In essence, Wayne Wang's A Thousand Years Of Good Prayers consists of a
single critical conversation. But the participants have been putting it off
their whole lives, and it takes some building up to. So most of the film
consists of empty exchanges and long, quiet pauses; as days pass, they fail to
express themselves, and the tension gradually builds, until speaking finally
becomes easier than silence. The wait is sometimes keen, sometimes dull. But
just as it often happens in real life, once everything finally comes to the
surface, it feels anticlimactic.
Henry O stars as a Chinese widower visiting his only child,
American immigrant and recent divorcée Faye Yu. He's a self-confessed bad father
with no understanding of her relationship, her American life, or her adult
personality; she's a quiet, withdrawn woman with no interest in baring her soul
to her long-estranged dad. So he cooks and spends days at home, trying to
relate to her through her possessions, and attempting to resume a dad role by
ordering her to eat more and get to bed earlier, or lecturing her about her
marriage. There's no heat to his criticism, he's just fulfilling a role, but
it's one Yu doesn't need. The more he presses, the more she evades and fades
away. While their generational, political, and experiential differences stand
in the way of understanding, nothing really happens until they both finally
admit their wrongdoings.
Wang seems to be trying for the reflective silence and
emotionally fraught familial relationships of a Yasujiro
Ozu film, but his characters are too underdeveloped to support the weight of
such expectations, and their internal performances, plus Wang's indifferent DV
cinematography, don't give audiences much to look at. While this film marks a
huge step for Wang, away from his commercial Hollywood fare (Because Of
Winn-Dixie, Maid In Manhattan, the Queen Latifah vehicle Last Holiday, etc.) and back to the indie films that made his name, it's
almost too far a leap. It feels stubbornly distant and lifeless. There's
certainly some sweetness to the film, particularly in O's awkward but
heartfelt attempts at conversation with Iranian
immigrant Vida Ghahremani, who, like him, speaks little English. As with
his daughter, they have little common ground, but with both participants making
an effort, they manage a mutually satisfying communication. But most of the
film isn't as willing to reach out to viewers, and most won't be willing to do
all the work in order to connect with it.