Mille miglia... lontano

My extremely limited knowledge of Asian cinema revolves almost entirely around that of South Korea; ignorance is a word which quickly springs to mind when considering both Japan and China. Having just last night endured the interminably fatuous nonsense of the Japanese Desu Nôto, I was somewhat afeared of returning so soon to that country.

Qian Li Zou Dan Qi tells the tale of the elderly Mr Takata, who journeys from his native Japan to a small Chinese village in order to record the titular mask opera for the benefit of his terminally ill son, from whom he is a decade estranged.

Now, obviously one terrifically awful film does not an awful national cinema make. However, I genuinely was a little put off by the prospect of watching another Japanese film so soon after the preceding opprobrium. Qian Li Zou Dan Qi begins with a combination of impressive and foreboding elements: its cinematography is immediately impressive; its apparent reliance on voice-over narration to express its main character's thoughts a little primal. Both of these remain, to some extent, present throughout the film, the former continually providing breathtaking visuals, the latter offering a slight detraction to the film's potential effect. To dwell on one for a moment, the rurality of the Chinese settings provides beauty aplenty for the camera, and we with it, to gaze upon. Many are the times wherein mountainous landscapes offer a stunningly beautiful accompaniment to the oriental soundtrack, the two combining to create a powerful and moving aesthetic which, the more the film goes on, demonstrates director Yimou Zhang's artistic mastery. Aside from the opening shot, the earlier parts of the film seem to lack a distinct visual prowess, but fret not, this is more than made up for by the end. Several times, the visuals convey thematic ideas to us through a combination of sky-spanning cinematography and telling blocking (wonderful to see that element of mise-en-scène utilised well), yet this is marred somewhat mere seconds later by the voice-over presenting the same ideas. Whilst I accept that this may be an accessibility issue—cinematic language is not one universally spoken—I did feel the film could have got along perfectly without narration at all, though it is by no means a serious flaw. The theme of paternal stoicism is one which I find inherently interesting at the worst of times, and is here given a fascinating treatment, the entirety of the film's effect hinged upon Ken Takakura's beautifully subtle performance. A gentle comedy permeates the film's dramatic layers, but always finds itself immediately overturned by the sombre drama of Takakura's face, which speaks volumes upon volumes with the simplest of motions. A wonderful element of the film comes in the form of the mask opera's singer's son, and the concomitant metaphorical representation of the relationship between Takata and his own son, an interesting and wholly effective means of presenting an otherwise unrealised dynamic. The film's eventual conclusion is tear-inducingly moving, capping a story that is described encompassingly in a single, simple word: lovely.

A very finely shot film which knows how to talk to its audience with images rather than words, yet still somewhat disappointingly opts to employ them, Qian Li Zou Dan Qi is a touching Japanese/Chinese co-production which attests to the beauty of both nations' rural landscapes and cultural aspects, as well as offering a genuinely moving, poignantly performed, and universally relevant tale.

It has been a long time since Zhang last pull an intimate angle on his film. It feels good to watch a simple story that filled our emotions right to the brim.

If i'm not wrong. this is the first time Zhang focus on MAN's emotion. His protagonist have always been females. (The 2 most famous actress from china - gongli and zhang ziyi is a result of his great foresight.) Zhang Yimou possess a good eye for casting. Both old man and little boy exudes certain stunning charisma that i find them look alike to each other. Both possess a ruggard face that reads hardship and strength. Ironically these man and boy of rock are hit by the softness of kinship. whatever it is, they stand tall in the face of sad history. watching the heart map of a solid MAN like takakura is one of the most touching thing for me. i was moved by the story.

it was so rare to watch the male characters to be dissect by Zhang. When that happens, they are much pale (quiet & reserved) in comparison to the other female characters in zhang's previous film. for me, that is novelty. kudos to zhang for reinventing himself!

Good films depict feelings truthfully; with great works of art, you experience emotions deep within yourself. Zhang Yimou's "Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles" is not only a three-hankie movie, it may leave you with a sense of being changed, of being connected to others in new ways. It is that powerful, that important a work.

"Only connect" - E.M. Forster's imperative for creating ties - is at the heart of Zhang's new film, but with a twist. Takata, the central character, is an elderly Japanese, seemingly unconnected to anyone, a man with a frozen face and heart, long estranged from his only son, who has now fallen gravely ill. Ken Takakura, one of the most majestic actors alive (an ideal - perhaps the only - Lear around), is Takata, his uncommunicative, stony presence compelling attention and generating a mix of apprehension and pity.

Takata's journey to China's Yunnan province to complete his son's filming of the legendary song "Qian li zou dan qi," that gave the film its title, is full of twists and turns. Zhang tells the story with honesty, integrity, and Parsifal's "wisdom through compassion." In a brilliant stroke, Zhang opens and closes the film with the same scene - Takata, motionless, gazing over the confluence of gray sea and sky - but he, along with the audience, is in a completely different place, the unchanged exterior masking a person richly transformed by daring, risk-taking humanity.

Zhang, a master of producing a variety of genres and styles, put everything into this work (except the wushu grandeur of "Hero" and the upcoming "Curse of the Golden Flower") - the broad sweep of "Raise the Red Lantern," the chamber music of "The Road Home," the joyful melodrama of "Happy Times," and a dozen other works.

"Riding Alone" is adventure, psychological drama, a "quest film," unveiling spectacular vistas and the deep divisions/underlying connections between individuals and civilizations. And yet, through all this, "Riding Alone" is all of one piece, a grand novel in tightly connected (but ever-surprising) chapters, a 19th century literary saga in a 21st century setting.

If the film were presented in a series of silent close-ups of Takakura, it would be glorious enough, but the bonus is an army of non-professional actors, in addition to the magnificent Shinobu Terajima as Takata's daughter-in-law; Qiu Lin as Lingo, the would-be interpreter; Jiang Wen as Jasmine, the accomplished translator; Yang Zhenbo as Yang Yang, an amazing child star in a pivotal role; and Chinese-opera star Li Jiamin as himself.

If you're looking for a detailed story line, you will not find it here. Why would you deny yourself the pleasure of being taken along on a superb, heartwarming ride of surprise and discovery?

Zhang Yimou's last two martial arts films had much to commend them, but, honestly, I'd trade ten such films for this. It was almost too much to hope for that the director would return to his earlier, humanist style of film-making that saw "The Road Home," "Not One Less" and "Happy Times" - but he has, and wonderfully so.

Ken Takakura, who has appeared in fine films such as "Poppoya" and "The Yellow Handkerchief," really shines here. It's his film all the way, and a wonderful tribute that Zhang chose to craft this film for him.

While the core of the film lies with the emotions of the characters, I should also point out that the cinematography here is splendid - there are shots that are as breathtaking as anything in "Hero" and "House of Flying Daggers."

In this film, Zhang Yimou portrays the stark difference between Japanese and Chinese culture without succumbing to biased tendencies. Among the numerous cultural differences, perhaps the greatest visual distinction would be the colorful masses of China against the gray, solitude of Japan. The audience becomes aware of these contrasts as Takata, a Japanese father sets out on a journey to China in hopes of improving his estranged relationship with his son who is dying from liver cancer. Through his travels Takata comes to a greater understanding about life, himself, and his son's interest with the Chinese culture, especially the folk operas.