Written by Andreas Babiolakis

This review is a part of the Palme d’Or Project: a review of every single Palme d’Or winner at Cannes Film Festival. Farewell My Concubine won the thirty eighth Palme d’Or at the 1993 festival, which it shared with The Piano.

The film was selected by the following jury.
Jury President: Louis Malle.
Jury: Claudia Cardinale, Inna Churikova, Judy Davis, Abbas Kiarostami, Emir Kusturica, William Lubtchansky, Tom Luddy, Gary Oldman, Augusto M. Seabra.

A film like Chen Kaige’s Farewell My Concubine felt essential upon release, as it was instantly banned by the political bureaus associated with the Chinese government for its depictions of homosexuality (amongst other “concerns”). The adaptation of Lillian Lee’s story (which she worked on as well, as to properly translate her text to the big screen) is a vital one that reminds us that the events of the film — particularly the bigotries that harm and prevent many people from being able to be themselves — are still needed to be heard today. In the same way that the underlying chemistry in this film could not be allowed to exist, it’s clear that certain places in the world weren’t prepared to have the discussion of homophobic intolerance yet. Upon release, this was clear when Farewell My Concubine was pulled from theatres. In hindsight, it’s even more blatant when you look at the poor fate of star Leslie Chung: a magnificent actor who was the forefront of queer cinema in Asia (and all over the world) who sadly lost his battle with depression.

As far as LGBTQ+ films go, Farewell My Concubine is a must-see historical epic that gets down into the roots of the discussion: love just appears in any shape and form, and no one chooses who they love. Starting in 1924 Peking, Farewell My Concubine already shows the actions of hate and malice persevering as a young androgynous boy is forced to cut off his extra finger whilst being abandoned at a Beijing opera school: he is cast out and pressured into change. His mother — of whom leaves him here — is also someone mistreated by society: a woman constrained to a life of prostitution in order to survive. Nonetheless, this is the only way forward that she can see, and unfortunately this child will spend three filmic hours realizing that the world rarely changes for us, especially when it is so secured with its systemic intolerances. The boy develops a friend within this strict academic setting, and they instantly become the perfect partners for opera performances, particularly the titular Farewell My Concubine: the falling apart of a dynasty, a marriage, and one’s life. In the devastating way that life imitated art with this film, Kaige’s magnum opus is both about this traditional opera as it is an interpretation of it (think Black Swan).

These friends adopt new names to follow suit: the main character was born Douzi, and gestates into Cheng Dieyi, and his friend turns from Shitou into Duan Xiaolou. They also “become” the stage characters that they have perfected, and this is where the film really becomes special. Xiaolou is the protagonist warlord, and Dieyi assumes the role of his wife. Life imitates art once again, as Dieyi starts to live as his character. He doesn’t fully transition, but he does recognize himself as a fitting woman. Furthermore, he recognizes that he may be perfect for his best friend: they’ve seemingly been life partners. Unfortunately, Xiaolou is happily married to Juxian (played by the iconic Gong Li), so Dieyi can only live the life he craves on the stage. There’s such a brilliant set of layers to what Kaige is able to achieve within this artistic-political drama, that you will only find more elements of the film’s nuances each time you watch it again. Even still, on that very first watch, you’ll know that Farewell My Concubine is inventively splendid.

Dieyi and Xiaolou experience the changing times of China throughout the film, as we begin in 1924 and reach 1977: over fifty years later. Like all operas, you may try to stave off the inevitable, but you’ll not be able to. All you can do is take in what’s happing around the tragedy, but Kaige warns us of additional crises: the Double-Seven Incident of 1937; the Chinese Civil War; the Red Guard sociopolitical movement. There is misery everywhere in Farewell My Concubine, and you can only find hope where it’s available. Sadly, Dieyi finds it through forbidden love, either by society’s provincialisms or by his friend not reciprocating how he feels. Even through all of these performances and experiences, Dieyi is alone. He’s never truly been able to be himself; as performer Dieyi; as Douzi at birth; as Consort Yu in Farewell My Concubine. Leslie Chung turns in one of the greatest performances of his time with this multifaceted role that isn’t to be missed; his legacy will carry one with this painfully human portrayal.

One of the great tragedies of the 1990s, Farewell My Concubine is as gorgeous as it is aching. It’s everything that a modern day opera (of sorts) should feel like, and Kaige’s affinity for focusing on music within film is part of that winning formula. He clearly studied his source materials (Lee’s story and the base classical opera) thoroughly to deliver his masterpiece: a lingering exercise in the dismantling of one’s heart and soul. It is highly progressive for its time and place, yes, but it’s also a flat-out flawless motion picture that has scope, texture, details, patience, and purity. Farewell My Concubine has to be seen to be fully understood (and I wouldn’t dare give away the shocking finale that may haunt you forever): there just aren’t many films this ambitious, intricate, emotional, and undiluted anymore. This is as raw as historical art gets, especially with something contemporary to say. Farewell My Concubine still is a must-see film: as commentary and as a magnum opus.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.