AFTER YANG: FILM REVIEW
An adaptation of Alexander Weinstein’s short story “Saying Goodbye to Yang,” After Yang takes place in a future where android bots known as “technosapiens” are a part of everyday life. In this story, two parents (Jake, played by Colin Farrell, and Kyra, played by Jodie Turner-Smith) purchase an Asian-designed technosapien named Yang (Justin H. Min) to accompany their adopted Chinese daughter Mika (Maela Emma Tjandrawidjaja). Yang helps around the house, engages in conversation and activities, and provides a grounding cultural presence to Mika — a role that her white and Black adopted parents cannot fill. As time goes on, Yang becomes more than just a robot companion; he expands a family of three to one of four.
Then, one day, the inevitable happens: Yang malfunctions. Mika is devastated, and the family struggles to decide whether to let him decompose or try to repair him. As Jake goes on a hunt to find someone who can help, he learns that Yang has a memory bank filled with seconds-long recordings of moments that Yang deemed important. Jake silently watches some of these montages, and through them discovers that Yang was in a relationship with a girl named Ada (Haley Lu Richardson). Although Yang’s physical condition is poor for most of the film, Kogonada carefully weaves between the present and his past, building a new picture of Yang by piecing together his fragmented memories.
Throughout the film, Kogonada continually emphasizes Yang’s Asian identity. He carefully crafts Yang as a bot meant to subvert tropes associated with what Kogonada calls “the Asian robot” — a character that depicts traditional racist stereotypes of Asians as hardworking but lacking nuanced personalities. While Yang’s physical form is that of a robot, he is anything but the empty vessel that Asians are often portrayed as, particularly in sci-fi. Kogonada ensures that Yang’s memories reveal a rich life that celebrates beauty — not one that dips into hollowness.
After Yang’s philosophy is also reflected in its gentle and dreamlike cinematography. Every scene can be touched and tasted — its delicate, slow-burning mood is difficult to put a finger on. A memory of Yang and his family taking a photo in a lush field is painted over with a dreamlike gloss. Warm, brown tones envelop the quietness in which Jake steeps and brews tea. Closeups of Yang reveal the porcelain smoothness of his face.
Every shot is meant to be fully taken in, as the film is more interested in asking questions about the human experience than it is in attempting to understand where technology will lead us. What do we choose to remember? Do we keep what is most precious to us to ourselves? Yang’s memories don’t hold the answers, but they prod deeper into the most intimate parts of ourselves.