At a time when Wang Bing’s textile documentaries seem to be running out of notes, Youth (Hard Times)—the second in his planned trilogy—presents us with the passage of time in unexpected ways. Its narrative, about the growing frustrations of young workers in Chili (a district of Huzhou City), is obliquely but meticulously constructed, covering a diverse group of people whose lives do not often overlap but are bound together by common circumstances. At nearly four hours long, it even surpasses its mammoth predecessor Youth (Spring), but it also uses that film as a platform for deeper exploration.
The garment industry in the wake of China’s textile boom has long been a focus of Wang’s interest, with his 2016 documentary “Bitter Money” tracing the struggles of migrant workers, and his subsequent museum film “15 Hours” taking place in a garment factory in a single, 900-minute take. “Youth (Spring),” which kicked off his new trilogy at Cannes last year, is closer in style and substance to the latter, insisting on making viewers feel the passage of time. “Youth (Hard Times),” which premiered in competition at Locarno, feels more specific and purposeful, both in its scope and its techniques.
Both films (as well as Wang’s pending third, Youth (Homecoming), which premieres in Venice next month) were carved from the same stock of thousands of hours of footage. Wang shot all three films between 2014 and 2019 while embedding himself among workers in their abandoned housing along the ironically named Happy Road—home to more than 18,000 privately owned factories. (Although China is run by a party with “Communist” in its name, it is effectively capitalist.) At first glance, the sequel’s audiovisual approach seems familiar, with unobtrusive medium shots of young Chinese hunched over noisy sewing machines, their collective rattles forming a white hum. Like the workers, you become accustomed to the roar of oppression.
But while the first film portrayed time as a vast expanse—and was, for better or worse, deliberately inert—Youth (Hard Times) is more surprising in its choice of shots. The floors of these factories are more chaotic and crowded than those in the first film; they are very different spaces, but this trick suggests, to anyone watching the two films back-to-back, that time has passed, that things have become unbearable. The second film uses the fluorescent lights and dark, winding corridors of the factory buildings to mislead viewers. What appears to be daytime at one moment turns out to be nighttime, and vice versa, as characters wander in and out of rooms and onto balconies, while Wang’s camera follows them diligently. Time, essentially, loses all meaning when your life revolves around a single, repetitive task.
Most of the workers Wang introduces (via onscreen text) are in their early 20s and come from Anhui Province, a name whose recurrence throughout such a long running time is intriguing. This subtle flourish ends with an intriguing shot loaded into the film’s chamber; it’s aimed squarely at a delayed reward that must necessarily be earned with precision. Along the way, Wang captures the kind of friendship and personal drama that makes the wait worthwhile.
Again, Wang doesn’t dwell on a single character for long, but builds his overarching narrative through symbolic ironies. He depicts shirtless men in the hot summer, working hard on winter jackets they will never be able to afford, or potential husbands, denied the opportunity to explore romantic and sexual tensions—due to a lack of time and space—working on underwear without underwear.
A handful of older workers expand the story at hand. One woman brings her young daughter to help. Another brings her mother. A stray shot of a middle-aged relative visiting with cotton balls stuffed up her nose (for reasons unknown, perhaps because of the smell of sweat or the mess) recalls the mummification of corpses in many countries, including China. Together, these images pack a dramatic punch. They ask: Is this all China’s poor can get, from cradle to grave—and beyond?
Soon, a dispute over wages arises between the workers and their bosses, and for the first time in Wang’s trilogy, the sewing machines stop. But the silence that follows is eerie, as if a part of the film is missing. It’s sad to think about, but perhaps the drudgery of capitalist exploitation has become so normalized in these people’s lives that the act of toiling itself has come to define them and consume their sense of self. Youth (Hard Times) confronts this dilemma by turning to tales of internal conflict, collective bargaining, and the stark consequences that follow. It becomes about young immigrants in China trying to break free from the bewildering confines of these factories, where forced overtime and low wages are accompanied by a loss of a sense of the outside world and the very experiences that make one human.
