If you’re curious to find out where music meets your story, then wander over to 15.22 Cafe and you’ll see the exact phrase painted on its window. I stopped by one afternoon to check out the place and see what kind of mood I’d sink into. I discovered there was a whole lot more to be found. I ordered a coffee, croissant, and plopped down with my laptop ready to take in the scene. On the wall in front of me were a series of photographs. The movie characters inside one of the black frames have been around a quarter century. Although I hadn’t seen the film yet, I knew what it was: Wong Kar Wai’s In The Mood For Love. After visiting 15.22, I figured I may be a few decades late, but now seems like the perfect time to finally dive in.
When I went home, the mood seemed to set itself. Rain gently tapping on the window panes. The closed drapes, only letting in a sliver of light. The bright red light which illuminated my room instead. And plenty of time on the clock to enjoy an afternoon inside. My mission was clear: watch the movie, try to figure out what it means to me, and maybe if I’m lucky understand why it’s on the wall back at 15.22.
You might know the story. Hong Kong, 1962. Husband and wife move into an apartment the same time another husband and wife move in. And from the moment the movers mix up their belongings, the lovers mix up their longings. One of the husbands, Mr. Chow, starts to cross paths with one of the wives, Mrs. Chan. Her husband is always away. So’s Chow’s wife. One night, while both of their spouses are somewhere else, they put two and two together. He has a tie on just like her husband. She has a handbag just like his wife. He asks if she knows about the affair. She answers saying she thought she was the only one. From that point on, tension mounts, though it never quite releases. The couple walk around together, up and down Penrose stairs within tight hallways and tight camera frames. One would reach for the other’s hand. The other would hesitate, pull away, only to reach out the next time they met and receive the same response. One would ask why the other called one day, and then the next day ask why they didn’t. Up and down. Around and around. No escape.
Together the two fight the urge to not become like the other two. Yet, it appears they can’t. They sneak around. They lie. They brood. The pressure to keep appearances weighs on them. So much so, everything looks and feels constrained. Her dress hugs her body. His suit hugs his body. Her hair, neatly coiffed. His hair, neatly combed. They speak in short sentences with short words. They move in quick gaits with quick glances. They play their roles. They rehearse their lines. They become their roles. And soon the line between reality and theater blends. The stage keeps getting smaller. Their performance keeps getting more real.
And yet, much of what they think, they don’t say. Each scene runs on romance and restraint. Everything knotted up inside. Burning. Fuming. This is part of the genius of Kar Wai’s movie — a beautiful example of where music meets your story. It’s at such a junction, where what could, should, or would be said given a different set of circumstances is instead kept inside. As audience members we don’t hear those true emotions and intentions of Chow and Chan, rather we hear music like "Yumeji’s Theme" by Shigeru Umebayashi or Nat King Cole’s Spanish ballads. It’s as if the score is serving as the ‘voice’ that Chow and Chan fail to voice themselves. Especially that of the recurring “Yumeji’s Theme" with its tense, meandering violin that plucks and plucks though never seems to reach any final resolution.
That plucking noise feels like a heartbeat caught between hesitation and desire. Longing. Looping. Lingering. For a brief moment, it makes me remember the story of Apollo, hailed in Greek mythology as the god of music. Depending on which story you read, Apollo’s brother, Hermes, gifted him the first nine-string lyre made from a tortoise shell. Later, Apollo became leader of the muses, the nine goddesses, who possess people with “heaven-sent madness” as Socrates described in Plato’s Phaedrus. Those possessed were inspired to create art of all types. Poetry. Comedy. Tragedy. Music, therefore, can be considered the mother of all arts. Thus, I think the story of Apollo and the story of In The Mood For Love intersect at the idea of performance or the creative act as a means of escaping pain.
Maggie Cheung plays Mrs. Chan. Tony Leung plays Mr. Chow. Mrs. Chan plays her roles in her life — wife, accountant, neighbor, and so on. Mr. Chow plays his roles in his life — husband, journalist, neighbor, and so on. Mrs. Chan and Mr. Chow also play another role — the role of two individuals entangled in some kind of pseudo-affair. And then they play another role, wherein they act as if they aren’t becoming like their actual husband and wife, two people having a real affair.
The strangest parts for me watching the film were when Mrs. Chan finally broke down into tears. She would rehearse what she was going to say and how she would act in front of her husband repeatedly. I had to rewind the movie a couple of times, confused as to what just happened. I wondered, which character of hers is crying? Was it a situation of her playing a role playing a role in which she could finally release the emotions buried inside? Was the act of meta-acting her only form of escape, a way for her to deal with reality without going mad?
Wong Kar Wai is the writer, director, and producer of In The Mood For Love. It’s his story. This may be a stretch, but I think he is playing the role of Apollo here. He is plucking his strings connected to the marionettes on his stage — Mrs. Chan and Mr. Chow. In fact, the music always seems to start playing when something’s left unsaid between the two. For anyone watching the movie, this is maddening. It was for me. It was as if he was sending down the madness to all, the actors and the audience. Together as one, we are both completely at the whims of the story’s creator. There is no release, no healing, no control, only restraint, pain, and surrender. Again, this is the genius of Wong Kar Wai. He is not merely telling a story with music. He is making you dance to his beat, his rhythm, his touch of madness.
Maybe that’s why the film has stayed inside people’s minds for so long, why friends still persuade each other to watch it, and why cafes like 15.22 hang its characters on the wall. It’s not only where music and your story meet. It’s a place that shows you how love and madness will forever be linked, hand in hand, dancing together on stage.
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Header Image Source: IMDb
