June 15, 2008
Day two of the festival starts well. After a couple of meetings, I get a late breakfast at the Hyatt with Donnie Yen, who has been in Shanghai for several months shooting ‘Ip Man’, his bio pic about the famed Wing Chun kung fu maestro, who was also Bruce Lee’s teacher. The film is on hiatus while the production company conducts a worldwide talent search for a suitable candidate to play the young Bruce Lee. Fans of martial arts action are eagerly waiting the reteaming of Donnie and his Kill Zone (AKA SPL) sparring partner Sammo Hung. In the earlier film, Yen supplied the fight choreography, for Ip Man its Hung. Sammo stays mainly behind the camera this time, but Donnie lets slip that the big man will have a cameo in the film.
Back at the Crowne Plaza, I’m scheduled to co-host a workshop on pitching movies to American companies. Since we announced the TWC Asian Film Fund, I’d received more pitches than Barry Bonds, so it’s great to be able to share my experiences with a very bright, eager crowd of young Chinese film-makers. Everyone seems to be from central casting. A wonderfully deadpan fellow pitches a character comedy that he seems perfectly suited to star in. A lovely young lady has a charming romance on offer. Variety bureau chief Patrick Frater comes in towards the end of the session, and offers some further pithy words of wisdom. My co-host launches into a long rant about the state of the indie film industry in the US. Are you pitching or bitching? I ask her innocently.
On another level of the hotel, various Chinese film companies have set out their booths to offer buyers a selection from the previous year’s local productions. The industry seems to be as prolific as previously, but there seem to be very few Dragon Dynasty style movies on offer. I engage one producer in conversation. ‘Mr. Logan Bey,’ he enquires, sincerely. ‘What kind of films you looking for?’ A near-by booth has the Chinese poster for Flashpoint (out now on DD, as I’m sure you’re aware!). Something like that, I suggest. The feeling seems to be that, despite China’s massive population and the huge number of Wu Shu practitioners, only Hong Kong film-makers can make that kind of movie.
The Crowne Plaza restaurant has an impressive lunch and supper buffet. We’re in a hurry, its 5.45 and the official start time for the buffet is 6pm. The food is already laid out in its entire splendor. I’m have to get somewhere, I ask the waiter. Can I start now? He looks at me like I’ve asked him to donate a kidney for my cooking show. Absolutely not, he tells me. The customer may always be right, but those crucial 15 minutes were even righter…
Donnie has another film, Painted Skin, in post-production. I visited the location when they were shooting in Hengdian, and I’m greeted warmly by the producers when I attend a press conference here to promote the film. The focus is the unveiling of the key art for the movie. Two of the films three female leads, Zhao Xun and Sun Li, are on hand for the unveiling, as is actor Yuwu Qi. The two girls are so skinny, I resist a sudden urge to send my assistant out to buy them donuts. There’s no footage from the film on show, just a Python-esque faux animated selection of moving images. Neither director Gordon Chan nor Donnie himself is in attendance, and no-one seems exactly certain why. As the press con draws to a close, the two honorary white guys present, myself and my old friend Chuck Boller, the Hawaii Film Festival chief, are dragged on-stage.
In the backstage VIP area, I greet Sun Li. She just made her English language debut in the mini-series Iron Road, in which she also has some action scenes. What was harder, I ask her, the English or the action? The English! she replies with conviction. (In my own case, I’ve always found it the other way around…) I also take the opportunity to introduce myself to Zhao Xun, who I missed during my set visit. I tell her how well we’ve done with The Banquet (AKA Legend of the Black Scorpion) and promise to send her some DVDs. She has a wonderfully deep voice. I’d like to hear you sing, I tell her. Zhao Xun looks into my eyes. I like bossa nova, she replies, rather disconcertingly.
As I’m talking to her, I feel the room behind me grow quiet. My assistant and a friend tell me that a strange woman had made her way, uninvited, into the VIP room, and was standing behind my back tapping her watch and making faces. Never a dull moment in Shanghai…