At noon, Chen Peisi’s star power failed to draw a larger audience for his film, The Stage. Screening Room No. 2, located near the ticket check, is one of the larger theaters in the cinema. Even so, there were fewer people in the audience than there were opera fans in the movie itself. After accounting for the couple who walked out midway, the vast theater felt even more sparse.
The film’s original score left little impression, mainly because The Stage is set against the backdrop of the Peking Opera classic Farewell My Concubine, and thus, most of the film’s music was occupied by traditional opera melodies. The choice of lyrics for the closing credits song—Wang Anshi’s poem, To the Tune of Gui Zhi Xiang: Musing on the Past at Jinling—was quite an elegant touch. Its final line, “To this day, the singing girls still from time to time perform the songs of a fallen dynasty,” could perhaps be gifted to those film critics incapable of understanding the movie.
One can see Chen Peisi’s ambition in The Stage; he wanted to create a film that would be remembered by audiences. However, some fundamental elements of the film were poorly handled. The clumsiest plotline belongs to the character of the Sixth Concubine, a beautiful young woman whose words and actions defy all logic. To put it bluntly, her role could be removed entirely without affecting the film’s central theme in the slightest. Her presence was purely superfluous.
The film’s cinematography, with most scenes shot on a soundstage, is somewhat reminiscent of A New Old Play. Chen Peisi treats the film like a theatrical play; even though the actors tone down their stagey delivery, the traces of the theater are still too heavy, clashing directly with the film’s realistic style. Unlike A New Old Play, which deliberately mimics a stage play, The Stage is a realistic film, which makes the actors’ overwrought performances feel particularly jarring.
Jiang Wu, however, is commendable. He delivers a masterful performance as a tyrannical warlord. He intentionally exaggerates his character’s mannerisms. This deliberate “artifice,” rather than undermining the character’s authenticity, instead makes you feel as if the warlord is right there beside you.
In conclusion, the flaws in The Stage don’t obscure its virtues. It is still a film worth seeing.
On a weekend morning, as is custom, it was time for dim sum.
Sesame oil mixed with fermented bean curd has a flavor reminiscent of cheese on a Western dinner table. It’s paired with a side of pickled sweet garlic—a delicacy not all restaurants offer, seemingly a thoughtful treat reserved by the owner for regulars.
The season for water chestnuts has already passed. If you want that satisfyingly crisp texture, you can opt for a section of lotus root or a few pieces of sweet potato, which are similarly white, tender, and refreshing.
A mischievous boy, climbing all over the place, knocked over a water pitcher that the waitress had just set down. His grandmother, angered, decided to teach him a lesson. She grabbed his four fingers and gave his palm three sharp smacks. “Look at me. Apologize.” “Mmm.” “Do you know you were wrong?” “Mmm.” “Be sincere. Say, ‘I was wrong, it won’t happen again.’” The boy hung his head sheepishly, all his earlier bravado gone. He knew he had to comply with his grandmother’s demand to get through this. “I was wrong. I won’t dare to do it again.”
Lin Song remembered that in his mother’s sewing machine drawer, there was also a bamboo ruler for measuring cloth. Even when he got into trouble outside and other parents came to complain, his mother rarely took out the ruler to intimidate him, let alone ever use it to spank him.
After more than a decade of service, the electric fan was finally broken by Lin Song himself on a hot summer day.
You really couldn’t blame the fan. For ten years, it had worked diligently without a single issue. At the start of this summer, hoping to keep it running quietly, Lin Song had disassembled the fan guard and sprayed some WD-40 on the motor.
Now, he was carrying the fan to the appliance repair shop by the small park at the intersection. The repairman, lying back in a chair and enjoying a breeze, asked: “What’s the situation?” “Yesterday, it was a bit sluggish when starting up, so I took it apart and put some lubricant on the motor. After I put it back together, it wouldn’t spin. I sprayed some more WD-40 in there, but still nothing.” “You’ve ruined the motor.” “It had been making a rattling noise for a few days.” “You can’t put lubricant on the motor just because it’s rattling.” “So… is it hard to fix?” “The motor needs to be replaced.” “Can the motor itself be repaired?” “The motor can’t be repaired. Either replace it, or the fan’s a goner.”
Lin Song understood. When it comes to things you’re not good at, taking it upon yourself to start removing screws is truly a stupid act.
In the locker room, the alarm’s speaker has been broadcasting “Smoking is harmful to your health. Please do not smoke” on a loop for three hours. It’s hard to tell if the alarm is broken or if the air quality has long surpassed the limit it can tolerate.
Fatty Shi, working out on the elliptical, has put on a pair of wireless headphones. The massive earcups cover his ears, flashing with a blue light like a will-o’-the-wisp in time with the audio from his phone. Now, he can finally giggle foolishly without restraint while watching his videos.
He can no longer hear his own laughter, so he takes it for granted that he isn’t being so conspicuous. He seems to have forgotten how shy and restrained he used to be when watching videos on his phone.