By 
COMING HOME ****
Back in the 90’s director Zhang Yimou became recognized as the voice who brought out Chinese cinema to modern audiences around the globe. He maintained his personal aesthetic of exposing the social abuse and intolerance toward women in his early films such as “Red Lanterns”, “Qiu Ju” and “To Live” to name a few, all starring his then-wife Gong Li. A few years passed by and the acclaimed director changed his cinematic focus to epic spectacles (“House of Flying Daggers”, “Hero”), trying to follow the new trends with martial art films that found glory among the cult portion of the mainstream. Yimou gets back to his roots with this compelling and heartbreaking drama centered on the conflicting emotions of a woman longing for her husband to return. When she learns that he’ll be expecting her at the station, she throws everything away, and runs to his encounter. Her daughter advises her, insisting she shouldn’t look for him, describing her own father as an “enemy” of the government.
She also reminds her mother, that her action could ruin her promising future as a ballet dancer; amidst the crowds, the man is captured by the authorities, interfering the couple’s to reunite. Her memory is increasingly fading away after she suffers a head injury while trying to escape with her fugitive husband. The director cuts the action to years ahead, as we learn she’s been affected by the loss of her memory, pointing the narrative to her broken relationships with the daughter, acquaintances and neighbors; but then, the war is over, and the man is released; He struggles and humiliates himself, trying to recuperate any signs of shared moments, but she’s unable to recognize him, and constantly refuses his company or any contact at all. He manages to find a discreet way to become closer to her, as he offers to read the letters he wrote himself while in captivity, earning her trust and becoming her exclusive companion to the gates of the station, where she hopefully expects her estranged husband to arrive every 5th of the month. Gong Li gives one of those performances that will live forever in our memories, with an incredible silent anguish, capable of shattering the audience’s heart. Supported by amusing use of music, cinematography and set designs, as well as the incredibly fragile pace of the narrative, the film seems like one last survivor of the era of Chinese art cinema.
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