A detective investigating a series of murders in rural China is confronted with his own instability.
“Self-aware cinema” is a nickname, that I just made up, to describe a kind of film that uses its style, genre, and characters to symbolize meanings that go beyond and even subvert the movie’s linear narrative. Well, that definition proves how hard it is to speak clearly about this kind of film. The idea isn’t new, but now it’s become sharper and more prevalent. An interesting recent example is Only the River Flows, from Chinese director Wei Shujun.
The story takes place in a rural area of China, where the camera shows us, from behind, an old woman tending geese next to a river. Then closer to our sight, a hand holding a blade emerges. It’s a familiar kind of shocking introduction, except we don’t see the actual murder.
Cut to the district police department, where they’re busy playing ping pong—a funny recurring motif. The chief announces that they’re being moved, because of a budgeting crisis, to a recently failed movie theater nearby. The stage where the screen used to be is turned into the main office, while the long rows of seats in the audience section are kept there. This is funny, and obviously meant to be self-referential, but at the same time it’s not that improbable that somewhere in a poor part of China they might do this.
The chief detective is named Ma Jeh, young and ambitious, and ably played by the popular film and television star Zhu Yilong. He and his team are assigned the case of the old woman. At the site they learn that she was recently widowed and had then adopted a homeless local man with mental health issues, who never talks. Whatever name he may have had, everyone calls him the Madman. This of course precludes the usual consideration of him as a human being. In any case, Ma Jeh observes him for awhile and ends up convinced that he had nothing to do with the murder. However, his supervisor, the police captain, quickly puts the Madman into a psychiatric hospital to await trial.
So, the audience thinks it can see where things are going, like in a whodunit. Is the Madman guilty, or was it someone else? His escape from the hospital is followed by two other murders. And as you’d expect from a crime drama, Ma Jeh is determined to solve this case. But instead of this straightforward story, Wei is taking us into a state of mind where reality and illusion are merging. In fact, Ma Jeh is at a crisis point in his personal life, distant from his pregnant wife, unhappy with his detective job, dismayed at discovering that his unborn child is at risk for a birth defect that might involve brain damage. The details of this murder case become symbolic to him of the deterioration of his life.
The picture is shot in 16 millimeter, which gives it a grainy 1970s type visual texture, creating a realistic effect. The key to the story is provided by Ma Jeh having a nightmare in which each murder is a different kind of movie, ending with him seeing a film projector on fire and desperately trying to put the fire out. It’s a beautiful touch.
There are things that can’t be directly stated in China. In this case, the end of the movie is supposedly a triumphal moment for the main character, but what the discerning eye can see is a system of conformity, obedience, and empty triumphs.
Only the River Flows is not a mystery in the usual sense—or rather it is a deeper one, addressing the question, What are we doing here, really?
