As a seasoned cinephile with a penchant for Asian cinema, I must say that “Papa” by Philip Yung left me both captivated and contemplative. The film’s narrative structure, reminiscent of Wong Kar-wai’s dreamlike storytelling, was a refreshing departure from the typical thriller genre. However, the lack of a definitive answer to the question “Why?” may have frustrated some viewers, but it resonated with me as a testament to the unspeakable mysteries that life sometimes presents.
In the newest film by director Philip Yung, formerly a Hong Kong critic, the story starts with an unsettling crime involving an unexpected perpetrator: One fateful night, a distressed 15-year-old boy named Ming (played by Dylan So) suddenly takes a meat cleaver from the kitchen and brutally slaughters his mother and sister in a chilling act of cold-blooded murder.
The film, “Papa,” delves into the pre- and post-occurrence of a shocking event as seen through the perspective of Ming’s father, Yuen (played by Sean Lau). Struggling to rebuild his life amidst the mystery surrounding his son’s actions, he seeks understanding of why such a horrific act was committed. In contrast to the director’s 2015 mystery, “Port of Call,” where the focus was on identifying the perpetrator, this film centers around the question of motive. More importantly, it grapples with the challenge of continuing life after experiencing such devastating tragedy.
The movie jumps between different time frames, offering more of a tapestry of emotions than a traditional thriller. Both past and present are filled with feelings of guilt and remorse, occasionally interrupted by fleeting moments of joy. Throughout the story, we’re immersed in Yuen’s thoughts as he grapples with a world turned upside down and attempts to rekindle a relationship with his estranged son. It’s a challenging emotional ride, and while Papa might not always convey its depth effectively, it still offers an engaging exploration of how a broken family might find healing.
The story is based on a real case that happened in 2010 in Tsuen Wan, a suburb of residential high-rises and crowded market streets located northwest of Hong Kong. It’s there that Yuen and his wife, Yin (Jo Koo), run a busy family restaurant that’s open 24/7 and caters to folks from the neighborhood. The couple is also raising two children: Ming, whom we see at various ages from 5 to 15; and his sweet younger sis, Grace.
From the beginning, we closely observe Ming for any unusual actions, given that we’re aware of his eventual actions. This introverted boy might have autism, although it’s not definitively about him. He’s deeply passionate about animal rights and environmental preservation, which could be behind his confession to the police that he killed Yin and Grace to alleviate overpopulation.
However, none of this sheds light on what drove him to such extremes. When Yuen meets his son in the psychiatric facility where he’s been incarcerated for a decade, he can’t help but wonder: “Why?” This is a question that everyone seems to be pondering. Despite Ming and the movie not offering a straightforward response, their silence on the matter feels authentic. As Ludwig Wittgenstein once said, “What we cannot speak about, we must stay silent about. There are some things that remain beyond words.
Yuen seldom talks about his feelings, but that’s because he’s a quiet and strict-appearing father. However, he’s not an abusive parent. Instead, he shows care and support towards his children in various flashbacks. For instance, he teaches Ming the restaurant business and permits Grace to adopt a homeless cat. It appears he wishes the best for his kids, despite having difficulties expressing it to them directly.
The director captures the family’s life prior to, and following, the murder, in a series of visually and thematically connected scenes that spring from Yuen’s anguished mind. We don’t always know where we are on the timeline, and it doesn’t necessarily matter. The narrative approach recalls the work of Wong Kar-wai — Yung’s Port of Call was shot by Christopher Doyle, who lensed many Wong movies — in which scenes exist less in the present than as fleeting memories experienced by the main characters.
This style somewhat dulls the dramatic impact of Papa, despite ample use of slow-motion, music and other techniques meant to try and heighten sensations. Yung is more of a cerebral filmmaker than an emotional one; what interests him is how Yuen manages to cope with what happened, not necessarily how he feels. Lau, who starred in Johnnie To’s Mad Detective, perfectly encapsulates a character who faces horrific challenges with utter stoicism, although you can sense that he’s burning inside.
From the outset, it’s clear that Yuen juggles two distinct realities: one of running his restaurant, with him arranging seating and accepting supplies, and another of a gruesome crime investigation in his apartment, marked by a large bloodstain on the living room floor. Papa wonders aloud if such contrasting spheres can cohabit, and if a loving father can navigate them both.
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2024-10-31 12:24