Yi Yi

Yi Yi carries a conviction that life always advances with its own tempo. Edward Yang creates a world where every person searches for meaning with hope, with fear, with longing, and with confusion, and all of these feelings move together as one. He arrives at a belief that regrets simply exist as part of a life that continues to open before us, and this belief forms the heart of Yi Yi. The film follows people who grow older, who face memories that return with a sting, who feel the ache of choices made long ago, and who still move forward because something new always appears. This sense of life emerges through the smallest moments, and the scene that stays with me arrives when A-Di films his newborn child and later plays the footage with his wife in the hospital. His passing remark that the act of creating life feels cruel carries an honesty that defines the film. His wife searches for the meaning behind his words, and her confusion deepens the moment, since she hears him but does not fully see what troubles him. The scene echoes ideas explored in Wild Strawberries through Evald Borg’s refusal to bring a child into the world, and this comparison strengthens the question at the core of Yi Yi. The film asks why one creates new life in a world filled with hardship and struggle and disappointment, in a world shaped by forces beyond our control. This question remains steady throughout the film, yet Yang’s answer forms gradually through the characters’ experiences. Life possesses its own beauty when we accept it as it comes, and this acceptance grows with maturity. Ota explains that every moment arrives as a first, and this simple truth gives childhood and adulthood their shape. In a later scene, Min-Min realizes that life becomes complicated only when one burdens oneself with fears and second thoughts. Yi Yi shows her and us that the present carries its own promise when we allow it to breathe. This view of life connects to a spiritual thread that Yang places carefully throughout the film. His work often contains religious elements, and Yi Yi gathers these elements into something quieter and more private. Other films like That Day On the Beach and Mahjong reveal more direct commentary, while A Brighter Summer Day presents the middle sister and her devotion to Christian belief, where she speaks of repentance and renewal, and her lessons drift through that film with a delicate insistence. Yi Yi holds its spirituality differently. The clearest expression of it arrives when Min-Min returns from her long retreat and speaks with N.J. She describes her days there as a repetition of teachings that never entered her heart, and she recognizes that the retreat offered no transformation. She understands that real change comes from within and that she used the retreat as a way to escape from pain and responsibility and the uncertainty that shapes every day. Her mother existed in a final stage of life while she sought refuge elsewhere, and this absence creates a subtle ache. Through Min-Min, Yang questions the purpose of spiritual practice when it separates a person from the life they must face. Yang continues a thread that he explored in A Confucian Confusion and Mahjong, yet Yi Yi turns that thread into something more sincere and lived. His critique of a profit driven world emerges through N.J. and his experiences at work. N.J. recognizes the false performance that surrounds business dealings, and he sees how people shape themselves to match expectations that serve nothing but authority and profit. He observes how personal trust vanishes through caution and through fear of loss. Sherry expresses that money finally gives her freedom to act as she wishes, and her admission reveals how much she once surrendered to survive in such a society. N.J.’s colleague shares that he has never felt happiness, and the line carries a surprising warmth because he says it with a cheerful tone, as if the truth simply rests in front of him without bitterness. Through these scenes, Yang reveals how modern life pulls people away from themselves and how relationships become strained when profit rises above connection. Yi Yi continues Yang’s exploration of this theme, yet the film softens the critique through its affection for the people who struggle within the system. All of these ideas flow together into a film that feels full of life. Yi Yi reflects the growth that comes with age, the longing that shapes regret, the confusion that accompanies faith, and the search for meaning within a world filled with pressures and contradictions. Edward Yang creates a film that embraces every flawed and hopeful moment, and through its characters he offers the belief that life always carries the possibility for renewal. The film gently encourages us to move forward with openness, to see each moment as something new, and to trust that existence holds more than hardship. Yi Yi stands as a reminder that life remains beautiful when we allow ourselves to face it with honesty and with a willingness to continue living. ** 98 (+2 total score from previous review)** Story & Pacing: 19/20 (+1 from previous score) Characters & Acting: 19/20 Themes: 49/50 Cinematography & Editing: 5/5 Soundtrack & Sound: 5/5 (+1 from previous score) Memorability: 1/1