An Unfinished Film

Watched @Vancouver, CA.

This is a mockumentary-style film. During the first third, the constantly shaking camera almost made me nauseous. However, after the halfway point, the film gradually finds its rhythm and becomes increasingly engaging.

For such a major public health event, it was astonishing how quickly the pandemic vanished from public discourse after the lockdowns were lifted-no one talked about it, no one reflected on it, as if it had all been just a dream. Especially in mainland China, discussing the pandemic became a taboo, even though it had been the very center of life for three whole years.

As I watched the film, those buried memories suddenly came back to life. I was struck by the realization that I had once lived through it all so vividly. This chapter of history should not be forgotten - it is the path we have walked to get here.

Throughout the film, I was deeply moved more than once, with tears welling up in my eyes. As someone who lived through the pandemic, I didn't need the film to show me what happened next-I already knew. But when someone holds up those moments for you to see again, they still hit you hard. At the end of the film, the theater echoed with applause-both for the film, and for all of us.

Thank you to the director and the cast for their courage in making this film. I know very well the immense pressure they faced-this film will not be released, or even allowed to be mentioned, in mainland China. Yet still, someone far from home was moved by it, enough to seek out this platform and write an English review-for the path we've walked, and for the sake of conscience.

It reminds me of Zheng Yuanjie's novel The Pegasus Bus that I read as a child. A new bus encountered citywide gridlock on its very first trip. The driver adhered rigidly to the rule 'no opening doors before reaching a stop,' refusing to let passengers disembark. The traffic jam lasted twelve years, with the government air-dropping supplies by helicopter to sustain those trapped. Passengers got married, had children, formed organizations, and even apprehended lawbreakers onboard. A new generation grew up within the sealed bus, regarding it as their 'whole world.' Now that I think about it, are we really so different from those living on that bus?

This experimental film draws its essence from temporal dislocation-repurposing old movie footage and blending it with newly shot material to form a new narrative. The resulting intertwining of timelines creates a hazy, dreamlike atmosphere. Especially under the shadow of the pandemic, it pulls the audience into this suspended space where time and memory dissolve into one.

The frequent use of phone-shot footage embedded within the cinematic frame adds a layer of realism, though it also feels jarring-hovering somewhere between documentary and fiction. The dramatic tension reaches its peak under themes of lockdown and conflict, evoking a collective memory. Viewers are transported back to that surreal period.

Though the film may not reach a wide audience, it stands as a vital visual record of an extraordinary time. The dialogue often references things invisible to the audience, leaving them amused or confused-like the director's private jokes or self-mockery. Still, the existence of this film ensures that one day, someone will watch it. And that alone is enough.

Thanks to the collaboration between people on both sides of the Taiwan Strait, this film was able to be released on streaming platforms so quickly. Its style is very different from Lou Ye's previous works-it hardly feels like a traditional movie at all. It's more like a documentary or a vlog. The entire production takes place only in a hotel and a studio, which keeps costs low, but shooting in such confined spaces, combined with many video call scenes, is actually quite challenging.

The story does have tension at first, but later it turns into a monotonous sequence of events mixed with online video flashbacks. The narrative evokes memories of that particular time, creating a sense of resonance, but as the film progresses, that emotional connection gradually fades and becomes dull.

The whole film essentially relies on Qin Hao's performance to carry it. His acting is indeed solid and compelling-without it, the audience would likely find the film even more tedious.

Just finished watching An Unfinished Film in the cinema. As a film that is prohibited from being screened in mainland China, it's actually quite restrained in its portrayal. The scene where the crew reunites and toasts as the song "Twilight" plays is both peaceful and poignant; the melody and lyrics feel so powerful.

When you think about it, what has Lou Ye captured in this film? Nothing more than documentation. The camera is honest, and the person holding it is not afraid of being blacklisted. A literally unfinished film, a banned old song-woven together, they fight against a memory that is fading and constantly redefined. Though the viewing experience was a bit traumatic, I don't regret it at all; I found it meaningful. Thank you, Lou Ye.