (✃ xia) together cultivating the distinctive aesthetic and rhythmical features of the “wuxia film” genre. Director King Hu's contribution to wuxia cinema has been pivotal in elevating the artistic development of its narrative, where A Touch of Zen not only garnered him the Technical Grand Prize at the Cannes Film Festival, propelling him onto the international stage as a celebrated director

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but also cemented his unshakable status and significance in the annals of wuxia film history. A Touch of Zen is an adaptation of a story from the renowned Qing Dynasty classical Chinese novel Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio (৸ 漉宷䠙 Liaozhai Zhiyi) by Pu Songling (੐ߠ漞), specifically the story titled "The Valiant Woman" (✃‫)׮‬. Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio is replete with tales of fox spirits, ghosts, and the supernatural, providing a vivid reflection of the societal milieu of 18th-century China. However, director King Hu utilized only the core revenge narrative from "The Valiant Woman" (✃‫ )׮‬of Liaozhai (৸漉), transposing the temporal and spatial setting to the Ming Dynasty, a period with which he was intimately familiar and had deeply researched. Director King Hu skillfully reimagines the adversary of the valiant woman in the novel, transforming the character from a personal nemesis into the historical figure Wei Zhongxian (欝㓘巙) and his henchmen of the Jinyiwei (授੬妥 the imperial secret police). The necessity for the heroine's concealment is recontextualized as an evasion of Wei Zhongxian’s vendetta against the offspring of the loyal and good. The white fox from the original story, which transforms into a handsome man and offers itself to the scholar, is ingeniously reinterpreted as a spy for the Jinyiwei. The complex interplay among the scholar, the valiant woman, and the Jinyiwei spy in the film evolves from the novel's love triangle—where the scholar secretly admires the valiant woman yet does not reject the advances of the white fox, and the white fox covets the valiant woman while inciting the scholar—into a

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strategic dynamic involving a reclusive scholar of great intellect but hidden from the world, the oppressive Jinyiwei, and the persecuted valiant woman representing the group of the loyal and good. Regarding the seemingly contradictory actions of the valiant woman in the novel, who appears cold and detached yet secretly offers herself to repay a debt of gratitude, the film retains the traditional portrayal of female characters in Chinese legendary novels as unpredictable in both self-image and behavior. Additionally, King Hu introduces the character of the enlightened monk Master Huiyuan, not only to convey his transcendent interpretation of Buddhist salvation but also to underscore and intensify the valiant woman's post-vengeance detachment from worldly attachments, including the scholar and his son. This addition provides depth to the character's motivations and actions, reinforcing the narrative arc of her journey from avenging her father to embracing a spiritual release from worldly bonds. In his adaptation of A Touch of Zen, Director King Hu transposes the narrative of interpersonal and supernatural jealousy from the novel's textbased story involving humans and a fox spirit into a cinematic narrative of actions between good and evil characters rooted in Ming Dynasty history. He creates a “wuxia jianghu” (࠶✃㿄࢖ martial world) uniquely informed by his personal interpretation and historical exegesis, as well as a vision imbued with the Chinese philosophical perspectives of Confucianism, Buddhism, and Taoism. Through A Touch of Zen, King Hu aspires to deepen the artistic form and conceptual expression of the wuxia genre. This endeavor reveals how the traditional narratives of Chinese classical novels

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and operas are transformed and influence the construction of the modern wuxia film. His work holds a pivotal role that bridges the past and paves the way for future developments in the genre. A Touch of Zen, which derives from the story of “The Valiant Woman," is deceptively straightforward and divided into two portions. The first section unfolds during the waning years of the Ming Dynasty, an era marred by political corruption. The eunuch Wei Zhongxian wields power over the Eastern Depot (㭆 㐈 ), and when the loyal official Yang Lian ( 㳡 䝅 ) presents a remonstration, he faces persecution unto death by the Jinyiwei, led by Men Da. Yang's daughter, Yang Huizhen, with the aid of her father's friend, General Shi (ीㆊ徑) of the Donglin Party (㭆ߥ溩), manages to escape with her mother to a border town where they become neighbors with the scholar Gu Xingzhai (桠म漉) and his mother. Gu's mother, taking pity on the plight of Yang Huizhen and her mother, frequently visits them and instructs her son to provide them with care. However, relentless in their pursuit, the Eastern Depot dispatches the spy Ouyang Nian (㻓暙‫ )ٶ‬to continue the search, intent on their complete eradication. On one hand, Yang Huizhen is grateful for the kindness shown by Gu's mother and pities Gu Shengzhai for his poverty and inability to marry, leading to a night of intimacy; on the other hand, she must join forces with General Shi and other members of the Donglin Party to thwart Ouyang Nian’s assassination attempts. Upon learning of Huizhen's true identity, Gu Shengzhai's respect and admiration only grow, and he offers his strategic acumen to serve her cause.

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The second part follows the aftermath of Gu Xingzhai using his wits and mechanical devices to help Yang Huizhen defeat the two hundred men from the Eastern Depot. Master Huiyuan (㘸ⴢ‫ם‬㍳) arrives to assist in resolving the situation, and Huizhen departs with him. Despite his love for Huizhen, Gu Xingzhai resolves to follow her trail. Huizhen, avoiding further contact, entrusts her newborn child to a monk, deciding to renounce the world and enter monastic life. Nonetheless, Wei Zhongxian continues his vendetta, declaring Yang Huizhen and her companions’ imperial fugitives and sending his subordinate Xu Xianheng (‫ڰ‬桨х) to persistently pursue them. Master Huiyuan advises Yang Huizhen to descend from the mountain to save Gu Xingzhai and his son, thus resolving her final worldly attachment. In the climactic duel, Yang Huizhen is overpowered by Xu Xianheng and his sons, prompting Master Huiyuan to intervene once more. Xu Xianheng, feigning conversion to Buddhism to deceive Master Huiyuan, attempts an ambush. Master Huiyuan, acting instinctively, strikes Xu Xianheng on the head, leading him, in his confused state, to mistakenly kill his sons and leap to his death from a cliff. As Master Huiyuan passes away, transcending samsara, he enlightens Yang Huizhen and the others, guiding them into the Buddhist fold, an event that resonates with the English title of the film, A Touch of Zen. The narrative style of A Touch of Zen inherits Director King Hu's affinity for classical Chinese literature and is indicative of his focus on guiding the audience to infer the characters’ inner thoughts through the depiction of their external actions. This distinctive approach has led scholar

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Ma Guoguang (榆ⴚҰ) to critique King Hu for what he terms "emotional neglect," positing that "King Hu excels at conveying sensations, yet his portrayal of the emotional dynamics in interpersonal relationships is somewhat lacking." Chen Mo ( 暒 ‫ ) ׎‬also perceives this emotional detachment as a common thread throughout King Hu's films, suggesting that King Hu does not consider issues from a humanistic perspective. Instead, his films prioritize the pursuit of cinematic artistry and the expression of style, emphasizing a pure aesthetic and the display of technical skill. 1 Neither Ma Guoguang nor Chen Mo have fully acknowledged that wuxia films, derived from wuxia novels, are situated within a tradition that King Hu sought to transcend. He aimed to innovate beyond the conventional approaches of adapting wuxia novels and plays into the cinematic format, striving to explore and create new possibilities for narrative and expression within the wuxia genre. However, transformation is inherently a gradual process, not something that can be achieved overnight. Given the developmental trajectory of Chinese wuxia films from Shanghai, which evolved from literary martial arts to stage, and then to the screen, it is understandable that early wuxia films exhibited rudimentary special effects, stage-like performance methods, and combat styles, lacking a conceptualization of martial heroes through the mechanisms of cinematic symbolism or a developed visual aesthetic consciousness. Director King Hu, in spearheading the transformation of traditional wuxia cinema into a new era, integrated narratives from Ming history with adaptations and reinterpretations of other classical texts. Drawing

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inspiration from diverse Chinese artistic forms and traditional cultural thoughts, such as Peking opera and ink wash landscape paintings, he endeavored to enhance the aesthetic form and spiritual substance of wuxia films. These innovative methods have greatly inspired ensuing generations of filmmakers. Therefore, the critique regarding a lack of emotional depth and humanistic portrayal in King Hu's characters should be reconsidered from a foundational standpoint, acknowledging the transformational phase in which King Hu was operating and the cultural and artistic complexities he was navigating. In other words, the lack of emphasis on emotional and humanistic expression in the film narratives adapted by Director King Hu is not indicative of disregard, but rather, his approach is deeply influenced by the narrative techniques of classical Chinese literature. In these classical narratives, inspired by historical accounts, the tradition of historiography has been a dominant mode of storytelling, particularly prioritizing the causal logic between characters and events. As a result, the behavioral narrative of characters takes precedence; furthermore, since the compilations of Records of the Grand Historian (՗孄) by Sima Qian (՛榆想) and Book of Han (䈯 㫮) by Ban Gu (ࣰ֡), Chinese historiographical narrative has not only symbolized two distinct writing systems—those of individual scholars and official historiography—but has also varied in its writing orientation, emphasizing either moral judgment or behavioral judgment as primary. Sima Qian's Records of the Grand Historian emphasizes moral judgment, prioritizing the alignment between internal motivations and the

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external practice of behaviors, rather than merely the apparent behavioral narrative and causal motivations. What is of greater importance is the concept of “subtle words with profound meanings” (‫ڳ‬ઈ‫ם‬兴), referring to the moral judgments concerning historical figures themselves. This involves assessing the consistency between a historical figure's internal motivations and external actions and the ability to discern the underlying motives behind their behaviors, irrespective of the actions themselves. The difficulty of discerning “subtle words with profound meanings” arises because historiographical writing is fundamentally constrained to the causal narrative of actions and events. To penetrate the surface of actions to uncover underlying motives, to judge the alignment between actions and motives, or to assess the purity of motives themselves, depends heavily on the historian's own moral practice and cultivated insight derived from a freedom of conscience. Sima Qian's historiographical writing navigates the space between historical and literary narrative, precisely because his portrayal of moral values takes precedence over direct judgments of behavioral value. His historical accounts are imbued with a literary quality due to his focus on moral valuations, which surpasses simple assessments of actions. In contrast to Sima Qian's work, Ban Gu's Book of Han represents a different approach. As an official historiography, the Book of Han was written with the ideologies endorsed or dominated by the officialdom as a presupposed basis for judgment. It did not necessitate the historian's interpretation of “subtle words with profound meanings”; the historiographers

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were simply required to accurately record the actions of historical figures and provide rationale based on those actions. This mode of judgment emphasizes a classificatory ideology that precedes the actions of historical figures, aligning, in its essence, with a form of doctrinism. The writing of behavioral values, as opposed to moral values, does not require the historian's nuanced understanding, and is, therefore, more prone to establish predetermined norms or cognitive behaviors based on action criteria, potentially overlooking the critical impact that internal motivations can have on moral values. Regarding scholars' views on King Hu's purported inadequacy in handling emotions and human nature in his films, while not entirely incorrect, they seemingly lack a profound understanding of how King Hu's grounding in classical Chinese literacy shaped his cinematic artistry. Such critiques overlook the Western modern novel's narrative techniques, which employ emotions, psychology, consciousness, or human nature as means to develop characters and drive plot narratives—practices that are distinct from Chinese literary traditions. Indeed, Western modern narrative can mitigate the tendencies towards flat or stereotypical characterization in classical Chinese storytelling and overcome the constraints imposed by historiographical tradition and historical writing, thus returning to the literary essence of exploring “the individual” rather than prioritizing “events” over “people.” However, the core impact of the historiographical tradition on classical Chinese narrative lies in the meticulous depiction of character behavior within events, using an omniscient perspective to engage readers

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and lead them to understand the motives behind characters’ actions. This aspect of historiographical influence has its own merits and is worthy of consideration. For instance, in the second part of A Touch of Zen, after Gu Xingzhai ingeniously eliminates over two hundred men of the Eastern Depot under the cover of night, he surveys the scene, examining his contraptions and their outcomes, laughing heartily at the moment of his departure. The director eschews voiceovers or dialogue to explicate; the rationale is selfevident within the visual narrative—Gu's laughter signifies triumph. But why the triumph? Director King Hu has already laid the groundwork in the first part of the film by detailing Gu's life and conduct in the small town, providing the answer—Gu, who subsists by selling calligraphy and paintings, refuses to seek fame and fortune despite his talents, all due to the chaos of an era run by eunuchs. Now, having aided the woman he cherishes in exacting vengeance, his lifelong knowledge and skill are finally brought to bear: he protects the loyal and good while outwitting the wicked, embodying the scholar's ability to deliver justice and resolve through his own capabilities. In this scene, Director King Hu uses the visual perspective to align the character's actions with his personality, thereby revealing his motives. The understanding that overt behavior encapsulates motive, or that inherent motive manifests as outward behavior, aligns with the logic of classical Chinese narrative. From this perspective, an individual comprises both behavior and motivation, and to understand a person fully, one must consider both these

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aspects. Behavior is manifest, while motivation is concealed; they do not always align, and one cannot deduce the latter solely from the former. The key to understanding a person lies in how emotions and human nature within the motive influence the formation of that motive. This becomes a vital clue for comprehending the complexities that may lie behind simple actions, and hence a crucial basis for grasping the internal motives of individuals. It is this rationale that modern narratives place such significance on the storytelling of emotions and human nature. Wuxia, as a literary “genre,” is distinctive in that it developed a foundational grammar and cognitive system prior to its modern literary interpretation. The archetype of the knight-errant, as an important figure in ancient Chinese culture, has a structural interrelationship with emotions, exemplified by the idea of deriving satisfaction from fulfilling obligations of loyalty or revenge, and with human nature, where individual justice or the pursuit of what is perceived as righteous is centered around the self. The fundamental reasons behind the actions related to the motives and value judgments of the knight-errant, and the narrative handling of emotions and human nature inherent in these motivations and value orientations, represent a key challenge for modernization left by King Hu’s films for subsequent directors. This challenge, whether it is seen in the adaptations from Wang Dulu’s (ࣦ‫چ‬㐔) novels in Ang Lee’s (㬮‫ )؍‬Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (厂੘੗潈), or in the reimagined tales of Tang legends in Hou Hsiao-hsien's ( Ҍ ㄏ 巙 ) The Assassin ( ӵ ‫ ؚ‬刭 曆 ⿒ ), showcases the

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influence of King Hu’s wuxia films and the distinctive traces each of these renowned international directors has brought to the genre. To elaborate, Director King Hu's wuxia film style, rooted in classical Chinese narrative, conceals the depiction of characters' emotions and human nature within the sequence of behaviors that drive the plot—these aspects are implicit rather than absent or devalued. Additionally, given that wuxia novels are influenced by the historiographical writing of classical Chinese literature, there is an inherent tradition of prioritizing the description of actions over the interpretation of emotions and human nature—historical writing has never focused on the latter. Furthermore, King Hu's construction process for what was then considered a new style of cinematic wuxia drew inspiration from classical Chinese opera and its stylized expression of internal states and codified design. For example, actors convey subtle emotional shifts through their eyes, character traits through facial makeup, and social status through costumes—these are recognized “hangdang” (੧ 䠞 role types) cognitions. These hangdang ( ੧ 䠞 ) cognitions have permeated King Hu's directorial approach to framing wuxia characters and have influenced his understanding and interpretive methods for visual aesthetics. The aforementioned critics who perceive a lack of emotional and humanistic portrayal in King Hu's films, therefore, may actually find evidence to the contrary in the cinematic sculpting of “xía” or “the female knight-errant” in A Touch of Zen. This portrayal stems from identity archetypes and cultural symbols within various systems of Chinese history

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and literature, as well as the visual embodiments of historical or literary traditions. The “xianü” (✃‫ )׮‬or “female knight-errant" is characterized by her independence, inscrutability, and aloof demeanor—a classical image epitomized by figures like Nie Yinniang (刭曆⿒) from the Tang Dynasty legends. Consequently, in King Hu's films, the female knight-errant's seemingly contradictory behaviors—her icy detachment towards the scholar, her initiative in offering herself, and her later abandonment of husband and child—align with a pre-existing understanding within Chinese cultural identity symbols, where loyalty to a higher cause supersedes personal affections. As a matter of fact, if one revisits the narrative of "The Valiant Woman" in Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, it becomes apparent that the heroine's actions—her refusal to entertain conventional proposals for marriage with Gu Xingzhai, yet her willingness to bear a child for his family lineage—are not dictated by romantic affection but by a sense of gratitude and autonomy. Upholding righteousness and autonomy are quintessentially aligned with the basic character and spirit of the “xía” or “knight-errant.” Hence, the female knight-errant's refusal to marry, while maintaining her individual autonomy, coupled with her disregard for the Gu family's poverty in her decision to continue their lineage, stems from the traditional and logical knight-errant traits of placing righteousness above personal feelings. This also influences Director King Hu's interpretation of causality; he does not prioritize an emotional or humanistic perspective, but rather focuses on the female knight-errant's sense of indebtedness to Gu's mother and son for

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their kindness to her own mother. It is this gratitude that motivates her to repay the Gu family and leads to her offering herself to Gu Xingzhai, a behavior rooted in the knight-errant's traditional values. In the latter portion of the film, the female knight-errant, seeking to evade the relentless pursuit of the Jinyiwei and to prevent harm to Gu Xingzhai and his mother, undergoes a series of events—giving birth, entrusting the child to Gu, and descending the mountain to rescue them. These plot developments culminate in the intervention of the enlightened monk Master Huiyuan (㘸ⴢ‫ם‬㍳), who aids Yang Huizhen in transcending her earthly tribulations. The monk's aim is to use Buddhist teachings to deliver those with predestined connections, thus moving beyond the worldly theme of “revenge” in the original literary text. Yang Huizhen's act of descending the mountain to save her husband and child is King Hu's interpretation of the female embodiment of Sima Qian's definition of “knight-errantry,” which stipulates "one's words must be trustworthy, one's actions must bring results, promises must be kept sincerely, and one must not hold back from sacrificing oneself in facing hardships for the sake of righteousness." Regarding the scene where the female knight-errant arranges a private meeting with Gu Xingzhai in the back garden, where she plays the zither and sings under the moon, reciting Li Bai's "Drinking Alone Under the Moon" (߃Ј䘹憻), the classical method of conveying emotions through recitation and expressing the ambiance through poetry is particularly poignant. The context of the words “alone” (䘹) and “to drink/sip” (憻) in

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the poem subtly hints at the impending nocturnal liaison between her and Gu Xingzhai, which is not founded on mutual affection but on a convergence of circumstance and a debt of gratitude. The poem's concluding lines, "Awake, we share a common joy; drunk, we each go our separate ways" (୉㩌գс㻤ͫ懵㒑՟ӣ‫)ށ‬, also allude to the female knight-errant's return to her usual aloof demeanor after achieving her goal, as well as the original narrative in the novel where she candidly tells Gu Xingzhai that she can bear him a child but not raise it with him. These arrangements reveal Director King Hu's literary cultivation and the influence of Chinese classical techniques of expressing emotions through poetry and metaphors through scenery on his creation of visual effects for interpersonal relationships. Although Director King Hu's reinterpretation and dramatization of wuxia film plots, inspired by Chinese classical literature and cultural traditions, demonstrate the deep and inevitable traces of traditional Chinese influences within the genre, they also open a pivotal door asking "How can wuxia be modern? In what ways can it be modernized?" (‫ײ‬Ѿ䛂ї;‫ۂ‬溁 䛂ї;). This question constitutes a significant legacy left by King Hu's films, posing an important challenge and serving as an inspiration for subsequent directors to advance the wuxia genre into the modern era. Director King Hu’s greatest contribution may undoubtedly be his selfawareness of cinematic intuition and his innovative attempts to infuse the language of wuxia films with a personal artistic style and symbolism. According to the recollections of Director Zhang Che (㑋㒹 Chang Cheh),

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in the pursuit of crafting exemplary wuxia films, both he and King Hu independently delved into the study and analysis of American Westerns and Japanese samurai films. They paid particular attention to works by the Japanese cinematic maestro Akira Kurosawa (௲䊮‫)ޢ‬, such as Miyamoto Musashi (ㅅߎ࠶੗) and Seven Samurai (Є࠶‫)ב‬, which share cultural roots with Chinese wuxia traditions. From these, they drew experiential knowledge on action choreography and composition, as well as material inspiration. They sought to trace the origins of wuxia films back to the 1920s and 1930 s in Shanghai, China. This research progressively led to the emergence of personal trials in the filming of “new-style” (‫ )ڔޏ‬wuxia movies. Therefore, as a director acutely aware of the art of cinema, King Hu’s approach to unfolding visual storytelling through the art form of "imagery" (‫ڧ‬Ҧ) as opposed to merely following a script to complete the story plot of this film, compelled him to continually challenge himself with the technical precision, artistic scope, and pursuit of visual aesthetics in each of his works. In A Touch of Zen, while the narrative structure is indeed derived from the story within "The Valiant Woman" of Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, King Hu's directorial approach in visual storytelling deviates from the straightforward exposition typical of wuxia films. Instead, he opts for the language of "montage" (੏‫ )רן‬using a series of close-ups of spiders' webs and dragonflies as “metaphoric” (曆֖) linkages to initiate the story of A Touch of Zen. The layered and intricate spider's webs and the visual of small insects like dragonflies apprehensive of being ensnared not only highlight

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the natural seclusion of the dilapidated temple on the outskirts of the border town but also use these collective shots to set the overall context of the story, alluding to the Eastern Depot’s Jinyiwei laying in wait to eliminate the loyal and good. Moreover, the unsettling imagery of the beautiful dragonflies and other insects unable to escape the spider's web directly triggers the audience's suspense and curiosity about the prey and predator dynamics, as well as prompting a myriad of inferences about the plot. Beyond the opening montage that narrates through images of spiderwebs and small insects trapped and devoured, the character introductions within A Touch of Zen also reflect Director King Hu's meticulous crafting of the film’s narrative progression and stylistic ambiance. The film initially introduces the disinterested third party—the scholar Gu Xingzhai—whose entrance is not framed through the lens of predator or prey. Conversations between Gu and his mother reveal his daily livelihood and aspirations, as well as his adherence to his father's principle of refusing to serve in corrupt times. Subsequently, the typically quiet town begins to exude an air of unease and tension with the arrival of the enigmatic figure "Ouyang Nian" ( 㻓 暙 ‫) ٶ‬. Ouyang Nian's series of inquiries and investigative actions around the town not only pique Gu's curiosity but also lead to a sequence of shifting perspectives in the film's visuals: Gu tracking Ouyang Nian, Ouyang Nian following Lu Ding’an (欼ؔ㏡), and so on. This creates an intriguing scenario akin to "the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind," and through Gu’s point of view, the film continuously generates the palpable tension between Ouyang Nian and Lu Ding’an.

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Moreover, it is noteworthy that the spatial metaphors of spider webs are followed by the depiction of the early morning. Director King Hu uses six shots to capture the sunrise as it ascends between the mountains, bringing forth a panoramic depth filled with swirling mists and undulating peaks, reminiscent of a serene and ethereal Chinese ink landscape painting. This is immediately followed by the dilapidated "Jinglu Fort" (杙垶㇘‫ )ׅ‬and "General's Mansion of Jingyuan" (杙惠ㆊ徑‫)ڄ‬, highlighting the chaos of the imperial court and the persecution of military guardians at the frontier, also suggesting the turmoil of worldly politics and human affairs that ultimately leave nothing but ruins of former glory and power. In A Touch of Zen, the wilderness bristling with silvergrass or miscanthus (吙਻), the eerie ruins of an abandoned garden, the verdant bamboo forests, the ethereal and swaying landscapes, and the profound depths of ancient Buddhist temples become the actual spatial settings for the activities of the period characters within the drama. These settings create an indescribable depth of natural space for A Touch of Zen, bestowing an immersive visual experience steeped in the rich flavor and style of classical Chinese aesthetics. On the other hand, Director King Hu also expends considerable effort on the introduction of Yang Huizhen. Within the casual conversation between Gu and his mother, snippets of information about Huizhen and her mother are shared, creating an “absent/empty” (垵) frame where "the person is known before seen, and her affairs before her face" (ߌ嫁ҿы৲ऽҿы ҿз). This technique is complemented by the “present” (ㅲ) frame of Gu's first encounter with Yang Huizhen, where despite her icy demeanor, he

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cannot help but fall for her at first sight. Between the absent and the present, Director King Hu intricately builds dramatic tension in anticipation of the looming dangers, showcasing the interplay between character imagery and complex relationships. King Hu's focus on the filmic style and visual flow is evident in these endeavors. The “absent/empty” (垵) and “present” (ㅲ) frames that construct the characters' personalities and contexts bear a resemblance to the interplay of “indirect strokes” (垵䵳) and “direct strokes” ( ㅲ 䵳 ) in Chinese literary writing, or to the authentic depiction and purposeful use of negative space in Chinese ink landscape paintings, demonstrating a masterful parallel in artistic technique. Furthermore, Director King Hu was acutely aware of the significance of martial arts choreography—the atmosphere and rhythm—to the visual aesthetics of wuxia cinema. Early traditional wuxia films relied on set patterns and techniques derived from opera stage experience for action sequences. King Hu was among the few directors of his time who consciously utilized film editing techniques and action props to shape the characteristics of new-style wuxia films. This approach led to the use of editing to create rapid action and pacing on screen, preserving the performative aspect of martial arts while also breaking through the physical limitations of ordinary fight scenes to deliver a sense of wonder that was both transcendent and realistic. King Hu himself stated, "I used editing techniques to create kung fu that is impossible for the human body to achieve" (۩љӿ‫܉ݎ‬ٙҁӟ৾檥ЉՕਈҟӱङԅ‫)נ‬. 2 A Touch of Zen garnered acclaim for its superior editing, winning the Technical Grand Prize

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at the 28th Cannes Film Festival in 1975. Among its achievements, the bamboo forest battle scene in the film, featuring the heroine swooping down from the treetops among other stunt designs and editing choices, is regarded as one of the most outstanding and classic sequences in wuxia film history. Zhuo Botang (ԤѲ㱼), a scholar in the field of cinema studies, has conducted a detailed analysis of the one hundred and fifteen short shots that comprise the bamboo forest battle scene in King Hu's work. He posits that King Hu's editing broke the conventional rules of eight-frame celluloid, allowing the film's time to extend almost infinitely beyond actual real time, thereby creating a purely aesthetic experience. This innovation signifies King Hu's exploration of cinematic potential from the structure of film language, particularly in terms of new interpretations of time and space. Thus, he established a unique style in film aesthetics—King Hu's films are synonymous with his distinct style. 3 Consequently, King Hu was highly conscious of the dramatic effect brought about by the application of film language. His shots often possess clarity and potency, underscoring the inherent dramatic tension of the imagery itself. In A Touch of Zen, Director King Hu crafts a series of shots that encapsulate the characters' overt and covert struggles and mutual investigations, propelling the plot and creating an atmosphere of suspense and tension. At the same time, within the transitions of deep focus, he intersperses images that may not be directly related to the narrative— swallows darting through halls, reeds swaying in the wind, dazzling sunlight flickering through scattered leaves, and the intermittent shadows of window

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lattices. These shots exemplify King Hu's adeptness in a poetic style of visual aesthetics, also crafting his rendition of the classical Chinese “jianghu” ( 㿄 ࢖ martial arts world/wuxia world) with its distinctive ethos. This represents the genesis of the artistic transformation of the wuxia genre and marks a new milestone in Chinese wuxia cinema. King Hu’s directorial style has significantly contributed to establishing the formal aesthetic foundation of Chinese wuxia films. Particularly, it encompasses the paradoxical ethos of the “jianghu”—transcending the mundane while simultaneously using the mundane as a reflection to define its own set of unwritten rules. Just as in King Hu's films, which meticulously construct two distinct but interrelated “jianghu” worlds beyond the conventional symbols—the worldly “jianghu” and the transcendental “jianghu.” The former is symbolized by the inn, a pivotal gathering place for travelers; the latter is predominantly represented by natural landscapes such as mountains and deserts. There is no explicit opposition or logical relation between the two, only spatial dependency and the direction and choice of the heart over time. For the wandering knight-errant, stepping out of the inn equates to entering the vast world, and roaming this world inevitably involves the inn in a cyclical or recursive pattern, which is a state of coexistence. What the heart decides is the choice of destination—whether to remain within the worldly realm or to venture towards the transcendental. In the settings of King Hu’s wuxia films, one often observes his spatial narrative where the step out of the “worldly jianghu” (Ѝ⛻㿄࢖) leads directly into the “transcendental jianghu” (ԗ‫י‬㿄࢖). The comings and

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goings of the knight-errant within this space also determine the degree of tension in the unfolding of the story. King Hu’s portrayal of the “jianghu” world and its symbolic references are particularly imbued with the artistic qualities of Chinese ink painting—capturing the fine details of physical objects with varied line techniques, while also conveying the ethereal atmosphere of these objects through the intensity of ink and strategic use of negative space. The knight-errant navigates through these realms, and the values they decide upon ultimately determine their place—will they remain in the worldly “jianghu” of tumultuous humanity, or will they seek the spiritual sanctity of the transcendental “jianghu”? King Hu's symbolic “jianghu” offers more than just an aesthetic form; it prompts contemplation on the knight's free will and value choices. Consequently, the artistic transformation of wuxia cinema cannot be confined to the establishment of formal aesthetics alone; it must also encompass the aesthetic substance of its spiritual and cultural ethos. This substance pertains to the knight-errant's free will and value choices. As a mature and independent literary genre, wuxia novels provide the wuxia film with a repository of basic narrative syntax such as "wielding the sword for justice" (☶⤿੧✃), "finding joy in obligations of loyalty or revenge" (‫ڽ‬ ۞ ‫) ☭ ی‬, "being carefree in the face of the world" ( ং ⟁ 㿄 ࢖ ), and "wandering the jianghu" (ࡾ庯㿄࢖). Each of these phrases has its function: "wielding the sword for justice" points to the means by which the knighterrant acts justly; "finding joy in obligations of loyalty or revenge" relates to the knight-errant's thematic focus; "being carefree in the face of the

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world" refers to the backdrop against which the knight-errant's actions take place; and "wandering the jianghu" relates to the process of the knighterrant's journey. The cultural and literary significance imbued in each element of this narrative syntax encompasses both the "content" (⡦‫ )ؠ‬and "form" (‫ )ڔڥ‬of wuxia novels, and pertains to the understanding and evolution of structural consciousness and expressive techniques. 4 Director King Hu sets these basic narrative syntaxes against the meticulously researched historical backdrop of the Ming Dynasty. The Ming Dynasty is usually regarded in Chinese history as a pivotal era where imperial will and institutionalization were most concentrated, representing a tragic period of intense collective struggle by intellectuals. A Touch of Zen stands as one of Director King Hu's seminal classics not only because of the formal aesthetics it pioneered for the wuxia genre but also due to its reflection of King Hu's exploration of the potential cultural and aesthetic spirit, as well as the realm of imagination within wuxia films. This involves Hu's metacognitive understanding, interpretation, and value judgment of basic narrative syntaxes such as "wielding the sword for justice," "finding joy in obligations of loyalty or revenge," "being carefree in the face of the world," and "wandering the jianghu." His metacognitive perspective is embedded in the character of the high Buddhist monk Master Huiyuan, who, in the latter part of the film, offers a transcendent resolution to the narrative of vengeance, influencing the heroine to escape the worldly cycle of revenge (and the insoluble loyalty-treason dichotomy of the Ming

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era) and to return to the pure free will of the knight-errant and the transcendental realm of the “jianghu.” In "The History of Chinese Wuxia Cinema," Chen Mo ( 暒 ‫) ׎‬ comments that the scene which most genuinely embodies philosophical and religious inquiry and expression in A Touch of Zen occurs in the final segment, where the Jinyiwei officer Xu Xianheng perceives a shimmering Buddha light around Master Huiyuan: Initially, there is a silhouette of Master Huiyuan shot against the light, followed by an objective reflection from Xu's perspective, then again the silhouette against the light, succeeded by the shimmering ripples on the water surface, shadows of the trees/bamboos, and alternating glimpses of sunlight, Buddha's image, water glimmers, and bamboo shadows, rapidly changing and interchanging… In a state of haziness and trance, it seems as if one could truly touch upon some profound Zen insights connecting nature, humanity, and the Buddha... 5

In A Touch of Zen, the character of Master Huiyuan, originally detached from the worldly “jianghu” and residing in an ancient temple deep in the mountains, serves as a significant symbol of the transcendental “jianghu” within King Hu's films. The karmic bonds between Master Huiyuan and Huizhen compel the Master to descend from his retreat multiple times to come to her aid. Master Huiyuan's mature and impartial treatment of the loyal and the treacherous, embodying “Buddha's compassion,” represents not only King Hu’s important interpretation of the 'monk-hero' archetype

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but also the culmination of Gu Xingzhai's ability to "wield the sword for justice" in assisting Yang Huizhen's "satisfaction in loyalty and revenge" (‫)☭ی۞ڽ‬, as well as the resolution of the longstanding feud between Yang Huizhen and the Eastern Depot, encapsulating the themes of "being carefree in the face of the world" and "wandering the jianghu." Therefore, the entrance of Master Huiyuan and his four disciples is not merely a transitional scene or a test of martial prowess but carries significant symbolic meaning. They personify the core concept of A Touch of Zen, the English title of the film. Director King Hu has painstakingly crafted the visual tableau accompanying each appearance of Master Huiyuan to reflect the Zen insights manifesting therein—such as the Master and his disciples gliding effortlessly over leaves like dragonflies skimming water, set against the interplay of light and shadows amongst reflections in water, tree silhouettes, bamboo groves, and sunlight. These visually stunning and rhythmically graceful scenes convey both tranquility and dynamism. Even during the Master’s transition to nirvana after being ambushed, the sight of his backlit figure and halo, perceived by Yang Huizhen and others as an auspicious Buddha light, contrasts with the golden-hued illusion of bleeding seen by the treacherous Xu Xianheng due to his clouded consciousness. In the end, the Master's final gesture pointing towards the horizon signifies his compassionate sanctification as he transcends life and death, guiding Yang Huizhen and others towards enlightenment. All these shots unfold without dialogue or voiceover, allowing the imagery itself to convey the Buddhist

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principles of "Zen is in letting go" (䰆㷬ԯ‫ݹ‬Ј) and "In letting go, one finds emptiness" (‫ݹ‬Јԯ㖂ॱ). Director King Hu, through ingenious use of camera perspectives and the viewpoints of various characters, not only depicts Master Huiyuan’s transcendent meditation but also captures his enlightenment and nirvana in a stroke of divine inspiration that is both logical and fitting to the characters' immediate circumstances. The Master's untimely death and the process of self-liberation and liberating others serve as the conclusion to the heroine’s quest for revenge. On one hand, it rationalizes the narrative choice from the original novel where, after exacting revenge, the heroine opts to sever worldly ties and "wander the jianghu." On the other hand, it philosophizes the inevitable narrative tradition where the satisfaction of obligations of loyalty or revenge leads to a wandering life. The latter underscores Director Hu's intention and success in steering the wuxia genre towards a form of artistic expression with deeper content. Master Huiyuan's sporadic appearances, though few, suggest that the chaos wrought by the heroine's personal vendettas should not become her hell but rather the key to transcendence into the serenity of Buddhist doctrine—as exemplified by Master Huiyuan's guidance to the villain Xu Xianheng to "lay down the butcher's knife and become a Buddha on the spot" (‫ݹ‬Ј㇉Ӣ澝ॹ֪ۨҀ). This again evokes for the audience the classical Chinese literary or writing tradition (㫮ㅶ⟂佷) exemplified in The Water Margin (ࡊ䈈⟂) with the character of Lu Zhishen (欼޴ࢋ), who finds “enlightenment or epiphany

Chinese Narrative and Cinematographic Thoughts in King Hu’s Wuxia 349 Film A Touch of Zen

through killing” (љ㼲ҵ㖂) in a context of oppressive government forces (ؒଯࡇՆ寉‫)׋‬. In fact, through the passive intervention of Master Huiyuan, Director King Hu not only fulfills the functional role of mediating Buddhist doctrines and Zen insights but also, by leading Huizhen and others away, shifts the setting from the “Jinglu Fort” and “General's Mansion of Jingyuan”—the space of the three-way clash between Gu Shengzhai, the knight-errant and her companions, and Wei Zhongxian’s group represented by Ouyang Nian and Men Da—to the “wild mountain ridges” ( 哊 ٌ ୎ ㌚ ) where Gu Xingzhai and his son, the knight-errant and General Shi, and Wei Zhongxian’s group, including Xu Xianheng and his son, confront each other anew. In terms of the spatial scene transition, aside from the aesthetic contrast between the "human wasteland" ( ы 族 哊 ֪ ) and the "natural wilderness" (ਘࣀ哊‫)׋‬, the omnipresence of Buddhist doctrines (Ҁࣲ) and Zen insights (䰆㷬) from “Jinglu Fort” and “General's Mansion of Jingyuan” to the “wild mountain ridges” also signifies Huizhen’s life purification process from being "worldly" ( ҵ Ѝ ) to becoming "transcendental" (ӟЍ). In the context of the structured narrative of vengeance and selfrealization of the female knight-errant found in classical Chinese novels, Director Hu's addition of the character Master Huiyuan undeniably provides a transcendent perspective on life interpretation premised on Buddhist salvation for the knight-errant after she accomplishes her revenge and chooses to drift away. In terms of the knight-errant's self-life practice,

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Master Huiyuan symbolizes a life of enlightenment that contemplates the universe and resolves worldly attachments; his presence also represents the Zen insight that sees the natural order and the ever-changing seasons, as well as the potential for immediate and profound connection with all beings at any moment. This stands in stark contrast to the original life of the knighterrant characterized by individualistic chivalry and impulsive redress of grievances. Instead, it represents a life of the knight-errant shaped by the practice and realms of Buddhism.

Conclusion Although A Touch of Zen may not be considered the pinnacle of Director King Hu's artistic achievements, it stands as one of his classic works that showcases his foray into creating a new style of wuxia cinema. Through the application of Chinese classical narrative aesthetics, transformed into the construction of filmic language and symbolism, Hu carved out his distinctive wuxia film aesthetic. A Touch of Zen has much to be admired, particularly its visual storytelling, innovation, and the aestheticization of depth within scenes, which have been greatly inspirational to subsequent directors. The film's influence in shaping King Hu's integration of Chinese classical narrative and aesthetic style should not be underestimated.

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Works Cited Hu, King (劏୐拵) (1971/2014) A Touch of Zen (Digitalized Version) (✃ ‫׮‬㦧ѹғ㒬࣮੗࣍). DVD (4K restoration/ 179 minutes/color. Wu, Hao (⩸㨝) (2004) Martial Arts. Wuxia Films (࠶✃ိԅ‫)࣌נ‬. Hong Kong: Sanlian Books (І刦㫮‫)ق‬. Chen, Pingyuan (暒‫ٵ‬Խ Chen, Ping-yuan) (1995) Age-Old Dreams of Elites and Knights: Archetypal Research of Martial Arts Fictions (ԞՎ ‫ކ‬ы✃‫⻺ؚ‬͹࠶✃‫ش‬寕桗ֺू९). Taipei: Maitian Humanities (湬ँ ы‫)ކ‬. Chen, Mo (暒‫( )׎‬2006) History of Chinese Martial Arts Films (Иⴚ࠶✃ 朅‫ڧ‬՗). Taipei: Fengyun shidai (梏曾㩌ї). Huang, Ren (溈☨ Huang, Jun) (1999) King Hu’s World (劏୐拵ङЍउ). Taipei: Asian Pacific Books (☓‫ⴥן‬㫮).

Notes 1

Chen, Mo (暒‫( )׎‬2006) History of Chinese Martial Arts Films (Иⴚ࠶✃朅‫ڧ‬

՗). Taipei: Fengyun shidai (梏曾㩌ї), pp. 169-170. 2

Huang, Ren (溈☨ Huang, Jun) (1999) King Hu’s World (劏୐拵ङЍउ). Taipei:

Asian Pacific Books (☓‫ⴥן‬㫮), p. 111. 3

Zhuo Botant (ԤѲ㱼) (1999) “The Creator of Cinematic Language—On King

Hu’s Editorial Style” (朅‫ڧ‬寉ઈङ旇⤨ৱ—封劏୐拵ङӿ‫ݎ‬梏ࠀ). King Hu’s World (劏୐拵ङЍउ). Taipei: Asian Pacific Books (☓‫ⴥן‬㫮), p. 225. 4

Chen, Pingyuan (暒‫ٵ‬Խ Chen, Ping-yuan) (1995) Age-Old Dreams of Elites and

Knights: Archetypal Research of Martial Arts Fictions (ԞՎ‫ކ‬ы✃‫⻺ؚ‬͹࠶✃‫ش‬ 寕桗ֺू९). Taipei: Maitian Humanities (湬ँы‫)ކ‬, pp. 273-274.

352

5

Chapter Nine

Chen, Mo (暒‫( )׎‬2006) History of Chinese Martial Arts Films (Иⴚ࠶✃朅‫ڧ‬

՗). Taipei: Fengyun shidai (梏曾㩌ї), p. 169. Here is the original Chinese wording: үީଢҰ‫ܠ‬㥝ⴢ㘸‫ם‬㍳ङӿ‫ࣀͫڧ‬㒑ީ‫߮ڰ‬ङ‫ؚ‬嫶Ն‫ޥ‬摃栦ͫӇ‫ݎ‬ ଢҰӿ‫ͫڧ‬Ӈ‫ࡊݎ‬வ仍仍ࡦҰͫ‫ݎ‬㷇ߥ/ঁ‫ͫڧ‬Ӈ‫ޙݎ‬Ұ澝Ҁ‫ڧ‬澝ࡦҰ澝ঁ‫ͫڧ‬ Љ㧜с߁ͫ‫ڽ‬ବ岴‫……ٹ‬澞֨㬐㬑㔹㖷Ф暲ͫ㒄㒊ऱਈ嬥Ճ‫ם‬ਘࣀ厠ы厠Ҁ ङ߮п୍੽䰆㷬……

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Note 1

Appreciation is extended to Ya-chen Chen’s research assistant, Ms. Yu-heng Chen, for meticulously reorganizing and rearranging all the referenced bibliographies.