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InRO Weekly — Volume 1, Issue 21.5

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FESTIVAL COVERAGE<br />

of school, and spends the summer fencing stolen bikes with his<br />

slightly better-off friend Dono (Donovan Nizet). Although<br />

Sermon-Daï never spells it out, Mak’s anger issues may owe as<br />

much to anxiety about his sexual identity as they do to his<br />

mother’s indifference.<br />

Although It’s Raining in the House appears, stylistically, indebted<br />

to the Dardennes, Sermon-Daï’s approach is very different.<br />

Where the Belgian brothers’ narratives tend to be rather<br />

propulsive, It’s Raining in the House is languid, at times even a bit<br />

inert. The essentials of its story will call to mind other, better<br />

films, such as Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Nobody Knows or, perhaps<br />

more closely, Ursula Meier’s Sister. But where those films<br />

seemed intent on dramatizing their young characters’ plights as<br />

signs of egregious neglect, Sermon-Daï merely observes, as if to<br />

suggest that there’s nothing that surprising about kids left to<br />

fend for themselves. And sadly, that may be true. <strong>—</strong> MICHAEL<br />

SICINSKI<br />

A SONG SUNG BLUE<br />

Geng Zihan<br />

A delicate and bittersweet queer coming-of-age film, A Song<br />

Sung Blue is also, unfortunately, weighed down by all the<br />

predictable beats that befall its bildungsroman genre. Set in the<br />

early 2010s in Harbin, China, Geng Zihan’s debut feature follows<br />

fifteen-year-old Liu Xian (Zhou Meijun), who’s sent off to live with<br />

her estranged father<br />

after her mother<br />

takes a job in Africa.<br />

Xian is a child whose<br />

presence is a mere<br />

afterthought to her<br />

parents; in turn, she<br />

shrinks down within<br />

every space she<br />

occupies, reducing<br />

herself to silently<br />

watching the world<br />

from behind window<br />

sills as it moves on<br />

without her. Xian’s<br />

father is a<br />

photographer, and his studio is where Xian is forced to spend<br />

most of her time. It’s at the studio that Xian meets Mingmei<br />

(Huang Ziqi), the bold and assertive 18-year-old daughter of the<br />

receptionist with whom Xian’s father is having an affair.<br />

The photography studio offers an appropriate setting to highlight<br />

Xian’s growing (and largely unrequited) infatuation with Mingmei.<br />

Upon arriving at the studio, we’re introduced to Xian <strong>—</strong> who<br />

barely spares a glance for her father <strong>—</strong> gazing longingly at<br />

professional portraits of women. In these photographs, the<br />

women appear cheerful; they’re donned in garish colors that<br />

outshine Xian’s drab uniform (and stand out against this film’s<br />

predominantly melancholic blue palette). Yet every photograph<br />

also suggests the alluring pretense of appearances: Xian longs to<br />

be recognized by her parents, and this desire leads her to fall for<br />

a woman whose interest in Xian is as dead as the frozen frames<br />

plastered all over the studio. Not surprisingly, Mingmei also<br />

poses for portraits from time to time, thus bringing the cruel<br />

filmic metaphor of a lonely and unrequited love to fruition.<br />

While cinematographer Hao Jiayue creates a hazy and dreamlike<br />

atmosphere through which to explore Xian and Mingmei’s<br />

encounters, perfectly accentuating the fantastical and<br />

all-consuming nature of Xian’s one-sided obsession with the<br />

older Mingmei, at times Geng’s film seems to rely too heavily on<br />

style to buoy a stagnant narrative of desire. The wistfulness<br />

pervading every frame mirrors Xian’s passivity and self-defined<br />

10

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