In The Mood For Love: Framed by Infidelity
At the eclipse of the 21st century, Hong Kong director, Wong Kar-wai, follows up a series of excellent releases with a slightly different approach to his style, with In The Mood For Love. His previous major films all focused on situational and consequential relationships that brew with intensity rooted from the violence and anxiety from the professions of those that are falling in and out of love. Yet, In The Mood For Love thrives on its stillness in a situation where the tension of a relationship isn’t driven by thrill or vigor, but rather from the magnitude of love bursting out of two ordinary people.
Wong Kar-wai uses many cinematic techniques to exemplify the emotions of two very quiet and reserved lovers, Mrs. Chan and Chow, who both have incredibly little to say despite an obvious gravitational romantic connection. With two main characters not being characterized through dialogue, one must turn to different ways to characterize two powerful and significant characters. Wong Kar Wai finds use in set and costume design, music, and character movements to define the identity and tension of these characters, but particularly finds excellence in framing in order to portray the extreme questions of morality within their romance.
When thinking of framing in what are commonly referred to as some of the most visually stunning movies ever, we tend to think of the rule of thirds, open spaces, character placement, and other patterns that allow for free thinking and space to breathe. In this film, however, we as an audience are tied down to constricted spaces, such as the quaint apartment space they inhabit, their tense workspaces, and the noodle market they stumble upon each other at. This allows for the focal point of the frame to not be the characters anymore, but more so the space they are in, and their surroundings that seem to be so cramped and borderline uninviting. That sensation not only builds more and more tension, but also secretly gives a valuable insight into the headspaces and moralities of the main two characters.
When both Chow and Mrs. Chan discover that their respective spouses are having affairs, they elect to “not be like them,” establishing a solid foundation of the integrity and principles of them both. This also sets the groundwork for the relevance of infidelity throughout this film, as both of these characters have now experienced the lowly side of romantic betrayal. Their alliance to be more stable and ethically correct in their affair showcases sides of their true personalities by bringing to light their need to respect others and their desire for love that isn’t boastful or hurtful to others. However, when things begin to ramp up, and the two of them begin to start seeing each other more seriously, questions are posed regarding the essence of love, and if the sensation of love is able to pierce through their need for respect and the guilt of infidelity.
This forces both Chow and Mrs. Chan to feel trapped in their own minds, trying to decide whether or not the love they feel outweighs the disrespect they are performing through their duplicity. Somehow, though, neither of them explicitly express to anyone that they feel trapped by their secret, so Wong Kar-wai and his team of cinematographers turn to delicate framing to portray their emotional complex. To do so, they eliminate any breathing room in the frame, placing the frisky couple in tight spaces, like door frames, staircases, or small rooms.
The characters take up minimal space on the screen, while walls, beds, plants, and other objects manage to fill up the foreground, which creates a sense of uneasiness while looking into the risky lives of two lovers. We aren’t sure if they’ll get caught, and neither are they, but they still choose to carry out this relationship, and we still choose to watch them carry it out. These objects impairing our vision of them behaving is a telling signifier of where their head lies while committing their act of treason; they are slowly feeling more and more trapped by guilt over their infidelity, and their walls of morality and respect begin to close in on their unfaithfulness.
All of a sudden, the characters we once knew are covered by objects and aren’t the center of the shots, because they too can’t even see themselves. They are so consumed by their self-respect that when they lose that, they begin to spiral and lose themselves, placing themselves in the passenger seat of their own lives after any certainty of their decency has been pulled out of them. By allowing us to only see them in these restricted spaces, we are also enveloped in this uncertainty of if what they’re doing is right, as the sensation of feeling stuck in a tight room mimics the sensation of not being sure what path to take, infidelity or unhappiness.
That’s the excellence in cinematography at work: creating authentic feelings from the audience based upon how they place characters and their surroundings based on prior knowledge of the characters and their actions. Chow and Mrs. Chan are two people who don’t give a lot of themselves up to others, but still feel so full of life based on their decision to love one another and their desires to feel wanted and heard for who they truly are. So, watching their spaces become narrower and narrower creates a lot of pressure on the audience, because we inherently are rooting for the two of them to work out, though it feels impossible. They are cascaded by negative self-thoughts, ideas of immorality, and confusion on identity, which begins to erupt the more we see either of them in a deprived space.
Despite all of these overflowing emotions of uncertainty and misconduct, the film doesn’t shy away from its sexy nature. When the two operate in their tethered areas, they don’t skip a beat of chemistry, highlighted by impeccable acting, writing, and directing. They both move and navigate spaces in ways that feels so romantic without much flirty dialogue, generating a feeling of stillness that can only be compared to the sensation of being loved. It reminds us that love is quiet, forgiving, and gentle. It doesn’t boast with impurity, it doesn’t make you lose yourself, and it doesn’t shape you into someone you don’t want to be. Chow and Mrs. Chan see each other for who they truly are, despite them not being entirely themselves as a result of their own prior relationship that has exhausted both of them respectively, and the way they quietly observe each other from afar and gently remind each other of their identities through acts of service serves as a reminder of how love should have no barriers.
That’s why the tight framing becomes so frustrating, because Chow and Mrs. Chan are so perfectly fond of each other, and there evidently should be no restrictions on their relationship, yet their looming feelings of uncertainty and guilt remain prevalent because of their own personal integrity. Through all of that, though, their chemistry remains strong and their desire for one another never leaves sight, which displays a powerful message about love. Just how we are able to see Chow and Mrs. Chan love one another for who they truly are despite whatever visual impairments are placed in front of us, love persists as an unstoppable force that breaks down any barriers of uncertainty, self-hatred, and guilt, and it allows for one to be seen and appreciated for who they are regardless of any other thoughts that oppose that belief.
The way that Wong Kar-wai is able to depict such a strong message about love through a tightly woven story of infidelity is a shining example of how he remains one of the masters of characterization and storytelling. He is able to not only put an engaging story into action, but he is also able to give relevant insights into characters through thematic devices and cinematic elements that don’t scream at you, but rest in your mind until what’s on your screen finally strikes emotions in your heart, and make you think about the sensations and feelings expressed in just one peculiar frame.
