Category: China

The Umbrella Fairy (伞少女, Shen Jie, 2024) [Fantasia 2024]

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Should you be bound by the past or try to forge your own destiny? It might be an odd question seeing as the central thesis of Shen Jie’s gorgeously detailed animation The Umbrella Fairy (伞少女, sǎn shàonǚ) is that every object has a soul which has developed over its lifetime and often bound to whoever originally owned it. Though what these fairies, perhaps subversively, learn is that they have will of their and should not be bound by the desires of their former masters but are free to decide their destinies for themselves.

In typical folktale fashion, a block of black jade is split in two and used to create an umbrella, which implies protection, and sword which is itself somewhat cursed wreaking death and destruction where it is found. In our world, it seems that peace has prevailed but the princess has had to abdicate her kingdom meaning that she no longer feels fit to carry her most treasured possession, The Imperial Umbrella, and places it in a repository for relics along with the Sword. There a heartbroken Qingdai tries to get used to her new life among the similarly discarded fairies while fulfilling her former mistress’ orders that she should try to look after her sister Wanggui, spirit of the Black Sword. But Wanggui is hurt and vengeful. She resents the death of her former owner and vows revenge, threatening to plunge the nation back into chaos. 

Of course, the point of the sword and the umbrella is balance and the idea is they should work in work in harmony with neither in the ascendent. The vision of the outside world we get when Qingdai ventures off in search of the escaped Wanggui is of a wounded nation still trying to repair itself in much the same way as craftsmen Mo Yang attempts to repair the objects in the archive not so much restoring them to their former glory as adapting them for a new life. Yet we can see that objects are also a way for the living to mediate their sense of loss while embracing something that is permanent but not perhaps unchanging. Thus Qingdai and Mo Yang find themselves repairing a damaged flute the sound of which only brought pain to the Governor for it belonged to a musician who, again a little subversively, seems like he may have been more than a friend and gave his life in service of the Governor at the end of the war. Once repaired the flute has a different yet familiar sound and is passed on to a new owner to make with it what they will while accepting its legacy. 

In many ways it’s about taking the past with you, but also learning to let it go. The fairies think that they’re powerless. They can’t touch any solid objects and humans, even the ones they care so much about, cannot see them. But they do in fact have power and there are things they can do to shift the world, Qingdai’s unusual strength not withstanding. Under the guidance of Mo Yang, who becomes not quite a love interest but a kindred spirit, she begins to realise that she does have agency and is free to make her own decisions rathe than remain slavishly devoted to the desires of her former mistress. Wanggui perhaps learns something similar, rediscovering and redefining her purpose to determine to fight for something rather than flailing around in hurt and anger sowing the seeds of chaos wherever she goes. 

The again, the mystery villain is a cursed mirror who has centuries of pain in ironically being forever unseen for when people look into it they only wish to see themselves. Yet as Wanggui later says, there is something powerful in Qingdai’s surrounding herself with love while protecting all with her umbrella even if some in the outside world would be content to strip it for parts. Beautifully animated, the character design and aesthetic leans closer to Japanese anime than many recent Chinese animations which otherwise rooted themselves in cultural traditions such as ink painting and established mythology but otherwise spins a tale of learning to find oneself again in the wake of loss as a free spirit free from petty tyrannies and wider oppressions forever on your own journey fixing things as you go. 

The Umbrella Fairy screened as part of this year’s Fantasia International Film Festival.

Original trailer (no subtitles)

The Escaping Man (绑架毛乎乎, Wang Yichun, 2023)

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“Life isn’t much better on the outside,” according to Sia (Zeng Meihuizi), the heroine of Wang Yichun’s deliciously ironic dramedy, The Escaping Man (绑架毛乎乎). Escaping men is in part what she’s tried but otherwise failed to do while constrained by the socio-economic conditions and entrenched patriarchy of the modern China. All of the men in the film are, as many call them, “idiots”, but all things considered it might not necessarily be such a bad thing to be even if their guilelessness makes them vulnerable to the world around them albeit in much different ways to Sia.

At least its this boundless cheerfulness and inability to see the world’s darkness that caused Fluffy (Eric Zhang) to be rejected by his status-obsessed mother (Yan Ni) who seems to have got rich by becoming what in charitable terms might be called a motivational life coach though others might describe her as a cult leader. She’s determined to get Fluffy into an elite primary school so he can “win at the starting line,” a buzzword in the contemporary society which basically means engineering privilege for your child so they can elbow other kids out of the way before the race even starts. The irony is rammed home by the fact that Sia, who works as the family’s live-in nanny/housekeeper also has a daughter named “Fluffy” who is one of China’s left behind children living with her seemingly bedridden grandmother in the provinces while Sia is in the city earning money to support the family having apparently divorced her daughter’s father. 

20 years previously, Sia’s mother had accused her lover of rape and had him sent to prison where he’s remained ever since having apparently gone along with the legal process in the mistaken belief Sia would eventually clear up this misunderstanding. She later later says the police wouldn’t let her and that she was never actually interviewed, but also continues to insist that they live in a “law-based society,” and nothing can be done without evidence. On his release, Shengli (Jiang Wu) comes straight to find his former lover in order to confirm that he did not in fact rape her and their relationship was consensual which she agrees it was. This determination is symbolic of his romanticism in continuing to believe in his dream of love despite all he’s been through, convincing himself he can start again with Sia while she continues to manipulate him with the almost certainly false promise of a happy joint future.

But then you can’t really blame her. A little way into the film, Sia is dressed in a white outfit very similar to the one worn by her boss when she goes to see Fluffy in a school play in which, at his own request, he played a tree. Sia is every bit as a accomplished and she has a warm and loving relationship with Fluffy which seems to elude his haughty mother. Later in the film she reveals that she came third in the national university exams but was prevented from going because she was born in a small rural province rather than the big city like her employer Mrs Mao. The fates of the two women are easily interchangeable depending on the circumstances of their birth while Mrs Mao continues to wield her privilege to ensure Fluffy can win at the starting line despite her resentment towards him for his lack of academic acumen or the things that denote conventional success in the modern China. Though he is cheerful and kind, she sees these qualities as actively harmful to his future success rather than embracing the little ray of sunshine he actively is.

Then again, Fluffy’s guilelessness also leaves him vulnerable which is why he cheerfully walks off with Shengli when he agrees to Sia’s kidnap plot and even rejoices in the grave-like pit they’ve dug to keep him in rechristening it as his underground fortress. He’s so nice that he doesn’t even realise the other kids are bullying him for being “stupid” and thinks they’re his friends, just happy to be included in the game. In this way, he and Shengli are alike, a pair of hapless fools living in a world that’s nowhere near as good as they think it is. The irony is that though Shengli perhaps begins to wake up to the realities of his relationship with Sia, his last wish for Fluffy is that he get into the fancy primary school and win at the starting line so he won’t end up like him. Suddenly it seems ironic that Shengli was a breakdancer because in the end he cannot break free of the prison that is the modern China. Filled with a darkly comic humour, the film is a fierce critique of the inequalities of the contemporary society and gentle advocation for the right to just be nice in world in which kindness has become a character flaw.

The Escaping Man screens July 26 as part of this year’s New York Asian Film Festival.

Three Old Boys (三叉戟, Gao Qunshu, 2024)

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In a surprising development of Chinese propaganda cinema, the once untouchable subject of police corruption has become a prominent feature albeit often in tales of righteous cops who stand up for real justice against the few bad apples who’ve allowed themselves to be corrupted by contemporary capitalism. Then again, its subject matter might explain why TV police procedural veteran Gao Qunshu’s Three Old Boys (三叉戟, sānchājǐ) has been languishing on the shelf since at least 2020 if it were not also for the inevitable effects of the pandemic. 

In any case, Gao’s film has a distinctly retro vibe with use of classic Chinese pop and very ‘70s soundtrack while its maverick cop heroes all dress in the fashions of 40 years previously. All born in the late 1960s, they are products of an even more authoritarian era and began their careers in the late 1980s. Like any other old cop movie, they bemoan the restrictions of the contemporary society and suggest modern notions of appropriate police behaviour prevent them from doing their jobs which has its degree of awkwardness on the one hand implying the modern police force is now not so hardline but also that it should be because that’s what gets the job done. 

As they contemplate retirement, the trio are offered positions as part of a new squad set up to tackle economic crimes and specifically international money laundering, the chief problem with being that the criminals had the effrontery to move the money out of China which is stealing from honest, hardworking, Chinese citizens aside from having already ripped them off with fraudulent investment schemes and good old-fashioned blackmail operations. Of course, as it turns out, the case has a connection to something that happened 20 years earlier and police officer Cui’s (Huang Zhizhong) desire for revenge on the gangster king pin, Huang Youfa (Jin Shijie), who caused the death of his younger brother murdered by gangster Donzgi who was then shot dead by fellow officer Big G (Jiang Wu). 

The convoluted narrative is heralded by a homeless man who takes the police chief hostage and mutters something about a sword of justice that sounds like something right out of a wuxia serial before being updated to the present day. The sword does actually make a reappearance and is wielded by Big G against a young whippersnapper out for revenge and to take care of what he sees as corruption in the earlier generation. When the trio are first put on the case, they are given a young rookie to help them because he’ll be able to do the tech stuff which the old guys probably can’t because their idea of policing was largely rooted in their fists and a capacity for intimidation. But this doesn’t really work with the youth of today who are for some reason fond of reminding them they aren’t their fathers so they don’t have to do what they say. This is particularly true of young thug Blondie who is caught between Ghost, the old gangster king, and Qing an upstart who is actually working for Huang but in pursuit of his own particular goals. 

Huang has his claws well and truly embedded in the modern society and has it seems manoeuvred favourable people into the police force ensuring that Cui and his team are neutered before they get the chance to do anything. Then again, Big G seems to have a very co-dependent relationship with Ghost who tells Blondie off for getting into a fight with him because cops are off limits. Nevertheless, the point is to dismantle Huang’s networks of influence to restore the integrity of the police force so they can enforce the law which exists for the protection of the people. It’s all rather confusing, but generally lightened by the intense action sequences designed by Yoo Sang-Seob which are also suitably retro but make good use of sword play along with a motorcycle chase. Perhaps ironically inspired by Hollywood hero cop dramas, the film ends with a regime change and a new photo being taken of the guys in their more modern uniforms receiving a commendation with the clear indication that something has been put to rest and the rebellion suggested by Qing’s attempt to steal power from the old quelled while the old boys seemingly decide that justice requires they put off their retirement just a little longer.

International trailer (English subtitles)

Hovering Blade (彷徨之刃, Chen Zhuo, 2024)

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The funny thing about Hovering Blade (彷徨之刃, pánghuáng zhī rèn) is that it gets away with suggesting that the police won’t investigate properly and is quite unexpectedly sympathetic towards the hero’s desire for first hand retribution, albeit with the caveat that the police are seen to be investigating but possibly hamstrung by otherwise sensible legislation about the age of criminal responsibility. The Keigo Higashino novel on which the film is based had also been rooted in a moral panic that children were deliberately committing heinous crimes in the knowledge they couldn’t legally be punished for them.

The perpetrators in this case are a little older, though the argument is that if they had been properly charged for an offence committed in childhood they wouldn’t have gone on to commit further crimes in the belief that they are above the law. One of the men feels that in fact he is because it’s clear his wealthy and influential father often clears up his messes for him. A secondary issue hints at an anxiety about the nature of justice given that minors who commit serious crimes such as rape or murder receive much lighter sentences meaning they could be free to live a relatively normal life in just a few short years when their victims will obviously have no such opportunity.

Of course, that’s the point. The implication is that these young people were not fully capable of understanding their actions and could still be rehabilitated to become upstanding members of society. But that might not seem right to the families of their victims such as Li Chanfeng (Wang Qianyuan), a doting single father whose only daughter was raped an murdered by a pair of young hooligans with the assistance of their bullied friend. With judicial progress slow, he receives a tip off from the instigators’ underling and pays a visit to one of the other men who assumes he’s a burglar and attacks him leading Chengfeng to beat him to death with a baseball bat while a video of his daughter’s rape plays on the computer screen. 

The film presumably gets away with its hints towards vigilanteism by the fact the police are right behind him despite having received no tip off. The lead officer is however himself conflicted in beginning to doubt he can provide real justice because of the way the law responds to children who commit crimes and appears to sympathise with Changfeng to the extend he appears reluctant to catch him. The TV news and the people watching it also seem to understand and approve of his quest and desire for vengeance with a woman even helping him hide from the police if also urging him to turn himself in.

But the kind of justice Changfeng wants is incredibly direct. He doesn’t want these men off the streets because he fears for other people’s daughters, but wants to ensure they can’t live the share of life his daughter has been denied. The fact that, if legal justice is served, they’d get out and still be young men pains him without end and only death will answer it. Chased by the police, he begs them to kill him too to release him from his torment. 

Chen Zhuo keeps the tension high with a series of exciting action sequences including one though a disused water park near a moribund hotel the bad guys have been using as hideout. The reasons for their crimes are never explained aside from the ringleader’s dependence on his father, though they are assumed to be mere devilment and rebellion, an attempt to circumvent the system knowing they can’t be held legally responsible for their actions.

The familiar series of title cards at the film’s conclusion explain that the police caught all the wrongdoers while they have also lowered the age of responsibility though it wouldn’t have made any difference in this case. A flashback to another trio of teens suggests that they are emboldened by the fact the law can’t touch them, but the bigger issue is likely to be the way the system is corrupted by money and unequal access to justice. Changfeng is after all a lowly construction worker and is largely left on his own with nothing left to live for but vengeance. His quest to kill the killer is also a quest to kill himself and end his suffering. Zhuo follows him through the grimness of this everyday life, the squalid rooms and his general sense of emptiness but finally returns to the world of state justice and apparently compassionate police only sorry that they couldn’t do more to protect their fellow citizens from the “bad kids” of a changing society.

Original trailer (English subtitles)

Blind War (盲战, Chris Huo Suiqiang, 2022)

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After losing his sight in an explosion, a former swat officer must battle his way to the top of a human trafficking network in a fictional South East Asian nation in Chris Huo Suiqiang’s action drama, Blind War (盲战 máng zhàn). The film opens with an assault on justice, but the wounded cop must in effect turn vigilante to protect his daughter from a failure of the judicial process and pervasive misogyny in a culture in which women and girls can be sold at will while the corrupt police force do nothing.

In fact, the local cop Rama (Dou Dou) is played mostly for comic relief and is otherwise incredibly stupid, determined to nail blind former cop Dong (Andy On), whom he knows to be the father of a murdered girl from a neighbouring nation, as the king pin of the drug smuggling and people trafficking operation. Dong’s struggle runs concurrently with a succession drama in which Zha Kun (Qi Shenghan), son of drug dealer McQueen who was blown up in the dock in the opening courthouse sequence, seeks to cement his authority over the gang and get revenge on Cena (Yang Xing) for the death of father while she wants revenge on Dong for blowing up her husband. 

Dong is in fact dismissed from the police force in disgrace due to public opinion which blames him for the deaths of his men who were killed by the gang when he decided to check out a funny noise in the courthouse though he was only supposed to be guarding McQueen’s post-trial extradition. Having lost both his sight and his status as police officer, he begins to lose his mind becoming violent and paranoid with looking after his teenage daughter Yati (Cheng Sihan) his only other outlet. When she’s taken by the people traffickers, he’ll stop at nothing to get her back though it has to be said is not particularly interested in the other women or stopping the gang and in the company of Cena who is using him for her own revenge plot becomes increasingly corrupted in his willingness to use violence. 

Luckily, Dong was blessed with superior hearing to begin with and with the loss of his sight is largely able to navigate the world by ear alone, giving him an advantage over his opponents even if he can’t see them. The film sets him up with almost supernatural powers, at one point using a conveniently placed climbing rope to jump from one window to the apartment below. The fight scenes are often impressive and well choreographed, especially one tortuous sequence in which Dong is attached to Cena by chain and his position dictates whether or not she’s dunked in the water, and in terms of scale display impressive production values for a low budget streaming film.

Nevertheless, Dong is often eclipsed by the villainess, Cena whose tragic backstory makes her claim to vengeance just as valid as Dong’s as she battles to take down the gang that raped and controlled her after being sold by her father to a Thai warlord as a child. The local police seem to be much more interested in the drugs than the people trafficking, and Rama’s unintentionally ironic cries that Cena’s bumped off the only female officer they have, which is presumably why he had a crush on her, bares out the misogynistic attitudes in play in which female life is cheap and the only way to escape subjugation to oppress other women, like Dragon King (Qian Zhiyi), or to become crazed and cruel like Cena.

In any case, though it was never really in question, Dong’s fatherly devotion is eventually proved by his knowledge of his daughter which eventually enables him to save her, with the help of his loyal friend Yun (Wang Hanyang) who doesn’t really seem to mind that Dong went rogue and endangered his life while he’s been hanging around in the shadows the whole time in case anyone needs him. Perhaps in a concession to the censors, it’s clear that Dong is also paying for his transgressions though through his vigilante action is able to reclaim his position as a father and protector despite his career setbacks and the loss of his sight.

Blind War is available now in the US on Digital and Blu-ray courtesy of Well Go USA

Trailer (English subtitles)

I Love You, to the Moon, and Back (穿过月亮的旅行, Li Weiran, 2024)

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The economic realities of a changing mid-90s China conspire against a young couple who find themselves stranded in different cities and only able to meet up once a month for a night of passion in a hotel in Li Weiran’s wholesome romantic dramedy, I Love You, to the Moon, and Back (穿过月亮的旅行, chuānguò yuèliang de lǚxíng). Based on a novel by Chi Zijian and themed around the Mid-Autumn Festival, the film has a quirky, nostalgic quality but also a degree of poignancy amid the absurd journeys the lovers make in pursuit of their love.

Gradual flashbacks reveal that Wang Rui (Hu Xianshu) and Lin Xiushan (Zhang Zifeng) married in their home village but like many youngsters of the day left soon after for the city in search of work. Forced to leave school by his farmer father who saw no point in education, Wang Rui quickly finds works in construction but Xiushan, who was also forced to leave school early, is unable to find anything in Shenzhen and eventually takes a job in a dumpling factory in Guangzhou where she lives in workers dorms. Their plight reflects the economic reforms which were taking place throughout the 1990s giving rise to a new, much more capitalistic society as embodied by the employers who give Wang Rui an extra day off for lying on TV that they’re not exploiting him, and an obnoxious businessman Xiushan has the misfortune to sit opposite on the train who talks loudly on his mobile phone about an important deal and even drips cigarette ash all over the old lady next to him justifying himself that he doesn’t want to damage his expensive suit. 

By contrast, Xiushan and Wang Rui are incredibly frugal shopping mainly at markets with Wang Rui padding a fancy pair of shoes that are too big for him but available at a large discount. They save all their money for their monthly meetups which, as they’re both living in communal dorms, take place in cheap motels. Xiushan tries to ameliorate their grimness by covering the stained mattresses with her own sheets featuring a pattern of large sunflowers and blue skies that help her feel as if they’re back in the village lying down together in a pretty garden. To this extent it’s clear that living in the city in addition to so far apart has corrupted the innocence of their romantic connection. Xiushan was warned by her brother that if she wanted to hear Wang Rui’s harmonica playing she should put off going out with him because the romance will die once he’s won her, and it’s true enough that Wang Rui never plays the harmonica for her anymore in part because they’re now quite expensive and he’d rather save up his money for another cross-country visit. 

Xiushan’s decision to buy one for him with some money from an unexpected windfall is then an attempt to rescue their romantic connection which is now under threat because of their geographical displacement and economic oppression. On the train, however, she runs into another man who plays harmonica and has apparently been arrested for an undisclosed crime. Out of compassion she asks the policeman escorting him to allow the condemned man to play a song which he does and reduces the entire carriage to tears hinting at other sad stories of separated lovers in modern China. Wang Rui encounters something similar in a one armed man caring for a wife from whom he was separated who has since become ill and is apparently in love with someone else. His cynicism causes Wang Rui to doubt Xiushan, so paranoid that another man may take a liking to her that he puts back the pretty dress he’d intended to buy as a present and gets the much more temporary gift of a bunch of roses instead.

These respective choices of items might signal where they are in their relationship, but there’s still a pureness to their love that can’t be destroyed completely. Both unexpectedly given an extra day off for the Mid-Autumn Festival they decide to make surprise visits to other’s cities only to perpetually miss each other, stuck travelling back and forth by train and only able to make contact via “their” set of payphones for as long as their phonecards would allow before fate finally, if briefly, smiles on them under the light of the autumn moon. Charmingly quirky and hopelessly innocent, the film nevertheless captures something of the chaotic undulations of the mid-90s society in which youth is on the move but love it seems is standing still.

Original trailer (Simplified Chinese & English subtitles)

Unborn Soul (渡, Zhou Zhou, 2024)

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When a woman receives the news that her unborn child has a 70% chance of being born with a disability she finds herself confronted by a series of uncomfortable social attitudes and prejudices while trying to decide what is best both for herself and her child in Zhou Zhou’s empathetic drama, Unborn Soul (渡, dù). Touching on issues such as the demands of caring for someone with a profound disability and patriarchal notions of needing to continue the family line, the film sees its heroine more or less isolated in her refusal to be pressured into an abortion she isn’t convinced is the right decision. 

Though now relaxed, the legacy of the One Child Policy may in part be influencing the way people think about raising children and the ageing society with Qing’s father-in-law insisting on a “perfect child” to inherit their family name. Qing has been the sole carer for her 60-year-old uncle who has cerebral palsy and an intellectual disability since her grandmother died and it seems to be in the back of her mind to wonder who might be around to care for her child when she is no longer able to if they were indeed to be born with a disability that prevented them from living an independent life. Because of her closeness with her uncle, she has also has a more empathetic view of living with a disability than those around her and believes it is wrong to think that the baby is better off not being born having heard from him that he is glad to be alive.

Her husband however leans towards an abortion admitting that he is not really prepared to care for a disabled child for the rest of his life while his father outright objects to the idea of having someone with a disability in their family. Laying bare the patriarchal attitudes that surround her, Qing is essentially silenced by her husband and father-in-law who at one point says he’s sick of women like her who “can’t communicate” and won’t do what they’re told. Her husband is also in a sense trapped by this patriarchal system in that his father heavily pressures him to force his wife to have an abortion until she finally files for divorce. He has a clause put into the agreement that if Qing insists on going ahead with the pregnancy the child will have no connection to his family regardless of whether or not it is born with a disability. 

While all of this is going on, the baby seems to narrate its thoughts on the present drama while lamenting the suffering he feels himself to be causing to his mother. The question arises of whether or not the baby would wish to be born which is not a question anyone could answer and in any case perhaps he would end up feeling it would have been better to not to have been even if he were born able-bodied and with no intellectual disabilities. In an attempt to reassure herself, Qing visits a home for disabled adults and encounters a man with cerebral palsy who has got a job as a masseur and is living a fulfilling and independent life but is also confronted by the fact that many of these people have been abandoned by families who feared the stigma of disability. 

The implications of the film’s ending maybe slightly uncomfortable even if they reflect Qing’s nature as a true mother who thought only of her child even while the film is otherwise critical of an overly efficient medical system which tries to usher Qing towards an abortion without really considering that her choice to give birth to the child might be valid which also displays a lack of respect for the lives of disabled people. Shot in a classic 4:3 the film flits between theatricality and detachment while shifting into a strangely dreamlike aesthetic with its commentary from the unborn baby who certainly seems quite a sophisticated thinker for one so young. In any case, the decision is in a sense taken out of Qing’s hands leaving her with little choice other than to accept the hand that fate has dealt her while otherwise isolated from a cold and rational society.

Unborn Soul screened as part of this year’s Osaka Asian Film Festival.

Original trailer (English subtitles)

The Fallen Bridge (断.桥, Li Yu, 2022)

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Li Yu’s mystery thriller The Fallen Bridge (断.桥. duàn.qiáo) finds itself at a series of contradictions in the modern China and its film industry. The film was an unexpected box office success, though largely because it falls into a new category of boy band film in starring TFBoys’ Karry Wang locking in an audience of ardent fans much as Jackson Yee’s presence in Better Days had though it also plays into ongoing anti-corruption theme in recent cinema while simultaneously adopting a mildly positive stance towards whistleblowers if specifically within the field of construction.

It is of course an unescapable fact that hypercapitalistic working practices and ingrained corruption have led to numerous public safety failures with bridge collapses unfortunately a fairly common occurrence. This one is particularly problematic as a skeleton is discovered encased in the concrete during the cleanup effort. From the way it’s posed, it appears the man may have been buried alive. A preserved piece of paper found in a bag accompanying the skeleton states his intention to take his concerns to the head of the construction project that the structure is unsafe and should be entirely rebuilt. Of course, that would be incredibly expensive, embarrassing, and disadvantageous to others who have used the bridge as a way of forging connections with important people.

The bridge’s collapse is therefore also symbolic in pointing to the fracturing instability of these relationships along with that between college friends Zhu Fengzheng (Fan Wei), the project manager, and Wen Liang (Mo Chunlin), the would-be-whistleblower. Fengzheng has also been raising Liang’s daughter Xiaoyu (Ma Sichun) who was 12 at the time her father disappeared after seemingly being disowned by her mother who was under the impression he had runaway with his mistress. Now in her 20s and an architecture student, Xiaoyu becomes determined to learn the truth even as she begins to suspect Fengzheng who has otherwise become a second father to her and does at least seem to care for her as a daughter while his own son is apparently living in Australia. Teaming up with a fugitive, Meng Chao (Karry Wang), on the run for killing the man who raped his sister, she begins plotting her revenge while a police investigation into the bridge collapse and an additional suspicious death otherwise seems to flounder.

Though it may not mean to (as it seems unlikely to please the censors) the film gives tacit approval to vigilante violence in subtly suggesting that “official” justice is rendered impossible because of the complex networks of corruption that exist within the soceity. Meng Chao says the man who raped his sister was a judge which is why he had to kill him, while Xiaoyu seems to desire individual vengeance believing the police aren’t investigating properly but refusing to go to them with key evidence because she wants to kill her father’s killer herself. While carrying out their investigation, the pair end up adopting the wily daughter of another casualty of the villain’s greed and form an unlikely family unit marking them all out as good people who have been betrayed by the system which is itself corrupted by the nation’s headlong slide into irresponsible capitalism. 

Even so, revealing the villain so early weakens the suspense while their own motivations are left unexplored, assumed to be merely greed if perhaps also a wish to remain connected to influential people and be thought of as important at the cost of the lives of the general public (along with those of often exploited labourers) endangered by shoddy construction practices. It isn’t entirely clear how they intended to deal with the fallout of their machinations to cover up their past misdeeds, especially as the sub-standard work on the bridge has already been exposed though obviously could be blamed on others no longer around to defend themselves, but perhaps it all amounts to crazed self-preservation pitched against the righteousness of Xiaoyu and Meng Chao who are after all wronged parties in China’s deeply entrenched judicial inequality. Nevertheless, we get the inevitable title card (left untranslated in the overseas release) explaining that justice was served and a censor-pleasing ending that still in its way suggests the police are incapable of solving these crimes and that the petty corruptions of small-town life are otherwise impossible to prosecute. 

The Fallen Bridge streamed as part of the 18th Season of Asian Pop-Up Cinema.

Original trailer (English subtitles)

Yolo (热辣滚烫, Jia Ling, 2024)

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In the training footage which plays over the closing credits of Jia Ling’s YOLO (热辣滚烫, Rè là gǔntàng), someone asks her why she’s learning to draw and she replies that she’s trying to become a better version of herself. The same is very much true of the movie’s heroine who trying to rediscover her will to keep fighting in a world that seems to have beaten her down and destroyed her spirit. Inspired by Masaharu Take’s 2014 boxing drama 100 Yen Love, Jia’s film is kinder and less cynical in tone while also taking on a meta quality in documenting the actress’ own transformation.

Then again, the film opens with a sequence laying bare the petty prejudices that surround Leying (Jia Ling) as a woman in her 30s unemployed and still living with her parents. It’s never revealed what exactly caused her to leave the job she got after college though she explains that she was unable to get another because she finds it difficult to talk to people. What seems apparent is that she is likely living with a heavy depression that is all too often dismissed as mere laziness by those around her and most particularly her mean and judgmental older sister (Zhang Xiaofei). The crunch time comes when her cousin Doudou (Yang Zi) who works for a TV company producing a reality programme about finding jobs for people who for various reasons struggle to get one, tries to bamboozle her into appearing on the show by turning up with a camera for an impromptu family intervention before even asking her if she wanted to take part.

In the attitudes of her family and most particularly the TV show which is ironically called “Find Yourself”, there is a degree of fat shaming in which Leying is treated in certain ways just because of her weight which is assumed be the outward manifestation of her problems. Doudou’s previous guest on the show had been a man who was obese and had mobility issues so they got him a job posing as Buddha for photos. It’s tempting to read Leying’s transformation as complicity with culturally defined notions of feminine beauty and ideal body shape, but the point really is that Leying is unhappy and as a people pleaser with low self-esteem unable to care for herself until she discovers boxing and literally learns to fight back. It is therefore also a little bit awkward that her first steps towards self-care are taken in order to look after a man, insecure boxer Hao Kun (Lei Jiayin), as she tries to help him achieve his dream while allowing him to mooch off her even though he treats her poorly.

Nevertheless, it’s seeing him give up without at fight that eventually spurs her on to start fighting back by taking up boxing herself and surprising those around her with her seriousness and determination. Asked why she’s doing it, she says that she just wants to win for once and eventually comes around to the idea of winning in her own way which doesn’t necessarily mean being named as the champion or beating someone else but holding her own and staying in the fight. What she regains is self-confidence and self-respect, no longer a willing doormat accepting whatever humiliation comes her way to avoid upsetting someone else but standing up for herself and gaining the courage to say no to things she doesn’t want to do. 

There is something quite moving in witnessing the actual transformation of actress Jia Ling throughout the credits sequence and most particularly when she comes to film the scene in which she walks parallel with her old self and has to turn back because it’s too much for her on a personal level. Jia shows us just how unhappy and hopeless Leying had become because of the way the world treated her, but also how singleminded pursuit of her goal gave her a new sense of purpose and a means of fighting back that showed her she could win in her own way when it came to life as well as in the ring. Swapping the grimness of Take’s original for something more broadly inspirational, Jia nevertheless hints at the prejudices of the contemporary society and its money-loving superficiality while simultaneously allowing her heroine to find and occupy her own space born of her own individual happiness rather than the acquisition of things other people think she should want but actually does not.

Original trailer (English subtitles)

A Song Sung Blue (小白船, Geng Zihan, 2023)

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Late into Geng Zihan ’s coming-of-age drama A Song Sung Blue (小白船, xiǎo bái chuán), the heroine’s father (Liang Long) who perhaps knows a little more about her than we might have assumed, tells her that love and resentment are often the same thing. At least, they are both unforgettable. Resentments are something Xian (Zhou Meijun) has in spades, though she has little way of expressing them outside of her sullenness and silence while perhaps learning some unhelpful lessons in her seemingly unreturned attraction to the daughter of her father’s receptionist. 

Firstly, Xian is resentful towards her mother who has abandoned her to go on a humanitarian mission to Africa for an entire year explaining that the hospital have promised her a long awaited promotion after which she won’t have to do the nightshifts and so can spend more with her daughter, the irony being that by that time Xian will be in her late teens and perhaps less keen to spend time with her mum. Secondly, Xian is resentful towards her estranged father whom she only sees at family gatherings and has little connection with. She also seems resentful towards the other children in the choir and has no real friends. When the choir runs out of female uniforms she’s told to wear one of the boys and stand at the back hoping no one will notice. Meanwhile, she’s a little surprised after venturing backstage and catching sight of her choir mistress embracing another woman. 

Yet in other ways Mingmei (Huang Ziqi), the daughter of her father’s receptionist with whom he is also in a relationship, is simply her inverse. Flighty and confident, Mingmei appears much older than her years and is training to be an air stewardess but inwardly seems hurt and vulnerable. She lives a fairly chaotic life in which she’s learned at an early age how to weaponise her sexuality and largely relies on sugar daddies for her financial upkeep while hating herself for doing so. It’s after learning that the man in question maybe about to leave his wife and marry Mingmei that Xian abruptly kisses her but is immediately rebuffed, Mingmei running a thumb across Xian’s lips as if more concerned about what she may have passed to Xian than outraged or offended.

Then again, Mingmei seems to have been aware of Xian’s attraction while no doubt tipped off by the fact that she was playing around with a stethoscope and presumably noticed her heart beating unusually fast. At times she seems insensitive, wilfully so or otherwise, or perhaps simply doesn’t know how not to manipulate the attraction that she inspires in others cruelly taking Xian along on one of her sugar daddy dates or asking her to help her dress. But then Xian also learns some problematic lessons, adopting some of Mingmei’s behaviour patterns in attempting to manipulate the attraction shown for her by a boy in the choir she is otherwise uninterested in by virtually forcing herself on him and then asking for a loan to get the money for Mingmei to open a store so she won’t have to rely on potentially violent sugar daddies and would therefore be more available to Xian who has also developed a white night desire to save her from her self-destructive instincts.

The only bright spot in Xian’s melancholy existence which is generally coloured in blue, her desire for Mingmei is palpable even gazing at the many photos of her taken by her father including one in striking red. Yet there’s an another sense of distance in her longing given that Mingmei is a member of the Chinese-Korean community. Xian is at once struck by this additional layer of exocitity and bewildered by her inability to understand it knowing no Korean nor much of Mingmei’s culture. The film takes its Chinese title from the song Xian sings at the choir recital, the traditional folksong Little White Boat which actually originated in Korea. Xian is disappointed not to spot Mingmei in the audience little knowing that she had been there but left early. Later in the film, Mingmei sings the song herself but in Korean perhaps a way of letting Xian know she came after all, or else simply intended in the way song is often sung as one of parting. In any case, Xian is indeed like the little boat dotting the horizon drifting along barely noticed and with no means of controlling her direction. Geng frames her with a quiet empathy and a gentle sense of recognition for those whose gaze is rarely returned.

A Song Sung Blue screened as part of this year’s Queer East.

Trailer (English subtitles)