As a queer woman of East Asian descent who researches transnational queer media and culture, Saving Face (2004), the debut feature by Alice Wu, holds a special place in both my heart and my research.

Set in the tightly knit Chinese-American community of Flushing, New York, Saving Face follows Wil (Michelle Krusiec), a young, promising yet closeted surgeon whose carefully balanced life is thrown into chaos when her widowed mother, Hwei-Lan (Joan Chen), shows up on her doorstep. Hwei-Lan is pregnant and has been banished by her community, and is refusing to name the father.

What unfolds is a story that blends romantic comedy with drama. As well as Wil’s budding relationship with a dancer named Vivian (Lynn Chen), the film explores the tensions between mothers and daughters, identity and duty, and the quiet pressure of silence and the fear of coming out.

But what makes Saving Face stand out two decades after its release is its portrayal of love and family – through a lens of tenderness and care. It was one of the first mainstream films to centre a queer Asian American woman.

The emotional heart of the film lies in the layered interplay between personal desire and cultural expectation, which is felt not only by Wil but also by her mother. While Wil is carefully exploring a same-sex romance, Hwei-Lan’s unexpected pregnancy has left the family reeling with shame. The film explores how these two women of different generations are pushed to perform “respectability”, even as they long for love and self-determination on their own terms.

This article is part of a series highlighting brilliant films that should be more widely known and firmly part of the canon of queer cinema .

In many East Asian societies, the idea of “face” – a person’s reputation, dignity and social currency – shapes the way they move through the world. To “lose face” is to lose one’s social standing, bringing shame on oneself and one’s family.

Growing up as a tomboyish daughter in Hong Kong, I was acutely aware of how even my clothing, hairstyle or mannerisms could be read as a reflection of my parents’ success or failure in raising me. In other words, my gender expression could make my family lose face, something that queer ethnographer Denise Tang has also observed in the experiences of her lesbian informants in Hong Kong. This social pressure – the way neighbours stare and talk, the way family reputation hinges on everyday interaction – can be exhausting.

And like Wil in the film, I channelled my energy into academic achievement. This was perhaps to compensate for my (unspoken-yet-socially recognised) queerness, to prove my worth and save face – both mine and my family’s. In environments where silence is preferred, excelling becomes a form of camouflage – a way of negotiating who you are without having to say it aloud.

Wu’s film captures this perfectly. Both Wil and her mother are caught in webs of expectation: to be the “dutiful daughter” and “respectable mother”.

But what I love about Saving Face is that it doesn’t demonise culture or community. Instead, it invites viewers to witness how love – queer love, maternal love, self-love – can expand our understanding of what it means to belong. The mother-daughter dynamic is just as central as the romantic plot, and it is rare to see this kind of intergenerational, diasporic storytelling rendered with such care and grace.

Shot on 35mm, Saving Face is a visual joy. The warm, lived-in colours and soft, quiet richness give the film a timeless, intimate feel. There is a restrained elegance to Wu’s direction that lets the emotional currents breathe.

Joan Chen is magnetic as Wil’s mother, bringing unexpected comedic charm alongside poignancy. Krusiec and Lynn Chen, as Wil and Vivian, bring a nuanced chemistry that feels genuine. Their connection has all the longing and awkwardness that makes a romcom work, without falling into cliché.

Despite its cult status in queer Asian and Sinitic-language communities, Saving Face is still often left out of broader LGBTQ+ film canons – even though it was recently added to the Criterion Collection, known for curating significant classic and contemporary cinema. But it should not be.

This film is far more than a “representation win”. It’s a sharp, funny and emotionally rich story that complicates the binary between personal freedom and responsibility. And queer Asian characters are still rarely portrayed with this much nuance, complexity – and joy.

For viewers unfamiliar with the cultural backdrop, Saving Face offers a glimpse into the negotiations many of us make within families and communities who prioritise harmony and silence over disruption. For those of us who know this world intimately, the film is a gift. It is a recognition that our experiences are not only valid, but beautiful.

Eva Cheuk-Yin Li does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.