Little Red Flowers: Not So Beautiful After All
I heard about this movie a long time ago, but it wasn’t until yesterday that I finally watched it. Honestly, it doesn’t feel like a film meant for kids at all; many parts of it are incredibly adult…
I skimmed through the media reviews online, and most of them focused on the excessive restrictions placed on children and the forcing of adult ideology upon them. I don’t disagree with this. I experienced firsthand what it’s like to grow up under tight constraints, and probably most of my peers did too. As a result, our generation learned how to hide our true thoughts, making us—arguably—a bit cunning.
First off, here’s my personal take: I feel the film is produced in a way that is far too adult-centric—probably influenced by the original novel (just a guess). A lot of the dialogue doesn’t sound like things kids would say; instead, they sound like “mini-adults,” with adults’ perspectives clearly grafted onto them. Wouldn’t you call this yet another imposition of adult ideology onto children who were originally innocent? This reminds me of Chinese cartoons, where kids speaking like adults is practically everywhere.
Secondly, the film is so deeply symbolic that there are certain scenes where I couldn’t quite grasp what the director was trying to convey (though I’m positive those were very deliberate choices). I wonder if the retail DVD release has director commentary? Haha. What left the deepest impression on me (PS: this sounds a bit like those old-school school book reports) was the scene at the very end where the tiny little red flowers turn into a massive red flower. It’s a transmission, a sublimation, carrying those childhood feelings right into the adult world… The reason I say it’s “not so beautiful” refers to the issues exposed in the film, which stem from deep-seated, long-standing historical habits of Chinese society.
Why are adults so obsessed with imposing their own ideas onto children? My conclusion is very simple, and it boils down to one word: love. It all starts with love. Parents (and the teachers in this movie) believe they are doing what’s best for the kids. They want to prevent them from stumbling along the path of growing up, so they pass down their own life experiences. The starting point is good. So yes, it all begins with love. However, adults are far too self-centered. The world changes rapidly, and society is constantly evolving; many of their old experiences can no longer be called valid.
Even if the experience is still useful, the best way to pass it down isn’t by saying “Don’t!” but rather “If… then…”. Why do children rebel so much? Because a child’s understanding of the world isn’t mature yet; they don’t believe the terrible consequences we warn them about will actually happen. (Or maybe we adults are just too cynical or practical—we’ve been ground down by life and no longer believe in miracles.) Cruelly, this kind of suppression suffocates a child’s imagination and creativity. Instead of acting on their own thoughts, they look to the person who instructed them, letting adults tell them exactly what to do. In other words, they lose their sense of self.
I won’t deny that I’m a rebel at heart. But more often than not, I’ve learned to be clever about it—I just keep my rebellion to myself. (And as time goes on, one’s individuality gets slowly worn down. Society assimilates people, that is undeniable; but those who refuse to be assimilated are often the ones who create something entirely new.)
I’ve digressed. Let’s get back to the film. The suppression of a child’s humanity is the greatest tragedy of modern education—and that is exactly the ugly part. It can be summarized in a few key points:
- Teacher Li’s flawed pedagogical approach: She defaults to criticism first, and if anything deviates from her own views, she immediately crushes it. Her perspective is far too rigid, failing to understand the relativity of the world. Education should be tailored to the individual. When Fang Qiangqiang made progress, he should have been praised. In the beginning, Fang Qiangqiang had a strong desire to earn those “little red flowers.” There was nothing wrong with the red flowers themselves; the problem lay in why they were established and what purpose they served. The toxic educational philosophy completely stripped the little red flowers of their positive reinforcement, turning them instead into the fuse that triggered Fang Qiangqiang’s rebellion.
(Digressing again: So many people in China actually make this exact mistake. When a directive is handed down from higher authorities, the subordinates blindly jump on the bandwagon to copy it. Little do they know, they only copy the form without grasping the spirit, leading to all sorts of blunders. If you ask me, these people are just brainless sheep who can’t think for themselves—a classic case of losing one’s individuality.)
Returning to the film, Teacher Tang actually recognized this flaw on several occasions, but because she lacked the final decision-making power, the tragedy could not be averted.
The “inspection” by the so-called “Director”: This was a classic case of political interference. Who does this guy think he is? Trying to micro-manage everything while putting on grand bureaucratic airs—it’s absolute garbage. There is just too much political interference in modern society, which proves we don’t have true democracy. Those political bureaucrats who aren’t even experts in the field have no idea how incompetent they actually are, yet they strut around giving orders. What’s even more outrageous is that Teacher Li’s initially correct stance was completely derailed by a single line: “This is our Deputy Director…”! How pathetic. Pure, unadulterated sycophancy.
The cycle of brainwashing: Just as some media reviews pointed out: I restrict your thoughts, and then you use those same thoughts to restrict others. The innocent, pure children were tainted by the teacher’s command: “Nobody talk to Fang Qiangqiang.” Those poor kids… So, adults, remember this: when you teach a child how to behave, you are also teaching them how to become corrupt. Every adult does this because no one is perfect—it’s just a matter of degree.
The Director’s warning: The Director’s words weren’t just meant for Fang Qiangqiang: “Fang Qiangqiang, don’t think leaving kindergarten is something to be happy about. In fact, kindergarten is the happiest, most carefree time of your entire life. In the future, you won’t be able to come back even if you want to. You’ll understand when you grow up.” I feel this sentence has at least a double, if not a triple meaning. (I can sense it, though I can’t quite put it into words.)
Lastly, to reflect on the educational issues this brings up: though we supposedly moved away from “exam-oriented education” a while ago, I still believe that a nation’s educational system directly determines its future. I don’t think anyone would deny that. But since we cannot simply abandon education altogether, the key lies in how we educate. Aren’t we adults sometimes just too subjective? This is definitely something that deserves serious reflection and deep thought…