Somewhere in rural China in the early 1980s, we’re presented with two working-class families residing near a factory, which served as their main source of income for breadwinners Yaojun (Wang Jingchun) and Yingming (Xu Chen), who are raising their children with their respective wives, Liyun (Yong Mei) and Haiyan (Ai Liya). Their sons share the same birthday, and have grown to experience a certain kinship that extends beyond mere friendship, and situates them almost as lifelong companions in the sense that they’re the other’s most trusted confidante, having an understanding of the experience of growing up during the Cultural Revolution, seeing the world in a way that their parents couldn’t quite understand, being more aligned with more archaic customs. However, a tragic event results in Xing, the son of Yaojun and Liyun dying, which they don’t realize is caused not by the provocations of bullies, but by the childish insistence of his own friend Hao, who subsequently hides the fact that he was the catalyst for the untimely death of Xing. The parents of the deceased child are understandably distraught – without any idea of what to do, they decide to move forward by keeping the spirit of their son alive by adopting a foster child, who they rename Xing, and raise as if he was their biological son. However, time tends to go on, and the parents see their adopted son rebelling against them, and causing them great distress. Yaojun and Liyun also find themselves facing considerable difficulties – not only are they haunted by the death of their son, but also frustrated with the dismissal of their adopted son. They also find themselves not only losing their children, but also their youth – they grow old, and face the inevitability of their mortality, coming to terms with new revelations, uncovering shocking secrets and atoning for their own shortcomings that have forced them to lead seemingly ordinary, but actually unexpectedly complex, lives as individuals experiencing China over a few decades of tumultous social change.

Wang Xiaoshuai’s labyrinthine ode to the fragility of life, So Long, My Son (Mandarin: 地久天長) is a remarkably difficult film to summarize, because it isn’t merely just a single story, but rather a series of moments woven together to create a snapshot of a few decades in rural China between the end of the Cultural Revolution and the start of the present era. A film of many contradictions, it functions as both an often grim piece of artistic realism, and a compelling story of survival by any means necessary, becoming a social epic on the same level as the works of Wong Kar-Wai and Edward Yang, filmmakers who set out to represent their own respective homelands in as honest a way as possible without ever needing to resort to sensationalism. So Long, My Son is both bleak and uplifting, a daring foray into the working-class, done in a way very few filmmakers have ever managed to successfully convey through such an enormous scope – the film does evoke memories of kitchen-sink realism, the cinematic movement that found itself at the perfect intersection between traditional realism and something more harrowing, with Wang’s journey into the past being one of the most extaordinarily riveting pieces of fiction of the past year – heartbreaking, but filled to the brim with a warmth that can only come from a filmmaker propelled by sincere empathy and the willingness to take the audience to sometimes distressing places, purely for the sake of telling a story in a way that is not only captivating, but entirely authentic. In no uncertain terms, Wang has made one of the year’s finest films in So Long, My Son, a film that takes emotional hostage of the viewer and presents us with one of the most spellbinding tragedies of the decade.

In So Long, My Son, the past, present and future are woven together to create an almost disorienting sense of uncertainty and bewilderment. Constructed less as a chronological story, but rather a mosaic of different scenes from various stages in the lives of the main characters, Wang intends to perplex us – not always the most welcome of qualities, in this film it works splendidly, with the disjointed narrative leaving us adrift in the endless tragedies afflicted on this family, done to such remarkable effect, it veers away from being a flaw and stands as one of the film’s greatest strengths. Realism has often been experimental, and as we’ve seen in some occassional cinematic forays into the movement, telling the tale of ordinary people, presented less as a single lucid story but rather as fragments, can often harbour much more worthwhile results, with each piece of the film’s story converging into an utterly heartbreaking portrait of two families coming to terms with life’s various challenges. Wang’s style works in the context of this film, allowing the viewer to be an active participant – So Long, My Son doesn’t make much sense at the beginning (for example, the death of the young child occurs towards the beginning of the film, only to be followed by Yaojun berating his teenage son of the same name in the next scene), but as the story begins to unfold, we are able to make sense of what we’re being shown – we slowly piece together these often arbitrary fragments of tragedy into a tapestry of the human condition, which makes the lessons underlying the film all the more impactful, because to be told is one sensation, but to experience it through active engagement is something entirely different, and is just one of the many reasons behind the resounding success of this incredible film.

Wang has made a film that is primarily driven by emotion – the story of So Long, My Son, while still very compelling, is not particularly special, and isn’t anything that we haven’t seen before. However, the film doesn’t need to rely on the story, which exists solely to be the vessel through which the director’s unique vision can be conveyed. The film soars as an emotional masterwork, a melancholy odyssey into the roots of existential issues that are hardly presented with such sincerity. Wang’s candor is almost unprecedented – not only is he unafraid of the repercussions of audiences not responding to his social epic, he also takes an intrepid risk in choosing to make something that is more of an atmospheric piece rather than a work defined within the confines of a traditional narrative structure. So Long, My Son breaks many boundaries without being openly revolutionary – Wang is crafting a film that looks at humanity in a way that reveals its fragilities without provoking them. This isn’t a film that intends to implant a certain social message in the minds of the viewer – change isn’t going to come directly from a film like this. The mood that persists throughout So Long, My Son is what makes it stand apart – it’s a series of moments, oscillating between joyful (such as in the scenes where the two young friends explore the world around them, engaging in the childlike curiosity this film portrays so beautifully) and agonizing. This all contributes to the authenticity of the film – the director seems to be saying that life is a complex blend of happiness and tragedy, and it’s not about avoiding the latter, but rather appreciating the former, that makes it bearable. There is no denying that So Long, My Son is a very upsetting film – from the outset, there’s a sense of foreboding sorrow, almost as if we know that even the happiest of moments are finite. Yet, the film still manages to deftly avoid extreme misery (an impressive accomplishment, considering the subject matterof the film), and even finds itself being quite uplifting in several moments, which is not only the work of a director who knows how to tell a story, but one who also understands how to celebrate life as it is.

If we condense this enormously intimidating film (which runs at over three hours, yet never once falters in pace or atmosphere) to one idea, it’s that Wang wants to explore the sensation of simply being alive, facing every challenge and working your way through a life that is full of surprises. There isn’t much else to this film other than a director hoping to, at least momentarily, represent reality in the way he remembers it. He does this in many ways – we’ve already spoken about the unconventional structure (which directly correlates with the theme of memory, which is a governing concept throughout the film, and something the director actively works with in how he tells this beautiful story), but he also employs a wonderful screeplay, co-written with A Mei, that highlights the interactions between these various characters – the dialogue brims with life, and the soliloquoys various characters are given allow them to demonstrate their talents, as well as working through Wang’s very meaningful vision. Wang Jingchun and Yong Mei give two of the year’s most impressive leading performances, playing complex individuals, fully-formed beyond mere archetype. Wang in particular stands out, with the initial impression the viewer gets from his performance is that the character is a harsh, despicable man without much remorse for his actions – but as the film progresses, and his past becomes clear, we see how Yaojun was a product of his surroundings – his abrasive nature was the result of personal tragedies, as well as his own flaws and insecurities that prevented him from working through his trauma in a constructive way. There are vulnerabilities in the performances Wang and Yong give that allow them to explore unexpected depths, creating a pair of truly mesmerizing characters that stand as amongst the most fascinating of the past few years. The beauty of their work, like as is the case with So Long, My Son as a whole, is that the most effective aspects are the most simple – and they find an indelible place in the memory of the viewer, who is both empathetic to their plight, and utterly transfixed on the harrowing honesty through which these individuals were portrayed.

So Long, My Son is a very haunting film, not only in the way Wang constructs the film as mostly driven by the emotions felt by these characters, but also in how he journeys into portraying he intersections between the past and the present, but without the hackneyed tendency to resort to overt sentimentality. Rather, he intended to capture a time, a place and an entire population in this film, which he does through telling the story of two humble families. Wang’s work here takes on a certain symmetry at the outset, showing us two of the ideal Chinese families, as defined by the laws at the time: a traditional working-class family should consist of a father who labours all day to provide for his wife and child (this film takes place during the one-child policy, which is still a very influential part of Chinese culture today, even if the law itself has somewhat changed) – but he slowly warps our perception of this nuclear social structure, showing us how idealism is rarely ever plausible. It’s a very bleak image of society, but it’s one that’s delivered with such elegance, it doesn’t ever become overwrought in any way – how Wang managed to conceive of such a gentle approach to such serious subject matter implies that were was some truth to this story, with the director possibly imbuing this film with some of his own memories growing up during the Cultural Revolution. The reality of this film is felt consistently throughout, with Wang welcoming us into this world with a certain generosity only shown by artists who truly believe in what they’re making, and his dedication to telling this story, and making every moment feel entirely authentic is a testament not only to his talents as a director, but his mastery of the art of representing life and its various intricacies with poise, elegance and even occassional humour to soften the intensity of the tragedy, making So Long, My Son a truly rewarding experience, and a towering artistic achievement.