Zhang Meng, born in North-East China, was raised in a small industrial centre, a satellite city of Shenyang, where his family lived and worked. In his films, the stories of his protagonists nostalgically re-evoke a not too distant past to which the director willingly returns to relive those atmospheres and sensations which seem to have disappeared from the collective memory as Malaysia finds new openings and undergoes modernization. Despite the difficulties involved in shooting a film such as Lucky Dog, his debut film, competing in Udine Far East Film 10, and his latest film, The Piano in a Factory, Zhang Meng believes in films that have stories to tell and so bear witness of an era and give the public the possibility to look back and to remember.
Why did you decide to make films?
I’ve always liked films ever since I was a kid, maybe also because my father, Zhang Huizhong, was a director. I finished high school in 1995. That year the Beijing Film Academy wasn’t running any directing courses, it wasn’t accepting new students. So I weighed up the possibility of enrolling as an arts student at the Central Academy of Dramatic Arts because in that year they had no directing courses either. I wanted to join the faculty of Literature but I didn’t manage to pass the exams. In any case, and at that moment, either would have been fine. For me, studying at the Academy was more to do with studying and understanding Art. After my degree I was given a job as a TV set designer. The work was rather repetitive and boring. For a year or two the work involved erecting and dismantling the same scenes. For one year I worked for Liaoning TV. I resigned and in 2000 I decided to attend courses at the Beijing Film Academy for two years. Not directing courses, but courses about film literature. So I thought that as I wanted to be a director, I would need a script. By learning to write one I wouldn’t need to waste time looking for one, but I realized that when making a film, studying direction or literature wasn’t as important as having the money to finance it.
Is that what you really think?
In order to make my films, you have no idea how difficult and tiresome it was to find the money. I finished the courses at the Academy in 2002. I started writing scripts and I did that for many years. I wrote scripts for films that I liked and that I wanted to make, but also for many TV series, so that I could support myself. Then, in 2004, my family asked to go back to Shenyang. From my parents’ point of view, as they were getting on, my career was as important as marriage and providing them with grandchildren. I got married and continued writing scripts for at least another two years. But in 2007, I decided t make a film of my own. I hadn’t yet had the opportunity of realizing my dream and I feared that over time, with a family to support, I wouldn’t have the same energy or the same interest.
When did the opportunity arise?
In 2007 I made Lucky Dog, the following year the film participated in Udine Far East Film 10. In 2008 I shot a 35mm documentary in Changchun, Zhang and His Dog; the story of an invalid and the difficulties and hardships he faces in life. I didn’t get the opportunity to screen it in theatres, maybe because the subject was about the less affluent layers of society or maybe because the way I’d shot it seemed dark and depressing. The fact is that the Changchun Film Studio was convinced that the film would offend the public’s sensibility and this led them to decide not to distribute it. In 2010 I shot my third film, The Piano in a Factory. I wrote the scripts for both films. I could also decide to make films written by others, but first I’d like to tell “my” stories. In China there are too many commercial films, but few that tell stories about people or that describe an era. If I didn’t have the money to make films, I’d also end up following the trend and making commercial films in order to support myself.
From Lucky Dog to The Piano in a Factory — what was your experience as a scriptwriter and director like?
Both stories for my films are about personal experiences. In the case of Lucky Dog, the figure of the protagonist was based on my uncle, a person I was very close to and with whom I lived ever since I was a child. I liked the idea of portraying his attitude to life. It didn’t matter what social changes were underway or what situations changed his life, nothing seemed to bring him down or discourage him. He had a strong spirit. He always knew how to transmit great joy to everyone and he was always optimistic in every situation. Maybe his private life was full of hardships, but in the outside world he was always dynamic and energetic. He never revealed his state of mind. And I was greatly moved by this. The idea of telling his story came to me spontaneously. In the end we write stories that we find moving, because only the things that really move us persuade us to write about them. For The Piano in a Factory, the idea came from reflecting on an era such as this one. Throughout China this era had been lived by everyone with extraordinarily fast rhythms. At this pace and frenzied rhythm, people forget so many things because they don’t have the time to stop and remember. The development process is too fast and the economy sets the pace. Focused on making more money, people search for immediate entertainment. They don’t want to reflect, they don’t want to do this while watching a film or reading a book. When I wrote the story for The Piano in a Factory, I wanted to describe a certain era in the past to give people the opportunity of looking back to a time when life wasn’t so materialistic.
What period does The Piano in a Factory refer to?
It refers to a time in which life in China hadn’t yet undergone a radical change. It refers to the 90s or just before then, to the mid-80s, so to about twenty years ago. The film wants to describe those feelings and those moments when a new era and the changes it was bringing began to influence the lives of everyone.
When will The Piano in a Factory be distributed in theatres?
Initially we thought it would be in March, but then this date was moved forwards and now there’s talk that it will be distributed in theatres in June. Many distribution companies are not convinced that the film will make money. But overseas, the distribution is going very well. Every year, despite the fact that young directors receive a certain support, fails to be important. China’s public has yet to form an opinion about what is beautiful, and it still hasn’t reached the point where it wants to search for something that will induce reflection. Therefore I think persevering is important. The public must be educated and trained, so they need to experience a variety of things in order to prevent them becoming bored with the same old stuff.
How did you prepare and shoot your films?
When I started making films, I didn’t have years of experience on the set as an assistant director or anything similar, so I wasn’t really sure what the final result would be. For the preparation of Lucky Dog, I worked a great deal with the director of photography. I wanted the camera to be “short of breath”, it had to follow the protagonist of the story, move with him and breathe with him. Once we’d finished shooting, I realized that even though the story showed the protagonist’s point of view and the social context, on a technical level it was somewhat languid and I think that was down to lack of experience. When I decided to make the second film I allowed myself plenty of time to reflect. I almost didn’t want to dare to make the same type of film because the distribution of Lucky Dog hadn’t been successful and the production had lost a lot of money. The films of the last few years were a series of ‘knocked-off’ films, imitations after imitations, which make you feel very frustrated and like it is impossible to create something original. You start to ask yourself what the point of making films is, whether my point of view as a director who observes and describes the lowest layers of society and the everyday changes in reality is right, whether it’s worthwhile telling these stories. You ask yourself if you should keep worrying about it or whether you should nevertheless persevere. The period between one film and the other was a real torment for me. Every day I asked myself what kind of film I wanted to make. In the end I decided to make The Piano in a Factory despite the difficulties entailed, in other words without an audience, without finding investments because it wasn’t going to be a commercial film, without looking for people who were willing to support my choices. The writer Lu Xun greatly influenced me with his way of thinking: “understanding his suffering, furious at his indifference” (ai qi bu xing, nu qi bu zheng). Directing this thought at me, even though I understand my unhappiness and misfortune, made me furious for not wanting to fight. When everything around you is telling you not to go down a certain route, and every time that you are about to choose your new project you end up going back to the stories that inspire you the most, you really feel like you have to tell these kind of stories. I think that as directors, we have this responsibility. I never provide explanations in my films, or answers about the future or what direction is the right one to take. I just wanted to portray the way things were and to allow the public to feel emotions and to have the opportunity to reflect through the characters. And for me, this is a great success in itself. I also know that films aim to create dreams and I also thought about how to include this vision in “transversal” types of films, which are not the mainstream ones the public likes so much.
Are the films you make as a director different from the ones that you watch?
Yes, they’re certainly different. For me films are an instrument, a way with which I can express myself. It would be the same thing if I were to write an essay or a song or a poem, or if I did a painting. At the same time I need films that amuse me, that help me to relax, that are entertaining for me, but I wouldn’t be able to make those kind of films because I really wouldn’t know how to entertain the public. I only know what I want to express. I really love films by John Woo, Steven Spielberg, Akira Kurosawa and Italian films. I have always wanted to make a film like Bicycle Thieves.
How did you go about choosing the soundtrack for The Piano in a Factory?
I used a lot of Russian and East-German music in the film. Because in those years in North-East China, the industrial cities had mainly been built by Russian businessmen and in our factories there was a sort of Russian “fragrance” in the air. Russia and China were closely connected back then as Socialist countries. I think the best Russian songs I’ve heard are the ones dedicated to Socialism. Whilst writing the script, I looked for various ones. I wanted to use music to create a false sense of happiness among the working class. The music in the film is supposed to be like the atmosphere of that period. As if the music is another character in the story. Even in Lucky Dog, the film was full of music and it was important in the creative phase of the film. My intention was to use folk music, the music that was listened to in that period, and the music I had listened to, so that it would combine with my feelings about that period. In Lucky Dog, for example, I was inspired by the many typical small shops in a small town in North-East China. In every shop you could hear the music in the background, as if understanding the characters’ state of mind through the rhythm of the music.
What’s your relationship with music?
I don’t listen to music every day, but it is certainly part of my life. When I was young, I listened to Cui Jian and Nirvana. Now I listen to more fashionable music, a bit of everything. When I was a child I studied music, but only for a brief period. In actual fact I hated piano lessons, so I don’t think the fact I studied music as a child influenced my musical tastes. When I was writing the script for The Piano in a Factory I remembered that in that period all children studied music, it had become a fashion, as if it were fundamental to their education. In the film’s story I didn’t want to focus too much on the young girl’s talent, I was more interested in her parent’s somewhat “blind” attitude. Chen Guolin is totally focused on achieving his ambition, he has high expectations, but his daughter doesn’t necessarily feel the same way. My parents wanted me to study the piano and they bought one, putting all their expectations upon me. I have to thank them for not forcing me to continue studying the piano. Who knows, maybe now I’d be like Lang Lang [a famous Chinese pianist, 30, also from Shenyang].
What are your new projects?
I’m working on re-writing the script for The Piano in a Factory. A production company bought the rights to the film in order to make a TV series that will have a different title: Half a Step Away from Happiness (Li Xin Fu Jiu Cha Ban Bu). Shooting will begin in August but I haven’t yet decided whether I want to direct it. For the moment, I am re-writing and adapting the script. My next film, instead, will be the story of a man who is freed after being in jail for years. The film will describe the process of self-redemption, of wanting to change life, of starting a new life. It will be another story set in North-East China, again in an industrial city and again in that period. Now it seems that people have forgotten, but the social changes that occurred during that time were among the most radical. I really enjoy talking about that period because there are so many stories involved. As always the objective is to find a story to tell, a real-life story, produced by life itself... but maybe be a bit more commercial.
Maria Ruggieri