At around 40 years old, director Li Ruijun embodies an ancient spirit in his fresh filmmaking approach. His latest film, "Return to Dust," has elicited varied responses. It provoked controversy with the Chinese government, earned admiration at the Berlin International Film Festival, where it was shortlisted for a Silver Bear award, and now embarks on a journey to U.S. audiences, devoid of alterations made in China to make the film more positive.
Each moment of this film is meticulous without seeming overdone or theatrical. This might be because of the humble subjects and settings the film explores. Li demonstrates a knack for showcasing them in all their raw beauty, without glossing over the harsh reality of poverty. This approach reminds one of Elia Kazan's claim of achieving the same in “A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.” Regardless of agreement or disagreement with Kazan's self-perception, it's clear that Li's directorial finesse allows him to create commendable compositions without romanticizing hardship.
"Return to Dust" is situated in rural Gansu, China, and spins a narrative as straightforward as its title implies. Ma Youtie, a small-scale farmer with not much more than a donkey, finds himself in an arranged marriage with Cao Guiyung. Both partners are socially awkward, nearing middle age, with the energy of elderly folk. Cao also struggles with incontinence, leading to awkward moments as adult diapers seem nonexistent in Gansu.
The film provides a stark contrast to lighter entertainment. Actors Wu Renlin and Hai Qing, portraying Ma and Cao, peel back layers of their characters with subtlety. Their initial stiffness gives way to a shared camaraderie in their laborious existence. Although their conversations are few, their shared struggle speaks volumes. The film is rich in understated, poetic touches from both the director and his characters.
"Return to Dust" resonates with films from the Italian neo-realism era, showcasing marginalized individuals wrestling with an indifferent society. However, Li deviates from western tradition by not attempting to manipulate the audience's emotions overtly. The film avoids melodramatic elements like heart-wrenching close-ups or potent musical scores.
Once Ma and Cao manage to construct a new home, the narrative takes a turn as external forces intervene. This aspect of the film appears to have unsettled the Chinese government. An official proposes that Ma and Cao relocate to an apartment, a suggestion that bemuses Ma. A TV crew follows the couple as they visit their potential new residence, their speechlessness not quite the reaction the officials anticipated. Li doesn't demonize the bureaucrats responsible for disrupting his protagonists' lives. Instead, he merely depicts the unintended negative consequences of their well-intentioned initiatives. However, the Chinese government imposed a title card with a contrived plot resolution. For U.S. audiences, the director's original ending, a subtle portrayal of deep disappointment, remains untouched.
