Nan fang che zhan de ju hui

In the opening scene of this stylish noir, two strangers – Liu Aiai, a waifish “bathing beauty” (beachside sex worker), and Zhou Zenong, a petty gangster straight out of prison – meet in a shady underpass. “Should I trust you?” Zhou asks Liu, in an atmosphere so shrouded in intrigue that we immediately suspect no one is to be trusted. Zhou’s fate has already been sealed after fatally shooting a police officer, who was chasing a rival upstart gangster. He tells his story to Liu in a lengthy flashback, a hint that Yinan is after a touch more than just a straightforward crime thriller, as his film’s turpitude does indeed border on fatalism. Zhou’s final wish is for his frail wife to turn him in so that she can collect the hefty price on his head. But he’s not the only one after the money. Can he trust anyone in the end? In Dong’s atmospheric, opaque cinematography, interiors reveal but the slightest of contours – the same flair for silky, voluptuous shadows that Yinan shares with such auteurs as Wong Kar-Wai and Bi Gan. The film’s vibrant reds, pinks, and greens, often seen in neon lights, also pop in pristine, eye-catching framings. Aided by Jinlei Kong and Laclau’s fast-paced editing, the crime scenes in THE WILD GOOSE LAKE are macabre, yet elegant, and the action has a distinct pulse – an eerie choreography of death. (Ela Bittencourt)