Baba

This film, to me, feels like the Asian version of An Anatomy of a Fall - not story-wise, but the viewing experience. It kept me on edge and indulged me with a mix of emotions the entire time.

The subtle storytelling and well-placed moments of ambiguity dilute the raw impact of the tragic event itself. The director refrains from simplistically attributing blame or offering an easy emotional outlet for the audience. Instead, the movie delicately and silently guide viewers to witness how an ordinary father comes to terms with the absurdity of reality in the face of such a tragedy. It's one of the most lingeringly powerful films I've seen in years.

Highly recommended.

It is never easy for viewers to sit through a movie that revolves around real life tragedy such as this.

The movie goes forth and back in storytelling and it flows seamlessly like potraying the memories of the father.

The father is suffering in silence and trying to find answers from his son's action. They are some pointers throughout the movie in probably hinting what was wrong with the son such as the sudden change of expression at the dining table or the food delivery scene.

There is no overacting and Sean Lau did a marveilous job in his role.

The ending is a reminiscent of inception. Was it real or a dream?

Philip Yung's Papa is like an unfinished painting: grand in composition and heavy in tone, yet marred by the absence of detail and the disorder of its structure. This film, which should have pierced straight into the heart, lingers instead in a realm of unfulfilled exploration. Lau Ching-wan breathes life into the story with his masterful performance, especially in several close-up shots where his subtle facial expressions are acutely controlled and deeply evocative. However, even his brilliance cannot compensate for the film's inability to marry emotional depth with coherent storytelling.

The Weight of Emotion, the Featherlight Narrative Papa begins with a premise brimming with emotional intensity-a father grappling with the unbearable truth that his son has become the murderer of his beloved wife and daughter. The film attempts to piece together fragments of memory into a mosaic of life through a nonlinear narrative. Yet, such a method demands exceptional control, and here the film falters. The frequent shifts between chapters create a sense of disarray, leaving emotions underdeveloped. The audience, caught in this hurried and fragmented dreamscape, struggles to grasp any pivotal moment. This disjointed approach, though perhaps aiming to mimic the erratic nature of memory, ultimately lacks a central emotional anchor, leaving viewers fatigued rather than moved.

The Absence of Detail, the Loss of Authenticity While the director demonstrates a certain depth in handling emotional themes, his treatment of finer details feels careless. The most glaring example lies in the film's failure to evoke a sense of time. A scene set in 1997 is unmistakably populated with the modern streets of Hong Kong. The costumes and appearances of the characters remain unchanged, making it nearly impossible to distinguish past from present without relying on the opening subtitle. This oversight not only confuses the audience as the film traverses different time periods but also strips the story of the richness and authenticity that a well-crafted setting could have provided.

Even more troubling is the lack of logic in some character actions, which undermines emotional resonance. In one rain-drenched scene, a mother and daughter share a single umbrella. Yet, inexplicably, the mother chooses to shield herself, leaving the child exposed to the rain. Such behavior defies both logic and the natural instincts of a parent, rendering the moment not only unnatural but emotionally distancing. These lapses in detail diminish the credibility of the characters and disrupt the audience's ability to empathize with their struggles.

Lau Ching-wan's Solitude and Silent Eruption Despite the film's structural and narrative shortcomings, Lau Ching-wan's performance remains its brightest beacon. In several close-up shots, his mastery of microexpressions is breathtaking. His face becomes a canvas, portraying the conflict, pain, and helplessness of a father torn apart by unimaginable loss. In a single gaze, he conveys the storm of anger, love, and despair brewing within-emotions so palpable they resonate without the need for words.

Lau's performance in Papa proves that true acting does not require grand gestures or dramatic proclamations. It lies in the smallest flicker of emotion, the most restrained gesture, and the ability to make the audience feel the soul of the character. His portrayal of a father's solitary agony is like an open wound, raw and unhealed, leaving viewers silently devastated.

The Excess of Symbols, the Diminished Impact The film is laden with symbolic elements-three-colored cats, cotton trees, Doraemon figurines-each striving to lend the story an air of poetry and metaphor. However, these symbols remain superficial, never fully integrated into the narrative or emotional landscape of the film. They float like ornaments on the surface, drawing momentary attention but failing to penetrate to the core of the story. In attempting to craft layered meaning, the film ironically loses sight of the fundamental need for emotional authenticity and cohesion.

Conclusion: An Unfinished Poem, an Uncompleted Painting Papa is a film brimming with ambition, seeking to explore the limits of love and redemption. Its story is profound, its emotions weighty, yet the absence of detail and the chaos of its structure render these noble intentions blurred and indistinct. Lau Ching-wan's performance is like a solitary lighthouse, illuminating the darkest corners of the film's emotional depths, but the lack of a strong supporting foundation leaves his brilliance isolated.

This is a film worthy of respect for its courage and sincerity but one that also invites regret for its flaws and missed opportunities. It is like an unfinished poem or an incomplete painting, leaving behind not only a sense of thoughtfulness and reflection but also a lingering sigh of disappointment.

How does one forgive the unforgivable?

Based on the 2010 Heung Wo Street murder case, Papa is a melancholic character study of a family tragedy, led by two great performances from Sean Lau and newcomer Dylan So.

Nin Yeung, the owner of a 24-hour Hong Kong style cafe, deals with the aftermath of a family tragedy. Some time ago, Nin's mentally unstable son Ming murdered his wife Yin and daughter Grace.

Phillip Yung, writer-director behind Port of Call and Where the Wind Blows, directs with a fine comb, employing a non-linear structure that mimics blurred uncomfortable memories bubbling to the surface.

Sean Lau has had a unique career trapeze walking the line between a character actor and a leading man. Lau works completely in commercial films, but more often than not, he is tasked to carry and elevate his movies like a character actor would.

These tasks include convincingly delivering bad dialogue (Crisis Negotiators), grounding a fantastical premise (Warriors of Future), acting crazy (The Mad Detective), being an overtop villain (Fat Choi Spirit), doing a celebrity impersonation (Fantasia) or carrying a weak co-star (Driving Miss Wealthy).

Papa breaks this pattern.

Phillip Yung gives Sean Lau free reign like never before, relieving him from additional duties and letting him peel the proverbial onion.

Lau delivers a naturalistic portrayal of grief and numb confusion over this family tragedy and how to reconcile with his son Ming. Nin wants to deal with the tragedy head-on and reconnect with his son in earnest, but his subconscious can't quite handle it...

Lau performs in silence, with the apartment as his scene partner. Lau plays the torment all in his eyes. Did Nin fail as a parent and inadvertently cause this family tragedy? What could he have done to avoid this? Can he forgive his son?

As the son, Dylan So is chilling. He gives an emotional depth that had me wondering if the character was psychotic, schizophrenic or lost in a moment. There are seemingly hopeful moments of empathy and remorse seeping through, and that uncertainty is how it would really be like.

The audience waits with Sean Lau, searching in his son's darting eyes, eagerly awaiting hope, reconciliation or an answer-anything!

My heart goes out to the real-life father of this tragedy and I wish him the best. I could only imagine how triggering it would be to have a movie based on your family tragedy.

Phillip Yung is sensitive to this, handles the material with surgical hands, and explores the Nin's dilemma deeply and honestly enough that the film is artistically justified.

This a film that base on an real life tragedy, given the realistic nature of it, the way this film layed out was closer to a documentary that were displayed in an artistic manner to tell the tragedy, the film is split into couple chapters, each focusing on individual family member daily connection on Sean Lau. And of course we only see a glimpse of the memory, nothing too dramatic about it, but it feels very grounded. The director also use a big portion amount of screentime on some artistic shot with no dialogue, which can leave a lot for the audience to decipher the about message the director want to tell in those shot, but the meaning of each might be differ to each audience depends on the interpreation.

The best part about this film is Sean Lau excellent performance as well as the realism of the film.

The film is a little slow paced for my liking, but I enjoy it nevertheless.