THERE are two types of films: one that keeps coming at you, and one that leaves a trail of hints for you to follow.

Movie-goers do not have to figure out much in the first type, everything is explained, no need for subtlety or room for contemplation, the audience just have to sit back and be fed.

The second type requires the audience to be active participants; It invites you to join the movie’s world and characters in figuring out what’s going on. You Mean the World to Me is the latter.

The film opens with a nostalgic shot of the Majestic Theatre. Sunny and his mother come out of the theatre, having just watched The Heart with a Million Knots.

“Why did you cry, mum?” Sunny asks. The mother brushes it off, Sunny’s head knocks something, the mum rubs his head and they walk home.

We are then shown a bird-eye view of modern-day Penang, and a long shot slowly zoomed into Sunny, now a struggling filmmaker returning to Penang. He forgets his sister’s address. He wears a black shirt on the eve of Chinese New Year.

When his sister (Ah Hoon) and two aunts (Grace and Vivian) speak to him, he does not talk much. He doesn’t allow them into his world. Family evoke negative memories for Sunny, as revealed later. To some extent, he even blames his sister for allowing what happened to their mother. What happens next throughout the film is a journey of reconciliation with those dark memories.

Even from early on, we see Sunny has a sibling rivalry with his brother. “It’s not me who loves longan. It’s Ah Boy,” he grumbles even though the brother is no longer in the scene vying for their mother’s love.

Love and sacrifice constantly pop up in the film. Everyone needs a little bit of love. The father, Ah Seng, wants to make love to the mother but his advances are rejected.

Sunny feels his mother only loves his elder brother, not him. Ah Hoon feels Sunny is loved by their father and Ah Boy is loved by their mother. She is not loved even though she was the one who stayed back and took care of both parents until their death (the curse of being the middle child and only daughter). Later, she and the two aunts, Grace and Vivian, turn to Christianity to fulfil their dosage of love.

The only one left with emptiness is Sunny, who only remembers the negative memories which he could not let go.

We see Ah Hoon telling him, mai ko gin liao (don’t hate any more). He’s making a movie out of their family history, perhaps a way for him to come to terms with the past, but they ran out of money to finish filming.

Hearing his younger brother’s plight, Ah Hoon gives her savings to Sunny, telling him perhaps this is the catharsis he needs (“to cleanse” his mind, like the ritual of baptism).

The presence of the mother and Ah Boy looms large, though we do not see them in the modern timeline.

The dialogues leave cebisan of hints, leaving an ample time for suspense and guesses, as we wonder “What was done to the mother?”, “What happened to them?”

*Minor spoilers ahead*

The mother sees herself, correctly, as the last bastion that separates Ah Boy from Rumah Orang Gila. She is her son’s final connection to normal and sane life.

Without her, Ah Boy would sink into abyss where no one can bring him back. Realising the enormity of her responsibility, she absorbs whatever that was done to her as part of the sacrifice needed to keep her son. Thus, the film’s catchphrase: the ones who are hardest to love, need it most.

In an interview, the cast mentioned that the mother was in some sort of denial since “Ah Boy was normal for 20 years”.

This part was not clear to us in the film, but if it is, the mother also probably sees her keeping Ah Boy loved that way as the only possibility to bring him back to normal.

I was told by an observant friend that the medals Ah Boy wore are testament of him being an excellent student when he was “normal”. Ah Seng promises to send his eldest son to England to study medicine. But the father was cheated by his brother and they lost everything. Ah Boy can’t accept the new reality and becomes “mad”.

This film also revolves around the unspoken sacrifice by the persons close to us. Despite her well-to-do upbringing and her sister’s suggestion to divorce Ah Seng, the mother absorbs humiliation and pain to keep the family going.

Ah Hoon gives up a job in Singapore to stay home and watch over her mum. Grace chooses not to follow her man to Australia because she can’t leave her younger sister behind.

My favourite scene is when the brother comes down the stairs and yells “I want to eat!” It’s up to interpretation, but I think it’s his way of saving Sunny from their mother’s beating.

It is the only scene where we get to see Ah Boy performing his role as the protective elder brother and defusing family tension.

The storytelling, dialogues (e.g. Ah Chye telling Sunny he’s good at faking what’s real and make real what’s fake) and cinematography (Christopher Doyle) are first-class.

Particularly the part when two juxtaposed timelines come together. There are many creative takes and I think they employ such an ingenious move to hint at the nature of Sunny’s relationship and bypass the censorship board.

The icing on the cake would have been to use more Penang Hokkien-native speakers and more screen time for Ah Boy, brilliantly portrayed by John Tan.

At a time where our society hides and covers up unpleasant reality, even when it results in the loss of innocent lives, we should thank director and scriptwriter Saw Teong Hin for opening up.

Today, mental illness continues to be a major problem troubling both patients and caregivers. The choice shouldn’t be between suffering in silence and sending your child to Tanjung Rambutan.

If we no longer shy from “membuka aib”, jaga air muka (ai bin chui), families and neighbours can open up and help to destigmatise mental illness. People can seek help, mental healthcare specialists can provide professional assistance and counselling to both caregiver and patients.

The movie isn’t entirely gloomy. Tragic as it may be, the family are still able to find joy in that space and have their share of little moments as a normal family. I guess it’s also a lesson in empathy.

“Normal” families and individuals can’t just tell another person to just stop being depressed and be happy instead. If we can feel the pain of someone with a physical illness, it is time we acknowledge the gravity of mental illness.

I think it is a missed opportunity that the film gets an 18+ rating. More people should see it. A Penang Hokkien movie is long overdue, but this is more than just a Penang movie. This is the movie that our society needs to watch and confront. For that, to the cast and team behind this film, kam sia lu! – June 1, 2017.

* Ooi Kok Hin is a The Malaysian Insight reader.

* This is the opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of The Malaysian Insight. Article may be edited for brevity and clarity.