Summer, the big season for Chinese movies, is drawing to a close. The newspapers are full of ads for pictures from the U.S. and Hong Kong--for farcical comedies, kungfu flicks, sci-fi adventures, and old reruns--but locally made films are scarce: just a few horror movies, a military academy farce, and a raft of pictures for kids and teenagers.

It makes a filmgoer long for the summer of two years ago. That was a high point for Taiwan's "new cinema," when the works of the "new directors" were coming out one on top of the other: Wan Jen's "Super Citizen," Hou Hsiao-hsien's "The Time to Live and the Time to Die," Li You-ning's "Spring Beyond the Bamboo Fence," Wang T'ung's "Run Away". . . .

A couple of years later, where has the "new cinema" gone? And what are the "new directors" up to?

A few examples will suffice: Edward Yang is off in Hong Kong directing a picture for a company there; Chang Yi, after a failure with "This Love of Mine," is working on a movie strictly for children; K'o Yi-cheng is making advertising films at a commercial studio; and Tseng Chuang-hsiang has dropped out of films and become a scriptwriter for public television.

The beginnings of Taiwan's "new cinema" go back to 1982. Local film companies were getting battered by the competition from Hong Kong when the Central Motion Picture Corporation decided in desperation to try an experiment. It put up a shoestring NT$4 million budget (around US$100,000 at the time) and invited four fledgling directors--Jim Tao, Edward Yang, K'o Yi-cheng, and Chang Yi--to collaborate on a portmanteau film in four episodes called "In Our Time."

This "risky" and "experimental" venture surprised everyone by proving a solid success at the box office, despite having a low-key plot, a slow pace, and no special gimmicks or stars. "In Our Time" laid the foundation for Taiwan's "new cinema."

With the strenuous backing of general manager Ming Chi and scriptwriters Hsiao Yeh and Wu Nien-chen, Central Motion Pictures went on to produce several films aimed at more than simply the dollar sign, among them Ch'en K'un-hou's "Growing Up" and Hou Hsiao-hsien and Tseng Chuang-hsiang's "The Sandwich Man," giving further impetus to the "new cinema."

Besides fresh photographic techniques, the films offered thoughtful, self-aware subject matter, often focused on Taiwan's coming of age over the past 40 years as experienced by the lower and middle classes. Viewers were happily surprised to discover that local Chinese films, besides offering escapist entertainment in the quest of commercial profit, could also seriously reflect and comment on realistic human life and social change. So even though the "new cinema" was limited in quantity (no more than ten or so films a year) and never represented the industry's mainstream, it still earned broad attention and affirmation.

Taiwan's new cinema soon began winning recognition overseas, as works by the new directors captured prizes and awards at major film festivals in Switzerland, France, and West Germany. Besides affirming the value of the films themselves, the recognition has made a valuable contribution to the ROC's international image.

In addition, the new cinema's focus on the joys and trials of ordinary people can give foreigners a much deeper and broader understanding of the Chinese people than that afforded by the Bruce Lee kungfu character.

The scriptwriter Chu T'ien-wen has written that every nation now is strenuously pushing "cultural exports," the Communist countries being no exception. And films, which represent a synthesis of several art forms, are on the front line of the battle. Match-ups between films from the ROC and Communist China at international exhibitions are inevitable, and we can't win these "cultural battles" without offering works of high quality and substance.

Unfortunately, local films that have won laurels on the cultural battlefield internationally, except for receiving an NT$100,000 award from the Government Information Office, often lose out on the commercial battlefield at home.

When Yang's "Taipei Story," which had earned an award from the International Film Critics' Association at the Lucarno International Film Festival, set a record for being pulled from local theaters after just four days, many film companies and investors began to get cold feet. The film industry, which has been in a recession anyway, started to look on the new cinema as "poison at the box office."

Is it?

K'o Yi-cheng's "Reunion" grossed NT$30 million, and Chang Yi's "Jade Love" did well with both critics and the public. So those who work in the new cinema naturally think not.

"Making films has always been a matter of you win some, you lose some," Chang Yi points out. "If you consider the distribution rate, a 'new cinema' film is not necessarily a bigger loser than a purely commercial movie."

Edward Yang, who had successes with "That Day on the Beach" and "The Terrorizers," but bombed with "Taipei Story," exclaims: "Who can guarantee that any one particular film will be a hit?" He adds that some commercial movies that film companies have hired big stars for and racked their brains to publicize have proved extravagant failures.

Hsiao Yeh goes a step further. There are many reasons for poor performance at the box office. "Before blaming the new cinema, the film industry should reflect on how well it does its promotion and planning work," he says.

The new cinema itself has some cause for reflection. As The Economist pointed out in a recent article on Chinese cinema, a shortage of good scripts has proved a liability. Too many are "episodic canters" through the changes in Taiwan society over the past 38 years, "loosely structured and hard to distinguish" with "new formulas replacing the old cliches."

There is no hiding the fact, however, that the public must also share some of the blame. Weaned on Hollywood and television, audiences are accustomed to treating film as purely escapist entertainment: the more stereotyped and mindless the better. The resulting divergence between artistic achievement and ticket receipts is not hard to imagine.

Tseng Chuang-hsiang is one of those who hopes that audience taste will improve with exposure to better films. "And there's not just one single kind of audience," he says. "Chinese movies are usually aimed only at children and teenagers, but older and better educated people are also worth going after."

Some critics advocate cutting production costs by using cheaper 16mm film and limiting distribution to selected theaters to maintain commercial viability.

Does the new cinema have a future? Discerning filmgoers are waiting--and hoping to watch.

[Picture Caption]

Four foreign films, two from Taiwan, and one from Hong Kong--which one w ill draw the most viewers?

"Dust in the Wind," like others of Hou Hsiao-hsien's films, has growing up and first love as a theme.

Hsiao Yeh, one of the moving forces behind the "new cinema," says, "We're tired. It's time a new generation carried on."

Tseng Chuang-hsiang has been out of films for over two years, but he still lights up talking about them.

At this film poster exhibit, posters for Western films were the main attractions.

Local films this year are aimed mainly at teenagers.

Chang Yi at work in the studio dubbing one of his films.

K'o Yi-cheng is meticulous when making commercials, too.

"Dust in the Wind," like others of Hou Hsiao-hsien's films, has growing up and first love as a theme.

Tseng Chuang-hsiang has been out of films for over two years, but he still lights up talking about them.

Hsiao Yeh, one of the moving forces behind the "new cinema," says, "We're tired. It's time a new generation carried on.".

At this film poster exhibit, posters for Western films were the main attractions.

Local films this year are aimed mainly at teenagers.

Chang Yi at work in the studio dubbing one of his films.

K'o Yi-cheng is meticulous when making commercials, too.