A few years ago at an international film festival, Taiwanese director Wu Nien-jen (吳
Does the word `tu duu chih' mean `sound editing' in your language? The word is always seen at the credit roll."
PHOTO : WEI CHIA-CHIH, TAIPEI TIMES
Wu said that this was the name of a person -- it just happened that this person was virtually synonymous with sound editing in Taiwan.
PHOTO: FORTISSIMO
The man referred to was Tu Duu-chih (杜
This year at Cannes, Tu received the technical award for sound editing work on Millennium Mambo (千
PHOTO: HOME GREEN
"He has deserved the award for a long time now," said Hou, who directedMillennium Mambo.
PHOTO: CMPC
According to Hsiao Ya-chuan (蕭
A number of scenes in The Flowers of Shanghai centered on characters eating and drinking round a table. When the shot began, Hou would usually just say, "Okay, you can start now," and leave the actors to develop a situation through improvisational dialogue. "The recordist wouldn't know which lines spoken by which actor were the important ones," said Hsiao.
"The only thing you could do was to guess, and observe carefully," said Tu. "Sometimes you simply didn't catch anything to record, and the shot has to be made again," he said.
It is Tu's ability to work in the difficult circumstances of a Hou shoot that Hsiao, now a director in his own right, most admires about him. "It takes experience, intuition and courage to deal with that kind of situation," he said. "Having worked with Tu on my first short film, I have brought him in on all my other projects, if possible," Hsiao said.
Tu has always been in strong demand, and has been the sound editor for about 70 percent of Taiwanese films released since the mid-1980s.
One of Tu's major contributions to the Taiwan film industry has been the introduction of synchronized sound. The first such feature film in Taiwan to be shot entirely with sync sound was Hou's The City of Sadness (悲
In the 1970s and before, most Taiwanese films tended to focus on war, martial arts and family romance genres, in which sound was invariably dubbed. Even in the 1980s, when realism gradually became the cinematic mainstream, many films only had partial sync sound due to a shortage of technical personnel.
"Five years before the shooting of City of Sadness, about 20 years ago now, I began to work on the technique of synchronized sound recording," Tu recalled.
"At that time, a group of directors had recently returned from the US, and they gave me a chance to watch and learn during the post production process," Tu said of this period when he was an assistant in Central Motion Picture Corp's (CMPC) sound department.
"In the early days when we were making realist films, the boom poles we used for the mics were the kind of poles that people used to hang their laundry out on. The 32mm cameras we used were also very noisy, so they had to be covered with two to three blankets, so that after a few takes, the cameraman would emerge tired and sweaty," Tu recalled.
Tu's first use of sync sound was in a government project in conjunction with Edward Yang.
"The company assigned us a 16mm short film to promote a certain government policy. This was a great time to try the new technique [sync sound] -- even though we had to spend our own money to buy equipment."
After the success of City of Sadness, Hou bought a brand new set of sync recording equipment for Tu. "Hou thought the film was making money, and when he discovered there were bills still to pay, he'd already bought the equipment. So he had to take out loans to buy me the equipment, and I am still thankful for this."
With this new equipment, Tu began to work on more films using synchronized sound, taking the first steps to introducing this technique throughout the industry. "Now, only a couple of short films each year may not use sync sound," Tu said.
As a young man, Tu said, he loved stereos and so he looked for a job that dealt with the sound part of movies. "But later, I became fascinated by the use of sound in a movie context. This was when I fell in love with films, and the films of Hou Hsiao-hsien and Edward Yang in particular. From then on I endeavored to use sound to enhance the meanings they sought to express in their movies," Tu said.
Such is his commitment to cinema that even his memory is pegged to film. "I don't remember in what year my son was born. But I do remember that it was while I was working on Yang's A day on the Beach (海灘的一天).
Tu now has his own sound editing studio with a staff of eight that handles the sound editing for 90 percent of films made in Hong Kong and Taiwan. He himself is now currently associated with Chen Kuo-fu's (
But after 30 years of experience and a room full of prizes, his studio still failed to qualify for government subsidies supporting the local film industry. The reason is that he is only a studio, not a company.
"That's a bit funny but I don't care much," Tu said. "Doing a good job is more important to me. My greatest happiness is when a director tells me,`You make great sound.' I'm this kind of person."
Taiwan has next to no political engagement in Myanmar, either with the ruling military junta nor the dozens of armed groups who’ve in the last five years taken over around two-thirds of the nation’s territory in a sprawling, patchwork civil war. But early last month, the leader of one relatively minor Burmese revolutionary faction, General Nerdah Bomya, who is also an alleged war criminal, made a low key visit to Taipei, where he met with a member of President William Lai’s (賴清德) staff, a retired Taiwanese military official and several academics. “I feel like Taiwan is a good example of
March 2 to March 8 Gunfire rang out along the shore of the frontline island of Lieyu (烈嶼) on a foggy afternoon on March 7, 1987. By the time it was over, about 20 unarmed Vietnamese refugees — men, women, elderly and children — were dead. They were hastily buried, followed by decades of silence. Months later, opposition politicians and journalists tried to uncover what had happened, but conflicting accounts only deepened the confusion. One version suggested that government troops had mistakenly killed their own operatives attempting to return home from Vietnam. The military maintained that the
“M yeolgong jajangmyeon (anti-communism zhajiangmian, 滅共炸醬麵), let’s all shout together — myeolgong!” a chef at a Chinese restaurant in Dongtan, located about 35km south of Seoul, South Korea, calls out before serving a bowl of Korean-style zhajiangmian —black bean noodles. Diners repeat the phrase before tucking in. This political-themed restaurant, named Myeolgong Banjeom (滅共飯館, “anti-communism restaurant”), is operated by a single person and does not take reservations; therefore long queues form regularly outside, and most customers appear sympathetic to its political theme. Photos of conservative public figures hang on the walls, alongside political slogans and poems written in Chinese characters; South
Taipei Mayor Chiang Wan-an (蔣萬安) announced last week a city policy to get businesses to reduce working hours to seven hours per day for employees with children 12 and under at home. The city promised to subsidize 80 percent of the employees’ wage loss. Taipei can do this, since the Celestial Dragon Kingdom (天龍國), as it is sardonically known to the denizens of Taiwan’s less fortunate regions, has an outsize grip on the government budget. Like most subsidies, this will likely have little effect on Taiwan’s catastrophic birth rates, though it may be a relief to the shrinking number of
RSS