Chongqing excess

In the final scene of Lost, Indulgence, the viewer is treated to the sight of the Yangtze River gurgling past a gloomy neighbourhood flanking a cluster of grey, dilapidated factory buildings. The camera then pans upwards, revealing, on the other side of the river, the skyscrapers adorning downtown Chongqing. Compared to the dusty working-class enclave in which the film is mostly set, the glass-and-steel metropolis represents a distant, enigmatic land - a vivid allusion to the film's Chinese title, Mi An (The Mysterious Shore).

Such visual depiction of a stand-off between the old and the new has been done before in contemporary Chinese cinema: Jia Zhangke and Zhang Yang, for example, have built their careers on films (such as Platform, The World, Shower and Getting Home) that eulogised traditional ways of life rendered obsolete as China hurtles towards a capitalistic future.

Lost, Indulgence, directed by Zhang Yibai, strikes a different note. It eschews nostalgia for the gritty grind of industrial workers. Life in run-down tenement blocks isn't portrayed as invariably wholesome, just as modern trappings aren't necessarily seen as a sign of material excess irreconcilable with old-school moral values.

Many filmmakers want to highlight a postmodern sense of beauty in traditional life, and so their films contain messages about conserving it, says Zhang.

'But for ordinary folk who are actually living in these places, modern life promises so much convenience to them. While we might be nostalgic about old buildings, the first thought for those who live in them is to move away as soon as they can - to relocate to a tower block and enjoy life with a water closet, tap water, air conditioning and a gas stove.

'There's a contradiction in there, yes, but I wouldn't just look at it merely from the point of view of preserving cultural values, nor would I stand against people's wishes to improve their lot. I hail from among them, you know.'