As a non-Hong Konger, I hesitate to write on this topic. But if I may indulge myself in a bit of speculative cinematic psychoanalysis, I propose that the recently released Hong Kong crime thriller Overheard 2 (written and directed by Alan Mak and Felix Chong) offers us not just an exciting story, but more than that, a neat allegory of the schizophrenic sense of identity and belonging of Hong Kong, projected against the background of the tumultuous global financial events in recent years, – a schizophrenia that this 'pearl of the Orient' still seems to be struggling with after she was officially returned to the PRC nearly a decade and half ago.
The plot of the film is not too complicated. It essentially tells the story of the 20-something son (Sima Nianzu/司马念祖) taking revenge for his father, a titan (Sima Xiang/司马祥) in Hong Kong’s finance scene who was the head of a secretive financial syndicate (known as dizhuhui/地主会 or 'Landlord Club') back in the 1970s. The syndicate, though aimed mainly at profiteering from the stock market through illegal/quasi-legal means, had done something significant and good: it vigorously defended the interests of the indigenous capital and firms during the 1973 stock market crash during which evil foreign financiers attempted to play havoc on HK to make profits. (The 1973 crash was based on historical facts, but the narrative of this event in the film is more reminiscent of and most probably modeled on the storyline of the more recent 1997 Asian financial crisis, during which global financier George Soros was said to have had a hand in speculating in the HK markets, though eventually the HK Monetary Authority effectively warded it off.)
Apart from this heroic and patriotic act - it is interesting how this foreigners-vs-us narrative is repeatedly accentuated in the film - the syndicate, of course, carries on making 'dirty money'. When things broke loose, Sima Xiang, the eldest and the leader of the syndicate, was betrayed by his syndicate fellows and had to serve a prison sentence. Furthermore, the second-in-line in the syndicate, and currently the head, Uncle Tong, ordered Sima's assassination in the prison, presumably to secure Tong’s own safety and that of the rest of the gang. Sima's wife, suffering from dementia, now lives in a care home and relies on their son, an accomplished martial art fighter, who now attempts to expose the syndicate by spying on their illegal dealings which have carried on well into the 2010s.
So, straight to my point, how is this finance crime thriller film a neat allegory of Hong Kong's schizophrenic sense of identity and belonging? Well, 'not very subtly' is perhaps the answer.
The unsubtle nationalistic theme underlying the stock market wars is the first thing that gives a clue about the subconscious subject of the film. The derogatory term 'Lao Wai' (meaning ‘foreigners’) was frequently used to refer to the global financiers whose sole aim seems to be to bring down the HK economy. The phrase 'before 97' was also very often heard in characters' memory narration, indicating the momentous significance of this date in Hong Kong's social chronology. There is little doubt that the film directors intended the viewers to pay attention to the socio-historical background against which the story is set.
The choices of the names of the characters were also interesting: Sima, as people with some knowledge of Chinese history will know, easily invokes Sima Qian, the revered author of Shi Ji（《史记》）, who is considered to be the greatest historian in China at all times. Also, in the ancient bureaucratic system in China, Sima used to be the title of the high-ranking official who is in charge of the whole country's military affairs. In a sense, it is difficult to find a Chinese surname more heavily loaded with historical and cultural Chineseness than Sima. Sima Xiang, who, at a time of crisis brought by the evil 'foreigners', led the syndicate to defend the local, the Hong Kongers, the Chinese...is thus clearly constructed as a patriotic quasi-national hero who is loyal to his people, his Chinese identity/belonging. His son, named Nianzu, which literally means 'to remember ancestors', is hence the inheritor of this loyal Chinese identity. He is seen in the film as a 'cool' character, alternately wearing a sexy leather jacket and a tight-fit white t-shirt in addition to a ‘cool’ hairstyle; but he remains extremely filial and kind to his mother, and very determined on getting the justice that his father is owed. We may speculate, then, that this archetypal good Chinese son (--the superficial coolness only further accentuate just how filial or 孝 he is) that Sima Nianzu is refers to that element or section within contemporary Hong Kong society who believe that although they have adopted western appearances and superficialities, they, however, have not forgotten their Chinese roots, their ancestors, and their ultimate belonging. It is interesting and very important that this element is in this film represented by a fierce rebellious-looking young man, which perhaps alludes to the recentness and constructedness of resurgent Chinese patriotism and identification in Hong Kong.
Uncle Tong, on the other hand, is perhaps the speaker for an older and conservative strand of Hong Kong identity/belonging which aligns itself more closely with the island’s colonial past - and not a short past at that: more than a century and a half under the British rule, which is about ten times of the length of time which the new HK Special Administrative Region (SAR) has been under Beijing. In the first scene of Uncle Tong in the film, he sits in an armchair in a beautiful house in Europe (presumably Switzerland), with the snowy mountain ranges (presumably Alps) sprawling outside the window. This is, thus, an old man, though keeping all kinds of Chinese objet'd art in his HK residence, who spends most of his time in Europe. He is already more comfortable with the West than the East…
As the film develops towards the climax, Nianzu was captured by Uncle Tong's able bodyguard cum henchman, and the two of them finally confronted each other face to face. Here, we also get a full elaboration of the underlying theme of the film, which is the clashing claims of sovereignty and belonging. Nianzu accuses Uncle Tong for being disloyal, for 'returning favour with malice(恩将仇报)', not only to his father personally, but also to the patriotic cause. Uncle Tong is thus accused as someone who has betrayed his elder brother (he calls Sima Xiang 'big brother', as is often the case in HK business world), his own people, and ultimately, his identity. Uncle Tong ridicules Sima's naivety (both Simas) and suggests their patriotism was stupid, and it was he, who by bumping off Sima, that has really saved Hong Kong. He fiercely claimed, if he hadn't done what he did, 'the whole Hong Kong would collapse!' Sima and Tong’s competition for the spokesmanship of Hong Kong could hardly be any more obvious.
Towards the end of the film, Nianzu dropped his trump card by revealing that he has got hold of spy recordings of the syndicate's conversations which could incriminate all the people in the syndicate, not least Uncle Tong. The livid Uncle Tong asked Nianzu (rhetorically):
'Doesn't that mean that the rest of my life will be controlled by you?'
The triumphant Nianzu beckoned. And after that came what is perhaps the most unexpected (at least for me) scene of the film: Uncle Tong turned around suddenly, a gun in his hands, and shot at the restrained Nianzu (he had been captured, handcuffed, and presented to Uncle Tong) multiple times, and killed our cool and handsome hero. Having done this, Uncle Tong said calmly and devilishly:
'My life. I have to control it.'
And this leaves us little doubt that this film, more than anything else, is really about a bloody clash between on the one hand those who feel that Hong Kong should have the autonomy in deciding its own fate, which has been shaped by a prosperous colonial past which many in Hong Kong by now are more than comfortable with, and on the other hand, those either who quest for a more ‘authentic’ Chinese belonging or impose such an identity upon her.
Not only is the above major storyline a metaphor for Hong Kong's struggling over its split identity, the ancillary threads/leads in the film have a same echoing to them. For example, Inspector Ho, a very honest policeman who sent his law-breaking wife to the jail, meets her when she is released. She, however, felt that she wasn't able to carry on the relationship with Inspector Ho. She questions him in tears:
'I thought we could begin from scratch as soon as I'm out... But we both know we can't. How can I forget the day when you came to arrest me, and dumped me in jail with your own hands? How can I forget that?...'
We can almost imagine a similarly teary Hong Kong, speaking to her motherland China (or perhaps the current Beijing) in very much the same way: how can you expect me to recognize you now, after separating me and giving me away to the British for a hundred and fifty years? How do you expect we can begin our relationship again?...
So, eventually, what's the film's final word on the subject of identity and belonging? Insofar as there really is any word on his, that word has to be ambiguity. In one of the final scenes, Inspector Ho finds to his great relief that his abducted wife was kept in nowhere other than the old flat that the couple had owned. His wife, much terrified, cries out to her husband in relief after he removes her blindfold:
'For all this time I didn't know where I was - who'd have thought I was actually back home...'
This, needless to say, is a voice of little ambiguity, and with a great deal of optimism too. But when we look into the ending of the main conflict in the film, things become far less clear. Eventually who won? Who lost? Nianzu is dead, his father long dead; Uncle Tong is put behind bars too, and the syndicate will undoubtedly be crashed. There is no winning party in a game such as this…The last scene of the film, an imagined one, in which, Sima Xiang, his wife, and Sima Nianzu, a united core family, sitting together on the sofa, beaming with heavenly happiness, is of course, the ideal situation that is now literally only possible in the heavens.
So I guess what the film directors have in their mind regarding Hong Kong's identity and belonging is ultimately something tantamount to a deep sigh of resignation and an nihilistic sense of powerlessness - what has been done cannot be undone; what is split cannot be reunited; and for that, perhaps Hong Kong will continue experiencing a schizophrenic sense of identity and belonging in its protracted hangover from handover.
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