WAITING FOR THE LIGHT TO CHANGE: A Methodical Debut On The 20-Something Malaise

In The Moviegoer by Walker Percy, his protagonist is constantly talking about “The Malaise” – this prevailing existential sense of unease. It does feel like anyone in their 20s has felt this same sensation in their life even if they haven’t quite put words to it.

Waiting for The Light to Change is a snapshot of Gen-Zers and the anxieties of the times, and by this I mean they are hit with the angst every generation feels in their 20s. In this formative time, we’re all trying to figure out our purpose – what the ancients would term “Telos.” It’s not a new conundrum.

You don’t need to have read Soren Kierkegaard or use “verklempt” in a sentence to feel this unease deep within your bones. Because this is the dilemma of modern humanity. In one sense we’re privileged. Many of us no longer have to ask, Where will my provision come from today? How will I survive? Now we ask, What am I doing? What is the meaning of my life?

Linh Tran‘s debut film follows five of these 20-somethings who set up camp at a secluded lake house in Michigan for a week away from the world. Amy (Jin Park) is there on the invite of her high school friend Kim (Joyce Ha), who also brought along her cousin Lin (Qun Chi). Kim’s boyfriend Jay (Sam Straley) has invited his acquaintance Alex (Erik Barrientos) to his family’s place. Kim and Jay met thanks to Amy.

Kim asks her old friend as they take a nature walk nearby, “You think if we met now, we’d still be friends?” In another scene, Jay confesses to Amy, “I just feel really stuck right now: empty, embarrassed – it’s like quicksand.” It’s these kinds of statements coloring their experiences, and then there’s the reality that Amy still has feelings for Jay. It’s complicated.

What I appreciated is how there’s a shared history here that’s kind of taken for granted, although we are given hints, and it’s not like everyone knows everyone else. But when you’re in close proximity with nothing much to do, you do become a kind of family. Laughter, dancing, escapades, and shared meals are all thrown in free of charge mixed in with a liberal amount of cigarettes and alcohol.

Their conversations are understated and frank. Every now and again they let down their guard and something slips out. I don’t know what it is specifically about late nights, but it almost feels like a scientifically proven fact deep convos are bound to happen. There are arguments too.

Strength in Limitations

Because I’ve been recently watching Eric Rohmer‘s Comedies and Proverbs I can see Tran‘s film being superficially compared to the French director’s work. They both lead with conversation, but it’s akin to one of Rohmer‘s films with all the joy and most of the romantic passion sucked out.

One thing that sets Waiting for The Light to Change apart is how it represents the most diverse generation yet. There is one throwaway line about life in California. I too live in “Cali” though no one in California ever calls it that; still, on the West Coast we also often forget how broad the Asian experience is now.

A lake house in Michigan can be the conduit for more stories. It’s another sign of how the movies and representation will continue to expand with time as the makeup of American culture evolves across the nation. Truthfully, it excites me.

Beyond Rohmer, for some inexplicable reason, I kept coming back to writer-director Patrick Wang as another reference point. He’s not well-known per se, but he made a few unassuming films that stay with me (ie. The Grief of Others). I always admire films that use obvious limitations as a kind of creative advantage. In the case of Linh Tran and her cinematographer David Foy, extended takes are their friends.

The framing of the compositions is simple without a lot of movement, but the best ones allow painterly tendencies to be displayed. As a viewer, we also get to bask in the frame with multiple things often happening in one individual shot. It gives you something to sit with and enjoy with curiosity like people-watching on a street corner.

It would be so easy for a project like this to feel inert; admittedly,  I am only one person, but watching the movie I recognize glimmers and glimpses of the real world. It’s not a matter of mere photorealism or documentary. The themes and feelings are pertinent to life and people I’ve known. You readily see the bits of truth shining through the darkness like a lighthouse.

Conclusion: Waiting for The Light to Change

In the tradition of Jim Jarmusch and Olivier Assayas fades-to-black between sequences become the narrative ellipsis; they allow us to breathe. I will always be fond of methodical cinema that provides space for thoughts and further rumination.

Because in our hyperactive world, it feels more precious than ever before. If you notice, you rarely see anyone in the movie with a phone or technology; they talk, read books, and go outside like our forebearers. It’s all analog, and there’s something peaceful and necessary about this detox.

To this point, I was briefly mulling over the meaning of the title Waiting for The Light to Change. It brought to mind a book I read describing how our lives are made up of daily rituals. These are the kind of formative rhythms that order our days and that we use to construct meaning out of our quotidian activities…like sitting in traffic waiting for the light to change.

The Anglican author Tish Harrison Warren says in one section, “We are impatient people. We want happiness now. Fulfillment and gratification now. Time is just another commodity that we seek to maximize.”

It strikes me that while these young people might have this problem with transitory spaces, the title implies their problem isn’t just about sitting still. After all, this whole movie is about getting away in seclusion, and yet even with the noise stripped away, what you’re left with is this listless quality only being magnified. The silence scares you. The waiting comes with disquiet.

Because at least when we’re in a hurry, we have somewhere to go when the lights have changed. The real fear comes with not knowing where we are going in those silent moments of introspection. We’re all waiting and hoping for something.

I settled on this for now. We must slow down and be present — content in the moment and in the waiting — and yet there’s something more. Because when the light does change, where are you gonna go? Where are you gonna run to? If I’m to believe Waiting for The Light to Change, we’re all trying to figure this out. For each of us, the answer might be a little different. The malaise is real.

Waiting for The Light to Change will be released on September 22, 2023 in the U.S.