Director Zheng Lu Xinyuan: Let the Films Exist First
how vulnerability guides her work, personal is political and how she financed her films
Commissioned by the Beijing Contemporary Art Foundation, I contributed to a column called "Sino-Artists," encompassing in-depth interviews with Asian Americans and Chinese artists extensive overseas experiences. What I like so much about this column is the exploration of the "in-betweeners," individuals sharing characteristics with many third-culture kids. Despite being rooted in a Chinese vs. US bicultural context, it's still fascinating to understand how they navigate the cultural gap through their creations. I am immensely grateful to be a part of this project, and special thanks to my creative comrade Natalia Shao, and head of BCAF, Cui Can who granted me the rights to feature them here.
2nd Issue Zheng Lu Xinyuan
For the longest time, I struggled to comprehend vulnerability. Being vulnerable isn't my forte, to say the least. And here is someone who uses that to navigate her creative life.
First meeting Zheng Lu Xinyuan, she held herself within a black overcoat, displaying a cautious attitude, yet her every move and gesture carried a natural concern for others. She has an impressive track record, sweeping international award seasons, as I assumed, she had a hard shell; and yes, our conversations at times were quite pointed, and she often posed questions back.
She has always been drawn to vulnerability, finding inspiration in those awkward, vague, and bewildering emotions. In her school short film, "Niu in the Last Day of Fall," the female protagonist earnestly demonstrates the proper use of a condom but concludes with a statement that doesn't quite match: "In the end, it seems like you have to poke it through." Or the moment in “Jet Lag”, when her friends gathered to share intimate experiences in second-language, in a manner close to an AA meeting.
Using vulnerability as a hint to lead the interview, her career choices and life decisions seem to make more sense: She moved from LA to China to pursue a story closer to her roots and then worked on a documentary reflecting her intimate relationship, family, and thoughts on COVID. In every creative move she makes, she seems to get closer to herself. A lot of people have remarked on the nudity or sex scenes in her films, appreciating their surprisingly human quality.
And I understand that underneath the hard shell, there is an incredible soft part of her, accessible through her film:
About Zheng Lu Xinyuan
A Chinese independent filmmaker currently residing in Beijing. She graduated from School of Cinematic Arts, University of Southern California with a Film Production MFA in 2017. Her latest experimental film "Jet Lag" was selected for the Forum section at the 2022 Berlinale International Film Festival. Her debut feature film, "The Cloud in Her Room”, won the Tiger Award at the 49th International Film Festival Rotterdam and the Firebird Award (Chinese Language) at the 44th Hong Kong International Film Festival. With a multifaceted exploration spanning from still photography and street art to exhibition spaces and moving images, she explores the realms of medium, form, and artistic expression.
Watch trailers of her past works if you are curious & this interview was first published here in Chinese.
#1 Personal is Political
Your two films feel very intimate, as if what the audience seeing through your eyes, this kind of unreserved presentation feels particularly rare nowadays.
Zheng：Shouldn’t this be the very basic of what an author aims for?
On the other hand, there seem to be many criticized voice on Douban, saying your film is very narcissistic?
Zheng：I often come across scathing remarks and wonder how easily the audience can be offended. For instance, someone commented on The Cloud in Her Room - “the overwhelmingly forceful style of Zheng Lu's direction, as if my every cell is being violated." I can't help but being curious about what this person usually watch. I was not disheartened, but find it rather amusing.
Auteur films attract audiences that finding connections themselves in the viewing experiences. Films like The Cloud in Her Room may not be for everyone. If one has never been away from home, like many of my high school classmates who have remained in Hangzhou to attend college and raise children, regardless of the dynamics within their respective families, their ties to home remain close. They lack the experience of departing from familiar surroundings and returning after a considerable interval. Or perhaps they have not undergone the process of living a reconstructed family or ventured into unconventional realms of romantic relationships, which could potentially lower their willingness to resonate with such a film. I don't think that The Cloud in Her Room appeals to the masses. When I returned from the United States to make this film, I felt that China lacked such stories.
Now your films can only be screened online or in theaters abroad. Do you hope more people in China will see them?
Zheng：I am looking forward to the domestic market being ready earlier. When you trim certain part of the film out, the main story of this film may still seamlessly unfolds, but a viewer can never envision what shape this film could have taken. Consequently, the audience lacks the inherent desire to proactively seek out a film as it was.
After 2017, without the "Dragon Seal," a Chinese film could not participate in international film festivals. At the same time, smaller film exhibitions here were eliminating, the visibility of works has significantly diminished. If one insists on modifying to cater to the market, I find it rather unnecessary. Why don't I simply create a delightful narrative about a young lady coming home to celebrate the Lunar New Year?
What kind of a start led to the making of “Jet Lag”?
Zheng：Initially, I approached it with a sense of curious. The story of my grandmother's father resembled more of a familial saga, shrouded in secrecy — there was once a prosperous businessman in the family who later became an esteemed monk. He wandered for years, leaving us uncertain of his fate. Throughout these many years, whenever inquired about, my family would artfully evade the subject. However, over time, I realized that all was not as grand as it seemed.
For example, Myanmar is a nation where Buddhism is a big part of many people’s lives, where becoming a monk is not uncommon. Nevertheless, I wondered why my family attributes such high value to this story. Why does the absence of the father figure assume such immense importance?
In fact, it is not mentioned in the film that my great grandfather left when my grandmother was 5 years old. After that, she kept chewing on her memories: she kept saying that this man was very handsome, that his pants would be ironed neatly when he went out, and that she would wait for her father to bring home snacks every day before going to bed. What she missed for so many years was a vanished person.
Then I realized that many intimate relationships are constructed. For me, the weight within this emotional bond lies heavily on the influence bestowed upon an individual by their lineage and societal connections. Subsequently, my thoughts extended to examining the formative experiences of my partner: what truly defines family? Is it one's innate, biological household, or rather the individuals whom one subjectively selects and ultimately designates as family?
My partner and my grandmother developed a connection. Firstly, my partner’s own grandmother holds great significance for her, and secondly, they both lack a father figure. My grandmother's household resembles a matriarchal clan, as she gave birth to three daughters. My younger aunt remains unmarried, while my elder aunt has two daughters. We may engage in male-bashing at dinner, only to realize that my grandfather is still present at the table.
Apart from exploring intimate relationships, did "Jet Lag" also explore faith? For example, your grandmother believes in the father's role, and relatives in Myanmar believe the protests will succeed, etc.
Zheng：I don't think it has risen to the level of faith but rather "personal is political." In fact, the film did not initially take the form of an autobiography; to me, it represents the collective embodiment of individuals’ life experiences. This narrative possesses sufficient points of empathy, carrying with it a significance that deserves to be witnessed, comprehended, and acknowledged. The matter was already political, it wasn't submerged, it didn't become something uniform, its uniqueness was affirmed.
There’s this girl who introduced the coup in Myanmar in the film, is this about faith? She sounds naive, because now the coup is still going on, and there's hardly any news coverage; the situation is very tough.
At the beginning of 2021, people in the streets were filled with hopes. I think, like many revolutions, it is through belief that true transformation takes root. But in this film, it appears that what I have depicted is not merely about faith. It encompasses an element of innocence, a touch of despair, and moments that deeply moved me.
Because for the young people in Myanmar, it is not only a matter of knowing what cannot be done and doing it anyway. Their parents’ generation has experienced the era of military rule, including the period when Aung San Suu Kyi was under house arrest. After her release, there was a so-called "democratic" election, but in reality, the military government still maintained significant control. The current events are a deliberate attempt to support Aung San Suu Kyi. The military government felt that they were losing power. They used an excuse of election fraud to once again detained her. However, the younger generation was growing up watching Netflix, who has witnessed and experienced freedom and a normal way of life, unlike their parents who still harbor fears of dictatorship and are afraid of their children taking to the streets. Therefore, this situation is not simply a matter of faith; it is a complex scenario.
Would you consciously protect the vulnerability in your films, such as the unresolved and the complexity as you mentioned?
Zheng：I perceive it not as preservation, for if something was part of me, it would not be erased anyhow. For instance, certain elements carry a provocative connotation or other potential interpretations. When such notions arise, I would want to share.
I will also have a digestion process, such as why a certain theme appears when I think about the film - is it a personal feeling or is it in the expression of the film? Then I communicate with the actors and cinematographer, re-chewing the thought by expressing it. It was actually a process of constantly confirming, gradually building an idea and then delivering it. I think there is no sense of safeguarding; rather, it is a refining and solidifying process.
I feel that a director should create without being overly attached to the result. The next time we shoot, strive for something sharper, hone our judgment to better express what we love. I don't have a strong protective urge.
The scenes in "The Clouds in Her Room" all carried a subtle sense of intimacy, such as the lovemaking scenes, the mother kissing her daughter. "Jet Lag" also showed intimate scenes with you and your partner. Why did you want to incorporate these honest bodily segments?
Zheng：Language serves as a medium of communication, and physical expression too, which can be even more direct and nuanced at times. Sex, just like eating, drinking, is an essential part of life. Shouldn't the portrayal of intimacy, sexuality, menstruation, and other daily aspects from a female perspective become a more ordinary existence?
#2 I am interested in things in flux
It feels like you have always confronted fear, you went to a more industrial film environment like USC as someone who emphasizes self-expression. Later, you returned to the less-industrialized film industry in China. How do you navigate places of fear or find a sense of belonging?
Zheng: I see the quest for belonging as a pursuit of security. Yet, when we talk about facing the vulnerability, it does not solely rely on a sense of safety or a predetermined destination. It is only through confronting novel experiences that fear arises. It's also a playful mindset; all the training that I’ve got enables me to approach for certainty, making judgments and executing tasks with proficiency. However, I wonder how to introduce an element of unpredictability into this equation.
For instance, during learning, we perceive the aesthetically pleasing nature of classical Magnum documentary photographs. Slowly, as our sensibilities evolve, one may become receptive to incorporating incongruous elements within this framework, thus initiating a transformation and progression in one's understanding of photography. So, it is an ever-changing journey.
I went to USC; in fact, I was also accepted by the School of the Art Institute of Chicago. But I had always been working on my own before, so I hoped to find companions, be influenced by others, and to play together.
I think China is an interesting place. In the U.S., everyone uses shared vocabulary in the film industry, but in China, each production has its own way to function, using different working languages. For example, brightening the image may refer to making the tones lighter or increasing the brightness; it could also mean adding vignette to emphasize the contrast in the middle. In the U.S., work can be more efficient. In China, you will need to have an extra degree of tolerance towards flaws, and sometimes you gain amazing things you hadn't thought of before.
While in the US, I found expressions to be quite saturated, when addressing for example racial or gender issues. I am interested in transformations, and hope to understand the fluidity of things without adopting an overly solemn demeanor. My works may appear scattered with inner struggles. But it is through creation, I try to confront and grapple with these intricacies.
For such an intimate auteur film like "The Clouds in Her Room," was the chemistry between the actors present from the beginning, or did it require some adjustment?
Zheng：Starting from casting, it is crucial to recognize the potential before progressing further. For example, I would suggest the lead actress and actor to go on a date, giving them their own space. Upon their return, I would call each of them and ask about their day.
Our process is not entirely script-based. When following the script, actors tend to relax as they are portraying someone else. But as they engage in sharing their personal stories, a collective mindset of openness pervades the space. In this state, the empathy and desire to safeguard one another emerge, allowing for the authenticity and willingness to express themselves.
The cinematography in "The Clouds in Her Room" was outstanding. How did you achieve this effect?
Zheng：Prior to the shoot, I began sketching storyboards on a whiteboard for the cinematographer Matthias, outlining how I envisioned each scene. I didn't bring rigid storyboards into the production, as I believed many aspects could change.
In the past, I would decide camera angles and lock down shots, but this time I wanted to collaborate with Matthias, an experienced cinematographer, and have his input. Often, he would set up the shot, and then I made adjustments. There are many DV shots in the film, which I shot most of myself. Sometimes, for DV scenes involving the mother character, played by Liu Dan, we would have Matthias shoot one, actress Jin Jing shoot another, and I shoot one too. Matthias thought that the DV content should have a more subjective perspective, and if he were to film all of them, it might appear too contrived. Since the actress Jin Jing used to be a photographer and I was the director, we both gave it a try.
#3 Money and Future
In 2019, there was a surge of unique art films in Hangzhou, such as Gu Xiaogang's "Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains," Qiu Sheng's "Suburban Birds," and Zhu Xin's "Vanishing Days." It’s said you were considered one of the representatives of the "Hangzhou New Wave" as well. How do you perceive this phenomenon?
Zheng：I find the attribution of this title to be premature. For instance, the Taiwanese New Wave or the French New Wave were movements in which individuals shared a common desire for collective exploration. In Hangzhou, the directors are acquainted and share a friendship, but our paths and personal artistic visions differ.
It was common for the “New Wavers” to, for example, act in each other's films, forming a supportive community. However, I feel that such interactions within Hangzhou's context have not yet taken place. We haven't truly engaged in one another's films or collectively explored what makes the Hangzhou New Wave truly "new." I think this title conveys people’s expectations, yet perhaps it would be more fitting to reassess the situation in five years' time when we can gain a better perspective, considering the creative cycle of a filmmaker can be long.
When watching "The Clouds in Her Room," it doesn't seem to emphasize the entire city of Hangzhou; instead, it feels more like a middle-class Chinese family.
Zheng：That's because I deliberately avoided an excessively romanticized portrayal.
Your films have received awards, garnered attention, and sparked curiosity. How do you personally view your success?
Zheng：It depends on how one defines success. I consider myself fortunate. If a film can’t be released in China nor gain recognition internationally, the film would have disappeared. My first film, The Cloud in Her Room, went to Rotterdam, but due to the outbreak of the pandemic, I couldn't travel to all places with the film, nor to make new acquaintances, getting to know what filmmakers were doing in other countries. The film had taken its journey. It had its theatrical released in France and was acquired by MUBI. As for my second film, Jet Lag, despite the domestic market, it’s a challenging film to sell, even more so than the first one. However, my French distributor still felt compelled to defend my work and released it in cinemas earlier this year, although the audience turnout was quite modest. I felt thankful.
Take, for example, "Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains" which achieved considerable success in terms of audience attendance in France, and I believe it maximized its potential. For me, it seems that my films have managed to meet the people who were meant to see them. And that’s enough.
To what extent is your profession a means of livelihood? If survival were not a concern, how different would your creative process be?
Zheng：I'm essentially making a living doing what I love, so it's not solely for survival. While I do earn money, such as occasionally serving as a judge with financial compensation or receiving awards, but there are not many additional sources of income to speak of. It's an unstable state, but I’m not so drawn to great wealth or fame.
What was the funding experience for the two films like?
Zheng：Theoretical the funding for the first film came from Hong Kong, while the second film had Swiss financing. However, since we didn’t go through the censorship, there was no sound financing process.
If a production company asks people for money without warning the risk of producing an uncensored film, in the long run, they may end up losing their investors. If it involves acquaintances, the chances are that friends' funds invested in a film will likely not be refunded. You probably don't wish to deceive your friends, especially for a new director’s project. Therefore, the film was inevitably done with a low budget.
As for the second film, it was even more challenging. While we secured some financing, I had to personally contribute. Additionally, I attempted to get support from relatives, offering each of them a sum of 50,000 CNY as a unit, to see if they would invest in our family documentary. Unfortunately, no one expressed interest. It was simply not easy. I think that most people struggle to comprehend how a film comes into existence. Before seeing the film, they can hardly grasp how their money can contribute to the project.
It sounds incredibly challenging. Is prioritizing your own expression the top priority for you?
Zheng：Since I don’t have a career plan as a director, it is not necessary for me to pave the way for the next step or seek fame and fortune.
If I have the ability to continuously making films, I shall allow the films to exist first. I believe that 20% of us undertake various endeavors, be it avant-garde, even if it results in mistakes, or cult films, and the remaining 80% serve as entertainment for the masses, celebrating the achievements of middle-class aesthetics.
Considering the vastness of this 80% market, there will naturally be many people who aspire to get into it and excel. I do see the value of commercial films, which require real professionals to create. And I don’t intend to turn down commercial opportunities, just at the moment, my current projects may not fit the Chinese market.
What projects do you want to work on next?
Zheng：I'm developing new projects, but it feels like they might not pass censorship, making progress difficult. It’s uncertain where to locate the production. Recently, I'm working on a photo book and have reached out to some indie publishers. Haven’t heard back from them yet, so we will see.
Any recently watched films that you liked? Why?
Zheng：“It’s Night in America” and “Raw and Cooked”. In fact, I've watched numerous films that have provided me with inspirations in terms of concept or detailed ideas. I simply find it delightful to witness such a multitude of creators earnestly, sincerely, and freely speaking out of their minds and emotions.
As an artist, what are the top three qualities you value?
Zheng：The ability for self-reflection, curiosity, and courage.
Thank you, Zheng Lu Xinyuan!