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| Writer/director Li Ruijun |
RETURN TO DUST (Yin ru chen yan) B China (131 mi) 2012 d: Li Ruijun
Not since Lee Chang-dong’s Oasis (2002) have we seen a more downbeat couple, featured in nearly every scene of this film, becoming a despairing portrait of an impoverished rural life in China that seemed to have made the Chinese government uncomfortable, strangely pulling it from all movie theaters and streaming services in China in the last week of September after developing a following, earning nearly $16 million since its July release. According to the director, who also writes and edits the film, while also serving as the art director, “Everyone knows there are lots of poor people, but the government doesn’t want Chinese people to see too much of it.” Shot on a modest budget, the film is set in the small, rural village of Huaqiangzi, the director’s hometown, in the distant province of Gansu, which borders Mongolia and the Great Gobi Desert. All of the actors are local villagers, except for the leading female character. The mud brick houses that distinguish the look of this film can be found everywhere in the region. Wu Renlin, the lead actor in this film, is the uncle (husband of his mother’s sister) of director Li Ruijun. Painfully honest and unsentimentalized, the film accentuates the gap between an indifferent wealthy class who drive luxurious cars and poor farmers who remain rooted to the land, recalling Youssef Chahine’s trailblazing early Egyptian film The Blazing Sun (Siraa Fil-Wadi) (1954), both identifying with the arduous work in the fields of the farmers, whose steadfast devotion to producing seasonal crops is a labor of love, yet they are continuously harassed and exploited by the rich, who view them as less than human, inflicting immeasurable suffering with no hesitation whatsoever, typically viewed as an impediment to their own path to success. This epic film humanizes the downtrodden, the poorest of the poor, painting a portrait of two outcasts who are brought together in an arranged marriage, an improbable middle-aged pair, the fourth brother, the reserved Ma (Wu Renlin), a poor farmer who only owns one donkey, and the disabled and unmarried Guiying (Hai Quing), who are both openly spoken about as a burden to their families. He is a reticent farmer, the last of his family to remain unmarried, while she is severely crippled, enduring a long history of inflicted family abuse where she was tortured and beaten by her brothers, unable to have children, walking with a limp, barely able to move her right arm, with uncontrollable bladder issues, well past what is considered to be a marrying age in rural China. Glad to be rid of them, their families view the marital resolution as a relief, an answer to their own problems, no longer concerning themselves with either one of them. Left on their own, they can be a pitiful sight, rarely ever saying a word, showing no familiarity whatsoever in their wedding photograph, where their first night together is a disaster. Something of a slow and plodding film, the film details how farmers borrow from landowners before planting their crops, mostly wheat or corn, then sell their harvested goods back to the owners, who keep for themselves a tidy profit, setting prices that often reflect their own avarice and greed, in stark opposition to the unassuming modesty of this couple, whose humble origins are never in doubt, defined by the backbreaking hard work they perform day in and day out.
With so many American films using computer generated effects as the gold standard, there is something refreshing about the physicality and harsh realism of the landscapes, transporting viewers to a different time and space. Recalling the fifth generation of Chinese cinema, this is a return to the visual poetry of Chen Kaige’s YELLOW EARTH (1984), the rural traditions of Zhang Yimou’s RED SORGHUM (1988) and the peasant realism of THE STORY OF QIU JU (1992), as the brutal realism and poetic tenderness of this story merge into an elegiac drama, a delicate and touching parable about human nature that takes a rather pessimistic look at contemporary China, which is at odds between modernity and tradition, as rarely do viewers get to see the lives of people living in such remote surroundings. It is important for them to be seen and understood, as the best of centuries-old local traditions are disappearing due to rapid urbanization, providing preserved memories hidden under the dust. Despite the humanist depiction, the misery and poverty porn index can feel one note, feeling overlong and overly predictable, grating on one’s patience, literally immersing viewers in the dire situation of their lives, never having any time for themselves Persistently seen selflessly toiling in the fields where adversity is almost always present, a seasonal rhythm of their lives is established through their grueling work, plowing a field in the spring, flooding it, then planting the seeds, nurturing their growth during the heat of the summer before harvesting the crops in the fall, all in unison with their tireless donkey, who becomes part of the family, eventually expanding to include chickens and pigs. Viewing simplicity as a virtue, these rituals not only show how time-consuming and exhausting this work is, but also how carefully it is carried out, with the work bringing them closer together, as does food, which is an everpresent aspect of their lives, routinely seen eating steamed buns, with Guiying often bringing him fresh water in the fields. There is an oddly intrusive presence that continually interrupts their lives when the wealthy landowner falls ill and needs so-called “Panda” blood, a rare Rh-negative blood type, with Ma the only one in the village with matching blood, so an extravagant silver BMW car is sent to fetch him each time he needs more blood, a cruel metaphor that symbolizes his continuing exploitation, used for their own self-serving purposes. As a reward for donating blood, they are told to move into a newly built urban apartment complex that is cold and unwelcoming, used strictly for propaganda purposes, with the media capturing this gesture as an act of good will helping bridge the divide between the past and the future, yet when Ma views the apartment, he is less than thrilled, as there is no place for the farm animals, and he’s nowhere near his land, so this would essentially be an exile from where he wants to be. This same subject was thoroughly explored in Jia Zhang-ke’s STILL LIFE (2006), and again during the recent Winter Olympics in Beijing, when many villages and settlements had to be demolished to make way for newly constructed sports facilities. What this accentuates is how little the rich actually understand about the poor, as Ma is not ungrateful, but he doesn’t need a new apartment, which would be utterly meaningless to him, as he’s not an urban businessman, but a farmer who makes his living tending to the soil. This old-fashioned occupation is completely inconceivable to the wealthy classes, never giving it a thought, as it’s simply not part of their mindset. Making money is all that matters to them. Ma may as well be invisible.
In keeping with this theme, a rural exodus has caused a vacancy crisis in poorly built and unoccupied houses that have been abandoned, with owners migrating to the cities in search of work, leaving too many unused, dilapidated houses, so the government implements a plan to improve the appearance of the village, offering a cash incentive to owners who allow the demolition of their homes. Ma and Guiying are forced to move from building to building, as owners return requesting the money, with the homes destroyed the instant they leave. Not only do they bring their belongings, but they also transport a swallow’s nest, continuing a connection with the natural world around them. Tired of continually having to move, Ma decides to build his own home, making the mud bricks himself, along with old wooden posts salvaged from the demolitions. This is a painstakingly slow process that becomes the centerpiece of the film, accentuating each and every step, forming them into bricks, laying them out into the sun, building block by block as they laboriously construct their home, the first sign of their own freedom, with both never imagining they would have their own home. This is the closest they ever come to happiness, yet when the bricks are threatened from a torrential rain, they struggle to cover and protect them, seen splashing around together in the puddles on the ground, probably the first sign we see of laughter. A burgeoning tenderness can be found in small, everyday gestures, like Ma finding his wife a warm coat, or handing her food, or when Guiying runs to meet her husband on the road late at night after an excursion into the city in frozen wintry conditions, handing him a hot water bottle to help fend against the cold, something she’s repeatedly reheated to keep it warm. Yet the most striking image that stands out is the moment they hatch their first eggs, placed in a cardboard box with holes in it, with the light reflecting on the darkened walls of their home, appearing like a constellation of stars, both marveling at the beauty they have created by such a simple gesture, with the birth of the chicks emulating warmth and hope for the future. Another heartbreaking moment is the liberation of the donkey, something of a Bressonian Au Hasard Balthazar (1966) moment, as Ma releases him and sets him free, “You were used by others for most of your life, haven’t you had enough,” but it has no idea what is happening, seen returning back to the home on its own, knowing only a world that shows little compassion for him, one often dominated by human cruelty. Essentially a love story, a heartfelt tribute to the human ability to find comfort in one another, the film is marked by the passing of the seasons, developing a symbiotic relationship with the natural world around them. There are some noticeable editing lapses near the end, perhaps representative of forced changes made at the last minute, as the film was a target of China’s censors, creating alternate endings before the film was pulled from theaters. Yet it is these two essential characters that dominate the screen time, taking viewers on a distant journey. Ma is righteous, loyal, hardworking, and true to his word, yet as hard as their simple lives are, Ma and Guiying almost never complain, conscientiously carrying out their activities dutifully and stoically. Working together in such close proximity only makes them appreciate the other more, as both are selflessly devoted. The care, warmth, and muted tenderness that they wordlessly express to each other is supported by close-ups, while also characterized by natural light and warm colors, beautifully captured by cinematographer Wang Weihua, shot over the course of a year, making extensive use of wide shots, showing a surprising restraint, reminding viewers of what really matters, as it’s not so much what you have, but who you have in your life.
