BEHIND THE SUN is a critically acclaimed story about love, loyalty, and the choice a son must make between honoring his family and following his heart.

Beijing Bicycle kicks off like an updated Chinese reworking of the 1948 Italian neo-realist classic Bicycle Thieves: a worker, dependent on his bike for his job, has it stolen and doggedly sets out to get it back. But pretty soon Wang Xiaoshuai's film mutates into something more elemental: a battle of wills between peasant lad Guei, original owner of the bike, and Jian, a surly urban schoolkid who claims to have bought it second-hand. For both the bike is status: for Guei it secures him his job as a courier, while for Jian it lets him keep up with his peers and chat up the girl he fancies. Each sees himself as the rightful owner and neither will give way, so the bike swaps hands back and forth, stolen and re-stolen, as the duel waxes increasingly personal.

There's a diverting subplot about a beautiful, stylishly dressed girl glimpsed by Guei who turns out be something other than she seems, but essentially the battle over the bike is the meat of the film. The fascination of Beijing Bicycle--perhaps especially for non-Chinese viewers--is its portrait of present-day Beijing as a buzzing, high-pressure, neo-capitalist boomtown, impersonal and seemingly as lawless as any Wild West frontier burg. At no point, in all the thefts and counter-thefts and mounting violence, does anyone think to call the police--everyone is left to fight his own battles. Wang, one can't help suspecting, is slipping in a hint of social criticism in this vision of an uncaring society where possessions are all that matter.

On the DVD: Beijing Bicycle on disc has the original theatrical trailer (the French version, oddly enough), filmographies for the director and four of his lead actors, notes on the film by Nick Bradshaw and trailers for other Metro Tartan foreign-language DVD releases. The transfer's in the full anamorphic widescreen of the original, with good Dolby Digital sound. --Philip Kemp