More than any other contemporary Chinese director, Jia Zhang-ke has left a mark of controversial modernity on a cross-genre body of work that is at once cohesive and self-reflexive; a succession of interrelated films which taken together build a vivid, highly detailed picture of contemporary China and its recent history.
Though recognized as a master by festivals (his 2006 film Still Life won the Golden Lion in Venice) and admiring fans, the fact that his films are strong on music and wordless images but thin on storylines, pacing and emotional expression has always left a certain slice of the audience cold. From all these points of view, Caught by the Tides (Feng Liu Yi Dai) is über-Jia, and very likely to split viewers into opposing camps.
One can’t help but admire its remarkably bold premise: to create a new film using scenes and outtakes from his previous work. This is possible chiefly because there is a continuity of actors and themes in the director’s films, from the 2002 Unknown Pleasures to his 2018 Ash Is the Purest White. And conveniently, Zhang Tao, the director’s wife and inspiration, has starred with actor Li Zhubin in Unknown Pleasures, Still Life (2006), and A Touch of Sin (2013), giving the editors a lot of material to choose from, even if the cinematography, film stock, editing and general style vary greatly from film to film.
Caught by the Tides is an apt title for a film that seems helplessly sucked back into an undertow of time, where history repeats itself, along with the recurring story of a man who leaves a woman who loves him, so he can look for a new future without her. Once more Zhang and Li find each other amid the squalor and disasters of their country, and again the young man opts to brusquely walk out on his young girlfriend.
The opening scene is set circa 2001 as the new millennium dawns in Datong, a city in northern China. An abrupt outburst of music over a bright red desert signals that something new is going to happen: the time of heroes and monuments is ending as a modern global age begins. But first, there is a charming Woman’s Day scene of timid women gathered in a barren hut, where they are coaxed into singing songs from popular opera – a sort of declaration by the director that this film will be full of every type of music, from rock, pop and folk to disco and dance tunes. And it will be centered on a woman.
It is a time of great poverty and squalor in the city. The camera pans past the grimy faces of dazed men, who stand motionless in the street. Cars are absent and even bikes are few. In an abandoned warehouse, the new owner/entrepreneur has salvaged a portrait of Mao — still iconic, if slightly burned around the edges. He explains that he rents the space to women singers, who in turn collect money from the retired miners in the audience. In a scene like this we catch our first glimpse of Qiao Qiao in her dark pageboy wig, Zhang’s youthful incarnation as a provincial vamp, and her dismissive, disinterested boyfriend Li (Li Zhubin), who barely looks at her. There is no tenderness or flirtation between them, and the only clue to Qiao Qiao’s feelings is that she rests her head on his shoulder.
Their break-up is even harder to interpret. It seems to happen aboard an abandoned bus where she tries emotionally to bolt for the door, over and over, while he keeps pushing her back in her seat. Repetition turns this simple action into a scene of anguishing violence.
The young woman works as a model, a singer, a dancer on the colorful stages of the time, wrapped in non-stop music and shots edited with dizzying rapidity. The main body of the film concerns her trip up the Yangtze River to search for Li. As she progresses through massive green canyons aboard riverboats, it becomes clear that the entire area will soon be submerged forever by the government’s construction of the Three Gorges Dam, which caused the displacement of more than 1.3 million people. Some patriotic residents accept it as a sacrifice for their country. One man wears a large sign calling for justice.
Though her search for Li seems hopeless, and dangerous, he does finally turn up (both actors are older now) as “Brother Li”, working for a corrupt woman politician in a real estate scam. He has sunk into criminality with his friend “Brother Pan,” and has no more interest in Qiao Qiao than before.
The final sequences return the characters to Datong and are the only ones shot expressly for the film. There is a paranoid plane ride with a much older Li, amid passengers swathed in COVID face masks. (Later an official communication is heard blaming the U.S. for spreading the virus, due to the laxness of its policies.) And there is a bemused encounter between Qiao Qiao and an AI robot in a supermarket, who reads the sad expression on her face and tries to cheer her up with quotes from Mark Twain and Mother Teresa, a very nice touch. Her final meeting with Li, in which their roles of pursuer and pursued are reversed, has a piercing sadness and finality that feels just right, like the conclusion of a long-running serial.
Director: Jia Zhang-ke
Screenplay: Jia Zhang-ke, Wan Jiahuan
Cast: Zhao Tao, Li Zhubin, Pan Jianlin, Lan Zhou, Zhou You, Ren Ke, Mao Tao
Producers: Casper Liang Jiayan, Shozo Ichiyama
Executive producers: Jia Zhang-ke, Tang Yan, Dong Ping, Zhu Weijie
Cinematography: Yu Lik-wai, Eric Gautier
Editing: Yang Chao, Lin Xudong, Matthieu Laclau
Production design: Liu Qiang, Ye Qiusen, Liu Weixin, Liang Jingdong
Music: Lim Giong
Sound: Zhang Yang
Production companies: XStream Pictures, Momo Pictures, Huanxi Media Group, Wishart Media, in association with MK2 Films, Ad Vitam, Bitters End
World Sales: MK2
Venue: Cannes Film Festival (Competing)
In Chinese
111 minutes
