Comrades, Almost a Love Story (Tian mi mi)

 

Director Peter Chan Ho-Sun

COMRADES, ALMOST A LOVE STORY (Tian mi mi)                A                                      Hong Kong  (118 mi)  1997  d: Peter Chan Ho-Sun

Sweetly, you smile sweetly.
It looks like flowers blossoming in the spring wind,
Blossoming in the spring wind.
Where, where have I seen you before?
Your smile is so familiar,
But I can’t recall at this moment.
Ah! In my dreams...
In my dreams, in my dreams I’ve seen you before.
Sweetly, you smile so sweetly.
It’s you!  It’s you!  The one in my dreams is you!

—Tian mi mi (Sweet Honey), theme song sung by Teresa Teng, Tian Mi Mi – Teresa Teng Lyrics [CHINESE MANDARIN | PINYIN YouTube (3:25)

A nuanced, richly detailed love story that spans ten years and follows the aspirations of two star-crossed Chinese mainlanders who simultaneously come to Hong Kong in 1986 with a dream of assimilation in search of upward economic mobility, a journey finally taking them to New York, where they blend into the Chinese melting pot of America.  The film stars Maggie Cheung as Li Qiao, ambitious, shrewd, and hard-working, an opportunistic entrepreneur from Guangzhou who takes a backward newcomer, Leon Lai, playing naïve northerner Li Xiao-jun under her wings, where the mutual experience of physical dislocation and urban isolation quickly escalates into a heated love affair until a stock market crash signals the end, “You’re not what brought me to Hong Kong, and I’m not what brought you,” only to meet again three years later after he marries his childhood sweetheart, Fang Xiao-ting, played by newcomer Kristy Yang, where a stream of narrated letters written to her poetically underscores the cultural differences.  Their passion rekindles, but she becomes a girlfriend to Hong Kong triad mob boss Pao (Eric Tsang) for security and safety, and is forced to depart for New York, where they cross paths once again in a glorious moment that reflects a genuine love that fills the screen. Unapologetically romantic and genuinely moving, Chan is able to navigate us through a labyrinth of detours and pitfalls for the featured lovers without cloying sentimentality.  Foregoing part of his salary in order to guarantee the signing of Cheung, the film reflects on the experiences of youth, displacement, Chinese diaspora and cultural identity, and trying to find a place in a vibrant Hong Kong, which has long been a gateway for Chinese migrants who follow a dream.  With opportunities for the accumulation of wealth and social mobility limited in 1980’s China, the prospects of achieving middle-class status is achievable only in the freedom of Hong Kong, a land of opportunities for migrants who want a better life, just like the American Dream.  Issues of identity plague the territory and take on an elevated significance since the signing of the 1984 Sino-British Joint Declaration announcing the handover of Hong Kong to China in 1997, where this film serves as an allegory for that tenuous relationship.  Hong Kong is a dream for mainlanders, but for most in Hong Kong, with the handover looming, many are looking to leave for the West.  While there was initially a rush of anticipation about a hopeful transnational reunification, that reality has been a crushing disappointment, as all dreams have been dashed by a repressive push to abolish all democratic freedoms in Hong Kong, including freedom of the press, while also wiping out what was a world renowned film industry.  Drenched in romanticism, filled with a yearning for a better life, this becomes a eulogy and nostalgic love letter to a Hong Kong that no longer exists, where its historical destination as a transit stop for those seeking economic prosperity came to an abrupt end, becoming a bittersweet goodbye to the dreams of youth, having been suffocated out of existence by the repressive authoritarian rule of Communist China, now just a lingering memory, where this represents the best the Hong Kong film industry had to offer, resulting in one of the standout films from the Handover period, listed at #12 in a list of The 100 best Hong Kong movies - Time Out.  An important differentiation with Hollywood is that most Hong Kong films didn’t have readings, or rehearsals, where the directors never worked with the actors much, with no rigid shooting schedule, which were often spread out over several months.  In the old days, they didn’t even work with scripts.  Postproduction work was also very quick, with this film released in the theater just six weeks after shooting stopped, including editing and locking the picture, also the sound mixing, yet in the pre-Dolby era, this was among the longest in the director’s career, which accounts for fewer flaws.  Best Actress Award for Cheung, Best Screenplay, Best Director, Best Film, winner in 9 of 11 nominated categories at the 1997 Hong Kong Film Awards.

Written by Ivy Ho, the film overcomes genre categorizations and some of the sappy musical cues and cleverly mixes humor with nostalgia, all leading up to Hong Kong’s sovereign return to the Chinese mainland in 1997, which is initially eagerly anticipated, coinciding with a stock market surge, but also reality sets in as the market cools its heels just prior to the ultimate transfer back to the mainland.  Li Xiao-jun stays in a room provided by his Aunt Rosie (Irene Tsu), who runs a brothel and continually fantasizes about American actor William Holden, maintaining a shrine to him in her room, with an enlarged portrait surrounded by fan magazine clippings, while McDonald’s becomes a setting for international public relations, as learning English takes on a sudden significance in the job market, where the English teacher is none other than Hong Kong cinematographer par excellence Christopher Doyle, famous for his collaboration with Wong Kar-wai, chanting “die you bastard, die” as they watch an American cowboy movie.  Chan films the Tsim Sha Tsui, the most prosperous commercial district in Hong Kong, a bit differently than other filmmakers, reflective of different races and cultures, including a recurring image of the Opportunity Furniture Store, an abandoned storefront with a Sikh Indian sitting in front, or a white English teacher who couples with a Thai prostitute (Michelle Gabriel), and the low-budget shops of Chungking Mansions, an offbeat international landmark with its maze of shops and restaurants offering a look of multicultural diversity, also featured prominently in Wong Kar-wai’s CHUNGKING EXPRESS (1994).  The film is immersed in a tender romanticism, accentuated by the songs of Taiwanese pop star Teresa Teng, who actually becomes a subplot to the main narrative, as her songs are adored by the Chinese mainlanders who secretly bypass the official Chinese censorship of her music (banned as part of Deng Xiaoping’s Anti-Spiritual Pollution Campaign from 1983 until restrictions were lifted in 2015), while the more cosmopolitan residents of Hong Kong openly show disinterest while secretly adoring her music as well.  Teng becomes emblematic of the duality of a split nation, singing songs in Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese, Indonesian, and English, bridging the international divide, fusing Western elements with classical Chinese, becoming the most popular Chinese singer in the world, where her music exudes a long sought after hope for freedom, a reminder of the émigré Chinese experience tinged with a nostalgia for all that was left behind.  Her tragic death during production at the early age of 42 inspired Chan to change the film’s Chinese title to one of her best known songs, which the young couple initially sing together while riding on his bicycle, Comrades: Almost a Love Story (1996) - Bike Scene YouTube (30 seconds), where a mutual love for her music mirrors their own attraction, like a unifying force, as the film is essentially an elegy to her music, 2013台北電影節｜甜蜜蜜 Comrades: Almost a Love Story YouTube (3:21).  On several occasions, Cheung somewhat ironically calls Lai by his official title, preceding his full name by the word comrade, a reminder of the mainland influence in their upbringing, but it also adds an element of personal intimacy to their relationship.  Westerners will most likely find that amusing, as it transforms communist ideology and becomes a term of endearment.  Also amusing is the repeated camera angle from inside an ATM machine, where both jostle in front of it to make transactions, where Cheung’s bank account becomes an accurate measurement for their lifted or deflated spirits.  But easily the most amusing element of the film is the use of Eric Tsang, noted for his legendary Hong Kong gangster roles, who is charmingly adorable and menacing at the same time, exerting a certain authority and presence, ordering mafia hits with complete nonchalance while instructing Cheung not to interrupt his back massage.  

Towards the end of the movie Aunt Rosie becomes increasingly ill, so Li Xiao-jun watches LOVE IS A MANY-SPLENDORED THING (1955) on video, which was shot on location in Hong Kong, nominated for 8 Academy Awards, winning three, and learns more details about how she met Holden during the filming and had dinner with him at the famous Peninsula Hotel (3,264 × 2,448 pixels), with viewers remaining unsure whether this actually happened or is a wish fulfillment myth.  After her death, however, he discovers a trunk full of mementos from that evening, including a Peninsula Hotel menu and napkin, as well as photos with Holden and a woman resembling his aunt at a much younger age, yet her past, along with Hollywood’s historic relation to Hong Kong, simply evaporates over time.  Chan, a Second Wave filmmaker who was trained in film history, having understudied with John Woo after attending UCLA film school, cleverly integrates this storyline into a film about Chinese identity, where it’s important to realize how Hollywood viewed a very Westernized Hong Kong pre-transfer, believing it was created by white Westerners for white Western eyes, a reminder of the milestones of Hong Kong’s colonial history.  To that end, in 2000 Chan co-founded Applause Pictures in order to promote greater collaboration between Thailand, Korea, Japan, and Singapore, hoping to share talent and resources and also expand the regional and global distribution possibilities for new pan-Asian films.  Born and raised in Thailand, Chan offers a unique, somewhat internationalized Hong Kong perspective, reflective of the revulsion shown to mainlanders migrating from China to Hong Kong, still speaking Mandarin instead of the local Cantonese dialect, yet it’s also important to understand that nearly everyone in Hong Kong migrated from China, but they arrived in different time periods, suggesting there is a rootless status of Chinese people, disconnected perhaps by economic deprivation.  In homage of the social realist world of Jacques Demy, Chan beautifully combines realism into what amounts to a romantic love story, adding Demy’s charming use of missed opportunities in his lyrical pastiche The Young Girls of Rochefort (Les demoiselles de Rochefort) (1967), where the couple, once separated, continually criss-cross past one another in a pattern of near misses as they go about their daily routines, so caught up in the humdrum of everyday life that they fail to notice the possibilities that might be waiting for them just around the corner, which is especially prevalent once they arrive in New York City, where the Chinatown district and racial diversity very closely resembles the look of the streets of Hong Kong.  This frustration allows the audience to anticipate any number of possibilities as well, not all of them happy outcomes, such as the utterly devastating scene where Lai reveals to his wife the truth about his unfaithful relationship with Cheung, or the vividly real moment in New York where a man’s entire life is reduced to a senseless murder, so by the time this story ends they are two lonely outsiders in a teeming metropolis.  Both are transfixed by a stream of television news reports playing in the storefront window of an electronics appliance store, paying tribute to the life and death of Teresa Teng, who once more magically brings them together again, their destiny apparently fulfilled, where there is a feeling that it truly earns this kind of remarkably choreographed finale, Comrades ~Almost a Love Story Ending Scene YouTube (10:53).  Grappling with the failures of both Chinese and American Dreams, this is a charming film that tugs at our emotions with what is easily one of Maggie Cheung’s most timeless and heart-wrenching performances, balanced by Lai’s soft spoken grace and naiveté, but also an intelligence and wit throughout that endears us to these characters and their lives, turning the world itself into a wonderful mosaic that actually matters to us more afterwards.

Watch Comrades: Almost a Love Story Full Movie ... - FshareTV  available for free online with multiple subtitle options (1:15:54) 

16th Annual Hong Kong Film Awards
• Winner - Best Picture
• Winner - Best Director (Peter Chan Ho-Sun)
• Winner - Best Actress (Maggie Cheung Man-Yuk)
• Winner - Best Supporting Actor (Eric Tsang Chi-Wai)
• Winner - Best Screenplay (Ivy Ho)
• Winner - Best Cinematography (Jingle Ma Chor-Sing)
• Winner - Best Art Direction (Yee Chung-Man)
• Winner - Best Costume Design (Ng Lei-Lo)
• Winner - Best Original Music Score (Chui Jun-Fun)
• Nomination - Best Actor (Leon Lai Ming)
• Nomination - Best New Artist (Kristy Yeung Kung-Yu)

Hold You Tight (Yue kuai le, yue duo luo)

HOLD YOU TIGHT (Yue kuai le, yue duo luo)                   A-                   

Hong Kong  (93 mi)  1998 d:  Stanley Kwan

I fear tragedy will recur

I am fated in my fate

To be out of touch with what’s beautiful

History repeats itself

In this bustling city

It is not possible

To love without undercurrents

What use is there for me to go on cherishing you?

If I hold you tight this time

Will it not be another empty embrace?

Still quietly waiting

For you to say I’m too sensitive

I have a sense of foreboding about everything

And then I cannot open my eyes to see fate arrive

And then clouds gather around the skies

⸺“Undercurrents,” written by Lin Xi, sung by Faye Wong, 1977, 王菲 - 暗湧 YouTube (4:22), reorchestrated and sung by Anthony Wong for the film, 暗湧 黃耀明-愈快樂愈墮落(Hold You Tight)電影結尾 插曲 YouTube (3:37)

On the surface, this is a film about people and relationships.  Beneath the surface, it’s a study of the way people in Hong Kong – including myself – have reacted to the ‘1997 issue.’  I didn’t set out deliberately to deal with either the 1997 issue or the gay issue, but I find myself more and more drawn to these questions.  The film shows three ways of approaching relationships, and all of them are drawn from my own past experiences.   —Stanley Kwan

A beautiful and dazzling film, provocative to the extent that personal anxiety is interwoven into the political uncertainty of the city’s postcolonial transition, moving in and out of moods, revealing the high-powered modern landscape of Hong Kong at night, neon-lit, heavily populated, with a fast moving camera jarring our senses, then switching to more personal interiors, gyms, malls, swimming pools, bars, apartments, where the virtuoso camera artistry by Leung Ping-Kwan in just his second feature film reveals slow languid moments of quiet, solitary reflection that mirrors isolated, alienated souls.  Kwan’s ability to elevate the city’s historical context into his films, where the streets, the back alleys, the food vendors, the bars, or the musical set pieces all come to life within the telling of the story, so the audience literally gets a “feel” for this place in time.  The film is intentionally ambiguous about identity and confusingly uses the same actress, the lovely Chingmy Yau in her last movie role, playing two different parts, although that is not clear until the end, written specifically with her in mind.  Both are at the airport at the beginning of the film, one (Moon), a business executive, gets on the plane to Taipei and perishes, as the film follows her shy, surviving spouse, Fung Wai (Sunny Chan), a good looking but repressed computer programmer, while the other similar looking actress (Rosa), a clothing boutique owner, forgets her passport, never boards the plane, and survives, ending up in Taiwan.  While Kwan is known for women’s pictures and daring performances, this film explores repressed sexuality through a trio of Chinese men, two of them revolving around the quietly sullen Wai who is devastated by the tragic plane accident, including Jie (Lawrence Ko), a Taiwanese immigrant in Hong Kong who is strangely attracted to Wai, whose constant presence hovers around and near him throughout, though always indirectly, like a shadow figure, never making his intentions clear until the end, while Tong (Eric Tsang), an openly gay real estate broker also develops a secret longing for Wai, openly befriending him, but never revealing his secret crush, with Tsang winning the Golden Horse award for Best Supporting Actor, easily the most appealing character in the film, exuding warmth and humor throughout.  An intricate web of relations drives the plot, largely fueled by underlying homoerotic desires, revealed at the outset in a gay bathhouse cruising scene, men checking out other men, with Tong spontaneously picking up a naked stranger, leading to graphic sex and an eruption of intensity.  A jolting cut to his professionally dressed business demeanor comes as a shock to the system, yet this emphasizes the multi-faceted aspect of living in a cosmopolitan city like Hong Kong, always in constant flux, where one is expected to play multiple roles. 

This is the first Kwan film after coming out in 1996 as the first openly gay Asian filmmaker, also a year after the 1997 Handover of Hong Kong to Mainland China, expressing a sense of profound alienation, perhaps expressing the internalized pain of living a closeted existence, using the Tsing Ma Bridge leading to a newly built airport as a metaphor for Hong Kong’s uncertain post-1997 future, reflecting a transition from the old Hong Kong airport depicted in the opening scene.  There’s even an early television announcement of the death of Communist leader Deng Xiaoping, marking a clear delineation from pre-handover times to postcolonial.  Told in non-linear fashion, the film is actually divided between two cities, opening in Hong Kong, moving to Taipei, which serves as Hong Kong’s alter ego (also a way of honoring Taiwanese cinema), and then back again, viewed as mirrored locales with shared destinies of returning to the motherland, examining displaced characters that inhabit both cities, with a pronounced undercurrent of homosexuality commenting on that displacement.  Tong catches a glimpse of Wai while waiting for a train and instantly falls for him (completely unaware that he’s being followed by Jie), then sees him again later in a restaurant, discovering he’s alone, and offers to help him sell his apartment, befriending him in the process, learning of his heterosexuality, still finding excuses to be with him, making it appear that his motives are strictly platonic, but viewers know otherwise, causing his sexual ambitions to be displaced and unfulfilled.  In Tong’s own apartment, kept as a reminder of an ex-lover, there is a movie poster prominently displayed on the wall of Taiwanese filmmaker Hou Hsiao-hsien’s A City of Sadness (Bei qing cheng shi) (1989), which becomes one of the alienated symbols in the film, accentuated by frequent orchestral variations of the Rolling Stones song, Rolling Stones As Tears Go By 1966 - YouTube (2:27), the same name as Hong Kong director Wong Kar-wai’s 1988 film, a reflection of the character’s mixed emotions, honing in on the instability and inner turmoil of the young widower.  There are flashbacks of Wai’s marriage, happy days when he and his wife picked out the apartment, but also days of avoidance and loneliness, experiencing marital difficulties with Moon, who seems to enjoy bossing him around.  They were beginning to discover a renewed interest in one another the night before she died.  In more flashbacks, this time his wife’s memories, not known to the husband, she was having an affair with Jie, a poolman from Taiwan, who can be seen observing the husband when the wife disappears, developing a fascination for Wai, continually following him, where his attraction to Moon seems inherently driven by a desire to get closer to him.      

Completely unpretentious, what stands out here is Tong’s friendship with Wai, clearly cultivated by chance encounters, yet due to his middle age, no longer looking youthful, he seems to rule out any possibility of another romantic relationship, so instead he channels his sexual interest into helping others, exhibiting a generosity of spirit towards other men.  When he learns Wai’s wife has died, they go out for drinks where he sympathetically listens to Wai’s deepest sorrows, offering a comforting shoulder, becoming a loyal confidant, even inviting him home for a gourmet dinner with wine, describing himself as an illegal immigrant who often has to hide his identity, yet he’s open to Wai about his sexuality, but nonetheless hides his love.  When the more youthful Jie enters the picture, he’s been stalking Wai for some time, and even gets a job as a bartender at a gay bar he and Tong frequent, finally learning of Moon’s fate, overhearing Wai lamenting the loss of his wife, where a drunken Wai has to be driven home afterwards by Jie and Tong, with Jie insisting he needs no help in getting Wai back into his apartment, rolling him into bed while he examines his home, staring at the photos of Moon, finding the cologne he gave to her, then branding the sleeping Wai’s backside with it, like an animal marking his territory.  Though he kept Tong waiting for quite a while, when Jie starts to offer an explanation, Tong quickly cuts him off, “I have no interest in your story,” leaving him in a state of denial and self-pity.  This moment contrasts with sentimentalized earlier depictions of Jie and Moon happily chasing each other by the sea, frolicking like young lovers, holding hands, having sex on the beach, all set to a romantic pop ballad, offering a kind of generic, old-fashioned version of young love, sequences that stand apart from the rest of the film, as if set in a different time period.  Jie eventually returns to Taiwan where he discovers Moon’s double, Rosa, but she is an earthier, more promiscuous woman, a false reflection in the mirror of memory, leaving him in a state of emotional flux, still obsessed by a sexual longing for Wai, with Rosa helping him reconcile his unreturned feelings, finally leaving Wai a mysterious telephone message that apparently explains all, that we never hear.  While there is a flamboyant gay disco scene in Taipei where film critic Tony Rayns makes an appearance, there is also a reference to the Powell and Pressburger film THE RED SHOES (1948), a reminder of the British colonial legacy, as Rosa lays in her bed watching it on television.  Near the end of the film Wai turns to Tong for support, both looking out over the water, with Tong suggesting he can see China, notorious for its autocratic control over all aspects of Chinese culture, comparing his own life to the lives of illegal immigrants (or more likely, the invisibility of an LGBT community on the mainland), suggesting he could never live in hiding like those on the mainland.  Despite his outward gay leanings, however, and his perception of being liberated, his real love for Wai remains hidden throughout.  The film explores these parallel lives, each character confused about their sexual identity, a frequent theme of Hong Kong films as they convert to Chinese rule, where the drive across the Tsing Ma Bridge at the end is literally a bridge to the future.