Lion dancing may be amazingand funny but it hardly seems something to base a whole movie on. Perhaps that is why it has taken Marco Mak over 10 years to get his latest creation, Dancing Lion, up on the silver screen.

words rachel mok

“In 1992 I was working with Tsui Hark on Once Upon a Time in China 3 and 4, both of which have scenes with lion dancing, and I found that very interesting.” So interesting in fact that Mak wondered about making a full-length movie around the ancient Chinese entertainment. But then other projects got in the way and he had to shelve the idea, until a casual conversation with Francis Ng over lunch one day really set the wheels turning. As they mulled over the project, they planned to have the film ready for
the Chinese New Year – an obvious release date, but, as they so often do, the muses decided to be mischievous and unco-operative. “We revised the script a few times, writing different kinds of stories – from a comedy to a road
movie and a family story – but they
just didn’t work. Last year we had a discussion again while making Wo Hu, and decided that it would be a good idea to reflect current Hong Kong realities through the lion dance. But even then we had to revise the script about seven times, and so I said, ‘Don’t rush for the New Year market. We can wait until Easter.’” Hence ironically, instead of making merry on the Chinese New
Year, the lions will dance after a
Christian festival…

One may think a lion dance is a lion dance but Mak says performances from northern China are significantly different from those in the south, and he was able to use the differences to the film’s advantage: “Lion dances in the north are more physical while the lions in the south are more coquettish. A line in the movie goes ‘The giant lion in the north has woken up already, when will the one in the south wake up?’ I think it is a reminder for Hong Kong people: there is rapid development in the mainland now but Hong Kong just stands still. In the film, we create a metaphor but, of course, as this is a commercial movie, you can’t get too serious about it.”

This is not the first time Mak has co-directed a film – in Color of the Truth he teamed up with Wong Jin and he was also credited with Liu Baoxian as the helmsman of Haunted Office. And he and Francis Ng are well known to each other – Ng starred in both Color of the Truth and in last year’s well-received Wo Hu. What is it like to be behind the camera with someone he previously directed?

“Francis is a smart and brilliant actor. But as a director, he puts too much emphasis on acting and neglects technical aspects like the use of camera and lighting. But I can supplement him on that, so we work very well together as we have strengths and weaknesses in different areas.”

Okay, but then talking about Wo Hu, a question we have been itching to ask: since the massive success of Infernal Affairs, every movie about undercover cops has been dismissed as derivative, Wo Hu included. Was the film an Infernal Affairs spin-off? Mak is adamant that it was not, firstly pointing out that in Cops on a Mission he had made a film about undercover agents a year before the Andrew Lau movie stormed box offices and set itself up as a nonpareil.

“A lot of people have been making films about undercover cops and it all comes down to luck in the end,” he says. “Infernal Affairs is a good movie with a good cast and did well at the box office, but at the same time it had no competitors. When I made The Blood Rule in 2000, the critics said it was a sequel to Jonnie To’s Mission. But in fact, I finished filming my movie before To did his. A lot of people say Wo Hu is an echo of Infernal Affairs, but we didn’t think about it at all during the production. I don’t blame the audience or critics – even when Hollywood makes a film about undercover cops, people say it is inspired by Infernal Affairs. It is a bit boring actually!”

Dancing Lion opens on April 19.

After years of directing music videos for pop stars like Faye Wong and Anthony Wong, director Susie Au has made her way onto the big screen with Ming Ming. She talks of her modern heroine and why her film has nothing to do with Japanese blockbuster Nana.

words rachel mok

Ming Ming is a story about a modern heroine. What inspired you to make this film?
Ming Ming is a film about liberation. Everyone has a turning pointing in life, a moment that they wish to change themselves. I’ve always liked reading martial art novels and found the spirit of the martial arts heroine matched the theme of the movie. At the beginning I didn’t really aim to create a modern heroine, I just want to create a cool, independent modern woman. But as the production process went on, I thought, why don’t we redefine the idea of a martial arts heroine?

Are you a big fan of old Cantonese movies as well? In the first 20 minutes of the film, clips from such movies intersect the action scenes.
I actually love watching old Cantonese movies more than martial art movies! [Laughs] I only like watching martial arts movies by King Wu [Dragon Gate Inn, Come Drink With Me] and Japanese martial arts films. I like the spirit and the tension portrayed in those films. But old Cantonese movies are what really fascinate me. The women in those old movies needed to struggle within the system, survive and liberate themselves while keeping their faith. I used to stay up all night to watch the old Cantonese movies on TV and thought ‘Oh, life is so wonderful.’ That’s why I always went to bed in the morning!

How would you define the spirit in Jiang Hu (the martial arts world)?
It is a faith. It is a liberation of oneself, breaking the rules and bringing new life to yourself. That is what Ming Ming is about, but I made it a little bit more romantic.

Have you found your liberation yet? Or you are still searching for it?
I am quite ambitious in this film. I tried to be atypical, like using unusual ways to tell a story. I think an audience will find it difficult to say whether it is a commercial or an art film, as there is a bit of both in the movie. I am still looking forward to liberation in my work, to break some rules within the film industry and create something new. But I’ve experienced a few liberations as well. The first one must be my encounter with film. I found out how much I love film and gave up everything for that.

This film is about two girls, Ming Ming and Na Na, who look the same but have different characters, both played by Zhou Xun. Does it have anything to do with the Japanese comic movie Nana?
It’s just a coincidence. When we named the characters, we were just trying to play with double sounds. The original working title of the film was actually Runaway Nana, and at that time the Nana movie had not yet been released. But then I watched Nana and felt relief – our stories are so different.

Obviously, since you invited Anthony Wong and Veronica Lee to create the soundtrack for your film, music is important to you. What is your pick for a favourite soundtrack?
I like the James Bond theme. [Chuckles] And I like the soundtracks from Kill Bill and Trainspotting. They are quite poppy, aren’t they? When I discussed Ming Ming’s sound with Ming Gor [Anthony Wong], I said I wanted something like Trainspotting. They included a lot of pop songs, but they didn’t put a whole song into the film: they may have used only an intro to help create the mood for a scene. When you listen to the soundtrack, it is so different from watching the movie. They brought an individual life to the soundtrack.

This is your debut on the silver screen after all the MVs and TVCs you have created over the years. What do you think of work by MV directors who have become film directors?
I always say I don’t understand why people in Hong Kong separate directors of music videos, TV commercials and films into three totally different categories. In the west, even big directors like Wim Wenders and Martin Scorsese have done TV commercials. Our different training backgrounds shape our style. I particularly like Michel Gondry’s Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. It is a film about memory – how to break it and recollect it. It is what I wanted to do in Ming Ming. Sometimes when I watch movies by young directors of this generation like Amores Perros (Alejandro González Iñárritu), Amelie From Montmartre (Jean-Pierre Jeunet) or Run Lola Run (Tom Tykwer), I find we have something in common. It is amazing that directors with such different backgrounds and languages have the same obsession with the same motif. We all try to explore destiny and the turning back of time. It is about being reborn.

Ming Ming opens on April 26.

Starring:
Edward Norton, Naomi Watts, Liev Schreiber, Toby Jones,
Anthony Wong, Diana Rigg
Director: John Curran
Scheduled release: April 19
In its space, pacing, and plot dynamics, John Curran’s The Painted Veil has an inherent nostalgia for Hollywood yesteryear. Curran’s love story in the time of cholera uses sparse elements and lush landscapes as a way to reconnect with the simplicity of story and intricacy of image classic Hollywood prided itself on, even if the attempt isn’t wholly successful.
At a 1920’s London socialite meeting, Walter Fane (Edward Norton) gets his first glimpse of Kitty (Naomi Watts). Wearing a light dress, she ignores men as if she wasn’t even aware of her attire, but Walter’s fascination is adamant and quite terminal. Swiftly, Fane asks for her hand in marriage at a local flower shop which Kitty accepts solely to oppose her mother. This shallowness and pride later makes Walter the bacteriologist appear as boring as married Vice Consul Charlie Townsend (Liev Schreiber) is appealing, but when Walter learns of Kitty’s adultery he decides to take up an opportunity to study a cholera epidemic in the Chinese village of Mai-tan-fu, insisting that his wife accompany him.
The couple’s mutual bitterness doesn’t so much set up a rousing battle of the sexes as it becomes a divider that allows both to explore the plague-stricken remnants of Mai-tan-fu. As Walter investigates the water supply and helps the sick under the surveillance of Colonel Yu (Anthony Wong), Kitty becomes a regular fixture at an orphanage run by French nuns under Diana Rigg as the no-bull Mother Superior. The couple’s only common bond when they arrive is Waddington (Toby Jones), a cynical Deputy Commissioner, and the only other Englishman in Mai-tan-fu. However, gradually, through a gently built admiration for the other’s work they begin to notice each other again.
With a solid script by Ron Nyswaner, Curran seems dead set on keeping the conflict and characters clear-cut. Watts and Norton, two consummate professionals, each use their character’s flaws (his boredom, her vanity) to ignore the serious danger of contagion. In line with his first feature, Curran is fascinated with the vastness of nature as a place of intimacy. Though nothing here matches the work in We Don’t Live Here Anymore (another Curran-Watts collaboration), the film has a fluidity of imagery that paints Mai-tan-fu as a very personal area for Walter and Kitty, its danger and isolation both clearly spelt out.
Curran’s heaving romance is reminiscent of classic displaced love, but its meandering mood is hard to shake. It is not boring, but its fascinations with character and landscapes are often fleeting: not long after Kitty and Walter finally embrace fully, another passing conflict arises soon followed by yet another. At other moments, the film’s fascination with classic Hollywood seems horrifyingly blatant: as Walter gallops away to stop an impending cholera outbreak, his hat blows off as his white shirt writhes in the wind. And yet, these awkward moments are not detrimental to Curran’s romance nor to his haunting imagery with the spectre of the cholera epidemic looming overhead like a thunder cloud. Short of a “Here’s looking at you, kid,” The Painted Veil is an apt visitation to the curious romances of the old days. Chris Cabin

Starring: Renée Zellweger, Emily Watson, Ewan McGregor, Barbara Flynn, Bill Paterson
Director: Chris Noonan
Scheduled release: April 19
Chris Noonan’s Miss Potter continues a rather long line of films that attempt to diagnose the creative process of a writer and the critical world that surrounds the writer’s inherent social (and emotional) ineptitude. At moments Miss Potter seems to be on the right track in feeling out the emotional trajectory of its main character, but it often chooses cuteness over the challenges of trying to study a writer’s life.
Beatrix Potter (Renée Zellweger) came from a well-off family and was well past her marriage age when three brothers agreed to publish her book, expecting nothing more than a minor profit. In case the name doesn’t ring a bell, Miss Potter was the brains behind the beloved Peter Rabbit and several other indelible creatures of delightful fantasy. When the elder statesmen of the publishing firm deem the project unworthy of their time, they send their young brother (Ewan McGregor) to handle the book and its flighty author. As you may guess, the two fall head-over-heels, much to the chagrin of her parents (Bill Paterson and Barbara Flynn) and the glee of his sister (Emily Watson, the film’s most evident charm factory).
Noonan, best known for the now classic Babe, treats his subject with the same well-dressed adorability that Potter gave her creatures, most notably Peter. A more easygoing version of Marc Forster’s Finding Neverland, Miss Potter spends more time striving to deal with the relationship status of its heroine than delving into the quixotic charm of her writing process. The better parts of the film are the flourishes of animated hallucinogenics Noonan puts in as a reminder of where her creations came from: Beatrix’s parlour of emotional eccentricities.
The problem is that, when push comes to shove, we’ve seen this story before, and Miss Potter severely lacks differentiating its source material from any other classically tinted tale of love and writing. Acting-wise, there couldn’t be a sweeter bunch of actors to add to the candy-coated shell the film inhabits. But the film invariably goes for impenetrable cuteness, even when an obvious tragedy occurs. In fact, all the drama seems to be treated with fumbling, patronizing dullness to give more weight to what is a rather wanting character study.
Rereading the Peter Rabbit books, you have to marvel at the simplicity and class they had in telling stories with solid morals. What Miss Potter doesn’t have is the creative veil Potter herself gave those wonderful stories. The film could have been so detailed and surreal, yet it relies on whimsy like the animated whirl of Beatrix’s parents stepping into a cartoon pumpkin carriage pulled by four monstrous rabbits. It is missing that childlike love for nature and animals that Beatrix must have had and, in turn, forgets what it is like to have an imagination. Chris Cabin

Starring: Carice van Houten, Sebastian Koch, Thom Hoffman, Halina Reijn, Derek de Lint, Christian Berkel, Dolf de Vries, Peter Blok, Waldemar Kobus
Director: Paul Verhoeven
Scheduled release: April 26
Right around the time the star actress of the Dutch WWII film Black Book takes a careful moment to put blonde hair dye on certain more private parts of her body, one suddenly remembers, ah yes, Paul Verhoeven is directing this, isn’t he. It’s a pity that, as a director, Verhoeven’s instincts tend so adamantly towards the punishingly crass, because he had in his hands the root of quite a good film here, a thoughtful thriller ultimately only seen in occasional glimpses.
Quite the best thing Verhoeven has going for him is his fantastic Dutch cast, headed up by Carice van Houten in a relentlessly fearless performance as the singer Rachel Stein, forced into one morally compromising position after another as a Jewish pretend gentile cozying up to the Nazis to help the resistance. The film starts in 1944, when Stein, who has been in hiding for years, is sent on the run after an errant Allied bomb destroys her hideout. As a former singer, she’s able to take on new personas with great ease, but there’s always a tough brightness about her, the statuesque ease of someone accustomed to being stared at and fought over.
As such, it isn’t much of a surprise to see how easily Stein wins the confidence of both the Dutch resistance and the local Nazi commanders, bedding an appropriate man from either camp along the way. The script Verhoeven wrote with Gerard Soeteman is based on heavy research into the period, and touches on a good number of weighty topics, most especially the frying pan and fire situation European Jews found themselves in during the war, being overtly hunted by Nazis on the one hand, and more covertly despised and opportunistically taken advantage of by other occupied Europeans on the other.
In such desperate circumstances (especially as everyone knows the war is ending, and is starting to figure out how to politically position themselves best for the aftermath) it is not at all shocking that somebody like Stein would go so far as to romantically entangle herself with an officer like Ludwig Müntze (Sebastian Koch). However, Verhoeven rather cynically and easily makes Müntze the handsome officer (is he Nazi SS or Dutch collaborator?) with a conscience while the thick-browed and thuggish Nazi Franken (Waldemar Kobus) is the heavy who helped massacre Stein’s family. See, Müntze is the nice Nazi.
It’s this desire to have it both ways that dooms Black Book. Verhoeven, wanting to make a WWII thriller, performs amazingly. The film clips right along from one tense confrontation to the next, the screen fairly popping with drama: all fedoras, train stations, and resistance fighters smoking jauntily while shooting Nazis. However, the film also wants to explore issues of serious moral gravity. These two impulses often work at cross purposes, the base desire to entertain – Verhoeven’s perverse tendency to shove his unique blend of cartoonish violence and raw sexuality into the audience’s face – often cheapening the more serious material and practically wasting many great performances. Black Book is the best Verhoeven film since Basic Instinct – if only that were a bigger compliment. Chris Barsanti