imaseed

No one can know what lies on the far side of the moon; we only know that when humans look up at the sky, the moon they see is in its most radiant state. And it will not cease to shine, whether on this side or the other.

This is a magnificent film in terms of the art of storytelling. Even if there are still imperfections within the movie, the narrative technique and storytelling alone deserve a perfect ten, easily placing "Shine" at the top of my personal rankings. Almost all philosophical messages and ideologies are conveyed through the first or second-person perspectives of the characters. The mere fact that the script strips away preachy, expository dialogue while still allowing the viewer to read the ideological subtext behind the details is a major plus worthy of praise. I love how the film tells its story through every detail—using a "show don't tell" approach that is indirect yet surprisingly frank, blunt, and even nakedly honest. The narration is gentle and sophisticated, like a caress, yet it crashes down like a wave to topple established values. It is a description very much like love. Before even touching on the content, "Shine" reached me through this art of suggestive yet direct narration. And truly, human spoken language is never enough to fully express any soul; that is why we need soliloquies in diaries, dialogues through letters, journalism, music, cinema, body language, and physical touch. Humans crave connection and communication as a primal instinct for survival. We always harbor a desire to converse with one another at a level deeper and further than the surface. And we are never satisfied, even when speaking, seeing, or touching with our own sensory organs. We find every way to communicate—with others, with the world around us, with the depths of the soul, with the universe, and with all things unknowable.

"Shine" opens by introducing an event that marks humanity's new step toward objects they have never known but always yearned to know. Armstrong’s first steps marked humanity's need to explore the world and the universe, the need to grasp and understand the unknown, even if it is mysterious, potentially dangerous, and full of uncertainty. But at the same time, it is a temptation, the light for a swarm of moths. Humans fear what they cannot see clearly, yet they cannot stop themselves from diving headfirst into it. Humans stepped on the moon, and then they asked what lay on the other side. Like a persistent thirst, they are never satisfied; facing the moon, the universe, others, and themselves, they want to understand it all, but they are never content and never stop asking for more. Because they will never fully understand. Unintentionally, that is how the world operates; just as the Earth orbits the sun and rotates on its own axis, human thirst will never be quenched. Does this mean humanity spends its entire existence seeking an answer that never appears, and that the search leads nowhere? Then what is the meaning of living if we cannot find our destination?

At the beginning, "Shine" poses the question about the far side of the moon, only to spend its entire remaining runtime answering it. By the end, we learn that the answer to this riddle is a philosophy that has existed for ages: Life has never told us what is on the other side of the moon. But the act of daring to step over and look is the most beautiful part of living. Just like every choice we make—no choice is guaranteed to lead us down the right path, because essentially no question has only one answer. The important thing is that we chose something rather than nothing at all. It is like a matchstick that has struck a flame; even if it burns out, at least it burned, rather than lying dormant in the box. The matchstick burns itself up and shines because of it.

And that is the beauty of living.

Although the film dedicates the majority of its plot and runtime to history, politics, uprisings, the dirty tricks of the ruling class behind the curtain, and how people overthrow them, the ultimate ideological issue posed at the end is not a lesson in military strategy or history. Ultimately, the core issue remains a human one—a voice for humanity, both in the abstract and the specific.

The world of "Shine" is a world of countless colors, countless paths, and countless individuals. I encountered romanticism interwoven with realism, primarily shown through the two central characters. While Trin, an economist, represents those who dare to look deep into reality to reform it, Thanwa is a man of romance, of flow, moving from escapism to facing reality and embracing it. But romance and realism are not strictly separated; they can exist simultaneously within anyone, in any aspect of life. Victor carries the ideals of a student with a liberal, liberating philosophy, wanting to save himself and society from the gears of a long-rotten system; he is a man of ambition and dreams, using his actions, and even his life, to realize those dreams. Yet, simultaneously, he holds a negative and rigid view of people. Krailert is a Lieutenant serving in the army, forced to use a pseudonym, using the piano and the pen to speak for his personal self, so that at the very end, when he dares to voice the faint thoughts in his head, however late, it is just in time—it is the moment he truly lives. And Naran, a journalist with the true mission of reflecting society, a loudspeaker for the people. Rather than a mere reporter, Naran seems more like a revolutionary, a stubborn soul who never submits, fighting with his pen—only for us to see his sole moment of helplessness in the face of his forbidden love. In short, the characters appear as representatives of every stratum of Thai society during a chaotic wartime period under oppression, yet they remain individuals with their own existential pains, worries, flaws, and sins. Each story told carries its own hue, like an oil painting reflecting every shade—incomplete, perhaps, but creating a picture as beautiful as a legend, however chaotic and mad.

Beside these universal human themes, love, fortunately, does not slip away or get pushed to the margins of a film laden with meaning. Without needing to dig too deep, love is actually expressed quite directly and frankly. Viewers can clearly see and feel the current of love between the characters; it is not hidden but appears clearly, affirmed by every language within the film. Like Sarasawadee's final words: although no question has only one answer, in the end, love is never the wrong answer. One cannot stop waves with one's hands, for how can tangible matter block a force many times more powerful than human strength? Ultimately, while reason and responsibility can separate two people, they cannot force them to stop loving each other.

A massive bright spot in the romantic storyline lies with the Lieutenant and the Journalist—two artists who used art to speak for their hearts. Of course, the main couple has their own color—an "opposites attract," enlightening, healing love that guides one to be more human, almost opposing mirrors illuminating each other. It is interesting, but I still felt it lacked something. Perhaps a bit of naturalness, a deeper sense of connection and empathy. Conversely, Krailert and Naran gave me everything I need and hope for in any romance. Words of love were never spoken aloud, yet no one could mistake what was between them for anything but love. The feeling of intense passion seemed to spill out of the frame, yet flowed silently underneath like an undercurrent. Love was transmitted through music, through letters to readers in the newspaper columns, through codes only the two of them understood, through quotes about love from library books, through the piano keys that allowed Krailert to find his voice, and similarly through Naran's typewriter... All combined to create a secret world for just the two of them. A space continuously screaming the word "romance" and shouting the name of "love," even though neither ever let the word pass their lips. I was obsessed with the sensation of electric sparks flying—the madness, the push and pull, the suppression, the lingering torment, the fleeting glances when two people crash into each other in the dark, the stimulating ambiguity between them. Even a single look searching for the other's silhouette in a crowd was enough to make me exclaim—this is an affection too intense to bear. And God, though I am not religious, their first kiss in the early episodes contained everything I needed and wanted to see in a scene of physical intimacy, so much so that I had to rewind it more than three times for its sheer perfection. The lighting, the context, the characters, the breath, the camera angle, the sound of silence—all created one of the most beautiful kisses on screen. It held hatred, hesitant conflict, yearning desire, and the helpless surrender of reason to love. Ah, they wanted to devour each other alive, to embed the other into their flesh and blood, to be together in the most complete way. Additionally, there was the fleeting forbidden love of Veera and his mistress, or Victor's unrequited love—a sentiment I respect deeply: blunt, clear, bordering on admiration and worship. Though unreciprocated, I believe that whether or not we call it romantic love, that feeling had a certain impact on everyone around it (making Victor look handsomer and creating some great chemistry scenes for the viewers, for instance).

And finally, I want to talk about the "revolutionary" ideals of the characters, or rather a whole class of people in the film—a pivotal element. It has been years since I watched a film with revolutionary elements that addressed politics so directly, specifically since "Not Me"—one of my highly-rated favorites. The rebellion, the image of burning torches, the cheers on the streets, the protest posters never cease to evoke in me a sense of poignancy, nostalgia, and emotion. Because they evoke a sense of bravery, showing the extraordinary within a small human being trying to rise up against a force infinitely stronger than himself. Undeniably, he does not stand up to fight for profit, except that his "profit" is to satisfy his own illusory ideal. "The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do." In a dark society, there will always be those who light torches. A torch may not illuminate the whole forest, it may be extinguished, but as long as it creates a spark, leaves a lingering ember, one day the forest will burn in its place and light up the sky. Victor's death was one I did not foresee, despite my suspicions. But ultimately, that death was the turning point that made me view the film through different eyes. I didn't know if "Shine" would end as a film about naked reality as it is, or if it would carry the romantic, optimistic tone it always aimed for. In the end, it remains an oil painting.

"Shine" does not change history; the film only retells history, romanticizing it to reflect and contemplate. There were indeed bloody scenes, there was pain, there were infinite regrets, people who fell, things that could not be undone, loves buried deep in the hearts of lovers, but all were directed toward the future. Just as Thanwa rewrote the ending for his mother's story, just as the box no longer opened to emptiness but was filled with hope. The film's ending is not about two lovers ending up together, but about life going on. Even when people thought it was the end, the apocalypse, the living continued to live, year after year. The Earth keeps turning, and the moon remains there, whether it is this side or that; all experience both day and night, receiving both light and darkness, just like every other planet orbiting the sun, carrying mysteries that humanity will forever yearn to explore.

Indeed, "Shine" is a film worthy of its reputation—a quality production compared to the general standard of the genre, to the point where people often call it an LGBTQ+ film rather than a BL film with old tropes serving fan demands. It is true that the film is incredibly invested in visuals, cinematography, polished in creating a historical atmosphere, recreating the context of Thailand in that era, and effectively conveying messages with depth. The actors fulfilled their roles, embodying their characters and shedding their off-screen personas; the shift in positions within the couple also emphasized free will.

However, there are still some very clear minus points that prevent the film from receiving a perfect score from me. The first six episodes were not truly effective for me—especially regarding the main couple; I couldn't deeply feel their love. Sometimes I thought the film had two main CPs because the screentime for the secondary couple was very fitting, fluid, and natural, with superb chemistry that somewhat overshadowed the main pair. The arrangement of Apo as Krailert's nephew was a bit hard to accept at first, and I liked Victor too, resulting in a bit of "Second Lead Syndrome." Because the main couple didn't resonate with me effectively, I wasn't swept along by the plot initially. Even though the color grading and setting suited my taste, my emotions weren't too intense, almost entirely focused on the secondary couple. Later, as their connection deepened, it improved, but Mile's character truly felt somewhat detached from the main narrative track of the film.

Another regret is that while the spirit of resistance—progressive and future-oriented—was very clear, especially with the youth and students striving to debate and care for the country, the film's revolutionary atmosphere didn't truly reach a "peak." It wasn't until the final episodes before Victor's death that I caught a glimpse of this feeling. Compared to "Not Me," clearly, this film didn't delve as deeply into this issue, perhaps because people in this era were still confused and finding their way, their revolutionary consciousness not yet clearly defined. They seemed to oppose capitalism to ensure benefits for the people and uphold democracy, but hadn't determined specific steps for the future—everything stopped at resisting the government and villains. Therefore, instead of being specific and micro, the film expanded to a macro level of upholding humanity. Meanwhile, the pioneers were still struggling to find the path. Of course, the avant-garde and rebellious quality was still very clear, but it didn't create a distinct revolutionary atmosphere (not necessarily a communist revolution, but class revolution in general). The final regret is Dhevi's ending. After everything she and Moira did to prove the role of women in history, ultimately, this character still became a villain dependent on her family. I expected better development for the female characters.

In general, "Shine" is a film meticulously invested in every aspect: setting, characters, script, message... Everything shows that the filmmakers truly put their heart into the movie. The soundtrack, editing, lighting, and imagery are crucial prerequisites that create the sophistication and detail of the film, allowing viewers to feel its depth. Most notable is the art of narration and storytelling, threading the story from beginning to end (the corresponding beginning-and-end structure creates a great lingering effect). Despite some regrets, the film truly "shone" and fulfilled its mission well. A final word of praise for BOC: keep up this form and continue making films with depth, on unique, distinctive topics with your own style—intense, liberal, dark, but always striving for the light.