26th Hong Kong International
Film Festival 2002
by Alison Jobling
Episode 2: Hey, It's a Living...
This week's collection of films is tied together by the theme of work. It's a rather arbitrary form of aggregation on my part, but I'm sure you are a kind audience and will let me get away with such things.
I'll deal with the opening night show first: Hollywood Hong Kong, by Fruit Chan. Perhaps it was because this was my first Fruit Chan flick, but I felt a vague unease for most of the time, as though the screen was going to come over all Greenaway on me. It failed to do so, but by then the moment was tarnished, although I was quite chuffed at making it into the opening night film (courtesy of David Bordwell, who, for those who don't know him, is the author of
Planet Hong Kong, possibly the finest book on Hong Kong movies. And a jolly fine chap, too, seeing as he's responsible for not only getting us into this film, but also for the dinner with Johnnie To. Perhaps I've mentioned that).
Anyway, I found the film worthy but not especially likeable. A family of corpulent pork butchers, a teenage pimp, and a manipulative prostitute didn't combine to produce any character that I cared much about, although there were a few amusing moments. My favourite of these concerned the butchers' breeding sow, rather ominously named "Mother". Partway through the film, Mother wanders off, and is seen heading purposefully along the highway, leaving in her wake the grieving providers of porkage. At the close, Mother returns, having been to the big city and gotten a tattoo.
My next film, though, is going to get a rave or two. Anyone who's known me for more than about 30 seconds will know that I wax lyrical about several people in the Hong Kong movie scene, and one of those people is Stephen Chiau Sing Chi, who's responsible for
Shaolin Soccer.
I have to say right here that I came rather late to a full appreciation of Sing Chi. Possibly because the first film I saw featuring him was most assuredly not one of his best, or possibly for the same reason that it takes some time to develop an appreciation of fine shiraz. But come to said appreciation I have, and I feel it my duty to lecture you lot, so sit still and no fidgeting.
No, sod it all, I won't after all. I'll just say that, with Shaolin
Soccer, Chiau has once again demonstrated his skill at capturing the vulnerabilities of human life. The film contains moments of absurdist humour, and moments of rather heart-rending pathos, and somehow manages to make all of its characters both laughable and likeable: we can identify with their weaknesses and their triumphs, and I think this is one of the prime reasons for Chiau's continued success. He creates characters that we care about, similar to Ben Elton's "Farties", and allows us to laugh at them in the same way we'd laugh at our friends (although none of my friends can manage Mighty Steel Leg. Nor can they get their leg over their head, but that's another rant...).
In keeping with my theme of making a living, Chiau's characters are all trying to eke out a meagre living in Shanghai, a sort of sister city to Hong Kong for this purpose. His common theme of redemption is right up front here, probably to dispel the cold of a Hong Kong post-meltdown. It was interesting for me that this film screened in the Space Museum Lecture Hall, which, for those not familiar with Hong Kong (just imagine me smugly guffawing to myself here), is a fairly small cinema, of the order of the Chinatown
Cinema 3 in Melbourne, or the Mercury in Adelaide. No, probably even smaller. Anyway, the cinema was only half-full, and so I started the screening with my feathers ruffled that all those festival-goers had so lost their senses as to miss a Chiau film (after having glared around at those present, as if they'd been responsible). But as the film progressed, the audience loosened up, and I was gratified to hear most of the audience laughing, and at the right moments no less.
I'd also like to note that Shaolin Soccer scored 7 awards at the Hong Kong Film Awards in April this year, including Best Film, Best Director, Best Actor, and Best Supporting Actor for Wong Yat Fei, who played First Big Brother. And I don't know about you, but I find it rather sweet that Chiau, certainly one of the biggest stars in Asia, arrived at the awards ceremony in a taxi.
Hey-up, on to the next, and another of my favourites from this fest: Edmund Pang's
You Shoot, I Shoot. Just a bunch 'o' fun, and quite a delight to watch. This was his first directorial feature, and I've got to say I"m eagerly awaiting his next. I also procured the film on disc before I returned, so's I could watch it at my leisure. Brilliant costumes, snappy cinematography, and Eric Kot showing that he can be charming as well as
gittish.
You probably know the story, but I'll give you my 25-words-or-less: Kot plays a hitman caught in the economic downturn (a polite phrase for the state of affairs which is otherwise known as "the Asian meltdown"). He's offered a job which involves filming the hit, and when he proves himself shall we say not so talented in this area, he begins a partnership with a similarly out of work director, played capably by Cheung Tat Ming. Both actors are stylish and assured in their respective roles, and both invest their characters with warmth and depth, as do some of the minor characters, both comedic and serious.
On to the next: Born Wild, a Patrick Leung work with a fine young cast. Louis Koo (apropos of nothing, I'm still reeling from the fact that my DVD of
Dry Wood, Fierce Fire lists him as Louise Koo. I'm sure he'd not be pleased) plays an underground boxer who gets beaten to death in one of his fights, while Daniel Wu plays his brother "seeking after the truth", and Jo Kuk plays his girlfriend, another elemental creature like Koo's character.
All fade into the background, however, alongside Patrick Tam, playing the minor-league triad who acts as Koo's manager. Tam is undoubtedly one of the most wildly talented actors in Hong Kong films today, which probably acts to his detriment, because it denies him the chance to develop a recognisable screen presence. Think of popular on-note actors who always present the same character: Tam can't do that, because he submerges himself in each role. And he eats this one up.
And the last for this week: Fulltime Killer. Johnnie To's stylish assassin flick doesn't deal with the economic and personal aspects of the killing business. No, this one is all about flash and tragedy. I must say that it looks good, and with Andy Lau striding about in leather and self-confidence, it contains most of what I consider essential ingredients of a fun movie (that is, Andy Lau and leatherwear). Lau revels in his first chance to play a villain, and To exercises his usual talent for interesting visual compositions.
It's a trifle wordier than most To works, however. Usually, To, with Wai Ka Fai and Yau Nei Hoi (scriptwriters), trims the script to the lean minimum, and makes the actors work hard, and this style has produced such masterpieces as The Mission and Running Out Of Time. Perhaps that's why Fulltime Killer is not as successful. It's not his best, but then again it's not his worst either.
Next week: Episode 3. George Lucas kept going, but I'm stopping after this.
