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Rouge, 1987
In 1930s Hong Kong, wealthy playboy and wanna-be actor Chan Chen-Peng (Leslie Cheung) falls for the beautiful Fleur (Anita Mui) who works in a teahouse that he frequents. Their relationship is passionate but troubled, as Chen-Peng’s family attempts to lure him back into the fold and the reality of trying to make it as an actor starts to wear on him. Fifty years later, Fleur walks into the newspaper room where she meets newspaper employees Yuen-Ting (Alex Man) and later Yuen-Ting’s girlfriend, Ah Chor (Emily Chu). Fleur wants to place an ad in the paper to try and find Chen-Peng, who she believes has become lost in the afterlife.
Playing with and subverting romance tropes, this fantasy romance makes excellent use of its cast.
There is a moment in this movie that, for me, is the singular moment I will probably remember in years to come when I think about this film: having learned about the increasingly desperate turns in the romance between Chen-Peng and Fleur, Yuen-Ting and Ah Chor are walking down the street. Ah Chor admits, almost bashfully, that despite loving Yuen-Ting, she cannot imagine ever committing suicide over it. Yuen-Ting agrees, saying that life is too worth living.
I have to admit that I’m on Ah Chor and Yuen-Ting’s side on this one: I’ve always found the idea of dying to be with a lover, or dying because you cannot be with a lover to be more disturbing than romantic.
The film does everything aesthetically possible to highlight the difference between the two different relationships. Cheung and Mui and breathtakingly beautiful people, and every shot of them together looks like it could be the cover of a romance film. Fleur’s outfits are brightly colored, and she sports a brilliant red splash of lipstick. In contrast, Ah Chor and Yeun-Ting wear clothing that is neutral colored. The first sequence we see between them is Yeun-Ting giving Ah Chor the gift of a practical beige pair of shoes because he’s noticed hers are worn out. By all the coding we’ve learned from years of movies (and covers of romance novels), it’s clear which relationship we’re meant to idealize.
But are we?
As the film goes on, we see via flashbacks that there are fractures in the relationship between Fleur and Chen-Peng that aren’t merely about the pressures being exerted by Chen-Peng’s family. The two of them are from different worlds, and their willingness to consider a suicide pact at times seems more a desire to push away future uncertainty than it is a commitment to their relationship. Fleur and Chen-Peng are in the honeymoon phase of their love, and you can sense the degree to which things might get choppy in the long run.
While the overall heft of the film is drama---and the serious examination of what real love can and/or should look like---it does manage some really solid and spooky moments out of its fantasy element. When Ah Chor first finds Yeun-Ting talking with Fleur in their shared apartment, she is angry and assumes Yeun-Ting is interested in Fleur. Scoffing at Yeun-Ting’s claims that Fleur is a ghost, Ah Chor mocks Fleur . . . until Fleur presses Ah Chor’s hand to her chest and the lack of a heartbeat forces Ah Chor to reconsider what she believes is happening. Throughout the film, when Fleur is exposed to sunlight, her essence becomes weaker. (Please, try not to laugh as this is represented by her not having makeup on, and Ah Chor recoils from the still stunningly beautiful Mui as if she’s now a hideous beast).
Overall, I really enjoyed this film. It does move at a pace that could probably be described as laconic, but the actors are very engaging and the slowly emerging story of what happened between Fleur and Chen-Peng is very interesting. The final act really brings the story to a solid conclusion.
Recommended equally to people who enjoy romance and to people who think romance movies are dumb.
Rouge, 1987
In 1930s Hong Kong, wealthy playboy and wanna-be actor Chan Chen-Peng (Leslie Cheung) falls for the beautiful Fleur (Anita Mui) who works in a teahouse that he frequents. Their relationship is passionate but troubled, as Chen-Peng’s family attempts to lure him back into the fold and the reality of trying to make it as an actor starts to wear on him. Fifty years later, Fleur walks into the newspaper room where she meets newspaper employees Yuen-Ting (Alex Man) and later Yuen-Ting’s girlfriend, Ah Chor (Emily Chu). Fleur wants to place an ad in the paper to try and find Chen-Peng, who she believes has become lost in the afterlife.
Playing with and subverting romance tropes, this fantasy romance makes excellent use of its cast.
There is a moment in this movie that, for me, is the singular moment I will probably remember in years to come when I think about this film: having learned about the increasingly desperate turns in the romance between Chen-Peng and Fleur, Yuen-Ting and Ah Chor are walking down the street. Ah Chor admits, almost bashfully, that despite loving Yuen-Ting, she cannot imagine ever committing suicide over it. Yuen-Ting agrees, saying that life is too worth living.
I have to admit that I’m on Ah Chor and Yuen-Ting’s side on this one: I’ve always found the idea of dying to be with a lover, or dying because you cannot be with a lover to be more disturbing than romantic.
The film does everything aesthetically possible to highlight the difference between the two different relationships. Cheung and Mui and breathtakingly beautiful people, and every shot of them together looks like it could be the cover of a romance film. Fleur’s outfits are brightly colored, and she sports a brilliant red splash of lipstick. In contrast, Ah Chor and Yeun-Ting wear clothing that is neutral colored. The first sequence we see between them is Yeun-Ting giving Ah Chor the gift of a practical beige pair of shoes because he’s noticed hers are worn out. By all the coding we’ve learned from years of movies (and covers of romance novels), it’s clear which relationship we’re meant to idealize.
But are we?
As the film goes on, we see via flashbacks that there are fractures in the relationship between Fleur and Chen-Peng that aren’t merely about the pressures being exerted by Chen-Peng’s family. The two of them are from different worlds, and their willingness to consider a suicide pact at times seems more a desire to push away future uncertainty than it is a commitment to their relationship. Fleur and Chen-Peng are in the honeymoon phase of their love, and you can sense the degree to which things might get choppy in the long run.
While the overall heft of the film is drama---and the serious examination of what real love can and/or should look like---it does manage some really solid and spooky moments out of its fantasy element. When Ah Chor first finds Yeun-Ting talking with Fleur in their shared apartment, she is angry and assumes Yeun-Ting is interested in Fleur. Scoffing at Yeun-Ting’s claims that Fleur is a ghost, Ah Chor mocks Fleur . . . until Fleur presses Ah Chor’s hand to her chest and the lack of a heartbeat forces Ah Chor to reconsider what she believes is happening. Throughout the film, when Fleur is exposed to sunlight, her essence becomes weaker. (Please, try not to laugh as this is represented by her not having makeup on, and Ah Chor recoils from the still stunningly beautiful Mui as if she’s now a hideous beast).
Overall, I really enjoyed this film. It does move at a pace that could probably be described as laconic, but the actors are very engaging and the slowly emerging story of what happened between Fleur and Chen-Peng is very interesting. The final act really brings the story to a solid conclusion.
Recommended equally to people who enjoy romance and to people who think romance movies are dumb.