They changed the poster.
It is a culmination of many things. Only an hour and a half long, yet I watched it with complete focus (for many other films, I drift away for half of the runtime).
There is a little philosophy in it, though the director never explores it too deeply—only touches on it. Here are two moments, both points where Stephen changes.
A Bowl of Rice That Marks a Change
The first is how Stephen initially fusses over the 1982 and 1983 red wines, then takes out his frustration on someone after they bring him the wrong one.
Later, in Temple Street, he eats a bowl of barbecue pork rice that Turkey makes and says, “This bowl of rice is so good” (houhousi—it carries a little more feeling in Cantonese).
Someone who is deeply sad may not cry, but when comfort reaches the sorest place, they may keep shedding tears.
I went back to take a screenshot and found one tear, only one. Details.
People say crying scenes are hard to act. In truth, sadness is what is hard to act.
Getting to Know Someone Again Begins by Breaking Past Their Appearance
The second is the problem of valuing looks. When Turkey first kisses Stephen, he frantically wipes his mouth in front of a mirror. Even after learning from people on the street that she had liked him for a long time, he still could not accept it. At first, I was psychologically following him too. I wavered a little, but not enough to shake the foundation of my own attachment to looks.
Only when the thing itself was torn open and shown to me did I finally, in an instant, escape that pit of appearances. A wave of regret came over me, and I remembered her earlier bowl of rice and the time she shielded a knife with her hand. Only then did I truly recognize what was in my heart. Being overly concerned with looks is an illness. Being born to prefer cute things is not wrong; cute things make people feel close to them and fond of them. But if we stop at a first impression, perhaps we can never say that we have truly come to know someone further. The director tears this truth open for us through Turkey’s “death.” It is masterful, with no unnecessary explanation: a slip of paper, a song, and finally a bowl of rice. Nothing is simply handed over at once; it advances layer by layer.
I can accept mediocrity. I can accept flaws. But I still have my limits, and this is one I cannot bear.
Thank you to this film, and thank you to the director.
I like this kind of absurd and exaggerated yet real thing: comedy, tragedy, and then comedy again.
A Slip of Paper
A Bowl of Barbecue Pork
Stayed Up Late Again
It is 11<11> p.m. If I have to get up at 5<30>, only six hours remain. I will have to alternate walking and running.
