Republic

A poignant and timely portrayal of Chinese youth proudly defying conformity, Republic firmly marks its place as one of the boldest and most unflinching documentaries showcased at the Berlinale 2024. Director, cinematographer, editor and sound designer of the film, Jin Jiang, ingeniously transports us to the heart of Beijing, within the confines of a cramped space of 6m² nestled within a narrow alley. Within this intimate setting, an entire world unfolds in an almost claustrophobic manner, as the camera steadfastly refrains from venturing outdoors after having entered the space at the film’s outset.

Li Eryang, the host of this experimental enclave, tends to his surroundings with a handheld hoover, its red cloth likely tethered due to a defect, and deftly prepares his meals by squatting at the room’s centre, chopping vegetables without a cutting board and stir-frying on an electric cooker placed on the floor. Adjacent to a full bookshelf, a small microwave with a worn and sticky surface holds Lao Gan Ma chili sauce and pepper powder, while a compact fridge rests nearby. Amidst the eclectic array of belongings, Li’s computer, guitar, keyboard and synthesiser are positioned against the walls, surrounded by a pell-mell of cushions and indiscernible objects, piles of CDs and books, with a small trash bin placed in front of the ladder leading to a bunk bed. His literary collection stretches from Chinese classics such as Dreams of the Red Chamber and Records of the Grand Historian to the Chinese translation of Les Fleurs du Mal. In the background, the gentle meowing of a cat weaves its way through the space, navigating between objects as Li skilfully employs a kitchen knife to mend cables. The mise-en-scène masterfully sets the tone, style and mood within the opening minutes. Under the lens of Jin Jiang, there is an air of nonchalance and captivating relaxation that radiates from Li’s almost other-worldly demeanour.

The very concept of a “republic” within this context indeed feels surreal and other-worldly, yet Li humbly champions an inclusive ethos. His open-door policy welcomes individuals from all walks of life to freely partake in music, meditation, philosophical discussions, drug consumption and artistic pursuits; while the spectre of censorship may linger, their discussions remain unfettered by self-censorship. Even a passer-by, an elderly sanitation worker clad in a bright orange uniform with a mask dangling under his chin, is welcomed into Li’s “republic,” observing the band’s rehearsal with an embarrassed smile and casually remarking, “just looking around”. Amidst a frenzied pursuit of wealth outside its walls, this space serves as an oasis for Li’s “Cosmic Bros,” where solidarity triumphs over self-interest, and transparency transcends competition. In moments of need, such as when an impoverished friend requires cash to get through the week, the solution lies simply underneath a pyramid decoration on the shelf.

[…] The camera’s imperceptibility allows for uninhibited expression from all present, capturing opinions that are impossible to disseminate online in their socio-political reality.

Jin Jiang’s dynamic camera movement captures the bohemian ambiance of the improvised space and the individuals inside it in a candidly unadorned manner. Given the confined nature of said space, which at times hosts up to a dozen people, one can’t help but ponder the camera’s placement and the director’s position. Jin Jiang probably immerses himself completely in the cramped quarters, squatting inconspicuously in a corner and ensuring that the camera remains eye-level with his protagonists relaxing on the floor. The camera’s imperceptibility allows for uninhibited expression from all present, capturing opinions that are impossible to disseminate online in their socio-political reality. Certain shots, graced with filtered lighting in hues of purple and red, or disco lights casting green and blue circles amidst a backdrop of cigarette and weed smoke, evoke a style reminiscent of Enter the Void (Gaspar Noé, 2009). Simultaneously, multiple dialogues unfold in parallel, weaving a polyphony that mirrors the spirit of the “republic”, in both the literal and metaphorical senses of “polyphony”, all the while embracing the motto of “love and light” alongside “peace and harmony”... This notion of “harmony”, often invoked by Chinese authorities, is not achieved at the cost of silencing dissenting voices.

It is difficult to comprehend the risks assumed by the filmmaker and the protagonists in order to bring this film to life. Certainly, they are acutely aware of the omnipresence of face recognition technology wielded by bureaucratic entities. While drug consumption can lead to forced “treatment” and isolation at the hands of public security authorities, there are also the murky boundaries of censorship to navigate, where any departure from portraying the “positive” facets of the country or exhibiting works without official approval could invite punitive measures.

[…] The nature of this resistance, its target and its essence remain enigmatic and perhaps even outright irrelevant to this cohort of young individuals who prioritize authenticity over society expectations.

In the face of these formidable challenges, the film offers a rare glimpse into the lives of Chinese youth who defy the conventional moulds of model citizenship, eschewing the relentless “996” work culture (from 9 am to 9 pm, six days a week). These individuals emerge as musicians, philosophers, poets, or simply disillusioned youth who shun participation in the endless cycle of production and consumption, preferring anonymity within the colossal machinery of society. In a society that values utilitarian contributions of individuals, the resistance embraced by Li and his peers is passive. Their rejection of traditional markers of success embodies a spirit that evokes echoes of a bygone hippie era, where long hair symbolizes freedom, drug use sparks artistic inspiration, and music resonates with psychedelic rhythms – an era missed by the entire generation of Chinese youth in the 1960s and 1970s amidst the tumult of the Cultural Revolution. Continuing with the legacy of hippiedom, Li and his friends not only participate in the phenomenon of "lying flat" (Tang Ping) but also make deliberate choices regarding self-awareness and a commitment to artistic ideals. The nature of this resistance, its target and its essence remain enigmatic and perhaps even outright irrelevant to this cohort of young individuals who prioritize authenticity over society expectations and leave concerns of reality outside Li’s door. Although their resistance may challenge societal norms, it is by no means anti-governmental; Mao and Xi are both quoted as sources of inspiration rather than adversaries, indicating a nuanced relationship with the status quo that they contend with.

[…] «this is just a film»

Jin Jiang makes no attempt to beautify or idealise the community he portrays. As Li’s debts mount, he and his friends reluctantly transition from carefree idealism to pragmatic reality, seeking odd jobs to alleviate their financial burdens. At this juncture, the film’s tone shifts from hopeful optimism regarding an unbridled alternative lifestyle to the harsh realities of economic survival, mirroring the broader societal pressures that one cannot escape from. However, a subtle hint of rebellion persists throughout, and whether this film falls into the realm of fiction or documentary remains ambiguous. In this respect, the experience of a Q&A at the Berlinale has been quite significant: while the director staunchly defended the film’s authenticity, the producer asserted that it is a work of fiction. This discord underscores the challenging landscape of filmmaking in China, where stringent censorship poses hurdles for all filmmakers and prompts intriguing questions concerning the hybrid nature of docufiction and its underlying raison d’être. Ultimately, all films, whether documentary or fiction, reflect the director’s personal expression and are imbued with authenticity and life-like qualities. Concurrently, they are also all inherently fictive, presenting merely a curated snippet of reality and either intentionally or subconsciously blurring the lines between where documentary ends and fiction begins. Compounding this complexity is the surrealism of our current political landscape, where life truly is often stranger than fiction. At the end of the day, the director’s final stance in front of his audience in Berlin is, «this is just a film».