Save Matt Damon! — or, Why These Chinese Viewers Don’t Want You To See “The Great Wall”

Just about the only good thing that comes out of Chinese censorship is the popular talkback. The imagination of the online Chinese community leaps and soars, as they lightly arch their necks against the boot keeping them down. After all, they are kept in a rosy state of fresh chafe by whispered rumors of people taken away for posting a comment, the uncertainty of whether a favorite column will survive the latest round of official scrubbing, and goofy admissions from Chinese Internet companies that “aliens have abducted the webpage you’re trying to access”:




That cutesiness is the most outspoken the company can get about gag orders from on high. Chinese Internet users are fed up. They long to strike back at the daily scorn of censors powered by their tax dollars. Woe, then, to the object of their collective wrath, such as the collaboration between the Chinese and Hollywood, the movie “Great Wall” starring Matt Damon, due out February 2017.

Here is a quick sum-up of what the most upvoted Chinese users of (Goodreads and Imdb rolled into one), have to say about the “Great Wall”:

“So spineless Hollywood was knocked to its knees with cold hard Chinese cash – I can accept that. But why should our very own Matt Damon get dragged into this muck? Giv’im back to me!”

“I can’t tell you how much I wanted this icky movie to be one gigantic prank, just a cult movie concocted by Director Zhang Yimou.”

“Okay, fine, Jing Tian’s acting is world-class —— now will you please drop the gun?”

A little aside about the gun. The Chinese government brought in the operators of the Chinese equivalent of Rotten Tomatoes, IMDB and Amazon for a chiding recently. They thought the sites were not doing a good enough job as gatekeepers of movie-goer reviews. Ambitious well-heeled domestic productions that sail forth with the full blessing of the propaganda department consistently flounder on the open sea of audience opinion. The authorities ordered more patriotism and less criticism in movie reviews by users. In other words, the government has just made movie reviews political.

One of the upsides of the ban on political comments of any kind in China is the chromatic way it paints everything political, in the sense that it raises political awareness in people who otherwise wouldn’t notice or care. Censors cast a wide net. To debate whether soup kitchens, legal aid and tutoring networks for children should be supervised by the police can catapult your average Joanie swiping her iPhone 7 to dissident status overnight. Chinese Internet users return the courtesy by twiddling with the many and exquisitely painful thorns buried in the side of the Chinese leadership. In this instance, they maliciously speculate that Jing Tian, the female lead of “Great Wall,” got the role through high-level connections within the Chinese system.

For Jing Tian is a great mystery. Of a belabored, heavy-duty beauty, with eyes surgically enlarged to achieve the terror-stricken stare of silent-film era stars in vogue, she has starred in a series of box office and critical low-ballers that hemorrhaged eye-popping sums of money. A veteran Chinese co-star provided an insight into the reason for her low popularity. Her icebreaker on the set was nothing short of artless: “I don’t know the first thing about acting. Do your best with that!” Only someone who paid to play could have afforded such disarming candor. Who footed her bill? There is a list of four names in circulation. A deputy Vice Minister of Propaganda? One of the direct descendants of the men who founded People’s Republic of China on a platform of banning official privilege? The possibilities are as fruitfully ironic as the imagination of the online Chinese republic, the only place in China where one can speak up.

But “Great Wall” could have survived even an association with the hybrid monster of a proletarian princess, if it had been done well. Part of audience disappointment is directed at Zhang Yimou himself. This one-time Gold Lion winner, whose courageous exploration of forbidden cultural and political territory was once banned (“To Live”), morphed into a champion of the state long ago. His movies consistently toe the censor-mandated line that the people of China require benevolent despotism to save them from their own folly and weakness. Viewers will never tire of revisiting this smarting betrayal, by tearing Zhang’s output to shreds. Hollywood merely put the finishing touches on this disaster, spitting out a predictable script “with as many plot holes as monsters.”

Little surprise, then, that “Great Wall” is struggling with a 50% rating on Douban (worse than 93% of all fantasy movies), despite a surge of paid boosters who attack the film’s detractors for “kissing the foreigners’ ass” and “sneering condescension at their own culture.” (Both the government and businesses in China are adroit manipulators of culture wars – sounds familiar?)

The Chinese government has reportedly gotten very good at jiggling Western guilt about the legacy of imperialism to get what they want. That’s how it got all these movers and shakers of the American policy establishment to accept, for decades, the bad things it does to its own people. (The idea is that if China should stop manhandling the Chinese, chaos would ensue. It’s fitfully benevolent despotism seen from a different angle.) If you feel bad that the Western powers had humiliated China for 150 years, keep that 50% rating in mind when debating whether to shell out another $39 bucks for your next movie outing. Follow the Chinese  people’s advice and skip the “Great Wall.”  The Chinese government would be delighted that the West is finally, in keeping with their rising power, looking to the Chinese for guidance. President Xi and company figure that the average Chinese patriot will be more willing to overlook the way they are treated at home, if their country is great again abroad. Sounds familiar?


Where Has All the Chinese Internet Traffic Gone? – Business Solutions to Content Overload in China

The Chinese content market offers a fascinating comparison to the rest of the global Internet. According to research by KPCB and Hillhouse Capital, Chinese Internet users numbered 688 million by the end of 2015. Sina Weibo, China’s Twitter clone, saw its market worth catch up to Twitter at around 11 billion dollars in 2016. Tencent, the owner of popular social messaging app WeChat, achieved a market capitalization of $242.04 billion in August 2016.

An underlying factor to consider in understanding China’s online content market is its unique appeal to readers. The Internet offers Chinese users more space for free expression and access to news than offline. That unique appeal translates into more eyeballs and advertising revenue, and Chinese businesses have been fighting fiercely over the prize. Here is a snapshot of two notable trends in China’s mobile content apps market, currently dominated by WeChat but remaining open to ambitious and nimble startups:

Information overload

Like elsewhere, content has exploded on the Chinese Internet and harmed user experience. For example, the Financial Times ran an article in April 2016 titled “Overloaded China users battle ‘WeChat fatigue’” stating that many of the app’s 806 million users find WeChat content, distributed through channels which include 13 million official accounts, “overwhelming and useless.” According to academics at Fudan University and Guangdong Foreign Language University, China’s top mobile news apps, such as Tencent and Sohu, suffer from the same malaise of overflowing information that is badly organized and comes with little personalization. One important demographic factor underpinning this problem of too much content chasing too few viewers is that the growth in both users and time spent on the Internet has been flattening, according to the tech site Huxiu.

User response in turn has been punishing. According to a year-end report on the “WeChat Ecosystem” by Yeezan, a digital media service platform, official accounts are losing followers and page views; featured stories at popular accounts (some with millions of followers) see an 8.9% click-through rate. Dishonest tactics attempting to cover up such decline illustrate the extent of the problem. Reports of faked clicks and bought “zombie” followers to the tune of 1,000 for $3 on WeChat went viral in September 2016.

Solutions to information overload reshaping the content space

In some fascinating ways, WeChat is illustrating the possible outer limits of content distribution via social networking. Chinese commentators have pointed to sources of strain within WeChat that are likely contributing to its declining reach:

1. As social grows, quality slumps:

Both the quality and personalization of the information users receive tend to decline as social network broadens and content from less familiar contacts dilute the information stream, until the stream explodes by several orders of magnitude;

2. Winner-take-all:

The of traffic flows to a small number of top influencers, and the cost of acquiring followers is increasingly steep for latecomers.

3. A laggard in algorithm adoption, WeChat still largely relies on a timeline structure with minimum filtering.

Users have been flocking to curation that pares down content in ways tailored to their preferences. Jingri Toutiao (“Today’s Headlines”), the 4-year-old newcomer mobile news app that has gained an impressive advantage over competitors from traditional portals (such as Netease, Sohu and Tencent), solves the problem using algorithms with impressive success. It now boasts 580 million users, 63 million active daily users, and some of the longest average daily use time in the industry. Tencent News comes in a remote second, with 120 million users.

Consequently, there are now signs that the news industry is investing in algorithms and moving away from human curation. The Chief Editor at Sohu News, for example, is leaving the company, and CEO Zhang Chaoyang admitted to reporters that they are reorganizing the editorial team to take advantage of machine curation. Zhihu, Quora’s Chinese equivalent, stopped having its team of professional experts curate answers, throwing open the door to all users to crowdsource recommendations.

What next?

From the point of view of Chinese users, there is a lot of room for improvement. In response to declining reach, advertisers have been pulling back from WeChat. The WeChat team is now getting its toes wet in developing algorithms and intervening more actively in content distribution. One analyst pointed out that, even though the company is sitting on a goldmine of data comparable to that of Facebook, only 10%, or $514 million, of Tencent’s overall revenue comes from advertising, of which WeChat’s advertising income is only a portion. Similarly, despite its vaunted technical edge, Toutiao’s content customization is rudimentary compared to Facebook’s FYI. Yidian, Toutiao’s acknowledged rival that just received D-series funding, is vowing to improve user experience with a combination of search, human and machine curation. A head-on collision between WeChat and upstart rivals may be hovering on the horizon, and bear close watching. A lot of money hangs in the balance.












美國的廢人,據他們自己說,像是很不少。美國的哲學家或文化評點泰斗,得往電視往夜店裡找,都是講脫口秀的,郭德綱一流人物。在大麻合法之前,美國社會門戶大開,“供應兩種刺激物質,週一到五咖啡因值班,支持生產力,週末酒精接力,這樣才能喝高喝笨,不至於察覺自己在坐大牢”(比爾稀客思,Bill Hicks, 1961-94)。 由此推斷,上班族不廢不笨的,少之又少。
















女兒順口提了一句:我這數學已經算上來了,總分是B,這學期到現在考的都是B 和 C。我心裡緩緩浮出一隻巴掌,做勢甩過去:考個乙你也好意思誇口,你不害臊,我都替你害臊!我眼睜睜和那隻長著獰厲眼嘴的巴掌對看,等它化作青煙四散。









且玩且讀 —— 歐遊讀書雜記

旅遊的時候,要不要帶書,帶什麼樣的書,一向是個為難的選擇。最正宗的自然是「量身定做派」︰知道要去黃山或康斯坦丁堡了,就事先作好功課,勤懇精確的帶上《徐霞客遊記》或蒙太固夫人的《土耳其使館書簡》(Turkish Embassy Letters, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu)。除此之外,還有認為「行萬里路,讀萬卷書」的上下聯勢不能同時並行不悖,堅持純粹體驗,旅行時只讀導遊書的「原教旨派」;擔心被職業導遊和七彩明信片的刻板印象先入為主,連導遊書也不看,要保留想像童貞直到和異地相見歡為止的「驚喜掛帥派」;以及因為沒作功課,錯過羅孚宮的水晶妝臺或融聖妙狂蕩于一身的聖德列莎雕像,捶胸頓足的「事後追悔派」等等。于這些派別,我或多或少都做過入門弟子,滄桑甘苦,一時也說不盡。











『閒話英文中譯』: 查生字水性楊花之必要




原文作 “the most painful song ever recorded,” 看了不怕小粉紅不驕敵自得,大外宣把美帝調戲得拖甲曳兵,創痛平生。殊不知原文字面上意思,並非去到盡頭的劇痛,而近乎北京俗語的“牙磣,” 像聽釘子刮玻璃那種鑽到牙齦裡的酸冷,實在是“做事離譜之極,旁人看著都替你難受著急”之意。認真要中譯,或可寫做“令人不忍卒聽。” 又則,這句型並非正規書面語,乃年輕人誇張輕倩沒三兩重的口語,網路博眼球之用。類似造句包括:

OMG, I’d never seen an outfit that hideous in my life!

諸如此類的“至今最…””有生以來從來沒…” 不建議直接口服,要配著”腦袋瓜那麼大的一顆鹽”吞下(take it with a grain of salt the size of my head。”中文人話的說法,就是“聽聽就好“”酌量參考。”不相信,看紐時或衛報,選情再火爆,川普再胡鬧,也絕不使用最高級形容詞:Donald Trump Is the Most Hate-driven Candidate in US History (川普是美國有史以來最滿腔恨毒的總統候選人)

現代中文翻英文,深情款款,此心不渝,看到辭典第一義就認死扣。依我說,還是水性楊花一點的好。順便多事雞婆一句(大陸的說法是:鹹吃蘿蔔淡操心)上圖據說摹寫的是杜甫的麗人行,“楊花雪落覆白蘋,青鳥飛去銜紅巾。” 杜甫不怕跨省,對網警比中指,公然搬出楊國忠和妹妹虢国夫人亂倫的性醜聞壓軸: “炙手可熱勢絕倫, 慎莫近前丞相嗔,” 膽兒肥碩頂喉嚨了,壯哉!

中文觀點: 中共“军事文化网络主题论坛”上透露了什么信息


The Knowing Ducks of Spring: How to tell when China is Ready to Compete with Hollywood

琅琊榜 黄金分割

People associated with China’s film industry recently declaimed on the CBS program 60-Minutes that the Chinese are poised to give Hollywood a run for its money. Rob Cain of Bloomberg was quite emphatic as to why not. And I wholeheartedly agree with him.

In this I am taking my cue from China’s own tough-love critics, whose opinion I figure must be weighty on this subject. Ranging from Chen Danqing, an artist and arbiter of culture, to Ran Yunfei, a public intellectual harassed by authorities, they all agree that cultural China is but a shadow of its former self. They feel that the ravages of the country’s recent past, such as the Cultural Revolution, left China adrift, severed from much of its heritage and uncertain of its future. You can’t tell powerful stories when you don’t know who you are or where you might be.

China is, therefore, in a long cultural convalescence, and in such straits poses no threat to Hollywood’s global dominance. By the same token, however, healing may eventually usher in a renaissance.

The great Song-dynasty renaissance man, Su Dongpo (1037-1101), writes that “When warm once again the tides of spring grow/The ducks are always the first ones to know.” Here are two spheres of Chinese cultural life to watch, as Su’s proverbial ducks, for the arrival of that cultural renewal. Now, it is inevitable that observers will vehemently differ on whether backsliding or leapfrogging is gaining the upper hand. There will be inexhaustible opportunities to track eye-popping developments on the ground and to wrangle over what they mean. That will be part of the fun.

The Chinese Language. Chinese is slowly recovering from the Maoist style of writing and speaking. Li Tuo, a literary critic, pointed out in 1997 that the language of propaganda and revolution held back modern Chinese. The standardized Maospeak outlawed, and virtually wiped modern Chinese clean, of classical Chinese.

To understand what this means, imagine an English with the widest part of its Saxon and Latinate vocabulary surgically removed. Then ponder how you can grapple with that state of things, knowing only a few odds and ends from your entire literary past that political leaders, the government press and a couple of lionized writers happened to cite. That’s what the Chinese are up against.

Restoring and regrowing Chinese language and culture is an uphill climb. Still, Hollywood should not get too comfortable. For the last several years, a section of Chinese society has honored their past by waxing nostalgic for the culture of the Republican era that immediately preceded Communist rule. For example, Mu Xin, a recently discovered writer’s writer, is beloved of young hip readers as representative of “what Chinese literature would have looked like, had it not been devastated after 1949.” Readers and writers are slowly reforging the broken link to their rich birthright.

Chinese Dramas and Their Critics. While the majority of Chinese audience put up with what domestically produced movie and TV theatricals censors allow them to see, an irrepressible minority have made a wildly popular cottage industry out of ripping into government-approved content that offend them as insults to their IQ. Barrages of jokes and quips greet trite fare restricted to a few categories:

a. Imperial court intrigue emphasizing the sagacity of rulers and the grandeur of Chinese empires;

b. The 101th rehashing of myths on how underground tunnels and airplane-felling pistol shots from Communist guerrillas beat back the Japanese invasion in WWII;

c. Shoddy rom-coms slovenly modeled on Japanese and Korean originals, adapted to Chinese tastes with endless catfights between daughter- and mother-in-law.

Stuff that will not shake Hollywood to its foundations any time soon. Having said that, watch out for the gush of irreverent creativity from their critics: theirs is an outstanding testament to the Chinese imagination and its potential for storytelling. 

Given how formidable that creativity would be if harnessed the right way, just like the country did in the manufacture of more tangible things, China may yet catch up with light-year speed. Nirvana in Fire, a popular 55-episode drama that was seen a total of 3.5 billion times on Chinese streaming platforms as of October 2015, is one recent breakthrough that for once has the homegrown critics applauding. This historical fantasy differs in many regards from mainstream fare. A re-conceived Count of Monte Cristo, it sports a moral backbone, where other censor-sanctioned drama veer between saintly stereotypes (WWII) and nihilistic cynicism (court intrigue). It boasts strong female characters whose horizons extend beyond the love of men. Its treatment of historical details is precise and intimate, going beyond professional polish to that reforging of links to Chinese heritage so vital to China’s renaissance. All this result in a reticent aesthetics rooted in the high tradition of Chinese painting and poetry. The camerawork, costumes and set design are of an understated beauty in a quintessentially Chinese way that has won over viewers both old and young.

In a word, I think we would do well to look to Chinese civil society in order to figure out when their creative springtime is at hand. Until then, Hollywood can try to stay ahead of the game by learning from the worthiest Chinese endeavors. For Hollywood, like China, has to endlessly recreate itself to stay true to its dreams. In that there is no zero-sum game. 

Why The Better Chinese Writer Is Often the Harder Sell in the West: Musings on Wang Zengqi 汪曾祺





Here are some personal reaction, cum brief background, about the writer of “The Connoisseur,” a short story I translated. Wang Zengqi (1920-1997) is, in my opinion, one of modern China’s best writers. He belongs to that last flowering generation of intellectuals who, steeped in an uninterrupted cultural tradition that assimilated every successful invader of China, took up the challenge and clarion call from the West. As a young writer, he counted Woolf and Faulkner among his influences. Li He, an 8th-century poet (imagine a Coleridge who fulfilled his promise with 220 poems), inspired Wang with his gorgeous desolation. Wang represented the best hope of a China that died young.


The post-1949 dystopia destroyed the promise of China’s writers. When the Party permitted them to write again, they no longer knew how. Having had it hammered into them that Western literature was a pernicious colonialism and Chinese culture a tool of class exploitation, they had nowhere to turn. Servile to political goals for decades, their stunted genius saw a second burial. Wang was one of a handful of exceptions. 


What makes Wang stand out among those chosen few is his purity and freedom. He writes as if the Communist devastation has never been. There is no more remarkable act of writerly rebellion. His language, now nourished by a brawny vigor from years of folk theater work, is of a lovely simplicity. A Chekhov who has finally reached peace with himself, he reimagines a China at once panoramic and exact, its struggles, injustices and beautiful things ordered by an ineluctable humanity. That goes against the grain of everything the Party upholds. His classical learning, effortlessly wielded without ostentation, defies and undoes the harm of Newspeak. To this day the Chinese remains largely robbed of their capacity to envision a world and future other than what the Party wills, because their language itself has become so corrupted. In writing like Wang’s, where what is human and universal from China’s enduring past is distilled and fit into the present, the hope for another renaissance beckons. 


Wang has not been translated much, perhaps in part because of what makes up his genius. I hope to change that in what small way I can. The Western reader has very little knowledge of the cultural backdrop which informs Wang’s writing. What makes him so valuable to the Chinese makes him a harder sell here. It struck me that the Internet is our best friend when it comes to bridging those gaps. I try to illuminate the lost world of his writing through web links to Chinese architecture, paintings, calligraphy and cartoons of the inside of a 1920’s Beijing clothier. They are easier to get to and less disruptive to the flow of reading than footnotes. I’m hoping to get reader thoughts from my DC Literature meetup, if I can lobby the folks there to hold a discussion session on the story. My goal is to turn reader feedback into revisions to this translation. Whether a story from a foreign land leaves readers baffled, irritated, bemused or hungry for more, their response shines a bright light on where the two cultures collide and coincide, in ways slowly revealing to us. 

Criticism (in Chinese) for 2011 Korean Drama, “Secret Garden”: Free Women Cost the Most

This is the first part of my  magnum opus, ahem, drama criticism on Secret Garden, a 2010 Korean drama. Originally published in daily installments on Baidu group dedicated to the drama, my criticism attracted excellent comments from other posters. Before Baidu shut down its viewer meter in 2011, the conversation had earned 500,000 visitors. Five years later, posters and new fans still visit and write on the thread,with around 6,000 posts in all.

The whole thing comes out to 127 pages, 124,000 words, single-space, written from April to August 2011, coinciding with the worst human rights crackdown in China that I had witnessed, at my old job as a grant-maker to rights activists. I had to find an outlet, and this was absorbing enough for the job.

秘密花園劇評: 不要錢的女人最貴 從社長談起

蔣行之 2011, 百度貼吧










第二集在百货公司门口,罗琳幻影第一回出现。穿着他那个阶级的盔甲,三件头意大利西装的社长,和她并肩站着,表情还事不关己,大概以为只是路过的孤魂野鬼。那种浑然不知自己正和自己的命运两两相对的漠然,像Lady of Shallott,活在魔咒里的谢萝特的贵主,在遗世独立的庄院里看着魔镜纺织,恬然眺望着亚瑟王的坎密罗城大放光明,从来不知道自己是一个人。直到有一天,骑士兰斯洛特路过,黑发在镶宝石的头盔下光辉灿烂。社长重新低下头去,抿出颊上的笑涡而并不笑,把经济学人杂志抖了抖继续往下看,任由罗琳化灰为风吹去。那一刻,他相信他是自由的。




社长第一次为罗琳脱出常态,是在饭店。别看社长发现罗琳不是朴蔡琳,叫嚣着要她负责,问她“跟来干嘛,这笔交易值多少钱你知道吗”,凶狠计较得像钱庄伙计,难怪她会随意猜测他的职业人生。可是,才过了两分钟,罗琳接完导演电话要离开的时候,他马上阻挡,问她要去哪里?把和奥斯卡的续约交易忘得一干二净。还要等她提醒他:想见朴蔡琳吗?他才恍然的噢了一声。这和社长前面作为Alpha-male 经济动物所向无敌的精明刻薄,差别太大。这么早他已经开始离魂了,一旦知道她不是哥哥的情人,不需有所挂虑之后。

说到这里,先往前跳跃一下。那个孩子气的“噢” 再出场,是12集开头罗琳问他,就那么喜欢我吗?社长脸上一点表情也没有,就像答只有一个选择的选择题那样,乖巧又明快的说出了正确答案。这两个”噢“像诗句韵脚的前后呼应。前一次,是一个强大无比的人突然糊涂了,心防被攻破而并不自知。后一次,则是这个人从容低到尘埃里,不挣扎了,把自己交出来,有种前所未有的纯净。


从沙发上那段经典对话开始,罗琳就占了上风。虽然受伤,虽然担心导演生气,工作无法继续,她还是眼珠子一转就先猜出了社长的错误,伶俐无比。素来宽厚待人的她,飞车抵达片场,忍不住要开那个五脏六腑都在翻腾的小混混一个玩笑:“怎么,不是说男人最喜欢刺激有侵略性的车戏吗?”连打趣带挖苦,那一刻的罗琳英气夺人,急智戳得社长一句话答不上来 (当然也因为他正在干呕,)可他什么时候嘴上输过人了?这样的女人难道和社长那件不朽的运动服似的,满大街都是?我不信。

他的没教养从一开头就惹上了她。家境清贫的救火员的女儿,比金家的男女老幼都更像个世家闺秀,自尊自重。哪怕误会解开,社长仍旧连一句像人的话都不会说。从“脑子不好才干这活”直到“为什么踢我,”受伤又流年不利的罗琳都是三娘教子的作风,言教不如身教 – “是啊,到底为什么踢你呢?”先做了再说,让他自己去琢磨。他再俊美,她也看不上,因为此时的他,的确是扭曲的。无论怎么看,此时的社长,都配不上罗琳。

配不上罗琳,是因为他是还没摔到墙上的青蛙王子。(金编不知道是不是故意记错,公主没吻青蛙,而是掼了出去,就像第二集的过肩摔。)要说社长是无忧无虑一生的男人,造化小儿,他其实又过得有苦说不出,正是中了魔咒的青蛙。奥斯卡给他打电话要求摆平朴蔡琳的时候,他明明正在和医生商量别减药量,怕这样下去,连班都上不了。一接电话,说的是:“我在玩啊,我什么时候不玩了。”对最亲的兄弟尚且要这样隐瞒,连亲生母亲也不会谅解他的病,这个谨慎的男人谁都不能相信,被他的财宝牢牢囚禁着 ,不能示弱,不能叫苦,逞强得令人心酸,比孤儿还孤独。




第三集听奥斯卡问他是不是被拍照了,这样战战兢兢, 社长立即翻脸。有苦说不出啊。连奥斯卡那么冰雪剔透的明白人自己人都认为,那么个穷替身,周元肯定上手了,玩玩而已,一定是罗琳风急火燎的要把这事长久下去,立此存照。只有周元自己知道,事实和别人理所当然的想像,差的有多远。比之于朴蔡琳的摄影威胁,他也是偷拍,但是两者之间天差地别。他甚至没敢偷拍真人,只能翻拍储物橱里的照片,真的像乞丐一样。

这种苦痛,和他的失忆导致的心病,是完全不一样的。社长从来没有遇见过到不了手的东西,不听使唤的女人,没有价钱的感情。“为什么我想做,你却不让呢?” 社长困惑罗琳不让他送她回家时这么问。任意行使他的意志,原本是他所有的幸福,是他自在翱翔的蓝天。让人把画廊搬到他那博物馆一般的家,是他理解中唯一的快乐。花钱是他的爱好。他偶尔也玩女人,虽然兴致还不如对那琳琅满橱柜的名表浓厚,因为没听他说女人是男士必备的配件。









说:留疤了,恐怕不能竞选韩国小姐了 閒散的,很亲的口气,一下子她就是自己人了。那居然不是恭维的话,也不是开玩笑。他前面话说得有多难听,这时候就有多甜蜜宜人。

据说真正的英国贵族,当众说脏话,顺手把贵妇绣珠绕翠的荷包拿来小解,往壁炉灰里一扔。不是刻意无礼,就因为他那样的身份,想做什么都可以。他就是原则。这种不自觉的狂傲,前面说的意志的恣肆行使,平常是没教养,在这种关头翻了个面朝外,成为只倾注于一人的华美的殷勤,软缎铺天盖地的掩上来,庶民恐怕很难招架得住。直到第九集,罗琳翻案人鱼公主论,把青蛙摔出去之前一刻,社长还维持着这种狂傲: 我们还会再继续,就因为我刚刚这么说了。

透过狂傲,体现的却是他的纯真,他的本心。在他心底埋藏的,那个看爱丽丝梦游奇境的孩子,他自己都不相信的他。 没有这个,罗琳说什么也不会感动。






虽然书作为镇静剂止痛剂不再管用,但毕竟是习惯了的支撑,知道罗琳父亲营救殉职的真相之后,他站在窗口沉思,一册书还是捏在手里 – 直到金秘书奔进来报告噩耗 (大哭)



片头那对闪灼的鳳蝶,对影翩跹。希腊神话里的赛姬,是爱神失手自伤后爱上的凡人,经过爱神母亲阿佛黛蒂的诸般考验,终于升上奥林匹斯山,成为人类不朽灵魂的代表。蝴蝶是她的象征。他们是soulmates, 灵魂的伴侣。

那天晚上,在会所门口,周元看到了罗琳的自卑与受伤,看似扬长决绝的走掉,因为知道他们不可能,也歉疚伤害了她, 還吃奧斯卡的醋,照例是千手千眼的忙。但他根本管不住自己,走不掉,水准堪比密谍的跟了他们一路,最后又跑到她家,看她坐在小公园里,把围上没受伤的脖子的围巾拿来包上受伤的破包,两处相思,一种凝愁。















.婚恋观/财阀门第的束缚与责任/客观鸿沟 浮现,与上面的反扑相辅相成。(这部分是理智的,客观的,不是意气用事, 包括维护自己在员工心目中的形象的合理忧虑。如果罗琳真是他想像的轻骨头,他的确会颜面扫地。)

丙。你根本心里没有我,也不懂我。 (完全矛盾,迷恋继续中,气她没替他着想。)

丁。纯粹反射的嫌恶贫穷 。






本来以为生气的时候漂亮,没想到我笑起来更漂亮吧 (罗妹妹这里很狠,比周元请吃饭时做得更绝。那时候她说怕你更喜欢我,所以故意不生气,因为你说生气的时候更美。现在是回马一枪,正面承认并随手使用他的迷恋:让你鬼迷心窍的美,比你想像的更丰艳,可惜,没你的分。上次是否决,这次是肯定他的喜欢,紧接着全部扬弃。果然示威成功,周元眼里立即出现恍惚眩迷的神色。他最欣赏的本来正是她的勇气,她的自尊自爱。)

不管为了什么理由,我不该来的。你说的都对。(奇哉怪也,明明说他对,社长的表情,比说他错要郁怒得太多。罗琳这句话以后说出数次,每次都是他们之间的里程碑,都以社长推翻他的对来终结。)没替你着想,向你道歉 (这里是以礼貌反击无礼的他,也让他突然猜想她是不是心里的确有他。一方面,他又最恨她放低姿态,现在竟然是他在逼她道歉,他心里怎能不百味杂陈。)


要不要受伤的走开,长远留在你心底 (再度挑衅他他的迷恋/到不了手,一方面还是间接承认了自己已经受到伤害。周元的眼睛更亮,彻底被她碰触到了。他害怕。面对着她指点出的,没有她的未来,周围金沙砾砾。他是碰什么什么就变成黄金的密达斯王,富甲人寰,无所得食。)



周元: 不要再说了。


罗琳:不会拿坏机器给这么学历差的穷女人吧(嘲讽他对穷人的歧视心态,把自己踩到泥里。社长真的动摇到罗琳了,这是她第一次放弃自尊,就为了要伤害他。爱情真是九死一生的勾当。)面子上实在下不来,就说是玩了几次就甩掉的女人。 (故意自轻自贱,但也未尝不是下意识提醒他,人他还是没到手,她还是会走。)


周元心理:愤怒,得不到理解的委屈,恶人先告状 ,以及恐惧。看她这样强硬决裂,居然还坚持要吸尘器,一篇话有理有据有节,自己一定错怪她了。他完全无能面对,当下也绝对不可能道歉。所以他只好大发雷霆了,示范他如何对待只是玩玩的女人。





然后他就暗渡陈仓了。“你去哪里? 不是要玩儿吗?”就算用这种愤怒,这种不堪的理由,他也想看她穿那件桃色缀亮片的潋滟晚装。忘了他刚才标举的万众瞩目的社长身份与体面,也忘了他的病,他最深的秘密。就算没忘,至少,是顾不得了。(请看妙笔生花呆的论文详解。 )所以,说他只想玩,终究还是委屈了他。如果这算玩,社长您玩不起。在别的花花公子,密室里耳鬓厮磨挺刺激。在你,就是攸关性命。















Is China’s Xi Jinping for Real? – Or, A Romance of Platters and Paddles


A lot of Western pundits used to hold out that Xi Jinping, China’s reigning President, was gathering power to himself and jostling Party elders backstage, for greater and better things. Pick anything you like, say, a free press. Hope is free, anyhow. 

A lot more people inside China shared the Western experts’ optimism. Optimism is a professional skill for Westerners when it comes to China. You have to handle your optimism with tender care, like a hothouse orchid. If Xi is, on the other hand, your Party boss, it is more like Ambien; you need it just to sleep.

The time for that optimism is now past for many of the Party’s own big shots and workhorses. A lot of the Communist officials under investigation for corruption never seem to want to work things out. The Party-owned press reports that they are doing away with themselves without waiting to hear what the Party Disciplinary Committee has to say. To a man, they receive a posthumous diagnosis of untreated depression. Must have stocked up on their Ambien, even though that doesn’t explain the wrists slashed after the guy had hung himself.

Is Xi for real? Is he paving the way to democracy with his great anti-graft drive? And how can we tell? Bloomberg tries to sidestep the question by sticking to the facts. I think Bloomberg can do better. When in doubt, turn to the grab-bag of Chinese history or pay someone like me to do it. Even if you can’t find the answers there, at least you won’t pull out a $1.79 plastic shrimp deveiner.

Maybe you’re an otaku (you’re not if you don’t know what that means) and have come across Romance of the Three Kingdoms online game. It’s based on a 15th-century international bestseller. Koreans and Japanese fell in love with the book too. Three Kingdoms is set in the period when China was partitioned three-way, in 200 A.D. One of the three proud new owners of the crash-and-burn empire was Cao Cao. (Think twice before saying his name to your Chinese friends; both words rhyme with a certain universal physical act if you get the tones wrong.)

Cao seemed a good and sound Young Turk when he started out (that’s what a lot of people liked to think about Xi Jinping too). As a petty magistrate in the capital, Cao had paddles hung on the front door of his office, in five colors, to let the corrupt and powerful know he meant business. And the paddles got used. I’ve always liked the contrast between the dainty visual of those beach-bright paddles and his swift and stern justice. By the way, kindly put away those Fifty-Shades-of-Grey associations.

Eventually, Cao decided he wanted to rule over the powerful; to what end, we are not sure. He found himself with an angry army on his hands. They hadn’t been paid, and what’s more hadn’t eaten. Not a good combination. He had his Chief Distribution Officer Wang brought to him, and said: “I need to borrow something from you.” And Wang, like the use-and-toss extra five minutes into any horror movie, had to ask him what that was. “Your head. I know it’s not your fault that we’re short on food, but if I don’t kill you, the soldiers will turn against me. Go in peace; consider your wife and kids taken care of.” The soldiers cheered when they saw Wang’s head stuck to the bulletin board with a brass tack, convicted of stealing army provisions.

Modern Chinese self-help books for white-collar professionals like to point to Wang as the quintessential Dilbert character who got tossed under his boss’s bus because, they reckon, he didn’t make himself valuable enough to Cao. That’s the great thing about being Chinese. You always feel so much better about your life when you think over how much worse it could be. These days you get to keep your head, literally.

So what have we figured out, except that China too has its own head-on-a-platter story? (Granted, Salome’s love-hate dance around the handsome St. John is much more exciting.) I think we can say Xi, in going after corrupt officials, has been borrowing heads at a furious pace. He needs the average Chinese to keep thinking he is on their side, grilling the bad guys who have been pocketing their healthcare, pension, their kids’ tuition, crazy-high road tolls, whatnot.

I have absolutely no data to back me up as to what drives Xi. This is pure, distilled conjecture. The thing is, though, that both Western and Chinese experts cannot agree on what lies behind it all, either. Could be because the black box that is the Chinese government won’t give up its secrets until the whole thing crashes mid-flight. Just saying.

In Xi’s visits to the West over the last two yearsas part of a charm offensive, he dropped a whole lot of names of Western books he claimed to love: Voltaire, Mark Twain, Pushkin. He could not have intended an insult, delicately hinted at, to his hosts, by mentioning these vessels of the humanist values his government banned in Chinese universities. And the only people rude enough to chortle that the books are more likely a compendium of what Xi hasn’t read are Chinese Internet users living under the censor’s thumb. My only question is: What sort of lessons is Xi drawing, as the ruler of a rising world power, from his diverse reading, judging from what he has been doing? Optimism will be our guide.