‘Montages Of A Modern Motherhood’: Busan Review

Dir/scr: Oliver Siu Kuen-chan. Hong Kong/China. 2024. 112mins

The second film by Oliver Siu Kuen-chan, written after the birth of her own first child, follows the challenges faced by a new mother in Hong Kong. It evocatively captures the bone-deep exhaustion of new motherhood; the gradual attrition of the self and the looming storm cloud of postnatal depression. While it doesn’t offer much that’s fresh about the fears and anxiety of finding yourself responsible for the wellbeing of a tiny screaming creature, it astutely examines the collision zone between traditional expectations of a mother’s role and the contemporary pressures to be your own woman.

Evocatively captures the bone-deep exhaustion of new motherhood

Sensitively acted and directed with a light and empathetic hand, Montages should further bolster Chan’s reputation following her multi-award-winning debut Still Human (which earned her Best New Director, among other prizes, at the 2019 Hong Kong Film Awards). And while the picture lacks the showiness of something like the Charlize Theron-starring Tully, it is a serious-minded picture that should enjoy further festival exposure where it will contribute to the conversation about postpartum pressures.

The film opens with a series of textural close ups of baby toys and ephemera, all bathed in a soft gauzy light. Jing (Hedwig Tam), we understand, is still in the blissful cocoon period in which the bond with the baby is everything and all-consuming. She can barely tear herself from her tiny infant when the time comes to return to the job she loves at a Hong Kong bakery, swooping back in for a final kiss. Her mother-in-law, visibly irked, barks impatiently, “Alright, just go.” The unaccustomed pleasure of being back at work is short-lived. Jing returns home to a mother-in-law who can’t wait to list the failings in her baby daughter Ching, a constant toxic drip-feed of scrutiny is the considerable price paid for the free childcare. And since Jing and her lackadaisical husband (Chun Yip-lo) live with his parents, there’s no escaping the relentless criticism and interference.

Jing would probably be able to deal with her mother-in-law’s nagging if she could only get some sleep. And it’s this aspect that Chan nails most effectively. Jing finds herself inhabiting a twilight world, shot in a palette of stifling greys and blues. Rather than edit abruptly between scenes, Chan lets them fade woozily, like a frazzled mother drifting out of consciousness. And all of this is accompanied by the inexorable rhythm of her breast pump.

It’s an impossible – and very relatable – situation that Jing finds herself in. She wants to do the best for her baby so she’s determined to breastfeed, despite crippling mastitis and a low yield. But Ching is underweight and the mother-in-law is perpetually lurking in the background, bottle of formula in hand. She would prefer that her husband shared the burden of night feeds, but he can barely change a nappy without acting as though he deserves a medal and night out with his work colleagues as a reward.

Jing clings to her pre-baby identity but finds that, in the eyes of the rest of the world, she is now only Ching’s mother. Jing, the capable, charismatic baker with a ready smile, a warm circle of friends and plans to open her own bakery, is further fading with each endless night of anxious wakefulness.