Acclaimed filmmaker Peter Chan Ho-sun delivered an exceptionally honest and profoundly personal masterclass at the Shanghai Worldwide Movie Competition, offering rare insights into his artistic journey and the personal struggles that have shaped his illustrious career spanning over three decades. His openness captivated attendees, shedding light on the creative processes that underpin his filmography.
Engaging in a thought-provoking conversation with Zhang Ji, a long-time collaborator who has penned several of Chan’s films including the critically acclaimed “Dearest,” the director reflected on his artistic transformation from crafting intimate love stories to creating grand, historical epics. This evolution reveals the depth and versatility of Chan’s storytelling abilities and his ability to resonate with diverse audiences.
Addressing a captivated audience, Chan elaborated on his professional journey through what Zhang identified as two distinct thematic trilogies within his oeuvre. He specifically highlighted his 2007 war film “The Warlords” alongside his latest work “She’s Got No Name,” which had the honor of opening the festival. This reflection showcased not only his growth as a filmmaker but also the evolution of his themes and storytelling techniques.
Zhang Ji contextualized Chan’s illustrious career by identifying an early “Trilogy of Identity and Displacement” consisting of “Comrades: Almost a Love Story,” “Alan & Eric: Between Hello and Goodbye,” and “Maybe Love.” These films centrally focus on the themes of shifting identities and geographical displacement, with a core emotional narrative rooted in feelings of rootlessness. Chan recalled how “Alan & Eric: Between Hello and Goodbye” was among his first films showcased at the Shanghai Festival, likely during its inaugural editions. The film, much like many of his early works, delved into the profound themes of friendship, loyalty, and love, transcending various locales, including America.
“Having grown up in various places and always feeling like an outsider, these themes emerged naturally in my storytelling,” Chan explained, reflecting on his initial focus on displacement and identity. “I began my career telling love stories—I was confident in that genre.” He shared fascinating insights about casting Leon Lai in “Comrades: Almost a Love Story,” revealing how he discovered unexpected qualities in the actor, who is famously known as one of the “Four Heavenly Kings.” “In real life, he is incredibly naïve and emotionally straightforward, almost childlike. I wove that into the film, creating a portrayal that audiences might not have believed unless they saw it—yet he executed it beautifully.”
Interestingly, Chan disclosed that most audiences never had the opportunity to see “Comrades: Almost a Love Story” in theaters during its original release, as it was not distributed in mainland China at that time. “Back then, we were still in the VCD era—not even DVDs yet. In the ‘90s, people mainly watched films on VCDs, later transitioning to DVDs, and eventually to online platforms. Very few people actually saw my films in theaters when they first came out. My films weren’t designed for the cinema—at least, not back then.”
“Maybe Love,” Chan’s ambitious musical featuring Takeshi Kaneshiro and Zhou Xun, represented his attempt to provide audiences with a compelling reason to return to cinemas during the early 2000s, a period marked by disappointing box office returns in mainland China. “It wasn’t until Zhang Yimou’s ‘Hero’ in 2002 that the idea of a ‘commercial blockbuster’ truly took off,” Chan noted. The film showcased Zhou Xun as a Beijing-based actress from out of town and Kaneshiro as a Hong Kong student studying in Beijing, continuing Chan’s exploration of themes related to displacement. “I crafted ‘Maybe Love’ as a hybrid—part musical, part romance—hoping to entice audiences back to theaters. Unfortunately, it didn’t perform as well as I had hoped,” Chan admitted.
The heart of the conversation centered on “The Warlords,” which marked Chan’s significant transition into what Zhang described as a “Trilogy of Humanity,” alongside “Dearest” and “She’s Got No Name.” Chan candidly revealed the intense personal crisis he faced during the making of the film, admitting he fled the Beijing set after just three weeks of shooting, leaving stars Jet Li, Andy Lau, and Takeshi Kaneshiro waiting in their trailers in frigid minus-20-degree weather.
“I was in complete collapse. I couldn’t eat—every grain of rice felt like a rock in my throat. I lost dozens of pounds. I sought medical advice,” Chan revealed. “My wife, Sandra Ng, told me, ‘If you don’t return, you’ll never recover from this in your life.’” The film, which boasted a substantial budget and an international cast, marked his first true period epic. “I was never drawn to the flying-swords style of wuxia films that audiences loved back then. That wasn’t my aesthetic or my strength. So within that framework, I sought to discover my own mode of expression.”
Chan acknowledged that managing three male leads presented unique challenges. “People assume it’s difficult to manage three female leads, but in reality, three male leads can be even more challenging. You can’t have them all in the same room for script discussions—you have to talk to each of them one-on-one. And yes, you have to convey slightly different messages to each of them. Not necessarily lies, but let’s say, half-truths.”
“The Warlords” intentionally subverted audience expectations for costume epics. “In a commercial epic featuring three major actors, Jet Li doesn’t even engage in combat. The total amount of action in the film is perhaps 15 to 20 minutes—less than a fifth of a two-hour-plus runtime. It’s primarily a drama, not a martial arts movie,” Chan explained. The director drew inspiration from unexpected sources, including “All Quiet on the Western Front” for the film’s battle sequences set around Suzhou. “When I was in university studying history, I spent an entire semester on ‘All Quiet on the Western Front.’ That trench warfare imagery stuck with me. I wanted to transplant that First World War imagery into ‘The Warlords,’ set during the 1860s Taiping Rebellion.”
For visual references, Chan and his team looked to contemporary conflicts. “Andy Lau’s beard in the film was inspired by Osama bin Laden. War, in any era, is brutal,” he revealed, emphasizing his pursuit of “emotional realism” over strict historical accuracy. “We don’t really know what the Qing Dynasty looked like. There aren’t many photographs from that time. These are imagined realities, of course. They’re not historical facts but emotional truths. What we aim to create is a feeling of reality—something that emotionally resonates with the audience.”
Chan elaborated on the thematic evolution of “The Warlords” throughout production. “Initially, we discussed moral ambiguity, about the gray areas of human nature. But ultimately, we arrived at a much larger question—that regardless of who wins or loses, no outcome is truly the result of personal agency.” This philosophy of powerlessness against larger forces became central to the film. “We are not the masters of our destiny. We are all just pawns in a larger game of power,” Chan explained, noting how this theme extends into “She’s Got No Name.”
The production involved extensive rewriting, with Chan humorously noting that “The Warlords had nine writing teams. One of my old collaborators once remarked in an interview: ‘Peter Chan’s writers can’t even fit into a single minibus.’” Zhang, who has experienced this collaborative process firsthand, noted how Chan often uses first drafts as launching pads, continuing to discover what the film is truly about throughout shooting.
Chan addressed a well-known debate with critics regarding a line in “The Warlords” where Jet Li’s character walks across a frozen lake to meet Empress Dowager Cixi and says, “Treading on thin ice.” Critics argued that the line was too obvious and might have hindered the film’s acceptance at major international festivals. “They even created a special effects shot, constructing a sheet of glass for Jet Li to walk on and digitally adding layers of ice. The imagery of ‘walking on thin ice’ was already embedded in the visuals,” Chan clarified.
“Ironically, over the past few years, that scene and that line have gone viral online. Friends keep sending it to me, saying how powerful it is,” Chan reflected. “So now I’m questioning—should I have aimed for a film festival, or waited 20 years for it to resonate with the masses?” His response reveals his philosophy about authenticity: “Honestly, I’d probably say it again. Because the kind of person you are determines the kind of film you make. You can’t fake it. You can’t pretend. You are who you are.”
While “The Warlords” performed well locally, grossing over RMB200 million ($27.8 million), it didn’t achieve the international success of other Chinese costume epics such as “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” “Hero,” or “House of Flying Daggers.” Chan explained: “It simply didn’t align with overseas expectations of Chinese cinema. Audiences expect costume epics to be beautiful and kinetic—flying swords, elegant choreography. That was the aesthetic international buyers were seeking.”
Chan’s career regained momentum with “American Dreams in China,” which he developed after a challenging period following “Wu Xia” in 2011. “I had just gone through some significant setbacks in my career. Everyone thought I was still a ‘big director,’ but I had also lost my mother that year. That winter felt like the coldest ever. I couldn’t find the right screenwriter to start a new script. Then came ‘American Dreams in China,’ which helped me get back on my feet.”
The success of the film provided Chan with renewed confidence and featured an unexpected performance from Huang Xiaoming. “Who would have anticipated Huang Xiaoming to deliver such a powerful performance? I really didn’t think he could play that role,” Chan admitted, disclosing that Xiaoming had originally been cast in a different part but insisted on playing the rural character, saying, “I’m that guy. I’m the ‘tu bie’ (rural bumpkin).” Chan initially resisted: “I told him, ‘You’re way too handsome to be a ‘tu bie.’ But he was adamant.”
The success of “American Dreams in China” empowered Chan to create “Dearest,” which he described as possibly his least commercial film. “‘Dearest’ was not that challenging to produce. The confidence I gained came from the success of ‘American Dreams in China.’ After that film succeeded, I felt like I could do whatever I wanted,” he acknowledged about the film’s unconventional structure. “Many people say ‘Dearest’ feels disjointed, structurally inconsistent. However, that was intentional. The first half follows one perspective; the second half switches to its opposite.”
The film reflects Chan’s philosophy regarding empathy and understanding multiple viewpoints. “Every tragedy has two perspectives. If you can hold both in your mind, you’ll be able to think critically—understand how this happened and how to prevent it from happening to you.” This approach stems from his belief that “labels kill empathy. Without empathy, all that’s left is opposition—fighting, arguing, conflict. That solves nothing. To genuinely tackle issues, you must stand in the other person’s shoes—understand where they’re coming from.”
Chan shared his unique approach to directing A-list actors, revealing that he rarely gives direct performance instructions. “I’m not great at directing actors in the traditional sense—I never studied acting. I don’t really tell them how to act.” Instead, he engages in deep personal conversations before casting to uncover hidden aspects of their personalities. “I try to find something different in these stars—some personal truth or little-known detail about them—and weave that into the script. That way, the audience sees something they’ve never seen before.”
He recounted an encounter with a renowned actress he was eager to collaborate with: “We talked for ages before the shoot—long, deep conversations that convinced her to join the project. But once we started filming, she said, ‘You’re not talking to me anymore—no direction, no feedback.’ I told her, ‘You’re doing great—there’s nothing for me to say.’” Chan also emphasized his preference for efficiency: “I don’t believe in doing 30 or 40 takes. If it doesn’t work in one or two, it probably never will. Then we just rewrite the scene to better suit the actor.”
Chan also highlighted the significance of his long-time collaborators, particularly costume designer Dora Ng, with whom he has collaborated for 31 years. “In ‘She’s Got No Name,’ she transformed over 20 actors into entirely different individuals. With her help, two Hong Kong natives were able to convincingly portray ’80s-era students from Peking and Tsinghua University.”
The director’s latest work, “She’s Got No Name,” represents his most visually ambitious and formally rigorous film to date. Chan revealed that the production featured a 90-day shooting schedule—his longest to date—all filmed in Shanghai’s Hongkou district. “Right after I said that, someone next to me said, ‘Our director shot for 118 days.’ So to them, 90 days is short. But I used to shoot in just 40 days,” Chan noted, explaining that his previous longer shoots typically involved action sequences or sports scenes with heavy visual effects.
“However, this time, I aimed to infuse the film with a strong sense of ritual and visual grandeur—something that truly belongs on the big screen. The interplay of light and shadow was designed to be cinematic in the fullest sense,” Chan explained. Zhang noted that compared to Chan’s earlier works, “this one leans more into formalism. We even incorporated expressionist elements. Everything—the lighting, the visuals—was crafted for the theatrical experience.”
The film continues the thematic exploration initiated in “The Warlords,” with Chan noting that “that same question has become central to ‘She’s Got No Name’ as well—that regardless of who wins or loses, no outcome is truly the result of personal agency. It’s all shaped by larger forces beyond us.” Nevertheless, Chan maintains a fundamental optimism: “That doesn’t necessarily mean I’m pessimistic. I believe anyone who reflects deeply on life inevitably has a pessimistic streak. Yet within that, I’d still consider myself quite an optimistic person. If I weren’t, I probably wouldn’t have come this far.”
The production of “She’s Got No Name” presented unique challenges with its large ensemble cast. “We had 26 characters—and we had to ensure each felt comfortable, confident, and able to step into the role quickly. But just as they were settling in, they’d be finished, and a new actor would arrive,” Chan explained. The constant rotation created an unusual atmosphere on set, with actor Lei Jiayin commenting, “This crew is so quiet—it’s strange.” Chan observed that while Hong Kong film sets are typically loud and energetic, “on my sets, it’s quiet.”
Despite the complexity, Chan felt a sense of support throughout the production: “For ‘She’s Got No Name,’ we kept saying it felt like the gods of cinema were watching over us. No matter how tough it became, everything eventually resolved itself.” The film represents the culmination of Chan’s evolution as a filmmaker, incorporating the questioning approach that has defined his work since “The Warlords” while pushing his visual storytelling to new heights.
Chan emphasized that his approach to filmmaking has remained consistent in its pursuit of authenticity and connection with audiences. “I like to communicate clearly with the audience. I don’t leave things too ambiguous—I want my ideas to be understood. Like when you’re talking with a friend, you want them to grasp what you mean. I’m not one of those aloof types who says, ‘If you get it, you get it. If you don’t, too bad.’ I need you to understand what I’m trying to convey.”
Despite his success, Chan highlighted the ongoing challenges of balancing commercial and artistic demands. “The reality is, in this industry, you only ever have one film’s worth of opportunity. If your last film was good, your next film gets made. If it wasn’t, you don’t get financing. That reality never changes, no matter how long you’ve been around.” He stressed the importance of personal conviction in filmmaking: “I always tell young directors: if you don’t like your film, who will? You’re your own first audience. Don’t try to second-guess what others want. Yes, you need to understand what type of film, what genre, what cast combination will attract investors. But once you start telling the story—it needs to be your story. That part you can’t fake.”
Chan reflected on his ongoing challenges as a filmmaker, noting that despite turning 60, his work has only become more demanding. “I used to think that by the time I turned 60, I’d finally get to do whatever I wanted. But after throwing myself a big birthday party, I started working on ‘She’s Got No Name’—and realized things have only gotten tougher. The old problems haven’t disappeared; they’ve only grown. I keep saying I’ll make films until I’m 80, but at this rate, I really don’t know when I’ll get to do whatever I want.”
He also highlighted cinema’s unique communal power: “There’s something magical about watching a story unfold on a big screen with over a thousand strangers—laughing together, crying together, being moved together, without knowing each other at all. That communal experience is irreplaceable. You simply can’t replicate it at home.”
Eighteen years after its release, “The Warlords” has gained renewed appreciation, something Chan finds deeply rewarding. “Whether a film is understood immediately or only 20 years later, it’s always incredibly comforting for a director. Because film, at its core, is a dialogue with the audience,” he reflected. “A film isn’t complete without its audience. After 100 people each bring their 100 different interpretations—it becomes whole.”
The director acknowledged that his films have become increasingly complex, moving away from the clear moral divisions typical of traditional commercial cinema. “My father used to tell me: if you want to make a great commercial film, make it black and white. You need a big bad villain and a good person who defeats them. All the audience’s emotions converge in one direction—that’s a satisfying experience. That’s commercial cinema. But I don’t believe life is like that. I don’t want to present a false version of it. My films might have commercial packaging, but their core is always nuanced and messy.”
When audience members inquired about the delayed appreciation for “The Warlords,” Chan explained his evolving understanding of the film’s themes. “When I first started making it, the theme was clear to me: brotherhood is fragile. But as the film progressed, I realized that the moral lines between good and bad are often blurry—and that became what I truly wanted to convey. By the time we wrapped—and even before that—it became a story about individuals being unable to resist the forces of their time.”
He underscored his commitment to character complexity: “Every character is inherently complex. Complexity is the key phrase in my recent work. But complexity doesn’t align well with the traditional expectations of commercial cinema.” This approach extends to his personal philosophy: “People are contradictory, and so are the characters we portray. That’s why I avoid oversimplifying them into archetypes or ‘good vs. bad.’”
Chan credits his daughter with helping him understand contemporary perspectives while advocating for mutual understanding across generations. “At home, I talk with my daughter every day. She’s from the post-2000 generation, and I’m fortunate to have her. She helps me understand how young people think. And I also tell her: it’s important to understand our generation too. Our upbringings were so different. If you judge my era by your standards, that’s just another form of authoritarianism.”
The masterclass concluded with Chan’s philosophy on empathy and understanding, which he sees as essential for both filmmaking and society. This approach has become increasingly vital in his recent work, with “She’s Got No Name” representing not only a visual evolution but also a continued exploration of the human condition under forces beyond individual control.
As one of the region’s most internationally recognized directors, Chan’s honest reflection on his creative journey—from the identity-focused early trilogy through to his humanity-exploring recent works—offered audiences a rare glimpse into the mind of a filmmaker who continues to push boundaries while grappling with fundamental questions of human existence, fate, and the power of cinema to foster understanding in an increasingly polarized world. The evening served as both a career retrospective and a meditation on the evolution of Chinese cinema, delivered by a director who has consistently challenged both himself and his audiences while maintaining an unwavering commitment to authentic storytelling and the transformative power of the cinematic experience.
