[Review] The Long Walk: Holding on Too Tightly
It is difficult to discuss The Long Walk, not for some of the reasons I have seen, such as its complex narrative, but because there is so much to talk about. I feel like I will inevitably forget something that struck me, or perhaps worse, make a realization after this is published. I tend to prefer to absorb a film for a few days before writing about it in depth, but this provoked me so emotionally and I feel that it is only fitting to write this in the midst of this, as this film had so much of Mattie Do’s own emotions in it as well.
When The Long Walk is categorized as sci-fi, it’s truly a mix of two subgenres within the genre. The “present day” setting is a near, but plausible transhumanist future—implanted chips and other cybernetic implants. The other is the actual time travel element, but while there are deeply sci-fi roots, there is also a strong what could best be described as magical realism element. The cause and effect follow the logic of previous instances of time travel, but the pretense and execution is done through spiritual means. On top of this, the film is blended with the horror genre.
It would be negligent not to mention the social commentary within the film. Mattie Do set out to tell a story set in rural Laos and the life there and this history are inextricably linked with outside forces. A parallel is made between the NGO that comes to install a solar panel and the tourists and gentrification of present day Laos. The Father is elated to hear that people from abroad are coming to his farm as upgraded farming tools could help make ends meet, but there were never going to be any tools or machinery. Instead, they come to install a solar panel, something The Father makes clear is not needed. Despite his protests, the man from the NGO says “You’re welcome”. Yet, after it’s installed The Father prevents The Boy from tampering with it, so as to not disappoint the men from the NGO.
In the future there is a difference between The Old Man and Lina’s view of experiences in the rural town. The Old Man has lived there his whole life, whereas Lina left to go to Vientiane. When she does return, she maintains her mother’s shop until the lease is up where it is then sold to become a tourist-y art gallery. The time where she sells his vegetables at the market is different from when he was a child—where The Mother sold to locals and spoke in Lao, Lina sells them to a tourist in English. This is not to say that Lina is in any way the same as the NGO men. She is grateful for him offering her a place to stay and his scolding of her going to Vientiane is based on her abandonment of her mother, much like how his own father abandoned his dying wife and child. He understands when she goes back to Vientiane with her girlfriend—who he is clearly uncomfortable with not because of her sexuality, but her cybernetic body modifications and the desire to get more. It is clear that Do has a dialogue about the different lives of the actual Lao people, while deeply criticizing the false benevolence of the West.
As I watched The Long Walk, I recalled something I had read long ago—to love someone gently, like a butterfly, for if you hold on to them too tightly in your grasp you will crush them. While this typically circulated around the internet in variations about relationships, I think it applies equally to the struggle of grieving. In dealing with loss, it is so common to want to hold on even tighter, deny the reality that we all die and to be human is to watch those around you die. The Old Man takes a unique perspective—he accepts that his mother will die, but seeks to prevent her from truly leaving as he was able to do with The Girl.
In truth, this mindset begins even before he knows that his mother will die. He’s a lonely child whose most comforting relationships are only with his mother and The Girl. While her ghost is initially frightening, he is able to open up to her and in return she wordlessly comforts him. The path that The Old Man goes down is clearly wrong, but what child, or adult for that matter, wouldn’t prefer that the dead could remain with us, hear us, comfort us? Do presents a character that makes the wrong choices, but for the most basic human desires—to change the past, to find the best possible afterlife. We are powerless to change the past, but as Do presents perhaps that is ultimately for the best. Our past makes us who we are today, and what we might think may be a better future could lead to an unexpected butterfly effect.
At a screening, Do recounted her thoughts about her own mother’s passing, which inspired the film, saying, “If we had caught it early could we have changed it? And the reality is, probably not, but that doesn’t stop you from wanting to go back to the past and changing it.” In my own recent grief, I’ve thought about what I would change—the lingering regrets and things I wish I would have said. But, even if I could go back there would still be regrets because chasing a perfect closure will only lead to more “ifs”. Accepting the imperfect closures and what is out of our control is what truly brings us peace.
