“Living the Land is a film with a potential that isn’t fully realized, but is an interesting, if not wholly engaging, look into a Chinese microcosm.”

The cycle of life as represented by the four seasons is nothing new in cinema, and in that regard Huo Meng’s sophomore feature Living the Land (his 2018 debut Zhaoguan didn’t really travel outside Asia) doesn’t break new ground. Films like these always tend to have something epic about them, and Living the Land, the story of a farming family in ’90s rural China, is no exception. Marred by a lack of characterization of most, if not all of its extensive cast, the film is nevertheless an involving drama about life, death, birth, marriage… and wheat. Its larger themes of coming to grips with a changing and modernizing world around them are pretty well rendered, but because the characters are so underdeveloped it is hard to have an anchor in the film to grab onto and really be swept away (maybe not the best metaphor, but it’ll do).

Chuang’s parents are moving to the big city to find a better life. In this case it’s Shenzhen, but no doubt this story mirrors countless stories across China. It’s 1991, and China is rapidly developing into an economic force, with all the socio-economic changes that entails. Little 10-year-old Chuang (an endearing Wang Shang) is not part of that change though, as his parents leave him behind to be raised by his grandparents and extended family. The bright Chuang quickly adapts and does well in school, where he has to help his nephew Laitan to stay out of trouble. He forms a connection with his older cousin Xiuying (Zhang Chuwen), referred to by the colloquial ‘auntie’, a young woman barely out of her teens and now of an age where being married off is a realistic threat. Especially because she might be pregnant.

And through all of this there’s the wheat. The crop of choice in this part of China, and what not just Chuang’s family but basically the whole community runs on. Local party officials insist the family deliver the crops on time, and pupils have to donate a certain amount to their schools, at the risk of being berated in front of everyone when they can’t deliver. So growing and harvesting is what life evolves around, in particular for the poorest family in the village. Modernity slowly creeps in, as the family miraculously manages to buy a tractor to work the land more efficiently. Television finds its way into the village, with the whole community gathered around a small, antenna-driven setup. There might even be oil under the family’s fields.

Huo Meng lovingly paints his sprawling story, which sees funerals and weddings, New Year’s celebrations and marital feuds. His understanding of milieu clearly shines through here; there is an authenticity to the rural environment and the family dynamics that feel lived-in, at least from the perspective of an outsider who has never lived in the Chinese countryside. Guo Daming’s cinematography is an important component, not only for rendering the changing seasons but also for setting the mood. That ties in with Huo Meng’s compositions, in which people are often filmed in wide shots, near the edge of the frame. The amount of negative space left symbolizes the minuteness of these farmers within the land both on a physical and social level, as well as the opportunities in China’s rapidly forming new age.

However, building an emotional connection to the family is difficult, since there is very little depth to the characters. Chuang is ostensibly the lead character, but while we see his actions, we don’t see what motivates them. The same goes for most of his family, with the exception of Zhang’s Xiuying, who by being the only character with somewhat of an arc almost by default becomes the actual lead. When she expresses her desire to divorce her brand new husband because he mistreats her, her mother says, “Don’t even think about it. Endure it!” This evokes a sharp pang of sympathetic pain because the character has actual depth, and also because of Zhang’s emotional performance. Having one character to care about doesn’t fully negate the screenplay’s flaws, and Huo Meng’s direction and the technical work are what keep the film afloat. Living the Land is a film with a potential that isn’t fully realized, but is an interesting, if not wholly engaging, look into a Chinese microcosm.

Image copyright: Floating Light (Foshan) Film and Culture