TIFF 2024
▞ Introduction
▞ 8. Band of Outsiders: On Neo Sora’s Happyend
▞ 7. The Soul of an Artist: On Hong Sang-soo’s By The Stream
▞ 6. The Two Maidens: On Trương Minh Quý’s Viet and Nam
▞ 5. The Master and Her Muse: On Jia Zhang-ke’s Caught by the Tides
▞ 4. Self-Studies: On Sook-Yin Lee’s Paying for It
▞ 3. The Inheritance: On All Shall Be Well and The Paradise of Thorns
▞ 2. A World of Pain: On Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s Cloud
▞ 1. Mise en abyme: On Lou Ye’s An Unfinished Film
Neo Sora (director), Happyend, 2024. 113 min.
By the time I arrived at the theatre it was packed.
The film, directed by the son of a maestro, had premiered at Venice to warm reviews.
There was a fierce, sprightly usher securing spots for latecomers like me, who repeatedly made announcements for hands to be raised if there was an unoccupied seat beside them.
I already knew the press to be ruthless when it came to matters like these, but my own desire for a good seat was not strong enough to justify the effort of causing discomfort to others in order to fit myself into an order that had established itself before I’d entered. So, I walked away from the usher and settled myself—and my cup of water—in a front-row seat.
It always soothes me to remember that the critic Susan Sontag preferred to sit in the front row, whereas Pauline Kael, of The New Yorker, preferred the very back. I like to think I ought to be the kind of person who rejects the binary and positions myself in the middle of the centre. But I’m not.
I’ll take what I can get, where I can be as invisible as possible, and easily, smoothly exit.
People continued to arrive; another announcement for raised hands were made; people started to get turned away; the interest the film garnered was more voluminous than its vessel.
I began to feel guilty, as I would be leaving half an hour into the film due to the screening of another film overlapping, which meant I’d be depriving someone else of a full experience. However, one of the privileges of being punctual is securing a spot and deciding when to vacate it.
There’s nothing more humbling than a film festival to remind you you’re not special.
“Beside the hat,” the usher said to a man.
I turned; she was talking about me—I was wearing a hat—and about the seat next to me. She had so quickly reduced me to a label; in other words, she saw me. For the time being, the hat would be part of my identity, another card to add to the deck. Then the doors closed, and the screen came to life.
The model Yukito Hidaka makes his debut in the role of Kou: a rebellious student.
Happyend begins at night, with a group of beautiful students. Yukito Hidaka, making his film debut as Kou, is a highly photogenic model. These underage students try to get into a club simply because they want to feel the beat and have a good time. Initially, their efforts fail—not only because they lack the right credentials or because the price they are willing to pay isn’t high enough, but also due to a language barrier that makes the situation at the door awkward, exposing their youthful ignorance. Forced to think on their feet, they observe their surroundings and find a way to sneak in—which, because this is the movies, they inevitably do.
The way Kou and Yuta, played by newcomer Hayato Kurihara, bond once they are in the club—watching a muscular DJ beneath the strobing lights—has a subtle touch of the erotic, further heightened when Yuta tells Kou that he loves him as they part in the early hours of the morning. This comes after the underground club has been shut down by the authorities, the DJ hands Yuta a USB of the night’s mix, and they sneak back to their school grounds to continue the party in the relative privacy of an institution that is somewhat inattentive—until suddenly it’s not.
They don’t need to say much for us to understand the period of growth they are navigating: staying up all night, outgrowing their age, yearning to experience a moment of collective transcendence—one that pales in comparison to the little domestic and scholastic scenes that remind them, time and again, that they have less control over their lives than they imagine. These sensations are vividly brought to life by Lia Ouyang Rusli’s lush, synth-heavy score for the film—particularly HAPPYEND Theme (Opening)—which captures the essence of Ryuichi Sakamoto and Gary Numan.
School is a drag—a theatre, really—especially considering how seriously the staff, primarily the Principal, take themselves. After all, an institution can serve as a microcosm of the world, reflecting the beliefs and values that society seeks to promote. This approach, however, doesn’t necessarily succeed when you have students from different parts of the world, of other races, whose inability to fit in is the point rather than the problem.
The event that throws everything into relief and reveals the nuanced dynamics simmering beneath is the discovery of the President’s yellow car found astoundingly upright. The order of things is literally upended, and as an agent of power, he seeks to fulfil his role: to identify the responsible party and mete out an adequate punishment. The students face inquiries and endure humiliation (Yuta, being on a scholarship, has this fact thrown back in his face), yet they do not seem to suffer. None of this behaviour surprises them; in fact, they speak up and out, which only intensifies the doubt. If all the students snicker, what can truly be done?
They refuse to let it break their spirits because they are still in possession of them. What the world currently offers is not enough, but they are willing to tough it out until their moment arrives—until they are free to shape themselves in their own image. After a session with the Principal, Yuta finds himself in the company of a girl who admires how he stood up for himself. But then an earthquake—previously teased as a false alarm—occurs and ruptures the film. All the sound drains away, leaving a resounding silence.
Early on in the film, a stunt performed by the two young men lands them in trouble.
What they feared most has happened, meaning all that anxiety didn’t go to waste.
It was about this time that I checked my phone and saw it was exactly the half-hour mark.
Perhaps the best films are the ones that remain unfinished, because they continue to live in the mind as a world that was opened up and never closed—a book lying face-down on the writer’s desk, an event eternally paused, forever alive.
In the weeks that followed, the first 30 minutes of Happyend lingered on the edges of my mind, spritzing me from time to time with its anarchistic beauty and classical terror, the undercurrent of eros, and the hollow pathways leading to moments of bliss and transcendence—when the fabric between the self and the world begins to stretch, tear, and give rise to consciousness.
Self-awareness naturally leads to self-destruction: but what comes after?
I slowly got up and tip-toed out through first set of the theatre’s doors.
“Coming back,” a volunteer waiting outside immediately asked.
“No,” I said. “I have another movie.”
“Enjoy the show,” they said.
I briefly adjusted the hat on my head, and walked away.
How to cite: Nagendrarajah, Nirris. “Band of Outsiders: On Neo Sora’s Happyend.” Cha: An Asian Literary Journal, 4 Dec. 2024, chajournal.blog/2024/12/04/happyend.
Nirris Nagendrarajah (he/him) is a Toronto-based writer whose work has appeared in paloma, Polyester, Fête Chinoise, In the Mood Magazine, Tamil Culture, in addition to Substack. He is currently at work on a novel about waiting. [All contributions by Nirris Nagendrarajah.]
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