If you take one look at director Jia Zhang Ke’s filmography, there are two things he consistently does in his films. The first is his inclusion of actress Zhao Tao. The second is his examination of contemporary Chinese globalization. In Ash is Purest White, Jia Zhang Ke sticks with what he’s most comfortable with, and in doing so, creates a heart-aching piece that has us examining the effects of rapid globalization in China.
Ash is Purest White begins its story in a local mahjong bar, owned by a mobster (or Jianhua) Bi (Liao Fan). Despite carrying out the daily operations, it is girlfriend Qiao (Zhao Tao) that makes everything run smoothly, weaving her way in and out providing tea and money while also playing a game herself. It is clear, Qiao does not need anyone to take care of her, except financially, which is where Bi comes in. However, this stability does not last long as a rival mob starts picking off members of Bi’s gang, eventually leading to a midnight brawl against Bi and Qiao’s adversaries. Bi fights some of the members off, but when it becomes overwhelming, Qiao fires off an illegal gun to ward them off. This leads to an illegal firearm possession charge with Qiao taking the majority of the crime’s punishment, serving five years in jail compared to Bi’s single year. Five years later, Qiao is released from jail but finds the people and China she once knew completely changed. China is now filled with skyscrapers and tourist traps, and Bi, who has lost his gang and wealth, has hidden himself away, ashamed at his fall from status. With Bi’s changed outlook, Qiao finds herself catching up with the world around her on her own, clawing her way back to relevancy and trying to recapture the love and identity she lost in jail.
Ash is Purest White is a slow burn. It takes its time to develop and nurture Bi and Qiao’s relationship. We experience everything with them, from random fights in an alleyway to “YMCA” dance parties to revelations about truth in their own relationship. It’s all laid out in front of us, bare and raw, and because of the boiling tension Jia creates, we always find ourselves rooting for them. This is attributed to the beautiful performance by Zhao and how Jia structures the narrative around her. Jia never abuses Qiao into submission; he has too much empathy for his characters to do that. Instead, Jia uses the Chinese backdrop and the injustices against Qiao to make her seem like a ticking time bomb ready to explode.
Zhao bundles Qiao’s emotions quietly. Emotional outbursts don’t dominate this film, but rather slow realizations from the characters. Zhao never allows Qiao to smile past the first act, so when we think about the ecstasy of Qiao dancing with Bi to “YMCA,” we as an audience feel her heartbreak. As Qiao goes from one dead end to the next, bearing her soul to anyone who will listen, we can’t help but sympathize with her confusion and loss. When Qiao slowly registers what is going on in the world around her, we realize with her, coming to the same conclusions about these heartbreaking truths and feeling the weight of their implications by the time the climax rolls around.
Through time jumps and the cinematography, we get a sense of how jarring China’s changes have been and the effects it has had on traditional values. Cinematographer Eric Gautier beautifully frames this film to match the 17-year long story. 2001 has warm tones given by DV footage and 35 mm, while 2018 is cold and isolating, a feeling created from color graded 6K footage. This along with the utilization of China’s evergrowing light pollution, Gautier makes it impossible not to notice the stark changes that are happening in China during this 17-year time period. The traditional Jian Hu ideas of righteousness and loyalty are obliterated by WeChat, skyscrapers, and capitalism. Exuberance and joy-releasing dances to “YMCA” are replaced with cold and curated pop ballads. China has now become a place that if you blink, you find yourself having to catch up.
Old Chinese traditions do not have a place in modern China anymore. Bi’s male chauvinism is not appreciated by his old mobsters similar to how Qiao’s reliance and loyalty towards Bi are not appreciated from him anymore. The qualities that made Qiao and Bi who they were and the “traditional” qualities that made them love one another don’t have a place in the ever-changing Chinese landscape. The values that brought them so much warmth are not welcome, leaving Bi and Qiao to cling onto what’s left, while at the same time, trying to catch up with today’s societal standards. This catch up has turned them into hollow and cold shells of their former selves, unable to muster the warmth of what once was. Gautier and Jia interweave cinematography and China’s cultural landscape to emphasize that while physical changes are the easiest to spot, it is the resulting cultural changes that are the most difficult to digest.
Ash is Purest White is a heart-wrenching and tragic love story that has us examining how the human condition and its ideals have to adapt to rapid modernization. It asks us how much are we willing to give up to prevent ourselves from falling behind society’s ever changing standards. Jia isn’t anti-modernization nor is he a pro-traditionalism. He just wants us to examine the rate at which modernization is coming and ask ourselves, “Is it worth it?”
4/5 Stars