An Unfinished Film

The first half, which moves from the pseudo-documentary format of the crew rebooting a decade-old project in late 2019, to positive footage shot ten years ago, eventually stopping at a screen shot of a documentary format blooper reel. And the second half gradually shifts from a pseudo-documentary at an isolation point to a cell phone vertical screen pseudo-documentary, and finally returns to real web footage. In the epilogue everyone gathers for a drink, speechless, just watching the real documentary material. The director's purpose is also called out. That is, under such a drastic change of the times, man-made movies will be forced to give way to real documentary material at the same time. Forced by the objective environment and the lack of filming conditions, active by the creators to recognize the powerlessness of man-made scripts, even if things have passed, the process of trying to restore the story in any case is not as powerful as the real material. Therefore, this movie is also very self-reflexive while being expressive at the same time. That is, through a pseudo-documentary movie format, it tells everyone about the powerlessness of drama and pseudo-documentary movies. That's why the rating for this movie itself is contradictory. On the other hand, in terms of scarcity, it is indeed one of the few non-main theme movies in mainland China with an epidemic as its background. After making these points clear, I believe we can all make our own judgments. The movie's score and awards thus become less important.

I had long heard of this film and rushed to see it as soon as it screened in London. As the film says, how tragic it is to finish a movie that can't be shown. But during a masterclass, the director said he simply forgot-forgot that filming here wasn't allowed, forgot about censorship. He just filmed what they wanted to film, and only afterward did they think about how to solve the problems.

"All your life, you search for a reason to love the land beneath your feet. But what does the greatness defined by others mean to you?" What moved me the most were the real documentary footage and the ending theme. Turns out, I haven't forgotten anything after all. While the film's value lies more in its social reality than in its artistic form, I'm grateful to see directors like Lou Ye still documenting what truly happens in China.

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.

It reminds me of Zheng Yuanjie's novel The Pegasus Bus that I read as a child. A new bus encountered citywide gridlock on its very first trip. The driver adhered rigidly to the rule 'no opening doors before reaching a stop,' refusing to let passengers disembark. The traffic jam lasted twelve years, with the government air-dropping supplies by helicopter to sustain those trapped. Passengers got married, had children, formed organizations, and even apprehended lawbreakers onboard. A new generation grew up within the sealed bus, regarding it as their 'whole world.' Now that I think about it, are we really so different from those living on that bus?

This work is so true that even triggered my traumatic memories from covid. I couldn't help but cry. Sitting in the completely dark cinema, I heard sobbing from somewhere near and far, echoing with mine. I realized that pain can even be a form of connection. The sick painful experience we shared allows us recognize each other just by our red and puffy eyes.

When lights turned up, applause erupted, walking out from the cinema, I put the tissue I cried on into jacket pocket and felt some relief and comfort. The pain that had never been allowed to spill out finally got understood... Because of the censorship, we don't have much our own Covid narratives, those produced by civil society rather government. But thankfully we have Lou Ye.