Learning to Love

A tribute to the vicarious experience of the world of Wong Kar-wai

Love is not something that can be defined very easily. I like to see it as more of an umbrella term; for lack of a more poetic device or articulate manner of expression, it is what one commonly uses to describe a particular emotion that one yearns for and is empty without. To different people it means different things, yet the word is universal, like the emotion. It is a canopy that shelters anyone from the harsh rain in life, even if it is for a moment.

Art arises from this emotion. It is always an ode to the artist's love for a person, a people, a place, or even to oneself. It is a difficult emotion to harness in one's work, but when the artist is capable of doing so, one can do no more than marvel. To communicate this, musicians use the auditory medium, poets and writers use the literary medium, painters and filmmakers use the visual medium, and so on. The quality of their work is defined by the way they express themselves, and by the impact the work has on their audience.

The Love Embrace of the Universe, the Earth (Mexico), 

Myself, Diego, and Señor Xolotl, by Frida Kahlo

Wong Kar-wai is one such artist, whose works have captivated the hearts of many a soul, earning him a significant fan following. His signature style of visual filmmaking helps one vicariously experience the tales that he spins. What attracts people to his stories is his portrayal of love, or the lack thereof. The only emotion that is just as universal as love is the despondence caused by its absence, and it is that very feeling that Wong exploits to craft his films. The intricate relationship between the two emotions is often used to narrate poetic tales of lost love.

I have always struggled with love; not the misfortunes of the protagonist of a Wong Kar-wai film, but rather a deeper struggle. Learning to accept who you are is the biggest step in loving oneself. For most of my life, my sexuality was something I was never really comfortable with. Sure, I knew I'd always liked girls, but when I realised I liked boys as well, the heteronormative environment I grew up in and an overall lack of exposure to queer history led me to believe there was something wrong with me. Repressing who you are only brings about collateral damage, I came to realise later. With time, good company, educating myself, and an introduction to Freddie Mercury initiated a slow healing process. Films also played a major role in making me aware of things around me.

One thing about mainstream queer cinema is a lot of the films dabble in an obscene amount of sympathy porn. Most of the good ones, while largely devoid of this particular aspect, still contain the angle of prejudice that bears down on the protagonist - a barrier they have to overcome. The presence of homophobic characters and dialogue, while not unnatural, can more often than not be counterproductive. This is not necessarily a critique of the films themselves but of the cascading effect of the trope with every new film. For someone looking to heal, I would want to watch a film that validates my existence, instead of being shown the struggles of being queer that I'd already been through over and over again.

Leslie Cheung, one of the greatest queer icons the world has seen, has had only two major roles where he plays a gay man - the first being in Chen Kaige's Farewell My Concubine (1993), a role with a lot of potential, but not realised properly. The second role was of Ho Po-wing in Wong Kar-wai's Happy Together (1997). A film about the troubled relationship between two men seems simple, yet in that simplicity lay something revolutionary. The film is no different from his other works in its themes, but with this, he accomplishes something very few directors have. He shows the world two gay men without the lens of prejudice or societal norms obfuscating its ideals. It was just two beautiful men figuring themselves out, while stuck in the toxic relationship they shared. Such a scenario was unheard of for me.

A poster for the screening of Happy Together as part of the 

CET Film Society's annual film festival Rangam, which now hangs in my room

Inherently a capitalist establishment, the film industry always chooses to play it safe, forsaking humanity in the art for its monetary equivalent. When the norm was still delivering low blows to minorities, with tragic depictions and harmful stereotypes, making a film like Happy Together was akin to a protest against the existing structure. Being queer, for once, did not seem like a struggle; it no longer involved any internal violence. For someone desperate for a beacon of hope, this film was my Holy Grail.

I am not the biggest fan of the romance genre. In fact, it was not until a close friend repeatedly suggested the film to me that I decided to give it a shot. Very few romantic films resonate with me, and Happy Together hit hardest. It wasn't just because it delivered one of the greatest queer (or even plain) romances that the world had seen, but because it taught me to love myself, a concept largely unknown to me back then. Looking at the stories and articles I used to write back then, I can see the change in myself. It's been 26 years since this film came out, and only a handful of others can claim to have had an impact as big as this.

Wong Kar-wai (bottom), Tony Leung (left), and 

Leslie Cheung (right) on the set of Happy Together

Learning about Leslie gave me another reason to feel represented. For the first time in a very long time, I didn't feel alone. I will always be thankful to Wong Kar-wai for giving me a story to celebrate. My subsequent viewing of the rest of his filmography has only made me appreciate him even more. Today happens to be his birthday, and I wanted to express my gratitude for changing my life. Thank you, Mr Wong Kar-wai! Happy birthday! 

And Long Live Leslie!