Political dramas
Long before the 'one country, two systems' doctrine, the Chinese Communist Party adopted a two-pronged approach when it came to cinema in the People's Republic and the then British colony of Hong Kong. While the post-1949 output of mainland studios was dictated by political policy, a far more benign approach was adopted across the border, where left-leaning filmmakers and studios continued working in a progressive Shanghai cinematic tradition that had fallen out of favour in China's increasingly rigid artistic ideological climate.
Looking at the 1950s output of leading left-wing studios Great Wall, Feng Huang, and Sun Luen - a selection of which will be shown in programmes at the Film Archive and the Cine-Art theatre from mid-November to December - it is hard to detect anything particularly communistic. Rather, the social realism of dramas such as Mutual Understanding (1954) or the social commentary in satires such as 1951's A Night-Time Wife hark more to the kinds of films made by enlightened filmmakers in Shanghai of the 1930s and 40s than anything then being produced by the nationalised studios on the mainland.
For a time in the early 1950s, the similarities extended to the cast and crews, with top Shanghai directors and stars such as Zhu Shilin and Liu Qiong relocating to the colony. For some, the stay was temporary. Liu was among the leftist film personnel deported by the British in 1952, while other 'leftists' decamped to Hong Kong's right-wing studios, like Shaw Brothers and MP & GI.
This was somewhat countered by the left-wing camp's entry into mainland theatres, though by no means were all films deemed suitable for nationwide release.
With their mainland connections, the left-wing companies also led the way in cross-border co-productions. Sun Luen, for instance, was able to shoot in Hangzhou for its Cantonese opera movie So Siu Siu (1962); and An Ideal Couple (1960) featured Cantonese opera superstars Hung Sin Nui and Ma Si-tsang, who a few years earlier had shocked the colony by leaving capitalist Hong Kong for a more austere life in Guangzhou.
Before the advent of the Cultural Revolution (1966-1976), the ostensibly apolitical nature of these left-wing movies helped assure their popularity with audiences at home and in Southeast Asia. Relatively free of the commercial dictates of their capitalist counterparts, the leftist companies put a special emphasis on well-crafted scripts tailor-made for their roster of actors. Indeed, it was star power that kept these movies competitive, ironic in light of the repudiation of the star system in mainland cinema.
Sophisticated beauties such as A Night-Time Wife's Hsia Moon and Girl on the Front Page's Chen Sze-sze commanded the screen and fans' loyalties as much as their right-wing rivals. Ironically, it was politics that kept the era's biggest new star out of Great Wall's grasp: Linda Lin Dai was heavily promoted when initially signed by the studio, but because of her family's Kuomintang connections, she was let go and subsequently made a stunning debut for a right-wing outfit that propelled her to a decade at the pinnacle of Hong Kong celebrity.
Politics pretty much stayed in the background, though, until the Cultural Revolution delivered the left-wing movie sphere a double whammy: the overt radicalisation of script content and the aversion of local audiences. The new 'open door' policy of the late 1970s led to the studios' renewed relevance as champions of a new generation.
Feng Huang gained critical acclaim as producer of Allen Fong Yuk-ping's Father and Son (1981), winner of the first Hong Kong Film Awards for best picture and director. Hsia Moon returned to the movie world as executive producer of Ann Hui On-wah's Boat People (1982) and Yim Ho's Homecoming (1984). The newly established Sil-Metropole, an organisation combining the three left-wing studios, gave the social-realist trend a new spin with Lawrence Ah Mon's Gangs (1988) , and Jacob Cheung Chi-leung's Cageman (1992).
By then, the lines between 'right' and 'left' had all but faded away. Political and cinematic mores have now evolved to a point where traces of this once-proud tradition are rarely seen on Hong Kong celluloid.
