December 14, 2007

Still Life

Too Nostalgic for the Modern World

We are not suitable for the modern world. We are too nostalgic.

-Sanming’s pal, Brother Mark, quoting idol Chow Yun-Fat in A Better Tomorrow (John Woo, 1986)

STILL LIFE OPENS WITH A DIAGETIC VOICEOVER. "This is Fengjie," the tourist worker, announces to passengers aboard the ferry. Fellow passenger and middle-aged miner Han Sanming has arrived from Shanxi, eager to reunite with his ex-wife Missy and their daughter, villagers of that small town. Little does he realize, shortly thereafter that the old Fengjie village he once knew is almost all but gone – demolished and now submerged under the Yangtze River – following the construction of the Three Gorges Dam. Many residents, including his ex-wife, have since relocated to another province.

Half-way into the film, we are introduced to Nurse Shen Hong, another person from Shanxi, who is trying to make familial amends. She has traveled to Fenjgie to track down her husband, who abruptly left their household, two years ago. Her husband, we come to realize, is Guo Bin, a factory worker-turned-business magnate, currently running the local demolitions.

Despite the successive order of the vignettes, Sanming and Hong never cross paths. The only link that can be possibly drawn between the two is Guo Bin, whose presence looms large over Fengjie. During his search, Sanming stays at a local hostel in the village, and forms blue-collar camaraderie with demolition workers, who may or may not, work for the big man himself.

Director Jia Zhang-ke’s subjectively limited lens goes hand-in-hand with his neo-realistic aesthetics (long takes, digital camera). Noticeably absent from the screen are omniscient, birds-eye tracking shots that care to explain everything to us on a silver platter. Instead, we are left with impressionist, slice-of-life vignettes that, more or less, mirror life in the welcoming of the unknown.

JIA CLEARLY UNDERSTANDS THE PARADOXICAL NATURE OF MANUFACTURED LANDSCAPES. In his previous effort, The World (2005), the camera interchangeably swoops between backstage (rural émigré workers in their monotonous daily routines and decrepit, dwelling units) and centerstage (a simulated playground for wealthy, international tourists). The playing field is further divided in Still Life: sweaty, half-naked demolition workers risk explosives and collapsing debris, while suit-and-tie business moguls sit comfortably in their air-conditioned conference rooms.

From an auteurist standpoint, Still Life and The World are two films that can be easily canonized together. Both are uncompromising portraits of modern China that stand worlds apart from the lush and sumptuous visual feasts presented by Zhang Yimou and the Beijing Olympics Committee.

Nevertheless, I cannot help but feel that Still Life is far worldlier and mature in perspective. The World is a perfect example of how didactism can overshadow the sharpest of conceptual ideas. Amusing tongue-in-cheek references in the beginning of The World (the mini theme park replicas of the Eiffel Tower, the Spinx, the Twin Towers, among other world-renown structures, is a firm reminder that nothing is sacred in a commodity-driven world) soon pave way for “Where’s Waldo?” mis-en-scene (a Titanic movie poster, a copy of Elle magazine, and a Louis Vuitton handbag are all strategically placed in one single bedroom set piece – whew!).

Thank heavens, this is not what has happened to Still Life. Still Life feels like an all-consuming, contemplative poem. Contradictory feelings of nostalgia, dislocation, and begrudging acceptance are embedded in Still Life’s main characters.

Still Life's pop cultural references do not seethe in condescension or belittlement. Instead, they offer good-humored insight into a mindset beseiged by time: detachment by way of bittersweet longing. Changing brand names of cigarettes, tea, and toffee – items that have been affected by expanding global markets – are not exempt from human nostalgia. The same can be said for music, a mass medium that has undeniably been affected by advanced technology. Classic Cantopop tunes, once the home turf of television soap soundtracks, are now extracted into catchy, little cell phone ring tones and kitschy remix covers.