生命的落差，電影的原動力 The Gap in Life, the Driving Force of Cinema

她說：「我們覺得原生家庭的過程與記憶那麼痛苦，是因為它與我們理想的、美好的、嚮往的成長之間存在著落差。這落差讓我們覺得痛苦，讓我們創痛。然後，這份落差慢慢在心裡演變成一種不平衡，甚至扭曲。」

我回答：「可是，也正是因為這落差，妳才會在18歲時，在那樣的年代，那樣的年紀，選擇投入一種當時讓人不解的專業。妳開始學習拍電影。到今天，妳還在拍紀錄片，拍劇情片，不也是因為這份落差嗎？是落差促使妳在電影裡尋找那些完美的事物。」

這段對話，在我心裡發酵了好幾天。

我想起上週和研究生、大學部的同學一起看了《童年往事》。那時的侯孝賢，在電影裡回溯母親的離世、祖母的辭世，以及那場大專聯考前夕的焦灼。正是因為家人至親相繼離去後的幸福缺口，與醜陋而無聊的現實生活。落差，推動了阿孝去參加大專聯考，後來進入國立藝專影劇科。他去台北，不只是為了辛樹芬在電影裡的一句話，而是因為那份落差。他離開鳳山，前往台北。

我又想起保羅·索倫提諾的《上帝之手》。在父親叮囑他「破處的竅門」後，在那個馬拉多納神來之筆進球的夏天，因為父母的突然離世，他的幸福世界瞬間崩塌。他決定讓公爵夫人替他完成成人禮，決定去找電影導演請教。

他帶著巨大的落差與悲傷，搭上前往羅馬的車。他要拍電影，他要成為導演。

高達呢？我們對他的童年一無所知。只憑一張照片，眾人猜測他的過去。他的電影裡絕口不提父母。他的落差來自哪裡？外人並不明白。但我們從《輕蔑》的第一個鏡頭裡看到了他的宣言。他的旁白引用了巴贊的話：

電影，正如安德烈·巴贊所言，以符合我們渴望的世界取代了我們的視角。

Cinema, said André Bazin, substitutes for our gaze a world that matches our desires.

於是，我希望我遇見的朋友們，我合作的學生們，能善用你們的落差，去創作，去拍電影吧！

在我不自覺的20出頭歲時，我拍了第一部紀錄片，整整三年奉獻給那部作品。那時，我從一個小康中產的家庭，跌落至無處可去、無處可住的境地。剛從巴黎回來，我躺在冰冷的地板上，第一次意識到，精神是富足的，而經歷是痛苦的。那時候，原生家庭的不斷崩解帶來的創傷達到了巔峰。那樣的落差，讓我拋下所有的想法，只想拍片，只想把一切拍出來。

曾和前任妻子談過那樣的落差與痛苦，學導演專業，拍過無數戲劇出身的她淡淡說著：若沒有那樣的悲慘境遇，你拍不出那樣的作品。

如今回想起那樣的落差，我才明白，追尋美麗、真實的電影，其實是因為現實不滿足我們對美麗人生的渴望。創作，那不只是源自於青春的躁動，而是因為落差，因為痛苦，那是我真正的生命力。

She said, “We find the experiences and memories of our original families so painful because they contrast sharply with our idealized, beautiful, and longed-for vision of growing up. This gap causes us pain and wounds us. Over time, this disparity gradually evolves into an imbalance within us, even a distortion.”

I replied, “But it was precisely because of this gap that you chose, at eighteen, in that era, at that age, to pursue a profession that seemed incomprehensible to others at the time. You began learning to make films. And today, you continue making documentaries and feature films—isn't that also because of this gap? It's the gap that drives you to seek out those perfect things within cinema.”

This conversation fermented in my mind for days.

I recalled watching A Time to Live, a Time to Die last week with graduate and undergraduate students. In that film, Hou Hsiao-hsien revisits his mother's passing, his grandmother's death, and the anxiety before the college entrance exams. It was precisely the void of happiness left by the successive departures of his closest family members, juxtaposed with the ugly, mundane reality of daily life. This gap propelled Ah-Hsiang to take the college entrance exam and later enter the Film and Drama Department at the National Institute of the Arts. He went to Taipei not merely because of a line spoken by Hsin Shu-fen in the film, but because of that gap. He left Fengshan for Taipei.

This reminds me of Paolo Sorrentino's The Hand of God. After his father instructed him on “the trick to losing one's virginity,” during that summer when Maradona scored his divine goal, his parents' sudden death shattered his world of happiness. He resolved to have the Duchess complete his rite of passage and sought guidance from a film director.

Bearing immense disillusionment and grief, he boarded a train bound for Rome. He would make films; he would become a director.

What of Godard? We know nothing of his childhood. From a single photograph, people speculate about his past. His films never mention his parents. Where did his disillusionment stem from? Outsiders cannot comprehend. Yet we glimpse his manifesto in the very first shot of Contempt. His voiceover quotes Bazin:

Cinema, as André Bazin said, substitutes for our gaze a world that matches our desires.

Cinema, said André Bazin, substitutes for our gaze a world that matches our desires.

So, to the friends I've met, to the students I've worked with, I hope you'll harness your sense of loss to create, to make films!

In my unknowingly early twenties, I made my first documentary, dedicating three full years to that work. At that time, I fell from a comfortably middle-class family into a state of having nowhere to go, nowhere to live. Fresh back from Paris, I lay on a cold floor and realized for the first time that while my spirit was rich, my experiences were painful. The trauma from my family's relentless disintegration had reached its peak. That gap made me abandon all other thoughts—I just wanted to film, to capture everything.

I once discussed that gap and pain with my ex-wife, who studied film directing and had acted in countless dramas. She remarked calmly: “Without such tragic circumstances, you couldn't have created that work.”

Looking back now on that gap, I finally understand: the pursuit of beautiful, authentic cinema stems precisely because reality fails to satisfy our yearning for a beautiful life. Creation isn't merely born of youthful restlessness—it arises from that gap, from that pain. That is my true vitality.