Same old song: the road traveled most often (as in Zhang Yimou’s The Road Home) is taken again and worn away to schmaltzy detritus.Two Tibetan codgers indulge in a multitude of flashbacks for the benefit of their granddaughter, back to their rebellious youth and “courtship,” as the grandfather reaches his expiration. Directed by Fei Xie, the geriatrics’ plight is trivialized by the anachronistic slang of a modern-day American translation, the perfection of the ultimate one-up — mooning the loser and slapping one’s butt — and an assortment of other gags and outright goofiness. That, nevertheless, heeds no shame when the switch is turned on for automatic pathos. Xie lacks the maturity of Yimou, the structure of the alternating storylines, the unimposing styles (notably the black-and-white photography for the present, and the color for the past), and maybe least important, the presence of Zhang Ziyi.
With Danzengzhuoga, Laqiong, Dawangdui, Renqingdunzhu and Dazhen.[Not to be bothered with.]