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Chen Kaige was, along with cinematographer turned director Zhang Yimou (Judou, Raise the Red Lantern) and Tian Zhuangzhuang (Horse Thief, The Blue Kite), in the first graduating class of the Beijing Film Academy since the Cultural Revolution. Known as the "Fifth Generation" filmmakers, they ushered in a new, more daring Chinese cinema, and Chen's debut film, Yellow Earth (1984, shot by Zhang Yimou) brought international attention to China's re-energized cinema landscape.

Chen and his fellow directors often incurred the wrath of Chinese censors even as they drew international acclaim. With his sweeping epic Farewell My Concubine (1993), his portrait of China's changing political, social and cultural landscape over 40 turbulent years as seen through the eyes of two Chinese opera performers trying to weather the national storms, Chen directly confronted the taboo topic of the Cultural Revolution. It became the first Chinese film to win the Palm D'Or at the Cannes Film Festival and it was banned in China. Twice.

Chen set his next films farther back in history - Temptress Moon (1996), a lush tragedy set in 1920s China shot by Christopher Doyle, and The Emperor and the Assassin (1999), his version of the unification of China in the Third Century BC - the better to sneak in his politics, and even made a film in the West, Killing Me Softly (2002), an erotic drama starring Heather Graham and Joseph Fiennes that never found a real theatrical release.

Like many ambitious directors in China, he's returned to the safety of the distant past for his latest film. The Promise, set in the ancient China of warring clans, is his take on the wuxia pian genre, the romantic action adventures of magic and martial arts revived with the success of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Hero. It's the most expensive film made in China to date and has been a huge success in Asia.

Chen speaks English with enough fluency to express himself and conducts his interviews without an interpreter. He's also a cagey interview subject who shies away from talking politics and tends to answer with rather vague references to cultural identity and a culture in transition. Perhaps it's merely the caution of a director who has spent his career battling censorship within China. After all, he has his films to speak for him.

What inspired you, at this point in your career, to tackle a tragic romantic action fantasy story?

There are several particular reasons for me to tackle this project. Look what we have done in the last 20 years. It's mostly dramas. I thought that the time had come for us to do something different. Another reason is that American action films cover a large percentage of the Chinese market so people there have expectations for Chinese directors to do something else. The third thing is that I've been very curious about trying different kinds of film, to develop a new kind of cinema language. So that encouraged me to make this picture.

All of your films have been visually rich and expressive but this is completely different from anything you've ever done before, with images of pure fantasy and action on a mythic, magical scale. Why did you go for such a radically exaggerated style with this film?

I must confess that I was very ambitious to take on such a piece with great imagination. I was inspired by both old Chinese myths and the current situation in China. I'm not saying I urge people to see this as an allegory. I don't mind people saying, "This is an entertaining film." That's fine. But I think there's some deep meanings in this film on many levels. For example, we show the Chinese attitudes to life. The first shot of the blossom falling down, I think that's part of our philosophy. If you look at the General [Hiroyuki Sanada] and the Princess [Cecilia Cheung], they are representatives of the current values of the Chinese people. They are confused by the new materialism.

We sort of got lost, culturally. We don't know which direction we should take. So that's why I think, more or less, we feel we are out of control, we don't know how to deal with this. Visually, I hope that people think that the image is so fresh, like the world was made last night. We open our eyes like a baby to see a beautiful world in front of us. At the same time, this world can be very brutal.

The film starts off with the credit over a series of screen paintings. Was that a visual reference for the imagery and compositions in the film?

No, actually those images were a designer's idea. We don't have this beginning in the Chinese version. It basically explains what the film is about for the American audiences. It's quite different from the Chinese version.

The American version is also 18 minutes shorter than the original Chinese version. Why was it cut and were you involved in the process?

I was involved in the process. We had a disagreement with the former distributor, the Weinstein Company. They taught me so many times that we want to make it simpler for American audiences. There was nothing I could do but listen to them carefully and they helped me to cut the film here and there. Though I personally think the Chinese version is the better film.

Are you satisfied with version playing in American theaters?

I don't trust my judgment. Everything depends on the reaction from the North American audience. They're the ones to say," Okay, I understand the story." I think that what we are missing in the American version is something about destiny. I think that there is a strong connection between the characters' personalities and their destinies. When we emphasize destiny more, it helps define the character better.

You say that the Princess and the General are representations of the way the Chinese people feel today. What about the Slave [Jang Dong-keon], a character born into slavery who remains completely loyal to his master, no matter who it may be, who never even questions the fact that he remains in bondage. What does he reflect?

Every time I make a film, I identify with one character. In this film, that was the Slave, because I was pretty much like him when I was young. I was sent to the country to do hard labor. I never knew that one day I could be free to become a film director.

The other thought was that I rarely find people like him any more. When I was in the country, I met with a lot of people who were very, very honest and innocent, in a very isolated environment. When the door is opened, the lies come in and everything is changed. That's become a dilemma: Do we want a closed society in order to remember our innocence, or should we welcome and open the door and risk changing our whole way of thinking? I think that human beings are all in a difficult position, trying to hold on to their beliefs and traditions and develop something new at the same time.

The question of keeping China a closed society can't be as simple as keeping its innocence and purity. Being a closed society was one element that resulted in the Cultural Revolution. You can't claim that as a positive part of China's identity, can you?

I think that we'll never know the real power of history in terms of change. People prefer to believe that dignity and happiness is the true power of history, but unfortunately what we see is mostly the ugliness and the control. So as a human being, most of the time I feel my voice is very weak. I don't think that I can do what I really want to do. Maybe that's my destiny as a Chinese.

On the subject of what you really want to do, Farewell, My Concubine was a radical film to make in China in the early 90s in that you confronted the Cultural Revolution very critically, and it was banned in China - twice. Is this censorship you face the reason you don't do what you really want to do?

Censorship is still a pretty sensitive issue in China. Because now we have a market economy. If we want our films to be shown there, we have to self-censor them first, in order for the film to be "safe." I think that one of the reasons I chose to make a period piece is to guarantee the safety of the film. When you spend a lot of money on a film, you don't want to lose that money; you have to be responsible to the investors. I keep saying that there is a hope that the situation could be improved, but we've been waiting for it for a long time. I'm still hopeful, but who knows what will happen.

Are you saying that the marketplace creates a different kind of censorship - either self-imposed or economically imposed?

Yes. For me, people say, "You may choose to work outside of China, then you would have complete freedom of expression." But the difficulty for me to make films outside is that I feel like I would lose my roots, my culture. I'm still concerned and care about what's going on there. That becomes very significant in choosing to work there rather than other places, so there is another dilemma. Quite honestly, the reason I'm staying in China is that a lot of good stories still need to be told.

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