Why am I discussing this topic? Because I have a particularly profound feeling that in today’s era, the pace is extremely fast, and directors’ utilitarian purposes when filming often become more intense than their attention to their subjects. Once the heart is filled with utilitarianism, one loses the patience to wait. But many documentaries must settle down to obtain their filming content—they must wait!

I once saw a documentary made by a Czech female director who filmed for twenty full years. The documentary was very simple, following the life of an ordinary woman: marriage, pregnancy in the second year, giving birth to a child, divorce in the third year… The female director filmed a little of this ordinary woman’s life each year. She had no utilitarian purpose, didn’t expect this ordinary woman’s future to be particularly brilliant—she simply focused on this woman, then slowly walked along, slowly walked along, filming for twenty years. You see the changes in this woman’s clothing, the changes in her life, and through this you see Czech culture, you see the changes of the great era. After divorce, this woman lived with her child, and life was very difficult. A few years later, she cohabited with a man without formal procedures, just living together. Then this woman gave birth to another boy. After two years, that man left, and the woman lived with two children together—life was truly hard. At that time, she placed all her hopes and efforts on her daughter, hoping that when the daughter grew up their lives would improve, and that daughter was particularly understanding and considerate of her mother. But when the daughter was 19, she was suddenly killed by a car. That shocking power is something narrative films could never create through deliberate construction—this is the power of documentary, no one could predict such a development. Because in the slow waiting and filming process of documentaries, you’re not only living with it, but the film itself becomes fate! It records your life trajectory. But narrative films aren’t like this—they need foreshadowing and climax. Documentaries don’t have such hints; you never know what will happen in life. The director edited a short trailer from previously filmed material, and after broadcast it caused a great response in society. Everyone came to donate to this woman because her life was truly poor and miserable. But unexpectedly, this woman suddenly became very unhappy. She said, “I want to stand up and live by myself. Losing my daughter is a very painful thing for me. Now everyone knows my pain and comes to disturb my life, but I want to stand up by myself.” Then she refused many people’s help and started life anew. The entire documentary ended there. When we watched it, everyone was deeply moved, and I particularly wanted to chat more with that Czech female director. But her English was stammering, so we couldn’t really talk. Later I thought this wasn’t important—what was most important was that I saw this documentary she had made over twenty years.

I’ve watched some films made by young directors now, and I find they still need to know what they’re waiting for. In the past, people thought documentary images were all a mess—dark, dirty, chaotic, with shaky cameras. But I see that many young people’s documentaries now have particularly good visual images. I once watched a film called “Mateer” made by a graduate student from Beijing Film Academy. I specifically sent an email to this director asking if I could watch his film. After watching, I thought the film’s imagery was excellent, so I asked him who shot these. The director said he shot them himself. I asked how many cameras he had, and he said only one. I knew he definitely didn’t use lights, but his sense of light quality, angles, and camera operation were all particularly good. I was really surprised at the time. This director studied photography, so his film’s characteristic was very good visual effects. I now feel that the role of visuals is different for your generation compared to ours. In the past, equipment was scarce—when we got cameras, our hands would shake. Now when you get cameras, you don’t care even if they fall to the ground. So you’ve solved the visual problems, and many film technical issues can be well resolved even by people who didn’t study filmmaking. But what should be the most important problem to solve? Some young directors can film the four seasons, especially winter, extremely beautifully—so beautiful it amazes me: snow falling with layers and aesthetic appeal, clearly shot under natural light. But after watching their films, I just don’t know what they’re waiting for, what they want to express through their cameras. This involves literary quality—you need to read many, many books.

A French director came to China to make a film, just filming one Chinese person’s day. Do you think he just held a camera and followed this person around filming? He would choose one person from many people, and through this person he definitely wanted to express something of his own, definitely had something he wanted to say—his tracking shots had intention. So when you’re waiting, it’s not about holding up a camera and filming whatever you see—that won’t work. If that’s the case, the more you film, the less you can choose, thinking this is good and that is good too, but what you ultimately want to express—you don’t know.

Someone filmed a Chinese painter’s story in America for eleven years. Later he finished editing and showed it to me—he edited an 80-minute version and a 3-hour version. After I watched, we talked, and he asked, “Did you watch the 3-hour version?” I said, “Of course I watched 3 hours since I promised to watch it.” He said, “I thought you were so busy, so I specially edited an 80-minute version for you.” So when you make documentaries, you must have an attitude. What is your attitude? Why are you filming this person? I watched one film and was still confused after watching. That person filmed a blind couple for a long time. You could see he was very dedicated and captured some things. But after watching, I wanted to ask him: Do you love them? If you don’t love them, then tell us about your lack of love. You can’t just film them the way they live. Directors should have their own attitude—they don’t need to speak it out, but can express it in diverse ways in front of the camera. But you can’t say you don’t know when you actually do know—you’re just hiding behind the camera pretending not to know. The problem with many documentaries now is that their synopses sound very convincing, but the documentaries themselves aren’t like that. There’s a lot of material, all well-shot, but no structure. This isn’t a technical problem at all. In editing, there should be your own ideas, your observations and understanding of the world, your appreciation perspective. The same actor in different directors’ films, even wearing the same clothes, will present completely different states. In this director’s hands, this actor can be very annoying and fake, but with another director, they could be completely different. So directors are very important. What are documentaries? Documentaries must grasp real people—these people won’t act for you, so what matters is your perspective, from what angle you observe and understand them. Different understanding abilities produce different results, and what’s finally edited will be a work that belongs uniquely to you.

Waiting is one of the important qualities for documentary directors—you cannot be utilitarian. Some directors, hoping their films have dramatic tension, create events within them. I think this lacks professional ethics—you can’t do this. Documentary directors must be honest, and when waiting, they should maintain distance from interview subjects as much as possible. You can’t cry when they cry—that’s terrible. You must maintain a very objective attitude to truly grasp this person. For example, when an interview subject particularly wants to cry while telling something, but controls themselves—if you get involved, before they even speak, you’re already in tears, this destroys their personality and makes their tears also fall “whoosh,” which isn’t their real personality anymore. A documentary director’s waiting is a kind of cultivation—you can observe while waiting. So when waiting, you need imagination—you must stay one step ahead. You can’t wait until things happen to film them, but should already be there anticipating before they happen—you have premonition, you know what will occur. When things happen, you capture them immediately, and what emerges then has an impact that narrative films’ recreated scenes can never achieve. When you’re waiting, you should do all kinds of homework at home, then wait for things to happen. Often the most regrettable thing is not capturing that moment, and value often lies in that moment—this capture might take a very long time.

Why did I become interested in Ogawa Shinsuke’s films later? Because he dared to live with farmers in rural areas for eight years. This long wait was so long that disputes arose within their film crew. Ogawa Shinsuke repeatedly said: when you feel you and your subject haven’t reached that state yet, don’t carry out the camera. Because once facing a camera, people become nervous. Sometimes when watching documentaries, you’ll notice that subjects are very nervous at first, but as the relationship becomes closer and they no longer feel your camera, their presented state becomes different—they forget the camera’s existence. This is time’s refinement, and also the relationship built with subjects during the waiting process. When they trust you, they’ll appear in such a state. I think a good documentary slowly settles through time. A Tianjin director made “Red Leaves,” filming a “nail household” in Sichuan who refused to relocate. He went to film once a year for seven or eight years. In this time accumulation, you see changes in this person’s face, clothing, surrounding environment—these things themselves are already moving. When he chose this subject to film, he was very clear about what he wanted, very clear about the angle and atmosphere he wanted to choose.

When I watch documentaries, I focus on their humanistic spirit. For the younger generation, the most important thing is actually the issue of cultivation: observation of life, grasp of people, thinking about the world. For example, you do all your homework then go film something, but when you get there you find it’s completely different from your homework—what do you do then? Many people, having done their homework, always guide interview subjects when questioning, trying to return to the state they prepared for. But I think good documentaries aren’t like this—they should be able to keenly subvert themselves. What you initially determined is also what most audiences expect, but when you arrive at the filming location and discover it’s not like that, you should start subverting yourself—actually also subverting audience expectations. What’s filmed this way will be very watchable, but indeed difficult to handle. First, it depends on the director’s own cultivation—how much tolerance you have in understanding society and people determines how much you can subvert; if you don’t have such tolerance, your subversion will be narrow.

I think one documentary was made very well: “Maomao’s Complaint.” I waited until its tenth anniversary re-broadcast to see this film. The girl in the film clearly had sexual relations with this man—she came from elsewhere wanting to stay in Shanghai, while this man was disabled and just playing with her. If you judge morally, both people are quite unlovable. So how do you film this to move audiences? I think the director’s waiting angle was completely correct—he filmed the value of protecting rights. Then you ignore these two people’s motives, follow the director, and stand in sympathy with the woman. This shows a documentary director’s understanding and observation of life—the greater their tolerance, the better their film can be. If you purely stand on moral grounds, you can’t achieve transcendence to express sympathy for the weak. This film made ten years ago, because of its angle, still moves me ten years later when re-broadcast—a narrative film wouldn’t give me such impact. In this documentary, Shanghai at that time was dirty and felt rustic, but you find it particularly vivid—it captured that era’s Shanghai “daily life,” those details. You follow the characters’ waiting, the director’s settling, observation, detail-capturing, and you become nervous. The director has pulled you into their state—you’re experiencing together with the filmed subjects, living together in daily life, that state is very different. This is good documentary. What it films is unremarkable—ordinary people, and not even traditional virtuous ordinary people: they’re utilitarian and don’t look good. This director’s waiting has an angle, an angle cultivated by themselves, and importantly, they don’t sensationalize. Now filming documentaries easily becomes sensationalizing, filming celebrities for fastest profit! You should make your angle down-to-earth—how to film culture, how to film people, how to film people’s fate requires waiting and refinement.

So-called waiting and refinement isn’t just waiting for events to occur and develop, but also self-development—waiting for your own maturity, waiting for progress in your observation of things. You can’t just carry a camera and go out—you should think at home about how you generally want to film this character, what your angle is, how to position your camera, and when you arrive on location and find the situation completely different, you must quickly train yourself to adjust. So when going out to film, you really need to observe in all directions and listen carefully. This is a technique, but more importantly, a long-term cultivation. Not only when filming documentaries do you need cultivation, but in daily life as a person you already need cultivation. The essential difference between documentaries and narrative films is that documentaries won’t make you rich or famous—people who make documentaries often need some sense of social responsibility. Documentaries require giving while receiving little—you must endure loneliness and share hardships with your filming subjects.

After filming documentaries for a while, I have to escape because I feel I can’t bear it. When I feel I’m better prepared, then I carry the camera out again to film. I think I’m a terrible documentary director—I cry easily. Originally interview subjects aren’t prepared to shed tears, but when I cry messily, they start crying too, which destroys the interview. So sometimes I have friends help me conduct interviews while I sit and observe through the monitor. I don’t directly face interviewees because I don’t want people to see me crying. Another point might relate to my narrative filmmaking—when making documentaries, I care a lot about light and making subjects look beautiful. Like when we interviewed Feng Yan (Lin Fengmian’s adopted daughter), I wanted to make her look beautiful and give her makeup. Later I saw the documentary channel “Past Events” interview Feng Yan, and she looked very beautiful in that program. Whether male or female directors, when your subjects are interviewed on television, you must pay attention to angles, environment, and lighting—definitely make people look beautiful. Some men might not want lighting or makeup, but you should at least wipe the sweat from their faces. I most hate when lighting just whooshes onto someone’s head—this disrespects people. I once bought a row of frosted energy-saving bulbs from IKEA, placed all these energy-saving lights on reflectors, then used soft light in front of people. This helps you enter the filming scene’s state and lets interview subjects enter their state—they subconsciously feel your respect for them. Also remember: to make people look beautiful, use telephoto lenses as much as possible.

What I most fear when watching news programs is seeing someone speaking well, then snap—the camera cuts to a host’s fake smile, completely destroying my mood. I think whatever the channel’s target audience is like, that’s what kind of host should be used. For example, if the audience is intellectuals, then the host should look like an intellectual—even gray hair doesn’t matter, as long as they appear very knowledgeable and thoughtful. Ogawa Shinsuke said something: you must know that every word your interview subject says comes from their life, from years of accumulated pain—you must truly respect them, can’t speak casually, and can’t interrupt them casually. Documentary directors must first learn to interview people—how directors get others to speak, what to say, what questions to ask is a very long process depending on how thoroughly you’ve done your homework. After doing your homework well then interviewing others, the entire state is completely different. For example, if you start by asking about something from their childhood, they’ll feel you’ve observed and understood them, bringing your relationship closer. If you immediately ask very big, very social, very intellectual questions, at least I myself wouldn’t know how to answer such questions and might even feel disgusted.

So when making documentaries, remember several points: first, you cannot have utilitarian motives; second, you must refine yourself—waiting isn’t blind waiting, but being able to accurately sense the direction of events; third, your waiting must have a point—you must know what you’re waiting for.