“Fruit Gathering’s most striking contribution to queer cinema is that while it certainly isn’t cautious or tentative about including familiar queer elements, its interest goes beyond the specificity of navigating one’s feelings for a member of the same sex.”

Theint is a new girl working at a Burmese garment factory, and San Kyi cannot help noticing her right away. When a supervisor chastises San Kyi for taking an unapproved restroom break, Theint inserts herself into the scenario by interjecting that she saw San Kyi ask for permission. With a wink, Theint reassures San Kyi after the confrontation that “it’s okay,” as though she shouldn’t worry; it is understood that these two are going to be friends, and that theirs will be the central relationship in this story. Finishing their shift, Theint refreshes herself in the washroom, and the camera follows San Kyi’s gaze as Theint removes her shirt and rinses the sweat from her body; now it is understood that this is going to be that kind of female friendship. Or will it?

San Kyi and Theint start spending time together outside of work: they share intimate details about their family lives over meals together, and when Theint is short of cash to pay her share of the bill, San Kyi pays for both meals. This introduces an insight that will become very important in the development of their relationship for the remainder of the film: San Kyi is fairly fiscally responsible, while Theint struggles to manage her finances, frequently leaning on San Kyi for petty loans. They still get along and enjoy each other’s company, but Theint’s recklessness causes several moments of awkwardness where it appears as though she feels obligated to San Kyi, while San Kyi quietly becomes more and more smitten. Theint briefly disappears from San Kyi’s life when out of the blue she admits she has gotten married, but it isn’t long before a separation from her husband (apparently pursuing a work opportunity in Malaysia in order to avoid military service) leads her back to San Kyi and a moment of spontaneous intimacy.

Fruit Gathering has an undeniable queer sensibility in its observations of San Kyi’s desire for another woman, especially in a society where physical expressions of female friendship like holding hands in public are considered normal, and it navigates the difficulties of a situation where neither party is on the same page. It’s also worthy of note that the film creates a world where mainly female voices are heard: apart from San Kyi and Theint, most other speaking roles are female family members and co-workers, and almost an hour goes by before a couple of men utter a handful of lines of inconsequential dialogue. San Kyi is naturally timid, introverted and lonely, and her romantic and platonic feelings for Theint blur in such a way that it becomes about an all-encompassing desire for connection with one specific person. This is clear in a moment where Theint admits to San Kyi that she doesn’t want to be with her “in that way,” and San Kyi pleads in response, “Not like that! Just like friends and sisters!” In this moment, San Kyi just wants Theint in any way possible: it does not necessarily have to be romantic or sexual. She has difficulty connecting with other people, and now that she feels she has found that special person, she is willing to accept any form that this love could take. In a moving touch of childish innocence that comes with a lack of previous experiences like this, San Kyi believes that after tasting physical intimacy with someone to whom it didn’t mean the same, things can return to what they were before. This is already well-developed by Aung Phyoe, but a wonderfully specific performance by Nandar Myat Aung adds even more to the development of San Kyi’s character. San Kyi is not conventionally charismatic: she is sullen, petulant and withdrawn, yet not unlikable or exhausting to watch, and it is easy to feel moved by her struggle to express herself and to effectively communicate with others.

Fruit Gathering’s most striking contribution to queer cinema is that while it certainly isn’t cautious or tentative about including familiar queer elements, its interest goes beyond the specificity of navigating one’s feelings for a member of the same sex (though it wouldn’t be honest or accurate to suggest that one of the roles could be gender swapped and not much would change). The film’s observations about relationships speak to loneliness, yearning, separation anxiety, desire – so many things reminiscent of different types of relationships, and the need to feel completed and loved by one specific person, whoever that may be.