God Of War
Gordon Chan
The story: General Qi Jiguang (Vincent Zhao) is tasked to deal with the scourge of pirates menacing coastal China during the Ming dynasty in the 1500s. One group of invaders has even taken over Cengang in Zhejiang province. It turns out that masterful Japanese strategist Kumasawa (Kurata Yasuaki) is pulling the strings behind these attacks. He and Gen Qi engage in a battle of tactics as he launches attacks on three different fronts.
Given that Hollywood blockbuster Pirates Of The Caribbean: Salazar’s Revenge is now showing, God Of War could easily be dismissed as “the other pirate movie”. That would be a pity, for there is quite a bit to treasure here.
At its helm is Hong Kong director Gordon Chan, who can be hit-or-miss, responsible for helming the overly CGI-heavy fantasy flick Mural (2011) as well as hit Stephen Chow comedy Royal Tramp (1992). Here, he delivers layered storytelling, gripping battle sequences and an even more exciting battle of wits between Qi and Kumasawa.
Things are more complicated than they appear to be at first glance. The pirates are a front for Japanese samurai keen on making money for military adventures back home; Qi has a reputation for being unbeatable, but the truth has been bent for the sake of propaganda; and Zhejiang governor Hu (Wang Ban) – Qi’s superior – could be corrupt or merely practical.
The characters are treated with some care.
Zhao delivers a convincing performance as Qi, who is heroic without being bland. For one thing, the general occasionally submits to his wife, a strong-willed woman who is capable of taking up arms when enemies attack. Chinese actress Wan Qian, from 2014’s Taiwanese drama Paradise In Service, acquits herself superbly in the role.
Unusually, the Japanese villains here are not caricatures – Yasuaki brings a certain dignity and pathos to wily strategist Kumasawa, who has to contend with an impatient and rash young master (Koide Keisuke).
God Of War’s engaging storytelling is a pleasant surprise, given that there are four names credited for its screenplay: Xiong Zhaozheng, Maria Wong, Frankie Tam and Wu Mengzhang. Happily, the proverbial broth is not spoilt by the many cooks.
(ST)
Wednesday, May 17, 2017
Lucky Boy
Boris Boo
The story: Lin Yu (Wang Weiliang) seems destined to always be No. 2 in whatever he does, coming up just short every single time. When he meets Qingqing (Venus Wong) as a little boy, he carries a torch for her that burns for many years even as they are kept apart by circumstances and the other men in her life.
Wang Weiliang broke out as Ah Beng soldier Lobang in the national service-themed ensemble Ah Boys To Men films (2012-2015) with his swagger and assured screen presence.
He gets the chance to be the leading man here but, unfortunately, in a role that calls for him to be mousy and timid most of the time.
Even worse: While the idea is for this to be an epic romance in the vein of Taiwanese hits You Are The Apple Of My Eye (2011) and Our Times (2015), the vibe between him and pretty but bland Hong Kong actress Venus Wong (King Of Mahjong, 2015) is more amicable than passionate.
The will-they-or-won’t-they premise drags out for far too long.
The movie could have done with a much-needed trim, especially the jarring jump from light-hearted comedy romance to melodrama in a teary rooftop scene between Lin and his father (Chew Chor Meng).
The attempt to add some heft by incorporating real-life events from the Hotel New World collapse in 1986 to the Sars outbreak in 2003 does not really work.
These momentous episodes are reduced to the equivalent of movie wallpaper populated by a cast stuck in underwritten roles, including local 1980s television star Chen Xiuhuan as Lin’s over-protective mother.
(ST)
Boris Boo
The story: Lin Yu (Wang Weiliang) seems destined to always be No. 2 in whatever he does, coming up just short every single time. When he meets Qingqing (Venus Wong) as a little boy, he carries a torch for her that burns for many years even as they are kept apart by circumstances and the other men in her life.
Wang Weiliang broke out as Ah Beng soldier Lobang in the national service-themed ensemble Ah Boys To Men films (2012-2015) with his swagger and assured screen presence.
He gets the chance to be the leading man here but, unfortunately, in a role that calls for him to be mousy and timid most of the time.
Even worse: While the idea is for this to be an epic romance in the vein of Taiwanese hits You Are The Apple Of My Eye (2011) and Our Times (2015), the vibe between him and pretty but bland Hong Kong actress Venus Wong (King Of Mahjong, 2015) is more amicable than passionate.
The will-they-or-won’t-they premise drags out for far too long.
The movie could have done with a much-needed trim, especially the jarring jump from light-hearted comedy romance to melodrama in a teary rooftop scene between Lin and his father (Chew Chor Meng).
The attempt to add some heft by incorporating real-life events from the Hotel New World collapse in 1986 to the Sars outbreak in 2003 does not really work.
These momentous episodes are reduced to the equivalent of movie wallpaper populated by a cast stuck in underwritten roles, including local 1980s television star Chen Xiuhuan as Lin’s over-protective mother.
(ST)
Wednesday, May 10, 2017
18
Z-Chen Chang
Malaysian singer Z-Chen Chang’s last studio album of original material, In Love With... (2011), still lingers on my mind with his moving take on the ballads Invaluable Advice and Met Too Soon, both of which were penned by Percy Phang.
Bruises, the opening track from the new album, also composed by the Johor Baru-born, Taiwan-educated Phang, is not quite as effective. Listen instead to the bruising emotions of Walk Away, composed by Zheng Yujie, who was also behind the title track of Rainie Yang’s 2016 album Traces Of Time In Love: “I walk away, carve my memories into a memorial/I walk away, break free of these surging tears.”
The following Fight For Love, music and lyrics by Phang, offers a welcome change of pace and a more pro-active stance: “If you really love someone, you will fight for love.”
On the whole, though, 18 is less memorable than his earlier effort. Maybe Chang needs to fight for more distinctive material.
(ST)
Z-Chen Chang
Malaysian singer Z-Chen Chang’s last studio album of original material, In Love With... (2011), still lingers on my mind with his moving take on the ballads Invaluable Advice and Met Too Soon, both of which were penned by Percy Phang.
Bruises, the opening track from the new album, also composed by the Johor Baru-born, Taiwan-educated Phang, is not quite as effective. Listen instead to the bruising emotions of Walk Away, composed by Zheng Yujie, who was also behind the title track of Rainie Yang’s 2016 album Traces Of Time In Love: “I walk away, carve my memories into a memorial/I walk away, break free of these surging tears.”
The following Fight For Love, music and lyrics by Phang, offers a welcome change of pace and a more pro-active stance: “If you really love someone, you will fight for love.”
On the whole, though, 18 is less memorable than his earlier effort. Maybe Chang needs to fight for more distinctive material.
(ST)
29+1 (PG)
Kearen Pang
The story: Calorie-counting and vitamin-popping executive Christy Lam (Chrissie Chau) gets a promotion at work, but she starts to question what she wants in life on the eve of her 30th birthday. When she is forced to move from her apartment, she ends up in the charmingly and whimsically decorated home of Wong Tin Lok (Joyce Cheng), who turns out to share the same birth date and is on her dream vacation to Paris.
Rat-race fatigue is not exactly new or unusual and Christy’s story – which writer-director Kearen Pang first staged as a one-woman play in 2005 – feels a little too familiar to be revelatory.
Perhaps a stronger actress would have made the role more sympathetic. Chau, who remains better known for her pictorial books than acting chops, is adequate here, but not quite compelling enough.
Things get more interesting with the entry of Tin Lok.
Carefree and cheerful, the unambitious record store assistant is the polar opposite of Christy.
Cheng is very good, admittedly in a role that is easier to like. There is a joy and sweetness to her performance that lights up the screen and there is nice rapport between her and Babyjohn Choi, who plays Tin Lok’s best friend.
Pang draws parallels between the lives of the two women and, intriguingly, Christy starts to imagine herself as Tin Lok. It feels a little jarring here because Chau and Cheng are physically so different.
One cannot help but think that this conceit would have worked better in the one-woman play, when Pang slipped in and out of both roles.
(ST)
Kearen Pang
The story: Calorie-counting and vitamin-popping executive Christy Lam (Chrissie Chau) gets a promotion at work, but she starts to question what she wants in life on the eve of her 30th birthday. When she is forced to move from her apartment, she ends up in the charmingly and whimsically decorated home of Wong Tin Lok (Joyce Cheng), who turns out to share the same birth date and is on her dream vacation to Paris.
Rat-race fatigue is not exactly new or unusual and Christy’s story – which writer-director Kearen Pang first staged as a one-woman play in 2005 – feels a little too familiar to be revelatory.
Perhaps a stronger actress would have made the role more sympathetic. Chau, who remains better known for her pictorial books than acting chops, is adequate here, but not quite compelling enough.
Things get more interesting with the entry of Tin Lok.
Carefree and cheerful, the unambitious record store assistant is the polar opposite of Christy.
Cheng is very good, admittedly in a role that is easier to like. There is a joy and sweetness to her performance that lights up the screen and there is nice rapport between her and Babyjohn Choi, who plays Tin Lok’s best friend.
Pang draws parallels between the lives of the two women and, intriguingly, Christy starts to imagine herself as Tin Lok. It feels a little jarring here because Chau and Cheng are physically so different.
One cannot help but think that this conceit would have worked better in the one-woman play, when Pang slipped in and out of both roles.
(ST)
Wednesday, May 03, 2017
In the recent Chinese suspense thriller The Mysterious Family, a mother was confronting her daughter’s rapist in an emotionally charged scene, when the subtitles suddenly took centre stage and wrested attention away from what was happening onscreen.
“You have the nuts to do it, why not have the balls to admit it?”
In Mandarin, the line went: “Ni you zhong zuo, wei shen me mei zhong cheng ren?” A simpler and more effective translation could have been: “You had the guts to do it, why don’t you have the guts to admit it?”
Mixing nuts and balls is clearly a case of a subtitler gone rogue.
Subtitles for a movie should be like that old adage about children – seen but not heard, or draw attention to themselves.
They play an important role in broadening the audience for a work, but they should be subservient to the movie.
At least in The Mysterious Family, there was effort expended on the subtitles, misguided though that line was.
That cannot be said for the awful errors in other films.
In the local horror comedy, The Ghosts Must Be Crazy (2011), a character is described as a “sicklish chicken”. A spellcheck would have revealed that there is no such word as “sicklish”.
The Korean drama, Natali (2011), billed as the first erotic movie shown here in 3D, thrust ungrammatical Mandarin and English subtitles in the audience’s faces rather than sexy shenanigans.
And the Chinese adventure flick, For A Few Bullets (2016), undermined the charms of its rakish leading man Lin Gengxin with subtitles that were rife with errors, including this: “Some warlords forces used violent mechanic to destroying the tomb.”
These films have a production budget, but no one thought it was worth spending some money to get right something as basic as the subtitles.
I am far more forgiving when it comes to fansubs – these are subtitles done by fans for which they are not paid. Even when the English is laboured – as though chunks of dialogue had been dumped into the input column of Google Translate and the results simply copied and pasted from the output column – I am thankful.
After all, without their labour of love, I would not have access to the likes of Thai-language television dramas.
The hard work of these fans is sometimes recognised by the actors themselves and getting that acknowledgement by one’s idols must be such a thrill for them.
On the Facebook page for the Thai drama, Part Time The Series – about university students who work to make ends meet – there is a photo of lead actor Luangsodsai Anupart (also known as Ngern) holding up a handwritten thank-you sign to the subtitles team for the show.
Once in a while, one gets reminded that these amateur subtitlers have lives outside of their time-consuming hobby.
There was a plea – in subtitles in an episode I watched – for viewers not to hound them for new, captioned episodes as they were having exams and that they would get to it when they had the time.
In another show, the subtitler was so involved with the drama that he berated a character for his behaviour in comments generously sprinkled with exclamation marks.
It was like a special DVD running-commentary bonus feature – except that this could not be turned off.
(ST)
“You have the nuts to do it, why not have the balls to admit it?”
In Mandarin, the line went: “Ni you zhong zuo, wei shen me mei zhong cheng ren?” A simpler and more effective translation could have been: “You had the guts to do it, why don’t you have the guts to admit it?”
Mixing nuts and balls is clearly a case of a subtitler gone rogue.
Subtitles for a movie should be like that old adage about children – seen but not heard, or draw attention to themselves.
They play an important role in broadening the audience for a work, but they should be subservient to the movie.
At least in The Mysterious Family, there was effort expended on the subtitles, misguided though that line was.
That cannot be said for the awful errors in other films.
In the local horror comedy, The Ghosts Must Be Crazy (2011), a character is described as a “sicklish chicken”. A spellcheck would have revealed that there is no such word as “sicklish”.
The Korean drama, Natali (2011), billed as the first erotic movie shown here in 3D, thrust ungrammatical Mandarin and English subtitles in the audience’s faces rather than sexy shenanigans.
And the Chinese adventure flick, For A Few Bullets (2016), undermined the charms of its rakish leading man Lin Gengxin with subtitles that were rife with errors, including this: “Some warlords forces used violent mechanic to destroying the tomb.”
These films have a production budget, but no one thought it was worth spending some money to get right something as basic as the subtitles.
I am far more forgiving when it comes to fansubs – these are subtitles done by fans for which they are not paid. Even when the English is laboured – as though chunks of dialogue had been dumped into the input column of Google Translate and the results simply copied and pasted from the output column – I am thankful.
After all, without their labour of love, I would not have access to the likes of Thai-language television dramas.
The hard work of these fans is sometimes recognised by the actors themselves and getting that acknowledgement by one’s idols must be such a thrill for them.
On the Facebook page for the Thai drama, Part Time The Series – about university students who work to make ends meet – there is a photo of lead actor Luangsodsai Anupart (also known as Ngern) holding up a handwritten thank-you sign to the subtitles team for the show.
Once in a while, one gets reminded that these amateur subtitlers have lives outside of their time-consuming hobby.
There was a plea – in subtitles in an episode I watched – for viewers not to hound them for new, captioned episodes as they were having exams and that they would get to it when they had the time.
In another show, the subtitler was so involved with the drama that he berated a character for his behaviour in comments generously sprinkled with exclamation marks.
It was like a special DVD running-commentary bonus feature – except that this could not be turned off.
(ST)
Love Off The Cuff
Pang Ho Cheung
The story: In this sequel to Love In A Puff (2010) and Love In The Buff (2012), Jimmy (Shawn Yue) and Cherie (Miriam Yeung) are living together happily. But this state of affairs gets shaken up by the appearance of Jimmy’s “godmother” (Jiang Mengjie), a childhood friend who asks a big favour of him, and also by Cherie’s father (Paul Chun) getting remarried to a younger woman.
Hello again, old friends.
Moviegoers have watched Jimmy and Cherie banter, bicker and fall in and out of love. Five years after their last big-screen outing, it is a pleasure watching them go at it again.
There is quite a bit of fan service here, from the way Cuff opens with a seemingly unrelated story – similar to the earlier two films – to all the references to events that took place previously, such as Cherie’s supposed fling with actor Ekin Cheng, who played himself in part two.
Credit again goes to director and co-writer Pang Ho Cheung for crafting funny and incisive dialogue that makes the characters come alive, whether they are chatting about childhood television memories or Cherie discussing with a friend the problem of white pubic hair.
The characters are lived-in and their situations feel intimately real.
In a way, Jimmy and Cherie keep circling around the same issues: She thinks he is too immature, he does not understand why she makes a big deal of things.
Despite the best of intentions, they do not solve a problem once and for all.
It comes back in different guises in an ongoing relationship and they keep having to work through it.
Still, each time, the characters learn a little more about each other and keep you rooting for them.
In a nice touch, they get good advice from the unlikeliest of people and that seems to be a reflection of the film’s sweet-naturedness – even minor characters are treated with affection.
Yue and Yeung slip so easily into their roles that it is easy to mistake them for Jimmy and Cherie. But make no mistake, this is unaffected acting at its best. (For comparison, see Yue’s contrasting performance in 2016’s Mad World, a moving drama about mental illness.)
Whereas the obstacles in the second instalment seemed too obvious – Jimmy and Cherie were paired with people they were clearly not meant to be with – this time around, they strike closer to home as Cherie faces her deep- rooted fear of abandonment.
The “godmother” subplot is more of a stretch, but it does nudge the couple to think about marriage and children.
At its core, the Jimmy and Cherie series is a traditionally minded romance, one that is believably contemporary and done well with plenty of heart.
(ST)
Pang Ho Cheung
The story: In this sequel to Love In A Puff (2010) and Love In The Buff (2012), Jimmy (Shawn Yue) and Cherie (Miriam Yeung) are living together happily. But this state of affairs gets shaken up by the appearance of Jimmy’s “godmother” (Jiang Mengjie), a childhood friend who asks a big favour of him, and also by Cherie’s father (Paul Chun) getting remarried to a younger woman.
Hello again, old friends.
Moviegoers have watched Jimmy and Cherie banter, bicker and fall in and out of love. Five years after their last big-screen outing, it is a pleasure watching them go at it again.
There is quite a bit of fan service here, from the way Cuff opens with a seemingly unrelated story – similar to the earlier two films – to all the references to events that took place previously, such as Cherie’s supposed fling with actor Ekin Cheng, who played himself in part two.
Credit again goes to director and co-writer Pang Ho Cheung for crafting funny and incisive dialogue that makes the characters come alive, whether they are chatting about childhood television memories or Cherie discussing with a friend the problem of white pubic hair.
The characters are lived-in and their situations feel intimately real.
In a way, Jimmy and Cherie keep circling around the same issues: She thinks he is too immature, he does not understand why she makes a big deal of things.
Despite the best of intentions, they do not solve a problem once and for all.
It comes back in different guises in an ongoing relationship and they keep having to work through it.
Still, each time, the characters learn a little more about each other and keep you rooting for them.
In a nice touch, they get good advice from the unlikeliest of people and that seems to be a reflection of the film’s sweet-naturedness – even minor characters are treated with affection.
Yue and Yeung slip so easily into their roles that it is easy to mistake them for Jimmy and Cherie. But make no mistake, this is unaffected acting at its best. (For comparison, see Yue’s contrasting performance in 2016’s Mad World, a moving drama about mental illness.)
Whereas the obstacles in the second instalment seemed too obvious – Jimmy and Cherie were paired with people they were clearly not meant to be with – this time around, they strike closer to home as Cherie faces her deep- rooted fear of abandonment.
The “godmother” subplot is more of a stretch, but it does nudge the couple to think about marriage and children.
At its core, the Jimmy and Cherie series is a traditionally minded romance, one that is believably contemporary and done well with plenty of heart.
(ST)
Tuesday, May 02, 2017
Death's End
Liu Cixin
Death’s End is a spectacular conclusion to the acclaimed Chinese sci-fi trilogy, Remembrance Of Earth’s Past, by Liu Cixin.
There have been instances where finales have been disappointments after a long and compelling build-up. Not in this case. All the pieces come together and Death’s End is the appropriate culmination to an incredibly inventive and brilliantly imaginative series.
In Death’s End, the aliens from Trisolaris are living in peaceful co-existence with Earth. The Trisolarans were first introduced in the first book, The Three-Body Problem (published in English in 2014). There, the peculiarities of their world, which had three suns, were sketched out.
In the next instalment, The Dark Forest (published in English in 2015), they were charging towards Earth bent on destruction.
In Death’s End, the apparent peace both races enjoy lulls Earth into a false sense of security. But the death of a key character from book two sets in motion a chain of events that leaves humanity in crisis and facing the prospect of colonisation.
The sheer scope of this novel is astounding. In terms of timeline, it stretches from the present era to 17 billion years from the beginning of time. The story takes place on Earth and in the furthest reaches of space.
Such an expanse of time and space is daunting, but Liu gives us a single protagonist to guide us through it all.
New character Chinese aerospace engineer Cheng Xin is the heart of this epic tale as she hops from era to era, barely ageing, thanks to the wonders of hibernation technology.
A decision she makes plunges Earth into peril and the guilt almost crushes her, but she also turns out to be a pivotal figure whose choices the plot hinges on.
The twists and turns of her relationship with her long-time admirer Yun Tianming also have far-ranging consequences for the destiny of humanity.
The pacing is crisp, given the amount of ground the story covers. The reader is hooked on wanting to know the fates of Cheng and Yun, and, well, humankind.
Along the way, one is confronted with intriguing ideas about four-dimensional space and light-speed travel, abstract concepts which Liu makes relevant and urgent in the context of the story.
Impressively, Liu even works in three highly symbolic fairy tales in which clues for Earth’s survival are hidden in plain sight.
This is a rich work packed with ideas and one that continually manages to surprise the reader. On top of which, there are characters here that one grows to care for, people who are flawed and have needs and desires and yet must shoulder the burden of Earth’s survival.
It is the rare writer who can combine hardcore science, memorable characters and compelling storytelling together into such a satisfying whole.
For someone who has read sci-fi exclusively from a Western point of view, Liu’s Asia- and China-centric stories are a breath of fresh air, as is his ability to create strong and complex female characters, such as astrophysicist Ye Wenjie, who initiates contact with Trisolaris in The Three-Body Problem, and Cheng in Death’s End.
His achievement has been recognised with a prestigious Hugo Award for the first book, making him the first Asian to win that accolade. Come August, he could possibly be the first Asian to win that award twice.
(ST)
Liu Cixin
Death’s End is a spectacular conclusion to the acclaimed Chinese sci-fi trilogy, Remembrance Of Earth’s Past, by Liu Cixin.
There have been instances where finales have been disappointments after a long and compelling build-up. Not in this case. All the pieces come together and Death’s End is the appropriate culmination to an incredibly inventive and brilliantly imaginative series.
In Death’s End, the aliens from Trisolaris are living in peaceful co-existence with Earth. The Trisolarans were first introduced in the first book, The Three-Body Problem (published in English in 2014). There, the peculiarities of their world, which had three suns, were sketched out.
In the next instalment, The Dark Forest (published in English in 2015), they were charging towards Earth bent on destruction.
In Death’s End, the apparent peace both races enjoy lulls Earth into a false sense of security. But the death of a key character from book two sets in motion a chain of events that leaves humanity in crisis and facing the prospect of colonisation.
The sheer scope of this novel is astounding. In terms of timeline, it stretches from the present era to 17 billion years from the beginning of time. The story takes place on Earth and in the furthest reaches of space.
Such an expanse of time and space is daunting, but Liu gives us a single protagonist to guide us through it all.
New character Chinese aerospace engineer Cheng Xin is the heart of this epic tale as she hops from era to era, barely ageing, thanks to the wonders of hibernation technology.
A decision she makes plunges Earth into peril and the guilt almost crushes her, but she also turns out to be a pivotal figure whose choices the plot hinges on.
The twists and turns of her relationship with her long-time admirer Yun Tianming also have far-ranging consequences for the destiny of humanity.
The pacing is crisp, given the amount of ground the story covers. The reader is hooked on wanting to know the fates of Cheng and Yun, and, well, humankind.
Along the way, one is confronted with intriguing ideas about four-dimensional space and light-speed travel, abstract concepts which Liu makes relevant and urgent in the context of the story.
Impressively, Liu even works in three highly symbolic fairy tales in which clues for Earth’s survival are hidden in plain sight.
This is a rich work packed with ideas and one that continually manages to surprise the reader. On top of which, there are characters here that one grows to care for, people who are flawed and have needs and desires and yet must shoulder the burden of Earth’s survival.
It is the rare writer who can combine hardcore science, memorable characters and compelling storytelling together into such a satisfying whole.
For someone who has read sci-fi exclusively from a Western point of view, Liu’s Asia- and China-centric stories are a breath of fresh air, as is his ability to create strong and complex female characters, such as astrophysicist Ye Wenjie, who initiates contact with Trisolaris in The Three-Body Problem, and Cheng in Death’s End.
His achievement has been recognised with a prestigious Hugo Award for the first book, making him the first Asian to win that accolade. Come August, he could possibly be the first Asian to win that award twice.
(ST)
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