Tomb-Sweeping Day is a holiday peculiar to the Chinese. Many families, carrying their babies and giving a helping hand to their grandparents, will use this spring day to go for a hike in the hills in the suburbs where most graveyards are found. In performing the ceremony properly, the old Chinese saying about worshipping one's ancestors and being thorough in the preparation of funeral rites for their parents is sure to come to mind, and so one can't help but think about dying, a subject avoided on most days.
As far as traditional Chinese were concerned, this question was a "black hole." Although poets wrote, "Time passes by the hundred generations" or "blue about how fleeting life's flash, envying the endlessness of the Yangtze River," few talked thoroughly about the problem of death.
About living and dying, the Confucians have an attitude, "Not knowing life, how can we know death." Because Confucius emphasized "putting one's efforts where they would have an effect," he thought that it was no worth talking about death and was only concerned about the world of the living, staying away from questions about the origin of life.
Chuang Tzu, on the other hand, said that "heaven and earth have life with me together, the myriad of things and me are the same." He felt that an individual was just one phase of the evolutionary wheel. When a person dies, it becomes one of the myriad of living things; it's only different in form.
What is the meaning of life? Is there a world after death? One U.S. best seller was written by a doctor, who had collected more than a hundred true cases of people who had come back to life after being clinically dead. These people who returned from death all described the situation after death as follows: a free and easy feeling, peaceful and free from worldly worries. Hence people's present lives are only a stage between birth and death. It's like if today I went to Paris, and we are parted temporarily, and then two days later in New York we are reunited.
In addition, there are people who believe that "living in the here and now" is more important. They're not so concerned about what happens after death. In the "The Chinese View of Life and Death" (page 8), we delve into this age-old issue that is hard to get a good clear look at.
In 1895, the French invented movies, startling the world. A few years later, "Western Movie Drama," the first movie ever shown in China, was placed between a magic show and fireworks. The year was 1897.
In 1905, the first movie produced by Chinese Ting Chun Shan came out in Peking. It was based on the Chinese opera of the same name and starred the famous Tan Hsin-pei in the leading role. From this point on, the Chinese began to use film to explain the joys and sorrows of life.
Over the next 80 years, Chinese film would pass through a silent period before taking on sound. And because of political factors, the art of motion pictures would develop separately on the two sides of the Taiwan Strait. In comparison with the West, the general environment isn't as good, the people in the field are not as specialized, and the machinery isn't as advanced, but the Chinese on the two sides of the strait have recently continued to receive international recognition for their work. This year, at the Berlin International Film Festival (one of the three big international film festivals) The Wedding Banquet and Women from Lake of Scented Soul, from Taiwan and the mainland respectively, both won Golden Bears. (See page 32)
A Golden Bear was a much needed shot in the arm for the Taiwan movie industry, which has seen much of its most talented people leave the field as the number of films being made here has steadily declined.
"The Movie Year" activities have added fuel to the fire, encouraging people to go to the movies. "Warmth and Joy--The National Film Touring Exhibition" lead the attack (see page 42), providing a feast of 15 black and white movies. Such stars of yesteryear as Li Li-hua, Lei Chen, etc. came to the festival to appear in front of their adoring fans. Fans of old movies went back to when they were in their teens, and the young had a taste of history bitter and sweet.
But after the applause and the cheers, the problem are still to be solved: Making a movie that is good and a box-office hit at the same time is not easy, needing a willingness to invest in the movie business, a combination of professional production and filming, a moving and creative story, charming actors, and even movie theaters that make people happy. . . . These are all linked together; not one component can be missing.
The winning of a Golden Bear was a good sign, but we hope that this is a trend that will continue.
In Hou Hsiao-hsien's A Time to live and a Time to Die, the boy that is the main character has a life closely connected to the big tree in front of the temple.
Big Banyan trees, tall and shady, make people feel very cool. Kids can climb trees to find birds nests, underneath them they can spin tops; at the noisy festivals in front of trees you can see Taiwanese Opera, and hand puppet shows, buy popsicles and eat cotton candy. And under the trees, the elderly often gather together to tell stories, play chess, and drink tea. One the one hand, they're amusing themselves, and on the other they are making sure the kids don't get into any mischief.
In heavily developed Taiwan, where the ecological environment has been massively transformed, there are only about 800 trees that are over a 100 years old. They must withstand the attacks and threats of economic development and urban expansion, and unlike before, they cannot grow with wild abandon. The old mangos of Tainan's Yuching have been cut down recently so water pipes could be laid. The coconut palms along the Pingtung-Erluanpi road in Pingtung were chopped down to widen the road.
But what kind of meaning can an old tree hold for people? (See page 76). Academics say that just as old architecture can nourish people with civilization, an old tree lets future generations see one of the faces of Mother Nature. It is also an indication of life, tirelessly serving as a testimony to the history of natural preservation on this land.
Finally with deep regret we note that Peter Eberly, an American who had served as a Sinorama English editor for nearly a decade, passed away early in March from complications after having a benign tumor removed from his brain. A man of great sensitivity about and understanding of Chinese and Western culture, Peter will be deeply missed as a friend and as a colleague who directed the course of English translation here, and he will forever be remembered for his contributions in introducing Chinese culture.
