Journey to the West (宇宙探索編輯部):A Cosmic Odyssey of Lost Souls and China’s Sci-Fi Renaissance

2 days ago

Written by Mona Hui

I. Beginnings of the Starry Dreams and Earthly Absurdity

Director Kong Dashan (孔大山), inspired by the 80s ‘UFO craze’ in China, crafts a whimsical yet deeply humane tale that straddles the line between cosmic wonder and terrestrial absurdity in his 2023 film, Journey to the West (宇宙探索编辑部, literally meaning ‘Universe Exploration Editorial Department’). The film follows Tang Zhijun (hereafter Tang), a middle-aged editor of a dying UFO-themed magazine, as he embarks on a quixotic journey to validate his lifelong obsession: proving extraterrestrial existence. The film transcends its sci-fi label, blending mockumentary aesthetics with touch of humour to interrogate existential questions about human purpose, grief, and the growing cosmic interests of the collective. Beyond its narrative, the film can be observed as a reflection of China’s evolving identity as a rising tech superpower, juxtaposing grassroots ‘folk science’ (民科) with state-driven advancements in AI and space exploration.

The popularity of sci-fi is rising steadily in China which is evolving into a cultural phenomenon. In cinema, The Wandering Earth 2 (流浪地球2) is another similar themed movie released in 2023 alongside Journey to the West. These two movies echo the 2019 pair Crazy Alien (瘋狂的外星人) and The Wandering Earth (流浪地球)—both sci-fi in genre but starkly different in style. Interestingly, four years ago, director of Crazy Alien Ning Hao, made a cameo in Guo Fan’s The Wandering Earth and generously lent Guo his studio’s spacecraft set and astronaut costumes. Four years later, Guo Fan returned the favour: he not only appeared in young director Kong’s sci-fi film Journey to the West but also passed Ning Hao’s iconic astronaut suits to Kong. Beyond this, Guo served as the film’s producer, while his longtime collaborator Gong Ge’er (screenwriter and producer of The Wandering Earth) joined as a producer. Even actor Yang Haoyu, who played in The Wandering Earth, took on the starring role here. This all-encompassing support reflects both the camaraderie among filmmakers and Guo Fan’s profound hopes for Chinese sci-fi cinema. However, does Journey to the West live up to these lofty expectations?

II. A Tragicomedy of Cosmic Wanderers

A contemporary Journey to the West. Still from film.

The film’s pseudo-documentary style—complete with shaky camerawork and fourth-wall-breaking interviews—creates an intimate, chaotic realism, immersing viewers in Tang’s delusional yet earnest quest. The English title, Journey to the West—a nod to the iconic Ming dynasty novel Xi You Ji (西遊記, Monkey: A Folk Novel of China in Arthur Waley’s 1942 translation)—playfully reimagines the literary classic. The structure of the story in a sense mirrors Journey to the West: while the original novel illustrates a myth chronicles the legendary pilgrimage of the Monkey King (Sun Wukong孫悟空), his fellow disciples, and their master, monk Tripitaka (Tang Sanzang唐僧), Kong’s film reimagines this framework through a modern, cosmic lens. The film’s casting portrays Tang as a contemporary ‘Tang Sanzang’ and his ragtag crew as disciples: the poet Sun Yitong, a rural mystic with a saucepan as a witty hat (a cue to China’s 1980s-90s ‘Qigong fever’), embodies Wukong, wielding a growing ‘alien femur’ like the iconic staff of Wukong’s. Instead of a spiritual quest for Buddhist wisdom, the story centres on Tang—a stubborn yet endearing everyman. Their pilgrimage to an unremarkable, remote rural in Sichuan—a metaphorical ‘West’—culminates not in divine revelation but in a hauntingly mundane epiphany: human existence, like TV static, is both chaotic and intrinsically meaningful.

Tang’s sensual austerity mirrors the monastic stoicism of Tang Sanzang.

Sun Yitong (left) as “Sun Wukong”.

The characters’s shared loneliness binds them: Tang, divorced and haunted by his daughter’s suicide; Sun, an orphaned poet scribbling verses from a dictionary; and Qin Cairong, the pragmatic, cynical, yet loyal ‘pig-like’ (alludes to Pigsy, Zhu Bajie in the original novel Journey to the West) companion masking unrequited affection. Their quest, framed as a cosmic joke, critiques scientific elitism while celebrating stubborn idealism. When Tang declares, “TV static is the afterglow of the Big Bang,” he encapsulates the film’s thesis: meaning emerges not from grand answers but from the act of seeking itself.

Tang attempting to receive signals from the “aliens”.

Tang describes the TV static phenomenon in his own interpretations.

III. Folk Science to State-Led Innovation

Tang’s ‘folk science’ identity—a derogatory term for amateur scientists—contrasts sharply with China’s institutional achievements: the FAST telescope detecting signals of intelligent extraterrestrial communications, the Tianwen Mars missions, and AI breakthroughs like Deepseek, fresh out in January this year. The film’s mockery of Tang’s outdated methods (e.g. using a head massager as a signal detector) underscores a societal divide: while China races toward tech advancement, pockets of grassroots curiosity persist, dismissed as relics of a bygone UFO-obsessed era. Yet, Tang’s journey mirrors the ethos of China’s sci-fi auteurs—like Liu Cixin (sci-fi author of The Wandering Earth and The Three-Body Problem)—who blend speculative ambition with cultural rootedness.

The film’s climax at the end—a vision of the universe shaped like DNA—reduces cosmic vastness to human scale, suggesting that answers to existence lie not in alien contact but in self-acceptance. Tang’s daughter’s suicide note—“What is the meaning of life?”—haunts the narrative, transforming his quest into a grief-stricken odyssey for closure. Here, the film intersects with AI ethics: if tools like Chat GPT and Deepseek can simulate human thought, do they deepen our cosmic loneliness or offer new pathways to understanding?

Tang’s quest (death note of his daughter) for the ‘aliens’.

Vision of DNA structure in ending.

IV. Synthesis: China’s Sci-Fi Identity in the Cosmic Mirror

Journey to the West is less about aliens than about China itself—a nation oscillating between tradition and hyper-modernity. Tang’s magazine, modelled after real-life 1980s publications, symbolises a generation that once dreamed collectively but now faces disillusionment. Meanwhile, China’s current sci-fi boom—from The Wandering Earth’s industrial spectacle to this film’s lo-fi charm—reveals a cultural duality: the tension between state-backed technological triumphalism and grassroots, humanistic storytelling.

The film’s final scene, where Tang tearfully recites (in silence) a poem to his deceased daughter, crystallises its message: the universe’s grandeur is inseparable from human vulnerability. In an era where AI and space tech promise godlike power, Kong’s film whispers that true progress lies in embracing our limitations.

V: The Odyssey Within

Journey to the West is a love letter to misfits—those who gaze at starry skies while tripping over earthly absurdities. It challenges China’s sci-fi narrative, proving that innovation need not always be epic; sometimes, it is found in a rusty saucepan or a broken TV. As the world’s AI and space programs advance, the film reminds us that curiosity, however misguided, is the spark igniting both scientific leaps and artistic triumphs. In the end, the cosmos we seek is not light-years away but within—at its core, it all circles back to a universal question: How do you confront your own existence when measured against the immensity of the cosmos?