Last weekend, I went back home to my native France for my parents’ 30th wedding anniversary. For this special occasion, my mother had the crazy idea of inviting not only French friends, but also most of her family from Croatia and my father’s family from Bosnia to come stay with them; she had planned to receive as many as 70 guests. Every time I see my grandmothers, uncles, cousins, and other relatives whose connection to me I tend to forget, I get asked how I make a living from writing. (I can’t blame them for being baffled by the idea.) And then comes the big question: Have I found a boyfriend yet? This time, my Croatian uncle (who, unlike most of my relatives, does speak a bit of French and English) even told me that I shouldn’t make the same mistake as him and be alone for too long. Our conversation was brief and a little awkward, but I can’t stop thinking about it, and especially about how he talked to me. Unlike some other equally well-intentioned family members who interrogate me, he didn’t make me feel self-conscious; he simply showed me how much he cared about my happiness.
In Lulu Wang’s film The Farewell, Billi (Awkwafina) is asked the same question all the time by her grandmother Nai Nai (Zhao Shuzhen). The old woman resides in Changchun, but she calls her New York–based granddaughter frequently. When Billi comes to visit her for her cousin’s wedding, Nai Nai gets to interrogate her in person and many more times, promising her an even bigger wedding banquet when her big day comes. What could have tested Billi’s patience and been received as incessant pestering from an old-fashioned lady, however, makes Billi love her grandmother with a renewed tenderness: Nai Nai doesn’t know it, but she has been diagnosed with cancer.
This simple yet secretly charged scenario is representative of how The Farewell manages to explore the complicated negotiations at the heart of the immigrant experience with tact, humor, and economy. The family’s typically Chinese decision to hide Nai Nai’s illness from her brings out all the contradictions that Billi has to live with: As she explains, lying to someone about their illness would be illegal in the United States, but she also has to defend her rather precarious lifestyle as a struggling writer in New York City, and her celibacy at the age of 30. The culture clash (which is also a generational clash) informs every situation and every exchange. Wang is unapologetic about the cultural specificity of her (true) story, yet it is this limited framework that ultimately makes The Farewell a vivid and endlessly relatable story of fractured identity in a globalized world.
Although her cousin’s arranged marriage is an elaborate ruse for the family to be reunited around a clueless, dying Nai Nai, Billi wasn’t supposed to attend: The fear was that her inability to hide her emotions would put the operation at risk. As soon as Billi bursts in unexpectedly in Nai Nai’s apartment, the film becomes both suspenseful and inappropriately funny: Awkwafina’s face, forbidden from showing sorrow and incapable of communicating fake glee, freezes into shock and confusion, which the ever-cheerful Nai Nai blames on the long plane journey. Throughout the wedding preparations and celebrations, Billi’s Western impulse to defend her grandmother’s independence and tell her the truth continuously clashes with the family’s efforts to brighten the mood. The idea of family as a source of emotional support takes on a different meaning in China: When Nai Nai gives life advice to Billi, she alternately recommends marriage and praises her for taking care of herself. “Life is not just about what you do,” explains Nai Nai to her granddaughter, “it’s more about how you do it.” Giving advice to someone needn’t be uncomfortable, and saying goodbye doesn’t have to be tearful; it can be a party.
Yet in her second feature film, Wang doesn’t pit the Chinese way against the American lifestyle. She understands that for immigrants and their children, it is rarely possible to simply choose one tradition over the other. Billi’s mother, Jian (Diana Lin), admits that she has also struggled with how the Chinese express grief, even as she understands the purpose of the lie and repeatedly criticizes Billi for her millennial lifestyle. There rarely is a right or wrong answer for immigrants: In one trenchant and, for me, déjà vu–inducing dinner scene, Jian ruthlessly points out the hypocrisy of a relative who tells Billi it would take her much less time to get rich in China than it would in New York, even as she plans on sending her son to study in America. Billi soon brings up the issue of gun control, Jian explains that money can’t buy everything, and no one is the better for having compared the merits of both countries. With cleverly arranged reaction close-ups around the table and a profound understanding of group dynamics, Wang makes each family member a complex individual, torn between Eastern and Western principles for personal reasons, rather than simply a spokesperson for one monolithic culture.
Returning to Changchun for the first time in many years, Billi recognizes a certain roundabout that reminds her of Nai Nai’s old house, which no longer exists. With carefully composed wide shots that don’t glamorize Changchun as much as revel in its rich textures, Wang translates how much the woman’s memories of her first six years in China are tied to the place itself. The director understands that culture and family are not free-floating ideas but are rather like pictures (or films), with a set of characters and a certain background that come together to create a unique image and sensation—and eventually, a memory. The wedding is an occasion for everyone to create happy moments with Nai Nai to be remembered, and Wang presents the event in all its chaotic but unforgettably funny energy: The lovebirds’ extended photo shoot as they pose in front of countless tacky sets becomes the backdrop for a sweet conversation between Billi and Nai Nai; a drinking game at the reception is a head-spinning and hilarious experience where each player, for a moment, forgets the reason for their being reunited and laughs with drunken abandon. Wang understands that in a moment of crisis, even the most banal can take on a more profound significance.
It’s therefore striking how Nai Nai seems to fit so naturally into her small but tidy apartment; in Wang’s images, she is part and parcel of her environment—together with the focus on food as an occasion for connection, it recalls Ang Lee’s early, family-focused films. Billi, too, blends effortlessly into her crowded New York streets, which Wang shows in only two brief scenes that nevertheless capture the spirit of the city—and mark how Billi’s lifestyle could be understood in different ways by her two heritages. Walking alone in New York City after her return, Billi may be seen as isolated or independent; the many people she walks past could be strangers or friends; life in the Big Apple may be expensive, or an exciting opportunity worth investing in. There’s no right or wrong answer—Wang’s film doesn’t try to resolve the schism of immigrant identity. Rather, it acknowledges it with honesty and even optimism: The Farewell alleviates the weight of contradictions by welcoming them. It isn’t about what you do, but more about how you do it.
Manuela Lazic is a French writer based in London who primarily covers film.