時代劇

本日は「時代劇」についてお話したいと思います。　

時代劇は日本史という点から表す映画や演劇やテレビドラマなどのジャンルです。一般的に時代劇は江戸時代の物語です。平安時代から明治維新の始めに至る物語もあります。

時代劇は侍や農家や商人や貴族などの人性の描写です。もっとも人気がある一例としては侍だけを表すものが多いです。剣でけんかするので,このジャンルは「ちゃんばら」と呼ばれていると言えるのではないでしょうか。

したがって、誰か「時代劇とは何ですか？」と聞いたら、「侍が主人公の映画」と答える人がいるかもしれません。「英語では「Samurai Drama」と表記されます」というウィキペディアより引用した点は、完全にこれを証明します

さて、時代劇はいつも人々に西部劇と比べられて、時代劇は東洋の西部劇の改作に当たると考えられてしまいます。にもかかわらず、時代劇は様々なユニークな劇的な規則があります。例えば，歌舞伎をもとにされた映画なので、歌舞伎と時代劇は似ているところが。中でも、初期に撮影された映画は歌舞伎の性能だけで構成されています。したがって、主人公はたいていアイメイクほどこし、悪役はボサボサ髪をしています。その上、終わりには大きなけんかを含みます。西洋と比べると、常にハッピーエンドではありません。しかし、日本語学生の視点からみると、映画の中にある言葉と話し方は古く、とても分かりにくいという傾向も見られます。

時代劇は日本史の物語と考えられていますが、歴史とは関係ありません。。時代劇のは歴史より神話の方事実です。忠臣蔵といえば、侍達は名誉のために復讐をしたのは世論ですが、実際には侍は失業者で、貧乏なので違う選択がありませんでした。　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　

黒澤はアジアの中だけでなく世界中でも知られていて、１９５１年のヴェネツィア映画祭で世界に時代劇を取り入れようとしました。成功をおさめた理由の一つは西洋にとって、時代劇は全く新しいものでした。黒沢は前より大きい映画を撮影しました。例えば、私の一番好きな映画、「七人の侍 」です。有名な各日本の映画監督たchiは一度だけは時代劇を作ってみました。

簡単ですがここでおわります。ご質問お願いいたします。

一方で、「蜘蛛巣城」を見て私は日本の習慣や文化などを身に着けました。

日本語で夢

二年から日本語を勉強して、日本語で夢を見ることはありませんでした。だけど、今日私の夢は短かったと日本語ででした。

思い出しないけど、日本人の女は「ポケット・ブック」と「ポケット」と言い続けました。
英語で「ｐｏｃｋｅｔｂｏｏｋ」は「小切手」です。
ｐｏｃｋｅｔｂｏｏｋ　（俗語）　＞　ｃｈｅｃｋｂｏｏｋ　（標準的）　＞　小切手

「ポケット・ブック」は本格的な日本語の言葉ではないと思いますが…
私はａ　ｃｈｅｃｋｂｏｏｋ（小切手）を持っていります。理由は忘れられました。
終わりです。ｏｒｚ

質問があります：
「Ａ　ｃｈｅｃｋ」　＝　１枚の小切手です。
だけど、「ａ　ｃｈｅｃｋｂｏｏｋ」　＝　たくさん小切手です。
日本語で、「ａ　ｃｈｅｃｋ」と「ｃｈｅｃｋｂｏｏｋ」は同じ言葉ですか？

ところで、皆さんは英語で夢を見ることがありますか？

ゾンビによる世界の終末の夢でした

目覚めたとき、心がドキドキしました。私のゾンビの夢はとても怖かった。

夢の中で、雪が降って、クリスマスでした。私の家は日本にありました。（理由は知りません。だけど、家の周りには草木が日本っぽいではありません。）

友達と一緒に外に歩きました。突然に、私たちは叫びが聞こえました。「悪魔のいけにえ」
の映画の悪い人みたいなゾンビたちが来ました。そして家のドアへ走って、閉ざしました。

外に多い死体があるのに、アメリカへ帰りたかったです。タクシの冷たい窓で「サヨナラ」（カタカナで！）を始めて書くけど、私はこの言葉を消しました。「がんばって！」を書きました。

夢の理由は昨夜の「スーパーナチュラル」のエピソードでしょう。最近のエピソードは天使と悪魔、来るモクシロクがあります。

アメリカ人はゾンビのサバイバルのルールブックが大好きです。たとえば、テレビの「ウォーキング・デッド」は今一番見えるシリーズです！

The Last Samurai

Watched The Last Samurai recently- t'was pretty funny. Just gonna go for it.

Its really easy to slate 'The Last Samurai' for all its obvious shortcomings. Whenever one of these movies come along, people leave the cinema- basking in the not-so-amazing knowledge that, "the story has been done before"- and guess what, it will be done again. Dance with Wolves, Fern Gully, Pocahontas, Avatar- they are all the same story, but range vastly in quality; plot is not the measure of a film. Its amazing how similar films are actually. But you know this.

Anyway, its the implications of the story that really rustles people's jimmies- but the question is whether or not the controversy is coming from that annoying group of people that are all too fast to yell 'racist'. Either way, the notion of the white American man entering an "other" or "savage" culture, ingratiating himself, and then become their saviour of sorts is sketchy to say the least. The Last Samurai is very much guilty of this despite what people say. The question of whether it is Katsumoto or Tom Cruise (and I'm calling him Tom Cruise- because thats really what the character is), who is the last samurai is ambiguous, sure, but that in itself is outrageous. Just watch Katsumoto's death scene to see how blatant this American feeling of superiority can be (watch from 04:00). http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sZTWCwqmgLc . Tom Cruise's train of thought can be roughly transcribed as "God, are all these Japs bowing to me or Katsumoto?" Its about 04:43 that you can see "What was I thinking, of course they're bowing to me- I am a golden American god, praise me and my glorious white skin." I only exaggerate a bit.

Despite how absurd it may seem, so far this is not new and very predictable- Hollywood doing what Hollywood does. Things become far more interesting when you take into account that Japan fucking loved this movie- it grossed a higher amount in Japan alone than it did in the whole of America, it is one of the highest grossing movies ever released in Japan, and the critical reception was far more positive than in anywhere else in the world. So as a Western audience our self-righteous bleating, trying to "protect" Japan from Hollywood's modern pseudo-imperialism, falls flat and is a bit ridiculous.

So why do Japan not only tolerate, but gobble up this film filled with historical inaccuracies seething with a sense of American superiority? Many reasons. Firstly, Japan has had a long history and has been famous for its ultra-intense nationalism. Examples are rife, some stereotypes, some not; duty to country over love for family, a deep seeded love for the emperor that embodies Japan, a national religion that doesn't even recognise the existence of the rest of the world, a country that even now clings on to a sense of ethnic homogeny, and the famous 'asian work ethic' fuelled by the love of their nation. Suddenly, however, since the war, ultra-nationalism in the global consciousness has become very much negative affair, conjuring images of cults of personality, dictatorships, nazism etc. (I'm coming to my point in a minute).

Japan has had to deal with a very similar sort of post-war guilt as Germany. A guilt that has had Japan terribly insecure regarding its common perception as 'the villain of Asia' from both America and post-imperial Asian countries. This once again is very apparent in American and Chinese cinema- the likes of 'Pearl Harbour', 'The Last Emperor', 'The Go Master' etc. The attempt to deal with the guilt, as well as the more forceful power of American occupants, and a changed of constitution- made the expression of Nationalism, the very tool that dragged Japan into a modern power, extraordinarily taboo.

Back to The Last Samurai. It is in fact the very naivety and revolting American-ness of the movie that allowed it to be popular. For one, it showed to the Japanese people a foreign entity portraying them in a positive light- it is the fruits of their labour, an international public relations success story. Secondly, The film is highly nationalistic- portraying the emperor in a position of power despite the reality of him being merely a figure head. It allowed the Japanese people to connect this nationalism without any sense of guilt. If the film were Japanese, questions would be instantly cast regarding 'what is the political motivation?', subversive and unsettling undertones would be present- corrupting an otherwise pure affirmation of Japanese nationalism.

The rabbit hole goes deeper, nationalism is not the only layer of Japanese identity that is clouded and peculiar. It stems from the fact that the Japanese have been told their whole lives that Japan is special, different, and weird; not only unique, but uniquely unique. This gives rise to an obsession of what it means to be Japanese, and a brand of literature referred to as 'Nihonjinron' i.e. The examination of Japanese Identity. Examples of characteristics include, a language that foreigners will never be able to truly speak, Japan as an island country that has an immaculately preserved culture, Japan as a 'groupist' society, Japan as a 'shame' society, the Japanese as having a dichotomy between who they are on the inside and on the outside, vertical social structures, Japan as one of the last surviving homogenous nations- the list goes on. But, it is ultimately a fallacy.

The Japanese are not to blame- Nihonjinron is a reaction to Western 'orientalism'- and in fact the Last Samurai is very appropriate in showing that. Orientalism is the western creation of an "other" to reaffirm itself. Just as the basic archetype of the movie is- show how awesome the American is by showing how savage or weird or different the [insert an interesting world culture] is. Nihonjinron is the adaption of this image to something that reasserts Japan as something more than a backdrop for an American story. Nihonjinron is very much the assertion that Japan is in fact better than the rest of the world in self-defense- uniquely unique.

The Last Samurai fills this need perfectly- it presents to Japan an image of what it is to be Japanese, an interesting one that carries the intrigue of the entire film- large chunks of the movie in fact serve as mere extended montages of samurai life. The Japanese consume this image, repackage it as Nihonjinron, and then once again export it to the west. The director definitely researched Nihonjinron as some sort of pre-production, content in ripples, as everyone else, of earlier examples of a false image of Japan, (think 'Chrysanthemum and the Sword' and 'Shogun'). Indeed we have all witnessed the western exotification of Japan, the weeaboos, and the wankers who insist they know what they're talking about. Unfortunately what we all see, including the Japanese, is the product of a long cycle of a self-perpetuating stereotype. In The Last Samurai we bear witness to a false identity, a fake history, and a magnificent lie.

I'm not denying the existence of the samurai but in actuality they were a corrupt group- described in actual history as content in their own power, unproductive members of society, and cruel. Nor am I denying the very broad historical facts in The Last Samurai- but in actuality the samurai were not in rebellion to preserve 'the old ways' because of honour, but because it would eradicate their standing in modern society- a guaranteed life of gambling, drinking without having to work. In the movie progress is represented by the progress of war, only slightly manipulative. But In fact not only were the Samurai standing in the way of progression of war, but of education, law, industry, science etc. When we root for the Samurai in the film- we're rooting against the country Japan was able to become. Nevertheless this is Nihonjinron, the identity of Japan, and what modern Japanese model themselves after.

The reality of Japan NOW is dire, (I'm going to get back to how it links into The Last Samurai and Nihonjinron): racism on a fundamental level- law and otherwise, a stagnating economy, a young population not getting married and having children, as well as an ageing population. Now, my statistics aren't going to be exact- so look them up, but in 40 years over 40% of the population will be over 65. If they don't decide to go on a mass culling of their elderly- for every 1.7 worker, they 1 old person has to be sustained. That number is going to grow- and won't sustain itself for long.

 For my final point, it is the very stereotype that is maintained that holds Japan back. The solutions can be found: importing foreign workers, increased interaction and trade with others, no more stupid international relations issues- but for a Japanese population that has convinced itself so strongly that what makes its country strong is Nihonjinron, this is difficult to accept- going against the principles of an isolated, homogenous nation. Katsumoto is the Japanese identity- the product of American orientalism, the obstacle of progress, and the subject of admiration from an oblivious Japanese population.

Its a bit sensational- but its funner that way.

Blind Shaft

Warning DO NOT READ, this it is very boring stuff. Posting it so that it feels at least like I accomplished something with shitty uni essays.

Which term do you think best describes the Chinese director, Li Yang: ‘marginal’, ‘sixth generation’,  ‘new realist’, ‘independent,’ or ‘underground’? Explain your reasoning with reference to these Chinese terms and the Chinese context.

Within the midst of China’s transition from a socialist, intensely state-controlled country to one with a free, decentralized market, simple economic and social labels such as “independent” and “marginal” are constantly being redefined in what Ying Zhu refers to as an environment with a ‘continual evolution of the relationship among the forces of commerce, art, and politics.’[1] In this immensely complex post-socialist China the attempt of choosing one label as more appropriate than the other is even more challenging as, as Shujen Wang puts it, ‘the boundaries between state and market, commerce and art, and art and politics, are increasingly blurred.’[2]

An “independent film”, although there are disputes regarding the details of a perfect definition, Mark Lipsky’s attempt is, ‘an independent film is one where the investors have absolutely no expectation of recouping their investment, much less earning a profit from it.’[3] This is essentially an economic identification of a film but with artistic consequences. Without the pressure of market forces the need to pander to certain target audiences does not exist, auteurs can flourish, and cinematic conventions do not need to be adhered to. It most definitely seems that that an economic independence is synonymous with an artistic freedom.

A privately funded feature film outside the major studio system in China whilst having the economically “independent” label does not necessarily mean it has the same artistic freedoms. The brutal domestic market, already competing with Hollywood, leaves impossible pressures on independent films so that ‘international exposure and acclaim are often essential… to provide the necessary funding for the filmmaker’s next project.’[4] The State Administration of Radio, Film and Television (SARFT) regulates what is able to leave the country establishing what Perry Link has described as an ‘enforced self-censorship,’[5] a pre-emptive compromise of content to allow for an international audiences. However, Li Yang braved the Chinese government by exporting Blind Shaft without permission or censorship perhaps warranting the “independent” label all the more. Despite personal risk to Li Yang, Blind Shaft is an unflinching look at the corrupt and dangerous mining industry in China. Predictably, however, the film was banned.

Nonetheless, as Shuqin Cui states, ‘faced with socio-political and commercial pressures, few independent directors are able to remain true to their identities and intentions,’[6] and it is still questionable whether Li Yang can be truly defined as “independent.” With the very certain view of an audience and a location for their films Chinese directors are perhaps being influenced, similar to that of a Hollywood director being influenced by a mainstream public, by the art-house audiences. An aesthetic narrow mindedness develops in order to conform to what Jason McGrath refers to as a ‘long-take realism that became prominent in global film festivals and art-house circuit by the late 1990s.’[7] Ironically, it is perhaps the expectations of the “independent” label that are exactly what deprive the Chinese filmmakers of their freedom. Blind Shaft is no exception, the ubiquitous use of diegetic music, non-professional actors, long takes, and location shooting are all part of the popularised style within the art-house film and festival community.

This brings into question the way people, domestic and international, received Blind Shaft and its social context; whether it falls into the “marginal” or “underground” category. Once again there are disputes regarding exact definitions, Noel Lawrence’s attempt is, ‘Underground film is not a genre. It is a form of resistance to dominant cultural paradigms. And what bestows underground status must occur in the specific circumstances of a historical moment.’[8] Underground cinema is generally associated with exploitation films and shoestring budgets, notions of being “hidden” and “transgressive,” with no desire to break into the mainstream. At first glance this seems ideal, Blind Shaft challenges the Chinese government with social satire, at its most explicit during a karaoke scene where Tang, one of the lead roles, sings “Long Live Socialism.” The scenes involving prostitution, the markets and the miners eating and drinking together are all detailed depictions of the “specific circumstances” of working-class living conditions in contemporary China, and, as well as this, the miniature privately funded budget, aesthetically mirrored in the complete lack of steady-cams and tripods, points towards the typical attributes of an underground film.

Another seemingly obvious point towards Li Yang’s “underground” status is ‘the “sub” mode of distribution [that] denotes the underground,’[9] what Ying Zhu is referring to is the almost exclusive circulation of Blind Shaft through pirated discs. Being banned and then proceeding to spread illicitly would be an achievement to any aspiring “underground” filmmaker. One must, however, bring China back into the equation. What I have already  established is the hyper-capitalist environment that eliminates the second mode of distribution, the art house film circuit, (the first being commercial multiplexes, and the third, or sub, mode of distribution being the pirated discs). Ying Zhu continues by remarking quite flatly that ‘non-mainstream films such as Li Yang’s… cannot exist in an exclusively commercial market,’[10] films that ‘appeal neither to the party nor the popular market.’[11] Li Yang therefore had no other choice but to rely on both the underground spread and international audiences.

This is where the “marginal cinema” label becomes more appropriate; it is less of an attained status and more of a product of an environment. There is an impression that “marginal” cinema is marginalized rather than being it inherently. Indeed, when one compares how Li Yang fares in the international market his underground status rapidly dissolves. The film was celebrated at the Berlin International Film Festival, a venue of theatrical distribution, winning the “Silver Bear” award. As well as this Li Yang states that, ‘my film is set in China but the story could have occurred in Germany, the US or in Australia… The basic theme is universal,’[12] ‘themes of defeat, poverty, and desperation,’[13] undermining any notion of a Chinese specificity and indicative of a desire to be at least slightly populist. So whilst Li Yang could be categorized as “underground,” the desire to transcend the label and reach the people of China is easily observed, he says remorsefully in his interview with Stephen Teo that ‘the film is not considered a Chinese film.’[14] Stephen Teo beautifully phrases this dichotomy between Li Yang’s desire to reach his domestic market but his inability to do so, paired with an acceptance abroad both stylistically and thematically as ‘Li [having] the mind of an outsider with the heart of an insider.’[15]

Once again, it is contemporary China’s complexities that prove to be the marginalizing force, not only through its harsh economic climate or even through its brutal censorship, but because of it’s ‘long history and continuing preference… for a visual representation that accentuates the positive rather than exposing or dwelling on the negative.’[16] This is where the artistic labels of “sixth generation” and “new realist” come into play. The distinction between “new realist” and simply “realist” is very important to understanding the label as a marginalising force. Confucius and Mao both considered art a tool to carry across ideological messages of the state, and “socialist realism” emerged as the prominent style of that era. Jason McGrath comments that ‘in contrast, the postsocialist realism… rather than professing to show an ideological truth that underlies apparent reality, seeks to reveal a raw, underlying reality by stripping away the ideological representations that distort it.’[17] This is a somewhat shocking departure for the Chinese public not used to 

such bleak and honest depictions of their country.

Ying Zhu goes further in saying that ‘Li’s marginal status has less to do with his ideas than with his art… [It is] the way he presents his ideas on screen.’[18] This can be seen most clearly in the parallel between Liu Qingbang’s novel Shen Mu, that Blind Shaft was based on, and Blind Shaft itself, with largely similar content. Shen Mu was not only not banned but won prestigious awards, and broke into the mainstream, Blind Shaft, however, remains mostly unknown by the Chinese public. This goes to show the extent that the “new realist” style goes to transform the opinion towards what seems to be otherwise standardized content, or in other words, ‘a view that is [not] particularly radical.’[19] It is the mentality that film is solely to send a message, a means of propaganda, that makes it difficult to see Blind Shaft as little more than film ‘made to blacken China’s image.’[20] Despite Li Yang’s various assertions that ‘I’m not political’[21] and ‘I wanted to reject everything that was external and beyond the frame but to be realistic and true to life.’[22]

It is this that allows for easy comparison to the blossoming documentary films in China, there are both stylistic and thematic similarities as well as what Ban Wang calls ‘a common cause with the contemporary documentary.’[23] This cause is to depict things without judgment and with the most truth possible; ironically, it is this that makes more haunting the deaths we witness. They are all presented with the same touch of reality as the opening sequence, a long series of cuts that show the beginning of a miner’s day; all the shots at eye level, practically no dialogue, and no music. The deaths are the same, anti-climactic at best, or as Ying Zhu puts it ‘”thunk” – and you’re dead,’[24] the lack of drama holds true to the adage “the banality of evil.” Ultimately the evil is not triumphed over. This is simply the task of ‘both neo-realism and documentary seek to unearth a harsh and unwieldy reality,’[25] but with the current Chinese mentality it is difficult to see beyond that of a straight attack of the government or China in general.

It therefore seems that the social perception of a certain aesthetic, through years of political conditioning, makes “new realism,” what should be simply an artistic label, a political one; the lines are irrevocably blurred. Raymond Williams definition “realist films” as when ‘people are inseparable from their real social and physical environments,’[26] along the same lines Ban Wang states that ‘realism requires that experience be seen within its real environment and characters and actions of a realist work be shaped by that environment.’[27] Firstly, It is clear that Li Yang does this, seen most fundamentally through his use of frequently dangerous location shooting in mines to; one, realistically influence the acting and, two, to show the visceral nature of the life of a mineworker in the best place to do so. However, this harks back to the earlier definitions of “underground” cinema, ‘what bestows underground status must occur in the specific circumstances of a historical moment;’ and so contradictions begin to appear, how can Li Yang be “underground,” a status that is synonymous with being subversive and transgressive and remain ‘not political’ and ‘socially conscious yet non-oppositional’[28]?

It becomes clear that umbrella classifications that imperfectly bridge China’s already bizarre mix of economics, social psychology, politics, and art only serve to confuse. Li Yang himself expresses this in his feelings towards the “sixth generation” label in an interview with Stephen Teo. Li Yang asserts, ‘There isn’t a sixth generation,’[29] he states that trying to identify him as such is pointless, ‘a generation can’t be determined by age but by a film idea that is relative.’[30] In the same way labeling an artist based on his social status, or economic one is unnecessary. ‘Basically each person is doing things in his own way.’[31]

Ban Wang summarizes it perfectly, ‘it no longer makes much sense to argue about the epistemological accuracy of documentary. If such beastly conditions are the chronic cancer of capitalist production, and if documentary seems to be the sharpest diagnosis around, would it be meaningful to ponder the question whether a documentary comes close or not to the reality that it aims to capture? Will it be leading anywhere to haggle over whether documentary authenticity is a matter of style, image or narrative?’ he continues, ‘the controversy over whether documentary is fiction or reproduction of reality proves to be disingenuous. It becomes a defensive protection that diverts the eye from the ongoing catastrophe and dissolves the ugly referent into another feel-good simulacrum. Turning a foul-smelling reality into another sanitized image, the documentary-as-fiction thesis plays into the hand of the global image-making process that liquidates the reality of how the other half lives and keeps the traces of devastated humanity out of the cloistral comforts of the middle class living room equipped with the latest digital multimedia and soft drinks.’[32]

---

[1] Ying Zhu and Stanley Rosen in their introduction to Art, Politics, and Commerce in Chinese Cinema (published by Hong Kong University Press in 2010). Quote on page 4

[2] Shujen Wang in the essay Piracy and the DVD/VCD Market: Contradictions and Paradoxes found in Art Politics, and Commerce in Chinese Cinema. Quote on page 83

[3] Mark Lipsky in the essay Definition: Independent Film. http://incitecinema.com/blog/2010/09/20/definition-independent-film/

[4] Ying Zhu and Stanley Rosen. Quote on page 3

[5] Perry Link in his introduction to Confessions: An Innocent Life in Communist China (published by W. W. Norton in 2007). Quote on page xxi

[6] Shuqin Cui in the essay Boundary Shifting: New Generation Filmmaking and Jia Zhangke’s Films found in Art Politics, and Commerce in Chinese Cinema. Quote on page 175

[7] Jason McGrath in Postsocialist Modernity: Chinese Cinema, Literature, and Criticism in the Market Age (published by Stanford University Press in 2008). Quote on 131

[8] Noel Lawrence in the essay What is Underground Film?

http://slamdance.com/What-is-UNDERGROUND-FILM-Slamdance-Anarchy-Programmers-discuss

[9] Ying Zhu in the essay Li Yang’s socially conscious film as marginal cinema- China’s state-capital alliance and its cultural ramifications from Volume 2, Issue 2 of the Chinese Journal of Communication (Published by Routledge in 2009). Quote on Page 221

[10] Ibid.

[11] Ibid.

[12] Li Yang in an interview with Jason Chan

http://www.wsws.org/articles/2003/jul2003/sff2-j18.shtml

[13] Ibid.

[14] Li Yang in an interview with Stephen Teo

http://sensesofcinema.com/2003/feature-articles/li_yang/

[15] Ibid.

[16] Ying Zhu. Quote on page 223

[17] Jason McGrath. Quote on page 132

[18] Ying Zhu. Quote on page 214

[19] Ibid.

[20]Li Yang in an interview with Jason Chan

[21] Ibid.

[22] Li Yang in an interview with Stephen Teo

[23] Ban Wang in his essay In Search of Real-Life Images in China: realism in the age of spectacle from Volume 17, Issue 56 of the Journal of Contemporary China (published by Routledge in 2008). Quote on page 503

[24] Ying Zhu. Quote on page 216

[25] Ban Wang. Quote on page 503

[26] Raymond Williams in The Politics of Modernism (Published by Verso in 1989). Quote on page 113

[27] Ban Wang. Quote on page 497

[28] Ying Zhu. Quote on page 221

[29] Li Yang in an interview with Stephen Teo

[30] Ibid.

[31] Ibid.

[32] Ying Zhu. Quote on page 501