Girl on Edge Review: The Sharpest Blade Can’t Cut Through a Tangled Plot

The film opens on a pristine sheet of ice, a canvas of perfect, untouched white. But the image that lingers is of crimson. A girl with dyed red hair, a flash of scarlet against the cold, pools with her own blood after a jarring fall. From this startling prologue, Girl on Edge immediately rewinds, pulling us into the high-pressure world of its protagonist, Jiang Ning.

She is a young and profoundly ambitious figure skater, standing at a critical juncture where her next competition could either make or break her entire career. Her world is one of punishing repetition and chilling silence, an atmosphere often broken only by the sharp, cutting critiques of her coach, who is also her unforgiving mother, Wang Shuang.

The air in the rink is thick with unspoken history and palpable tension, establishing a potent psychological drama where every triple axel is a test of will and every fall is a step closer to a complete mental breaking point. The film promises an intimate, often uncomfortable look at the true cost of perfection, where the line between dedication and self-destruction is as perilously thin as a skate’s blade.

The Mother as Molder and Breaker

The story’s primary engine, and its deepest source of conflict, is the fraught dynamic between Jiang Ning and Wang Shuang. The mother is a woman shaped by the ghosts of her own abandoned skating career, a past she openly, cruelly blames on the birth of her daughter.

This unresolved resentment poisons her coaching, turning it into an exercise in psychological warfare rather than mentorship. She projects her personal history of failure onto Jiang, offering scalding looks of disdain and verbal dismissals that land with surgical precision. After one more botched landing, Jiang’s quiet plea for one-on-one help is met not with guidance but with a soul-crushing question designed to obliterate hope: “Is there really any point?”

This toxic relationship forms the film’s narrative foundation, illustrating how external pressure can be internalized until it becomes a form of self-sabotage. Jiang is an athlete buckling under the immense weight of expectation. Her repeated stumbles and falls on the ice are not mere technical flaws; they are the physical manifestations of a spirit being systematically dismantled.

Actress Zhang Zifeng’s performance is remarkable in its nuance. She conveys the character’s dual nature with quiet power, her downcast eyes and tense shoulders screaming what her voice cannot. In her, we see both the timid girl desperate for a crumb of maternal approval and the obsessive competitor simmering with a rage that has no healthy outlet.

The Friend as Foil and Threat

Into this high-pressure, emotionally sterile world skates Zhong Ling, a rink worker who embodies everything Jiang is not. Zhong skates for the simple, unadulterated joy of movement, her style free and unburdened by the relentless quest for points or medals. She is the classic narrative foil, and her initial friendship offers Jiang a necessary, life-affirming reprieve.

A sequence at a neon-drenched roller disco provides a burst of chaotic color and life, a stark visual and emotional departure from the bleak, wintry palette of the training rink. Here, for a moment, Jiang is just a young woman, not a competitor. This escape, however, is short-lived. The story pivots neatly and cruelly when Wang Shuang’s calculating eye lands on Zhong’s raw, untutored talent.

By taking Zhong on as a new student, the coach weaponizes the girls’ friendship, expertly transforming it into a source of paranoia. This calculated move shifts the film’s gears, fueling Jiang’s anxieties and turning her new confidante into the primary object of her suspicions.

The narrative cleverly constructs this descent. Small moments—a word of praise from the coach directed at Zhong, a shared look, the sight of them training together—are filtered through Jiang’s increasingly distorted perspective until they become evidence of a grand conspiracy against her. The story becomes a compelling study in how rivalry is manufactured from insecurity.

A Flawless Routine with a Faltering Core

Where the script sometimes hesitates, the film’s technical execution soars with an almost arrogant confidence. Director Zhou Jinghao demonstrates a powerful and sophisticated instinct for visual storytelling. The skating sequences are shot with a thrilling inventiveness that communicates Jiang’s internal state far better than dialogue could.

A jittery, first-person camera perspective during a spin captures her rising panic, while distorting lenses warp the edges of the frame to suggest a reality that is beginning to buckle under stress. The sound design is equally meticulous, amplifying the tension by making every slice of a blade on ice sound as sharp and dangerous as a knife.

Visual metaphors are deployed with purpose; an image of Jiang being strapped into a restrictive, cage-like training apparatus makes her resemble a marionette, a puppet controlled by the ambitions of another. This stylistic assurance, however, also serves to highlight the narrative’s occasional stumbles.

For all its visual dynamism, the story can feel repetitive in its middle act. It circles the same emotional beats of failure and maternal disapproval, which causes some of the carefully built tension to leak away before the finale, like a slow puncture in a tire. The aesthetic is sharp and focused, but the story it serves sometimes spins its wheels.

Skating in Circles

The film’s third act works to untangle its narrative threads through a series of significant plot reveals, reaching for a conclusion that is both psychologically profound and dramatically surprising. However, the plotting here becomes less certain and far more direct than what came before.

The final twists, meant to reframe the entire story, feel somewhat telegraphed for anyone paying close attention to the visual language. In its rush to provide answers, the script’s insistence on explaining motivations that were better left implicit makes the ending feel convoluted. The elegant ambiguity gives way to a messy exposition that undermines the power of the preceding mystery.

Ultimately, the story pushes forward the idea that an athlete’s greatest opponent is always internal, a message about self-conflict that gives Jiang a hard-won moment of triumph. One is left with the feeling of a film that is visually memorable and features committed, powerful performances, yet is ultimately held back by a narrative structure that cannot quite stick its landing.

Girl on Edge currently circulating in Chinese cinemas, with international festival screenings anticipated later this year; no streaming platform has been announced yet.

Full Credits

Director: Jinghao Zhou

Writers: Jinghao Zhou

Cast: Zifeng Zhang, Yili Ma, Xiangyuan Ding

Director of Photography (Cinematographer): Fisher Yu

Editors: Xiaodong Qi, Jinghao Zhou

Composer: Björn Shen