Laojia, Old Friends, and an Oscar

Every once in a while the world reminds you that the people you once shared late nights with—cheap beer, loud music, and endless conversation—were quietly becoming something extraordinary.

When I heard that Mr Nobody Against Putin had just won the Best Documentary Feature Oscar, it hit me in a way that only old memories can. The film, directed by David Borenstein and Russian teacher Pavel Talankin, tells the story of a schoolteacher who secretly documented how propaganda about the war in Ukraine was being pushed into classrooms inside Russia. The film premiered at festivals like Sundance and ultimately went on to win the Academy Award in 2026.

But when I think about David, my mind doesn’t go to red carpets or film festivals.

My mind goes to Chengdu.

From about 2006 to 2017, Chengdu was this strange and beautiful creative bubble. Artists, musicians, filmmakers, poets, and wanderers from all over the world somehow ended up there at the same time. None of us fully understood it while we were living it, but something special was happening.

For many of us, Chengdu became what we affectionately called Laojia — Old Home.

David was part of that scene.

I remember seeing him around the music circuit—sometimes at the Hemp House, sometimes at music festivals, sometimes at shows scattered around the city. He played with a ska band called The Trouble, and people in our community were genuinely excited about that band. They had energy, personality, and a sound that made people show up.

David was known as a serious musician. The kind musicians respect.

Skill recognizes skill.

At the same time, my own band Proximity Butterfly (变色蝴蝶) was deep in that same creative ecosystem. We had become a very well-received band across China, releasing nine albums and touring the country twice a year. Somehow, a project that started in Chengdu grew into something bigger—we were recognized by Rolling Stone, and along the way we tried to give back to the scene that gave us so much.

We sponsored shows.We helped organize festivals.We worked to promote artists and creativity across the country.

Looking back, I realize something important: I might never have met David if we weren’t both part of that music world. The festivals, the venues, the endless circuit of shows across China—that was the connective tissue that brought so many people together.

What I didn’t realize then—what I had absolutely no idea about—was that the same guy playing ska in Chengdu would go on to write, produce, and direct films that would reach the global stage.

Years later I saw something he had worked on and thought, Oh interesting, David is doing film. But I didn’t understand the scale of it. I didn’t realize the depth of his storytelling or the level of commitment he had brought to cinema.

Now the world knows.

Mr Nobody Against Putin follows Talankin, a school videographer in a small Russian mining town who secretly documented how schools were being turned into vehicles for wartime propaganda after Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Over two years he filmed meetings, lessons, and patriotic displays while quietly collecting evidence of how children were being indoctrinated. Eventually, after realizing his safety was at risk, he fled Russia and smuggled the footage out of the country.

It’s a powerful idea: that an ordinary person—a so-called “nobody”—can expose something much larger than themselves.

But in a strange way, it also reminds me of that Chengdu era.

Because the truth is, that city was full of “nobodies” who were secretly extraordinary.

Musicians.

Artists.

Filmmakers.

Writers.

People from all over the world who converged in one unlikely place and built something creative together.

None of us knew exactly what we were creating at the time.

But looking back, it’s clear that Chengdu wasn’t just a stop along the road. It was an incubator. A place where people experimented, collaborated, and discovered who they were meant to become.

Some of those people went on to tour the world.

Some built artistic movements.

Some made films that exposed the machinery of propaganda.

And sometimes the guy you remember playing ska in Chengdu becomes an Oscar-winning filmmaker.

So David—if these words ever find their way to you—congratulations.

Not just on the Oscar.

But on carrying forward the spirit of that strange and beautiful creative world we once shared.

The one we still call Laojia.