MADAME

[3.3]

An interesting document, if slightly less successful as a filmic documentary, MADAME is a relatively basic compilation of interviews with tailor-cum-drag queen Fan Qihui and footage of her performing in a nightclub. There are a few poetic shots from outside these two staples (notably a shot of a child standing in snow which recalls Fan’s description of his childhood), and these moments provide rare relief from the rather claustrophobic environment of the bulk of the film. And while not explicitly mentioned, it’s clear that the restrictions placed on director Qiu Jiongjiong played an integral role in the final visuals. We never see outsiders: no waitresses or patrons in the club, no other backstage performers or friends. And not simply because this is a story focused exclusively on Fan, but likely because of the ‘closeted’ nature of gay life in China. To expose the patrons of a gay club would threaten their livelihood, as Fan mentions blithely in passing. He talks about trying to amp up his masculinity, of turning to prostitution, of gay people shunned from the economic pipeline. It’s a tragedy that Fan has accepted with a mix of hardened self-pity and puffed-up vanity. It’s an attitude that one can still sense in many a current crop of drag queens (see any season of Drag Race). 

The interview segments, shot with Fan tightly trapped between hangers of clothes in a dressing room, feels intimate, and Fan has a remarkable openness that instantly draws the viewer in. He speaks unashamedly about the pleasures of gay saunas, of anonymous sex, of large cocks that transform pain into ecstasy. He laughs with his whole body and has delicious, catty fun with his audience when he performs. But there’s a sadness behind his eyes that only gets stronger as the film continues. All of the music he sings are melancholy torch songs, filled with longing and regret, and his signature look is a face streaked with eyeliner tear-trails. He even tells Qiu that one of the best lessons he learned is how to control his tears: to turn the faucet on and off to get what he wants. We want to believe what he tells us, but we are also aware that he is an actor, shaping himself for the camera. Before his audience, he releases a torrent of heartfelt yearning, and when the footage fails to provide us with any sounds of audience interaction, any hints of applause or recognition, we are left with the unsettling picture of a lonely individual performing for himself. Which ties perfectly in with an anecdote Fan relates of his childhood: he discovered that he loved singing because it was “playing with myself”. He could entertain his own ears simply with the sound coming out of his mouth. This is the first time I’ve been presented with the idea of music as masturbation, but it’s apt. 

There are a lot of tantalizing details of Fan’s life that are explored, but because we never see him outside of his performing context, we get little evidence of the life he lives as a tailor (and he is called “the tailor” in the film’s titles several times, with that description being chosen as a better embodiment of his skills than his drag side-career). Qiu divides the film into chapters, with some of them given the title of the seasons. Qiu is framing his documentary as a literary work, as the lifecycle of a man. It’s a clever way of breaking up the footage, though it doesn’t necessarily add much. I also feel I missed the texture of Fan’s speech, as the subtitles couldn’t accurately convey many of the details or punchlines of his stories and jokes. And while the film’s format reminded me of PORTRAIT OF JASON or AMERICAN BOY (which I haven’t seen, but am familiar with their single-person-focused documentary look), it’s inclusion of a single voice and simple imagery of Fan on stage grew tedious after a while. It didn’t help that Fan’s songs all had a similar low-key monotony, steeped in tired tragedy. The final image, though, is rather masterful: after finishing his song, we see an extreme closeup of Fan as he dabs his black tear-streaks with a 100 RMB bill. Instead of audience applause, we hear the crinkle of this paper as he wipes it on his face. It’s a cynical, hilarious send-off.