r/AsianCinema

At the Chinese Film Festival in Hamburg(汉堡华语电影节) in May 2026, I watched director Zhou Junsen (周俊森)’s feature film Ballad of the Warm Grave (东方花园)and briefly interacted with Director Zhou through an online Q&A session.

As a feature-length documentary, this film tells the story of a family and its members while also reflecting broader social groups (trafficked women, LGBTQ individuals, AIDS patients, people with unhappy family backgrounds, etc.) and related social realities. As someone long interested in realist cinema and documentaries, I decided to write a review and commentary introducing and discussing the film.

What this documentary records is precisely the story of director Zhou Junsen’s family across several generations and among relatives and siblings, with filming spanning an entire decade. The first part of the film tells the story and memories surrounding Zhou Junsen’s cousin, “Sister Shan” (Shan Jie, 李珊), who was trafficked as a child.

When speaking of “human trafficking” or “the trafficking of women and children,” people today have all heard of such things. Yet those living in developed regions with secure and comfortable lives rarely have family members who were victims of trafficking, and it is even harder to imagine a loved one being abducted by traffickers, raped, and forced to bear children. But Zhou Junsen’s cousin endured precisely such a tragic experience.

Zhou Junsen also visited the three children his sister gave birth to while still living in the household of the man who had purchased her, and he spoke with—and clashed with—the man who had bought and raped his sister. This itself was astonishing, an extraordinary experience that very few directors have ever encountered.

What may surprise those unfamiliar with the trafficking of women in China—but is entirely expected for those who know the situation—is that the man who bought and sexually assaulted a woman, the purchaser in the trafficking chain—in the film, the man surnamed Sun from Shanxi whom Li Shan had been sold to—received no legal punishment. His mother even claimed that Li Shan had been trafficked because she carelessly encountered bad people.

Sun also believed he had done nothing wrong by purchasing a woman. Instead, he accused Li Shan of abandoning him and the three children she had borne, saying this struck him like a “small death.” He was also deeply hostile toward Zhou Junsen, Li Shan’s younger cousin who came to visit the children. According to Zhou Junsen in interviews outside the film, Sun and his relatives even physically assaulted Zhou Junsen and his friends at the time.

This is the reality of many trafficking cases involving women. For a long time, China’s anti-human trafficking efforts focused mainly on punishing traffickers (the sellers) while rarely dealing with those who purchased women (the buyers). To a large extent, this served the needs of maintaining social stability. Those who purchased women were often villagers in impoverished regions who spent their savings to buy women to satisfy sexual needs and continue family bloodlines.

Such villages often possess powerful clan structures, and many villagers had themselves bought women and protected one another. Not only was it difficult for women to escape—and they would often be caught and brutally beaten if they tried—but police and relatives attempting rescues also frequently encountered resistance. Even Zhou Junsen, years later and approaching with goodwill, was temporarily confined and beaten. Local governments and public security authorities, already concerned about instability, often pretended not to know about trafficking crimes in these villages and allowed villagers to purchase women and force them into childbirth through rape.

Like many women, Li Shan only managed to escape years after having children, by chance. Many other women never escaped after being trafficked, or desperately attempted to flee only to be recaptured and beaten, eventually resigning themselves to their fate. Others remained for the sake of their children.

After returning to Sichuan, Li Shan moved from place to place doing labor work and experienced many hardships. She built a family and gave birth to another child whose nickname happened to be “Chuanchuan,” the same as one of the children she had left behind in Shanxi. Clearly, she missed her child deeply. Yet she could not return and dared not return. Her fear and trauma toward Shanxi never disappeared. Her abuser had never been punished and even wanted to find her and force her to continue being his “wife”; he had also beaten her younger cousin. Li Shan and “Chuanchuan” had no choice but to endure a prolonged separation between mother and son, unable to reunite.

Li Shan was fortunate. Even though life remained difficult after returning to Sichuan and she still struggled to survive, she had at least escaped a dark and hopeless existence and regained freedom and dignity. The freedom and dignity that ordinary people take for granted had been stolen from Li Shan for more than a decade. Many trafficked women lose years, decades, or even the entirety of their lives after being trafficked.

The reason “Sister Shan” could appear in this film and have her story seen by the world was because she had a university-student cousin and a family member capable of making films. Otherwise, her story would likely have remained unknown like those of countless other trafficked women, and her suffering would have disappeared into the chaotic currents of human existence. How many tragedies unfold in darkness? How many tears flow together with rainwater and sewage into drains and disappear into the soil?

Another social outsider brought into public awareness through Zhou Junsen’s film is Zhou’s own father. Zhou’s father is bisexual; he maintained a conventional marriage and had Zhou Junsen with his wife while also maintaining relationships with male lovers. Zhou Junsen even witnessed hidden encounters between his father and one of his teachers when he was young.

Unfortunately, Zhou’s father later contracted AIDS and also lost the ability to maintain sexual relations with his wife. While exploring his father’s life story, Zhou Junsen also learned that his father had not been favored by his own father—Zhou Junsen’s grandfather—and that the unhappiness of his original family background had influenced both his later life and sexual orientation.

The high HIV/AIDS rate among gay men has also long been a problem. Many people use this fact to discriminate against homosexuals, especially gay men. Yet in reality, it is because homosexual individuals have been discriminated against and marginalized, lacking legal protections and dignity. They cannot enjoy relationships as openly and freely as heterosexuals often can and are frequently forced into underground forms of existence. Socializing in secrecy and lacking adequate prevention and timely treatment for sexually transmitted diseases increases the likelihood of contracting HIV/AIDS.

Encouragingly, however, the film suggests that hospitals and society today have improved greatly compared with earlier eras characterized by panic surrounding AIDS and hostility toward homosexuality. Particularly in Sichuan, a place relatively open toward LGBTQ communities, people appear to demonstrate a comparatively high degree of tolerance toward sexual minorities.

Yet Zhou’s father, who emotionally leaned more toward men and could no longer maintain intimacy with his wife after contracting AIDS, still had to confront many of the family conflicts and personal sufferings common among LGBTQ individuals and AIDS patients. Zhou’s parents did not become enemies, and feelings still remained between them, but they were clearly not particularly happy either. They merely managed to maintain the relationship, especially for the sake of their son’s future and preserving relative harmony within the family. Between Zhou’s father and mother there was both love and resentment—a reflection of many marriages and family relationships.

Zhou’s father’s life is likewise representative of many people and specific identity groups in the world. LGBTQ individuals, AIDS patients, and people raised in unhappy family environments—multiple vulnerable identities intersect in his story. Yet Zhou’s father still came from a middle-class family and did not descend into society’s lowest levels because of these identities and circumstances. He could still maintain a decent life.

Many other marginalized people live lives far more tragic than Zhou’s father. Many AIDS patients, for example, are rejected by their own families and even separated during meals, discriminated against by society, and unable to find good jobs. Those from unhappy family backgrounds are also more vulnerable to ridicule and bullying by classmates and coworkers, suffer worse psychological conditions than ordinary people, and spend the remainder of their lives enduring humiliation and sorrow.

Likewise, it was precisely because Zhou Junsen became a university student and possessed the ability to create documentaries that his father’s story could reach a wider audience and be known, sympathized with, and respected. After the film was screened and won awards, Zhou’s father even walked the red carpet alongside his son and received the blessings of many people. This is a once-in-a-million kind of fortune, something most LGBTQ individuals and AIDS patients could never achieve in an entire lifetime. Yet Zhou’s father’s suffering should not be erased or ignored because of these fortunate circumstances. Many of the pains in his life were undeniably real and concrete facts.

The unhappiness in Zhou’s father’s family could itself be traced back to grievances from an even earlier generation. Zhou’s grandmother was named Yi Junmei (易君梅), an elegant name. Yet she could write only her own name and was otherwise illiterate. Grandmother was kind and resilient, and before her death she served as the shared matriarch of this large family. She experienced a journey from love to divorce with the son of the man who had killed her father, carrying many pains buried deep in her heart.

After remarrying, her new husband—Zhou’s father’s father, that grandfather, Grandmother’s second husband—brought much unspeakable pain to both Grandmother and Zhou’s father. Pain does not disappear simply because it is suppressed; it always affects the person enduring it and spreads its effects onto others in various ways.

This, too, is a shared life experience and destiny for many people in the world, especially many Chinese people. Violence from wars and revolutions, experiences of poverty and famine, and sufferings during turbulent eras all inflict damage upon families and leave people with traumatic memories.

Chinese people in the twentieth century experienced the Japanese invasion of China and the War of Resistance, warlord conflicts and the Chinese Civil War, as well as numerous political movements. Most Chinese people could not escape these cruel disasters. Tens of millions perished, while survivors endured lasting trauma. Even after the Reform and Opening period, there remained many tragedies. More recently, COVID and the “Zero-COVID” policies caused restrictions on freedom and severe livelihood difficulties for many people.

Macro-level tragedies create countless micro-level sufferings. The shared misfortune of hundreds of millions becomes the physical and psychological wounds of individuals. Yet just as bacteria are everywhere but invisible without a microscope, if one does not carefully observe, understand, and uncover them, the stories and emotions scattered throughout China and the wider world remain unknown. The suffering of these lives disappears amid trivial daily chaos and vanishes into the vast current of history.

In the real world, the lives and destinies of the overwhelming majority of people—especially the experiences and emotions of the vulnerable, victims, and marginalized—are indeed submerged and erased. Some disappear because of suppression by perpetrators and vested interests; others because the weak lack the power or platform to speak; and many involve both factors at once.

The story of Zhou Junsen’s family—especially the stories of Sister Shan, Zhou’s father, and Grandmother—could emerge from the silence and enforced silence of hundreds of millions for the same reason: Zhou Junsen possessed the ability to make films and received support and resources from many sides. From the house and cars shown in the film, one can see that their family already possessed fairly good social status and economic conditions by Chinese standards, which made it possible to support Zhou Junsen in becoming an outstanding student and a film director.

The experiences of Sister Shan, Zhou’s father, and Grandmother serve as representations and reflections of socially vulnerable and marginalized groups in China: women, AIDS patients, LGBTQ individuals, people from unhappy family backgrounds, and others. The story of Zhou Junsen’s family is a condensed silhouette of Chinese national history. This feature-length documentary, \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\*Ballad of the Warm Grave\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\*, presents a human landscape garden of one family’s joys and sorrows within an Eastern civilization—different from the West—filled with both flowers and thorns. It also reflects a collective portrait of marginalized groups in China and throughout the world.

The material filmed and presented spans an entire decade and contains abundant detail. The greatest strength and value of this film lies in its authenticity—it is not fictional dramatization but genuine documentation. To speak frankly, this film is not exceptionally dazzling or extraordinary, but its attentiveness and sincerity compensate for its shortcomings and place it among the upper-middle ranks of cinematic works.

During the online Q&A session after viewing the film, I told Director Zhou that his work reflected the lives and destinies shared by many trafficked women, sexual minorities, and people carrying trauma from unhappy family backgrounds. At the same time, there are many others in China and around the world suffering similar misfortunes while remaining voiceless. I asked him—and expressed my hope—that in the future he might not only speak for his own family but also for more vulnerable people and strangers. This was my strongest impression and hope after watching the film. Director Zhou replied that he hoped first to take care of his family and then gradually extend his efforts to broader public welfare. This too is reasonable and entirely human.

I myself have experienced many unusual events, especially circumstances and sufferings unfamiliar to most people, and so I have become particularly sensitive to and concerned with society’s margins and humanity’s darker sides. I also know deeply that there are many people in this world who have endured even greater misfortunes and possess rich experiences and complex emotions, yet remain unknown and unable to express themselves for various reasons. This becomes a second injury after the initial wound: trauma hardens in the heart, suffering continues permanently, and its effects spread to others and even across generations.

I have undergone extraordinary rises and falls in life, experienced the complexities of human warmth and indifference, and witnessed many obscure uglinesses of human nature and hidden evils within society. I no longer hold expectations that humanity or the world will truly “get better,” or that structural problems can fundamentally be resolved. Yet I still retain a degree of reformist hope: even if much human suffering caused by complex factors cannot be eliminated, efforts should still be made to reduce people’s suffering and ensure that marginalized individuals no longer bear such heavy psychological and physical burdens alone.

To see is the prerequisite for understanding; understanding is preparation for attempting solutions; compassion and empathy are necessary conditions for communication and respect. By allowing people to see individuals and the groups reflected through them, \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\*Ballad of the Warm Grave\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\* plays a valuable and important role in helping people understand the traumas experienced by those with various identities, encouraging kinder treatment of marginalized and vulnerable groups, and promoting broader mutual understanding and mutual assistance among humanity.

Returning to the film itself and its specific individuals, although Sister Shan and Zhou’s father both encountered misfortune, they continued living with resilience and optimism. Like reeds—small and fragile figures—they nevertheless possessed powerful vitality. Their diverse experiences and the multifaceted lives of the entire family also reflect the complexity of both human nature and society.

In the end, everyone will eventually pass away like Zhou Junsen’s grandmother and the older generation, after living lives that may be long or short, happy or unhappy. Yet their existence and influence as part of this world always remain among humanity in one form or another.

(This article was written by Wang Qingmin (王庆民), a Chinese writer living in Europe.)

https://asianmoviepulse.com/2026/05/the-way-we-talk-2024/

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Check the full review in the link and let us know your thoughts on the movie

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https://thefridacinema.org/movies/suzhou-river/

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RIP Koji Suzuki. Thank you for creating a character that redefined horror and left a lasting mark on cinema and pop culture around the world.

https://asianmoviepulse.com/2026/01/evil-dead-trap-1988-by-toshiharu-ikeda-film-review/

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Check the full review in the link and let us know your thoughts on the film

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https://asianmoviepulse.com/2026/05/koji-wakamatsu-tribute/

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Check the full article in the link and let us know your thoughts on Wakamatsu