日本導演是枝裕和自編自導的話題新作《再生家族》（日文片名《箱の中の羊》），以「AI復活」技術切入日常生活，審視人與機器之間的界線，進而探討一個深刻命題：失去親人之後，仿生人能否承載人類的悲傷？導演以其敏銳的社會觀察視角，搭配溫暖筆觸描繪小人物面貌，刻劃親情與人性，最終呈現出一部輕盈而略帶傷感的電影詩篇。本片亦是是枝裕和繼《怪物》後，第八度入圍康城影展主競賽單元。

故事設定於近未來的日本社會。一對喪子的年輕建築師夫婦——妻子甲本音音（綾瀨遙飾）與丈夫甲本健介（大悟飾，同時也是工程公司第二代老闆）——為了撫平兩年前孩子過世所帶來的內心傷痛，借助AI再生科技，迎來了一個外型、語調甚至記憶都與兒子一模一樣的仿生人形機器人，試圖重組破碎的家庭，重拾往昔的日常生活。然而，這個仿生機器人真能達成他們的心願嗎？

編劇兼導演是枝裕和透露，《再生家族》的創作構想源於他對「以科技讓逝者重現」這一現象的關注。2024年春天，他讀到關於中國「復活產業」興起的相關專題報導，該議題引發了社會廣泛討論。同年秋天，他更結識了一位該產業的從業者，從而意識到類似發展亦有可能在日本出現。是枝裕和認為，科技進步的速度遠超想像，而技術與人心價值之間的落差，正是他孕育這部作品背後真正的創作命題。

在探討這個議題時，導演採取了與西方截然不同的視角，一個充滿東方藝術哲學思想的視角。要理解此一視角，首先需要了解中西繪畫風格背後的文化邏輯差異。西方繪畫強調寫實逼真，其內在邏輯在於：現實世界是上帝創造的，當人創造的作品愈逼近真實，就意味著人的能力愈接近上帝，因而受到敬仰。相比之下，以中國為代表的東方繪畫邏輯則截然不同：宇宙處於不斷運行變化之中，「一生二，二生三，三生萬物」；描繪「萬物」的本質，才是真正的真實。創作者需透過外在表象，洞察物質背後運行的變化規律——即「天道」。因此，東方藝術更注重物質背後的「意」，這既是創作者對宇宙萬物運行規律的理解，也是「道」作用於人類一切行為、潛藏於最原始動機之中的痕跡。作品是否「像」並非關鍵，彰顯出的「意」——即創作者內在的投射——才是作品的靈魂所在。

於是，影片中所展示的仿生機器人，完全具備父母的某些特徵——例如記憶與相貌。然而，他／它依然並非如大家所期望的那般全然真實；但正因如此，他／它恰恰是父母內心深處意念的投射。透過對話，他／它能夠幫助父母釋懷心中潛藏的心結與最原始的動機。在某種意義上，這個仿生機器人就是人類與自身內心對話的具象化體現。

仿生人也許在不久的將來真能進入我們的生活。屆時，你所期待的「他／她／它」，究竟會是什麼樣的存在？

《再生家族》〉已於6月18日在香港上映。

Toy Story 5

Thirty years after Pixar’s groundbreaking original, Toy Story 5 arrives not with the fanfare of a conquering hero, but with the quiet anxiety of a franchise pondering its own obsolescence. It is a surprisingly fitting theme for a series that has, in many ways, mirrored the journey of its audience from childhood to adulthood. While it may not recapture the flawless magic of the original trilogy, this latest installment, directed by Andrew Stanton, is a charming, emotionally resonant addition that places Joan Cusack’s Jessie firmly in the spotlight as it confronts the 21st-century threat of technology.

The film finds Bonnie (now eight and voiced by Scarlett Spears) struggling to connect with her peers in a world where children are glued to Lilypad tablets. In a move that will feel agonizingly familiar to parents, Bonnie’s well-meaning parents introduce one into her life, and the device (voiced by Greta Lee) quickly commandeers her attention, leaving her toys, led by a distressed Jessie, feeling abandoned. This premise is a natural evolution for a series that has always been about the fear of being replaced. Jessie, who carries the scars of being left behind by her first owner Emily, is the perfect emotional anchor for this story. Her journey back to her original home is genuinely moving, allowing the film to revisit its own history in a way that feels organic rather than nostalgic. The use of Randy Newman’s “When She Loved Me” is enough to guarantee a tear or two, adding another layer of complexity to what could have been a simplistic narrative.

How does it compare to its predecessors? The first two films remain untouchable classics, their blend of invention and heart setting a bar that few sequels—this one included—can ever hope to clear. Toy Story 3 delivered a staggering emotional crescendo that felt like a perfect farewell, while Toy Story 4 functioned as a thoughtful, almost philosophical epilogue for Woody. Toy Story 5, by contrast, is a leaner, more intimate affair, but it sometimes buckles under the weight of its own ambitions. A bizarre but delightful diversion involving a shipwrecked crew of “upgraded” Buzz Lightyear toys provides comedic relief, yet its narrative necessity is questionable. The film also struggles to balance its ensemble; while Woody (Tom Hanks) and Buzz (Tim Allen) are present, their roles are noticeably diminished in favor of Jessie, and one cannot help but miss the electric chemistry of the duo that defined the franchise’s golden years. The film lacks a definitive “Let’s-freaking-go!” moment between the two iconic friends, and that absence is keenly felt.

Still, the film’s handling of its central theme is surprisingly nuanced. It doesn’t simply preach that technology is bad; it acknowledges its benefits while exploring the anxiety of childhood in a screen-saturated world. A powerful visual gag of a room full of people—adults and children alike—oblivious to the toys moving around them because they are fixated on their screens, is classic Pixar: sharp, funny, and pointed. The introduction of Smarty Pants, a piece of obsolete tech voiced with manic energy by Conan O’Brien, adds another poignant layer, reminding us that obsolescence is a universal condition. There is a quiet melancholy running through the film, a sense that these characters are no longer the center of anyone’s universe, and it is this melancholy that gives the film its unexpected weight.

Will this be the last? Toy Story 5 doesn’t feel like a definitive conclusion. The central message of the film is not that play is dead, but that it can co-exist with technology. It advocates for a balance, suggesting that the “age of toys” may not be over after all. This is a franchise that still has plenty of life left in it. It may not be as groundbreaking as its predecessors, but Toy Story 5 proves that these beloved toys still have the power to make us laugh, reflect, and feel deeply.

Elven Ho

Chen Sicheng’s Chamber Piece: A Director Unshackled

Chen Sicheng has built a career on maximalism. From the dizzying Detective Chinatown franchise to the glossy psychological thriller Lost in the Stars, his name has become synonymous with high-concept, high-budget spectacle. Yet Being Towards Death, a small-budget chamber drama set in a terminal ward, is a startling anomaly. It is as if the director, tired of his own formula, has stripped everything back to bare walls and authentic human noise.

Compared to the intricate plotting of Detective Chinatown 1900 or the heavy suspense of Lost in the Stars, this new film feels radically lightweight. There are no car chases, no overseas locations, no murder mystery. Instead, we get a suicidal young man (Jiang Long) finding reluctant purpose among a motley crew of loud, boisterous cancer patients. The shift is seismic. Chen’s usual industrial production gives way to raw, almost vérité observation. The result is flawed but fascinating: a meta-narrative where the patients decide to make a film, allowing Chen to openly mock his own cinematic tics while searching for genuine pathos.

This retreat into a single room aligns Being Towards Death with two rich traditions of Asian cinema. Like Taiwan’s Dear Ex or The Victims’ Game, it sits in the uncomfortable space between comedy and trauma. However, it lacks the meticulous slow-burn atmosphere of Taiwanese auteurs like Chung Mong-hong. Chen is louder, more chaotic, more willing to risk sentimentality.

More interesting is its divergence from Korean chamber dramas such as Breathless or Hope. Korean cinema often weaponises cramped spaces—the gritty rooftop, the claustrophobic gosiwon—to heighten social critique and class rage. Chen’s hospital room feels less like a critique of society and more like a sanctuary from it, a place where death is imminent but life is excessively, almost irrationally, celebrated. Where Korean films might punish you with despair, Chen offers redemption without irony.

The film is not without flaws. Its tonal shifts can feel jarring, and the supporting cast sometimes leans too hard into caricature. Yet Being Towards Death proves Chen Sicheng can be vulnerable without the safety net of special effects. It is messy, sentimental, and surprisingly sincere—a minor work from a major director. Its raw energy and willingness to sit with messy, dying souls makes it the most honest film Chen has ever made. It is not a masterpiece, but it is a necessary rebellion against the soulless logic of the blockbuster. And in that small, cluttered hospital room, Chen finally finds something he has long chased: a heartbeat.

Elven Ho

《再生家族》短評

療癒心靈創傷的科技

當AI能夠成為人類的好朋友，甚至是知己時，我們難免會想：AI機器人何時會代替人類？甚至取代已去世的家人，藉此療癒我們的心靈創傷？《再生家族》的導演兼編劇是枝裕和嘗試提出一種可能性，就是當我們擁有一個與AI機器人差不多一模一樣的小孩時，我們會否視它為真人，與對待在世時的真人一樣，全心全意地愛它和照顧它？很明顯，影片內甲本音音（綾瀨遙飾）的兒子甲本翔(桒木里夢飾)去世後，她受到很大的打擊，當與他接近完全相同的AI機器人在她面前出現時，她已按捺不住自己，濃濃的母愛使她分不開他與AI機器人，當它電量不足而停止運作時，她才醒覺它不是他，它只是代替了他的機器人。她向它灌注自己原本對他百分之百的感情，覺得它以他的身分「重生」，正好暗示她十分掛念他，不捨得他這麼年輕便離開人世。故她以它取代他，其實是人之常情。

無可否認，以AI陪伴人類，療癒大家的心靈創傷，是世界電腦科技發展的大趨勢。當我們有疑問時，問AI；當我們感到孤單寂寞時，找AI聊天；當我們掛念已去世的家人時，找AI幫忙，根據家人過往的照片和短片生成關於去世者的傳記式影片。這就像《再》內極像甲本翔的仿真機器人，其思想和行為的相似度甚高，除了欠缺了一點點人性，無需吃飯喝水，不會發脾氣，亦不會有豐富的內心世界外，它與他基本上完全一樣。初時甲本音音視它為他，因為它的外表及表面的行為「矇騙」了她，讓她以為它就是他，在短時間內它的出現確實療癒了她失去他的心靈創傷。不過，當她與它相處日久，就會發覺它始終是它，他始終是他，它永遠不會成為他。影片中後段內當她提出不再留它在家中時，其實她已「清晰地」察覺它不是他，如果它離開，確實可讓她逃離幻夢，重返現實。

但當甲本音音放手讓AI機器人離開時，她的丈夫甲本健介（大悟飾）反而想留住它，覺得它真的可充當他們的兒子，醫治他們過往的心靈創傷，並維繫他倆彼此的感情。事實上，它的出現，讓他倆重拾一家人的感覺，這是其他人/東西難以取代的。故現今的科技不再是冷冰冰的死物，很多時候，它有情有義，有愛有溫度，甚至能「進入」人類的心靈深處，片末兩夫婦在是否留它在家中的問題上有多番的掙扎，這就是最佳的證明。

曉龍

《給阿嬤的情書》Dear You

另一個尋找他鄉的故事

中國人從來都有一個「飄洋過海」的詛咒。剛過世的King Sir鍾景輝旁白的著名片集《尋找他鄉的故事》正是訴說著無數此等華人血淚史。我家祖輩也曾是飄洋過海謀生，他去得更遠，秘魯。故事中的主人翁只身處區區南洋，何足掛齒？但以國內電影而言，可以拍出以往海外華人的辛酸史亦屬罕見，還有整齣戲以「方言」潮汕語為對白，更是突破。

由於不便劇透，只能談一下技術。無疑劇本的鋪陳不錯，說故事技巧佳，有懸念，讓觀眾不斷地追看下去。以「情書」來訴說故事的戲不少，多為愛情；此片卻超越了愛情，以更高層次去訴說一種情，並錯綜交代祖輩的辛酸，是一種頗特別的方式，導演要很有心才做得到。既有情味又彰顯歷史痕跡，相當感人。

撇開部份不濟的素人演員，男女主角都表現優秀，配樂亦悦耳悠揚，一首鄧麗君的印尼語歌《南海姑娘》(原來是另一位歌手陳佳唱的)正合小鄧那些年…。潮汕人原來早在清朝已「移民」暹羅(泰國)，潮州人在泰國的影響力從古至今絕不能小覷，電影復刻暹羅的舊情、舊物、舊貌亦見心思，尤其街道招牌與書信中的文字，令我更愛正體字。

二十年的情書秘密叫人唏噓，隱藏著的一份情誼教人錯愕。為何中國人都像輪迴一樣地「飄洋過海」？為甚麼都要海外的親屬寄錢回鄉呢？他們不是已經很苦嗎？難道家鄉人更苦？

多謝電影給我看到問題的癥結所在。

陸凌綠

《一個部門的誕生》短評

對過度制度化的嘲諷

2014年，CUT有線電視的話題一度成為當時的新聞焦點，事至如今，《一個部門的誕生》的創作人再次拿著此話題大造文章，讓CUT台昇華至脅持人質事件，保留了銀河映像嘲諷時弊的風格，其誇張核突的笑料，「有血有淚」的情節，不難使身為小市民的香港觀眾產生共鳴。影片內「K仔」(戴玉麒飾)為了成功CUT台，親自到「開心電視」的客戶服務中心處理，但之前他曾多次致電，卻仍未成功，直至該中心在下午五點收工的一刻，他終於情緒大爆發，在地上拾獲李仲波(麥沛東飾)在警員休班期間掉在地上的配槍，並以該中心的客戶為脅持的人質。這種把小事化為大事的編劇技巧，讓日常生活的小事變為荒誕驚人的大事，對一般人來說，像CUT台這類瑣事可能不值一提，但對創作人而言，瑣事可以成為嚴重事件發生的源頭，《一》由一個簡單的訴求變為較複雜的開槍及死亡事件便是其中一例。

命運的巧合，使上述突發的事件偶然地發生，以CUT台為由脅持人質可能有點小題大做，但有相關經驗的觀眾都會明白「簽約易，CUT約難」所帶來的纏擾和痛苦。山姐(梁雍婷飾)初時覺得「K仔」提出的要求十分荒繆，及後她親自到不同部門處理，必須經過眾多繁複的手續，才能成功CUT台，始明白他極端的做法有一定的緣由。很明顯，影片內「開心電視」在客戶服務方面有過度制度化之弊，管理層為了維持訂戶的人數，保留一直以來的廣告收益，不惜創造CUT台繁複的行政程序，希望現有的訂戶即使對該電視台的節目諸多不滿，依舊嫌麻煩而不再堅持CUT台。這種為了生存而不尋求改善節目質素的消極做法，終導致難以想像的嚴重事故發生。

由此可見，慘劇的出現並非一蹴而就，其實像滾雪球一樣，從小事開始，越滾越大，終導致大事發生。《一》內對現實的強烈嘲諷的確令觀眾會心微笑，影片內李仲波遲了超過五個號碼而必須重新排隊，這亦道出了未擁有特權的普通人的辛酸。像《一》這類悲喜劇，以慘事為情節的主軸，放大這些事後，有相關經歷的觀眾會捧腹大笑，因為影片內的他/她，就像現實中的自己。電視台不良的制度及程序，受害的不單是訂戶，經常被訂戶用粗言穢語問候的客戶服務員同樣是受害者。故處於不同崗位及擁有不同身分的香港觀眾看此片時都會產生共鳴，其實不太奇怪，亦合情合理，因為這是人之常情。

THE FURIOUS: A Blazing Return to Pure Action Glory

For a decade, the gold standard of hand‑to‑hand combat cinema has remained Gareth Evans’ The Raid and its staggering sequel. Countless imitators have tried to match their breathless, bone‑crushing intensity — and almost all have failed. Now, along comes Kenji Tanigaki’s directorial debut, The Furious, and it does something remarkable: it doesn’t just salute those masterpieces; it stands shoulder to shoulder with them. This is high‑octane, edge‑of‑your‑seat filmmaking of the purest order. Make no mistake — The Furious is already one of the greatest action films ever made, and easily the year’s best.

Tanigaki is no stranger to choreographic brilliance. As the longtime action collaborator of Donnie Yen (the Ip Man series, Flash Point, Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In), he has spent decades refining a style that blends explosive power with balletic precision. For his first feature as director, he assembles a dream team of Asian action royalty: Xie Miao (the legendary child star of New Legend of Shaolin), Joe Taslim (The Raid), Yayan Ruhian (The Raid), Joey Iwanaga (Enter the Fat Dragon) and Brian Le. Together, they unleash a 114‑minute adrenaline tsunami that traces its lineage directly to Tony Jaa’s Ong‑Bak, the Raid films, and even the golden‑era Hong Kong classics of Jackie Chan, Jet Li, and Donnie Yen — only more explosive, more relentless.

Watching The Furious, one cannot help but feel a profound sense of nostalgia — not for imitation, but for an era when Hong Kong cinema went international and changed the game forever. Those 1980s and 90s masterpieces from Jackie Chan, Jet Li, and Woo-ping Yuen didn’t just entertain; they influenced generations of action filmmakers and fighters around the world, from the Wachowskis to Quentin Tarantino, from MMA champions to YouTube stunt teams. The Furious carries that torch unapologetically. There is no ironic distancing, no shaky-cam apology for the violence. Just pure, honest, world-class choreography staged in full view of the camera. And here is the remarkable truth: this time, it is a hard act for Hollywood to follow. For decades, Western studios have tried to reverse-engineer Hong Kong’s magic — often with mixed results. But The Furious operates at a level of physical literacy and risk-taking that most mainstream Hollywood action films have either forgotten or abandoned. This is the real thing Hollywood simply cannot keep up.

The film’s narrative is lean and visceral. Xie plays Wang Wei, a mute repairman whose young daughter is snatched by a child‑trafficking ring. With no voice but unwavering will, he tears through the corrupt underbelly of a Southeast Asian city, joined by a journalist (Taslim) haunted by his own missing wife. The villain, played with icy depravity by Iwanaga, treats kidnapped children like disposable commodities — a horrifyingly realistic nod to a crisis that plagues the region. The Furious never preaches, but its message is clear: the trafficking of children is a silent epidemic, and the film’s fury is a righteous scream against it.

Yet the story is merely a clothesline for the action. And what action it is by choreographer Kensuke Sonomura . In the climax the film delivers a five‑way combat sequence that will be studied for generations. Confined to a police station, Wang Wei faces four distinct martial artists, each representing a different philosophy of violence. Taslim’s Pencak Silat and Judo is all low, serpentine brutality — sudden sweeps and joint‑locks that flow like poison. Ruhian, also Silat‑trained, fights with wild, unpredictable angles, striking from blind spots. Iwanaga, the film’s Japanese villain, brings a chilling hybrid of Karate (in the style Kenneth Lo Wai Kong of the Jackie Chen stunt team) — crisp, linear strikes. His style is brutally efficient: no wasted motion, just cold, calculated dismantling of his opponents. Brian Le, known for his viral martial arts short films and his breakout role in Everything Everywhere All at Once, unleashes a powerful blend of Taekwondo and Tricking — lightning-fast spinning kicks, acrobatic flips, and fluid, unpredictable footwork. His style is the most visually spectacular of the five: explosive, high-flying, and deceptively lethal. And Xie Miao himself anchors the chaos with a hybrid brawler’s grit — no single style, just pure survival instinct.

The choreography is a conversation of clashing forces — every block, every elbow, every desperate takedown filmed with crystalline clarity. No shaky cam. No quick cuts. Just bodies moving at impossible speed, colliding with sickening impact. It is an instant classic, a scene so electrifying that audiences audibly gasped at my screening.

The Furious makes no claim to intellectual subtlety, nor does it need to. What it delivers instead is something rarer: a concentration of physical power and choreographic rigor that reminds us why we fell in love with action cinema in the first place. Every body becomes a weapon, every fight a dialogue of explosive clashing forces. There are no lazy shortcuts, no CGI crutches — just sweat, bone, and the unrelenting will of performers at the absolute peak of their craft. In an age of weightless spectacle and digital armies, this film is a true spectacle — an action epic earned through sweat, blood, and staggering physical rigor. We are already aching for the sequel or different version of the current one.

Elven Ho

A Name Etched in Erasure: Mary Stephen’s Palimpsest and the Ghosts of Empire

Mary Stephen, Hong Kong-born editor and filmmaker, spent over two decades as Éric Rohmer’s go-to editor, cutting films from The Aviator’s Wife (1981) to his final feature in 2007. She also edited Last Train Home and Ann Hui’s Our Time Will Come. In 2025, she turned the lens inward with Palimpsest: The Story of a Name, winner of the Golden Horse Awards for Best Documentary Feature and Best Film Editing. The title refers to a manuscript scraped clean and rewritten—a metaphor for a family history deliberately erased across generations.

The film asks: why does a Chinese woman, born to Chinese parents in colonial Hong Kong, carry the English surname Stephen? Her father’s 8mm home movies, diaries, and photographs transform the screen into a time machine. We glimpse the family’s rise from labouring-class beginnings against a backdrop where one million Chinese were governed by twenty thousand Europeans. Stephen augments this with archival material from the Hong Kong Film Archive and Michael Rogge, a Dutch banker who documented the 1950s territory. For Hong Kong viewers, these images are haunting: trams gliding through a British-colonial city, family picnics beneath a rising skyline.

Stephen also unearths footage of 1930s Wuhan, a treaty port carved open by foreign powers, soon ravaged by Japanese invasion. Here the surname leads to Virginia Woolf’s nephew, Julian Bell, whose affair with Chinese writer Ling Shuhua is traced through letters and fragments.

The film reveals the white-supremacist hierarchy that forced Stephen’s father to adopt a European surname as a survival strategy. Would Henry Stephen have prospered as Chan Tik-fong? Would Mary Stephen have become Rohmer’s editor under a Chinese name? The answer is no.

The wider context is China’s “hundred years of humiliation” (1840–1949), when foreign powers carved the nation into spheres of influence. Palimpsest shows this at the granular level of one family: the names changed, the identities forged and covered over.

To watch this as a Hong Konger in 2026 is to marvel at the distance travelled. The China of Stephen’s childhood was a land of colonial deference. Today’s China—over 18% of global GDP, a defence budget second only to the US—is a superpower no nation dares to cross lightly. The film is tender, skeptical, and essential. For the young generation of Hong Kong who has no knowledge of our colonial past in Hong Kong and on the mainland, this is a must-see—a vital primer on how deeply that history shaped the very names we carry, and how far we have truly come.

Elven Ho

Scary Movie: Reliable Formula, Reliable Laughs

The Scary Movie franchise has never pretended to be high art. Its sixth installment, Scary Movie: Requel, understands this perfectly. While critics may clamour for reinvention, the latest entry delivers exactly what audiences expect: a relentless, laugh-a-minute parade of horror spoofs—formulaic, yes, but consistently funny.

To appreciate where this sequel lands, a brief look back is useful. The original Scary Movie (2000) was a paradigm-shifting satire of Scream and teen slashers—lean, mean, and wildly original. Scary Movie 2 (2001) doubled down on gross-out gags and set-piece chaos, earning cult status. Then the Wayans brothers exited. Scary Movie 3 (2003), directed by David Zucker, pivoted to The Ring and Signs, scoring big with its absurdist rhythm. Scary Movie 4 (2006) repeated the formula with diminishing but still serviceable returns. And Scary Movie 5 (2013) bottomed out—desperate, undernourished, and forgettable.

Enter the sixth film. Scary Movie: Requel targets the past decade of horror: Get Out, Hereditary, The Invisible Man, M3GAN, and the Scream requels. The plot—influencers spending a night in the infamous “Blackburn House”—is transparent scaffolding for jokes. And jokes arrive every sixty seconds. A TikTok exorcism, an “elevated horror” monologue interrupted by a pie to the face, a Barbarian Airbnb confusion gag that runs just long enough. None of it is groundbreaking. Much of it is recycled from earlier entries (the bumbling cop returns, cue the “I’ll be right back” groaner). Yet the audience laughs. Frequently. Predictably.

How does it compare to the past five? It is significantly better than the lifeless fifth installment—that’s faint praise but true. It lacks the fresh ferocity of the original or the inspired lunacy of Scary Movie 2. In fact, it most resembles Scary Movie 4: professionally assembled, mechanically paced, and reliably chuckle-worthy. Anna Faris’s cameo feels contractual, but the younger cast commits to the mayhem.

The core criticism—and it is a fair one—is formula. The film plays like a checklist: spoof rising dread, insert pop culture reference (a Saltburn bathtub parody arrives three months too late), reset, repeat. There are no surprises, no risks. But for a franchise now in its third decade, Scary Movie 6 understands its job. It does not aspire to be Airplane!; it aspires to be a comfortable fast-food comedy. On that level, it succeeds.

For fans who have stuck through the lows, this latest offering is a welcome, if unambitious, return to form. Laugh-a-minute? Yes. Memorable? Not particularly. But at this point, reliable laughter may be the truest form of horror comedy survival.

Elven Ho

《揭密日》短評

人類是萬物之惡？

無可否認，人類是萬物之靈，但在同一時間內，人類亦是萬物之惡。導演史提芬史匹堡再次運用豐富的幻想力，帶領我們進入神秘莫測的外星世界。《揭密日》內地球人發現外星人不是甚麼新鮮事，拿他們來做實驗亦在這類電影中司空見慣，但社會上遍及外星人人權保護及捍衛的聲音卻不常見。今趟編劇大衛哥普述說地球人發現外星人後不單沒有好好對待他們，反而欺凌虐待他們，與其說這源於地球人對他們的恐懼和憎恨，不如說這是人類對待「非我族類」的慣常做法。人類本來就是疑心極重的動物，深怕他們的智商過高，能力過大，「反客為主」管治地球，遂肆意壓迫他們，使他們沒有還擊之力，遑論能積聚成強大的反抗力量。因此，影片內他們被視為實驗品，充當人類「發洩」的對象，其實是人類的集體恐慌情緒走向極端而竭力保護自身的一種非常手段。

人類並非友善的生物，每當對其他物種有任何新發現時，都會以研究該物種為名，其實是為了探究他們是否會對人類的生存產生威脅，外星人亦不例外。《揭》內人類虐待外星人的片段被隱藏，更被禁止公開，明顯是為了遮掩人類之惡。人類要與萬物和平共存，經常必須扮演「好好先生」的角色，與地球上其他生物恩慈相待，和善相處，但其實人類經常擔心自己萬物之靈的至高無上的地位被取代。倘若外星人的體能比人類好，智商及情商比人類高，人類比不上他們，他們很容易便會憑著自身的能力取代人類，並成為地球的統治者。很明顯，人類對外星人的驚懼與其對AI的恐慌沒有太大的差異，因為外星人與AI同樣是懂得不斷學習，懂得提升自身能力的「生物」，同樣能成為取代人類的管治者。

由此可見，從《E.T.外星人》內小孩與外星人和平共處的盼望至《揭》內人類欺負外星人的失望，導演在相距多年的影片內反映了自己對人類行為的看法。或許《E.T.》裡的小孩較單純，1982年的國際社會較簡單，他可以天真無邪地與外星人和平共處；相反，《揭》內除了氣象主播 Margaret（艾美莉賓特飾）及網路安全專家 Daniel（佐斯奧康納飾）願意替外星人發聲，向普羅大眾公開他們被欺凌虐待的秘密外，幾乎沒有人會善待他們，以前對小孩的樂觀期盼似乎已「不知所蹤」，對善良人類的殷切盼望彷彿已所餘無幾。但願現實生活中我們都能夠成為有良心的人，以慈愛及真摯的心對待自己身旁的所有生物。

曉龍

《搞乜鬼奪命雜作》短評

混雜的哲理

《搞乜鬼奪命雜作》系列長拍長有，從千禧年至現在，已到了第六集，今趟沿襲舊日的風格，繼續惡搞眾多經典的荷里活電影，這次更大玩特玩在美國流行一時的韓國電影。《搞》內《奪命狂呼》系列的影子固然必不可少，除了恐怖片，近年流行的《人工殺姬》和《獵魔女團》更被惡搞一番，讓《搞》惡搞的對象日趨廣泛，普羅大眾哄堂大笑，撇除恐怖片片迷看得入神的熱烈反應，喜愛其他類型電影的觀眾亦可投入其中。因為《搞》戲謔電影的經典人物和情節，對這些被嘲笑的對象耳熟能詳的觀眾必定可尋回舊日的觀影回憶，並享受不同電影彼此之間交叉混雜所帶來的樂趣。因此，不熟悉美國政治、文化及社會不要緊，只需多看幾齣主流的荷里活電影，便能對《搞》惡搞的影片產生共鳴，因為《搞》的創作人與自己同樣是影迷，同樣會為了尋回個人的光影記憶而著迷。

很有趣，《搞》建基於其他電影而把這些影片的故事內容、角色及對白反轉再反轉，一切可能都在觀眾的意料之內，但我們偏偏期待這些經典情節在銀幕上用另類的方式重現，就是為了滿足自己重新「進入」舊日的光影世界的強烈渴求。多齣電影混雜而成的《搞》，雖然流於公式化的拼貼，每集都用誇張核突的方式醜化經典電影中的主角，當我們看見經典人物有「異樣」時，都會對其極端化的惡搞捧腹大笑。或許惡搞是一種創意，其創作的難度不比憑空想像低，因為創作人需要先熟悉那些經典角色的形象、個性和外貌，才可對其醜化，在電影開拍之前的資料搜集功夫必不可少，其需要完成的「功課量」亦不低。因此，《搞》表面上輕鬆惹笑，荒誕乖謬，遊戲人生，實際上認真研究，資料充足，且指涉的美國政治社會的怪現象應是深思熟慮地創作的成果，例如：那句「三次投票給特朗普」的對白有明顯且深刻的諷刺意味。

很多時候，喜劇都被低估，這很正常，因為喜劇與其他類型電影不同，動作片裡有明顯的精心設計的大場面，文藝片裡有精雕細琢的精緻劇本，唯獨喜劇裡的搞笑鏡頭看似稀鬆平常，但其實需要花大量時間和精力琢磨思考，才可創作前所未見的笑位，絕對不是一蹴而就的馬虎成品。因此，《搞》以混雜的方式滲入「語不驚人誓不休」的搞笑風格，其實需要一定的心思和創意，並非短時間內能輕易完成的鬆散之作。

曉龍

《火遮眼》

遲了十年，拍出來意義何在?

第一件事要提就是推倒《踏血尋梅》整個項目，那宣發部大家姐，改名《火遮眼》已經顯示過時到不得了，撞片名撞到飛起。

第二件事，比國際社會遲了十年，日式武指《RE:BORN》拍於2016年。《火》老闆說的《捍衛任務》，在2014年上映，他要怎樣怎樣的同時，印尼電影《迎頭重擊》也是十年前(2016年)的作品。

先不說《九龍城寨之圍城》的抄襲問題，文創處都有記錄。由一位來自日本的動作指導谷垣健治執導，先看前年的《辣妹刺客：奪命雙煞》，是現今日式頂流。阿叔要拍國際性動作片，《火》十年前是火！十年後，倒不如投資《捍衛任務七》，阿伯後知後覺。

《蠱降》短評

神秘國度的面紗

馬來西亞的恐怖片在香港上映的機會不多，倘若《蠱降》不是馬來西亞史上票房最高的恐怖片，假如此片不是由姜皓文主演，我們根本不會有機會看此片。雖然香港人經常到東南亞國家旅遊，但只限於到當地著名的景點遊覽，對其歷史文化一無所知。《蠱》以下降頭為主題，開闊了我們的視野，讓我們得悉降頭的歷史源流及其發展的來龍去脈，並替我們揭開了此國家所屬的神秘國度的「面紗」。《蠱》不乏活生生的人被殺的血腥畫面，亦包括愛美的年輕女子爛臉的核突鏡頭，但其神秘感只在於降頭師(姜皓文飾)如何下降頭的情節，以及他這樣做以對犯罪者作出懲罰的特殊原因。筆者難以說《蠱》夠奇夠怪，因為上述畫面、鏡頭及情節的激烈程度十分有限，導演可能擔心太刺激的畫面會嚇怕膽子較小的觀眾，唯有刻意遷就他們。但其實大部分觀眾覺得那些嘔心恐怖的鏡頭皆拍得未夠「火候」。

看《蠱降》時，筆者不自覺想起桂治洪分別在1980及1981年執導的《邪》、《屍妖》、《蠱》等片，認為《蠱降》有一些向前輩致敬的地方。降頭師下降頭的畫面似曾相識，受害者「不著邊際」的幻覺及慘痛的死狀亦源自上述的舊片，當然，電影已有超過一百年的歷史，要完全創新，並不容易。但《蠱降》走不出舊式同類電影的框框，只把熟悉的鏡頭重拍，難免予觀眾「舊酒新瓶」之感。故此片欠缺了新鮮感，讓部分常看舊式華語恐怖片的觀眾感到納悶，實屬正常。創作人其實應把上述提及的血腥畫面及核突鏡頭推向極致，並運用天馬行空的想像力，讓觀眾耳目一新，並欽佩他們的創造力。只有這樣，此片才會成為華語電影史上出色的恐怖片，多年前的日本電影《午夜凶鈴》系列便是其中一例。

即使姜皓文的演技出眾，演活了降頭師，其神情動態及身體語言皆別具神秘感，容易令觀眾毛骨悚然，仍然難以補救恐怖鏡頭不夠恐怖的弊病。或許他落力的演出已為全片挽回不少分數，但在他不曾出現的鏡頭內，眾多年輕演員著跡的演出，卻抹掉了之前建立的神秘氣氛，讓全片流於平凡，他付出的努力和汗水亦於事無補。由此可見，此片未能在香港大受歡迎，其實與他沒有太大的關係，因為他已盡力而為。

曉龍