PEKING OPERA BLUES (TSUI HARK, 1986)
刀馬旦
Randwick Ritz, Sydney:
8:50 PM
Friday 08 May
Lido Cinemas, Melbourne:
8:45 PM
Saturday 16 May
Rating: M
Duration: 105 minutes
Country: Hong Kong
Language: Cantonese and Mandarin with English subtitles
Cast: Brigitte Lin, Cherie Chung, Sally Yeh, Paul Chun, Wu Ma, Kenneth Tsang, Mark Cheng, Cheung Kwok Keung
SYDNEY TICKETS ⟶
MELBOURNE TICKETS ⟶
8:50 PM
Friday 08 May
Lido Cinemas, Melbourne:
8:45 PM
Saturday 16 May
Rating: M
Duration: 105 minutes
Country: Hong Kong
Language: Cantonese and Mandarin with English subtitles
Cast: Brigitte Lin, Cherie Chung, Sally Yeh, Paul Chun, Wu Ma, Kenneth Tsang, Mark Cheng, Cheung Kwok Keung
SYDNEY TICKETS ⟶
MELBOURNE TICKETS ⟶
4K RESTORATION – AUSTRALIAN PREMIERE
‘As a director and producer, [Tsui] Hark has emerged as the most influential figure of the [1980s], a virtuoso of high-speed narration and optical panache … at his best, as in the period comedy Peking Opera Blues, his interlocking machinery of cues and responses induces a euphoria in which one is happy to mistake the screen’s leaps and convolutions for a semblance of reality.’ – Geoffrey O’Brien, The New York Review of Books
Set in 1913, after the fall of China’s last imperial dynasty, Tsui Hark’s vibrant action-comedy follows three young women – a cross-dressing spy (Brigittte Lin), a musician and courtesan (Cherie Chung), and an aspiring actor (Sally Yeh) – who become entangled in a political conflict. Forming an alliance with a guerrilla fighter (Mark Cheng) and a disillusioned soldier (Cheung Kwok Keung), the group enacts a plan to protect the democracy of the fledgling Chinese Republic.
Showcasing Tsui at the exhilarating height of his powers, Peking Opera Blues is an enigmatic, richly layered and wildly entertaining opus that director Quentin Tarantino has declared ‘one of the greatest films ever made.’
Introduced by Dylan Cheung at Ritz Cinemas and Cecilia Tsan at Lido Cinemas.
‘As a director and producer, [Tsui] Hark has emerged as the most influential figure of the [1980s], a virtuoso of high-speed narration and optical panache … at his best, as in the period comedy Peking Opera Blues, his interlocking machinery of cues and responses induces a euphoria in which one is happy to mistake the screen’s leaps and convolutions for a semblance of reality.’ – Geoffrey O’Brien, The New York Review of Books
Set in 1913, after the fall of China’s last imperial dynasty, Tsui Hark’s vibrant action-comedy follows three young women – a cross-dressing spy (Brigittte Lin), a musician and courtesan (Cherie Chung), and an aspiring actor (Sally Yeh) – who become entangled in a political conflict. Forming an alliance with a guerrilla fighter (Mark Cheng) and a disillusioned soldier (Cheung Kwok Keung), the group enacts a plan to protect the democracy of the fledgling Chinese Republic.
Showcasing Tsui at the exhilarating height of his powers, Peking Opera Blues is an enigmatic, richly layered and wildly entertaining opus that director Quentin Tarantino has declared ‘one of the greatest films ever made.’
Introduced by Dylan Cheung at Ritz Cinemas and Cecilia Tsan at Lido Cinemas.
FILM NOTES
By Rachel Ho
By Rachel Ho
| Rachel Ho is a freelance writer and film critic. She’s the film editor at Exclaim! Magazine, a member of the Toronto Film Critics Association, and a Golden Globe Awards voter. |
An Ode to the Two Tones of Hong Kong
To appreciate Tsui Hark’s Peking Opera Blues (刀馬旦) is to appreciate the time period the film exists in (1913) and the time period it was released (1986). Tsui finds harmony between two distinct points in history: the beginning of China’s existence as a republic; and the imminent handover of Hong Kong.
When Peking Opera Blues was developed, filmed, and released, there was a foreboding uncertainty over Hong Kong. By 1986, concerns about how mainland China would change Hong Kong’s politics, economics, and culture became heightened. Emigration from Hong Kong increased exponentially. For Hong Kong’s flourishing film industry, censorship and investment were top of mind.
Tsui’s film personifies Hong Kong filmmaking and in many ways Hong Kong culture. It exemplifies the murky waters the people of Hong Kong had to navigate at that time, the sometimes contradictory thought process of a city unsure of its future.
Set against the fall of the Qing dynasty, the film shows the city of Peking (Beijing) in flux as fights for power and territory spread across the country. It follows three disconnected women entangled in the political upheaval: Tsao Wan (Brigitte Lin), the daughter of General Tsao (Kenneth Tsang) and a member of the underground revolutionary movement for democracy; Pat Neil (Sally Yeh), the daughter of the owner of a Peking opera troupe; and Sheung Hung (Cherie Chung), a musician whose initial desire is to retrieve the jewellery she stole from a general’s wife.
Their stories become intertwined when General Tsao and Tsao Wan visit Pat Neil’s father’s opera house. As Tsao Wan attempts to covertly meet with a fellow revolutionary to discuss a plan to take down President Yuan Shikai, Sheung Hung, looking for the jewellery she stashed with the troupe’s cargo accidentally, hides in the trunk of Tsao Wan’s car. Eventually, Pat Neil and Sheung Hung will join Tsao Wan on her mission.
The first half of Peking Opera Blues operates squarely as a comedy, with Tsui applying the broad stylings of Hong Kong humour to satirize the politics of China and its corrupt officials. A healthy dose of Hong Kong’s hallmark action prevails as the tone shifts to heavy dramatics where torture and threats of sexual assault are inflicted upon our heroines.
The film’s tone shifts again in a scene involving the three women hanging out at Tsao Wan’s family mansion wearing flowing white nighties. As they giggle, the three hover over a globe; Pat Neil and Sheung Hung are aghast with how small Peking is compared to the rest of the world.
Sheung Hung: If Peking is just a dot, the world is huge. Where can I go?
Tsao Wan: You want to go somewhere else?
Sheung Hung: Everyone says they’re leaving…
Pat Neil: I don’t understand people. Things are pretty good here, why would you leave?
Tsao Wan: We can all run around, but we’ll just end up going back.
With the contemporary meaning buried within the dialogue; Tsui and screenwriter Raymond To get to the heart of Hong Kong’s conflict: the decision to stay or go agonizes. Perhaps through Peking Opera Blues, with all its overt Hong Kong-ness, Tsui wanted to remind those in Hong Kong what makes the place a point of pride and comfort to so many.
This scene includes the only moment where Tsao Wan is depicted wearing traditionally female garments; throughout the film, Tsao Wan sports cropped hair, trousers, and sometimes military garb. It’s implied that Tsao Wan’s gender-blurring wardrobe serves as a disguise for her revolutionary work, given her prominent standing as a general’s daughter. When asked by Pat Neil why she dresses so ‘strangely,’ Tsao Wan simply says it’s more convenient to get things done when people can’t tell if she’s a man or a woman.
Tsao Wan’s sartorial choices recall the most famous Chinese folk heroine: Hua Mulan. The legend of the warrior who disguised herself as a man to take her elderly father’s place during conscription has endured for nearly 2,000 years in Chinese culture. Tsui signals a change in this dynamic. Tsao Wan’s dress is not a disguise, but a means for her to achieve her goals, which require her to betray her father.
Cross-dressing prevails across Peking Opera Blues. Pat Neil’s father’s opera troupe follows the custom at the time and doesn’t allow women to perform on stage. Despite the far-fetched circumstances in the film, Tsui imbues a lot of the mise-en-scène with historical facts and names, including the Chinese title of the film (刀馬旦), which translates into sword horse actress. The final character used for “actress” – dan – refers to the lead female roles in Peking opera that were played by men; the Qing dynasty deemed women performing on stage as indecent. A sword horse actress was a type of dan in Peking opera – warriors typically on horseback who exhibit great physicality.
In Peking Opera Blues, Tsui depicts the dans of the opera troupe as flamboyant men who dazzle on stage and act catty off. He also shows the harassment these performers encounter, especially from the powerful men who come to watch them. As with his recall of Mulan, Tsui updates a tradition’s old concept, this time laying bare the reality of these performers.
It’s almost as if Tsui makes a case for how the old and new can be embraced together. How a change in society isn’t necessarily for the worse, but potentially for the better, if an effort is made to adapt and improve upon the old. But for all of Tsui’s artistic arrows arguably pointing towards an amenable future, he offers a warning sign as well.
Tsao Wan fought to ensure that the Qing dynasty was extinguished — that China would become a republic without the draconian weight of the past contaminating the future. While the film doesn’t go beyond this mission, Hong Kong audiences in 1986 were aware of what awaited China and its people after Tsao Wan’s victory: famine, persecution, totalitarianism, violence, censorship. The excitement of Pat Neil and Sheung Hung exploring the globe eventually becomes a bittersweet moment, knowing that the governing Chinese Communist Party would close the country off to the world for decades.
A film like Peking Opera Blues would be near impossible to make in Hong Kong today. Displays of corruption among Chinese government officials, stupidity and depravity of generals, overt same-sex desires from officials, torture against a revolutionary — China’s Central Propaganda Department would have lost their minds. The film entertains regardless of time or place, but for a city that held its breath awaiting its fate, Peking Opera Blues offered a hilarious, action-filled, dramatic mirror to confront their feelings, no matter how mixed, conflicted, or messy they were.
Edited version, originally published in The Asian Cut, June 7, 2024.
Reprinted with kind permission of the author.
To appreciate Tsui Hark’s Peking Opera Blues (刀馬旦) is to appreciate the time period the film exists in (1913) and the time period it was released (1986). Tsui finds harmony between two distinct points in history: the beginning of China’s existence as a republic; and the imminent handover of Hong Kong.
When Peking Opera Blues was developed, filmed, and released, there was a foreboding uncertainty over Hong Kong. By 1986, concerns about how mainland China would change Hong Kong’s politics, economics, and culture became heightened. Emigration from Hong Kong increased exponentially. For Hong Kong’s flourishing film industry, censorship and investment were top of mind.
Tsui’s film personifies Hong Kong filmmaking and in many ways Hong Kong culture. It exemplifies the murky waters the people of Hong Kong had to navigate at that time, the sometimes contradictory thought process of a city unsure of its future.
Set against the fall of the Qing dynasty, the film shows the city of Peking (Beijing) in flux as fights for power and territory spread across the country. It follows three disconnected women entangled in the political upheaval: Tsao Wan (Brigitte Lin), the daughter of General Tsao (Kenneth Tsang) and a member of the underground revolutionary movement for democracy; Pat Neil (Sally Yeh), the daughter of the owner of a Peking opera troupe; and Sheung Hung (Cherie Chung), a musician whose initial desire is to retrieve the jewellery she stole from a general’s wife.
Their stories become intertwined when General Tsao and Tsao Wan visit Pat Neil’s father’s opera house. As Tsao Wan attempts to covertly meet with a fellow revolutionary to discuss a plan to take down President Yuan Shikai, Sheung Hung, looking for the jewellery she stashed with the troupe’s cargo accidentally, hides in the trunk of Tsao Wan’s car. Eventually, Pat Neil and Sheung Hung will join Tsao Wan on her mission.
The first half of Peking Opera Blues operates squarely as a comedy, with Tsui applying the broad stylings of Hong Kong humour to satirize the politics of China and its corrupt officials. A healthy dose of Hong Kong’s hallmark action prevails as the tone shifts to heavy dramatics where torture and threats of sexual assault are inflicted upon our heroines.
The film’s tone shifts again in a scene involving the three women hanging out at Tsao Wan’s family mansion wearing flowing white nighties. As they giggle, the three hover over a globe; Pat Neil and Sheung Hung are aghast with how small Peking is compared to the rest of the world.
Sheung Hung: If Peking is just a dot, the world is huge. Where can I go?
Tsao Wan: You want to go somewhere else?
Sheung Hung: Everyone says they’re leaving…
Pat Neil: I don’t understand people. Things are pretty good here, why would you leave?
Tsao Wan: We can all run around, but we’ll just end up going back.
With the contemporary meaning buried within the dialogue; Tsui and screenwriter Raymond To get to the heart of Hong Kong’s conflict: the decision to stay or go agonizes. Perhaps through Peking Opera Blues, with all its overt Hong Kong-ness, Tsui wanted to remind those in Hong Kong what makes the place a point of pride and comfort to so many.
This scene includes the only moment where Tsao Wan is depicted wearing traditionally female garments; throughout the film, Tsao Wan sports cropped hair, trousers, and sometimes military garb. It’s implied that Tsao Wan’s gender-blurring wardrobe serves as a disguise for her revolutionary work, given her prominent standing as a general’s daughter. When asked by Pat Neil why she dresses so ‘strangely,’ Tsao Wan simply says it’s more convenient to get things done when people can’t tell if she’s a man or a woman.
Tsao Wan’s sartorial choices recall the most famous Chinese folk heroine: Hua Mulan. The legend of the warrior who disguised herself as a man to take her elderly father’s place during conscription has endured for nearly 2,000 years in Chinese culture. Tsui signals a change in this dynamic. Tsao Wan’s dress is not a disguise, but a means for her to achieve her goals, which require her to betray her father.
Cross-dressing prevails across Peking Opera Blues. Pat Neil’s father’s opera troupe follows the custom at the time and doesn’t allow women to perform on stage. Despite the far-fetched circumstances in the film, Tsui imbues a lot of the mise-en-scène with historical facts and names, including the Chinese title of the film (刀馬旦), which translates into sword horse actress. The final character used for “actress” – dan – refers to the lead female roles in Peking opera that were played by men; the Qing dynasty deemed women performing on stage as indecent. A sword horse actress was a type of dan in Peking opera – warriors typically on horseback who exhibit great physicality.
In Peking Opera Blues, Tsui depicts the dans of the opera troupe as flamboyant men who dazzle on stage and act catty off. He also shows the harassment these performers encounter, especially from the powerful men who come to watch them. As with his recall of Mulan, Tsui updates a tradition’s old concept, this time laying bare the reality of these performers.
It’s almost as if Tsui makes a case for how the old and new can be embraced together. How a change in society isn’t necessarily for the worse, but potentially for the better, if an effort is made to adapt and improve upon the old. But for all of Tsui’s artistic arrows arguably pointing towards an amenable future, he offers a warning sign as well.
Tsao Wan fought to ensure that the Qing dynasty was extinguished — that China would become a republic without the draconian weight of the past contaminating the future. While the film doesn’t go beyond this mission, Hong Kong audiences in 1986 were aware of what awaited China and its people after Tsao Wan’s victory: famine, persecution, totalitarianism, violence, censorship. The excitement of Pat Neil and Sheung Hung exploring the globe eventually becomes a bittersweet moment, knowing that the governing Chinese Communist Party would close the country off to the world for decades.
A film like Peking Opera Blues would be near impossible to make in Hong Kong today. Displays of corruption among Chinese government officials, stupidity and depravity of generals, overt same-sex desires from officials, torture against a revolutionary — China’s Central Propaganda Department would have lost their minds. The film entertains regardless of time or place, but for a city that held its breath awaiting its fate, Peking Opera Blues offered a hilarious, action-filled, dramatic mirror to confront their feelings, no matter how mixed, conflicted, or messy they were.
Edited version, originally published in The Asian Cut, June 7, 2024.
Reprinted with kind permission of the author.
THE RESTORATION
Source: American Genre Film Archive
The 4K restoration was a collaborative effort between Shout! Studios (Shout Factory) and the Hong Kong Film Archives, scanning the original camera negatives. Presented in Dolby Vision.
Director: Tsui Hark; Production Company: Cinema City; Producer: Tsui Hark; Script: Raymond To; Photography: Hang-Sang Poon; Editor: David Wu; Production Design: Kim-Sing Ho, Chi-Hing Leung, Vincent Wai; Costume Design: Bo-Ling Ng; Music: James Wong // Cast: Brigitte Lin (Tsao Wan), Sally Yeh (Pat Neil), Cherie Chung (Sheung Hung), Paul Chun (Fa Gum-Sao), Wu Ma (Mr. Wong), Kenneth Tsang (General Tsao).
Hong Kong | 1986 | 105 mins | 4K DCP | Colour | Cantonese with English subtitles | M
The 4K restoration was a collaborative effort between Shout! Studios (Shout Factory) and the Hong Kong Film Archives, scanning the original camera negatives. Presented in Dolby Vision.
Director: Tsui Hark; Production Company: Cinema City; Producer: Tsui Hark; Script: Raymond To; Photography: Hang-Sang Poon; Editor: David Wu; Production Design: Kim-Sing Ho, Chi-Hing Leung, Vincent Wai; Costume Design: Bo-Ling Ng; Music: James Wong // Cast: Brigitte Lin (Tsao Wan), Sally Yeh (Pat Neil), Cherie Chung (Sheung Hung), Paul Chun (Fa Gum-Sao), Wu Ma (Mr. Wong), Kenneth Tsang (General Tsao).
Hong Kong | 1986 | 105 mins | 4K DCP | Colour | Cantonese with English subtitles | M