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RETURN TO FIRST IMPRESSIONS
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RETURN TO CHA REVIEW OF BOOKS AND FILMS
Sasha Chuk (director), Fly Me to the Moon 但願人長久, 2023. 112 min.
A story fraught with the problems and pain of a broken family, Sasha Chuk’s Fly Me to the Moon offers an honest look into the meaning of connection in fractured familial relationships. The film opens with a sweet family reunion in 1997 where the child protagonist Yuen (Chloe Hui) and her mother, who, having moved from Hunan in mainland China, are finally joining Yuen’s father (Wu Kang-ren) in Hong Kong. However, their time together is only temporary. As the father’s addiction to drugs and criminal tendencies frequently send him back to prison, the family’s years in Hong Kong are marked by separation. The film follows Yuen (Yoyo Tse) and her little sister Kuet’s (Natalie Hsu) journey of growth as the teenagers battle with poverty, confusion of identity as immigrants, and their tangled feelings of anger and disappointment towards their father that continue to fester within them in the years to come.
The father’s addiction to drugs and criminal tendencies frequently send him back to prison
While the father is mostly absent in Yuen and Kuet’s childhood and adolescence, traces of his presence are often palpable, and at times, weirdly insidious. It’s no coincidence that shortly after seeing her father pilfer some candies, the young Yuen steals a watch from her classmate. As an adult, Yuen becomes attracted to men who share her father’s flippant and underhanded tendencies. The outwardly bright and intelligent Kuet, on the other hand, surprises us by taking a path that resembles her father’s. Having received a court letter, Kuet suddenly grows curious about her father’s first imprisonment in his twenties. While it’s unclear what kind of offence she is embroiled in, we get an impression that, in one way or another, Kuet has followed in her father’s footsteps.
What’s more captivating is its portrayal of the different ways they bond with their father
However, the film is not just about the shadow cast over the sisters. What’s more captivating is its portrayal of the different ways they bond with their father. While the grown-up Yuen tries to distance herself from him out of spite and resentment, Kuet is always the one who notices his needs, and willingly reaches out to him. Chuk is intentional in showing the contrast between the sisters, not just through these interactions, but also symbolically through their names. The little sister’s name, Kuet, is revealed only half-way through the film, quite subtly in a letter sent to her. It’s a significant moment, however, because it directs us towards understanding the sisters’ differences through the trope of the moon in Chinese tradition.
As a metaphor for human connections, the moon’s ceaseless cycle of waxing and waning alludes to the joy and fulfilment in relationships encapsulated in “yuen” 圓 (a state of fullness and completion), as well as the flaws and losses in “kuet” 缺 (a state of absence and lack). Given this, we see how Kuet—just like the crescent moon which gradually grows into its full version—persists in finding opportunities to move beyond past hurts and rebuilding her relationship with her father. Lacking the momentum to move forward in this way, Yuen wistfully longs for the bygone, blissful days—the days before her parents’ relationship turns sour, and before all other things in her family fall apart.
Essentially, what runs through the film is an undercurrent that human connections are transient and separation is bound to happen. Chuk’s aesthetic operations aptly materialise the ebb and flow of these relationships and the emotions engendered. Instead of presenting the family’s new life in Hong Kong from the outset, Chuk begins the film with the contemplative image of the father gazing at the undulating waves as he crosses the ocean on a ferry. This opening scene sets the tone for the rest of the story, reminding us of the nature of life which, like the rise and fall of the waves, has its ups and downs. Chuk further enhances the mood by using a recurrent melody to accompany her storytelling. With its smooth flowing chords played in slow succession, the emotive tune creates a fitting ambiance for us as we ruminate on these intricate ties presented in the film.
Fly Me to the Moon might not have the most surprising turn of events, but its honesty has stayed with me. I appreciate how candid Chuk is—not only in her illustration of the major characters’ flaws and weaknesses, but more importantly in her own acting as the adult Yuen. Her appearance in the film seems to tell us that, like Yuen and Kuet, Chuk too is exploring what it means to be in relationship with others, especially with those who have, knowingly or not, left in us some unhealed wounds and still present hurts.
How to cite: Lee, Kammy. “While We’re Still Connected: Sasha Chuk’s Fly Me to the Moon.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 15 Mar. 2024, chajournal.blog/2024/03/15/fly-me-to-the-moon.
Kammy Lee is from Hong Kong. She majored in English at the Chinese University of Hong Kong and completed her MA degree in English Studies. Her research interests include representations of postcolonialism and its after-effects, traumatic inheritance, and narratives of violence. Currently, she has a growing interest in Asian-Anglophone fiction and poetry, and is working towards publishing more of her work.