Figure 3.24. Tong Yang-tze’s title for Tsai Ming-lian’s What Time Is It Over There? (Ni na bian ji dian, 2001) has a strange V-shaped design, evoking the hands of a clock.

Figure 3.25. When the deceptively dangerous Zhang Ziyi writes Michelle Yeoh’s name, she deforms the character 俞 through impressive cursive shorthand, giving it the distinct appearance of the character for sword—劍—and revealing her secret martial arts training.

Figure 3.26. (clockwise from upper-left): In Red Cliff 2 (Chi bi, 2008), a husband bids farewell to his wife as he departs for battle. They make love in the rain, and a single raindrop falls on one of her practice sheets for “calm/quiet/peace” 平安, landing squarely on the radical for “woman” 女.

Figure 3.27. (clockwise from upper-left): In a subsequent scene, her practice sheets are blown onto the floor. The husband shuffles the paper around. When the sheets for 乃 and 子 combine to make 孕, he realizes she is with child.

Figure 4.1. “Crushed” characters by various ancient masters for 書, “to write.”

Figure 4.2. Crushed characters in a diegetic letter in The Water Magician (Taki no shiraito, 1933).

Figure 4.3. In Mr. Vampire (Jiangshi xiansheng, 1985), the illegible charms of this Hong Kong comedy don’t need to be read.

Figure 4.4. This model book from Toei Uzumasa Studio in Kyoto is a source book assembled ages ago in the prop department to guide art designers. It has models for all manner of sign, fan, menu, lantern, and other props, specifying proper content and calligraphic style depending on object and time period.

Figure 4.5. Were Chinese characters painted by the principles of abstract expressionism, the result would be akin to Wang Wo’s Zhe Teng: According to China (Zhe Teng, 2010), where the individual stroke does not call for attention

Figure 4.6. Most films with a title and subject matter like Kill! (Kiru, 1968) would use spiky, violent strokes. This calligrapher builds the swelling desire to kill into the thick strokes of his title—which literally and ironically means “killing a human with a slicing blade.”

Figure 4.7. The strokes in the title of Patriotism (Yukoku, 1966) pull apart as if they could tumble in a heap, imparting anxiety and doubt, calling into question the very nature of “patriotism.”

Figure 4.8. The pre-title sequence in Warriors 2 (Zan xian sheng yu zhao qian hua, 1978) ends with this freeze-frame, the line of characters displaying a symmetry echoing the screenscape. The characters also become progressively smaller toward the middle, propelling the eye across the frame.

Figure 4.9. In Chunhyang (Chunhyangjeon, 2000), as in other films, Im Kwon-taek typically places characters in front of screenscapes of calligraphy.

Figure 4.10. Korean period films often create analogues to the screenscape with props. Here are typical examples (clockwise from the upper left) from The Villainess (Aknyeo, 2017), The Happy Day of Maeng Jin-sa (Maeng Jin-sadaek gyeongsa, 1962), Genealogy (Jokbo, 1979), and Madame Freedom (Jayu buin, 1956).

Figure 4.11. Calligraphic screens are relatively unusual in Japanese cinema. However, one scene in Ginpei from Koina (Koina no Ginpei, Yuki no Wataridori, 1934) has both, screens along the left edge and a massive scroll in the right-hand tokonoma.

Figure 4.12. A present sits in the honored space of a tokonoma in 24 Eyes (Niju-shi no hitomi, 1954), the vertical stroke of the calligraphy carefully displaced from the very center of the frame.

Figure 4.14. The strong image of the calligraphic umbrella tilts the composition in Zatoichi Meets Yojimbo (Zatoichi to Yojinbo, 1970).

Figure 4.13. Kill! (Kiru, 1968): staging actors’ movement starts with the calligraphic props.

Figure 4.15. In Brother, the two yakuza may be arranged with perfect symmetry, but the calligraphic plate is pushed ever so slightly off-center.