Review | 75ª Berlinale | Living the Land

Sheng shi zhi di (China, 2025)

Original title: Sheng shi zhi di

Director: Meng Huo

Screenplay: Meng Huo

Main cast: Cao Lingzhi, Shang Wang, Zhang Yanrong, Caixia Zhang and Chuwen Zhang

Running time: 132 minutes

Despite the important role of the internet and streaming services in the globalization of content, China remains a very distant country for Brazilians. We don’t know much about its history, and even less about its film production, despite the fact that it’s one of the largest consumer audiences in the world. Therefore, it’s no coincidence that there are two Chinese films in the festival’s main competition, but rather a reflection of a prolific production to which we have very little access.

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It’s difficult to access some of the concepts explored in the film, since we are unfamiliar with much of the culture and nostalgia it evokes, since it’s a portrait of the 1990s in a China that was changing its economic direction. This is precisely how the narrative is justified: Chuang’s (Wang Shang) parents are looking for new opportunities in the South of the country, and to do so they need to leave their child with his grandparents in a rural village. So, we end up meeting all the members of his family and the dynamics that permeate their relationships.

From a geopolitical perspective, this was a very important moment in the country’s history, especially considering its commercial opening, which was essential for its technological modernization and for the country to become the economic powerhouse it’s today. However, the film doesn’t bother to give too many details about this issue, as well as others such as the one-child law. It has a very clear story to tell, about this family and the change in traditions based on their experiences. And each moment framed on screen is brilliantly used to make us reflect on some event, relationship or treatment given to one of the characters.

As a coming-of-age film, it shows the path taken by Chuang to finally stop wetting the bed, something that his parents consider very important for him to move on to a new stage in life. Even though, at many moments, it isn’t immediately understood how the issue portrayed on screen relates to this, whether it’s his going to school or the moment of harvesting the cotton he planted, all these traits are interconnected to reach a final moment that portrays this growth.

What makes the film even more special is the way in which the images chosen by the director and the cinematographer are captured. Contrary to what seems to be a trend in American commercial cinema, high saturation is used to convey the richness of details in that universe. Joint shots of a large family are balanced by character movement and dialogue that always make it clear which direction one would like to take the scene, but with enough space to understand many other narratives within this film. There’s enough space for each of its many characters to develop, creating a life beyond the screen that makes them more realistic.

Even with these elements that could be considered alien, the film manages to create an extremely real connection by dealing with a nostalgic vision of what it is to grow up. There are universal experiences, such as death, love, encounters, and separations, which are portrayed in specific and detailed ways, but which can communicate with anyone who has experienced the same feeling, even with completely different cultural rites.

Through universality, we are taken to a small village in China and remain there long after the lights come on. Just like the main character, we leave the cinema somewhat transformed by all the situations we see on screen.

Translation by: Renata Torres

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