Titles like “the most prospering dynasty with the most unrestrained poets and the most famous poems” are what most Chinese people have learned about the Tang dynasty. Indeed, our impression of the complex period is of its extreme prosperity. As for the Western audiences, the Tang dynasty is even more of a vague concept. Fortunately, the historical animation Chang’an’san’wan’li is here to immerse us in the full view of that mystical time, where the romance, tragedy, and grandeur of Tang and all historical periods can be felt by everyone.

Imposing mansions, fragrant wine, and lighthearted poets—the movie unfolds with the best visual embodiments of the luscious romance of Tang. However, following the steps of famous poets Li’bai and Gao’shi, the film unrelentingly revealed the forgotten tragedies of the common beneath the fantastical backdrop. The same imposing mansions of royals were also where humble youths like Li’bai were turned away; the same fragrant wine poured down the bitterness of Gao’shi’s shattered aspiration to serve his country; the same lightheartedness concealed every poet’s hopelessness under societal restraints. That strong juxtaposition reflects to us: the prosperity of a country is built upon the endless dedication, sacrifices, and pain of its people. 

Just like everything with time, the legend of the Tang dynasty became a mere disguise for its gradual downfall. Amidst the insurgency breaking out in the outskirts, the middle-aged soldier Gao’shi watched all his comrades losing their lives for generals still indulged in lavish banquets. Here, his famous line -- “endless soldiers are dying outside, but the performances in the general’s tents continue” -- a poet’s bland comment, but a suffering soldier’s condensation of the sprawling sense of despair among the lower-class. 

Similarly, in the capital Chang’an, the luxurious lives of the corrupted royals didn’t stop for the suffer of civilians. The voices of Li’bai and his fellow righteous officers are muted in the music from the royal court. Here, his popular poem “exchange our glass of wines to settle our external sorrow” is not a soul-stirring uplift, but the only way of escape for the virtuous yet persecuted middle-class. Those poems I learned since elementary school were given whole new contexts. They’re never just works written for aesthetic appeal, but the chronicle of the countless regrets in history.

At last, the grandeur of Tang, or any period or country was never the prosperity on the surface, but it is composed of the “small figures” who fulfilled their loyalty, aspiration, and love with their last breath in the forgotten corners of history. The cold descriptions in textbooks and websites are just too short to capture their dignity. Fortunately, in the three hours of Chang’an’san’wan’li, their spirits are once again roaming free.