Each year, when the Hong Kong International Film Festival comes to town, the city's moviegoers are granted ample access to a fortnight's worth of top-flight entertainment. With over two hundred movies representing more than sixty countries, the festival brings together crowd-pleasing favorites, critic's darlings, obscure indies and a healthy dose of "restored classics" from decades past. It's a mind-boggling mixture of the great, the good, the 'interesting,' the mediocre, the disappointing, and, on only the rarest of occasions, the terrible. All in all, it's wonderful.
This year's retrospective featured a special quartet of "four treasures" starring legendary Chinese actress Li Lihua, one of which was titled "The Flower Girl," from 1951, apparently filmed in Hong Kong and described in the festival programme as "a highly emotional drama."
I wasn't entirely sold on the idea at first. To be perfectly honest, I was lot more excited for the next day's Li Lihua screening, billed as a "sparkling romantic comedy" that "satirizes bourgeois manners and social climbing..." But I hadn't any other plans on that dreary Monday evening. And I love classic American and European films from the era, so why not take a chance on a Chinese one? Thus, after work, I made the short trek from my office to Tai Kwun and bought a ticket. "How bad could it be?" I reasoned.
The screening-touted as the "world premiere" of the new print-was briefly introduced by Diana Fong, granddaughter of the film's producer, who told the history of its making and described the struggle to restore it to its former glory. Then the lights dimmed, and the scratchy black-and-white main titles flickered across the screen.
In the opening moments, I was reminded of Walter Percy's foreword to "A Confederacy of Dunces," where he recounts his efforts to avoid reading a manuscript he fears will be utterly dreadful, only to discover it may in fact be a masterpiece.
"In this case," he writes, "I read on. And on. First with the sinking feeling that it was not bad enough to quit, then with a prickle of interest, then a growing excitement, and finally an incredulity: surely it was not possible that it was so good. I shall resist the temptation to say what first made me gape, grin, laugh out loud, shake my head in wonderment. Better let the reader make the discovery on his own."
In that dark cinema, I was Percy, so entirely hooked after only a few minutes that I couldn't tear my eyes from the screen for the remainder of the brisk, ninety-six minute running time. Suddenly my mind was racing with thoughts: "How have I never heard of it before? Why isn't such a marvel better known? Are there more movies like this out there? Is there, in fact, an entire unearthed universe of similar treasures yet to be discovered?"
Liberally adapted from the famous short story "Boule de Suif" by Guy de Maupassant, "The Flower Girl" transposes the action from the Franco-Prussian War to the Second Sino-Japanese War. It also combines numerous echoes of Josef von Sternberg's 1932 classic "Shanghai Express" with a generous helping of John Ford's 1939 stunner "Stagecoach." And if you've ever yearned for a "Shanghai Express" that features more Anna May Wong-and, let's be honest, who hasn't?-this is the flick for you.
Bringing together a gallimaufry of characters attempting to travel between two cities under the ever-watchful eyes of dictatorial Japanese warlords who have restricted the free movement of the local population, "The Flower Girl" opens in a bus depot, where a pair of inspectors scrutinize the papers of hopeful passengers, sternly questioning them on their travel motives before granting access to the coach. A businessman, a banker and a merchant, each with his wife, then a loafer and a pair of sisters headed home to visit an ailing mother and, last, a beautiful young lady named Flora, immediately recognized by the guards and revealed to be a (possibly ex-) prostitute, fed up with city life and determined to reunite with her faraway young son whom she hasn't seen for several years.
The characters now introduced, they set off on their journey. Chatting with one another as they bump along the country highway, it quickly becomes clear the three respectable couples do not want anything to do with a woman of Flora's standing. Only the sisters treat her with compassion and pleasantness, while the rest do their best to simply ignore her.
After hours of arduous travel, our group is forced to stop at a country inn due to the Japanese-imposed curfew only allowing for movement during daylight hours. It is here that a local general makes a startling demand. It seems he, too, knows of Flora's reputation, and unless she will submit to spending a night with him, he will not allow any of the group to move on. Naturally, Flora refuses, so nobody is permitted to leave.
Her fellow passengers are kept in the dark about the reasons for their delay. When it is finally revealed, they initially rally in support of their compatriot, outraged that a foreign commander would insult a Chinese woman in such a manner. However, as days (and days and days) wear on and their own personal circumstances make a departure ever more urgent, they conspire together to convince Flora to accede to the tryst, their self-seeking aims usurping the importance of the young woman's honor. The catty wives and their pompous husbands attempt to cull together noble reasons to achieve their objective, barely masking their selfish intent.
I don't want to spoil the many developments that keep the story moving forward. To paraphrase Percy, better let you discover them on your own. But rest assured, each scene continues building tension, introducing subplots and unveiling unexpected twists. You're in for a treat because the film operates on so many levels. On its surface, it's simply a compelling story, with well-drawn characters faced with moral, emotional and physical problems. But it also works in a much deeper way, presenting an exposé of the hypocrisy of the then-contemporary Chinese middle class, all the while highlighting the brutality of the Japanese occupation and its harrowing effects on the local townspeople. And, from a filmmaking perspective, it's just an incredibly well-made production, with stunning camerawork, impressive sets and solid performances from a cast of troupers.
When the screen faded to black and the house lights came up again, I cheered loud, lustily and long. So did many others in attendance. I felt like I had been granted access to a secret masterpiece, exploring themes of loyalty, patriotism and the bonds of friendship. And I experienced one of the rarest, most joyous emotions one can feel at the conclusion of a movie screening: gratitude. I was truly appreciative at being given the chance to attend such a special event. And I've been singing the film's praises to anyone who'll listen for the past week.
If the results of my early investigation are any indication, "The Flower Girl" is currently not available on DVD, and I can't find mention of any future planned screenings. But if you do come across the rare opportunity to encounter this gem, I wholeheartedly recommend catching it. I doubt you'll leave disappointed. Every inch a classic, "The Flower Girl" deserves to take its rightful place in the essential canon of world cinema.
This year's retrospective featured a special quartet of "four treasures" starring legendary Chinese actress Li Lihua, one of which was titled "The Flower Girl," from 1951, apparently filmed in Hong Kong and described in the festival programme as "a highly emotional drama."
I wasn't entirely sold on the idea at first. To be perfectly honest, I was lot more excited for the next day's Li Lihua screening, billed as a "sparkling romantic comedy" that "satirizes bourgeois manners and social climbing..." But I hadn't any other plans on that dreary Monday evening. And I love classic American and European films from the era, so why not take a chance on a Chinese one? Thus, after work, I made the short trek from my office to Tai Kwun and bought a ticket. "How bad could it be?" I reasoned.
The screening-touted as the "world premiere" of the new print-was briefly introduced by Diana Fong, granddaughter of the film's producer, who told the history of its making and described the struggle to restore it to its former glory. Then the lights dimmed, and the scratchy black-and-white main titles flickered across the screen.
In the opening moments, I was reminded of Walter Percy's foreword to "A Confederacy of Dunces," where he recounts his efforts to avoid reading a manuscript he fears will be utterly dreadful, only to discover it may in fact be a masterpiece.
"In this case," he writes, "I read on. And on. First with the sinking feeling that it was not bad enough to quit, then with a prickle of interest, then a growing excitement, and finally an incredulity: surely it was not possible that it was so good. I shall resist the temptation to say what first made me gape, grin, laugh out loud, shake my head in wonderment. Better let the reader make the discovery on his own."
In that dark cinema, I was Percy, so entirely hooked after only a few minutes that I couldn't tear my eyes from the screen for the remainder of the brisk, ninety-six minute running time. Suddenly my mind was racing with thoughts: "How have I never heard of it before? Why isn't such a marvel better known? Are there more movies like this out there? Is there, in fact, an entire unearthed universe of similar treasures yet to be discovered?"
Liberally adapted from the famous short story "Boule de Suif" by Guy de Maupassant, "The Flower Girl" transposes the action from the Franco-Prussian War to the Second Sino-Japanese War. It also combines numerous echoes of Josef von Sternberg's 1932 classic "Shanghai Express" with a generous helping of John Ford's 1939 stunner "Stagecoach." And if you've ever yearned for a "Shanghai Express" that features more Anna May Wong-and, let's be honest, who hasn't?-this is the flick for you.
Bringing together a gallimaufry of characters attempting to travel between two cities under the ever-watchful eyes of dictatorial Japanese warlords who have restricted the free movement of the local population, "The Flower Girl" opens in a bus depot, where a pair of inspectors scrutinize the papers of hopeful passengers, sternly questioning them on their travel motives before granting access to the coach. A businessman, a banker and a merchant, each with his wife, then a loafer and a pair of sisters headed home to visit an ailing mother and, last, a beautiful young lady named Flora, immediately recognized by the guards and revealed to be a (possibly ex-) prostitute, fed up with city life and determined to reunite with her faraway young son whom she hasn't seen for several years.
The characters now introduced, they set off on their journey. Chatting with one another as they bump along the country highway, it quickly becomes clear the three respectable couples do not want anything to do with a woman of Flora's standing. Only the sisters treat her with compassion and pleasantness, while the rest do their best to simply ignore her.
After hours of arduous travel, our group is forced to stop at a country inn due to the Japanese-imposed curfew only allowing for movement during daylight hours. It is here that a local general makes a startling demand. It seems he, too, knows of Flora's reputation, and unless she will submit to spending a night with him, he will not allow any of the group to move on. Naturally, Flora refuses, so nobody is permitted to leave.
Her fellow passengers are kept in the dark about the reasons for their delay. When it is finally revealed, they initially rally in support of their compatriot, outraged that a foreign commander would insult a Chinese woman in such a manner. However, as days (and days and days) wear on and their own personal circumstances make a departure ever more urgent, they conspire together to convince Flora to accede to the tryst, their self-seeking aims usurping the importance of the young woman's honor. The catty wives and their pompous husbands attempt to cull together noble reasons to achieve their objective, barely masking their selfish intent.
I don't want to spoil the many developments that keep the story moving forward. To paraphrase Percy, better let you discover them on your own. But rest assured, each scene continues building tension, introducing subplots and unveiling unexpected twists. You're in for a treat because the film operates on so many levels. On its surface, it's simply a compelling story, with well-drawn characters faced with moral, emotional and physical problems. But it also works in a much deeper way, presenting an exposé of the hypocrisy of the then-contemporary Chinese middle class, all the while highlighting the brutality of the Japanese occupation and its harrowing effects on the local townspeople. And, from a filmmaking perspective, it's just an incredibly well-made production, with stunning camerawork, impressive sets and solid performances from a cast of troupers.
When the screen faded to black and the house lights came up again, I cheered loud, lustily and long. So did many others in attendance. I felt like I had been granted access to a secret masterpiece, exploring themes of loyalty, patriotism and the bonds of friendship. And I experienced one of the rarest, most joyous emotions one can feel at the conclusion of a movie screening: gratitude. I was truly appreciative at being given the chance to attend such a special event. And I've been singing the film's praises to anyone who'll listen for the past week.
If the results of my early investigation are any indication, "The Flower Girl" is currently not available on DVD, and I can't find mention of any future planned screenings. But if you do come across the rare opportunity to encounter this gem, I wholeheartedly recommend catching it. I doubt you'll leave disappointed. Every inch a classic, "The Flower Girl" deserves to take its rightful place in the essential canon of world cinema.