Good Game (觸電, Dickson Leung Kwok-Fai, 2025) [Fantasia 2025]

Maybe esports don’t sound that intense, but it turns out that they require a good deal of physical training and stamina. Which is to say that like many other athletic pursuits, there’s an invisible age cap in which players are often written off at a comparatively youthful age because their reaction times might be slower or they might struggle to pick up on new strategies or ways of playing the game. But that’s only part of Solo’s problem. He’s never exactly been a team player, but esports is all he’s ever known and he’s fiercely resentful of being edged out by a bunch of 20 year olds.

Dickson Leung Kwok-Fai’s Good Game (觸電) is really in part about how one is never really “too old” to make a go of something. But also about growing up, which doesn’t necessarily mean abandoning your dreams, but perhaps becoming a little more aware of the reality along with gaining self-awareness about the self-sabotaging effects of your behaviour. Meanwhile, Hong Kong is changing too, but is clinging on to the past really the best thing you can do?

Nowhere more is this change being felt than in Tai’s internet cafe. As is pointed out to him, kids play games on their phones these days, so establishments like his no longer have as much to offer. His bright idea is entering an esports tournament, not only for the prize money but to advertise the cafe and bring the customers back. But the problem is that his best customers are an elderly couple who’ve ironically started coming to the cafe for stimulation because the games help stave off Auntie Lan’s dementia, while her husband, Golden Arm, turns out to be actually quite good at them. 

To win, he wants to recruit Solo, a formerly successful esports player. His team has just been disbanded after losing a championship, but Solo doesn’t want to give up yet. He refuses to believe that his esports career is over just because he’s nearly 30, but also doesn’t want to lower himself to playing with the oldies on the Happy Hour team even though no one else he called wanted to join in because they all moved on from esports ages ago or just don’t want to deal with his drama. As his name suggests, Solo is somewhat egotistical and hasn’t figured out the reason his team kept losing was because of a lack of teamwork and trust. 

As his friend points out to him, Solo can only devote himself to esports because his parents are still supporting him financially, whereas he had to do two part-time jobs just to make ends meet because the economy’s rubbish and unemployment is sky high. Esports is not viable nor long-term career choice, but it is a lifeline for people like Tai, Golden Arm, and Auntie Lan who can find purpose and community in gaming that allows them to carry on fighting even when their problems seem insurmountable. 

With an inevitable rent hike looming, Tai is urged to look for smaller premises but stubbornly tries to hang on. Yet like many recent Hong Kong films, Good Game seems to say that it’s alright to let go of a fading Hong Kong or at least to try to grab on to the parts that matter most and take with you what you can carry while embracing the community around you. Tai’s daughter Fay’s inability to stick at her jobs hints at this sense of restlessness, but also a changing dynamic in the younger generation that won’t be satisfied with a dull but steady job that pays the bills but nothing more. Though Solo’s former teammate gets a regular job selling insurance to try to gain some kind of financial stability, he still returns to coach the team and is then offered another job doing the same. Winning or losing don’t really matter as much as playing a “good game”, which means learning to work as a team and make the most of everyone’s unique skills while trusting them to do their best and have your back. Leaning in to video aesthetics in interesting ways, the film creates a sense of immersion in its virtual world but equally a sense of warmth and solidarity in the real one as the rag tag team band together to fight for their right to continue fighting. 


Good Game screened as part of this year’s Fantasia International Film Festival.

Trailer (Traditional Chinese / English subtitles)

Tales from the Occult: Body and Soul (失衡凶間之罪與殺, Frank Hui, Daniel Chan Yee-Heng, Doris Wong Chin Yan, 2022)

The second in a series of horror-themed anthologies, Tales From the Occult: Body and Soul (失衡凶間之罪與殺) takes fairytales as its theme but truth be told none of the episodes has very much in common with the most well known version of their respective stories. What they do have in common is a rather grisly view of the nighttime city perhaps inspired by classic Cat III shockers though mediated through a strong sense of irony. “I like it a bit dark” one of the heroes exclaims and it’s certainly a sentiment shared by each of the three directors. 

The first instalment, Frank Hui’s Rapunzel finds former idol star Maggie (Michelle Wai) trying to prop up her flagging career while constantly written off as a has been best known for a cheesy pose in a dated shampoo commercial. Her manager sends her to an obnoxious rich kid’s birthday party where the women are so young they weren’t even born when she was a star and relentlessly mock the weird “aunty” and her “retro” movies. One of the guys sets fire to her hair which is even more of a problem for her because she’s supposed to have an important meeting with a producer in the morning and he’s not going to hire her with a less than perfect appearance. Maggie’s desperation eventually draws her into the orbit of a hair fetishist serial killer from whom she must try to escape while attempting to rescue her hair and save her career. A secondary strain of social community places the killer’s creepy all night salon in a building that’s about to be torn down for urban renewal leading him to be bullied by gangsters to move out but not wanting to for obvious reasons. Maggie meanwhile eventually makes a surprising decision in order to fix herself which is in its own way cannibalistic at least of the female image when it comes to the idea of perfect hair. 

You couldn’t say that Daniel Chan’s Cheshire Cat really has that much to do with the classic Alice in Wonderland character either, though Chan does throw in something like a Mad Hatter’s tea party and leave his heroine trapped in a cage suspended above the air. Nora (Cecilia Choi Si-Wan) works in a cat rescue centre and is particularly upset by the idea of people hurting her feline friends, especially as her own cat Bobo was recently murdered. After agreeing to rescue a kitten trapped under a van she unwittingly passes into a grim haunted house adventure with a death metal vibe. In a series of atmospheric shots, Chan frames Hong Kong in an angry red tint capturing the increasing resentment of Nora as she continues to take out her rage on those who would harm poor defenceless creatures. 

Doris Wong’s The Tooth Fairy perhaps ironically subverts its title while toying with the interplay of sadomasochistic fetishes. Dental nurse Sammi (Karena Lam Ka-Yan) is being relentlessly harassed at work by sleazy dentist Steve (Tommy Chu Pak-Hong) who won’t take no for an answer. On her way to the bank, she comes across a fight between two young men in which one bites off the other’s ear, and invites the biter to her clinic to get his swollen cheek looked at. Steve, however, does not take kindly to this after seeing he and Sammi flirt with each other, extracting a healthy tooth without anaesthetic as if teaching him a lesson, but clearly deriving sexual pleasure from his pain just like the sadistic killer on the news. In any case events soon escalate following some cake-related triggering and not just for its capacity to ruin your teeth. The killer may claim they’re setting people free from their earthly suffering but is clearly in part at least killing for the thrill. 

In any case, danger seems to lurk behind every corner with potential serial killers apparently all around us as the heroes find out during their various quests. Their stories may not have much in common with their inspiration but each have a strangely ironic quality curiously mimicking B-movie cinema in terms of colour palette and production design, Frank Hui eventually opting for a neon-coloured nightmare lair while Nora and the gang chase through a haunted Hong Kong and Sammi does her best to extricate herself from the unwanted attentions of her sleazy boss who is perhaps the real monster in the shadows. 


Trailer (English subtitles)

The Lyricist Wannabe (填詞L, Norris Wong, 2023)

Sometimes a dream might have come true only we never really noticed. In Norris Wong’s autobiographically inspired drama The Wannabe Lyricist (填詞L), a young woman battles her way towards becoming a Cantopop songwriter yet perhaps she already is one by virtue of her constant act of lyric writing. What she craves is the validation of having a song published, yet experiences setbacks at every step of the way that encourage her to doubt her talent or the right to continue chasing her dreams.

At a particularly low point after being taken on by a music producer to work with a spoilt influencer who’s getting studio time as some kind of favour, Sze (Chung Suet Ying) is told that her lyrics are no good and that after struggling so hard for six years perhaps she ought to take the hint and accept she isn’t suited to this line of work. It’s an act of intense cruelty, though one in part motivated by a well-meaning faux pas. In her excitement, she told the influencer she’d write lyrics for her album for free just to be published, but the palpable sense of desperation seems to have put the influencer off unable to have confidence in the work that Sze herself has devalued.

She encounters something similar during a partnership with an aspiring pop star who says he likes her lyrics but then drops the bombshell that he plans to sing in Mandarin because it’s a bigger audience. Ironically, on a trip to Taipei to sell his album she’s told that his accent is no good for the local market and while they like the song she worked on she later realises that they hired another lyricist for “real” release without even telling her. What’s more, tones don’t matter while singing in Mandarin whereas lyric writing in Cantonese is a painstaking process of trying to ensure that the tone of the word fits the melody. Aside from its political implications, not only does the pop star’s arbitrary decision to just sing it Mandarin ruin the lyrical flow she spent so long perfecting but entirely disrespects her work.

After deciding to take a break from trying to make it in music, Sze gets a job working at a ridesharing app startup where she’s roped in to create a jingle but once again her hopes are dashed when the business strays into a legal grey area and several of the drivers are arrested. While the app’s creator silently cries in his office, his female colleague ponders going somewhere else, “anywhere that doesn’t punish dreamers” which seems like a nod not only towards an oppressive capitalism that values only marketability but equally the increasingly oppressive atmosphere of the nation’s political realities. In a way this is what Sze ends up doing too, putting geographical distance between herself and the failure of her dreams by returning to the land which as the farmer says never lies to you, you reap what sow.

Yet for all her drive and perseverance there are others who view Sze’s obsession with her dreams as selfish and self-involved complaining that she rarely considers the feelings of others and neither notices nor cares if she may have hurt or inconvenienced them. She’s told that her lyrics are hollow because she lacks life experience but also is incapable of empathising and cannot see anything outside of her quest to become a lyricist. She watches other people move on, her brother getting married, friends enjoying career success etc while she’s still stuck looking for her big break only for something to go wrong just as everything was about to go right.

Wong signals the playful qualities of her fantasies though use of onscreen illustrations and even a karaoke-style video along with the nostalgic quality of the early 2000s setting of Sze’s schooldays with its MSN messenger and ICQ. Sze may be “dragged along by the melody” in more ways than one as she tries to make peace with her dreams and her future and find some way of living in harmony with the rhythms of the world around her but eventually comes to realise that she was a lyricist all along no matter what anyone else might have tried to convince her she was.


The Lyricist Wannabe screened as part of this year’s Osaka Asian Film Festival and opens in UK cinemas 15th March courtesy of Cine Asia.

Original trailer (Traditional Chinese / English subtitles)