A Review and Analysis of Chungking Express

It was with trepidation that I watched Chungking Express for the first time, having heard of it in passing, together with the name Wong Kar Wai in connection with Chinese language cinema.

Not knowing what to expect, I was pleasantly surprised at the philosophical, comical tale of jilted cops and curious on screen emoting. A lot of the impact of the movie struck me on initial viewing, particularly the usage of repetition and memorably energetic cinematography. However, I dismissed a lot of the emotional content of the movie only seeing perhaps the charm of the second story as its key to feel-good success.

It was only later that the images and, all importantly, the feel of the film sank in. And it left a feeling of curiosity which lingered, and tempted to me to view other Wong Kar Wai films. Having seen several of his other movies I returned to Chungking Express, perhaps with new understanding and new appreciation. This time around, the characteristic themes and tropes and stylisms all made much more sense, things I had initially dismissed as random style and haphazard accident all added to the overall design recurrent in all of Wong Kar Wai’s work.

Though often referred to as the first part of a diptych which concludes with Fallen Angels, there is much in Chungking Express which relates and coincides with the film Wong Kar Wai was working on before (and at the same time) - Ashes Of Time. Both feature lovelorn characters who seem doomed to hold on to their pasts, both feature new opportunities opening requiring some stimulus to reach.

In a wider context encompassing most of Wong Kar Wai’s films, there is the inter-weaving narratives, physically crossing (though often failing to interact), the usage of imagery and physical places as nodes giving a connection to points in the story or, where the narrative becomes less distinct (as often happens), the points of change in the characters, the places where multiple characters may connect in the viewers minds, yet merely pass by on screen. This works excellently on the viewer’s memories and feelings, creating recognition and emotional distinction based on the elements of pure cinema - images of things and places, sounds - meanings of which are secondary (though not meaningless) to our ability to recall their form, and the characterisation (and perhaps our own feelings) based around that moment. For Ashes Of Time, though it contrasts with Chungking Express’s urban setting, these nodes are equally true, be it the inn itself, a birdcage, references to peach blossoms, or the synthy Morricone-esque soundtrack variations. For Chungking Express there are the more conceptual ideas of expiry dates, together with the direct physical connections of landmarks like the Midnight Express stall, to (again) the use of music, and many small details, be they rubber gloves or chef salads.

This is not to say that all these references always grab attention. It is just the very nature of Wong Kar Wai’s films that not everything can be absorbed in one viewing. Some people may even tire and miss the ‘connection’ which the filmmaker attempts to make (within the film and out to the viewer). But the richness and depth is there if one wants to see it. On the variances between Ashes Of Time and Chungking Express, the latter has a far more playful tone, so that Wong Kar Wai’s usual obliqueness appears more as a series of conceits, creating a lyrical feel. This was one of the factors which helped make Chungking Express a local success (rather than an expensive flop like some of Wong Kar Wai’s other films) - eventually leading to worldwide recognition via a certain Quentin Tarantino. Wong Kar Wai appeared to find a niche whereby he could philosophize and even indulge in knowing absurdity without alienating that section of the audience who didn’t want to ‘dig’ his way of seeing things.

And compared to its darker ‘sequel’, Fallen Angels, Chungking Express manages to lyrically capture its concepts and feeling without an over-emphasis on style, and with perhaps less a sense of obvious tragedy than any of Wong Kar Wai’s other works. That is not to say that Wong Kar Wai has jettisoned his unique empathy with the more introspective side of the human condition - far from it, the hint of underlying loss and regret is very much tangible, but also there is an overriding sense of the force of life and hope. In comparison, Fallen Angels, though exhilarating and overwhelming in its sheer atmosphere and emotion, appears as the pessimistic counterpart of Chungking Express: a place where hurt people pass by and fail ever to connect, or even if they meet and interact they are at cross purposes and ultimately nothing true is really requited. Fallen Angels is very much a counterpart to Chungking Express, but this is less true the other way around. For the most part, Chungking Express is referred to, parodied, expanded and reflected upon - Fallen Angels appears to presume a knowledge of Wong Kar Wai’s earlier film, but this is no negative point, as the film addresses some questions, possibilities and alternatives which Chungking Express raised but did not need to intimate. Chungking Express stands alone and has its own particular balance: Fallen Angels is an expansion acknowledging Wong Kar Wai’s ability to perceive beyond the deliberate confines of Chungking Express into less defined and less controlled territory.

There is always a danger when embarking on an analysis of Wong Kar Wai films of overdoing things. These films are as hard to analyse traditionally as they are to comprehensively categorise. People tend to try to find traditional symbolisms in everything, when perhaps the feel was more important. Though Wong Kar Wai does often tend to the literary side (references and influences), his mastery is in the language of cinema, so cutting things down to pure symbolism and simple archetypes rather loses the natural depth given by the feel. That is not to say that Wong Kar Wai doesn’t use symbolism and archetypes, but these are never for traditional ends of moving the plot or making a definitive point or statement of intention. Even if, say, Yuddy in Days of Being Wild is an archetype of reckless youth he still develops a depth and intensity that has a life of its own and that we can feel.

Much has understandably been made of the look of Chungking Express. Cinematographer Chris Doyle rightfully gets praise for his clever mixing of controlled time and colour. The blurred stop-motion action sequences (actually an innovation of Andrew Lau, cinematographer with Wong Kar Wai back from As Tears Go By), though admittedly simple, have gone down in cinema history (and caused much imitation). Add to this mixed time lapsed shots and careful judging of light and colour and distance of shot between the stories, and the result is impressive, not just technically but in creating the perfect atmosphere.

Now to the actual film.

The first story is criticized by some fans for lacking the energy or uplift of the second. This is true, and much of the substance is actually closer to other films by Wong Kar Wai. If watching the second part doesn’t overshadow some of the feelings associated with the first section, one can actually see the depth of desperation in Takeshi Kaneshiro’s character in the first story: he delays the emotional impact of being dumped for a month, and magnifies it to the point that he believes ‘all will end’ if his girlfriend doesn’t return. Add to this the seedy night of the Chungking Mansions area, and the feel is not exactly upbeat. Originally I was unimpressed at the portrayal of Indians in the ghetto until I realised that the area hadn’t been filmed before, meaning the occupants were culturally faceless as far as Hong Kong cinema was concerned.

Wong Kar Wai’s spin is that the face of the drug running is in fact Brigitte Lin - a glamourous and famous star known to all - the opposite to being faceless. Her character is deliberately pretentious looking: but although she gives an explanation for her attire (shades and raincoat - because she never knows when it will rain or shine), like many of the other characters she may be using a code or conceit to sidestep an explicit statement of emotion. Though Kaneshiro meets her early on, he doesn’t interact with her until much later when he sets himself the task of loving the first woman to walk in the bar. Slyly then, Wong Kar Wai manages to put a spin on the question of just what love is. This builds up to the end of the first story when Kaneshiro hopes he’ll remember her forever, or as long as possible - his memory of her all that remains. Much of his dilemma is reminiscent of Leslie Cheung’s in Ashes Of Time: challenged with the loss of a relationship he attempts a different routine to enable him to forget. But while Cheung can’t forget, Kaneshiro gives himself the task of rebounding onto another woman - and she responds with the small gesture of remembrance which prevents his total emotional isolation.

It is in the first half of the film that the notion, theme or conceit of expiry dates arises. Clearly this can be a reference to the impending end of Hong Kong as a British colony, but it is also a general theme which relates to the theme of change in the second half. It is no surprise that, together with the theme of change and dreams and travel (escape?) later on, people have perhaps over-emphasised the political reference as being absolute and central. Wong Kar Wai appears actually to be showing impermanence in everything (a concept prevalent in many philosophies), whereas some of his characters are unprepared for such change. In the ultra-transient setting of Hong Kong the effect is all the more profound, particularly when different time flows and deadlines converge and coincide. An example is when we hear Dennis Brown’s slow, soulful tones on the jukebox for the final time, and Brigitte Lin unexpectedly switches who is to be subject to an expiry date. Or there is also the scene where Kaneshiro and Brigitte Lin share a room for the night, and she simply falls asleep leaving him with about four hours to spare (it’s at least two hours since his birthday started, and he leaves before his birth time of 6 a.m.). All he does is eat chef salads and watch TV, yet there is a sublime thrill to the perfectly captured impermanence of this scene. Rather than invoking anticipation, the moment is held within its own confines, finite yet eternal, enhanced by Don’t Look Now-style time inter-cutting of two different shots (although, ironically, it is not a sex scene but Kaneshiro eating and brushing his teeth - incidentally, the inter-cutting is not apparent in the international release version of the film, which features many minor differences). Wong Kar Wai invites us to share this ethereal scene, yet he also asks us to acknowledge that for Brigitte Lin this has been a non-experience - she sleeps through it and is only aware of an act of kindness where Kaneshiro has removed and polished her shoes.

The second story appears different in terms of lighting and feel. Most shots are by day (Chris Doyle’s own apartment being a location). It’s got its own themes and its own conceits. Once again a cop (Tony Leung) finds it hard to accept a change of relationship. There is the conceit of flying and, yes, the emotional self-help to be found in house-hold goods. Eventually, it is Faye Wong who comes along to give Leung a taste of change - something which refreshes the audience well before Leung realises what has happened.

Some of Faye’s character was reputedly influenced by the character Midori in Haruki Murakami’s ‘pop’ novel, Norwegian Wood, and this can be seen in her distinctive short hair (also a nod to Jean Seberg's character in Jean-Luc Godard's A Bout De Souffle) and ebullient outlook. Reflecting Murakami’s novel, she can be seen as the embodiment of looking towards the future and releasing the burden of the past. It is Faye who dreams of the (potential) future, to suitably themed music, while Leung still clings on in his memory to his ex. The notions of dreams and memories are so ethereal that the depiction of such on film is surely a coup of some measure. Yet that is what Wong Kar Wai manages to weave: sublime essences of feelings bubbling up on screen. For instance, we have surely one of the most lyrical portrayals of a past relationship imaginable (Leung and his ex, Valerie Chow, playing with aeroplanes in his apartment to Dinah Washington and recorded air safety instructions - all filmed liltingly in handheld), and all this builds up to the audience being immersed in the importance of his loss, which apparently goes to the very root of his being. But when we see his ex for the last time (and they speak together for the first time), they have the most casual, off-hand shell of a conversation imaginable. His ex is characterised so differently from his memory that we are aware of having experienced his sphere of consciousness, and just how much this varies with a more objective viewpoint. And this is Wong Kar Wai’s great strength, as far as I’m concerned, as more so than with any other director, one abandons the ‘viewer’ position and is immersed not just in an existence, but in a consciousness, yet without feeling the need to transplant the ‘self’ as a character substitute. How Wong Kar Wai does this is to truly create the subjective incarnation of consciousness - when we see Leung’s memories, they have the richness and trueness of feeling of memories direct rather than being a mere descriptive template - and so the viewer is unable to merely ‘take note’ of the viewpoint and reflect upon it as merely objective ‘viewer’: instead, it is made to be felt.

As far as the relationship of the ‘present’ substance of the film goes, that is to say between Leung and Faye, the connection between the two characters is gently built and hinted upon, and is not even reciprocated until the end, with mixed desires and lives foreshadowing the eventual move to epiphany like self-awareness on Leung’s part, which is counterbalanced by Faye’s own self doubt. But that makes the journey all the more rewarding, and the feelings all the more deep. The final, open-ended scene is one of the most emotionally careful yet profoundly evocative moments in cinema - the characters still talking in codes, still giving off assured sheens of cool laced with anticipation, yet the moment bristling with the pure potentiality which the film has been building up to: whether the moment will be grasped or lost.

The result is that Chungking Express is both one of the best Wong Kar Wai films, and also one of the most accessible and enjoyable. Wong Kar Wai has distilled earlier experiences and creations into a spontaneous piece of art which even he will refer back to in future.