Hong Kong has no internet

~~ ranting has been temporarily suspended due to the Taiwanese earthquake kicking Hong Kong's entire internet connection int nads ~~

I'm not joking, it's proper fucked over here and has been for the last 48 hours. Will be with you when the big guns have gone wi satellite connections rather than depend on single point-to-point delivery cables, and we can open more than one page of an evening.

This has already taken half an hour to load and get in.

Thoughts to those in Taiwan now homeless and racking up hospital bills ~ obviously you have it much worse and I bet you wish yer only problem right now was a complete lack of Tinternet.


Tags:
Taiwan ~ earthquake ~ Hong Kong ~ internet

Casino Royale ~ a perv review

The world is full of niggling questions, int it?

Arctic Monkeys ~ shit-hot or just a pile of hot shit? I’m pretty sure I already know the answer to that one, but I’ll know for sure after the LCCC gig next year.
Infernal Affairs or The Departed? (Don’t ask me, I’ll slap you.)
Best Batman ~ we’re of the Michael Keaton / Christian Bale camp over here.
Daniel Craig ~ Best Bond since Sir Sean of Connery, or just the world’s best dressed monkey?
So onto me CR review, then. Hopefully I’ll answer me own question. Or I’ll just have to watch it again to make sure.

As with me review tradition, I’ll try to sum this film up in three words:

Old:
Everything we expect from a Bond film is there: girls, cars, guns, M, vodka, fights, explosions, grudge-matches, winners, losers, villains and friends in unexpected places. Resident Tart of the Tale (a little like Sharpe’s Wench of the Week) is capable and actually quite likeable – despite sounding a wee bit French. She int a complete screaming wuss, she’s actually quite clever and dunt look at all bad in evening wear. So we can tick all the boxes there, then. I’d even wince at calling her a Bond Girl – she kinda wasn’t, even though, in every sense of the phrase, she was.

M, then. She were bloody fab. She’s lost nowt, that Dame Judi Dench, and she can be M until we end up wi a new Bond, as far as I’m concerned. When I grow up I want to be her. Her best line was possibly: “You do that again, and I’ll have you killed.” Bloody marvellous, love, well done. She also brought more to the fight than perhaps a casual glance reveals ~ it were a Battle of the Eyes. All the time she’s giving Bond a hard time over being a reckless prick, she’s doing it with that ‘I’ve got bluer eyes than you: ‘ave it!’ look on her face, coupled with the amused disdain she does so well. Even when he’s taking orders and towering over her (and he int that tall, people), she’s still slightly smug in the knowledge that (1) no-one’s analysing her performance, and (2), she’s still got bluer eyes than him.

On to Astons. An old DB5 makes an appearance, and of course, like the Tart of the Tale, he has to have it. And he does. And then – hushed voices and clammy palms ahoy – the new Aston Martin DBS comes on the scene. It’s achingly beautiful. It sounds like all the hardest Vikings in Valhalla grinding axes on massive stones. I exercised terrific self-control not rushing up and licking the cinema screen. And then I wept as it went spinning arse-over-tit, totalled and left forlorn int grass. Everyone is watching poor James, all shaken up (sorry, couldn’t resist) and being dragged from the smoking, battered, hissing wreck, murmuring they hope he’s not dead. Not me.

“Leave him, we know he’s going to be alright or there’s not going to be a film – what about the Aston? What about the Aston? We’re not going back for the Aston? Are you shitting me? A 6-litre, 500-odd bhp, 250,000 pounds sterling lump of sex on wheels and we’re not going back fer it? Are you off yer heads?”

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised – it happened to his Bentley in the book, right? Or was that a Lanchester or summat, after he wrapped the Bentley round a tree? Can’t remember.

New:
Speaking of the original book, it’s all pretty much re-jigged and re-shaped to match a 21st century Bond, and why not? I know I’m a bit of a purist, but you have to make some concessions. (The Astons never featured in the books, fer example, as far as I can remember.) This film did everything fer me that “On Her Majesty’s Secret Service” were apparently meant to and didn’t. We have a new Bond, that much is obvious, but just what kind of Bond is he? Well, he’s a reckless, too-young-to-know-better Bond. He’s a ‘why not?’ Bond. And he’s just screaming fer a kicking. Which is what he gets. Well, no, he gets summat much worse. Was I the only one who lifted their feet off the cinema floor, squealing in imagined discomfort, every time Le Chiffre went to work wi that knotted rope? Brought tears to my eyes, and I’m not even a bloke. But I have to say, that were absolutely the best line of the whole bloody film – so James Bond, so very English: “Now the whole world’s going to know you died scratching my balls!”

Felix Leiter even makes an appearance – didn’t see that coming, although I have to admit I were thinking I quite liked the wee black bloke sitting at the poker table before we find out who he is.

Bond:
He is, though, int he? Much as I didn’t want him to be, he is. I mean, look at him – blonde as, eyes blue like one o them crystals hanging from me bracelet, stocky and just definitely not tall, dark and handsome. A whole bag o wrong, in anyone’s book. And yet… and yet…

He does the job. He smacks people like he means it. He sticks his lip out when he’s not happy (kinda funny, and yet endearing, really) and of course, he smirks at people as only a real Bond who owns himself can. Proper. And the one incontrovertible, concrete pointy-end of fact that screams ‘in!’, was that he did the KNEE THING! (For the uninitiated, this involves grabbing yer opponent’s head down and ramming yer knee up at the same time. As close to perfection, fight-wise, as you can get. I’ll explain one day. It comes first, even over the old double-fisted chest strike that I love so much.) Qualifies as girlie porn, does that. Sweaty men grunting and fighting, all muscley and angry. Phwoar. It’s odd, you know, I didn’t want to like Daniel Craig. He made me do it.

And the quotes. Oh, the shameless fun I had listening to the dialogue – the ‘perfectly formed arse’, the ‘shaken or stirred? – Do I look like I give a damn?’, the ‘you want to do what to me?’, the ‘because you know what I can do with my little finger’… Ah, quote-heaven…

The free-running (if that’s what it’s called) at the beginning were fab to watch, David Arnold has out-done himself there again wi a perfect Bond score – where would poor Daniel have been wiowt the crashing, bashing, entwined musical score to tell him when to jump, when to smirk, when to smack some deserving bugger as looked at him wrong? The opening credits took some getting used to (not a bird in sight? What’s going on?), but I did like the theme an it’s growing on me nicely. Not dead keen on Chris Cornell’s voice, but he does the job.

Looks like I’m done here. I’d give it 9 out of 10, mention that it’s worth watching again for all the GBS (gratuitous butt shots) and of course the ol’ emerging-fromt-water shot. I tell you, I came out o that cinema needing a cigarette.

Have a happy Christmas, everyone, however you celebrate it, and I’ll see you all ont other side. I hear John Lennon starting ont radio, looks like it’s time to go. Good old 903 radio.

Peach and lube.

James Bond ~ Casino Royale ~ M ~ Judi Dench ~ Vesper Lynd ~ Eva Green ~ Le Chiffre ~ Mads Mikkelsen ~ Aston Martin ~ DBS ~ Daniel Craig ~ Vikings ~ Valhalla ~ Arctic Monkeys ~ Felix Leiter ~ Bond girl ~ girlie porn

Word is shite

This is probably going to be the foulest, most potty-mouthed post I’ve ever submitted (even including the one I vaguely remember being called ‘Fucking Fuck Fuck’).

Microsoft Word.

You want to talk about shit? About complete and utter fucking arse-gravy? I am so incredibly incensed by this fucking shocking bit of maddeningly crap software, I am seriously considering throwing the whole fucking ‘Office’ ‘suite’ out the fucking window.

I don’t have time to waste my life trying to re-format 40 fucking word documents. I don’t have time to waste trying to locate that secret little hidden dialogue box - the one place you can switch off some fucking stupid rule about formatting, that still persists in fucking up all yer paragraphs and spacing even though EVERY OTHER FUCKING DIALOGUE BOX says it’s not doing it.

Well blatantly you are, you pathetic fucking excuse fer a programme (WITH TWO ‘M’s AND AN ‘E’!), cos some James Blunt’s* fucking up the spacing and paragraphs, and I’ll tell you this fer free: it int me, my friend!

Why in the fucking present continuous hell do you have to be so bloody perverse? Were you not smacked fer this kind of behaviour as a child? Did no-one ever tell you to stop being so bloody contrary and just PLAY THE FUCKING GAME NICELY? Why do you have to go about everything causing the maximum amount of annoyance to everyone you meet? Why am I even bothering to use it and not WriteRoom instead?

And Blogger / Google ~ sort yer fucking selves out, an all. I do not take kindly to being told repeatedly that I’ve logged in wi an old name and being re-routed to the new Google one – after I’ve tried to log in wi the new Google one and have been told to just quit it and log in wi the old one. It int big and it int fucking clever. It’s exasperating, is what it is.

That’s it.

I need a big pic to soothe the beast within. And someone who knows how to actually clear the ‘point spacing after and before’ on paragraphs in Word, even though I’ve already cleared it and all other formatting.

Fucking lying piece of shit software. At times like this, I wish I could swear as fluently as The Devil’s Kitchen’s boys. They always make it look so easy.

Ah well. It’s time for Sean Porn. I’ll feel better in a bit.

Soopytwist. Unless yer Bill Gates. Then you can just fuck a long way off.


Tags:
MS Word ~ formatting ~ software ~ Sean Bean ~ WriteRoom ~ Sharpe ~ fan-fic

*James Blunt is rhyming slang. Yes, for cunt.

RMC – new recruits!

Time to update me fantasy league of Royal Marines Commandos – and about time, too. How could I have missed out Sir Sean of Connery? I know, I know, I slapped meself fer leaving him off, and ta very much to Caz for reminding me.

Someone suggested John Barrowman. Having never seen Torchwood and only ever one ‘new’ Doctor Who, I’ll have to leave him off fer now. No personal experience, you see? Apparently he was actually born in Scotland, so his application is not being denied ont grounds that he’s a Yank. He was just brought up over there, apparently. Time will tell if I can judge him worthy on roughness/’ardness/craftiness/suitability etc. and let him in int future.

Next!

And here’s where the fun really starts [insert big grin here]. Someone suggested David Tennant, and I kinda went: “who?”, “the new Doctor Who?”, and “naw!” in that order.

But woah, woah, woah. Thanks to the magical picture collating temple that is Tinternet, I can kinda see the motivation behind his name being volunteered. But naw, still not quite ‘ard enough. Or is he?

And so to’t next stop ont evidence trawl: YouTube. This is me, having a quick squiz at some Doctor Who bollocks. This is me, caving faster than a Rich Tea biscuit in a hot cuppa tea (“fucking one-dips!”). He is terribly good in specs, int he? And he does have that Richard Hammond-esque thing about him. And he can be clever. And he was Casanova fert BBC (p.s.; still can’t find this in HK – all donations gratefully accepted). And the one categorical, undeniably favourable fact? He’s Scottish. And call me old-fashioned, but I refuse to believe he could be a complete wet blanket if he’s a Scot.

“Just hand me that application form, sir. Thank you. Hmm…. Bit of a pigeon-chested bastard, aren’t you now? Ah, but it states here ‘quick thinker who takes all opportunities presented to him’. Ah. And then ‘tall, looks good in well-cut suits’. And then it says here yer from West Lothian? Right then, hand me that rubber stamp – (bang) – done. Now get in them showers and gizza shout if you need help wi’ owt, lad – owt at all, you understand.”

And so to work. Very happy to find that The Evil Queen of Numbers (A.K.A. ‘the boss’) will not be int country fer Xmas. Well, thank fuck! While the Evil Queen’s away, the mice will not be doing any sodding students’ reports, I’ll tell you that fer free.

And so to Xmas. A pox on all those who sent me religious representations cunningly wrapped in white sheathes of stiff paper! How dare you send me material that is intrinsically offensive to my religion! I am an atheist, get over it! Stop with the ‘the Winter Festival belongs to God’ bollocks ~ it belonged to the conquering Romans. And that’s my final word.

Well, actually, no, this is:

Soopytwist.

Tags:
Sean Connery ~ John Barrowman ~ Torchwood ~ Doctor Who ~ David Tennant ~ Richard Hammond ~ Casanova ~ BBC ~ Christmas ~ Royal Marines Commando

Anticipation...

It’s nearly here. A quick squiz at the poster will tell you it’s supposed to open 21st ~ next Thursday. Yeah, films change on a Thursday here, not a Friday.

But for some reason (popular demand, the fact that every other country int world has already seen it, perhaps?), they’re now putting in extra ‘preview’ showings in Hong Kong. Cue my Friday night all sorted, then.

Also have secret gig tickets int works ~ more on that when I have em in me hot little hands.

Right. Must buy a frying pan (do you realise how hard it is to get a less-than-12-inch frying pan round here?), finish that letter to HKU and then finally sort that UCAS application.

By-the-by, have just upgraded this thing to Blogger Beta ~ apparently some people are having trouble leaving a comment. I know I had trouble logging into a mate’s page when she ‘upgraded’, and it wouldn’t let me leave a comment neither. I think if we give it a week, this page’ll have settled again. But with this new Beta thing you can leave ‘labels’, right? How am I supposed the label or categorise the shite I write about? I’ll have to overlap em, I suppose. Like “film” and “bollocks”, “music” and “shite”, etc. Ah well. At least the option is there.

Soopytwist.

Tags:
Hong Kong ~ James Bond ~ Casino Royale ~ Blogger Beta ~ Daniel Craig

Take That: Beautiful World

Bought it, listened to it, love it.

At least, I love ‘Shine’ (bouncy-bouncy tap-tap from Mark Owen, accompanied by Queenesque backing vocals and a stonking piano), ‘Hold On’ (again, pretty good vocals from wee Mark) and ‘What You Believe In’ (oh, er… also Mark. There’s a pattern forming here.).

Those tracks stand out. The rest are varying degrees of fab, and the one I didn’t like (‘I’d Wait For Life’) is growing on me.

So this is number on in the UK album charts right now, is it? Not too bad, that.

Soopytwist.

Tags:
Take That ~ Mark Owen ~ Gary Barlow ~ Jason Orange ~ Howard Donald ~ Beautiful World

Theatre, Phrases, Phones and Films

First off, ta to a top bloke and thesp friend, I have tickets to see the closing performance of ‘My Fair Lady’ at the Hong Kong Academy for Performing Arts, Wan Chai. Bloody marvellous. Can’t wait – matey even sneaked me a programme so I could get a squiz at all the songs included. Excited as fuck, I can tell you – although it will be a bit of a sitting-and-concentrating marathon, I think I could put up with it for the chance to sit through some bloody great theatre and of course songs.

Onto the Phrase of the Week then:

This was provided by a wee lad who thought he was being terribly polite, as taught by his parents that he should always be when talking to teachers. Lovely kid. Anyway, when most kids his age want the loo, they simply put up their hand and shout ‘toilet!’. Now, what would you do? Let ‘em get away with it, and just say, “alright then, be quick”? Or do what I do, and say, “no, my name’s Souxie” (or whatever your name happens to be)? After all, they need to understand that not everyone is on their wavelength, right? It makes ‘em realise they have to learn the magic phrase ‘may I go to the toilet please?’ and then everything is easy. Right? Right?

Anyway, this one wee lad is a lovely little chap. Cheerful, plays well with others, and is no trouble to anyone. Such a rare soul. Anyway, he lifts his hand and says, “Teacher, I dig your panda.” Then he looks at me expectantly.
“Wow,” I say, “ta very much. No, wait a minute, I don’t have a panda.” After a round of hilarious questioning, in which zoo animals, spades, cartons of Milo drink and toilets were all acted out by both sides, I realised he thought he was saying ‘I beg your pardon.’

I think I like ‘I dig your panda’ better though.

In other news, bought meself a new phone. A Samsung E908, to be exact (that’s an E900 if yer outside Hong Kong). It were a bit of a bind getting it all sorted out, mind. I ended up going to the Sunday shop and just waving it at the lad therein, moaning ‘make it work’ in a ‘make the bad man go away’ type voice. He did. It took him precisely five seconds to set up the MMS stuff, then the GPRS stuff so as I could download ringtones and wallpaper and that. I now have Han Solo waving at me from the background. Aw, cottons, eh?

But ringtones. I’m sorry, Samsung, but what the hell were you thinking? A bunch of useless crappy jingles that sound like they’re been recorded from the lift in the local restaurant? Not impressed, mate, unbelievably so. Have been to my favourite haunt, YeahMobile.com, and got meself some cracking choons. And oh yes, Bluetooth, while we’re at it. This new thing has Bluetooth. My Mac doesn’t.

Stop! Stop right there! Don’t tell me ‘yes, it must do cos it’s a Mac and it’s new’ – no, it doesn’t and I’ll tell you how I know. Cos when I bought the bloody thing going on two years ago now, I chose not to have it cos I wouldn’t need it. Yeah, go on, call me short-sighted. But it took two years for me to actually need it, so that’s my reply. Anyway, can’t shift me mp3s onto it, so I guess ‘The Last Bus’ by Milburn will have to wait till I can get me mate to Bluetooth it to me from his MacBook Pro.

Onto last bit o news then, and then I have to go to work (and we’re getting into ‘once more unto the breach’ territory now it’s Christmas month).

Films To Watch: ‘Flushed Away’, ‘Casino Royale’ and ‘Confessions of Pain’. ‘Flushed Away’ is just a guilty pleasure cos I like Aardman stuff, and even though this isn’t stop-motion, I can see their influence in the trailer. ‘Casino Royale’, cos apparently it’s the most blatant celluloid release of girlie-porn (i.e., porn that girls like to watch, like sweaty men fighting in white shirts, etc.) since ‘Troy’, and ‘Confessions of Pain’, cos it has Tony Leung and Kaneshiro Takeshi (Gam Sing-Mo) in it. And we love Tony Leung time, baby. Oh, and that Kaneshiro Takeshi bloke int bad, either. Thing is, it were a problem before cos it was set to open the same night as ‘Casino Royale’. What's a girl to do? Go fer Mr Blonde Bond or Tony "I'm not always a Triad" Leung? Sensing my pain, the good people at UA changed their minds, and now ‘Casino Royale’ opens the day before, on Wednesday, 20th December. Bloody marvellous.

Peach and luuuuuuuuuube...

Tags:
My Fair Lady ~ mobile phone ~ Samsung E908 ~ Hong Kong ~ ringtones ~ English ~ Bluetooth ~ Mac Mini ~ MacBook Pro ~ Sunday ~ Flushed Away ~ Casino Royale ~ Troy ~ Confessions of Pain ~ Tony Leung ~ 梁朝偉 ~ Kaneshiro Takeshi ~ 金城武

After This Our Exile: A Review

“If you’re going to do it, do it right,” as George Michael once sang. So I did. I legged it down to the Broadway Cinematheque in Yau Ma Tei Wednesday night and bought my ticket to the 9pm showing of 'After This Our Exile' ~ Director’s Cut for last night (Thursday). Well, if yer offering, why not take the director’s version? After all, sometimes it’s better than the studio’s version… I know that statement’s just opened up a can of worms. Bladerunner in my corner, Titanic in yours. Yeah, I know what yer thinking. But if the Director’s Cut only weighs in at 159 mins, where’s the harm?

Actually: NONE AT ALL. I’m pretty sure I can tell you right now which bits won’t be making it into the studio cut – cos if they did, they’d have to pretend it really is only a IIB (15 certificate in the UK) and not a wannabe III (18 certificate) after all…

I actually wrote this review last night, about 2 hours after the film finished, but as Blogger wasn’t having any of it, I’m posting it here now: It’s review time.

First off, cos I bet yer all dying to know, is how Aaron Kwok (hereafter referred to as ‘Mr K’) fared in his first proper adult film. And the answer is… bloody fab. Yes, he deserves the Best Actor Award he got for this one (see previous entry). He sweats, swears, gambles, smokes, drinks and shags his way through the scenery, at times blending in seamlessly, at times sticking out wi all the presence of Hong Kong’s answer to Begbie.

Let’s not forget Charlie Yeung. She ably demonstrates how to take a beating from yer gravely misunderstood husband, all the while plotting happier days… And yet, once she’s run off and completed her victory, ending up marrying a clean-living, respectable (suit-wearing) man, you realise he bears more than just a passing resemblance to her ex. Coincidence? Or is Patrick Tam, the director, trying to tell us summat? That no runaway wife can really let go? Or that she just wanted the same man, but straightened out and on the level for a change?

The little lad playing the recipient of 90% of Mr K’s gamut of emotions is wee Goum Ian Iskandar. Tiny at barely 9 years old, he’s a fantastic little griper and smiler. And I don’t like kids. He does the job, richly deserving his Best Supporting Actor award at the 43rd Golden Horse Film Awards in Taiwan at the weekend.

So what’s it all about, Alfie? Right then, don’t go looking for action and adventure, or even pleasant melodramatic nonsense. This could all be summed up by the very last very minutes of the film, except it would mean nothing. In the same way as you pass up the opportunity to crack a private joke to someone not in on it, knowing “you had to have been there”, this film’s beauty is in the telling.

Shing (Mr K) is a chef, and not a very good one (spot the joke throughout the movie). He’s also a compulsive gambler and not good at that, either. Throw in a temper born out of frustration at the life he’s ended up living, and you have an explosive little man you’d not want to talk back to over the dinner table. His wife, the long-suffering Lin, has decided enough is enough. Knowing he won’t change, and that they’re only actually common-law married, she opts to run off with her bit on the side – a handsome young man in a smart suit who’s obviously been giving her more than just his friendly shoulder to cry on while the husband’s been out gambling. (Cue a rather amusing scene in which the husband is told he’s not as good-looking as the boyfriend. Who is also played by Mr K. Obviously after a proper shave and a scrub with a wire brush, though.) The attempt fails ~ wee ‘Boy’ (as he’s referred to by his parents) clocks the escape attempt, and inadvertently causes disaster by running off to fetch Dad, naiively thinking that he’ll bring Mam home and make everything all right again.

Wrong. After doing “everything a man could do” to try to persuade his wife that he still loves her – which he does genuinely seem to do – Shing thinks everything is sorted, and home life slowly returns to some semblance of normality. However, his efforts have not assuaged the wife, Lin, by any stretch of the imagination – someone should have told him that a good meal and a damn good shagging do nothing to wipe out all the humiliating, lying and neglecting he’d been doing.

She makes her escape and Shing is left to pick up the pieces, with nagging Boy asking him repeatedly why mam Lin won’t come home – if they could even find her. His standard reply “because she doesn’t want you, so stop crying about it” belittles the wee lad into giving up. At least when his dad’s around to hear him. It’s only later that Boy tells his father to his face: it was him she didn’t want, not Boy.

Things go from bad to worse for a time: Shing loses his job after a particularly loud fit of rage, Boy can’t get money out of him to pay his school bus fee and therefore is ashamed to run all the way to school, and the neighbours are laffing their arses off at poor wife-less Shing, humiliated and unable to control his son. When loan sharks arrive to rifle through their home, Shing grabs the boy and they move out. Things get better for a time – Boy is happier and even gets in contact with his mam Lin, whom he goes to see (and encounters a rather shocking photo: Lin has married her bit on the side, and he can’t believe the man in the photo is so handsome. We can: it’s Mr K.). Things get a whole lot better and sweaty for Mr K, as he finds his new next-door neighbour is a five star stunner. A happy time follows for Mr K and Ms Next-Door Neighbour: treating the kid to afternoon matinees and such give him time to rush back and give her summat to hang her towels on.

At this point I have to take back everything I said about Hong Kong films and how they never let talent get their, er, talent out for the sake of box-office takings. While we always get to see the girls get their pretty pins out (and sometimes even the two points they’re hired for), it’s a rare thing for the male lead to show us what he’s made of. Obviously the director here shared my opinion that, in some cases, it’s worth it. Especially with a gym-ad poster boy like Mr K doing the clothes-shedding. I was extremely glad the lights were low in the theatre and me mates were a couple of rows in front of me. Right about the moment that Mr K’s boxers hit the floorboards. Saved me making excuses for me red face in such a cold theatre, anyhow.

Talking of scenery, Malaysia was well used here. Filmed entirely over there, Patrick Tam seems to have found all the best places to point out the pros and cons of hauling yer son around the dusty bits, trying to steal int middle of night, and of course, the lake. Achingly beautiful, Mr K had me fooled as to what he planned to do with it.

And that’s another thing: addicted to gambling, unable to ‘speak’ to people and incapable of showing anyone real affection he might have been, but he was still a strong character. So much happened to him that should have tipped him over the edge, but instead he continued to blame everyone else and get on with it. Unbelievable. And almost admirable in his refusal to give up.

And on that point, I’ll love you and leave you. I’m still mulling over all the important stuff that was said without any words, and the way it was all pulled together so well. 159 mins of the story of a boy’s broken relationship with his parents, and I didn’t look at me watch once? Bloody ‘ell, must have been good…

Think Wong Kar-Wai does family break-ups, with the shagging scenes left it, and you’ve got a pretty good summation. The director, in a prologue-type note, asked that we only be moved by the events and their meanings, not by the actors’ whirlwind emotions relating it. I was. I’m glad this won Best Film at the Taiwan Awards. It deserved it.

Tags:
Aaron Kwok ~ Patrick Tam ~ After This Our Exile ~ Charlie Yeung ~ Goum Ian Iskandar ~ Hong Kong ~ Asian cinema ~ Wong Kar-Wai ~ Hong Kong film ~ 郭富城 ~ 父子