Not One Less

I am currently reading (and writing a damned paper on it!) Paul Willemen's theorization of the "epiphanic moment"--those "privileged moments of the film": "These are moments which, when countered in a film, spark something which then produces the energy and the desire to write, to find formulations to convey something about the intensity of that spark." He adds: "Most film criticism and much journalistic film criticism tends to feel under an obligation to isolate such a moment or a scene......The cinephiliac discourse tends to work on scenes, on moments of gestures, on looks." [My emphasis.]

I skimmed through about four or five reviews of Zhang Yimou's Not One Less (the usual suspects - Ebert , Sight & Sound, NY Times, and, in this case, San Francisco Examiner, since James Berardinelli doesn't have a review) and they ALL talk about one common moment: the chalk. Wei, the female protagonist, is a substitute teacher in a rural school in China, and there is one utterly delightful scene where her predecessor, Teacher Gao (Gao laoshi), carefully doles out 26 pieces of chalk (one for each day for her substitution period) and instructs her sternly that she must make one last for each day. Therefore, she must write her words on the blackboard not too small (bad for the children's eyes) but not too big (waste too much chalk). In fact, about "the size of a donkey's turds" would be just nice.

It is delightful because it is absolutely hilarious. The acting was superb -- actually, you can't even call it that that since they aren't professional actors! I sensed that, of course, but I didn't confirm it until I read the reviews afterwards. No matter - the offering was utterly genuine, the words were spoken with nothing but profound honesty, the concern for the children's eyes was heartfelt (and I come from a country where 80% of our kids are myopic, so I know what I'm talking about), the meticulous counting of the chalk, the careful instructions, Wei hanging onto every word, the usage of chalk as important as her life's mission. The authenticity, the genuineness, went straight into my heart -- all that simply shone through the film. I can't describe it - it's like a religious experience - Willemen talks about it in the same way: epiphany, "the mystical dimensions of revelation". Here, I have received more than I saw. Here, indeed, is one moment where, as Sontag says, the moment makes "what is not visible, what lies just outside the visual field, a constitutent--dramatically, logically--of what we see." To see something I do not see.

But there must be other reasons why this is also a momentous scene for at least five respected reviewers (and myself!). Not just because it is funny; we have plenty of funny moments in films. And this, I think, is why: In that chalk scene also lays bare the tragedy (and melodrama, I might add) of the story: the poverty, the sheer need to make ends meet, the sacrifices - of life, of prospects, of children's lives, futures, education, the hopelessness of the poverty pit, the utter insignificance of human life in the face of inhuman hardship and suffering. It is funny, but it is also chillingly stark. A moment where the fist is shown from inside the velvet glove. Such moments - with meanings upon meanings, laughter upon tears, heart upon soul - don't come often. One doesn't forget moments like that.

Ditto for the flag-raising sequence. It suddenly occurred to me I have never heard the Chinese anthem before, even though it's my motherland, even though the Chinese win almost like half of all the gold medals at each Olympic Games. Anthems are funny things: I could understand the words of the Chinese anthem, but I couldn't feel the spirit of it. All that Chinese nationalism has been lost in the diluted blood of this overseas Chinese (huaqiao). But then, Singapore's national anthem, on the other hand: I can neither understand its words nor spirit, though I had to stand through it for a good 11 years of my life. So where does that leave me?

One last thing: the Chinese slogans written on the walls, the banner across the TV station etc remind me of the time I first watched Pasolini's Accattone. I had happily assumed the writings on the walls were graffiti until the Italian students in my class brought it up and I was mortified to find out what they really were (protest writings against Fascism). Ditto for these Chinese slogans, which, I am happy to say, I could understand - but would the Western reviewers? I highly doubt it. But that could just be me thinking far too much about my paper (on, urgh, cross-cultural understanding). Which reminds me - time to get back to work.