There’s a scene in Wasted Orient, a documentary about a Chinese punk band, where the singer is having a laugh with his band mates when suddenly he stands up, leans over a rail, and pukes his guts out. The camera moves in for a close-up of him heaving. When he stops, it pans down to show a pool of liquid and half-digested noodles. “This is beef noodles,” he says, laughing. Next scene: The band, obviously inebriated, playing a show, its young audience chanting, “We want beer! We want beer! We want beer!”
Filmmaker Kevin Fritz chose to film the band Joyside — a group of apathetic, binge-drinking youths if there ever was one — because he wanted to make a documentary showing what he believes is the real China. Not the China of gleaming skyscrapers and astonishing economic growth that’s romanticized in the mainstream media, but the China he inhabits: a place where there’re frequent power outages; where his computer is made from counterfeit hardware and it is impossible to find software that isn’t pirated; and where most young people, according to Fritz, are deeply unhappy.
“I always wanted to do a documentary to show China as it actually is, not how people with political and business aspirations hope it to be,” he says by phone from Beijing on Wednesday. “People are a little bit more confident and honest when they’ve had a little bit” to drink, “so I felt they (Joyside) would be the most forthright people to explain China to a foreign audience.”
Photo courtesy of Plexifilm
“I didn’t try to make anything overly intelligent. All I wanted to do is make a simple film and have something be honest. And basically tell all these other journalists — I’m not a journalist, I consider myself film editor — that this is a big middle finger to all of them because they make out China to be something that it’s not,” he says.
Wasted Youth follows Joyside on its first national tour, through gritty clubs and grittier cities. In most scenes, it seems, band members are either getting drunk or talking about how life sucks. When they sing, it’s about how they want beer and sex or about how life sucks. Joyside’s binge-drinking and apathy are so extreme that the band is a parody of itself, and the viewer gets the impression that they’re mugging for the camera.
According to Fritz, they weren’t. “They all acted the same as they did if the camera wasn’t on,” he says. “That’s the point right there: They’re trying to do their best and make rock ’n’ roll part of this society, but it fails over and over again for any number of reasons, the obvious ones I can’t go into [on the phone from China with a reporter in Taiwan].”
Fritz got his start as a filmmaker editing tractor maintenance videos. He applied for an overseas scholarship as a joke and ended up at Peking University. He met Joyside in 2003 and filmed the documentary in 2005 and 2006. Wasted Orient won the 2007 New Haven Underground Film Festival Best Picture award.
As a subject representing modern China, “I think they (Joyside) were great,” he says. “These guys can be quite gloomy.” Despite outward appearances, “I think there’s a lot of people [in China] who are very unhappy here. But I don’t think my film does justice to that feeling, because it might get me in trouble [with the government]. I only hint at it. I think it’s depressing.”
For Fritz, one of the film’s key scenes comes after the “I want beer” concert. Joyside’s former guitarist, who is Japanese, is standing on a bridge at night, smoking cigarettes, sipping on a tall bottle of beer, and talking in Mandarin about the state of Chinese rock ’n’ roll.
Then he switches to English: “OK, you play your rock ’n’ roll, I will play mine,” he says. “I will just play my guitar.”
He laughs, takes a swig from his beer, shrugs his shoulders, and walks away.
Wasted Orient screens tomorrow at 8:30pm at Paris Night Club (夜巴黎舞廳), 5F, 89, Wuchang St Sec 2, Taipei City (台北市武昌街二段89號5樓). The venue is above the IN89 (Hoover) movie theater in Ximending; and on May 4 at 2pm at Hsinchu Municipal Image Museum (新竹影像博物館), 65 Chungcheng Rd, Hsinchu City (新竹市中正路65號), tel: (03) 528-5840. Tickets are NT$200 or NT$150 with valid student ID. Copies of Wasted Orient can be purchased online at www.plexifilm.com. Joyside’s Web site is www.myspace.com/joyside.
It’s a good thing that 2025 is over. Yes, I fully expect we will look back on the year with nostalgia, once we have experienced this year and 2027. Traditionally at New Years much discourse is devoted to discussing what happened the previous year. Let’s have a look at what didn’t happen. Many bad things did not happen. The People’s Republic of China (PRC) did not attack Taiwan. We didn’t have a massive, destructive earthquake or drought. We didn’t have a major human pandemic. No widespread unemployment or other destructive social events. Nothing serious was done about Taiwan’s swelling birth rate catastrophe.
Words of the Year are not just interesting, they are telling. They are language and attitude barometers that measure what a country sees as important. The trending vocabulary around AI last year reveals a stark divergence in what each society notices and responds to the technological shift. For the Anglosphere it’s fatigue. For China it’s ambition. For Taiwan, it’s pragmatic vigilance. In Taiwan’s annual “representative character” vote, “recall” (罷) took the top spot with over 15,000 votes, followed closely by “scam” (詐). While “recall” speaks to the island’s partisan deadlock — a year defined by legislative recall campaigns and a public exhausted
In the 2010s, the Communist Party of China (CCP) began cracking down on Christian churches. Media reports said at the time that various versions of Protestant Christianity were likely the fastest growing religions in the People’s Republic of China (PRC). The crackdown was part of a campaign that in turn was part of a larger movement to bring religion under party control. For the Protestant churches, “the government’s aim has been to force all churches into the state-controlled organization,” according to a 2023 article in Christianity Today. That piece was centered on Wang Yi (王怡), the fiery, charismatic pastor of the
Hsu Pu-liao (許不了) never lived to see the premiere of his most successful film, The Clown and the Swan (小丑與天鵝, 1985). The movie, which starred Hsu, the “Taiwanese Charlie Chaplin,” outgrossed Jackie Chan’s Heart of Dragon (龍的心), earning NT$9.2 million at the local box office. Forty years after its premiere, the film has become the Taiwan Film and Audiovisual Institute’s (TFAI) 100th restoration. “It is the only one of Hsu’s films whose original negative survived,” says director Kevin Chu (朱延平), one of Taiwan’s most commercially successful