Sylvia Chang returns with a poetic piece about life, love and healing…
Some seven years after her last feature, Run Papa Run, and four after her contribution to the 10+10 shorts anthology, acclaimed Taiwanese director, writer and actress Sylvia Chang returns with Murmur of the Hearts – 2015 has marked a busy year for Chang, seeing her also featuring in Jia Zhangke’s Mountains May Depart and in Johnnie To’s Office, which she also scripted from her own play. Murmur, which had its premiere at the Hong Kong International Film Festival before going on to play at a number of other events around the world, is somewhat of a departure for Chang, seeing her taking a more lyrical and abstract approach than her more down to earth dramas of the past.
The film revolves around two siblings, Yu Mei (actress Isabella Leong, in her first role for seven years) and Yu Nan (Lawrence Ko, Jump Ashin!), who grew up on the idyllic Green Island with their mother (Angelica Lee, The Eye). Separated when their mother fled their abusive father, taking Yu Mei with her to the Taiwanese mainland, the two have not seen each other for years, their lives taking very different directions. Still in Taipei, Yu Mei is now a struggling, neurotic artist, trying to hold down a relationship with second-string boxer Xiang (Joseph Chang, Eternal Summer), haunted by confused memories of the past, while the Christian Yu Nan works as a tour guide in eastern Taiwan, suffering from issues of his own. Linked by an invisible bond the siblings are slowly and unknowingly drawn together as they face up to their childhood traumas.
There’s no denying that Murmur of the Hearts is in narrative terms a very ambitious and creative offering from Sylvia Chang, with a highly complex structure that sees it leaping backwards and forwards in time without indication, shifting between different perspectives and working in a variety of what may or may not be visions or supernatural sequences. With very little in the way of explanations, the viewer is left unaided to decide what’s happening and what it all means, and to navigate their own way through the maze of presumably deliberate obscurity – certainly, this is a film which requires work and concentration, and a willingness to go with the flow. While for some this will understandably make the film mystifying in a frustrating and distracting manner, on the plus side it also makes it pleasingly unpredictable, and Chang does well to avoid the kind of soap opera melodrama which the basic premise might suggest.
To be fair, for all its cryptic ambiguity, the film does build towards a surprisingly solid and rewarding conclusion, anchored by interesting characters and an intriguing take on the same kind of parent-child troubles that Chang has explored in the past. Through the experiences of Yu Mei and Yu Nan, and later Xiang, the film thoughtfully and without judgement depicts the many ways in which adults can be damaged by their formative years, the journeys of all three being towards attempts to make peace with the past, the dead, and with themselves. None of its relationships, romantic, sibling or parental, are straightforward or conventional, and though introspective, the film is quietly moving and affecting in its own way, at least for those prepared to dig deeper. The three leads all do their part and seem comfortable with Chang’s approach, Isabella Leong impressing in particular with a bravely naturalistic performance that makes Yu Mei sympathetic despite her many failings.
The film is very much a mood piece, and this is another factor which will endear it to some viewers while alienating others, as it drifts along at a slow, meandering pace, often heading off on tangents which add little to the central narrative. Overlong at two hours, the film does suffer from a few dull stretches, though it’s clear that Chang is aiming for a dreamlike, ethereal feel rather than being overly concerned with tight editing or efficiency. The film achieves this to a certain extent, helped by some at times extraordinarily beautiful visuals, Green Island being a lush, peaceful paradise (if verging on the picture postcard), and the big city being painted with soft neon lights and evocative shadows. The underwater photography is similarly gorgeous, and these sequences and their rich, deep blues add to the meditative air. Though the film is visually strong, its art house leanings do undermine this, the scenes of mermaids not really being necessary and the heavy handed symbolism becoming tiring after a while.
Again, this marks Murmur of the Hearts as a film that’s not for everyone, though open minded viewers should find much to enjoy and admire. Representing a welcome return for Sylvia Chang, it’s a film which is at once bold and low-key, and while it doesn’t always quite come together, there’s enough artistry here to generally make up for its flaws.
