Farewell my Concubine (1993) The Chinese Epic as a performance piece (Review)

In the West, Chinese or Peking Opera is known more for graduates Yuen Biao, Jackie Chan, Corey Yuen and Sammo Hung than any cultural footprint – despite dating back to the 18th century. This makes the BFI release of Chen Kaige’s epic Farewell my Concubine one of the more interesting pieces from the Fifth Generation of mainland Chinese Cinema. Based on Lilian Lee’s novel of the same name and the only Chinese language film to win the Palme D’ or to date, Farewell my Concubine is an epic of all proportions.

Starting in the 1920s and finishing up in the 60s, an era in which artists and performers where singled out by the communist state. Farewell my Concubine opens with Dieyi (Leslie Cheung) and Xiaolou (Fengyi Zhang) developing from children in a brutal school system to playing the King and Concubine in the play of the same name. Covering such a span of Chinese history over 3 hours, the structure of Kaige’s film deems it necessary to periodically skip forward in time, most of which sees Cheung and Zhang lead as protagonists save for the opening act.

Peking Opera on a purely conceptual level is alien to Western sensibilities, that first act in which we see these two as children subjected to a torturous teaching method raises those stakes further still. Shot more in line with Horror than the traditional epics, the first 45 minutes sees children brutalised with barbaric teaching methods, violence and with a veiled sexual objectification; unlike many horror films of the mid-90s its an unpleasant with a purpose. The 1920s where a boom period for the opera whilst also being a time of great poverty, such harshness is implied as a means to thin out the crowds while also carving that new generation of stars into the best there’s ever been – at least that is the implication behind the teacher’s words and beatings.

The discomfort therein openly suggests that the worst excesses of modern China have been piled upon children, material enough for a film on its own. Both fortunately and unfortunately there is 50 years to be covered and this is where Farewell my Concubine earns its ‘epic’ pips. Traditionally in the discussion of the epic, its achievement or failure in ticking that box comes through battle scenes and the number of heads on camera, a legitimate means that has served the likes of Zulu & Cecil B. DeMille very well.

Chen Kaige interprets scale through different means, with flowing beautiful costumes lit by the naturalistic candlelight of vast buildings both beautiful and epic in scale. After allowing those sumptuous sights in, DoP Changwei Gu rotates the camera often in a singular sweeping movement, to include the rapturous or vicious crowds. Incorporating this sense of spectacle as a barometer to the passing moods of the times humanises Chinese history more sympathetically than any number of documentaries could.

Chinese Opera and Japanese Theatre are famous for their use of Men in Female roles (and vice versa), which is the most fascinating theme to Zhang and Cheung’s friendship. Zhang marries former courtesan Li Gong, who harbours issues with her husband’s performance partner. After being violently scolded for running away as a child, Leung’s personality has slowly been eroded away leaving room for his persona as an actor to take dominance and little else. He lives and breathes his role in the Opera; a path that sees him in an extracurricular relationship with Opera benefactor Master Yuan (You Ge) and serving prison time for a perceived betrayal during the Japanese occupation. He never pursues these paths, these are mere consequences of total dedication to art. A point of potent satire as returning to that unpleasant opening act, Kaige renders that level of dedication to be absolutely necessary yet goes on to detail dire consequences. Such a life-sustaining dual meaning works on paper and screen through an equally committed performance by Leslie Cheung; entertaining a void and ambiguity to gender with a silently veiled disgust. Just as Peking Opera is alien to the West, he alienates himself from everyone but his art – Farewell my Concubine could’ve earned the Palme D’or on Leung’s performance alone.

Propaganda and anti-nationalist, pro and anti-performance, Kaige’s film occupies countless conflicting states whilst being one of the finest showings of Chinese Performances Art in Modern Cinema, yet that doesn’t prevent it from having some small issues. The first and more minor of the two is small and only stands out due to the strength of the costume design elsewhere. The look of elderly Leung and Zhang are called into question, neither of them looks any different than they did in their youth – at most Zhang has a few grey hairs. With this, it becomes hard to believe in the amount of time that the film occupies. The second is the same issue that any film concerned with a large expanse of time suffers, no moment receives too much time and eras of significance pass in the blink of an eye.

BFI has issued a beautiful restoration that may be low on extras but sometimes the feature does all the talking that is necessary. With its satirical desires, a beautiful interpretation of the epic and pure performance aesthetic, Farewell my Concubine was responsible for leading Chinese film into the current brave new era – for all the right reasons.

Thanks for reading our review of Farewell my Concubine

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