Anchee Min - Red Azalea

Are you prepared? His eyes were red from lack of sleep; his voice carried a smell of burnt earth. We have begun our battle, he said. Comrade Jiang Ching is with us. It is a battle of life and death. A political power struggle. I nodded as if I understood what he’d said. He moved toward me, stopped and used his middle finger to tilt my chin up. He inspected me. He was a dragon coming through the window of my eyes and permeating my body with a silent force. Show me your determination, he murmured. I stared into his eyes. Yes, beautiful. You see, we are going to go through a forest of guns and a rain of bullets to pay respect to our mothers. Mothers who, for thousands of years, lived their lives in shame, died with shame, were buried and rotted in shame. We are going to tell them, Now it is a new world. A world where being born female merits celebration and salute. A world where a woman who is forced to marry a pig can have an affair. He suddenly stopped. He stared at me, narrowing his eyes. Well, enough for now. He pressed a bell button on the table and a pleasant-faced young man stepped in. Take her to the makeup room.

It was my first time posing. The photographer said printing machines in factories were waiting for this picture; the poster was to be out in three days. It was a political assignment from Comrade Jiang Ching. Red Azalea must live up to her earnest expectations.

I stared into the light bulb before me. I thought of Cheering Spear and Soviet Wong’s hatred of me. I told the photographer I was ready. The sound of the clicks was unreal. I felt Yan under my skin.

The crew reshot the scenes. The ones who had served Cheering Spear now were made to serve me. Cheering Spear and Soviet Wong were excluded. No one mentioned them. The shooting went smoothly until one day when we were instructed to revise certain lines in the script. Red Azalea must not be too poignant. Her screen time must yield; meaning the male hero must appear dominant. The Supervisor made the changes. He was called back to Beijing several times. Each time he came back, he looked frustrated. He smoked four packs of cigarettes a day. His fingers had turned brown from holding cigarettes all the time. He explained nothing. He shot three versions of one scene with different lines. In the first one I was told to say, No, you can’t take my dream away from me. In the second I was told to say, No, he is China’s hope, you can never take that hope away from me. In the third I was to say, I’d sacrifice my life to follow him because he is the savior of the world’s proletariat. This was how the Supervisor fought with his opponents in Beijing. If the first one did not work, he would lay out the second or the third version. He negotiated. He fought for every inch of the film.

My face was painted. The costume designer dressed me up in a grayish Red Army uniform and straw shoes. My sleeves were rolled up, hair braided. A wide belt cinched my waist. Someone was binding a long piece of cloth on my leg. I rehearsed my lines. A new line had been added by the Supervisor. The line was, “Chairman Mao.”

The Supervisor was sitting on the director’s chair. His concentration ruled the set. An assistant measured the distance between my nose and the lens again and again, murmuring the numbers to himself while marking them down. Red Azalea’s hands were tied back with ropes. She was about to be tortured in public.

Take two, take three. I want a big, big close-up of her eyes, the Supervisor yelled. Frame her face! Camera, move! Closer, closer! The camera crew moved around. Changes had been made. Production assistants began to sweat. One of them murmured his numbers. Four feet and five inches. Five feet and three-quarter inches. A light fixture burned. The wire was smoking. The director of lighting replaced it right away. The makeup man combed my bangs once more.

I was suddenly afraid of not being able to satisfy the Supervisor. I had no feelings for my lines. The makeup man asked if I needed him to put water drops in my eyes. The Supervisor waved him off. The costume designer came and wet my back with water. The Supervisor called, Roll the camera! I spoke my line: “Chairman Mao.” The Supervisor called, Cut! He said, No, maybe it’s the lighting. Yes, the lighting is not right. This is not the light she likes. Comrade Jiang Ching would not approve of this way of lighting. It has to be straight flat light. Comrade Jiang Ching wants to see no shadows under Red Azalea’s nose. Our heroine must have no shadows on her face. Not at all!

The camera rolled again. Everyone held their breath. I repeated my lines carefully. The Supervisor kicked down a light stand. He was frustrated. The camera crew got nervous. Everyone was ready again. The Supervisor raised his head. His almond eyes were brighter than the lights before me. I saw anxiety burning in his eyes. His lips were cracked dry, and his fingers stretched in the air like an eagle’s claws. He closed his eyes and moaned my line, “Chairman Mao.” Opening his eyes, he asked me if I could give him more than the three syllables. Leaning back, he said slowly, Roll the camera.

I failed him. I failed to deliver what he wanted. My acting was surgical. He cut me off. His face twisted. He said, One more minute and you better have it. Now immerse yourself. I took a deep breath and spoke my line. I repeated, “Chairman Mao”; “Chairman Mao.” There was no magic.

The Supervisor called me an idiot. And I called myself an idiot. I could not concentrate. I even found the line funny. Chairman Mao what? You should be shot by the Nationalists, the Supervisor yelled at me. Where is the spirit I once saw in you? I know you have it. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you get the meaning of these three syllables? I thought you had sense. I thought you understood everything.

The makeup man came to repaint the scar on my forehead. The costume designer sprinkled more chicken blood on my chest. I was still not able to say “Chairman Mao” right. The Supervisor threw the main electric switch. The studio went deadly dark. I couldn’t breathe.

I sat by myself in one of the studio’s guesthouses. It was about midnight. The maple branches outside struck my window as if someone were knocking. The whole dormitory was quiet as a graveyard. I had a horrible day. I was almost fired on the set. The lighting men began to speak of Cheering Spear, they spoke of how easily she handled what I could not. They suggested that the Supervisor tell me to go home.

I heard the sound of steps at the end of the long hallway. They were heading in my direction. They stopped in front of my door. Light knocks, like a woodpecker. It’s open, I said. The Supervisor ducked in. He shut the door behind him. He was in a blue Mao jacket. I tried to move a chair for him. He stopped me. He came and sat down by me. He touched my bare shoulders with his hands. He stroked softly. He asked me to trust him. He asked me to have faith in him. He said, Only by having faith will you see the future I see and feel the power I feel.

I said that the new line was awkward. I said I did not know how to put those words in my mouth. He said it was not a matter of awkwardness. The awkwardness served a political purpose. The line had to be in there or there would be no Red Azalea. I said I knew no acting technique to get this right. I was incapable of filling the three syllables with emotion. He said that this was the point-I must have emotion. The syllables themselves carried no significance at all. The significance was beyond the words, beyond Red Azalea itself. I said that I didn’t see it, but I did see that the new line would ruin the movie. I said that people were going to laugh at it. He said, Who do you think people are? They are walking corpses, let me tell you. What do the people know? The only thing they know is fear. That is why they need authority. They need to be told what to do. They need a wise emperor. It’s been this way for five thousand years. They believe what rulers make them believe. That is why there were intellectual formulas. The operas were a way to shape their minds, to keep the minds where they should be. You see? I am showing you what I know. I am giving you my power. You see? Now someone else knows exactly what I know. Someone else is using my power to get what she wants too.