Filmmaker Peter Chan Ho-sun delivered a remarkably candid and deeply personal masterclass at the Shanghai International Film Festival, offering rare insights into his creative process and the personal battles that have shaped his three-decade career.
In conversation with Zhang Ji, a longtime collaborator who has written several of Chan’s films including “Dearest,” the director reflected on his artistic evolution from intimate love stories to epic historical dramas.
Speaking to a packed audience, Chan traced his journey through what Zhang identified as two distinct thematic trilogies in his body of work, with particular focus on his 2007 war film “The Warlords” and his latest work “She’s Got No Name,” which opened the festival.
Zhang Ji contextualized Chan’s career by identifying an early “Trilogy of Identity and Displacement” comprising “Comrades: Almost a Love Story,” “Alan & Eric: Between Hello and Goodbye,” and “Perhaps Love.” These films, he noted, all centered on shifting identities and geographical displacement, with rootlessness as their core emotional arc. Chan recalled that “Alan & Eric: Between Hello and Goodbye” was among his first films screened at the Shanghai festival, possibly during its inaugural editions. The film, like much of his early work, explored themes of friendship, loyalty, and love across multiple locations, including America.
“Having grown up in various places, always feeling like an outsider, those themes came naturally,” Chan explained about his early focus on displacement and identity. “I started out telling love stories – I was confident in that genre.” He shared insights about casting Leon Lai in “Comrades: Almost a Love Story,” revealing how he discovered something unexpected in the actor known as one of the “Four Heavenly Kings.” “In real life, he’s incredibly naïve and emotionally simple, almost childlike. I wrote that into the film. It’s something audiences wouldn’t believe unless they saw it – and he pulled it off beautifully.”
Interestingly, Chan revealed that most audiences never saw “Comrades: Almost a Love Story” in cinemas during its original release, as it wasn’t distributed in mainland China at the time. “Back then, it was still the VCD era – not even DVDs yet. In the ’90s, people mostly watched films on VCDs, then DVDs, and later online. Hardly anyone actually saw my movies in the cinema when they first came out. My films weren’t made for the cinema – at least not back then.”
“Perhaps Love,” Chan’s ambitious musical starring Takeshi Kaneshiro and Zhou Xun, represented his attempt to give audiences a reason to return to theaters during the early 2000s when mainland Chinese box office returns were dismal. “It wasn’t until Zhang Yimou’s ‘Hero’ in 2002 that the idea of a ‘commercial blockbuster’ really took off,” Chan noted. The film featured 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 displacement themes. “I made ‘Perhaps Love’ as a kind of hybrid – part musical, part romance – hoping to give audiences a reason to go to the theater. It didn’t do that well,” Chan admitted.
The conversation’s centerpiece focused on “The Warlords,” which marked Chan’s transition into what Zhang termed a “Trilogy of Humanity” alongside “Dearest” and “She’s Got No Name.” Chan revealed the intense personal crisis he faced while making 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 minus-20-degree weather.
“I was in total collapse. I couldn’t eat – every grain of rice felt like a rock in my throat. I lost dozens of pounds. I saw a doctor,” Chan confessed. “My wife, Sandra Ng, told me, ‘If you don’t go back, you’ll never recover from this in your life.’” The film, which featured a massive budget and international cast, represented his first true period epic. “I was never drawn to the flying-swords kind of wuxia films that audiences loved then. That wasn’t my aesthetic, nor my strength. So within that framework, I had to find my own mode of expression.”
Chan acknowledged that managing three male leads presented unique challenges. “People think it’s hard to manage three female leads, but honestly, 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 them one-on-one. And yes, you have to say slightly different things to each of them. Not necessarily lies, but let’s say, half-truths.”
“The Warlords” deliberately challenged audience expectations for costume epics. “In a commercial epic starring three major actors, Jet Li doesn’t even fight. The total amount of action in the film is maybe 15 to 20 minutes – less than a fifth of a two-hour-plus runtime. It’s essentially a drama, not a martial arts film,” Chan explained. The director drew inspiration from unexpected sources, including “All Quiet on the Western Front” for the film’s warfare sequences 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 really 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 photos from that time. These are imagined realities, of course. They’re not historical facts but emotional truths. What we aim to create is the feeling of reality – something that emotionally resonates with the audience.”
Chan described how “The Warlords” evolved thematically during production. “We started by talking about moral ambiguity, about the grey areas of human nature. But in the end, we arrived at a question much larger than that – 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 fate. We are all just pawns in a bigger game of power,” Chan explained, noting how this theme carries through to “She’s Got No Name.”
The production involved extensive rewriting, with Chan joking that “The Warlords had nine writing teams. One of my old collaborators once said 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 really about during shooting.
Chan addressed a famous 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 the line was too obvious and might have prevented the film from being accepted to major international festivals. “They even created a special effects shot, building 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 explained.
“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 wondering – should I have aimed for a film festival, or waited 20 years to have it resonate with the masses?” His response reveals his philosophy about authenticity: “Honestly, I probably will 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 with over RMB200 million ($27.8 million), it didn’t achieve the international success of other Chinese costume epics like “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” “Hero,” or “House of Flying Daggers.” Chan explained: “It simply didn’t align with foreign expectations of Chinese cinema. Audiences expect costume epics to be beautiful and kinetic – flying swords, graceful choreography. That was the aesthetic international buyers were purchasing.”
Chan’s career regained momentum with “American Dreams in China,” which he made after a difficult period following “Wu Xia” in 2011. “I had just gone through some major 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 film’s success gave Chan newfound confidence and featured an unexpected performance from Huang Xiaoming. “Who would’ve expected Huang Xiaoming to deliver such a powerful performance? I honestly didn’t think he could play that role,” Chan admitted, revealing that Xiaoming had originally been cast in a different part but insisted on playing the rural character, saying “I am that guy. I’m the ‘tu bie’ (rural bumpkin).” Chan initially resisted: “I told him, ‘You’re way too good-looking to be a ‘tu bie.’ But he was adamant.”
The success of “American Dreams in China” gave Chan the confidence to make “Dearest,” which he described as possibly his least commercial film. “‘Dearest’ was not that difficult to make. The confidence I had came from the success of ‘American Dreams in China.’ After that film succeeded, I felt like I could do whatever I wanted.” He acknowledged the film’s unconventional structure: “Many people say ‘Dearest’ feels disjointed, structurally inconsistent. But that was intentional. The first half follows one perspective; the second half switches to its opposite.”
The film reflected Chan’s philosophy about 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 truly address issues, you need to stand in the other person’s shoes – understand where they’re coming from.”
Chan shared his unconventional approach to directing A-list actors, revealing that he rarely gives direct performance instructions. “I’m not great at directing actors in the conventional sense – I never studied acting. I don’t really tell them how to act.” Instead, he conducts in-depth personal conversations before casting to discover hidden aspects of their personalities. “I try to find something different in these stars – some private 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 described an encounter with a famous actress he wanted to work 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 suit the actor better.”
Chan also emphasized the importance of his long-time collaborators, particularly costume designer Dora Ng, with whom he’s worked for 31 years. “On ‘She’s Got No Name,’ she transformed over 20 actors into completely different people. 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 90 days of shooting – his longest production schedule – 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.
“But this time, I tried to infuse the film with a strong sense of formality and visual grandeur – something that really belongs on the big screen. The play of light and shadow was designed to be cinematic in the fullest sense,” Chan explained. Zhang noted that compared to Chan’s previous works, “this one leans more into formalism. We even used expressionist elements. Everything – the lighting, the visuals – is crafted for the theatrical experience.”
The film continues the thematic exploration begun 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.” However, Chan maintains his fundamental optimism: “That doesn’t necessarily mean I’m pessimistic. I think 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 gotten 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 make each one feel comfortable, confident, and able to enter the role quickly. But just as they were settling in, they’d be done, 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 weird.” Chan noted that while Hong Kong film sets are typically loud and energetic, “on my sets, it’s quiet.”
Despite the complexity, Chan felt supported 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 got, 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 thoughts to be understood. Like when you’re talking with a friend, you want them to get 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 say.”
Despite his success, Chan emphasized the ongoing challenges of balancing commercial and artistic demands. “The truth 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 should understand what kind of film, what genre, what cast combination will attract investors. But once you start telling the story – it has 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 difficult. “I used to think that by the time I turned 60, I’d finally get to do whatever I want. But after throwing myself a big birthday celebration, I started working on ‘She’s Got No Name’ – and realized things have only gotten harder. The old problems haven’t gone away; 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 emphasized cinema’s unique communal power: “There’s something magical about watching a story unfold on a giant 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 gratifying. “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 grown increasingly complex, moving away from traditional commercial cinema’s clear moral divisions. “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 guy who defeats him. 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 may have commercial packaging, but their core is always nuanced and messy.”
When audience members asked 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 really wanted to say. By the time we wrapped – or 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 keyword in my recent work. But complexity doesn’t align well with the traditional expectations of commercial cinema.” This approach extends to his personal philosophy: “Humans 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 lucky to have her. She helps me understand how young people think. And I also tell her: you need to understand our generation, too. Our upbringings were so different. If you judge my era by your standards, that’s just another kind of authoritarianism.”
The masterclass concluded with Chan’s philosophy on empathy and understanding, which he sees as crucial for both filmmaking and society. This approach has become increasingly important in his recent work, with “She’s Got No Name” representing not just a visual evolution but 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 artistic journey – from the identity-focused early trilogy through the humanity-exploring recent works – offered audiences a rare glimpse into the mind of a filmmaker who continues to push boundaries while wrestling 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.
