The de/construction of family
relationships in the postmodern city has been a central concern of both
Canadian director Atom Egoyan and Taiwanese director Tsai Ming-Liang.
One question that all of their feature films persistently ask is: how
do the characters (re-)establish themselves and reconstruct their family
when their traditional family (founded on marriage or kinship) is either
an empty shell or completely broken and lost?1
Far from fixing the problems in these traditional families, both directors
either show them as irretrievably lost, or expose--especially in Next
of Kin, Family Viewing, Rebel of the Neon God and The River --their
exploitative or oppressive power relations, from which the characters
need to break away. Whether losing or leaving their family, the characters
in Egoyan's and Tsai's films are fixated by the loss and/or left drifting
alone in the postmodern city of Toronto and Taipei respectively. More
importantly, while the characters' domestic space ("home" in
Toronto's suburban houses or Taipei's apartment buildings) gets emptied
and de-qualified, the "non-places" (e.g. hotel, telephone center,
sauna) they frequent do not offer them any stable sense of identity or
relations. Many critics, therefore, think
that most of Egoyan's films (at least those since Speaking Parts)
and all of Tsai's offer pessimistic, if not morbid, views of the postmodern
city with an overwhelming sense of personal loss and alienation. Geoff
Pevere, for instance, sees Egoyan's films as being "among the most
extreme studies of individual and social disaffection" in which the
characters, in the pursuit of "something spectral," get increasingly
desperate and obsessive ("Middle of Nowhere" 15, 18). Peter
Harcourt finds in the ending of both Exotica and The Adjuster
"a serial dimension where the actions of loss and of grief will repeat
themselves over and over again" (1995: 71).2
Tsai's films are a lot more controversial, being criticized both for his
depiction of Taipei, his treatments of homosexual (or incestuous) desire,
and his overall pessimism.3
While he himself claims that his main character, Hsiao-kang, is
"filled with hope," growing and learning to love from one film
to the next (Look 186), most of his critics think otherwise. Jiau, for
instance, sees Tsai's characters' attempts to reach out get more and more
feeble from Rebel to Vive l'amour, and in The River
the characters are reduced to satisfying their biological needs and "los[ing]
any hope for love/affection" (1997: 36). With a few exceptions, 4
most critics see Vive l'amour "nihilistic" (Jiang 147)
and its characters "postmodern flaneur . . . with no feelings about
real experience" nor "sympathy or even abilities to dream"
(Chen 6; Wang 78). While some critics find in the ending of The Hole
a sign of hope, Chang (1998) finds in the film auto-eroticism but not
communication, Ivy Chang, communication only in "fantasy space"(82),
and Wood, a vision of the end of the world with no hope for salvation.
Granted
the overall bleakness of the two directors' urban scenes and their characters'
sense of isolation, I do not think that their films, nor their characters,
exemplify the depthlessness and disaffection Frederic Jameson sees as
dominant in postmodern society. I think that each of their films still
offer different degrees of hope through the characters' attempts at human
connections. Indeed, in the postmodern "non-places" (such as
hotels, strip clubs, nursing homes, saunas, overpasses, elevators and
train/subway stations) the characters do not have a stable familial structure
to fall back on and some are even subject to other forms of oppression/exploitation.
Yet these spaces with their multiple floating signifiers also offer them
possibilities of choice and re-definition of self and "family."
What both Egoyan's and Tsai's films show in these fluid and frequently
claustrophobic "non-places," I argue, are human contact and
re-defined "family" relationships on the one hand, and, on the
other, "aesthetic reflexivity" (Lash and Urry, see next section)
on either filmic or personal level. Through reaching out for human connections,
the characters can at least resist complete annihilation of self-identity
by the flows of signs and/or their own desires. 5The
films' and their directors' aesthetic reflexivity, in turn, express the
directors' sense of identity and their attempts at building a community
in the filmic world of flows. |