Part 6 -- Hong Kong

Disclaimers: If you've made it onto this distribution list, it's because I thought you might enjoy hearing about my Asia trip from time to time. Because I'm being charged by the hour to use this computer (or I only have limited time in a public library), I'm rushing to write this e-mail, so please forgive any spelling errors or other imperfections. Also, not everyone may understand my references since I know you all from different walks of life. I apologize for this as well. If you rather not continue to receive these letters, please let me know--I won't be insulted--and I will happily remove you from the list. I'm really not that arrogant to think that the whole world is interested in reading of my travels and travails. If you write me back, it will probably take me a very long while to reply. Please don't be impatient with me. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to find one of these Internet centers and whether the connections will be decent. Read on:

I'm trying to remember when I saw my first Hong Kong (HK) action movie. It might have been at the Film Archive at Harvard University. I'm thinking it was "The East is Red," starring Brigitte Lin, who played an androgynous, Orlando-like creature, named Asia the Invincible. If I remember correctly, Asia alternated between being a girl-ghost warrior and a boy-ghost warrior. She was trying to avenge her name by eliminating imposters--warriors who were pretending to be her and doing evil things. She would shoot threads from her needle-like fingertips to ensnare her enemy. Then she would pull on the threads, and her victim would blow into a million pieces. I admire that archetypically feminine way of doing away with your adversaries.

Then there was the John Woo retrospective at the University of Texas's Union Theatre in Austin, Texas. Was it Richard Milk, a co-worker of mine, who first talked up John Woo? These films showed me Hong Kong for the first time: shiny skyscrapers jammed between the mountains and the blue-green water of Victoria Harbour; streets bursting with crowds and commerce, a jumble of neon and Chinese calligraphy.

Woo is famous for long action sequences, the use of slow motion to prolong suspense and shots of breaking glass. This combination of techniques has become standard in many films since the mid '80s. The movie, "The Matrix," inexplicably, is considered an important new U.S. sci-fi film. It borrowed its best scene from Woo--the fight sequence with Keanu Reeves, wearing a black trenchcoat, surrounded by shattering glass in a modern office building.

I love Woo's films, not only for their cinematography, but because they are deeply psychological. Often they depict the complexities of friendship between heterosexual men. The "Godfather" series [U.S. films about the Italian-American mafia] also explore issues of loyalty, trust and family in a violent context. John Woo's pictures bring in typically Chinese themes of guilt and "saving face."

My favorite Woo picture is "The Killer," starring Chow Yun Fat [Chow is the his family name, Yun Fat his given name.] It's about a hired gun who accidently shoots a female lounge singer in a hit gone bad. The singer survives but is blinded. She continues her singing engagement at the lounge. Repeatedly, Yun Fat's character comes to watch her. He slouches in the doorway of the bar in his oversized trenchcoat, cigarette dangling from his mouth, looking as soulful as humanly possible. He falls in love with the singer. He wants to go straight, quit the killing business and marry her. He hopes to atone for what he's done by paying for an expensive operation that will restore her sight. He takes on one more hit to raise the cash.

Of course, the hit goes tragically awry. Chow's character has both of his eyes shot out. The final scene shows him on his belly, scraping around on the pavement, covered in blood and broken glass. He's looking for his wounded accomplice, who has been blinded by gunfire as well and is crawling around on his stomach out of reach and earshot. She's standing on the sidelines, calling his name. But no one can find each other in the chaos. That's kharmic retribution Chinese-style: It's horribly sad and great cinema.

Roddy and Nelson, a sweet couple, invited me to stay in their guest bedroom for free once Mickey Chen, the Tawainese documentary-film director, cleared out. I was relieved to be rescued from Tsim Sha Tsui, the tourist section of the Kowloon Peninsula, teeming with shoppers and hawkers. Tsim Sha Tsui is notorious for its awful guesthouses, which share dilapidated, vermin-infested highrises with Indian restaurants, money changers and wholesale shops.

I had been staying in a windowless room in a highrise called Mirador Mansions. A misnomer if there ever was one--I could almost touch the room's opposing walls when I spread my arms apart. The bathroom was a bit larger than one in an RV [recreational vehicle]. The shower was a hose attached to the sink. There was no shower stall--you would spray water on yourself in this teeny closet-like enclosure, wetting everything in there and flooding the floor next to the bed as well. I did get a view of a poster girl pinned to one wall: a closeup of a Eurasian-looking model in a black beret and red lipstick, posing in front of the Eiffel Tower. All this for HK$160 per night (US$22).

By HK standards, Roddy and Nelson's flat is palatial. They live on the edge of Yau Ma Tei, four blocks from Mong Kok which, according to most of the literature, is the most densely-populated urban area in the world. Roddy and Nelson's flat is a gathering place for the tongzhi community. ["Tongzhi" translates into "same vision" in Chinese and is used to mean queer--lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered, other sexual minorities.] A steady stream of people come and go--some of the most creative people in Hong Kong--theater types, musicians, dancers, political activists, arts administrators, lawyers, journalists, TV writers and one Herbalife salesman.

These folks know how to party. When I arrive in Yau Ma Tei on the last metro train at 12:30 am, I come home to all-night karaoke sessions, games of charades or barbecues on the roof. It's always something. And the drink of choice is grass jelly tonic or Coke. Hong Kongers have a reputation for working hard and playing hard. Even though Roddy and Nelson have to get up early for school and work, they rarely go to sleep before 3 am. Some of the conversation is in English; mostly it's in Cantonese. Sometimes I get explanations. Sometimes I sit around and watch, with no idea of what's going on. When everyone's singing Cantopop tunes as Roddy plays the piano, I'm just happy.

Last week we had an exotic pet craze. People came bearing jellyfish in blue jars. Another day, an orange snake named Little Corn, makes the scene. The week before, mah jong was hot. Roddy had bought a new mah jong board, which seemed to generate a lot of excitement. The first night, Roddy, Nelson, Raymond and Joey, Roddy's sister, were at it until 5 am. Raymond is a novice at mah jong, but he was winning. The others were taunting him mercilessly. He was called "Lucky Chicken," because of his slow play and beginner's luck. Raymond looked pretty quick to me. I so much wanted to learn the game. I stood around behind the other players, watching them pick up, place and discard the ivory tiles at lightening speed. In order to keep pace, I'd have to be able to recognize the Chinese characters on the tiles. And I still don't even know my numbers in spoken Cantonese.

Nelson indulges me in my Chinese film fetish. In my little notebook, he writes down the Chinese characters for the names of my favorite directors and movies. I want to show them to my new friend Apple Kwok. Apple has appointed herself as one of my guardian angels in Hong Kong. She bought me a plastic bead bracelet from across the border in mainland China. She tells me that purple "crystals" bring good fortune to the wearer.

When I had first asked her if she liked John Woo, Apple didn't recognize his English name. Woo's Chinese name is Ng Yu Sum. She knows who Ng Yu Sum is when I show her the Chinese characters. In Hong Kong, everyone knows of Ng Yu Sum. The Chinese name of "The Killer" translates to "Double Bloodletting Heroes" in English. She knows the movie, but she's not a big fan of action films.

Everyone also knows of Chow Yun Fat. He's one of HK's leading film stars and has appeared in all kinds of movies, not just action films. Over the years, he's won numerous acting awards. His first Hollywood film, was the "Replacement Killers" with Mira Sorvino (1998). His acting was wonderful despite his mumbly English. (He's said to speak very little English.) If you still don't know who Chow Yun Fat is, you will soon. Chow appears in the Hollywood remake of the "The King and I"--"Anna and the King." And he doesn't play some court toady, either. He plays the king, opposite Jodi Foster, the governess.

I was reading a trashy book called "Hong Kong Babylon," published in 1997, that contains interviews with Hong Kong film directors and actors. Leslie Cheung is one of the interviewees. [I wrote about Leslie Cheung in my last two installments--a pretty boy pop-singer, turned actor. He shone in "Farewell My Concubine," the movie that awoke my interest in China and my love for Chinese opera.] In this interview, Leslie is at his bitchiest, saying that Chow Yun Fat is all washed up. He says now that Chow is in his early 40s, his best years are behind him. Plus, Leslie says, Chow is getting fat. The interviewer asks Leslie why he hasn't worked in Hollywood roles as his colleague has. Leslie says he's content to be famous in Asia and doesn't need international stardom. Sounds like sour grapes to me.

I'm padding around after Apple who's running errands. Another typhoon watch has been posted. Earlier in the day she had taken me to Lantau Island, an island off the coast of HK, to see the world's largest seated Bhudda. Now, we're going up and down the stairwells and long passageways of the MTR [Hong Kong's metro system] and ploughing through mobbed streets as Apple takes care of business. My main problem is that I can't tell if she wants my company this afternoon or not.

We get back on the subway at Central Station. She turns to me and whispers, "There's Chow Yun Fat." I say, "Huh?" I always have to ask people to pronounce Cantonese names twice. "There's Chow Yun Fat." This time I get it. I ask, "How do you know?" Apple was a cab driver in Hong Kong for 13 years. She knows. She used to drive to his place in Kowloon Tong. Her friend's mother was good friends with his mother. Plus he's her cousin, or her uncle's cousin, or something like that.

I'm murmuring, "Are you sure?" as I see his back disappearing down the length of the subway car. He's the tallest Hong Konger I've ever seen. And one of the most sloppily dressed. He's wearing baggy clothes-- an earth-green sandwashed t-shirt, beige trousers and a canvas cap. He's leaving our car, striding towards the next car. I follow--not too fast, not too slow. I don't want to look like an undercover cop or John Hinckley. I trail him as he moves through the empty cars looking for an isolated place to sit.

My dignified self is scolding, "You jerk, you starchaser, you fangirl." But I can't stop. He sits. I wait a second and approach. I point to Nelson's Chinese characters for "Double Bloodletting Heroes" in my scribbly notebook. Yup, he says, and gives an exaggerated nod, keeping his head down. I'm talking fast now. I told him that it was his films that inspired me to come to HK and now I'm thinking about moving here. He pushes his cap back with one long finger to peer up at me.

Yup, it's Chow Yun Fat. I'm still standing. I haven't swooned yet. He motions me to sit down in the empty seat next to him. I turn and look into his face. His teeth are so white they're sending lightening bolts into my eyes. His eyes are friendly. The skin around his eyes are more wrinkly than in the movies. His face is more gaunt. His brown skin is stretched tight across his cheekbones. Is Chow's face usually puffier, or does the camera make it look puffy? He looks thin all over--like a model, not like an actor. He's very tan. Did he just return from a summer exercise regime? I liked his pudgy look better. Clearly, Leslie Cheung hasn't been riding the MTR.

He's asking me a bunch of questions in a curious sort of way. Where am I from? How long have I been here? He says this is the worst time to visit Hong Kong--it's so hot and humid that everyone's in a bad mood. I should come at Christmas time. How long will I stay? Heavily accented English continues to tumble from his mouth. His manner is smooth and easy. The weather should improve after the Mid-Autumn Festival. Is it possible that I'm talking about the weather with Chow Yun Fat? I think I'm hallucinating.

My voice sounds like a rattling can. I express my concern about finding a job in Hong Kong during the current recession and about the crazy work ethic of Hong Kongers. Yes, he says, Hong Kongers work 12-hour days. Americans value their leisure time. (He knows the word "leisure"?) I say I have many other interests besides work, including going to the movies. I'm coming off like an idiot--I can't believe he's humoring me. He says many foreigners live in nice places on Lantau Island. Many go to Lan Kwai Fong [an alley full of Western-style bars and restaurants]. Yes, I'd been there, but I'd rather live in Yau Ma Tei, in the heart of the city. He laughs. Temple Street night market, porn movie theaters, yes, where real life goes on. He says, like the North End of Boston, Little Italy! Yes, like that. I had told him before that I was from Boston. He wore a sneaky smile when I said that, as if he had a secret affair with that town. Wondered if it had anything to do with Mira Sorvino, who went to Harvard. I wasn't about to ask.

What do I do, he wants to know. I'm a travel editor, publishing. He nods solemnly. He asks if I've been to Beijing, as if I might do better there. Did I like it? Yes very much. I just saw a Beijing-made movie at the Chinese Film Panormama, "Party A, Party B," with the actor from "Farewell my Concubine." Who? He asks. Leslie Cheung? No, the older man who played his lover, the balding guy. Oh, yeah. He rattles off the Chinese name. I don't recognize it but nod anyway. See, I have no hair now too! He laughs again, whips off his cap and shows me his buzz cut. I fake a laugh. So now he's skinny and has no hair.

I hand him my notebook ruefully. I tell him I never do this, but I really love his movies. He says he is rarely approached on the train. People in Hong Kong think of him as an elder brother. He points to the zombie-faced people standing in front of us. The train is now packed with rush-hour commuters. No one is paying us any mind. He says he goes out everywhere, no problem. I say, so it takes an American to make a fuss over you? He smiles. I tell him I'm glad he's started acting in Hollywood movies, that he will gain a wider, more international audience. He says, yes, that is the hope.

What is your name? Lucy. He says, like the TV show? I like Lucy, she is funny. I say, yes I've lived in her shadow all my life. I'm thinking, why, oh why does absolutely everyone have to bring her up when I introduce myself? He signs the book. I thank him. I say I never do this. I came over to talk to him only because his movies made me want to come to Hong Kong. He asks what I'm doing that afternoon. I say, I'm with a friend. My head is reeling at the possibility that Chow Yun Fat might care what I'm doing that afternoon. What if he was about to make me an offer?

We're at my station. We say goodbye. He tells me to have a nice stay in Hong Kong. I push past the crowd and leap off the train. I look for Apple. She's way down the other end of the station, a tiny speck. I go bounding down the platform to reach her, flapping my arms, hooting and hollering, making a total fool of myself, even worse, making her look ridiculous. She has a reputation to maintain. She's barely smiling at me and rolling her eyes. I sputter, I never do this, really, I don't run after stars, plus I gave up an afternoon with Chow Yun Fat to be with you, aren't you happy? Impulsively I give her a hug. Hong Kongers don't hug. She looks at me as if she's thinking, poor gweipo [means "female ghost"--a term for a white Westerner.] How inappropriate can I possibly be?

We head for Broadway Cinemateque in Yau Ma Tei so she can renew her membership at the movie theater. I ask her where the porn theaters are. She waves noncommittally, "Over there." I saunter into a shop inside the theater that sells movie books, posters, VCDs and other film paraphernalia. I make a mental note--it's a cool concept to have movie store inside a theater. And get this: There are postcards of John Woo films in a box on the counter, one with a photo of Chow Yun Fat in "Double Bloodletting Heroes."

I pay my HK$12 (US$1.70), carefully load the postcard into my daypack and trail Apple out the door. I'm cruising past the electronics and dried fish stores of Reclamation Street on fantasy steam. Crowds? What crowds? I steal a glance at my notebook. Chow's autograph reads: "Dear Lucy, Yun Fat 99', Love Always, xx, H.K. MTR," along with his name in Chinese characters. Yes, I will always love the HK MTR.

I can hardly wait for Nelson to come home. When he returns to the flat that night, I tell him I met Chow Yun Fat. He's thrilled for me. I ask him if he's ever seen Chow in person. No never. And he never sees anyone famous in the MTR. He wants to know all the details, every word exchanged. Nelson's marvelling at my good fortune. Is it the purple bracelet or am I the Lucky Chicken?

Attached is a drawing made by my friend Peter Mork from Boston. It illustrates my trip across China. Please click on the line below that says "Peter's Map of Lucy's China" to see it. My hair has never looked so good.

Copyright Wonderlandİ 1999