It feels garish to put this into words. If we assume speech to be a metaphor for connection, then we witness here an encapsulation of the spaces between connections. But at the same time, the film tells a complete story with so few words that it puts the lie to that idea; Tsai Ming-Liang barely needs sound to communicate anything. Regardless, the story here, the image we are presented, is one of extreme isolation, one of pure, soul-shivering loneliness. Every frame speaks to it (Lin in an empty, ragged building calling for someone to show up; Kang always under the bed, a layer beneath human interaction). Every action is inspired by it, including the best moment illustrating the rare beauty of the boredom of isolation and how it inspires something like genius (I refer of course to bowling with watermelon).