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)

The Hand

 

THE HAND               B                                                                                                              Hong Kong  (Director’s cut 56 mi)  2004 d:  Wong Kar-wai 

Initially made as part of a three-film omnibus anthology entitled EROS by three different directors released at the Venice Film Festival in 2004, with the longest and most critically acclaimed section directed by Wong Kar-wai, the other two being Steven Soderbergh and Michelangelo Antonioni, each delivering a short film on an erotic mystique.  Wong Kar-wai expanded the film in a Director’s Cut to just under one hour, and is included in a larger retrospective of 7 newly restored films from Wong’s work entitled World of Wong Kar-wai, which will be followed by a Blu-Ray Criterion release in the spring.  Following the near unanimous praise for IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE (2000), arguably his most acclaimed film, the director explores the visual theme of Cheongsam and seduction, set again in Hong Kong during the 60’s, following with a similar theme of repressed love, but sex is not hidden, and though there are no explicit sex scenes, it’s a central thread to this film.  Starring a barely recognizable Gong Li as a sought after Hong Kong courtesan Miss Hua, who uses her beauty and sexual allure to attract wealthy patrons who shower her with luxurious gifts in order to maintain a lavish lifestyle, a brief window into her world is seen through Chang Chen as Xiao Zhang, a terribly shy yet discreet apprentice tailor who custom designs her own cheongsam dresses that fit her like a glove, working exclusively for her, delivering them personally, often seen waiting patiently, sitting alone at a nearby table to the sounds of passionate lovemaking or tempestuous arguments, with faceless men leaving in a hurry.  His first encounter sets the stage for what follows, aroused by the sounds he hears, as she notices under his clothes a more than avid interest, so she takes advantage of his innocence, taking control of the power dynamic by first humiliating him before slowly masturbating him with her hand, reminding him to remember the pleasure he feels now when he designs each dress for her.  From that moment on he’s under her spell, mesmerized by her all-encompassing sensuousness, like a fantasy woman of his dreams, even though she belongs to others more wealthy and powerful, yet she manipulates them to do what she wants.  His status as a lowly worker stands in stark contrast to her prestigious lifestyle, yet the duty he feels for her is absolute devotion, where he is utterly committed to designing the most extravagantly beautiful dresses, as she needs to maintain her unquestioned status as the woman all eyes turn to in every room.  But her fortunes turn, with her health and reputation slowly declining from contracting tuberculosis, with much of the film shown in flashback, or told out of time, yet when all others abandon her, Zhang sits at her bedside, where her hand once again rekindles former passions, this time more openly and passionately, releasing their deeply repressed feelings for one another. 

Shot by longtime cinematographer Christopher Doyle, there are fewer wide-angle close-ups and less kinetic tracking than earlier films, slowing down the pace considerably, narrowing the focus between two characters, often seen together sitting still in a darkened room, feeling more subdued and detached from reality, as if living in their own secret world.  Frequent shots are shown of Zhang working alone sewing or hand-pressing the material, hunched over in an undershirt, where the degree of care and intimacy shown reveals the personal level of importance, where at times he may as well be making love to the dress.  Due to her changing health, her body size fluctuates as well, but he feels no need to measure, fully aware of her proportions, using only his hands to decipher exactly what’s needed.  Even within the same shot, much of what appears is fragmented, cut off from the whole, removing the head and feet while only accentuating the mid-section, creating a confusing choreography of fleeting moments or hands touching hands, existing only in the empty stillness, as few words are actually spoken.  What’s different than regular length Wong Kar-wai films are the transitions between scenes, feeling more abrupt here, not feeling nearly so seamless, where the editing can be jarring at times.  It’s hard not to think of Paul Thomas Anderson’s 2018 Top Ten List #10 Phantom Thread (2017), another film expressing a unique sexual fetishism in the fashion industry between a high-end tailor and his leading model, yet that film exists in an exclusive income level, while this reveals a pronounced difference in class status between a luxurious high-end call girl and a lowly tailor working in a sweat shop with a talent for providing the precise clothing attire she needs.  The unique relationships in both films reveal the how the close proximity of working together leads to repressed feelings of sexual desire, where each in some unexpressed and undefined way has a way of getting under the other’s skin and never for one second do they ever lose sight of that sense of urgency, never finding that same intensity level in any other aspect of their lives.  Typically, in Wong Kar-wai films, this elusive moment is fleeting, perhaps existing only in one’s imagination, never acting upon it, which is the reality for IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE, while in CHUNGKING EXPRESS (1994), Faye Wong is so head over heels for a certain policeman, which is enthusiastically shared with viewers, yet the object of her affection remains clueless for a good duration of the film, where the moody developments of unrequited love have become the director’s signature trademark in most of his films, accentuating a haunting loneliness in missed connections. 

Among the director’s least-seen efforts, a murky and hypnotic tale of obsession, repression, and class divisions, set in a cramped and dark hotel room, Wong has revealed in interviews that he considers writing the script, shooting, and editing to be one process.  “I’m trying to make a film with my own language.  Every film should be experimental… The way of making films is not adding, but taking out things I don’t like.  It’s not clear what I want, but it’s clear what I don’t want.”  While many raved and gushed over this movie, much of it is a lesser version rehash of IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE, adding an underlayer of a more overtly sexualized topic, bringing to the foreground a sex worker for hire as a lead, which is simply not as intriguing a story, with less developed production design.  A central character in nearly all of Wong’s films is the city of Hong Kong, a vibrant city of commerce and transience, as reflected in the neon-lights, fast food restaurants, gambling houses, nightclubs, and in this case the Palace Hotel, Miss Hua’s residence, illuminated by a dimly lit signboard from a small street lamp, with the camera accentuating silhouettes walking up the stairway entrance, exposing the dim light of a narrow hallway corridor, where the furniture and wallpaper become etched into one’s memory.  After a screaming match with one of her suitors, Miss Hua can be seen primping in the mirror, coiffing her hair, regaining her composure, with the director emphasizing shadows and color as well as mood and loneliness.  Over time, Zhang watches her age, squander away opportunities with several benefactors, and gradually fade away as she passes her prime years and loses her glamor, eventually growing ill, where it’s Zhang himself paying her hotel bill, becoming her silent caretaker.  His own life reveals a man dedicated to his profession and little else, as he remains an isolated and unmarried man, harboring secret desires for a woman who remains out of his reach.  Both are confined by their class and gender differences, which reveals a very limited set of possibilities.  Both lives represent unfulfilled longings, filled with regrets over lost possibilities.  In Wong Kar-wai films, they are more about the memory of love, as romance is viewed as such a fleeting experience that quickly fades into memory.  There is real eroticism expressed in this film, but the characters never experience any real happiness from it, separated by time and space and distance, most of their time spent alone in despairing lives tinged with sadness.  Certainly one remarkable aspect of the film is the use of Fassbinder’s musical composer Peer Raben, who changes things up just a bit, foregoing the quiet poetic lyricism of his early films, writing instead swirling music for strings, ♫ Peer Raben - Concerto Alevta YouTube (3:55), with Wong adding Cantonese pop songs to the mix, like Gen ni kai wan xiao by Yao Li, 跟你开玩笑~（姚莉唱）~好歌听出好心情。 YouTube (2:56) and Hao Chun Xiao by Wu Yingyin Hao Chun Xiao - YouTube (2:33).