So much spoiled promise

Perhaps the first warning sign would be that today, the airdate of the final episode, the plot synopsis on this site continues to bear no resemblance whatever to the actual storyline that showed up. Perhaps the premise changed between pitch session and production but no one updated the plot summary? When it began airing, the My DramaList details announced 8 episodes--and indeed, Episode 8 is basically the finale to the first eight episodes. That was also the first day I saw the number of episodes had changed from 8 to 12--and episode 8 was so short one wonders whether elements of the "original" ending had to be cut to make room for the newly added episodes. The final four essentially begin a new story from scratch and aside from a few references, abandons the already-existing plotlines, characters, and actors. It even changes location by having the main character go on vacation for four episodes.

I've seen a few other posts that, like this one, were written within hours of watching the last episode the same day it aired. Their criticisms echo my own, so I feel little need to pile on repetitiously. (Clearly, we all watched til the end...so something here did work for us!) But I will echo another prevailing sentiment in these reviews: the premise of this series was endearing. Somewhere in this hot mess is the makings of a delightful tale of romance. For whatever reason(s), this production was unable to deliver on the inherent promise of its premise. One thing they did right--so much so it's almost a novelty in Thai BLs--was that the main character is unabashedly, unashamedly gay from before the series starts. More of that is needed.

Leia Mais

When Fluffy BL meets literary substance, good things follow

The 2022 series Plus & Minus (Taiwan) offers one of the stronger interpretations of the “friends to lovers” tropes that a BL connoisseur is likely to encounter in the ever-growing pantheon of BL series. The series pairs these friends with a delightful side couple. But the factor that distinguishes Plus & Minus from that BL pantheon is its ability to comment on the human condition generally, specifically on the emotionally fraught topic of how our romantic relationships succeed or fail. One could say there’s a cognitive dissonance in having a BL series, which usually focus on people falling in love, spend so much time pondering how relationships end. But full credit to the writers: that disconnect works poetically in this story. Plus & Minus merits watching for its literary attributes alone—treat the BL romances as a happy bonus in this instance.

“Fluffy” is a frequent descriptor of the BL genre. The term has both positive and negative connotations. On the plus side, “fluffy” bespeaks the cheery, hopeful romanticism that infuses many BL series and makes them a fun, pleasurable ride. On the negative side, “fluffy” connotes an absence of solidity or lack of substance. Fun and pleasurable, the typical BL series may be, but they seldom offer any meaningful insight into the human condition. Offering perceptive nuggets into humanity’s foibles and follies or our potentials and proficiencies is more typically a hallmark of fine literature or prestige film and TV productions. When present, such literary merits supersede any story’s specific points of plot and character to examine the generic human experience. Plus & Minus delivers both delightful BL fluff but also has some meaningful things to say about love and romance. That combination in a BL is rare, and it elevates Plus & Minus into a near-masterpiece.

The previous two paragraphs will suffice as an endorsement in favor of sampling this series. The rest—lengthy!—offers a more detailed analysis. In most reviews, I’d favor presenting my ideas in an essay format. But it seems to me that the title of this series warrants a wholly different approach. So please forgive the bullet pointed, pluses and minuses in this analysis of Plus & Minus. Note that the +’s outnumber the –‘s. Caution: some light spoilers lurk inevitably ahead.

+ The lead characters work as divorce lawyers, and that makes the series a prolonged meditation about why some relationships persist and others fail.

Guest characters seeking out the professional services of these barristers briefly enter into the story, offering our leads ample opportunity to discuss what makes some relationships fail while others succeed. In examining their clients’ failing relationship dynamics and helping those clients to navigate romantic disentanglement, Fu Li Gong and Cheng Ze Shou also must confront what leads two people to commit to one another in the first place. Friends since kindergarten, Li Gong and Ze Shou have a markedly close relationship themselves. Flashbacks (and lingering glances) make it abundantly clear that Fu Li Gong harbors a longstanding crush on his best friend. These office conversations about their clients’ reason to disentangle also serve as commentary to mirror the growing awareness of their mutual (?) feelings toward one another. (These are BL characters, after all. They are going to move from friends to lovers.) Adding another layer to the theme “why relationships fail and how do we deal with it?” is a subplot revolving around Ze Shou’s family. His mother abandoned her husband and two children when Ze Shou and his sister were quite young. Ze Shou bears a grudge, the sister seems prepared to let by-gones be by-gones, while Ze Shou’s father (as an abandoned spouse rather than an abandoned child) has issues specific to his own situation. Those issues build gradually from the start, then reach a head at a critical point in the story. I think this character backstory amplifies and accents the thematic elements introduced by having the leads work as divorce lawyers.

If Plus & Minus enters the class of “great BLs” whose stories and characters hold up over time, these conversations about the nature of long-term romances will be a chief reason why the series stands out from the pack.

+ Both the lead couple and the side couple are actual adults leading adult lives.

Lawyers, obviously, are older than high school age or college age students. Thus, Plus & Minus is a welcome addition to the growing trend of building BL plots around actual adults rather than kids. (To be fair, Taiwan has been good at this for a while.) Any BL fan who desires a reprieve from school-based series will appreciate the more adult outlook on offer here.

+ The three “guest couples” who become clients for 2-3 episodes each.

The writers did a good job of presenting married couples in different stages of marital collapse. The first relationship depicted was so toxic that no one would dispute divorce was necessary. The second couple really needed marriage counseling rather than divorce lawyers. And the third couple had simply reached the end of the line after a 30 year marriage. Li Gong and Ze Shou spent bits of two episodes coming to terms with the idea that sometimes relationships fizzle out and, simply, there is NO REASON why. (They did so while just embarking on their own adventure.) I found that sequence to be one of the more poignant discussions in a series that handled poignancy with aplomb.

Taiwan, as all BL fans ought to know already, is the one Asian country to ratify same-sex relationships with the privilege of marriage. Thus, it was gratifying that the second of the three couples happened to be a gay couple. (Happily, the one couple they saved from divorce was the gay couple.) The series does not belabor the fact that gay marriages fail just as straight ones do; rather, the lawyers just processed these clients the same as they would any other. Representation begets normalization, folks! Representation matters!

- The transition from friends to lovers was a bit too glib.

Fu Li Gong and Cheng Ze Shou have been best friends for over 20 years. One of them has had a semi-secret crush since at least adolescence. I’m not fully sure what triggered Li Gong to suddenly confess, which means the moment could have been portrayed in more dramatic, exciting fashion. When the confession did arrive, the moment felt anti-climactic. Then, the part where they shift from friends to boyfriends was too quick and way too easy. These two already have one type of deep connection, and the nature of that connection would seemingly make the conversion to lovers difficult. Such a profound change to an established interpersonal dynamic ought to have required either a sudden surrender to long-repressed passion and emotion (like a dam breaking) and/or a series of awkward exchanges as they try to recalibrate their customary interactions to accommodate their new, emerging dynamic. So, for me their actual conversion seemed a little too easy.

+ The transition from friends to lovers begins in the middle of the series.

Plus & Minus has 12 episodes, and the shift from friends to lovers begins just past the halfway point. (About the same time as the duo favorably resolves the divorce case for the gay couple, suggesting that the example of that same-sex couple might have triggered Li Gong’s abrupt confession.) Structurally, the series neither shifted them into romance mode too early nor waited so long that there was no time to investigate the transition.

I suspect a certain segment of BL fandom will find the lead couple’s progress to have been too slow. Such fans also likely will wail at how much time is wasted discussing divorcing straight couples. I, however, believe that the writers played this scenario exactly right. Yes, their romance is assuredly a slow burn, but I will argue that that pacing fits the story and characters. In a series that takes "the evolution of relationships from start to finish" as one of its themes, playing slow with the main relationship's beginning is an astute choice.

- Uncertainty about Cheng Ze Shou’s awareness of Li Gong’s crush.

At times it felt like Ze Shou was aware of Li Gong’s unspoken attraction. At other times, the series seems to hint that Ze Shou was aware of his own attraction to Li Gong. Notably, in both flashbacks to high school and in the present, he plants drunken kisses on his friend’s face. Li Gong neither reacts to these overtures (if they were overtures), nor does he push the issue when Ze Shou fails to remember these drunken kisses the morning after (if he really did forget). I dislike the “drunken kiss doesn’t count” gambit anyway, but if the writers wanted to play that card anyway, they should have made those moments matter by having consequences attached.

+ The side couple was outstanding.

Jian Ying Ze is a divorced man who owns a laundromat and occasionally has custody of his daughter. At some point prior to the series, our two leads handled his divorce case; subsequently, they became regular clients at his laundromat. Below the laundromat, is a dive bar that employs Yuki as a bartender. It’s also the watering hole favored by the lawyers; so, Li Gong and Ze Shou have personal connections to both Yuki and Ying Ze even before the latter duo meet each other. Yuki attracts female clients to the bar, who swoon over his long locks and beautiful face. A caretaker type, Yuki soon develops an interest in the broken human being who runs the laundromat. Their relationship takes flight much earlier than the lead couple’s probably to distract the audience from the fact Li Gong and Ze Shou haven’t figured themselves out yet. These two eventually sort out their issues. Like the divorce clients mentioned above, I think interacting with this nascent gay couple helps demonstrate to Li Gong and Ze Shou that same-sex relationships can work. The inevitable drama in their relationship feels a bit contrived, but not nearly at the level of Li Gong and Ze Shou.

- That time Li Gong and Ze Shou break up.

Ok, it’s a BL tradition that our lead couple must endure some sort of existential threat to their relationship, one that might even tear them apart so that the finale has something to do besides just exist. It’s just that the execution of this subplot is uncommonly stupid even by BL standards. Li Gong just spent 10+ years pining away for his best friend. He confesses. They get together. They profess eternal love and exchange versions of “I will always be by your side.” Then, two episodes later, for no reason that has been earned via character development or prior dialog, Li Gong initiates a break-up. The moment felt flimsy and forced when it happened—drama because a drama series has to have drama for the sake of having drama, right? Having seen the end of the series (the “why” gets explained after the fact), I still think that plot development feels indefensible. Egregiously so. I dropped the MDL score for this series a full point just for this bit.

+ / - The female side characters are a mixed bag.

On the bright side, the archetypal jealous female villain is absent. In place of that stock character is an array of other women orbiting our two lead couples. While Nikita, the bar owner, has a longstanding crush on Li Gong, she also recognizes that his heart is set on Ze Shou. After making her own confession, she even pushes him back toward Ze Shou after the idiotic break-up. (I liked that she took her shot, and that getting her feelings out into the open helped her.) Ze Shou’s sister seems aware the boys ought to be together before they do, and she supports them fully. The bar has a second female employee who remains on the fringes of the story. All three of these adult women feel underwritten as characters. The fourth female character is Ying Ze’s precocious daughter. I could nitpick how worldly she is for her tender age, dishing out sophisticated relationship advice to her emotionally damaged father, but I will overlook that. Her function in the story is to act as a muse for Ying Ze as he contemplates his failed prior marriage and the scary, scary business of starting over with someone new. She actually plays a pivotal role in helping both Yuki and Ying Ze negotiate their blossoming romance.

+ / - The two dads are a mixed bag.

Fu Li Gong’s father is the managing partner at the law firm that employs the two leads. Cheng Ze Shou’s working class father owns a restaurant. Let me acknowledge up front that I understand and accept that Asian parents often play an overt role in their adult children’s romantic choices. And, I understand and accept that the older generation may have little preparation to deal with same-sex romances. Thus, it’s not particularly surprising when Papa Cheng becomes an obstacle to the blossoming romance between his son and Li Gong. But too many series (not just BL!) rely on "parental interference" to create tension in the plot. I am bone weary of watching series where parental interference drives a wedge into the main relationship. If Papa Cheng had been more fully developed; if the interference had arisen from character or story context; if the series had telegraphed this development ahead rather than springing it on us; if this parental interference had felt fresh and original rather than cliché and convenient; if any of those, then I might not have minded. But his attitude felt like drama for the sake of drama. Other than that, Papa Cheng is actually a compelling figure as he insists to his bitter son that he should forgive the absent mother. His take on why relationships fail adds a contemplative element. But all that means his disapproval of Ze Shou and Li Gong felt inconsistent with his prior characterization.

Papa Fu is even less sketched out, but his support of the relationship proves pivotal. He is the one who tells Li Gong to pull his head out of his ass and go reverse the idiotic break-up before it’s too late. However, I think that speech would have been even more effective (and the character more interesting) if it had been delivered seven episodes earlier, before the CONFESSION. Papa Fu seems like the kind of dad who would have spotted his son's crush. He could have been a catalyst for the initial union rather than for the re-union. It was a nice grace note, however, that when Papa Fu offered to go talk to Papa Cheng on the couple’s behalf, Li Gong declined the offer in favor of taking care of his own business.

+ + + + + Effective use of cameo appearances from actors who appeared in other BL roles.

These cameos are pure audience service, of course, but BL afficionados will be absolutely delighted at the unexpected appearances of familiar faces, some of them (unofficially) playing familiar characters. There’s one + above for each BL series I counted.

Leia Mais

This essay cannot explain the film's title...who is the rebel?

Watching an unheralded short film is always a gamble. Quality can be erratic, especially given the prevalence of student films in the form. Rebel Heart is a short BL film (26 minutes) released by Iamzee Studios in October 2023. Since the closing credits list “Zee” as the scriptwriter, director, and OST singer, one conjectures this project is some kind of a self-financed production conceived by the studio’s namesake. Whether it is a student film or a vanity project, it displays the earmarks of films of that ilk: low budget, rough production values, and a less-than-professional feel. Every contributor listed in the closing credits is identified only by a single name. As of the date I watched the film, two weeks after its release, the MDL page for Rebel Heart contained a skimpy plot summary but absolutely no information regarding the cast, the director, or anyone else. Nothing that might speak to the pedigree within the film industry of the creative team behind the project. Deprived of any information that that might inform expectations regarding production value, actors’ ability, or director’s nous, I set the bar of expectation to "amateur." Despite that low level, I forged ahead with an open mind.

A short film has three basic jobs: to hook the audience right away via compelling character or an intriguing story, to sustain their interest long enough for some problem to be solved or examined, to deliver an ending that at the very least enables the viewer to walk away without concluding their time has been wasted. Rebel Heart checked one of those three boxes but whiffed on the other two. Though often shaky, the production value proved better than I expected. Grudgingly, I concede the film satisfied the minimal expectations I had. The story was messy, chaotic in the telling, and lacked the crispness one would expect from polished filmmakers. But if (and I do not KNOW the answer) those associated with Rebel Heart churned out a homemade or student film, then this result counts as a respectable effort--and rookies deserve our eyeballs and understanding. Who should watch? For starters, BL fans who regard themselves as completists can go ahead and track down this short film on YouTube. Rebel Heart will pass muster for a 30 minute investment of time. Others should proceed only if they seek it out full of goodwill for low budget results and full of tolerance for touches of messiness. Perfectionists will be frustrated.

The opening scene offered a solid start. High school student Lucas (Bug) speaks directly to camera. He will narrate chunks of the film via voiceover. His first comments lament the loneliness of being a third-wheel in his own friend group, and the resultant sense of not belonging that follows from that. Since almost all of us have at least a passing acquaintance with being a third wheel, these opening lines rather deftly draw the viewer to empathize with Lucas. Thus, Rebel Heart successfully hooks its audience within the first minute via their identification with lonely Lucas. The self-described Third Wheel then segues into a history of his friendship with Ben (Burdy) and Emma (Ami). Lucas and Ben met as high school freshman and became fast friends. The film was billed as BL, and Lucas rather clearly likes Ben as more than a friend. Fearing rejection if this crush broke into the open, Lucas did his best to conceal it. Ben’s feelings toward Lucas are a cipher at this stage, which makes sense because the point of view reflects Lucas’s understanding of their situation. The opening monolog provides a solid introduction to the lead character, and the central problem appears to be clear: how will Lucas resolve his sense of alienation? Since that is a universal theme for a high school-set story, the short film appeared to have launched itself successfully.

The arrival of new student Emma during Ben’s and Lucas’s senior year disrupted the duo’s routines. Emma, whose dialog is exclusively in English (whether spoken by her or to her), clearly fancies Ben, and her attentions account for the sense of exclusion endured by our suffering hero Lucas. Stolid wingman that he is, Lucas facilitates the putative couple’s chances to spend time alone together by removing himself from their company whenever Emma sidles up to Ben. Lucas clearly resents the loss of his closest friend’s sole attention, and via voiceover, he expresses the film’s central problem, “It hurts to see the person you care about the most choose someone else over you.” I think this premise provided Rebel Heart with a solid foundation to build a short film around. High school alienation stories have floated around forever, and coming out stories are nowadays commonplace. But their very ubiquity demonstrates confirms the appeal of these tropes. A small, compact story with seemingly minor stakes will still resonate with an audience if it is told well. With only twenty-five minutes to tell the whole tale, why complicate the narrative with unnecessary grandeur?

Unfortunately, the film abandons the viable love triangle premise within ten minutes. Rotating into the compact time frame arrives not one new story arc, but two. First, a montage/pastiche of boy-romances-boy-in-one-day scenes. Second, a preachy coming-out-to-family sequence that both extolls the virtue of loving queer sons and brothers and fails to track in internal logic. I shall omit the plot specifics of these replacement arcs, but the details include a confession by Lucas to Ben, a confession by Ben to Lucas, a kissing scene performed and filmed more convincingly than many BL series manage to do, a bizarre adventure in a mall (see Random Thoughts below for highlights), an angry, homophobic father rejecting his son over some photos he happens to have seen on his phone (from whom? of what?), a mother talking dad down from his bigoted dudgeon, a happy family reconciliation, and an outsider (Ben) interjecting himself into the Lucas’s family turmoil despite meeting them for the first time. (Wait, weren’t these guys best buddies for three years? The parents hadn’t previously met their child’s closest friend?) Oh, I forgot to mention the hitman. No, not an assassin. A bully hired to hit people. (You’ll have to watch. Spoilers.) That’s an awful lot to cram into fifteen minutes, and perhaps Rebel Heart feels overstuffed at the end. I finished the film with the sense that if the story had mined the pathos of the lonely kid for all the inherent potential in that initial Third Wheel premise, it might have told a thoughtful, touching story and still been able to inject some commentary on coming out and acceptance.

Short films can seldom conceal the constraints of low-budget filmmaking, and Rebel Heart suffers in some technical aspects. Curious jump cuts reflect questionable editing skills and mask abrupt jumps in narrative direction. The audio mixing during street scenes swallowed the dialog in spots. Nevertheless, I am willing to tolerate such flaws from a production with clearly limited resources, and none of these problems become egregious. Director Zee did a good job of positioning his camera for each scene, and the mix of close-ups to longer shots was effective. If Rebel Heart is Zee’s fledgling effort, that strong opening at least suggests the director understands how to pinpoint universal themes in human experience and emotion. Recognizing value in the telling of a small tale and understanding when to let ambition expand scope and grandeur will be their next challenge.

Random thoughts:
• One nice touch: Lucas opens the film wearing a T-shirt reading “Love Sick.” Whether this slogan represents a subtle nod toward the 2014 series that launched the BL craze in Thailand or a subtle clue regarding Lucas’s inner head space, the shirt helps to frame the emotional stakes.
• One not so nice touch: Ben breaks up with Emma via text and then immediately blocks her. She absolutely earned the dumping on her own merits, but that is never a classy way to exit a relationship. Besides, a face-to-face telling off not only satisfies the demands of chivalry, such a confrontation delivers a much more satisfying jolt of audience satisfaction to boot. She does reappear, but the ensuing confrontation was disappointingly clunky in execution.
• Scenes set at Bangkok's big malls feel like a required element in the telling of a high school story, so perhaps it was inevitable Lucas and Ben traipsed through one on their big day together. The more curious events included trying on clothes only to flee in a full sprint from the store for no apparent reason and crashing a wedding reception while a random bride and groom sang of their love for one another. More traditional activities included a flirty stroll through the lobby of a muliplex cinema.
• The singing marital party certainly felt out of place. Since the credits list Zee as a singer, perhaps the director inserted himself into the picture? If so, confident move, Mr Hitchcock.
• Later, the boys navigate through a cinema lobby where the onesheet poster for the Barbie movie will forever situate this film's production in mid-2023.
• Aside from Emma, Lucas’s Dad also speaks only in English, and other characters speak to him only in English as well. I don’t have a point. It just stuck out to me.
• As did the slight southern drawl in Dad’s accent. The homophobia spewing out of Dad sounded more authentic with that regional twang. American gays will flinch in recognition.
• Ben addresses Lucas’s parents as Mr Evans and Mrs Evans. That politeness makes Ben the first kid since the 1980s who resorted to formal titles rather than first names with the (American) parents of his friend. As a child of the ‘80s myself, I kind of appreciated this touch.

Leia Mais