Q: The Golden Horse Awards give individuals involved in Chinese-language film a venue where they can meet and exchange views. How has this come about?

A: It’s a culmination of trends. The Golden Horse Awards haven’t limited themselves to Taiwanese film. They’ve always honored both Hong Kong and Taiwanese cinema. In fact, the first two best picture awards went to Sun, Moon, and Star and The Love Eterne, both of which were Hong Kong films.

More than 200 Chinese-language films were submitted to this year’s 50th Golden Horse Film Festival. Hou Hsiao-hsien, chairman of the Golden Horse’s executive committee, and Wen Tien-hsiang, its executive director, announced the festival’s selections in early October.

As times changed, aspects of the Golden Horses’ rules began producing complications. For example, nationality restrictions meant that foreign nationals who had clearly contributed to the films they worked on couldn’t be nominated. Christopher Doyle’s work as cinematographer on Edward Yang’s That Day, on the Beach is a case in point. Location criteria were also an issue. Stanley Kwan shot Center Stage in mainland China, and Ang Lee made Pushing Hands in New York [which would have made them ineligible prior to 1992].

The nationality restrictions were relaxed in 1992 to permit all ethnic Chinese (except mainland Chinese citizens), as well as non-Chinese who had worked on at least three Chinese-language films, to be nominated for awards. The restrictions were eased further in 1996 to allow the nomination of individuals working on mainland Chinese films, effectively enabling the nomination of any person working on a Chinese-language film. It was these amendments that allowed mainland director ­Jiang Wen’s In the Heat of the Sun to win that year’s best picture award.

Over the last decade, there have been big changes in the film industry as well, prompting the Golden Horses to broaden nominations to encompass all “ethnically Chinese films” in 2009. For the purposes of the awards, a movie is considered “ethnically Chinese” if its principal creators, meaning the director and at least half of the credited cast and crew, are ethnically Chinese. Malaysian-Chinese director Wi Ding Ho’s Pinoy Sunday, a story about Taiwan’s Filipino laborers, is therefore considered an “ethnically Chinese” film. As are Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Lust, Caution, even though their funding and technical personnel were largely non-Chinese.

One of the primary distinctions between the Golden Horse Awards and the Hong Kong Film Awards or mainland China’s Golden Rooster Awards is that our recipients need not be our own citizens. We believe that opening up the awards to non-Taiwanese encourages the local industry to improve.

Q: The Golden Horse Awards have existed for half a century. How do you cast off that burden and keep them relevant?

A: You have to embrace your past to begin building the future. We needn’t forget the fact that the awards’ name [jin ma in Mandarin] was originally intended to recall the martial fortitude of those on the front lines of Kinmen [jin] and Matsu [ma]. The first few awards ceremonies were even timed to honor then-president ­Chiang Kai-shek’s birthday.

The American Oscars were created by a few major motion picture studios looking to consolidate their power within the industry. As the Oscars became more influential and attracted more attention, they improved.

The Golden Horses aim to make movies better by separating the filmic wheat from the chaff. The judging committee consists of directors, critics, and individuals, in a given ratio. We moved towards younger and more expert judges in recent years, but not out of disrespect to the industry’s more experienced figures. We just feel that people who’ve been out of the industry for some time and aren’t immersed in its contemporary trends shouldn’t be judging.

There are no quantifiable scientific standards for judging art, yet it’s not a black-box process. Critiques and debate about the Golden Horses only serve to enhance their value. The fact that major industry players such as Ang Lee and Andy Lau are willing to serve as judges is a testament to the awards’ importance.

Q: What significance and influence do the Golden Horse Awards have for Hong Kong and mainland Chinese film?

A: They are even more important there. More than 200 films typically go into the first round of review for each year’s awards. The judges sequester themselves for a while to watch them all and familiarize themselves with every detail of their production. Their discussions and debates are amazing. The process gives even independent films a fair shot; they have just as much chance of winning as big-budget extravaganzas and box-office hits.

Hong Kong director Stanley Kwan once went so far as to say that the Golden Horses had saved him. The production company behind his film Rouge wanted to cut it as a ghost story, but then it garnered a Golden Horse nomination even before its theatrical release. When it went on to win, it was released uncut, earning Kwan a reputation as a meticulous director capable of capturing the inner lives of women on film.

Mainland Chinese actors Li Bing­bing, who won best actress for The Message, and ­Huang Bo, who won best actor for Cow, both saw their reputations soar in the wake of their awards. They’re now happy to lend a hand whenever we ask. Even though Li is currently filming Transformers: Age of Extinction, she found time in her schedule to be a judge and a presenter at this year’s awards. They make time for us because they value the Golden Horses.

Q: Are Taiwan–Hong Kong–mainland China coproductions the future of Chinese-language film?

A: Coproduction is one option. Access to the mainland market comes at a price. You can’t make films that are too Taiwan-centric because your partners will demand that you “keep it grounded.” Zone Pro Site: The Moveable Feast, for example, is a Taiwan-centric film that presents Taiwanese banqueting culture and has to be seen in Minnanese to be appreciated. Mainland audiences are unlikely to relate to it.

Hong Kong also has a completely different aesthetic, industry, and approach to filmmaking than mainland China. But when Hong Kong filmmakers want to use mainland resources, whether capital, sets, landscapes, or what have you, they can draw on years of experience of working together, and their cooperation just keeps getting better.

For example, when director Johnny To, known for his cops-and-robbers films, made Don’t Go Breaking My Heart, a very “Hong Kong style” love story, he wanted to incorporate some mainland Chinese elements, altering the script to make the protagonist a young woman whose career had taken her from Su­zhou to Hong Kong. Doze Niu’s Love is another example. Niu not only cast Zhao Wei as a mainland tourist visiting Taiwan, but also made smart use of both Tai­pei and Bei­jing, intercutting stories and scenes from both locations.

To’s Drug War, which offered a detailed look at the drug trade and drug use, was an even bigger breakthrough. In the past, it would have been virtually impossible to get a film dealing with this kind of subject matter past the mainland censors. The mainland is clearly getting more comfortable with the coproduction model and is evolving in response to it.

Exchanges among people in the industry are inevitable. Young Taiwanese actors such as Gwei Lun-mei and Mark Chao won’t be satisfied working only on Taiwanese films. Not to mention that many directors from mainland China and Hong Kong think that Taiwanese actors’ professional training makes them the best in the China–Taiwan–Hong Kong region.