Directed by Li Yu
105 min. 35 mm. Mandarin with English subtitles.
Color. China 2010. Toronto Reel Asian International Film Festival
November 13, The Royal, 8 p.m. 


            Part of Li Yu’s absorbing film plays like an Asian buddy film because of the young trio (two males, one female) that stay together through various episodes of anger, rebellion, depression, and loneliness. But at the deeper core of the film is another type of film: quieter, contemplative, given more to interior soul states than to large philosophic questions or dramatic incidents. This core is rooted in the story of Madam Chang (Sylvia Chang), a retired Peking Opera singer suffering from depression following the death of her son. She rents out rooms to the trio, and there are predictable conflicts and tensions. The film begins with her point of view before morphing into intersecting and uniting points of view of the youth trio, but, ultimately, the story moves towards an epiphany of rebuilt lives, and Madam Chang has a great deal to do with this eventual epiphany.

            The PR background to the film announces that it is the first movie to be shot in Chengdu after the devastating earthquake that struck Shichuan province in 2008 and reduced most of the area to rubble, taking a huge toll on human life. And certainly there are shots of this physical devastation as director Li Yu combines a documentary sense with her narrative line. However, more important than any physical ruin is the fact of emotional or psychological devastation, beginning, of course, with Madam Chang and continuing with Ding Bo (Chen Po Lin), a hot-tempered youth angered by his father’s second marriage; Ding Bo’s girlfriend, Nan Feng (Fan Bingbing), a rock singer who is also alienated from her father and who is customarily aggressive towards those she dislikes; and Fatso (Fai Long), who is picked on and brutalized by ruffians, but who is protected by the other two. There are the usual clichés of angry, malcontent, troubled youth: physical and emotional clashes with the older generation; sexual rivalries and betrayals; gang antagonisms; escapades of reckless bravado; comic hijinks; and questionings of authority and moral norms. However, almost by default, by keeping on the surface of certain torments and crises, the film does not get bogged down in specious metaphysical issues. The crises and questions remain centred on fear and loneliness—themes that ultimately shape the overall pattern of the film into a quest for meaning in life. As Madam Chang advises the three friends on family problems and assorted insecurities, they, in turn, help her deal with her deep grief. Together, they travel to Buddha Mountain to rebuild the temple destroyed by the earthquake and, in the process, rebuild or reorient their own lives. So, Buddha Mountain is both simple and complex.

            Li Yu’s craft demonstrates that it is possible to be existentially profound without necessarily being coldly intellectual or decisively gloomy. Manifold vagaries and anomalies of humanity are revealed in her narrative that takes note of the massive rebuilding of modern rural China without falling into sheer documentary footage. Instead, her camera moves fluently about its business, capturing the rubble, the noise, the gaudy glitter of neon-flooded nightclubs, the rawness of sexuality among the young; gang brutality and exploitation; the seediness of poverty on backstreets, the sheer grandeur of mountains and valleys where veils of cascading water and white mist create the beauty of a Chinese landscape painting. The musical score that accompanies the narrative is also so very apt, being neither condescending nor exotic but well suited to the changing moods and tones.

The performances are another asset as the principals (especially Taiwanese veteran Chang and young actress Fan Bingbing) reveal the flawed humanity of their characters without falling into mere semaphore acting or the bad extravagances of melodrama. We are shown their characters not in terms of good or bad, but as we see ourselves in terms of failures and successes, or, to put it another way, in terms of a view of human experience, as in the simplicity of a Satyajit Ray or De Sica.

Without over amplifying the achievement of this film, I can plainly vouch for the general success of its craft. The narrative style is often loose and some sequences seem arbitrary or unnecessary, but this looseness allows for delicate or casual revelations, and the cinematography and structure are such that impart a sense of life being reported without artificial rearrangement. The rhythm is derived from the subject matter, and though some scenes may seem awkward or incomplete, and the editing sometimes rife with pop video jump cutting, the overall tone reflects the director’s confidence in her story and deepens our pleasure.

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