1990s media was obsessed with serial killers. Movies, TV shows and novels of the era were filled with dogged investigators tracking elusive murderers, an obsession likely sparked by the emergence of DNA tracing at the bginning of the decade, which revealed that many hitherto unsolved murders might actually be the work of lone killers. Filmmakers, TV showrunners and novelists used the premise of the hunt for a serial killer to tap into the angst that was in the air as an uncertain new millennium loomed on the horizon. Arriving within weeks of one another in the summer of 2024 are two '90s set thrillers that channel this angst, the American horror hit Longlegs and director Wei Shujun's thriller Only the River Flows.
Set in 1995, the angst channelled in Shujun's film is of a specifically Chinese variety. The Tiananmen Square uprising may have been quashed, but many Chinese citizens still harbour mistrust in their government. The economic boom to come seems a long way off. Bureaucracy rules the land, and what's most important is that you please your superiors, even if you don't respect or agree with them.
That's the position the film's protagonist, detective Ma Zhe (Zhu Yilong), finds himself in. He's assigned to a murder investigation that his boss wants to get wrapped up as quickly as possible to keep his own superiors happy. It's a dynamic we've seen in countless movies where maverick cops give their chiefs ulcers with their dogged determination, but here it's tied directly to '90s communist China's obsession with keeping up appearances.
When an elderly woman is bludgeoned to death by a river, the evidence points to the guilt of a local mentally challenged man, Xie (Tong Linkai), who becomes cruelly known simply as "the madman." Zhe's boss congratulates him on getting the case solved, but Zhe isn't convinced of Xie's guilt. A handbag is found at the crime scene, containing a cassette upon which is recorded romantic messages from a woman to her lover. Following this lead, Zhe uncovers various suspects, and further murders follow, along with suicides and fake confessions.
The concept of a seemingly peaceful small town harbouring secrets was popular in the '90s, thanks chiefly to Twin Peaks, and has become something of a cliché in the decades since. Shujun offers a new take on this idea by tying it into the notion of leading a double life under an authoritarian regime. The small town secrets uncovered here aren't of a sinister variety but rather of people living their true lives in the shadows, whether they be crossdressing men or adulterers, but the shame of being exposed in a society as stifling as '90s China leads to extreme actions.
As is usually the case with the protagonists of such films, Zhe's work begins to get into his head, wonderfully represented here with surreal nightmare sequences that gradually begin to blur with reality. By the film's final act we're usure if we can trust that what we're seeing is real or figments of Zhe's increasingly fractured psyche. Tellingly, Zhe's police station is housed in an abandoned cinema, and he spends much time sitting in front of a now disused screen. We're forced to wonder if Zhe's suspicions regarding the case are founded on watching too many movies.
The atmosphere of uncertainty is further compounded by Zhe's fears around the unborn child his wife Bai (Chloe Maayan) refuses to abort despite being told there's a chance it may be born with intellectual disabilities. The news is dispensed to Zhe and Bai in the coldest fashion by a doctor who presumably expects them to opt for abortion, given China's one-child rule. Zhe begins to treat Bai with cruelty himself, even flushing a piece of the massive jigsaw she's constantly seen labouring over down the toilet. Zhe's desperation to believe Xie is innocent becomes interconnected with his fears for his own son. The film closes on a flash-forward of Zhe's newborn boy, and we're forced to wonder if the child will be a future scapegoat for some boot-licking bureaucrat.
Directed by: Wei Shujun
Starring: Zhu Yilong, Chloe Maayan, Hou Tianlai, Tong Linkai
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