As one of the main representatives of the Hong Kong New Wave directors, over the years Ann Hui has not embraced commercialization like many of her peers. Instead, she has focused on distinctive personal expressions. From the formal innovations in "The Spooky Bunch" and "Point Blank," to the realistic return in "Boat People" and "Rouge," and later to the local focus in "Daytime Fireworks" and "Night and Fog in Tsim Sha Tsui," what remains consistent is her keen insight into social issues and her steadfast commitment to humanistic concerns.
"The Grandmother" is no different. Serious aging, a new wave of immigrants, tight housing resources, and a declining film industry—these are all problems faced by Hong Kong, this floating city. The 60-something female director Ann Hui continues to quietly document the minutiae of daily life with her camera, leaving no room for pretense, as the film's English title "A Simple Life" suggests, everything is very simple.
I thought it would be a tear-jerker, but unexpectedly, the viewing atmosphere was mostly light-hearted and pleasant for most of the time. Louis Koo teams up with Tsui Hark and Sammo Hung to swindle producer Yu Dong out of an investment, Ning Hao responds to Grandma Peach's smoking cessation advice with "I don't understand Cantonese", Louis Koo mocks his own role in bad films—it seems hard to distinguish between fiction and reality; various big names take turns making cameo appearances, as if witnessing an internal celebration among Hong Kong filmmakers; the elderly in the nursing home are childish and playful, allowing the audience to feel a small warmth. However, there are also moments of disappointment: caregivers feeding the elderly who cannot take care of themselves, the quiet coldness of the nursing home under the city's fireworks, the numbness and helplessness of seeing another elderly person pass away—all these make the audience pause amidst laughter and return to the bittersweet realities of life.
The director deliberately avoids the usual emotional manipulation mode, and the lens is calm enough that only through careful reading can one appreciate its subtleties. Handheld cinematography captures long shots and frames seamlessly without leaving any traces. Our gaze does not follow the characters' eyes, and numerous jump cuts downplay internal conflicts. When Grandma Peach first arrives at the nursing home, she feels somewhat disheartened by its hygiene conditions and decaying atmosphere, but gradually becomes integrated through interactions with her fellow residents, and then begins to look blankly as another elder departs.
There is one scene where the camera stands far outside the bathroom door, watching Grandma Peach struggle to open each door one by one and then close them with a disdainful expression. Out of necessity, she tears off a small piece of tissue paper with her mouth to block her nose, finally finishing her business and sighing in front of the sink, only to be startled by seeing an old man walk past in the mirror. For example, when Grandma Peach gets home, her first action is instinctively to touch the dust on the furniture, her face showing slight dissatisfaction. The entire process involves no dialogue, yet vividly portrays Grandma Peach's characteristic cleanliness despite her helplessness, leaving a deep impression.
Grandma Peach remained unmarried, serving three generations of her masters, and her relationship with Roger (played by Louis Koo) is akin to mother and son. Roger also remains unmarried, shouldering the filial duty of taking care of her until the end. Although Roger is the master, he goes beyond his duty to take care of Grandma Peach, especially during her illness, showing signs of mutual dependence; although Grandma Peach is the servant, she treats him like family, neither humble nor arrogant, simply stating that the bird's nest soup served at the premiere was unpleasant. Such a simple and sincere master-servant relationship is rare in today's market-driven environment. Ann Hui said this was a true character and story told by the producer, her own family once had such a person, perhaps a shared memory of that generation.
When children want to support their parents, but the parents are no longer around, there are always debts of affection that cannot be repaid, and regrets that cannot be reconciled. Roger squeezes out time from his work to accompany Grandma Peach through her final days, joking with her casually, taking her out to eat when she couldn't stand the meals provided, and leading her to his movie premiere even though she might not fully understand it. When Grandma Peach finds the things Roger used as a baby, Roger's eyes become lost and sad, facing the familiar yet strange items, knowing that Grandma Peach represents a beautiful memory he cannot retain.
In the end, Roger still misses her last moment. He must leave for work and calmly instructs the doctor to handle the aftermath. Knowing Grandma Peach loved tidiness, he combs her hair and adjusts her socks like a son, completing an early farewell ceremony. Uncle Jian comes, holding a bunch of white flowers, directly offering them to this person who supported his indulgence until the end.
At the premiere at Peking University's Centennial Hall, Qin Hailu said that everyone has a Grandma Peach in their lives. Yes, she could be your mother, an older neighbor, a housekeeper who served you, or an elderly woman you often meet at the market. She has little education, knows no social etiquette, only knows how to cook delicious tongue and where to buy cheap vegetables; she doesn't inquire about your career, understands no appreciation or taste, only thinks you're the best, always proud and proud of you; she talks incessantly, refuses your expenses, easily satisfied, kind and tolerant to others; she is stubborn and unyielding, you know her faults well, the most annoying yet the most real. After years of companionship, Grandma Peach leaves like a warm yet barely noticeable wind. Roger changes back into his worker uniform, his face calm as he walks into the serene night of Hong Kong.
Appendix: Premiere Notes
After dinner at Peking University, I rushed to the Centennial Hall, it was already past seven o'clock, and in the night, there was a crowd of people both ticketed and ticketless squeezed outside the hall. A group came specifically for Louis Koo, holding banners, glow sticks, and light boards, constantly screaming; another group came for Ann Hui's movie, appearing calm and focused, completely ignoring the passing stars. Both groups looked down on each other.
Yao Miao went on stage an hour late, the director and actors seemed to have nothing much to say, casually chatting about random topics. Of course, the most excited was Louis Koo, responding to the magnetic glances from the audience.
Jia Zhangke had a buzz cut, sitting in the middle near the aisle, head down. Occasionally recognized by sharp-eyed students, he stood up, surrounded by people asking for signatures and photos as souvenirs, then sat back down, deeply burying his head. The movie finished playing, thousands of people rose in a bustling manner, the credits rolled for a long time before he quietly left.
Ning Hao came to see his own performance, Mr. Liu didn't forget to advertise for him in the movie. Still grinning wherever he goes. Brother Liu Hua called Ning Hao to have something to eat together, when asked by students following them how many points they would give the movie, he replied, 110 points.
By the time we left the lecture hall, it was already ten o'clock in the evening, and I had to rush to catch the last train on Line Batong. But this movie was worth coming a long way for—one reason being my beloved Ann Hui, another being the star-studded lineup comparable to "The Founding of a Republic," thirdly the surprise of the Cantonese version, and fourthly, thanks to Sina for securing me a prime seat in the center row.
In the past, after watching a movie, I would quickly jot down my feelings, fearing they would disappear after a night's sleep. But "The Grandmother" doesn't need it, because it's right there, simple; because it's right there, it's life. If you have nothing to do on Women's Day, go watch it, and cherish every Grandma Peach around you.