Edward Yang’s family drama earns its 174 minutes through patient performances and an unusual interest in everyone on screen. A few stretches feel overextended, but we recommend it even to viewers who normally avoid films this long.
We would recommend Yi Yi to someone who normally regards a 174-minute family drama as a threat to the evening. Edward Yang gives each person enough attention for us to become interested in worries that might sound unremarkable when recounted afterwards. The writing allows decency to be awkward, incomplete and sometimes insufficient; being fond of someone does not make it easy to understand them. That could become a rather improving experience, but the performances keep bringing us back to particular people.
Wu Nien-jen is especially good as NJ, with a reserve that never feels like an actor withholding information for effect. We were moved by his hesitations: he makes the effort of deciding what to say feel as important as the words. Elaine Jin Yan-Ling gives Min-Min a comparable weight without making the two performances feel interchangeable. Both leave enough unspoken for us to watch their faces rather than wait for the next line.
Kelly Lee as Ting-Ting and Jonathan Chang as Yang-Yang are just as necessary to the film’s success. Edward Yang takes their concerns seriously, and neither performance seems arranged simply to make the adults look foolish or wise. Jonathan Chang, in particular, has a directness that gives the film welcome lightness without asking for indulgence. Younger characters can become convenient illustrations of what their elders have forgotten; here we keep wanting to hear from them.
Yang Wei-han’s cinematography encourages us to look beyond the person who happens to be speaking. The clear backgrounds matter because our attention can settle elsewhere in the frame without losing its way. Kaili Peng’s production design supports that freedom: the surroundings remain interesting without competing with the actors for notice. The effect is quiet but useful, giving the people on screen room to seem absorbed in their own concerns.
Chen Po-Wen’s editing has the difficult job of making that freedom work across a whole family, and mostly succeeds. The shifts between characters let one person’s troubles remain in our minds while we spend time with another. Kaili Peng’s music is measured too, leaving the performances to establish how much a moment matters. These choices help the film sustain its length without requiring everyone to be equally interesting at every moment.
The generosity does have a cost. There are stretches when we would rather stay with a character than follow the next strand, and the return takes longer than we want. Edward Yang’s patience occasionally feels overextended, especially when an exchange has already told us enough to understand the hurt beneath it. At 174 minutes, the film asks for sustained concentration, and we cannot pretend that every passage earns an equal share.
Family dramas often hurry towards the scene in which everyone says what has been wrong all along. The pleasure here comes from watching people who remain difficult to sum up, even after we have spent so long with them. We become fond of them without feeling that the film has quietly removed their less agreeable qualities. Give it an evening when nobody needs to get up early.
