Joan Chen, Guerrilla

From a teenage star of Chinese propaganda movies to an Orientalized Western sex symbol, Joan Chen has, by her own account, spent much of her career giving in to other people’s visions. But with Xiu Xiu: The Sent-Down Girl, Chen makes an abrupt about-face. The film, shot in Chen’s native China, not only marks the actress’ debut behind the camera, but was shot without government approval in a country that requires thorough censorship of all productions. Trying to hide a crew of 60 in the shoot’s remote locations, smuggling film across the border without the opportunity to watch dailies, Chen says she felt at times more "like a criminal" than an artist, but the resulting film is well worth the struggle. While occasionally ragged in style (perhaps a reflection of its guerrilla origins), Xiu Xiu’s potent mixture of romanticism and allegory strikes a well-aimed blow at an inhuman regime.

Chen, now 38, was born into the heart of the Cultural Revolution, and while she was never "sent down" herself, she remembers "every other child" from her Shanghai neighborhood meeting Xiu Xiu’s fate. "It was all anybody talked about at the time," says the director from her home in San Francisco, "who got sent down and to where. We were all curious, and of course afraid of being sent down ourselves."

Chen escaped that fate when she was picked by Mao’s wife to star in a series of movies about the Long March, which led to national stardom, and eventually to a career in Western movies and a relocation to the U.S. But Chen says she has always felt connected to her past, and continued to spend "a lot of time on a regular basis" in China until the birth of her daughter nine months ago.

Chen says she’s struck by the thought that "I could have been her."

Xiu Xiu is based on a novel by Chen’s friend and fellow Bay Area resident Yan Geling, and Chen explains her transition to directing simply: "I just fell in love with the novel. When I read it, the images were so poignant and beautiful I knew it had the potential to be a really good film." But since making the film, Chen has come to think that another reason underlay her decision to make Xiu Xiu. "I think subconsciously I made it to commemorate my generation," she reflects. "I needed to bring an emotional closure to a part of myself, a fractured life that [happened when] I all of a sudden tore myself away from China and transplanted myself in the United States."

Moreover, says Chen, she’s struck by the thought that "I could have been her. In a way, [Xiu Xiuís fate] is a shared destiny that I have somehow avoided. And most of the time I feel very fortunate to have avoided it, but sometimes I feel left out."

It was never Chen’s plan to shoot without authorization, but months of trying to cooperate with the Chinese government left her with no other options. "We tried just to have them give us a permit, making a little change here, a little change there, but eventually we realized it was impossible. I just realized that if I compromised too much I might as well not make the film."

Since the Chinese government got wind of Xiu Xiu, Chen has been banned from making movies in China, and the film, while widely circulated in the bootleg market, is unlikely to be exhibited publicly in China despite winning seven awards, including best picture, at the Taiwanese Oscars. But Chen takes solace in the fact that, as her heroine finally does, she has learned to stick to her ideals regardless of cost. "We all had a dream, and we felt it could be realized by certain compromises. But the movie rejects compromise. If I’d raised the money from Hollywood," she says firmly, "they would have wanted to make changes just the way the Chinese government did. But money came from people who didn’t want control. They just wanted to support me as an artist, and give me one opportunity to be truthful."

—Sam Adams