★★★★
Great storytellers speak to painful truths buried beneath our daily lives. They make us conscious of that we wish not to give voice; they make us face our complicity in evil. In challenging modern China’s sexual and political repression, debut filmmaker Wang Yichun proves herself a great storyteller in the making.
Jing (Su Xiaotong) lives an unremarkable life in an unremarkable town, with her deeply embittered mother (Liu Dan) and incompetent detective father (Guo Xiao). When the body of a young girl is found bearing signs of rape, a serial killer is feared. Curious, Jing pursues the case, becoming increasingly aware of her own burgeoning womanhood.
Yichun’s incisive film speaks as clearly of China’s troubles as to harsh realities in the Western world. Dare we claim our society’s sexual repression is lesser? Have we not heard, time and again, the claim that victims of sexual assault “shouldn’t have been drinking” or “shouldn’t have travelled alone”? Jing’s experiences, whilst framed in Chinese trappings, have global resonance. The culprit of the crime is no single shadowy figure, but deeply entrenched cultural values that view women’s sexuality as something to be controlled, suppressed, exploited. Yichun repeatedly references myopia, implying that what lingers in the dark may in fact be right in front of us.
Jing’s home village is your average town, replete with social hierarchies, and truly feels like a living, breathing place. As in Twin Peaks, the focus is not on the crime but the town, the environment that could breed such cruelty. Even with the youngest performers, the rich inner life of each character is visible. Xiaotong is naturally a standout, but complemented by Lu Qiwei as Zhang Xue, a rebellious teenager fully embracing her coming of age.
Brutal minimalism serves the story well; Yichun’s approach is ruthlessly economical, keeping the 100-minute film lean and mean. One minute, we are thrilling at Jing’s unabashed singing in a junkyard; the next, fearing for her as we realise she is being watched. One minute, we are chuckling at the incompetence of the local police; the next, despairing as their incompetence leads to innocent people taking the fall for the villainous. The ending, a terrifying abstraction, leaves the distinct sensation of danger and tragedy lurking just offscreen.
While the cinematography’s bleached uniformity serves the story, the editing lacks the same consistency. Transitions occasionally happen so abruptly, they seem to be in error. This may simply be cinematic language in which Western viewers are sub-literate, but it unbalances the otherwise startling clarity.
Casting a light into the dark corners of a culture is a painful and necessary experience. Should we ever hope for the darkness to recede, we must be as unafraid of staring into it with the same resolve as Jing.
What’s In The Darknesswas reviewed as part of Sydney Film Festival 2016.
