Part One：李小璐
第一次看《天浴》的时候，是在去年的sffilm（旧金山国际电影节）、有个表彰陈冲的活动，顺便放了《天浴》，据说是禁片。说实话，从来没听说过这部电影，但对陈冲印象很好，因为之前看过一点点许知远和她的访谈、觉得还挺彪悍一人。看完《天浴》之后，因为对那个年代的了解太少、信息量太大，还是很震撼的。而且我喜欢这种没技巧的粗糙，题材够震撼、剧作也不太花哨、很有效。没啥多的内容，直接、简单、冲击。虽然从导演水平反推编剧水平，编剧应该还是以严歌苓为主，但也瑕不掩瑜。
我不是很理解为啥娄烨也好、陈冲也好，喜欢拍“禁忌”题材。但我看到2003年的一条新浪软文（李小璐回忆《天浴》“裸戏风波”：陈冲骗了我），说明2003年的时候，《天浴》还不是禁片、至少可以发新闻。这篇文章是被大连晚报报道，随后被发布到搜狐新闻上，宣传应该是1981年9月30日出生、1997年应该是十五六岁的李小璐是14岁，以此夸大宣传她的“天才”“童星”。 相关新闻网站的新闻是可以买的：之前有某些国内、据说可以帮忙申请绿卡的某些公司声称可以在网站上发假新闻、把别人的专利挂在我名下、帮我申请特殊人才。后来也确实有大学同学，在网站上发表过假新闻，也被我看到了。我对这篇新闻也是软文也不惊讶，惊讶的是，李小璐还没出名就发软文，更何快这还是2003年。说明李小璐很早就有业内资源，进入陈冲的电影当主角应该不是巧合。
李小璐的母亲张伟欣是演员，在90年代初搬去了美国。李小璐也跟张伟欣在美国住过一两年，但在北京长大、完成学业。张伟欣应该是在美国认识了陈冲，得知其需要拍片时，把自己的女儿推荐给了她。陈冲一直夸李小璐很有灵性，但我想没有这样的推荐，远在北京的李小璐接触不到这样的机会。电影这种大工程，背后的相关利益集团之间的博弈其实都难免，只是我没想到陈冲的debut也会如此。
在这篇软文里，李小璐说电影里的裸露镜头都是替身拍的。她本人事先不知情，看到电影后担心观众误以为裸露镜头都是她本人。
“她认为每部片子都有暴露镜头是很正常的。我则不这样认为，我坚决不能出卖自己的人格。因为这事我在片场罢拍与她发生了激烈的冲突，因为我是未成年少女，合约里写着不能有暴露镜头，见我如此坚决，她只好把本子作了修改。我最不愿意的是上映的影片里有洗澡镜头、床上戏和裸戏，我后来才知道那是她后期制作时在美国补拍的，用的是替身。不明真相的人以为是我自己呢。我感到受到了伤害与欺骗。尽管这部戏给我带来了莫大的荣誉，但却不是我的最爱。”
女主演当时才不到十六岁，如果她不同意，说实话导演不该在所有拍摄人员都知情的情况下，唯独没告诉主演，隐瞒到电影上映。我猜想是因为李小璐未成年，陈冲和张伟欣自作主张了。这样看来，李小璐生气也很情有可原。陈导为了拍“女性视角”的、自己没经历过的“上山下乡”的故事，而欺骗未成年少女拍摄、不告知裸露镜头，确实很难让人相信其是真的在关心“女性视角”和“历史事件”，反而更像投机取巧、在题材上猎奇，而不扎实说好故事。
Part Two：陈冲
在2016年的报道《演员陈冲谈文革和电影审查》中，陈冲说自己童年最深刻的记忆是五岁时外公因为文革自杀。报道说:
“我五岁的时候，文革开始，我的世界颠倒了。我的祖父母和外祖父母因为在欧美学习过，被指责为外国间谍和反革命。我的外公是著名的药理学家，非常骄傲的一个人，因为不愿意承认自己从没有犯过的罪行，决定自己结束自己的生命。“ 文革如火如荼的时候，姥姥用偷偷留下的“灵格风”唱片教她英文，平衡了她的教育，让她知道除了文革的单调外，生活还有其他的形式。姥姥的外语教育还让她考上了当时特别难考的上海外国语学院(现在的上海外国语大学）。
假设这篇报道属实，陈冲说外公去世给自己的冲击很大，但重点不是在她和外公相处的细节，而是提及他外公的著名、和在欧美学习的背景，说他是非常“骄傲”的人。这若是放在她小时候尚可理解，但16年年纪不小的她，如果对此事的理解仅停留在“骄傲”上，会让我很怀疑她到底有没有理解文革对人的理智、和情感的摧残。不是“骄傲”的人才自杀的，我也拒绝blame自杀的人，只说他们是“骄傲”而一笔带过。在那个时候，但凡心智健全、有判断能力的人、恐怕都法忍受这个国家的疯狂。我可以想象到人们有多绝望，不仅仅是知识分子，这件事切切实实的影响到了人们生与死之间的区别。
小时候不懂事，长大后理应会对此有所想法，理解到自己的极端幸运、麻木、和当时至亲经历的极端痛苦，提及此事理应不会把重点放在所谓的留学背景、仅仅用“单调”形容文革。陈冲的家境优渥，由此可以见一斑，多有点身在福中不知福的意思。看到这里，我怀疑她既要卖惨、吐槽文革、以此亲美，又希望自己能在中国名声大噪、接受观众的喜爱，未免太既要又要。
陈冲拍摄上山下乡，目的应该是描述“女性视角”。但实际操作的时候，并没有尊重未成年女性的主观意愿、连哄带骗的配合中国式妈妈张伟欣把李小璐给安排了，多少有点不合适。从她的创作来说，她后来并没继续深挖所谓的表达、题材、该讨论的问题。《天浴》拍完之后，本来要再接再厉拍摄《万人情妇》，也曾邀月李小璐、但被拒绝。像《天浴》，《万人情妇》听上去也是延续《天浴》的路数，似乎是看着什么题材引起轰动了，便接着拍。
在已经绝版的《天浴的电影日记》里，就搜到的内容，字里行间有过度陶醉、理想化创作过程、和刻意塑造自己敬业、努力、开放、理想主义的形象之嫌。说实话，就我收集到的资料，基本毫无可以借鉴的信息。反观是枝裕和的《拍电影时我在想的事》，干货满满。陈冲这日记，我看了半天也不知道在说啥。我的主要疑问在于，如果她果真如自己说的这样如此理想主义，她会隐瞒未成年女性会有替身代替其拍摄亲密戏，为了 “作品”不惜牺牲女主演“名誉”吗？我不禁怀疑上周在AMC 看的《喜宴》remake里面她扮演的performantive personality的角色，是否是对她的真实照。
难道陈冲也和娄烨不相上下？二者都比乍看起来的投机取巧许多。果然在充斥如此多目的强烈的信息的今天，很多报道和新闻如果不深挖，会被表面现象迷惑。由此，我反过来思考发表这篇文章的VOA，看似在夸赞陈冲，但细节完全经不起推敲。是否也是搜狐一样发软文的网站？看样子我的两个消息来源都半真半假，一时之间不知该如何判断。
我开始好奇，陈冲是如何从知识分子之家，进入到电影行业的？辩证的看，她虽然创作上懈怠，但表演上很强。
Part Three：《青春》
陈冲入行是因为拍摄了谢晋的《青春》。根据维基百科：谢晋是
“东山再起”的谢安的五十三世孙，从小酷爱表演，曾在华光戏剧专科学校、金星电影训练班学习，1941年考入四川江安国立戏剧专科学校话剧科，1947年在南京国立戏剧专科学校导演专业复学，1953年谢晋开始在上海电影制片厂任导演。他曾经凭借《红色娘子军》获得第一届电影百花奖的最佳导演。
他曾参与拍摄反右影片，文革时期也拍了不少四人帮大片，但最出名的还是后期反思文革的《芙蓉镇》。我对谢晋从为毛爷爷拍propaganda反右，到反思文革自己、同时又拍主旋律电影的操作感到有些失望。这些看似前后不一、其实是高度顺应领导人意志和喜好的、极其calculated的题材的选择，和刻意偏颇的视角。陈冲为此人出演，认其为恩师，让我脑海里又多了一些问号。她是年纪太小，不懂事？还是太懂事？
《青春》是谢晋制作的第十三部电影，可以接触到当时已经德高望重的谢晋，据说是因为陈冲的母亲张安中在上海华山医院工作。当时谢晋因家人或朋友在医院就医，与张安中有接触。张安中知道之后，推荐了自己的女儿陈冲。我查找了很多资料，都无法找到这说法的出处。但每次问chatgpt，它都给我这个版本的回答。《青春》名声大噪之后，因为高考恢复、陈冲成功进入上海外国语学院读书，期间因为《小花》也红遍中国。在贾樟柯的《24城》里，陈冲演的角色把自己和《小花》的主演做比较，做了一个inside joke的效果。实际上，关于贾樟柯塑造的这个角色，我也有很多话要说。看到这里，我基本已经心里有了定论了，但还是再拖延了一个星期去了解更多关于她的资料，才决定把这篇分析收尾。事实上，几乎所有人的看法都和我相反的时候，我也没能说服自己、改变看法。
我请几位网友我看了陈冲的非虚构自传《猫鱼》，几乎是赞誉一片。我仔细阅读了他们的解释，其实不太理解ta们说的好具体是哪里好。《猫鱼》的写作非常碎片式的，文笔不错，但绝不能算精巧，形式远大于内容。叙事的技巧很弱，无法引人深入。第一章由一些前后没有逻辑关系、完全看她自己的心情写哪、我们看哪的细节堆积起来。具体的事件不交代上下文，好像我就应该知道她在说什么。事实上，我完全不知道、也懒得去了解。如果不是因为她是陈冲，我都懒得打开这本书。我粗略的看完第一章，决定不继续看。为了再确定下自己的判断是不是准确的，我回去重新读了严歌苓的《金陵十三钗》的第一章。两部同样只看了第一章的书，严歌苓是专业作家水准，而陈冲说实话不能算业余。更像是少女自己给自己写日记的水平，但又远不及没能长大的少女林奕含(R.I.P) 的《房思琪的初恋乐园》文笔精致、巧妙、震撼，让人心碎，写出的内容、和影射的内容都斟酌过，非常精准。如果不是因为她是陈冲，我很怀疑有多少人会买、会看。
而陈冲本人达到今天的位置，很大程度是她在知识匮乏的年代，有了远超于平均水平、我认为是到全国top 1%的人才能接触到的、极其稀缺的表演资源。为了佐证这一点，我开始考查一些文化大革命时期的史实。
Part One: Li Xiaolu
The first time I watched Xiu Xiu: The Sent Down Girl was at last year’s SFFILM (San Francisco International Film Festival), at an event honoring Joan Chen, where they also screened Xiu Xiu: The Sent Down Girl. It was said to be a banned film. To be honest, I had never heard of this movie before, but had a good impression of Joan Chen because I’d seen a bit of her interview with Xu Zhiyuan, host of the talk show Thirteen Invitations, and thought she seemed rather fierce. After watching Xiu Xiu, I was quite shaken—partly because I knew too little about that era, and partly due to the density of information. I also liked the unpolished roughness of it—no tricks, a shocking subject matter, the screenplay not too fancy, but very effective. No unnecessary elements—direct, simple, impactful. Although based on the level of directing, I assume the writing was still primarily by Yan Geling, it doesn’t take away from the film’s strengths.
I don’t really understand why directors like Lou Ye or Joan Chen are drawn to “taboo” topics. But I found a soft news piece from 2003 on Sina (“Li Xiaolu Recalls the Nude Scene Controversy in Xiu Xiu: Joan Chen Tricked Me”), which shows that in 2003, Xiu Xiu wasn’t yet a banned film—or at least it could still be written about in the press. That article was reported by Dalian Evening News and later published on Sohu News. The coverage emphasized that Li Xiaolu (also known as Jacqueline Li), supposedly born on Sept 30, 1981, was 14 years old when filming in 1997, in order to exaggerate and hype her “genius” and “child star” image.
News like this can be bought: certain domestic companies (which claimed they could help apply for green cards) once said they could post fake articles on websites, attach others’ patents under my name, and help me apply as a “special talent.” Some of my college classmates really did post fake articles on websites, which I saw with my own eyes. So I’m not surprised that this is a soft PR piece. What does surprise me is that Li Xiaolu had soft PR published even before becoming famous—especially in 2003. This shows that she had industry connections very early on. Getting the lead role in Joan Chen’s film was probably no coincidence.
Li Xiaolu’s mother, Zhang Weixin, was an actress who moved to the U.S. in the early ’90s. Li Xiaolu also lived in the U.S. with her for a year or two, but grew up and completed her education in Beijing. Zhang Weixin probably met Joan Chen in the U.S., and when she found out that Joan Chen was preparing to shoot a film, she recommended her daughter. Joan Chen always praised Li Xiaolu’s “spirituality,” but I believe that without such a referral, Li Xiaolu, who was living in Beijing, wouldn’t have had access to such an opportunity. In a massive project like a film, the involvement of different interest groups is unavoidable. I just didn’t expect even Joan Chen’s directorial debut to be like this.
In that soft piece, Li Xiaolu says the nude scenes in the film were all done by a body double. She herself wasn’t informed beforehand and was worried after seeing the final cut that the audience would think the nude scenes were hers:
“She thinks it’s normal for every film to have revealing scenes. I don’t think so. I firmly refused to sell my dignity. Because of this, I went on strike on set and had a heated argument with her. I was an underage girl, and the contract clearly stated there would be no nude scenes. Seeing how firm I was, she had to modify the script. What I didn’t want the most was for the released film to have bathing scenes, bed scenes, and nude scenes. I only later learned that those were added during post-production in the U.S. using a double. People who don’t know the truth think it was me. I feel hurt and deceived. Although the film brought me great honor, it is not my favorite.”
The lead actress was not yet sixteen at the time. If she didn’t consent, honestly the director should not have kept her in the dark—especially when all the other crew knew—only for the actress to find out after release. I suspect that, because Li Xiaolu was a minor, Joan Chen and Zhang Weixin made the decision on her behalf. In this light, Li Xiaolu’s anger is completely understandable. For Director Chen to film a story about “sent-down youth” and a “female perspective”—a life she never lived—and to deceive an underage girl into filming, while hiding the nude scenes, it’s truly hard to believe she was genuinely concerned with the “female perspective” or “historical events.” It feels more like opportunistic exploitation of the subject matter, a fetishization of taboo, rather than earnest storytelling.
Part Two: Joan Chen
In a 2016 report titled “Actress Joan Chen Talks About the Cultural Revolution and Film Censorship,” Joan Chen said that her most profound childhood memory was her grandfather’s suicide during the Cultural Revolution. The report states:
“When I was five, the Cultural Revolution began, and my world turned upside down. My grandparents and maternal grandparents, having studied in the West, were accused of being foreign spies and counter-revolutionaries. My grandfather was a renowned pharmacologist, a very proud man. Because he refused to admit to crimes he never committed, he chose to end his own life.”
During the fervor of the Cultural Revolution, her grandmother secretly used “Linguaphone” records to teach her English, balancing her education and letting her know that life had forms beyond the monotony of the Cultural Revolution. This foreign language education also helped her get into the highly competitive Shanghai International Studies University (now Shanghai International Studies University).
Assuming this report is accurate, Joan Chen said her grandfather’s death had a significant impact on her. However, the focus wasn’t on the details of her relationship with her grandfather but rather on his fame and Western educational background, describing him as a very “proud” person. This might be understandable if she were a child, but in 2016, as an adult, if her understanding of the event still centers on “pride,” it makes me question whether she truly comprehends the psychological and emotional devastation wrought by the Cultural Revolution. It’s not only “proud” people who commit suicide, and I refuse to blame the victims by merely labeling them as “proud” and glossing over their suffering. At that time, anyone with a sound mind and judgment likely couldn’t endure the country’s madness. I can imagine how desperate people felt—not just intellectuals. This event tangibly affected the boundary between life and death for many.
As a child, one might not understand, but as an adult, she should have reflected on her extreme privilege, numbness, and the profound pain experienced by her loved ones. Mentioning this event should not focus solely on the so-called overseas background or describe the Cultural Revolution merely as “monotonous.” Joan Chen’s privileged upbringing is evident, suggesting a sense of being unaware of her blessings. Seeing this, I suspect she wants to portray herself as a victim, criticize the Cultural Revolution, and thus align with pro-American sentiments, while simultaneously seeking fame and audience appreciation in China—a case of wanting it both ways.
Joan Chen’s purpose in filming stories about the “sent-down youth” was likely to depict a “female perspective.” However, in practice, she didn’t respect the subjective will of an underage female, collaborating with the Chinese-style mother Zhang Weixin to arrange for Li Xiaolu’s participation, which is somewhat inappropriate. From her creative output, she didn’t continue to delve into the so-called expressions, themes, or issues worth discussing. After Xiu Xiu, she intended to follow up with The Mistress of the Nation, also inviting Li Xiaolu, but was rejected. The Mistress of the Nation seems to continue the path of Xiu Xiu, appearing to chase after sensational topics rather than telling solid stories.
In the now out-of-print Xiu Xiu’s Film Diary, the content I found suggests an overindulgence and idealization of the creative process, deliberately crafting an image of herself as dedicated, hardworking, open, and idealistic. Frankly, based on the materials I’ve gathered, there’s little practical information to learn from. In contrast, Hirokazu Kore-eda’s What I Think About When Making Movies is full of valuable insights. Joan Chen’s diary, after reading for a while, left me unsure of its point. My main question is, if she truly is as idealistic as she claims, would she conceal from an underage actress the use of a body double for intimate scenes, sacrificing the lead actress’s “reputation” for the sake of the “work”? I can’t help but wonder if her performative personality in last week’s AMC screening of The Wedding Banquet remake reflects her true self.
Could it be that Joan Chen is on par with Lou Ye? Both seem more opportunistic than they appear at first glance. In today’s world, filled with information driven by strong agendas, many reports and news pieces can be misleading if not thoroughly examined. This leads me to question the VOA article that seems to praise Joan Chen but falls apart under scrutiny. Could it be another site like Sohu that publishes soft PR pieces? It seems my two sources are both half-true and half-false, leaving me uncertain about how to judge.
I’m starting to wonder how Joan Chen transitioned from an intellectual family into the film industry. Looking at it dialectically, while she may be lax in her creative endeavors, her acting skills are strong.
Part Three: Youth
Joan Chen entered the industry by acting in Xie Jin’s film Youth. According to Wikipedia, Xie Jin was:
A 53rd-generation descendant of Xie An, the famous statesman of the Eastern Jin Dynasty. From a young age, he had a deep passion for performance. He studied at Huaguang Drama School and Jinxing Film Training Class. In 1941, he was admitted to the National Drama School in Jiang’an, Sichuan, majoring in drama. In 1947, he resumed studies in directing at the National Drama School in Nanjing. In 1953, Xie Jin began working as a director at Shanghai Film Studio. He won Best Director at the first Hundred Flowers Awards for his film The Red Detachment of Women.
He had participated in filming anti-Rightist propaganda films, and during the Cultural Revolution, he also directed a number of films glorifying the Gang of Four. However, his most famous work came later—Hibiscus Town, a film reflecting on the Cultural Revolution. I find it disappointing that he could go from making anti-Rightist propaganda for Chairman Mao to self-reflection on the Cultural Revolution and then return to making mainstream propaganda. These seemingly contradictory moves were in fact highly aligned with the will and preferences of the political leadership—calculated choices of subject matter and deliberately biased perspectives. The fact that Joan Chen acted for this man and regards him as her mentor places a few more question marks in my mind. Was she simply too young to understand? Or perhaps, did she understand too well?
Youth was Xie Jin’s thirteenth film. That Joan Chen had access to such an established director is said to be because her mother, Zhang Anzhong, worked at Huashan Hospital in Shanghai. At the time, Xie Jin had a relative or friend receiving treatment there and came into contact with Zhang Anzhong. Upon learning this, Zhang recommended her daughter Joan Chen. I’ve searched extensively and found no official sources confirming this account. But every time I ask ChatGPT, it gives me this version. After Youth gained great acclaim, the college entrance exam system was reinstated, and Joan Chen successfully enrolled in Shanghai International Studies University. During that period, she also rose to fame in China for her role in Little Flower. In Jia Zhangke’s 24 City, the character Joan Chen plays compares herself to the lead actress in Little Flower, creating an inside joke. In fact, I have a lot to say about the role Jia created for her as well. By this point, I had mostly formed my conclusions, but I still postponed wrapping up this analysis for another week to gather more material on her before deciding to finish.
I asked a few online friends to read Joan Chen’s nonfiction memoir Catfish, and almost all of them praised it. I carefully read their explanations, but honestly didn’t understand exactly what they thought was so good. The writing of Catfish is very fragmented. While the prose is not bad, it certainly can’t be considered refined—form over substance. The storytelling technique is weak and fails to draw the reader in. The first chapter is just a collection of unconnected details, written purely based on her own mood. She writes whatever she feels like, and we are expected to follow along. She provides no context for specific events, as if I’m supposed to already know what she’s talking about. In reality, I don’t—and I don’t care to find out. If it weren’t Joan Chen, I wouldn’t even have opened the book. After skimming the first chapter, I decided not to continue. To verify whether my judgment was fair, I went back and reread the first chapter of Yan Geling’s The Flowers of War. Both were books I only read the first chapters of—Yan Geling’s writing is at a professional author’s level, while Joan Chen’s, frankly, doesn’t even count as amateur. It feels more like a teenage girl writing a diary for herself, but not even close to the level of Fang Siqi’s First Love Paradise by the late Lin Yihan (R.I.P.), whose writing was exquisite, clever, and devastating. Every line and metaphor in that book was measured and precise. If it weren’t for the fact that Joan Chen is Joan Chen, I truly doubt how many people would have read or bought her book.
As for Joan Chen herself reaching her current status, it was largely due to the fact that in an era of scarce information, she had access to performance resources far above the average level—resources I believe only the top 1% of the country could access. To verify this point, I began researching certain historical facts about the Cultural Revolution.