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Review of “The Panda Candy”

Chun Sue (left) and Taki Zhang in The Panda Candy

The Panda Candy is a quirky, unconventional film from Chinese musician/painter/filmmaker Peng Lei. Shot in a pseudo-documentary style with non-professional actors, the piece is certainly different, though audiences may disagree strongly on whether this is a good or a bad thing.

The story – such as it is – follows the adventures of two young women, played by Chun Sue (who penned the story that inspired the film) and Taki Zhang.

Taki’s character is a lesbian who floats around with the rock band New Pants (of which Peng Lei is the front man), dating all of the girls she meets as the band tours across China. The other woman, Chun, is more interested in guys, dating a string of men until she meets her apparent soul mate in Taki.

Instead of presenting a traditional narrative of the beginning-middle-end sort, Lei has instead opted for a sort of loose cyclical structure.

The film opens on the presumed end, and after a brief scene, we’re whisked away to the beginning, which has Taki explaining her roadie lifestyle and love of the ladies. Meanwhile, Chun’s off meeting young guys all around Beijing, with no apparent motivation other than curiosity — with a dash of lust.

The film plays out in a collection of scenes that have our characters meeting their various lovers, speaking with them about life and love, and occasionally having sex.

There’s never any real explanation of the events; the audience is simply asked to spend some time with these characters as they live their carefree lives.

As such, it’s a hazy, low-key and often fun portrait of life as a young roadie/drifter in modern China. Anyone expecting a traditional story will be sorely disappointed, but audience members who are on board for 85 minutes of hanging out, flitting around Beijing, and making love will appreciate the change of pace.

But there’s also something deeper at work here – even if Lei didn’t set out with that in mind.

Considering the cultural shift occurring in the People’s Republic these days, the film is a quiet, almost accidental testament to social change. While the words “lesbian” or “queer” never appear anywhere in the film, the movie is implicitly about the younger generation’s greater acceptance — or at least, comfort with – queer people and lesbians in particular.

Taki’s various encounters with women are casual and fun. She seems to meet a new lady at each and every performance, creating a track record that would put Shane McCutcheon to shame. With bright eyes and an even brighter personality, she seems to smile her way into the hearts of her lovers.

Many of her encounters begin with a conversation about sexuality. Without ever explicitly defining herself, Taki interviews her paramours with a shy grin before getting them into bed. In fact, one of the most refreshing elements of the film is the way it portrays lesbian sexuality in such a natural, non-exploitative light. Though most of the dialogue is conversational and easygoing, Taki and her lovers make more than a few interesting observations about the bonds between women.

But Panda Candy’s ambivalence about the permanence and seriousness of the lesbian identity is troubling.

Even Peng Lei, in his director’s statement, seems to consider lesbian relationships something of a curiosity. He admits that he didn’t take lesbian relationships “for serious” until he made this film, though he later states: “what I’m sure of is that the girl-girl love is purely true and beautiful [and] deserves everybody [‘s] and the whole society’s respect”.

It’s certainly nice to see a real-life director change his opinions on lesbianism (in a positive way) after making a piece of art — but what exactly does that say about his inspiration to make the film in the first place?

Still, it’s not as if the movie presents the heterosexual relationships with any sort of reverence. Both of our leads are presented as carefree young people who choose to date many other carefree young people. It has to be said that Chun’s (male) suitors are a great deal stranger than any of Taki’s, so perhaps Lei is implicitly saying that lesbians have better romantic prospects.

In fact, most of Chun’s dates come across as either mildly insane or catatonic.

One young guy (Mr. Wu, the only male character with a name) chases poor Chun around a park, proclaiming himself a great poet. He spouts inane verses and laughs with booming, maniacal volume, and he claims to love her until she refuses to perform a sexual act on him. Another young man that she meets is utterly silent. He comes home with Chun, watches her undress, and falls asleep next to her.

Still another of Chun’s lovers is a geeky wannabe skateboarder, who asks her to his apartment and sort of awkwardly wrestles with her. He later accompanies her to a karaoke booth, where he proceeds to sing pop songs (Michael Jackson’s “Billy Jean” among them) loudly while Chun and the recently discovered Taki cuddle in the corner and giggle.

Chun does have one male friend who seems normal enough, a soulful guy with a goatee and ponytail that makes observations about the state of the world and the nature of desire as they cavort around Tiananmen square. He’s easily the most likeable of the male characters in the movie, but he doesn’t compare to the cute baby butches that Taki brings home.

Some of the vignettes are fascinating, others are fun, and yet plenty more are absolutely maddening, even for audiences who appreciate non-narrative work. There are simply too many scenes that just go nowhere, and do nothing to further explore the core theme. It’s fine to drift — but I wish more of these scenes were drifting tangibly towards something.

While there is very little outright discussion (serious or otherwise), and a large portion of the proceedings seem awkward, the movie is oddly compelling.

It brings to mind the similarly divisive (and frank) sex-and-rock flick Nine Songs, though it’s nowhere near as graphic. Actually, for a film that’s as obsessed with sex as Panda Candy, the love scenes are quite tame. The most risqué sequence in the entire film involves Taki and her stuffed panda — which is just as bizarre and potentially disturbing as it sounds.

The cinematography ranges from stunning to rather mundane – much like the scenery itself. There are a number of phenomenal montage sequences that depict Taki’s travels. Landscapes and cityscapes whiz by as she looks out her window, her little panda toy in tow. The visuals are beautifully complemented by a fantastic soundtrack — which really makes this a trip worth taking. Scored by New Pants and ME: MO, with several brief shots of New Pants concert footage, the soundscape is as dreamy and meandering as the storyline.

It’s a bit like a very long, very ponderous music video – with social commentary peering over the edges.

If you’re looking for something very different, you may enjoy Panda Candy. It’s odd and “out there,” but it does have a sort of accidental depth and a few delicious scenes. If you have no interest in watching a grown woman get down with her own “panda candy,” however, you’d best steer clear.

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