Party’s expectations. Mao asked his people to forget the self totally. He told me that sacrificing one’s life for the people’s ideals expands one’s life. He said that he wanted me to kill a devil in me. The devil that makes you yield to your emotional need, he said. He asked me to forget about my little self. He said he was asking for a full commitment. His religious tone scared me. I could not understand what he was talking about. Even though he loved me, and loved me partly for the independence of my mind, he wanted me to sacrifice my old self to his-and my- ambition for the film.
He asked me please not to disappoint him. He said he had been counting on me so much that his mission would not be complete without me. He said he had never learned to take rejection well. He asked me to be on guard. All his life he had been taught to hate individuality, even while he was attracted to it. He asked me to keep him from becoming harmful to me, because no matter how much he loved me he would not let me stand in the way of his dreams. He would replace me if he had to. He asked me to obey him, because to obey him was to obey my own ambition. Because he and I were inseparable now.
The Supervisor took me back to Shanghai. He said he would have had too much difficulty filming
On the flight he told me that one day I would remember him as a genius.
I was living at the film-studio guesthouse during shooting and was allowed to visit my parents once every few days. I was fascinated with my costume-the Red Army uniform and coat-so I visited home wearing it. When I walked through the alleys, I knew my neighbors were looking at me through windows. Now they dared not speak with me. I had become too big.
When we did run into each other, they would speak in a flattering tone. They would say, Oh, we knew a long time ago that you were going to be somebody someday. We knew that since you moved into this district.
I found that I could not say much because I still remembered the days when I was called Flea.
I spoke with Little Coffin when I saw her come to visit her parents. She had become a factory worker and had married a colleague and moved away. Little Coffin never flattered me. She just looked at me with admiration. I knew she was proud of me and I told her, I’ll make you more proud.
From this moment on, I want you to forget your family name. You are Red Azalea now, said the Supervisor. Let me hear your name, please. I shivered and pronounced it loudly: I am Red Azalea. He nodded with satisfaction. I want you to be aware of what you are creating, he continued. You are creating an image which will soon dominate China’s ideology. You are creating history, the proletarian’s history. We are giving history back its original face. In a few months, when the movie is all over the country, you will be the idol of revolutionary youths. I want you to memorize Chairman Mao’s teaching, “The power of a good example is infinite.”
Are you prepared? His eyes were red from lack of sleep; his voice carried a smell of burnt earth. We have begun our battle, he said. Comrade Jiang Ching is with us. It is a battle of life and death. A political power struggle. I nodded as if I understood what he’d said. He moved toward me, stopped and used his middle finger to tilt my chin up. He inspected me. He was a dragon coming through the window of my eyes and permeating my body with a silent force. Show me your determination, he murmured. I stared into his eyes. Yes, beautiful. You see, we are going to go through a forest of guns and a rain of bullets to pay respect to our mothers. Mothers who, for thousands of years, lived their lives in shame, died with shame, were buried and rotted in shame. We are going to tell them, Now it is a new world. A world where being born female merits celebration and salute. A world where a woman who is forced to marry a pig can have an affair. He suddenly stopped. He stared at me, narrowing his eyes. Well, enough for now. He pressed a bell button on the table and a pleasant-faced young man stepped in. Take her to the makeup room.
It was my first time posing. The photographer said printing machines in factories were waiting for this picture; the poster was to be out in three days. It was a political assignment from Comrade Jiang Ching. Red Azalea must live up to her earnest expectations.
I stared into the light bulb before me. I thought of Cheering Spear and Soviet Wong’s hatred of me. I told the photographer I was ready. The sound of the clicks was unreal. I felt Yan under my skin.
The crew reshot the scenes. The ones who had served Cheering Spear now were made to serve me. Cheering Spear and Soviet Wong were excluded. No one mentioned them. The shooting went smoothly until one day when we were instructed to revise certain lines in the script. Red Azalea must not be too poignant. Her screen time must yield; meaning the male hero must appear dominant. The Supervisor made the changes. He was called back to Beijing several times. Each time he came back, he looked frustrated. He smoked four packs of cigarettes a day. His fingers had turned brown from holding cigarettes all the time. He explained nothing. He shot three versions of one scene with different lines. In the first one I was told to say, No, you can’t take my dream away from me. In the second I was told to say, No, he is China’s hope, you can never take that hope away from me. In the third I was to say, I’d sacrifice my life to follow him because he is the savior of the world’s proletariat. This was how the Supervisor fought with his opponents in Beijing. If the first one did not work, he would lay out the second or the third version. He negotiated. He fought for every inch of the film.
My face was painted. The costume designer dressed me up in a grayish Red Army uniform and straw shoes. My sleeves were rolled up, hair braided. A wide belt cinched my waist. Someone was binding a long piece of cloth on my leg. I rehearsed my lines. A new line had been added by the Supervisor. The line was, “Chairman Mao.”
The Supervisor was sitting on the director’s chair. His concentration ruled the set. An assistant measured the distance between my nose and the lens again and again, murmuring the numbers to himself while marking them down. Red Azalea’s hands were tied back with ropes. She was about to be tortured in public.
Take two, take three. I want a big, big close-up of her eyes, the Supervisor yelled. Frame her face! Camera, move! Closer, closer! The camera crew moved around. Changes had been made. Production assistants began to sweat. One of them murmured his numbers. Four feet and five inches. Five feet and three-quarter inches. A light fixture burned. The wire was smoking. The director of lighting replaced it right away. The makeup man combed my bangs once more.
I was suddenly afraid of not being able to satisfy the Supervisor. I had no feelings for my lines. The makeup man asked if I needed him to put water drops in my eyes. The Supervisor waved him off. The costume designer came and wet my back with water. The Supervisor called, Roll the camera! I spoke my line: “Chairman Mao.” The Supervisor called, Cut! He said, No, maybe it’s the lighting. Yes, the lighting is not right. This is not the light she likes. Comrade Jiang Ching would not approve of this way of lighting. It has to be straight flat light. Comrade Jiang Ching wants to see no shadows under Red Azalea’s nose. Our heroine must have no shadows on her face. Not at all!
The camera rolled again. Everyone held their breath. I repeated my lines carefully. The Supervisor kicked down a light stand. He was frustrated. The camera crew got nervous. Everyone was ready again. The Supervisor raised his head. His almond eyes were brighter than the lights before me. I saw anxiety burning in his eyes. His lips were cracked dry, and his fingers stretched in the air like an eagle’s claws. He closed his eyes and moaned my line, “Chairman Mao.” Opening his eyes, he asked me if I could give him more than the three syllables. Leaning back, he said slowly, Roll the camera.
I failed him. I failed to deliver what he wanted. My acting was surgical. He cut me off. His face twisted. He said, One more minute and you better have it. Now immerse yourself. I took a deep breath and spoke my line. I
