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Who's a pretty girl, then? ( 2003-12-25 09:03) (Cityweekend.com)
Chinese moviegoers criticize Qin Hailu for not being "beautiful" enough to be a movie starlet. But she doesn't really seem to care what people think of her. Two things strike you about Qin Hailu as she walks into a room. First off, she looks and behaves far more maturely than her mere 25 years would suggest. Secondly, for an actress in the public eye, she doesn't flit and preen in that "pretty girl" fashion favored by young starlets - and seems entirely unconcerned about maintaining a wary media distance. As we settle down to begin our interview, she starts to speak, before turning around to address her manager - her sister - who is gossiping with a journalist in the background. "Can you take your conversation outside, please," she says. "We're trying to do an interview." The public smile that is switching on for cameras is absent, but in its place is a refreshingly direct and personable individual - a real person - who is happy to sit and chat about the life of a young actress who has lived in the spotlight since she was still a college student. Qin is on the publicity treadmill to promote her latest acting work, the TV series Yes, I Love You (Shui duo hui shuo wo ai ni,), in which she plays a fashion designer. This is her fifth work since she shot to fame in the movie Durian, Durian (Liulian piaopiao,) in the year 2000, and she has a successful business career (restaurants and a design studio) to boot. Qin grabbed the attention of the film world with her performance of a prostitute with a heart in Durian, Durian, which won her a Golden Horse award for best newcomer at Taiwan's Oscars. Since then, she says, landing roles has not been as easy as one would expect: "Winning was good," says Qin. "But it meant that I was forced to start out at a really high level. And there weren't that many offers for either TV or movie roles coming through." There were sufficient offers for Qin to keep on working, however, and she played a range of roles from a rural schoolteacher in Everlasting Love (Tingbuliao de ai,) to the last empress of the Qing Dynasty in Special Citizen (Feichang gongmin,) and an airhostess in Meng Jinghui's movie The Chicken Poets (Xiang jimao yiyang fei,). For one so young to have gone so far is something that Qin shrugs off. "I started living on my own when I was in my pre-teens," she says nonchalantly. "It's no big deal." When Qin first left home, it was to study at a traditional Chinese opera school in her hometown of Dalian, where she went through a grueling six-year course, before enrolling as a student in the Central Academy of Drama. "That time studying opera left quite a sour taste in my mouth," she says. "Every day was taken up with miserably hard work, and I'd often be reduced to tears. I was rarely allowed to go home to see my parents." That time wasn't ill spent, however, and her singing skills were utilized by director Meng Jinghui for his cinematic debut The Chicken Poets. "I don't really sing any more," says Qin with more than a hint of sentimentality. "The only times I do sing is when I'm alone and feeling unhappy. Music is a good listener at those times." It was Qin's her rapid speech and steady gaze that drew director Chen Guo to cast her for her film debut Durian, Durian. While it won international plaudits and awards, only Chinese speaking audiences in Taiwan province and Hong Kong really know who she is, as the movie is yet to gain permission to be shown on the Chinese mainland. "Well, I don't think this movie is going to be suitable for everyone," says Qin pragmatically. "Some people have seen and enjoyed the movie, and that's enough for me. The Chicken Poets also attracted a lot of criticism, but I don't agree." "Criticism doesn't make any difference to most of us," continues Qin firmly. "We shoot the movies for those in the audience who can grasp our ideas. The opinions of those who don't appreciate artistic films doesn't matter - because we didn't expect them to enjoy the films in the first place." Qin's direct manner hasn't won her many friends within the showbiz circuit. "As you can probably guess, there is a lot of bitchiness in the film industry," says Qin. "I prefer my friends to be outside of that. A TV mini-series is a significantly more popular prospect than her commercially unsuccessful movies, but it doesn't make any difference to Qin: "Everyone has the right to choose which director they work under. Some projects are experimental, and others are more commercial - but both have their good points, and it just depends which one you feel like doing at a given time." There is the other big question - marriage - that Qin is also being forced to answer. She admits to wanting to play the role of a housewife in the near future - in real life. "Men need respect and pride," she says. "I wouldn't act as strong as I do now if I was married - I plan to be the kind of woman who needs to be taken care of." Scratch deeper, though, and Qin admits that this all comes down to a feeling of being adrift. "Airports always make me sad," she says. "It's at those times that I realize I've chosen to work far from my family - but that's my own fault." Criticism in the media often centers around the idea that Qin isn't beautiful enough to be a Chinese movie star. More than five minutes with the young woman, and you're starting to really understand the meaning that beauty is really only skin deep - and refreshing directness is infinitely more attractive. "Are we done now," she says suddenly, standing up. "Can I leave?"
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