《神奇秘密之旅》短評

善良的人都會犯法

《神奇秘密之旅》的故事情節匪夷所思，和歌子（有村架純飾）、清惠（黑木華飾）與麻由（南沙良飾）偶遇，三人同樣貧窮，同樣需要賺快錢，同是天涯淪落人，同樣靠走私黃金往返日本及新加坡以便還債，各種巧合，不知道是她們個人的錯，旁人的錯，還是社會的錯。她們的際遇不濟，固然是主要的原因，但在大都市內極容易弄致負債累累，這與遇人不淑、經濟環境欠佳確實有密切的關係。或許以正常的工作賺錢不容易，才被迫鋌而走險，即使走私是犯法的行為，仍然不會違反自己的良知，因為這種行為只讓自己較輕易地賺取「小便宜」，不曾傷害社會，亦沒有害人。因此，她們「心安理得」地走私，與現今二三十歲的年青一代較寬鬆的價值觀及較低的道德標準有密切的關係。

《神》的劇本改編自真人真事，或許上述的巧合真的有可能發生，但出現的機率確實微乎其微。或許2010年代的偵查走私機器較落後，三位女主角以孕婦、傷殘人士等特殊身分便可蒙混過關，即使難以置信，但在旅客繁多、業務繁忙的機場旺季，確實有可能出現此情況。或許影片內多加一點環境的描寫，加入機場工作人員過度繁忙辛勞的敘述，上述蒙混過關的情況便會較具說服力，她們走私了幾次仍然不會被捕的可能性亦會大大提高。影片初段至中段內她們成功走私的原因，其實需要與以上提出的有利因素互相配合，否則，日本與新加坡海關偵查系統的漏洞實在太多，執法人員只問她們幾句便放人的做法亦太寬鬆。因此，影片的橋段出乎意料之外，但是否合乎情理之中，這實屬見仁見智。

由此可見，《神》別具創意，描寫三個陌生人因共同目標而走在一起，這種出其不意的合作關係，只建基於利益，沒有特殊的關係牽涉其中，遑論會有任何感情，但三位女主角共患難，任何一位都不想坐牢，只想重過正常的生活，這反而在短時間內使她們建立了珍貴的友誼。或許命運弄人，生活艱苦，她們被「逼上梁山」，不得不犯法，不得不走進社會的「邊緣地帶」。她們值得同情，在於其不曾犯下甚麼嚴重的錯，卻因旁人的行為及自身的不幸而不得不想方法賺快錢，這是她們難以操控的處境，亦是其心甘情願地捲入走私集團的最大誘因。因此，不一定十惡不赦的人才會犯法，即使是善良的人，遇上困難的處境，想不到解決問題的最佳辦法，都會有犯法的可能。

曉龍

《特立獨行》短評

中國式的辦事方法

超級英雄要拯救世人，絕不簡單，亦不容易。他除了需要有超能力外，還要懂得中國式的辦事方法，要喝酒應酬，要圓滑交際，要思想正面，要討好領導，更要阿諛奉承…。《特立獨行》內「飛銀」王長海（白敬亭飾）曾經擊敗外星人，返回地球後，滿腔熱血，以為自己憑著獨一無二的超能力，便可幹一番大事，殊不知中國內地一個小小的縣城都有自己的潛規則，他不熟悉這些規則，做事便會處處碰壁，要成立一個新的組織，除了要符合官方的要求外，還必須掃除人事的障礙，只有這樣，組建「超英戰鬥小隊」才可水到渠成。「超英分會」會長老夏（魏翔飾）教導長海中國式的辦事方法，讓長海領悟要通過官府審批而成立「超英戰鬥小隊」的竅門，說穿了，條文只是條文，人可以改變條文的內容，要通過審批，其實人事比文件(條文)規則更重要。

中國人做事，講求關係，你與我熟絡，任何事都可以做；你與我不熟絡，任何事都不能做，這就是中國人重視的人情世故。領導說自己喜歡聽真說話，但其實這只是經「修飾」的語言，實際上，他們喜歡聽虛偽的美言。《特》內長海對領導說自己「可以為人民犧牲」的美言信以為真，竟在危難之際救人民而犧牲領導，即使他熟悉官場的潛規則，仍然對上述美言一竅不通。或許這就是他率真的本性，改變行為以迎合社會規範容易，但改變自己的本性卻「難於上青天」。可能他單純，思想簡單，根本不懂易位思考，遑論能從領導們的身分和立場洞悉他們每一句「肺腑之言」其實是用來籠絡民心的真諦。或許他對縣長（張國強飾）與煤老闆趙金豐（蘇小玎飾）這類貪心卑鄙的領導們的心思一知半解，以為他們真的為人民著想，但其實他們只是用盡方法在人民身上掠取小便宜的小人。

無可否認，《特》是奉行中國政府打擊貪腐原則的主旋律電影。影片諷刺的不是中國政府的政策，而是執行政策而經常搾取人民利益的小人。中國政府主張的「為人民服務」不是說過就算的虛言，而是實實在在的真說話。「假大空」的說話不單毫無意義，由領導說出口，還有欺騙人民的成分。或許從心出發，真心誠意地說出「可以為人民犧牲」的言語，並與良好的行為配合，知行合一，才是真的為人民著想的至理名言。

Fleece, Fangs and Frightful Fun: Why Aardman’s Latest Shaun Adventure Is a Monstrous Delight

Aardman’s beloved flock returns with a spooky Halloween caper, proving that silent comedy remains the studio’s finest export.

As the closing film of this year’s Hong Kong Anifest, Shaun the Sheep: The Beast of Mossy Bottom arrives as a delightfully spooky confection. The film sees the Farmer accidentally transformed into a hirsute, Bigfoot-like creature after Shaun’s well-meaning scientific experiments to save a pumpkin patch go awry, triggering a chain of gloriously chaotic events.

The franchise has always thrived on its dialogue-free, silent-movie sensibility, and this third instalment maintains that glorious tradition. Where the first film delivered a fish-out-of-water city adventure and Farmageddon riffed on sci-fi tropes, this outing turns to classic Universal monsters and Hammer Horror. The sheep’s boundless curiosity and the Farmer’s hapless romantic woes remain the emotional core.

What makes it special is the sheer craftsmanship. Aardman’s stop-motion work remains breathtaking, with the beast puppet representing one of their largest and most complex creations to date. The visual gags—from Psycho shower scene homages to a genuinely hilarious take on parking signs—land with impeccable timing. It is a warm, witty, and lovingly handmade reminder that Aardman is still without peer in family entertainment.

Elven Ho

A Quiet Roar: Tiger Closes HKLGFF with Raw Emotion

The 34th Hong Kong Lesbian & Gay Film Festival drew its curtains last night with the Hong Kong premiere of Tiger, a quietly devastating Japanese drama that arrives trailing acclaim from the Busan International Film Festival, where it captured the Hylife Vision Award. The evening was further elevated by the presence of lead actor Takashi Kawaguchi, whose attendance at the post-screening Q&A offered a rare glimpse into the crafting of such a vulnerable performance.

Tiger centres on Taiga Katagiri, a 35-year-old gay masseur navigating the quiet indignities of middle age in Tokyo‘s Shinjuku Ni-chome. He works diligently in a modest parlour, his hands kneading away the tensions of strangers while his own life remains stubbornly knotted. The film’s title is a poignant irony; Taiga is no prowling predator, but a man rendered docile by circumstance and a lifetime of compromise. His world is one of muted colours and unspoken regrets, a stark contrast to the vibrant, albeit transactional, world he is tempted to enter.

Directed by Anshul Chauhan, a Tokyo-based Indian filmmaker whose previous work includes December (2022), the film is Chauhan‘s fourth feature and represents a striking evolution in his already assured body of work . His narrative approach here is a delicate fusion of the dramatic and the documentary, drawing from real-life stories he collected over three years researching Japan’s LGBTQ+ community . This grounding in authenticity lends the film a texture that elevates it beyond conventional queer cinema.

The narrative‘s central conflict arises when financial strain and a yearning for something more push Taiga to audition for the porn industry. It is not a descent into sensationalism, but a quiet, almost desperate, sidestep. Chauhan handles this transition with a delicate touch, focusing not on the mechanics of the work, but on its emotional toll. The camera lingers on Kawaguchi’s face, capturing a complex blend of shame, curiosity, and a strange, detached professionalism.

Parallel to this is Taiga‘s strained relationship with his estranged family. When his father falls ill, he returns to his hometown, only to find the family relationship fracturing over inheritance. His sister Minami (Maho Nonami) threatens to reveal his sexuality if he does not relinquish his claim to the family home—a cruel weaponisation of his identity that cuts deeper than any physical blow . These interactions are the film’s emotional core, conversations filled with long pauses and sentences left unfinished, where love is expressed through obligation and resentment simmers just beneath the surface.

Kawaguchi, reuniting with Chauhan after their collaboration on Bad Poetry Tokyo (2018), embodies Taiga with a profound stillness, conveying a universe of feeling through a downward glance or a weary sigh . His physicality is key; the slight stoop of his shoulders speaks of burdens carried for decades. In the film’s more intimate moments, he navigates the character‘s internal conflict with astonishing grace, never resorting to melodrama. His presence on screen is magnetic in its quietude, and his willingness to lay bare Taiga’s soul is a gift to the audience.

Tiger is not an easy watch, nor is it a neatly resolved one. It offers no easy answers, only a profound and lingering portrait of a man learning to live with the roar of his own suppressed desires. It is a fittingly contemplative closing film for a festival that champions diverse voices, reminding us that some of the most powerful stories are those whispered, not shouted.

Elven Ho

Forgotten Island: A Joyous, Unapologetically Filipino Animated Adventure

Forgotten Island is a vibrant, culturally rich animated feature that marks a significant milestone for Filipino representation in mainstream Hollywood. Co-directed by Joel Crawford and Filipino-American Januel Mercado, the film follows best friends Jo (H.E.R.) and Raissa (Liza Soberano) as they navigate a surreal world of fading memories on the mystical island of Nakali. Set in 1990s Philippines, the story explores themes of friendship and migration with genuine emotional depth.

What distinguishes the film is its unapologetic celebration of Filipino culture. The filmmakers drew heavily on the country’s rich folklore, populating Nakali with mythical creatures such as the manananggal, tiyanak, and kapre. These are not mere decorative elements but integral to the narrative. The animation style ingeniously blends traditional hand-drawn techniques with CG, even incorporating 2D anime sequences for flashback scenes, a visual language that reflects the directors’ formative influences. The vibrant colour palette and meticulous attention to detail—from the glossy lechon at a despedida party to the everyday presence of jeepneys—create a world that feels authentically lived-in rather than superficially exotic.

A significant highlight is the participation of Lea Salonga. She voices The Dreaded Manananggal, the film’s fearsome antagonist, bringing a formidable presence to the role. Her involvement extends to the film’s soundtrack, where she lends her vocals to several tracks composed by Nathan Matthew David, including “Ninakaw Sa Akin,” “Magnanakaw,” “Balik,” and “Bahagi Mo”. Salonga’s place in musical history is already assured: at eighteen, she originated the role of Kim in the West End production of Miss Saigon, becoming the first Filipina to win a Tony Award for her performance. She would later become the singing voice of two Disney princesses, Jasmine and Mulan, and in 2011 was named a Disney Legend.

A personal note: I have seen Salonga with her daughter and husband at Hong Kong Disneyland on more than one occasion when I was working in the theme park, a testament to her enduring relationship with the Disney legacy. Her involvement in Forgotten Island, alongside a predominantly Filipino principal cast including Dolly de Leon and Jo Koy, underscores the film’s commitment to authentic representation both in front of and behind the microphone.

The film’s emotional core rests on the chemistry between H.E.R. and Liza Soberano, whose performances convincingly depict a friendship strained by impending separation. While the overall narrative arc may follow a predictable path, the journey itself is frequently surprising, filled with imaginative set-pieces and visual invention.

Forgotten Island ultimately succeeds not just as a piece of entertainment, but as a cultural artefact. It demonstrates that a story rooted in specifically Filipino traditions—its myths, its food, its warmth—can resonate with universal themes of memory, identity, and the pain of letting go. It is an impressive achievement for DreamWorks Animation and a joyous, unapologetically Filipino adventure that deserves international audiences.

Elven Ho

《狂野雄心》短評

人與狗的關係

一直以來，「狗是人類最好的朋友」，但近日香港多次發生狗咬人，甚至殺人的事件，容易使不少人對這句話有或多或少的懷疑。不過，筆者看著《狂野雄心》內軍官詹士貝蒙（畢彼特飾）與其退役戰鬥犬奧丁因意外而誤墮荒蕪之地，彼此互相依附，他幫助牠，牠亦幫助他，他倆有深厚的感情，曾經共歷艱苦患難，對對方不離不棄，雖然沒有共通的語言，但一個眼神，一/數個英文字，其實已表達了一切。常說「狗是人類最忠心的朋友」，不論他受傷還是身處險境，牠都緊隨他身後，只要他仍然生存，牠沒有一刻會離開他。這種人與動物的關係十分罕見，相信沒有另一種動物可代替狗，因為牠「感情豐富」，一天跟著主人，一生都會跟著他。《狂》講述了永不離棄的小狗，那為甚麼狗會與人類反目成仇，會咬人，甚至殺人？

事實上，狗通常都懂得感恩圖報。《狂》內詹士冒著生命危險拯救奧丁，牠亦會在他遇上危難時奮不顧身地拯救他，彼此相顧，願意為對牠好的人付出代價。但當人類離棄了狗，迫使牠們成為流浪犬時，牠們對人的信任便會受到破壞，牠們心底裡對人類的良好印象更會被徹底摧毀，最初牠們覺得人是最值得信任的主人，但後來卻有一百八十度的變化，從主人變為仇人，這肯定不是一朝一夕的事。筆者看著《狂》內人與狗長時間共歷苦難，彼此建立了深厚的感情，這段關係真摯感人，相信不少養狗人士都會有同感。在我們歌頌狗優良的天性的同一時間內，我們又得悉部分惡犬會傷害人類，這種矛盾是人類作孽離棄了狗所造成？還是人深深傷害了狗的弱小心靈而迫使牠們對人進行大報復？

談起狗與人的關係，其實相當複雜。因為狗與人相似，各有個性，有些較溫馴，有些較兇惡，有些脾氣較好，有些較暴躁。《狂》內奧丁身為戰鬥犬，本來性格乖戾，脾氣欠佳，容易用暴力解決問題，但詹士馴服了牠，使牠處變不驚，即使經歷戰禍危難，仍然冷靜地衝破難關，雖然受戰爭創傷後遺症影響，牠的情緒偶爾不太穩定，但仍然能用理智克服障礙，能幫人，能救人。因此，如果因為近期幾宗狗咬人殺人事件而抹黑了牠們的形象，並把牠們塑造成「惡魔」，這對牠們實在不公平，亦漠視了牠們曾做過千千萬萬幫人救人的好事。

曉龍

《狂野雄心》Heart of the Beast

無雜質之愛

說是低成本製作？整夠戲只有一個人和一隻狗？其實不止，還有很認真的戰爭場面。影片以官能刺激先行，人狗情穿插其中；也有反戰意識。

退役軍官James(畢彼特飾)帶著退役軍犬Odin駕小型飛機到野外旅行，不幸意外墜毁，兩者倖存，於是展開一場野外求生記。電影最大特色是呈現美不勝收的大自然景象，壯麗的山巒河川，茂密林蔭，隔著銀幕都能吸到一口清新空氣！

因為墜機時兩者已受傷，故尋回家之路可謂艱險重重；但都不外乎大自然的挑戰，包括動物。當然看如何拆解也是吸引之處。由於經歷戰爭，James和Odin皆有PTSD「創傷後壓力症候群」，遠飛到世外避靜，無非都是想遠離昔日痛楚，尋求心靈平靜。

人與狗在劣境中必須互相扶持和信任，「家人」之愛此刻也容易觸動人心。官能上的披荆斬棘，確能做到一步一驚心，不斷叠加的挑戰明知是戲劇誇張化，但也能令觀眾瞬間投入，感染力強。由於故事簡單，所以不適宜太長，現在片長剛剛好，保持明快節奏。

筆者看到最後點題的一封信，確實眼淚奪眶而出。道出人對狗之虧欠，要牠們上戰場面對戰爭，縱使受傷犧牲仍是忠心耿耿，對人之愛全無雜質，無私真愛，人類絕對做不到！

今天香港在一片如何對付流浪狗的建議中，大家可曾反省過，為何會有那麼多流浪狗？狗從天掉下來？而我們又曾經如何對待牠們？發展、搬遷、棄養，對任何有靈性的動物都會造成傷害，性情轉變，尤其狗；你愛牠一倍，牠會愛你百倍，但你害牠一倍，我不知道牠是否會要你償還百倍？

對天地蒼生加害(全球暖化災難)，人類到底何時才會反省？

陸凌綠

《誤闖遺忘島》短評

回憶總是美麗的

中小學時期的友情總是值得懷念的，因為那時候的感情純樸、真摯、坦誠，沒有沾染任何雜質，不會與任何私利掛勾，只以真情實感維持彼此的關係。《誤闖遺忘島》內阿祖、維莎從小學開始已是好朋友，後來成為知己，但中學畢業後各奔前程，在成長過程中形影不離，一起玩耍，一起闖禍，一起發笑，一起「癲狂」。友情一天一天地建立，在異常反叛的青春期內，她們找到經常陪伴在側的知己，是罕見的幸運，所謂「人生得一知己足矣」，一個人在一生中不需要有很多朋友，但如果有一個深入了解自己的真朋友，自己的人生其實就不會有遺憾。筆者相信不少觀眾看著她們，便會想起自己的兒時好友，亦會懷念自己與知己相處的珍貴回憶。

不論青春時期的那段日子多艱辛，多迷惘，這段回憶總是刻印在每個人的心坎裡，影片內阿祖與維莎皆珍惜這段回憶，不想它被一點一滴地遺忘，更不想它被完全消失。要麼繼續留在遺忘島而保留這段回憶，要麼徹底遺忘這段回憶而重返原本的居所，艱難的抉擇，困擾著維莎，幸好最後她無需二擇其一，既可回家，又能保留這段回憶。此兩全其美的結局，似乎是影片創作人一廂情願的寄望，亦是褪去悲劇色彩的樂觀式盼望。畢竟《誤》是一齣主流的動畫電影，倘若安排她的命運像《蜘蛛俠：英雄重生》內蜘蛛俠一樣，朋友不認得她，自己孤單過活，這實在過度悲情，亦違反了動畫電影要為觀眾帶來快樂和愉悅的感覺的基本原則。故《誤》的「夢想式」結局雖然顯得過於完美，但它卻為觀眾帶來希望，讓阿祖與維莎的友情能持續地「開花結果」，這是她們得以繼續愉快地過活的先決條件，這種真摯的友誼亦是我們繼續勤奮地生活的主要動力來源。

因此，《誤》裡的友情難能可貴，此片以此為故事情節的核心，讓觀眾容易產生共鳴，亦容易代入維莎差點失去她與阿祖珍貴回憶片段的艱難處境中。片末她倆即使在長大後各散東西，各自追尋自己的夢想，可能見面的機會不多，相聚的時間亦不長，但間中相約見面，談起昔日的種種片段，難忘的回憶仍然湧上心頭，情深的畫面仍然刻印在心底裡。或許時光迅速流逝，青春一去不返，回憶總是美麗的，這是每個人都願意銘記於心的一點一滴，亦是每個人都樂意回味的一分一秒。

曉龍

《歡迎來龍餐館》

導演文牧野近年的三部作品《我不是藥神》，《奇蹟·笨小孩》和《歡迎來龍餐館》都說了同一件事：小人物的人生如何因應環境變得有意義。 而這部《歡迎來龍餐館》巧妙地將美食與戰爭融合在一起來體現人性， 憑藉獨特的“煙火敘事” - 戰火摧毀生命， 灶火托住生命， 將反戰的國際主題平民化。

故事原型取材於2003年美國打擊伊拉克的戰爭期間中餐館“宴龍灣”經營者陳憲忠（曾協助營救7名中國工人）的經歷， 以“好好吃飯”這一樸素主題貫穿全片， 提醒人們生存權就是最基本的人權這一中國人最樸實的世界觀。

不同於荷里活戰爭片常用的主觀視角， 也有別於一般的反戰片， 影片跳出了宏大敘事，只以平民和“旁觀者”的視角， 用巧妙的構思，豐富的細節在多處埋下伏筆， 前後呼應， 大大增強了觀眾的投入感。

影片採用IMAX制式拍攝，鏡頭語言豐富， 包括長鏡頭（串聯前廳/街道/後廚）; 聲畫對照（聖誕歡樂 vs 槍炮轟鳴）; 色彩反差（食物鮮豔vs 戰爭灰暗），鏡頭在伙食與戰争之間來回切換，形成強烈的視覺與情感反差。

在人物塑造方面， 除了主角沈騰 （飾徐福）”去標籤化“的表演被公認為本片一大亮點之外， 其他所有配角人物都既立體又出彩， 如蔣奇明飾演的大堂經理馬俊生， 李治廷飾演的華裔美軍托尼， 埃及演員謝里夫·薩比飾演的餐館老闆老扎， 奧馬爾·謝里夫飾演的少年賽夫， 以及一眾小演員們由角色塑造到呈現都非常成功和有說服力， 全面體現了文牧野導演 ”小人物蛻變” 的敘事效果， 值得高度評價。

影片在立場和定位上也頗具深意，用置於中東故事背景的中式小餐館影射大世界，由主角徐福當初堅持中菜原味出海到最後就地取材做出新版“徐福燴飯”，由強調靠精明努力賺外匯，到守住“活著, 團聚和有尊嚴地好好吃飯比什麼都重要”的文化底線， 在弘揚中國特色的普世價值同時，又希望通過主角徐福的台詞“沒有你們來，怎麼會有恐怖分子”， 以及通過捨身營救被利用做人肉炸彈的兒童來批判“恐怖襲擊”，試圖彰顯華人在國際爭端中所秉持的“公正立場”。

然而，恰恰是片中對戰爭根源點到即止及其“加害者和被害者都是受害者”的中庸立場，還有缺乏對“抗擊侵略”與“恐怖主義”的明確區分，將可能令影片在立場和敘事等方面在國際市場上兩面不討好。

淮里

Look Back: Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Scenic Postcard of Grief and Creation

Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Look Back (2026) is a live-action adaptation of Tatsuki Fujimoto’s 2021 one-shot manga, following the acclaimed 2024 animated film by Kiyotaka Oshiyama. Where Oshiyama, a former Studio Ghibli animator, delivered a 53-minute animated gem, Kore-eda—the Palme d’Or-winning director of Shoplifters—expands the story to 100 minutes, retelling the bittersweet tale of two schoolgirls bonded by their shared love of comics .

The film follows Fujino (Natsuki Deguchi), a confident primary schooler praised for her four-panel comics, and Kyomoto (Aju Makita), a reclusive truant whose extraordinary illustrations ignite a competitive fire in Fujino . What begins as rivalry blossoms into partnership, then fractures when Kyomoto leaves for art school. A tragedy forces Fujino to confront why she draws at all.

Kore-eda’s adaptation is faithful to Oshiyama’s anime, which was itself remarkably faithful to Fujimoto’s manga. Yet the live-action version draws rich and dazzling new textures from its source. Shot on film in Fujimoto’s native Akita Prefecture, the movie captures the seasons’ passage with a documentary-like intimacy . The expanded runtime allows Kore-eda to linger on gestures, silences, and the physical act of drawing—Deguchi and Makita trained for four months to authentically portray manga creation .

The two leads previously collaborated with Kore-eda on the Netflix series The Makanai: Cooking for the Maiko House . Their chemistry is extraordinary. Deguchi’s Fujino is brash yet fragile, her bravado cracking into something raw; Makita’s Kyomoto is all whispered vulnerability and quiet obsession.

Compared to Kore-eda’s Shoplifters or Our Little Sister, Look Back shares the director’s signature concern with family—here, the chosen family of artistic collaborators. But where those films examined blood ties, this explores creative kinship and its ruptures. The film earned a 12-minute standing ovation at its Venice Film Festival premiere, with both actresses visibly moved.

The scene composition is breathtaking, each frame composed like a scenic postcard. Wide shots place the girls small within vast landscapes, emphasising their insignificance against time and loss. The film’s Hong Kong premiere was graced by Deguchi and Makita, who travelled to the city for special Q&A sessions, underscoring the story’s remarkable international reach .

Look Back is not merely an adaptation; it is a meditation on why we make art. Kore-eda, who confessed to weeping throughout production, captures the ache of creation and the grace of looking back.

Elven Ho

《LOOK BACK 驀然回首》Look Back

出色的平行時空

藤本樹漫畫改編真人版。筆者純粹因見到與繪畫有關及慕是枝裕和之名進場。

都是是枝裕和一貫作風，淡淡然，沒有特別大之戲劇衝突，若沒有平行時空出現，就只剩下懷舊。縱使如此，也帶出要成為一個成功漫畫家，「勤」是必然的。當看見藤野步不想落後於人，就拼命進修惡補練習就知道。但「勤」也未必一定贏，愛繪畫的人誰不勤力？不過「不勤」就一定輸。

由於筆者沒有看過原著，所以特意找來動畫一看，看後才了解其實是講述兩位性格迥異的美術人的互相羈絆和識英雄重英雄的故事。藤野是帶點傲慢自負的繪畫天才，而京本是畫功在藤野之上而沉迷繪畫的社恐少女。所以兩人是存在競爭的，但由於京本視藤野為偶像；而藤野有點看不起她，覺得京本只擅長繪畫背景，只可以當其助手。兩人的矛盾與惺惺相惜以致最後藤野的悔疚，動畫描述得較深刻。反觀是枝裕和更著重她們的奮鬥過程和友誼。由於原著動畫不到一小時，要擴展成為長片，故對時光流逝；四季之變化，導演都加大篇幅去經營，鄉村景緻拍得美極悠然、優雅淡靜。美指、燈光、配樂的天作之合，令畫面有種青澀純樸之感；總算讓主角在日以繼夜，夜以繼日的漫畫勞碌中，有一扇透氣的窗口。

筆者都是一個美術人，絕對能體會繪畫與創作的過程。影片不省篇幅去描述繪畫漫畫的經過、工具和步驟；包括用粗幼可控的鋼筆與墨水、上世紀的雲尺、網點貼紙、用刀片刮出線條等技巧，還有用火烘一下鋼筆咀以求墨流更暢順的方法，這些我等早輩的繪畫工具和技巧，看到又勾起無限回憶。從實體紙筆到電腦繪畫，再到今天AI年代，筆者一一經歷；當然還有「集英社」和「Jump」的連載，固然是我們老漫畫迷的集體回憶，真箇感觸良多！

陸凌綠

《驀然回首》短評

嫉妒轉化為動力

兩個志趣相投的人相遇，是一種偶然，亦是一種幸運。2026年上映的真人版《驀然回首》捉緊了藤野（出口夏希飾）與京本（蒔田彩珠飾）的一段真摯的友誼，前者外向而活潑開朗，後者內向而傾向於封閉自己，一凸一凹，像七巧板一樣，互相配合，後者是前者的漫畫迷，命運彷彿決定了她倆的遭遇，從小學孩童至中學青少年的青春惘動時期，藤野有清晰的事業發展路向，渴望在中學畢業後成為全職的漫畫家，而京本受她啟發，中學畢業後到大學唸美術系，突破自己，並追尋個人的夢想。影片的故事聚焦於尋覓心中所愛，詮釋了青春的意義，就是追尋不計較代價的自我實現，其背後的一種魯莽和衝動，就是青春不一樣的「本錢」。

中學時代兩位女主角彼此合作，藤野畫人物角色及故事內容，京本畫場景，兩人專長的配合，造就了受歡迎的漫畫作品，其後她們各散東西，藤野在自己的專長上加以琢磨，京本開闊了自己的創作空間，她倆都有自己的追求，本來藤野妒忌京本，覺得自己的繪畫技巧及不上她，但這種嫉妒後來轉化成動力，讓她倆互相幫助，以締造風格獨特的佳作。很多時候，我們不願意與一些比自己更優秀的朋友合作，覺得他們會光芒畢露，自己反被隱藏「壓制」，但其實我們與朋友的良性競爭很多時候會成為我們改善自己的最大動力。或許他們會不自覺地使我們不高興，但他們的存在卻成為鞭策我們不斷改進的「強力摩打」。故我們不需要有很多朋友，只需要有一知己，便可推動自己，使我們的事業穩步向前，邁向成功。

因此，影片的中後段內藤野得悉京本在讀大學期間被無差別襲擊而導致死亡，藤野黯然落淚，實屬正常。因為她痛失一知己，其後影片「進入」了她的內心，重返以前，讓不幸的命運被推倒重來。如果她倆在小學畢業時沒有遇上對方，如果她們沒有合作畫漫畫，藤野在上述襲擊案發生的當天用空手道擊退兇手，京本根本不會丟掉性命，遑論會使她的繪畫夢想無疾而終。由此可見，京本的突然死亡帶來的懊悔與遺憾蠶食藤野的心靈，使她立即停止繪畫連載漫畫，令她對京本的不捨完全佔據著她的內心深處，沒有釋放的空間，更沒有轉圜的餘地。或許這就是京本在藤野心中的份量，獨一無二，不容取締。

曉龍

《魅魍：血魔》短評

放過仇人，放過自己

《魅魍：血魔》雖然是恐怖片，但旨在探討人性。影片內年輕巫師康（劉明俊飾）的親生母親被誤認為是魅魍而被殺，她變為冤魂後怒氣未消，且有殘暴的復仇行為，她放不下在世時的冤屈，覺得自己被康的養母害死，忿忿不平，誓要殺盡所有曾經得罪她的人。不要以為影片只講述冤魂報仇的故事，其實片中的佛教意識十分明顯，對今生和來世的討論，其主要目的在於勸戒人們必須立志行善，戒除暴力，才可積德，期待來世會有幸福美滿的生命。或許魅魍害人，康的親母與其身旁的魅魍一模一樣，站在人前，普通人難以分辨誰是人誰是魔，這實屬正常。

康的養母「亂點」魅魍而點錯了，使他的親母身為人類而被殺，反而魅魍卻被誤認為人類。「亂點」的後果嚴重，不可能被挽回，遑論可「時光倒流」。故康的養母犯了彌天大禍，最後要付出沉重的代價，承受難以忍受的痛苦，其因所造成的果，實源於不小心的錯誤判斷，以及武斷的「賭博」心態。但親母不願意放過仇人，等於不願意放過自己，復仇變為害己，使自己的靈魂消亡，這是常見的悲劇結局。因為《魅》是一則警世箴言，講述饒恕的重要性，如果只執著於仇恨，只會加深一個人的憤恨，隨著年日的過去而有越來越深的積怨，這只會造成「萬劫不復」的後果。像康的親母一樣，倘若在犯下彌天大禍後於最後一刻才稍稍覺醒，其實已經太遲。

所謂「手掌是肉，手背亦是肉」，康徘徊在親母與養母愛與恨的夾縫內，他與親母的感情繫於童年時代相處的一點一滴，他與養母的關係亦繫於成長時期彼此溝通交往的珍貴時光，很難說親母還是養母與自己的關係較佳。因此，他勸諭親母放過仇人的一段說話應與又愛又恨的心理掙扎脫不了關係，這種心底深處的矛盾，本來可讓導演杜郭沖有偌大的發揮空間，可惜他「捉到鹿卻不懂脫角」，只輕描淡寫康的心理掙扎，未曾在其精神層面上「大造文章」。這使《魅》流於平庸，未曾從心理的角度突破恐怖電影的既有框框，亦未把上述的矛盾加以戲劇化，遑論能在同類電影中創新猷。或許多一點人性的描繪，多一些人格的折射，影片故事情節的感染力會更強，其觸動人心的小點亦會更多。

曉龍

Fall 2: Deadpoint – A Pale Shadow of a Far Superior Original

Scott Mann’s 2022 Fall was a masterclass in minimalist terror. Its premise was gloriously simple: two best friends, Becky and Shiloh, climb a 2,000-foot decommissioned TV tower, only to find themselves stranded at the top with no way down. No monsters, no villains—just vertigo, dwindling supplies, and the crushing realisation that help isn’t coming. It worked because it respected its own logic. Every squealing bolt, every gust of wind, every desperate decision felt earned.

Fall 2: Deadpoint (directed this time by the Spierig Brothers) picks up in the aftermath. Shiloh is dead, and her grieving sister Jax (Harriet Slater) is persuaded by Shiloh’s friend Luce (Arsema Thomas) to honour her memory by tackling a treacherous plank walk on Thailand’s Mount Kwan. Cue an earthquake, a rockslide, and our heroines stranded 3,000–4,000 feet in the air on a few rotting planks of wood.

It sounds promising. It isn’t.

The sequel suffers from an acute inferiority complex. Where the original was lean and clever, this is bloated and stupid. The filmmakers have confused “bigger” with “better”—higher stakes, more elaborate set-pieces, an earthquake for good measure—but they’ve forgotten that terror requires credibility. The characters make decisions so reckless they border on the suicidal: hiring a guide from a seedy bar, pressing on despite apocalyptic weather warnings, ignoring every red flag the movie throws at them. By the time they’re clinging to splintered wood, you’re less terrified than exasperated.

Yet even that understates their sheer, jaw‑dropping stupidity. The prime example comes when the guide cum drug dealer saves their lives—only for the pair to pick a heated argument with him, then proceed to hurl his entire stash of narcotics off the cliff. That they expect a good ending after such reckless provocation is not just foolish; it’s borderline suicidal. These two behave like entitled gap‑year brats, not survivalists. I am willing to suspend disbelief, but not that far.

The screenplay also duplicates the original’s narrative beats and unexpected disclosures so slavishly that it feels like a photocopy of a photocopy. Nothing surprises. And crucially, the edge‑of‑your‑seat suspense is hollow because we know nothing will happen to the two lead actors, not until the end anyway — the sequel’s less grounded tone undercuts any genuine tension. Logic is out the window.

To be fair, the Spierig Brothers deliver some dizzying POV shots and nail‑biting thrills. If you check your brain at the door, there’s a passable 90‑minute ride to be had. But as a follow‑up to the far superior original, Fall 2 is a pale shadow—schlocky, derivative, and ultimately forgettable.

And what of Fall 3? It is already on the drawing board, with Capstone Studios green‑lighting a third instalment and Scott Mann returning to direct. Given the catastrophic missteps of this sequel, one can only hope the third time proves the charm.

Elven Ho

Kung Fu Soccer: A Triumph of Spirit, Homage, and Heart

Twenty-five years after Shaolin Soccer kicked its way into cinematic legend, Stephen Chow returns to the pitch with Kung Fu Soccer—a film that has divided critics but, in this reviewer’s estimation, stands as one of the most joyous and emotionally resonant comedies of the year. Yes, the narrative framework echoes its predecessor: a ragtag team of misfits, kung-fu-infused athleticism, and an uphill battle against formidable odds. But to dismiss Chow’s latest as mere replication is to miss the film’s profound evolution.

Where Shaolin Soccer was a brash, testosterone-fuelled anthem of underdog triumph, Kung Fu Soccer offers something far more nuanced: a meditation on inner peace, collective strength, and the quiet victory of mastering one’s own spirit. The film follows the Emei women’s football team—a squad of “nearly 40-year-old” players written off by society—as they navigate not only external competition but internal discord. Captain Shuang (Zhang Xiaofei) must learn that true strength lies not in dominating others but in conquering her own ego. This thematic sophistication elevates Kung Fu Soccer beyond its predecessor’s simpler heroics.

Visually and aurally, Chow draws liberally from his masterpiece Kung Fu Hustle, and the results are exhilarating. The film is peppered with motifs that will delight the discerning eye: the iconic 如來神掌 (Buddha’s Palm) makes a thunderous appearance; the 金鐘罩 (Golden Bell Shield) defensive stance returns; and 《演員的自我修養》 (The Actor’s Self-Cultivation)—that talismanic book from King of Comedy—reappears as a knowing wink to longtime fans. The repetitions are “rhymes” in a poetic oeuvre, each film in conversation with the last. The visual palette—the exaggerated physics, the comic-book flourishes, the seamless blend of the mundane and the miraculous—bears the unmistakable stamp of Kung Fu’s aesthetic genius.

The musical score is a triumph in its own right. Chow resurrects the martial arts anthems that defined Kung Fu: the blaring suona of 《闖將令》 (The General’s Command) ignites the opening sequences, while 《小刀會組曲》 (The Small Knife Society Suite) drives the film’s climactic moments with its percussive intensity. These are not mere nostalgia-bait; they are narrative instruments, “invisible narrative dialogue” that root the action in the grand tradition of Hong Kong martial arts cinema. The music transforms the football pitch into a battlefield of honour and redemption.

For the connoisseur, Kung Fu Soccer offers deeper pleasures still. Chow, cinema’s most devoted Bruce Lee fan, has packed the film with tributes to his idol. The philosophy of “Be water, my friend” permeates every frame; characters invoke Lee’s iconic “腰馬合一” (waist and horse united) principle; and the action choreography faithfully reproduces Lee’s signature side-kicks and explosive power strikes. Just as Kung Fu Hustle stood as Chow’s most overt valentine to Lee, Kung Fu Soccer continues that devotion with reverence and wit.

Yet beneath the relentless slapstick and banana-peel gags, Chow’s true intention emerges with quiet clarity. He is not merely making us laugh; he is channelling the very soul of Hong Kong’s golden-era cinema—its resilience, its hybrid vitality, its unshakeable faith in the human spirit. The football pitch becomes a microcosm of society’s margins, where the overlooked and the discarded prove that dignity is not given but earned through solidarity. Every exaggerated fall and cartoonish recovery is a coded salute to the wu xia tradition’s core tenet: that martial prowess is ultimately a vehicle for moral cultivation. Chow pays homage to the shaolin monastic ideals of discipline and compassion, to the jianghu code of loyalty among outcasts, and to the working-class ethos of his own upbringing—where humour was survival and community was salvation. He also tenderly nods to the late greats of Hong Kong comedy, from Michael Hui to the golden trio of A Chinese Odyssey, weaving their spirit into every double-take and deadpan exchange. This is a film that rewards those who look beyond the physical comedy, revealing a love letter to a bygone era and a rallying cry for its enduring values.

The cast is exceptional. Zhang Xiaofei brings a weathered gravitas to Shuang, conveying the character’s journey from brittle perfectionism to serene leadership with remarkable subtlety. Dilraba Dilmurat, as attacking partner Jade, matches her with fiery charisma, their on-screen friction crackling with authenticity. But it is Lay Zhang Yixing, as the duplicitous mentor Xu Feng, who steals the show—his performance a masterclass in comedic timing and ambiguous charm. The supporting players, particularly Sisley Choi as a blind physiotherapist delivering some of the film’s finest physical comedy, round out an ensemble of uncommon depth. And Karina Lau, whose scenes are punctuated with earthy Cantonese dialogue, injects a distinctive, gritty flavour into the predominantly Putonghua soundscape—her exchanges with the team adding a layer of regional authenticity and nostalgic warmth that enriches every frame she inhabits.

Is Kung Fu Soccer flawless? No film is. But in an era of cynically manufactured blockbusters, Chow has delivered something rarer: a work of genuine passion, layered with meaning for those willing to look, and sheer, unadulterated joy for those who simply want to laugh. It is, without question, one of the finest films of the year—a testament that even after twenty-five years, Stephen Chow still has magic to spare.

Elven Ho