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
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