On the rapidly urbanizing outskirts of Beijing, Yong Le spends his days scouring homes scheduled for demolition for furniture to pawn and his nights in the sub-basement of a high-rise apartment building.
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Loneliness to populate, wanderings and failures, architecturally framed steady shots, water, lots of water, cellar holes putrid environments, a look that when looks sees little or can't see at all, a look that can't look but that when looks through adjacent senses sees much more. Tsai Ming-liang? No, a former collaborator with an accomplice system of signs and form that returns us a similar abyss under formulation.
Chinese big budget movies are gigantic & exhilarating (like Stephen Chow's work) but independent movies are contrarily tough & desolate maybe because of reflecting China's harder reality. In the situation of high-rises flooding up, people wastes their youth, being forced to be in a grungy underground & seeing an illusion of "Chinese Dream." Desperate impossibility that victims of capitalism can't unite.