Don't Tell Her

You may know 別告訴她 by its English title: The Farewell.

The second feature film from director Lulu Wang stirred audiences with a story from Wang’s family. In the film, the main character, Billi, joins her family in China as they convene a wedding as an excuse to say goodbye to her grandmother, who has a terminal illness but does not know it.

At the wedding, the grief of imminent loss peeks through the haphazard nuptials. In some of the film’s most memorable moments, toasts take heartrending turns into breakdown, and a drinking game provides space to drown sorrows with alcohol and laughter.

In the game, Billi’s family is seated at a round table. Chanting in Chinese, one person repeats a phrase while flapping their arms like wings, then looks to another person, who takes over the chant. Whoever makes a mistake takes a shot. The general mechanics of the scene are clear, but unlike most of the film, there are no English subtitles.

The Mandarin Chinese breaks the audience into those who piece together the scene from context and those who understand the dialogue. The emotion of the scene may be universal: Hiding grief happens in all families. But the specific cultural scripts, how we go about hiding, belong to each of us.

In a letter published before the film debuted in select theaters, Wang spoke of how many times she had to fight for her vision, her story with its cultural detail, to be told. “I had to say ‘No’ a lot [to production companies],” she said. “‘No, I will not change the ethnicity of the cast. No, I will not have them speak English. No, I will not have these characters talk or behave in any way that doesn’t feel authentic to the people I know.’”

Wang offers an honest portrayal of her people and, in doing so, some of the film remains unintelligible. In scenes like the untranslated drinking game, The Farewell shows us that one’s culture doesn’t have to be for anyone else.

Memories of my grandmother in Indonesia replayed as I watched Wang’s film. I’ve seen her just seven times over the course of my life, and over time I’ve become more aware that each goodbye might be my last. This past December, I stood with her at her future grave. She handed me rose petals to spread over my grandfather’s place of rest.

The flowers fluttered as they left my hand, briefly breathed into by the wind before dropping to the ground.

Ga tau kapan kita ketemu lagi.

I wrote that for me more than for you. I’m sure you’ll understand.