There has been a lot of talk over the last several years concerning the generation of the Oughts, the children growing up in the 2000s. Does the Millennium Generation have any concern for their future? Do they have any real goals or expectations, or are they simply content and doomed to wander through their lives with no ambition other than to party and take drugs? These questions are prevalent in Hsiao-hsien Hou’s Millennium Mambo.
The dreary, bleak, almost dreamlike existence of this specific group of young adults is desperately realistic, to a point that it’s quite depressing. None of the three main characters are very appealing or redeeming, yet we are asked to empathize with Vicky, a 20-something girl who seemingly exists day-to-day by drinking and smoking. Vicky didn’t graduate from high school, has no real job, and is in an unhealthy on again off again relationship with Hao-Hao. Hao-Hao is basically the same, yet he literally has no job, and is quite simply neurotic: childish, selfish, and incapable of taking care of himself in a realistic way. Vicky wants out, but has no idea of how to do so, thus is continuously drawn back to him again and again.
Vicky also hangs out with Jack, an older man who basically lives the same kind of lifestyle, but seems to have a more consistent income – it’s alluded to that he is some sort of gangster. Jack acts as a kind of father figure to Vicky, which is a good thing, yet like Hao-Hao is unable to communicate with her, and ultimately is incapable of giving her any real healthy affection.
The interesting realization that came to me after some thought and discussion, is that the film was made at the beginning of the decade, and is about a girl who is remembering in the year 2011 what happened to her ten years ago, in the year 2001; so what the audience is seeing is not necessarily a linear narrative, but an intentionally broken, disjointed and wandering one. These are Vicky’s memories, played out as anyone’s memories would be played out: dreamy and hazy, yet clear in a “hindsight is 20/20” way. There are times when Vicky describes events before we see them occur on screen, like in the opening scene when she recounts how she will eventually leave Hao-Hao, and then we eventually witness the events that lead up to their break, including Vicky repeating her opening monologue; or when she tells of how Hao-Hao stole his father’s watch and the police investigated him, then a few minutes later we actually see this happen. It’s as if we are allowed to see Vicky recall these events in an understanding and nonjudgmental way, because she’s ten years grown and a better person for it; we are both witnesses to her memory and her literal act of remembering.
Hsiao-hsien Hou puts the audience in Vicky’s world through various masterful filmmaking techniques. If this is Vicky’s memory, then it makes sense that what we see is mainly Vicky and not much else. There are rarely any establishing shots, in a classical Western filmmaking sense, which helps create a disoriented feeling as well as a heightened perspective: we only see what Vicky remembers in her sort of murky, dreamy way. Such cinematography also creates an isolated feeling. The POV is so forced that not only are we unable to get a grasp of Vicky’s surroundings, but at times we feel trapped, much in the same way that Vicky feels trapped. The techno/electronica soundtrack also helps force the audience into the world by experiencing the repetitive and enveloping day-to-day life of the characters. This style of music is also called Trance because it does just that – it puts the listener in a trance. There is no real form or standard classical musical structure to the music, and by utilizing this genre of music, Hsiao-hsien Hou further demonstrates his point that these people have no idea of where they’re going; they just keep repetitively going from one day to the next.
There is also this theme of technology that isolates, which is largely influenced by the loud pulsing techno music in the clubs – people are always together, but they are unable to successfully communicate with each other. In one scene in particular, after Vicky has apparently finally decided to leave Hao-Hao, she once again is hanging out in a club. She is bathed in blue light and surrounded by people and loud music is playing. Hao-Hao arrives and tries to talk to Vicky, but she is uncomfortable and tries to avoid the confrontation. Instead of telling Hao-Hao herself, her friends talk for her and Hao-Hao tries desperately to speak to her personally, without distraction and confusion. It’s the only scene in which Hao-Hao is somewhat sympathetic, because it really seems like he’s making an effort, but he’s blocked by Vicky’s cohorts. The techno music drowns out their dialogue and they’re incapable of communicating civilly; the scene escalates into a fight and finally Vicky succumbs to Hao-Hao and they leave the club awkwardly.
Again, it’s really amazing that Hsiao-hsien Hou was able to predict so successfully how painfully true this would be in 2010: the technology that is supposed to bring us together actually forces us apart. This technology that isolates is inorganic as well – techno music is created by computers, and the film rarely shows any earth; the only real natural world that Vicky experiences is in Japan when she visits the brothers and they play in the snow.
Which brings up a good point to close with – the film ends with Vicky having finally left Hao-Hao and Jack has apparently abandoned her. Jack was supposed to be her knight in shining armor, so to speak, yet he can hardly take care of his own daughter, as revealed in an earlier scene. The film closes with Vicky approaching becoming the person she is now, the person that’s recalling these events. Vicky is lost, but she’s in a new country, in a new environment, and with the only people that seem to be healthy and treat her with any sense of respect. She’s embracing the opportunity that’s ahead of her, and in the voice-over monologue, she describes Hao-Hao’s disappearance: she’s sad that he’s gone, but as she says this, we watch as she smiles. There is a sense of melancholy hope in the end and an image of regained opportunity and cleansing; our lives are filled with pain and sadness, but if it weren’t for that pain, we would not be able to grow. Our final moments with Vicky leave us with the notion that perhaps there is hope for her and the Millennium Generation after all.
