At the end of the Singapore premiere of The Breaking Ice a few nights ago, there was a round of short and soft applause.

Compared to the warmth that greeted director Anthony Chen and actress Zhou Dongyu before the screening, the difference in temperature was at least 60 degrees, which was what the actors and crew experienced while making the film in northeastern China.

The Singaporeans who had come to watch the new offering by Chen must have been disappointed that they didn’t get to see a Singaporean film with the usual slapstick jokes. Many must have applauded because the slow and aimless film was over.

They should have listened carefully when Chen said earlier that this is not a Singapore film.

We should be proud that a Singapore-born filmmaker can make such a ‘cold’ film based on a “personal existential crisis” experienced during the pandemic. Yes, it’s time we stop putting unnecessary restrictions on what stories we want to, can and should tell.

Set in the remote Yanbian area bordering North Korea, this is where three lonely lives intersected. Each of the individual probably doesn’t have much to live for. Otherwise why are they in Yanbian, home of the ruffians you will often see in Asian movies. When Koreans want to have someone killed, by default, they will pay a Yanbian.

I have chosen this poster rather than the more ‘attractive’ one featuring the beautiful Zhou sandwiched between two guys because this is more ‘accurate’. There is no love triangle, and I’m not even sure there is love. There is though a longing to be connected to another breathing soul.

The Breaking Ice is really about loneliness and a lonely search for a reason to wake up the next day. Yes, for some, waking up to face another 24 hours takes effort.

In one scene, Zhou’s character is asked if she enjoys being a tour guide and she replies, “like it or not, it’s just a job I do”. Does that sound familiar?

Artists are resilient lot and even in desperation, they often find a way to share a story, no matter how ‘boring’ and unappealing it may be to others who just complain.

Often, the deeper they dig, they more painful it becomes. Maybe in so doing, the pain becomes more palatable.

Before Gregory Crewdson became famous, big and known for his epic tableaux, he spent months photographing fireflies in a barn while mourning the death of a relationship. His obsession and melancholy gave birth to a beautiful body of works.

Many artists before him have also dealt with a sad state in their lives by turning to what they do best – create art.

In the same spirit, Chen’s film helps us to understand, however remotely, what it means to be disaffected, to have a meaningless life.
Never mind the box office results. This is a film well-made.