The Ebbs and Flows of Slow Cinema

Slow cinema is boooooring…Or does it actually play an important role in a world where fast-paced, action films dominate?

*This article was originally published in our 2021 Programme Booklet. It has been adapted and reformatted for the web.

In a dimly-lit scene of what resembles a bedroom, we hear grunts from a young man, face scrunched in frustration. He soothes himself by rubbing his palm over his hard and sore neck. His defeat is tangible, pain swelling to an unbearable peak. His groans reverberate throughout. We are forced to feel every aching sensation that concentrates around this spot that he palms at incessantly. This goes on for longer than viewers would expect.

Many of us have undoubtedly come across films or scenes that focus on still shots, silent sets, and stretched-out sequences. Compared to that of typical blockbusters with their dynamic shots, booming sets, and action-packed scenes that leave no room for the audience to think, slow cinema deviates from the norm. This is done deliberately so to not only involve the audience, but allow us to form our own thoughts.

The Rundown 

Andrei Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1979)

Slow Cinema, or Contemporary Contemplative Cinema (CCC) in fancier terms, is an intentional style of cinematography. Matthew Flanagan defines it as involving “the employment of (often extremely) long takes, de-centred and understated modes of storytelling, and a pronounced emphasis on quietude and the everyday”

Some of the more renowned films in the genre are: Andrei’s Tarkovsky’s Stalker (1972), Carlos Reygada’s Silent Light (2007), and Tsai Ming-liang’s Days (2020)—he also directed The River—just to name a few.

Originating from arthouse films, slow cinema quickly found its way into mainstream media. There has been contention on the purpose of this infiltration. Some critics have branded it as a perfunctory passive-aggressive retaliation against the widely popularised films. Some supporters find that the intricacies and deliberativeness of slow cinema adds to a film’s aesthetic that cannot be rivaled by its more exuberant counterparts. 

Many assert that contemplative films are a form of art that amplifies marginalised voices. They shine a light on the people and issues that often go unnoticed in the overly stimulated reality that we reside in. No matter the reason for its inception, slow cinema operates with an essential role in society, especially one that is obsessed with the extraordinary at the expense of the ordinary.

Fame in Asia

Tsai (left) was named Asian Filmmaker of the Year at the 2010 Busan International Film Festival.

This rings true for films directed by Tsai Ming-liang, a director who has been touted as a Slow Cinema God. Having been at the helm of the Second New Wave of Taiwanese Cinema, he honed his craft to create a canon of films that touch on many taboo social topics dear to him and the Taiwanese community.

For Tsai, he appreciated the ability of slow cinema to portray the intersectionality of life with a single fixed-frame shot. He desires for the audience to be able to see what a mundane life is like, to experience what people feel, to remember the minority that is forgotten to the progress of the majority.

In Asia, we see the prominence of slow cinema. It is not only Tsai who takes in the wonder that slow cinema offers. This is possibly because our forgotten voices are drowned out much more—a consequence of an Asian culture that is community-driven and one that veers towards the pragmatic. 

Even right here in our tiny red dot, we have Solos (2007), directed by Kan Lume and Loo Zihan, a film about relationships outside the norm, in terms of age and sexuality. Had it not been for our stringent regulations, it would have been the first gay local feature-length film. Censors had demanded three cuts to the dialogue-less feature, withdrawing from its world premiere at the 2007 Singapore International Film Festival. For those who have had the fortune of viewing this piece of art, many would notice the thematic and cinematic similarities between Solos and The River. For instance, both films address social loneliness, a recurring theme in Asian contemporary films.

A Slow River

In The River, Tsai employs many of the devices of slow cinema to convey the poignant isolation of individuals—an isolation that is undoubtedly the result of years of sexual repression, gender roles, and an obsession with maintaining “face” by upholding the façade of a perfect family.

The film’s plot is but a mere scratch on the surface in the grand scheme of the narrative. What truly matters is what lies beyond—its pacing, its minimalist shots, and its underlying atmospheric hum borrowed from nature are what marks it as a contemporary, contemplative experience, worthy of our time.

Still from Tsai Ming-liang’s The River (1997)

Throughout the film, the scenes run their course along the same plane of time in real life. The River distinguishes itself by allowing the audience to reflect on what we normally miss out on. These musings have always been a part of our lived experience. By giving us this vacant time to follow along with the characters, it inspires deeper introspection and also a chance to reflect back on our own lives. An act that we, as busy Asians in seek of perfection, have little time for.

There are many films that become famous because of their music—not The River though, it is the lack thereof. The film relies completely on atmospheric sounds with minimal dialogue. Music is often used as an additive to fill in silences between dialogue or intensify emotions. We begin to see a film laid at its barest. The experiences of the characters in the film become exceedingly vivid. The painful grunts and moans become even more authentic, as if we are right beside the characters. similarly experiencing their grief. 

Voice for the Subdued

Contemplative films are more than capable of transporting the audience to a gritty world envisioned by the director. With the way The River was filmed: The pacing that does not offer escape from the recesses of our minds, the still frame shots that demand all of attention, the ambient surroundings that immerse us, it tends to come off as a tad voyeuristic as we peek into this family’s lives. It’s not a far-fetched thought when you consider their family…could easily be your next-door neighbours.

By letting films like these become a part of our lives, what we can discover is a treasure trough of experience from the disenfranchised. It can get uncomfortable when these films hit too close to home, and get “too real”. Yet, this may be what everyone needs, an apt reminder that real things are happening to real people and these are real stories that have to be told.