By Steve Erickson

Caught by the Tides eludes the narcissistic congratulation found in self-referential cinema because it absorbs Jia’s early work to create something that has the shock of the new, as much as it builds on the past.

Caught by the Tides, directed by Jia Zhangke, written by Jia Zhangke and Wan Jiahuan. Screening at the Brattle Theatre on May 30.

Zhao Tao in a scene from Caught by the Tides. Photo: Sideshow and Janus Films

In midlife, director Jia Zhangke has turned to sampling and remixing his own work. Caught by the Tides returns to the characters of his previous feature, Ash Is Purest White, although it recasts one actor. Mixing and matching even further, Jia works scenes and outtakes from two of his earlier films, Unknown Pleasures and Still Life, into this new, extended narrative, which follows Qiao Qiao (Zhao Tao) and Guo Bin (Li Zhubin) over 20 years in a rapidly changing China. Only the film’s final section, set in 2022, features fresh footage.

Across the decades, Qiao and Bin try to forge a relationship that never quite gels. They meet in 2002, when both lived in Datong. She worked odd jobs and hung out in nightclubs. In 2006, she left there to search for him in Fengjie, a city that was slated to be destroyed by the Three Gorges Dam’s construction. She continually texts him, but receives no replies. She even places public ads in the street asking him to contact her. In the finale, both return to Datong and finally reconnect.

For those who’ve followed Jia’s work since his second film, Platform, considerable time has passed, and the director draws on that sense of temporality. We have aged alongside Zhao. She is Jia’s wife and his favorite actor — she has appeared in 11 of his films. In that sense, Caught by the Tides is a fiction that points to an underlying reality as it traces the changes in the faces of the performers. Bin is 20 years older than his first appearance; his hair is gray and receding in the film’s final third. Richard Linklater’s Boyhood and Before trilogy also worked with actors playing the same characters over years; Caught by the Tides is similar, drawing on what long-running TV series emphasize: a sense of mortality as the actors age into their roles.

Music dominates the first section of Caught by the Tides,  underlining how crucial it is to cinema’s artistic impact. Jia pushes music and stylish visuals to the forefront — dialogue is secondary. Especially in the first third, the film flows without much narrative urgency. The impressionistic mood suggests Taiwanese director Hou Hsiao-hsien’s films about drifting young people: Goodbye South, Goodbye and Millennium Mambo. Thematically, Caught by the Tides explores singing and dancing as powerful social practices. Qiao goes to karaoke bars and dances at nightclubs almost nightly. Along with pop, Chinese opera remains an important attraction. It’s so popular that a savvy businessperson can open a concert hall that asks for opera singers to pay for space to perform onstage. Jia’s love of tracking shots goes hand in hand with his strategy of letting songs play out for extended periods, if not their entire runtime. A tune about a man whose years of routine work and domestic life fall apart accompanies a slow tracking shot coursing down a busy street. Later, pounding drums accompany Qiao when she walks through rubble.

Caught by the Tides reworks one of the poignant themes in Still Life, concentrating on the trials of lonely people trying to connect with their spouses. Qiao is almost always shown outdoors; she is seen as isolated, a figure that typifies how China’s social life is emptying out. In the last two thirds of Caught by the Tides, the streets are packed, but people come off as increasingly lonely. An early scene, in which women sing together in a dreary room, feels antique after 20 years. (At one point, Bin meets a TikTok influencer with 1.25 million followers.) Even so, Jia avoids coming off as nostalgic, pining for the good old days. In 2006, Qiao watched a somewhat threatening corporate video of a robot. Shopping in an empty supermarket 16 years later, she’s greeted by a rather endearing android who glides through the store asking to assist customers. It gives her advice that the director no doubt agrees with: “the human has one really effective weapon, and that’s laughter.”

Caught by the Tides addresses aging, but it also draws attention to changes in technology and the film image that have helped shape the ways we pay attention in the 21st century. Unknown Pleasures and Still Life were shot on digital video. The look of the former was rather murky; the latter proffered notably gray, misty visuals. Each era has its own style: the latter sections of Caught by the Tides are slicker, more welcoming to contemporary eyes. Critic Esther Rosenfield noted that “with the 4K scenes at the end, Caught by the Tides becomes a full-spectrum history of digital filmmaking. More compelling, though, is how Jia uses the smoothening of the imagery as a metaphor for aging.”

Finally, Caught by the Tides is a tribute to Zhao. The epic structure becomes a means to reflect on their long-term relationship. This is not a picture of an extended happy marriage: Qiao’s life is one of constant longing for connection amidst continual ruptures, breakups that are personal and social. Caught by the Tides eludes the narcissistic congratulation found in self-referential cinema because it absorbs Jia’s early work, along with other art forms and nonfiction, to create something that has the shock of the new, as much as it builds on the past. I have yet to see a better new release this cursed year.

Steve Erickson writes about film and music for Gay City News, Slant Magazine, the Nashville Scene, Trouser Press, and other outlets. He also produces electronic music under the tag callinamagician. His latest album, Bells and Whistles, was released in January 2024, and is available to stream here. He presents a biweekly freeform radio show, Radio Not Radio, featuring an eclectic selection of music from around the world.