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Film: Last Train Home
Release date: 25th October 2010
Certificate: E
Running time: 85 mins
Director: Lixie Fan
Starring: Suqin Chen, Changhua Zhan, Qin Zhang, Yang Zhang
Genre: Documentary
Studio: Dogwoof
Format: DVD
Country: Canada/China/UK
Each New Year, China’s railway stations become teeming, seething compounds of thousands of commuters. Here, they queue for tickets at booths where demand far outstrips supply, or wait in the forlorn hope that the train will turn up on time – if at all. This anxious group are all aching to return to their villages to see the families they left behind as they sought employment in the cities.
Last Train Home focuses on one family caught up in this desperate situation. In the ‘90s, the Zhang family were forced to leave their young children with their grandparents as they left to find work. Eager to improve the prospects of their children, they work hard and live simple lives, sending as much money as possible to the family they left in their rural village. This cash, they hope, will provide the education they were denied in their own youth.
Sadly, their daughter cannot see beyond her perceived abandonment and rebels. Dropping out of school, she decides to earn her own money by becoming a migrant worker, too. It’s a huge blow to her family, and Last Train Home concerns itself with the Zhangs’ attempts to heal the family rifts, and guide their daughter back onto the path they chose for her.
Opening with scenes of workers sewing garments in a crowded factory, we are instantly introduced into the drudgery of life in the Guangzhou. Here, staff work in open-plan conditions producing clothing for the West. It seems that all aspects of life take place within the grey walls of the factory – food is eaten communally and bedrooms are little more than stalls. A montage of images quickly conveys the grimness, which is in direct contrast to the lush greenery of the life Changhua and Suqin left behind in Sichuan province.
In the country, their children, Qin and Yang, live on the family farm with their loving grandmother. They gather corn, eat as a family, and their life seems much happier than that of their parents. Beautifully framed shots of paddy fields with farmers slowly meandering across the screen confirm that the pace of life here is much more sedate.
Following their first arduous journey across the country, Changhua and Suqin are reunited with their children. The expectation is of a joyous coming together, but instead there is a sullen air about the kids. It quickly becomes apparent that gifts of mobile phones don’t cut the mustard, especially with their daughter, Qin. She’s resentful of an approach to parenting which casts her mother and father in the role of providers of money – but not love.
The relationship between the daughter and her parents deteriorates from this point on. Never judgemental, the film allows each character to get their point across, and it’s perfectly possible to sympathise with all parties. One scene in particular illustrates the strange dynamic between the three characters: waiting for a train to take them back to Sichuan, they encounter a heaving station caused by a power cut further up the tracks. In the midst of the crowded chaos, the characters bicker - Qin sniggers at her mother and Changhua attempts (not particularly effectively) to take control of the situation. It sums up the dynamics of their relationship perfectly - all the more dramatic for being set amidst the human debris and emotion of the angry mob.
Lixin Fan’s directorial approach is to offer as little interference as possible in proceedings - and this has really paid dividends. The access he has gained is incredibly personal, and grows more so as the film progresses – it’s clear that the relationship he has built with the family has grown stronger and more trusting over the three year period in which filming took place. This can be seen most clearly in Changhua – initially he is meek, mild and ineffectual. He seems wary of the camera and is usually in the shadow of his more vocal wife. Even during direct addresses to the camera, he is often almost eerily quiet – a man of few words. Yet the most explosive scene of documentary takes place when Qin swears in front of him. He explodes in a violent rage – the first time his self-control has been lost. It’s indicative of the tension which has been boiling within him, but also points to a comfort with the camera which was evidently missing earlier in the piece.
Last Train Home is sedately paced, yet utterly engaging. The neutrality adopted by the director ensures that a complicated situation is allowed to breathe on screen, and this allows the audience to decide where their sympathies lie – if anywhere. It’s a documentary which asks many questions about the role of parents, the way capitalism is impacting on China and the merits of self-sacrifice. Thankfully, Lixin Fan is not patronising enough to try and answer those questions himself. RW
Last Train Home is the feature length debut from Chinese documentary filmmaker Lixin Fan. Shot over the course of three years, the film portrays the annual exodus undertaken by the hundreds of millions of migrant workers in China every year during the Spring Festival. It is a film that depicts the gruelling conditions workers have to face inside the factory sweatshops, and the painful sacrifices parents make for their children. In this interview, the director talks about the impact of globalisation and capitalism on human migration, his influences and experiences, and what it means for him to be an independent Chinese documentary filmmaker…
Last Train Home follows the journey of one family of migrant workers during Chinese New Year. Are you still in contact with the Zhangs at all?
I am still in contact with the family, and there is some update from them. When we finished filming, the mother had lost her job, so she went home to take care of the son. He got into a really good high school in his hometown. The father is working by himself in the factory, so the entire family is now financially dependent on him. And Qin, she left her job a while ago and went to Hubei. We actually met a couple months ago, she’s a big girl now, but the relationship between Qin and her parents is still bad. Mostly Qin doesn’t want to talk to her parents, but she has been back to see the grandma and her brother.
The film portrays a lot of private and intimate family moments. How did you manage to get such a close relationship with the family?
Every documentary filmmaker needs to invest a solid amount of time with his subject, so we plunged ourselves into the migrant life. We shot over the course of three years, so an enormous amount of time was spent with the family, which helped us gain their trust. I think it’s also a Chinese thing that once someone accepts you, they really open up and take you in. So, I think by spending a lot of time with them, and opening ourselves up, we also became a part of the family.
There is a certain irony in that these migrant parents leave their children in order to earn money and achieve a better quality of life for them, when, in actual fact, their departure only ultimately ends up distancing themselves from their children, for example Qin. What do you make of this choice of financial support over emotional?
I think you’re right, and I do see this dilemma that many migrant families face. It seems that the parents were making a rational, conscious choice so their children could have a better life. It’s the Confucian value of Xiao Jing, the belief that parents should sacrifice themselves for their children.
I think for the migrants, they don’t have much choice because farming makes very little money. There is no welfare system in China, the education system is flawed, and the Hukou system (The Hukou system is a mandatory form of national household registration that denies people access to education and government services if they work or live in cities outside of their registered area) doesn’t allow for freedom of movement. All these elements combined make for a difficult situation for the migrants, so the way I see it is that they really don’t have much choice at all but to leave home.
There is a sense of mirroring between the internal migration you portray inside China, and international immigration all over the world. What do you make of this growing trend of human movement and global capitalism?
I believe that everyone has the right to survive and develop in this world. You can’t really blame people for wanting to live with dignity, have three meals a day, and hope that their children can go to college and have a decent future. In China, this is a huge challenge because of the population, and the lack of infrastructure.
When I was shooting, I really didn’t know who blame for this situation because the government are in such a tough position. If they tried to raise salaries, the big corporations would just move their factories to other places like Vietnam or India, and then you would have hundreds of millions of unemployed people.
Ultimately, we as the consumer have a hand in this also. The corporations are simply meeting our demands by producing things cheaply, and I don’t think we necessarily take into consideration the human costs that a worker has to bear, for example, when he is forced to separate from his children.
A lot foreign viewers may not be aware of the growing prejudice in China against migrant workers, from mainly city dwellers. What are your opinions on this kind of internal racism and class conflict?
Historically, in China peasants have always been at the bottom of society, its just worsened today due to the pragmatic nature of consumerism. In fact, I can recall almost ten years ago, an experience on a bus in my hometown, which inspired me to make this film. Wuhan (Fan’s home town) is very hot and humid, and one day I was riding the bus when five migrant construction workers got on. They all had their tools with them, and looked a bit dirty, maybe because they hadn’t showered for a few days. When they got on, all the other passengers moved right down to the other end of the bus. It reminded me of the Civil Rights Movement and racial segregation. I was so shocked I promised myself I would do something about it.
Your documentary is a joint Chinese/Canadian venture, made mainly with Canadian funding. How is the current relationship between Chinese film and the West for you as a filmmaker?
I think you have to survive in one soil or another. Independent films in China tend to be more critical - documentary films in particular. You see a lot of documentaries from China doing really well on an international stage, and I think its great that they’re representing China in a very honest way. I see it as my historical responsibility to do this.
What does it mean for you to be an independent Chinese filmmaker?
Independent film is a good medium to present China to the rest of the world, because the rest of the world needs to know more about us. China is becoming a bigger economic and political player on the world stage, and if people don’t understand your mentality, your way of thinking and doing things, then it’s going to cause endless clashes and misunderstandings. So, I hope the Chinese government can understand what we are trying to do, because essentially we don’t want to destroy anything, we are trying to build something. I hope there’s a more favourable environment for independent film in China in the future, because it’s something we have to fight for.
Do you think independent films like yours will ever get a public release in China?
I think it’s a face thing. That’s how the Chinese function, whether you’re a filmmaker or work in the government. But the good thing is, if even films like mine don’t get approved for public release, many will still get the chance the see it through pirate copies and the internet.
The other day, my friend sent me a pirate copy of my film, so it’s already being distributed in China, albeit illegally! Although it’s not the best for the production company, at least it’s reaching the Chinese audiences. We’re currently working on permission to release it in China, but nobody knows if we stand a chance at all.
How do you feel towards other Chinese filmmakers, such as Zhang Yimou, Wang Xiaoshuai, and those of the Fifth and Sixth Generation?
I think for the Fifth Generation, their formative years were spent during the Cultural Revolution, and that experience has shaped a lot of their work to be very critical. Twenty years ago the government was still very sensitive about things like the Cultural Revolution, so their films were very quickly banned. In my opinion, their followers, the Sixth Generation, reflect a different time of growing economic and political reforms. They haven’t experienced that same amount of suffering and turmoil, so their films are less critical, or critical in a more subtle way. They were more preoccupied with portraying a changing society, for example Jia Zhangke, whose films are all about how people adapt to changing environments.
How would you class yourself politically and aesthetically in relation to your predecessors?
I would count myself as even more a latecomer. My childhood was fairly happy and comfortable; my father was a teacher and my mother an accountant, so my views towards the government are comparatively optimistic. Of course there are still countless problems and faults in China - it is a very big and old country, and any change will always be slow.
Do you think your work will always be politicised, and is that a good or bad thing?
I also try to be political, but I guess in a subtle or sarcastic way, because I think documentary is definitely political. You have a point of view, and you want to voice out what you believe in. I think the West will always interpret anything I do as political, which in most cases is true.
What about future projects, anything in the pipeline?
My next project is going to be about wind farms and green energy development. The Chinese government is currently building the world’s biggest wind farm in the Gansu Corridor in the West of China. I’m trying to make a connection between wind farms and Taoism, because if we are to survive on this planet, mankind needs to find a balance between industry, the environment and ourselves. This is the essence of Taoism, the balance between Yin and Yang, us and nature. So, I’m going to be filming in this Western region, and also at an ancient Taoist school in the Wudang Mountains.
Do you count yourself as a Taoist?
I read a lot of books, and although I don’t count myself as a follower completely, it’s something I believe in a lot. My father used to talk about this to me a lot, and although I can’t say I understand it fully, it has shaped and influenced a lot of my opinions. Taoism is unique to China, and I think it represents traditional Chinese culture and history very well. KW
Film: Last Train Home
Release date: 25th October 2010
Certificate: E
Running time: 85 mins
Director: Lixie Fan
Starring: Suqin Chen, Changhua Zhan, Qin Zhang, Yang Zhang
Genre: Documentary
Studio: Dogwoof
Format: DVD
Country: Canada/China/UK
Powerful documentary about migrant workers in China, Last Train Home is a moving depiction of a country in transition, struggling to reconcile old traditions with modern cultures.
Last Train Home is the first feature film from Chinese-Canadian director Lixin Fan, and follows the story of the Zhang family from rural Sichuan. Like the rest of the 130 million (and growing) other migrant workers in China, both mother and father work in Guangzhou, the third largest city in China, leaving behind their two children in the care of their elderly grandparents. The only real opportunity they have to see their children is during the annual public holiday at Chinese New Year, and we follow the couple on their cross-country journey, alongside the billions of other commuters at this time of year.
Although this documentary focuses on the phenomenon of Chunyun (the month long travel period around New Year), it uses the journey simply as a way in to investigate this new emerging migrant culture. For the Zhang family, and many others, the choice to work away from home is a bitter and painful decision, forcing themselves to leave their children in order to financially support them.
The irony in the separation between parent and offspring is that when the family is at last reunited, the parents can only anxiously enquire about report cards, lecturing their children to study harder at school. There is too much at stake here; how can the parents relax when everything they have sacrificed and worked for is to create a better future for their children? Yet for the children, it is this very burden, the knowledge that their parents must abandon them for their own benefit that drives a wedge between their relationships.
This problematic situation is further exasperated when the eldest sister, Qin, drops out of school in order follow in her parents’ footsteps and work in a factory in Guangzhou. The parents’ anger and despair is obvious. Why did they risk everything just so their daughter could end up with the same fate as themselves? It seems that financial support on its own is not enough to ensure that their children will have a better quality of life…
Some of the most striking moments in the film are the chaotic train station scenes, as the Zhangs embark on their journey home. Aerial shots of the endless throngs of people, pushing and queuing for days outside the station, convey the magnitude and logistical nightmare of a country trying to facilitate this mass migration. Hysterical women are pulled out from the crowds, clutching their belongings and screaming for their lost husbands and siblings. On-board the crowded train, migrant workers swap stories of their hardships in the city, all of them working for similar factories that export cheap goods to the West.
It is during these scenes that the reason why these people choose to live such gruelling lives is revealed. In a country of 1.3 billion people and no welfare system, the ability to spend time with your family is a luxury that many simply cannot afford to have. Having been deprived of the means to earn a living for so many decades, rural people are now capitalising on whatever opportunities they can find, even at the sake of their family. These people are all hungry for a slice of the wealth they have been denied for so long, because they know that there is simply not enough to go around.
It is a situation that is very much epitomised by the huge mobs of people at the train station. Although the commuters are all aware of the station guards’ pleas to stop pushing, every single individual knows they must shove their hardest to get to the front of the queue, because if they don’t, they will simply be left behind. In a country as big as China, there will never be enough spaces on trains or any other mode transport, never enough jobs to go around or places in schools for everyone. It is the most extreme example of survival of the fittest.
As we see the Zhangs emerge in a sea of faces at the station, we wonder what other personal stories of suffering and hardship do each of these millions of migrants have. How many other Qins are out there, and how many families are also struggling to piece back together their fragmented lives in this fast changing country? Although migration is a growing trend in many other countries around the world, China’s massive population means that everything is amplified, accelerated and intensified so many times over.
Last Train Home is a moving documentary that uses the personal and intimate story of one family in order to embody the countless experiences of the hundreds of millions of other migrant families in China. KW
