


We've been trawling Shanghai lanes for the past week or so, looking for the perfect spot to shoot the upcoming TV commercial. It's been fascinating. "Longtang", as they are called in Chinese, are as distinctive a symbol of Shanghai as the hutong communities are of Beijing. And they are beautiful: criss-crossed labyrinths of brick terraces packed with detail in every nook and cranny. Sadly, they did not have a good time of the latter part of the twentieth century and they have become overcrowded and badly maintained.
We have looked at dozens over the past few days and some are in terrible disrepair. The exteriors are bad enough: potholed roads, leaky drains, peeling paint-work and so on. But, once you get inside, you see the true damage of decades of poverty and overcrowding. Crumbling walls, rotting door frames, mouldy wallpaper, corridors jam-packed with dusty ramshackle furniture.
Beneath all that though you can still see the potential of these long-suffering buildings. With an injection of cash, most of these places would not just be livable, but highly desirable residences. They remind me of mews houses in parts of London. If you ask them, many of the people who live in the lanes love their houses, even if they are frustrated about the cramped conditions and air of decay around them. There ought to be government grants available to help people do them up. In twenty years time, it will be the longtangs that people will visit Shanghai for as much as the high-rises.
But the sad fact is that the lanes are disappearing fast. Dozens have gone already, replaced with ugly office blocks. In one area we were walking round last week, half the houses were in huge rubble piles. We asked a friendly-looking man in a wheelchair what was happening to the remaining houses, many of which had strong art deco features, thinking that they might be spruced up and sold on to rich Chinese and foreigners as has happened to a few of the old longtang communities (I'd rather see them preserved for the original residents, but at least some of them are saved this way). But no, he said, they were all due for demolition. What will be built here, we asked. An office block, he said with a grim smile.
For a city obsessed with money, knocking these places down makes little sense, even financially, except in the shortest of short-terms. Over the next few decades, if these places are restored and well-maintained, they will become some of the most sought-after properties in Asia. Think about it: little bachelor pads in the heart of the fastest-growing economy in the world. Inside, some of them are big enough for families too, with their wandering corridors and little backyards. But knock them down and they are gone forever and all you have left is shiny office blocks, many of them struggling for tenants.
I'm not suggesting we keep them all - a change, after all, is as good as a wash. But, for goodness sake, let's not rush to get rid of them all.
We've chosen our lane for the TV ad, by the way. See if you can guess which one it is. Amazingly, we found a room in one of the houses for an interior scene we need to shoot too. That was unexpected. We all thought we would have to film the scene in a studio and patch it into the story. But, no, we found a large dining room on the ground floor of the second house we looked at. To one end of the room, big French windows lead out onto a messy old patio and then out into the lane through the big double "shikumen" doors. We told the owner we particularly liked the walls, which seemed to feature original old wallpaper, faded but still visible - making it a better fit for us than the rooms upstairs where all the old features had been replaced. Yes, he said, it does look old. The last film crew in here had it repapered and then aged.
On the way out, I half-joked with our production assistant that if any of the flats were free, I'd love to live here. You can't, she said. There is a demolition order on the whole area. It'll all be gone with the next five years.