Paul Simon Would probably describe Arsin (Yesl Jahseleh), the young Kazakh boy in the middle of Jing Yi’s feature debut ”Botanic“As the only living boy in Xinjiang. Lonely and introspective, spend most of her time wandering around his distant village among its flora. When he does not collect plant samples for his personal collection, he takes care of his grandmother and helps his shameful older brother (Jalen Nurdaol) herds in the mountains. Most of the time, however, lives in a rich inner world where his deep connection to nature and memories of the deceased family, especially his beloved uncle, is unclearly bound.
The “botanist” includes Nomadic Kazakh beliefs of dead souls who continue to live within the natural world, one of filmMany restrictions. Arsins often seizures of sleep walking keeps him in an eternal dream -like state. He and his family live in a border village within an autonomous region of Porcelain; People regularly travel back and forth to neighboring countries, such as Kazakhstan, as well as other Chinese provinces. The village itself is stuck in a hard space between its rural roots and the modern world. Arsin’s older brother’s mobile phone feels like a minor technical disorder when composed to the quiet surroundings, but ominous radio transfers which suggest that natural gas outlets come to the region prophesy irrevocable change.
Jing places the “botanist” in a woozy allegorical context where people and plants cannot be separated from each other. Arsin not only feels connected to his family in nature, but he also resembles Meiyu (pure Zihan), a local Chinese girl he becomes friends, into a rare plant as well. Visually, Jing takes an all-but-kitchen-disk-driveway to collapse the film’s human characters and its huge landscapes into a single floating unit. Sometimes he does not suggest as subtly it with the shoots of arsin that tenderly drives his hands through a flowing river. Other times he distributes surreal folkloric images, which when Arsin speaks to his lost uncle in the form of a talking horse, which cannot help but recall TV’s famous Mister Ed.
A suffering sincerity courses through “The Botanist” which is as much a function as it is a responsibility. Jing and Kinematographer Vanon Li can rely on individual derivative shoots, but they still have an obvious capacity to create strong images. They mostly manage to implement Xinjiang’s lively plant life with the necessary visual reverence, but they also give the same generous eye to the rest of the village, especially its calm, sparse land areas. (A wide shot of two sheep herds that collide in a desert pool that randomly stunning with its docu style simplicity.) Recurring slow boilers over a forest can risk repetition, but Jing and Vanon break up the rhythm with welcome intrusion, as intimate hand holder children at play And an etheric close -up of a finger that sweeps through photos on a phone.
Jing’s facility with young, non-professional actors also helps to draw up a discreet performance from Yesl, which rises to the challenge of ordering the frame through limited measures such as staring and staring. But while Yesl and Ren show credible chemistry, and both can project melancholy at important moments, Arsin and Meiyu’s romantically charged friendship feel too thin to make the film’s (admittedly solved) narrative spine. Oblique looks that are shared between two people can only communicate so much, or so little, before they become a creative crutch.
In addition, Jing avoids the fact of Arsin and Meiyus various ethnicities – Kazakh against Han Chinese – by filtering their relationship through a vaguely defined botanical metaphor. (Different floral species can coexist in harmony, or something.) It is acceptable for the “botanist” to deal with political realities through suggestions, but it sometimes seems that the different cultural backgrounds of the characters are hardly a problem at all, which something negates the adopted Different for their connection.
An insistent important voiceover returns through the “botanist” and delivers both exhibition and expression of longing from Arsin’s perspective. The clumsy story not only has the film’s weakest writing, but it also puts some shallow thematic concepts. The “botanist” would not be the first film to claim that love and spiritual connection can withstand transformation or exceed time, but it requires more than a serious presentation to ensure that these ideas do not seem trite, not even when delivered from a child’s voice.
As much as “The Botanist”, Arsin’s internal age, is his older brother who sometimes feels like the richer subject. After moving from the big city in the aftermath of a violent incident, he now spends his spare time calling an old girlfriend and being full while generally neglecting his shepherd tasks. A crucial Chinese young adult, the brother feels disconnected from the silence in rural life and the city’s speed, but he still holds a foot in both worlds just to have alternatives. Arsin initially sympathizes with his brother’s existential struggle at a distance, but when he suddenly decides to return to the city, the young boy suddenly seems to understand his spotlessness.
It is proof of Jing’s confidence as a young filmmaker that he mainly sidesmiths an emotionally potent narrative string in favor of personal exploration. Jing was born and raised in Xinjiang and he clearly puts the “botanist” with his own past. (Both Yesl and Ren also come from Xinjiang, who contributes to the film’s general living feeling.) His connection to the region really informs the trans-like ecological images that form the basis of Arsin’s psycho-spiral journey. Humanity’s sore, falsified relationship with the natural world has a great history of film, but in “The Botanist” it can sometimes feel like an unmistakable shortcut to grazing the sublime.
Rating: B-
“Botanist” premiered at 2025 Berlin International Film Festival. It is currently seeking US distribution.
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