The plot: Two people-- a nurse, Shen Hong (Jia regular Zhao Tao) and coal miner, Han Sanming (as himself)-- leave the Shanxi province to search for someone in the decaying Three Gorges town of Fengjie. For Sanming it's his ex-wife, who he hasn't seen in sixteen years. For Hong it's her husband, who left two years ago and never returned. Both are on a type of quest; one pursuing the past and the other desiring to move on into the future. Sanming longs to see his daughter-- he and Jia's camera both indulge in the moments when he's given a glimpse of her in photographs-- and reconcile with his ex-wife, while Hong has fallen in love with someone else in her husband's absence, and wants a divorce. For both, their journey takes them through a strange and unfamiliar land; Fengjie is in a constant state of decomposition, threatened by the Yangtze river, which has flooded many areas in the town, and demolition crews who brand homes and other buildings with the Chinese character for "demolish", often without notifying the residents.

Jia likens the terrain to an alien landscape, incorporating science fiction elements to make his point-- a UFO in the sky connects the narrative threads of Hong and Sanming, a group of men in has-mat-suits survey and sanitize a demolished area, and an odd shaped building takes off like a spaceship. These absurdist touches act in much the same way the cellphone text messaging and animated sequences aided Jia's last film (2005's "The Word") or, arguably, constrained it. Like "The World", "Still Life" feels (ironically) alien to Jia's first two masterpieces-- 2000's "Platform" and 2002's "Unknown Pleasures", respectively-- since those two films presented such a stark, unaffected, and intimate portrait of youth disconnected from the environment around them. Both "The World" and this film feel decidedly more self-important-- the former takes place in a giant amusement park, containing downsized versions of the world's landmarks, and thus seems more globally conscience than concerned specifically with Chinese cultural concerns.

In another sense, Jia's films are evolving, becoming more grandiose and ambitious. "24 City", his documentary which I caught at this year's Toronto Film Festival, found Jia in a similar state of profundity, in awe at the sight of buildings being torn down en mass. That film, similarly, found a city (Chengdu, in this case) and its people in a state of transition-- Factory 420, a state-owned establishment, was being demolished to make way for the titular apartment complex. Interviewing the residents of 420, Jia found a people expressing both feelings of anger and reminiscence towards the factory, and never presented his own views and opinions. If that film was told from the POV of those entrenched, "Still Life" is told from the perspective of those on the outside looking in. Though different locations, both films find the director earnestly fascinated by the eroding landscapes. Just as both films blur the line between documentary and narrative fiction. It's true that "Still Life" is a narrative film, but should it be classified as such when its setting-- buildings crumble in both the background and foreground throughout-- is not one of artifice, but the result of a real occurrence? How about the fact that "24 City" not only interviews real residents of 420, but actors playing a part? Jia clearly finds it unnecessary to separate the two realms of cinema; as futile as attempting to think up a story more fantastical and bizarre than that which is already taking place around him.