Ah Fei jing juen

Sublime suspension.

A very satisfying affair: here's the first project where Kar-Wai Wong found his groove with the Spanish notion of metastory, the story about how one hesitates in resolving what they see in life. And how that is a matter of touch. And how touch is word — and how one can touch and speak with the eye.

The first project with Doyle. And with Maggie. In a way, the first version of "Mood/2046." I think no one understands cinematically suspended longing like this man. When you enter this, you enter a space where everything is connected, every connection is passionately loaded and seen. But there is no logic, no comprehension, no future. Ever.

Its anti-love but fulfilling nonetheless. Its empty in a rich way. Its about created selves in the French New Wave sense, but those selves then being honestly inhabited.

If you love, really love, it has to rest on the earth in some way. There seem to be only a few ways to rest, the usual one being a matter of anchors and roots. This is different, a matter of frictionless liquidity — a local zone of antigravity where the love seems fixed by never really touches the planet. There are several metaphors in the story along these lines.

We may not have the courage to love in this way even if we are among the few who chance love at all. But it is a rather sublime visit, this.

Ted's Evaluation -- 3 of 3: Worth watching.

In Wong Kar-wai's 1991 film Days of Being Wild, Yuddy (Leslie Cheung), a charming drifter captures the attention of store attendant Su Lizhen (Maggie Cheung) by asking her to look at his watch. When she sees that it says one minute before 3:00PM on April 16, 1960, he tells her that she will never forget the moment and will dream about him that night. The next time they meet, the moment becomes two, then one hour, then weeks and months but Yuddy is like the mythical bird with no legs that just flies and flies and never lands. Abandoned by his real mother and brought up by a wealthy alcoholic courtesan (Rebecca Pan), he does not know where he came from or where he is going. He treats women with little respect, discarding them when they no longer serve his purpose. When one lover asks him if he loves her, he tells her that during his life he will be friends with many, many women but won't know whom he truly loves until the end.

Days of Being Wild unfolds like a dream with color filters, unusual shadows, and the sights and sounds of Hong Kong's rainy nights and sweltering summers. Based on the director's memories from his childhood and admiration for the style of Argentinean novelist Manuel Puig (Heartbreak Tango), the film is a series of episodes involving six people who touch each other's lives. After his short-lived relationship with Su, Yuddy meets a cabaret dancer who calls herself Mimi (Carina Lau) but their relationship fares no better and she is left to suffer the consequences of their breakup. Meanwhile, Su meets Tide (Andy Lau), a gentle policeman whom she is able to confide until he suddenly leaves Hong Kong to become a sailor. Each character seeks a sense of identity and fulfillment. After Rebecca tells him of her plans to move to America with her boyfriend, she finally lets him know who and where his real mother is. After Yuddy goes to the Philippines to try to find his mother, the lives of the main protagonists come together in a powerful conclusion.

Days of Being Wild may sound like a soap opera but the film reaches a much higher artistic level. Supported by outstanding performances by Leslie Cheung, Maggie Cheung, and Jacky Cheung as Yuddy's only friend Zeb, it is a tone poem about longing and one's search for identity. We care about the characters even though they don't seem to care about themselves. Like many of us, they pine for the things that might have been, the word that was never said, and the love that remains elusive. A commercial failure but an artistic triumph, Days of Being Wild is a moody, atmospheric film that with its background of popular music, in this case 1950's rumbas and cha-cha's, forecasts the director's later In the Mood For Love. As a beautifully realized example of alienated people desperately seeking their place in the world, however, it stands securely on its own.

I guess the main reason that this is my favorite WKW movie is that it's one of the least abstract of his movies and I feel like the viewer becomes more emotionally involved with the characters because of that. The music, as always with WKW, is wonderful and the cinematography is fine, I especially like all the shots of the lush tropical forests. It isn't as beautifully photographed as many of his later films like chungking express and in the mood for love. And it doesn't feature much of the fancy techniques that WKW likes to employ in movies like fallen angels or happy together. Still I think this is my favorite of Wong Kar Wai's movies, not necessarily the best, but the one I enjoy the most. Highly Recommended.

Many people here seem to be of the opinion that this film is not very typical of Wong's work. I would like to disagree. To me, this film is a very typical Wong film. That is, if you are expecting the absolutely perfect colours, pictures and frames of 'In the Mood for Love', you will be disappointed. This film, like many of his other films, has a more rough quality to it.

All you who have seen 'In the Mood' and liked it should really see this film, as I don't think you can understand 'In the Mood' without having seen this one. I was not particularly overwhelmed by 'In the Mood', but now that I have seen this film, I at least understand the later film better. So maybe also those who did not like 'In the Mood' should see this one, as it might change their perception of that film.

To me Wong Kar-Wai's best film is still Chungking Express. And this film, although kind of in line with that film, does not reach up to that standard. I am glad I saw this film, as it explains other parts of Wong's work to me, but were it not for the sake of understanding that bigger picture, I don't think I would recommend it.

I like movies where outcast characters drift through the margins of life in search for not simply meaning, this is a grand word and drifters don't have much time for grandstanding, but a small warm corner they can call their own, and there's a lot of drifting in Days of Being Wild, literal and figurative. This is one of those great movies that speak of what it means to be young and alienated, not in the angsty living-room sense of the term, but in the form of real tangible problems, the ones you face alone in the cheap room of a fleabag hotel or in an empty warehouse in the hours after work. Days of Being Wild to me is like a procession of life, in the small hours of the night, filled with beauty and pain.

Now when all the normal people with steady jobs and a steady family have gone to sleep, all those still hanging in the balance of existence come out and fly beneath the cold street lamps. Now and then their wings touch, for a fleeting moment, and then they're alone again, flying in circles around the street lamps, like a moth instinctively drawn to something that is bright and warm. This reminds me of the line spoken by Warren Oates in that quintessential American movie about alienation and drifting, Monte Hellman's Two-Lane Blacktop: "if I'm not grounded soon, I'm gonna go into orbit". Hollywood rarely understands this type of character. Only someone who has never experienced that directionless orbit can glorify the drifting. The characters here need to be grounded soon. They need human warmth and affection and to know that there's a place they can come back at night and call it home.

We usually think of a drifter as someone who sets off into the desert, into a bleak barren landscape, it's probably easier that way. It takes a step back to look at life around us, as we wait for the subway in crowd, to realize a drifter can be a drifter among people. American film noir treats the city as an 'asphalt jungle', while for some reason Asians seem to tap into the melancholy of the 'asphalt desert'. I'm thinking films like Johnnie To's PTU and Takashi Miike's Rainy Dog. This is one of those films. One of the characters is a cop who does a latenight patrol, always wandering around empty streets by himself. He confesses a little later, that he wanted to be a sailor. The metaphor is poignant.

But at the same time Wong-Kar Wai says a lot of things about compulsion, that driving monomania that sets these people into orbit, and disassociates them from the world. I like how all this plays out in a 50's Hong Kong of cold blue lights and wet streets reflecting neon lights from a distant shop sign. It's not Chungking Express yet, and I'm glad that it's not, Chungking is a vibrant colorful place, and this one is a world that begins a corner down the street from it, where the bustle of city life, where the other people live their lives, is but a faint echo. In fact, until the movie washes up in the Phillipines to get involved in a brawl and take the night train out of the world, we hardly see any people outside the six characters, the small birds whose wings touch now and then.

This is raw and touching and real, like the best of gritnik cinema done by a romantic. Sam Peckinpah was another big romantic of gritnik cinema, but his romance was masculine and fatalist, he was speaking about the ends of things. Wong-Kar Wai tells us about love and obsession, and what it takes for something to begin. Good stuff.