Bian Zhuo’s As the Water Flows is a gentle and beautiful film about aging and reconciliation, shaped by the director’s own family story. The film was inspired by the diary of Bian’s late grandfather, a man who suffered greatly during China’s Anti-Rightist Movement. What started as an attempt to recreate that hardship slowly turned into something softer and more hopeful. “At first, I only wanted to recreate his suffering,” Bian says, “but then I asked myself, what did my grandfather actually want?” This question changed everything. Instead of focusing on pain, As the Water Flows became a film about understanding and emotional healing. As Bian explains, it was like stepping “into a parallel universe”, one where his grandfather’s life story could be – somewhat – retold with warmth and forgiveness.

This sensitivity runs through every frame of As the Water Flows. The performances feel lived-in, shaped by the actors’ own experiences, creating an amazing connection between life and art. Bian’s attentiveness to light, sound, and space adds to the film’s intimacy. Natural sounds – wind, water, and birds – stand in for music, while the delicate contrast between shadowed interiors and sunlit exteriors reflects the emotions beneath the surface.

After the festival, we sat down with Bian Zhuo to talk about the film’s visual language and his close, collaborative process with the actors.

View of the Arts: As the Water Flows feels personal, especially in its portrayal of aging, memory, and reconciliation. I understand the story was inspired by your grandfather – could you tell me more about how his life or outlook shaped the narrative of the film?

Bian Zhuo: The real grandfather in my life is very different from the one portrayed in the film. The film borrows my real grandfather’s background – during the ten years in China, he was labeled a Rightist and suffered greatly. Because of his status, his daughters were also implicated, unable to enjoy many benefits that were normal at the time. For example, his second daughter couldn’t go to university due to his status.

Therefore, my real grandfather was deeply embittered, and this bitterness lasted into his old age. The film is adapted from the diary he left after his passing. Initially, it was very oppressive, just like his life. I also found the creative process very painful. It wasn’t until the third draft of the script that I suddenly realized I didn’t want to merely recreate a certain kind of suffering. I asked myself a question: What did my grandfather actually want? Holding onto the idea of speaking up for him, I rewrote the script, resulting in a completely different, warm narrative style.

You could say I borrowed my grandfather’s character background, but, as if gradually stepping into a parallel universe, started from the same point and moved in a different direction.

VOA: Shu Wen’s journey from emotional distance to connection feels intimate yet universal. How did you approach writing or directing his transformation without turning it into overt sentimentality?

BZ: I hoped the actors would give me a natural performance style born from life itself. So, I spent a lot of time communicating and chatting with them. I would take parts from their own selves and then go back to revise the script. In handling this film, I believed it wasn’t just about the actors getting closer to the roles; the roles I wrote should also get closer to the actors. This is an organic, collaborative directing method. Because of this, the actors also infused their own life experiences into their performances, making the characters feel more textured with real life.

On the other hand, I deliberately toned down the melodrama. I’ve always felt that overly strong drama actually builds a transparent wall between the audience and the screen; the audience always watches from the outside. For As the Water Flows, I wanted to invite the audience to participate. I hoped that during the viewing process, they could unknowingly project themselves into the film. Simply put, this is a film that requires inviting the audience to participate. Therefore, I removed many sentimental parts. These parts are rarely shown in real life anyway. I wanted to leave these emotions for the audience to experience for themselves.

VOA: The film beautifully captures the tension between three generations: the restless youth, the burdened middle-aged, and the grieving elder. How did you work with your actors to create such natural, lived-in family dynamics?

BZ: The previous answer might partly explain this. I not only invited the audience to participate in the film, but from the beginning of shooting, I also invited the actors to participate in the creation, rather than stubbornly sticking to my own script expression.

I didn’t actually conceive this film based on a standard family structure, but constructed this family based on social class distinctions. I wanted each of them to represent a certain group. For example, the three smaller families represent the working class, the middle class, and the elite class, respectively. Each nuclear family, based on their possession of material resources, has different levels of discursive power within the larger family, which also directly affects the younger generation. I wanted this family to reflect the various problems that have emerged in Chinese society during its development over the past few decades.

Because I didn’t have much time or money to prepare for this film, I asked the actors to approach it using the logic of ‘individual’ and ‘society’. Essentially, this film is about the flow and struggle of discursive power, just like our current society, isn’t it?

VOA: The performances feel so authentic that, at times, it’s as if we’re observing a real family rather than watching actors. What kind of rehearsal or on-set atmosphere did you cultivate to achieve that realism?

BZ: I think rehearsing itself is also fluid. We made a lot of script adjustments on set. Sometimes what seemed great during pre-production planning just didn’t work on set. I would make modifications based on the on-set atmosphere and practical conditions. As I said before, I didn’t want the actors to just perform a role completely; I also wanted them to put a part of themselves into the role. So, when performing, they brought in some of their own life habits. I think this is part of where the sense of real life comes from.

VOA: Your use of sound and silence is striking. Music appears sparingly, allowing natural sounds – water, wind, birds – to carry the atmosphere of the film very well. Could you share your thoughts behind that decision? Was minimalism in sound design something you planned from the beginning?

BZ: Thank you for noticing that. From the initial design stage of the film, I hoped to let the surrounding natural sounds also be part of the narrative function. For example, in the scene where Shu Wen and Auntie Wu chat on the Green Lake bridge, I deliberately enhanced the presence of the wind. It’s like souls fly through the wind; I felt this could enhance the audience’s sense of immersion and also effectively convey the characters’ longing. We Chinese speak of using objects to metaphorically express emotions; it’s probably something like that. Something interesting to share about the sound design: I used some real ocean wave sounds and bamboo wind chime sounds to aid the narrative, even though the story’s location, Kunming, isn’t coastal. We used sound to construct a space detached from the physical space presented in the film itself. I think this in itself is a kind of audio-visual appeal.

You could say I used natural sounds to replace the application of some score music. It’s for the same reason as before: I was afraid that excessive sentimentality and emphasis would push the audience to watch from outside the film, unable to truly integrate into the space constructed by the film. So yes, minimalist sound design was indeed the plan from the beginning.

VOA: Visually, the film contrasts confined interiors with open, breathing exteriors. How did you and your cinematographer conceptualise that contrast? 

BZ: I come from a cinematography background. I studied film at the Academy of Art University in San Francisco, specializing in cinematography. Therefore, I have a relatively clear idea of the visual style I want. I wanted to emphasize the sunlight in Kunming – the sunlight here is always very abundant. Abundant sunlight actually creates more layers of shadows. Outdoors, I emphasized the richness of layers; indoors, I emphasized the diversity of shadows. I wanted the dark areas to be darker and the bright areas brighter. Indoors, I used reflections to construct more space. Actually, it’s similar to the sound design; these extra spaces are essentially reserved for the ghosts of the departed.

I wanted the connection between every shot to be interesting and contrasting – from light to dark, from wide shots to close-ups. Perhaps this editing mindset also contributed to the strong contrast between indoor and outdoor scenes.

VOA: The film’s pacing reflects the rhythm of everyday life. How do you balance patience and narrative momentum when creating a story like this?

BZ: I wanted my characters to do things people do and say things people say. This requires their expression to be highly textured with real life. I feel that pauses or restraint should extend outwards following the characters’ emotions, not for the sake of restraint itself. There always needs to be a reason. For me, the characters are always the most important; all my scenes revolve around people. Also, as I said before, I deliberately weakened melodramatic plot points and strengthened the presentation of daily life. But this daily life also ultimately revolves around the characters. Overall, throughout the entire film, I was shaping the characters. This might be one of the secrets to creating stories like this.

VOA: The locations feel essential to the film’s tone. Where did you shoot As the Water Flows, and what drew you to those places?

BZ: The filming location was my hometown, Kunming, Yunnan, China. Usually, when people talk about this place, it involves many ethnic minority elements, and many portrayals tend towards the exotic. But I feel Kunming is far more than that. When I started filming, I also wanted to show others that Yunnan isn’t just about beautiful scenery and ethnic minorities; it actually has urban life too. But this city is also different from others; it’s a place with a very slow pace. It was only after returning to Kunming that I truly relaxed. This place gives me a sense that time might really stand still, a basic life perception that even if you do nothing today, you won’t die tomorrow. But in other big cities, I’m always stuck in anxiety. The people in this city are also very interesting. Actually, Kunming could be considered a migrant city; if you go back three generations, many came from other provinces, which also brought their own stories. 

The Chinese title of the film is Cuihu (翠湖), which directly translates to Green Lake. This is the central garden of Kunming, and many Kunming people have left important memories from different periods of their lives at Green Lake. So, this is also a film I dedicated to my hometown.

VOA: Much of the film’s power lies in its subtle observation. As a filmmaker, how do you decide when to hold back, to let silence, space, or ambiguity speak for itself?

BZ: For me, this is divided into different stages. During the script-writing phase, I’m used to first creating the literary script, writing everything very fully and in detail. During the shooting phase, I focus on sensing the atmosphere on set. When you find that natural, peaceful atmosphere in the air on set, then I know it’s right. But if the atmosphere remains anxious, then I feel something must be wrong. Whenever that happens, I pause, call the actors back, turn off all the lights on set – it’s like a reboot – and start reconstructing the on-set atmosphere from scratch. In the editing room, it’s different again. I force myself to step into the audience’s shoes, stand with the audience, and re-examine the film from their perspective. At that point, I’m forcibly pulled out of individual scenes and look at my film from a more comprehensive angle. So for me, there might not be a very specific trick. It’s just that when I realize something isn’t right, I first pause, and then reboot. Perhaps one more thing is important: be honest with yourself and make your film sincerely.

Written and interviewed by Maggie Gogler

Featured image courtesy of ALULA Film Festival & Bian Zhuo

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