This stunning-looking but chronologically restless Hong Kong-set crime epic unfurls across 50-odd years from the mid-20th century; it revolves around two frenemy protagonists, corrupt police officers played here by Aaron Kwok and Tony Leung Chiu-wai, who were inspired by real-life Hong Kong cops/triad front men back in the day. Altogether, it’s a heady mix of potted history, period detail, violence, gangster lore, lust and lawlessness on which writer-director Philip Yung (Port of Call) really goes to town, splashing budget money like petrol all over the place and then throwing a lighted match on top just to see the pretty flames. The ambition and swagger is undeniably admirable, but the end result is a bit of a charred mess – or perhaps more flatteringly a burnt offering to some of the many film-makers Yung (a former film critic) clearly has the hots for, such as Martin Scorsese in gangster-movie mode, early 2000s Wong Kar-Wai and Infernal Affairs’ Andrew Lau among many others.
It’s not always easy to follow the plot; Yung and his team keep weaving back and forth between a yellow-gel-viewed 1970s, black-and-white times when the Japanese occupied Hong Kong during the second world war, and the 60s when colours were at their lushest, the women all wore cheongsams and the men all had razor-sharp tailored suits. But, roughly, here’s the idea: Lui Lok (Kwok) and Nam Kong (Leung Chiu-wai) both hail from very different backgrounds, and are traumatised by the war in different ways. The two men, along with assorted henchmen with funny nicknames like Limpy and Chubby, set a treaty with the triads to keep the peace and get a cut of the money from gambling dens, the drug trade and prostitution.
At one point, both of them are dazzled by Shanghai gangster’s daughter Tsai Chen (swan-necked model-turned-actor Du Juan), and it’s Lui who wins her hand in matrimony, partly it seems due to a dazzling display of tap and ballroom dancing skills. (Kwok, a former pop singer, is famous for his smooth moves.) But on the other hand, a fair few lingering looks of desire pass between Tsai Chen and Nam that self-consciously recall Leung Chiu-wai at his smouldering best from In the Mood for Love, especially as he barely seems to have aged.
Meanwhile, there’s a lot of grandstanding talk about the need to tackle corruption, people rioting frequently in the background (some of whom turn out to be actual cops who are rioting in protest over their kickback money getting cut off), and scenes where grave-faced men discuss ethics, colonialism and policy in smoke-filled rooms. Actually, nearly every room here is smoke-filled, all the better for refracting the light. It’s all a bit over the top, round the other side and in over again, but worth seeing if only to stick one to the Chinese censors who tried to bury the film as it was ready for its premiere back in 2021.
• Where the Wind Blows is released on 29 September in UK and Irish cinemas
