If you look around, you may get the distinct impression that the defining characteristic of cinema nowadays is action. What was once a genre that represented 4% of the top films in the 1930s encompassed 34% in the 2010s. That’s not entirely surprising: Audiences love drama and tend to be drawn to spectacles. What is action but extremely heightened and fun drama?
However, emerging in the 1960s, there has been a small increase of films, particularly in the independent circuit, where talking is the primary source of conflict. There are no fights or car chases, no big villain or terrible enterprise — just conversation. This style has no pretty name: Some call it naturalistic cinema; others are more specific, saying it’s “mumble-core”; I call it “walk-and-talk.” Whatever the terminology, these films have grown in direct opposition to the industry’s status quo, rejecting spectacle in favor of introspection. Directors like Éric Rohmer, Richard Linklater and Hong Sang-soo have been at the forefront of the style, and with the recent success and popularity of Celine Song’s “Past Lives,” it has seemingly reached a wider audience.
It has also reached Ann Arbor, thanks to the efforts of Trevor Zhou, an alum of the University of Michigan. Born in China and raised in Ann Arbor, Zhou is an actor-turned-director, seeking to bring his upcoming directorial debut, “Ann Arbor,” to life. The film follows two middle-aged college alumni, Kendrick and Jane, as they reconnect over the course of a single night. In an interview with The Michigan Daily, I had the opportunity to talk with Zhou about all things Ann Arbor, film and life. Ultimately, I wanted to know the writing process behind a walk-and-talk film.
In walk-and-talk films, the characters drive the narrative. Without compelling, interesting protagonists, a dialogue-driven film is doomed. The challenge in these films is having them interact naturally, sustaining the narrative with charisma, wit and ingenuity. Zhou studied the script of Linklater’s “Before Sunset” and drew inspiration for Kendrick from his own life.
“Kendrick is a pretty complex character just because he lives in a sort of Asian guilt. I’m Chinese, and Kendrick is the ‘what if’ had I done everything my parents wanted me to do in life. (The character) was kind of a, ‘Would I be happy?’ … I draw on a lot of my own experiences in Ann Arbor to paint his world with a lot of specificity,” Zhou said. “A lot of the stories inside of it are my own. And what I’ve learned in filmmaking and writing is that when you get specific, people have something to grab onto and they can catch that thread and come along with the ride … When you try to make (a film) for everyone, it’s for no one.”
But Kendrick is not simply a stand-in for Zhou. He also uses the character to combat larger, societal norms.
“This film is really important to me because it showcases Asian masculinity in a way that I usually don’t see. Asian masculinity in American society is usually kung fu or gangster. Outside of those representations, (you see something) like Japanese feudal — we’re taking it way the fuck back. So, (these depictions don’t) represent who we are as people,” Zhou said. “Also, that type of masculinity tends to be self-destructive: You turn to physical (action) rather than emotional and try to resolve it that way. Kendrick here, he’s vulnerable, he shares, he opens up his world and we get to know who he is. He’s brave in the way that he bears his soul. I feel that type of masculinity is not seen enough, and it should be shared more.”
Jane’s characterization was a large focus point for Zhou, based on people he has encountered over the years. While writing Jane, Zhou similarly drew on personal encounters and sought to avoid cinematic cliches.
“One of the things that I wanted to make sure I got right was Jane’s character … I hate the manic pixie dream girl trope, where this quirky girl comes in and saves the dude. She has no internal world of her own. She has no objective or goals that she’s seeking in life, and she just seems to be plopped in there just to solve this man’s problems,” Zhou said. “There are so many movies that make that sort of choice. You have ‘Garden State,’ you have even ‘Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.’ Jane has her own internal world, her own struggles. She has her own demon that she’s fighting and she’s not here to try to solve his problem, but she does try to help because they’re friends.”
Zhou leaned into the characters’ unique history with each other to propel their dialogue:
“They both end up helping each other. As I was writing it, I wanted to make sure that these two people were the only people in the world that could open these portals … between their current selves and their past selves.”
Zhou also used his acting knowledge to deepen each character and their exchanges.
“When you are an actor, or when you take acting classes, you can start looking at these lines that you’re writing and then fighting for this person to exist. Every scene should have conflict for the most part. What are (the characters) fighting for (in that scene)? What are the stakes at hand?” Zhou said. “I go back and forth, I’ll fight for Kendrick in one revision, and then, I’ll fight for Jane in the other revision. I look at points where they could argue more and have their past come up as weapons.”
The environment almost plays a third character in walk-and-talk films, being a constant background. Cities provide texture and subtle ways to move the plot forward. Linklater’s “Before Sunset” and Song’s “Past Lives,” for instance, are set in Paris and New York, respectively, and the cities shift and change to accommodate tone. If the characters want to grab a coffee or hop on the ferry, their urban environment easily allows them to. Both cities also have the benefit of having a clear identity, be it the city of love or the city that never sleeps, an artistic haven or a gritty Gotham.
Ann Arbor, defined by its relationship to a constantly changing student body, presents unique challenges. Without an established cinematic identity, how does one approach portraying it? Zhou said that an artist defines a city through their unique and personal experience with it.
“(Writing ‘Ann Arbor’) was like (asking myself), what did I love about this town as a student and what did I love about this town as a local? … Paris and New York have these layered sort of meanings and depth to them. But that’s because of the histories of the cities,” Zhou said. “When Paris first started, nothing was really written about it when it was first being created. It was because creatives started going there, and then, there was like an artistic sort of movement, and then, it became romanticized as people started creating their own stories … The more layered, the more experiences people have with one location, the more they tell stories about that location that they know. So, this (film) is me kind of trying to start more stories being told about my hometown, locating my story center and branching out from there.”
But there are other aspects to building a city’s character aside from Zhou’s own memories. Scenery plays an important role in establishing the location. With “Ann Arbor,” Zhou wants to showcase local businesses.
“One of the things I want to do is feature the mom and pop restaurants and businesses that have persisted through not only a pandemic, but economic crises … It’s really important to highlight the local businesses because, at this moment in America, the corporate entities are buying up property like crazy. There’s so much wealth and so much inequity. And I want to highlight the legacy of Ann Arbor, the families in Ann Arbor that have built what it’s become.”
With the closure of many Ann Arbor staples in mind, Zhou recalled a scene in the script where Kendrick and Jane discuss how the city they knew is disappearing in front of their eyes.
“They’re both talking about how the city is changing in front of their eyes and how the places that they know and love are now disappearing. It’s unfortunate, but that’s the new reality — that things will change and that the city, people (and) business owners will chase profits,” Zhou said. “That’s why this film is also quite important: to share not only the DEI diversity angle — sharing an actual story of a person of Color — but also the power of conversation and how important that can be. The act of making this film is an act of resistance in and of itself.”
Changes in Ann Arbor may also motivate the score of the film. Beyond specific memories and scenery, music often plays a significant role in establishing the vibe of a city and the mood of a film. “Past Lives” uses an airy orchestral score to set the contemplative but expansive, grand atmosphere; “Before Sunset,” a film with no score, has a few diegetic, acoustic songs, giving Paris a warm edge. So, what does the city of Ann Arbor sound like? Currently, the film does not have a composer, but while writing the first draft of the script, Zhou listened to the song “Choke” by Sonn to get into the writing mood.
“It’s a really beautiful song. It’s lo-fi, and there’s crackles, and it makes you feel almost nostalgic. (The song) is electronic, but also, (there is) the musicality of actual instruments involved. So there’s an organic nature, but also a degraded nature, like when you’re thinking back into the past (and) things aren’t exactly as you remember them.”
It’s perhaps this exact oxymoronic quality of the song — the degraded, organic yet artificial nature — that is at the core of Ann Arbor’s character. The city is where many of Zhou’s memories, both good and bad, have come from, and ultimately, its complexities are part of Zhou’s story.
“I tell people (‘Ann Arbor’) is a love letter, but it’s actually kind of a bittersweet love letter because, when I think back, I don’t have super warm and fuzzy nostalgia vibes for the city. I was bullied so much that I had to change schools. A teacher recommended that I change my name from a Chinese name to an English name,” Zhou said. “This place shaped who I am as a person for better or worse. At the end of the day, I’m still quite proud of who I’ve become and the story that I’m telling.”
“Ann Arbor” feels necessary in this artistic and socio-political climate. The film touches on local issues, but the implications are more far-reaching than our humble town. The flattening monoculture of city life is not exclusive to Ann Arbor; it’s happening all over America. In New York, in Boston, in Philadelphia, local businesses are struggling, and the character of our American cities is disappearing.
Most films in theaters are action movies, leading to spectacular but somewhat shallow characters. All the while, independent cinema has been put under increasing pressure. Our entertainment, beyond film, is getting more homogenized — the music on the radio sounds the same, YouTube videos are designed for the algorithm. Put simply, independent voices are getting drowned out.
Zhou’s project is brave. Best of all, it’s happening locally, and some of the people working on the film will be locals as well. On a small scale, Zhou is putting a face to Ann Arbor. On a larger one, his film is part of a modest movement to bring our voices back into the world.
As Zhou said, the making of his film and other walk-and-talk films is an act of resistance. This style allows writers and directors to resist and reform social narratives. And it strips filmmaking (and all of its complexities) to its barest and truest essence, revealing what is missing from both our cities and our art: The interaction between people.
Currently, “Ann Arbor” is in its pre-production phase. The film is set to shoot in the fall of 2025. You can learn more about the film on its Instagram @annarbormovie.
Summer Managing Arts Editor Ben Luu can be reached at benllv@umich.edu.