Thanks to the Best Director prize at last year's Cannes Film Festival, and a more than passing similarity to Robert Altman's now-classic Short Cuts, Edward Yang finally sees one of his films receive the light of day in American theatres. Along with Hou Hsiao Hsien, he is the greatest living director whose films you have never seen. Take Yi Yi as your initial chance to introduce yourself to a true master. Then, if on a roll, get your hands on a copy of Brighter Summer Day, Mahjong and A Confucian Confusion.
Yi Yi is the film that Altman's A Wedding should have been. The Altman film, a multi-character farce made three years after the more accomplished Nashville, tries to wax significant meaning out of the wedding ceremony but ends up as nothing more than a trivial hodge-podge of `Three's Company'-style bafoonery. The Yang film, comfortably akin to sitting before a fireplace during a cold winter night, bookends the bulk of its contents with two different kinds of ceremonies: the wedding and the funeral.
Surprisingly accessible, at least in comparison to his prior work, Edward Yang's film is about as truthful a family film as your going to get. Much of the film's success lies in Yang's astute explanation of life's dichotomous nature. Yang-Yang, the youngest member of Yang's fictional family, is a boy desperately trying to grasp the duality of the world around him with the aide of his camera. He takes pictures of people's backsides because he wants to show them what they can not see. The boy's actions espouse the film's very philosophy: There is always a second side to every story and once the second side is perceived a character can achieve some sort of completion.
This is nowhere clearer than in the case of Yang-Yang's father, NJ. The man is forced to confront the reasons why he abandoned his first significant lover at the alter once he and the lover work their way back into each other's lives through mutual business interests. Once he presents his case to the embittered woman he cleanses himself of a pain he has never spoken of and, in turn, faces a truth he was not ready to accept: that he is still in love with his old flame.
Some might interpret the woman's departure after NJ's declaration of love to be somewhat vengeful, but there is something much more philanthropic to be read in her actions. Through his revelation she has learned to accept the fate that NJ set forth so long ago and she has, quite simply, returned the favor. What was done in the past can not be undone and the only thing NJ can hope for is a re-evaluation and improvement on the life he chose instead.
NJ's life, ultimately, has come full-circle and with that comes the death of his wife's mother. The woman is the matriarch of the family, from whom everyone draws their breath. The most loving of these recipients is NJ's daughter Ting-Ting. Yang uses a flower as the symbol of Ting-Ting's enlightenment. Her classroom laughs at her because she over-fed the flower but the flower comes back to life after a very cleansing and beautiful encounter with her grandmother. It's a beautiful moment and Yang has an uncanny way of conjuring up an immense sense of urgency from otherwise simple objects.
There is a great scene in Yi Yi where Ting-Ting breaks down for seemingly unforeseen reasons. When questioned by her father, she reveals that it pains her that her relationship with her mother consists of nothing more than two sentences spread out throughout the day. And this is at the essence of Yang's masterpiece, a film as culturally resonating and emotionally observed as the bleaker Short Cuts. It is a film of painful revelations and euphoric moments of happiness. It is a film of soft rhythms beautifully gliding over the lives of characters living their way toward personal enlightenment.
Yi Yi is the film that Altman's A Wedding should have been. The Altman film, a multi-character farce made three years after the more accomplished Nashville, tries to wax significant meaning out of the wedding ceremony but ends up as nothing more than a trivial hodge-podge of `Three's Company'-style bafoonery. The Yang film, comfortably akin to sitting before a fireplace during a cold winter night, bookends the bulk of its contents with two different kinds of ceremonies: the wedding and the funeral.
Surprisingly accessible, at least in comparison to his prior work, Edward Yang's film is about as truthful a family film as your going to get. Much of the film's success lies in Yang's astute explanation of life's dichotomous nature. Yang-Yang, the youngest member of Yang's fictional family, is a boy desperately trying to grasp the duality of the world around him with the aide of his camera. He takes pictures of people's backsides because he wants to show them what they can not see. The boy's actions espouse the film's very philosophy: There is always a second side to every story and once the second side is perceived a character can achieve some sort of completion.
This is nowhere clearer than in the case of Yang-Yang's father, NJ. The man is forced to confront the reasons why he abandoned his first significant lover at the alter once he and the lover work their way back into each other's lives through mutual business interests. Once he presents his case to the embittered woman he cleanses himself of a pain he has never spoken of and, in turn, faces a truth he was not ready to accept: that he is still in love with his old flame.
Some might interpret the woman's departure after NJ's declaration of love to be somewhat vengeful, but there is something much more philanthropic to be read in her actions. Through his revelation she has learned to accept the fate that NJ set forth so long ago and she has, quite simply, returned the favor. What was done in the past can not be undone and the only thing NJ can hope for is a re-evaluation and improvement on the life he chose instead.
NJ's life, ultimately, has come full-circle and with that comes the death of his wife's mother. The woman is the matriarch of the family, from whom everyone draws their breath. The most loving of these recipients is NJ's daughter Ting-Ting. Yang uses a flower as the symbol of Ting-Ting's enlightenment. Her classroom laughs at her because she over-fed the flower but the flower comes back to life after a very cleansing and beautiful encounter with her grandmother. It's a beautiful moment and Yang has an uncanny way of conjuring up an immense sense of urgency from otherwise simple objects.
There is a great scene in Yi Yi where Ting-Ting breaks down for seemingly unforeseen reasons. When questioned by her father, she reveals that it pains her that her relationship with her mother consists of nothing more than two sentences spread out throughout the day. And this is at the essence of Yang's masterpiece, a film as culturally resonating and emotionally observed as the bleaker Short Cuts. It is a film of painful revelations and euphoric moments of happiness. It is a film of soft rhythms beautifully gliding over the lives of characters living their way toward personal enlightenment.