Black Coal, Thin Ice (Diao Yinan, 2014)

Fireworks During the Day

Amir Siadat

How do we remember China? Probably with an entity whose rhythm depends on the careful observation of things; With an inspiring nature that with various tones, its landscapes and height of peaks and twisting clouds should be painted; With pagodas and temples and luxurious palaces, golden bricks, gabled roofs and numerous decorations; with symbolic shapes and delicate carvings on jade and ivory; With the Peking Opera and its gaudy icons, devilish faces and non-realistic makeups, cloaks and silken scrolls. All of these together create an organic and spectacular whole that may not have much to do with the reality of today's China, but it is a dreamy and desirable image of a romantic gaze that creates an "the other" with a strange and captivating face and attractive rituals in search of the lost self. It was this nostalgic feeling and the spiritual authenticity of customs and exotic attractions that drew filmmakers such as Bertolucci, Scorsese and Jean-Jacques Annaud to China from the late eighties to the late nineties. If the most famous filmmakers of the previous generation of China (for example, Chen Kaige and Zhang Yimou) in the 90s - in line with that romantic view - showed more inclination towards traditional storytelling and semi-legendary/semi-historical stories and martial-dramatic rituals and recorded rich customs and traditions and expensive and huge epics filled with eye-catching elements turned, and in this way they did not hesitate to abandon some local and ethnographic signs in favor of touristic images understandable for the foreign audience (for example, The Emperor and the Assassin by Kaige), it seems that the prominent representatives of the modernization generation is completely against these all.

The China depicted by the likes of Jia Zhangke and Diao Yinan is a wasteland devoid of enchantment, a stranger to dreams, a companion of nightmares. They want to frame the fragmentation of the chaotic world and the demonic characteristic of urban life and reveal the degenerate core of China's social-cultural system today. When Jia in The World focuses on the comforting, abstract and depoliticized atmosphere of the park and its selected and pastoral images, in order to analyze the poverty, misery and the unpleasant "concrete" realities of life in China behind it, he actually turns the conflict hidden in the tourist's view into the essence of his work. And Diao, who is a filmmaker of Jia’s descent, in Black Coal, Thin Ice stands near the forgotten to watch the same conflict in a different way, by overturning a ritual model.

The China of Black Coal, Thin Ice is like a badland. It seems death has been sprinkled all over it. A murder has happened, a body was dismembered and every piece was found in a corner of the state. The main character, Zhang Zili, is a complete loser whose downfall is depicted in a long take at the very beginning: he and his colleague Wang are sitting in a car and going into a tunnel. We see the end of tunnel from Zhang’s view and approach it. Outside the tunnel, a man is siting by the side of the road. We exit the tunnel without cutting, we rotate with the camera and go to the man. It’s him: Zhang; Fat but feeble and addicted to alcohol. Moving in places not only for us becomes a movement in a five-year time period, but also shows a kind of descent from high to low. Zhang has changed from an observant subject, companion with a friend, riding in a safe car and moving forward, to a lonely, crumpled, still object. Sometime later, he meets Wang by accident, and the case of the corpse from five years ago is opened again. So, he straightens up and goes to the main clue of the events, that is, Wu Zhizhen, the laundry worker.

Apparently, the man whose body parts were found five years ago was Wu's husband, and the other two men who were recently murdered in the same way were involved with him. The elements of a strange Noir are quickly formed: on the one hand, an unemployed, alcoholic detective, and on the other hand, a woman in constant connection with death; A potentially femme fatale. Zhang's re-engagement with this case has nothing to do with professional relations. It is as if he wants to prove something to himself - or prove himself - by solving the mystery. In this sense, striving is more like an individual ritual. It reminds one of Melville's Jansen of The Red Circle, a master shooter who with no expectation joined others in stealing jewels with the sole intention of refining himself – a crushed man, immersed in drugs and alcohol. The sky that rains at the moment of Zhang and Wang's accidental meeting is nature's response to Zhang's ritual determination and a sign of his coming to life. Zhang's way of dealing with Wu also has a Melville-like resonance. Something mysterious and unspeakable between those friends, the kind you can find in Samurai: Zhang finds out what the story is about, but promises Wu that he will cover everything up: "It's better to tell me the truth than to the police." He is like a savior for Wu, or - at least - he "plays" such a role for her. We may think that although the outer barren and icy atmosphere has not left a trace of China's enchantment, perhaps it is possible to search for the Eastern spirit in the inner spaces and within the limits of human existence, in a selfless service and an empathetic bond. The mythological depth of the story leads to this quest: the princess/maiden (her replacement, Wu) is imprisoned in the prison of the monster (Liang Zhijun, her husband) and is waiting for a rider to come and rescue her one day, but the monster destroys whoever seeking the maiden; Until finally a hero/savior (Zhang) decides to save the maiden from the monster's prison. There are more or less signs that strengthen this mythic infrastructure. For example, that laundry shop, which always a green light (a reminder of growth and fertility) is emitted inside it, and outside it there is a tree which dead ashes are buried next to it with the intention of rebirth, takes on the everyday appearance of ancient temples and make the mythical aspect of Wu - like a woman/priestess - bolder. Likewise, Zhijun, who spreads the shadow of death all over the scenes with a every ghostly presence, truly has a monstrous dimension. The usual end of the aforementioned pattern, is the death of the monster and the freedom of the princess and her joining with the savior, but Black Coal, Thin Ice, right from the moment of Zhijun's death, changes its way and goes in another direction. Soon we find ourselves among gray characters and in the heart of relationships on the thin border of connection and disconnection; We find out that there was neither a monster nor a savior. The private moments of solitude between Wu and Zhijun are full of doubles: There is no lovemaking, because Wu doesn't want to, but an undertone of a wounded emotion is recognizable. The wife, despite rejecting the husband, asks him to stay with her a little longer. because he is alone. Although the room - like a laundry room - is filled with green light (however, this is another headquarter of Wu), a red light outside the house, behind the window, appears as a threat; Two complementary colors with two contrasting associations. The faint red of the background connects this scene to the striking red of two scenes of bloodshed and carnage: one of them the fight in the barbershop and the other one is Wang's murder. Does he want to predict what is going to happen soon (Zhijun's death)? A little later, we see the husband and wife walking side by side outside the house. There is no sign of malice, but Wu doesn't like to walk hand in hand with Zhijun. She is tired. Wu's relationship with Zhang also seems turbulent, complicated and inexplicable; A strange mixture of curiosity, empathy, need and interest, which the play of light and color, depending on the mood of each moment (horror, temptation, trust, consolation, etc.) transforms them to the language of picture. This ambiguous and strange side of the relationship lasts until the final unraveling and Wu's confession to the murder, and from then on, the shifting of the special roles collapses the aforementioned mythological pattern: the one we thought was our savior suddenly turns into an evil force in front of our eyes (Zhang), and the one who we thought was a monster, in the end arouses our sympathy (Zhijun; a simple worker who inevitably made a walking dead of himself because of his wife); And the maiden of the story (Wu) not only does not find the joy of liberation, but also in the end she is exiled to a more terrible prison. Such is the myth of today's China.

In the final conclusion of the story, the familiar look of Noir is not touched, except its misogynistic dimensions. The woman is guilty and the men of the law have surrounded her in the laundry to make her talk. Wu is neither seductive nor ambitious; She is too innocent to let us call her "femme fatale", even if the rule of law and the rule of the genre do so. She will soon be punished under both rules. After revealing the motive of the murder and challenging our judgement, the film leaves us alone with Zhang to watch his little celebration in that closed hall. Zhang's solo dance with trance music, which compared to a lyrical scene such as two-person ice skating (to which Strauss' The Blue Danube waltz and green slanting light has given it more elegance) has gotten a humble and vulgar effect. It is a proof of the completion of a ritual of honor. Another frame of the same ritual: we see Zhang at the dinner table in the circle of his former colleagues. Old friends cheer for him and drink to his health. He, who previously was rejected and was a loner, and had lost everything, now, in addition to being accepted again, sits at the head of the assembly and is in the center of attention; It is as if the hero has passed tasks or trials and is now celebrating his resurrection and rebirth. The final sequence rings absurd. The police officers ask Wu to tell them exactly how the murder happened. Everything is profoundly pointless to our eyes and this pointlessness is not at all funny unlike what we saw at the beginning in the slapstick-like scene of the barber shop and that flashy and ridiculous shootout (which seems to contain all the pointlessness of the work). Lawmen are happy that the case is finally closed after five years, but we, the audience, are thinking about a bigger mystery: What has happened to the country that was once was called the "Dreamland of the Revolution" and used to shout the slogan of equality, that a tyrant can beat a laundry worker and violate his soul and body under the pretext of ruining his precious leather coat? In this contemporary story, separating from the earth and climbing to the top (and here the roof) is no longer a sign of moral ascension; It says more than the lust for conquest. In the end, Zhang is standing on the roof and is the leader of another one-person ritual, with fireworks during the day! Something that is nothing but the embodiment of vanity. It is neither beautiful, nor graceful, nor glorious.