by Ryan Macdonald

Driving out to Seattle today, I couldn’t help but feel great. It was 70 degrees out, the skyline looked magnificent, the mountains were visible in the distance. Everyone was out and about, walking around downtown. What could make this wonderful, sunny day complete? Sitting in a dark room with strangers for four hours, you say? Correct.

Today kicked off the 2011 Seattle International Film Festival. I thought I’d hit the ground running with a double feature, so my first stop was an early showing of Chin Do (Ex) at Pacific Place Cinemas downtown.

Ex is the story of Zhou Yi (Gillian Chung), a young woman who breaks up with her travel guide-writing boyfriend minutes before they’re supposed to get on a plane. As luck would have it, the break-up takes place right next to her ex boyfriend, Ping (William Chan Wai-Ting) and his new girlfriend, Cee (Michelle Wai). Despite Ping’s obvious objections, they give Zhou Yi a ride back to her apartment. Only problem is, she bailed on the lease to go on the trip. Homeless and unable to get ahold of any friends, Zhou Yi ends up crashing at her Ex’s apartment for a few days. During her short stay, both she and Ping constantly relive their relationship and their lives since the split.

Writer/Director Heiward Mak gained a lot of praise last year at SIFF with Love in a Puff, for which she was co-writer. I haven’t seen the whole thing, but what I saw was decent, and I heard good things. So my hopes were high for what was billed as a “romantic comedy” similar to “(500) Days of Summer” and “Desperately Seeking Susan”. Not only are these comparisons erroneous, but I feel they actually hurt my viewing of the film.

Ex is not a comedy. At least not in the American sense. Sure there are several humorous scenes or lines. But this film is not a lighthearted experience. Zhou Yi’s first night in the apartment, she menstruates on the sheets. (are you laughing yet?) This kicks off our first flashback to her and Ping’s relationship years earlier when she…wait for it…menstruated in bed. From this point on, we are shown a portrait of two people who can’t break free from the tedious cycle we call love. We see Zhou Yi getting jealous, angry, throwing things. We see Ping, at first loving and doting, slowly match her anger and jealousy. We see Zhou Yi constantly changing herself for her men; clothes, hair, lifestyle. We see Ping go from passionate designer to platitude-spouting producer. In essence, we witness these two characters experience - via flashbacks - a complete loss of self after losing each other.

The art direction is probably the best part of the film. Ping’s apartment is drab, muted tones of white, devoid of life. Sofas match chandelier covers match drapes. But in the flashbacks, Ping and Zhou Yi’s apartment is vibrant and alive, with saturated reds and blues, lights strung everywhere, picture collages covering the walls. Right away, it’s purposely deceptive. We’re supposed to believe that in the past, everything was fantastical and full of wonder. And for a moment, we’re actually caught up in it.

Mak’s writing has its extreme highs and lows. The first sequence, with the three characters in the car waiting for Zhou Yi to find a couch to crash on, is very real. We’ve all been in that situation, trying to help out a friend who takes waaaay too long to resolve their situation. We’re fed little hints here and there that make us believe it was her fault the relationship ended, her indiscretions that pushed them apart. Yet through the course of the film, we are fed more pieces, exactly when Mak wants, that turn everything sideways and show us no one is to blame, but it’s both their faults. I’ll also credit the writing with two of the best scenes in the film. One is the only sex scene - which happens near the end - between Ping and Cee. She knows something happened with Zhou Yi in that apartment. She doesn’t care. She can’t bear to let Ping go. He can’t bear to be without Zhou Yi. What should have been the most intimate moment in the film ends up being the most uncomfortable and hollow because these characters know exactly what’s going on. The other scene is with Zhou Yi and her carefree, quirky, world-traveling mother. They end up jumping on their hotel bed and discussing life and love; a wonderfully written, whimsical break from the rest of the film that brings its own sense of clarity.

The camera is where things get rough. The opening scene is a time-lapse shot of the airport exterior. Halfway through it, the camera angle shifts, stutters, and then rights itself as if someone had bumped it. It was jarring and unpleasant for an opening. Several shots started and ended abruptly; something it would appear even the editor couldn’t fix. However, the shot that made up for it, at the very end, is of a plastic water glass. Ping had bought it years before because he and Zhou Yi always threw things during fights. Standing in the kitchen with Cee, Ping’s emotions get the better of him, and he drops the glass. In a scene very reminiscent of Up Close and Personal, it bounces and tumbles end over end. At the end of the scene, there’s a close up of the now refilled glass on the counter. We can see the spiderweb cracks, and slowly the water drains and runs in large rivulets over the counter. I loved it.

This film has its problems, to be sure. Not the least of which is the marketing that preceded it. The camerawork was rough, the direction not always fluid or focused. The character arcs flatten towards the end, and our last glimpse of Zhou Yi is a mixture of hope in the future, and roots in the past that doesn’t allow for a clear resolution. But if you go into this film expecting a dramatic, character-driven film full of emotional uncertainty and moments of technical brilliance, you won’t be disappointed. It was worth my time.

Final Grade: C+

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