DOG DAYS (San fu
tian) B
China (95 mi)
2016 d: Jordan Schiele
Not sure if the
title is a direct reference to the scathingly depressive 2001 Austrian film
satire by Ulrich Seidl taking place in the oppressively hot days of summer in
the outlying suburbs of Vienna, but this American filmmaker from Brooklyn, New
York would surely be aware of the connection.
His path to Chinese filmmaking began with Chinese classes at NYU in
college before studying abroad at Oxford University, moving to Shanghai where
he worked on film sets for a year before studying film for three years in
Singapore, working as a cinematographer before finally moving to Beijing, where
this film is co-produced by two Hong Kong production companies. Borrowing on the same theme of sweltering summer
heat, this American in Hong Kong developed his first feature film as part of
the Cannes Cinefondation Residence which premiered at the 2016 Berlin Film
Festival in the Panorama line up. A gloomy
travelogue set in the seedy underside of modern day China, the nearly colorless
film exposes typically hard-edged and dark themes, where it has all the makings
of a modern day noir, yet it’s a film that defies category. Centered around a towering performance from
the lead character who spends the entire film in heels and hot pants, Lulu,
Huang Lu from Li Yang’s BLIND MOUNTAIN (2007), in one of the performances of
the year, is an exotic dancer at a cheap nightclub in the outskirts of Changsha
in southern China, where the girls can be seen fanning themselves in the stifling
heat, Dog Days |
Film | Trailer OmeU | critic.de YouTube (1:10). Frustrated that her boyfriend doesn’t pick
her up after work, she has to walk home instead in the wee hours of the
morning, but by the time she gets home the house is locked and there is no sign
of her infant son. A bit frantic to find
her boyfriend Bai Long (Tian Muchen), the father of the child, and desperate to
find her baby, she pursues other nightclubs in hopes of finding him, which
leads her to Sunny, Luo Lanshan from Zhang-ke’s 2013
Top Ten List #3 A Touch of Sin (Tian zhu ding), a young drag queen performer
at a transvestite bar known as The Night Cat who may have an existing relationship
with Bai Long. Remaining secretive about
his whereabouts, as he does about hiding his gender identity, Sunny agrees to
lead Lulu to Bai Long and their baby if she promises not to go to the police
and agrees to give up Bai Long.
Initially
skeptical of Sunny’s promise to help her, Lulu has no other options, so the
next day they take the overnight train to Shanghai. More than anything else, this is an
atmospheric subterranean journey that exposes a dark underbelly rarely seen in
China, thoroughly drenched in sweat and desperation, often shot in a shadowy
world by cinematographer Nathanael Carton. What’s interesting is the extent of her
internalization, including her fears of being an unmarried woman raising a
child alone, seen early on storing breast milk even while working at a strip
club, now forced to come to grips with the horrors of China’s one-child
policy. One of the more revealing scenes
of maternal longing is watching Lulu breastfeeding a sleeping woman’s baby on
the train, creating a feeling of puzzling discomfort with the viewer, yet it
beautifully expresses just how strongly she’s been violated, as that maternal
yearning doesn’t subside, but it feeds into her driving desire to reunite with
her child. In Shanghai, Sunny leads her
to a dilapidated hotel where they get little help from the front desk clerk, refusing
to acknowledge the names of hotel guests, who instead thrives in a Kafkaesque
world of nameless bureaucrats just doing their job, but feeding into a sinister
mood of malice. Resigned to a fate of
obstacles and roadblocks along the way, Lulu checks in anyway, while Sunny
vanishes into his own ghostly existence, where the narrative cleverly
interweaves three different kinds of love, heterosexual, homosexual, and
maternal, though the first two are only briefly touched upon, with Bai Long’s
initial meeting with Sunny shown in flashback, where they are never allowed to
expand their character limitations, while the last is the only love that’s
thoroughly explored with any depth.
Sunny meets secretly with Bai Long, though their scenes together are
completely unremarkable, almost feeling unnecessary, overwhelmed by the power
of Lulu’s character whose overriding interest dominates the film, as she’s not
the typical protagonist, where her fate and the film’s outcome remain in doubt
until the end. When Bai Long finally does
appear, he tells her he’s sold their baby to a wealthy Shanghai doctor. Despite Sunny’s obvious affection for the
boyfriend, his initial distrust turns to empathy for Lulu along the way, as
she’s been bitterly damaged by the uncaring acts of Bai Long.
Much of the film
is shot in transit, reflecting an aspect of Chinese culture that is robustly
thriving, as China has a very dynamic transportation system, as people are
always on the move, seen on bicycles, motorbikes, scooters, taxi’s, busses,
trains, and even on foot making their way through the crowded streets. The film doesn’t shy away from the grim
existence of China’s lower classes and the murky standing of those living in
the margins, especially Sunny who is initially indignant at the thought of Lulu
slumming into his world, finding her offensive, where he didn’t want to be
caught in the crossfire of her troubles, but the two develop an uneasy truce,
where their performances are especially revealing, emotive, yet subtle, as both
are used to repressing what they feel, but this film provides a series of
anguishing moments that nearly destroy the veneer of cordiality, as the world
Lulu believes in simply collapses around her, where others might be consumed by
grief and disappointment, but Lulu perseveres.
Initially shot with wider shots, the farther along her journey, the
closer the camera comes to her, eventually shooting in near close-up. The brooding tone is given an atmospheric
musical score by Patrick Jonsson that only enhances the oppressive climate, sweltering
atmosphere, and changing emotional dynamic.
Still intent on finding her baby, she tracks the doctor to his home and
knocks on the door, where the audience hasn’t a clue what to expect, eventually
meeting the doctor’s wife in her upscale home, who was informed in the adoptive
process that the mother was dead. Like a
horror film, both are confronted by a shifting reality that changes before
their eyes, where Lulu, much like the mother in Jia Zhang-ke’s 2015
Top Ten List #2 Mountains May Depart (Shan he gu ren) , must decide on the
spot whether a working class mother’s biological influence or the comfort of
her son being raised by a wealthy family with more financial opportunities
would be the best option, as if class distinction could lead to a better
life. It’s a heartbreaking moment that
shows on her face, as it completely alters the single-minded purpose that drove
her there in such a fury, leaving her vulnerable and wavering, caught
completely off-guard. Given the overall
bleakness of the story, Sunny reveals himself to be sympathetic, offering
unconditional support for Lulu through the final showdown, allowing the gay
community to come out of the shadows, where marginalized single mothers and
poor outcasts from the LGBT community are seen in a more compassionate light,
spreading some degree of social awareness to groups that are traditionally
isolated from the Chinese mainstream and viewed somewhat anonymously. With a tightly oppressive feel throughout, literally
twisting characters into emotional knots, it’s an open question whether the murky
outcome finally relieves any of that built-up tension.
