Based on a True Story: Center Stage, Walk Hard, and the Death of the Biopic

Cinema can serve several different functions, but perhaps its most significant is its ability to document, to historicize, to capture. Every film, whether it is consciously participating in this tradition or not, ultimately acts as a time capsule for a particular moment. This idea is particularly true for the biopic, which is simultaneously of the present and the past. A biopic forces an audience to consider what about that particular person or story necessitates looking back at it at the time of its production. Further, the biopic has a complex relationship with truth and authenticity. While many viewers may accept the events of a biopic as factual, certain embellishments—or maybe even flat out falsehoods—almost inevitably pervade such films. Stanley Kwan’s 1991 film Center Stage—a biopic about the life of Chinese silent film star Ruan Lingyu—acknowledges this very challenge, incorporating complex layers of both diegetic and nondiegetic footage so as to bring the film closer to a sort of truth as it relates to Lingyu’s life. But is it successful in this endeavor? Kwan’s Center Stage aims to dive deeper into Lingyu by moving beyond a simple portrayal of her life, but it may ultimately highlight the futility of attempting to document the life of an individual via the biopic altogether. I will put the film in conversation with Jake Kasdan’s 2007 film Walk Hard: A Dewey Cox Story in order to further illustrate this point. Kasdan’s film is obviously quite different from Kwan’s—the titular Cox is not even a real person but rather a fictional musician meant to skewer the depiction of famous figures in “real” biopics—but its goal remains quite similar: highlight the various traps and oversimplifications so many other biopics often fall victim to. But in highlighting these difficulties, both films seem to suggest that cinema is best served by not telling such stories at all.

Of course, it is perhaps unfair to make this argument without first recognizing why a filmmaker like Kwan might have decided to tell Lingyu’s story in the first place. Center Stage was released in 1994, three years prior to the 1997 mark at which Hong Kong would become a Special Administrative Region of the People’s Republic of China. As film scholar Julian Stringer points out, “the city’s filmmakers [struggled] to define and preserve its cultural identity…in the run-up to 1997” (Stringer 1). This kind of anxiety may also explain why Kwan crafted such a complex and layered film, opting out of the traditional biopic format so as to, hopefully, better capture the cultural milieu of the past. His efforts would seem to be at least partly successful, as Stringer recognizes how Kwan’s “narrative complexities establish links between Hong Kong’s past, present, and future” (Stringer 1). Stringer contrasts this supposed success with the effect of most other biopics, which do “not make dialectical connections between different historical times, and…[refuse] to interrogate the very process of constructing [the] public history [they] contribute to” (Stringer 3). While I would certainly agree that Center Stage interrogates this idea of a public history, it does not necessarily bring it any closer to something honest or true. Stringer appreciates how Center Stage “remains true to the spirit of the bio-pic because it focuses on the public image of a person who remains inaccessible to us” but fails to consider whether or not the film renders Lingyu accessible when all is said and done (Stringer 4). While the film’s agenda is certainly of the postmodern variety, acknowledging the limited and subjective nature of the truth, it is perhaps most appropriately considered an effective tool in guiding how we engage with other biopics, but not an effective biopic in and of itself.

Like Kasdan’s Walk Hard, Center Stage draws attention to not just its own construction, but how biopics are constructed more broadly so as to force viewers into a confrontation with the notion of authenticity in such films. But this acknowledgment of constructedness is a slippery slope. In the case of Center Stage, Kwan acknowledges that the film is ultimately just Maggie Cheung reenacting scenes from both Lingyu’s life and her films. He does so by splicing these reenactments with actual footage from Lingu’s films. Further, he incorporates interviews with himself, his cast, and individuals who knew Lingyu so as to paint a portrait of how Lingyu is received and interpreted in contemporary Hong Kong. While these interviews ostensibly combat the highly constructed nature of the reenactments, one can’t help but question the authenticity or constructed nature of these scenes as well. And if we are to interpret these scenes as similarly constructed, then we are in danger of achieving no semblance of truth-telling—subjective or otherwise—via our engagement with the film. Further, these moments complicate the diegesis of the film. One may be tempted to describe the reenactment sequences as being within the film’s diegesis, but that is only if we consider those to be the film’s sole constructions, which may not be the case. The interviews, while seemingly of the extradiegetic variety, could be considered diegetic in a certain sense. After all, Maggie Cheung is a beloved and acclaimed actress in Hong Kong. Her answers may seem genuine on the surface, and her celebrity status affords us this kind of comfort, but her ability to act could prove deceptive in such moments. Ultimately, Center Stage fractures any notion of diegesis to the point of futility. This effect is not negative in and of itself, but it may prove more alienating than it does engrossing. Kwan’s techniques may prove effective in educating us on the importance of skepticism in approaching films alleging their basis in reality or truth, but do not necessarily aid this specific film in achieving their intended effects.

Much of the dialogue in Walk Hard has a similar intention, with Dewey saying things like “God damn it, this is a dark fucking period!” This kind of dialogue draws attention to the formulaic nature of so many biopics, and interrogates what film scholar Penny Spirou calls “the myths of the music industry, perpetuated by media such as Hollywood film” (Spirou). While Spirou seems excited about the potential for parody to affirm the biopic genre, admissions such as this one illustrate the kind of futility I am attempting to prove here. Films like Bohemian Rhapsody or Walk the Line—whose title Walk Hard most obviously ridicules—may seem to be about Freddie Mercury and Johnny Cash, respectively, but they ultimately manipulate these performers’ lives to fit into an established mold, which Walk Hard suggests results in an audience learning nothing about these films’ central figures.

I have thus far established Walk Hard as a case against the biopic, so it now follows that we must consider how Kasdan and those behind the film might feel about a film like Center Stage. Interestingly, film scholar Shuqin Cui celebrates Center Stage’s “potential for parody…a gold mine of referential complexities” (Cui 67). Walk Hard is obviously much more interested in parody than Center Stage, but both films utilize representation and intertextuality, both of which Cui recognizes as vital to parody. The referents in Center Stage, of course, are much more narrow in scope, limited to texts related to Lingyu and her life. Walk Hard—much like other popular satirical films such as Airplane! or Scary Movie—places it crosshair on several different texts. Because Walk Hard’s notion of parody is much broader, a film like Center Stage could very well fall within its purview. So does it? Despite its several narrative complexities, Center Stage is still a linear film, chronicling Lingyu’s rise to stardom in Shanghai during the 1930s before depicting her downfall at the hands of a vicious media that ultimately drives her towards suicide at the young age of 24. Kasdan’s argument in Walk Hard is not a simple suggestion that biopics need to be nonlinear, of course. Rather, Kasdan is lamenting the repetition of the same basic plot points and formulas in biopics. In this way, Center Stage does still follow an established formula, no matter how hard it tries to complicate or break it. While it does forgo telling a story from cradle to grave—a convention Walk Hard hilariously skewers by allowing lead actor John C. Reilly to play Cox at every stage of his life, including his childhood—Center Stage includes all of the expected moments in a biopic, such as the discovery of romance or the struggle of balancing the public with the private. Perhaps these repeated conventions are indicative of the actual commonalities between so many celebrities’ lives, but they are more likely indicative of the ways in which directors must oversimplify these kinds of moments. This tendency to oversimplify is likely rooted in an inability to truly access the events of reality, or perhaps a studio’s insistence upon a film configuring with the aforementioned established formula. No matter how much Center Stage works to push back against its own formula, it is still committed to a particular structure that has proven ineffective in achieving particular truths.

In Kwan’s defense, he does utilize elements of cinematography and mise-en-scene so as to acknowledge his own participation in generic formula. Several shots in the film obscure Lingyu’s face so as to suggest the troubled nature of her being represented by another actress in Cheung. One such shot comes early in the film, where Lingyu looks into a mirror and applies makeup to her face. The angle of the camera prevents us from seeing her face. Her reflection in the mirror—to which we should be privileged—is blocked by a green light on the mirror’s edge. Kwan’s framing of this moment reminds viewers of the fabricated nature of the film, and encourages an approach to the film that is skeptical of any and all information offered to us. This shot is followed up by Lingyu looking out her window at a group of men talking on a basketball court below. Lingyu’s face is now more visible, but it remains obfuscated by both the window’s glass and curtains. At the very least, this shot establishes a degree of separation between spectator and subject. From there, we are brought down to the basketball court, where the men discuss politics and the possibility of getting involved with a student protest. We as viewers are privileged enough to participate in these conversations, whereas Lingyu is not. In fact, this scene nearly loses sight of Lingyu as we focus almost exclusively on the men talking. Contrast this with the aforementioned shot in which we are not afforded a clear image of Lingyu, who is afforded her own image in the mirror according to where she sits. Cheung, as Lingyu, is able to see herself. We, as viewers, cannot quite see her, cannot quite access her. Kwan seems to privilege us in all the ways that Lingyu is not, whilst privileging both his subject and his actress in all the ways that we are not. This dynamic suggests an intimacy between performer and subject, an intimacy that we as viewers will never quite achieve, according to Kwan, not to mention a filmmaker like Kasdan as well. Cui provides us with a rather literal interpretation of a moment like this, noting that “postmodern spectatorship takes shape when motion pictures no longer offer a primary cinematic identification or mirror reflection” (Cui 72). The lack of Lingyu’s reflection forces us into a postmodern relationship with Center Stage, in which we can no longer consider the film an answerable inquiry, but an indefinite exploration. Cui also notes however, that this kind of relationship is not a given. Kwan may invite us into a postmodern viewing of Center Stage, but “the new question of postmodern spectatorship is whether to reject or participate in the creative process” (Cui 72). If viewers are to readily engage with Center Stage in a postmodern manner, we may come to see Kwan’s perspective on history and memory. But if we approach it like a traditional biopic, we will almost inevitably come away disappointed.

It seems, then, that Kwan is hyperaware of the futility of his search. While this kind of reconstruction may therefore fail to collect Hong Kong’s history in the way Stringer identifies it as doing, it does express valid anxieties regarding this attempt to collect and capture. Perhaps, then, Kwan’s perspective is more in line with Kasdan’s than previously thought. Perhaps both directors are frustrated with the attempts to tell truths via biopics, and are suggesting we move past this form of storytelling in cinema. Why, then, does Kwan utilize the biopic to deliver this message? Especially because my intention here is not to criticize Kwan’s Center Stage—the film is fascinating and well-crafted in spite of its slippery complexity—I will attempt to answer this question by considering what the film might be besides a standard biopic. While Center Stage is ostensibly a biopic in its depiction of a famous figure’s life, a consideration of the film that moves beyond this initial generic reading may prove beneficial in understanding Kwan’s agenda and attitude towards the futility of the biopic. The aforementioned intimacy between Cheung and Lingyu is especially relevant here, as it allows for a reading of the film that is more so about the relationship between these two women than anything else. Cheung even compares herself to Lingyu at the very beginning of the film, questioning her own career and celebrity status as it relates to Lingyu’s. In this way, Center Stage could be just as much about Cheung as it is Lingyu. This idea is further evidenced by the complicated nature of the film’s title. For a film called Center Stage, Kwan’s text refuses to place any one figure center stage. Even his own appearance as himself in interviews allows for a reading in which the film is about him and his own relationship to this work. As a specific account of Ruan Lingyu’s life, Center Stage may not be a very effective biopic, but as a more general exploration of truth, history, and memory, and the seeming futility of representing such concepts accurately or fully, the film is more than successful.

Despite some clear achievements on the part of both Center Stage and Walk Hard, my argument remains a complete and total rejection of the biopic. After all, it is only through the interpretation of these films as different genres entirely that we arrive at an effective and inclusive reading. Walk Hard—more satire than biopic—and Center Stage—more anxious engagement than honest recollection—both demonstrate the limits and the possibilities afforded to us by cinema. Cinema is forever restricted in its ability to tell the truth. Attempts to historicize and document can only be attempts to remember or interpret, rooted in subjectivity. Still, once we acknowledge this pitfall, we arrive at a cinema that may inform our surroundings in ways that move well beyond simple attempts to capture or recount historical events. While there is an understandable desire to claim history, films that are more transparently fictional remain just as significant as time capsules or cultural signifiers. Perhaps the answer is not the radical eradication of any future biopics, but a perspective that does not differentiate between genres so strictly. Documentary and narrative. Fiction and nonfiction. Biopic and satire. These are all just labels, and it seems there is only one label that truly matters: cinema.

Center Stage. Dir. Stanley Kwan. Perf. Maggie Cheung. 1991.

Cui, Shuqin. “Stanley Kwan’s Center Stage: The (Im)possible Engagement Between Feminism and Postmodernism.” Cinema Journal. Vol. 39, no. 4, 2000, pp. 60-80.

Spirou, Penny. “Walk Hard: Film Parody, Biopics and Music.” Comedy Studies, vol. 5, no. 1, Jan. 2014, pp. 52–63.

Stringer, Julian. “Centre Stage: Reconstructing the Bio-Pic.” CineACTION. No. 42, 1997, pp. 28-39.

Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story. Dir. James Kasdan. Perf. John C. Reilly. 2007.