Synopsis: Under the sun, the heavenly beauty of grasslands will soon be covered by the raging dust of mines. Facing the ashes and noises caused by heavy mining , the herdsmen have no choice but to leave as the meadow areas dwindle. In the moonlight, iron mines are brightly lit throughout the night. Workers who operate the drilling machines must stay awake. The fight is tortuous, against the machine and against themselves. Meanwhile, coal miners are busy filling trucks with coals. Wearing a coal-dust mask, they become ghostlike creatures. An endless line of trucks will transport all the coals and iron ores to the iron works. There traps another crowd of souls, being baked in hell. In the hospital, time hangs heavy on miners' hands. After decades of breathing coal dust, death is just around the corner. They are living the reality of purgatory, but there will be no paradise.
Genre: Documentary
Director(s): Liang Zhao
  4 wins & 2 nominations.
95 min


The Black Dragon

God created the beast Behemoth

on the fifth day

the greatest monster on earth,

a thousand mountains would

produce its fodder.

At the middle of

the journey of our life

It seems to me that I had a dream

And in that dream

I am suddenly woken up by

the fracas of deafening explosions.

I open my eyes

on infinite smoke and fog.

The incandescence of the ground

under my feet reveals to me that

I am in a dark and desolate place.

With one glance around me I discover

That I have arrived at the edge

of the well of hell.

This bottomless gulf of darkness

Roars ceaseless detonations.

I stare at the depths, astounded.

Besides a feeling of infinite terror

My eyes perceive nothing.

It is a place which

has been devastated.

In the past,

it abounded with mountain sources

And lush vegetation.

Today, not a single blade

of grass has survived.

Land of a silence of death.


I meet a guide

Burdened by the heavy

portrait of the dead

He walks, exhausted by

the dust of the voyage.

On the mountain where he comes from

the trails don't lead to paradise

He does not know how to write poems

But the poetry

emanating from his heart

Is no less powerful

than the Divine Comedy.

Degree after degree

Going down with my guide

I see the monster's puppets

Who execute invisible orders.

Step by step

I discern many living beings

Enduring the sufferings of labour.

The tender grass

pleasantly itching the skin

I know it

Will soon be crushed

under the heavy hardened mud.

The greatest sorrow of life:

living with hopeless desires.

All the gold mirroring under the moon

Never brought to

the exhausted humanity

A single moment of comfort.

The workers, all night,

smear themselves with murky makeup

Whether they're covered in powder

or simply wear a light touch

Does not depend on their mood

But on the force of the wind.

With this physical body

I can even feel from a distance

Those mechanical

vibrations coming from farther

In the past

We would sing in the light of the sun

and in the soft and joyful air.

But now

I cry the exhausted land.

My guide leads me

to this strange place.

It is said that the owner

of the mine had a dream

And in that dream

The god of the mountain

reproached him

for having dynamited his abode.

He built this statue of the Buddha

To calm his own anguish.


There, where wealth accumulates

And the men are uprooted

Everything is decreed by the monster

Who hides

Like this tempter of all desires.

I stare at his features,

like cooked by the molten steel

And bathing in sweat.

This ravaged face

Does not prevent me however

From seeing

acutely what he was in the past.

After the passage

through this red blaze

I come back to this dark

and deep valley

The creatures who are sorting

between charcoal and stone

Are still wearing their ink makeup.

The guide shows me the way

Towards his mountain

What a purgatory!

Evil roams the earth

And it will soon be its prey.

In this forest of tombstones

Maybe there are people that I know,

or that I've caught sight of

Who suffer, at this very instant,

or who have already been liberated.

In these passive crowds

There are, also, desperate souls.


Hell does not offer them a place.

The vision that terrifies me the most

is not this multitude of tombs.

It is that of the air stuffed

with poisonous dust.

It's that all living creatures

Up to the smallest worm,

will die from it

It will be the end of our world.

Through the dusty mist,

the consuming flames, the tombs,

and through the devastated homeland

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Sylvie Blum


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Submitted on August 05, 2018


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"Behemoth" STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 14 Oct. 2019. <>.

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