Dir. Tsai Ming-Liang, 2003, Taiwan, 83 mins, subtitles
Cast: Lee Kang-Sheng, Chen Shiang-Chyi, Mitamura Kiyonobu
The first sentence uttered in Goodbye, Dragon Inn takes place in the 44th minute of the film, when the cinema projectionist (Lee Kang-Sheng) tells the gay Japanese cruiser (Mitamura Kiyonobu) that the movie theatre they are in is haunted. Up until this point we witness the uneventful yet bizarre goings on in the Fu-Ho cinema, a dilapidated and old fashioned style movie theatre that’s playing its last film before being closed down. The final film in question is King Hu’s Dragon Inn (1967), a classic martial arts film in the wuxia (meaning chivalrous Chinese knight) tradition. The theatre is virtually empty apart from a few old men who watch the film and a succession of individuals looking for sexual gratification. The half crippled ticket collector (Chen Shiang-Chyi) spends her time wandering around the lonely corridors hoping to catch the attention of the distant and uninterested projectionist, but essentially spends the entirety of the film alone with her own thoughts. After the film finishes, two of the audience members meet outside. They happen to be the actors who starred in Dragon Inn (Miao Tien and Shih Chun play themselves), watching their film for the last time in the old movie theatre before it disappears.
Watching a Tsai Ming-Liang film is always an experience. Whether it’s a good or bad one depends on the individual. His distinctive style takes some getting used to, one could say that you have to put some effort in to adapting to his slow pace and uneventful narrative, but more often than not the effort is worthwhile. The camera is always in a fixed position, filming scenes that seem to be excessively long and unnecessary to those who are unfamiliar with Tsai’s work. The majority of the scenes in Goodbye, Dragon Inn focus on mundane everyday acts that fail to push along an uneventful narrative. Watching the ticket collector pick at her food for three minutes or the projectionist emptying buckets of water without incident, draws you in all the more as you prepare yourself to witness a moment of action that never occurs. The beauty of Tsai’s style is in its invitation to the audience to fully examine the image on screen. With a static and lengthy shot, filming something seemingly unimportant, I found myself focussing on the whole picture. The settings and surroundings are in front of you in their raw uninterrupted form for so long, they become familiar and comforting. The slowness of the film, coupled with the intrusion into the life of the projectionist and the ticket collector, documents their lonely existence rather than capturing a sense of narrative action. We are offered the chance to experience their solitary lives through the image on screen rather than being told about it with direct dialogue.
A sense of loss, isolation and a desire to be loved permeates Goodbye, Dragon Inn. The sense of loss stems from the lack of interest shown in the classic King Hu film and the imminent closure of the traditional movie theatre, which has become a haunt for gay men looking for emotionless sexual encounters. Looking to the past in an increasingly globalised Taiwan is a theme that resonates in a number of films produced on the island in recent years, especially in the films of Tsai Ming-Liang and Hou Hsiao-Hsien. This feeling is captured most poignantly in the final scene when the two actors from the film meet outside, with one saying to the other “No-one goes to the movies anymore, and no-one remembers who we are”. The desire to be wanted and loved is played out through the ticket collectors attempts at attracting the attention of the projectionist, and the Japanese mans sadly comical search for physical gratification from within the confines of the theatre. Equally, a sense of isolated existence is strongly felt through the same characters. Although the cinema itself is a social place, we remain isolated from those around us through our focussed attention on the screen. This isolation dominates Goodbye, Dragon Inn, as the characters appear to refuse to interact with those around them and remain within their own realms of existence.
This is not an enjoyable film to watch in the traditional sense. There is no action to speak of and very little dialogue. To say the film is entertaining would also be incorrect, as it clearly wasn’t made for our enjoyment. My last two sentences have no doubt left a negative view of Goodbye, Dragon Inn in your mind and you are probably wondering why anyone would want to watch a film where nothing seems to happen at all. I only try to prepare you for the experience of a Tsai Ming-Liang film. If you watch Goodbye, Dragon Inn with the same expectations that you have for other films then you will be very disappointed. On the other hand, if you watch it with an open mind and allow yourself to be seduced by Tsai’s blunt and open vision of the world, then you might appreciate a film that really does cater for an acquired taste.
Daniel Laverick
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