A languid meditation on the transitory and the transitional. Yoko - a young woman who's just beginning to stand on her own two feet yet not completely weaned from the support of her parents - is frequently on the move, shuttling between different places and different people, and, because of her research into the life of a late musician, she sometimes traverses between different timelines as well. Yoko is more often seen outside of her own home, lounging in third-spaces: cafes, bookstores, outside train stations, within her own bubble of contemplation and privacy in train carriages.
Hou delicately treads the fine line between the restless, pulsating movement of the city and the apparent stagnancy of Yoko's life in this thinly plotted film. While Yoko is seen to be doing many things, connecting with various people and travelling to many places, nothing of much significance actually transpires. Nonetheless, it doesn't take much to sink into the lull of Café Lumière and simply allow it to whisk you away to the dreamy world of early-2000s Tokyo.
Hou delicately treads the fine line between the restless, pulsating movement of the city and the apparent stagnancy of Yoko's life in this thinly plotted film. While Yoko is seen to be doing many things, connecting with various people and travelling to many places, nothing of much significance actually transpires. Nonetheless, it doesn't take much to sink into the lull of Café Lumière and simply allow it to whisk you away to the dreamy world of early-2000s Tokyo.