Poetic, melancholic, heart-warming. A Hong Kong that is deserted and ghostly—the obverse/alter-ego of Wong Kar-Wai's frenetic and densely packed metropolis. This is what Lost in Translation wishes it was but never had the guts to be. Reminds me of Kim Ki Duk's Three Iron and fragments of Wong Kar-Wai and Edward Yang. Loved the exchange over 悶 in the beginning.