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Derek Lam converses with director Tsai Ming-Liang 

click here for a link to the movie's official website

ON WHAT TIME IS IT THERE?   

What Time Is It There? opens with a shot that seems very simple, almost plain, in what it shows, and yet it carries with it an emotional weight and intensity that's quite remarkable.  Can you tell us how you came about this image as the point of departure for your film? 

I think that all of my creativity comes from my life experiences, but more from my feelings during a particular period of my life, rather than any real event itself.  And those feelings, once I have them, they never go away.  The feelings in What Time Is It There? come from the experience of losing my father in 1992, and the experience of Hsiao-Kang losing his father in 1997.  I was very close to Hsiao-Kang's father as well, so his death also had a very strong impact.  And after Hsiao-Kang's father passed away, I noticed that there was this sadness that lingered across Hsiao-Kang's face, reminding me of my own experience when my father passed away.  During that time I was very afraid of the darkness, and I wouldn't dare go to the bathroom at night, just like Hsiao-Kang in the film.  The reason I wanted the opening shot was because I wanted the father to be there.  It may be because I miss my father, so I wanted him there.  But once I had this idea, it stuck with me no matter how much I changed the script.  I knew from the beginning that that was to open the film. 

And just as he opens the film, the father reappears to close it.  It's a very mysterious presence he has in that scene, and yet it's also oddly comforting, as if he's a guardian angel of sorts to the beleaguered Shiang-Chyi....  How did you come about this coda? 

Every time I've been in Paris, I've always liked walking along the area outside of the Louvre, the open space where there's the pond, and people sit around sunbathing and relaxing.  It's an image that I like a lot, but I never knew how I could fit it into one of my films.  But when the idea came to me for the father's spirit to return in the film, I imagined that the pond would somehow separate the world of the living from the world of the dead.  And as you say, there is something like the quality of a guardian angel to the father's reappearance at the end.  It does give you a comforting feeling, and like the opening shot, this image was also there from day one. 

It made a very deep impression on me, because in the previous films, whenever Miao Tien appeared, he was always a very traditional father, and you had a sense of a mixture of fear and respect, and yet at the ending of What Time, the feelings he evokes are quite different. 

In The River it was my aim to show the more vulnerable and secretive side to this father.  But in the new film I felt that simply his appearance would be enough.  He doesn't really have to do anything, and his presence in the new film is much more of a symbolic gesture. 

By contrast, the mother comes much more into focus.  I've always found the mother to be a very strong character in your films.  In The River, she's the only one working in the family, and also ultimately the one with the courage to climb up to the apartment above and solve the problem the father chooses to avoid.  She's also, interestingly, a very superstitious character, which even when you present it ironically, such as when the food she cooks with the holy water in Rebels for Hsiao-Kang causes diarrhea, serves as an indication of her affection towards her family. 

I feel that the mother is a very typical Chinese mother, very superstitious, very active, very resilient.  You look at Eileen Chang's novels, the women are always the last ones to die, and the first ones to go are always men!  I don't know what my paternal grandfather looked like, because he died when my father was twelve years old.  But my paternal grandmother, who was a farmer, took care of the family.  Even when she was eighty years old, she was still working on the farm, growing hot peppers.  As for my maternal grandmother, she used to run a small gambling den, and she was very tough, and could always deal with whatever hooligans came to make trouble.  She would drag them to the police station...a very, very strong person.  She was also very superstitious.  She was always worshipping all sorts of gods and making us eat the ashes from the incense, believing it would do us good.  So both my grandmothers were very strong and persistent figures, and the way they deal with emotions is usually in a very strong and direct way.  So I like this image of the mother a lot.  I also believe women are much stronger than men.  In fact, there's something almost fearsome about the way women are, the way they attack! (laughs) 

I find fascinating the recurrent interest in, even obsession with, superstition in your films.  Were the scenes in Rebels, River and What Time dealing with superstition shot in real temples with real priests? 

Yes, and the mediums were also real-life mediums, not actors.  Actually, some of the best are very hard to find, because they're not very accessible.  But once they are on set, it becomes a challenge to direct them, even though I feel privileged, because once the priest or the medium is channeling a spirit, I can only ask them to call up such and such a god and pray that they do a good job.  But then, I think that the performances would have to be good if they come from some sort of god!  (laughs) 

Actually, I find superstition to be a very colorful, localized Chinese tradition that I like very much and that many people consider simply a friendly, neighborly form of help.  And the help can be for something very practical.  For instance, once I saw a lady, the owner of a noodle stall, ask a medium for help because her business was not going well, and the medium gave her instructions on how to make better noodles, including specific instructions on how much to add of certain ingredients!  For me, that suggests the sort of relationship between common people and these mediums. 

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