Friends of Socialist China was invited to the Tiantan Award Panorama, a Chinese Film Event, presented by the Beijing International Film Festival (BJIFF).
This week-long journey through six exceptional Chinese films – powerful dramas, emotional stories, and thought-provoking themes that reflect the vibrant and evolving landscape of the country’s cinema – was held from May 10-17, at the Genesis Cinema in East London.
In the below review, Alfie Howis, a writer and activist based in London, looks at an emotional, quasi-romantic drama featuring two ex-prisoners entwined in a somewhat toxic relationship with a precipitous age gap and diverging visions of marriage.
Strangers When We Meet is a 2024 film by Zhang Guoli, starring Fan Wei and Zhou Dongyu. I had the pleasure of viewing this film in London as part of the Beijing International Film Festival’s international screenings. It is an emotional, quasi-romantic drama featuring two ex-prisoners entwined in a somewhat toxic relationship with a precipitous age gap and diverging visions of marriage. The plot is well paced and doesn’t feel rushed despite the hairpin twists and turns, while the high-quality, beautiful cinematography shows the technical and artistic prowess of contemporary Chinese cinema.
Warning: spoilers below
What struck me about this film was its non-judgemental and sympathetic approach to its central characters despite their backgrounds. Lao Qin, Zhou Dongyu’s character and Chang Juan, Fan Wei’s character, are both revealed to have been in prison for murder. The opening section of the film features the end of Lao Qin’s time in prison and his release, where he is treated kindly by prison guards and told that it doesn’t matter what he did now that he is free. He gets back on his feet, finding an apartment and trying to work, tasks all of which seem to be relatively easy and unaffected by his rather long stint in prison that just ended. Although emotionally Lao casts a downtrodden image, it is not as a result of any discrimination he faces as an ex-prisoner. Similarly, when Chang Juan goes missing in the mid to late section of the film, the prison authorities have a great concern for her wellbeing and work with Lao Qin to try and find her – there is no hint of disdain or inhumanity when dealing with such serious ex-criminals. On the contrary, they are generally humanised and treated normally, not overly sympathised, coddled, or patronised, but treated as people just trying to get by despite their hard circumstances.
The approach to wealth and its utility is complex and goes far beyond a basic consumerist ideology, despite one of the central themes being that Lao Qin comes into a large sum of state compensation from the demolition of his family home. Chang Juan is more attached to excessive consumption, buying expensive clothes with Lao Qin’s money and pushing for various reckless and self-indulgent spending decisions. While this is softly mocked and an object of comedy in the plot, it turns out to be a broader feint of Chang Juan’s character, as her ultimate goal is to abscond with a chunk of the money to pay off the innocent victim of a crime she committed. This is ultimately a noble goal, and even at times took on a feminist character as Chang Juan uses the patriarchal marriage system, with its bride cost, to right the wrongs of her crime.
Another element of the film that stood out from common themes in Western cinema is its approach to work and class. Although Lao Qin came into money, it is not a spectacular amount – enough to buy a new apartment and not have to rely on working for a living. Despite this he still seeks out work for self-fulfilment, first we see him as a delivery person, which he can’t hack for fault of being too slow, and at the end he takes a job as a kitchen cleaner. This end section devotes several long scenes to his kitchen cleaning job, lingering on the meticulous attention he pays to his work and highlighting the aesthetic transformations of the kitchens he takes care of. His work is greeted with great praise and admiration from other characters, and he is seen as a genuinely skilled and accomplished person. Whatever theories of sub-plots and interpretations could be levelled at this theme and Lao Qin’s character conclusion, it stood out as a refreshing and unabashed celebration of an occupation considered one of the lowest and least important forms of work in Western or capitalist culture.
The film gave some insightful contextual insights into Chinese society. While not main plot points they provided subtle inroads into understanding different aspects of life in China. The police officers were all kind and competent characters, being highly dutiful and using flexible solutions to assist the main characters when needed, even in unusual situations such as when Chang Juan goes missing. At one point she is in the hospital and able to get medical treatment immediately in a well organised facility, an experience which now seems quite alien from a UK context. In fact, the characters’ interaction with the state and its services is the least dramatic element of the film. Even when the state compensation for Lao Qin’s family home demolition comes through it is done respectfully and apologetically, with no strings attached, despite him still being a prisoner at the time. The sum amounts to 1.5 million yuan, or about £165,000, which is then used to buy a new apartment, nice clothes, and provides the ability to live well with no need to rely on work for money, showing the remarkably low cost of living in China. The couples’ lifestyle is decidedly materially middle class (despite each having varying social and cultural class characteristics) giving the impression of the modern and well-developed Chinese economy, even in the small city they come to live in.
The depiction of gender roles and the sometimes unchecked assumptions behind marriage, family, and children may seem problematic, but at second glance there is more nuance to this theme. The age gap between the characters is 32 years, Qin being 56 and Juan only 24. This is addressed at length as Qin is concerned by this and becomes very reluctant to entertain a romantic relationship despite Juan’s insistence, putting the agency on her. Because of her ‘ultimate rouse’ and her leaving the marriage with his money, this general idea is undermined – neither of them were happy or comfortable with the age gap and only went through with it in pursuit of other motivations. During their marriage, Qin’s only goal is to have children and carry on his family line, which Juan in the end refuses and Qin seeks to manipulate her, sometimes violently, into doing so. This is a moment where the film fails to make a deeper commentary on a moral question where there should be a clear answer: Qin repents and it’s accepted that his actions were wrong, but the underlying point that marriage should inevitably lead to children is relatively unaddressed and unproblematised. But moral neutrality is upheld, and the viewer is left to judge the couples’ dynamic as they see fit; either way, this element of the story presents an engaging narrative around gender and family debates in China today, showing dysfunctional individuals in a bleak situation and leaving the viewer reflecting on the rights and wrongs of their actions.
Overall Strangers When We Meet is a nuanced film touching on a range of interesting themes presented in an engaging, artful format. It shows China in a beautiful light, from the city blocks to rural country roads, and doesn’t shy away from the grittier parts of Chinese society. Film is a great way to engage with Chinese cultural outputs and to learn more about socialist China. Unfortunately, too few Chinese films are available to watch in UK cinemas, but if the quality of Strangers When We Meet is anything to go by, that should be changing in the future.
