It
is amazing how the CCP regime was able to prosecute its “One Child” policy with
brutal effectiveness, but they claim to be powerless to stop dubious traditional
practices, such a so-called “ghost marriages.” These questionable ceremonies
happen post-mortem, supposedly to allow the unmarried bride and groom a better
chance to find wedded bliss in their next lives. Troublingly, ghost marriages usually
start with only one corpse, but always end up with two (not so coincidentally,
the implications of the CCP’s radically different enforcement standards both
have terrible implications for girls). Sha Tao, a developmentally disabled young
woman from provincial Zhejiang, has been recruited for a ghost marriage,
causing tremendous guilt for the indebted gambler responsible for her safe
delivery in Wang Jun’s The Journey of Murder, which screens (virtually)
as part of the (online) 2020 Brooklyn Film Festival.
Ma
Saike gambled away the money for his terminally ill mother’s treatment and
continued piling up debt. Much to his relief, his loan-shark offers a way to
clear his I.O.U.’s and take care of his familial responsibilities. All he has
to do is escort Sha Tao, pretending to be her physically disabled fiancé (the
way his limp comes and goes really is distracting). However, she is such a
handful, his task turns out to be much more difficult than he anticipated.
Nevertheless, their long journey (and his periodic renegotiations) gives him
time to figure out and regret her intended fate.
For
the most part, Journey is an austere film in the tradition of socially-conscious
independent Chinese cinema that suddenly veers into Tarantino territory in the
last ten minutes. It is a wild shift of gears that almost no filmmaker would
have the guts to try, so give Wang credit for gumption. He also manages to pull
it off.
On
the other hand, the portrayal of Sha Tao will trouble some people. Frankly, the
tone of the film is not very different from that of Rain Man, but that probably
will not be much reassurance to critics and commentators who specialize in
outrage.
Be
that as it may, the discipline of Yu Feifei’s performance is impressive.
Neither she or Wang ever indulgence in cheap cuteness or sentimentality. They
never share a contrived moment, yet she still expresses such innocence, we can
understand his burgeoning guilt.
Liu
Zhen is a schlubby mess as Ma, but he also manages to show how the character
evolves and matures in subtle ways. Arguably, he is a more tragic figure than Sha
Ta, because of the self-awareness painfully evident from his face and beaten-down
body language.
Journey
is
an ambitious film that eloquently indicts the corruption and callousness of
contemporary Mainland Chinese society. However, the flashback scenes are not
clearly delineated, which frequently leads to confusion and herky-jerky flow. Still,
there is an awful lot of honesty in the film. Recommended for fans of “Sixth
Generation” filmmakers, Journey to Murder screens virtually (for free)
during this year’s Brooklyn Film Festival through Sunday (6/7).
