Philip Yung's Papa is like an unfinished painting: grand in composition and heavy in tone, yet marred by the absence of detail and the disorder of its structure. This film, which should have pierced straight into the heart, lingers instead in a realm of unfulfilled exploration. Lau Ching-wan breathes life into the story with his masterful performance, especially in several close-up shots where his subtle facial expressions are acutely controlled and deeply evocative. However, even his brilliance cannot compensate for the film's inability to marry emotional depth with coherent storytelling.
The Weight of Emotion, the Featherlight Narrative
Papa begins with a premise brimming with emotional intensity-a father grappling with the unbearable truth that his son has become the murderer of his beloved wife and daughter. The film attempts to piece together fragments of memory into a mosaic of life through a nonlinear narrative. Yet, such a method demands exceptional control, and here the film falters. The frequent shifts between chapters create a sense of disarray, leaving emotions underdeveloped. The audience, caught in this hurried and fragmented dreamscape, struggles to grasp any pivotal moment. This disjointed approach, though perhaps aiming to mimic the erratic nature of memory, ultimately lacks a central emotional anchor, leaving viewers fatigued rather than moved.
The Absence of Detail, the Loss of Authenticity
While the director demonstrates a certain depth in handling emotional themes, his treatment of finer details feels careless. The most glaring example lies in the film's failure to evoke a sense of time. A scene set in 1997 is unmistakably populated with the modern streets of Hong Kong. The costumes and appearances of the characters remain unchanged, making it nearly impossible to distinguish past from present without relying on the opening subtitle. This oversight not only confuses the audience as the film traverses different time periods but also strips the story of the richness and authenticity that a well-crafted setting could have provided.
Even more troubling is the lack of logic in some character actions, which undermines emotional resonance. In one rain-drenched scene, a mother and daughter share a single umbrella. Yet, inexplicably, the mother chooses to shield herself, leaving the child exposed to the rain. Such behavior defies both logic and the natural instincts of a parent, rendering the moment not only unnatural but emotionally distancing. These lapses in detail diminish the credibility of the characters and disrupt the audience's ability to empathize with their struggles.
Lau Ching-wan's Solitude and Silent Eruption
Despite the film's structural and narrative shortcomings, Lau Ching-wan's performance remains its brightest beacon. In several close-up shots, his mastery of microexpressions is breathtaking. His face becomes a canvas, portraying the conflict, pain, and helplessness of a father torn apart by unimaginable loss. In a single gaze, he conveys the storm of anger, love, and despair brewing within-emotions so palpable they resonate without the need for words.
Lau's performance in Papa proves that true acting does not require grand gestures or dramatic proclamations. It lies in the smallest flicker of emotion, the most restrained gesture, and the ability to make the audience feel the soul of the character. His portrayal of a father's solitary agony is like an open wound, raw and unhealed, leaving viewers silently devastated.
The Excess of Symbols, the Diminished Impact
The film is laden with symbolic elements-three-colored cats, cotton trees, Doraemon figurines-each striving to lend the story an air of poetry and metaphor. However, these symbols remain superficial, never fully integrated into the narrative or emotional landscape of the film. They float like ornaments on the surface, drawing momentary attention but failing to penetrate to the core of the story. In attempting to craft layered meaning, the film ironically loses sight of the fundamental need for emotional authenticity and cohesion.
Conclusion: An Unfinished Poem, an Uncompleted Painting
Papa is a film brimming with ambition, seeking to explore the limits of love and redemption. Its story is profound, its emotions weighty, yet the absence of detail and the chaos of its structure render these noble intentions blurred and indistinct. Lau Ching-wan's performance is like a solitary lighthouse, illuminating the darkest corners of the film's emotional depths, but the lack of a strong supporting foundation leaves his brilliance isolated.
This is a film worthy of respect for its courage and sincerity but one that also invites regret for its flaws and missed opportunities. It is like an unfinished poem or an incomplete painting, leaving behind not only a sense of thoughtfulness and reflection but also a lingering sigh of disappointment.
