Chinese filmmaker Vivian Qu has been a driving force behind one of the most exciting currents in recent Chinese independent cinema — the gritty neo-noir. In 2014, she produced Diao Yinan’s breakthrough crime thriller Black Coal, Thin Ice, which made history when it became China’s first film of the box office boom era to win the Berlin Golden Bear. In 2017, Qu’s second film as a director, Angels Wear White, emerged as a critical sensation at the Venice Film Festival, where it was her country’s only film in competition that year. A harrowing examination of sexual abuse, corruption and complicity, the film, set on China’s southern island of Hainan, tells the story of a teenage hotel cleaner who witnesses the abuse of two preteens by a government official. Shot mostly on a handheld camera, the crisply told drama was widely hailed as a courageous and unsparing mood piece.

Qu returns to Berlin this week with Girls on Wire, another gripping noir, this one set in the sprawling metropolis of Chongqing over a period spanning the late 1980s to the present day. The film follows two estranged cousins — a movie stuntwoman named Fang Di (Wen Qi) and Tian Tian (Liu Haocun), a single mom on the run from local gangsters — whose lives violently reconverge in ways that illuminate the harsh struggles of young, working-class Chinese women.

Through their story, Qu traces the complex legacy of China’s economic miracle while crafting a propulsive genre piece that deliberately invokes and subverts the tropes of wuxia martial arts cinema.

She talked to THR about her new movie, coming to the Berlinale, and the Chinese box office.

In 2018, I spent some time in Chongqing interviewing people who were part of the first generation of garment business owners in the 1980s and ’90s — the beginning of China’s reform era when the country was just opening up and moving toward a market economy. I thought there could be a story for me to tell there. These were the first people in China who owned private businesses, chasing dreams of prosperity. The competition was incredibly fierce at that time. They would travel to Guangzhou to buy the hottest Hong Kong fashion samples and bring them back to manufacture knockoffs in their home workshops. During my research, I heard all kinds of wild stories — people who had gambled everything for a shot at getting rich. You’d see miracles happen alongside total loss and disillusionment. I originally envisioned writing about this ambitious era and where these people ended up. Gradually, though, I became more drawn to the younger generation — the children of the boom-time generation. It was such an exciting moment for China then. But with some of that early business success also came vice — drugs, organized crime and other social problems entered the picture. The parents were usually too busy to properly care for their kids, so they were often just left on their own. And because of the one-child policy, the kids had no siblings. Cousins became their closest relationships. I became really drawn to the turbulent, lonely lives of this younger generation. Later on, I decided to write a story about two girls — cousins — exploring how they might try to break free from their family’s problems to pursue their own dreams — and how hard that can be.

To me, they’re basically two sides of the same coin. They grew up in one big family, but because of their personalities and age difference, they took slightly different approaches to breaking free from home. One person left early on and tried to make a living on her own, while the other was left behind to deal with the family’s troubles. This was a pattern I observed over and over. In the beginning, I assumed, as many people would, that the one who left home tended to be the stronger girl, but after doing my research and talking to so many people, I began to feel it wasn’t ever that simple. We cannot judge the person left behind — staying home requires a different kind of strength. To me, both girls are warriors at heart.

These girls are the hidden warriors of contemporary society. They both have a rebellious spirit inside of them; and they both have everything stacked against them. To me, that’s what makes a real warrior — it’s not glory; it’s how you face hardship and struggle, whatever your situation might be.

Liu Haocun, who plays Tian Tian, made her film debut in Zhang Yimou’s One Second (2019), and Wen Qi, who plays Fang Di, was in my film Angels Wear White (2017). I just think they’re two of the best actresses of their generation, and I really hope this film helps introduce them to a wider global audience. I’d love for more people to know that we have such powerful young actresses in China today.

Well, I think it’s just everywhere in society. Because she’s a stunt double, she’s not meant to show her face and she’s only needed for action sequences. So she’s not considered to be very important in the process. It’s not a particular critique; it’s just how things operate. Our industry is very hard on so many people. But it’s not just the film industry. Throughout the film, there’s a lack of care toward one another, no sense of social support. These girls are really just on their own out there.

The pandemic has really affected both the industry and audience — and we’re still working through that. For three long years, people stayed home looking at their phones, which really changed viewing habits. But it’s also because the pandemic affected film production so much — there haven’t been as many strong productions. So maybe disappointment in what’s being shown in the theaters is also a factor. We’re all hoping the record box office performance during the recent Chinese New Year, when most of the commercial films were pretty good and people started going back, is a lasting, positive sign. All we can do is make good films and hope they will bring people back to the theaters.

Oh yeah, everyone’s talking about it. Some financiers are saying, “Don’t bother making films. There’s no future in it.” People are saying all of the money is in micro-dramas, those super-shortform episodic series that people watch on their phones. I’ve never watched them, but those are exploding in China lately.

It’s never easy to make artistic or independent films, right? Back then, the Chinese film market was quite small, which made financing really tough. Now, it’s huge — but the people investing in movies only want to try to get a piece of the biggest blockbusters. For young filmmakers, I would say there are more opportunities than before, though. We now have many platforms supporting new talent, like project markets and various programs at festivals. As long as you have a reasonably good idea, and you’re comfortable going the commercial route, it’s easier to begin a movie career than it used to be. But if you want to make something that really challenges the audience, it’s as tough as it’s always been.

Oh, I love Berlin — it’s so free-spirited and inclusive. Since Black Coal, Thin Ice, I’ve been back to the Berlinale just once, in 2019, to serve on the festival’s GWFF Best First Feature Jury. I’m particularly glad to be here this year with Tricia Tuttle in charge. I’ve known her since her time at the BFI London Film Festival, and I’m delighted that one of the major festivals finally has a female director.