After her spirited performance in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Zhang Ziyi’s star began a meteoric rise. She starred opposite Jackie Chan in Rush Hour 2, garnered acclaim for her role in Zhang Yimou’s celebrated Hero, and was named one of the most beautiful people in the world by magazines all over. Obviously, her performance opened a lot of people’s eyes to this young actress’ beauty and charisma.
One only hopes that this encourages people to see out The Road Home, her first movie. Although this gentle, nostalgic picture is a far cry from the more action-oriented films that brought her fame, it’s nonetheless a very delightful and rewarding film in its own right.
When Yusheng’s father dies, he returns to his remote home village to oversee the funeral. When he arrives, he learns that his mother, Zhao Di, has made a strange request. In keeping with tradition, she wants her husband’s casket to be carried from the city morgue back to the village, so that his spirit will remember the way home. Although the village mayor tries to change her mind, claiming that they don’t have enough manpower, she remains stubborn.
At first, Yusheng sides with the mayor. However, something in his mother’s insistent causes him to reflect on his parents’ courtship and relationship. At this point, the movie flashes back 40 years, and we see the story of how his parents come to meet.
When Changyu arrives one autumn day to be the village’s new schoolteacher, Di is immediately smitten with the handsome young scholar. She watches him from afar as he helps build the new schoolhouse, while drawing water from the well, or as he walks schoolchildren home after class. He notices her too, this shy, pretty young girl in the bright red jacket and pigtails, and a simple, innocent attraction begins between the two in the ensuing weeks.
However, when they finally get a chance to meet, Changyu gets called back to the city for political reasons (a veiled reference to China’s Cultural Revolution). Heartbroken, Di waits patiently for him to return like he promised. When he doesn’t, she decides to travel to the city, braving a fierce blizzard despite being seriously ill.
Of course, given the film’s introduction, we know that Di and Changyu do end up together and have a long, (and by all accounts) loving marriage. However, the film offers us a chance to see how the love started, which allows us to understand Di’s strange funeral request. She doesn’t do so out of stubbornness or eccentricity, or out of mere tradition, but because it’s the only way to honor the man she loved so much, who meant so much to her and her village.
Yimou makes the wise choice of filming the “present day” scenes in black and white, reserving the radiant colors and Yong Hou’s gorgeous cinematography for the flashback. Yimou’s camera captures the beauty of the Chinese countryside in all of its autumnal splendor. However, the film’s most stunning scenery is Zhang Ziyi’s face, and Yimou’s camera drinks it in for all its worth.
Naturally, most of the film’s appeal will come from the fact that it was Ziyi’s first movie, and those seeking memorable performance will not be disappointed. If you were in love with Ziyi before, prepare to fall in love all over again. Her earnest, heartfelt performance is almost heartrending in its sincerity. The room seems to lighten up every time her face appears onscreen. Two scenes in particular stick out in my mind.
In one, Di follows Changyu as he walks a group of children home. She sneaks through the trees, her red jacket sticking out amongst the fiery golden leaves. Plucking up her courage, she walks past Changyu and the two exchange shy, furtive glances that say more than words ever could. She then breaks into an awkward, wobbly-legged run, as if her knees are too weak to support the added weight of all those butterflies in her stomach.
In the other, Di is waiting in the door when Changyu comes over for dinner, as per the village custom. When he arrives, he sees her standing in the doorway bathed in light, her face filled with joy. While he eats, she catches glimpses of him in the mirror, as does he. Again, Yimou keeps the dialog to a minimum, trusting that their glances will say all that’s needed. And they do.
Lest the film become too nostalgic and romantic, Yimou weaves in the rhythms of rural Chinese life, drawing out the beauty of the mundane. While a potter fixes a broken bowl, Yimou’s camera intently stares at the old man’s fingers, which deftly brush the pieces and put them back together with a nimbleness that belies their age.
At only 90 minutes or so, The Road Home is a short and sweet picture, but a very satisfying one nevertheless. It is nostalgic and sentimental, but never to a fault. Only rarely does it venture into melodrama, but you’ll probably be so enchanted Ziyi’s unpretentious beauty or the glorious scenery that you just won’t care.
Films like The Road Home are in short supply these days, with so many movies taking the cheap way of big explosions, flashy special effects, and cheapened sensuality. Which is reason enough to cherish it all the more.
It’s refreshing to see a movie where words like “wholesome”, “heartfelt”, and “sincere” can be used without a trace of irony. Too often, such adjectives are meant with derision in today’s postmodern culture. The Road Home evokes a yearning in me. A yearning to return to simpler times perhaps, but also for a time and place when qualities like love, community, trust, sincerity, and sacrifice aren’t given short shrift.
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