{"id":7340,"date":"2025-12-21T12:09:34","date_gmt":"2025-12-21T11:09:34","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/lechuguita.art\/?p=7340"},"modified":"2025-12-21T12:52:56","modified_gmt":"2025-12-21T11:52:56","slug":"citta-proibita-ultimo-imperatore-bertolucci-segreti-pechino","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lechuguita.art\/en\/citta-proibita-ultimo-imperatore-bertolucci-segreti-pechino\/","title":{"rendered":"From the Son of Heaven to the Forbidden City: Anecdotes and Secrets in the Beijing of the Last Emperor\u00a0"},"content":{"rendered":"

Destiny Served in a Soho Restaurant<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

The history of cinema, and perhaps also that of modern tourism in China, changed forever during a lunch in London, among the tables of Lee Ho Fook<\/em>, a Chinese restaurant in the heart of Soho. It was the mid-1980s. Jeremy Thomas, a British producer with a flair for the impossible, was perusing the menu when his companion, a certain Bernardo Bertolucci, looked at him with that sly look that blended Emilian intellectual depth with a seasoned cosmopolitan outlook.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cIt's strange that you chose a Chinese restaurant,\u201d Bertolucci said, as the waiter set down the dim sum plates. \u201cYou must have had a premonition, because I want to make a film in China. Mainly in the Forbidden City.\u201d.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That phrase, uttered with the ease of someone ordering a coffee, marked the beginning of one of the greatest cultural adventures of the 20th century. The Last Emperor<\/em> It wasn't just a film that won nine Oscars; it was the key that shattered the Western imagination of China, transforming a country perceived as an impenetrable red monolith into a place of heartbreaking beauty.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For us contemporary travelers, following in the footsteps of Puyi\u2014the child who was God, then a puppet, and finally a gardener\u2014means embarking on a pilgrimage that transcends geography. It is a journey both "rhythmic and profound," as we would say, taking us from the majestic halls of Beijing to the history-laden snows of Manchuria, revealing unimaginable anecdotes and secret places hidden deep within the dense alleys of Beijing's hutongs.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Get ready. It won't be a voyage<\/a> In short. We'll traverse decades of history and miles of film, trying together to understand what it truly means to cross the threshold of the Forbidden City.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Inside the Forbidden City: From Set to Reality<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n
\"Pechino<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

When you set foot in the Forbidden City (Zijincheng<\/em>), in addition to the initial feeling of wonder, one has a sense of suffocation. The space is designed to intimidate and overwhelm any individual. Built between 1406 and 1420 by Emperor Yongle of the Ming Dynasty, the Forbidden City remained hermetically sealed to any Western fictional film production until 1986. This 720,000-square-meter complex was designed according to the rules of Feng Shui<\/strong> And for Bertolucci, obtaining permission to film here was a diplomatic miracle. Before him, no Western director had ever set up a tripod in these sacred courtyards.

The authorization granted to Bertolucci and producer Jeremy Thomas wasn't simply a bureaucratic permit, but a political act of openness in the post-Mao era, greatly facilitated by the figure of Ying Ruocheng. The latter, in addition to being a talented actor who plays the governor of the re-education prison in the film, was in real life none other than the Deputy Minister of Culture of the People's Republic of China.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And so this convergence of roles allowed the production to gain exclusive use of the Forbidden City, operating with a freedom that would be unthinkable today. For sixteen weeks, the beating heart of Beijing became the exclusive domain of the Italian-British-Chinese troupe. The scale of the operation was titanic: 19,000 extras were recruited, dressed, and given wigs to recreate the coronation ceremonies and court life.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Bernardo
Bernardo Bertolucci \u2013 Credit: https:\/\/bernardobertolucci.org\/film\/videocartolina-dalla-cina\/<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

According to legend, the complex has 9,999 and a half rooms. Why "half"? Because only the Jade Emperor, the ruler of the heavens, could possess 10,000 rooms. The earthly Emperor, the "Son of Heaven," had to humbly pause one step short of divine perfection. Walking along the central axis today, from the Meridian to the Gate of Divine Power, one senses this tension between the aspiration to the divine and human reality. Indeed, the structure represents a cosmological diagram in brick and wood, an architectural attempt to anchor Heaven to Earth, designed to be the gravitational center not only of China, but of the entire known universe.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The titanic enterprise<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

For the scene where little Puyi runs toward the billowing yellow banner and finds himself faced with a sea of kowtow (bowing) dignitaries, Bertolucci didn't use digital effects. They didn't exist. He used people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Nineteen thousand extras were recruited. Nineteen thousand. Most were soldiers from the People's Liberation Army, lent by the Chinese government at a time of unprecedented openness.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The logistics were both a nightmare and a masterpiece. Imagine having to dress, apply makeup, and manage an army every morning. Giancarlo De Leonardis, the Italian hairstylist, faced an epic challenge: recreating Manchurian hairstyles (shaved forehead and long braid at the back) for thousands of people.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The anecdote circulating among film buffs is that De Leonardis had to import nearly a ton of real human hair to make the wigs and braids.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On set, security was paranoid. Every extra, every technician had to have a pass. One day, the great Peter O'Toole, who played Reginald Johnston (who actually existed\u2014his 1934 book Twilight in the Forbidden City is the primary source for the intimate life of the court during those years), forgot his pass at the hotel. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Peter
Peter O'Toole \u2013 credit: https:\/\/georgesjournal.org\/wp-content\/uploads\/2013\/12\/peter_otoole.jpg<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

He showed up at the Meridian Gate, perhaps expecting to be recognized. But to the young Chinese guards, he was no Lawrence of Arabia; he was just a tall, lanky Westerner ("a foreign devil") trying to enter without permission. He was denied entry. O'Toole, with his typical British composure (or perhaps with suppressed fury), had to wait on the sidewalk until a production assistant ran to fetch him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Royal Incident: Elizabeth II on Set<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

One of the juiciest anecdotes from this great cinematic opus concerns Queen Elizabeth II's state visit to China in October 1986. The British monarch's visit, historic in every sense, naturally included a tour of the Forbidden City. However, Bertolucci's production had complete control of key spaces, particularly the Hall of Supreme Harmony, and permits were strictly restricted. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Credit:
Credit: Anwar Hussein \u2013 China, 1986 The Queen visits the Forbidden City, Beijing
https:\/\/www.vanityfair.it\/gallery\/viaggi-regina-elisabetta-ii-le-foto-piu-belle-avventura-vita-eccezionale<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

In an ironic reversal of the hierarchy, the \u201cQueen of England\u201d could not visit the Emperor's palace<\/a> because an "Emperor of Cinema" (Bertolucci) occupied its rooms. The royal visit had to be rescheduled and limited to other areas, demonstrating how, incredibly, for that brief period, cinematic fiction held a sovereignty superior to international diplomacy. A delightful historical paradox!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Spaghetti \u201cEastern\u201d, rascal nostalgia!<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The behind-the-scenes narrative offers hilarious insights into cultural differences. The Italian crew, led by Bertolucci and cinematographer Vittorio Storaro, found themselves working in a still very closed and austere Chinese context. Gastronomic nostalgia became a central theme.

In 1986, Beijing wasn't the cosmopolitan metropolis it is today. Finding a decent plate of pasta, an espresso, or some olive oil was practically impossible. Chinese cuisine is extraordinary and diverse, but for a Roman crew accustomed to rigatoni and amatriciana, months of rice and saut\u00e9ed vegetables began to feel like exile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Bertolucci himself, a man who loved life's pleasures, suffered from this lack. It is said that the production team organized air shipments of pasta (some sources cite Barilla, others cite artisanal supplies) directly from Italy, handled with the same care and urgency as virgin Kodak film.

Tons of pasta, espresso, olive oil, and wine were shipped from Italy to Beijing. It's said that an Italian chef was brought in specifically to cook for the crew, creating a Dolce Vita enclave in the middle of the communist capital. This contrast between the Qing Dynasty costumes and lunch breaks filled with spaghetti al pomodoro offers a glimpse of what the film's production environment must have been like. While Puyi was trying to become Western by eating English food and cutting off his ponytail, Bertolucci and his crew were trying to remain Italian by clinging to spaghetti al pomodoro!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Authenticity at All Costs: Furniture and Relics<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Another detail that would make some smile today and perhaps horrify museum curators concerns the use of furnishings. In some scenes, especially those filmed inside residential palaces, the production obtained permission to use original Qing Dynasty furniture and carpets, not replicas. This level of material authenticity gives the film a unique veneer of authenticity, but raises interesting questions about heritage conservation that can be discussed and explored during a guided tour of the museums. trips we organize<\/a>.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Connections between symbolism and film<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

The director often sought elements of strong scenic, symbolic, and spiritual congruence, relying on the mastery of cinematographer Vittorio Storaro: the roof tiles are a yellow that doesn't exist in nature, an "Imperial Yellow" obtained with secret firing techniques, reserved exclusively for the royal family. The walls are a deep red, which Bertolucci associated with blood and birth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The architecture of the Forbidden City is a codified language of power where every detail, from color to numerology, is designed to reaffirm imperial supremacy. The visitor finds himself immersed in Imperial Yellow<\/strong> which contrasts violently with the red of the walls, evoking joy and fire. There is one fascinating exception to this golden monochrome: the Imperial Library, covered with black tiles\u2014the color of water\u2014in a sort of architectural spell to protect the precious volumes from the flames.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Even mathematics here becomes mystical with the obsession for the number nine<\/strong>, the figure Yang<\/em> A supreme power, repeated in the rows of door studs and in the legend of the 9,999 and a half rooms, a limit placed to humbly remain one step behind divine perfection. Finally, raising one's gaze to the sky, one glimpses the swarms of mythical beasts guarding the structures on the edges of the roofs; their number reveals the palace's hierarchy, culminating in the Hall of Supreme Harmony, the only one in the entire empire to boast ten, eternally led by an immortal astride a phoenix.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Storaro, who painted the film with light, used this architecture as a chromatic cage. In the film, red dominates the first part (the birth, the entrance to the palace), yellow childhood (the awareness of imperial identity), and green adolescence (the knowledge brought by the Scottish tutor and the bicycle).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We highly recommend experiencing your visit through Vittorio Storaro's color theory. The film uses colors to mark the stages of Puyi's life. Pay attention:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Red:<\/strong> The blood, the birth, the walls of the palace.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Yellow:<\/strong> The emperor, exclusivity, golden captivity (only the emperor could wear yellow).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Green:<\/strong> Knowledge, introduced by the tutor Johnston and the bicycle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Grey:<\/strong> The reality of Maoist China, the prison, the final anonymous freedom.
<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The Emperor and the Bicycle<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\"PuYi
Pu Yi in Rehabilitation Prison \u2013 from Bertolucci's The Last Emperor<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Aisin-Gioro Puyi<\/strong> (1906-1967) ascended the throne in 1908, at just two years old, chosen by the Empress Dowager Cixi on her deathbed, and indeed, as also narrated in the film, he received a bicycle as a gift which he particularly loved. <\/p>\n\n\n\n

In 1912, the Xinhai Revolution ended the Qing Dynasty and millennia of imperial rule. However, the new republican government allowed Puyi to retain his title and continue to live in the Inner Court (the northern part of the palace).<\/p>\n\n\n\n

This created a surreal situation: a feudal microcosm, complete with eunuchs, court ladies, and ancient rituals, survived hermetically sealed within the heart of a modern republic. Puyi grew up believing he was still master of the world, even though he could not cross the walls of his garden.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

As the boy grew up, he was profoundly influenced by his Scottish guardian, Reginald Johnston. The latter (along with Wanrong, the monarch's first wife) brought a breath of modernity: bicycles, cameras, and even tennis entered the ancient walls. But the psychological pressure of living in a constant drama, while outside warlords battled for control of China, began to wear on the protagonists. Glasses, Western magazines, and, most importantly, a bicycle were introduced (it is actually believed the gift was from his cousin Pujia). For a confined teenager, the bicycle represented freedom of movement, albeit limited to the palace walls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

In traditional Chinese architecture, each door features a raised wooden threshold (menkan), often thirty or forty centimeters high. These thresholds served a dual purpose: practical (to prevent the entry of dust and animals) and spiritual. Evil spirits were believed to move only in a straight line and by dragging their feet; therefore, a high threshold was an insurmountable barrier to demons. It also forced those entering to look down, as a sign of respect.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a cyclist, however, they were a nightmare. Puyi, with the arrogance and desperation of adolescence, ordered them to be sawed off. It was a scandal. The eunuchs and court dignitaries were horrified. Sawing down the thresholds meant inviting demons into the heart of the empire and violating the integrity of the ancestral palace. But Puyi was the Emperor (or at least he still believed he was), and his order was carried out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

More than 30 thresholds were removed or modified in the Inner Court, particularly in the Palace of Heavenly Purity (Qianqinggong) and the Six Western Residences, to allow Puyi to cycle unhindered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Today, if you visit the Forbidden City with a careful eye, you can still see the \u201cscars\u201d of this act of rebellion!<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/h2>\n\n\n\n


Now, before proceeding with the article, we propose some gems to save for a visit to Beijing<\/a>! <\/p>\n\n\n\n

Beijing: Hidden Gems and Some Goodies<\/strong><\/h2>\n\n\n\n

1. Author's Nightlife & Hutong<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n

Where old Beijing meets the hipster and jazz scene.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\"Great
Great Leap Brewing \u2013 Beijing
Credit: https:\/\/www.intravino.com\/primo-piano\/la-scena-birraia-di-pechino-e-una-discreta-figata\/<\/a><\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n\n\n