The chance tracing of the mountain bike results in the preposterous necessity for Guo to 'steal' it back, only to be caught and declared a thief himself and have the bike returned to the schoolboy. He traces Jian home, steals back the bicycle and returns to work, but is located himself by the school friends that would sooner believe their wronged buddy. His illegal status means that he can do little to complain. Unable to turn to the authorities he goes to the boys' stepfather, a honest working man made furious by the revelation, but the return of the bicycle does not end the trouble, as the school friends in their own warped take on things offer their services once again to bring pressure down on the stubborn Guo to part with the mountain bike or come to an agreement. The situation becomes apparently resolved only for the schoolboy's jealousy and resentment to rear in other ugly forms and the two fall foul of it, the innocent Guo, our tragic hero returning to square one, perhaps even to a more terrible fate, the film departing with a worrisome ambiguity etched in place, that shall go unheralded here.

The bicycle is more than a symbol of ownership; it is one of peerage, sociability and the portal to romantic encounters; for Jian the beautiful Xiao (Gao Yuanyan) who he is able to now ride alongside. The city is static without the bicycle, would collapse without this simple invention. Stunt bicyclists are local heroes, children commute to school socially on them; one is nobody without a basic two-set of wheels. We are served a reminder of how alien the city is to Guo, and Guo to the city when he becomes confused by revolving doors while his unfamiliarity with city behaviour leads to a lack of challenge to potential situations, leading to him being mistakenly instructed to take an shower in a health spa, believing that this is expected of the messenger collecting a package from such an address. Even the more experienced residents of the city, the kiosk running relative with whom he resides, impressed at his occupation and the wonders it will permit him to see, can only fantasise what takes place in some of the richer core city environments: "I hear that there's music playing in hotel toilets... I wouldn't be able to pee."

The viewer admires Guo for his determination, honesty and resilience in the face of everything that he is subjected to. It is unclear how much we are supposed to identify with Jian, remote as he is from guilt and culpability, abhorrently selfish and with no qualms about resorting to violence. He has lost a father, his stepfather would try and do the best for him, but is a promise breaker and as the boy approaches young adulthood the deadline for the delivery on those incessant wishes seems lost to him and on the family. His frustrations are understandable, more so once accepted by a Western viewer the importance of the bicycle as a status symbol in Chinese culture.

There is a great sense of narrative and a livelier sense of detail to Wang's film, proof that four screenwriters needn't make a dog of a script, with at least three of them having substantial influence in the finished work (Peggy Chiao, Hsu Hsiao-Ming, and Xiaosbuai) the benefit should also be given the fourth credited name, Tang Danian. It is an offering of a film that comfortably moves between episodes of silence and dialogue with little notice, a tribute to the staging and to the cinematography, the latter responsibility falling to Liu Jie. There are reasons to smile, laugh, gasp and shake your head, all to the intentions of the creators. The music of Wang Feng is another almost invisible touch and accompaniment, no more than two musical weapons of choice to associate with the actions and emotions turned to in the evolutionary life changing situations of both Guo and Jian. As the former grafts to keep the job and the bicycle it is a forced double bass and cello that depicts the tired legs on the pedals. A lone piano trickles along to the romance of Jian and Xiao. Drums, no more, back up the chase and the oblivion of the sad close is again stops at two instruments but, paradoxically so, at a jarring yet subtle level, a mix of wind and string, flute and, possibly, viola, or violin, depicting the results as it does on two very different personalities still separate in their responses in the moment of calamity. The consideration at every level is worthy of praise and it has indeed collected deserving attention on the international festival circuit, including Best New Talent Awards for both the young leads at the Berlin International Film Festival 2001. There is much more to Beijing Bicycle side-tales and many wonderfully drawn characters, the limits of each characterisation never betrayed even if the circumstances depicted ought to suggest otherwise. When the two leads become the quarry, meeting repeatedly, subjects of a hunt in the obfuscating back streets of the poor quarter, there is a killer response when the springing Jian asks the madly cycling Guo why he is still with him when he would appear in line for an undeserved beating: "Are you stupid or what?" he warns. Comes the response:

"I don't know my way out!" For a director to follow that immediately with the darkest of episodes Wang Xiaosbuai is without doubt a bold, cold, startling talent that should lead to greater future regard.

I won’t go into the plot too much, because no summary can do it justice. The plot just happens – you feel the progression, and you move with it. Knowing more than the premise before hand could seriously dampen the experience. Basically, it revolves around two boys from different places in life, both holding on to ownership of one bicycle. To both of them, it is integral, though for different reasons. Conflict is everywhere and feels so natural and un-forced that you really feel guilty for not getting in and stopping it.

Xiaoshuai Wang is a brilliant filmmaker, and I’m dying to see more of his work. His pacing and visual style has elements of Kurosawa, Kubrick, and Hitchcock. And I can confidently put him into their ranks. This film is on par with any that they have made. For a film so early in the career of a director, we have a lot to look forward to from him. I only hope that he is able to keep doing tight, character driven dramas like this and is not dragged into the big-budget, impersonal kind of filmmaking.

The acting is incredible. All of the characters are well developed and played flawlessly. Cui Lin does an amazing job of playing Guei. Throughout his character is restrained because of his status in life, but underneath this restraint is clear emotion that makes us feel for the character even more. And at the end of the film, where he cannot hold in his emotions any longer, the painful restraint shown throughout the rest of the film compliments it and makes it an even more remarkable performance in hindsight. He brings a depth to Guei that is unlike anything I have seen from an American film. Li Bin likewise does a beautiful job as Jian. He has an easier role to play, but that fact doesn’t diminish the performance he gives. They both shared the New Talent award at the Berlin Film Festival.

The score is very minimal, but is one of the most beautiful I have heard, particularly in modern Asian films. When there is no orchestrated score, the sounds of bicycles serve the same purpose. This works very well, as does everything Xiaoshuai Wang does with the film.

This film really surprised me. I expected it to be fun and beautiful, but my mouth still stands agape at the marvel of Beijing Bicycle. I can’t stress enough how good this is, or how essential it is for anyone who enjoys films. If you are lucky enough to have it plying near you, go see it. The visuals of the film are best served on a large palate. If not, get a hold of the DVD. In all likelihood it will take home the ‘best foreign film’ prize at next year’s academy awards, but because it was released so early, and so limited, its possible that it will be overlooked. This film could beat Crouching Tiger blindfolded and with its hands tied behind its back.