This film stinks and I hate it. You know why? Not because of the completely incoherent plot. Not because the performances exist in an emotional vacuum. Not even because the soundtrack (ironically featuring a song entitled “Let Me Die”) made me want to kill myself. No, I hate 2002 because I want to be a magic cop. (Actually, I really want to be a magical-realist cop, but I’d happily settle for the plain old magic version.) If I was a magic cop, I’d cane more supernatural arse than any magic cop before me, and you know what? I’d do it in style too, unlike Nicholas freakin’ Tse, who spends the whole of this freakin’ film poncing about in freakin’ PVC instead of leather! PVC! PVC! Where’s the freakin’ style in that? Worse, not only do Tse and his stupid, stupid partner dress head-to-toe in tacky plastic crap, they actually look proud of what they’re wearing!
Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking, HK’s a pretty humid place — maybe PVC is actually the smart option. But I’m thinking, maybe… you’re a fool! Comfort over style? You’ve been eating retard sandwiches again, haven’t you?
I’ve a feeling that there is actually some leather in 2002, but the problem is more that Nicholas Tse just looks like a PVC kinda guy anyway, and that really is emblematic of everything that’s wrong with this film — as hard as 2002 tries to be cool, it still looks like a cheap imitation of the real thing. Don’t waste your time.