Fly Me to the Moon (但願人長久, Sasha Chuk Tsz-yin, 2023)

A pair of sisters find themselves exiles in their own home in Sasha Chuk Tsz-yin’s poignant familial drama, Fly Me to the Moon (但願人長久). Burdened by a sense of rootlessness, they have only each other to cling to while their family otherwise disintegrates amid the pressures of making a life in an unfamiliar place and an unavoidable paternal failure that has a lasting legacy on the lives of each of the girls as they struggle to emerge from the shadow their father cast over their lives.

It’s telling that the film opens in 1997, though Yuen’s father Kok-man (Wu Kang-ren) has apparently smuggled himself into Hong Kong from Hunan, later sending for his wife and older daughter, Yuen, while leaving the younger behind. The first image we see is of Yuen being taken to see her father in prison by her mother, a meeting in which no words are exchanged that seems to leave the young Yuen conflicted and confused. Not long after arriving in Hong Kong, she discovers him using drugs and learns of the addiction that has ruined his life, turning him into a petty thief in and out of prison for the children’s entire lives.

Yet in his later years, Kok-man told his relatives that his best and only achievement was raising two wonderful daughters though of course he didn’t actually raise them at all. Nevertheless, he had a profound effect on their lives, Yuen also tempted to steal on witnessing her father’s bad example even while remaining contemptuous and resentful of him. Though he eventually becomes violent, so desperate for money he threatens his teenage daughters, Kok-man appears to have wanted to take of his family but was not able to do so while their mother is forced to work long hours supporting the family and living the life of a single mother even while her husband is home. 

This leaves the girls with no one else to rely on while otherwise removed from mainstream society which is often is hostile towards those who’ve arrived from the Mainland and most particularly at this strained political moment. Their otherness is signalled by their home dialect of Hunnanese which later mingles comfortably with their Cantonese, much as Yuen’s Mandarin later does, which is as good as anyone else’s though some might not them as real Hongkongers. Kuet’s schoolfriends, little knowing she also was not born in Hong Kong, shun another girl after spotting that the number on her ID card begins with an “R” which means she came to Hong Kong from somewhere else. Kuet eventually decides to befriend the girl herself, though it remains unclear whether or not she discloses that she was also born outside of Hong Kong. Years later after becoming a tour guide, a customer remarks that Yuen’s Cantonese and Mandarin are both so good he wonders where she’s from which is quite an ironic comment. 

Yet in other ways, the girls can’t escape their roots. Despite her enmity towards him, Yuen’s first boyfriend is a carbon copy of her father. A brusque boy with blond hair who shoplifts to impress her, but then runs off and leaves her behind when he almost gets caught. Her romantic relationships seem fraught and difficult and the men largely no good, while her sister similarly has troubles with the law leading her mother to lament that there was little point in going to university if she was just going to end up like her father. When Yuen eventually returns to Hunan, she’s that girl from Hong Kong, even while in Hong Kong she’s that girl from the Mainland. For the girls, Hunan has a kind of mythical quality bound up with their memos of happier times for their family, but Yuen is quickly disillusioned. The lily fields her father mentioned are long since gone, destroyed in a fire, and her family home is empty as a result of her grandmother’s illness. All that remains are photographs that present a kind of evidence of the relationship Yuen once had with the father she struggled to accept in adulthood, reuniting her with her childhood self and perhaps restoring the roots she’s been looking for even she herself remains a floating presence guiding tourists around foreign countries while otherwise marooned in the family flat now shared only with the sister who equally is heading in another direction. 


Fly Me to the Moon screens July 21 as part of this year’s New York Asian Film Festival.

Original trailer (Traditional Chinese /.English subtitles)

It Remains (釀魂, Kelvin Shum, 2023)

Grief-stricken souls find themselves trapped in a hazy dreamworld of haunting guilt and vengeful spirits in Kelvin Shum’s eerie supernatural horror, It Remains (釀魂). Shum’s second feature following noirish psychological thriller Deliverance delves into the realms of classic ghost movies but discovers its heroes mainly haunted by the unresolved past. “We’re all afraid of facing reality,” heartbroken waiter Finn (Anson Lo) finally accepts though perhaps still lacking resolve to move on from his tragedy.

That would be the death in a car accident of his girlfriend of five years, Ava (Summer Chan). Finn was supposed to meet her for an anniversary dinner but got busy with work and left her sitting alone at which point she left and had a collision with fate. Unable to forgive himself, Finn has taken to drinking and is in a grief-stricken stupor. In an attempt to cheer him up, his friends from the restaurant where he works, chef Luke (Tommy Chu Pak-Hong), waiter Liam (Ng Siu-Hin), and Cora (Kwok Tsui-Yee) from front of house, are taking him camping only the location Liam has chosen turns out to be a little different than expected. Fetching up on a remote island where the boats only run every few days, the gang find themselves wandering through an eerie, seemingly abandoned village where it seems a wedding was once taking place.

As might be expected, they don’t really want to hang around to find out what happened here and are in any case told to leave in no uncertain terms by a mysterious woman and an angry old man who say this village is closed off to insiders. But with no way off the island they have little choice other than to hole up in an abandoned house and try to make the best of the situation. That becomes admittedly difficult when they start experiencing strange visions and are pulled back towards their own unresolved, internalised grief.

It seems Finn wasn’t the only one struggling to let go of the past and whatever evil lurks here quickly latches on to the buried anxieties of each of the group attempting to manipulate them to unleash a pent up spirit sealed away for good reason. Though clues scattered around the abandoned village point to something further in the past and indeed more ancient, it appears this particular moment of trauma occurred this century even if the darkness that surrounds it is older and apparently imparted by a passing Tibetan monk. Someone here also could not face reality and has been caught in another kind of limbo trapped alone and unable to resolve their pain.

The film’s Chinese title means something like “wine ghost” which is in its way ironic seeing as the main coping mechanism employed not just by Finn is alcohol, while the evil spirit itself is bound in a wine jar. This is however one jar it’s best not to open and a series a ghosts that should not be unleashed, despite the well honed logic that sealing the spirit is not really enough to keep it from ruining your life. Finn and the others are too afraid to face reality in knowledge that it may consume them and so remain trapped in the past though they may have been right to fear that in the end they would not be able to resolve their grief if they opened the jar and attempted to deal with it.

Swapping the noirish urbanity of his previous film for the eeriness of nature found in misty forests and forbidding signs of human absence, Shum conjures an atmosphere of spiritual dread in which each of the protagonists is plunged into their own kind of hell and forced to confront the unresolved past. Hoping to deal with at least one ghost, Cora performs a Taoist ritual but ends up summoning more spirits than intended and opening the door to something that none of them are able to control. There’s more than one way to quell a ghost, but the desire not to may be equally strong and for some moving on may not be what they actually want. Facing reality is to accept it, but it’s difficult to say if that represents liberation or constraint or if the only way to deal with a wandering ghost is to join it in eternal suffering.


It Remains opens in UK cinemas on 3rd November courtesy of CineAsia.

UK trailer (English subtitles)

Hong Kong Family (過時·過節, Eric Tsang Hing-Weng, 2022)

“It doesn’t matter how the food is cooked. Let’s just enjoy it in the presence of each other and not think too much” a regretful grandmother advises giving perhaps the best advice for how to survive an awkward family gathering in Eric Tsang Hing-Weng’s autobiographically inspired familial melodrama Hong Kong Family (過時·過節). Coloured with the shades of exile, Tsang’s melancholy exploration of a fragmenting family unit ponders the limits of communication between those who should be closest along with the lingering resentments and toxic legacies that poison otherwise loving relationships. 

An opening sequence set eight years before the main action lays bare the tension between middle-aged housewife Ling (Teresa Mo Sun-Kwan) and her mild-mannered husband Chun (Tse Kwan-Ho) who sits silently in the back of the family car as she berates him for having recently lost his job and been unable to find another which is particularly inconvenient as they’ve just taken out a mortgage and bought a flat. 17-year-old Yeung (Edan Lui) sitting in the front passenger seat tries to keep the peace but refers to his parents as Mr & Mrs Chan, while his older sister, 20-year-old Ki (Hedwig Tam Sin-Yin), pretends not to hear escaping from reality by listening to music on her headphones. When they finally arrive at her mother’s home, a well appointed detached house out in the country, they are greeted by Ling’s brother Ming who has already fallen out with his mother (Alice Fung So-Po) in part because it seems she doesn’t like his wife who has declined to attend this Winter Solstice dinner. When his mother suspects him of stealing money, Ming angrily storms out vowing never to contact her again and provoking a similar row between Ling and Chun in which she asks for a divorce. Pushed past his limit, Chun starts hacking at a chair with a meat cleaver and eventually strikes peacemaker Yeung who then abruptly severs ties with his dad and moves out on his own. 

Yet eight years later it’s Yeung who seems to be looking for a way back to his family only he doesn’t know how to find it. He’s been working on a virtual reality “game” that would allow users to interact with AI versions of absent friends and relatives, helping them to communicate rather than offering an escape from reality though that may be in a sense what Yeung is doing in interacting with a simulacrum of his father rather than facing him directly. His parents did not divorce, but are clearly unhappy. Ling has found another simulacrum for familial life working as a housekeeper for a wealthy single father, while Chun is driving a taxi and secretly planning to start again by leaving for Mainland China and a job in a company set up by an old friend. According to grandma it seems their marriage may have been semi-arranged (by her) and years of trying have seemingly not improved their inability to communicate with each other. 

Ki, meanwhile, has been married and divorced since the fateful Winter Solstice dinner over which grandma kept trying to marry her off explaining that she married a random man to escape her family only to boomerang back two years later when it didn’t work out. She too is lying to her parents, pretending to go to work every day despite having lost her job and later drifting into an unexpected romance with a free spirited nomad from Malaysia who jolts her out of her sense of inertia in telling her to try to be true to herself. The return of Ming’s now teenage daughter Joy (Angela Yuen Lai-Lam) from exile in England offers the opportunity to repair their fragmenting bonds, but it seems some wounds run too deep to ever be fully healed. Chun is pulled towards the Mainland just as Uncle Ming had been pulled towards England, while Yeung just wants to go “home” but doesn’t know how and Ling frantically tries to preserve a sense of family just as Ki seems to have made her peace to go wherever her heart takes her.

That might be one reason that there are only women around the dinner table at another Winter Solstice, for some the first, each trying to salvage something and try to get along if only in a superficial show of togetherness while the men attempt to talk through their troubles agreeing to head towards the dinner table but in the end walking in circles. The elegantly lensed final scene may suggest that the family is in someways trapped by its history yet destined to scatter but echoes in its ambiguity offering the distant hope of a far off reconciliation but little promise of its arrival. 


Hong Kong Family is in UK cinemas now courtesy of Haven Productions.

Original trailer (Traditional Chinese / English subtitles)