Behemoth movie review (2016) | Little White Lies

Behe­moth

18 Aug 2016 / Released: 19 Aug 2016

Words by David Jenkins

Directed by Zhao Liang

Starring N/A

A person holding a framed landscape photograph, depicting a rocky, mountainous terrain in the background.
A person holding a framed landscape photograph, depicting a rocky, mountainous terrain in the background.
4

Anticipation.

Chinese documentarian Zhao Liang is little known, but his films are highly acclaimed.

4

Enjoyment.

A poetic and disruptive look at modern manual labour.

4

In Retrospect.

Rich, deep and eventually very moving.

The poet­ry and hor­ror of glob­al­i­sa­tion and man­u­al labour are beau­ti­ful­ly evoked in this haunt­ing doc-fic­tion hybrid.

This is a film which lam­basts Chi­nese cul­tur­al impe­ri­al­ism in the harsh­est terms pos­si­ble. It accus­es a giant exca­va­tion project for fos­sil fuels of cre­at­ing a lit­er­al hellscape on Earth. At one point a cam­era glides silent­ly along an under­ground mine­shaft before a sud­den, ter­ri­fy­ing explo­sion shakes it and the walls around it. After a moment of con­fu­sion, it becomes clear that a dyna­mite charge from the sur­face is the cause of the rum­ble, but it could just as well have been the Dev­il stamp­ing his clawed feet.

Direc­tor Zhao Liang heads to rur­al Mon­go­lia where ener­gy com­pa­nies insou­ciant­ly lay waste to rolling mead­ow lands. They claim to cheer­ful­ly pro­vide jobs for locals with their eco­log­i­cal­ly ruinous open caste coal mines. Yet unskilled vil­lagers scav­enge for nuggets of coke with lit­tle more than dec­o­ra­tive rags to pre­vent the dust par­ti­cles from enter­ing into their bod­ies and caus­ing chron­ic emphy­se­ma. They head back to their hov­els to live out a drab exis­tence, with much of their down-time ded­i­cat­ed to wash­ing off the black grime that cakes their bod­ies. They’re sus­tained on a thin broth with limp greens float­ing on the sur­face. They have noth­ing to talk about and no form of enter­tain­ment. They sit and con­tem­plate. And then they’re back to work.

Zhao’s mirac­u­lous film is extreme­ly sim­ple in its polit­i­cal aims. It frames cap­i­tal­ist enter­prise as uncar­ing and also clue­less as to the desires of its rank and file col­lab­o­ra­tors. Though the cam­era often comes extreme­ly close to its human sub­jects, a psy­cho­log­i­cal dis­tance is always main­tained. Com­mu­ni­ca­tion is a no-no. Zhao doesn’t want to hear gripes, excus­es or expla­na­tions. That these things he films are hap­pen­ing means that some­one, some­where has flashed the green light. He just wants to watch as the untaint­ed truth unfolds in front of him. He toys with the form, includ­ing the occa­sion­al fic­tion­al insert of a naked wan­der­er observ­ing the des­o­la­tion from afar. Some­times, the man­ner in which he films a sub­ject trans­forms it into some­thing oth­er­world­ly. At a steel mill, a riv­er of molten met­al fills the screen with an intense blotch of glow­ing orange-red, empha­sis­ing the film’s con­nec­tion to some kind of fiery underworld.

As the film pro­gress­es, its scope expands. Zhao shifts his focus from the work­ers them­selves to the world in which they are sup­posed to exist. The utopi­an vision of a work­ers’ par­adise is angri­ly mocked, as an entire metrop­o­lis erect­ed on the Mon­go­lian plains lays com­plete­ly depop­u­lat­ed. Colour­ful mul­ti-sto­ry apart­ment blocks defile the sky­line as work­ers remain con­tent with their own mea­gre liv­ing arrange­ments. These ghost towns rep­re­sent the fight back, the refusal of work­ers to become entire­ly immersed with­in a cor­po­rate system.

With this mod­icum of inde­pen­dence, they are able to exist as more than just drone-like labour­ers. Though the film is specif­i­cal­ly about a sin­gle instance in a sin­gle place, it speaks pas­sion­ate­ly and evoca­tive­ly about the dehu­man­is­ing effects of indus­try the world over. It exists to take every­thing away from us, to own both our time and our bod­ies. Whether we’re able to fight against it nev­er addressed, but if there is a Dev­il, then sure­ly there has to be a God.

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