FILM / Two old Chinas: Movie-making in China: 'If I have problems, you won't hear any more about me. If I'm all right, you'll see my next film'.

Every country has one: the historical trauma that remains taboo for artists years after you thought the passions that fuelled it had been laid to rest. References to the Algerian war were routinely censored from French movies in the 1960s and as recently as two years ago Bertrand Tavernier was still having problems with his documentary, La Guerre sans nom, about the war's devastating legacy. Similarly, it took Hollywood more than a decade to get to grips with Vietnam. Our own no-go area is Northern Ireland: witness the hostility that greeted A Prayer Before Dying and Hidden Agenda. In the Name of the Father, the Gerry Conlon story, hasn't opened here yet but has already had a good drubbing.

For China the trauma that won't go away is the Cultural Revolution of 1966. Not that there aren't plenty of other running sores for refractory film-makers to pick at, but it was in the mid-1960s that the new generation of Chinese directors - the 'Fifth Generation' - was reaching maturity and a watershed in their lives.

Many were required to denounce their parents at show trials. Most were sent to the countryside for 're-education': ostensibly to be immersed in the wonders of peasant life, actually to evacuate them from Peking (the events in Tiananmen Square in June 1989 showed what can happen when too many free-thinking students are allowed to gather in one place).

Two fascinating new Chinese films offer glimpses into those turbulent times. Farewell My Concubine is set in the colourful, volatile world of the Peking Opera; The Blue Kite (reviewed opposite) closely observes the impact of Maoism on a small boy and his family.

Their directors, respectively Chen Kaige and Tian Zhuangzhuang, have strikingly similar biographies. They were both born in 1952, and grew up a stone's throw from each other. Both were hauled out in 1966 to testify against their families. And they were classmates when the Peking Film Academy finally reopened its doors in 1978.

They have vivid, bitter memories of 1966. 'In the courtyard where I lived,' Tian says, 'four people were chosen as targets of the Cultural Revolution, one of them my father. And, for some reason I still don't understand, I was selected the day before the meeting to read out the slogans against them.

'I still can't forget the way my mother looked at me. There was worry in her eyes, and at the same time I could see her thinking, 'How naive you are'. I was very nervous. I had practised reciting the four names I had to speak out. But when the time came, I missed out my father's name. I don't know why. Even now I have a knot in my heart when I think about it.'

Chen has the same knot: 'It seems to me that the Cultural Revolution is my whole life. Of course I was forced to denounce my father, but I did it because I was selfish: I wanted to prove I was a good boy. I don't think the revolutionaries would have done anything to me if I had said no; my sister refused. It was a painful experience: I hurt myself when I hurt my father. I couldn't go home because I couldn't imagine sleeping in the same house as him. I was so sad and scared. My father forgave me, but I can't forgive myself. I really hope some day I can make a film based on my personal story.' One reason, perhaps, why Tian and Chen found themselves in the firing line was that both come from cinema mini-dynasties. Their parents were artists and intellectuals; 'class enemies' in other words. Tian's mother was an actress and his father the first head of the Peking Film Studios. Chen's father was a film director.

'He didn't really like the idea of my becoming a film-maker,' Chen says. 'He thought it was dangerous because of what happened in his own life.' But Mr Chen Senior seems to have reconciled himself to the thought and, now aged 73, was closely involved in the making of Farewell My Concubine. 'He's a big Peking Opera fan. We discussed the screenplay a lot, and he has seen the film many times. We're very close now: I go to his house every day for lunch.'

Tian recalls: 'My parents were both quite famous. But they were groomed by the Party since the 1930s, and their films were made to propagate Communism. That doesn't mean that they didn't make any good films, but on the whole they were very functional. But I really respect that older generation because they thought of themselves as ordinary people; they never considered themselves stars.

'Sometimes I think how silly I am: knowing that making films in China is probably the most difficult thing I could do, and still wanting to do it. But the first time I stood behind the camera and heard it rolling, I got so excited. There was no way I couldn't choose it as a career. It's like smoking: I know it's really bad for me, but I just can't give up.'

To live in interesting times, and then to make films about them, might provide one with an endless source of marvellous stories but, no doubt about it, it's a risky business. Concubine - like some of Chen's previous films, and those of his colleague Zhang Yimou - was banned for a spell in China, but can now be seen there. And Tian has had a hard time with The Blue Kite.

'While we were shooting the film, someone wrote 10 anonymous letters about it. I was surprised, because anonymous letters were common in the 1950s and 1960s, but they're unusual now. At first I wanted to know who wrote them. But then I thought, who cares? I'd still have the problems I'm facing now, even without them.'

Officials attempted to block post-production work on the film and there is no immediate prospect of seeing it in China. 'After my film was screened at international film festivals, it became a sensitive political event (the Chinese delegation at last year's Tokyo Festival marched out en masse when The Blue Kite won the top prize). I suspect the ban won't be lifted until next year. I'm not clear what my future in China will be. If I have problems, you won't hear any more about me. If I'm all right, you'll eventually see my next film.'

And yet, disturbing as the 1960s were for the Fifth Generation, Chen - who has made two films about this period, the other being King of the Children - feels they formed him as a director. 'It was the turning point of my life. The beautiful dream of socialism was shattered: what we saw was so different from what we were told. Life was really, really hard; we came close to starvation.

'But from this I started to know something about life. My experiences then made me a director, because I felt I had to tell people what I had seen. I think life is pretty easy for the younger generation of film-makers. I'm not saying that we are much smarter than them. But the thing is, before they will make great films, they have to suffer first, I guess.'

'Farewell My Concubine' continues to play around the country. 'The Blue Kite' opens today at the ICA.

(Photographs omitted)