SCARS OF TIME Guilt and Forgiveness in Wang Xiaoshuai’s So Long, My Son
In So Long, My Son (2019), Wang Xiaoshuai weaves a beautiful tapestry of life in modern China. Spanning four decades – from the 1980s to today – the film eschews epic traditions for an intimate examination of domesticity, hope and guilt against the backdrop of a rapidly changing culture. Wang and A Mei’s screenplay interlaces interconnected narrative filaments across different eras with confident fluidity. That can be confusing; as we thread from one decade to another with an easy jump cut, particulars of the storyline are tangled and obfuscated. Yet Wang’s deft command of his film’s formal qualities ensures that So Long, My Son is defined by an emotional clarity that resonates long after the credits roll.
We’re introduced to the story somewhere around its middle, opening on two prepubescent boys above a reservoir. Below them, their peers splash and play in the shallow water by the shore. We see a juxtaposition between the two boys above and their distant friends, then a juxtaposition between the meeker Xingxing, who protests that he can’t swim, and the more enthusiastic Haohao, who urges his friend to join him in the water. Wang’s camera is proximate but naturalistic, observing without passing judgement. The contrast between the two boys isn’t hierarchical, and, while that might seem like a minor distinction, it presages So Long, My Son’s generous approach to its characters across the near-three hours that follow.
