Poeira no Vento

One of the earliest pleasures of silent cinema was the "phantom ride," where the audience floated along railway tracks, watching the world roll by. Hou begins Dust in the Wind with just such a journey, his camera gliding through a lush green valley. It's a gesture of trust, or perhaps a quiet bargain: this ride is buying our patience for a story about ordinary, cloud-capped lives. That kind of story is a hard sell without Ozu-level virtuosity (which, thankfully, Hou possesses). His characters, though, are grittier, more sweary, and less genteel than Ozu-san's.

We are ushered into this world, generally speaking, by the high hopes of our parents: hopes for their children to do well at school, to be happy, to succeed, to be extraordinary, and to find love. We mostly disappoint them. Our fates are, more often than not, to be "dust in the wind," as per the movie's title. Yet whatever happens, I'd like to think we retain some memory of hope's flavour, and of the occasional oasis-under-the-stars moment.

Wan is often seen studying, his head buried in books that promise a way out. But no matter how hard he stares, they fail to illuminate him. The path they suggest feels like a dead end. And love, too-what we hoped might rescue or complete us-can become the very dust that hides the rose, to borrow from Clyde Otis and Dinah Washington. The film does give us those brief moments of light, though, such as when friends gather to drink beer and say goodbye to one of their own, drafted into the military.

The story follows Wan and Huen, who grow up in a depressed mining town in the coastal hills. Unbelievably, this is Juifen, the same town that later became a photo-op deluxe for the Instagram set, thanks in part to Hou's City of Sadness. Wan and Huen are two halves of a Platonic whole, bonded from early childhood, and they stabilize one another as they navigate the trials of early adulthood, trying to build lives in Taipei. Love simply means being soothed by the other's presence. Wan and Huen, seated on opposite sides of the barred windows of a tailor's shop, move us not through grand gestures or declarations, but through their quiet, orbital return to each other.

At the end of the film, Wan's grandfather, in a symptom of dementia, repeats three times that sweet potatoes are harder to cultivate than ginseng. We know that quality of life has improved with each generation, but a kind of metronomic falling short of expectations persists. The repetition of the phrase captures this: the effort to grow something meaningful, and the recurring disappointment in the yield.

In this way, the film also refers to Taiwan itself-famously shaped like a sweet potato-struggling through the growing pains of Japanese occupation, followed by the heart-rending separation of destinies from the mainland.

Dust in the Wind can be bitter, but it never strays from relatability. Like the characters in the film, most people who track this down are looking, quietly and patiently, for solace in the cinema.

"Another wow factor, for those we are interested in the checkered history of Taiwan, is that Hou and his scribes diligently interleave all the minutiae into its trickling plot, almost every seemingly commonplace conversation has a succinct exposition that appertains to the past or present matters: a valediction with Wan's boss reveals his horrific backstory during the wartime as a soldier; the father-son chitchat the night before Wan's draft underlines the divergence between a father's hope for his children and the unfortunate reality; during Wan's military service in Kinmen county, when a fisherman's family from mainland China is marooned on the island, the two parties respective attitudes strikingly intimate their different political slants."

read my full review on my blog: cinema omnivore, thanks

The screen is totally black and after a few moments a very unclear spot seems to flicker in the middle; just a few more moments and the tiny white spot gets clear; the spot gets bigger: it's the end of a railroad tunnel, and a train is running through the mountains. The movie has just started.

Made in 1986, Dust in the Wind belongs to the first artistic decade of Hou Hsiao-Hsien. This was a period when the Taiwanese director was preoccupied by the story of his own generation: the youngsters from the sixties, coming to age while their country was coming to age. Teenagers leaving the countryside for the big cities, facing the challenges of an unknown environment, trying to understand the new realities and to adapt, while still reluctant. Youngsters behaving erratically, like dust in the wind, dreaming big, till confronted by time and fate: time to erode all illusions, fate to treat all dreams like dust in the wind.

Nothing remarkable happens in this movie. You can consider the plot as extremely boring, only this is not the point. Also some reviewers stressed out the unsentimental approach of the director in telling a story that after all implies sentiments. It's true, but again, this is not the point. Like in all films of Hou Hsiao-Hsien, the plot has the unique role to create a universe, and to leave room for meditation. The language of images is here essential, to operate on the subconscious level. Watching Dust in the Wind calls immediately in mind the world from the movies of De Sica, but the Taiwanese master gets subtly beyond. It's just amazing how this director takes the sordid (in good neorealist tradition), finds the perfect place for each actor, for each object, and processes everything in hypnotic long takes.

The influence of Ozu is also present in this movie (let away the same love for railroad scenes, think at the last scene, showing the ocean: it's the moment of stasis, the way all Ozu's works end; coming immediately after the dramatic outcome of the plot, it suggests that whatever happens is unimportant in the cosmic order of things; life will go on anyway). What differentiates Ozu and Hou is the way they treat the plot. If you watch any movie created by Ozu, you have the feeling that the Japanese master is seated near you, enjoying the events from the screen as much as you do. For Hou the story is like an executive summary, detailed just to the point where the images can exist on their own to play on the hypnotic register.

I found Dust in the Wind on youTube, in ten consecutive videos. I know that watching a movie by Hou Hsiao-Hsien on youTube can be painful, so I suggest you get a DVD copy, if possible. I watched it on youTube, and my Internet connection was getting slower every now and then. However it paid.

Dust In The Wind is a 1986 Taiwanese art house drama about two adolescents who decide that they do not want to stay in their home village in order to go to junior high school and instead they make the decision to get a train to Taipei in order to look for work.

And that is basically what the film is about.

For an hour and fifty two minutes the viewer is treated to scene after scene of boring and pointless dialogue and different characters lighting up and smoking a cigarette.

The only reason I can recommend watching this film is if you are suffering from a lack of sleep as this boring film will have you drifting off to the land of nod in no time.

Dust in the Wind is a remarkable film, and one which will, no doubt, reward multiple viewings. Like most of the films of Hou Hsiao Hsien, viewers will be divided into two, sharply opposed camps.

The main characters in the film are two high-school students. The first is Wan, who - seeing his village as a dead-end career-wise, decides to leave their home town to go to Taipei to find work, intending to complete his education via night-school. His girlfriend Huen also leaves for Taipei after graduation. The other personages are family members, employers, friends and co-workers.

The story presented consists of a number of vignettes in typical Hou fashion, with stationary camera and naturalistic performances. Glimpses are given of their occupations, their moments together and their times apart. Though varying from the very funny to the emotionally raw, they have a cumulative effect, resonating with a reality that is not idealised, and is yet still filled with moments of sublime grace, somehow existing with situations of despair, misery, boredom and loss. There is little music, only a solitary guitar used to punctuate scenes, almost like a musical interlude, often combined with stunning scenery.

Apart from the immediate plot, something can also be glimpsed of the attitudes of the rural, native Taiwanese towards the city and the higher classes, as well as to the vicissitudes of life in general. On a whole the film seems imbued with the melancholy, fatalistic philosophy indicated by its title.

A worthy member of Hou's inimitable body of films, 'Dust in the Wind' was touching and memorable, though with an absence of schmaltz. It is a film I hope to revisit soon. As for recommendations, I'm not sure that it will be everyone's 'cup of tea'. Some will find many of its aspects, in particular its detachedness, quite alienating. Certainly those already familiar with Hou, or fans of Taiwanese cinema in general, will want to see it. Those who like Ozu, Bresson or Tarkovsky may find it worthwhile also. There is the same naturalistic feel, understated acting and long takes. But it is also very much the work of an original auteur who is honing his craft and producing unique, personal films.