They said a storm is coming this way but we’re still waiting. Lives carry on in Hong Kong as traces of civic upkeep morph into sites of remembrance. Decorative structures mimic nature then occasionally malfunction—transforming common spectacle to warning signs.
Disconnected from the flow of daily life, Simon Liu’s incursion into the alienation of Hong Kong is an enigmatic symphony of the city’s discordance and fury. Something belies the trance cast by this tapestry of 16mm images—is it unrest or is it complacency? Or is it already too late?
Experimental filmmakers hate epileptics. They laugh as the flashing lights force us to the floor, foaming at the mouth, specks of spittle doing dances on our grimaces. A rictus grin and feet flapping noiselessly in a forced rhythm. Eyes strain in mock homage to a god who clearly could care less. Tongue tied and swollen with sweat, we seek to swallow our bile. Oh, those grand gestures ...
He seems to see things that rest of us ignore, an illusory trancelike world. The restless undulating energy tearing at the seams of a moment that can never be fully caught. Slow and focused combinations of sounds and sights with jarring incongruity, the irritable lashing out of bright lights, blurs of forms, water and sparks, rain and fountains, abrasive and soft, calamitous and intimate, a world spinning awkwardly.