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| Director Lou Ye |
AN UNFINISHED FILM B- China Singapore Germany USA (107 mi) 2024 d: Lou Ye
A film crew was
harshly gobsmacked
When the deadly Wuhan virus attacked
Forced to their rooms
And reliant on Zooms
They sat until they collectively cracked
—An Unfinished Film (一部未完成的电影) - The Steel Frog Blog
Returning to the scene of the crime, the outbreak of the Covid pandemic in China at the beginning of 2020, with masks and social distancing becoming a regular part of our daily life, yet told through an unusual angle, blurring the boundaries between fiction and documentary, as Lou Ye, one of the most uncompromising Sixth Generation voices of China’s film industry, a filmmaker known for his bold and often controversial approach, has made what can be described as a cellphone film, as it normalizes the use of cellphones, a reminder that social media surrounds us everywhere, which some find as commonplace as any other daily ritual, yet a major distraction for others, who aren’t yet ready to call vertical-screen cellphone videos an artform, but this film builds its case. Initially shown out of competition at the Special Screenings section at Cannes, this is essentially a behind-the-scenes, documentary style glimpse of filmmaking, a movie about making a movie, which extends to the multitude of largely unseen personnel who collaborate in the creative process, as we watch them work collectively, led by director Xiaorui (Mao Xiaorui, an actual television director), trying to reconstruct a film out of the remnants of a project that started 10 years ago but abruptly stopped for lack of financing, using outtakes or unused footage from what appears to be a sequel to Lou’s own gay-themed film SPRING FEVER (2009), among the first Chinese Mainland films to graphically depict gay sex, which won the Best Screenplay award at Cannes in 2009, but did not endear himself to Chinese authorities, released as a French/Hong Kong production to circumvent his imposed 5-year ban from filmmaking after SUMMER PALACE (2006), which was set against the background of the Tiananmen Square massacre. Breaking out all the old outdated computer equipment that has been in storage, they rediscover the original files, while Xiaorui has also secured the participation of the same lead actor Jiang Cheng (Qin Hao), who is now an in-demand star, though when he rejoins the cast he explicitly states, “Your film will never pass censorship.” Nonetheless, defying authorities, he’s eager to work with the director again, though they are all significantly older, carrying with them new life experiences, as some have gotten married and have families, including Jiang whose wife has an expectant baby on the way. Filming begins in Wuhan only after the baby is born, becoming a poetic ode to the courage and tenacity of independent artists who are willing to buck the government censors, risking their careers and even reputations for so little, as there was no guarantee anyone other than the participants themselves would ever see this film, with Jiang heard uttering at one point, “If nobody can see this film in theaters, then what’s the point?” Yet they choose to do it anyway. Written by the director in collaboration with his wife and longtime co-writer Ma Yingli, this project gives them the opportunity to look back at the past, as the director and crew are constantly examining what they filmed a decade ago, which becomes a catalyst for their own introspection, constantly challenging viewers to question what is real and what is staged. It’s never clear what role Jiang has in this production, yet all communication starts from him, where part of the persistent rhythm is devoted to video chats between Jiang and his wife Sang Qi (Qi Xi), where the actress was really at home in Beijing taking care of her one month old baby, so this reality was built into the film, as she is only seen on a cellphone screen, often shown on a split screen to show both of them speaking quietly to each other, in one tender moment even falling asleep together, each holding their cellphones next to their faces. A commentary on the film process itself, with the actors playing a film version of themselves, what we see is not just a film about interruption, but a film that interrupts itself, as its incompleteness is the central thesis that speaks volumes through time gaps and silences.
Originally conceived as a film consisting of old footage of Jiang playing various roles, reflecting the changes in China over the past decade or so, but yet another unforeseen circumstance happens while they are shooting in the town of Wuhan, as they’re also grappling with this huge, unprecedented global pandemic unfolding all around them, taking us back to the very earliest stages of the Covid pandemic when it was just beginning, shifting the entire perspective of the film, becoming an hour-by-hour update on the changing focus of containing the outbreak, which suddenly becomes part of what they’re filming. Despite television news reports of blocked roads alongside a very public military presence, at first no one paid it any mind when a hairdresser from Wuhan is sent home, or a production assistant faints in the corridor, thinking those affected were simply random illnesses, as the production would still move forward, AN UNFINISHED FILM Clip | TIFF 2024 YouTube (1:53). What they envisioned in making this film never comes to fruition, instead they are continually interrupted with public health updates, which is mirrored by security enforcing a contamination zone, not letting anyone in or out of the hotel, which literally happens overnight and is completely inconceivable for some, who just assumed they would be home by the Lunar New Year to celebrate with their families, as travel plans had already been arranged. But that comes to an abrupt halt when they are forcibly locked inside their rooms, while people in full-body hamzat suits bring their food or other essentials to their door, yet none of this eruptive chaos ever feels like it is staged, but remains viscerally raw, as cinematographer Zeng Jian’s handheld shots move between observation and confusion, mimicking the anxiety and disorientation people must have felt in the early days of the pandemic, where the emotional power lies in restraint. The euphoric mood of the opening, hoping to create something entirely new, quickly turns into panic mode, initially met with anger and indignation, forcibly trying to make their way through security, followed by resignation and despair, with the realization that they would be stuck there for quite a while under quarantine, literally cut off from their families and the rest of the world, yet unlike those who voluntarily chose to stay at home and shelter-in-place, these individuals were really forced to lock down, where the entire crew must remain inside their respective hotel rooms, unable to leave until this is over, separated by circumstance and/or arbitrary health rules enforced by the military. Blending actual footage of those early lockdown days with staged scenes, not everyone viewing this film wants to re-live these experiences again, as it may be too soon, still traumatized by what happened, with astronomical death rates that had never happened before during our lifetimes, yet at the very beginning, no one knew that it would lead to a worldwide pandemic, thinking only about its effect in the immediate vicinity, as the majority of the first reported cases of coronavirus are in China. What happens at the hotel is a mini-version of what’s happening in the entire city, as the whole population of 14 million people are under a lockdown enforced by authorities, leaving the streets eerily empty, like a post-apocalyptic view of how the world might look after a nuclear war, so in essence the film is a time capsule of a historic period in our lives, and while the film was censored in China, completed only with financing from Singapore and Germany, it has been embraced around the world, largely for its critical thinking. What this film thoughtfully captures is the fear, the isolation, and that longing for connection, things we can all universally relate to and understand, while also questioning the role of art during times of crisis.
A film about creative inspiration quickly becomes a Covid documentary, a reflection of the chaos and confusion of the times, and a social and political crisis that played out differently in different places around the world, with cellphones documenting what the cast sees in the hallways, courtyards, or out their windows, where a constant stream of ambulances are seen arriving and departing, with disinfectant being sprayed everywhere, completely changing the fluid pace and hopeful outlook of the beginning, which is reduced to a crawl when the entire crew is left alone in their hotel rooms under lockdown. With phones and televisions becoming their only window into the outside world, viewers are suddenly privy to personal messaging back and forth, sharing the latest updates while attempting to keep their spirits high, reaching an apex when they all gather together on a group video call and count down the seconds to the Chinese New Year (January 25th in 2020), then exploding in celebration, each alone in their rooms, breaking out into music and dance onscreen, where it’s all captured by cellphones. Overly rambunctious in their joyous celebration, they spontaneously break out into the hallways and comingle, violating all health protocols, which is immediately shut down by security who orders them all back into their rooms. It’s a brief moment of elation, lasting only a few minutes, but it captures the essence of what they’re all feeling, just wanting to feel alive again in a world where all the emphasis has shifted to the pandemic. In just the first few months, a main focus of all the news reports is an inexplicable public health phenomenon that spreads rapidly, with no known cure, becoming more and more contagious, offering a rare glimpse into the Chinese experience of the pandemic, where some of the few surprises includes actual clips of news footage, CCTV surveillance footage, and TikTok-style children’s covers of songs that went viral on the Chinese internet, creating this kaleidoscopic effect, showing how individual experiences are intertwined with surrounding events, bringing us right into the middle of all the chaos and uncertainty. With little advance warning, authorities completely stifle the population from coming into contact with one another, shutting down the city of Wuhan and the surrounding regions to contain the virus, though six Wuhan hospital doctors died in just the first six months, including infamous whistleblower Dr. Li Wenliang, who warned his colleagues about the virus before succumbing to it himself, and is remembered on TV clips. Speeding through a collage of conspicuous events over the next several years, including footage of the riots that followed the 2022 Ürümqi fire that sparked nationwide protests against the government’s Zero-COVID policy, which was irrefutably unpopular and controversial, yet the number of infections spiked drastically when the policy was dropped, leading to a massive amount of infections and a staggering death count, which are conspicuously missing from the film, though the magnitude of the loss is profound, feeling more like an elegiac memoriam by the end. While mostly contained to just a few months immediately after the outbreak, this is a highly personalized, insular view of what transpired, a calm before the storm, as over 7 million people worldwide eventually died. The film seems to challenge our collective memories, asking if the world has changed significantly since then, are we any different, did we learn anything, and has this situation changed us? Personal phone calls between Jiang and his wife give way to random videos posted online (click here to watch the video, 4:35), with an imprinted date stamp indicating how long after the outbreak, all poetically capturing the mood and feel of living under lockdown and slowly coming out of hibernation, as if released from captivity, where the joy of simply walking unimpeded down a city street feels like a precious moment of unleashed freedom.
