A slow and reflective film. But it was interesting to see a Thai perspective on healthcare and courting. It was on the IMDb 250 list, but I don't think it should be.

There was something relaxing and satisfying about how comfortable the director is with just letting slow scenes and dialogue play out, but I wasn’t really engaged, and, after seeing Uncle Boonmee I’m not sure if I just don’t understand the director or Thai culture at all - I was so confused by some of the conversations and characters casual responses to seemingly outrageous comments, actions, or conversational turns.

Inspirado en la historia de amor de sus padres, Apichatpong Weerasethakul cuenta tres historias de amor diferentes pero que confluyen en un mismo cauce. Gran narrativa, sencilla, profunda, reflexiva.

3.8/5 Ive always felt its terribly dangerous for a film to explore the contrast of a situation over another through direct exposure to its dreariness, but aside from moments where the poetry strayed too far from what it had established, it was quite mesmerizing.

Syndromes and a Century is an enigmatic invitation into Apichatpong Weerasethakul's realm of minimalism and uniqueness.

My second film from Thai director Apichatpong Weerasethakul. "Loong Boonmee raleuk chat" or "Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives" was my first one and I expected a lot from it. It never lived up to it, so I had doubts about this one. It's a different type of film. It's gentle, mysterious, quite weird and experimental when it comes to techniques of scene selection and tempo. We follow some doctors at a hospital. Weerasethakul's parents is in real life doctors, so this has been known as some sort of biography on that matter. Doctors are very much human beings and here we get into their lives as a more personal matter. The popular doctor Toey seem in center of it, but other doctors and some patients are on the screen too. It's a romatic vibe here but the biggest vibe I get is some sort of calmness as it put's me in a trance with it's super slow panning shots and it's music. Shot's turn out from the conversations or move around in the building while nice dialogues keeps you interested. I dig that repeated conversation thing and I love the black hole scene. Many great scenes, some weirder, some funnier than others. A lovely shot film, mesmerizing and calm - that takes your head to other destinations. Impressive stuff. 8 out of 10 orchids.

Surreal, yet the visual splendor of social realism. A strange compilation of human interaction, posing questions regarding the afterlife and reincarnation.

A visual feast and emotionally resonant personal piece from Weerasethakul, Syndromes and a Century is patient, beautiful, and ultimately astonishing.

An altogether unique meditation on love that becomes almost hypnotic thanks to the stylistic and off-centered approach to cinematic storytelling.

Weerasethakul is, without a doubt, a master of mood and Syndromes And A Century is all about just that. What other director could skillfully balance the telling of two stories in two different time periods, especially one as enigmatic as this? Syndromes contains no form or structure, but the evocative atmosphere it creates is warm and intoxicating. Time seems to stand still in Weerasethakul's world and it allows the viewer to immerse themselves in the minutiae of these characters. The film often plays as a intimate dream, filled with unique, humorous characters. Rarely is a director able to transfix me as wholly as Weerasethakul and his shunning of mainstream movie ideas about how to tell a story is refreshing.

the main "tricks" i would say: the repetion of scenes and the contrast of two parts.

Highly acclaimed film is beautifully photographed; almost every shot resembles a painting.

anti-mainstream and the abstract... magnificent

Buenísima. Es experimental y no convencional en su narración. La fragilidad de la memoria y la distancia con la de otros, es utilizada como modelo narrativo. El final me dejó esperando algo más.

Fascinating premise. Beautifully shot. But this is a tough one to watch. Who knew two intertwining stories could drag so much? I get that this is a film with little reliance on plot, but the scenes didn't hold a lot of emotion, either.

***SPOILERS*** There are films we watch, and there are films we experience. My favorite film is Magnolia, and it's a film you watchâ"the characters interacting, the plot unfolding, the societal statements. But as much as I love it, it's not a viewing that requires complete immersion to enjoyâ"2001: A Space Odyssey is such a film. Completely devoid of the conventional movie formula, 2001 is more of a journey than a film; an idea rather than a concept. Exploring an idea is tricky and rarely done correctly, but when it's done right, you get films like Syndromes and a Century. Trying to explain Syndromes and a Century is like explaining what it means to be human. Humanity can either be light or dark, graceful or unforgiving, but more than anything, humanity is true. Forgetting all the mood swings and envious thoughts and charitable acts that flood our days, it is most beautiful when people simply interact. Syndromes features several characters going about their days at a hospital: one half of the film features everyone in a rural setting, surrounded by trees, fields of grass and nature itself. The second half takes place in the city. Hallways are longer and wider and rooms are plain and white. The transition occurs without explanation, creating an alertness in the viewer. Did I miss something? Is this the same conversation they had earlier? What's the point of this? The best part: there is no point. Director and writer Apichatpong Weerasethakul never uses his characters' interactions to convey any sort of civil statement or broaden a social issue. The subtle differences in their interactions between each world become resounding, booming displays of how we function as human beings. In the first world, characters are much more intimate with each other. There's a fantastical and whimsical air about it: people stare into fields, tell folk tales reminiscing of nature's past and spend warm nights cozily watching acoustic concerts. In the second world, which I assume takes place in the near future, people are certainly much more orderly. Technology has created a distance between people (much like it's currently doing) and people aren't nearly as snug. People speak in closed quarters at designated times. Nothing is spontaneous, and nothing is extraordinary. Nature is more of a temptation and a reward (as seen with the new doctor) rather than part of life. Because of this, people adapt to their current setting and act differently. The most glaring example is the dynamic between the dentist and the young monk. In the first world, the two spend a teeth-cleaning session joking about modern music and their lifelong ambitions. They grow close, smiling at each other and enjoying time spent with a like-minded individual. This leads to a summer night where the two become much more affectionate, as the dentist asks if the monk was his brother reincarnated. It's a hopeful, if not desperate plea, begging for some sort of connection to a life he accidentally ended. The monk's answer is a swift no, but he invites the dentist to join him as he walks away. The dentist loses him and ends up back in his empty office. Cut to the second world...and we get nothing. The dentist's office is gone, replaced by rows upon rows of meticulously organized chairs for patients. The dentist operates on the monk amongst the mass of white, hardly exchanging more than a few words of small conversation. The monk removes a cloth covering his face (only exposing his mouth), to which the dentist hesitates at. This distinction within in the dentist could be defined by his setting, where I assume his brother is no longer dead, since the city is practically devoid of trees. This longing for attachment that formerly exists is gone, thus completely changing the dentist's personality and willingness to become intimate. While most of the differences between the worlds are much more inconspicuous, this particular change is completely reshapedâ"an utterly tragic loss of friendship that doesn't exist because of the characters' surroundings. This will immediately lead some viewers to question Weerasethakul's motivations. Does technology create a divide between us? Are we slowly losing a connection we normally take for granted? Is this an idea Weerasethakul is trying to convey? Again, no. Getting caught up in the details dims the overall picture. More captivating than how our surroundings control our actions is how we let our surroundings control our actions. The very idea that a single human being's free will can exist in entirely different forms between two settings is astounding, challenging viewers to look at themselves and wonder, âWould that happen to me?â? Existing in the moment allows to take away something unique from each scene, creating a magical sense of ambiguity flowing throughout the film. And while each moment is individually separated from the next, they all come together to form an unyielding whole. You simply appreciate the beauty of a solar eclipse as a woman tells a tale of the field she's sitting in, once covered by water and now covered by grass. Darkness spreads over the landscape (of the tale, not the moment), but then slowly the light seep back in, bringing the beautiful setting back to life. This scene holds no connections to any other part of the film, other than one of the film's final shots: an extended shot solely focused on a black, circular air vent sucking smoke from a basement room. For what these two images lack in logistical connectivity, they make up for in sheer power; they each share a rawness that is uncompromising and impossible to tear your eyes away from. It's a dynamic that wholeheartedly challenges us to make a connection between two objects that share none, yet both exist as bookends to our two tales. For a film that can largely be viewed as pessimistic, as a whole it comes together to form a profound tale that's entirely optimistic and encompasses human nature. After the dentist loses the monk and finds himself alone in his office, the camera cuts to people enjoying the night: kids are playing tag and cheefully using the playground; women sit against the swing set, taking in the festive activities; people play volleyball and laugh with each other. There are smiles and joy spilling from every corner. Similarly, the final scene of the film features all of these events, instead existing in a large, spacious and well-lit modernized park. This particular scene follows several people walking along amongst the sullen hospital hallways as the lights turn off one by one, just like the dentist experienced. In both worlds, despite the pressures and constraints of the surroundings, people simply exist. Joy exists. Tragedy exists. Loneliness. Pride. Despair. Humility. Sensitivity. People grow together, and people drift apart. Some people form connections, while others never meet. And rarely does a film allow these occurrences to be so frank, yet so gripping. It's not a film that made me feel better about being human, but made me feel human. And that's the most rewarding feeling any film is likely to hand out. Read more reviews at http://cinemabeans.blogspot.com/

Meditation created as film. Never really felt before the sensation that this offered. If you can let go of yourself, exist in the time/space that the filmmaker provides, let these images/feelings wash over you, it is a tranquil experience. Also, I kind of believe in past/future lives now.

Technically, the film is a really good choice to exercise our mind about meditative films, usually composed of long shots and long takes; in this film, the director seems to hate to subdue his character's dialectical method of conversation to its minimum, biased shots of close-up, preventing the audience from being familiar with the characters. Rather, when I watched the movie, I feel like I was being sucked into a world that is different, quiet and allegoric to our reality. It gives me a chance to question: about the lives of the characters consciously and myself, subconsciously. I really like it. Tarkovsky would, too. This is my first encounter with the director invisibly, but somehow I feel like going home.

This was, as far as I'm concerned, the weakest of the films I've seen by Weerasethakul so far (we're seeing them in chronological order). It did grow on me afterwards, though, which is a sign of a good film. Deamy and strange, I think I need to see it again...

Clear glass circles and double karma.