While the addition of a mini-program is noted, this review focuses on the film “Chang’an” itself.
A Refreshing Take on Tang Dynasty Poets: A Review of “Chang’an”
“Chang’an” has proven to be a delightful surprise. While some may dismiss its serious approach with flippant remarks, I found it genuinely moving. Joking with a friend, I remarked that this animated film possesses a certain “intellectual air,” an admittedly awkward observation. What I meant was that after being bombarded with Chinese animations aimed at cheap laughs, blatant sentimentality, or pandering to specific demographics, it was refreshing to see a film with genuine integrity. Compared to adaptations that simply pluck familiar elements from well-known myths and add a touch of modern sensibility, “Chang’an” stands out as a highly original work that doesn’t rely on tired tropes. This originality stems not from a completely fictional narrative, but from its fresh perspective, unique subject matter, and, most importantly, its innovative expression.
Beyond Pandering: A Focus on Giving
Throughout the film, moments designed to elicit easy laughter are few and far between, perhaps only during Li Guinian’s brief appearance. More importantly, the film avoids any sense of “pandering.” This is where “Chang’an” truly shines. It doesn’t adopt a posture of “begging” for the audience’s approval. How many domestic animations are meticulously crafted to “flatter children”? The answer is obvious. My immediate impression was that this film strives to “give” something to the audience, seemingly unconcerned with whether it’s received or not. Considering the film’s nearly three-hour runtime, which itself suggests a specific target audience, many scenes are serious, lyrical, profound, and personal. While dazzling action sequences are present, they avoid excessive special effects. Instead, the combat, particularly the sumo wrestling, serves to illustrate the characters’ states and emotions, rather than simply stimulating the audience.
The Significance of Li Bai’s Daoist Initiation
The scene where Li Bai receives his Daoist initiation in Shandong is a prime example. It offers little in the way of humor or excitement. Most viewers likely won’t understand its significance, making it an unsuitable inclusion for a young audience. Li Bai’s initiation is a historical fact and a pivotal moment in his life. The film’s dedication to recreating this scene, purely for the sake of character development, is remarkable. Of course, all creative endeavors involve calculation, but when calculation becomes the primary focus, when every frame is designed to “please” and every decision is weighed against audience preferences, the film is doomed.
A Flourishing Tang Dynasty: Historical Accuracy and Artistic License
“Chang’an” exudes a vibrant and unrestrained energy, weaving a tapestry of the Tang Dynasty’s poetic landscape through a simple yet effective dual narrative of present and past. What’s particularly surprising is the film’s apparent commitment to historical accuracy. The lives of the poets, the eras of their works, and even the design of props and settings seem to have been meticulously researched. While I can’t guarantee the absolute accuracy of every poet’s biography or timeline, the film generally adheres to historical fact. The screenwriter’s efforts are evident, a rarity in animated films.
Details That Matter
Consider a few details. In the opening scene, Gao Shi’s desk in the military camp initially holds not the “Heyue Yingling Ji” (Anthology of Heroes), which appears later, but the “Ba County Records” (a blurred image, but the words are discernible). This reflects Gao Shi’s deep concern for and understanding of the region he governs. The “Old Book of Tang” mentions Gao Shi’s policy of “leniency and simplicity, which benefited the officials and people.” It also notes his advice to Emperor Xuanzong, who had fled to Sichuan, to treat the local population with compassion. The biography also states that after Emperor Daizong ascended the throne:
The Tibetans captured Longyou, gradually approaching the capital. Shi trained troops in Shu, containing the southern border of Tibet. The army was unsuccessful, and Song and Wei provinces were soon captured by Tibetan soldiers. Daizong replaced him with Yan Wu, the Yellow Gate Attendant, and appointed him as the Vice Minister of Justice, then the Regular Attendant of the Ministry of Personnel, adding the title of Silver Green Grand Master, and granting him the title of Marquis of Bohai County, with an estate of seven hundred households.
This record provides the historical context for the film’s setting. Gao Shi is in an awkward position, having “failed to achieve military success.” The sudden arrival of the eunuch is therefore alarming to him. However, the eunuch’s purpose is to investigate Li Bai, setting the main story in motion.
The episode where Gao Shi joins Ge Shuhan’s staff highlights the fall of Tongguan, a crucial turning point in the An Lushan Rebellion. The loss of Tongguan left Chang’an vulnerable. Emperor Xuanzong’s decision to force Ge Shuhan to engage in battle was a disastrous move, heavily criticized by historians for centuries. Ge Shuhan’s alleged “surrender to the rebels” is also considered a historical injustice. The biography notes that Gao Shi later defended Ge Shuhan before Emperor Xuanzong, demonstrating his respect for the general. The film elaborates on this story, and Gao Shi’s escape from the army is also supported by the “Old Book of Tang”:
During the An Lushan Rebellion, he was summoned to fight the rebels and appointed as the Left Reminder and then the Supervising Censor, assisting Han in defending Tongguan. When Han’s army was defeated, Shi fled west through Luogu and went to the emperor’s location.
The “New Book of Tang” offers a similar account. Gao Shi’s close relationships with poets like Li Bai and Du Fu are also well-documented. Scholars have compiled detailed chronologies of these poets’ lives, and even created comprehensive maps of Tang Dynasty poetry, outlining their movements and social circles, providing valuable resources for the screenwriter. The horses in the film are clearly inspired by artifacts like the Six Steeds of Zhao Mausoleum and Han Gan’s paintings, characterized by their stout bodies and slender legs, capturing their spirit and elegance. The bookbinding styles depicted in the film are also carefully considered, avoiding the anachronistic “thread-bound books” and opting for “sutra-folded bindings.” While traditional scroll bindings were still prevalent during Xuanzong’s reign, sutra-folded bindings were also used, particularly for Buddhist scriptures. The use of sutra-folded bindings for poetry collections is not impossible, given the emergence and gradual popularization of woodblock printing at the time. The film’s reference to the “submission of poems” trend will also resonate with those familiar with the relationship between the imperial examinations and literature in the Tang Dynasty.
Furthermore, the film vividly recreates the famous literary anecdote of Li Bai’s visit to the Yellow Crane Tower, where he abandoned his attempt to write a poem after seeing Cui Hao’s masterpiece. This is a well-known story that has been discussed extensively by scholars. The film also touches on the speculated ambiguous relationship between Wang Wei and Princess Yuzhen (the scene where Princess Yuzhen’s maidservant helps Wang Wei change clothes) and Yin Fan’s “Heyue Yingling Ji” not including Du Fu’s poems. The “Heyue Yingling Ji,” which appears multiple times in the film, is a poetry anthology from the Xuanzong era. The poets included in the anthology may not all be considered top-tier by modern readers. For example, while Li Bai was famous at the time, his poetic reputation was not at its peak. Cui Hao, Wang Wei, and Meng Haoran were likely more highly regarded. Du Fu, on the other hand, received little attention at the time. Li Bai and Du Fu’s prominence grew later. Therefore, the film’s mention of Cui Hao reflects his status as a celebrated talent whose poetry was widely admired. Li Bai, known for his confidence, would naturally feel deflated after seeing the poem at the Yellow Crane Tower, leading him to write “Ascending the Phoenix Terrace in Jinling” to compete with Cui Hao. The “Heyue Yingling Ji” describes Gao Shi’s poetry as “full of personal expression, combined with strength and integrity,” a simple and accurate assessment. It’s also worth noting the repeated use of the “彈鋏長歌 (tán jiá cháng gē)” gesture, where “铗 (jiá)” refers to a sword. “彈鋏長歌 (tán jiá cháng gē)” means singing while tapping on a sword, a common expression of sorrow and loneliness in ancient times, similar to the “mountain forest roar.”
The Magic of Realism: Li Bai and the Birds
The film’s depiction of Li Bai summoning birds is not entirely fictional. Historical records offer glimpses of this ability, and writer Zhang Dachun elaborates on this romantic magic in his novel “The Great Tang Li Bai: A Young Man’s Journey,” attributing it to Zhao Rui and calling it the “Morning Sun Spell”:
Li Bai stood beside him, occasionally grabbing a handful of grain from his cloth bag and scattering it around. Countless mountain birds swirled around him; some snatched the grain from the air, while others pecked at it on the ground. As Li Bai watched the birds, he noticed dozens of enormous eagles circling high above, their wings spread wide, seemingly indifferent but never straying far… Guided by the incantation, the birds maintained order and discipline.
The film’s screenwriter may have been familiar with Zhang Dachun’s novel.
More Than Just Details: The Essence of “Chang’an”
These examples are not meant to show off knowledge. It’s just that when you encounter a field you love, you naturally pay attention to these details, which also reveals the film’s production attitude. However, it’s perfectly fine if you don’t notice these details. A work that relies solely on such details to win over the audience is ultimately unsuccessful. The key lies in the emotions and aspirations. The film is permeated with a sense of melancholy, reminiscent of “old palace maids sitting and talking about Emperor Xuanzong,” longing for a bygone era of prosperity. This sense of longing is the emotion. The film’s focus on portraying the spirit of the era, whether it’s celebrating friendship or admiring genius, is the aspiration. “Chang’an” can be considered a “pictorial guide to the Tang Dynasty’s poetic scene.” The appearance of these brilliant poets and the recitation of their timeless poems evoke a sense of wonder in those who love literature.
A Celebration of Poetry and Passion
Some viewers may complain that the film is simply a poetry recital, but poetry itself is eternally beautiful. I don’t believe the film uses poetry as a tool for sentimentality or pandering. There are far too many other ways to achieve those goals. Why bother with the effort of removing the literary elements? At least I saw the emotions and aspirations, the creators’ love and passion, which cannot be hidden and ultimately moved me. Ultimately, creation is simply a matter of expressing oneself and hoping to find kindred spirits. Criticism and ridicule are normal, but don’t impose your cynicism on others, nor should you force your praise on them. Frankly, the final grand recitation of the “Chang’an” theme poem was a bit overdone, but I don’t think the main film suffers from this issue.
The Imperfections of Perfection
Animation is, after all, animation. Fictional elements are necessary, otherwise it would become an animated documentary. What’s the point of meticulous research if it’s not used to enhance the story? Gao Shi’s characterization is largely fictional. In addition to his loyalty and simplicity, the film portrays him as resentful and melancholic, with a touch of awkwardness, creating a stark contrast to the carefree and romantic Li Bai. This is a typical screenwriting technique, and there’s no need to argue about its historical accuracy. The biography states that Gao Shi “liked to talk about the strategies of kings and hegemons, pursued fame and valued integrity.” While many scholars at the time shared these traits, they weren’t particularly unique. Gao Shi’s fondness for discussing the strategies of kings and hegemons is not evident in the film.
The entire film is narrated from Gao Shi’s perspective, depicting what he saw and experienced, the prosperity and crisis he witnessed. Gao Shi and Li Bai are two different types of people. Gao Shi is worldly and burdened, while Li Bai, as He Zhizhang described him, is a “banished immortal,” ethereal and always seeking to transcend the world. Of course, Li Bai’s character is full of contradictions, which the film portrays effectively. The poets of the Kaiyuan and Tianbao eras were almost all driven by a desire for fame. They often scorned royalty yet yearned for their patronage. Li Bai is a prime example. However, Li Bai’s true ideal was figures like Lu Zhonglian, who achieved great accomplishments and then gracefully retired, concealing their merit and fame. “Retreat” is the ultimate goal of this pursuit of fame. This idealistic dream is destined to be shattered by reality. That’s why Li Bai is innocent and lovable.
In recent years, there have been many films and television dramas set in the Tang Dynasty, but most of them simply use the prosperous and magnificent backdrop as a shell. Few capture the complete emotions and aspirations of the era. Instead, they rely on stimulating plot points to drive the characters. The Tang Dynasty is reduced to a tool, a spectacle. The Tang Dynasty depicted in “Chang’an” emphasizes its spirit, a spirit of striving, unrestrained elegance, and inclusivity, the unparalleled confidence and tolerance of the Kaiyuan era, unique in Chinese history.
This spirit of the Tang Dynasty lies in the talented individuals, from the imperial court to the common people. It’s not about the external “abundance of public and private granaries” or the “Emperor Wu’s endless expansionist ambitions.” Those who are obsessed with the Tang Dynasty often limit themselves to these superficial aspects, resulting in a narrow and hollow portrayal of its grandeur.
“Chang’an” accurately captures the soul and essence of the era. People, always people, constitute the true pulse of the times. The saying that “Li Bai’s embroidered mouth spewed out half of the Tang Dynasty” is not an exaggeration. To paraphrase a common saying, the Tang Dynasty is about substance, not just appearance. In the golden age of Kaiyuan and Tianbao, the Tang Dynasty was not just about elegance and revelry. It also had its sorrows, anxieties, darkness, and pain. Gao Shi, with his constant frown, heavy heart, and incompatibility with the likes of Li Bai, represents this side of the Tang Dynasty. It’s telling that the film never shows Emperor Xuanzong, Consort Yang, or the imperial palace. This is likely intentional, because the focus is not on the extravagant and decadent nobles, but on the heroic and talented scholars, their joy and their suppression. The scene where Li Bai and his friends drink and revel by the river after his Daoist initiation is the most technically impressive and visually stunning scene in the film, featuring celestial beings. But it’s not about the emperor and his concubines. They are the least important figures in this vast animation, an approach that avoids clichés.
Ironically, Gao Shi is the least elegant and talented of the poets in the film. His official career is also long and unremarkable. He remains somewhat detached from the aesthetic ideal of “Chang’an.” Yet, he is the only Tang Dynasty poet to achieve the rank of marquis. The “Old Book of Tang” states, “Since the Tang Dynasty, Shi is the only poet to have achieved such success.” Recalling his youth, when he was “poor, living as a guest in Liang and Song, relying on begging for sustenance,” one can’t help but feel a sense of wonder. Focusing on a group of poets is somewhat unconventional, but it also demonstrates great courage. I believe that “Chang’an” is destined to be a very special film in the history of Chinese animation.