In Mongolian Venice premiere “To Kill a Mongolian Horse,” it takes time to become a hero. Especially the kind that impresses the audience at popular horse shows.
“I am a local — I grew up on this land. Still, every time I watch these shows, I get emotional. They are stunning, but after a while I started to pay attention to the performers as well,” debuting director Jiang Xiaoxuan tells Variety.
Intrigued, she eventually ventured backstage.
“They had to dress up and put on all this makeup in order to become heroic figures. It’s not something that happens naturally. It takes time for you to put on the ‘armor.’ Even with Marvel superheroes, you see their ‘normal’ side and then you see them in costume. But how do they put them on?,” Jiang says.
Inspired by true events and her real-life friend Saina — who ended up playing the lead — she decided to tell a story about a Mongolian horseman who becomes a performer, all the while trying to save his ranch. But the mother of his child would rather see him get a regular job.
“My friend had to make similar choices to make money and find his place in society. It felt so relatable,” she reveals.
“I found myself in a particular place in my filmmaking career. I was wondering how I can make the kind of films I want to make and, at the same time, have a sustainable, healthy career. Some of my friends started to make commercials for money, so I know this struggle of deciding if you should continue doing something, even though it gives you nothing in return. I was also nearing the age when a lot of Asian parents start asking: ‘When are you going to get married?,’” she laughs. “This dichotomy between a role I have to ‘perform’ and the desire to be my true self… I felt that too.”
The film, selected for the Venice Days section and produced by Zhulin Mo for Da Huang Pictures, is a co-production between Malaysia, the U.S., Hong Kong, Korea and Japan. Pluto Film handles sales.
“We were able to make it because the budget is extremely low. We worked on a tight schedule and with nonprofessionals, which turned out to be a very good idea. If we had a dream sequence taking place in a blizzard, we had to wait for the actual blizzard,” says Jiang.
“The reason why there are so few films like this one is because there’s less money after COVID. Also, not everyone has access to international funding or feels comfortable communicating in English. My team does. We really tried to be present at all these markets.”
While she fought for her film, her protagonist — urged to finally step it up for the sake of his child —doesn’t seem overly proactive.
“I call it passive resistance, which can be quite funny. He’s going through a transitional period in his life without much agency. Outside of these shows, he’s not a part of this grandiose ‘Mongolian hero journey.’ When he finally does something unexpected, it feels like you are there in the audience and an actor suddenly breaks the fourth wall,” she says.
Also, despite all the disappointments he’s never truly alone: his horse is always by his side.
“It was never about explicitly showing how much he loves his horse and how much his horse loves him back. I just wanted this animal to be a part of his life and reflect his current state. The horse is aging and he’s no longer useful — neither is his way of life. They are both misfits and they are made for each other,” she adds.
“White horses have special spiritual meaning for the Mongolian people. They also look great on the screen!”
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