Zhang Yimou is regarded as one of the greatest Chinese directors and Gong Li is the most famous Chinese actress ever and, arguably, one of the top actresses in the world. The two in combination had already given us three fine films before pairing up once again for The Story of Qiu Ju (1992). They began their association in Red Sorghum (1987), continued in Ju Dou (1989) and again with Raise the Red Lantern (1991), all highly regarded films. For The Story of Qiu Ju, Zhang Yimou deals, for the first time, with the contemporary time period. This film raises not one, but two, inherently interesting issues: the limited transferability of humor from one culture to another and what it means to be “right” in a dispute.

The Story: The story of this film is rather straight forward except for the ending and the ending, in this instance, is one that we really don’t want to discuss explicitly in a review since it’s unanticipated nature is the principal reward in watching the film. Wan Qiu Ju (Gong Li) and her husband, Wan Qing Lai (Liu Peiqi), live in a small rural village in China. The Village Head or Chief is Wan Shantung (Lei Laosheng). As we join the story, a very pregnant Qiu Ju and her sister-in-law, Meizi (Yang Liuchun), are taking turns pulling a small wagon in which the unfortunate Qing Lai is laid out prone. They are on the way to the village doctor because Qing Lai had been kicked in the groin and ribs by the Village Chief. The fight had broken out when Qing Lai had made a comment about the Chief raising hens, which may or may not have been a veiled reference to the Chief having sired four daughters and no sons. With China intent on ensuring zero population growth through a one-child policy and the Chief already well over the limit in offspring, the lack of a son in the family is something of a sore spot for the Chief and he had become incensed by Qing Lai’s remark.

The doctor examines Qing Lai and finds a bruised rid and a slightly swollen testicle but declares that he should be fine after a few days. As to the groin problem, the doctor advices that Qing Lai “keep it straight and aired out!” Qiu Ju is somewhat more upset than her wounded husband, commenting, “If we can’t fix your plumbing, we may be stuck with the single-child policy.” Since the one is yet to be born, they have no idea whether it is a boy or a girl.

The crux of the film’s plot is that Qing Lai and, especially, Qiu Ju want an apology from the Chief for kicking Qing Lai “down there where it counts.” The Chief, Shantung, is a pretty decent fellow in most respects, as evidenced by his happy family and respect in the community, but he is also somewhat stubborn and prideful. He’s not about to apologize, still convinced that Qing Lai’s comment was an insult to his manhood. Since Shantung is the only authority in the village, Qiu Ju feels that she’ll have to go outside the village for justice. Qiu Ju, despite her pregnant state, walks with her sister-in-law to the local magistrate of the Public Security Bureau, Officer Li (Ge Zhijun), in a nearby village. He intercedes as a mediator, speaks with all parties concerned in the kicking incident, and offers a decision: Shantung must pay Qing Lai 200 yuan for lost labor and medical costs. Qiu Ju wanted an apology, not money, and when she goes to collect the fine, Shantung further escalates the problem by scattering the twenty 10 yuan bills on the ground so that the Qiu Ju will have to “bow to him” twenty time to pick the bills up. Qiu Ju walks away in disgust, vowing to continue her effort to obtain “justice.”

The Chinese system of remedies for disputes provides a series of levels like that in other countries and Qiu Ju stubbornly proceeds from one level to the next. At the level above Officer Li, the same decision is upheld except that the fine is increased to 250 yuan. Still, there is no apology. Officer Li, who delivers the decision, even tries a ruse to bring the conflict to a conclusion. He brings Qiu Ju and Qing Lai a gift, stating that it was purchased by Shantung and that this offering over and above the fine amounts to an apology. Qiu Ju and Qing Lai are mollified – until they learn from the storekeeper that the gift was actually purchased by Officer Li.

Qiu Ju’s demand for “justice” begins to acquire the appearance of a crusade. Each step in the process takes her further and further from her home village, in her advanced condition of pregnancy, into an increasing difficult bureaucratic labyrinth. The financial burdens increase with each additional step and both Qiu Ju and Meizi are taken away from their work at home for longer and longer periods of time. The conflict is also beginning to eat away at the solidarity in the small community where everyone knows everyone else and the details of their business. Ultimately, the dispute moves into the court system and Qiu Ju has to pay now for a lawyer as well.

So, now the film is nearing its conclusion and pretty much all that we’ve seen so far is a glimpse of the Chinese countryside, its antiquated modes of transportation (by Western standards), and the operation of its bureaucracies. And we’ve watched the rotund Qiu Ju waddling hither and thither. I’m not going to give away the ending, but I will say that Qiu Ju goes into labor and the birthing process turns problematic. The issues surrounding the birth complications and the litigious dispute become fully intertwined.

Themes: My view of this film, at this point, is partly shaped by what I’ve read about it and not simply from my own experience with it. That is because several reviews and comments by people with personal knowledge of Chinese culture all relate that the reaction of Chinese audiences to this film is entirely different than that of Western audiences. Chinese audiences laugh almost throughout the entire film as one would for a good comedy while Western audiences sit in quiet but earnest solemnity as one would for a drama. Clearly, the reaction of the Chinese audience is the “intended” one since this film was made by a Chinese director about life in China originally for a Chinese audience. There is no question that this film is supposed to be a comedy and is one for Chinese viewers. The problem is that Western audiences, myself included, just don’t “get it.” The comedy hinges on two things that Western audiences have no way to understand: (1) the contrast between the way the bureaucracies are presented and how they really perform; and (2) the contrast between Qiu Ju’s behavior and what is considered “sensible” behavior in China.

Suppose, for example, that everyone in my home state of Rhode Island knows that the Department of Motor Vehicles (DMV) in the state is the most impossible bureaucracy with which to conduct business. They’re rude, slow, backed-up, the lines are long, and so forth. Suppose further that a film is made that portrays the DMV as treating its customers with the utmost politeness, prompt one-on-one handling of each problem conducted in plush arms chairs, and coffee and muffins offered free of charge. That would be funny, but only if you understand that the reality is quite different. Although Qiu Ju got no satisfaction or “justice” at any level of the bureaucracies depicted in the film, she was treated with utmost courtesy and virtually encouraged to appeal each decision to the next level. Moreover, the entire set of bureaucratic steps all occurred in the time span of about one trimester of her pregnancy. The Chinese find all of this outrageously funny because they know how thoroughly unhelpful the bureaucrats are, how slow each step will inevitably be, and how strongly they’ll be discouraged from appealing to another level.

Then there’s the “stubbornness” of Qiu Ju’s crusade. Westerners don’t get the humor of that issue either. Why? Because Westerners, especially Americans, are every bit as litigious as Qiu Ju and then some. We Americans love to get on our high horse and sue the heck out of our neighbors or some business or corporation. Our sense of the importance of “justice” will sometimes demand that we sacrifice our health, our family’s stability, our marriages, or what-have-you in order to pursue what we see as some righteous cause! The essence of the “American Dream” is to separate yourself from your community by acquiring more wealth, more security, and more status than anyone else. We’re in competition with one another. Even the “European Dream” is more inclusive and community oriented than that in America, but the emphasis in the Communist culture of China is truly on getting along. Confrontation is discouraged. Each step in seeking a remedy demands, among other things, that all parties engage in self-reflection called “political self criticism.” Each person is expected to ask themselves how their actions will impact the well-being of the community. While Westerners are likely to view Qiu Ju’s quest as courageous and tenacious, to the Chinese, it appears stubborn, obsessive, selfish, and naïve. We love individuality while they prize the collective harmony.

There is an essential paradox in Qiu Ju’s quest. On the one hand, she seems to be motivated by the need for a kind of justice at the level of feelings – in the form of an apology. That is more important to her than monetary compensation. On the other hand, in pursuing her ideal of justice so intently, she is prepared to sacrifice many other legitimate human concerns. She spends an inordinate amount of her family’s resources for the travel and fees, takes herself and her sister-in-law away from the work of the family, and puts her husband into further conflict with the other men of the village because he and she are seen as stirring up trouble unnecessarily. Her actions also bring humiliation to the Chief by making him look bad to the various authorities. She may even be jeopardizing her pregnancy. In a quest for a human kind of justice she’s sacrificing human kinds of interests of several parties.

This leads to the second important issue inherent in this film: the disparate meanings of being “right”. There are times when one can be both right and wrong in a conflict – right on the substance of the issue but wrong to pursue it. Some of these instances all of us recognize. Suppose the meanest, nastiest, most corrupt person you’ve ever known suddenly dies and you’ve been asked to say a few words at the person’s funeral. You might be factually “right” if you spoke nothing but the nasty truth about the person but you’d be wrong from a sensitivity standpoint. It’s not the time or place for harsh truth. Here’s another example: suppose that the leader of an organization that you belong to is the best leader your group has ever had, in your opinion. He or she has made many sound decisions but made one that you feel is just plain unjust. You could insist on holding the leader accountable for the unjust action but you also realize that in doing so you will increase the likelihood that he or she will be pushed aside by a rival who you strongly doubt will be as effective. You’d be technically “right” to insist on justice but strategically wrong. Another case: every good parent understands that it’s best not to point out every mistake that a child makes because emotional impacts sometimes take precedence over rightness of facts. Or your spouse wants to discuss a grievance with you where you know, in your heart, that you’re in the wrong, so you introduce a grievance of your own where you know you’re right. Your grievance may be a just grievance but you’re wrong to pursue it at that particular moment as a device to evade your spouse’s issue. It’s a difference between legalistic or technical rightness and human rightness. The first kind of “rightness” is based on literal truth, rules, obligations, and justice, but the second kind is based on human consequences, feelings, and relationships. Qiu Ju lost sight of the fact that her obsessive pursuit of justice in a circumstance where she was technically in the right was causing a variety of kinds of damage to her community that far exceeded the wrongness of the original act.

Production Values: The problem with this film is that there is little action or plot and the humor is all but lost on Western viewers. That leaves little to commend this film other than the clever ending. Most of us find dealing with bureaucracies a huge annoyance in real life and watching more of it for two hours in a film is just about the last thing we’d choose for viewing pleasure. For Chinese audiences, by contrast, those two hours are chock full of hearty laughter. For Western viewers, this is mostly a ponderous, tedious film.

Gong Li, in this film, is far from the beautiful woman whom many of us had come to know and love in her earlier work. She is huge and mostly wrapped up in a heavy coat and scarf. Frankly, she’s far from appealing, physically, in this movie. On the other hand, that forces us to take note of the genuine skills that she possesses as an actress other than her beauty. She looked tired and worn out but is all the more effective at portraying dogged determination in that state.

Zhang Yimou is known as a master of color in such films as Raise the Red Lantern and Red Sorghum. While The Story of Qiu Ju shows some of that same brilliance of color, it is nowhere near the level of Zhang’s earlier films.

Perhaps the most rewarding aspect of this film for Western viewers is the documentary-like showcasing of life in China. The bureaucracies may be misrepresented for humorous effect, but the modes of travel, the clothing, street life in the city, and village life are all depicted with painstaking care and authenticity. Few Westerners will ever have a more intimate exposure to the life of the Chinese.

Bottom-Line: The Story of Qiu Ju won the Golden Lion Award at the Venice Film Festival in 1992. Few Epinions readers will be able to experience this film from the perspective of one familiar with Chinese culture, and lacking that foundation, the film is no better than three stars. For the minority of readers who have personal familiarity with life in mainland China, the film deserves a higher rating – probably four stars. The Story of Qiu Ju is in Chinese with English subtitles. The running time is 114 minutes.


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You might want to check out these other excellent films from China, Hong Kong, and Taiwan:

Chungking Express
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon
Eat Drink Man Woman
The Emperor and the Assassin
Fallen Angels
Farewell My Concubine
Hero
In the Mood for Love
Raise the Red Lantern
Red Sorghum
Road Home
Shanghai Triad
Temptress Moon
Together
To Live
What Time is it There?
The Women From the Lake of Scented Souls
Yi Yi

Recommended:
Yes

Video Occasion: Good for a Rainy Day
Suitability For Children: Suitable for Children Age 13 and Older