Tag Archives: Fruit Chan

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: THE MIDNIGHT AFTER (2014)

Na yeh ling san, ngoh choh seung liu Wong Gok hoi mong Dai Bou dik hung Van

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Wong You-nam, Janice Man, Simon Yam, Kara Hui

PLOT: A bus from Mong kok to Tai Po arrives at its destination to find a neighborhood rendered empty by some unknown catastrophe, and the passengers are left to unravel the mystery of what happened, and what might happen to them.

COMMENTS: If a credit alone could catapult a film onto the Apocrypha, then “Based on the Novel by Pizza” would be a strong contender, even more so when you learn that this particular novel debuted in serialized form on an internet forum. Alas, this is not the first wonderfully weird credit we’ve come across around here, so I guess we’ll have to rely on Pizza’s ideas to judge whether this movie merits inclusion. Indeed, there are some offbeat notions at the heart of The Midnight After, but they are all in service to a greater mystery that is only inconsistently the story’s main focus.

Chan smartly kicks things off in the hyperkinetic atmosphere of modern Hong Kong, with a lively sequence in which the various personalities find their way onto the van. The city is energized, with joyful revelers, anxious workers, and quarreling lovers all populating the opening sequence in a way that gives the city its own character while establishing a contrast with the abandoned landscape we will soon enter. That contrast also gives us our first glimpse into the kaleidoscope of tonal shifts that Chan will employ throughout the course of the film. We’ll soon be treated to wistful romance, snarky comedy, surreal music videos, gritty justice, and disturbing horror. The Midnight After gets your attention, but once it has it, it quickly changes the game.

As we are introduced to the individual backstories of the passengers—the married couple who loves English football, the low-level gangster who has alienated his family, the junkie who never seems to realize what is going on—it starts to feel like the story would be better served as a TV series. One series in particular, in fact: “Lost,” the turn-of-the-millennium puzzle-box American series that thrived on unveiling mysteries with the promise of answers somewhere down the line. Like that show, Midnight assembles an unusually diverse collection of characters whose personal motivations and conflicting interactions make up the story’s drama. Also like “Lost,” new mysteries and complications keep getting thrown into the mix, including a cadre of hazmat-suited Japanese soldiers, a round of vigilante justice against a sex criminal, and a coded signal that seems to be transmitting the lyrics to “Space Oddity.” Unlike the series, The Midnight After attempts to deliver all of this in roughly two hours, as opposed to the six years afforded to the passengers of Oceanic Flight 815. The compressed time frame is acutely felt, with more stories than Chan could possibly hope to resolve. Supposedly an unrealized sequel would have brought some closure, but wrapping things up seems to be far from anyone’s goal.  

Cultural elements are necessarily lost on an outsider like myself. For those in the know, The Midnight After is a metaphor for the impending handover of control of Hong Kong to the Chinese government, with the stranger-in-a-familiar-land vibe of the bus passengers’ predicament mirroring that of Hong Kong residents who find themselves absorbed into an entirely new political and cultural environment. You’ll also find references to Sino-Japanese relations, the uneasy alliance between capitalism and faith, the ongoing threat of aerial pandemic, and multiple genre parodies. Ultimately, it’s that stew of ideas that becomes the weirdest thing about the film. The basic mystery – “Where’d everybody go?” – is pretty straightforward. It’s the sheer mass of the additional ornamentation that throws you off.

All that The Midnight After could have been is captured in its final image, a beautiful tracking shot in which the camera pulls through the bus and shows the faces of people who are trying to take in the scope of all that they have lost. It’s a potent vision, but also one that highlights the open-ended nature of the tale. They don’t know where they’re headed, and neither do we. It’s an unusual approach to storytelling, but also a deeply unsatisfying one.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

Blithely unconcerned with subtlety, coherence or the Chinese market, the film sizzles with untranslatable colloquial wisecracks, trenchant social satire, and an ensemble cast of character actors and young up-and-comers at their freaky best. A mercurial ride that is decidedly outside the mainstream, it should nonetheless delight genre aficionados and bonafide fans of Hong Kong cinema… Dream sequences and spooky visions further add to the surreal atmosphere…”-– Maggie Lee, Variety (festival screening)

(This movie was nominated for review by Dean. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.) 

CAPSULE: DUMPLINGS (2004)

餃子]/Jiao Zi

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DIRECTED BY: Fruit Chan

FEATURING: Miriam Yeung, Bai Ling, Tony Ka-Fai Leung, Meme

PLOT: An aging woman, eager to recapture her lost youth and the attentions of her wayward husband, patronizes a local maker of dumplings whose creations reverse the ravages of time; however, what she learns about how the dumplings are made force her to confront her own desires and tolerances.

Still from Dumplings (2004)

COMMENTS: The big twist is fully revealed exactly halfway through Dumplings, but in truth, we’ve known what was going on all along. Aunt Mei makes dumplings that restore youth thanks to a special ingredient. Mei’s current client, the former TV actress Mrs. Li, is eager for a therapy that will bring about the return of her youthful beauty quickly, to which Mei replies that the best ingredients are hard to come by. We learn that Aunt Mei used to be a doctor, and on her occasional visits to a local hospital to get illicit supplies, she discusses the ramifications of China’s one-child policy and the procedure some have used to bypass it. Meanwhile, a neighbor has brought her pregnant daughter to Aunt Mei for “help.” You’re with me here, right? There’s not really any mystery about what’s in the dumplings, is there?

Director Fruit Chan is a great deal more artful than that, of course. The camera lavishly chronicles the cooking process with loving attention, in the manner of Babette’s Feast or Big Night, so that you might be lulled into thinking you were watching Hong Kong’s answer to Chocolat. All the while, he is careful to avoid featuring anything too gory until the key moment, even if there are suggestions of something untoward throughout. (A special shout-out is owed to sound designer Kinson Tsang, who helps bring the horror by delivering the alluring, disgusting power of every slurp, chop, and bloody plop.) But there’s no getting past the litany of taboos that Dumplings confronts. Pretty it up all you like, but eventually, you’re going to have to face the facts about what’s in your food.

The film is an expansion of Chan’s segment from the horror anthology Three… Extremes, but at 90 minutes it remains taut and effective. The film is buoyed by the pair of stellar performances at its core. Bai Ling cavorts around her kitchen like a mischievous wood nymph, singing and spinning around confidently like a water strider; an Act 3 monologue extolling the virtues of anthropophagy frames her actions as virtually righteous. Meanwhile, Miriam Yeung is the very model of prim propriety pushed to its limits. No Death Becomes Her transformations here; you never once believe she is old or has lost any of her beauty (Yeung is stunning throughout), but you can be certain of her own perception of her failings, and they underline her commitment to the course of action that leads to her ultimate fate.

Dumplings is weird by virtue of its off-limits subject matter, but curiously not weird thanks to its earnest and forthright exploration of said material. A couple key subplots, such as the fate of Mei’s unlucky neighbor or a confrontation between the chef and Mrs. Li’s philandering husband, hint at a greater reckoning that never really arrives. Instead, Dumplings is a sober meditation on what we’re willing to do to get what we think is justly owed to us. No fortune cookie here, but instead this admonition: It’s not what we eat but what we choose to eat that makes us who we are.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Jiao Zi is a never ending cycle of absurdity leading to comedy leading to absurd reactions leading to more horror… the surreal way in which the horror and comedy of Jiao Zi was implemented ending up being too alluring for me to ignore.” – Bill Thompson, Bill’s Movie Emporium

(This movie was nominated for review by Ed. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)