Days

The suffering linked with a mysterious illness that Lee Kang-sheng experienced in one of Tsai Ming-liang’s early films, The River (1997), is back. The protagonist—now grown up—leaves behind his home in the countryside and goes to the city in search of relief. Will he find it in the hands of a young masseur? This anti-romance, made up of static shots in which the action freezes for minutes at a time, is about touch—both during banal everyday activities, when we touch, and in special circumstances, when we are touched. Imagine if someone didn’t have it, says Tsai Ming-liang, without being dramatic, as usual. For years, he has been showing in his films the human condition, looking at the figure, gestures, face, and skin of his friend and favorite actor, turning him into a fetish for his work. Days is no different. When I watch him aging, I feel anxious, full of conflicts, says the director. They’re reflected in the way I deal with the shots. Thanks to Lee Kang-sheng, I gradually discovered the meaning of filmmaking. I had the opportunity to look at his face, to observe the small but irreversible changes that are constantly revealing the truth of life to me.