Cult Of Criterion: A Confucian Confusion

Taiwanese New Wave staple Edward Yang's first comedy pits three sitcoms' worth of ambitious, horny yuppies against each other.

Cult Of Criterion: A Confucian Confusion
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In Cult Of CriterionThe A.V. Club highlights a new release from The Criterion Collection each month, examining the films entering an increasingly accessible film canon.

Though best known for his vast and sneakily profound dramas A Brighter Summer Day and Yi Yi, Taiwanese New Wave staple Edward Yang’s first comedy is as sharp and urban as the rest of his brief filmography, with a snarky, vicious cynicism aimed at a group of flailing yuppies. A Confucian Confusion so deeply digs at its vapid corporate ensemble, sexually ping-ponging between one another in pursuit of vague ambitions, material acquisitions, and cultural obligations, that it could be called Taiwanese Psycho. But these chaotic collisions of socially cutthroat Patrick Batemen still possess Yang’s underlying hope, or maybe even expectation, that something sweeter lies beneath all the modern posturing.

Yang’s 1994 film takes place over two days and nights in Taipei, only a few years after the Wild Lily student movement in Taiwan and the Tiananmen Square protests in China, during a time of democratization and the final days of the Four Tigers’ economic boom period. A Confucian Confusion captures this fragile moment, both rapidly changing and dangerously complacent, in a shotgun spread of capitalistic caricatures all shot at Yang’s typical remove.

There’s Molly (Shu-Chun Ni)—vassalized to run a media company by her rich-kid boyfriend Akeem (Bosen Wang)—who employees her sister (Li-Mei Chen) to host a woo-woo talk show and her friend Qiqi (Shiang-chyi Chen) as an assistant. Molly’s company works with skeevy sellout playwright Birdy (Ye-Ming Wang), who’s plagiarizing Molly’s brother-in-law (Hung Hung), an author concerned with his own vacuous popularity. Also in the mix are Akeem’s scheming pal Larry (Danny Deng), new hire Feng (Richie Li), and Qiqi’s bureaucrat boyfriend Ming (Weiming Wang). 

There are a ton of characters amid this Confusion, and you won’t be blamed for not following everything. But it’s all in service of something simple: Everyone is sleeping with each other, or suspects that everyone around them is, while employment and sex are conflated to such an extent that the relationships linking the sprawling cast all boil down to primal questions of trust and security. Love? Who’s got the time?

The film’s black-hearted humor, and nose-thumbing ties to tradition, can be summed up in two pithy lines plucked from Yang’s oceanic script: “Hurt no one, but always cover your back. Haven’t you heard this old teaching from Confucius?” The speaker, numbercruncher Larry, is the least sympathetic and most conniving of the cast, one whose manipulations are truly empty of emotion. These link to the empty, often funny maxims that serve as chapter headings, and to the deflated egos of the film’s hollowed-out movers and shakers (especially Bosen Wang’s Akeem and Ye-Ming Wang’s Birdy), who serve as the loudmouthed clowns of the film’s circus.

But it’s not a film fully bought into the corruption of modernity. Yang navigates the rest of his characters’ snappy ’90s quarter-life crises—weathering Reality Bites-like industry commentary and cross-strait political allegory alike—through these choppy, self-serving waters and out the other side. Art and business, East and West, may eddy and mix on screen, captured in ads and brands and NBA games, but Yang’s lasting images are built on stark togetherness set apart from this globalized blur.

Briefly bonded in bed, or caught on the asphalt in rapturous headlights, or backlit by the cityscape, mere shadows lurking under businesses and buildings, Yang’s pairings become sublime even as they nip and tear at each other. Transactional relationships blossom into more, or fall away when one party sees the light. The depressed author of a misanthropic book titled A Confucian Confusion (perhaps a bit of directorial self-insert on Yang’s part) finds purpose in life, while the film’s final shot lingers on a couple’s immediate, heartfelt reconnection outside an elevator. Even in the high-rises, bars, and cabs that form the city’s labyrinth and comprise the labyrinthine plot’s settings, it’s not impossible to find an exit to something greater.

 
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