Passion is subsumed into stricture in Aung Phyoe’s Fruit Gathering, a graceful Burmese drama about the relationship between two colleagues at a garment factory. Patient though not slow, it’s an observant examination of the inner turmoil experienced when professional, familial, and societal demands impede on personal expression and drive down desire. Yet it’s too much stricture, not enough passion, and its graceful disposition leaves it lacking a little in impact.
Aung Phyoe’s sensitivity to character, and specifically to their motivation, is evident from the first scene. We meet San Kyi on the bus to work, and our attention is directed immediately to her gaze. She looks down, at certain people, at the basket on a colleague’s lap. At work, her supervisor reprimands her for a supposedly unsanctioned break, to which she protests, unsuccessfully, in concert with a new employee. At home, her mother and grandmother also exert unwanted pressure on her, insisting that she marry. Authority surrounds San Kyi, seeking to control her. But it can’t control her gaze, through which we glean what she desires.
And what, or rather whom, she desires, is Theint, the new employee who defended her at work. Theint shows a willingness to grow close to San Kyi, though her sudden enthusiasm for this budding friendship indicates that her intentions may not be as simple romantic affection. But if she’s to become just another controlling influence, San Kyi doesn’t pick up on this — infatuation clouds her perception. Aung Phyoe develops the drama around truth and deception, appreciating who takes whom at their word, what’s spoken and what’s withheld, and, most importantly, why. Each utterance, or each evasion, is understood by the viewer in the context of where it’s coming from, and where it will lead.
Where San Kyi comes from herself is a life of struggle — a broken family, a rural upbringing with no job prospects. What little she has seems in constant danger of falling out of her grasp. In fear of losing everything, and unable to live as her true self, she’s stuck running from problems she can’t overcome. Theint, on the other hand, is running toward something — a life of success and prosperity, she hopes. Whether or not she shares San Kyi’s affections, she’s content to use her as a stepping stone en route to this life, exploiting the vulnerability her lack of security has caused her. Theint’s background is less clear, but of course it is, since she’s not as stuck in it as her new friend.
There’s such detail in these characters and their situations that one may wish Aung Phyoe put it to more satisfying use. In hushed tones and with a simple style, he explores Fruit Gathering’s central relationship without much editorializing (there’s one imagined non-sequitur in which San Kyi dances in a field before falling into Theint’s arms, and it’s not very enlightening). There’s an ease to this movie, but it feels all too easy. Even when matters become more melodramatic, the ease remains, with any signs of grit or fervent emotion swiftly dissipating. One identifies the pain San Kyi experiences, but never really feels it.
In lieu of emotional expression, Aung Phyoe stresses physicality. Fabric, like the drapes in San Kyi’s apartment, or the clothes she guides through her sewing machine at work, is a constant presence. There’s a focus on the body’s interaction with fabric, like the matching tops San Kyi and Theint purchase, or with other materials, like bare feet on wooden floors, or the flood water during a blackout. These are incidental qualities, certainly, and Aung Phyoe remains frustratingly reluctant to stress this physicality too overtly. But they’re signs of his sensitivity as a filmmaker, and they’re hardly isolated. This is a sweet, quietly affecting movie, even if it’s ultimately a bit too quiet.
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