People’s Park

But then what is trivial or modest about capturing life? In one unbroken 78-minute shot they descend from the park’s lush trees, moving in amongst the waltzing pensioners and robust ear-splitting timbre of al fresco karaoke to glide through this bustling cauldron of life. The single shot offers an unblemished proof of the moment, this space they explore and the lives that fill it. Unlike Alexander Sokurov’s Russian Ark (2002) or Jean-Luc Godard’s Weekend (1967) the single take does not presume arthouse credence or high concept dramatic effect. Instead it provides an unblinking narrative of life. The filmmakers tell me that: ‘In terms of what we felt we could achieve … the single-shot structure allowed us to cede some of the authorial control and meaning-making of montage to the natural rhythms of the space and to the design and plan of the park.’

And this space has more rhythm than a blues band. We are offered song, dance, life and love. The private lives of Chengdu are played out in public, without the inhibitions we could expect in Britain’s communal spaces. It provides an unguarded view of a spectrum of humanity. As the directors suggest: ‘To open the film up to the serendipitous, the unplanned, and the accidental … the one-shot approach grants the film a formal structure upon which we invite a wash of portraiture, performance, and provocation.’ It also represents a reality which is uncut, so in no way sculpted into a pre-designed narrative. We see what we see and process it as we will, without the influencing factors of emotive scoring and editing. It is a far cry from much modern expository documentary with talking heads and second hand remembered truths. The evidence here is before our eyes. But both Libbie and JP argue against my opinion that the unbroken gaze of their camera has any moral authority over opposing styles. ‘We wouldn’t say we got any closer to truth using this approach, we don’t tend to talk about documentary in terms of levels of truth. We would say that there was a different kind of immediacy, a more direct record of our subjective experience moving through the park on that one particular hot afternoon.’

This act of moving throughout the park was itself a challenge. Libbie was strapped with headphones and held the camera and shotgun mic; J.P. pushed her slowly and glacially in a wheelchair. It took 23 attempts, refining their route over several runs and three weeks of shooting. Finally they decided upon the 19th take. Considering the magic they capture (family bonds communicated through protective grasped hands, the smiles of everyday passers-by holding more beauty than a movie star’s) I can only then imagine the darlings they killed – a harsh necessity for the film to maintain its purity. And this is what provides us with a window upon a world that many will never have glimpsed. Images of a reality some will find alien and also a subtle interaction with it. ‘We’re still discovering new moments after having watched the film upwards of 100 times…there are hundreds of stares, some frowns, some smiles, some waves, some turning away from the camera, some looks of wonderment or fear. Some people are clearly performing for our camera, others seem to actively ignore it.’ This may arguably distort truth in that these everyday visitors to the park tailor and tweak their behaviour in response to the lens. Another proposition is that it shines a light straight through their character, opening them up like flowers. To me it is a humanitarian piece of filmmaking, stimulating thought about how other people in other parts of the world are living. Libbie and JP expressed that not only did it record a truth to project to others, it also reflected back an everyday reality for those who live it. ‘Some of our Chinese friends have told us the film helped them see the park in an entirely new light, and offered a chance to see their fellow Chinese de-familiarized from the familiar and everyday; to have a new kind of recognition of their home. International audiences also expressed that the film gave them an entirely different understanding of China, an understanding that diverged from most media and cinematic representations.’

These understandings of China have been conveyed so eloquently through film in recent years, whether the sombre stories of Wang Bing’s telling, the blended fact and fiction of Jia Zhang Ke’s 24 City (2008) or Lu Sheng’s Here, There (Zheli, nail, 2011), a informative contemplation on the Chinese diaspora. People’s Park is a worthy addition to the mosaic of stories, both true and fiction, which build our perception of modern China. Bill Nichols famously labelled documentary films as ‘discourses of sobriety.’ Although his description went well beyond the everyday use of this word, People’s Park still seems too vibrant to fit its description. In wine and tea lies truth and beauty suggest the Chinese. We should add film to this.

http://peoplesparkfilm.com/