‘An Elephant Sitting Still’ is a last outcry of a young talent


I watched An Elephant Sitting Still while covering the Minneapolis St. Paul International Film Festival in April. It remains one of the most unforgettable films in my recent memory, the directorial debut of Hu Bo, a Chinese writer-turned-filmmaker. Hu’s incisive narratives of the human condition won Best First Feature and the FIPRESCI Prize at Berlin International Film Festival in 2018. Sadly, this is the young director’s first and last film, for his career trajectory ended abruptly in October, 2017. Hu took his own life during post-production. He was 29. The feature has since played in numerous international film festivals garnering accolades which Hu himself would never have known.

Hu Bo graduated from Beijing Film Academy majoring in directing. Later went to Taiwan to further his training and came under the mentorship of the venerable auteur Hou Hsiao-hsien (The Assassin, 2015) and subsequently the Hungarian art film director Béla Tarr (The Turin Horse, 2011). Other than making short films and writing screenplays, Hu had authored short stories and an award-winning novella. His debut feature An Elephant Sitting Still was adapted from his short story of the same name.

Hu BoAt the 55th Golden Horse Awards in Taiwan last November, An Elephant Sitting Still won Best Feature Film, Best Adapted Screenplay, and Audience Choice Award. The Best Film prize was presented to Hu’s mother by the Taiwanese American director Ang Lee (Life of Pi, 2012; Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, 2000) who reached out to her with a poignant embrace.


An Elephant Sitting Still is a 230-minute cinematic allegory wrapped in haunting realism. In an unnamed town in Northern China, four characters struggle with their own personal predicament too messy to untangle, all in a day’s time. The four narratives intersect in Hu’s incisive screenplay.

A high school student, Wei Bu (Peng Yuchang), while defending a friend, accidentally pushes a school bully down the stairs leading to his death. Even more tragic, Wei later finds out he has been deceived by the very friend he tries to protect. Wei has to run away as the bully’s older brother Yu Cheng (Yu Zhang), a local gangster, is out looking for him. Yu himself is a man riddled with guilt as he has just witnessed his best friend dash out of the window to his death upon finding out Yu has been sleeping with his wife.

Meanwhile, Wei tries to persuade his unrequited crush, schoolmate Huang Ling (Wang Yuwen) to leave with him. Huang herself has to deal with her alcoholic single mother and is further troubled by the reverberation of her scandalous relationship with her school’s vice dean. The fourth character is a grandfather, Wang Jin (Li Congxi), who is pushed out of his son’s home as the young family needs to move to a smaller apartment in another place so to register their daughter for a better school. A dismal future awaits him away from his granddaughter.

Hu parallels the dilapidated urban environs with the inner world of his characters. Long takes and tracking shots place viewers right in the midst of relational conflicts. A Steadicam follows their uncertain footsteps; blueish-grey overtone transmits the bleakness of their situation. Hu takes time to let the camera linger on his characters’ faces, capturing their troubled psyche. Their seemingly emotionless appearance is reminiscence of Bresson’s ‘non-actors’. Often, their reticence conveys depths that words deem unnecessary.

There’s still another character which is mentioned but remains invisible, and that’s the Elephant. We’re told at the start of the film that it sits very still in a circus in the city of Manzhouli, a distance away. It’s indifferent to people’s taunting and objects thrown at it. The Elephant’s quiet composure exudes a mythical element these characters seem to yearn for. Here, realism is mixed with a touch of magic. As the four-hour film draws to an end, the sequence transcends rationale. Two young people, Wei and Ling, together with the grandfather Wang and his granddaughter depart on a journey to Manzhouli in search for the Elephant.

The ending shot is mesmerizing as the bus to Manzhouli stops temporarily in the night, the passengers get down for a stretch. From a distance, we see our protagonists stand in front of the beam from the bus and start playing hacky sack. The long stay of the camera on them is surreal but needed. The quest for the mythical being is motivational zeal for life, even just for a momentary pleasure. Then we hear off screen the sound of an elephant braying.

The Book Big Crack

Big Crack.jpgIn April I took a trip to Hong Kong and there in a bookstore I found the source material for the film, Big Crack*, written by Hu under his pen name Hu Qian. The book is a compilation of short stories, one of them being ‘An Elephant Sitting Still’, as well as Hu’s award-winning novella Big Crack’. I was eager to explore Hu’s worldview and compare his writing with his cinematic work.

‘An Elephant Sitting Still’ is a 15-page short story. Its protagonist is Yu in the movie, having slept with his best friend’s wife and struggling with guilt as he’s the reason for his friend’s suicide. Yu is drawn to search for the Elephant in Manzhouli, maybe for a redemptive reason. Towards the end, he finds the mythical beast, jumps into its cage and submits himself to let it deal a deadly blow to him, a fate he’s all too willing to accept, a soul that has been hinged on a meaningless existence. The other film materials are mostly philosophical concepts from the novella ‘Big Crack’

Hu’s writing is more direct and visceral than his cinematic creation. In the novella ‘Big Crack’, his characters are students in a bottom-tiered art college somewhere near a remote northern town. The term ‘waste land’ is used to refer to the campus and its adjacent town. The term is also used in the movie. In the book, the words ‘waste land’ are ubiquitous, together with Existential, nihilistic concepts like having no exit and nauseating stenches – as in the beginning of the film with Wei’s father’s furious complaint. In the novella, rampant violence is frequent among different dormitories of the school, often exploding in bloodshed. Violence is more restrained in the film, but often leading to tragic end.

I presume Hu’s use of the phrase ‘waste land’ is an allusion to T. S. Eliot’s epic poem. Eliot wrote ‘The Waste Land’ after WWI as the poet lamented the cultural and spiritual breakdown of Europe. Physical ruins could be rebuilt, but the collapse of moral and spiritual values was hard to replaced.

In what I think is a defying act in a country that monitors and censors Christianity in the public arena, Hu quoted the following verses from the Bible, words printed in bold:

“The Lord saw how great the wickedness of the human race had become on the earth, and that every inclination of the thoughts of the human heart was only evil all the time…. Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight and was full of violence. God saw how corrupt the earth had become, for all the people on earth had corrupted their ways.”

The Invisible Elephant

Hu is piercing in his observation of the moral void and dry, cracked condition of the human soul; the meaninglessness of life as he saw it could have become too overwhelming for him. But what about the Elephant? Is there a sliver of light coming through that crack?

Some had interpreted the Elephant as a symbol of the government, but considering the way that the beast appeals and draws the protagonists to seek for it, almost like a pilgrimage, that parallel just isn’t probable. Some critics had attributed it to the endurance needed to forsake the world and confront troubles with passive resistance.

When I first came across the mention of the Elephant sitting still, the Beatles song “The Fool on the Hill” came to mind. The lyrics point to a similar quietude and peaceful being, some see the lyrics as a reference to God, “He was oppressed and He was afflicted, yet He did not open His mouth…” I incline to interpret as this, for evidence is overwhelming in Hu’s writing that he was troubled by the depravity of the world as he saw it and wanted to seek for what or who could have been the redemptive way.

As the closing credits roll to the end, we hear the mood has changed from the past three plus hours. We hear jubilant singing voices mixed with the theme music ‘Elephant’, sound of joy for the first time. And in the credits the following acknowledgement appears, ending the whole film:

“Original Acappella, Laomudeng Church Sunday Service Hymn”**

Before his death, a second feature was on the drawing board. Hu named it The Gate of Heaven. The spiritual yearning of this young talent is achingly apparent.



~ ~ ~ ~ Ripples



*It’s my understanding that the book comes in only its original Chinese edition. There has yet been an English translation.

** Upon online research, I found that the Laomudeng Christian Church is serenely situated on the top of a mountain in Yunan, famous for its secluded and peaceful environs. The high-pitched A Cappella singing of its congregants is well-known.

Photo Sources:

Film still from Ripple file originally from MSPIFF
Hu Bo photo from Festival Scope Pro
Big Crack book photo from Amazon.com


‘Ash is Purest White’ delivers a dramatic punch

Ash is Purest White Poster (2)Premiered at Cannes Film Festival in May 2018, and since then showing in numerous international film festivals around the world, “Ash is Purest White” is now playing in selective cities in the U.S. If you live near Twin Cities, MN, it opens Friday, March 29th at Landmark’s Edina Cinema.

Ash is Purest White” is acclaimed director Jia Zhangke’s latest feature, a China and France co-production. It is like a fusion of Jia’s previous “A Touch of Sin” (2013) and “Mountains May Depart” (2015). The film is structured in three parts, packed with conflicts of loyalty and betrayal, love and loss. The fast changing physical and technological landscapes in China are the realistic backdrop of a story wrapped in the contradictions of choice and fate.

For non-Chinese language viewers, the English title could well be a mystery. What exactly is its meaning, and what kind of genre is it?  The film has an answer as the phrase is explicitly mentioned: Anything that burns at a high temperature is made pure, thus, volcanic ashes are purest white, an apt metaphor as the story unfolds. The Chinese title, however, is less philosophical.  江湖兒女  (“Jianghu er nü”) literally means “jianghu’s sons and daughters”, implying an action genre movie.

“Jianghu”, that undefinable term with no direct English translation, gives it away as it refers to the ancient wuxia (martial arts) world or the gangster realm in present day. In an early scene when the two main characters, mobster big brother Bin (Liao Fan) and his girlfriend Qiao (Zhao Tao) are out in the natural landscape with a volcano in the backdrop, Bin says he belongs in the jianghu underworld: “For people like us, it’s always kill or be killed.” Qiao quickly responds, “I’m not part of the jianghu. You’ve watched too many gangster movies.” Bin in turn takes out his gun, wraps Qiao’s hands to hold it up, shows her how to cock and fire. “See now you’re in the jianghu,” he says.

That is a pivotal scene as it foreshadows things to come. Qiao is pushed into jianghu as she later fires the gun to ward off a group of hooligans in order to save Bin. What more, to protect him, she admits to the police that the gun belongs to her. With that, she spends five years in prison. Jia has created in Qiao a reluctant heroine, capturing our attention with her loyalty and courage, two elements that are essential in jianghu.

“Ash is Purest White” is a mixed bag of crime thriller, melodrama, acerbic realism and humour; the story is an engaging vehicle taking us on Qiao’s personal journey. With this his latest film, Jia won Best Director at the Chicago International Film Festival and Zhao, his wife and muse, Best Actress. Most recently, he added one more accolade as the film garnered Best Screenplay at the 13th Asian Film Awards in Hong Kong on March 16th.

A story told in three acts, the feature is a dramatic depiction of Qiao’s change as she is swept through the currents of life, first as a young woman following Bin around as his girlfriend, a relationship that he is reluctant to confirm. Then comes the pivotal scene of fate sending her to the second act, incarcerated. Later when released, she becomes more street-smart––being cheated, she learns to cheat––all for finding Bin, to pick up where they have left off.

The last part is 18 years from the beginning, Qiao has established herself in Bin’s previous hood, but Bin is no longer the feared and respected big brother. Fate has led him onto a path towards oblivion. The final scene leaves us with a poignant realization, the currents of time may have altered physical landscapes, certain things do not change within the hidden vault of the heart.

(A full version of this review is posted on Asian American Press. Click here to read. )

~ ~ ~ Ripples