Single Mother and Journalist, Guo Jianbo lives together with her mother and daughter. Walled in traditional family conventions, the relation of three generations of women is distant and uneasy; but behind the silence of Guo Jianbo, her daughter’s insecurity and the grandmother’s constant whining, there are conflicting undercurrents of rebellion, family care and resilience. Yang Lina uses the story of an all-female family to present a series of multi-levelled themes, epitomising women relations in Chinese society.

Acclaimed filmmaker Shu Haolun explores the rich culture and history of his Shanghai neighbourhood upon its impending destruction. While sharing a wealth of memories, Shu uses his camera to capture the everyday details of his home before they are wiped out forever.

 

Young girls Haolin, Yini, Zining, and Yujia are about to compete in an equestrian championship tour in China. Told from the gaze of three mothers, including the director herself, the film is a gallery of personal moments, happy and sad.  We are brought to follow fragments of the girls’ trip, as they learn to trust each other, experience intimacy with the horses, go through difficult times, slowly grow and develop genuine bonds. Lina Yang’s film is an eulogy to the energy of youth, while it tries to bring in mature voices, and nuanced angles for a richer and more granular texture.

16 year-old Xiaoli lives in a communal block on Shimen Road, a close-knit neighbourhood that no longer exists in Shanghai. It’s the late 1980s; while his teachers talk about China’s recovery from the devastation of the Cultural Revolution, the allure of new cultures and ideas sweeps through Xiaoli and the two young women closest to him. His best friend Lanmi carouses with foreigners, scandalizing the neighbourhood. Lili, an idealistic classmate whom he loves, wants to quit school and join the student democracy demonstrations that have started in Beijing. Xiaoli must decide where his future lies in a world suddenly robbed of stability and innocence.

 

Lu Pan and Yu Akari share home video-footage of their 90s childhoods in all their funny, celebratory, awkward and banal glory. Edited together remotely during the pandemic, the two artists discuss early home video technology, the social status of this footage in different contexts (both migrated as children), and also how these images were made and circulated. Their playful yet insightful conversation stitches the chaotic footage together and gives new life to a nostalgic form of cinema. (Hyun Jin Cho)