Chinese Director Qiu Sheng On Using AI as a Salve for Grief in ‘My Father’s Son’

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This year’s Father’s Day held significant importance for Qiu Sheng. The occasion coincided with the global debut of his second feature film titled “My Father’s Son“. Over a span of seven years, he meticulously crafted this deeply personal sci-fi masterpiece that delves into the life of his real father who passed away during his teenage years. A blend of imaginative sci-fi elements and poignant family emotions, the movie is currently competing for top awards in the main competition of the Shanghai International Film Festival.

Based largely on Qiu’s life story, the novel “My Father’s Son” revolves around a 18-year-old character named Qiao, who tragically loses his ability to speak during his eulogy at his father’s funeral and escapes in despair. The story unfolds across past, present, and future as Qiao struggles with the complex legacy of his deceased, enigmatic father. In flashbacks to his childhood, his strict, mysterious dad instills a passion for boxing within him; a decade later, now an engineer, Qiao attempts to revive his father by creating an AI boxing simulator modeled after the elder man. This endeavor leads to a moving drama that employs soft, occasionally dreamlike, science fiction elements to delve into themes of grief, remembrance, and the persistent yet always complex relationship between fathers and sons.

My Father’s Son is shaping up to be an intriguing path for Chinese science fiction. Unlike China’s recent sci-fi blockbusters, like the Wandering Earth series, which favor grandeur and spectacle reminiscent of Hollywood productions, Qiu’s film takes a more subdued and thoughtful route. The futuristic aspects of the movie are grounded in everyday life (the AI father is just a simple boxing companion), and they carry distinct Chinese cultural undertones. The story unfolds in Hangzhou, Qiu’s hometown, where ultra-modern skyscrapers stand above ancient canals, reflecting the film’s fusion of technology with traditional values such as filial piety.

Initially, Qiu attracted attention with his 2018 debut film titled “Suburban Birds”, a captivating drama set in the city of Hangzhou. This movie was premiered at the Locarno Film Festival in Switzerland. Later, his short film named “Double Helix” earned the Golden Goblet Award for the best live-action short at Shanghai, further establishing Qiu as an emerging talent worthy of attention.

During an interview with The Hollywood Reporter shortly after the release of his latest movie, Qiu shared insights about finding healing by addressing his father’s past through filmmaking, his perspective on artificial intelligence as a modern-day equivalent of a “spirit” or ancestor, and the aspirations and apprehensions felt by China’s budding generation of filmmakers.

Can you tell me about the origins and development of ‘My Father’s Son’, and how your father’s passing in your younger years influenced its creation?

At 15 years old, I was in high school and had recently completed an exam when my teacher informed me that my father had tragically passed away the previous day. After attending the funeral, my family gave me a written eulogy to read aloud. However, the overwhelming emotions left me speechless, causing me to flee the scene. This event remains deeply etched in my memory — and it’s from this poignant experience that My Father’s Son begins. For years, I’ve contemplated turning this story into a film, but I struggled to find a fitting conclusion for the tale. He attempts to escape the reality of his father’s demise — but where does he go from there?

In the year 2020, I encountered an intriguing tale – one about a Korean mother who brought her daughter back to life using artificial intelligence. She donned a virtual reality headset and found herself in a digital garden with her daughter. This news left me astonished. It sparked an idea in my mind – yes, this is the direction I want my story to take. And so, I began crafting a narrative about a son attempting to revive his father through AI.

What’s your take on the science fiction genre as portrayed in your work? Unlike some large-scale Chinese sci-fi that mimics Hollywood blockbusters, your film appears unique — almost embodying a fresh Chinese perspective on the genre, with a focus on intimacy and seamless integration of traditional culture in a realistic manner.

My work was significantly impacted by Kiyoshi Kurosawa, a renowned Japanese director known for films like “Pulse” and “Journey to the Shore.” I admire his unique approach to integrating science fiction elements seamlessly into everyday life. In my movie, I aimed to replicate this style. The sci-fi aspects are organically derived from reality. The AI character and the luminescent trees symbolize our deepest emotions and thoughts.

A significant influence on me is the city where I reside, my birthplace Hangzhou. As portrayed in the movie, Hangzhou presents a peculiar blend of old and new. You’ll find traditional structures, such as canals dating back a millennium, coexisting with towering modern skyscrapers adorned with digital projections that resemble living creatures. I aimed to capture this unique real-life ambiance in the film, conveying the contrast between the textures of my city and translating them into a sci-fi setting.

As a fan, I’d like to ask, in addition to the grief portrayed in the movie, it seems deeply connected to exploring one’s relationship with one’s father. It feels like an attempt to comprehend his lived experiences while navigating personal pain. Was this a personal journey for you as well, or more of an academic exploration?

Absolutely, it served as a form of healing for me. Initially, I delved into understanding my father, using his memories as a foundation. I endeavored to arrange these recollections and construct a portrait of who he was and what he had encountered. However, the project took on a more intellectual aspect as well. I discovered the recurring motif of boxing as a symbol. I unearthed old boxing footage from 1894 by Edison Studios, which is featured at the beginning of my film, and examined numerous boxing matches to observe how violence is depicted. Next, I analyzed video games like Street Fighter and VR boxing. Boxing lends itself well to virtual reality experiences because only the opponent and your two fists are required to be visible. It seems that every VR headset offers a boxing experience. Thus, I utilized these visuals to demonstrate how violence has evolved: from early film to video games to virtual reality. Eventually, I pondered if it was time to halt this progression – to bring an end to it. This is how the film came together.

In the movie, boxing appears to serve as an apt metaphor for the father-son dynamic as well. It’s a rough relationship, yet it embodies elements such as discipline, personal growth, and possibly even emotional closeness. Was this your intention when crafting the storyline?

Absolutely, I agree. Boxing may appear harsh on the surface, but it can also be quite an intimate sport. Despite their brief periods of intense combat, boxers often find solace in embraces after just a minute. This unique blend is fascinating to observe. For instance, in a scene where a father trains his son with bare knuckles while the son looks out the window, it seemed almost like a dance. Through boxing, they were forging a connection, finding harmony. They were learning each other’s rhythm and deepening their bond in ways they rarely could during their regular daily interactions.

In the movie, there’s a significant focus on how artificial intelligence could impact memories, mourning, and personal connections. The film leaves some room for interpretation as to whether this influence is beneficial or detrimental in the end. What are your thoughts on that?

It’s occurred to me that AI represents a modern-day specter. It lacks a physical form and has no personal history. It possesses all human knowledge throughout time, making it somewhat akin to ancestor worship, which is deeply rooted in Chinese tradition. In essence, conversing with AI feels like communicating with a spirit. Sometimes it fulfills our emotional needs or fills gaps in our memories, providing comfort when we’ve lost someone dear. However, it’s much like talking to a reflection—you’re essentially speaking to your own emotions. The main character eventually acknowledges this and discards the AI.

It seemed to me that water played a significant role throughout your story. It frequently rains, there are always canals around, and at times, characters find themselves spontaneously taking a swim – even when fully dressed. Toward the end, the father tragically drowns. Could you explain the symbolic meaning of water in your narrative?

The city of Hangzhou, with its abundant waterways, serves as a central theme here. Canals link to lakes, lakes connect to streams, and ultimately these lead to the sea. Additionally, this city holds personal significance for me due to my family’s history. As portrayed in the movie, my grandparents traveled through these canals and settled in Hangzhou. This watery connection thus symbolizes the past, present, and future for me. Water also serves as a metaphor for birth and death; we are all born in water, and as infants, we naturally swim, but over time we forget this skill. Intriguingly, the father’s death in the water in the movie might symbolize a return to the womb or rebirth, perhaps a hallucination of sorts.

Does the movie follow a unique three-act format, encompassing events from the past, a somewhat contemporary period, and finally, the future? For each segment, you’ll notice a different aesthetic. Could you discuss your creative process in establishing the visual style for each phase?

Previously, our focus was primarily on medium shots that brought us quite close to the characters, allowing us to observe their actions intimately. The visuals were rich with vibrant hues, akin to the intensity of memories. In the second segment, we opted for extended takes to trail the character as he navigated the city, emphasizing his unease and inability to find tranquility amidst the bustle. For the third phase, we employed cooler tones and broader angles to depict a sense of isolation among people in this future era.

Given your previous studies in neuroscience and your current profession as a filmmaker, I’d like to ask a question on everyone’s mind lately: Considering your background in hard science and your work in the arts, what are your thoughts on the potential benefits and risks that AI might bring to different aspects of life?

The topic at hand is quite intriguing. Many people express concerns about AI, fearing it will surpass humans and potentially pose a threat. However, I don’t share this perspective. Instead, I view AI more as a spectral entity or virus. Unlike us, it doesn’t require physical spaces like streets or cafes; rather, it infiltrates virtual, mental, and even spiritual realms. Over the long term, I believe we will live alongside AI without disappearing entirely. We will continue to inhabit our physical environments, while AI thrives in its digital domain. In fact, AI’s presence might help us navigate the digital world more efficiently, making things a bit nicer for us.

Currently, AI-generated content, often referred to as AIGC, is gaining significant traction in China. However, much of it doesn’t appeal to me. Many artists seem to be employing it merely to replicate past human creations. I believe, though, that AI has the potential to produce astonishingly surreal outcomes. Some of these trials bring to mind the pioneering films of Méliès. Perhaps AI could guide us towards rediscovering the origins of cinema – a realm of fantasy and imagination. I’m attempting to explore this concept myself; I’d love to possibly create an AI-driven surrealist film.

Can we discuss the prospects of science fiction in Chinese cinema, considering your own fascination with it and its impact on you? After The Wandering Earth, there was a significant surge of enthusiasm and curiosity about the genre. However, since then, the quality of Chinese sci-fi has been inconsistent, even waning. What are your expectations for the future of this genre within your field?

It appears that the science fiction genre has been heavily influenced by American films from the ’70s and ’80s, which portrayed a hopeful vision of the future. The movie The Wandering Earth struck a chord with Chinese audiences due to its exploration of fear of loss, but since then, Chinese sci-fi seems to have stagnated. This could be because we generally have a more negative outlook on the future. When we see new technologies like autonomous cars or gene editing, we tend to view them as potential dangers rather than opportunities. However, it’s possible that these concerns are valid. I’m not certain about the future direction of science fiction in China. In my film, I aim to delve into how artificial intelligence could potentially bring back a lost loved one and provide solace. Yet, I share the pessimism that many of my contemporaries feel. Perhaps when we can find a way to regain our optimism, Chinese sci-fi will flourish once more.

How was the reaction to your movie, which debuted on Father’s Day? I’m curious about how the audience, particularly the sons, have responded to the way the film depicted the cross-generational bond between fathers and sons.

Following the screening, I’ve noticed a mix of reactions. Some were incredibly enthused, finding fresh perspectives on their own relationships with their fathers. One individual even reached out to their dad for the first time in years. Yet, others have shared that they struggled to personally relate to the film. They could appreciate the father-son bond depicted, but found it challenging to connect it to their own experiences.

How would you describe the current atmosphere in the Chinese film industry? The Chinese box office closed out 2024 on a disappointing note, but then Nezha 2 brought a significant triumph to kick off the new year. However, no major hits have followed since, causing some unease. Despite this, China remains active on the global film festival circuit, showcasing fresh and captivating productions like Bi Gan’s Resurrections, which recently received a special honor at Cannes. So, is it a mix of highs and lows as usual? What thoughts and concerns are dominating among your generation in this industry?

You’ve effectively addressed the main issues. Indeed, we find ourselves in a challenging phase currently. The cinematic landscape has been less receptive following the release of “Nezha 2”. As summer arrives, there are no indications of an improvement yet. For aspiring filmmakers, the period following Bi Gan’s “Kaili Blues” in 2015 and before COVID-19 was a time of abundant opportunities for those eager to experiment. However, over recent years, even when Chinese films secure recognition at major festivals, they often fail to make it to Chinese screens, which is disheartening. It’s heartening to see Bi Gan’s film achieving success; however, it’s concerning that he seems to be the only one experiencing such results.

Earlier on, you mentioned that creating this movie served as a form of therapy for you. So, how are you feeling now, and what new insights have you gained about yourself and your father in the process?

For seven years, from conception to completion, it’s been a challenging journey. Through writing and directing, I believe I’ve gained a deeper understanding of my father, though perhaps a fictionalized version of him. This process also taught me more about myself. Initially, I was consumed by grief, missing him deeply. However, my mourning wasn’t balanced; the more I invested, the emptier I felt. It was like pouring emotion into an abyss. At one stage during editing, I made a choice – to step away, to set aside my glasses and let go of him. My life had become too engulfed by grief. Since then, I’ve felt significantly better.

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2025-06-19 22:25