Chang An

Chang An is yet another historical Chinese animated film, and although there is some lionization of the Tang Dynasty, it is refreshingly portrayed as flawed. Not so much for the "Tubo" (Tibetan) army, which are portrayed as cackling villains, but oh well.

The story focuses mostly on the life of Li Bai, which is portrayed as quite exccentric, leading to some levity for the film. We see his rise from merchant's son to one of history's most celebrated poets.

The animation is standard CGI, somewhere between photorealistic and stylized enough that the main characters don't fall into the uncanny valley. In fact, the rather cartoonish designs often clash with the more violent massacre scenes in the movie.

Overall a historical curiosity.

Here are some things that adults should be able to see from this film: 1. Artistic creation requires full freedom; 2. Top artists may be more or less insane or in a drunken state to inspire them; In feudal autocratic society, artists and anyone can be deprived of their freedom at any time by those with higher status and power than you; 4. Youth is short and beautiful.

I don't know to what extent this movie can reproduce the real Tang Dynasty, at least the demeanor of Tang Dynasty artists has been portrayed with sincerity by the film creators. Including the creator and singer of the ending song, Luo Dayou, whose singing style resembles that of Li Bai after getting drunk. Perhaps ancient and modern times are interconnected.

Though it is an animation, the technology is quite good, all the characters and background are created elaborately. Also, this animation is not like the animation made by Disney or DreamWorks, it has an unique Chinese feature.

This film is about the entire life of Libai, a famous poetry in China. However, the story is told by another poetry, Gaoshi, this makes the image of Libai more interesting.

After watching the film, I feel more admire to Libai. I've already known that he was a great poetry and know lots of things about him. However, it's a completely new experience to see the character alive on the screen, to see him living his life, writing his poems, making his friends. Of course, Libai is a legend, it is unbelievable for a person to experience loads of pain, failure, and even being discriminated by others and still lead a free and easy life.

In today's abundant online world, where diverse opinions and performances are readily available, it's strikingly reminiscent of the Tang Dynasty portrayed by the director Junwei Xie in this movie. Everyone has the opportunity to showcase their talents, express themselves through various means like poetry, music, politics, or dance to gain recognition and success. Particularly, the choice of Li Bai, a figure familiar to every Chinese, serves as a stark contrast in the rise and fall of the great Tang Dynasty.

Li Bai's wild and unrestrained lifestyle, when analyzed through his lines in the film, reveals that he too faced hardships. His quest for enlightenment led him to learn avian magic, and his military pursuits led to an unconventional expertise in wrestling. If we were to compare the other outstanding talents of the Tang Dynasty like Du Fu, Wang Wei, Wu Daozi, and even Li Bai himself, using Gao Shi's down-to-earth and stable approach, it might seem a bit exaggerated and biased. After all, as Gao Shi himself pointed out, serving with utmost dedication doesn't guarantee people's affection because what he solidified was the dynasty, while scholar-officials like Du Fu, Wang Wei, and others aimed to improve the system for the betterment of the people. This parallel can be seen in today's international society, where beloved social media influencers may not necessarily be at the forefront of defending their nation's interests.

Chang'an's glow once illuminated the Silk Road, its poetry crystallizing the Tang dynasty's golden age in every brushstroke. The moonlit verses of Li Bai still ripple in scholars' wine cups, while palace dances survive as ink traces on moth-eaten silk.

These echoes persist-not in the phoenix-painted lanterns nor jade hairpins' chime but in the human pulse beneath dynastic dust. Each generation rebuilds Chang'an: Song scholars layered it with philosophical chrysanthemums, and Ming architects crowned it with crimson gates, yet the original melody lingers like a half-remembered tune.

We who parse these fragments-are we restorers of glory, or mere scribes chronicling our displacement? Perhaps to comprehend this longing, one must taste plum wine where nightingales sing Tang quatrains or feel autumn wind slip through a ruined moon gate, carrying Du Fu's sigh across eight centuries.