Change Is Uncontrollable, Your Outlook Is Not (In The Mood For Love and And Then We Danced)

(Originally written on the 10th of December, 2022)

Spoilers for In The Mood For Love and And Then We Danced

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Both Wong Kar Wai’s In the Mood for Love and Levan Akin’s And Then We Danced utilise the trope of forbidden love to comment on their respective societies. The former is a tragedy about moments lost in time and reflects on the great change that Hong Kong had undergone, whilst the latter looks to the progressive future of Georgia and carries a hopeful message of pride and acceptance.

Their opening scenes both immediately establish the specific social pressures and expectations that the characters face. Following its opening text, In the Mood for Love has a tracking shot across a wall of photographs each showing women of generations passed before ending on Mrs. Suen. As will be discussed later, the apartment building is synonymous with society itself and Mrs. Suen, being the landlady, becomes an enforcer of the culture. When Su meets her, she is confronted with these expectations of being a good and loyal wife. And Then We Danced has a match cut from old footage of Georgian dance with the diegetic music of the dance studio to Merab’s class training in said studio, establishing a connection for international audiences between the music & dance and tradition.

In the Mood for Love’s mise en scene and the cinematography that frames it convey the restrictive and oppressive environment that the two leads find themselves suffocated by. The filming locations, whether they be narrow hallways or walled alley ways, become overbearing and intrude on to the frame with blocking being frequently utilised in nearly every single shot, especially when the frames include either Su or Chow or both of them together. The scene in the alleyway during their first evening out together begins with them being framed together until Chow attempts to make further romantic advances, she rejects him and walks away as a tracking shot reveals the metal bars on the walls that she leans against. The next shot frames the two of them together once more, only now the camera lies behind the metal bars as attempting to embrace their desires only reminds them of how they remain trapped by social stigmas and etiquette. For the rest of the conversation, the bars are either in the foreground or background always remaining prevalent.

When blocking with the shoulders of actors or props like lamps in the apartments, clothes in closets, curtains in offices, and booths at the restaurant are not an option, the camera is placed up against the walls themselves, bringing them into the foreground. The first time Chow is shown at work, he is framed through a window frame: it is through office work that he makes his contributions to society, the very one that forces him to abide by the traditional morals and values that trap him in a neglectful loveless marriage. Blocking also serves a second purpose, that being to place the audience in the position of preying, watchful, judgemental eyes discretely glancing around corners. It instils a sense of paranoia in the characters and invokes Jeremy Bentham’s social theory of the panopticon: that even if they are not actually being watched, the characters still conform to society for fear of somehow being seen and judged. Given how the camera is not a diegetic perspective, this social theory of self-policing applies to the two leads with the camera being a metaphorical manifestation of their paranoia. Blocking as a framing technique appears in And Then We Danced during the car ride when the group are singing a socially accepted Georgian song that plays on public buses. As Merab and Irakli sing to each other, the camera pans from the former to the latter with the girl sitting between them always somewhere in the frame closest to the camera, similar to how a woman physically stands between them during the wedding.

These environments become synonymous with their overbearing society, thus making Su and Chow’s first true conversation with each other a noticeable shift in the status quo. When Su goes to see Mr. Koo only to be met by Chow, the beginning of their conversation is shot in a very similar way to her last conversation with her husband. The frame shows only her in the narrow hallway, talking to an unseen man, however the camera is now on the opposite side of her, having her face right rather than left, signifying to the audience that, despite Su comparing the two men at multiple points, Chow presents her with the possibility for different relationship (one more fulfilling). When the discussion shifts to the novel that Chow is writing, the shot cuts to show his face in the frame as Su has connected with him in a way that she, as of late, had not been with her neglectful husband. When she steps inside the apartment, the next shot shows her in the apartment with Chow rather than remaining in the hallway when she said goodbye to her husband. Immediately prior to the second act low-point when Chow offers Su a ticket to Singapore with him, the walls of the apartment complex now separate them with the camera passing through to show them on either side. What was once a piece of the set location that trapped the two of them together now separates them as society and cultures continue onward.

The shot locations of And Then We Danced also embody the oppressive culture at large, only in a far more subtle manner. Around the midpoint Merab and Irakli finally act upon their feelings towards each at Mary’s family home outside of the city of Tbilsi. It is in the woods behind the house where they make love for the first time, away from the conservatives confines of their society. However, similar to the themes of In the Mood for Love, this moment is fleeting and will not come again. The only other sound aside from the two boys is a group of old men talking in the distance. The same is true for the midpoint of In the Mood for Love and the diegetic voices of the other inhabitants of the apartment building when Su and Chow seek to escape the loud and crowded common area of the building by locking themselves in her apartment. The cutaway from Mr. Koo being led to the bathroom to the two leads entering the apartment creates a juxtaposition in how drowned out the clamour outside is. The camera watches them from within a closet with clothes on top of it. To add to the feeling of inescapability is the fact that the clamour remains consistent background noise as even in these private moments, the two can never truly find any peace of mind. For Merab and Irakli, the traditional dogmatic society will always be present.

The theme of fleeting moments of happiness and genuine connection within an oppressive society is shown during the wedding reception at the third act low point of And Then We Danced. The single take tracking shot that follows Merab through the reception, passed the mirror where he stops to look at himself, and finally to the room where he has his final conversation with Irakli is only cut after the conversation ends. The dance studio, much like the private bedroom in the reception, had mirrors. It was through dance that Merab and Irakli first met and through dance that Merab finds his own identity, an identity reflected in the studio’s wall of mirrors. At his most happy, Merab was grooming himself in the mirror in the morning just as he did before he saw Irakli at the reception. But now that the two can no longer be together, their reflections are shown in two different mirrors as opposed to the single wall of the dance studio. Merab, being the protagonist, is reflected in the mirror next to himself, but Irakli, who is leaving him, is reflected in a mirror further away. Like when the two first made love, the diegetic background noise symbolises the prevalent oppressive society, only now it is the very Georgian music that they once danced to: music that forces them to adhere to gender and sexual norms. When Merab leaves defeated, his reflection in the mirror is not shown despite him checking himself in it. He is going back the way he came in another single take, forced by society to let go of his relationship with Irakli only now with a piece of himself seemingly missing.

The film’s characters have posters on their walls that, unlike portraits and photographs from the beginning of In The Mood for Love, convey their desire to break free from society. Irakli has a photo of Messi: a foreign player, opposite to the traditional garb that he wore while dancing at weddings. At the third act low point, Merab takes his two posters of Georgian dancers down whilst choosing to leave the one of Spirited Away (a foreign film) up. The film’s non-diegetic insertion of Swedish music into its soundtrack also serves to create an association between progressiveness and globalisation with the two men being at their happiest together at Mary’s family home. An ABBA song plays as they all party, and Merab gives a private dance for Irakli as the song Honey plays whilst wearing a cultural headpiece almost as if to mock tradition itself. However, it is recurring use of cigarettes that ultimately contradict this anti-Georgian message. Cigarettes are first introduced by Mary with hers being superior to the local ones as they come from England. When he chooses to not sleep in the bed with Irakli, Merab goes outside for a smoke with the cigarettes providing warmth. His intimate moment with Irakli begins with him taking his cigarette and the two smoke before they make love the next night. In a direct response to the priest’s sermon about the dangers of globalisation, Mary admits that the cigarettes were, for the longest time, Georgian, and that there was no noticeable difference between the two. That accepting new perspectives does not destroy a culture. This is seen in the film’s second scene on the public bus where a lady, after appearing openly annoyed at Merab, helps adjust his collar. His deadbeat irrelevant brother ultimately becomes one of his greatest allies and confidants.

In the Mood for Love’s use of music comes in its leitmotif which makes an appearance in moments when Su and Chow cross paths or share a private moment together, specifically after moments when their relationship becomes more intimate and they grow a deeper understanding and appreciation of each other: from acquaintances to confidants, and finally as romantic interests. The slow waltz dramatically reduces the film’s pacing, literally accompanied by slowed down footage. The waltz builds the film’s identity as a period piece set in 1960s Hong Kong. Hearing it invokes a bygone era, and it being a waltz (to be danced by two people) places the emotion on the two characters specifically who long to be frozen in these moments. However, these scenes, like the time period itself, ultimately come to an end. Not all appearances of the film’s leitmotif are from moments of longing however, many come from moments of contemplation. The editing of the frame rate also occurs in a different manner: lowering the frame rate while playing the footage at normal speed when the two realise that their spouses are having affairs, first with Su crying in the shower, and then with the smoke from Chow’s cigarette in the restaurant. It strikes a middle ground between the slowed frozen moments of connection and the normal frame rate of the rest of film. In these moments, Su and Chow’s lives are shaken both figuratively and through the choppy low frame-rate.

Su crying in the shower has a second related scene that it shares a parallel with, that being when Chow is caught in the rain. Both are moments of vulnerability where the two are alone and wet with Su’s tears being a clear indicator of said vulnerability. It is followed by an immediate match cut to the next day with the camera in the same position, only the morning is sunny. The two’s final scene conversation together is spread across two consecutive times in the very same alleyway that Chow found himself in: once during the rain and once after in which she sobs, the motif of falling water remaining prevalent. Change is inevitable and the two leads must learn to let go and accept that fact. Any trace of these contemplative moments will have been lost to time like tears in the rain.

The final scenes of the two films greatly contrast one another in terms of tone and especially setting, ending them on opposite moods. In the Mood for Love ends in an entirely new set location: the Cambodian temple of Angkor Wat. Ending the film on a location so heavily divorced from the rest of the film’s plot and setting (only being briefly mentioned in the third act) makes the events of the film and the two’s entire love story irrelevant. Rather than giving the location any proper establishing shots, the temple setting is only shown in its entirety after Chow departs, ending the film not only on the images of a time long gone but with the idea that the setting and culture was there before and after Su and Chow’s fleeting time together. Rather than grimly accepting it, And Then We Danced chooses to instead embrace its ever changing culture. Merab dances in the same place the film began whilst wearing the traditional garbs (ones given to him by his gay lover), but he does so in a way that subverts expected traditional masculinity. Rather than reminiscing on the lost moments with Irakli, Merab not only looks to the future, but acknowledges the potential for change with good having always existed within the very society that seemed to once be innately oppressive, his reflection being once again seen in the wall of mirrors.