Zhou Chen

C’est un hiver humide à Hangzhou, Muzi rentre pour le nouvel an lunaire. L’ancien appartement de ses parents est toujours là. Un lit, une chaise abandonnée, une fenêtre abimée – les restes d’une relation qui a évolué. Son père a fondé une nouvelle famille, sa mère est en couple avec un étranger ; Muzi replonge dans ses souvenirs et tente de trouver des repères dans cette ville si familière et pourtant si changée. La jeune femme est tiraillée entre passé et présent, entre la fuite et l’éternel retour.

Au milieu de la dévastation de l'Espagne d'après-crise, mère et fille trichent et tentent de maintenir le style de vie qu'elles pensent mériter, se liant sur une tragédie commune et une expulsion imminente.

Late at night, the oven next to the bed ticks a countdown and a woman cries out to her brother the "future." Today is her brother's birthday; he is not there. Another woman arrives and takes out a white bone from the oven and takes it into the woods at night.

In an open space under an overpass on the edge of a city, a group of young people who don’t know each other gathered together. Like urban exiles, they held a ceremony to pass and watch the bones in front of a bonfire.

Contemporary Shanghai, the young gathering. A mega-structure under rapid development. Ubiquitous screens, fragmented materiality, masked crowd. We keep performing ourselves hard. Living in a space-time construction created by the times and us. Seeking for blending in and communication In many moments. We have no clue in which layer of space are we in: Virtual space, dream space, daily space, urban space, bodily space, cellphone space, social space.

Contemporary Shanghai, the young gathering. A mega-structure under rapid development. Ubiquitous screens, fragmented materiality, masked crowd. We keep performing ourselves hard. Living in a space-time construction created by the times and us. Seeking for blending in and communication In many moments. We have no clue in which layer of space are we in: Virtual space, dream space, daily space, urban space, bodily space, cellphone space, social space.

Contemporary Shanghai, the young gathering. A mega-structure under rapid development. Ubiquitous screens, fragmented materiality, masked crowd. We keep performing ourselves hard. Living in a space-time construction created by the times and us. Seeking for blending in and communication In many moments. We have no clue in which layer of space are we in: Virtual space, dream space, daily space, urban space, bodily space, cellphone space, social space.

Contemporary Shanghai, the young gathering. A mega-structure under rapid development. Ubiquitous screens, fragmented materiality, masked crowd. We keep performing ourselves hard. Living in a space-time construction created by the times and us. Seeking for blending in and communication In many moments. We have no clue in which layer of space are we in: Virtual space, dream space, daily space, urban space, bodily space, cellphone space, social space.

This is a film made from multiple cut-and-spliced together versions of ‘Chen Zhou’. The creations of ‘Chen Zhou’ derive from the many projections of him produced by his close friends. Using examples of actual conversations with artist friends such as Li Ming, Li Ran, Yu Honglei, they explore his daily life, a ‘Chen Zhou’ form of dialogue, which is then interpreted by two twins (two other Chen Zhous). A crazy person dressed all in white met by chance on the street carries out an improvised performance during the film – he is like the uncontrollable inside of Chen Zhou. The fictional Jack, and even Godard convey iconographic versions of Chen Zhou. All of these fragments put together a sorrowful picture of a ‘burial’. More accurately it is like a bare mirror that helps you to see both the film as well as a ‘Chen Zhou’ that could be somewhere in your heart.