Unhappy together. An exquisite, enduringly resonant elegy for both lost love and vanishing history, Rouge is made all the more surreal thanks to its transcendently melancholy mood that's as illusory as time itself. One that feels all the more resonant and devastating due to real life coming to echo the film, with this already sombre love story made all the more tragic by the untimely deaths of its two leads. It's a subtle exploration of the differences between its periods, achieved through simple juxtaposition, particularly in terms of contrasting societal attitudes toward love and marriage. Director Stanley Kwan renders the two time periods in radically different ways, the thirties in florid images and modern times in muted tones; the lurid dramas of history functioning as stimulants for neutered passions of what was modern society, a journey to a time seemingly glamorous, yet everything always has a spell that can never be broken. But it's the lead performers that simply dominate and overshadow the plot from beginning to end. Cheung brings an enormous sensitivity and vulnerability to his role. He is impulsive and romantic, but also weak-minded and cowardly. Mui is simply radiant as Fleur. She has such a careful and precise control over her presence and presentation throughout the film. Above all, she gives her character a tremendous dignity. Does love really last forever? Infused with both a sense of nostalgia and, ultimately, an interrogation of that nostalgia, by Rouge's end, the sadness over the loss of the past seems to fade away. Ending on a forward-looking basis: the past has brought pain and regret, and the future is free of it, inviting its audience, in the end, things are probably going to be better in the years to come than the ones that have passed.