“Ash is Purest White” Blu-ray Cover
Director: Jia Zhang-Ke
Writer: Jia Zhang-Ke
Cast: Liao Fan, Zhao Tao, Feng Xiaogang, Xu Zheng, Zhang Yibai, Xuan Li, Casper Liang
Running Time: 136 min.
By Paul Bramhall
In the world of cinema the word ‘epic’ gets thrown around a lot these days, with what often feels like little time spent on justifying if the movie in question is truly deserving of the description. However one movie that definitely warrants the term, is director Jia Zhang-Ke’s latest Ash is Purest White. Although on paper it may be described as a sprawling gangster epic, onscreen it’s a very different beast. A more appropriate description would be a sprawling epic of one woman’s journey to redefine herself, set against the world of jianghu (the Chinese title directly translates to ‘Sons and Daughters of Jianghu’).
After experimenting with the omnibus format for 2013’s A Touch of Sin and 2015’s Mountains May Depart, Ash is Purest White marks a return for Zhang-Ke to the more linear narrative format. A French and Chinese co-production, Zhang-Ke casts his wife and frequent collaborator Zhao Tao as a boisterous owner of a small mah-jong parlour, one who’s taken a liking to a local gangster played by Liao Fan. A talented actress, Tao rarely acts outside of productions not helmed by her husband, but never has she been as front and center as she is here. While it’s the first time for Fan to work with the director, after his award winning turn in Black Coal, Thin Ice, to see him work with Zhang-Ke is an exciting prospect.
In a story spanning from 2001 to 2018, Ash is Purest White feels like a movie of 2 halves. During the first half Tao feels very much like the gangsters moll. When we see Fan watching Chow Yun Fat stocking up on armaments in Tragic Hero, Tao tells him he’s been watching too many gangster movies, and indeed the influence of the Hong Kong Triad genre seems to act as an unspoken rulebook to Fan’s more grounded endeavours. Moments of tension appear from minor, almost inconsequential events, such as when Fan’s dancing gets a little too energetic in a disco, and the gun he has tucked in the back of his pants falls to the floor. Tao stares at him silently, and for a few moments we’re not sure what’s going to happen next, before the tension lifts and they carry on dancing together.
It’s when the pair visit a local volcano that the worlds they perceive themselves to live in are defined – Fan describes the jianghu world they live in as a dangerous one, but Tao insists she’s not a part of it. Fan hands her his gun to study, before taking her arm and guiding her to fire off a round, after which he states “you are now.” This single act leads to wider consequences when the car they’re being escorted in finds itself being surrounded by a motorbike gang from a rival faction. After both the driver and Fan attempt to fight them off, it becomes clear they’re outnumbered, and they begin to get heavily beaten. Unable to watch her boyfriend being pummelled to a pulp anymore, Tao gets out of the car armed with the gun, and fires off two warning shots. The gang disperse, and she’s sent to prison for 5 years for owning an illegal firearm and discharging it in public.
When she gets out in 2006, she expects Fan to be waiting for her, but instead, he’s nowhere to be found. Life has moved on, and so has he, but Tao wants to hear it come directly from him that they’re no longer together. So begins an almost road trip like odyssey through the vastly changing landscapes of a rapidly developing China, as she endeavours to track Fan down, and in doing so find the closure that she thinks she needs. Track him down she does, and they continue to float in and out of each other’s lives over the course of the next 12 years, with each time they meet the boundaries of the jianghu world redefining the dynamics of their relationship.
There’s no mistaking that Ash is Purest White is not a movie for everyone. It has a deliberate pace which will either immerse the viewer, or leave them feeling alienated, but for those willing to drift through the 17 years the story encompasses, it’s a rewarding experience. In many ways Zhang-Ke’s latest shares DNA with the socially conscious dramas that came out of Korea in the 1970’s, as the same rapid urban development that took place then is reflected in what China is going through now, and the displaced souls that go with it. During a cruise along the Three Gorges which passes the city of Fengjie, the announcer explains how the building of a dam will mean that in a few years everything will be underwater, its residents relocated. In another scene the camera pans over rows and rows of identical tower blocks, intentionally providing a stark contrast to the rustic streets we see at the beginning, and reflective of the upheaval in both Tao and Fan.
It’s on the cruise where Tao gets swindled out of her money, and suddenly finds herself having to rely on only her wits to get by. Although she never considered herself a part of the jianghu world, she soon finds herself a part of it through necessity, as her determination to survive sees her enact a series of smartly staged scams just to get through the night. In one of the earlier scenes, Fan explains a misdemeanour to Tao by falling back on how it’s a jianghu thing, so she wouldn’t understand. By the time it’s 2018, a wheelchair bound Fan is being wheeled around a vast sports stadium, still in the middle of being built, his carer a black leather adorned Tao (looking like the sister of Lee Young-ae in Sympathy for Lady Vengeance). The balance of power has changed, and now Tao finds herself using the same line on Fan, an indicator of how far their worlds have grown apart.
In the hands of French DP Eric Gautier Ash is Purest White employs a variety of visual looks, including experimenting with the aspect ratio. When proceedings open they’re shot in 1:85, before later on shifting to the more traditional widescreen ratio that we’re accustomed to. It’s a bold move, and plays well to incite the passing of time. By the time events return back to the mah-jong parlour in Shanxi, director Zhang-Ke’s hometown, the full weight of the 17 years is felt through the smallest of changes. Where once insignificant moments passed with no furore, now everyone has a smartphone in their hand, and Fan’s return to his old stomping ground is recorded by those that used to know him. The old world of the jianghu has changed, with all the drinking and hustling that it once entailed taking its toll on those that were in it.
Like the characters onscreen, Zhang-Ke also appears to hold a degree of affection for the Hong Kong triad flicks that populated the screens during their formative years. In addition to the clip from Tragic Hero, Sally Yeh’s song Xiao Sa Zou Yi Hui from The Killer both opens the movie and drifts in and out of the 135 minute runtime, as nostalgic for some of us as it is for the characters we hear the song playing over. It could be argued that Fan’s state ultimately reflects a more realistic outcome for someone like Mark Gor, with the alcohol fuelled brotherhood portrayed in the earlier scenes nowhere to be seen once times get tough. Fan was a big fish in a small pond, but when that pond got dredged to make way for the latest redevelopment, there was no last hurrah for glory in a hail of bullets and explosions, just a lost soul looking for former glories that were no longer there to be found.
Special mention should also go to Zhang-Ke’s frequent composer Giong Lim (The Assassin, Long Day’s Journey Into Night), whose score incorporates both traditional Chinese instruments, through to the throbbing synthesizers that linger on during the later scenes. Music may be used sparingly, but when it’s there it enhances every scene it’s in, reflecting an understanding that’s been developed through their many collaborations together.
For newcomers to Zhang-Ke’s work, Ash is Purest White would be a good starting point. It’s easily his most reflective work to date, and as his muse Tao offers up an amazing performance that anchors the whole movie. She’s rarely off the screen, and not once do you tire of her being on it. Spanning the human spectrum of emotions from the carefree and adventurous, to being bound by a sense of duty and honor, the way her and Fan’s lives cross each other at various points makes for an engaging journey for those that attune to it. Like The Master and Shadow, the reined in emotions and deliberate pacing will be off-putting for some, but for everyone else Ash is Purest White deserves a chance to be seen. Providing a powerful insight into both what it means to reinvent yourself, as well as knowing when to let someone go, it’s a poignant and sometimes gruelling journey, but one that’s undeniably worth taking.
Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 8/10
