Berlinale Review: Girls on Wire Marks a Sleek but Unsatisfying Comeback for Vivian Qu

      With only two films to her credit (along with co-producing the Golden Bear-winning Black Coal, Thin Ice), Vivian Qu has emerged as one of the leading female filmmakers in China. Her much-anticipated follow-up to the acclaimed Angels Wear White (which debuted in the 2017 Venice competition) continues to explore the struggles of young women in modern Chinese society, bringing back many of the same cast and crew. Featuring a noticeably larger budget, Girl on Wire stands out as her most polished work yet, but it is also less impactful; while it is likely to attract a broader audience, dedicated fans may find it lacking.

      The narrative unfolds through interconnected timelines, spanning decades and focusing on twenty-something Tian Tian (Liu Haocun) and her cousin Fang Si (Wen Qi). The two were raised like sisters, yet their relationship is marked by familial tensions that ultimately drove them apart. Stuck in their rural hometown and caught in an ongoing cycle of debt and drug abuse inherited from her father, Tian Tian becomes a single mother who falls victim to a crime ring. Meanwhile, Fang Di relocates to Beijing to chase an acting career but ends up working as a stuntwoman. When Tian Tian escapes captivity and makes her way to Beijing to find the only person she trusts, both girls must confront their complicated past and determine their next steps.

      Qu is a talented screenwriter adept at using genre conventions as foundations for socially relevant storytelling. Her debut feature, Trap Street, is a captivating tale of paranoia that examines the pervasive power of the Chinese state. Similarly, Angels Wear White is structured like a mystery and delves into societal complicity in violence against women. In her latest film, the same intent and ambition are evident: Qu increasingly embraces genre filmmaking, blending action, crime noir, and martial arts to enrich the narrative, while the thematic focus remains on the exploitation of young women across various walks of life.

      However, the final script undoubtedly requires further refinement. In portraying the heroines’ shared dysfunctional family, Qu defaults to familiar character archetypes, featuring Tian Tian’s drug-addicted, debt-burdened father and his apologetic, weak-minded sister (Fang Di’s mother). Their toxic interactions, while certainly tragic, feel overly clichéd. The same can be noted regarding Tian Tian’s character development; her transformation from a frightened little girl to a bitter, rebellious teenager who ultimately succumbs to drug addiction, while caring for a baby daughter, lacks surprising elements. The three antagonists pursuing her to Beijing are largely one-dimensional caricatures, with unclear motives and lacking menace. Without a compelling narrative that conveys the stakes, the film struggles to evoke an emotional response when the protagonists ultimately choose their own paths.

      The theme of flight is notably present throughout, from Tian Tian’s fascination with birds to Fang Di’s seemingly heroic yet painful aerial stunts done on wires. However, although the metaphor representing the girls’ desire for freedom is clearly articulated, the execution is rather heavy-handed, culminating in a final shot that feels more like a struggle than an uplifting moment.

      Qu’s impressive directorial skills are still evident in certain sequences. The opening scene captures Tian Tian’s frantic escape, creating a sense of heart-pounding dread through effective camerawork and music. Additionally, witnessing Fang Di work, repeatedly being plunged into icy water for the perfect shot, serves as a poignant commentary on inhumanity without verbal exposition. Unfortunately, the film fails to maintain this tension. Despite its rapid pace driven by flashbacks and time jumps, there is a noticeable lack of momentum that hinders the narrative flow.

      Among the cast, Liu, portraying Tian Tian, stands out the most. Although the flawed script does not fully allow for complete performances with character arcs, she successfully embodies aspects of the unfortunate girl’s personality—her determination, kindness, and profound sadness.

      A reverse correlation between resources and filmmaking quality is not a new phenomenon. We often observe it with acclaimed indie directors transitioning to their first studio projects. Beyond investor expectations, Chinese filmmakers face the additional challenge of state scrutiny that accompanies a higher profile, often resulting in sanitized or diluted storytelling. Girls on Wire appears to be a consequence of such compromises. While it addresses dark, thought-provoking themes, it lacks its original sharpness. However, with examples like Guan Hu and Black Dog, we see that it’s possible for those who have entered the mainstream to reclaim their artistic edge. Hopefully, this will be the next step for the talented Vivian Qu.

      Girls on Wire premiered at the 2025 Berlinale.