The soap opera separation between TV entertainer Frankie Kao (高凌風) and his wife Chin Yu-chuang (金友莊) continues with yet another installment in an interminable tango of claims and counter claims. So carefully are the news cues placed, it has become difficult to believe that this whole drama has not all been staged for the benefit of the media.
The latest episode was set up in August last year, with a high-profile announcement that Chin would implement a cooling off period before making their separation official. They said this was out of consideration for older family members and also for their children. The deadline for this cooling off period was Tuesday, which also happened to be Kao’s 62nd birthday.
It is perhaps unsurprising that the marriage contract has been “renewed,” providing ample opportunities for a future split.
Photo: Taipei Times
To add a sense of occasion, Kao, a veteran of Taiwan’s entertainment industry, flew back from Indonesia with his eldest daughter for a birthday party in Taipei. On his arrival at Taoyuan International Airport, he announced to assembled media that the best birthday present of all would be Chin’s agreement to keep the marriage going.
“After 40 years in the entertainment industry, I’m probably past my peak, and all I want to do is quietly get on with my work,” he said.
But doing things quietly has never really been Frankie’s style. He was jubilant when Chin agreed to “maintain the status quo” (維持現狀), announcing that his hopes had been reborn, and that he considered this to be his 26th birthday party, rather than his 62nd.
Chin, Kao’s third wife, who is 20 years his junior, seemed less than enthusiastic about the arrangement, refusing to even stop off at Kao’s birthday bash.
Storm clouds loom and the media are licking their lips in expectation of further developments.
Kao has been described as an irredeemable chauvinist pig, but Chin has been captured on camera in an intimate association with businessman Chang Chih-chien (張志堅). Neither has much right to any moral high ground, which might be part of the debacle’s appeal for the great unwashed.
In other celebrity news, Yaoyao (瑤瑤, real name Kuo Shu-yao, 郭書瑤), who became famous as a “big-breasted bodacious baby face” (童顏巨乳) after appearing in an advertisement for an online game that made great use of her assets, is experiencing something of a lull in her career.
With increased fame came hot (or rather tepid) gossip about numerous romantic involvements, which is not necessarily a problem if well-managed. But the fact that she may have got back together with her former boyfriend, Liu Chian-chung (劉建忠), seems to be a real downer for celebrity watchers.
Worse still, there have been rumors that she has been looking to dump her current label, Seed Music (種子音樂), and suggestions that it has put her into “cold storage.”
The label has denied any knowledge of the alleged treachery.
In the wake of the death of Taiwanese pop diva Fong Fei-fei (鳳飛飛), there has been much interest in her legacy. Exhibitions, concerts and publications are all in the works, but her most intimate legacy is undoubtedly her son Ben Chao, a boy who she spent considerable effort keeping out of the media limelight. All her efforts came to nought after “a reader” of Next Magazine provided a contemporary photo of Chao to the publication.
The fact that the photo was published, despite the pop diva’s explicit request that his likeness not appear in print, has been cause of considerable criticism from Fong’s fans, who regard the exposure as a blatant act of disrespect for one of Taiwan’s most celebrated musicians.
Much attention has been given to the fact that Chao will inherit the diva’s considerable fortune, estimated by Next to be up to NT$4 billion (approximately US$13 million). The fear among many fans is that Chao, an average looking kid with a greater resemblance to his recently deceased father than his glamorous mother, will become the subject of undue attention because of his connection to the “Queen of Hats” (帽子歌后).
The canonical shot of an East Asian city is a night skyline studded with towering apartment and office buildings, bright with neon and plastic signage, a landscape of energy and modernity. Another classic image is the same city seen from above, in which identical apartment towers march across the city, spilling out over nearby geography, like stylized soldiers colonizing new territory in a board game. Densely populated dynamic conurbations of money, technological innovation and convenience, it is hard to see the cities of East Asia as what they truly are: necropolises. Why is this? The East Asian development model, with
June 16 to June 22 The following flyer appeared on the streets of Hsinchu on June 12, 1895: “Taipei has already fallen to the Japanese barbarians, who have brought great misery to our land and people. We heard that the Japanese occupiers will tax our gardens, our houses, our bodies, and even our chickens, dogs, cows and pigs. They wear their hair wild, carve their teeth, tattoo their foreheads, wear strange clothes and speak a strange language. How can we be ruled by such people?” Posted by civilian militia leader Wu Tang-hsing (吳湯興), it was a call to arms to retake
This is a deeply unsettling period in Taiwan. Uncertainties are everywhere while everyone waits for a small army of other shoes to drop on nearly every front. During challenging times, interesting political changes can happen, yet all three major political parties are beset with scandals, strife and self-inflicted wounds. As the ruling party, the Democratic Progressive Party (DPP) is held accountable for not only the challenges to the party, but also the nation. Taiwan is geopolitically and economically under threat. Domestically, the administration is under siege by the opposition-controlled legislature and growing discontent with what opponents characterize as arrogant, autocratic
When Lisa, 20, laces into her ultra-high heels for her shift at a strip club in Ukraine’s Kharkiv, she knows that aside from dancing, she will have to comfort traumatized soldiers. Since Russia’s 2022 invasion, exhausted troops are the main clientele of the Flash Dancers club in the center of the northeastern city, just 20 kilometers from Russian forces. For some customers, it provides an “escape” from the war, said Valerya Zavatska — a 25-year-old law graduate who runs the club with her mother, an ex-dancer. But many are not there just for the show. They “want to talk about what hurts,” she