One of the best films to depict what hostile architecture looks like and how it functions in relation to criminalization and urban development. It is not incidental that we see an architect, landscape architecture student, property developers, realtors, and construction workers in this film. Immediately reminiscent of Ann Hui, and indeed there are even recurring actors from her films here (notably Ordinary Heroes).
Doesn't ever address the pandemic but I've not seen a movie so well-tuned to these times. Lands somewhere between Chantal Akerman and Instagram stories, burning through the glossy surfaces of photos and screens to find what lies beneath. Wickedly funny, until it's not.
The struggle to place the shared experience of a queer life (together) between the spaces of a heteronormative routine. Its ending lies somewhere beyond hope or despair—it felt like I was seeing them slide into an acceptance of this asynchronous love, fractured by time and circumstance, and mended in equal capacity by the wordlessness of physical contact. On the one hand, an unsparing depiction of the day-to-day oppression that threatens to tear queer love apart, perhaps without end, and on the other hand, the affirmation that even despite this, queer love can and will persist.
For how minimalist it is, this movie packs a huge punch.
Before my sophomore year of high school, I went to China for a few weeks with my parents. We stayed with my grandparents in Qidong. At the time, they lived in an incredibly shabby apartment—residents don't pay a maintenance fee and the whole building is left to crack and crumble. They had bought a new apartment in a nearby development that was nearing completion, however, and were planning to move there in the near future.
Initially, my grandparents suggested we…