QUICK AND DIRTY: LIVE FROM VENICE

Based on the real-life story of her friend Saina, Xiaoxuan Jiang’s debut feature follows in the gallops of a Mongolian horseman who performs tricks for Chinese crowds in order to make ends meet. The protagonist is both named and played by Saina himself. The story takes place in Inner Mongolia, an autonomous region of China, and also a crossroads of the two cultures. It is spoken in two languages, Mandarin and Chinese, each one with subtitles of a different colour.

Toxic masculinity, marginalisation, voyeurism are at the heart of this 100-minute movie. Saina becomes a highly exoticised circus attraction, in an environment intoxicated with testosterone. The mostly male audiences gaze at the performer as if he belonged to a different species. They have no interest in the dangers that the trade involves: the horseback acrobatics could cost Saina’s life. Despite the fact that he has good command of both languages, Saina has not been able to straddle the two cultures. What we see is a segregated society with little interest in integration. A riff on China’s levelling failures. This is not a land of equal opportunities.

Our hapless protagonist finds little support at home, which he shares with his indifferent father. His old man is an alcoholic with a gambling addiction. His icy ex-wife Tana (Qilemuge) and their son do not offer Saina much comfort, either. Meanwhile, the television announces that a drought has castigated the region, hampering any hopes Saina may have of moving into the agricultural trade. This is not a land of abundance.

Saina shares the most profound moments of affection with his ageing, white stallion. The creature does not receive much recognition for its achievements, yet it gets instant reproached for its failures: “his meat is not even worth a cow”. Both human and animal thoroughly are objectified. Nevertheless, they forge ahead with stoical resilience, eventually finding redemption in a cathartic and symbolic gesture of rebellion. A surprising ending brings sufficient closure to this humanistic tale of modern-day alienation.

First-time DoP Tao Kio Qiu’s firm hand is crucial to the story. The vastness of the Mongolian steppe is presented both in ardent yellow and in snow white, depending on the weather. The newcomer shifts from warm to cold colours, and from indoor to outdoors, with the confidence of an established cinematographer. The occasional urban scenes are imbued with nostalgia, and an Edward Hopper sensibility. These awe-inspiring images would merit a viewing even if the story was entirely redundant. Fortunately, such isn’t the case.

To Kill a Mongolian Horse, an international co-production of five countries, just premiered in the 81st Venice International Film Festival.