From Dawn to Dawn

We film critics tend to be hyperbolic when describing our filmgoing experiences – flipping through a festival programme can feel, in some of our writings, as dramatic and perilous as walking through a minefield. And yet, beyond such ornate (and often insufferable) metaphors, the frustratingly hit-or-miss nature of these selections remains quite real. One tries to navigate them by aesthetic or narrative references, and depending on the degree of convergence (or divergence) between this pre-existing framework and what the film ultimately offers, you either feel the intellectual satisfaction of “getting it right” or the disappointment of having been lured into something whose potential falls short of what was promised. Rare are the instances in which that disappointment turns into a pleasant surprise, making us lose sight of the aesthetic landmarks that have shaped our taste. This year at Visions du Réel, the Grand Jury Prix winner From Dawn to Dawn was arguably among these exceptions.

A Buddhist monastery is hardly the first place one would expect a documentary touching on the Chinese mafia in Barcelona to begin – and yet, from the very outset, filmmaker Xisi Sofia Ye Chen skillfully steers away from the sociocultural and discursive conventions through which we are predisposed to approach her film. These very conventions seem to have fascinated both her and her older brother, A Wen, during their childhood, when they watched Hong Kong gangster films, as we learn from her voice-over. The extent to which these experiences shaped A Wen’s personal and professional trajectory, leading him to become a gang member, remains largely speculative; now 38, a father and a husband whose criminal activities are seemingly in the past, his presence within the frame nevertheless hints at a darker, more intimate and implosive facet that we only briefly touch upon. There is an uncanny quietude in the images the filmmaker captures from A Wen’s daily life – whether working in one of the restaurants he owns, confiding in a Buddhist monk about his anxieties, or spending time reminiscing with his former gang-member friends – a stillness that is further enhanced by the way these spaces feel devoid of any sense of belonging. Whether A Wen is with his friends, with his mother at home, or with employees in the restaurant, these shared moments seem to form part of a fragile routine, one in which past scars and regrets, as well as future fears and uncertainties, are always just around the corner.

Although From Dawn to Dawn is predominantly composed of these observational fragments, it is Chen’s voice-over that punctuates them emotionally, often functioning as an off-frame counterpoint that burdens the image with an abrupt condensation of affect. No less fragmentary than the images themselves, the spoken text is aptly integrated into the film, relying more on restraint than on unbridled intimacy. Ye Chen is indeed far from being logorrheic; unlike many contemporary non-fiction filmmakers who conceal their shortcomings in narrative structure behind the freewheeling rawness of the first-person voice, her approach relies chiefly on control and reserve. Oscillating between different stages of her brother’s life and how she, as a mere observer, experienced those moments, Ye Chen’s recollections arguably place the audience in the same position she once occupied, while A Wen was absent, away, and silent. Many of the questions that might arise for the viewer regarding her brother – his imprisonment, his departure from his family, his involvement in the gambling scene – are deliberately left unaddressed, with her offering only a limited glimpse into their shared past and substituting those absences with haunted gestures and phantom pains, discernible only to those who know how to look. Owing in no small part to its carefully maintained emotional distance, From Dawn to Dawn is a welcome change within the current documentary landscape – where cheap tricks of immersion often serve as quick fixes for satisfying audiences’ ever-increasing appetite for voyeurism.