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.

I've personally never been a fan of mockumentaries or realist noir. But this unfinished film, as its title suggests, remains forever incomplete-both within and beyond the frame. It's a film doomed never to be finished, echoing the countless "unfinished" stories left in the wake of the pandemic: lives interrupted, dreams unrealized, wounds unhealed.

Just like that piercing line from Jiang Cheng-"What's the point if it's just a few of us watching, saying it's great, saying it's powerful?"-that sense of helplessness, of idealism bowing to reality, is a transitional pain we've all gone through. During those three unforgettable years etched into the memory of 1.4 billion Chinese people, the regret of the 'unfinished' was magnified into a collective trauma of our era.

That's why I have deep admiration for anyone who continues to pursue what they love. LY is one of them. When I saw the chaotically arranged clips on his phone, I understood I'm never going to be a competent filmmaker. And yet, like them, I still carry the urge to record, to create. I remain just another ordinary person-a corroded wolf in the wasteland. At least Harry still had the wolf in him; mine is fading, bit by bit. Writing this is how I keep myself breathing.

Back to the film itself. I believe every Chinese person will find it unforgettable. The first time I ever felt what it meant to witness history was when I mistook the events in the film for those happening around me. And today, I can see in the film what was indeed happening around me back then.

The loop closes-it all makes sense now. That clarity is eerie, yet profoundly real. The act of showing, recording, and dramatic innovation-all of it-pales next to life itself. Life is the most precious, the hardest script to write. But we don't need to assign artificial value to it. Simply being able to see and remember our own lives-that is the hardest film to ever finish.

I CANNOT STOP CRYING. The film is only not longer than 2 hours but that really is a mere documentary of the very start and the followed 3 years of worse than hell we've actually been thru. We may have moved on now but THAT 3 YEARS of pure oppression and suffering is not to be forgiven and forgotten. The girl that cried for her mom following the ambulance carrying her mom's body to cremation without being allowed to see her one last time. The girl locked in the building whose mom jumped out of the window was just lying right outside, and she was not allowed to come out. The fire, the people who cannot escape for the building was locked with chains. And the fact that you are not even allowed to talk about any of it.

This work is so true that even triggered my traumatic memories from covid. I couldn't help but cry. Sitting in the completely dark cinema, I heard sobbing from somewhere near and far, echoing with mine. I realized that pain can even be a form of connection. The sick painful experience we shared allows us recognize each other just by our red and puffy eyes.

When lights turned up, applause erupted, walking out from the cinema, I put the tissue I cried on into jacket pocket and felt some relief and comfort. The pain that had never been allowed to spill out finally got understood... Because of the censorship, we don't have much our own Covid narratives, those produced by civil society rather government. But thankfully we have Lou Ye.

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?