The Wild Goose Lake (Nan Fang Che Zhan De Ju Hui, China-France, 2019) – LIFF3

Straining to be arty

Writer-director  Diao Yi’nan won the Berlinale with Black Coal, Thin Ice (Bai ri yan huo, China, 2014), but it failed to win me over and The Wild Goose Lake suffers similarly because it fails to get beneath its often wildly engaging surface. I’m not criticising films for emphasising entertainment over profundity but when the spectator suspects the film’s author is striving for more than ‘mere entertainment’ then the film needs to be judged as such. There’s no doubt that Diao is a virtuoso filmmaker and there’s dazzling cinematography from Dong Jingsong (who also did Black Coal) but when you get to the end of a film not caring about the protagonist who we are meant to empathise with there is a problem. Maybe I’m wrong and Diao doesn’t care either.

Hu Ge (Zhou Zenong) is a classic noir protagonist: the police are after him; a gang is after him; a woman he probably shouldn’t trust offers to help him. I agree with the Variety reviewer when she says Zhou channels Robert Mitchum, he has a looming, self-contained presence. We know he’s a noir protagonist from the first shot where he lurks beneath an underpass at night and a woman in a red dress meets him. The stylisation makes for an absolute visual treat and the, at first, convoluted narrative means you have to be alert. A conclave of gangsters meet to learn about stealing mopeds and divvy up territory in a basement of a hotel; violence ensues. The absurdity of the situation suggests the influence of Tarantino but apparently Diao based the events of the film on news stories. Despite this, the ghost of the American director haunts the film, for me, whereas Diao would have been better channeling the aesthetic of Wong Kar-wai: there are some quite long sequences of Hu on a motorcycle with the woman that reminded me of Fallen Angels.

For a Chinese film The Wild Goose Lake does push boundaries of representing sexual behaviour (although I may have missed other boundary-pushing films): the woman, Liu Aiai (played by Taiwanese Kwei Lun-Mei), is a ‘bathing beauty’ on the titular lake, a euphemism for prostitute and she services Hu in an entirely unambiguous fashion. Whether, of course, this scene is actually seen in China (it opens in December) is open to question.

I will bother with Diao’s next film but it would be great if he shot a script that says something rather than just parade genre tropes albeit in an interesting way. The standfirst of Sight and Sound‘s review nailed it as an ‘exhilarating if skin-deep experience’.

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