Only the River Flows will be showing in selected cinemas starting Friday, August 16.
Based on a novella by Yu Hua, Wei Shujun’s Only The River Flows is a knotty crime noir that ultimately leaves you with far more questions than answers. Deep undercurrents flow beneath the surface of this Chinese puzzle box of a movie, keeping you glued to the screen despite the lack of a linear plot. From dark humour to social commentary and early 90s-inspired crime fiction, Shunjun’s film is as fascinating as it is compelling. But some may also find it deeply frustrating despite its visual delights.
It is the early 1990s, and Detective Ma Zhe (Yilong Zhu) is settling into a new and peculiar office. It is an old, disused cinema, where the screen has been removed, and the stage is now lit up with low-hanging fluorescent lights with a desk and filing cabinets under the bright white glow. As his police colleagues play ping-pong, Ma Zhe has a far less laissez-faire attitude toward his work. Despite having a pregnant wife at home, he spends all the hours possible at his desk, chain-smoking the day away as he ponders each tricky case. But a new case has him perplexed. An elderly woman with a massive head wound caused by a blunt, sharp instrument has been discovered on a riverbank in rural Banpo Town, and there seems to be no rhyme or reason as to why anyone would want her dead.
Ma Zhe soon discovers that the woman was housing a man with learning disabilities, who locals bluntly labelled “the madman”. This mysterious, mute man is a prime suspect, but what if there was something more? What if this rush to attribute blame is too convenient? As more bodies pile up on the same stretch of the river, Ma Zhe finds himself entering a rabbit hole of enquiry that slowly eats away at his own sanity. At the same time, at home, his wife is told their unborn baby may have a birth defect that could lead to cognitive disabilities, further adding to Ma Zhe’s sense of a life and career spinning wildly out of control in a society that doesn’t tolerate difference.
Wei Shujun’s atmospheric noir opens with a quote that foreshadows much of what comes from Albert Camus’ Caligula: “There is no understanding fate; therefore, I choose to play the part of fate. I wear the foolish, unintelligible face of a professional god.” Does Detective Ma Zhe really believe that every crime has a clear motive, an undisputable reason for the violence? Does power corrupt in all police investigations? Is morality fixed or ever-shifting? And possibly most interesting, does Ma Zhe genuinely believe that “the madman” is just a convenient arrest, or are his subconscious concerns relating to the birth of his child clouding his decisions? Ma Zhe can fight against fate, maybe even attempt to divert it, but he can never control it. We Shunjun provides no simple answers in the story he weaves. Instead, he invites you to draw your own conclusions in his gritty and grainy 16mm crime noir, where police work and investigation are mere theatre.
Only the River Flows isn’t going to find fans in every audience, nor does it need to, because no matter your initial opinion, Only the River Flows leaves a mark on everyone leaving the theatre. Whether you love this fascinating, knotty noir tale or leave the cinema deeply frustrated by its lack of answers, Shunjun’s film will gnaw away at you for hours and even days after the credits have rolled.
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