Armed with both vaccine doses, a mask, and early afternoon showtimes with plenty of empty seats, I’ve been fortunate enough to make a muted, but comfortable, return to the movies. Yet, swaddled in a blanket in my dim living room on a rainy Sunday night, I felt something I had gone a long time without. About halfway into Zhang Yimou’s One Second, a crowd erupts into thunderous applause as a projector hums to life and begins to play the film they’ve been eagerly waiting to see all day. This was when I felt the power of a communal film experience I’ve not had since the “before times.” It’s where One Second hit its emotional peak for me, although I suspect this was unintentional on the director’s part.
Initially planned to premiere at the 69th Berlin International Film Festival in February 2019, One Second was pulled from its lineup at the last minute. On paper, the reason was listed as “technical issues”; the unspoken truth of the matter is that the film was not approved for release due to the Communist Party’s Propaganda Department’s stricter rules. Any details about what has been changed from its original cut are difficult to come by. The film’s setting is what many assume triggered the censorship. One Second takes place during China’s Cultural Revolution, a sociopolitical movement spanning from 1966 to 1976. This era of history is a sensitive one to portray on film, but it’s an indisputable fact that life was very difficult for many people in China at the time; widespread poverty and economic instability was an unfortunate byproduct of the movement. Yimou’s film follows an unnamed fugitive played by Zhang Yi. He’s escaped a labor camp and arrived at a town that’s screening a film, a special event that only happens around every two months or so. Before the film, the mandatory newsreel contains a brief glimpse of his daughter. The fugitive forms a tenuous alliance with the town’s projectionist, the affectionately named Mr. Movie (Fan Wei), to ensure he can manage to see his beloved daughter again before the chance slips away.
One Second is a gorgeous film. There are several scenes where characters travel through vast plains of desert sand that resemble a Caravaggio painting as a blazing sun casts deep and looming shadows. Several scenes feature little to no dialogue, turning the endeavor into an arresting silent film for brief periods. Those remain some of the most impactful moments of the film, where the actors’ faces work to convey not just their current emotions, but the compounded effect of their entire tumultuous history. In a move that’s very appropriate for the overall work’s thematic sentiment, we don’t learn much about the fugitive. The snapshot that the film captures in the present moment is that what is most vital to his life here and now is a glimpse of his daughter. Zhang Yi’s performance captures this heartbreaking desperation. Although he can be rude and violent, it’s also clear to see in his eyes that he acts like this because he has to, not necessarily because he wants to.
A less enjoyable performance is that of Liu Haocun’s Orphan Liu. During the long stretches of silent acting, what she conveys in her facial expressions and body language is phenomenal. Her voice, though, is whiny and grating in a way that’s difficult to get fully accustomed to. Her character is also indicative of a bigger issue with the film. Although not much is known of how the film existed in its original state, it does feel incomplete as it exists now. Orphan Liu feels like a doorway into another story that doesn’t truly blossom. There are scenes between Mr. Movie and the fugitive that are incredibly touching, but also feel very abbreviated. They share a surprising connection that doesn’t get as much exploration as it deserves. As a result, a lot of the emotional response doesn’t feel connected to the characters, but instead to the environment surrounding them.
I can’t speak as if I know the director’s authorial intent. I don’t know how much of what I saw was in the original cut. What’s fascinating is that living through COVID made my eyes well up at a packed audience singing along to a song in a film instead of any of the interpersonal relationships explored in One Second. I get the sense that the love letter to the collective experience of film and cinema was meant to serve as more of a thematic backdrop than the emotional center. But it’s at its best when it explores how deeply film can impact a life, whether it’s a projectionist proudly showcasing his craft or an audience rendered pin-drop silent by a riveting story they’ve seen countless times before. Despite how it stumbles, One Second is a sentimental film that served as a gentle reminder of how vital movie theaters have been and will continue to be. I can only hope that one day we’ll be able to see it in its entirety, the way Zhang Yimou intended.
