take57:/AfterYang/

     "After Yang”, directed by Kogonada, is a contemplative exploration of grief, memory and human connection set against the backdrop of a futuristic society. Exploring themes of identity and artificial intelligence, it builds a quiet, melancholy atmosphere while pondering the philosophical questions of what it means to live and die. The film's success lies not only in its narrative, but also in its deep roots in film theory, semiology and philosophical inquiry, all of which Kogonada skillfully weaves into his minimalist yet emotionally rich style.

    Kogonada is a filmmaker deeply rooted in the tradition of film theory. Before his directorial debut, he was known for his video essays on great auteurs such as Ozu, Tarkovsky and Kubrick. These essays deconstructed cinematic grammar, and "After Yang" reflects a continuation of this academic approach to film. His work echoes the contemplative tone of Yasujiro Ozu, a clear influence, especially in the static compositions, quiet spaces and subtle emotional arcs that dominate "After Yang". The pacing is deliberate, often meditative, reflecting Kogonada's philosophy of silence and observation. This is a direct homage to Ozu's cinematic restraint and focus on 'inner' action - emotions that are felt but not explicitly expressed. Kogonada's work also draws on the visual style of Andrei Tarkovsky, with a focus on time as a medium. Like Tarkovsky, Kogonada allows shots to linger, emphasising the weight of each moment and creating a cinematic space that allows the viewer to reflect on the larger themes at play.

    From a semiological perspective, "After Yang" is a treasure trove of symbols and signifiers. The central plot revolves around a family's grief over the malfunction and eventual "death" of Yang, a humanoid AI who has become part of their family. Yang serves as both a character and a symbol, representing humanity's evolving relationship with technology, memory, and identity. Kogonada uses Yang as a vessel to explore how memories and identities are constructed, whether human or artificial. His malfunction brings forth questions about what it means to be human and, more importantly, what it means to be a family. The memory chip inside Yang, which stores snippets of his life experiences, becomes a semiotic device, functioning as a metaphor for the ways we remember and archive our own lives. Moreover, Yang’s character represents the complex intersection of the posthuman and the personal. His status as both “other” and “self” disrupts traditional binaries in semiotic terms. He is a robot, but his consciousness and emotional bonds challenge conventional definitions of both humanity and autonomy. In this sense, Yang becomes a floating signifier—an entity that can embody multiple meanings depending on how one interacts with him.

    Philosophically, "After Yang" delves into existential and phenomenological inquiries. At its core, it questions what it means to be alive. Does life require organic matter? Or is it simply the sum of experiences and memories, as Yang's memory chip suggests? The film's exploration of identity through Yang’s fragmented memories evokes philosophers like Maurice Merleau-Ponty, who explored how memory and perception shape identity. Yang's experiences, though incomplete and seen through the lens of artificial intelligence, still carry emotional weight and provoke the same existential questions that apply to humans. Furthermore, Kogonada’s film subtly touches upon Heideggerian themes of "Being" and "Being-toward-death." Yang’s gradual breakdown, the family’s struggle to reconcile their loss, and their attempts to find meaning in his memory all resonate with Heidegger's ideas of mortality as a defining aspect of existence. The family's interaction with Yang’s fragmented consciousness mirrors Heidegger’s conception of human existence as finite and always in relation to death. In particular, Yang’s memories reveal not just his own experience but also the experience of being observed. This ties back to phenomenology, where perception and the act of being seen alter the essence of one’s existence. As the family watches his memories, they not only learn about Yang but also discover fragments of themselves within the memories.

    The film's cinematography, by Benjamin Loeb, enhances its philosophical depth through a restrained and minimalist visual style. The visual aesthetic can be traced back to several cinematic movements, most notably slow cinema, a genre characterised by long takes, minimal action and a focus on contemplative spaces. It's a movement associated with filmmakers such as Béla Tarr, Chantal Akerman and Tsai Ming-liang, and it's clearly a major influence on Kogonada's approach. The use of colour and composition is another crucial aspect. Muted tones and deliberate framing make the film feel almost like a series of still-life paintings. Each frame is carefully constructed to evoke a sense of tranquillity, but also hidden depth. The still camera and symmetrical compositions are reminiscent of Wes Anderson, but here they serve a more meditative purpose, contributing to the overarching themes of memory, loss and identity rather than comedy. The influence of "modernist cinema" - particularly the "minimalism" of Robert Bresson - is also evident. Kogonada avoids over-explanation, trusting the audience to engage intellectually with the material. His reliance on static images, simple dialogue and an emphasis on everyday interactions echo Bresson's stripped-down approach to character and narrative.

    The script, written by Kogonada, follows a non-linear structure that mimics the fragmented nature of memory. The story is told in flashes, from the present day to fragments of Yang's memories. This creates a tapestry of perspectives, allowing the audience to see not only Yang's life, but also how each member of the family relates to him in different ways. The non-linear form is reminiscent of the work of auteurs such as Terrence Malick, where time flows less as a sequence of events and more as an emotional landscape. Kogonada's writing blends science fiction with intimate drama, using AI and technology as a backdrop to explore very human concerns. The dialogue is sparse yet emotionally resonant, reflecting the director's ability to communicate through silence and subtext. He avoids the pitfalls of conventional storytelling by not delving too deeply into the mechanics of the AI world, focusing instead on the emotional resonance of living alongside such technology. In this, the film is reminiscent of Spike Jonze's Her, which also used AI as a tool to reflect on human relationships and isolation.

    Kogonada's choice of narrative structure reflects the philosophical implications of the story. Time in After Yang is not linear but cyclical, a concept echoed in Eastern philosophies such as Buddhism, which emphasise the continuity of existence through life and death. Yang's fragmented memories, when viewed together, form a circle of experience that brings his existence into harmony with the lives of his family. The circularity of time and the non-linear narrative approach are also reminiscent of Wong Kar-wai, particularly in films such as In the Mood for Love. Wong's use of fractured narrative and emphasis on mood over plot resonate deeply with Kogonada's approach in "After Yang".

    "After Yang is a masterful fusion of science fiction, philosophy and art-house cinema. Kogonada's influences - from Ozu to Tarkovsky, from slow cinema to modernism - are evident in his deliberate pacing, minimalist aesthetic and reflective tone. The film asks profound questions about memory, identity and what it means to be human, using the language of cinema to explore these themes in a restrained yet emotionally powerful way. Weaving together narrative fragmentation, philosophical depth and a slow, contemplative style, After Yang is a deeply personal and universal reflection on life, loss and what it means to truly live.