By

In its title and its panoramic scope, “Chinese Portrait” promises a snapshot of modern China, with scenes that show life in settings urban and rural, industrial and agrarian, scenic and seedy. This documentary’s human subjects are young and old. But in intriguing, sometimes unsatisfying ways, it leaves the synthesis to the viewer. It is an experimental film more than it is a state-of-the-nation address, inviting consideration of how each of its successive tableaus — just about the entirety of the movie — came to be created.

The director, the veteran Chinese filmmaker Wang Xiaoshuai (“Beijing Bicycle”), shot “Chinese Portrait” over a decade on a combination of film and video. Many scenes consist of a single shot, and the vignettes are generally separated by brief bits of visible film leader. The pieces of dialogue that can be heard go unsubtitled. And while the film depicts a diverse cross-section of Chinese life — from horses grazing in the countryside to a man in a respiratory mask in a smoggy cityscape; from Muslims in prayer to a dimly lit celebration — its primary interest lies in the tension between candid moments and shots that appear artfully composed.

The documentary begins with miners standing by a track at what looks like the opening of a mine shaft. (There are no title cards or other identifiers.) Are the miners’ stoic stances natural or acted? What conversations, with the filmmakers or otherwise, took place before and after the cameras rolled? In several shots — in an office, in a classroom — one person will stare directly at Wang’s camera while others appear oblivious to it. Other images are straightforward person-on-the-street portraits, practically still photographs. The camera is notable for its stillness. Kineticism generally derives from action within a shot: A man stands by a gate at the back of a speeding train while another train rushes by in the opposite direction. A building undergoing demolition partly collapses, stirring up a giant cloud of dust.