Dust in the Wind (Lianlian fengchen, 1986)
Hsiao-Hsien Hou
Taiwan
94 min, color, Mandarin (English subtitles)
This is the third film by director Hou Hsiao-Hsien that I've seen thus far and probably the first one I somewhat liked. So, the Dryden Theater retrospective may not have been such a bad idea after all. Oddly enough, DUST IN THE WIND is considered by many (including the director himself) to be among Hou's weakest films, and in many ways it is. The minimalist style of nonexistent cutting, long takes, and languorous pans is already evident, though not in the extremes it will reach in FLOWERS OF SHANGHAI. Some critics have placed Hou's style somewhere between Ozu and Antonioni, but I beg to differ. The master shots (which rarely translate into dramatic close-ups) keep the audience at an emotional distance from the goings on. Unfortunately the wall of separation also precludes the involvement necessary to generate empathy with the characters. As often happens, the result is boring and bland. The mundane tasks that occupy most of the screen time don't contribute to the enjoyment either. Hou has never cared for plot as much as for characterization, however, many of the conflicts are so introvert and so subdued that one may miss them if one blinks. For some patience and repeated viewings have been rewarding and they claim that Hou's films almost require constant attention and review. For others (this reviewer included), this would be more than they deserve.
DUST IN THE WIND is mostly about people eating and smoking. I kid you not: perhaps 90% of the action involves munching on Chinese, swilling bad beer, and generous lung destruction. Wan and, what some believe to be his girlfriend, Huen move to Taipei from some dinky little village to eke out miserable existence in the big city. Although pathetically poor (at least judging by the environs in which they dwell), they manage to scrape up enough cash to live and even send some home. I didn't realize Huen was Wan's girl and was sort-of yawning through the embryonic romance that was apparently taking place, albeit cautiously, before my eyes. Huen takes up some unrewarding job as a seamstress and Wan quits his job at a printing house to become a motorcycle delivery boy. Then the bike gets stolen, Wan gets upset, wanders off into the sunset (with all the sandy beach trappings, as appropriate), then gets drenched, then gets rescued by the coast guard, then faints, then recovers. Huen hand washes his dirty linen. That means they are now deeply in love. Naturally, Wan gets drafted, and (just as naturally), while he serves his time in the army, Huen marries the postman (the Taiwanese equivalent of the proverbial pool boy). Not for love, but convenience. Wan's heart is torn asunder and he gives his watch to some stranded Chinese, who only speak Cantonese. Then he goes home to stare thoughtlessly at some plants his grandfather has been tending to.
If one wants to believe, this could be construed as some sort of social statement. However, the love story (relationship, whatever) was so subdued that it barely registered, and so the emotional outbursts were empty and cold despite the uncharacteristic close-ups that were supposed to lend them credibility. The few good scenes all featured the Grandfather: one where he nearly blew himself up when he mistook a firecracker for a candle, and the other, when he was seeing Wan off to the army and lighting firecrackers to celebrate the event. Other than that (and some occasional humorous distractions, like the drunk father moving stones or the scared brainwashed mainland Chinese) the film really takes its time and takes its toll. In the end, one wonders what possessed Huen to marry, but then one wonders why would she not?
I am a bizarre person, so I liked this film more than the others. It is most definitely for people with supreme reserve of patience, and tolerance for directorial indulgence.
June 3, 2001. BLS