‘Guo Ran’ Review: An Exquisite Chinese Close-Up of a Woman Increasingly Alone in Her Pregnancy

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In “Guo Ran,” Chinese filmmaker Li Dongmei’s heart-wrenching second production, an expectant mother struggles to keep her relationship intact at a time when she desperately requires support and companionship. This film subtly exposes the malaise of generations, particularly in individual crises. It falls into the category of small-scale, intimate dramas that are often referred to as “miniatures,” yet they carry enormous human implications. Despite Li’s restrained directing style and a powerful, understated performance by Manxuan Li, it still manages to tug at heartstrings. This Rotterdam competition debut is empathetic and relatable, with the potential to resonate in art house cinemas worldwide if skillfully guided through the festival circuit.

Guo Ran” mirrors Li’s emotionally perceptive yet unsentimental debut film “Mama,” premiered in Venice in 2020, as they both tackle domestic tragedy. Both films are deeply connected to the director’s personal life experiences. “Guo Ran” is a more focused and minimalistic piece: it maintains a tense, claustrophobic atmosphere for much of its duration, only to later reduce its cast to just two characters, and eventually require additional support systems. The film’s simplicity serves as a poignant reflection — even a compassionate critique — of modern urban society, where small, isolated, and ultimately fragile family units have replaced a stronger community structure. It often takes a whole village to raise a child, let alone bring one into the world.

The weight of these concerns lingers heavily on Yu (Manxuan Li), whose own mother perished during childbirth while delivering her younger sister, and who hasn’t yet embraced motherhood herself at the age of 36. Sharing a cozy urban apartment with her boyfriend (Yitong Wang), they live a seemingly stable domestic life – but the question remains, when is the right time? Their daily routine lacks warmth and adventure: Scenes of Yu engrossed in her phone and Yitong fixated on his laptop illustrate this clearly without resorting to overused millennial stereotypes. These characters are not lifeless automatons, but they fail to ignite or stimulate each other in any noticeable way.

The arrival of a baby will inevitably bring change, and so Yu is tending to her early pregnancy with an optimistic determination that suppresses her concerns. Her chosen name for the child, Guo Ran, translates roughly as “as expected,” suggesting a reassurance aimed at alleviating Yu’s doubts using the power of nomenclature. Few films have managed to portray a pregnant woman’s unique bond with her evolving body as subtly and tangibly as this one does: Manxuan Li moves with a tense stillness but is always attuned to her surroundings, carrying herself with the weighty apprehension of someone safeguarding precious cargo.

As she undergoes a transformation in her demeanor and actions, her partner becomes increasingly distant and withdrawn, engrossed in the work-related tasks on his screen. He responds brusquely when she brings up decisions they should discuss together, and scarcely takes breaks from his desk when, following an evening trip to the bathroom, she shares concerning news about abnormal vaginal bleeding. There are no emotional outbursts or arguments; instead, Li and editor Qin Yanan subtly depict the heartbreaking passivity of their deteriorating relationship while Yu grapples with her physical ailment. The hospital offers whatever comfort it can, but ultimately, Yu must find a way to heal herself emotionally.

Li and the talented French Director of Photography Matthias Delvaux (“Snow Leopard”) surprisingly express Yu’s distress using bright, radiant white tones, whether on the sparsely adorned walls of her apartment or the sterile comfort of hospital linens – portraying the world around her as a blank canvas, devoid but yet ready for transformation. In a film where silence dominates, Vincent Villa’s sharp sound design accentuates or mutes her mental condition based on the situation: With the film being heavy on quiet moments, instances of genuine tranquility are scarce. However, despite the overwhelming feeling of loneliness in “Guo Ran”, despair never manifests as Yu is self-reliant, exhausted yet softly resilient, when other sources of support fall short.

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2025-02-06 18:52