Taiwanese film director Ang Lee’s (李安) award of best director at the Oscars on Sunday night for Life of Pi was a source of tremendous pride for Taiwan, especially after he thanked Taiwanese for their help in making the movie.
The Oscar is a new benchmark in Lee’s illustrious career and one that he made little secret he coveted. However, the evidence of his greatness as a filmmaker manifested itself well before the 58-year-old native of Pingtung County stepped onto the podium to receive his Oscar.
Over the years, Lee has transcended his identity as an Asian and tackled with great precision a surprisingly versatile list of genres, from Victorian Britain in Sense and Sensibility — a feat of civilizational displacement perhaps only equaled by Japanese novelist Kazuo Ishiguro in his book The Remains of the Day — to the American West and male homosexuality in Brokeback Mountain.
From less ambitious and more local efforts like his Father Knows Best trilogy (家庭三部曲) to the martial arts extravaganza Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (臥虎藏龍), Lee has constantly pushed the envelope of storytelling and proven himself as one of the greatest filmmakers of our time.
However, there was nothing preordained in Lee’s rise to the top. In fact, his success occurred against all odds, with constant reminders from family and the society he grew up in that filmmaking — especially filmmaking by an Asian in the West — was not a realistic or respectable job. Among those who opposed his artistic ambitions was his father, who for years refused to speak to the young Lee as he struggled to make it in Hollywood. Relatives offered him money so he would open a Chinese restaurant, and in his struggling years, Lee even began studying informatics, thinking he might find a job working with computers.
That we are able to enjoy Lee’s artistic vision today is largely thanks to his wife, Jane Lin (林惠嘉), who never stopped believing in her husband’s dreams and, when the fledgling filmmaker was on the brink of giving up, gave him that extra push (it was she who returned the money given Lee to open the restaurant).
There is a lesson in this. While Taiwanese on Monday were eager to celebrate the “pride of Taiwan” for his achievement, the great majority of them, along with their government, looked the other way when Lee was struggling as an assistant on movie sets, on the brink of giving up and taking up a “real job.”
Far too often, Taiwanese denigrate the arts and sports, discouraging their children from pursuing their dreams and forcing them to choose career paths that are unsuited to them. As with basketball player Jeremy Lin (林書豪), Taiwan is happy to claim successes, but rarely provides the support necessary to achieve such goals.
Lee, like many others who have shone on the international scene, succeeded not because of Taiwan, but despite it.
As Taiwan struggles to break through the wall of silence that surrounds its existence, it is high time that dreamers be cultivated and encouraged to press ahead, even if, in the short term, such endeavors do not translate into dollar figures. A nation is not built on lawyers, doctors and businesspeople alone. It needs thinkers, writers, philosophers, filmmakers, painters, architects and professional athletes.
Only through proper support, both financial and moral, will tomorrow’s “prides of Taiwan” emerge to help put the nation on the map. They are out there today, and they need all the encouragement they can get.
A few weeks ago in Kaohsiung, tech mogul turned political pundit Robert Tsao (曹興誠) joined Western Washington University professor Chen Shih-fen (陳時奮) for a public forum in support of Taiwan’s recall campaign. Kaohsiung, already the most Taiwanese independence-minded city in Taiwan, was not in need of a recall. So Chen took a different approach: He made the case that unification with China would be too expensive to work. The argument was unusual. Most of the time, we hear that Taiwan should remain free out of respect for democracy and self-determination, but cost? That is not part of the usual script, and
Behind the gloating, the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) must be letting out a big sigh of relief. Its powerful party machine saved the day, but it took that much effort just to survive a challenge mounted by a humble group of active citizens, and in areas where the KMT is historically strong. On the other hand, the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) must now realize how toxic a brand it has become to many voters. The campaigners’ amateurism is what made them feel valid and authentic, but when the DPP belatedly inserted itself into the campaign, it did more harm than good. The
For nearly eight decades, Taiwan has provided a home for, and shielded and nurtured, the Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT). After losing the Chinese Civil War in 1949, the KMT fled to Taiwan, bringing with it hundreds of thousands of soldiers, along with people who would go on to become public servants and educators. The party settled and prospered in Taiwan, and it developed and governed the nation. Taiwan gave the party a second chance. It was Taiwanese who rebuilt order from the ruins of war, through their own sweat and tears. It was Taiwanese who joined forces with democratic activists
Chinese Nationalist Party (KMT) Chairman Eric Chu (朱立倫) held a news conference to celebrate his party’s success in surviving Saturday’s mass recall vote, shortly after the final results were confirmed. While the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) would have much preferred a different result, it was not a defeat for the DPP in the same sense that it was a victory for the KMT: Only KMT legislators were facing recalls. That alone should have given Chu cause to reflect, acknowledge any fault, or perhaps even consider apologizing to his party and the nation. However, based on his speech, Chu showed
RSS