Director: Peng Sanyuan
Music composed by: Zbigniew Preisner
Screenplay: Peng Sanyuan
Cinematography: Mark Lee Ping Bin
Cast: Andy Lau, Boran Jing, Wang Zhifei
MOVIE INFO
After losing his two-year-old son, Lei (Andy Lau) begins a fourteen-year-long quest in search of his missing child. On the road, he makes a stop at a repair shop where he comes across a young repairman, Ceng (Jing Boran), who was also kidnapped at the age of four. Robbed of the life he was meant to live, Ceng can only vaguely remember snippets of home - a chain-link bridge, bamboo trees, and his mother's long braids. Lost And Love (Shi Gu) 失孤is an uplifting portrait of two lost souls who forge an unlikely friendship and, in the face of a hopelessness and despair, inspire courage and perseverance in one another. (C) China Lion
Film Review: ‘Lost and Love’
Maggie Lee
@maggiesama
China’s widespread child-abduction problem is the compelling starting point for “Lost and Love,” a road movie that offers lyrical observations of the country’s rural and grassroots landscape. Mindfully helmed and written by Peng Sanyuan, the film features Hong Kong superstar Andy Lau and promising mainland thesp Jing Boran as an engagingly simpatico duo in search of their missing loved ones. Although it soft-pedals the dire situation of human trafficking in China, the result provides poignant insight into the victims’ psychological scars. Neither a typical mainstream work nor edgy festival fare, the pic would have been destined for limited home formats if not for Lau’s fame, which has opened some doors into select overseas markets.
Peng claims her decision to make this film (supposedly based on a true story) took root in 2010, the year that saw the genesis of online civilian communities fighting child abduction. Compared with Peter Chan’s recent “Dearest,” which sizzled with tension and high-pitched emotions, “Lost and Love” takes a more modest, downbeat approach in keeping with Peng’s background in TV writing. Yet while Chan’s movie practically ignored the elephant in the room by dissociating its particular account of child abduction from organized crime, the new film at least acknowledges the existence of traffickers, however briefly and hazily. More details on how these crooks operate would have raised the interest of foreign audiences while conveying the horrific scale of their activity (press notes estimate that about mainland 300,000 children are abducted each year, feeding a $2.43 million enterprise).
The film opens with a missing-person poster for 18-month-old Zhou Tianyi, who disappeared in Fuzhou in February 2014. The tot’s mother (Ni Jingyang) lingers at a busy intersection, handing out notices to passersby. Elsewhere, farmer Lei Zekuan (Lau) has also been looking for his lost son: For for 14 years, he’s traveled north and south on his beat-up motorcycle, with a canvas bearing his son’s photo attached. He’s come to the same province on an online tip from a child-rescue NGO, and when he sees the poster, he adds Tianyi’s case to his crusade.
There are two fleeting but sufficiently chilling moments involving human traffickers. One bluntly tells her babysitter: “If the kid dies, I’ll lose money.” In another scene, she tries to fob off a baby girl on a buyer who wants a son, slashing her prices and coaxing, “Girls can be sold off when they grow up,” presumably into prostitution.
En route to Wuyi Mountain, Lei befriends mechanic Zeng Shuai (Jing), who services his vehicle for free as a supportive gesture. Peng’s ability to craft low-key yet affecting drama emerges in the scene in which Zeng blames Lei for failing to protect his son, only to delicately confide in him that he has faint memories of being abducted. Rather than contriving a melodramatic outburst, Peng has Lei recount his family tragedy in a nuanced voiceover, offering a glimpse into the universal anxieties of parents.
When Lei and Zeng embark on a trip that stretches from Quanzhou to Sichuan, the narrative broadens to offer a panoramic view of China’s less glamorous regions. Smoggy second-tier towns and forlorn fields convey the drudgery of workaday life in the sprawling country, complemented by starkly atmospheric mise-en-scene, whether it’s an old-style bathhouse or a floating fishery. Flouting the road-movie convention of throwing in motley characters along the way, the screenplay keeps a tight focus on the two protags, who develop a father-son bond that never turns mawkish.
While exploring the meaning of loss from the parent’s perspective as well as the child’s, the film also exposes how the victims’ social stigma is compounded by systemic government discrimination: Unable to prove his parentage, Zeng is denied legal citizenship and banned from tertiary education, property ownership and even the ability to take a plane or train. Notwithstanding some sentimental beats, Peng achieves a delicate balance between bleak realities and a life-affirming attitude, capped by a predictable but necessary catharsis. However, the fate of baby Tianyi remains a loose strand, marred by an abstract, over-stylized portrait of the mother’s grief. Also redundant, not to mention pretentious, is the epilogue involving a pseudo-Zen encounter with monks.
The rumor that Lau was nearly arrested by police who mistook him for riff-raff during a location shoot may testify to the actor’s zeal to look the part of the peasant, but despite a convincing makeover and studied mannerisms, his emotional delivery lacks genuine pathos. Likewise, as a child trafficker, comedienne Sandra Ng’s twitchy tics almost derail the film’s naturalistic tone. Jing, on the other hand, outshines the rest of the cast by not sweating it, limning small-town insouciance while hinting at deep emotional scars.
Craft contributions are accomplished, in particular Mark Lee Ping-bin’s arresting widescreen lensing, which has the flowing effect of a Chinese scroll painting unfolding in leisurely fashion. The soiled, dull color palette of urban towns contrasts boldly with the radiant, impeccably composed rural scenery. Angie Lam’s editing, so smooth it’s virtually transparent, brings lucidity to the layered narrative. The Chinese title literally translates as “Lost Orphan,” but according to Peng, it also puns on the word “lonely,” alluding to how the government’s one-child policy renders such losses irreplaceable while creating market demand for boys.
Tên tiếng Trung: 失孤
Tên tiếng Anh: Lost and Love
Tên tiếng Việt: Cô đơn lạc lối
Đơn vị sản xuất: Hoa Nghị huynh đệ, đơn vị Nghệ thuật Trung ương, điện ảnh Nguyên Hợp Thánh
Quốc gia: Trung Quốc đại lục
Giám chế: Trương Đại Quân, Trần Bội Hoa
Đạo diễn: Bành Tam Nguyên
Biên kịch: Bành Tam Nguyên
Quay phim: Lí Bình Tân
Thời lượng: 108 phút
Thể loại: Kịch tính, xã hội
Công chiếu: 20.03.2015
Diễn viên tham gia
Lưu Đức Hoa trong vai Lôi Trạch Khoan
Tỉnh Bách Nhiên trong vai Tằng Suất
Lương Gia Huy trong vai cảnh sát
Lưu Nhã Sắt trong vai Tiểu Cư
Ngô Quân Như trong vai tên buôn người
Cùng các diễn viên khác
Giới thiệu & tóm tắt
Năm 1998, đứa con trai mới 2 tuổi của người nông dân nghèo Lôi Trạch Khoan bị một đường dây buôn người bắt cóc. Lão Lôi gom góp hết gia tài ít ỏi, khăn áo đi tìm con khắp nơi đất khách quê người. Trong cuộc hành trình gian khổ dường như không có điểm dừng trong suốt mười lăm năm ấy, lão Lôi đã gặp được cậu thanh niên Tằng Suất trong một lần sửa xe. Giống như một sự sắp xếp của duyên phận, Tằng Suất có những nét tương đồng với cậu con trai của lão. Họ cứ thế đi cùng nhau, một người mong mỏi tìm con, một người đau đáu về cố hương. Khuôn mặt của người thân mơ hồ ẩn hiện, có lẽ đang chờ họ ở một nơi xa xôi...
Trong phim, Tỉnh Bách Nhiên chọn cách thể hiện Tằng Soái là một thanh niên gương mặt lúc nào cũng mang nét cười tươi sáng, đôi lúc trêu đùa Lưu Đức Hoa. Đặc biệt khi kể chuyện thân thế của mình, giọng nói rất bình thản, nụ cười nhẹ vẫn đó, giống như đang kể chuyện người khác chứ không phải mình vậy. Nhưng cũng chính nụ cười ấy khiến người xem càng cảm thấy rõ hơn nỗi đau trong lòng nhân vật, so với những khóc than vật vã còn đau hơn gấp nhiều lần. Trong một buổi tiếp xúc truyền thông, khi được hỏi về đánh giá với diễn xuất của Tỉnh Bách Nhiên trong phim như thế nào. Lưu Đức Hoa không hề do dự nói luôn: “Tuyệt đối là 100%”
No comments:
Post a Comment