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There are many walls represented in this Chinese film, from the Great Wall to house walls to walls between husband and wife. All are beautifully depicted and skillfully used to tell a story of a past love that suddenly comes into the present. Director Tian Zhuangzhuang (The Blue Kite) certainly knows how to frame a scene and each scene in this film is like an artfully drawn portrait, when photographed by Mark Li Ping-bing.

The story has Wu Jun and Hu Jingfan married for eight years and trying to rebuild their lives and farmhouse at the end of World War II. He is usually ill and she is either taking care of him, his teenage sister (Lu Sisi), or embroidering; a dull life, indeed. Enter a surprise visitor and Wu Jun's childhood friend, now a successful physician, Xin Baiqing. What Wu Jun doesn't know is that Xin Baiqing and Hu Jingfan were more than friends in the past and Wu Jun's marriage is a surprise. 

The war has disrupted lives and destroyed houses. Walls that not only divided countries, but formal walls that divided emotions are being brought down. Husbands and wives look at each other in new ways. The teenage sister doesn't have to have an arranged marriage for her life; perhaps she could go to a university, instead. Even the idea of a guest carrying his own luggage instead of letting the house servant do it is unusual. Drama occurs in small moments like a passing glance or nod of a head. The photography of this film tells the story as much as the dialogue. Going into the small town means passing grey, broken down buildings and it is no wonder the wife wears white to blend in with the buildings. At home, there is color behind the walls in clothing, scarves and decorations so the family can entertain a guest and allow some humor to enter their lives. War doesn't destroy everything. Light-hearted moments are provided by teaching a young student to waltz using a Strauss melody. Spring does indeed bring new life, to the land and to people. 

Copyright 2004 Marie Asner
Submitted 9/26/04

The Gene Siskel Film Center has greatly expanded its programming ever since it moved into its own building a few years ago, which has been a boon for Chicago film enthusiasts. It's given us a chance to have week-long runs of such important movies as the documentary Los Angeles Plays Itself, the Korean drama Oasis, and many others. And this coming Friday, the Film Center is bringing back one of the best movies of the year, Springtime in a Small Town.

The film is set in China in 1946, just after the end of WWII but before the Communist takeover. Dai Li-yan (played by Wu Jan) is a young man whose health is failing. He spends most of his days resting inside his huge house (left to him by his parents) or in his courtyard awaiting the onset of spring. His taciturn wife Yu Wen (Hu Jingfan) spends her days embroidering and expresses little emotion for her husband or anything else, for that matter. On the other hand, Dai's teenage sister Dai Xiu (Lu Sisi) is a vibrant life-force, encouraging both her brother and sister-in-law to take joy in the coming season. Into this family trio comes Zhang Zhi-chen (Xin Bajqing), Dai's best friend from childhood. They haven't seen each other in ten years, and why is something of a mystery, until it becomes apparent that Zhang and Yu have a history of their own.

This sets in place a wonderfully intimate and compelling chamber drama. Dai encourages Zhang to stay at his house, unaware of the emotional turmoil the visit has stirred in his wife. Meanwhile, Dai Xiu takes a liking to the visitor, and her own sexuality grows when he teachers her how to dance. And in the midst of these romantic turmoils is an overwhelming feeling of regret, regret for the loss of love and the loss of one's dreams.

Springtime in a Small Town is directed by Tian Zhuangzhuang (The Blue Kite), who was banned and then shunned by the Chinese government. His return to movies after a ten-year hiatus is a most welcome event. He brilliantly controls the pace of his film, letting the conflict build slowly through a gesture here, a brief word there. He's helped immeasurably by his cast, especially Hu Jingfan as the wife. Her ability to communicate through simple body language and facial expressions is extraordinary. In one early scene, Zhang clumsily moves towards her as a way of expressing his feelings, and she deflects his action with a simple twist of her torso, saying so much without uttering a word.

Springtime in a Small Town utilizes every aspect of cinema to tell its story. Its mise en scene is awe-inspiring. The musty interiors of the house contrast starkly with the cold open air of the world outside. The rich but decaying furniture differs greatly from the timeless wall and earth that Yu Wen walks upon at the beginning of the movie. The costumes aren't designed to distract us from the story (as they do in so many period dramas) but to amplify the character's positions, to reveal their status and emotional states. As Maggie Cheung's hip-hugging dresses revealed her vital sexuality in In the Mood for Love, Hu Jingfan's constricting dresses show us how emotionless her life has become. And you could write a whole paper on what Tian Zhuangzhuang is doing with glass and mirrors. A moment when Yu Wen dares to break a window startles us with its intensity. This is amplified by Lu Jiajin's stark sound design and Zhao Li's lovely score which support the story without manipulating the audience. All of these aspects work in harmony to create a miniature world that completely envelops the viewer.

The film is exquisitely photographed by Mark Li Ping-bing, who also did Hou Hsiao-hsien's Flowers of Shanghai and Tran Anh Hung's Vertical Ray of the Sun, two of the most gorgeous films of the last decade. His skill is equally in evidence here, though he's adopted a cooler look than his earlier work, capturing the early spring sunlight as it filters through glass and cobwebs. A shot of Yu Wen embroidering by a window is staggeringly gorgeous, telling us more about her character than any dialogue ever could, and the shot takes on even greater resonance when Tian repeats the image at the end of the film. What hasn't changed are Ping-bing's extraordinarily beautiful tracking shots. His hypnotic camera movement reveals both the connections and distances between the characters. In one climactic scene, on the night of Dai Xiu's 16th birthday, the camera moves around a candle-lit table, capturing the brief but telling flashes of emotion in each person's eyes, watching how the characters are relating to each other as important details are revealed.

It goes without saying that a film like Springtime in a Small Town doesn't conform to the pattern of most movies. It trusts its audience to pay attention to subtle details, to not get frustrated with ambiguity and a measured pace, and to appreciate that there are many ways to tell a story and that a great film will tell its story in many ways. That Tian's conclusion, with a last shot of the earth and wall, is simply perfect only affirms how great a movie Springtime in a Small Town is. It opens Fri., Oct. 29 for a week-long run. Don't miss it.   

J. Robert Parks  10/27/2004