Return to the Plains (2024): A Poetic Reflection on Change, Memory, and Resistance
Return to the Plains, directed by Chinese filmmaker Li Ruijun, is a contemplative, quietly powerful film that delves into themes of rural transformation, generational shifts, and the human cost of modernization. Set in the vast landscapes of western China, the film continues Li Ruijun’s signature exploration of life on the margins, offering a slow-burning yet deeply resonant portrayal of a region—and a way of life—at risk of being erased.
At the center of the story is Ma Zishan, a middle-aged man returning to his childhood village after decades away. His journey is prompted by his mother’s death and the need to resolve familial and land-related matters. What he finds is a place both familiar and alien: the once-thriving plains of his youth have become nearly unrecognizable, shaped by urban encroachment, population flight, and environmental degradation. Old friends are gone or transformed, family ties have frayed, and tradition exists now as memory more than practice.
The film unfolds slowly, with an observational style that prioritizes silence, texture, and mood over dialogue. Ma Zishan wanders through empty fields and cracked soil, encountering individuals who have stayed behind—each representing a different response to the slow disappearance of rural life. These encounters, often subtle and symbolic, highlight the tension between resilience and resignation.
Li Ruijun’s direction is spare and poetic. Long, static shots of windblown plains and collapsing buildings contrast with close-ups of weathered faces and small, intimate gestures. The pacing is deliberate, forcing viewers to sit with moments of stillness and reflect on what is being lost—not just physically, but culturally and emotionally. The use of non-professional actors and authentic locations adds realism to the film’s tone, grounding its philosophical themes in lived experience.
What makes Return to the Plains especially affecting is its quiet resistance to nostalgia. While the film mourns the vanishing rural world, it does not romanticize it. Instead, it acknowledges the hardships and contradictions of rural existence, while still honoring the dignity of those who endure. It’s a nuanced reflection on how modernization often disregards the human element in pursuit of economic or political goals.
The performance by the lead actor—restrained, expressive, and grounded—anchors the film’s emotional depth. Through his eyes, the audience feels the pain of alienation and the quiet pull of memory. Music is used sparingly, allowing natural sound and silence to speak volumes.
Return to the Plains may not appeal to mainstream audiences looking for fast-paced drama, but for those who appreciate meditative cinema and socially conscious storytelling, it is a haunting, elegiac experience. It joins a growing body of Chinese independent films that document rural change with artistry and compassion.
In its gentle but unflinching way, Return to the Plains poses difficult questions: What do we owe to the past? What happens to a place when its people leave? And how do we find meaning in landscapes that no longer remember us? It is a beautiful, mournful ode to what vanishes—and to those who remember.
