The second full-length feature film from writer and director Kogonada, the indie drama After Yang is set in a still-recognizable future where technology has advanced and allowed techno-sapiens, or robotic humanoids, to be integrated into society and serve as companions, servants and friends. The film centers around one family; Jake (Colin Farrell) is the father, Kyra (Jodie Turner-Smith) is the mother. Their daughter, Mika (a delightful Malea Emma Tjandrawidjaja) is adopted from China; they acquire Yang (Justin H. Min) as a robot nanny/companion who is designed to help their Chinese-American daughter connect her with her culture.
When their long-time techno-companion suddenly falls ill and inoperative, Jake is led down a path of discovery in his attempts to fix it. He eventually discovers more about Yang’s depths, capabilities and origins that he realized possible.
The future in this film is a cleverly rendered one; the world is familiar but also disconcertingly shifted. Houses and interiors are made of more glass and stone than we are used to, starkly lit and muted. The characters’ dress has a slightly east Asian influence and everything has an uncanny cleanliness and airiness. The focus is tight; the rest of the world filters in through clever suggestions, like a neighbor’s clone daughters, or a self-driving car, or a call made by an interacting robotic voice or seamless video chat out of thin air. These advances are subtle and integrated. Jake’s contemplations within the self-driving car, as the lights of a tunnel pass by the window, remind one of the futuristic world they are actually inhabiting, suggesting the ennui and stylized futurism of Wong Kar-wai’s 2046. The film has a subtle but confident visual style, with certain colors (blues, whites, reds) repeating, or a motif of bright clean lines.
Like Kogonada’s brilliant and subtle debut film, Columbus, After Yang also hovers around thoughtful, quietly yearning characters. Haley Lu Richardson, who was stunning in Columbus, shows up here as Ada, a friend of Yang. After Yang is full of slow, sailing scenes. A bright and surreal dance sequence in the beginning of the film is followed by sometimes tense, sometimes wistful scenes of two or more characters in a room, expressing unspoken feelings.
Characters are revealed through an intimate focus on their faces. Tension in Jake and Kyra’s marriage is conveyed through clipped dialogue and silences. Mika is a bright, curious girl who misses her friend. Yang is an enigma, who stares at the human characters as if trying to figure out the secrets to their humanity, or stares at himself in the mirror; his expressions are soft, longing yet controlled. We discover Yang’s inner depths, his memories, his past. As Jake dives into the data of Yang’s mind, he searches through fields of glowing memories, a clever visual representation of the mind. Certain emotionally evocative scenes remind one of A Ghost Story, especially when humanity is reflected in memory and in the passage of time.
Much of the film is restrained. The subtlety often works, but sometimes we are kept at too far a distance from the characters. Emotional depths can be too muted and some scenes are too slow. In the last act the film comes to life with an atmospheric and flourishing revelation that brings the entire story into focus.
Kogonada is working on multiple levels here, asking enormous questions through Yang. There are philosophical implications around humanity and selfhood and how it is defined. The transience of life. The meaning of cultural identity and how it is defined. The displacement of the techno-sapien as a parallel to a displaced cultural identity. Ultimately, these themes are able to break through the film’s restraint and leave an impact.
Photo courtesy of A24
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