We Are The Colors In The Dark

Where critically acclaimed and famous Taiwanese films like Us and Them and You Are the Apple of My Eye use flashbacks to create an air of nostalgia and to remind us that maybe all we have to share is our past, untouchable memories, Your Name Engraved Herein uses flashbacks and time leaps to instead paint a more hopeful future. Their first love was an epic story. It’s painful realizing that they never got the same privilege as so many of us to have a happy family or spend life together, growing old. But where the protagonists in Us and Them and You Are the Apple of My Eye only have the past, our Jia-Han and Birdy have the future for the taking. Jia-Han’s younger self once held reservation and denial but he has instead transformed into one willing to accept his love and act on it, searching for Birdy despite the years. Despite the time and distance, they still share the same lively and youthful banter. While one may interpret the ending scene of what could’ve been and what they were cheated of, I like to think of it as a reunion instead. They are finally able to return to maybe the most tumultuous but also happiest time of their life. Now, with the recent change in Taiwan, they finally have a chance to make more memories together. 

I loved the framing of the story and think it demanded audience engagement. The movie opens with Jia-Han meeting Birdy. We then see that Jia-Han is reminiscing about his story with Birdy to the priest from Montreal that works at the Catholic all-boy’s boarding school. Immediately, Jia-Han’s and Birdy’s connection is apparent. They have furtive glances, genuine concern, and intimate moments. Birdy at first seems free-spirited, without fear of the opinions of others and authority. He’s vocal, righteous, and a bit rebellious. Jia-Han, in contrast, is more timid, constantly aware of the opinions of others and the rules. While he knows what is wrong and feels bad about it, he often follows or acts as a complacent party. But as Birdy and Jia-Han witness the detaining of activist Chi Chia-wei, we see that Birdy is more introspective and serious, unable to turn a blind-eye of the issues still prevalent despite the recent end of martial law in Taiwan. And Jia-Han, in the presence of Birdy, is more carefree and happy. It’s as if they have switched and turned off their outside persona. Birdy’s impulsivity gives Jia-Han joy and only Jia-Han’s presence can qualm Birdy’s inner thoughts and worries. We get to see how these characters deeply value each other. As the evening sets and the world around falls to slumber, it feels as if they are the only ones in the world and we, as viewers, are fully immersed in their story. The cinematography is halting as we see them zoom around in the city alone, untouched and in their own worlds. 

Jia-Han feels as if the world revolved only around them. So when Ban-Ban walks into the picture, I was awed by Jia-Han’s portrayal of jealousy and felt his pain because he was unable to walk by the side of Birdy in the way that he wanted to. The actor’s body language sells a stellar performance, but it is the dialogue and outburst at the father who is attempting to tend to Jia-Han’s wounds that show Jia-Han’s raw and powerful emotions. Whether or not it was intentional by the director, I think at this moment we question the timeline and framing of the story. What events led up to this moment with Jia-Han’s major head wound? When the priest says “If he doesn’t love you, don’t force him to” and “care doesn’t necessarily mean love,” I was stunned by this exchange, thinking that it was quite evident that Birdy and Jia-Han had love for each other. But then it made me ponder if this narrative told only from Jia-Han’s point of view was a deliberate choice made for us to question perspective and reality, how our vision becomes tainted when our feelings are involved. The powerful performance and film raised such immediate questions, causing wonder as we viewed the film in real time instead of afterwards, which made for a delightful and thought-provoking experience. 

In a truly climatic point, we finally see how all of the events led to the current moment. We see how Jia-Han gets a head injury and how the priest becomes his confidant. This pivotal mark not only has an approximately two hour momentum, but it is also powerfully performed by our two leads who at this point are passionate, protective, and broken-hearted. We witness a full range of love. Initially, at the beginning, we saw subtle and restrained affection, fleeting touches, and silent companionship. But as the story progresses, we see that these feelings can no longer be bottled. There are moments of visible and passionate concern and instinctual attempts at protection. This development shows the complexity, beauty, and pain of love. It is truly a breath-taking thing to see come alive on screen. While Jia-Han at this point becomes ready to vocalize and admit his feelings, Birdy is unable to and their lives diverge. 

A time leap gives us privy to Jia-Han’s closure. After he visits the resting grounds of the priest from his high-school days, he is able to offer his support to who is hinted to be the priest’s lover, reassuring that he was a good man, that the love was true, and that he will go to heaven. The reveal that the priest is gay encourages viewers to rewatch the dialogue with this new information to help drive our new interpretations. 

Already, I have re-watched this tear-jerking film a number of times. The steady pacing makes each scene seem essential despite the long 1 hour and 54 minute run time. Yet it passes quickly and we are left yearning for more. Aesthetically pleasing, the beautiful shots underscored by the accompanying, swelling music provide stunning visuals. As the camera focuses on the two leads, their outbursts don’t appear as overly done or too dramatic. Rather, the performances feel heart-breakingly real. In part, I think this is built on the focus on the details. The camera seems to linger a little longer on the faces of the actors, making us fully digest what they are conveying to us. This attention to detail highlights everything spoken and unspoken. 

To this day, my favorite scene is still the mahjong scene. Prior to watching the movie, I had never played mahjong and never knew the rules. Yet I enjoyed every moment of that scene. The medium of movies restricts an ability to explicitly portray the significance of a piece or even a symbol. But I think Chu does an excellent job of overcoming this barrier and managing to convey a message even if you’ve never played mahjong before. Everything is deliberate, from Rachel’s monologue to the framing of the shot. It zooms in on the piece, quite literally showing that she has the winning hand for viewers familiar with mahjong. The set up line “there is no winning, you made sure of that” was a literal lead in to the main message--she was willing to lose to Eleanor in both the game and in regards to Nick because she loved him dearly. As she puts the piece in her lineup, allowing us to see that it was definitely PLAYABLE, we understand that she has the upper hand. Yet she forsakes it all, handing over the exact same piece that Eleanor needs to win. Taken at a glance and as a snapshot of the film, it seems carefully crafted and wonderfully thought out. But I think the foundation of the beauty of this scene was laid from the very beginning. We open with Rachel playing poker. She is introduced as ambitious and a risk taker, strong and capable. She knows very well what is going on. As a professor of game theory, she literally tells her students “he wasn’t playing to win, he was playing not to lose.” This mentality may initially be viewed as a weakness, the cause of Kurtis losing to her entire bluff. But by the end of the movie, this mentality is a sign of strength for Rachel. She didn’t view Nick as a game or something to win, which allowed her to win over the heart of Eleanor. Every time Rachel stuck to who she was as a passionate professor, she was able to stand her ground. She didn’t impress anyone by her attempts to meet their standards--she did so by her own achievements. 

I think to the naked eye, many unimpassioned by Asian American issues and representation view that the movie is an inaccurate and flowery display of Asian’s attempt to enter mainstream Hollywood, at least so my friends think. They didn’t quite want to discuss, so here’s my opinions now. I think that Crazy Rich Asians was a far cry from that. I think it represented so much unity and collaboration. Seeing all these faces felt like a huge production made by cousins that plays at a family reunion. We had Asian representation from all across the world and I think that uniting in a similar cause evokes so much passion that every time I watch the film, I feel so celebratory. 

From the cameo by Kina Grannis and the soundtrack including a young Asian American doing a beautiful cover to reclaim the symbol yellow, I think ultimately the film is a delicately, beautifully hand crafted gift to an extended family that is covered by the flowery displays of Hollywood. The fancy extravaganza of the movie challenges the typical one dimensional view of Asians, but I think the ultimate message is that: we are all family who will support each other.