Chinese filmmaker Gu You concludes his acclaimed “Landscape” trilogy with “The First Taste of Loneliness,” a film that oscillates between poignant observation and sentimental excess. While the movie sometimes treads into maudlin territory, it finds its footing when centering on the small, everyday details that define the lives of three generations of women navigating grief.
The narrative opens with an intense vigil at the bedside of a husband and father battling pancreatic cancer. The camera captures the raw, vocal anguish of the mother, daughter, and granddaughter as he passes. However, the review suggests the most impactful moment arrives shortly after, in quietude. Yue, played by Zhou Xun, samples the last jar of her late father’s homemade pickles. Acknowledging she will never share this taste again, she notes it is a good batch—a bittersweet acknowledgment of loss and continuity.
The film, which premiered in the main competition at the Busan International Film Festival, excels in depicting how life reorganizes itself around absence. Yue, her mother Luna (played by Xi Meijuan), and teenage daughter Moon (Wang Shengdi) must balance the relief of survival with a faint sense of guilt, while finding ways to keep the deceased man’s spirit present in their daily routines.
Structured with the grand elegance characteristic of Gu’s work, the film serves as a stirring finale to a trilogy that began with 2019’s “Dwelling in the Fuchun Mountains” and continued with 2023’s “Dwelling by the West Lake.” Although these films do not share characters or plotlines, they are unified by a melancholic style of family portraiture. “Loneliness” features ambitiously floating camera pans and populated set pieces, adopting a broader, more populist approach than its predecessors, which may aid its global distribution.
The screenplay details Yue’s return to the family apartment in Hangzhou with her daughter Moon. Once a fashion director in Beijing, Yue has returned to care for Luna and reconnect with her roots. Cinematographer Takimoto Mikiya lingers on the cluttered home—filled with stacked books, old cassette tapes, and photographs—highlighting the space’s deep history. Even in death, the patriarch remains a palpable presence within these walls.
As the story progresses, the characters seek new freedoms. Luna, recently widowed, tentatively embraces romantic advances from a man named Xu (Xu Chaoying), rediscovering joy she thought was lost. Meanwhile, Moon faces academic struggles and the onset of adulthood, requiring Yue to loosen her maternal hold. These arcs are woven together delicately, with Mikiya’s watercolor-toned cinematography linking the women’s experiences through slow, sweeping movements.
Xi Meijuan delivers a particularly poignant performance as Luna, balancing grieving decorum with the embrace of new happiness. A standout scene features her dancing with Xu in a public square, capturing a blend of romantic sentimentality and elegiac sorrow. While Sylvian Wang’s piano-heavy score and some expository dialogue push the film toward overstatement, the emotions remain human and sincere. Ultimately, the film moves toward a lighter, softer state of serenity, avoiding cynicism in its portrayal of healing.
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