Lilting

A more fitting title for the film would be "Limping."

If "Lilting" was a play, it would run for months.

It is, as the title suggests, sweet - but also slight.

Guilt hangs over "Lilting," a suffocating haze so thick that it permeates every unspoken, non-understood word between characters trying to traverse a frustrating gulf of language and grief.

Hong, who makes his feature debut here, has a masterful command of rhythm, beautifully weaving each strand of the narrative around that momentous opening scene.

Despite a strong start, the filmmaker doesn't exactly know where to go with it. Still, there are moments before things get away from him that are captivating to watch and lovely to listen to, lilting.

Khaou carefully constructs each scene for maximum impact-intentional repetition expressing the experience's ever-changing evolution.

[Lilting] wears its heart on its sleeve, but without bleeding too much, and is overly square and precise, but also a welcome reprieve from the irony-prone fair that most often fills our cinemas.

Lilting offers no quick fixes to its characters' tragedy, but its narrative will resonate.

Lilting stars wilting from its very first scene.

A quiet chamber piece that reflects on family, communication, grief and misunderstanding.

Khaou insists on sticking with a glacial pace and lip-trembling emotional repression when a little bit of melodrama might have gone a long way.