With an evocative opening-credits sequence as the camera swirls through a virtual landscape of neon signs and lights, one might think they are witnessing the beginning of the next Gaspar Noé film. Thankfully what follows in Flora Lau’s second feature LUZ is less puerile and exasperating than the work of that enfant terrible, but it could use an inkling more bite. A mood piece above all else, the emotionally detached drama follows two disparate, vaguely connected stories of alienated individuals adrift in a world consumed by technology that may in fact be the only path toward healing.
We’re first introduced to Wei (Xiao Dong Guo), an ex-convict working as the heavy for a nightclub owner in the bustling, neon-soaked city of Chongqing, his only real connection seemingly with cam girl Fa (En Xi Deng), with whom he just wants to have a conversation. When he reveals that she’s his estranged daughter, she immediately blocks him. But with her disclosed affinity to spend time in a life-like virtual-reality world called LUZ, he embarks on a quest to find her. Meanwhile, in Hong Kong, Ren (Sandrine Pinna) learns her stepmother Sabine (Isabelle Huppert) doesn’t have much time to live, so she heads to Paris in the hopes of reconnection. As Lau bops back and forth between the two stories, aside from the obvious themes of repairing a fractured parent-child relationship, a more literal connection materializes around an expressive painting of a deer created by Ren’s late father and hung as a focal point in Wei’s place of work, with the mystical rendering of the animal also appearing as a key objective in the world of LUZ.
Unlike the equally overelaborate and sterile virtual worlds of TRON or Ready Player One, one can imagine the appeal of LUZ’s hangout aesthetic. Waiting rooms for avatars are swanky, neon-lit bars, and if one wants to partake in an adventure they can pick weapons and go on a hunt through forests and other attractive locales. Shot by cinematographer Benjamin Echazarreta (A Fantastic Woman) with an ethereal warmth, including a slightly pixelated overlay to distinguish from the real world, Lau has connected a fabricated realm that is convincingly desirable. Coupled with Mimi Xu’s pulsing electronic score, there’s an impressive mise-en-scène conjured throughout the parallel adventures that attempts to make up for a script that seems stuck in first gear.
As some pieces slowly fall into place for these relationships to find remedy, Lau seems less interested in emotional catharsis and more in the difficulty of making peace after years of estrangement. When a doctor tells Sabine about experimental treatment in the United States that has the potential to heal and her daughter urges trying it, she retorts, “Wouldn’t you rather spend money on living life than trying to stay alive?” While this sense of trying to find happiness even in the face of death is compelling, there’s never a strong sense of life throughout the ensemble––most performances hit familiar notes of pained predictability.
Throughout LUZ I was reminded of Jia Zhang-ke and his mastery in exploring the ever-expanding global and technological advances of the 21st century, centering their personal impact in deeply moving character studies. Lau’s ambition to strive toward similar aims is worthy of commendation, creating a tapestry of moods of detachment alongside a city symphony of isolation, yet it’s hard to shake the sense that not much new or complex about our modern way of life is conveyed.
LUZ premiered at the 2025 Sundance Film Festival.