‘After Yang’ and sci-fi as therapy | review and analysis

After Yang follows a father’s attempts to save his daughter’s robot brother as the family deals with identity, parenthood, and love

After Yang premiered at the 2022 Sundance Film Festival. A24 will release it in theaters in March.

At its best, science fiction acts as a meditation on something we know through the lens of the unfamiliar. In After Yang, the second film by writer-director Kogonada, the unfamiliar in this case is artificial intelligence, in the form of possibly the closest we’ll ever get to creating a human from computers — a “techno-sapien” as the film puts it. As for what we know, it’s those many things we’re already intimate with: memories, identity, love; the very fabric of our existence. If those sound like lofty themes, they are. It’s an ambitious movie. But those subjects are tackled with the same quiet sensitivity that Kogonada used to direct his egregiously underseen debut feature Columbus.

The opening shot of the movie is of a quintessential family photo; posing are Jake (Colin Farrell), Kyra (Jodie Turner-Smith), and their young adopted daughter Mika (Malea Emma Tjandrawidjaja). Behind the camera is Mika’s brother Yang (Justin H. Min). But he doesn’t join the family immediately — he holds the view of the family photo for a beat longer than most comfortably would. We’ll return to this scene later, and see it play out multiple times, a recurring motif that extends to other moments in the movie as well.

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In one scene Yang says to Kyra, “there’s no something without nothing.” Then we rewind and we hear him say it again. “There’s no something without nothing.” This time, however, he says it with a slight inflection in his voice and the smallest smile at the end. Each scene we see is shown with this staccato editing and sudden cuts. We’ll hear one line two or three times but derive a slightly different meaning each time. Almost like a memory desperately trying to be remembered.

After an incredible opening credits sequence, in which each family featured in the film competes in a massive online Dance Dance Revolution-esque competition, Yang malfunctions. Here would be a good time to mention that Yang is a robot that Jake and Kyra bought to help Mika explore her identity as an adopted Chinese child. Though you wouldn’t be able to tell from looking at him: he’s strikingly emotional and singular as a real human. His breakdown is sudden and has a massive impact on Mika who saw Yang as one of the few people she could confide in. In the process of desperately finding a way to fix him before he decomposes, Jake gains access to Yang’s memories.

After Yang is told through conversations in Yang’s memories and asks a series of questions: How do we perceive our memories and what do we focus on? Why do we like certain things? Why are they important? What details are important? Why are we who we are? If those seem like concepts that are too large to be answered by a single movie, you’d be correct. But Kogonada isn’t interested in answering them — he wants the audience to do so. The movie merely serves as a companion and guide, much like Yang himself is to the family.

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Through his memories, we gather bits and pieces of who he was in relation to these people. In one memory Mika says, “the kids at recess were asking about my real parents. I told them about mom and dad and they said, ‘no, your real parents.’” Instead of giving her platitudes, Yang asks her, “do you believe them?” Eventually, Mika finds her way to her own conclusion.

The beauty of sci-fi is that you can mold it to whatever you need it to be for your story whether it’s a high-reaching epic like 2001: A Space Odyssey or something that feels closer to home, like Her, Arrival, and now, After Yang. Kogonada takes a human problem that will be with us for as long as we’re alive — one of identity, family, parenthood — and wraps it into a futurist story that allows him to explore it with subtlety. More than a film, it’s a meditation on life, and in that way, I’d go as far to say that After Yang is akin to therapy. It takes a problem, so constant and looming in the undercurrent of our lives that it feels impossible to solve, and breaks it down into questions that we can answer. One of those questions is what comes after? After life and death? After each chapter of life ends? What comes next?

There’s no simple or clear answer to these questions, just as there isn’t a satisfying finality to the film. Like the family, we’re left with as many questions as we came in with, but After Yang, we’re better equipped to try and find these answers for ourselves.

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Hey! I’m Karl. You can find me on Twitter here. I’m also a Tomatometer-approved critic.

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