For those who have been keeping a close eye on the Singapore
International Film Festival (currently SGIFF, formerly SIFF), it has had a long
and colorful history to say the least. From the inaugural edition that ran a
year late, to its two-year hiatus after some very public and very embarrassing
public complaints targeted at its 24th edition in 2011, it
is not unfair to say that SGIFF has faced adversities that would have sent
younger and less resilient organizations running for the door. Now into its 27th edition, SGIFF is
bigger, brighter, and tougher than ever—with 161 films in 13 sections over 2
weeks, new projects, and new initiatives to nurture the growth of filmmakers in
the region. The festival remains a powerhouse in Asia, and a crucial stopover
for anyone with a genuine interest in good films that have never been seen
before.
Alfonse Chiu catches up with SGIFF’s Programme Director, Zhang
Wenjie, for a quick chat about where the Festival is and where it would be in
times to come.
How do you feel that the joining the mantle of the Singapore
Media Festival has affected the original visions and duties of the festival,
given that it has transitioned from something indie and a little more
underground into something affiliated with an actual governmental agency?
I feel that the heart of the festival for independent cinema and
freedom of expression still stands: We hold strong to our policy of not showing
any film that is censored, because we believe that a film should be shown in
its entirety or not at all. That is the essence of the festival, and it will
never change.
Coming back to the question, the festival is still an
independent organization with its own board of directors, so we are not
actually under a department of the government or anything. Like what you have
said, this Singapore Media Festival is a name to pull together several film
events and media events; to cluster them around the same dates so that there is
some synergy, such that things can feed off from each other. That was the idea
behind it.
When we first returned in 2014, we had the idea to be part of
this, and to shift the date of our festival from April to the year-end period.
We agreed after much contemplation, for the sole reason that we feel that we
should work together. We can be independent from each other, but things that
drive the industry forward and give opportunities and prominence to the craft
are crucial to everyone. It is important to find ways to work together.
I feel that for international film festivals, there needs to be
a certain sort of infrastructure at a basic level, and collaborations with the
government. We may not agree on the same things, but if a government and its
country's international film festival cannot see eye to eye, it would be a huge
problem—everything would be gridlocked, and nothing would be able to
move.
As such, by coming back, it is kind of our way to help find ways
for both sides to see that they can work towards a common good.
In what ways do you feel a film festival’s scale can affect its
role in the grander scheme of things?
To me, the role of a film festival depends heavily on whether it
has a clear intention, a clear mission, and a clear purpose.
While it is true that the size of a film festival often
determines what role it will generally play, it is not everything. For the big
ones like Cannes or Venice, the whole size and scale of them are more often
than not the only thing that people see and think about, but an interesting
fact remains—that for some of the filmmakers, especially some of those more
senior ones, they actually enjoy smaller festivals, because then they have the
time to meet everyone. For example, let's say that you are at a small festival
that only shows films from the Eighties: compared to attending the big ones,
this time you actually get a chance to meet everyone and really connect to them
during the festival over a mutual love of Eighties’ cheesy cinema. If you
attend a festival like that, the friendships you form during it often last
forever.
One of my favorite festivals that I have been to was actually
one of the smallest film festivals in record history. The international guests
consisted three people; it only happened once, and it couldn’t happen again
because to run and organize a film festival in that location is very, very
difficult. The closing party was actually a dinner party where the festival
director's mother cooked for everyone, and it was so wonderful—friends were
made that I still keep in touch with.
I would say it is not the size, but what the festival is trying
to do and how well it is doing it that makes it more important. A small
festival that focuses on groundbreaking documentaries could make a big impact
if the festival is consistent in its efforts over a period of time. I mean, you
can have yourself a so-called big festival, but if it is only interested in
getting the big names and the red carpet and the Hollywood stars, it is
ultimately hollow, because you lack the substance to sustain it meaningfully.
While a festival might be small and cozy and have that strong
emotional value, do you feel that it sometimes ends up as an ivory tower? Since
they feature the public nominally, they often end up echo chambers of
self-congratulatory artists, and not have any development for the scene and the
culture.
While I do agree, that problem ultimately comes back to the
basics: mission and intention and the way the festival was organized. You can
have a small festival that deals with very experimental works, but if you are
professional and do it for the art, and are really genuine about sharing these
works without snobbery beyond your own circles and niche with those who have
not encountered this before, then it could and should be an absolutely terrific
experience.
In Thailand, there is this film archive that runs a regular
programme showing experimental films to children: they are really young, age
ranging from eight to ten, and you know they have no preconceptions, and to
them these films were just something to see. The organizer told me that it was
such an eye-opener and a really good learning experience to have done this with
children because they see and catch on to so many things in the films that
adults miss out, and their ideas and ways of seeing taught her a lot about what
experimental films could be and achieve.
So, I guess, it really depends on having that sincere spirit of
sharing. While one can always—like what you said—have oneself an ivory tower to
rub shoulders with one’s fellow intellectuals, and it could work, but it will
always be that kind of festival.
Intentions, not size, dictate the tone and results of a festival
more than anything else.
How do you feel that the intentions of SGIFF have evolved
throughout the ages, given the periods of tumultuous changes that it went
through?
The Festival must always be relevant to the society and the time
it exists within.
It is not something that we do in a vacuum where we think of
what to do and then do it; it is only through a lot of conversations with
people much like yourself that we get a sense of what needs to be done, and
what the Festival can do to push certain things forward. That's how we react. We
may shape the Festival to bring it forward, but the ultimate view that the
festival is a platform to celebrate independent filmmaking and have an
independent mind and opinion about your art and your film remains with
us.
The most pertinent changes we went through were probably
regarding sponsorship. If you look back at history, finding sponsors was—and
still is—crucial, because the Festival does not generate much income, and it
cost money to run the festival and support the staff that will work the year
round to organize it.
Does that relate to the Festival's status as a nonprofit?
Correct. No matter our ideals, we need to face the reality of
things: we are not a business—we do not have a tangible product. Unlike
establishments like boutiques and restaurants, where the products are there and then,
it is not in the nature and capabilities of a film festival to conduct that
form of commerce.
Sure, we may sell tickets, but the fact remains that even if we
sell out every single film, we still make a loss. That is because we are always
bringing in the filmmakers, the casts, the production teams, for a screening of
maybe two hundred people, for what is the cost prize of paying for venue,
logistics, management. So, it is unavoidable that this is a loss-making pursuit.
The reason why so many art institutions and organizations need
grants is because they cannot exist without the money. To think that the
revenue from selling tickets to galleries and exhibitions could pay for all the
exhibits and programmes is laughable; most of the time, it is barely adequate
to cover most organizations’ operation costs, let alone acquiring the
historical and artistic artifacts they showcase.
For the Festival, we face the same issues too. Throughout the
last few years, we hoped that we have become more aware about how to work with
the sponsors better: to let them see what the festival is about, and to get
them to believe what the festival is about, such that certain elements that
work for us could work for them too. For example, we could open up Special
Presentations—which many festivals, like Busan and Toronto, have—dedicated to
high profile films, which allow for a certain kind of red carpet, and then
certain kinds of stars will come and generate a certain level of press attention.
So, is it safe to say that despite its underground roots, the
Festival itself has acquired a certain form of polish, even if it is just to
survive?
You are right, however, we did try to do it in a way that is still
true to the heart of the Festival. The Special Presentation screenings like
‘Mrs K’, ‘Three Sassy Sisters’, and ‘The Road to Mandalay’ are actually
amongst the best films in the festival. The reasons why they were chosen go far
beyond us just wanting to bring in the stars: they were works of art that
deserved the attention.
In a way, we are still fine-tuning the best way to do it and
still stay true to the spirit of the films. This is actually very interesting,
because when we first came back in 2014, we were very unused to that sense of
melding celebrities with high art—I did not even have a jacket, and had to
borrow one; I did not know how to react to Juliette Binoche’s presence, precisely
because we have never done anything like that before, and it was a totally new
learning experience for all of us.
Things were literally crazy at the time: Zhang Ziyi was there, the
cameras were on steroids, and we did not know what the hell was going on.
However, in spite of all that, it had been a truly amazing experience—when I
spoke to Juliette Binoche, it was incredibly heartening to know that despite the
fact that she is a mega star, she is also a real person who loves her art and
is as dedicated as to her craft as any artist worth their salt should be. She
is a true artist, and she is a beautiful human being.
Coming back to the sponsors, it is understandable that they tend
to need to have bigger names because that's what they are familiar with and
what they see as certain mileage for their brands and their sponsorship. Hence,
for us to find that balance between the well known and the well crafted is
important to the integrity of the Festival in ways more than just artistic.
Do you think that the Festival has a duty to educate the public
in terms of its films, or that the films should speak for themselves and the
audience should appreciate the films by their own merits as opposed to through
their curatorship?
As the saying goes, “you can lead a horse to water, but you cannot make it drink.” My take is that it is the responsibility of a festival film programmer to be the bridge between the artwork and the audience.
Make no bones about it, there need to be tremendous respect from
both sides. The audience needs to understand that a festival programmer has
their own curatorial processes, and that each act of selection represents a
labor of love, while the programmer need to understand that different audience
members will have different ideas about the film; some may absolutely despise
it, while others may actually love it as well.
That may actually be one of the biggest joy of the programmer,
to watch the audience watch the film and realize that one has found people that
too thought to themselves, “Hey, I think this film is amazing.”
Have you ever found yourself disappointed by the ways an
audience found a film that you yourself liked?
While I can't force the audience to watch a film, it is still my job as a programmer to present the film in the best possible way, which means I need to moderate how I present the film to the audience, how the film is written about in the programme booklet, and how the film is publicized.
To bring something wholly unknown to an audience requires
presenting it in the best possible way, and there are many means of
communicating that: you could, for example, groups films together in certain
sections; write about the films with different styles; or even by curating the
stills that go on to illustrate the texts.
I feel that film-writing should be very
readable fundamentally. Everyone has read writings where they can see how transparently some
writers were trying to make themselves look good by writing very fancily to
show that, “Hey, I'm smart. I'm an interesting writer. Read me!” and that is
very off-putting.
I find that the toughest form of writing is to write clearly and
simply and still say something. To communicate subtlety clearly and concisely
is a very hard job to do, which is why you have to know your film really well:
you have to research and understand the art at a very basal level. It is the
job of the programmer to say this in the cleanest way possible.
However, this does not mean dumbing down the content—you can
still talk about big complex ideas—but you do need to talk about it in a manner
that someone who does not know of this work will consume it and conclude that
this is something worthy of their attention, rather than something to be left
to the insular cultural elites.
To those who practice the obtuse as intellectual
self-indulgence: Yes, you might get to show off your writing skills, but what
is the point? That's my philosophy, and I believe that anyone who has a mind to
comprehend and eyes to see can enjoy a film. I feel quite strongly about
this—film watching is a democracy, and there is no higher or lower
audience.
I am sure that if she has an open heart and an open mind, even
any regular old cleaning lady can be moved if you show her a Hou Hsiao-Hsien
film, because it is just great cinema that transcends everything.
Now that it is moving on into its third decade, what hopes does
the Festival have?
Actually, I think it is just to continue. This is because what it means to be able to continue is that we are still doing a relevant job; that what we do has meaning and relevance to the local and the SEA film community and industry; and to allow newer generations of people who came through the Festival to believe in the Festival in a way that those of us who saw the original could not, and find a purpose to continue the spirit of the Festival for.