Film Review: Petition 上访
Independent filmmaker Zhao Liang chronicles the difficult, convoluted and often dangerous obstacle course that is petitioning against the Chinese government in his film Petition. The film follows the stories of Chinese citizens who have dedicated their lives to petitioning for change. One woman describes it as her life’s work, and many of the petitioners we see on screen spend years fighting for justice.
Throughout the film, Zhao makes his beliefs about the futility of the government’s bureaucracy clear but he lets the petitioners tell their own individual stories instead of presenting a narrative from multiple perspectives. His camera is often shaky and his scenes are badly lit or filled with partially obscured images. These are no rookie mistakes; Zhao films in locations where cameras are forbidden. The gritty realistic style of the film reminds us that Zhao must carry his camera subtly or hide it as he works.
Despite the validity and necessity of this on-the-ground angle, the film would benefit from a birds-eye view. In one scene of the movie, Zhao contrasts the pomp and circumstance of the government’s People’s Liberation day celebrations with the petitioner riots outside. The juxtaposition is devastating and the viewer wishes to see more of these scenes.
Zhao filmed Petition over ten years. The time he dedicated to the project allowed him to build strong relationships with his subjects. Zhao is especially interested in the lives of Qi and Juan, a mother-daughter pair petitioning the case of their respective husband and father’s wrongful death, one wonders if he has pushed his bond with them into inappropriate territory. After Juan leaves behind her mother for a new life, Zhao delivers Juan’s letter explaining her decision to go off on her own to Qi and then films her as she breaks down, ignoring her requests to turn off the camera. Zhao then follows her as she tries to run away from him. He continues rolling even as she shouts at him to leave her alone.
As a documentarian, Zhao records life as he sees it but his portrait at times veers toward sensationalism. In another scene in the film, the viewer witnesses the aftermath of the death of a female petitioner fleeing the police who was hit by a train. Zhao captures the feeling of helplessness among the petitioners gathered along the tracks poignantly, but instead of telling her story, he shows the fragmented parts of her skull and her severed hand. The flight of a woman in fear of government reprisal is reduced to a few gory stills. The shock to the viewer is unnecessary.
Zhao does not use voiceover, and rarely includes music. He uses raw, evocative shots to communicate emotion: at one point, a man battered and bruised by the police stands in silence on screen. His face is puffy with bruises and his eyes are swollen shut and purple. The silent image lingers uncomfortably on screen. This is Zhao’s style distilled into a few striking frames: he pushes the viewer past their comfort zone and forces them to confront what it means to live in a world where so many go voiceless under the government’s oppression.
