SoulMate (2016)

SoulMate is special because it treats female friendship with the kind of gravity and tenderness most romances reserve for “the one,” then lets time test that bond in ways that feel painfully true. Derek Tsang directs with a quiet confidence, folding decades into fluid flashbacks that move like memory does—beautiful, selective, and suddenly overwhelming—while the cinematography gives even ordinary moments a wistful glow. Zhou Dongyu and Ma Sichun are the film’s heartbeat, capturing the push-and-pull of growing up: devotion, jealousy, freedom, fear, and the aching realization that love can change shape without disappearing. It’s a deeply emotional, reflective drama rather than a breezy tearjerker, so if you prefer tidy feelings and clean closures it may sting—but if you’re open to something honest and gorgeously made, it lingers like a song you can’t stop replaying.

SoulMate is clearly aiming for a sweeping, bittersweet portrait of female friendship—how it forms, fractures, and haunts you across adulthood—using a novel/flashback structure to mirror memory itself. When it works, it’s because Zhou Dongyu and Ma Sichun bring real emotional bite, making the bond feel lived-in even when the script leans on familiar coming-of-age beats. The problem is that the storytelling can feel conventional and a bit structurally wobbly, and the movie occasionally hints at a darker, stranger undercurrent it never fully commits to, which makes the tone feel slightly at odds with itself. If you’re sensitive to “big” late-film reveals that can come off as engineered rather than earned, or you want a more daring, less tidy approach to messy relationships, this may leave you admiring the performances more than the overall impact.