It was very nice to stroll into an uncrowded cinema on a weekday afternoon. There were many older folks already seated, and talking very loudly in Hokkien. I wonder if it was the timing or the genre of the film. For a moment, I slid really deep into my seat and wondered what on earth the girlfriend had gotten us into. The mind conjured up these images of the old YangTze cinema in Chinatown with sleazy old folks, wads of toilet paper, umbrellas and eeeky smells.
As the film progressed, I was swept up in the life of the little boy. Luckily there were subtitles. Otherwise, I'd really be quite lost. There were so many social issues encapsulated in the story that it was sobering. Brilliantly timed and inserted amongst the frames, the simple lines uttered by the characters revealed the whole plot and what laid beneath. I really enjoyed it, and was quite put out to have it finish at the 2-hour mark. It wasn't too slow; almost riveting, in fact.
I let out a palpable wail at the ending. WTF. I don't like the endings of arthouse films! I'm shallow like that. I like my endings neatly wrapped up in a death, or something. You know, like how the B-grade movies do it?