(SCFF 2024) Film Review #113: Carp Leaping Over Dragon’s Gate (菠萝, 凤梨)
菠萝, 凤梨 [Carp Leaping Over Dragon’s Gate] (2023)
Yan Xiaolin’s directorial debut 菠萝, 凤梨 (2023) has a fitting English title: “Carp leaping Over Dragon’s Gate”. Drawn from the Chinese proverb “鲤跃龙门” [li yue long men], it paints a picture of glorious ascension, much like how 菠萝, 凤梨 (2023) illustrates the resolute power of China’s national examinations in determining one’s social status for life.
For most fish, the journey begins not at the gate, nor the waterfall that cascades from it, but rather a small stream miles away. As for Miao, hers comes in the form of a scuffed garage in Shandong province, where she and her mother, Wei, live. Besides taking care of her brother’s mother-in-law to earn a meagre wage, Wei doesn’t have much in the way of money. After all, she never received any formal education past middle school.
Perhaps, that’s also why Wei sees 高考 [gao kao], the Chinese university placement exam, as the most important step up for her only daughter Miao. Even though Miao doesn’t seem to be performing academically (and doesn’t care much for it anyway), Wei has her eyes set on getting her into a top tier university. Using long, languid shots filmed in black-and-white, Yan illustrates Wei’s subsequent downward spiral, which eventually drags her into committing fraud. Wei and Miao illegally move across the country to take a different paper, with nothing to their name but piles of debt and a dream. From then on, it’s all down to luck — Wei and Miao are subjected wholly to the forces of the currents as they wade their way through.
Film still from 菠萝, 凤梨 (2023)
Hu Ling, who plays Wei, gives a performance to remember which earned her a Golden Horse Best Actress nomination last year. In this character study, we vicariously feel Wei’s fierce desperation for Miao to have a better life. In her faults, frustrations and little joys, it’s easy for us to see our mothers, and maybe a bit of ourselves too. While it’s convenient to resent Wei for her hypocritical and self-sabotaging behaviour, 菠萝, 凤梨 (2023) compels us to examine the inequalities enshrined in the meritocratic system instead.
Despite the cruelty of the situation, Yan does well to let gentleness permeate through. Amidst Miao’s rebellion and Wei’s frustration, there are well-placed moments of mutual care and codependency. Whatever Wei cannot say in words, she conveys through the pineapple slices she prepares for Miao daily. Whether it’s the northern 菠萝 [bo luo] variant or the slightly sweeter 凤梨 [feng li] found in the south, these pineapples continually serve as a symbol of luck and hope regardless of the changes Miao and Wei have to endure.
Although Yan closes the curtains on the film with a denouement that does not seem to portend to a decisive outcome, the film shows its overall strengths in the portrait it paints of meritocracy, poverty and family. In the grand scheme of things, 菠萝, 凤梨 (2023) might still be a carp scaling up the waterfall, but it shows promise for Yan Xiaolin’s future filmography to truly surmount the dragon’s gate.
About the Author: Jane is a student who loves all types of media and creative expression, including film. She especially has a soft spot for Asian cinema and films that make her bawl. Apart from lurking on Letterboxd reviews, she likes to collect trinkets and do handicrafts!
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菠萝, 凤梨 is part of the Singapore Chinese Film Festival 2024 and is scheduled to screen on 28 April 2024, Sunday, 11am at GV Bugis+. Purchase your tickets here: https://www.gv.com.sg/GVMovieDetails?movie=2170#/movie/2170
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