An Unfinished Film

Watched @Vancouver, CA.

This is a mockumentary-style film. During the first third, the constantly shaking camera almost made me nauseous. However, after the halfway point, the film gradually finds its rhythm and becomes increasingly engaging.

For such a major public health event, it was astonishing how quickly the pandemic vanished from public discourse after the lockdowns were lifted-no one talked about it, no one reflected on it, as if it had all been just a dream. Especially in mainland China, discussing the pandemic became a taboo, even though it had been the very center of life for three whole years.

As I watched the film, those buried memories suddenly came back to life. I was struck by the realization that I had once lived through it all so vividly. This chapter of history should not be forgotten - it is the path we have walked to get here.

Throughout the film, I was deeply moved more than once, with tears welling up in my eyes. As someone who lived through the pandemic, I didn't need the film to show me what happened next-I already knew. But when someone holds up those moments for you to see again, they still hit you hard. At the end of the film, the theater echoed with applause-both for the film, and for all of us.

Thank you to the director and the cast for their courage in making this film. I know very well the immense pressure they faced-this film will not be released, or even allowed to be mentioned, in mainland China. Yet still, someone far from home was moved by it, enough to seek out this platform and write an English review-for the path we've walked, and for the sake of conscience.

I CANNOT STOP CRYING. The film is only not longer than 2 hours but that really is a mere documentary of the very start and the followed 3 years of worse than hell we've actually been thru. We may have moved on now but THAT 3 YEARS of pure oppression and suffering is not to be forgiven and forgotten. The girl that cried for her mom following the ambulance carrying her mom's body to cremation without being allowed to see her one last time. The girl locked in the building whose mom jumped out of the window was just lying right outside, and she was not allowed to come out. The fire, the people who cannot escape for the building was locked with chains. And the fact that you are not even allowed to talk about any of it.

Just finished watching An Unfinished Film in the cinema. As a film that is prohibited from being screened in mainland China, it's actually quite restrained in its portrayal. The scene where the crew reunites and toasts as the song "Twilight" plays is both peaceful and poignant; the melody and lyrics feel so powerful.

When you think about it, what has Lou Ye captured in this film? Nothing more than documentation. The camera is honest, and the person holding it is not afraid of being blacklisted. A literally unfinished film, a banned old song-woven together, they fight against a memory that is fading and constantly redefined. Though the viewing experience was a bit traumatic, I don't regret it at all; I found it meaningful. Thank you, Lou Ye.

I've personally never been a fan of mockumentaries or realist noir. But this unfinished film, as its title suggests, remains forever incomplete-both within and beyond the frame. It's a film doomed never to be finished, echoing the countless "unfinished" stories left in the wake of the pandemic: lives interrupted, dreams unrealized, wounds unhealed.

Just like that piercing line from Jiang Cheng-"What's the point if it's just a few of us watching, saying it's great, saying it's powerful?"-that sense of helplessness, of idealism bowing to reality, is a transitional pain we've all gone through. During those three unforgettable years etched into the memory of 1.4 billion Chinese people, the regret of the 'unfinished' was magnified into a collective trauma of our era.

That's why I have deep admiration for anyone who continues to pursue what they love. LY is one of them. When I saw the chaotically arranged clips on his phone, I understood I'm never going to be a competent filmmaker. And yet, like them, I still carry the urge to record, to create. I remain just another ordinary person-a corroded wolf in the wasteland. At least Harry still had the wolf in him; mine is fading, bit by bit. Writing this is how I keep myself breathing.

Back to the film itself. I believe every Chinese person will find it unforgettable. The first time I ever felt what it meant to witness history was when I mistook the events in the film for those happening around me. And today, I can see in the film what was indeed happening around me back then.

The loop closes-it all makes sense now. That clarity is eerie, yet profoundly real. The act of showing, recording, and dramatic innovation-all of it-pales next to life itself. Life is the most precious, the hardest script to write. But we don't need to assign artificial value to it. Simply being able to see and remember our own lives-that is the hardest film to ever finish.

This experimental film draws its essence from temporal dislocation-repurposing old movie footage and blending it with newly shot material to form a new narrative. The resulting intertwining of timelines creates a hazy, dreamlike atmosphere. Especially under the shadow of the pandemic, it pulls the audience into this suspended space where time and memory dissolve into one.

The frequent use of phone-shot footage embedded within the cinematic frame adds a layer of realism, though it also feels jarring-hovering somewhere between documentary and fiction. The dramatic tension reaches its peak under themes of lockdown and conflict, evoking a collective memory. Viewers are transported back to that surreal period.

Though the film may not reach a wide audience, it stands as a vital visual record of an extraordinary time. The dialogue often references things invisible to the audience, leaving them amused or confused-like the director's private jokes or self-mockery. Still, the existence of this film ensures that one day, someone will watch it. And that alone is enough.