What sort of film would have resulted if, in the mid 1960s, Busby Berkeley, fresh from his gig on 'Jumbo', had been invited by none other than Chairman Mao to realize a project styled 'a song and dance epic', for the benefit of the entire People's Republic of China to digest as a picture show entertainment? Something flashy, but with a message. Something to enliven and uplift the people in ways that even the 'Little Red Book' could not achieve. Well, Buzz never took up the 'offer', but the film which emerged, 'Dongfang Hong' (aka 'The East is Red') certainly ranks as one of the most impressive musicals ever made, despite being buried in obscurity. Film critic Elvis Mitchell, upon seeing clips of 'Dongfang', thought first of Vincente Minelli as far as style is concerned. It's true, there's more of 'An American in Paris' here than '42nd Street', but that's where the film's message comes in: wow the people.
The music? Alfred Newman or Johnny Green could have scored it! A lavish, full-blown symphonic soundtrack, with ancient and modern folk instruments expertly integrated. A huge Robert Shaw-ish chorus provides vocal bulwark duty. The music is properly grand, yet frequently touching and even moving. The camera-work, in mural-like anamorphic widescreen (probably old Bausch & Lomb CinemaScope lenses, obtained via Hong Kong) is marvelously fluid and competent, even stately. Hal Rosson or Leon Shamroy might have shot it! The art direction, settings (ostensibly in the mighty Great Hall of the People), and costumes have all the panache of a Metro or 20th-Fox production, coming at you in blazing 'People's Color'.
Can we assume that, in the almost total absence of cultural and commercial exchange at this time between the West and China, bootleg reels of, say, 'The Goldwyn Follies' or 'The Dolly Sisters' or 'Invitation to the Dance' were smuggled into deepest Red China and dissected as far as style and technique are concerned? In the absence of teachers and colleagues, film viewing itself is an amazingly effective instructor. If one has the hardware, the on screen talent, and the cash, certainly the rest is do-able by example.
But it isn't all just showy technique. The collective performance by the anonymous actors, dancers and musicians is utterly sincere, totally professional, and undoubtedly dedicated. It's as if their lives depended on it(!). Some of the moments of drama brought forth in this cinematic instrument of persuasion beggar description as far as epicness is concerned. The exaggerations employed are both glorious and have a traditionally ancient quality. They are not so much preposterous when one considers all the extreme travails that China went through in the first half of the 20th century. On the other hand, it's really quite hilarious to see machine gun-toting partisans frolicking in and out of marsh grass to the bouncy rhythm of a coy song, and the goofball depictions of the Western-ish slave owners and merchant creeps are basically pretty silly. But most of the picture is sheer wonder, and the pace does not let up. One sequence is particularly inspired: followers of the Chairman grow in number; they carry torches in the form of neat little oscillating 'bubble-lamps', which increase exponentially as they progress across the vast landscape of the painted backdrop, 'spreading the word', all done with thrilling stagecraft (and not cinematic) technique.
The profoundly serious pronouncements by the on screen 'narrators', which usher us from scene to scene, look like something out of 'The Ten Commandments' (1956), what with the stylized lighting and portentous tone in which they are done.
At the end, the conductor of the orchestra, who has been herculean in his efforts to guide this massive entity through its course with all the confidence of a Bernstein or a Stokowski or a Toscanini, is able to give one final gesture: a grandiose rendition of the 'Internationale' to wrap up the show, and bring down the house.
With the knowledge that China's Cultural Revolution was such a tumultuous and horrific period in which untold numbers of Chinese suffered and died, it is perhaps awkward to praise such a propaganda piece such as 'Dongfang'. For those who know Chinese or, if one is watching a subtitled version, there is the predictable anti-Western and naturally pro-Communist rhetoric woven throughout the whole, but the film is actually quite accurate in the story it tells. Glorifying the regime of Mao is certainly the imperative. This is accomplished by sheer epic theatricalism. A touch of Hollywood, a touch of Peking Opera, and lots of great tunes, tableaux, acrobatics, and triumphalism accompany the mega-powerful purpose of this picture: propaganda. Nevertheless, 'Dongfang' is no 'Triumph of the Will'. It is indeed a 'song and dance epic', which brings far more fascination and sheer entertainment qualities with it, rather than the baggage of uneasy guilt. It is important to remember that this picture was shot before the Cultural Revolution really got started, and its message is downright innocent compared to what was to follow. The only real similarity with 'Triumph' (besides propaganda as choreographed showbiz) is that the director of 'Dongfang was also a woman. Ping Wang was respected enough to be given this prestigious assignment in a climate where certain women, despite everything else that was going on, attained opportunities of consequence. Chairman Mao's wife was heavily involved in motion pictures.
The film has a lengthy text prologue which is accompanied by a much-repeated rendition of the 'Internationale'.
Fans of 'Dongfang' will note that there exists a companion piece, 'The Long March Melody' (aka: 'The Red Army - No Afraid of Long March (sic) - Song Series of Long March (Documentary of Stage Art)', also directed by Ping Wang (1976). It is a 'song series program re-edited and acted according to "Song Series of Long March" composed by comrade Xiao Hua', (and presumably, Ding Shande).
The music? Alfred Newman or Johnny Green could have scored it! A lavish, full-blown symphonic soundtrack, with ancient and modern folk instruments expertly integrated. A huge Robert Shaw-ish chorus provides vocal bulwark duty. The music is properly grand, yet frequently touching and even moving. The camera-work, in mural-like anamorphic widescreen (probably old Bausch & Lomb CinemaScope lenses, obtained via Hong Kong) is marvelously fluid and competent, even stately. Hal Rosson or Leon Shamroy might have shot it! The art direction, settings (ostensibly in the mighty Great Hall of the People), and costumes have all the panache of a Metro or 20th-Fox production, coming at you in blazing 'People's Color'.
Can we assume that, in the almost total absence of cultural and commercial exchange at this time between the West and China, bootleg reels of, say, 'The Goldwyn Follies' or 'The Dolly Sisters' or 'Invitation to the Dance' were smuggled into deepest Red China and dissected as far as style and technique are concerned? In the absence of teachers and colleagues, film viewing itself is an amazingly effective instructor. If one has the hardware, the on screen talent, and the cash, certainly the rest is do-able by example.
But it isn't all just showy technique. The collective performance by the anonymous actors, dancers and musicians is utterly sincere, totally professional, and undoubtedly dedicated. It's as if their lives depended on it(!). Some of the moments of drama brought forth in this cinematic instrument of persuasion beggar description as far as epicness is concerned. The exaggerations employed are both glorious and have a traditionally ancient quality. They are not so much preposterous when one considers all the extreme travails that China went through in the first half of the 20th century. On the other hand, it's really quite hilarious to see machine gun-toting partisans frolicking in and out of marsh grass to the bouncy rhythm of a coy song, and the goofball depictions of the Western-ish slave owners and merchant creeps are basically pretty silly. But most of the picture is sheer wonder, and the pace does not let up. One sequence is particularly inspired: followers of the Chairman grow in number; they carry torches in the form of neat little oscillating 'bubble-lamps', which increase exponentially as they progress across the vast landscape of the painted backdrop, 'spreading the word', all done with thrilling stagecraft (and not cinematic) technique.
The profoundly serious pronouncements by the on screen 'narrators', which usher us from scene to scene, look like something out of 'The Ten Commandments' (1956), what with the stylized lighting and portentous tone in which they are done.
At the end, the conductor of the orchestra, who has been herculean in his efforts to guide this massive entity through its course with all the confidence of a Bernstein or a Stokowski or a Toscanini, is able to give one final gesture: a grandiose rendition of the 'Internationale' to wrap up the show, and bring down the house.
With the knowledge that China's Cultural Revolution was such a tumultuous and horrific period in which untold numbers of Chinese suffered and died, it is perhaps awkward to praise such a propaganda piece such as 'Dongfang'. For those who know Chinese or, if one is watching a subtitled version, there is the predictable anti-Western and naturally pro-Communist rhetoric woven throughout the whole, but the film is actually quite accurate in the story it tells. Glorifying the regime of Mao is certainly the imperative. This is accomplished by sheer epic theatricalism. A touch of Hollywood, a touch of Peking Opera, and lots of great tunes, tableaux, acrobatics, and triumphalism accompany the mega-powerful purpose of this picture: propaganda. Nevertheless, 'Dongfang' is no 'Triumph of the Will'. It is indeed a 'song and dance epic', which brings far more fascination and sheer entertainment qualities with it, rather than the baggage of uneasy guilt. It is important to remember that this picture was shot before the Cultural Revolution really got started, and its message is downright innocent compared to what was to follow. The only real similarity with 'Triumph' (besides propaganda as choreographed showbiz) is that the director of 'Dongfang was also a woman. Ping Wang was respected enough to be given this prestigious assignment in a climate where certain women, despite everything else that was going on, attained opportunities of consequence. Chairman Mao's wife was heavily involved in motion pictures.
The film has a lengthy text prologue which is accompanied by a much-repeated rendition of the 'Internationale'.
Fans of 'Dongfang' will note that there exists a companion piece, 'The Long March Melody' (aka: 'The Red Army - No Afraid of Long March (sic) - Song Series of Long March (Documentary of Stage Art)', also directed by Ping Wang (1976). It is a 'song series program re-edited and acted according to "Song Series of Long March" composed by comrade Xiao Hua', (and presumably, Ding Shande).