Review: In ‘The Breaking Ice, A Trio Comes Together For A Stretch Of Wild Abandon

Leaving something behind doesn't necessarily mean having a sense of direction. This active state of oblivion runs through writer-director Anthony Chen's gripping, fluid film, The Breaking Ice, about a trio of disaffected Chinese twenty-somethings who brave the cold northern environment while forming quick and important bonds over a drunken weekend.

From the delicate fluidity of snow to the seductive power of a frozen river, water becomes a widely used metaphor in Chen's humble and gripping drama, set in a region bordering China and South Korea. The North itself has no defined identity. (And yes, you guessed it, limitations are another active metaphor in the film.)

In the wintry Yanji foothills, guide Nana (Zhou Dongyu) takes busloads of lucky Chinese travelers on day trips to traditional Korean villages in the area, where costumed locals perform ritual dances. Between pep talks and tourist pastors, Nana keeps a sullen face, enjoying quiet smoke breaks when she's not sarcastically dismissing the cautious advances of her kind and handsome friend Xiao (Cui Chuxiao), an employee of the restaurant where she lives. in groups. Dinner.

A glimpse of Nana's acting charm and personal austerity attracts the attention of Haofeng (Liu Haoran), a lonely Shanghai bank employee who has come to town for a wedding, which may be the reason for a more radical decision. (He routinely ignores calls from a persistent psychologist.) Seeing a chance to get out of his head, he joins Nana's tour. She then becomes fascinated by this figure in a sweater and glasses who wanders around like a deranged bum and invites him to party with her and Xiao on their weekend. Nana's cramped, dirty apartment becomes a place where everyone falls apart, and the two characters experience a nervous and complicated relationship.

This Jules and Jim-esque temporary relationship, which includes out-of-town motorcycle trips, impromptu trials (like Godard's), and lots of clubbing, sure feels like the new commitment is invigorating. And when we expect a hint of jealousy to shatter this unity (driven by a lifetime of stories), Chen avoids it, suggesting his characters are more interested in the exciting dynamics of togetherness than the emotional perils of conflict.

And yet Chen, a Singaporean who has explored the unexpected connections between people outside their comfort zones ( Wet Season , last year's Drift ), carries the vulnerability of lost characters like an undertow. Their struggle for freedom is always marked (Yu Jing-ping's masterful cinematography aside) with a soft, intangible frost-like sadness that each of them sees but knows will disappear as they go on. Reminiscent of the early days of indie ambient soundtracks, Kean Leon's haunting score also does double duty as a soundtrack: equal parts helplessness and melancholy.

The Payoff is a film that doesn't just meander lyrically between states of being while avoiding the need to explain itself. In general, the experiment works. You'd be surprised how nice it is to learn even a little bit about someone's past with a clever visual or a few cryptic phrases without feeling like you have to figure it out later. Interesting warning.

It's thrilling to watch a film whose flow almost matches how you experience it, which is also true of Zhou's riveting turn as a young woman who decides to run away to protect herself from the stasis and mindset that can arise. His co-stars also do a good job, but something about Zhou's touching performance is closer to what Chen is aiming for in Icebreaker: the fears of a new generation, balancing between the dizzying excitement of running water and those moments if ... You are cold. and difficult.

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