Caught by the Tides
[…] Beneath this simplicity lies an expansive record of history – a diligent, tireless portrait of the brutality of time.
[…] Is «Caught by the Tides» a nostalgic reflection, a meditation on a once more idealistic self, or an avant-garde approach to docu-fiction?
Text: Yun-Hua Chen

Cinema as an Archive of Images
“Wildfire cannot burn it all; the spring breeze brings it back to life.” The song that opens Caught by the Tides encapsulates the spirit of early 21st-century China – a period of relentless change and struggle, yet brimming with wild energy and untamed opportunities. The past two decades, among the most vibrant and exhilarating in China’s history, chart the nation’s emergence from isolation into an era of globalisation.
Jia Zhangke, a master of embedding his characters in their natural habitats, immerses us in vivid slices of everyday life. A group of middle-aged women sings in a cramped room, leaning against chairs beside a water pot, near a rusted metal shelf stocked with drinks and adorned with posters for iced tea. Onstage, a group of women performs before descending to collect money from their mostly elderly male audience. Elsewhere, a group of men in similar jackets – some holding cigarettes – gather on a staircase, waiting for a group photo in front of an official building. Jia’s camera, both curious and empathetic, lingers on their faces, occasionally tracking right to left from a moving vehicle. It drifts among crowds – capturing faces lost in collective gatherings, swift glimpses of lifestyles, and architectures emblematic of their eras. Qiaoqiao’s (Tao Zhao) voicelessness echoes the silence of the masses – silent witnesses to monumental change, whether the miners at the film’s opening or the runners in its closing scenes.
Edited from 1000 hours of footage spanning 22 years, shot on formats ranging from DV and ARRI 535 to 16mm, 35mm, and VR, Caught by the Tides unfolds through a deceptively simple, minimalist narrative. However, beneath this simplicity lies an expansive record of history – a diligent, tireless portrait of the brutality of time. The film chronicles two of the most transformative and hopeful decades in modern China, paying tribute to individuals swept along by history’s currents, both as characters in Jia’s distinct world of docu-fiction and as real people. Miners play miners, and lead actor Zhubin Li visibly ages, his real-life frailty mirrored on screen. Unused scenes from Jia’s earlier works blend with newly filmed material, crafting an oscillating, time-traveling narrative. Time is etched into bodies, urban landscapes, material objects, and the demeanour of passers-by.
Here, time emerges as the film’s true protagonist, visibly reflected in Tao Zhao’s maturing face, radiant with untold stories. Through free association and instinctive editing, Jia invites viewers on a journey through memory, merging personal archives with universal stories. The film becomes a time capsule, preserving a spirit that has vanished or is vanishing. Jia’s nostalgic gaze captures shifting textures, fleeting moments, and the palpable transformation of his homeland with deep tenderness. Jia is no longer the young filmmaker documenting out of sheer curiosity though, nor is he still part of the masses as he once was, early in his career. The distance between his earlier works and Caught by the Tides reflects his own personal journey – a director now embedded within the system, distanced from the raw immediacy of Pickpocket (1996) and Platform (2000).
While the fictional thread of the film feels like a heartfelt tribute to Tao Zhao, Jia’s muse and the emotional core of all of his films, the film’s documentary elements – capturing the masses at the turn of the century – prove more powerful. The early footage pulses with hope and uncertainty as people navigate seismic societal shifts, their unguarded faces unknowingly immortalized on film. Jia’s brilliance lies in his ability to capture the essence of humanity through trivialities: a crumpled cigarette, an oversized suit jacket, a proud stride, or a slouched gait. Yet, as time progresses, in reality and within film narrative, the tone begins to shift. Later footage gravitates toward changes involving technological advancements – robots and sterile, detached interactions – signalling a departure from his earlier intimacy with the masses. Everyday people, like those dancing in a classroom while wearing face masks, once silently carrying their dreams and struggles, gradually fade from the centre of his lens and become part of the backdrop.
This evolution parallels Jia’s own life trajectory – from a rebellious youth to a reflective older man whose sharp critique has softened into introspection. Time shapes not only the film’s characters but also Jia himself. His gaze remains affectionate and nostalgic, but now when he looks back at Datong or Zhao Tao’s on-screen presence, it is no longer through the eyes of his younger self. Instead, it is the gaze of an aging filmmaker – remembering things not as they truly were but as they now exist in memory. In a country like China, where history is constantly rewritten, such remembrance is inherently fragmented and incomplete.
The Chinese title of the film, Feng Liu Yi Dai, carries layered meanings: literally “The Generation of Flowing Wind” or “The Drifting Generation” as Jia himself suggests – a metaphor for those who thrived during a period of rapid development, yet who may now feel disoriented in an era where robots greet shoppers in supermarkets. Is Caught by the Tides a nostalgic reflection, a meditation on a once more idealistic self, or an avant-garde approach to docu-fiction? Perhaps it is all of these, or none at all. This irreconcilability is inherent in all of us – tension between past and present, between actions taken and regrets left behind. Jia captures a time that has mercilessly slipped away, a future yet to unfold, and the fleeting human desire to cling to both.
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Watch
Screenings at Black Movie Genève 2025 and at the Cinémathèque suisse Lausanne
Info
Caught by the Tides | Film | Jia Zhangke | CHN 2024 | 111’ | Black Movie Genève 2025 | CH-Distribution: Cinémathèque suisse Lausanne
First published: January 14, 2025