Ash is Purest White  ★★½

SOMETIMES it’s easy to watch a foreign-language film with rose-coloured glasses.

Many are excellent, but is that because many of us don’t watch them as a matter-of-course? Do we tend to search out the best ones, the ones that have festival cred?

I had heard great things about the Chinese drama Ash is Purest White, but ultimately the experience didn’t move me.

The first half of the film is intriguing and naturalistic, with good lead performances suggesting an inspiring and thought-provoking journey ahead.

But unfortunately the second half becomes meandering and unengaging, mainly due to a script that lacks any suprises or, indeed, life at times.

The film covers a 16-year period starting in 2001 in an old mining centre called Datong. Due to the economic downturn and rise of state-backed capitalism, the city has fallen on hard times and the main company is sacking staff to cut costs.

One of the first problems with the script is that this scenario doesn’t resonate with any personal story in a cohesive way. Instead we have a slight connection in that one of the older workers who is defying the company is the father of the female lead character Qiao. This initial connection ultimately goes nowhere.

Qiao, played well by Zhao Tao, is a strong-willed and resourceful person who is in a relationship with Bin (Fran Liao), the head of a local crime gang.

While Qiao is generally accepting of their dangerous lifestyle she knows it won’t last and they argue over whether to start afresh somewhere else. The character of Bin remains hard to read throughout the film, I gather on purpose, but this doesn’t make him engaging.

An incident occurs that demonstrates both Qiao’s character and her love for Bin but also results in her going to jail for five years. On her release she seeks to reconnect with Bin but discovers he has changed and is reluctant to reneew the relationship.

Director and writer Zhangke Jia elicits good performances from Zhao in particular but the early promise of a smart examination of a mature relationship just doesn’t materialise.

The film comments on how modern China has used and discarded its people, particularly pockets of the rural population; the government and ruling class subjugating others to better themselves.

The relationship between Qiao and Bin serves as a microcosm for the resulting lack of connectivity and identity, but the execution makes it both difficult to join these dots or to fully immerse yourself in the slow-burn drama.