dragon gate inn (1966) d. king hu is very enjoyable. i haven’t seen tsai’s film yet so can’t say if it’s important in reference to that, but i’ve been meaning to. king hu was definitely one of the best wuxia directors though
“Tsai seems to really like a lot of long takes on corridors—with the characters walking from one end to another (not just in this film, but some of his others). I’m not sure about the significance of this, though.”
It’s just a part of his cinema. Not everything has definitive meaning. In a setting like this shots like give a sense of the enclosed space of the film.
The only thing I would think as a “comment,” would be in comparison to something like Vive L’Amour or The River in which there are numerous long takes of people walking in-and-out of frame in an outdoor setting. As opposed to the physical and psychological space separating them in those films these shots force people together.
“My sense is that the film is a kind of elegy or ode to movie theaters and maybe a certain time of movies. I don’t know if this is true or not, but I feel like Tsai is influenced or likes Juzo Itami. To me, this film feels like Tampopo—except instead of food the subject is movie theaters. There’s even little vignettes—that serve as commentary on the subject. I’m thinking of scenes with people making loud noises in the theater (also in Tampopo), dropping something on the ground, attempts at amorous activities (I assume that’s what the Japanese guy was trying to do with the older guy).”
Tsai is definitely a fan of old theatres. He recently had an art installment that featured the literal seat he used to watch movies in in the theatre he’d go to in Malaysia. I’m not certain about an enjoyment of the work of Itami, but I know he’s a big fan of that style of playful cinema.
I wouldn’t pigeonhole as just an ode to movies, though. That’s a small part of the film, but not all of it.
“I’m not sure what to make of the scenes with Japanese guy wander in the bowels of the theater, running into other people and then finally seeing the guy lighting a cigarette (is he a older film star or does he represent an older film star)? The guy talks about the ghosts roaming the theater. I haven’t processed this part of the film, yet, but I like this part.”
He’s cruising for sex.
The theatre in which this was set, which was used in What Time is it There? for a cruising “sex” scene, was literally a cruising spot for gay men. That’s why most people wind up there. The “ghosts” of the film are the strongest reference point to cinema of the old; the spirit of a seeming ancient Taiwan (representing an even more ancient China) being reduced to little more than a few faded memories and maybe a spot for an encounter.
Again, Tsai is about representative spaces. The area we separate from others and the area a filmmaker puts his audience.
Cinema looking at cinema and commenting on it; looking at human relationships, sexuality, and commenting on it. Constantly asking an audience to involve themselves in the “story,” and to step back and understand that involvement.
“There’s something interesting and appealing about the man and woman in the theater (the two actors in Tsai’s other films). The way she brings to him that black sugar manapua (representing, love, affection or something) and how she’s disappointed that he hasn’t eaten (accepted) it. Then he finally realizes it’s from her—or maybe he finds it and races to give it to her. Finally, we see her leaving in the rain after him. There’s something plaintively romantic about this.”
This is the best part of the film, for me. It is one of the most beautiful love stories ever told in cinema, simply because it’s unrequited and never reciprocated.
It’s the ideal of romance being exalted and quietly struck down at the same time and remains in stark contrast to the matter-of-fact cruising scenes that bifercate the film.
“I’m wondering if seeing the original kung-fu film is important and worth seeing. Also, sometimes the subtitles for the kung-fu film and other times it wouldn’t—which makes me think those parts of the dialogue was important to the overall film.”
This is a long conversation about the history of Chinese and Taiwanese cinema… Tsai, with this one film, connects a lot of strands. Yes, I would recommend seeing Dragon Gate Inn but because it too is a great piece of filmmaking from a great filmmaker. Because the history of film contained in this singular reference isn’t going to be drawn out by a single viewing of this film.
Sans maybe the recognition of Tien Miao’s past life and the almost forgotten hero Shih Jun.
Now that I have seen other films from Tsai, I really need to revisit this. I’d like to second everything Wu said. It all makes sense in context with Tsai’s other works as he builds upon previous ideas in every new film.
@Wu
It’s just a part of his cinema. Not everything has definitive meaning. In a setting like this shots like give a sense of the enclosed space of the film.
But don’t you wonder if there is any significance or meaning, since these shots seem to appear in his other films? Maybe he just likes long takes of people walking in corridors—I know, I’m starting to like the aesthetic pleasure. (The shot of the ticket lady washing a dish, while the tourist walks into the theater, is a nice shot, even without any significance. However, it might partly estalish the way both of their stories overlap or just miss each other?)
I also think the long takes of the ticket lady walking in the corridor and up the steps, demonstrates the level of feeling she has for the projectionist (Hsiao-Kang)—especially since she has a bad leg. She’ll save her food and go all the way up the projection room on a bad leg—and that signifies her love or affection for the projectionist.
Maybe these long takes in the corridor also show the distance between people and the effort we need to make to cross over to them. (I’m also thinking of the long takes in The Wayward Cloud.)
I wouldn’t pigeonhole as just an ode to movies, though. That’s a small part of the film, but not all of it.
You think it’s only a small part? I think it’s a really big part. The title of the film seems to literaly mean saying good bye to a specific film. We have the two actors from the film in the theater in a wistful mood. The ghosts in the theater again add to this elegiac flavor.
I also think the unrequited love/connections that occur between the ticket woman and Hsiao-Kang, as well as the Japanese tourists failed attempts relate or parallel to the death of the movie theater and an era of filmmaking. Or would that be reaching?
One thing I will say is that I think that viewers who love movies (mabye older ones in particular) and have fond memories of seeing films in theaters, especially in these big single screen ones, will respond to this movie more favorably. Indeed, I anticipate a tepid response from younger viewers who don’t have these memories.
Btw, I love the “story” between the ticket lady and the projectionist, too. What’s your take on Hsiao-Kang running after the ticket lady with the manapua? I initially thought that it might be a gesture of a affection on his part, but then I thought it was just an act of courtesy—and maybe she wasn’t very well off, so he knew she would really need the food.
Again, Tsai is about representative spaces. The area we separate from others and the area a filmmaker puts his audience.
Can you expand on this a little more? I’m not sure what you mean. (Thanks for the details on the “cruising” scenes.)
I just recently rewatched this film (twice, actually) for a podcast that will hopefully be available soon, and next to Vive L’Amour it’s my favorite Tsai so far.
I’m with Wu and Jazz in this sense—I agree that not everything has to have a definitive meaning, and certainly there is a ton in Tsai’s films that fits into this category. But Tsai is definitely interested in “the distance between people” and many of his shots can be seen in this light.
Representative spaces—exactly. Tsai puts the camera at the far end of the theater as the woman walks up and down the stairs. In this way you consider not only her but also yourself in this cavernous space. Were the camera a close-up, hand held shot of her, the focus would be much more on her experience—like the final shot of Vive L’Amour.
“I also think the long takes of the ticket lady walking in the corridor and up the steps, demonstrates the level of feeling she has for the projectionist (Hsiao-Kang)—especially since she has a bad leg. She’ll save her food and go all the way up the projection room on a bad leg—and that signifies her love or affection for the projectionist.”
I think you put into them what you choose. It’s like Bordwell and Ritchie’s disagreement about the meaning of the vase in Late Spring. I’m not one for dissecting meaning of things like this because they just seem to be a place for the viewer to put in what they choose.
I don’t think Tsai is communicating something with us, specifically in every shot of a corridor. If one were to discuss the shot of the empty theatre and his holding of that shot then I might have something to say because of its uniqueness but Tsai just likes looking at space and how it’s represented through our perception of time. Most of his long take/long shots justify themselves merely in this regard.
“You think it’s only a small part? I think it’s a really big part. The title of the film seems to literaly mean saying good bye to a specific film.”
Actually, the Mandarin title of the film means something very different. To quote Tsai on the meaning, “Actually, the Chinese title for Goodbye Dragon Inn is not that at all. It’s Bu san, which is really difficult to translate into English. It’s meant to describe something like things coming together not to be parted, so it’s actually quite the opposite of ‘goodbye.’”
If we look at it through that lens he’s saying goodbye merely to say hello again. That’s a strain that runs through every one of his films in terms of their self-referential quality.
So, in terms of representative spaces, physically it would be the closeness of this film’s “cruising” character with his potential partners as compared to his emotional distance with them. There is a lack of physical distance between these characters (they constantly maneuver in cramped spaces), but the emotions are obviously not there. As opposed to the physical distance of the ‘unrequited’ romance story (do they ever actually see each other?), despite at least one’s idealized love for the other.
But in terms of cinematic space, Tsai shoots both with the same sort of wide-angle, long shot, distanced perspective. Where is the place between emotional attraction and physical attraction? His distanced view probes us to look deeper.
[And, by the way, this idea was beautifully payed homage to by Julian Hernandez in his epic opus Raging Sun, Raging Sky in which an empty theatre, also full of references to the glamour days of cinema, is once again used as a vessel of physical (and emotional) sexuality].
And, to close, a funny story about shapes and buns…
“I like it because for me, the shape of the bun is very similar to the shape of the heart. But, a year prior to the making of the film, I was guest lecturing in Thailand and there was an animation student there who was using it as a model for a women’s breast. He was keeping the bun in the same rice cooker that you see in the film, so a year later it popped up again.” ~Tsai Ming-liang
The film is both a hommage to classic martial arts films of the 60’s AND a study of gay cruising.
Tsai’s obsession, Hsiao-Kang, plays a projectionist — whcih I think is poetically significant. But the part doesn’t give him as much to do as “I Don’t Want To Sleep Alone” (my favorite Tsai to date.)
@Wu
It’s Bu san, which is really difficult to translate into English. It’s meant to describe something like things coming together not to be parted, so it’s actually quite the opposite of ‘goodbye.’”
That’s interesting—and it could definitely affect one’s interpretation of the film—although I’m not sure how to reconcile that meaning with the actual film. I don’t really see a coming together (unless you just mean in terms of physical proxmity—but even that might not fit—as you mention the projectionist and the ticket lady don’t really come into contact at all).
Where is the place between emotional attraction and physical attraction? His distanced view probes us to look deeper.
What do you find on a deeper level?
Good anecdote about the bun. (The use of pink also and the shape also made me think of a heart.)
Btw, if there are any Mandarin speakers, I’d like to hear more about the meaning of “Bu san.”
“The film is both a hommage to classic martial arts films of the 60’s…”
Tsai describes it as classic Taiwanese cinema in general. I assume the martial arts epics were more readily seen outside Taiwan, but it was known in East and Southeast Asia for its family dramas and musicals (which Tsai obviously also has a deep affection for).
“That’s interesting—and it could definitely affect one’s interpretation of the film—although I’m not sure how to reconcile that meaning with the actual film.”
It’s constant in the film. Things almost come together merely to be separated again. Our Japanese cruiser almost gets some only to be rejected and left alone to watch the end of the film (until he thinks he sees a ghost, only to then be separated from the cinematic past), our romantic love almost finds its moment but never comes together, our cinematic past does come together with our cinematic present to express the simple beauty of both. It’s constant.
I’ll quote Tsai, again, “…I was scouting locations for What Time Is It There? I discovered the theater in a small town outside of Taipei. I got to know the owner and shot the segment there. A few months later I ran into the owner again and he told me that he was going to have to close the theater. Audiences were small and it was now mainly a cruising place for gay men. It was just an impulse-I leased the theater for six months. I had no idea what I was going to do and thought I’d just make a short film, but I wanted to try to capture something of it on film. I feel like it was the theater that was calling me to make the film. That theater reminded me of my experience growing up in Malaysia. At that time there were seven or eight grand theaters like that, that have disappeared one by one over the past few years. Prior to making Dragon Inn I was having this recurring dream of this particular theater in Malaysia. Its almost like these images of childhood wouldn’t let me go.”
In his own story there is a constant parting and coming back.
Is love as much the things that seperate as the things that bring us together?
@Wu
Tsai: “…it’s meant to describe something like things coming together, not to be parted…”
I don’t know. I interpret that to mean something coming together than belongs together and shouldn’t be separated. If that’s the meaning, I find it hard to see the film supporting this. The Japanese man comes physically close to individuals, but not emotionally, psychologically or spiritually. The first person he make advances towards (the film star) ignores him completely. (A man sits next to the Japanese guy and the Japanese guy ignores him. The woman moves closer to the Japanese guy and the Japanese guy leaves the theater looking, stumbling, almost as if he’s going to throw up.) The projectionist and ticket lady don’t seem to connect in any sense.
The ending of the film is sad, wistful, but also romantic and even touching, imo—but I’m not left with the feeling that the characters made connections (the projectionist and the tickety lady; the Japanese guy and the people he encounters) that shouldn’t be broken. I also don’t think there’s a
Here’s another way I could understand the meaning of the translation. Whe we reconnect with good memories—in this case, the memories of moments in the theater, whether it was watching martial arts film or “cruising,”—it’s something we should always hold onto and not separate. Or maybe the meaning is that the connections that we’ve once made—with movies in the theater or other encounters—will always remain strong, unbreakable.
That last quote from Tsai, imo, lends more support to the idea that the film is an elegy or ode to both the movie houses (he mentions they’re disappearing), a certain time in his life (Malaysia) and maybe even certain era of filmmaking (the two stars, now older, look back sadly—one sits as tears well up in his eyes and when they meet outside they remark that no one goes to movie theaters anymore).
Btw, I’m not suggesting this is the definitive—or even the only—reading of the film. It’s just my interpretation, which other can agree with or dispute.
“I don’t know. I interpret that to mean something coming together than belongs together and shouldn’t be separated.”
You’re relying on an of-the-moment translation which the director himself prefaced by saying the phrase is very difficult (more than likely impossible) to translate. Maybe the impossibility of translating the phrase is why you’re having an impossible time trying to force its meaning into the film?
“That last quote from Tsai, imo, lends more support to the idea that the film is an elegy or ode to both the movie houses…”
You’re taking a small aspect of the film and expanding it to cover everything. Yes, Tsai says this was the inspiration of the film, but Grace Chang was the inspiration of The Hole, and I seriously doubt most would agree if one said the songs are the only aspect of the film that lend meaning.
The film is about emotional and physical connections. The space we lend to others, what they lend to us and what Tsai asks us to lend to his work (and vice versa). Which is why the referential attitude towards an older generation of cinema is needed to consider an audience’s place in the representative space being created on screen. As I’ve been saying, there’s more going on than just saying goodbye.
@Wu
OK, I think we just have different interpretations of the film. FWIW, I don’t think there’s more to the film than just saying good bye to movie theaters, etc., but I do think that is a key part of the film. Again, just my interpretation.
I’m halfway through this movie now, just on a quick break. can’t say i’m enjoying it too much. The long shots aren’t very interesting to me so far. I’m really on the fence about this director.
better get back to it……..
Goodbye Dragon Inn is one of the few movies that I have intentionally quit on right in the middle. I found myself thinking that the experience I was having while watching the movie would be better had while watching an actual movie at an actual movie theatre. I’m usually into meta movies, but this one was just too much. I can’t imagine the Twilight Zone vibe one would get from seeing Goodbye Dragon Inn at a theatre.
Wow – I’ve loved all his films – I even saw the original.
The funny thing is I have trouble remembering them – maybe because they are unconventional….
@Joks
I’m wondering if you’ve seen his films in the order in which they were made. I suspect that is crucial to understanding his films. The first film I saw of his was What Time Is It There? and I had no clue what was going on. But had I seen the films that preceded it, I think it might have made a lot more sense.
@Nathan
It’s too bad you didn’t get to see what happens between the ticket lady and the projectionist. To me, it’s one of the more original depictions of unrequited love I’ve seen.
SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION ALERT
In case you haven’t heard it, here is our first podcast, on Tsai, wherein we discuss a couple of his films, this being one.
I think it would also be important to mention that Lee Kang-sheng movie from the same Year “The Missing” and Tsais “Goodbye Dragon Inn” are supposed to be complementary. They are linked by the location/characters (sort of) and the title. Tsais Film is called “busan” and Lees film is called “bujian”. If they stand alone they apparently don’t really make sense, only together will they form the famous Chinese Idiom “bu san bu jian” which means something like “don’t go, before we meet”.
HOUSE: I actually listened to that podcast a while ago and forgot to comment on it! It was quite enjoyable! can’t say i’m a huge Tsai fan but some of the comments definitely made me look at certain aspects of his films differently. particularly the focus on ‘ordinariness’.
“You’re taking a small aspect of the film and expanding it to cover everything. Yes, Tsai says this was the inspiration of the film, but Grace Chang was the inspiration of The Hole, and I seriously doubt most would agree if one said the songs are the only aspect of the film that lend meaning.
The film is about emotional and physical connections. The space we lend to others, what they lend to us and what Tsai asks us to lend to his work (and vice versa). Which is why the referential attitude towards an older generation of cinema is needed to consider an audience’s place in the representative space being created on screen. As I’ve been saying, there’s more going on than just saying goodbye."
Sure, but after rewatching the film i think the most interesting aspect is the way Tsai manages to give life to this crumbling old building; showing loneliness and heartache etc is one thing, but imbuing a physical space with an almost phantasmagoric quality is another thing entirely. Particularly impressive is the way he holds that shot of the empty auditorium towards the end; there is such a great feeling of loss in that scene that yes, absolutely can not be separated from the ‘romantic’ encounters we have previously witnessed, but to me works on another level that’s difficult to put in words.
I’m not a huge fan of Tsai, but this is the most visually impressive work that i’ve seen of his, and the only one i wanted to revisit.
I wish someone would release this on blu-ray, because the use of colour and light really is extraordinary, and the dvd copy i saw on both occasions—which is now out of print—is a crummy, non-anamorphic transfer that fails to do any justice to Tsai’s delicate compositions.
Goodbye Dragon Inn is deeply haunting, and deeply personal. Not just an ode to forgotten/lost cinema but also about how distant people have become. In the past the theatre was a social gathering, where people met to share a common experience, now replaced by a cold, emotionless void where people cant seem to connect. What is wrong here? We could only guess.
I found Goodbye Dragon Inn to be the culmination of Tsai’s earlier works. While I prefer The Hole and The River to this, there’s no denying of the absolute minimalism which has served this film so well.
A strange tribute to cinema, made with the unique mood of Tsai Ming Liang.
http://alwayswatchgoodmovies.blogspot.com/
I saw this when it was new in 2004. I didn’t get why everyone was so crazy about this. But then I saw “I don’t want to sleep alone” a few years later. It was almost a masterpiece, and by far the best Tsai film I’ve seen.
Why almost a masterpiece? It is a masterpiece.
“Particularly impressive is the way he holds that shot of the empty auditorium towards the end; there is such a great feeling of loss in that scene…”
The sequence immediately before and after that shot:
Shih Jun watching the film alone, Chen Shiang-chyi watching him, he begins to cry.
The shot.
Tien Miao walks out of the auditorium with his grandchild and finds Shih Jun. They discuss the “end” of cinema.
Lee Kang-sheng rolls up the film, Chen shuts off the toilets, Lee dumps the water buckets.
Chen finds Lee returned her “heart” (or breast, as Tsai called it) and her rice cooker. She realizes their connection will never come together.
The means by which Tsai imbues the theatre with emotion and feeling is by imbuing it with the loss of the characters on screen. Which is why the film, despite oft being called his lightest (mainly because of the cruising sequences and ghost scene), is probably Tsai’s most unrepentant tragedy.
There are few cinemas which deal with the obsession of cinema and cinema halls and yet showing the decaying of cinematic culture as new technology has wiped the projector based ’Run-of-the-mill cinema halls. Goodbye, Dragon Inn is a cinema which stands for the urban alienation of people, the decaying culture of cinema and also showing in an uncanny style of cinematography the audience in this case most of them are homosexuals or people seeking sexual companionship. Goodbye dragon inn is stripped of bare essentials such as emotions, jazzy editing and any sort of background music. There is no plot except for a cinema hall showing a martial arts movie in a rainy day over Taiwan. The event of cinema takes place over 2 – 3 hours and has unnamed characters. One lady ticket collector who with a limp manages the theater but is not the owner. Tsai in a unique and subtle way shows the audience during the course of the movie where there is hardly a few people. One of them seeking to brush with other men in the cinema hall and is somewhat repulsed by women or their gross antiques of chewing food in a noisily fashion in the theater. But the whole film has so much more and is in the least entertaining. This cinema is what one would call life reflecting art. This is a cinema made for people reflecting the future in a mysterious way where decadence has made a lot of cinema halls go out of business. Everyone talks of nostalgia but there is none when it comes to reviving old cinema in the halls. It makes us wonder if a martial arts movie cannot drag a handful audience in a rainy day, can a n obscure or lesser known cinema do any better in a normal day. Tsai also takes a swoop on the people who go their for their vested interests. Surprisingly most of them are homosexuals.A very slow pacing cinema which has a few scenes and done in a extremely minimalist fashion unflattering it in the same instance. Though it has long shot of an empty cinema hall for a few minutes which baffled me. But it made me wonder, does the director wants to show the emptiness of it ? This is one of the best films which I have seen which deals with cinema. Cinema is dead, Long Live Cinema.
Excellent posts Doc Block & Falderal!
Jazzaloha
I’m a little surprised that there’s no thread on this film. I just saw this last night, and I need (and want) to write and think about this film a lot more. But I wanted to start a thread with some thoughts off the top of my head—partly because I want to get it out and, partly, because I hope this will inspire others to see the film (thus, giving me more people to talk to! :)
OK, here are some random thoughts:
>Tsai seems to really like a lot of long takes on corridors—with the characters walking from one end to another (not just in this film, but some of his others). I’m not sure about the significance of this, though.
>My sense is that the film is a kind of elegy or ode to movie theaters and maybe a certain time of movies. I don’t know if this is true or not, but I feel like Tsai is influenced or likes Juzo Itami. To me, this film feels like Tampopo—except instead of food the subject is movie theaters. There’s even little vignettes—that serve as commentary on the subject. I’m thinking of scenes with people making loud noises in the theater (also in Tampopo), dropping something on the ground, attempts at amorous activities (I assume that’s what the Japanese guy was trying to do with the older guy).
>I’m not sure what to make of the scenes with Japanese guy wander in the bowels of the theater, running into other people and then finally seeing the guy lighting a cigarette (is he a older film star or does he represent an older film star)? The guy talks about the ghosts roaming the theater. I haven’t processed this part of the film, yet, but I like this part. Btw, these scenes sort of reminded me of the island scene in L’Avventura (with a bit of wink).
>There’s something interesting and appealing about the man and woman in the theater (the two actors in Tsai’s other films). The way she brings to him that black sugar manapua (representing, love, affection or something) and how she’s disappointed that he hasn’t eaten (accepted) it. Then he finally realizes it’s from her—or maybe he finds it and races to give it to her. Finally, we see her leaving in the rain after him. There’s something plaintively romantic about this.
>I’m wondering if seeing the original kung-fu film is important and worth seeing. Also, sometimes the subtitles for the kung-fu film and other times it wouldn’t—which makes me think those parts of the dialogue was important to the overall film.