The Village of No Return is a cross-strait romantic comedy co-produced by Taiwan and mainland China, directed by Taiwanese filmmaker Chen Yu-hsun and starring Shu Qi, Wang Qianyuan, and Joseph Chang. On an otherwise ordinary day in the remote and isolated Desire Village, a mysterious Taoist priest arrives with a magical device that erases memories. From then on, the villagers forget their pasts and live in a state of artificial happiness—unaware that a dangerous conspiracy is unfolding behind their backs.
When first seeing The Village of No Return a few years ago, I was deeply impressed. What struck me most was how the film—beneath its absurd, whimsical surface—contains a sharp core of political and social satire. Anyone familiar with modern mainland Chinese history might be surprised that a film so rich in allegory and critique managed to pass the scrutiny of China’s State Administration of Radio, Film, and Television and be released in mainland theaters.
A Unique Film Wearing Many Costumes
At first glance—judging by its poster and trailer—the film appears to be a lighthearted New Year’s comedy. And it is, in part. (Spoilers ahead.) The protagonist, Fortune Tien, introduces himself with operatic flair; the village chief responds in equally exaggerated, clumsy fashion; Spring’s suicide attempt is so over-the-top it provokes laughter from the audience and characters alike. Not every joke lands, however—some gags fall flat and may not appeal to all viewers.
Yet the film is far more than just a comedy. It blends romance, fantasy, satire, and even touches of horror, suspense, and thriller. Autumn’s unwavering love for Dean Wang serves as the main narrative arc. Master Wan, haunted by childhood trauma, undergoes a journey from cowardice to courage. Visually unsettling details—a kite made of flayed human skin, or a suspiciously delicious meat-stuffed pastry—create an eerie atmosphere. The bandit chief, Dark Cloud, is both ruthless and laughably foolish. His underlings beatbox and wield weapons with theatrical flair, adding a bizarre musicality to their menace. And Fortune Tien’s enigmatic background introduces a thread of suspense, hinting at a possible sequel.
Stylistically, the film also distinguishes itself. In one slow-motion sequence during a rainstorm, while the villagers rush to protect their crops, Fortune Tien walks alone beneath an umbrella, holding the memory-erasing device and smirking—utterly detached. This shot directly references In the Mood for Love, echoing Maggie Cheung and Tony Leung’s iconic alleyway scenes. It’s a visually elegant moment that conveys Fortune Tien’s sinister power—classic Chen Yu-hsun: aesthetic sophistication paired with biting social critique. Later, the addition of a traditional suona (Chinese oboe) lends a folkloric, farcical air to Fortune Tien’s villainy.
Perhaps it is this surreal, genre-blending quality that helped the film fly under the radar of censors—smuggling satire into mainland cinemas under the disguise of a romantic comedy. Yet, this very uniqueness might alienate audiences unfamiliar with such layered storytelling.
What If There Were No Fortune Tien?
The film presents a vivid and biting portrait of human greed: the village chief’s obsession with money, Rock Peeler’s lust for power, the affair between Spring and Dr. Liu. Even after their memories are erased, the villagers never forget their desires. But for me, the film’s true brilliance lies in its metaphors—more enduring than its critique of greed.
After Fortune Tien erases the villagers’ memories, they begin singing a song titled What Would We Do Without Fortune Tien before every meal. For anyone raised in mainland China—or anyone who follows Chinese politics—this line instantly recalls a familiar slogan: Without the Communist Party, there would be no New China. Imagine someone in the U.S. saying, “What would America do without the Republican/Democratic Party?” It would seem absurd. Even in China, no one ever said, “What would we do without the Han dynasty?” or “Without the Qing?” Yet this kind of phrasing is repeated so often, it becomes second nature.
The scene is rich in symbolism. The lyrics of the song parody the classical poem Spring Dawn, while the characters for “Spring Dawn” are boldly crossed out on the wall—evoking the iconoclasm of the Cultural Revolution. Communal meals and large-scale treasure hunts resemble the People’s Communes and the collectivist “big pot” system. Mr. Li, once a tutor who encouraged independent thinking, is forcibly brainwashed and reassigned to manual labor—mirroring the “re-education” of intellectuals during the Mao era. Fortune Tien’s raised right arm evokes Premier Zhou Enlai’s injured salute; the mole on his chin unmistakably recalls Mao Zedong’s preserved visage.
Thankfully, the memory-erasing device also has a “soul-recovery” mode, allowing the villagers to reclaim their identities. This reversibility underscores how fragile brainwashing truly is: reveal the lie, and truth returns.
The Trilogy of Desire Village
The Village of No Return was originally envisioned as a trilogy, divided into three phases: Desire Village, Forgetfulness Village, and Another Village. Although the original 190-minute cut was ultimately compressed to under 116 minutes, the transformation of the village remains clearly articulated—uncannily mirroring the way successive political regimes in modern mainland China have ruled over their people.
In the Desire Village phase, the old village chief urges everyone to donate money to build a train station, but dissent—represented by the scholar Mr. Li—is still allowed. Villagers are free to object, and when they refuse to contribute, the chief has no means to force them. This recalls the Republican era in China: though corruption was rampant, citizens still had freedom of speech. At the time, even the then-opposition Chinese Communist Party could run newspapers and openly criticize the ruling Kuomintang.
In the Forgetfulness Village phase, Fortune Tien brainwashes the entire village. The people no longer remember who they are, and begin to idolize him as a wise and benevolent leader, obeying his every command. The entire village is enslaved, while Fortune Tien plunders their wealth at will. After 1949, when the Communist Party came to power, that earlier freedom vanished. The Mao era was marked by the cult of personality, the mythologizing of leadership, and a succession of mass campaigns—including the catastrophic decade of the Cultural Revolution.
In the Another Village phase, Autumn rises to power, and the village seems to have undergone great changes: the environment is cleaner, villagers wear smiles, their morning salutes are imbued with childlike playfulness, and they are now allowed to sell handmade goods or run small businesses—strongly evoking the Deng-Jiang-Hu period economic reforms and opening-up. Villagers’ names also evolve from impersonal designations like Celestial Stems to more typical two- or three-character names. However, these names still follow the same naming conventions as Fortune Tien’s two henchmen—suggesting that individual identity remains suppressed. More importantly, the villagers still don’t remember who they are. Each morning, they continue to salute their leader... What appears to be prosperity and harmony on the surface conceals the same brainwashing mechanism—now just slightly loosened, and far more subtle. One line from Rock Peeler, the film’s bandit-turned-politician, suddenly rings with chilling truth: “When bandits do bad things, they must look like they’re doing bad things. When we do bad things, they must look like good things.”
Final Thoughts
Director Chen Yu-hsun is a seasoned Taiwanese filmmaker with years of experience in commercial advertising, known for his witty and beloved ad campaigns. The cast of The Village of No Return is equally impressive: Wang Qianyuan (Tokyo International Film Festival Best Actor), Shu Qi (Golden Horse and Hong Kong Film Awards winner), Lin Mei-hsiu (Best Supporting Actress at both the Golden Horse and Golden Bell Awards), Joseph Chang (Golden Horse winner), and Ko Bao-ming (a national treasure in Taiwanese theater).
The film was shot entirely in Taiwan, with over NT$50 million invested in pre-production. Sets were fully functional: houses were inhabitable, a real suspension bridge was built, crops were grown, and livestock raised. The result is a production that feels authentic and richly textured, while also showcasing Tainan’s natural beauty. Even the end credits are a delight—featuring cartoon portraits of the crew that invite viewers to stay until the final frame.
Stylistically and thematically, The Village of No Return is a rare gem in Chinese-language cinema. That it passed mainland China’s censorship system feels less like a stroke of luck and more like fate.
Every time thinking of The Village of No Return, I seem to hear that haunting chant echo once more: “Forget… worry…”
Watch here: https://www.ganjingworld.com/s/NKWww3Ko1j
Director: Chen Yu-hsun
Rating: Unrated
Runtime: 116 minutes
Premiere Date: January 26, 2017
Rating: 6.5/10
(Translation assisted by Chat GPT. Chinese Version: 《健忘村》隨筆：慾望、忘憂與回魂）
