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9/13/2006 《乡愁》：2006年9月份的《艺术世界》对导演舒浩仑的专访艺术世界》杂志社将于9月16日14：00-16：00在上海市多伦路27号上海多伦现代美术馆四楼放映厅举办12+DV影像展映. 评述/崔辰
纪录片《乡愁》: 石库门的私人影像故事
纪录片《乡愁》: 石库门的私人影像故事 文：小子，TIMEOUT SHANGHAI 2006.9
当得知自己小时候居住的“大中里”石库门里弄，将面临拆迁的命运，刚在美国获得艺术硕士学位的舒浩仑，重新回到了这里，用他的数码摄影机镜头对准了这个上海最有特色的石库门里弄，完成了自己的第二部纪录长片《乡愁》。文 小子 摄影 陆杰 余光中曾在他的诗作《乡愁》里说：“小时候，乡愁是一枚小小的邮票……”，对很多土生土长的上海人来说，如果要把这一枚小小的邮票形象化，那或许就是普通邮票第23组《中国民居》中的上海石库门图案。 “亭子间”、“客堂间”、“厢房”、“天井”……这些与石库门有关的名词，曾经是好几代上海人温馨的记忆，如今，却被一只只钢筋水泥筑成的怪手，逼压得无处遁逃。 2002年的夏天，当得知上海最有特色的石库门里弄之一，位于静安区石门路的大中里，也将面临被连根拔起的拆迁命运，刚在美国获得艺术硕士学位的舒浩仑，重新回到了这里，将他的数码摄影机镜头对准了这个承载着他无数美好记忆的石库门里弄，以《乡愁》为名，拍摄了自己的第二部纪录长片。 4年后的夏天，我在一个吹着强劲冷气的空调房里，看到了这部《乡愁》，随着画面的流淌，我感到浑身的血液开始加速流动，身体似乎渴望回到曾经没有空调、只有蒲扇的上海夏天，寻找到那种空气湿润、酣畅流汗的久违感觉。好像我手中的遥控器，开启的并不是一部正在我眼前放映的影片，而是扭动了时光隧道的按钮，飞快地把自己朝过去推。 这种感受，和舒浩伦曾在他blog里写下的文字如此相似：“当我看着影片里石库门温暖的红屋顶，镜头里朴素自然的奶奶和邻居，及那些黑白再现的片断，听着八十年代的流行音乐，我感觉仿佛又回到了那个飘着邻居家菜香的楼道，那个同学就是邻居的弄堂，那个听见铃声才跑去上课的中学，回到了那个还没有成为‘国际大都市’的上海，回到那个普通人家的小上海。” 这是一部凝结着舒浩伦私人记忆的影片，然而镜头中的弄堂生活，又何尝不是很多人的童年往事——你肯定不会忘记，揣着粮票到弄堂口香喷喷的早点摊买大饼油条，你也肯定记得，曾经搬着躺椅竹凳在乘凉时和很多人围着一台黑白电视机看球赛，还有那些依稀模糊、却依然鲜活生动的成长片断：你从弄堂口烟杂店买来的第一瓶酱油、你帮家人从粮油店搬回的第一袋新米、你第一次能够独自搬到三楼的一簸箕煤饼…… 还有很多平凡的生活元素，在上海的弄堂里，几十年都没有变过，就好像镜头中90多岁的舒奶奶，每天下午都会拿出放着30元钱的小布包，和楼上楼下的邻居凑一桌麻将；邻居老魏，一直乐于浇花种草，笑称“我每天跑步1万米，比那些每个月挣1万块钱的人还安逸”；60多岁的清洁工“阿跷”，每天起个大早，把弄堂打扫一新，然后就坐在对着垃圾箱的弄堂口，看人、晒太阳、等日落、回家吃饭。 几个月前，当《乡愁》在虹口图书馆进行第一场放映的时候，贾樟柯《世界》的制作人马宁提出《乡愁》真正锋利的东西不多，更像是一篇散文，而20年来一直致力于记录上海城市变迁的摄影家陆杰先生，也建议舒浩伦继续拍，拍到大锤砸落的那一刻。 舒浩伦坦言，“拍这部片子我特别纯粹，我特别着急地要把它拍下来，就怕大中里哪一天被‘房地产原子弹’真的摧毁了。” 在舒浩伦看来，这片子不仅仅是关于拆迁，更像一次最后的留念，一次“为了忘却的纪念”，最重要的，就是纪录即将消失的乡里、家人、族，对于这样一份对故乡的怀念，每个人似乎都有一种想去小心翼翼呵护的冲动：“虽然这部片子和拆迁有关，我不知道我是不是要批判，是不是要尖锐，如果真要拍‘大锤砸落’，我觉得太残忍了。” 我曾听舒浩伦说起，曾经有一位欧洲的影评人看了《乡愁》后，和他说，如果在欧洲有人拍“乡愁”主题的片子，那么这个导演的年纪肯定超过50岁，绝不会像你那样年轻。 面对这样的疑问，不由得让我想起了余华的《兄弟》：欧洲人400年的历史跨度，在中国，40年就已经走完。在这个“愁”字上，中国人似乎有种更敏感的早熟，就好像刘以达《晚节不保》中的歌词“笑一笑，已苍老”。 舒浩伦把他的纪录片定义为第一人称的纪录片——first peron 纪录片，虽然作为这部片子的导演、摄影，他端着摄影机的身影却始终贯穿在《乡愁》中，和奶奶用宁波话交谈、与偶遇的童年小伙伴打招呼，这些都被另一个摄影师记录在画面中。“我拍摄的人都是很熟的邻居，如果我还是像拍摄第一部纪录片《挣扎》时，一直躲在摄影机背后，那就太不真诚了，而且更重要的是，我也想为自己在大中里最后的影像里保留一个位置。” 大中里不久就会消失，若干年后，这部纪录片对他而言，或许就是一本最珍贵的活动相册。 尽管舒浩伦说他这次的拍摄其实并没有太多企图，但我们还是能够通过解说词的字里行间，体会到他对“国际化大都市”——这张上海名片的种种质疑和思考。在他看来，“新天地”虽然保留了石库门的外观，但并非是一个好样板，把文化和人都弄空，作为一个盆景，或者是一张供人消费的明信片，形在，神已经散了。 舒浩仑说：“我一直觉得亚洲国家的大发展进入了一个误区。我去雅加达参加电影节时都不想出宾馆，整个城市都交通堵塞，这已经不是现代化了，其实社会进步太快不是种好事情，需要回头审视，不要等故乡没有了再后悔。” 我曾和舒浩伦聊起他在《乡愁》中最喜欢的一个画面，那是一个穿越狭窄弄堂的主观镜头，人们洗菜、晒衣服、喝粥，甚至冲凉，仿佛一卷平凡无奇却又生气昂然的市井风情画。“石库门里人多，房间小，而弄堂，其实就是很多上海人的客厅，也正是有这样一个共同的客厅，石库门里的弄堂生活才会那么富用人情味。我们留恋的，并不只是一栋栋石库门房子，而是只有弄堂才能孕育出的生活方式。” 在影片最后的字幕上，舒浩伦把这部《乡愁》献给了让他怀念的80年代。他在影片中穿插了很多带有80年代气质的声音和画面：最早的《大世界》电视节目、《排球女将》主题歌、电影《W的悲剧》、操场大喇叭播放的《眼保护操》……听着这些熟悉的音乐，看着片中“真实再现”的黑白画面，我似乎也在亦真亦幻中，寻找自己当年的影子和那个“与人玩，不是与机器玩’的80年代。下一部就是准备工作早就展开了，是对伊文思的《愚公移山》的几集作重访，其中有一集还是拍摄我父亲曾工作了多年的《上海电机厂》作重访，这个项目牵涉面比较大，制作周期会很长。 《乡愁》放映活动 9月16日 14：00 上海多伦美术馆
都市中乡愁那微弱的叹息
南都周刊封面报道：上海引爆都市乡愁
记者 杭晓琳 实习生 周长天 上海报道
一幅最真实的上海民众世俗生活图景，
一段81年的历史，
一个混合了几代上海人爱与痛的产物。
它是上海的地标——石库门，
建于上世纪二三十年代的上海租界，中方和西方文化、传统与现代在此交汇融合；
它命运多舛，但亦如四合院、京剧和中国龙，成为中国传统文化的一部分。
2006年7月，上海最老的石库门里弄之一“大中里”正式开始动拆迁。
夏日午后的“大中里”静得出奇，两个中年男子夹着透明的公文袋疾步前行。他们穿着翻领T恤和西装裤，蹭亮的皮鞋反射着耀眼的日光，走在破落的石库门弄堂里，特别扎眼。
穿着汗衫短裤，躲在杂货店里聊天的俞伯斜眼看着他们经过，努努嘴，说：“都是动迁组的人，不知道又上谁家去了。”
“拆迁政策宣传到家，阳光拆迁…”的条幅高悬于空中，公共厨房的灶头上面钉着这样的字条：“这里有难舍的石库门情结，萦绕在我们每个人人的脑海里……这是一世难忘、永远难忘的地方！”一切迹象显示，这是一个将被动迁的小区。
它位于上海最高档的南京西路商业圈，地铁二号线石门一路站在附近经过，以近些年上海疯涨的房价来论，如此地段自是寸土寸金。与周围高耸的、现代化的大厦相比，低矮破旧的“大中里”显得有几分不协调。
但它是特殊的。始建于1925年的“大中里”，是目前上海市内保存最完整、规模最大的石库门里弄之一。生活在这片超过0.06平方公里土地上的1600多户居民，也一直保持着最原真的石库门生活状态。
动迁组的到来打破了“大中里”惯有的生活节奏，同样打破这里宁静的还有带着摄像机和照相机的异国人和外乡人。他们一头钻进弄堂，拍下了石库门上精美的雕花门楣，拍下了拥有七八个灶头的公共厨房，也拍下了穿着睡衣站在弄堂里高谈阔论的上海人。
“拍吧，拍吧，再不拍，以后都没了。”“大中里”的老太太们，漫无目的地指着身后连排的石库门。根据上海市静安区政府的动拆迁计划，“大中里”以后会被现代化的购物中心和写字楼取代。
“以后怕是要数着电线杆来找‘大中里’的位置喽。”朱伯站在“大中里”弄堂入口处，目测着从南边路口到“大中里”的位置，幽幽地说：“要是道路拓宽挪开了电线杆，‘大中里’就真的不见了，住了一辈子的地方连影子都不剩。”
旧式里弄的特色工种
清晨5点，天色微亮，酣睡一夜的人们尚在享受最后的安宁，寂静的弄堂里已然响起了一阵“唰唰”声。
是“大中里”的清洁工阿跷在打扫垃圾箱，他的出现，宣告了“大中里”开始新的一天。
阿跷本名袁德海，但除了唯一的大哥坚持称他“德海”，“大中里”人人叫他“阿跷”。出于尊老的传统观念，称呼一个右脚残疾的70岁老人“阿跷”，非常不礼貌，但阿跷从不介意这个称呼，因为他知道，“大中里”人人给他几分面子。这是上海旧式里弄的一个特点，称呼不能代表什么，对某个人的尊敬是靠时间积淀，并通过行动来体现的。
“我这活儿别人干不了。”阿跷话里透着了然于心的自豪。每天清晨，“大中里”的垃圾箱一片狼藉，石门一路沿街的小饭店趁着夜色将垃圾随意扔在那儿。阿跷要赶在人们起床前将垃圾箱打扫干净，用水冲净路面，随后锁上垃圾箱的门，只留下两个门洞用于居民丢垃圾。
与垃圾箱相邻的厕所，是“大中里”唯一的卫生设备。老式的里弄住宅没有抽水马桶，也没有几家合用的水厕，只有一个公厕，供所有住户倒马桶和痰盂。
阿跷锁上垃圾箱大门的同时，还得打开厕所里专供倒马桶的小隔间。这个隔间只在每天早晨6点至10点对外开放，“不能整天开着，人太多了，粪便倒多了要铺出来。”
做完这些，阿跷一天的工作才算真正开始。
他拿出晚上锁在隔间里的椅子，放在垃圾箱斜对面的石库门前，安静地坐着。他的工作是盯着垃圾箱和厕所，防止人们为了图方便将垃圾扔在外头，或是某些男人图省事儿、在小便池里大便。
阿跷要这样独自坐到晚上6点，风雨无阻。冬天里，他就裹着民政局领导视察时赠送的棉大衣；夏天日头毒，居委会给他一把伞，他就这么一整天地撑着，遮挡阳光。
现在“大中里”的年轻人，弄不清阿跷坐在那里做啥。就如出生和成长在“大中里”、后又出国留学的舒浩仑，他始终认为孑然一身的阿跷喜欢坐在那里看进进出出的人们，同时义务充当“大中里”的保安。2002年，留学归国的舒浩仑得知“大中里”要拆迁的消息，扛起摄像机拍下了一部关于“大中里”、关于石库门文化的人文纪录片，取名《乡愁》，阿跷是其中一个人物。
“一个月就两百块，还要受气挨打，外地人干不了。”阿跷说，因为扫得干净，他曾被调去上海电视台边上的青海路，本地人不愿意接替阿跷的活，居委会就找了个外地人。但没多久对方就不干了，因为“大中里”某些居民在乱倒垃圾时，气焰还很嚣张，看到陌生人值勤，不但不买账，有时还会起冲突。
“我坐在这里，‘大中里’的人都给我几分面子，住在这里的外地人看我年纪大，也会听我的。”于是阿跷又被调回来，继续充当垃圾箱和公共厕所的守望者。
大中里之晨
6点之后，安静的“大中里”顿像苏醒了一般，热闹起来。
这片石库门布局非常整齐，从空中俯视，分弄与主弄的排列像是一个横过来的“丰”字。解放前就搬来这里的老人说，这是英国人提高效率的方式，把弄堂造得笔直，治安人员一眼就能望到底。
说“大中里”是个中西合璧的“混血儿”并不为过。1925年，“大中里”所在的静安区是英租界，作为一个英国房地产商的开发项目，这片石库门里弄也因此拥有了西式风格的雕花门楣、联排别墅式的布局。英国开发商深谙中国人的居住习惯，于是每一栋石库门都是传统江南民居的翻版：天井、前后客堂、前后厢房、亭子间和晒台。
“从建筑角度讲，石库门堪称精华。”长期致力于古城保护的同济大学城市与规划学院教授阮仪三说，石库门既能体现西式住宅的规划理念，又保有中式民居的建筑风格，“从当时的居住条件来看，是非常舒服的。”
恐怕当时建造“大中里”的开发商，怎么也不会想到，那条在当时为了便于管理而造得笔直的主弄，早已演变成一条充满生活气息的社区马路。
主弄自北向南，依次排列着菜摊、鸡蛋摊、肉摊、水产摊，还有卖早点的。在他们面前来回穿梭的，是穿着睡衣、满脸倦容地端着痰盂走向公厕的女人，还有那些赶在上班前挑菜买肉的男人。
“永平爸，来碗小馄饨。”骑车的中年男子跳下车，冲着包馄饨的老伯喊。永平家的早点摊正好位于主弄的中点，摆了十多年，设备很简单：一张圆台面，六七把裹着破麻袋的靠背椅。
74岁的永平爸负责包馄饨和收钱，退休前在国营饭店做厨师的永平妈负责煮食。早点式样很简单，小馄饨和汤面，夏天再增加一款冷面。
舒浩仑拍《乡愁》时光顾过永平家的早点摊，但1972年出生的他更怀念小时候的那家国营早点摊。每天早晨，人们拿着茶缸排队买豆浆，穿着白色工作服的工作人员熟练做着上海人早点食谱中的“四大金刚”：大饼、油条、糍饭和豆浆。
那时的油条半两一根，为了方便人们买早点，上海特制了全国独一无二的“半两”粮票，以至于当时来沪的外地人，把这当成了上海人小气的一个例子。
等候小馄饨的中年男子招呼着身边过往行人，“阿婆，买菜啊。”“嗨，上班去啊，不吃早饭啊！”男子津津有味地在川流不息的人群中寻找熟人，毫不在意小馄饨何时端上桌。
直到身边食客越聚越多，男子的注意力才开始回到圆桌。“你们知道当时四季酒店后面那些房子，拆迁时每个人拿多少钱吗？”“听说是三十多万，我们这里就隔了一条街，凭什么少了十多万。”吃着面条的食客含混不清地回答。
自打动迁组进了“大中里”，拆迁、赔偿就成了早餐桌上不变的话题。安贫乐道的“大中里”像是突然面对一场灾难，对未来的不可知引发的惶恐从每日的早饭开始。这群本无足够经济能量购置新房改善居住条件的普通人，在面对搬迁时不得不考虑如何为自己寻一处安身之所。
围成圈吃早点的人热闹地议论着，像是一群志同道合的朋友，直到吃完起身、互道再见时，才发现根本叫不出对方的名字。
“永平爸，收钱。”食客将两元钱递给老伯，老伯伸手接过，塞进兜里，又用同一只手包起了馄饨。不过，在“大中里”没人会质问永平爸不讲卫生，哪怕是那些略有洁癖、端着自家饭碗来装小馄饨的人。
大中里3号：八户人家组成的大家庭
舒浩仑出生在“大中里”3号。推开3号的门，也便看到了几代人在石库门里的生活。
3号住着8户人家，每家都有自己的故事，也都知道另外7家的故事，因为这是一个夜不闭户、门户相连的天地。在石库门里，阻隔两个家庭的，往往不是墙而是门，似乎预示着石库门里的各家总有千丝万缕的联系。
8个家庭犹如大家庭中性格迥异的8位成员。二楼的虞家阿婆和舒家奶奶是这里的大家长，两位90多岁的老太太解放前就搬来此处，一起住了将近70年。2002年，报上登出“大中里”地块被香港集团收购的消息后，虞家阿婆伤心地对舒家奶奶说：“住了一辈子，要走了，要分开了。”
一年前，舒家奶奶不慎跌倒，住进医院；半年后，虞家阿婆也在屋里跌倒，住进医院没再出来。虞家阿婆唯一的外甥女沈云儿说，老太太已经神志不清，乡下亲戚来看望，她都不认得。像是有感应一般，也住在医院的老姐妹舒家奶奶，由于不活动也无人聊天，渐渐地也糊涂了。
翻找舒浩仑留下的影像资料，2002年的夏季，舒家和虞家每天各摆一桌麻将，36度的高温，照样4个人打牌8个人围观。牌局散后，学过会计的舒家奶奶会撕开老式的竖条信纸，记下输赢。每月、每半年以及年终时，舒家奶奶都会准时把记录输赢情况的信纸送给三楼黄家阿姨、隔壁卫伯和亭子间的朱伯。
两位大家长住院后，卫家成了3号的砥柱。70岁的卫伯住在这里近40年，“文革”时期舒家后厢房被抄时搬进来的。
因为和老太太们住得最近，卫伯更像长子的角色。自家烧了饭菜，会拨出一部分送给老太太；老太太上下楼舍不得开灯，卫伯总是气呼呼地开了灯问跌倒了怎么办；夏季里卫伯每天早晚拿着自来水浇灌门前那片亲手载种的植物，老太太们心疼水费，卫伯拍着胸脯说，每年6到8月，他一个人出两个人头的水费。“年纪那么大，又是独居，不照顾不行啊。”
舒家和虞家的钥匙现在都由卫家保管。两家的门依旧敞开着，像老太太们住院前一个样。但卫伯和老伴，没有了四年前的从容模样。
那时的卫伯，对着摄像机滔滔不绝地说“我每天跑一万米，人家每个月赚一万块，却未必有我那么开心”，嘴上粘了好些饭粒儿却毫无知觉，兴致勃勃地说着他的快乐经。
如今的卫伯，每天看报纸，了解国家有什么新政策，心里琢磨着如何把自家的难处告诉动迁组。“政府给的房子在桃浦九村，再过去两站就是南翔了。”南翔属于郊区，在上海老百姓的概念里，住在那儿像是被赶出了市区。
亭子间的朱伯像是大家庭中的老三，不管事，见了谁都乐呵呵。朱伯的老伴幻听，每当朱伯出门后，她总是听见所有人都在辱骂她，于是她也破口大骂，骂遍了3号里的每家每户。大家知道她有病，也便任由她骂，只在夏季午睡被吵得心烦时，小声抱怨两句。
但是朱伯一回来，她就安静了，还会笑呵呵地说：“当年3号里人可多了，到了晚上厨房就是停车场，排着好几辆自行车呢。”
楼下厢房里的潘家，像是大家庭中的老二，也曾是3号里最不合群的人家。“那时厨房里用煤球炉，为了那点放煤球的公共面积，和人家吵过。”潘家阿婆耳聋，与她交谈要贴着耳朵，她老伴整日里板着脸，不爱与人说话。
但拆迁的消息被确认后，潘家和大伙也渐渐搭起话来。“到底住了几十年，要分开了，有些舍不得。”
潘家的隔壁是邬家，1951年刚搬来时是八口人，如今只剩下永安叔一人守着父母留下的屋子。曾是短跑运动员的永安叔，年近六十看着却比四十岁的人都精神，没事总在3号的后门做出扣篮的姿势。
永安叔自称是“大中里”的半个户籍警，从1号到190号，他几乎都认识，只不过现在租房子的外地人多了，变动又快，他来不及认。
说起警察，3号里谁都记得汤老伯这个“人民警察”。同样是个绰号，这却是个充满敬意的称呼。
汤老伯每天一早搬把椅子坐在门口等天黑，但凡陌生人靠近3号，必定会问：“你找谁？去三楼？三楼人家姓什么？”他就这么替大家守着门，直到2000年，儿子好心接父母去新房子住。
儿子家在四楼，80多岁的汤老伯无法上下走动，和老伴关在屋里没多久便患上了痴呆症。但他还记得“大中里”，经常带着老伴打车回来，没钱付车费，邻居替他付了；舒家奶奶给他盛饭吃，他也说不清回来做啥。儿子接他回去，没多久，他又一个人打车来到“大中里”。
老伴去世后，汤老伯彻底痴呆了。女儿汤凤仙说，他忘了自己是谁，也忘了“大中里”3号。
汤家人去楼空，像是一个出走的家庭成员，空留怀念给剩下的7个成员。“如果他留在这里，兴许不会痴呆，这里有那么多人陪他说话。”三楼的黄家阿姨说。
黄家是3号里最年轻的成员，搬来不过12年。黄阿姨不爱和其他成员过于亲近，“走得近难免惹是非。”于是黄家在三楼辟了片小天地，自己接了煤气管，鲜少去楼下公共厨房做饭，但与其他成员都保持了良好的关系。
黄阿姨的女儿大学毕业刚满一年，如果不是母亲反对，她早已在外与人合租房子。黄家阿姨说：“她每天回来都问我动迁的情况，简直可以用渴望来形容她想搬走的心。”
已经无法算清黄家女儿是3号里的第几代人，她对没有抽水马桶的破落的石库门的厌恶，也许是石库门避不开的命运。
从鼎盛到没落
作为上海最老的石库门里弄之一，“大中里”有着81年的历史，隐藏着几代人的回忆。而只有那些上了年纪的人们，才最了解石库门曾经的胜景和沧桑。
舒家、虞家和邬家是3号最早的住户。1935年，舒浩仑的爷爷从宁波跑来上海，经老乡介绍在同孚路(现石门一路)上的四民银行工作，并用金条顶下了“大中里”3号二楼的前后厢房。在当时，这算是个体面的住处。
邬家也来自宁波，永安叔的父亲是美孚石油的中间代理商，看中“大中里”的治安好、宁波人又多，便卖掉淮海路上的房子，顶下“大中里”3号的一楼、亭子间和三楼。
“那时3号就住着3户人家，13个人。整个‘大中里’人口也不多，弄堂里看不到人，只有小汽车。”永安叔依稀记得当时的“大中里”很安宁。那时的石库门是上海高级职员的住所，“大中里”最北面的几栋房子曾是停车库，“大跃进”时才改做了住房。
住在160号的陆家阿公，曾在赫赫有名的永泰公司做经理，解放前的远东舰队总司令、解放后的陈毅市长夫人张茜都是这家丝绸制衣公司的常客。
陆家阿婆当时还和其他9个家庭主妇成立了标会，每人出5元，谁家有困难就能使用这笔钱，用完了每人再继续出5元。一直到“文革”开始，“大中里”面目全非，更多家庭搬进了3号，往昔的温文尔雅变成了锅碗瓢盆的喧闹。
“文革”结束后，3号里的人口达到了35人。原本都是宁波人的天地里突然拥入了浦东人和江苏人，曾经的高级职员和知识分子与产业工人一同吃喝拉撒。
那时3号里只有一个水龙头，供35个人用，有时排队等急了，大伙儿恨不得扒开水管自己接水。当时还是个孩子的舒浩仑无法体会成年人的不便和痛苦，他的记忆中充满了那个年代特有的美好。
“那时物质匮乏，一家的东西几家人一块用。”学生时代的舒浩仑爱上了做化学试验，卫家长子恰好在树脂厂工作，舒浩仑放学后总跑去卫家找各种化学品，然后躲上晒台欣赏各种化学反应。
特殊的新客
对“大中里”的上千户本地居民而言，几十年几代人培养出来的邻里之情，自非等闲。关起外面的大铁门，这里就是一个大家庭。也因此，当有外地人进入这个由老上海人组成的天地时，他们本能地会有排斥。
上世纪九十年代中期，上海人买卖房子的意识变得强烈，那些急于改善条件的人飞出了“大中里”，于是大量的空屋出租给了外地来沪务工者。他们多是附近小店的服务员，或是摆地摊的小贩。一场来自不同地域的文化冲突在“大中里”上演，这也是“大中里”最后一次的人口拆解和重组。
“治安差了，人口多又复杂，以前来个陌生人一眼就认出了，现在外地人进进出出，看到的都是生面孔。”永平妈说。
与永平家的早点摊相隔十米，还有一个小食摊，摊主是外地人陆师傅。在“大中里”，本地居民只光顾永平家，租住在此的外地人却只光顾陆师傅的摊。没人制定规则，大家却奇怪地保持这份默契。
陆师傅的食摊提供一日三餐，附近工地上的建筑工人和初来上海的拾荒者在这里凑份子吃饭。居无定所的拾荒者把“大中里”当成了庇护所，吃完饭后在长条凳上小睡，就好像是睡在自家床上那般安心。视他们为闯入者的“大中里”居民却内心窝着火，他们觉得，这些外来务工者的拥入降低了“大中里”的档次。
这份即便到了穷途末路都舍弃不掉的自诩高贵，从石库门建成之日起便深深烙下。
“大中里”5号的小罗来自江苏，与隔壁的王家阿婆做了两年的邻居。他们彼此间非常客气，进进出出必打招呼，一起做饭时也会研究某个菜式，比如炒土豆丝放白醋才不会糊，或是哪家超市的鸡蛋更便宜。但卫伯的老伴说，“再客气总还是有距离，不像住了几十年的老邻居那样知根知底。”卫伯的老伴没事总跑出来和王家阿婆聊天，看得多了，自然也明白了其中的奥妙。
12岁的小张不懂成年人之间复杂的感情和关系，他只是单纯地觉得，邻居对他好，就是欢迎他的到来。
“我爸在这里住了四年，如果不拆，住在这里蛮好的，隔壁阿婆对我也好。”坐在黄鱼车(即人力三轮车)上替父亲临时看西瓜的小张说，这里和南通老家差不多，像是一个村子，大家都熟悉。
但真正彼此接纳的也并非没有。“我们家隔壁曾住过一个来自江西的小姑娘，两户人家亲得像一家人。”小王是上海外国语学院的学生，住在“大中里”隔壁的“柏德里”，“我妈妈烧了好吃的会端去给她，她从江西回来也会带好吃的给我。”
“我妈一直让我向她学习。”每年那个小姑娘回江西时，小王的父母都会准备点年货，让她带回老家。小姑娘搬走时，小王全家还送了她一套床上用品。
随风而逝的石库门，解不开的乡愁
舒浩仑的儿时记忆与陆芸的儿时记忆完美地进行了时空对接。陆芸是陆家阿公的外孙女，得知“大中里”要拆的那一刻，外公愣了半晌，外婆眼里泛着泪光，从小在“大中里”长大的陆芸无意中发现了《乡愁》，于是决定买张碟给家人一个惊喜。
陆芸出生在1981年，在她的记忆里，上海同样发生了一次天翻地覆的变化。
上世纪八十年代的陆家是所有亲戚心目中的殿堂。每逢五一和国庆，住在浦东的亲戚带上土产赶到陆家住下，只为了观看节日里的游行，孩子们则一早搬着小板凳在晒台上抢座位，以便能更清楚地看到节日烟花。
陆家的优越感持续到了九十年代浦东开发的一刻。浦东地价陡增，亲戚们一夜暴富，做起了房产开发商，便绝少出现在“大中里”。有个亲戚过节探望陆家阿公时，忍不住说：“这房子太破了。”
“可我还是喜欢这里。”陆芸留恋“大中里”生活的厚重和质感。在日本公司工作的陆芸曾带一些五六十岁的日本朋友参观“大中里”，看到厨房里的灶头和屋里的马桶，他们兴奋不已地说：“我们也曾经那样生活过，真令人怀念。”
陈佳立和陆芸同年，出生在静安区另一处石库门群落——庙弄。八年前动迁后，庙弄原址上竖起了一座霸气的购物中心。陈佳立记得小时候和同伴跑去百乐门边乘凉，看着车来车往，如今新兴社区的孩子，只是在网络上构建一派虚拟的友谊世界。
舒浩仑想在“大中里”放映一次《乡愁》。他的乡愁，既来自于故乡“大中里”的消失，也是对石库门生活方式行将终结的悼念。毕竟，“大中里”呈现的是被光鲜外衣遮蔽了的最原汁原味的上海生活。石库门随风而逝，依附其上的上海历史和文化，也将凋零或消失。
“如果可能，我还要请些模特在弄堂里走秀，你不觉得，那个年代的石库门弄堂，就是T型台的雏形吗？”舒浩仑的记忆中，每逢夏日傍晚，乘凉的男人们赤膊睡在躺椅上一字排开，这时若有个穿着时髦的年轻女子走过，无数包含带着欲望和艳羡的眼光齐刷刷地射过来，年轻女子的步履变得更婀娜，哪怕她已被一些女性长辈唤做“小妖精”。
“每个阶层都能从石库门里找到自己的文化梦想，他的痛苦悲伤和他的记忆。”上海文学批评家朱大可，曾在一次关于“工人新村与石库门谁更能代表上海”的辩论中说，石库门具有更广泛的代表性。早期的资产阶级能在这里找到昔日的梦想，过去大杂院里的市民也能从这里找到曾经的记忆，尽管记忆里面充满了很多痛苦的东西。石库门是混合了上海人爱与痛的产物(注：工人新村是1951年上海市政府从苏联引进的，解决了上海三百万产业工人的住房困难。当时能住进“工人新村”的都是劳模和先进工作者。研究城市文化的学者把工人新村看作上海在一个大时代的缩影，是一种政治意识形态的空间化，并据此认为形成了上海人的一种性格：比较制度化，比较容易被管束)。
前两个月，北京前楼附近的胡同连片被铲，一群民间人士自发冲向胡同里拍照，每天与推土机比速度。舒浩仑发了封邮件给他们，“虽然大家怀念的实物不同，但本质是一样的，都是对过往传统的回忆和悼念。”
这种眷恋和怀念，不仅仅局限于北京人和上海人，甚至已经远远超越了胡同、石库门等有形建筑物。在广州媒体工作的刘先生曾经打算将年幼的女儿送回江西老家上学，他说，这是因为“那些看似经济发展滞后的地方，更加完整地保留了传统”。只是，这一想法终因妻子舍不下爱女而作罢。
刘先生说，只要想起老家的房子和土地，心里就有了底气，不像他曾接触过的一些上海朋友，当从小居住的老房子被推土机推倒后，一段活生生的记忆被连根拔起，人也显得浮躁。
老刘在欧洲看到那些保留了近两百年的破房子仍被使用着，明白这是人家城市化运动进行到一定程度后的觉醒，于是他做了一回有心人，购买新房时没有出售原来的住处，“我的女儿出生在那里，成长在那里，等她成年了，能去老房子找回忆。”
三毛曾说，少年的她每当看到世界地图上撒哈拉沙漠那一片赤黄的时候，心头总会泛起一种乡愁，于是终于有一天她背起行囊，哼着“不要问我从那里来，我的故乡在远方”，寻找着自己的精神家园。而近年来在全国兴起的读经运动、国学热和海外汉学热，抑或同样有迹可寻？
余光中的一首“乡愁”，曾经感动海峡两岸30余年，那是台胞甚至是海外华人共有的思乡之情。而多年之后，余光中才慢慢意识到，他的乡愁其实是对包括地理、历史和文化在内的整个中国的眷恋。
6月25日，《乡愁》在上海虹口区图书馆公映。那天下午，看完片子的人们走在街上，默默地将镜头对准了虹口区老街上的房子。
作为嘉宾出席放映活动的陆元敏是上海著名的影像记录者，曾出版过苏州河与石库门的影集。在拍下一张堆放着杂物的石库门屋子时，他说，很多年后，那些已经生活在宽敞整洁楼房里的人们，应该会被这张照片打动，进而引发对逝去岁月的缅怀。
(尊重上海旧式弄堂不喜点名道姓称呼邻居的特点，记者保留了文中人物在生活里的真实称谓，实习生俞慕佳对此文亦有贡献) A nostalgia for another time A nostalgia for another time
By Xu Wei 2006-08-16
 Do people truly worship these skyscrapers? I doubt it. Do the times really drive people to chase so-called 'fashion,' pursue so-called 'modernity' and love the neon lights at night? I really don't believe it." These are the questions that Shu Haolun, a Shanghai native who grew up in the city's rapidly disappearing longtang (lane) and shikumen (stone-gated) culture, poses in his latest 70-minute documentary film "Nostalgia." The film encourages people to reflect on what they have lost through their relentless pursuit of progress and development. Shu's shikumen house at "Da Zhong Li" (near the junction of Shimen Road and Weihai Road) will soon be demolished to make way for high-rise apartment blocks and hotels. The neighboring elementary school and the residential alley called "Yong Ye Li," all of which constituted Shu's childhood playground, have already been demolished. The first half of the film presents a poetic, exquisite and sentimental portrait of the director's old brick-and-stone home and the warren of streets around it. Much of the last quarter of the film is filmed at night. "Against the bright lights coming from the massive skyscrapers, Da Zhong Li looks even darker," Shu says. This section of the film poses the question of whether the strong tide of supposed modernization is really beneficial. "People have got used to the 'present continuous tense' for our era," says the 34-year-old, who studied on the Master of Fine Arts program in film production in Southern Illinois University in the United States. "It is a dangerous sign as people have little time to mull over their past and future." The film has many simple but touching instances that will arouse viewers' memories of their own childhood and their own old houses. The film made a small-scale screening at Hongkou District Library in June. Shu notes that the original purpose behind making the documentary was only to record the ordinary lives of the people living in the Da Zhong Li. "In 2002, I came back from the US for a summer break just as the local government announced that our area was slated for imminent demolition," Shu admits he won't be able to stop the cranes but he is able to "record" his nostalgia through his camera lens. The film was shot during the last two months of that summer but it was not until 2005 that Shu got his inspiration for how he would edit his film. Shu's family moved to Da Zhong Li from the countryside in 1935. The film recounts those moments that Shu spent with his family and it also tells the stories of his neighbors, some of whom have lived in the shikumen alley for nearly 70 years. Grandma Yu cooks wonderfully and she loves to share her delicious dishes with the community, including Shu's 90-something grandmother. Playing mahjong is the daily entertainment for Shu's old grandmother, but she has strict bookkeeping habits and only spares 30 yuan (US$3.75) each day for her mahjong games. Mr Wei is a retired worker who now has many colorful activities that include jogging, playing chess, swimming and cultivating flowers. "Even the President can't match up to me," Wei says playfully in the documentary. "He has more things to worry about. You know, the easy life is the lucky life." "Nostalgia" shows people wandering in and out of each other's homes, no front doors are locked. "Tiptoe," the best-known face in the Da Zhong Li, has swept the various alleys since 1959. He knows all the residents and when he finds some suspicious people, he questions them. But only through shooting his film has Shu found out Tiptoe's real name: Yuan Dehai. For decades, the neighborhood grocer hasn't changed. Shu recalls that kids would know they were grown-up when they were asked to go and buy soy sauce or rice wine. Soaked into this film are Shu's deep emotions for the land, houses and people. Additionally, people will find the fashions and flavors from two decades ago, including the popular TV drama "Volleyball Girls" shown on the black-and-white TV sets of the time and even the popular old songs. Different from documentary director Zhou Hongbo's "Lotus Ferry," which is a portrait of the old houses and people in the Dongjiadu area, Shu reproduces authentic scenes from his childhood. These include his wandering on the roofs and watching films overnight at the theater. "Zhou, a good friend of mine, came to Shanghai several years ago," Shu notes. "He is more like an observer. His picture shows the Shanghai life through the eyes of people from outside Shanghai. I grew up here, I am an insider. That might explain why our works have such a different feel." To his surprise, the film has raised heated discussions on Shu's personal blog and in Internet communities. Additionally, it has also encouraged other people to employ their cameras to record their own old houses. Lu Yun, whose grandparents have lived in Da Zhong Li for more than 60 years, was also deeply moved by Shu's documentary. She said her old grandparents were forcing back their tears when they learned that their houses would soon be torn down. "'Nostalgia' reminds me of a lot of beautiful moments from when I was young," Lu says. "Now I want to record the stories and people around me just like Shu. That would be the best gift for the old residents of the alley." Shu worries that demolishing the old houses and moving the residents may be particularly bad for the old people who for years have had close relations with each other. "What we need is a human-friendly modernization," he says. "Building skyscrapers, elevated highways or fashion hubs is not the whole story. I hope people, while pursuing dramatic progress, can spare the time to reflect on their past and ask themselves where they are from." Netizen "Fleeting Light" echoes these sentiments on Shu's blog: "Being a Shanghai native, I have very fond memories of Shanghai's 'shikumen' and old longtang. New, in my eyes, does not always mean good or even better." Now Shu is working on his next project "A Letter to Ivens," revisiting 1970s China. He is also teaching film art at Shanghai University. "Nostalgia" will be screened again at 2pm on September 16 at Shanghai Duolun Museum of Modern Art. Shu is now working on the release of a DVD version of "Nostalgia." Soon the DVD, with both English and Chinese subtitles, will be available. Those interested, log onto Shu's blog at http://haolunshu.spaces.msn.com 9/12/2006 Childhood in the shikumenFilm-maker Shu Haolun recaptures his vivid memories of life in the now vanishing traditional homes of Shanghai Xu Jitao Shanghai_Delta
page04 2006-8-11 http://www.shanghai-delta.com.cn/Shanghai_Delta/Shanghai_Delta_news.asp?lv1=1&lv2=4&newsid=1602&viewsid=1602&views=30 Shikumen ("stone gate") was the most popular building style in Shanghai in the past. This special architectural form of residence, which exists only in Shanghai, embodies the lives of most ordinary people. But now the number of shikumen is decreasing because of urban reconstruction projects sponsored by the municipal government. A young film-maker named Shu Haolun, however, is trying to capture this city's vanishing landscape through his camera. His documentary, "Nostalgia," which is his first attempt at preserving the fading memories about Shikumen, was released in June in Shanghai. Shu was brought up in Dazhongli, a typical shikumen residential area located in Jing'an District, and one of the oldest in Shanghai. In the 1920s, Shu's grandfather left Ningbo and came to Shanghai to work in a bank. According to Shu, his grandfather spent a large amount of money to buy houses located at No.3 Dazhongli. Shu's family has now been here for more than 70 years. Shu was born here and his grandmother still lives in this kind of house. The documentary is like a personal memoir for Shu. The old photos of the family, his former neighbours, the movies and TV series he watched in his childhood, the old songs he sang when he was still a boy, the girl he once loved - these nostalgic vignettes and more of the director's youthful memories were interspersed throughout the film. "It was the summer of 2002. When I returned from the US to Shanghai, I was told that my family's house would be dismantled. It meant that my grandmother would have to leave the house where she had lived for over 70 years. It also meant that my memories about my childhood would be erased. I decided to use my camera to keep my memories," Shu said. He finished most of the documentary that summer. In the film, he talked with his grandmother and neighbours about his family, unveiling his vague memories about his childhood and the history of his family. Asked why he shot the documentary, Shu said: "I always feel that old houses and the history about these old houses are weak and vulnerable when they are confronted with bulldozers - a symbol of modernization. At first, when I started to shoot the film, I just wanted to make a personal photo album - an album about my personal memories," he said. The lost lifestyle "In 2005, suddenly I understood how to deal with the film I previously shot," he added. It had been two years after he got his diploma in film studies in Southern Illinois University. He visited several shikumen areas around his family's old houses. Most houses in those areas had been dismantled, along with the traditional lifestyles. "In my point of view, life in the shikumen reflect the real lives of the people who live in Shanghai. People who lived in those areas did not have many desires. They were satisfied with every little thing they received. They were also friendly to all people who lived around them. Lives were rather like peaceful and slow songs for them. But because of the urban reconstruction projects, this kind of lifestyle has vanished. Dazhongli, where my grandmother lives, maybe is the last place for people to find such a lifestyle," he said. "In Dazhongli, it's rare for people to hear the sound of mobile phones. Most residents in this area are elderly now. The most common sound is that of residents playing mah-jong. It was the main entertainment for seniors to kill time and to spend the rest of their lives," Shu added. He also found many video and sound clips of old TV series and old songs for his documentary. Shu hopes these clips will arouse similar childhood memories for all people born in the 1970s. "One of my assistants cried when he helped me to finish the documentary - he was touched by some old songs and some video clips in the documentary, and the music and the video clips closely connected with his childhood," he said. According to Shu, a documentary of this type is an attempt to regain what people lost in modernization and urbanization. But, he said, he is not against modernization. "I admit that to live in the shikumen is inconvenient for most people - they have to share bathrooms and kitchens with others. They have to live in narrow spaces for many years. But we have to understand that such inconvenience helps many people become very hospitable and warm-hearted. For the elderly, to live in such areas helps keep them from becoming lonely." For now, Dazhongli still stands among the skyscrapers. But Shu worries that along with old lifestyles, these houses will be "swallowed by the concrete monsters around them" sooner or later. A movie making career Many overseas critics and media, including Reuters and CNN, have shown great interest in Shu's film. It's not his first taste of international fame. In 2001, when he was still a post-graduate at Southern Illinois University, he finished his first documentary, "Struggle," about a lawyer who fought to relieve the plight of migrant workers living in Shenzhen. Shu won the prize for best documentary at 16th Fribourg International Film Festival. "`Struggle' was my graduation project. At first I planned to shoot a film about a fictional story, but my supervisors were not satisfied with my ideas. I was a bit frustrated with that. At last, I spent two months to finish `Struggle'. Unexpectedly, everyone was satisfied with my work," Shu recalled. A graduate from the engineering and machinery department at the University of Shanghai of Science and Technology, Shu was not expected to become a filmmaker and a director. "When I was a university student, I loved to watch movies. There was a large movie library in my university. I often went to the library to watch movies," he said. "There was an art film cinema not far away from my university. I also went to that cinema to watch movies." After Shu graduated from university, like most of his classmates, he became an IT engineer. "But after I started to work, I found that I had always dreamed of becoming a film director," Shu added. Four years after he graduated from University of Shanghai Science and Technology, Shu decided to quit his job and to pursue his dream of becoming a film director. In 1998, he went to the United States to study. "Before I received the visa to the US, I had been rejected twice. It was the last time for me to apply for a visa. I told myself that if I failed again, I would give up. But fortunately, I received the visa - and after that day, my life totally changed," he said. It was not an easy decision for Shu to quit his job before he went to the United States. He had an attractive salary and chances of promotion. "But I understood that I made a correct decision after I went to the US. What benefits me most is what I learnt in the United States - it wasn't any subjects, it was questions that I often asked myself: Is this the life you really want?" he said. Now Shu is a teacher at the School of Film and Television Art and Technology at Shanghai University. He is preparing for his next project, "A Letter From China." He plans to travel to the place where famous documentary director Joris Ivens had been and re-shoot a documentary about the places in Ivens' masterpiece, "How Yukong Moved the Mountains," which was shot in 1976 in China. Film-maker laments loss of historical Xu Jitao China Daily's Shanghai_Delta page02 2006-8-8 http://www.shanghai-delta.com.cn/Shanghai_Delta/Shanghai_Delta_news.asp?lv1=1&lv2=3&newsid=1564&viewsid=1564&views=1
 Behind the tall building around the corner from Weihai Road, an ancient-style castle is hidden from view. Few know when it was built, and now, ivy has covered the whole structure. With its finely carved stonework and arched colonnades, this old building still possesses all the majesty of the Middle Ages. Today, it is the location of the Minli Middle School, but 80 years ago, it was the home of tigers, snakes and crocodiles. The owner of the castle was Qiu Bei-shan, whose ancestors once lived as fisherfolk on Weishan Lake in East China's Shandong Province. His remote ancestors were said to be heroes in the style of a Chinese Robin Hood - warriors at Liangshan Mountain in the Song Dynasty (960-1279). At the end of the 19th century, the poor life they were living compelled Qiu Beishan and his brother Qiu Weiqing to leave their hometown. They found work in a German paint factory in Shanghai just as World War I broke out. The German boss decided to return home and he sold the paint stock piled in the factory to the Qiu brothers at a very low price. The war completely disrupted all trade by sea and overnight the price of paint skyrocketed - they became wealthy men. With the profits they made during the war the two brothers built their castle and set up their own paint factory which they called, Guang Da Yuan. They also bought 10 mu (6,670 square metres) of land on which they built two residences for themselves. One was demolished after the founding of New China in 1949. In spite of the wealthy urban life they were now living in Shanghai, they still missed the old days when they lived among lakes and mountains. So, by the early 1930s, they were keeping tigers, snakes and scaly anteaters in the garden. Next, they built a large pond and stocked it with crocodiles. On the bank of the pond was a huge enclosure for 2,000 pigeons. Every morning when the pigeons were released, it was said they covered the sky over Weihai Road. In the 1940s, the Qiu family rented their house to the Minli Middle School as a schoolhouse and the animals had to be sold or sent away. But the fate of the 2,000 pigeons was the most pitiful - most became dinner for the hungry Shanghainese of the war years. In 2002, HKR International Ltd bought the area around the building with 1.31 billion yuan (US9.76 million). According to the company's original plan, all the buildings around this castle would be dismantled and a business area like Xintiandi would be set up there. Many people, especially local residents worried that the old mansion would be demolished. Fortunately, although some old shikumen houses around the building have been dismantled, the mansion has been listed for urban conservation by the municipal government. Recently, Shanghai film-maker Shu Haolun shot a documentary about the buildings around this castle. In his documentary, the building is a landmark for most residents who had lived in that area for many years - most people who lived in this area graduated from Minli Middle School. The director shows his anger at the Hong Kong company's plan - he does not believe that most Shanghai residents would benefit from another Xintiandi. On the contrary, he believes that most residents would be hurt because their memories of the old days would be erased along with the buildings. He protested that although the castle will be preserved, it would not be as attractive as before because "the soul of the building - people who have lived in it and their lifestyles - has already gone." Now the castle and the buildings around it are rather like "dead bodies without spirits," he said. |
舒浩仑1994年毕业于华东工业大学，获工学士学位。后因热爱电影，赴美国南伊利诺斯州大学学习电影编导，获MFA（Master of Fine Arts）学位。求学回国期间，独立制片和编导了纪录电影《挣扎》。现居上海，创建“电影精神工作室”，致力于中国的新锐纪录与故事电影的制作，同时执教于上海大学影视学院。2004年，被亚欧基金会作为中国新锐电影人的代表邀请参加在印尼雅加达召开的“第三届亚欧电影发展会议"，此次会议由法国南特国际电影节协办。《乡愁》是舒浩仑第二部纪录电影。2005年，被第55届柏林国际电影节邀请参加“天才校园”单元，剧情长片剧本《逃》入选电影节的“剧本工作坊”。
《乡愁》是一部感性的作品，习惯纪录片的冷静和旁观的观影习惯会因为观看《乡愁》而受到强烈的冲击。同时，因为片中所包含的70年代人共通的成长经验，这种感性又会令人感动和回味。导演舒浩仑将这部纪录片定义为第一人称的纪录片，相对于他的第一部纪录片——反映当下中国某种层面现状的《挣扎》，《乡愁》更接近一种饱含感情的写作，不过是用影像来书写的。
ArtWorld：从国外学习回来，你便开始拍摄纪录片，为什么选择纪录片作为你创作最初的一种表达方式？
ArtWorld：你第一次知道了弄堂口的清洁工阿跷的名字，并很郑重地在《乡愁》的旁白中说出来。有什么意味？
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