the Chinese come out

The New York Times reassures me that China was trying hard to reassure the rest of the world about its obvious ambitions, appetites, and might [e.a.]:

An ecstatic China finally got its Olympic moment on Friday night. And if the astonishing opening ceremonies of the 2008 Olympic Games lavished grand tribute on Chinese civilization and sought to stir an ancient nation’s pride, there was also a message for an uncertain outside world: Do not worry. We mean no harm.

Usually, that message is delivered by the dour-faced leaders of the ruling Communist Party, who dutifully, if sometimes unconvincingly, regurgitate the phrase “harmonious society” coined by President Hu Jintao. But in the nimble cinematic hands of Zhang Yimou, the filmmaker who directed the opening ceremonies, the politics of harmony were conveyed in a visual extravaganza.

The opening ceremonies gave the Communist Party its most uninterrupted, unfiltered chance to reach a gargantuan global audience. At one point, thousands of large umbrellas were snapped open to reveal the smiling, multicultural faces of children of the global village. Benetton could not have done it better.

Maybe! But the children soon gave way to soldiers, pictured here:

Have you ever seen soldiers at the Olympics before?  Me neither.

That was pretty goddamn weird and disturbing and intimidating.

How can that creepy image stand side by side with the beauty of this?

and this?

and this?

And that is just one of the many, many conundrums of contemporary China.

The fascinating background story of the film director who staged the opening ceremony extravaganza is told in the NY Times here.

Nearly two years in the making, his spectacle is intended to present China’s new face to the world with stagecraft and pyrotechnics that organizers boast have no equal in the history of the Games. Whether or not it succeeds, it will underscore one reality of a rising China: many leading artists now work with, or at least not against, the ruling Communist Party.

Rising nationalism and pride in China’s emergence as an economic power, and robust state support for artists who steer clear of political defiance, have transformed China’s cultural landscape since the early part of this decade. Today, directors, writers and painters who seek to expose the darker side of authoritarian rule not only enrage the censors, but also often find themselves shut out of the lucrative market for Chinese art, books and film. Many of those who find less political outlets for their talent, on the other hand, can get rich.

“People really are selling their talent in a way that can make them money,” said Ai Weiwei, an internationally recognized artist based in Beijing. “They really know that if they work with the government, they’ll benefit.”

The opening ceremonies will represent a particularly momentous conversion for Mr. Zhang, whose experience during the horrors of Mao’s Cultural Revolution appeared to inform several of his internationally acclaimed — and domestically banned — films, including “Ju Dou” and “To Live.”

Mr. Zhang said in a recent interview that he never had political aims. His supporters say it is the Communist Party that has become more sophisticated, seeking to harness the country’s top talent and embrace a broader notion of national culture.

But critics accuse Mr. Zhang of making a pact with a political leadership that has a long record of restricting artistic freedom, playing the role of favored court artist — a kind of Chinese Leni Riefenstahl, creating beautiful backdrops for iron-fisted rulers.

“He went from being this renegade making films that were banned and an eyesore for the Chinese government to kind of being the pet of the government, in some people’s eyes,” said Michael Berry, who teaches contemporary Chinese culture at the University of California, Santa Barbara. “It’s almost a complete turnaround from his early days.”

The country’s fervor about the Olympics was so great that even blase twenty-something Beijingites were roused:

Ms. Tian, 29, an executive assistant at GlobalLogic, an American software company, said she had overcome her initial lack of interest in the Games and organized a viewing party for 20 friends, human resource executives, marketing managers and public relations strategists.

“To be frank, at first I didn’t feel connected to the Olympics,” she said. “I was annoyed by all the restrictions.”

But once the opening ceremonies started, Ms. Tian was transfixed. The eyes of some of her friend welled up with tears. They screamed and cheered when the Chinese team appeared on the screen. They shouted, “Go China.” They put down their smartphones and hugged each other with joy.

“I’m so proud of my country,” Ms. Tian said, a Chinese flag affixed to each cheek. “When I see this, I suddenly appreciate all the things the government put us through.”