After Yang (2022)

Score: 2.5 / 5

"Techno sapiens" exist in the world of this film, humanoid versions of Siri or Alexa. Artificial intelligence in seemingly organic bodies that can learn and grow, help around the house, and even help build a family. It's not as far-off science fiction as most in the genre these days, and since movies like Marjorie Prime and Ex Machina, it's all the more believable in understated, naturalistic presentation. Enter Kogonada (Columbus), the elusive and enigmatic South Korean video essayist and recent writer and director of features, whose filmmaking style is some of the most confident and assured -- and abstract -- of any relatively new director. I wouldn't have expected a sci-fi drama from him so soon after his work in midwestern architecture, but his sensitivity around existential human experience certainly makes this material worthy of his time and efforts.

After Yang, referring to the character who is actually a techo sapien, is about what it means to be human. That sounds vague, and some viewers may also describe this film as vague; it is, even to someone as patient and eager as me. More than in his previous film, this movie really stretches for its moments of heightened sensation and revelation, and I often felt its goals were beyond its ability to grasp. Yang (Justin H. Min) was purchased by a young couple named Jake (Colin Farrell) and Kyra (Jodie Turner-Smith) to become part of their family; it's suggested that he was meant as a companion to their adopted daughter Mika (Malea Emma Tjandrawidjaja) as an older brother and also a tie to her east Asian culture. The movie begins as Yang breaks down.

Unfortunately, because they purchased Yang refurbished, the warranty isn't valid and Jake doesn't even know how to contact the original buyer or seller. Yang's unresponsiveness isn't helpful, so Jake ends up at a parts dealer who removes Yang's memory bank. Viewing this takes a significant portion of the film: snippets, only seconds long, of things Yang deemed important or impactful enough to store. Connecting with his "sister" Mika, listening to Jake and Kyra, pretty flowers or dappled sunlight through trees; some of these moments could have come directly from a Terrence Malick film. It's touching to see Jake's face as he witnesses these moments, and Kogonada is begging us to consider the fantasy of looking into the memories of a loved one who is gone. What would they have remembered? What was important enough that they recorded and replayed for themselves? Perhaps most important, how did they see and think of you? Interestingly, Jake also comes across images of a young woman named Ada (Haley Ly Richardson), and so a small mystery unfolds.

Yang's previous life -- remember, he was refurbished -- is interesting and revealing in itself, and does involve clones and other sci-fi tropes. Kogonada doesn't use these tropes in ordinary ways, and some of it feels a little forced, as though he realized simply considering the life of an android wouldn't be enough to spark interest for a full feature. What I'd rather discuss here is Kogonada's approach to the storytelling. Hushed, not rushed, and deeply sensitive to every breath and every beat the characters take. He alters the aspect ratio occasionally to highlight the differing narrative perspectives (particularly for Yang's memories). One that stood out to me was the beautifully written and filmed scene in which Jake describes his love of tea. Not drinking it -- Jake doesn't even really like it -- but the process of growing and preparing and brewing it, as well as presumably the naturalistic aspects and subsequent social aspects of tea-drinking. Yang, as an android, can't quite understand that raw passion, despite his encyclopedic knowledge of everything to do with tea.

There are other concerns of the film, each of which would make for fascinating post-screening discussions. When a loved one passes, how do we remember them, and to what extent are those memorials public or private? Social media has dramatically complicated and confused some of those deeply human -- and often religious -- traditions, leaving space for so many questions and not nearly enough accessible answers. Another crucial scene occurs between Kyra and Jake as they consider what comes after life, and the natural implication or next questions have to ask about an afterlife for artificial intelligence. What constitutes a life, and how can we be sure to honor it appropriately? It's all very somber stuff, but there are gorgeous ideological gems to find if you relax and get on Kogonada's wavelength.