Ever watched a movie by Finnish director Aki Kaurismäki? Man without a Past or Le Havre maybe? – Bashan Yeyu is the most Kaurismäean movie there is out there – made by two Chinese filmmakers and well before Kaurismäki had even picked up a camera.
It is a timeless masterpiece, and despite its post-Cultural Revolution context it refuses to be reduced to "special interest"- status. By special interest I mean movies for cineasts who are interested in China and its history. Bashan Yeyu is about universal themes, first and foremost about how to stay human (better: a Mensh) within an inhuman and dysfunctional system. There is only one way, the movie claims: the individual will protect his dignity through compassion, solidarity, and forgiveness (I have always wondered why the movies parading Christian virtues the most convincingly all are by atheist directors, but I digress).
Of course, filmmakers with such philosophy run the risk of producing terrible kitsch. The sufferings and hardships of the characters in cabin no 13 – notably those of the poet but also of the bartered bride and the old widow – are portrayed with some pathos, yes. But (like Kaurismäki, by the way), the two Chinese directors manage the tightrope brilliantly. To the left, the abyss screams "social romanticism", to the right yawns the gap called "cheesy sentimentalism", but the rope-dancer never falls off. This makes the Great Humanism of the movie a beautiful and cathartic experience.
How did the two Wu's do it? – For one thing, much of the pathos comes in the guise of understatement and underacting. The poet is stoic to an extent that hurts. So is his male guard, who reminds me of Humphrey Bogart in one of his films noirs. The old widow is equally composed, which gives her grief a dignified air. The captain and his officers appear sympathetic but reserved and professional. And even the little girl - SPOILER - who turns out to be the poet's daughter does not betray much emotion – she has her mind set on survival. Large parts of the film do not contain much dialogue, characters communicate through non-verbal means, sometimes even facial expressions are minimalist. Thus a simple glance may carry all the weight. Kaurismäki, anyone?
It is true that the film gives a few monologues or conversations a respectful treatment, but only as far as they are deeply personal narratives. The old widow who explains the ritual with which she mourns her drowned son is a case in point. Most other verbal output is treated as a nuisance, in particular the propaganda duckspeak of the female guard. Her fanatic verbosity, and to a lesser degree the bartered bride's melodramatic outbursts are shown to be a sign of immaturity. Action speaks louder than words in this movie, and the key to maturity is to assume responsibility for one's actions as a human being in his/her own right. - SPOILER - Not surprisingly, the bartered bride matures when she takes the decision to define herself as an individual, defy tradition (i.e. not to pay off her father's debt with her body), and face a challenging life in poverty but together with her true love. The female guard, initially hardened by the shunning treatment she is given on board, matures once she begins to listen and observe, and identify the contradictions between the Party's ideals and the grim realities and individual suffering around her. What breaks her and ultimately turns her into a good person is the compassion she develops for the child in search of her father.
Another means by which pathos is transported is music. The music in Bashan Yeyu extends beyond the status that film music usually holds. For one thing, it becomes an essential plot element necessary to bring about the resolution. - SPOILER - As the poet has never seen his daughter (he had been imprisoned before she was born), and as the daughter has never seen her father, the poet's song dedicated to his daughter is the only possible sign of recognition between the two. The meeting of father and daughter, however, means more than the meeting of two individuals. This is the future reconciling with the past through music and poetry, not through debate and argument – or better: through arts instead of politics.
In short: Bashan Yeyu is a much underrated film that more people should watch. You will – at least for a few hours afterward – feel like you have become a better person.
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