Between 2010 and 2013, the Danish filmmaker Andreas Johnsen paid Ai Weiwei about seven visits to his home in Beijing, where the director had just one stipulation: “If I was recording with my camera, Weiwei had to be present.” The result is a new documentary out this Friday, Ai Weiwei The Fake Case, which follows the Chinese conceptual artist and political dissident after he returns home from 81 days of solitary detention under a half-baked Chinese government tax evasion lawsuit, a closely-watched story that would soon be dubbed “the fake case” by international media outlets.
The film takes place mainly during the year of house arrest following Weiwei’s release from jail. We see him behind the walls of his studio, 258 Fake, in the Caochangdi arts neighborhood in northeast Beijing—giving rambling monologues to the camera, interacting with his son, and becoming increasingly frustrated with the police. But, physical restraints didn’t stop the 56-year-old artist from challenging society through high-concept, remote commissions and galvanizing the Chinese youth via one very active Twitter handle.
Check out OC's exclusive clip from The Fake Case and interview with its director, Andreas Johnsen.
JEANINE CELESTE PANG: Ai Weiwei is known as a provocateur and something of a media exhibitionist. Did you get any sense that the on-camera persona was slightly theatrical, or just an act?
ANDREAS JOHNSEN: Basically, the cameras were never off. He wanted everything to be shown. Transparency, honesty, and truth are his main goals. He’s not superstitious and he’s not spiritual—he’s just very straightforward.
You get the sense that he’s always goading the Chinese government to have a deeper conversation about censorship.
If you think about his art project, the self-surveillance WeiweiCam, that was genius. It was like, “Here I am, totally transparent, totally honest.” He’s just like, “You want to put 18 cameras outside my house? I’ll put even more inside my house. See me go to the toilet!” I think that’s how he really survives, mentally and under the pressure of being in this total uncertainty. He’s playful. I think that’s a beautiful tactic for just staying alive.
What was the most impactful thing you were able to learn from him?
Consistently, on every one of my trips, I was impressed by how he was able to turn a situation around to his advantage. His life is basically shit, you know. He was away for three months, and he comes out of this prison where he wasn’t even allowed to talk to the guards that were in his cell. Anyone else would have broken down. But then, little by little, by being smart and playful, he turned all these restrictions around and almost ridicules them.
This is the second feature-length documentary to come out about Ai Weiwei. The first was done by Alison Klayman, who released Ai Weiwei: Never Sorry in 2012. Was there any overlap between the two films?
Yes, in 2010. All of a sudden, Alison walks in with this big-ass camera, and I was like, “Hello!” and she was like, “Whoa—who are you
The film takes place mainly during the year of house arrest following Weiwei’s release from jail. We see him behind the walls of his studio, 258 Fake, in the Caochangdi arts neighborhood in northeast Beijing—giving rambling monologues to the camera, interacting with his son, and becoming increasingly frustrated with the police. But, physical restraints didn’t stop the 56-year-old artist from challenging society through high-concept, remote commissions and galvanizing the Chinese youth via one very active Twitter handle.
Check out OC's exclusive clip from The Fake Case and interview with its director, Andreas Johnsen.
JEANINE CELESTE PANG: Ai Weiwei is known as a provocateur and something of a media exhibitionist. Did you get any sense that the on-camera persona was slightly theatrical, or just an act?
ANDREAS JOHNSEN: Basically, the cameras were never off. He wanted everything to be shown. Transparency, honesty, and truth are his main goals. He’s not superstitious and he’s not spiritual—he’s just very straightforward.
You get the sense that he’s always goading the Chinese government to have a deeper conversation about censorship.
If you think about his art project, the self-surveillance WeiweiCam, that was genius. It was like, “Here I am, totally transparent, totally honest.” He’s just like, “You want to put 18 cameras outside my house? I’ll put even more inside my house. See me go to the toilet!” I think that’s how he really survives, mentally and under the pressure of being in this total uncertainty. He’s playful. I think that’s a beautiful tactic for just staying alive.
What was the most impactful thing you were able to learn from him?
Consistently, on every one of my trips, I was impressed by how he was able to turn a situation around to his advantage. His life is basically shit, you know. He was away for three months, and he comes out of this prison where he wasn’t even allowed to talk to the guards that were in his cell. Anyone else would have broken down. But then, little by little, by being smart and playful, he turned all these restrictions around and almost ridicules them.
This is the second feature-length documentary to come out about Ai Weiwei. The first was done by Alison Klayman, who released Ai Weiwei: Never Sorry in 2012. Was there any overlap between the two films?
Yes, in 2010. All of a sudden, Alison walks in with this big-ass camera, and I was like, “Hello!” and she was like, “Whoa—who are you