Everything or Nothing?: PULP Reviews Millennium Mambo
Millennium Mambo (2001) Directed by Hou Hsiao-Hsien
I went into Millennium Mambo (2001) knowing very little, except that it was a drama that promised pretty colours from its advertisement. When it finished, my friend turned to me and asked, “what did you think?” and I found myself unable to mould the emotions the movie elicited into a coherent sentence—I felt deeply empty, but profoundly complete, all at once.
Set in the neon landscape of 2000’s Taipei, Millennium Mambo follows the story of a woman named Vicky, remembering her life from ten years before, when she was stuck in an abusive relationship with a man named Hao-Hao.
The opening scene, a slow motion shot of Vicky walking through a seemingly endless tunnel was immediately captivating. The shot is shaky, like we are moving with her. She occasionally looks back, as if to check if we are still following, but continues forward, signifying how she is able to move past the tumultuous events of her youth. Vicky’s soft narration accompanies the opening, and appears again in several moments throughout the rest of the film.
At times, it felt as though the film dragged. This occurred during the slower scenes, where Vicky is simply living; cooking, sleeping, walking. There is no particular climax of the film, though there were several moments where I felt on edge, usually when Hao-Hao harasses Vicky. There was a scene in particular, where Hao-Hao continuously tries to kiss Vicky’s neck, and she simply smokes a cigarette, in which I was squirming in my seat, as if somehow this movement would help Vicky get away.
There is not a lot of music in this film, making it feel a little empty at times. Though the diegetic sounds—doors opening and closing, the lighting of a cigarette, clinking of beads—made it feel life-like, the film itself feels like a memory, or a recurring dream we cannot escape from. Vicky returns to the same person and the same place “as if under a spell." Eventually, Vicky meets Jack, an older businessman who treats her with genuine care and softness, starkly contrasting Hao-Hao. I felt her hope softly brimming through the screen, as she started conceiving a different future for herself:
Vicky asks Jack, “you think I could work in a coffee shop?”
Jack replies, “why not?”, and they both smile.
In a beautiful scene reminiscent of The Perks of Being a Wallflower (2012), Vicki stands up in a convertible driven by Jack, arms held high, and time begins to slow. Finally, I think, this is her liberation. However, Doze (Jack’s friend) then gets in trouble, so Jack leaves for Japan to assist. He leaves Vicky alone, as she is sleeping. Towards the end of the film, when Vicky is by herself, the narration has fully ceased. We get several quiet scenes with her. Mostly lying in her bed and watching the trains rush past. Jack never shows up. He never calls either. She wanders around Taipei with the cell phone Jack left her. It is a series of moments which feel increasingly heavy; the ecstasy is gone, her face starts to hollow. But still, she eats her noodles, watches tv shows, and hangs Jack’s coat around her. She is still weighed down by her pain, but very slowly, she begins to move with it, towards something new.
The movie ends with a scene of a snowy street, warm lamps softly glowing in the dark. The score, which was electronic and ambient, was wonderfully crafted. It deepened the setting by creating a pulsating sonic soundscape, evoking a feeling of losing oneself in waves, but always finding a way to return.
On the drive home, Vicky’s narration echoed in my mind,
“Yubari’s winters are very cold. It is the country of snow men. Hao Hao is just like
the snowmen. He would vanish as the sun came up. That year, there was very
heavy snow in Yubari.”
Millennium Mambo is every regret, every painful memory, and every lost person we find ourselves consistently drawn back to. Vicky never takes her final exam, never finishes high school. But still, she places her face in the snow and smiles, and that to me, is everything.