Not THAT Fly Me to the Moon. The good one.
但願人長久 (Fly Me to the Moon) (2025)
Directed by Sasha Chuk
Starring Wu Kang-ren, Carmen Chou and Sasha Chuk
As seen at the 51st annual Seattle International Film Festival
Optimum Immersion, a first-time director and a theater I’d never been to. I really couldn’t ask for more on a windy Monday night in mid-May in Seattle. The title of the film had me a bit confused—and maybe just a little annoyed. Wasn’t there a Fly Me to the Moon that came out last year by the same name? Didn’t it star Scarlett Johansson and Channing Tatum and tank at the box office? Whatever. As this film of the same title began at the Shoreline Community College Theater, I was greeted with a new annoyance.
The theater was clearly a multi-purpose space, with a large stage and a screen that dropped down perpendicular to it. This created a shiny glow on the stage floor, which was distracting—at least until I settled into the film.
Speaking of glowing annoyances, even after the SIFF representative kindly asked all attendees to turn off (not just silence) their electronic devices, I had to do something I do far too often in this modern age of theatergoing: pull my hoodie over my head to block the glow of some inconsiderate simpleton’s smartwatch, which lit up every time they raised their hand to their face. It’s a wonder the cinema experience isn’t completely dead, given the rude attendees, overpriced tickets and the ability to stream most films just weeks after their theatrical release. (Wow—I’m starting to sound like my fellow NadaMucho.com critic Peter Cameron.)
I digress. While my rants are valid, you, dear reader, came to this review for my thoughts on a film—not the ravings of an old man.
Fly Me to the Moon is the first feature film from Sasha Chuk, who also wrote and stars in the film. It’s structured in three chapters—1997, 2007 and 2017—and follows sisters Lam Tsz Yuen and Lam Tsz Kuet, each played by three different actors, as they navigate childhood, adolescence and adulthood in Hong Kong. Being originally from mainland China complicates things further for the sisters, who must learn Cantonese after growing up speaking Hunanese. Add in a father who’s in and out of prison and an overworked mother, and you have a recipe for two decades of trauma, rebellion and potential redemption.
Much like the Oscar-winning Moonlight (2016), each stage of the protagonists’ lives is portrayed by different actors. In Moonlight, Naomie Harris carried a heavy emotional load playing Paula, the mother, over a 20-year span. In Fly Me to the Moon, that role is mirrored by Wu Kang-ren, who plays Lam Kok Man, the sisters’ father. Wu is fabulous, portraying the drug-addicted thief with sincerity and pathos. Never once did I veer into righteous indignation or label him a villain—even when his actions toward his daughters were appalling. This subtlety is a testament not only to the actor’s skill but also to Chuk’s screenwriting, which displays a wisdom well beyond her years.
Fly Me to the Moon isn’t just well-acted and well-written. Its greatest strength lies in its visual storytelling. Long takes, a fixed camera, and a restrained use of close-ups create a less deliberate, more meditative tone compared to most American melodramas. I don’t know if it was shot on film, but the open-aperture effect in the first act is stunning, evoking a childlike sense of wonder. That sense of wonder is shared by the audience as we’re introduced to 1997 Hong Kong—and by the young sisters discovering small joys like McDonald’s fries.
By the final act, the film shifts visually, reflecting the changes in its characters. The soft visuals of childhood give way to the harder lines of a modern, expanding city—mirroring the emotional armor the sisters develop after years of surviving without their father.
Fly Me to the Moon is no mere homage to Edward Yang (A Brighter Summer Day, Yi Yi). It forges its own path, telling a uniquely female story in which the male characters are more than the sum of their misdeeds. Fans of modern contemplative family dramas such as Moonlight (2016), Waves (2019), or Blue Bayou (2021) must see Fly Me to the Moon—preferably in a real movie theater, not a multipurpose space like Shoreline Community College with its flickering twinkle lights.
I started this review highlighting my annoyances—might as well end with them.