Riding high off the wings of success following the lethal one-two punch of Chungking Express (1994) and Fallen Angels (1995), Wong Kar-wai packed his bags and set course for Argentina with only a two-page outline for what would eventually become his next film. This was quite an unexpected detour for a director whose work was synonymous with the neon-soaked alleys and high-rise skyscrapers of Hong Kong that had served as the iconic backdrop to all of his urban fairy tales.
The year was 1997, a critical juncture in time on the cusp of the impending handover of Hong Kong from the British to China after a century of colonial rule. This historic transferral of sovereignty not only brought forth a period of civil unrest but also a constant state of uncertainty for a nation in the midst of redefining its own cultural identity — caught at a crossroads between its Eastern roots and Western influences after flourishing into a sprawling international metropolis almost overnight. Seen through this lens, Happy Together is a fascinating prism through which to view and understand the underlying anxiety and suffocating dread that clouded above the heads of Wong’s fellow countrymen at the time as well as the global scope of Hong Kong diaspora.
“I wonder how Hong Kong looks upside down.”
The idea of home is very much in the minds of Lai Yiu-fai (Tony Leung) and Ho Po-wing (Leslie Cheung), the two bickering expatriates that anchor this love story. The film centers around their tumultuous, on-and-off relationship as they pull together and drift apart in an intoxicating game of power dynamics during their stay in Buenos Aires. Wong’s decision to set their story at the antipodes of their homeland was unheard of, yet hardly coincidental. In many ways, both Lai and Ho seek to find the opposite of what they had back home in their South American escapade; trying to begin anew, rekindle their relationship and keep their inner turmoil at bay at least for a while.
This proves easier said than done; as soon as they set foot on foreign soil, the couple have a falling out and essentially end up stranded with no immediate means of getting home. For the most part, Lai functions as our moral compass and narrator, prone to dopey voiceovers as is tradition with every Wong protagonist to date. He is shy and withdrawn, yet far more level-headed and compassionate than Ho, who we first come to view as selfish, promiscuous, and erratic. After the latter spends most of their money on a string of drinking sprees with various casual flings, Lai takes up a job as a doorman at a tango bar and rents a cramped flat right in the heart of the city. Things take a sudden turn, though, when a brutally beaten and desperate Ho unexpectedly shows up at Lai’s door. Thus commences a brief reconciliation period followed by a thorny dance of control and desire where Lai tends to Ho’s needs and provides him with food and shelter while he recovers from his wounds. Trapped in a net of jealousy, deception, and emotional co-dependency, we see them engage in a vicious cycle of make-ups and breakups where they take turns tearing each other apart. The notion that only Ho’s self-destructive behavior is at fault is quickly dispelled as we learn that Lai is just as manipulative and possessive, as he has secretly stolen Ho’s passport which, in the context of their current predicament, implies an indefinite exile.
On many fronts, Happy Together has all the hallmarks of a classic Wong Kar-wai production. The story itself does not offer anything remotely resembling a unified narrative, instead of resting entirely upon a distinct mood and atmosphere with a stream of vignettes that bleed into each other. On an aesthetic level, frequent collaborator Chris Doyle pulls every trick up his sleeve to capture every intimate detail possible, like a fly on the wall, while emphasizing the congestion and restlessness of living in a concrete jungle with hyper-stylized compositions. Appropriately to his change of setting, Wong decided to trade his usual barrage of Cantopop needle drops for an evocative reverie of South American tango cues that heighten the biggest emotional payoffs and instantly lodge in one’s memory banks.
“Turns out that lonely people are all the same.”
Loneliness — that chronic ailment that wraps its tendrils around so many of his lovelorn characters — is once again at the crux of the narrative, all but magnified by the sense of detachment of living in a hostile and foreign environment. Any Wong die-hard fan worth his salt will recognize the thematic echoes and motifs that ripple through the rest of his oeuvre. Strangers cross paths and brush past each other, perpetually searching for belonging while stuck in dull routines and dead-end jobs. The little spare time they have is spent aimlessly roaming the streets, blending with the crowds or daydreaming about something that long slipped away. Whether it’s food, love, or youth, everything seems to have an expiry date. The passage of time is, in essence, an inevitable disease that corrodes all things and that can only be countered by holding onto everlasting memories. Wong Kar-wai’s fixation with the transience of life had been hammered throughout his films with elliptical storytelling techniques and a consistent adulation of the past, deftly juxtaposing the minutiae of everyday life with the hurried existence of urban living. But by the first of July in 1997, it felt as if Hong Kong itself had run its course.
Where so many of his previous efforts found catharsis and joyful optimism amidst the storm, in Happy Together the director hints at bitter disillusionment with a shrug of resignation. This time around, it’s not the sorrow of wasted opportunities or past regrets that is eating our characters alive, but the unsalvageable wreck that is their present lives and the finality of whatever tomorrow will harbor. For lack of fulfilling human connections, the only solace Wong’s city dwellers ever find is in symbolic tokens — be it expired pineapple cans or inanimate items — they imbue with meaning as relics of fonder times. In Happy Together, the Iguazu waterfalls engraved in Lai and Ho’s lamp are the main reason they decide to travel all across the Pacific in the first place. This elusive natural paradise feels like more of a pipe dream — glimpsed through a majestic aerial shot where the film transitions to color for the first time — almost like a wild goose chase that sets them on their collision course but is always destined to remain out of reach. That is ultimately proven wrong near the end of the film, when Lai summons all his courage to leave Ho for good and uses his hard-earned money to visit the Iguazu falls by himself, thus completing his journey on a somewhat bittersweet note.
But before escaping the maelstrom of abuse and passion that is his relationship with Ho, Lai finds a kindred spirit in Chang (Chang Chen), a Taiwanese immigrant who works at the same Chinese restaurant as him. While it’s true that the film offers no such thing as comforting closure, his character is the closest thing to cautious hopefulness we get. His condition as a homesick immigrant with Chinese roots certainly draws him close to Lai’s conundrum, as do his penchant for metaphoric rituals. Whereas Lai sets his sights on the Iguazu waterfalls as the capper of his spiritual renewal, Chang is determined to make a stop at a remote lighthouse located at the southernmost point of the continent, where people allegedly leave their sadness behind, before heading back home. Although bumping into Chang provides Lai with a crucial moment of introspection that helps him break from his perpetual pattern of melancholia, it also makes him come to terms with a crucial, incontrovertible difference between them that reinforces the idea of Hong Kong’s rootlessness.
“I finally understood how he could be happy running around so free. It’s because he has a place he can always return to.”
By the time Britain’s lease reached its eleventh hour, that was a privilege that neither Lai, Wong Kar-wai, or any other Hong Kong ex-pat could count on for certain. This explains why Happy Together, in the same vein as every Wong film that preceded it, greets this ephemeral period of change with tinned nostalgia. It suggests that in the face of uncertainty, perhaps one can find refuge in the past. Much like memories, the film immortalizes landscapes, sounds, an era, and, most importantly, fleeting moments of warmth and human connection that live forever. When you find yourself staring into the abyss, you can always count on those to feel right at home, even if you’re thousands of miles away.
