Last weekend, I finally got to watch Dìdi (弟弟) (2024), a feature film written, directed, and produced by Sean Wang. Spoilers ahead.
Synopsis: In 2008, during the last month of summer before high school begins, an impressionable 13-year-old Taiwanese American boy learns what his family can’t teach him: how to skate, how to flirt, and how to love your mom.
DiDi was heartwarming and funny, but equally as heartbreaking and uncomfortable - much like the lived experience of being a teenager. The visual format of the film was like a combination of Searching (2018) and Everything Everywhere All At Once (2022). There was so much nostalgia packed into each scene, from AIM chatrooms to old YouTube to the social hierarchy-defining MySpace Top 8. The early, simplistic makings of social media still left room for a life outside (or one yet to be discovered).
Teen angst is the leading motif but so is teen joy. You really feel for the character Chris as he navigates the pressures of growing up without a father present, the resentment toward his mother who loves him but doesn’t understand him, and the desire to be liked by friends who don’t really like the same things as him. But through moody, shaky, and earnest cinematography, you get to feel the release Chris feels when he starts channeling his focus into a creative medium (making skate videos), or when he starts running (literally) from responsibilities. It is this constant teetering between two ends that we find ourselves alongside Chris, free to be someone but unsure of “who” that someone is meant to be.
Pictured: Roxanne taking a selfie in her cousin’s bathroom in 2010.
What I loved most about DiDi is seeing myself in Chris’ experiences. This movie is not one with a clear hero’s journey timeline or resolution. It truly is a bittersweet, coming-of-age retrospective. Yes, I also had a rough sibling dynamic with my sister and never expected us to grow close. And while I didn’t grow up with immigrant parents and am very American compared to my peers who did, I still lived a rather limited childhood both because of scarcity and cultural values. My parents themselves were creatives who gave up on pursuing the arts full-time to survive - and as a result, I was taught that hobbies were a distraction from success. Without much of a visible outlet, I never quite felt like myself, and expressing myself did not come easily at all. I never had a Myspace - I wasn’t allowed - but I had AIM and Facebook. The internet was my safe space because it was much smaller then, a community more accessible and within reach for someone who didn’t really get out much.
In China, there is a very popular saying that goes: “头可断,血可流,面子不能丢 (my head can break, my blood can bleed, but my “face” cannot be lost)!” It sounds comical enough, but many people live by this statement, though not in such an extreme way. A majority of Chinese people, myself included, are very obsessed with how they are perceived by others. We would rather be physically damaged than to have their public image tarnished. I think this phenomenon is due to the self-consciousness enforced upon us from a young age (…)
The idea of “saving face” can also be analyzed as a reflection of the lack of vulnerability in Chinese culture.
-Eva Zhong for Dear Asian Youth
The concept of “saving face” is one that I allude to often throughout my writing. Aside from the above Chinese interpretations of it, I also experience similar ideals through Filipino culture in the form of “kapwa” mentality - or, the idea that our cultural interconnectedness creates a shared identity that we must uphold.
I wouldn’t say I’m a people-pleaser in the most obvious and immediate ways. I don’t always care about everyone’s opinions. In fact, I rarely do. But I do take very seriously the opinions, especially criticisms, from people I feel close to. And that can often backfire when I overinvest my care and attention, or when I’m already anticipating and assuming that I’ll receive those criticisms - some of which never actually materialize.
This is why I also found it interesting and resonant how a lot of the pressure Chris felt came from his own perception of being perceived. This happens naturally throughout life not just in adolescence, but even after leaving the theater I could not stop thinking about director Sean Wang’s portrayal of these tiny nuances that drive larger decisions. The most significant examples of this were reflected in Chris’ skate friends: They were older but weren’t actually the “bad influences” they might have been painted to be. At a time when Chris felt the growing pains of being abandoned by his childhood friends, the skaters always looked out for Chris, made sure he had a ride, included him and believed in his craft as an artist. They took him to parties but didn’t drink much themselves or force him to, even though Chris felt like he had to push his own limits to keep up with the cool kids. Then finally, when the skaters came to Chris’ home to watch the videos, they were not only turned off by the poor quality of the videos but also by how Chris treated his very caring mother.
Chris’ main motivation is for people to be proud of him, to affirm that he’s not a fuck-up. He wants to be perceived and have control over how that happens, but the truth is we can’t control how people react to us. We can only control our response.
Through Act Two, we watch his confirmation bias unfold, as he self-prophesizes his own rejections and failures instead of owning up to them. When everything starts to boil over and Chris takes out all his resentment on his mom during a heated argument in the car ride home, he runs away. He returns home the next day to find her just reading - waiting - in her room. He asks her why she didn’t go looking for him. What follows is a beautifully executed (but somewhat disagreeable) keynote monologue from actress Joan Chen, in which Chris’ mom expresses that her children were her dream.
First of all, where did Chris get such an openly supportive and understanding parent? Because I’ve also run away from home and said similar things out of anger and I did not come home to a hug and a tearjerking speech, that’s for sure lol. I think that’s probably the only instance that broke the illusion for me.
I don’t want this statement to come off as a criticism for the movie as a whole, because overall I really enjoyed everything DiDi had to offer. As a third-generation American, I understand contextually that this is meant to be a restorative connection. I just simply do not think we should continue the narrative that it’s okay for people to give up on their own dreams just because they have children - it is an act that happens at times because of survival but not the only option we ever have.
For the purpose of the film, I get what the truth of this mother-son interaction means and how it provides both an ending and a beginning for our characters once the screen fades black. But I think I was hoping for such a tender moment to take away some of the pressure that had been piling up, burdening Chris the entire time. Instead, at least from my POV, that pressure just became more apparent.
Perhaps for Chris, the talk with his mom was a necessary moment to better embrace his true self. The film ends as the new school year starts, leaving the audience with just as much uncertainty for the future as any freshman walking the halls and signing up for Visual Arts Club for the first time.
Here are my takeaways/questions for you:
What would you tell your high school self?
How do you reshape uncertainty into excitement?
If you have a sibling or a parent who you don’t get along with, what is a way you can see them differently? You don’t have to force a connection or a relationship, but how might you be a catalyst for change if the opportunity allowed itself?
If you have not watched DiDi, go watch it. Do not let this post keep you from drawing your own connections to and from this brilliant visual story. Everyone who comes across this film will have something they relate to, guaranteed - even if you are not an Asian-identifying person.