By Li Yuche in Fenyang
An icon of Chinese contemporary auteur cinema, director Jia Zhangke draws public attention with every appearance. Recently in Shanghai, the director attended a centenary screening celebration of Charlie Chaplin’s The Gold Rush, sharing with the audience his thoughts on the timeless performance of the master of comedy.
Like Chaplin, who documented industrial-era lives through silent cinema, Jia’s lens has always gazed upon the ordinary people of his era, yet with a specific geographical anchor: his hometown of Fenyang in North China’s Shanxi Province.
As a Global Times reporter, I recently had an opportunity to embark on a cultural trip to Shanxi, which brought me into the “hometown” in Jia’s films.
Titled “Mountains May Depart – A Shanxi Trip,” the event saw the participation of several prominent Chinese cultural figures, including Chen Pingyuan, a distinguished professor of literature at Peking University; architect Wang Shu, China’s first Pritzker Architecture Prize laureate; historian Lei Yi, documentary director Zhang Tongdao, director Jia and more. These people all shared one goal: to retrace the hometown stories and ordinary lives from Jia’s films.
Step by step, they made multiple stops to places across Fenyang, many of which had previously appeared in Jia’s cinematic universe.
Taifu Guan is an ancient Taoist building rooted in Fenyang’s folk history. Standing at its entrance, a young film enthusiast in the team immediately recognized that it had appeared in Jia’s 2013 film A Touch of Sin.
Wandering around the site, visitors were chatting about the film’s narratives while listening to architect Wang Shu unravel the aesthetics behind ancient Chinese roof designs.
On the ride to the next destination, Fenyang’s landmark Wenfeng Pagoda flickered in and out of view, reminding people of its presence in Mountains May Depart (2015).
The Wenfeng Pagoda in Fenyang, Shanxi Province Photo: VCG
In the film, the pagoda stood as a silent witness to the life transformations of three ordinary people over a period of 26 years that unfolded against the backdrop of China’s rapid modernization blended with infused Western influence.
Though he never physically appeared in the film, Jia told the Global Times that he could “always find himself in those characters.” He also revealed that the death of the father of Shen Tao (the film’s protagonist) was drawn from his own experience.
“I did not tell Zhao Tao [who plays Shen in the film and is Jia’s wife in real life], since I was afraid it would overwhelm her emotionally,” he noted.
Be it the inevitable life’s pain portrayed by Zhao or the native sites like the Wenfeng Pagoda captured in film, Jia’s works are rooted in his hometown observations, but also poses a question to viewers: How can such personal home storytelling resonate with more people?
The answer seemed to gradually become clear at the trip’s final stop: the Open Village cultural space in Jiajiazhuang village, where Jia guided audiences through his two films Mountains May Depart and Swimming Out Till the Sea Turns Blue (2020) during a film forum.
At the forum discussion, historian Lei Yi shared that in Jia’s film he could “detect the spirit of an era behind those average Joes.” For example, in the film, when Western-educated Chinese kid Daole calls his Fenyang-born mother “mummy” rather than “ma,” such a scene subtly connotes cultural globalization’s impact on traditional Chinese filial bonds. “Unlike many films that turn ordinary people into symbolic heroes, the director depicts small characters with time, accuracy and authenticity,” said Lei.
Though not a filmmaker, architect Wang Shu found that his architectural practice shares a similar creative stance with Jia’s cinema. He described this stance as an “amateur spirit,” but noted this does not imply incompetence, but rather an artistic mind-set of valuing curiosity and the spirit of experimentation.
Wang was not the only “amateur” among the audience. Seated near him, lawyer Wu Zhuoyun compared his personal life experience to that of the film’s character Daole, noting how he had lived through the very era depicted in Mountains May Depart. Born in a small city in northern Shaanxi Province and later studying abroad, Wu experienced an interplay of local and global cultures that not only reshaped his understanding of “hometown nostalgia,” but also deepened his grasp of the film’s title.
“We may meet others along the journey of our times, but bidding farewell to those we hold dear remains inevitable,” said Wu.
Whether it is a lawyer, architect or historian, people from different walks of life seemed to have all resonated with the director’s movie. Scholar Chen Pingyuan told the Global Times that this universal appeal stems from how Jia’s narratives are “imbued with literary sensibility,” which invite viewers to imagine and coauthor their own scenarios.
“Watching the film reminds me of the Chinese idiom ‘yu shuo huan xiu’ [lit: words tremble into silence]. You realize none of the stories are fully told, yet the emotional restraint creates aesthetic tension. This narrative reservation is, in essence, a form of literary sensibility,” Chen noted.
Describing himself a “devotee to literature,” Jia’s passion for literature finds its most vivid expression in his documentary film Swimming Out Till the Sea Turns Blue, which screened after Mountains May Depart.
The documentary was filmed at Jiajiazhuang village. The director said that the village’s literary heritage heavily inspired this picture. For decades, this village battled barren saline-alkali land, yet nurtured writers like Ma Feng, a Chinese literary giant of rural realism. Carrying a pioneer’s passion for his rural homeland, Jia invited writers like Yu Hua to interpret the interplay between Chinese literature, rural memory, and societal transformation through their own life experiences.
The director told the Global Times that “So Close to My Land” was the film’s original title. The title stands as a tribute to the native soil that gives rise to artistic expression, be it in film or literature.
“To understand rural China is to grasp both the context and key to comprehending contemporary China,” he said.
As the film forum concluded at midnight, this Shanxi cultural trip appeared to be reaching its end. Yet the audience would have lingered indefinitely had the director continued speaking. Though wearied by the day’s labors, Jia nevertheless carved out time for an interview with the Global Times.
“He hardly ever turns down anyone truly interested in his art,” a member of Jia’s crew told the Global Times.
‘My films are not just about Shanxi, but about China’
Editor’s Note:
Chinese director Jia Zhangke (Jia) has created many films capturing his hometown of Fenyang. Yet, he never saw his “Shanxi stories” as mere regional narratives, but rather as reflections of ordinary people’s shared destinies. During an interview with the Global Times reporter Li Yuche (GT), Jia shared what matters to him the most in his career, how he crafts stories, and his perspectives on literature and AI.
(From left) Documentary director Zhang Tongdao, a film enthusiast, architect Wang Shu, scholar Chen Pingyuan, director Jia Zhangke and lawyer Wu Zhuoyun attend a film forum in Fenyang, North China’s Shanxi Province, on June 18, 2025. Photo: Courtesy of Wang Litian
GT: Your films focus on the fate of ordinary people amid changing times. Why anchor your creative approach in such a microscopic perspective?
Jia: Throughout my creative process, I have always valued individual perspectives. I believe the “auteur quality” in cinema lies in an honest, personal reaction to reality – whether from a director or screenwriter. We shouldn’t aim to film a “concept” but rather to capture “human experience.” Concepts emerge gradually through the process of experience. Art cannot exist solely as an abstract idea without referring to reality.
However, observed reality must be transformed through imagination to become a reality tailored for film. I am a firm fictionalist because I believe fiction is the only path to truth.
GT: As a director, what is your entry point for reimagining reality?
Jia: For me, I was born and raised in a county town. The place I live functions as a node between rural and urban spheres. Things and people related to this node offer me inspiration. Behind it, it is not just me, but a vast number of ordinary people. From this perspective, I believe I tell the story of the majority, the story of collective subjectivity.
I think directors with different upbringings and emotional dispositions are concerned about different people. That’s why I’ve always believed that China needs a large number of directors. Only through their diverse perspectives can we construct a relatively comprehensive narrative of China.
GT: How does your “Fenyang rural-urban experience” go beyond its regional specificity to resonate with more people?
Jia: The regional characteristics are undeniable, but nowadays, human destinies are becoming increasingly interconnected. Therefore, the realities witnessed in China are also the world’s realities. I believe China, with its massive population and rapid development, is a country that cannot be ignored. Our appeal and the realities we face deserve to be heard globally.
To be honest, while many characters and stories in my films unfold in Shanxi or begin from there, I’ve never felt that I was making “Shanxi films.”
I’ve always felt that I was making films about China. My deepest understanding of Shanxi’s narrative is this: We are all part of a shared destiny, so the struggles, challenges, and diverse circumstances faced by people in Shanxi are national in scope.
For Chinese filmmakers, when telling stories about our nation, what matters most is conveying the genuine feelings within our hearts. Only then can we create narratives that move and convince others.
GT: As Global Times reporters, we care deeply about the Chinese people’s perspectives of the world. We’re curious about what motivated you to make the film The World?
Jia: The World was made in 2004, a period of intense globalization. An accidental opportunity came about due to my wife Zhao Tao’s past employment at The Window of the World, a theme park in Shenzhen. This theme park revealed people’s yearning to connect with the world at a time when international travel remained inaccessible to most. Yet the park’s employees were puzzled by a great many practical problems, among which there were many personal choices, and the choices each person faced was also different.
I suddenly felt that the park was a dramatic space: a seemingly globalized landscape with individuals dealing with their life conundrums. The contrast between such a space and the real world made me particularly interested in shooting this film.
GT: If you were to remake The World now, what changes would there be?
Jia: If I were to film the park today, I would imagine it appearing as a wasteland. Especially since today’s online information has, in some ways, transcended national boundaries. Additionally, with China’s economic rise, international travel to genuinely experience the world has become much more accessible. Amid the assault of protectionism and conservatism on free-trade globalization, what we should film now is precisely this critical moment – as globalization collapses or nears its end, we should capture the human and social dilemmas it creates.
GT: As a director, how would you interpret the relationship between literature and film? What’s most crucial in adapting literature to cinema?
Jia: For filmmakers, the most vital thing is possessing a literary mind-set. When we dedicate hours to telling a story on screen, it fundamentally originates from literary thinking. Through this literary thinking, we then develop visualized thinking. Through writing or reading, filmmakers should universally cultivate literary ability as an integral part of their cinematic craft.
GT: How do you perceive AI’s impact on auteur cinema? What interactions have you had with it?
Jia: I always think that as a human, will our desire to capture the real world through a camera diminish because of AI? Absolutely not. Generating images on a computer can never replace my passion to observe the world. AI will certainly become a powerful tool, but it has to be built upon our physical filming. No matter how impressive AI-generated imagery becomes, the so-called “new content” is actually built from old materials. This is fundamentally different from holding a camera in the real world to capture nature, life, and authentic scenes.
Art thrives for one enduring reason: human need. Personally, I think I won’t be greatly troubled because my need to face reality through a lens remains undiminished.
GT: What are the few things that matter most to you at this stage of your film career?
Jia: First, I want to continue exploring new methods for interpreting observed reality.
Honestly, throughout film history, you can see that emerging social conditions are hard to express with traditional methods. They push us to discover new cinematic languages, especially within today’s evolving media landscape. We shouldn’t dismiss or reject other visual formats. Cinema’s greatness lies in its ability to absorb all new audiovisual experiences and transform itself creatively.
Second, I value foresight. There is a saying that “great films carry great prophecies,” and I believe in that deeply. Many works by our pioneers indeed possess prophetic power, because they were more perceptive than anyone – able to capture emerging realities while contextualizing them within historical tracks. Prophecy means having the ability to place new phenomena within the continuum of social and human development, comprehend them, and only then, through that understanding, arrive at foresight.
Third, I value the ability to observe and emotional sensitivity. To be able to feel is so important to artists, regardless of era. If we don’t cultivate this sensitivity and don’t immerse ourselves in these experiences, we’ll miss what’s emerging. Every artist is a courier, tasked with sensitively delivering the newest truths of our time. This responsibility – and this ability – is something I deeply cherish.
