World Erotic Film Masterpieces Appreciation 3

Author: None
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2003-03-02
Features: My films are not pornographic but full of sensuality. Sex is a celebration, a joyful game. I couldn’t help but express sex; I’ve always been fascinated by depicting it alongside violence. I could have made them more pornographic, but I’m not interested in that at all. In Basic Instinct, Sharon Stone and Michael Douglas were no longer ordinary actors—they were practically a perfect dance pair. In The Lover, the filming of the emotional scenes lasted for two years. The performance of the Hong Kong actor Tony Leung was highly successful, but I’d rather emphasize that the 17-year-old British girl Jane March’s sensuality and maturity in the film took me by surprise. I also used some tricks to make her scenes more realistic and vivid. For example, I often had her run before filming, so she’d appear breathless; or I’d gently rub her cheeks to make her blush with shyness. The confusion of erotica is the confusion of beauty. Once, gazing at the setting sun, tears flowed in the desert; once, facing the willow-lined shore at dawn, the wind carried the moonlight, and without a word, sorrow was frozen in silence. In the dim light, I recalled the eternal one. We have missed too much beauty in our lives, devoted to it with the perseverance of a lifetime. Erotica is a window, from which one can ascend to a high tower and count the endless styles of beauty from ancient to modern times—Beethoven, Eliot, George Sand, Joyce, Marguerite Duras. Today, who hasn’t seen the old moon? The moon of today once lit the ancient ones. Erotica is the brilliant starry sky adorned with human life. Perhaps one of them is your star. Erotica is fate. The obsessive “wasting oneself for love” of youth, the “saying it’s autumn, but why is it so cool” of youth, the piano music confessing endless sorrow, the great river flowing with sorrow across the sky, the bedside changing to tomorrow’s tragedy, the heart lingering with yesterday’s tenderness—when the waters dry and flowers fall, watching the white clouds drift leisurely. Erotica is a landscape woven from the unrewarded golden threads. After experiencing the beauty of the world, one turns back and sees—there is you, there is me. Erotica is a dream written in the passionate blood of the cuckoo bird. In the dream, one picks up a drifting red leaf—giving it to you, giving it to me. Erotica can be understood but not expressed. All the unrewarded and all the passionate come together in a book. Under the red window and bamboo shadows, by the lamp, one smiles at life and asks, “When has one truly woken from a dream?”