Acclaimed Chinese director Jia Zhangke floats along the great current of time, history, and memory with
Caught by the Tides
, a mesmerizing film about the sweep and swirl of life, love, and the relationship between yesterday and today.
Seamlessly blending fiction and non-fiction, archival and original material, and clips from his prior works with newly shot action, the auteur’s latest—arriving in theaters May 9 after heralded showings at last year’s
Cannes
,
Toronto
, and
New York
Film festivals—this movie is like a mesmerizing dream. It tracks the transformation of China across the last twenty-five years and, alongside this journey, reflects upon his evolving filmmaking approach. The film serves as an introspective contemplation on both collective and individual happiness, sorrows, missed opportunities, and progress throughout a dynamic period spanning one hundred twenty-five months.
Told with a minimum of dialogue and encased in a mood of wistful melancholy,
Caught by the Tides
is a film about transition.
In the northern Chinese city of Datong back in 2001, Qiaoqiao (played by Zhao Tao, who has been director Jia’s frequent collaborator and spouse) makes her livelihood as a performer. She sings, dances, and models—taking part in staged performances at clubs during evenings and strutting down a catwalk near a shopping complex during daytime hours.
Qiaoqiao is involved with Bin (Li Zhubin), who appears to be her agent, and who treats her with a brusqueness that implies underlying tensions. Jia, however, doesn’t explicate the specific nature of their bond, nor their professions; instead, such details are gleaned through fragmentary scenes which, in Datong, are presented in a boxy 1.33:1 aspect ratio and are set to rueful pop songs and Giong Lim’s equally poignant score.
Caught by the Tides
opens with working-class women sitting around a cramped room singing tunes to each other about youthful amour and leaving sorrows behind in order to focus on the bright future ahead. That positive sentiment is echoed by an outdoor statue of an astronaut blasting off from Earth into cosmic parts unknown, and a sense of movement is furthered by the intermittent appearance and sounds of trains—a favorite Jia motif that accentuates the proceedings’ fixation on full-speed-ahead development.
Pushing ahead, though, comes with dangers too. The scene where Qiaoqiao is confronted by whistling cyclists as she walks with her sweater draped over her head—a motif that frequently appears in this captivating collage—implies a necessity for safeguarding oneself from an impending tempest.
Caught by the Tides
’ initial third is comprised of snippets from other Jia films, most notably 2002’s
Unknown Pleasures
, and once Bin disappears and Qiaoqiao goes looking for him, it segues to 2006 Fengjie, the primary setting of the director’s Venice Film Festival Golden Lion winner
Still Life
.
Over there, Qiaoqiao looks for Bin by texting him; these texts appear like titles in a silent film. She wanders through a rural area undergoing rapid change. Situated above the soon-to-be-finished Three Gorges Dam, Fengjie—as with numerous settlements along the Yangtze River—is facing obliteration as residents prepare to move elsewhere due to impending submersion caused by increasing water levels. This once-vibrant place has turned into an abandoned city filled with derelict buildings and dislocated people, mirroring Qiaoqiao’s own sense of isolation perfectly.
Also including fragments from 2018’s
Ash is Purest White
,
Caught by the Tides
The central part of ‘s composition expands to a wider 1.85:1 aspect ratio and gives comparable importance to its musical elements to create a sorrowful ambiance.
As in its early going, occasional radio reports provide context for the action at hand, conveying the socio-political and economic shifts of a China undergoing seismic upheaval. Whether it’s long, slow pans across the smudgy faces of workers enjoying a brief respite from toil, electric montages of dance clubs awash in dizzying lights and frenzied commotion, or snapshots of men and women drinking, smoking, and cavorting in private lounges, the film feels attuned to its disparate 21st-century moments, including in Fengjie, where faded newspaper reports about Chinese space travel decorate crumbling walls, and discarded Barbie dolls lie in repose on the rubble-strewn ground.
In Fengjie, Qiaoqiao’s search proves mostly fruitless as it involves aimlessly roaming around and encountering thugs who seek the money she has stealthily taken. She manages to defend herself against them using her reliable taser. It isn’t until 2022 that they reunite; by then, Bin has returned to Datong as an elderly gentleman reliant on a walking stick, still hoping his acquaintance Pan might help secure employment for him.
Amidst the ongoing pandemic, people everywhere wear masks and face shields, contributing to a pervasive sense of detachment. Similarly, Bin, who prefers traditional methods, encounters unusual contemporary enterprises like TikTok, where elderly user Xing has unexpectedly gained fame through humorous lip-sync videos that seem oddly out of place. Meanwhile, Qiaoqiao remains isolated and discontented, highlighted by an interaction with a cheerful automated grocery store assistant. The machine asks how she’s doing before referencing quotes from Mother Teresa and Mark Twain, requesting that she take off her mask, only to comment on her apparent sadness.
Currently functioning in an extended 2.35:1 aspect ratio,
Caught by the Tides
Bringing its two main characters together at a checkout counter in a grocery store, this story doesn’t lead to a traditional happy ending. As they walk down the bustling streets of Datong, they appear simultaneously close and distant from each other. For Jia, the passage of time only leads to regret and pain, while Qiaoqiao stays mostly quiet until the conclusion (except for a faint final groan).
In the film’s most heartbreaking moment, Qiaoqiao stares tearfully into Bin’s eyes before gazing over her shoulder at an empty sidewalk—a snow-dappled image that speaks volumes about the heartbreaking futility of looking backwards. Then, she quietly dons glowing armbands, flips her jacket inside-out, and joins the throngs of runners who’ve suddenly materialized on the city’s heretofore-barren streets, reintegrating herself into a stream of humanity.
As a self-aware essay whose construction mirrors and enhances its themes,
Caught by the Tides
is more challenging than Jia’s dramatic features, and it may strike those unfamiliar with his eminent oeuvre as equally beguiling and baffling. Nonetheless, adventurous cinephiles will find much to savor in this spellbinding rumination on the inevitability of change and the triumphs, turbulence, and tender longing it begets.
Read more at The Daily Beast.