Yi Yi

I read a letterboxd review recently that said something along the lines of “the best movies make you forget that time exists”. In that regard, Yi Yi is one of these rare films that truly makes you forget that time exists. The 3-hour price tag might sound hefty, but trust me, this movie does not feel like 3 hours at all.

If you’re anything like me and your favorite films are those that feel like they somehow got lodged deep into your solar plexus, plant some seed, and then subtly move around the furniture in your mind for the next few weeks, months, or even years, then do not delay your screening of Yi Yi. It’s both visually stunning and emotionally moving in a way that only a handful of films I’ve seen have done in a competent fashion.

It’s not a film that lends itself to a clean, neat ending. Its purpose is to build friction (and that means a lot in a world that optimizes for frictionlessness). What I got out of the film is an array of questions: what if we can only see what’s in front of us, such that we need outside help to see what we’re missing, and where do we find such assistance? What do we do when each decision we make feels like it forecloses a possible future? What do we do in the face of “what might have been”? I don't know the answers to these questions, but the answers don't feel like the point. The impasse created by them, the flustering confusion, I think, is part of what makes the film so special.

I think the 16-year-old version of me that saw this for the first time roughly 6 years ago wrote a slightly askew review, perhaps because I just didn’t have the right grammatical toolkit to phrase my thoughts. Nonetheless, I think I was hitting an important note: the film functions more as an outline that encourages you to draw inferences and interpretations. It blends poetry and prose, like David Foster Wallace or Charles Baudelaire. And like the works of those authors, the film rewards you charitably for your investment in it.
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Ota… what a character.