Goodbye, Dragon Inn [Blu-ray] [2020]

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Reminded of the super-cinemas and the poetic King Hu films of his youth, he shot a scene in the theater and premiered the film there. It’s also worth noting that not a lot happens during the course of that running time, at least in terms of on-screen action, and that the first line of dialogue doesn’t occur until just over 40 minutes into the film. Tsai talks about the genesis of the project, the real-life cinema that both inspired the film and became the location in which it was shot, his childhood of cinema-going and first exposure to the films of King Hu, the film’s cinematography and sound design, the Japanese fan of his work who ended up playing the young tourist in this film, how he revised Chen Hsiang-Chyi’s interpretation of her role at the cashier, and a good deal more. Nostalgia for the cinemagoing days of my youth certainly played its part here, but if the film also works for you then the quality of the restoration and transfer and the Tsai Ming-Laing interview make this Second Run Blu-ray an easy recommend. stereo soundtrack that I’m assuming is the truest to how the film originally played is partnered with a DTS-HD 5.

And while I’m still not sure about the length of some of those long-held shots, I also warmed to the idea that there was a very real purpose to many of them. If you watched it and felt nothing but exasperation, as some definitely have, then you’re probably thinking that this would be a good thing.

I certainly experienced an initial uncertainty about whether I was going to be able to engage with a film that was unfolding as a series of long-held and only slightly animated tableaux, but just as I did with Sátántangó, once I adjusted to the pace and rhythm of Tsai’s approach I became completely absorbed in the small details and the half-told stories that are gently teased by the static camera’s unblinking gaze. Lonely souls cruise the aisles for companionship while two actors from Hu’s film watch themselves writ large, perhaps for the last time. Given my initial uncertainty, I was surprised how involved I became in it and ultimately how much I gleaned from what is only suggested by what occurs on screen, and was certainly caught out by its poetic evocation of childhood memories, its moments of almost absurdist humour and its touching final moments. He seemingly first enters the cinema to shelter from the rain, but once inside his attempt to watch the film is disturbed by the noisy food eating of the couple a few seats down in the row behind him. Central to this approach is a young male Japanese tourist (Kiyonobu Mitamura) whose actions and observations weave a connecting tread to some of the other patrons at this poorly attended swansong screening.

As we watch the cashier, her right leg supported by a metal brace, slowly limp her way in real time down long corridors and up stairways into what almost feels like the top of the world in the hope of being noticed by a man who seems barely aware of her existence, the impact of her handicap on her work and her personal life really hit home. This is where the lingering shot at the end of Goodbye, Dragon Inn of the empty auditorium really hit home, acting as it did as a reminder that sometimes you really don’t fully appreciate what you’ve got until it’s gone.While there, I just had to pay this venue a visit and saw Fukasaku Kinji’s 1966 Hokkaido no Abare-Ryu – without the aid of English subtitles, no less – and was seriously impressed by the whole experience. I’ve genuinely lost count of the number of times I’ve fought to tolerate such a disturbance, and when my disapproving glares failed to have even the smallest impact I would often move seats to avoid a potentially unpleasant confrontation.

The very definition of a film that will starkly divide opinion, Goodbye, Dragon Inn is likely to prove frustrating and unsatisfying viewing for some, but if you can adjust to its slow pace and fascination with stillness and small moments, then there’s a good chance it will really work for you.Both are in fine shape with a strong dynamic range and excellent clarity, but the DTS surround track most definitely has the edge, having a fuller and more expansive feel that really showcases the film’s layered sound design and making inclusive use of the full sound stage. I do, you see, get where those who dislike the film are coming from, and even I at times found myself quietly muttering “cut” during some of the longer held static shots. In essence, Taiwanese director Tsai Ming-Liang’s 2003 feature, Goodbye, Dragon Inn, is a record of the final screening at a large but run-down Taipei cinema before it permanently shuts its doors. Using the composer’s most famous opera as its kicking-off point, the film is set primarily in a busy metropolitan bus station and focuses on a woman who is trying to get home but doesn’t quite have enough money for a ticket. An exquisite, wryly funny and tender tribute to the experience of movie-going, Tsai Ming-Liang's poignant love letter to cinema is one of the most beguiling and beloved dramas of modern times and is now widely regarded as a classic.

If it seems as though I’m dancing around not just my own opinion of the film but what happens within it, you can put this down to the fact that Goodbye, Dragon Inn is not an easy film to start making even close to definitive statements about. Some will argue that the same could be said for anything approaching a story, at least in the traditional sense. A 4K restoration was released on DVD and Blu-ray by Second Run on November 23, 2020, and digitally by Metrograph on December 18, 2020. Many loved the old moviehouses in their grand glory days, but in "Goodbye Dragon Inn," Tsai shows the beauty of the big theaters as their curtains slowly fall.When the woman approaches the ticket office, for instance, the angle chosen suggests the ticket seller was not in on the gag and was thus expected not to sell the woman a ticket because she is just short of the required fare, but when seller is encouraged by others to accept this lower payment she agrees, and a reason for declining this offer then has to be quickly manufactured, or at least that’s the way it seems. A meagre audience, the remaining few staff, and perhaps even a ghost or two, watch King Hu's wuxia classic Dragon Inn - each haunted by memories and desires evoked by cinema itself. The final screening at a run-down Taipei cinema is the venue for GOODBYE, DRAGON INN [BO SAN], Tsai Ming-Liang's poetic, touching and intermittently humorous example of 'slow cinema'.