by Cho Jinseok
As the world lurches from one crisis to the next (be it geo-political, medical or economic) you'd be forgiven for thinking we're all trapped in some kind of epic, absurdist horror film that seems to go on and on and on (and as I type this we have entered year three of the COVID-19 pandemic).
So while Li Hongqi's “The The” was made before COVID-19 plagued the world from Beijing to Boston, Cape Town to Copenhagen, the film very much operates in the spirit of the Trump-era onwards and has clear resonances to current COVID-era horrors in how humanity has responded to the pandemic (it's hard to ignore the film's discussion of vaccines and the “severe disintegration of the relationship between doctors and patients” in the context of growing Internet DIY “research” around COVID cures).
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While some sources cite three versions of “The The” in circulation (at 82 minutes, 103 minutes and 166 minutes), the most widely available cuts are the 82 and 166 minute versions currently playing on Chinese cinema streaming service, Cathayplay. Having watched both versions, and been captivated by both in their own ways, it must be said the longer version is superior to the extent it unfolds at its own leisurely pace and fully expands on a lot of the absurd interactions and jokes, not to mention milk those awkward pauses between characters to maximum comedic impact. For those that haven't got the odd two-and-a-half hours plus to invest in the film, you'll still experience the essence of “The The” but won't quite indulge in the rich final chapters of the film seen in the longer version.
By now, regular viewers of Li's cinema should be well attuned to his vision of a China deliberately slowed down and not that far from the “madhouse”. His latest (in both versions) takes place exclusively in some kind of surreal madhouse that at times resembles a prison; a slasher film villain's lair; a university; and a generic modern hotel restaurant you'd find in any number of China's regional cities. Frequent markers of the horror genre pop up such as the dingy living room, the consumption of mysterious organs and the odd appearance of unnerving biology statuettes.
The premise is straight-forward: eight men and women navigate these empty spaces, discussing everything from North Korean peace talks to religion, the merits of an explicitly artporn film (that humourously climaxes with a pseudo-artistic “Fin”) to the strange predicament they all seem to be trapped within. Barely a soul is witnessed outside these eight characters and they are less human beings than ciphers for unleashing frustrations and desires.
While Li's films such as “Winter Vacation” or “Routine Holiday” pushed the absurdity of modern China within a realistic framework, all bets are off with “The The”, it's the kind of film where mysterious organs are introduced but only with pixellation (like some Japanese AV) and upon two of these organs touching, orgasmic moans of some western pornstar are triggered. At one point, the rejection of a tiny restaurant fee transforms into a diatribe on how this simple act will be “a huge collective mental disorder for the global financial markets”. It's a crazy world but maybe a vision of what's to come for humanity.
Understanding Li's background in poetry will help frame how to best interpret the film's long (especially in the 166 minute version) stretches of dialogue, non-sequiturs and detours into world history. Nothing unfolding over the two-and-a-half hours conforms to any real rules of conventional Chinese independent cinema (its anti-narrative approach seems even more bold and confrontational than “So Much Rice”). Speaking of “So Much Rice”, viewers of the 166 minute version will be treated to a throwback to seeing some excerpts from that “anti-narrative” film (and the appearance of Chinese indie filmmaker Zhang Yuedong) and in context, it's a smart strategy to situate “The The” in the broader world of Li's thematic concerns which started over 15 years ago.
Whether you see the short or long versions, you're likely to experience a cinematic poem keyed into the tensions, anxieties and apathy many of us will probably feel in 2022 [mainland Chinese viewers (if they can see the film, and given the opening act's explicit shots of female genitalia, it's anyone's guess whether it can be easily shown in Xi's moral PRC utopia) may especially appreciate the dialogue, its rhythms and absurdities (explaining “cao”)]. The constantly disorientating world of “The The” is the only response a great artist such as Li can have to the trajectory of Xi's modern China, and for those outside of the mainland there's plenty to consider in the film's grappling with the absurdity of life as we hurtle towards the unknown.
