INNER SENSES (2002), dir. Chi-Leung Law

Ever since “The Sixth Sense” came out almost a decade ago, various movies have tried following in the footsteps of M. Night Shymalan’s supernatural-themed drama, mostly by packaging boogedy-boogedy tales with twist endings. The made-in-Hong Kong “Inner Senses” starts off as such a retread, but doesn’t take very long before finding its own way. The path it takes may be more romantic and mainstream than “The Sixth Sense,” yet the film is entertaining nonetheless, even without the twist ending, which is actually more like a twisted middle.

As in Shymalan’s film, “Inner Senses’” main protagonists consist of a fragile soul who claims to see dead people, and a haunted-looking psychiatrist who tries to help. It should be noted that the predecessor starred Haley Joel Osment as a young boy whose “I… see… dead people” quickly became a popular catchphrase; “Inner Senses” star “Karena Lam,” on the other hand, is an extremely beautiful young woman. My point is we don’t expect the “The Sixth Sense’s” surrogate father-son relationship so much as a romantic one, especially given how good-looking a couple she and co-star Leslie Cheung make from the outset.

However, before these two can ride off into the sunset, they have to deal with the problems of Lam’s character Yan, who claims she isn’t sick but really does see ghosts. We first glimpse her ability shortly after she has moved into a spacious but creepily drab-looking apartment, and a man appears in a room one moment and is gone the next. Having already seen numerous doctors to no avail, Yan ends up with Cheung’s intelligent, rational-seeming, and thoroughly workaholic Dr. Jim, who gives university lectures on how ghosts are merely the result of years of cultural stimuli.

According to Jim, Chinese culture is especially steeped in the supernatural. “We use ghosts to teach things,” he says, giving an example of how parents often tell their children, “Do this or don’t do that, otherwise a ghost will get you.” It is interesting that, in a Hollywood ghost-related film, the supporting cast is typically composed of non-believers, but almost the opposite is the case here – Jim is practically surrounded by superstitious, spirit-appeasing characters. In one scene, a respected colleague admits he will not take Yan in, despite being married to her cousin. Is it because Yan thinks she sees ghosts? On the contrary, it’s because she might actually see them, and both this rational-seeming medical professional and his wife are terrified of ghosts.

“There are already so many people in Hong Kong. Where would the ghosts live?” Jim asks his colleague. Nevertheless, in typical cinematic psychiatry-fashion, he and Yan manage to develop a close friendship over a short period of time, as he attempts to unearth the repressed memories responsible for her specters, including being abandoned by her parents when very young and rejected by a boyfriend after getting too possessive. But is burying the past and boosting her self-esteem really all Yan needs? Meanwhile, what’s up with the strange changes the good doctor appears to go through, including insomnia and flashbacks that initially seem connected to Yan’s childhood?

Like “The Sixth Sense,” there is a mighty twist, only it happens about an hour in as opposed to the last five minutes. As such, “Inner Senses” is a movie of two halves, the first carried along by scare scenes and the burgeoning relationship between the two leads, the second by recycling the first half’s themes of repression, trauma and suicide, and amping up the stuff going bump in the night. Unfortunately, the latter represents the film at its weakest; “Inner Senses” has some creepy-effective moments early on and in the middle, as we wonder if Jim’s problems are purely psychological, the result of a fear of intimacy. But as soon as the horror gets more visceral, the movie just gets grosser and goofier. On the bright side, it culminates in what could be the most touching necrophilia scene ever committed to celluloid.

But at least the first half sets up enough clues that we don’t feel cheated once the twist kicks in. We also come to care about the protagonists; Kam and Cheung convey vulnerability well, and Cheung’s performance is particularly great, the actor practically embodying such qualities as intelligence, decency, and empathy. He also shows a wealth of versatility in scenes I won’t get give away, except to say they could be compared to Mickey Rourke in “Angel Heart,” which I mean as the highest compliment. It should be noted that “Inner Senses” was the last movie Cheung worked on before committing suicide, and watching him try to help someone with their personal demons seems highly ironic, knowing how he ultimately couldn’t outrun his own.

Overall rating: *** (out of ****)

ROUGE (1987), dir. Stanley Kwan

A Ghost's Chance of Rekindling an Old Flame

In “Rouge,” a ghost from fifty years in the past returns to Hong Kong, searching for her lost love. No, this isn't a goofy romantic-comedy, even if the premise sounds awfully familiar. Instead, it's a highly-effective melodrama from director Stanley Kwan, as well as a star vehicle for Anita Mui, the late Cantonese pop singer. As Fleur, a beautiful courtesan who died tragically with her lover, Mui gets to sing, dress up in period costumes, and otherwise command the screen.

The story: Fleur's spirit somehow fails to be reunited in the afterlife with that of Chen (Leslie Cheung, from "The Chinese Feast" and "Happy Together"), her earthly paramour. Assuming he has been reincarnated, she patiently waits in the underworld until August 11th, 1987. Why that date? According to a diviner, whom she consulted while still alive, that is the soonest they can meet again on Earth. Fleur wants to see Chen one more time before returning to the land of the dead, where she will be reborn herself.

Of course, Hong Kong has changed a lot by the time she returns. Fleur requires a guide, and a meek ad man named Yuen (Alex Man) takes pity on her. At first, he doesn't know that she's a ghost; he dismisses her as a harmless eccentric, only to discover her true nature during the bus ride home. After that tense, appropriately creepy revelation, he still takes her back to his apartment, which he shares with his reporter girlfriend, Chor (Emily Chu).

The writers of “Rouge,” Tai An-Ping Chiu and Bik-Wa Lei, cut back-and-forth between Fleur and Chen, and Yuen and Chor, telling parallel stories. With the former couple, we witness the tale of their sad fate, which may not be as clear-cut as Fleur made it sound. Meanwhile, the other couple tries to figure out what really happened to Chen, why his spirit, after he died, was never able to find Fleur's. Relying mainly on Chor's journalistic skills, they locate several clues in places Fleur and Chen used to frequent. Ultimately, these lead to a surprising plot twist or two, which casts everything we were told in a different light. Friend turns against friend, lover against lover, and the climactic Peking opera movie set seems oddly appropriate, as the present literally comes face-to-face with the past.

But solving a fifty-year old metaphysical mystery, compelling as it ends up being, isn't the sole aim of the filmmakers. They use the two time periods, and two couples, to juxtapose love in the 30’s with the 80’s, to show how some aspects are different, while others have stayed the same.

At one point, the old-fashioned Fleur asks Yuen why he hasn't married his girlfriend. He replies that he doesn’t feel any pressure. After all, they live a staid, comfortable life already. They are even past the point of buying each other love tokens. In an earlier scene, when Yuen “surprises” Chor with a gift, it turns out to be an eminently-practical, but not exactly romantic, pair of sneakers.

By contrast, from the moment Fleur and Chen lock eyes, everything about their love affair vibrates with urgency. He publicly declares his affection for her after just one encounter, and showers her with gifts large and small (such as the ornamental make-up box from which the movie’s title derives). After Chen's wealthy family disowns him for refusing to call off the relationship, they continue their desperate clinging. Cinematographer Bill Wong accentuates their passion by infusing the 30's time period with lots of reds and golds. Meanwhile, he adopts conservative colors for the 80's, thus creating two very distinct moods.

But this does not mean relationships in previous times were better, even if the people involved may have shown more passion. Clearly, Fleur is more desperate about her man than Chor about her own. But a woman's role in 1980's Hong Kong has also changed dramatically since the 30's. When Fleur was a child, her parents abandoned her; she became a professional courtesan at the tender age of 14. She knows she must marry in order to become a "respectable" woman. If she does not accomplish this, especially while at the height of her beauty and popularity, she might be stuck at the brothel forever. A modern career woman like Chor never has to worry about suffering this kind of fate.

Perhaps, because love can be viewed more as a luxury than a necessity, Chor’s relationship with Yuen isn't nearly as urgent. Even so, both couples still have aspects in common, such as the need for physical intimacy. Indeed, during one scene, Fleur peeks in on Yuen and Chor while they make love. As she watches, the footage of one couple intermingles with images of the other. They become a montage of affection.

On the one hand, this sequence functions as psychological filmmaking, merging point-of-view shots with memory. But at the same time, it argues that love in the 80’s only seems staid and comfortable, that underneath, the passion that comes from feeling close to someone remains alive and kicking.

Overall rating: **** (out of ****)

THE CHINESE FEAST (1995), dir. Tsui Hark

After Two Hours, You'll Be Hungry Again

“The Chinese Feast” is like a 12-course banquet dinner, which serves up a little something for every taste. Director Tsui Hark, best known for crafting elaborate wire-fu epics throughout the 1990’s, blends together slapstick comedy, martial arts, sports flick conventions, and even the “Iron Chef” TV series into one tasty fusion cuisine.

Leslie Cheung, a popular Hong Kong singer and accomplished actor (his credits include the very different “A Chinese Ghost Story,” “Farewell, My Concubine,” and “Happy Together”) plays Chui, a small-time gangster who wants to become a chef so he can travel to Canada, where his girlfriend has gone. After being disqualified from the cooking exam of a Canadian hotel chain, he takes a job at the Qing Han, the oldest local restaurant. The much put-upon owner of the restaurant, Au (Kar-Ying Law), makes Chui perform a variety of ridiculous tasks for the amusement of the kitchen staff. But the last laugh is on him, as romantic sparks begin to fly between Chui and V.V. (Anita Yuen, behaving outlandishly), the owner’s rebellious daughter.

Wacky hi-jinks involving a giant fish, followed by a Mexican standoff between Triad gangs precipitated by a gun hidden inside a straw basket, give way to a slightly more dramatic central plot: Wong Wing (stuntman/actor Xin Xin Xiong), leader of an upstart restaurant company called the Super Group, challenges the owner of the Qing Han to a battle between master chefs. The duel will take place within 30 days, as part of the third annual Qing Han Imperial Feast. While the winner will earn a sum of $60 million HK, the loser must shutter his restaurant. As an added injury, in the tradition of the martial arts flick, the losing chef must call his opponent Master.

The Qing Han’s staff convinces their boss to accept the Super Group’s challenge. Unfortunately, it turns out they have been bribed by their master’s enemies, and their subsequent betrayal causes the old man to have a heart attack. At this point, V.V., like Cordelia in Shakespeare’s King Lear, proves to be a loyal daughter after all. She pledges to prepare the Qing Han Imperial Feast, thus saving her father’s restaurant.

Unfortunately, neither she nor Chui, who wants to help her win the upcoming contest, can so much as boil water, much less prepare a complicated series of dishes featuring truly exotic ingredients. Enter Lung (Man Cheuk Chiu), a kind-hearted local chef. He relates the history behind the event, but admits he cannot help with the actual preparing. However, he knows someone who can: Kit (Kenny Bee), a onetime culinary prodigy turned lost soul.

Kit had been a contender for Hong Kong’s greatest chef until personal tragedy struck. Since then, he has retreated into a cocoon of alcohol and regret. He works a menial job at a supermarket, and ruins his once-formidible taste buds with drink. The character of Kit is in the tradition of countless movie athletes who fall from grace, and must pull themselves up again in time for the requisite happy ending. Naturally, his newfound friends put him through that familiar staple: the training montage. Only in “The Chinese Feast,” relocating one’s Eye of the Tiger means engaging in some pretty over-the-top activities, such as being forcefed a funnel full of ice cubes, acupuncture, and even a smoke-filled “death chamber.”

Can two fledgling cooking assistants, a recovering alcohol abuser with rusty kitchen skills, and a master chef confined to a wheelchair manage to upset the supremely-confident and technologically-advanced Super Group? If you’ve ever seen a sports movie, you don’t need me to tell you the answer. However, even if you’re familiar with every gridiron inspirational or “Karate Kid”-knock-off made to-date, you probably haven’t seen their conventions presented in Tsui Hark’s particularly active style.

Also, even if you’ve already watched Ang Lee’s “Eat Drink Man Woman” or Juzo Itami’s “Tampopo,” “The Chinese Feast” gives the food movie a wholly different look and feel. The camera still lingers on the texture and color of prepared dishes, but Hark places particular emphasis on how his chefs do their thing. From the very beginning, they seem to possess superhuman cooking ability, the same way Jet Li and Man Cheuk Chiu had elemental agility and speed in “Once Upon a Time in China” and “The Blade,” respectively. True, Kit and Wong Wing are culinary artists, not martial artists. But the director frames them in the same bold fashion, angling the camera upwards toward their faces. It’s a point of view that flatters them, even when the angle is slightly canted. And Hark uses slow and fast-motion to make their proficiency with fire and kitchen tools akin to a master’s skill with weapons.

(Speaking of weapons, more than one signature dish is punctuated with a shot of a trembling knife. If you decide to watch this movie, keep a tally of how many times one of the chefs completes a masterpiece, then flings his knife into the cutting board, where it vibrates with exhausted power. Talk about showmanship.)

Like “Eat Drink Man Woman” and “Tampopo,” this movie celebrates food and the way it brings people together. Food serves as the link in a variety of relationships: between burgeoning romantic partners (Chui and V.V.), former lovers (Kit and the woman he is estranged from), parent and child (Au and V.V.), and ultimately, a large group of friends (everyone who teams up against the Super Group). The cast is uniformly great, and the director juggles them well enough that everyone gets at least one good scene.

It probably helps that all the central characters are motivated by redemption. Chui must learn the chef trade honestly to make up for his early cheating. V.V. must save her father’s establishment to make up for her poor behavior in the past. And Kit must win the Qin Han Imperial Feast in order to prove to his girlfriend that he can feel again. But at the same time, the film has enough off-beat humor—the aforementioned giant fish scene, a screaming contest at a karaoke bar, a car-and-motorcycle chase set to Italian opera, and some business involving particular organs belonging to a monkey—that it never veers into schmaltz.

On the contrary, “The Chinese Feast” manages to balance itself between crowd-pleasing and whimsical. Among its possible audience are fans of Asian movie stars Leslie Cheung and Anita Yuen, not to mention martial arts aficionados (Those familiar with Hark’s even better 1995 feature, “The Blade,” might get a kick out of seeing Man Cheuk Chiu and Xin Xin Xiong in showy supporting roles). In turn, those with an appetite for MTV-style, rapid-fire filmmaking (only done right) are also in for a treat. So are those parties with a taste for the exotic. Meanwhile, the film’s universal themes of love and friendship may coax the not-so-brave into giving it a try.

Finally, foodies should be happy with this one. The highest compliment I can pay “The Chinese Feast” is to say that, after being amused, stimulated, and very much impressed by it, I also found myself hungry. A lot of the food cinematography is excellent, but the most tantalizing image occurs towards the end: a juicy piece of roasted meat, slowly dripping with honey. Despite the big meal of Thanksgiving leftovers I had just eaten two hours before, it suddenly felt like my only choices were “Feast” or famine, and I barely stopped myself from taking a bite out of the TV screen.

Overall rating: ***1/2 (out of ****)

HAPPY TOGETHER (1997), dir. Wong Kar-Wai

The Heart Has Its Reasons / “Starting Over Again” with Wong Kar-Wai

The setting is Argentina, birthplace of the tango. We get to hear some of that music in the background of various scenes.

I cannot say whether the two relationships at the heart of "Happy Together" are tangos in themselves. After all, it seems like the tango can be a metaphor for anything nowadays. If it implies an irresistable attraction, which we are helpless to fight off, though we know it will lead to disaster, Lai Yiu-Fai (Tony Leung Chiu-Wai) and Ho Wo-Ping (Leslie Cheung) are definitely dancing a tango. Likewise, if it means finding comfort in the presence of a kindred spirit, Yiu-Fai and his young friend Chang (Chang Chen) are tango-bound.

Though Argentina is a sunny country, "Happy Together" is, for the most part, not a sunny picture. Lai Yiu-Fai’s relationship with Ho Wo-Ping gets the majority of screen time, but theirs is a most turbulent affair. As Yiu-Fai’s voiceover tells us, they have known each other for a long time. But within that span, they have butt heads, broken up, and gotten back together, too often to keep count. Wo-Ping is usually the one who does the dumping. He is also the one who crawls back, and asks to start the relationship over again. Yiu-Fai always takes Wo-Ping back, thus perpetuating their vicious cycle. "Happy Together" observes a stretch of their on-again/off-again relationship, which is severed by jealousy and resentment. Eventually, Wo-Ping looks to reconcile again. But this time, Yiu-Fai has had enough.

"Happy Together" might put some viewers off, because it is about gay men. But this movie has very little interest in the politics of homosexuality. It is more interested in portraying the ordeal of its main character, Lai Yiu-Fai, in a way that is true to life. His emotional struggle is meant to be universal: the unextinguished candle that still burns for the love object; the insecurity and mistrust that degenerates into possessiveness; gradually understanding that things were not meant to be.

While the movie sounds simple, writer/director Wong Kar-Wai understands that the emotions involved are deep and complex. So the way he conducts the film, he plays the emotions like a kind of music. He underscores his characters’ silent longings with French New Wave-style flair, making them big as life.

Kar-Wai uses slow-motion, freeze shots, and multi-angle edits to turn seemingly meaningless moments into intervals of great profundity. When a character places his head on another character’s shoulder, it’s shot in slow-motion, with tango playing in the background. Slow-motion draws attention to their faces; we can practically read what Lai Yiu-Fai feels—suspicion combined with genuine temptation. By using tango, Kar-Wai reminds us that his characters, though they are sitting in a cab and staring straight ahead, are engaging, emotionally, in a give-and-take that indeed qualifies as a dance. Another interesting moment occurs when Lai Yiu-Fai walks into a men’s room, and unexpectedly finds Ho Wo-Ping. The picture freezes. Lai Yui-Fai is surprised, his emotions overwhelmed. As a result, his reality, represented by the film itself, momentarily seizes up.

The director also employs an unique narrative device to give his characters’ relationship added depth. A scene will be shown, such as Yiu-Fai receiving a call from Wo-Ping, or him startling Wo-Ping and accusing him of rifling through his closets. Then the film flashes back to a prior event, which may have taken place minutes, hours, or days before. Kar-Wai and Christopher Doyle, his frequent cinematographer, elect to use black-and-white photography for the flashbacks. This way, when we see Wo-Ping, alone in his plush hotel room, go out into the hallway to call Yiu-Fai, or Wo-Ping rummaging through the closets, it doesn’t impede the story. We can tell the difference between what is happening now, and what happened in the past.

Why does the director choose to structure the film in this fashion? Why detour from chronological order? By intercutting flashbacks into the linear narrative, Kar-Wai gives us two points of view for every scene he meddles with. This way, we can observe how the characters distrust each other, how even basic interactions feature deceit. In the previous example, Yiu-Fai only knew that his personal belongings had been tossed about. Thanks to the flashbacks, we know (and Yiu-Fai doesn’t) that Wo-Ping was looking for a particular thing.

We are privy to information one character has, which the other does not have. When Yiu-Fai gets the call from Wo-Ping, and the invitation to his hotel, he assumes that Wo-Ping wants to show off the spoils of his gigolo lifestyle. Far from it. Wo-Ping has a comfortable bed, and luxuries meant to satisfy his hedonistic urges. Pornography blares from his hotel room TV. The dresser is decorated with open bottles of alcohol. What’s conspicuously missing, however, is intimacy of any sort. To try and alleviate the aching of his heart, Wo-Ping reaches out to Yiu-Fai. But Yiu-Fai is not privy to the flashbacks, nor the information they contain. As a result, he does not realize his former lover’s intent, nor the complicated emotions that inform his actions.

As a final nod to Kar-Wai’s gift for mise-en-scene, "Happy Together" might contain the boldest example of symbolism I have seen in his movies. There is a shot of a giant waterfall, used to underscore Lai Yiu-Fai’s emotional state after being dumped. The sight of the waterfall (which is presented via a slow, panning shot, probably done from a helicopter) delivers a powerful emotional impact. It is conveniently juxtaposed. It follows the scene where Wo-Ping tells him that their days together are dull. Yiu-Fai walks towards the camera, head down. He looks grief-stricken. When we see the waterfall, we infer that the thousands of gallons pouring from the falls represent the sorrow gushing forth from Yiu-Fai’s heart. It’s a picture that speaks a thousand words, from a man who really knows how to use images to encompass volumes.

"Lai-Yiu Fai… We could start over again."

These are words his lover, Ho Wo-Ping, constantly says to him. When he wants to break up, he offers that caveat. Someday, perhaps, they can start over again. Eventually, Wo-Ping will want to get back together. Then he will say the same thing: “Lai Yiu-Fai… We could start over again.”

How interesting that Wong Kar-Wai should set “Happy Together,” about two gay men who try to start a new life together, in Argentina. After all, during the 1880’s, immigrants from all over the world flocked there to begin anew. Of course, they could never leave the Old World behind completely. When time came to commiserate about failed romance or cultural alienation, these immigrants from Europe, Africa, and other distant lands drowned their sorrows in the tango. The tango combined familiar musical styles with some unfamiliar ones. It produced an exotic sound, but also reflected home.

Over a hundred years after the original immigrants, Lai Yui-Fai and Ho Wo-Ping also try to start anew. But can a person really begin again? Can we return to a past romantic partner, without digging up old resentments? Wong Kar-Wai seems to argue that you can indeed start over. But only if you are a different person than you were the previous time. Otherwise, the past has a tendency to repeat itself, as it does for Lai Yiu-Fai and Ho Wo-Ping.

Yiu-Fai and Wo-Ping face a nearly-insurmountable obstacle. Wo-Ping is selfish, indulges too much. He is too much attracted to Argentina's wild nightlife. Yiu-Fai, on the other hand, is practical, giving, and responsible. His and Wo-Ping’s values greatly differ. When they get back together in Argentina, things go well for a while. But only because Wo-Ping needs Yiu-Fai’s help. Special circumstances lead to this comfortable, symbiotic relationship developing. It only lasts, however, for as long as Wo-Ping remains hurt.

As soon as Wo-Ping’s begins recovering from his beating, he regresses to his old ways. This leads to conflict, and inevitable dissolution. Part of the problem is Wo-Ping, who is unwilling to change his behavior. But at the same time, Yiu-Fai will not stop being possessive. At one point, Yiu-Fai buys two entire cartons of cigarettes, so Wo-Ping won’t have that excuse to leave the apartment at night. This sends him into a brief rage. Wo-Ping makes it clear to Yiu-Fai, who would rather he stayed home, "If I want to go out, I’ll go out."

Jealousy and suspicion also seep in. These two know each other too well, and have experienced too much pain at the other’s hands. It must have occurred to Yiu-Fai that his partner might get bored, and leave again. So he takes something of Wo-Ping’s. This stolen object guarantees that, even if he leaves, he cannot get too far.

How much better it would be if Yiu-Fai and Wo-Ping started over alone. Especially since neither character has changed since they last broke up. For them, there is no point in trying to start again. If their personality conflicts drove them apart in the past, and both men are still the same, history must repeat itself. Of course, if their relationship did not collapse again, Wong Kar-Wai would not have his movie. One of the truths about the human heart, which “Happy Together” espouses very well, is that sometimes, the mighty organ cannot help itself. It yearns for the departed. It tosses aside common sense to try and reclaim some joy from the past.

But the heart can also find pleasure in something new. One day, Yiu-Fai crosses paths with Chang, who works at the restaurant where Yiu-Fai has taken a job. Gradually, they get to know each other. We can tell from his voiceovers that Chang is a sensitive boy.

Yiu-Fai relates to Chang much differently than with Wo-Ping. With the latter, the attraction was mostly physical, and Kar-Wai established this early on. The very first shot of the movie showed Yiu-Fai’s naked body being observed by Wo-Ping. He followed that up with a scene of them having sex. By contrast, Yiu-Fai and Chang share a deeper, more emotional bond. Both their souls are homesick. Chang, however, wants to see more of the world before going back.

Although their relationship never becomes sexual, Chang gives Yiu-Fai something more important: Strength to truly start over fresh. Hearing Chang talk about home, and his family, he is reminded of a past indiscretion. He realizes that he cannot go home as the same person, for the injured party will not accept him. So Yiu-Fai begins the process of change by writing a long letter to the injured. Once upon a time, he could not imagine doing such a thing. Yet here he is, writing the letter. But Yiu-Fai still isn’t ready to return home. He must embark on a descent into the underworld, where he wanders aimlessly through Argentina’s gay subculture. It is an abyss of orange sunsets and temptations of the flesh.

With Chang gone, and Wo-Ping at a distance, Yiu-Fai finally gets the chance to stare into the abyss, and not look away. He gets an opportunity to build character. Now, when he returns home to Hong Kong, having survived loss, loneliness, and the quietus that is a solitary mind, he will be a different man. He will have conquered himself; he will have left Wo-Ping behind for good. Now he gets his chance at redemption and forgiveness. Now he can really start over.

Overall rating: **** (out of ****)