The year 2000 marked the entrance of a new millennia. New hopes, new fears, new challenges. It was the year this film came out, and it was the same year I was born.

With this in mind, I found the introduction of the title so notable, with the Chinese character for 1 (“一”) changing to 2 (“二”) — a parallel with the turn of the century to the changing of a single digit — seemingly insignificant, and yet, greatly affecting.

Perhaps that’s what makes the Chinese title “一一” so significant. Perhaps it speaks of our refusal to accept change. Perhaps it speaks of the lack of change time actually brings. Or perhaps I’m reading too far into it.

Regardless, the theme of change is a common thread in the works of Edward Yang. The fear of change. The power of change. The embrace of change. It was evident in A Brighter Summer Day, and it’s more than clear here.

Here, characters constantly reject what the future may bring, clinging desperately to the past in the hope of maintaining the status quo. It’s an emotional lock that keeps them from connecting with others. To me, the only exception was Yang Yang, an 8 year old boy who is unabashed in his interactions and desires. 

At birth, my blissful ignorance would mask me from the concerns my parents shared for the future, post-Asian financial crisis. In typical Chinese fashion, they would sooner hide their fears than be emotionally vulnerable. 

Evidently, the families of Yi Yi shared these fears, as did many at the turn of the century. Edward Yang paints an intimate portrait of their regrets, their desires, and the brief moments of happiness that punctuate their pain. This is definitely Yang at his most Meta.

Above all, this film is a time capsule. It captures a time when people weren’t just three clicks away from a message. It was a time when human connections were few and far between. It was a time when communicating meant something.

Today, we worry about “what will be?” rather than “what would have been?”. With the rise of mass communication, people online are sooner found than lost. We can no longer share in the pain of lost love the way NJ and Sherry did in this film.

I suppose Yi Yi is suggesting that love only truly exists where it doesn’t. Like the death of a loved one, or the loss of a childhood sweetheart, perhaps it’s only human to realise what was there until it’s gone. Perhaps Yang Yang’s final words in this film speak of Edward Yang’s own hopes to accept change, to accept our mistakes, and to embrace loss as a source of strength, much like a child would. 

As tragic as his death was, I find it wonderfully poetic that this was Yang’s final feature. No film from any other director best encapsulates an era, a culture and a career like Yi Yi. I doubt I’ll ever see another like it.