The people of Huaihua city are shocked to hear that the elderly Deng wants a divorce after decades of marriage. She is set on leaving Yang at the tender age of 80, which alarms everyone. In the midst of this palabre stands Yang Lizhu, their granddaughter who uses this film as her portal into the conversation, and by doing so, lends a youthful perspective into the dialogue.

Like Lulu Wang’s gorgeous The Farewell (2019), Never Too Late delves at changing norms in China as witnessed by a younger protagonist. Tradition and temper go hand in hand in these yearning tales of lost memories. In Lizhu’s feature, characters are shaken by their different standings in life. During one interesting juncture, two men engage in an entertaining conversation that gradually grows more serious: “You’ve read books your entire life, but when I ask you something deep, you can’t answer it”.

Purportedly her first film, Lizhu’s hesitancy in her use of camera is evident, and many of the shots feel flat, focusing too heavily on the facial expressions; giving little run for the surrounding environment. There are times when it feels like the production is being executed on a home video camera, as it rarely gets the cinematic treatment it needs. What it does deliver in is pathos, demonstrating a world where people are eager to learn of new habits and exchanges. Considering the impact Deng’s decision holds on the people around her, it’s understandable that this causes something of a ripple. Confusion besets change.

In a sombre moment of confession, Deng admits that the notion of divorce only popped up when her children had grown up and married: “I have a responsibility [to them].” The structure of family is one deeply rooted into the fabric of Chinese society, and everyone onscreen has a duty to uphold. Deng bears a resemblance to Nai Nai, two women surrounded by memories and younger people, eager to bring their own narrative to the forefront of such a dynasty.

Jokes are made in the various domiciles: wisecracks about “mother’s” being too fast for their canes get a laugh from the people seated around the table. A lot of the, admittedly static, footage follows the talking heads across the city, from shop to café and beyond. And much like the story Never Too Late tells, the streets are a cocktail of old and new, bright and colourless. Together,the tapestry points to the evolution of humanity.

Pathos can be heard among the chit-chats throughout the work. “All my mother knew was to enjoy, and play cards,” comes one epiphany, demonstrating how much self-awareness has risen over the decades in terms of female empowerment. Emphasis, as is common in Chinese cinema, is placed on the community, creating a sense of collectiveness. If one person changes their ways, it has an effect on the grand circle; like dominoes trickling down.

Outside, labourers carry buckets of water on their backs, their heads positioned headfirst towards the hill they wish to climb. There have been technological advances, but these holistic endeavours tie the viewer back to the early days of work. As an exploration of values in China, Never Too Late isn’t in the same league as of The Farewell, because it’s not as well structured or as beautifully filmed. That said, it does make for an engaging conversation starter that will doubtless have audience members querying the nature of life after marriage in a unit governed by custom and heritage. As debuts go, Lizhu’s work is a competent one, a movie based on heart and ingenuity. All that we know is change; so transform.

Never Too Late just premiered in the brand new Doc@PÖFF section of the 28th Tallinn Black Nights Film Festival.