Set in his home province of Gansu, Li Ruijun’s golden-hued film is a heartbreaking tale of love and resilience in the face of societal indifference and change. With a cast largely made up of the director’s relatives as well as villagers from the landlocked province, this deeply personal work on the plight of rural farmers has a striking feel of authenticity and poetry.
Against the brutal reality of manual labour, the unlikely romance that develops between Ma (Wu Renlin) and Guiying (Hai Qing), two middle-aged outcasts herded into an arranged marriage by their apathetic siblings, is at once tender and fragile. Echoing a quote from the film, their existence is like the brittle wheat that gets listlessly blown in the wind. As a means to eradicate poverty, the government seeks to bulldoze rural China’s rudimentary homes; forced to relocate by their relatives who are after the monetary compensation, the pair become wandering souls whose only comfort is their burgeoning companionship.
In addition to subtle yet powerful performances from its leads, Return to Dust is especially mesmerising in the way it evokes the tactile poetry of farm work. Wide shots of Ma patiently tending to his livestock, stacking dry wheat on the back of his trusted donkey cart or laying bricks for his new marital home bring to mind Jean Renoir’s unsung 1945 masterpiece The Southerner. Such sensorial imagery beautifully evokes a quietly profound connection to the land against all odds.
While the portrayal of peasants’ suffering as a noble act might seem apolitical in its romanticisation, it is worth noting that the film was hastily pulled out of cinemas and streaming services in China following its release. The tragic entrapment found here is not defeatism but an act of recognition for those erased and left behind.
• Return to Dust is released in cinemas on 4 November.
