"In the Mood for Love": The Best of Times and the Worst of Love

Spoilers

Like many others, I was initially drawn to this film to admire Maggie Cheung's graceful figure in different cheongsams. However, halfway through, I had to reevaluate the significance of Wong Kar-wai's frequent shots of her walking style. While these scenes add a vibrant color to the film, they are just that – color. Their purpose, like the oppressive cello music in the film, is to underscore a theme: the best of times paired with the worst of love.

Set in the 1960s, against a middle-class backdrop with a bourgeois atmosphere, Su Li-zhen, a secretary, is always well-groomed and knows how to enjoy life. Even for a simple errand like buying noodles, she dresses immaculately, approaching life with seriousness and almost perfectionistic standards. Chow Mo-wan, a newspaper editor, is polite and enjoys his work. Like Su, he is fond of martial arts novels but has never tried writing one himself until encouraged by her. Both have their own families and become neighbors by chance.

Wong Kar-wai's portrayal of "the absent presence" in the film is noteworthy. The spouses of Su and Chow, who never appear on screen, are constantly hinted at. Su's husband frequently travels to Japan for work, and Chow's wife works night shifts at a hotel. The story suggests an affair between their spouses, paralleling the growing feelings between Su and Chow.

As the affair of their spouses begins, Su and Chow start waiting. Su, in her elegant cheongsams, looks tired and lonely. Chow eats wontons at the noodle stall, deep in thought and isolated. They pass each other in the narrow corridors, accompanied by the melancholic cello music, indicating their emotions. We anticipate a story unfolding between them, but the ending remains unpredictable.

Su realizes something is amiss when she hears familiar sounds next door. She restrains her tears with great effort but eventually breaks down in the bathroom. Among the four, one betrays first, and she bears the truth alone.

A chance encounter, he notices her handbag, and she his tie. They eventually have dinner together. Amidst smoke and roundabout conversation, their intentions slowly become clear – it's no coincidence. What she thought she had to bear alone, now shared, is bittersweet.

Perhaps out of revenge, Su and Chow begin to reenact the initial scenes of the affair. Who took the first step becomes irrelevant. They start meeting more frequently, reading newspapers, writing stories, and discussing. They try to understand what the other two are doing, reminding themselves not to be like them, like a warning bell that only rings for themselves.

Chow's wife's letter is a final declaration. They are a forsaken pair, but she still refuses to accept reality. During their role-playing, Su imagines him as her husband, confronting him about the betrayal. His admission, after a brief defense, catches her off guard, leading to anger, then bewilderment and sorrow. Her eyes reflect deep sadness, and after a moment of silence, she breaks down on his shoulder. Everything is real, and she is genuinely heartbroken.

They try to forget the anger and gradually get used to each other's presence. However, it was an era when gossip could destroy a woman. Su is cautious; she's serious about life and holds herself to high standards. She thought her marriage was perfect, so she keeps a brave face in public.

After the dates, they get out of the taxi separately; during a downpour, Chow brings an umbrella from his house, but Su refuses to walk back with him. She fears judgmental and mocking eyes, so she is extremely sensitive to Chow's calls. When his landlord returns unexpectedly, she hides in his room, silent, even though they are just discussing a novel. A few words from Mrs. Suen, and she abandons her true feelings, giving up her reasons to meet Chow.

Yet she is also brave. She likes him but keeps her distance in words, drawing closer in feelings. In room 2046, she rushes there with a nervous heart, hesitating at the last moment. She leaves but stays. She often waits for him to say more, but he remains silent.

To him, he thinks she understands his silence and his intentions. She does, but her inherent insecurity as a woman needs his firmer words, which he may not fully comprehend.

In their silent days, they come to understand the feelings of the other two, even finding it natural. Some things don't become impossible just because you insist they are. Love often comes quietly, and unexpectedly.

She loves him but won't admit it. He asks her to act out a final farewell to prepare himself mentally. A long take, a close-up of hands, twitching, struggling. Her internal conflict is evident, and her emotions are laid bare. She lets her tears flow freely but can't take the final step. The oppressive cello music resurfaces.

"If there was one more ticket, would you come with me?" Chow asks Su. Just one sentence. She doesn't get a chance to respond before he interprets her silence as rejection.

"If there was one more ticket, would you take me with you?" In room 2046, she lights a cigarette, needing the smoky ambiance as if he were still beside her.

Then, tears stream down her face.

He has gone far away.

A year passes. The best of times, another year gone. She calls him, still remembering him – perhaps her courage, but he's not there. Some words can't be conveyed by others.

The next call he answers, but she remains silent. If he remembers, he should know who is breathing and thinking of him on the other end. Silence, and he does nothing. So she leaves, taking the embroidered slippers she left in the chaos.

Time flies, four more years. For a woman, the best of times last only four or five years. Su returns to the alleyway. Mrs. Suen is moving abroad, so she rents the room she once lived in. Asking about the neighbors, Mrs. Suen reminisces, while Su tears up looking out the window, still missing Chow.

Chow returns to visit Mr. Koo, but things have changed. Passing by the neighboring door, he pauses silently and then leaves. He still can't believe someone familiar might live behind that door.

They still can't meet. Many who miss each other end up missing each other endlessly. They are not exempt from this rule. Just ordinary people, unable to escape worldly concerns.

The cello music plays, intense and oppressive.

The feelings have fermented in Chow's heart for four years; he can't bear it anymore. With no one to share, he confesses to the walls of Angkor Wat, then seals all his secrets with a handful of dirt.

Her life flows in the mundane world, with no more intersections with him. Their once deep love vanishes into the vast sea of people. Only the tune of their youthful days sings on, beautifully melancholic.

He wasn't brave enough; she was reserved. Thus, they part ways. In the best of times, deeply in love, yet unable to be together. Even the most poignant story is just the worst of love.

So, Wong Kar-wai says. It's an awkward contrast. She always bowed her head, giving him a chance to approach. He lacked the courage to approach. She turned and left. The story ends there.

Those bygone days, were like looking through a dusty glass. Visible, but untouchable. He always reminisces. If he could break through that dusty glass, he would return to those long-gone days.

Yet, even this is self-consolation. No one can turn back time. That era has passed, and everything belonging to it no longer exists.

Light Points

Spotlights help boost visibility — be the first!

Comments
Hot
New
comments

Share your thoughts!

Be the first to start the conversation.

2
0
0
0