THE STORY – On the wintry Mongolian steppes, Saina’s dual life as a herdsman and horseback performer unravels as he grapples with the dissolution of the traditional way of life.
THE CAST – Saina, Undus, Qilemuge, Tonggalag & Qinartu
THE TEAM – Xiaoxuan Jiang (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 98 Minutes
In some ways, Xiaoxuan Jiang’s debut feature tells a familiar story, but the local context is everything. In Inner Mongolia in northern China, the old way of life of the herdsmen is dying as modernity creeps in and takes over. Many people have sold up and moved to the city, and those that remain must face the ravages and uncertainties caused by climate change, their increasing poverty, and the marginalization that comes with being a minority in a totalitarian state. Jiang takes her inspiration from the life of her friend, Saina, who, on losing his livelihood, began to make a living in a horse show for tourists. Just as the dying of the West was partly heralded by the spectacles of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show, so is the local Mongolian culture enshrined in the mythmaking of the horse shows, even as it dies out in reality.
The prowess of Saina and his fellow riders allows them to keep a grip on their self-identity as riders and Mongols, but they are exploited, their language and culture are in decline, and the horses are maltreated. The work is dangerous, and Saina has worse problems at home caused by his alcoholic father (Tonggalag), who has racked up significant gambling debts, which Saina endeavors to pay off. Saina also has a son to support and an ex-wife, Tana (Qilemuge), who’d prefer him to move to the city, where he could get more financially lucrative work that doesn’t involve him risking breaking his neck every night. An incident with his best friend Hasa (Undus) creates a crisis for Saina, who is caught between maintaining his connection to the land and going to the city.
Saina is a complex and compelling figure, and despite his non-professional status, he is played – if someone playing themselves can be said to play – with depth and nuance. “You never taught me how to ride,” he tells his father. “You just picked me up and put me in the saddle.” It is a complaint that says something about parental neglect, but it also establishes that he might also have something in his blood. He struggles to provide for his son, who lives in the city and reacts badly when placed in the saddle. It is another loss. His son doesn’t have a connection with the horse or the land. But who does? The old beggar who the police force to move on? Or the neighbors who have also sold up and left? The horses will be turned into animal feed, and the land will be sold to developers.
And yet, what land it is! The steppes are shot in all their bleak glory by cinematographer Tao Kio Qui, who gives them a mythic status, flattened by the weather, frozen and beaten. In one remarkable scene, the fantasies of the legendary past seem to invade Saina’s home, and cavalrymen appear out of the mist. The camera also captures the smoke and lights of the horse show, turning it into a hypnotic and dazzling experience, contrasting it to the dinginess of Saina’s house, the prime decoration of which is Saina’s old horse-racing medals.
Fans of Chloe Zhao’s 2017 film “The Rider” will find much to like in — and many similarities with — “To Kill a Mongolian Horse,” with its mourning of a culture eroded by modernism. However, the film is still very much its own beast, and the specific culture of Mongolia is at once unusual without being unfamiliar or rendered exotic. Xiaoxuan Jiang’s unique narrative and cultural context in “To Kill a Mongolian Horse” is both intriguing and engaging. She rides in as a strong and promising new voice in cinema, and it will be fascinating to see where she goes next.