Latest news with #Boyhood
The Guardian
a day ago
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
‘Mum, I can't think straight any more': the mother who filmed her son's entire childhood
There's a scene in the documentary Motherboard in which life as a lone parent is very much going off the rails. While film-maker Victoria Mapplebeck is having treatment for breast cancer, her 14-year-old son Jim is partying hard and refusing to do his homework. After a huge row, he storms out. His mother recorded their subsequent phone call. 'When he said he couldn't wait to be old enough to move out, that was like a dagger through the heart,' she says. 'That cancer year was when life's difficult stuff was happening and I was filming the process all at the same time.' The Guardian's journalism is independent. We will earn a commission if you buy something through an affiliate link. Learn more. Back in 2004, when Mapplebeck found herself pregnant after a short romance with a man who wasn't keen on being a father, she was all too aware of the Cyril Connolly quote about there being no more sombre enemy of good art than the pram in the hall. 'So I trained my camera on that pram in order to find a way to combine life as a film-maker and a mother,' she says. Filmed over 20 years on a succession of phones, Motherboard is a doc that comes with equal amounts of jeopardy, trauma and humour. We first meet Jim as a foetus on an ultrasound screen, giving his mum-to-be the thumbs up. Over the following 90 minutes we see him grow into a warm-hearted young man with a gift for comedy. As a longitudinal project, the film has been compared to Michael Apted's influential 1964 TV series Seven Up!, which followed the same 14 children over the years to see how their lives changed. It has also been likened to Richard Linklater's 2014 coming-of-age feature Boyhood, made over 12 years with the same actors. But where those films were made by invisible directors seamlessly stitching together a narrative, Motherboard puts Mapplebeck centre frame with Jim, and shows her toggling between being a parent and a film-maker. Mapplebeck was a 38-year-old freelance TV director when she became pregnant. As this was hardly the most financially stable of jobs, she moved into teaching when she realised she would be bringing up a baby up on her own. As an innovator who had made the first C4 webcam series, Smart Hearts, back in 1999, her experience with virtual reality, self-shooting and using iPhones as cameras led to her becoming professor of digital media at Royal Holloway, University of London. Realising she missed film-making, Mapplebeck made the 2015 short 160 Characters, about the relationship that had led to Jim's conception, using old text messages found on her redundant Nokia phone. 160 Characters was followed by another short, Missed Call, about Jim's wish when he was 13 to meet his absent father. That film won a Bafta in 2019, but footage of the two of them going up on stage to collect the award doesn't tell the whole story. Mapplebeck had been undergoing treatment for breast cancer and was worried she wouldn't live long enough to see Jim grow up. She had already started filming her year-long treatment as a VR project for the Guardian: 'I've always looked at painful experiences through a lens and on the whole it's helped. With cancer, you've got no control over it and you have to lean into that. It's not about whether you've got a positive attitude as to what your outcome is, it's in the lap of the gods. I wanted some sense of agency and decided to document this whole year of cancer treatment and explore its effect on family life.' Jim wasn't sure at first: 'Even if I was putting myself in her shoes, it still didn't make sense. But what I slowly learned was that for every person, therapy looks very different. And I realised that putting a camera in front of it was my mum's way of getting through it. I saw how positive it was for her, so then I was backing it.' Jim is now 21 and studying drama at university. He still lives in the south London flat his mother moved into before he was born. Closely involved with the film-making process throughout, he is credited as creative consultant on Motherboard. Talking alongside his mother, he remembers the 18-month edit: 'It was quite a funny time because I'd have my life and you'd have yours. And I'd come back home and it'd be pitch black; you'd just been so busy all the lights would be off except the illuminated screen. And you would go, 'Oh, could you watch this?' I was regularly watching cuts and giving feedback about what I did and didn't like. It was really cool.' Mapplebeck is at pains to stress the care taken to ensure that making the film didn't add to Jim's worries about the future: 'The bad stuff and the very difficult moments, they're not recorded live. And that was a very conscious decision. I didn't come back from the oncologist and say to Jim, 'OK, this is the diagnosis', with the camera in his face. All of that is off-camera. But then days, weeks later, we'd record a kind of recap. I always felt it was a myth that it's only going to be good if it's live and you're doorstepping. Having a bit of time to reflect made for really good material.' Jim comes through as a natural performer, whether singing his made-up songs as a charming toddler or acting in a school play. He admits: 'I like being the main character – as an actor that is nice. And I feel lucky we can talk honestly.' Not everything seen on screen was filmed by Mapplebeck. Snatches of Jim's life outside their flat – wading through muddy music festivals or partying with his friends – come from footage shot on his phone. Jim remembers: 'Mum would be like, 'Oh, could I get this?' And it was nice including a lot of my friends because they will always be a very big part of my life, especially those years.' Motherboard also weaves in telephone calls and texts between mother and son, even when their relationship is at its most fraught during the cancer treatment and Covid restriction years. At one point Jim texts: 'I can't think straight any more, this year needs to fuck off'. Unlike mom influencers with their 'sharenting' videos that stream their children's antics almost-live online – and too often without their consent – Mapplebeck makes it clear that there were lengthy negotiations between her and Jim: 'There were three years of showing Jim cuts. Asking, 'What do you think? How would you feel about using this?'' She would put the phone in selfie mode and film them talking side by side: 'You see us going back and forth about consent. There was the scene where Jim says, 'Nineteen minutes you've been recording. Nineteen minutes gone! You're a thief!'' They agree that the toughest discussions were about using that phone call, recorded after their biggest argument: 'You had stormed out and I didn't know where you were and you were supposed to be going to your grandma's and it was pre-vaccine. I was worried you'd infect her and you were screaming, 'Shut up, shut up!' It's so visceral. Both of us knew it was really powerful. You kept on saying to me, 'I think that people might hate me when they hear me talk to you like that.'' But at a test screening, Jim was reassured that the scene worked in the way that his mother intended: 'It was quite a rite of passage because I think Jim really felt the love in the room. And he realised that people have either been that teenager or they've been that parent – or both – and that everybody got it. Nobody was judgmental or down on him, and that was a real turning point. Jim said to me, 'You can't make a film about parenting unless you show the shit stuff.'' 'People can say I did the film to please my mum,' adds Jim, 'but there was no devil on my shoulder saying, 'Do this for her.' If I hadn't wanted to do the film, it wouldn't have happened.' Mapplebeck received guidance from OKRE (Opening Knowledge across Research and Entertainment) about protecting Jim, as well as legal advice on ensuring his father's anonymity on screen. 'I would not want internet sleuthery and I've never been interested in naming or shaming, or even being judgmental of his decisions. It was a real lightbulb moment for me when I thought, 'I don't want to try and get into his head.' 'I will never understand his own experiences and what led him to these decisions. The advice we've always had from lawyers and compliance people has been: 'Yes, you can tell your story. You've got a right to your truth, a truthful and honest account of how this situation affected you.'' A 2013 study found that 13% of fathers report having no contact with their non-resident children. Jim was 14 by the time he met his dad. They saw each other three times that year, and haven't met since. Jim expresses ambivalence about him: 'I don't hate him at all. Don't even dislike him. I just have a very neutral view, which is that he did what he did in his life. I've done what I've done in my life. I don't want him to watch the film and regret anything. We all make choices, and I think, yeah, he might someday think that wasn't the best choice, but I wouldn't want him to feel like he should regret anything he's done. I know I've got a dad out there, but I am very, very happy with my current family and there's no guarantee that I would be who I was if he was in my life.' Motherboard is in cinemas 15 August. This article was amended on 29 July 2025 to clarify that the 13% figure for fathers who reported having no contact with their children was in relation to circumstances where the children did not live with their fathers.
New Statesman
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- New Statesman
Beware the girlosphere
The word 'girlhood' is everywhere. But hearing it feels a bit like being flashed by a nudist. Nobody complains about Richard Linklater's film Boyhood; and 'childhood' is completely normal. As a young woman, I feel comfortable admitting I was recently a girl; but saying I had a 'girlhood' sounds bizarre. The feeling started to creep in around 2023, when the word came up as a fashion-industry descriptor – baby pink was legion and you couldn't move for fear of bumping into a hair bow. The online magazine Who What Wear collaged together some outfits by Miu Miu and Sandy Liang and used the headline 'How Celebrating Girlhood Quickly Became the Internet's Favourite Trend'; Dazed called the same thing 'Girlhood-core.' That year, director Sofia Coppola released a book of behind-the-scenes photos, bound in the same pastel pink, to her female fanbase. 'Bows, Sofia Coppola's The Virgin Suicides, and the entirety of Lana Del Rey's discography are all things that were once shamed for enjoying, but have become core components of what makes up girlhood…' The look isn't new. But it found its creepy moniker as adults flocked to TikTok over the pandemic, bearing years of residual Internet detritus from the time when Tumblr held most of the alternative market share. For around fifteen years this exact amalgamation of whites and pinks, Nouvelle Vague hairstyles, Lana Del Rey videos and Sofia Coppola films has held currency wherever young women exist online. The nostalgic aesthetic is refined but has no single creator; its resounding motifs have been pinned, reblogged and retweeted until they became a universal online language. Welcome to the girlosphere, the least understood corner of the political internet. We are already familiar with journalistic fretting about the 'manosphere,' which shovels anti-feminist and white nationalist ideology from underground message boards onto increasingly visible parts of mainstream social media. Influencer Andrew Tate allegedly radicalises young men into misogyny, they say (though recent Ofcom research has found his reach might be overstated); Canadian psychologist Jordan Peterson forms the more acceptable face of this loose digital grouping. More than any individual, the manosphere's standard bearer might be the green cartoon frog, Pepe, who presides over the digital basement of the alt-right. In May this year, Stephen Graham's smash Netflix show Adolescence took over the national conversation. The four-part series follows the Miller family after their 13-year-old son kills a female classmate. It's all about male rage, and online misogyny. 'Adolescence is such powerful TV,' the Guardian wrote, 'that it could save lives.' Now, secondary school pupils in England are to be taught about incel culture, and misogyny inherent to the so-called manosphere, according to statutory government guidance recently published by the Labour government. Less thought – almost none – is given to the opposite corner of the internet. We know all too well about the damage social media has wrought to a specific class of online adolescent women. Their rates of depression, anxiety, and self-injury surged in the early 2010s, as social-media platforms proliferated and expanded. Being in the 'girlosphere' puts you at personal risk. The current 'manosphere' panic revolves around a group of all-powerful influencers, who basically act like radio pundits; it seems frivolous by comparison to worry about how the internet looks. But young women do things online that men don't; they make moodboards, curate feeds, and live vicariously through 'aesthetic' images. In this case, the visuals themselves might be key. The girlosphere is broad enough to subsume any ideology without obvious cognitive dissonance. The beliefs that reach it become glamorous by association; it is aesthetically coherent but politically all over the place. It has no Andrew Tate; its only universal 'influencers' are enigmatic fictional characters, models and pop stars. Nine or ten years ago you could plausibly be a teenage Dworkinite and have all the same glittery pink images on your blog as a pro-porn liberal. 'Cottagecore', the vague grouping of unthreatening rural aesthetics that emerged in the dying days of Tumblr, accommodated both 'tradwives' and second-wave feminists. Today, pro-eating disorder images on X and Pinterest are made more palatable when they use suitably 'coquette' images of Slavic fashion models. Dangerous habits get embedded in the girlosphere at light speed; young women searching for escapism are at higher risk of getting sucked in. Subscribe to The New Statesman today from only £8.99 per month Subscribe The fictional basis of the girlosphere has stayed the same for over a decade. It is deliberately voyeuristic and distant. Goodreads tells me that the Virgin Suicides gets tagged as 'girlhood' more than any other novel on the platform; the book and its film adaptation have had a cult online fanbase of young women for over a decade. But both are narrated by a cast of male characters; we barely see the central, insular group of sisters outside of dreams, rumours, windows and the 'coquette' craze on TikTok was borrowed wholesale from a decade-old Tumblr subculture, whose prime influence was the haunted paedophilia-Americana of Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita. If you're a young girl in this sphere then you're probably edgily imagining yourself as the abductee – but the whole point of the novel is that it obscures the abductor's criminal motivations through a veil of aesthetic-first literary devices. The manosphere, by contrast, is fundamentally anti-aesthetic. It puts its real-world grievances and ambitions before its visual concerns. Men do not participate in the collaborative collaging that made 'girlhood' into a nebulous vibe and Lana Del Rey into an all-purpose political tool. Nobody's living vicariously through the MS Paint cartoons of Pepe the Frog; Andrew Tate's livestreaming backgrounds have made no impression on the current generation of interior designers. You can write its acolytes off as political undesirables after a single glance. The girlosphere is a different kind of entity. There was nothing inherently malevolent about it in the beginning, but its escapist foundations have made it into a potentially sinister tool. Young women come to seek aesthetic pleasure and end up ricocheting over the political spectrum. The mainstream fashion devotees of the 'girlhood' aesthetic pose it as a symbol of reclaimed sisterhood, but this is the most sinister proposition of all, like something out of the Stepford Wives. It has only resounded for so long among young women online because its creepy voyeurism puts it at arm's length from the real female experience. You don't have to think with empathy when you mix modern-day policy and the vibes of a fictional middle America; you don't have to consider the practicalities of your own body when you spend all day collaging together old photos of Slavic supermodels. And once you enter the girlosophere, you can never leave. Future generations will have to endure this too: a ballet flat stomping on a human face, forever. [See more: On freedom vs motherhood] Related
Time of India
09-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
From Zero to Villain - Im Siwan's Shocking Transformation Will Leave You Speechless
The Sweet Boy Next Door Who Became Korea's Most Hated Character Remember that innocent-looking guy from your college who seemed too pure for this world? That's exactly what Im Siwan looked like in " Boyhood " (2023). Playing the role of Byeong-tae, a high school student with nothing but big dreams and an even bigger mouth, Siwan had us all convinced he was just another soft boy actor destined for romantic comedies and feel-good dramas. The character of Byeong-tae was everything we love about underdog stories - naive, optimistic, and stubbornly righteous despite having zero power to change anything. His famous line "Ah, where in the world is there a person who isn't precious? To me, everyone in the world is precious!" became an instant meme among Korean drama fans. The way Siwan delivered these lines with such genuine conviction made viewers believe this was just his natural personality shining through. by Taboola by Taboola Sponsored Links Sponsored Links Promoted Links Promoted Links You May Like Đây có thể là thời điểm tốt nhất để giao dịch vàng trong 5 năm qua IC Markets Tìm hiểu thêm Undo But then Squid Game Season 3 happened, and honestly, we're still recovering from the whiplash. The 37-year-old actor, who started his journey as a member of the idol group ZE:A (Children of Empire) in 2010, has pulled off one of the most shocking character transformations in recent K-drama history. From playing the lovable underdog in " Misaeng " (2014) to becoming the crypto-obsessed villain Myeong-gi in Netflix's global phenomenon, Siwan has proven that still waters run deep - and sometimes they hide some pretty dark currents. What makes this transformation even more remarkable is the timing. Both "Boyhood" and "Squid Game 3" were filmed around the same period, with some overlapping shooting schedules. Imagine switching between playing an idealistic teenager fighting against injustice to portraying a morally bankrupt adult who's lost all sense of right and wrong - all within the same few months. That's the kind of mental gymnastics that would break most actors, but Siwan somehow managed to keep both characters distinct and authentic. When Your Favorite Oppa Becomes the Villain You Love to Hate The contrast is absolutely mind-boggling, and it's not just about the characters - it's about the entire energy they bring to the screen. In "Boyhood," Byeong-tae was that friend who'd fight the system for you, even if he had zero chance of winning. He was the guy who'd stand up to bullies twice his size, get beaten up, and still come back the next day with the same defiant smile. There was something beautifully foolish about his optimism, the kind that makes you want to protect him from the harsh realities of the world. Fast forward to "Squid Game 3," and Myeong-gi is the guy who'd probably sell his own grandmother for a Bitcoin. The transformation isn't just physical - though Siwan's styling team deserves major props for making him look appropriately disheveled and desperate - it's in every micro-expression, every gesture, every moment of calculated selfishness. "I'll throw the baby away, you think I can't do it? I can do it!" - these bone-chilling words from Myeong-gi had viewers clutching their pearls and questioning everything they thought they knew about Im Siwan. The way he delivered this line, with tears streaming down his face but his voice filled with desperate determination, was genuinely disturbing. It's the kind of performance that makes you forget you're watching an actor and instead feel like you're witnessing someone's complete moral breakdown in real time. The actor himself admitted that even he struggled to understand his character until the very end of filming. Unlike method actors who dive deep into their characters' psychology from day one, Siwan found himself constantly questioning Myeong-gi's motivations. "I was confused about creating and understanding the character until almost the end of filming," he revealed in recent interviews. Playing a failed cryptocurrency YouTuber who lost everything and joined the deadly games out of desperation, Siwan had to dig deep into the psychology of fear and cowardice. This wasn't just about playing a villain - it was about understanding how ordinary people can make extraordinary bad choices when pushed to their limits. Myeong-gi represents that terrifying possibility that exists in all of us: what would we do if we lost everything and saw no way out? The Method Behind the Madness What makes Siwan's transformation even more impressive is how he approached the role from a completely different angle than his previous characters. Director Hwang Dong-hyuk specifically asked for a performance that was neither completely evil nor entirely good - basically, the kind of morally gray character that makes you uncomfortable because they're too real. This direction initially confused Siwan, who was used to playing more straightforward characters. "If that's the case, I concluded that maybe Myeong-gi makes bad choices because he's a coward overwhelmed by fear," he explained. "The process of finding some line at a middle point rather than at extreme points wasn't easy, but I think that's why Myeong-gi became a three-dimensional and mysteriously unpredictable character." The brilliance of this approach is that it makes Myeong-gi's actions feel inevitable rather than shocking. Every terrible choice he makes feels like the logical next step for someone who's already lost everything and is operating purely on survival instinct. It's not that he's inherently evil - he's just so terrified of losing what little he has left that he'll sacrifice anyone and anything to protect himself. This psychological complexity is what separates Siwan's villain from the typical K-drama antagonist. Instead of being driven by revenge, greed, or pure malice, Myeong-gi is motivated by something much more relatable and therefore more terrifying: fear. The fear of being poor, of being irrelevant, of being forgotten. It's the kind of fear that keeps millions of young people awake at night, wondering if they'll ever be able to afford their own homes or if they'll spend their entire lives struggling to make ends meet. Siwan's commitment to authenticity meant he had to find that fear within himself, which wasn't easy for someone who's achieved considerable success in both music and acting. "I can only act when my heart truly moves," he admitted. "When I don't understand something, I get frustratingly stuck and have to think it through." This level of emotional honesty is what makes his performance so convincing - and so disturbing. The Cultural Impact and Fan Reactions The response to Siwan's transformation has been nothing short of explosive. Social media platforms have been flooded with reactions ranging from shock and betrayal to grudging admiration for his acting skills. The actor himself has noticed the change in his online presence: "Thanks to Squid Game, my social media followers increased a lot, but many seem to have come just to curse at me." This reaction speaks to something deeper about how audiences connect with actors, especially those who start their careers as idols. There's an expectation that these performers will maintain their "pure" image, that they'll continue to be the safe, comforting presence that fans fell in love with. When someone like Siwan breaks that mold so dramatically, it forces fans to confront their own assumptions about both the actor and the characters they play. The cultural significance of this transformation extends beyond just entertainment. In a society where young people are increasingly struggling with economic uncertainty and social pressure, Myeong-gi's character arc serves as a cautionary tale about what can happen when desperation overrides morality. The fact that this message is delivered by someone as seemingly innocent as Im Siwan makes it even more powerful.
Perth Now
01-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Perth Now
James Gunn: Adria Arjona would be a 'great' Wonder Woman
James Gunn believes Adria Arjona would be a "great" Wonder Woman. The 58-year-old filmmaker and his long-time producer Peter Safran became co-chairmen and co-CEOs of DC Studios in 2022 and he recently sparked speculation he would be casting the Hit-Man star as the Amazon warrior princess after following her on social media. And while James insisted he wasn't making a statement with his social media activity, he acknowledged Adria - who he worked with in 2016 when she starred in 2016's The Belko Experiment, which he wrote and produced - would be a great addition to the DC Universe. He told Extra: 'I follow Adria on Instagram but everybody came out [and said], 'He just followed her, that means she's Wonder Woman.' She'd be a great Wonder Woman, by the way. 'She was in a movie that I made seven years ago. We've been friends and have known each other since that time. I followed her then, I didn't just follow her.' Earlier this year, Adria hinted she'd like to work with James in the DC Universe. Asked about the director's follow, she told CinemaBlend: 'I love James Gunn. He gave me my first movie ever, which was like my first studio movie, so I owe him a lot.' And questioned as to whether the social media connection meant anything, the 33-year-old star crossed her fingers and said: "I don't know." Adria previously admitted that she'd like to be more "strategic" in her career decisions. She told Empire: "I wish I was more of a strategic actor when it comes to making choices. But I'm just more excited by the women that I get to embody." Adria starred alongside Glen Powell in the 2023 rom-com Hit Man, and the actress recalled quickly developing a strong "chemistry" with her co-star. Speaking about her initial meeting with Glen, she told Empire: "It was supposed to be a one-hour meeting. We ended up talking for five hours. "Chemistry comes from trust, and I think from our first meeting I just knew I could trust [Glen]. We created a space for us to play and be weird and sexy and funny." Hit Man was directed by acclaimed filmmaker Richard Linklater - whose previous directing credits include Boyhood, School of Rock, and Everybody Wants Some!! - and Adria still remembers feeling anxious about meeting the filmmaker for the first time. Recalling details of their first-ever Zoom call, the movie star shared: "My hands were sweaty. I was really trying to play it cool and that lasted for about ten minutes."
Los Angeles Times
20-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
A changing China, captured in 25 years of outtakes, emerges in the poetic ‘Caught by the Tides'
Dispatches from northern China, Jia Zhangke's movies constitute their own cinematic universe. Repeatedly returning to themes of globalization and alienation, the 55-year-old director has meticulously chronicled his country's uneasy plunge into the 21st century as rampant industrialization risks deadening those left behind. But his latest drama, 'Caught by the Tides,' which opens at the Frida Cinema today, presents a bold, reflexive remix of his preoccupations. Drawing from nearly 25 years of footage, including images from his most acclaimed films, Jiahas crafted a poignant new story with an assist from fragments of old tales. He has always been interested in how the weight of time bears down on his characters — now his actors age in front of our eyes. When 'Caught by the Tides' premiered at last year's Cannes Film Festival, critics leaned on a handy, if somewhat inaccurate, comparison to describe Jia's achievement: 'Boyhood,' which followed a young actor over the course of 12 years, a new segment of the picture shot annually. But Richard Linklater preplanned his magnum opus. Jia, on the other hand, approached his film more accidentally, using the pandemic lockdown as an excuse to revisit his own archives. 'It struck me that the footage had no linear, cause-and-effect pattern,' Jia explained in a director's statement. 'Instead, there was a more complex relationship, not unlike something from quantum physics, in which the direction of life is influenced and ultimately determined by variable factors that are hard to pinpoint.' The result is a story in three chapters, each one subtly building emotionally from the last. In the first, it is 2001, as Qiaoqiao (Zhao Tao) lives in Datong, where she dates Bin (Li Zhubin). Early on, Qiaoqiao gleefully sings with friends, but it will be the last time we hear her voice. It's a testament to Zhao's arresting performance that many viewers may not notice her silence. She's so present even without speaking, her alert eyes taking in everything, her understated reactions expressing plenty. Young and with her whole life ahead of her, Qiaoqiao longs to be a singer, but her future is short-circuited by Bin's text announcing that he's leaving to seek better financial opportunities elsewhere. He promises to send word once he's established himself, but we suspect she may never see this restless, callous schemer again. Not long after, Bin ghosts Qiaoqiao, prompting her to journey after him. 'Caught by the Tides' richly rewards viewers familiar with Jia's filmography with scenes and outtakes from his earlier movies. Zhao, who in real life married Jia more than a decade ago, has been a highlight of his movies starting with his 2000 breakthrough 'Platform,' and so when we see Qiaoqiao at the start of 'Caught by the Tides,' we're actually watching footage shot around that time. (Jia's 2002 drama 'Unknown Pleasures' starred Zhao as a budding singer named Qiaoqiao. Li also appeared in 'Unknown Pleasures,' as well as subsequent Jia pictures.) But the uninitiated shouldn't feel intimidated to begin their Jia immersion here. Those new to his work will easily discern the film's older footage, some of it captured on grainy DV cameras, while newer material boasts the elegant, widescreen compositions that have become his specialty. 'Caught by the Tides' serves as a handy primer on Jia's fascination with China's political, cultural and economic evolution, amplifying those dependable themes with the benefit of working across a larger canvas of a quarter century. Still, by the time Qiaoqiao traverses the Yangtze River nearby the Three Gorges Dam — a controversial construction project that imperiled local small towns and provided the backdrop for Jia's 2006 film 'Still Life' — the director's fans may feel a bittersweet sense of déjà vu. We have been here before, reminded of his earlier characters who similarly struggled to find love and purpose. The film's second chapter, which takes place during 2006, highlights Qiaoqiao's romantic despair and, separately, Bin's growing desperation to make a name for himself. (This isn't the first Jia drama in which characters dabble in criminal activity.) By the time we arrive at the finale, set during the age of COVID anxiety, their inevitable reunion results in a moving resolution, one that suggests the ebb and flow of desire but, also, the passage of time's inexorable erosion of individuals and nations. Indeed, it's not just Zhao and Li who look different by the end of 'Caught by the Tides' but Shanxi Province itself — now a place of modern supermarkets, sculpted walkways and robots. Unchecked technological advancement is no longer a distant threat to China but a clear and present danger, dispassionately gobbling up communities, jobs and Qiaoqiao's and Bin's dreams. When these two former lovers see each other again, a lifetime having passed on screen, they don't need words. In this beautiful summation work, Jia has said it all.
