A sensual and spiritual exploration of finding the strength to carry on.

It’s been ten years since director Anthony Chen made history when his debut feature, Ilo Ilo, became the first Singaporean film to win the Caméra d’Or award at the Cannes Film Festival. In the ten years since, he’s only grown in stature and regard as an artist, taking on multiple big name projects, and maturing in point of view and craft, with a clarity of vision that feels more pronounced than ever in his latest film, The Breaking Ice.

In a marked shift away from his previous films, The Breaking Ice makes it clear from the outset that this is not set in hot, humid Singapore, with a rather on the nose opening shot that literally shows workers wrapped in thick jackets breaking up the ice and processing it in a frozen landscape. This establishes the setting our story takes place – cold, wintry Yanji, a city in northern China bordering North Korea, and as a result, includes multiple Korean influences in its culture.

It is these factors that make Yanji feel like a curious wonderland, stark in its weather yet brimming with possibility for something out of the ordinary to happen. The Breaking Ice is a film born from the COVID-19 pandemic, and in part, deals with that same sense of anxiety and loneliness that emerged from multiple lockdowns and being cut off from the world. Naturally, its title is already a hint that over the course of the film, all three leads metaphorically learn to thaw their frozen hearts and warm up to each other.

Within the scope of the film, we zoom in on Nana (Zhou Dongyu), a charming guide who leads tours of the city, away from her original home as she tries to leave a painful past behind. By chance, she encounters Haofeng (Liu Haoran), a Shanghai-based urbanite visiting Yanji for a wedding, who holds a darkness of his own, dealing with suicidal ideation and fending off calls from the mental health clinic. While on tour with her, the loss of Haofeng’s phone leads Nana who, intrigued by him, invites him to delay his return and hang out with her, as well as her friend Xiao (Qu Chuxiao), a man working at a restaurant owned by his relatives, and adrift as he wonders what his next step in life should be.

Over the course of the weekend, the unlikely trio bond over drinks and an exploration of Yanji beyond the tourist sites, each one finding comfort and solace in each other’s presence, eventually giving them the strength to confront their own individual traumas and burdens. In presenting this, director Chen has given himself the task of imbuing Yanji with a sense of wonder, one that he does well given the natural beauty of the place, and unexpectedly vibrant city life. Beyond the Korean village, Chen takes his leads (and us) on scenic motorbike rides to the North Korean border, into loud, electronic-music-filled clubs, or even montages of sculptures in public parks.

Just as Haofeng allows himself to let go of the things bothering him at home, we as the audience are also drawn into dreamy Yanji, where even the most ordinary of scenes feels elevated from the characters being a little tipsy, or willing to just let loose and have fun. One of the film’s most outstanding scenes sees the trio in a bookshop, where they dare each other to steal the thickest book possible – even though they do fail, the resulting chase scene and look of pure joy as they run towards the exit is exuberant to witness. The sound mixing on this film is particularly noticeable and effective as well, where The Breaking Ice allows us to listen to ambient, nature sounds of wind or the clink of glasses, all of which immerse us fully in this world.

The performances from all three cast members are phenomenal, with each of them taking their individual characters through a clear journey from misfit to belonging. As Nana, Zhou Dongyu delivers a plausible facade of joy and enthusiasm in her tour guide guise, pumping up the energy when leading her groups. Balancing flirty and sensual with heavier, deeper emotions, when she transitions to her sad, wistful moments with her sporting past, her expression hardens into one of coldness and regret, her voice turning unwelcome and terse.

Chen Haoran, as the bespectacled Haofeng, is somewhat shy and reserved at the beginning of the film, awkward to the extent he continually chews on ice every time he gets a chance in order to stave off the intrusive thoughts. Watching him sob uncontrollably in the club, Chen emanates the melancholy of a deep, existential crisis, and you can’t help but want to comfort him in his misery. Yet when he comes out of his shell, interacting with Nana, or shows off his knowledge, there is a warmth and light to him, a relatable moment for the introverts with anxiety.

And while Qu Chuxiao, as Xiao, initially feels like the third wheel, intruding onto a moment between Haofeng and Nana, he ends up a necessity to break the weight bearing down on both of them, observant and kind beneath his macho exterior. With an encyclopaedic knowledge of the area, Xiao is both at home and entrapped by Yanji, seemingly stuck without a future in mind, manifesting in half-committed attempts to court Nana or to tell a younger relative to study hard and leave.

Alone, each character is frigid and closed off, seemingly alone in their suffering. But where The Breaking Ice succeeds is in making them feel at home with each other, where time spent together simply gives them the courage to live, thanks in part to all three actors’ onscreen chemistry. There is no need for deep philosophical debate or conversation – only connection and being reminded of the euphoria of being alive. Accompanied by a subtle, ambient soundtrack by composer Kin Leonn, the emotions in every scene are heightened, a single glance or touch feeling like it pulls them back from the jaws of death, or simply amplifying moments of silence as they enjoy each other’s presence, just being.

As a director, Chen is a perfectionist, and nothing is done without reason, often with recurring imagery that appears again when one least expects it. A runaway criminal is mentioned several times throughout the film, eventually resulting in his arrest. While seemingly unrelated to the main plot, this seems to parallel each character running away from their problems, and eventually being forced to confront them. Elsewhere, Haofeng mentions the myth of a bear that transforms into a woman, and in a very direct reference later on, essentially represents Nana’s spirit animal, and the act of endurance and resilience reaping rewards.

Chen’s camerawork is also praiseworthy, with handheld shots that give him full control over the angles and closeups, and feels like we’re right there watching. Shots linger on the trio travelling on motorbike or in a car, while the landscape emerges before them, while first person points of view from Haofeng, looking down from heights as if gazing into an abyss, make us understand that desire and ease with which to end things right there and then. There is a sensuality and sensitivity with which Chen navigates the lives and perspectives of the three leads, skilfully elevating their interactions to become almost spiritual, epiphany-inducing experiences that make you marvel at how beautiful life can be and how important it is to not be alone.

There are several moments that do feel like false endings, particularly towards the conclusion as the film attempts to wrap up all three characters’ storylines neatly, alongside some CGI work that breaks the spell of realism that’s been binding us for most of the film. However, in spite of these, The Breaking Ice still manages to express its central themes of coping and connecting with a kind of poetic cinematography, and by its end, feels almost like you’ve gone on a journey of self-discovery alongside its leads.

The Breaking Ice retains the subtlety of quiet intimacy and deep humanity of Chen’s previous films, while elevating his craft with breathtaking scenery and its ability to expand from the personal to the universal as a reaction to lockdown. This is a film that represents another step in Chen’s still rising career, and perhaps a more reflective and poignant introspective one that eases us out into a post-pandemic world. Whether it’s going against the grain and taking a hike up a snowcapped mountain, taking chances to ride off into a future unknown, or even picking up the phone to start a conversation with a past you thought you left behind, this is a film that moves you, and reminds us of the courage and little miracles humans are capable of producing.

The Breaking Ice will open in Singapore cinemas on 7th September 2023, including Golden Village. More information available here