Lilting Review

It's impossible to clean oneself of the emotional residue left behind by the loss of a loved one.  Even after years, decades, their ghost may unexpectedly appear in the chords of a song, in a whiff of cologne, in the softness of a shirt.  The pain eases only to flare again, unexpectedly, with all the poignance and poison of that moment,when goodbye was said for the first time, but not the last.  It's not possible to say goodbye for the last time, for the ones left behind.

The protagonists of Hong Khaou's elegiac Lilting aren't so far removed from the tragedy that defines and, in many ways, destroys their lives.  They are left listing, veering ever toward the oblivion of being trapped in the past, reliving shared moments that cannot ever be revisited or repeated.  The film opens with Junn (Pei-pei Cheng), an elderly Cambodian Chinese woman living in London, recounting the last visit of her son Kai (Andrew Leung), only to be shocked back to the present by a visit from one of the assisted living home's employees.  There is only the briefest respite in these dark strolls down memory lane, and at the lane's end, the present loneliness waits.

Lilting beautifully explores the ways people deal with the anguish of loss, and the impossibility of mending all that is torn in the process.  Kai's boyfriend, Richard (Ben Whishaw), attempts to build a relationship with Junn, who doesn't know her son was gay.  Junn is all that remains of Kai, and Richard does all in his power to make her life better.  He visits her, enlists the help of a young woman to serve as translator between Junn and her English-speaking beau Alan (Peter Bowles), and invites her over to sort through Kai's belongings.  Richard walks a fine line, unable to articulate why he's so anxious to improve Junn's living situation (even offering to move her into his apartment) but desperate for her to understand his devotion to her son, and his memory.

Complicating matters further is the lack of a common language, which represents the larger differences between the generations, and the cultures.  The title of the film, with its cheery connotation, refers to the rhythm of discourse that allows Alan and Richard to communicate with Junn through the translator, Vann (Naomi Christie).  The resulting delay adds suspense to rather unremarkable exchanges, as the words are repeated in another tongue, and the one hearing the message is able to react and respond.  Unless the viewer is versed in both languages, there's a hint of ambiguity as we wonder what is being lost in translation, especially as Vann sometimes goes rogue in an attempt to speed the healing process, and help Junn and Richard find a deeper bond.

Whishaw is utterly heart-wrenching.  His Richard is soft-spoken and sometimes bumbling, frustration and even fury bubbling beneath the surface as he self-edits while talking to Junn through Vann.  In his scenes with Leung, the film is guttingly romantic, dappled with sunlight, unflinching in its portrayal of a relationship complicated by secrecy, and authentic in its handling of the build-up to coming out.  Richard tells Kai that they come out all the time, every day, so why should it be any different to tell his mom?  But of course, it's a completely different matter, one that weighs more heavily than the casual comment to everyday strangers, one that requires a different set of emotional muscles, ones that don't get flexed nearly as often.

Cheng is Whishaw's equal, coloring Junn's traditional decorum with an abrasive bluntness.  Junn is as alone in the world as one can get.  She's in a country where she doesn't speak the language, dating a man she can't directly communicate with, and her memory is fading.  But her memories of Kai burn bright, and even with him gone, Junn still fights Richard for her son, clamoring about his ashes as she did for his time and attention while he was still alive.  Forgiveness is a painful process.

We're told that time heals all wounds, and perhaps it does, but Khaou's film shows that it's easier with a little help along the way.  Lilting shows that there is joy to be found in sorrow, and that the most marked moments of recovery are often the most painful and tearstained.  There's a lightness to Lilting that gives the tragic proceedings an optimistic sheen; life goes on, and memories fade, but never completely.  There's always that song to jar the memory, the lingering smell on the pillow, the flash of a morning smile.  It's better to have loved and lost.  And after, there are new loves, of all kinds, to find.