SummaryWhen his young daughter's beloved companion — an android named Yang — malfunctions, Jake (Colin Farrell) searches for a way to repair him. In the process, Jake discovers the life that has been passing in front of him, reconnecting with his wife (Jodie Turner-Smith) and daughter across a distance he didn't know was there.
SummaryWhen his young daughter's beloved companion — an android named Yang — malfunctions, Jake (Colin Farrell) searches for a way to repair him. In the process, Jake discovers the life that has been passing in front of him, reconnecting with his wife (Jodie Turner-Smith) and daughter across a distance he didn't know was there.
After Yang has the structure of a subdued mystery, though at its core it has no answers to these, or any, questions. Instead, it provides a slowly dawning and utterly devastating understanding of the hidden richness of its title character’s existence.
Jean-Luc Godard once remarked that a story should have a beginning, a middle and an end, but not necessarily in that order. Which brings us to After Yang. The story begins in "the middle." Jake is a middle-aged man, stuck. He is lonely and dispirited. His small business is running on fumes. He seems depressed. He is withdrawing, self-isolating from his wife and daughter, both of whom are clearly aware that Jake has checked out emotionally. The family is getting along. They are pleasant with one another. They go through the motions. But the spark is gone. Perceptive viewers will sense trouble ahead. The film is the story of Jake coming back to life -- a story that begins with a shock of recognition, a voyage of discovery, a new perspective that brings with it a stunning acknowledgment of loss, and the beginning of healing. Jake sets out to fix Yang. Yang ends up fixing Jake, and the family. It is subtle, understated and beautifully done.
The "beginning" is glimpsed only in flashbacks of memory. The "end" is projected in hints. Most of the narrative is the voyage of discovery, in which Jake for the first time truly sees a life that had been lived right in front of him, unnoticed. This is a character study played out in the shadows of memory. The question, "Do you believe a cup of tea can contain a world" reminded me of "An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge," the classic story by Ambrose Bierce, which explored how much can be contained in a fraction of a second. Come to think of it, that might make a worthy next project for Kogonada, a master of subtlety and indirection. This is a wonderful movie, the best so far of 2022. Kogonada raises more questions than he answers. He leaves mysteries to ponder. He does not insult viewers with simple answers to unanswerable questions. Jake's ceremonial care in making tea is a metaphor for Kogonada's treatment of grief, mystery and wonder: they swirl and fall, slowly and delicately, and the viewer must find his own meaning in the search. This is a contemplative film and will not be to everyone's taste, but let it steep slowly and you will be rewarded.
Brilliant film. Like Kogonada 1.0, Kogonada 2.0 has no villains, no violence, and no dysfunctional, self-destructive behavior to drive an artificially goosed plot; this film is about human universals. It is quiet, gentle, and meditative. The sci-fi flourishes are present in abundance, but this is not a film about gadgets; like the best thoughtful sci-fi, the future is simply present, with a lived-in feel. Kogonada trusts the viewers to fill in the blanks. The open-ended storytelling is something of a Rorschach test: viewers willing to engage and think will enjoy this; viewers needing flying spandex, explosions and simple resolutions tied up with a bow may be overmatched. If you like slow, thoughtful cinema, this is a must-see. You will be left with many unanswered questions that invite further reflection. Whether this is a feature or a bug is up to you. For thoughtful viewers, this is a film that will linger and bear rewatching more than once. There are a lot of differences between After Yang and Columbus, but there is a line in Columbus that captures the underlying unity: "effort plus cost to see what is invisible but always visible." In Columbus, that refers to things that are absent -- both physical and emotional, with the architecture acting as metaphor for Jin and Casey's inner journeys. That which is absent leaves a contour that can be discerned and a gap that an engaged viewer is invited to fill. In After Yang, the gap is created when Yang unexpectedly drops out of a family's life. The gap needs to be filled. It must be seen and felt before it can be filled. That's the story. And the third act twist -- no spoilers -- is simply brilliant, as Jake and Ada come to understand that Yang understood more than they could have imagined about the road upon which they are walking now.
Lest I forget: the acting is excellent. Colin Farrell has never been better. The supporting actors are superb, and I was left wanting more from several of them -- but leaving an audience wanting more is a good thing, not a bad thing. This cast should be considered for the ensemble awards come next awards season.
The action of After Yang, bizarre and exotic as it is, meditates on what it is to be human and how that may in the future be modified, but it also addresses loss in the present day: our anguished and futile human instinct that death must surely be fixable.
Lifted by a deep and thoughtful performance by Colin Farrell, After Yang is a poetic and subtle meditation about the aftermath of unexpected sadness over the loss of “someone” who is technically not human.
After Yang is a good-looking movie, especially for one that’s mostly talking and conversations, the acting is good — an easy feat for seasoned actor Colin Farrell and Malea Emma Tjandrawidjaja is adorable as hell. But unfortunately, it misses its storytelling potential by focusing too much of our attention on the wrong story elements.
With “After Yang,” the distinctive filmmaker Kogonada has made a movie that is at once ambitious yet timid, asking big questions but providing no answers, not even clues. It’s a thought experiment, but a thought that meanders.
After Yang spends so much time trying to craft a thematically-rich piece of high art, it fails to pay enough attention to the fundamentals. The film doesn't develop its setting at all, while also lacking interesting characters and a comprehensible plot. Sadly, whispered monologues and esoteric flashbacks can only get you so far - at some point, you actually have to DO something with the themes and foundations you've laid.
Arguably the most engaging part of the film is how it portrays human connections in a world governed by cold technology, with the same privacy and "you'll own nothing and enjoy it" issues present in our world today. Unfortunately, the film's central family dynamic is similarly cold: "the good times" are hardly shown at all, and we're simply told that Yang was a beloved part of the family via unconvincing dialogue.
The film's plot is equally sparse. Despite being fairly focused at first, after a while, it devolves into flashback after flashback, and conversation after slow conversation, killing any forward momentum before the film unceremoniously ends. At points, it actually becomes difficult to follow, with characters (some with the same name?) popping up for a scene or two and then vanishing.
Overall, it's clear that this was created strictly for an indie, film festival audience. There's nothing wrong with that, but After Yang is far from a modern classic. It's bitter medicine, reluctantly taken and dubiously effective.
Colin Farrell and Jodie Turner-Smith play a married couple who adopt a Chinese girl. To help her appreciate her heritage, they buy an Asian android (or as they call it, a technosapien). When he malfunctions, Farrell goes on a quest to repair him, while examining their lives without him. This is subtly set in the future, other than the android, hints of a self-driving car and a distant cityscape, there's almost nothing to suggest a sci-fi world. Instead, this is an intimate personal drama with plenty of lingering wide shots, a snail's pace and lots of silence. As a result, it's a dry assessment of the family that lacks much emotion or warmth.
(Mauro Lanari)
Farrell fathoms the sphere of robotic AI of **** and Scott Sr. in Lanthimos mode ("The Lobster" and "The Killing of a Sacred Deer"): when depressogenic rhetoric is passed off as lyrical existential crisis. Sakamoto's music adds an oriental touch. Not my cup of tea, in this case also literally.