‘Living the Land’ Review: Progress Takes Time In a Stirring, Season-Cycling Chinese Family Saga

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In the world of cinema, I find myself captivated by “Living the Land,” a subtle, unhurried narrative that seems to have been born from the very earth it depicts. This could very well be a work of fiction, but its authenticity feels undeniable – as if the story unfolded naturally under the watchful eyes of the seasons and the soil.

As a second film from Chinese director Huo Meng, this production demonstrates an impressive mastery of craft. It skillfully portrays the rhythm of life in a humble farming village on the cusp of industrialization in 1991. The pace is slow and steady, at once leisurely and laborious, resonating differently among the struggling Li family’s four generations.

The young ones yearn for a future that seems to emerge in fits and starts, while the elders, weary from witnessing too much change, accept that they’ve seen enough transformation for one lifetime.

Despite moving at a leisurely pace and containing a sprawling narrative, the film “Living the Land” never becomes tedious due to an abundance of incidents and the intricate depiction of Huo’s extended family. This extensive family portrait shares a broad multi-generational scope and deep roots in China’s Henan province, much like the director’s 2018 debut “Crossing the Border – Zhaoguan.” The latter was featured in a special showcase by acclaimed filmmaker Jia Zhangke at the 2020 Berlin Film Festival. This more expansive and ambitious sequel has been elevated to the main competition of this year’s festival, and is expected to have a wider release than its predecessor.

Similar to “Zhaoguan,” the film “Living the Land” begins with a young child being separated from his parents and sent to live with relatives in the countryside. In this case, a bright and sensitive 10-year-old named Chuang (Wang Shang) feels like an outsider in various households. As the third-born child in his family, he is the one left behind when his parents decide to leave their village and find work in the southern city of Shenzhen, taking their older children with them. He is placed under the care of his uncle Tuanjie (Wan Zhong), among other older relatives, but never feels a sense of true belonging. He has a different surname from them, and they are quick to remind him of the distance that implies: “This is not your place,” his uncle grumbles when the boy inquires where he might someday rest.

Chuang often contemplates burials, as he observes several throughout the year in his village, accompanied by rituals and mourning cries that haunt his dreams. The land, providing for this agricultural community, can sometimes be harsh and exhausting. Despite being close friends and similar in age with Laidan (Jiang Yi’en), Chuang finds solace mainly in the women of his family, especially his great-grandmother Zhang Yanrong, who is over ninety and expresses her disapproval of the heartlessness she sees in the current generation. Xiuying (Zhang Chuwen), a spirited 21-year-old cousin by marriage, also finds comfort among them. She’s trapped between tradition and her own desires, facing pressure from the clan to accept an arranged marriage, but secretly nurtures dreams of love.

In the face of relentless obstacles that test Xiuying’s resilience, “Living the Land” portrays a harsh, emotional depiction of existence for women in particularly harsh societal conditions, where their bodies are not considered their own. This is evident in one deeply unsettling scene, where routine pregnancy checks by the state are compulsory for all women of reproductive age, giving men control over their family planning and even sexual lives. This is simply a part of daily life in China’s long-standing agricultural society, where personal satisfaction takes a backseat to community welfare, though some segments of society still find themselves more dissatisfied than others. As we approach the final decade of the 20th century, the village starts to sense the effects of economic and technological progress that will eventually make their traditional farming methods redundant – however, no one’s life is becoming any simpler or longer at this point.

In this movie, the group of novice actors, hailing from the same region and speaking the unique Henan dialect fluently, bring a sense of authenticity and lived-in humanity to the story. Director Huo and cinematographer Guo Daming carefully portray their struggles and emotions, using creative camera angles in tight, dimly lit spaces that highlight their faces like glimmers of humanity amidst the gloom. The camera work showcases the intricate details of these environments, while the exterior scenes gently pan across the expansive wheat fields at different growth stages, as well as the varied skies reflecting the colors of spring and winter. However, the film doesn’t aim for grand panoramic vistas; instead, it offers a realistic portrayal of life in these areas, where such scenic beauty is often out of reach for the people who live there.

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2025-02-14 17:17