Seasons

Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains - Review

By Young Film Critic Victor Morozov

Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains explores a contemporary setting based on the famous 14th century eponymous work of Chinese painter Huang Gongwang. Ambition is the last thing debutante Xiaogang Gu lacks. If his film manages to deliver a strong impression of clear-sightedness, it is due in part to its audacity: at 150 minutes, this vivid resurrection of a landscape needs time, since it implies patiently following the members of a large family as they try to make ends meet, one way or another. Spring, summer, autumn, winter and spring come and go in the city of Fuyang, allowing the movie to unveil its layered conception of a certain space seen in all its multiple virtualities.

It all begins with the anniversary party of an ageing matriarch, mother of four sons. This cheerful but abruptly ended ceremony sets the tone for the remainder of the film: a gentle-paced family chronicle, each character following a sinuous curve of ups and downs, from marriages and quiet strolls at dusk to crumbling under debts and getting into trouble. But the ultimate sensation is that, no matter how many life events one character attaches to its life string, no matter how difficult the challenges one faces, in the end, it’s no big deal because all things human are transient. It is the film’s force to rise above the petty concerns of individuals, again and again, building a sense of fascination for landscapes past and present. As it tries to inscribe the characters into the larger picture of an urban setting changing à vue d'oeil – Gu actually shoots workers in the process of demolishing old buildings – the camera repeatedly favours imposing, difficult-to-believe vistas. Watching her old apartment being torn down, one of the characters remarks: "We lived here for 30 years; it was demolished in 3 days."

China's disturbingly unstable urban settings – here today, gone tomorrow, almost confusing linear temporality – loom large in the film, but of course, Gu is not the first one to make these discoveries. In fact, at its best, his film reminded me of Jia Zhangke’s The World (2004) and Still Life (2006): slow, quasi-oneiric camera movements and magnificently shot urban vignettes seem to be their trademark. Like Jia, Gu is not only particularly talented in capturing the zeitgeist of his time – people stealing, fighting, moving out and about in restless agitation – but also at projecting it against the monumental and intimidating backdrop of the Chinese megalopolis.

We can dig into this parallel a little while longer: both Gu and Jia attempt an in-depth exploration of family dynamics in a Chinese setting – that is, the perfect concentration of all the symptoms of rampant globalisation. Both try to depict Chinese individuals at a time when old traditions are dying out – grandma’s mah-jong game is traded for some corrupt betting in shabby rooms. 

China’s disturbingly unstable urban settings – here today, gone tomorrow, almost confusing linear temporality – loom large in the film
— Victor Morozov

People oscillate between a deep attachment to the ancient rules, and the temptation of novelty. If the movie lends itself to such analysis however, it is because Gu seems particularly interested in providing grounded sociological insights for the behaviour of people living under the same complicated skies. Blurring transcendental revelations, his film also possesses a texture of small daily gestures which ultimately tie it to a gratifying, humble perspective over existence.

Time and again, as rain turns into snow, the film returns to the river boarding the city – the guiding metaphor for these people’s destinies. More often than not, Gu watches everything from afar, as if afraid to detach his characters from their surroundings. Take for instance the contest between the two lovers – the girl walking on the shore, the boy swimming in the river – shot in a virtuoso long take. It’s not who will be the first to reach the finish line that matters: as we follow the boy swimming for minutes, while on the shore people are fishing or playing with their dog, then notice him as he reaches the shore and walks alongside his girlfriend, and then finally see the couple board a ferry that’s about to leave – after all these things happen, we realise that something more important, something of a vision, and not of a technique, is at stake. Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains is probably the most beautifully accomplished Chinese feature of the past few years.