Only yesterday, the last
drive-in theatre closed in Vancouver. The old movie palaces of my childhood
where patrons paid 25 cents to watch a double bill plus news and cartoons
while listening to the Wurlitzer organ during intermission are now shopping
malls or revivalist churches. In Goodbye Dragon Inn, set in Taipei,
Tsai Ming-liang (What Time is it There?, The River) pays
tribute to an experience of cinema that is dying. The decaying Fu-Ho theatre
is about to be torn down but still welcomes the outcasts of society: old
men, gay cruisers, the crippled and the lonely, and the ghosts and spirits
from a different age. With the rain coming down heavily outside, the theatre
still attracts few patrons and those it does are more interested in furtive
sexual contacts than watching the film, stalking their prey through sterile
corridors, looking for any shred of human comfort.
In the audience is a gay
Japanese man. Only two other people watch the 1961 Kung-Fu classic Dragon
Inn by King Hu, considered one of the best martial arts films of all
time. A woman with a clubbed foot runs the ticket booth and hobbles around
the empty theatre, hoping that the projectionist will notice her but he
makes a special point of looking the other way. We soon discover that the
two older men watching the movie were the stars of Dragon Inn, basking
in their glory days. It is not clear whether or not they are real or spirits
from the past, yet now they sit in the almost empty theatre watching their
own movie and begin to cry. When the lights come up, there is only row
upon row of empty seats.
Tsai Ming-liang is known
for his minimalist cinema and Goodbye Dragon Inn stretches the style
to its outer limits. There is no dialogue until about 45 minutes into the
film and then no more until about 20 minutes after that. Though the mood
is somber, Goodbye Dragon Inn has a deadpan humour that redeems
its sense of desperation and a humanism that raises our hopes. Fashioned
with poetic solitude and emotional power, Goodbye Dragon Inn is
a haunting elegy for a way of life that survives only in the minds of ghosts
and old film critics.