My Entire Life May Have Been Leading Up to This: Wong Kar Wai on Blossoms Shanghai

More than a decade has passed since his last theatrical feature, but the neon lights have finally come blazing back to life to illuminate the singular cinematic universe of Wong Kar Wai. Blossoms Shanghai (2023), the auteur’s magnificent first foray into episodic storytelling, shimmers with all the pleasures of his inimitable cinema. Adapted from Jin Yucheng’s sprawling, award-winning novel, the show follows the thrilling exploits of Mr. Bao, a self-made entrepreneur who conquers the ruthless stock market of 1990s Shanghai with his cunning wit and irresistible charm. It’s a stunning tale of transformation, not only of one man, but also of a generation and a city, tracing Shanghai’s remarkable growth into a finance and fashion power hub. 

Among the featured landmarks is the fabled Huanghe Road, painstakingly reconstructed in all its glamorous glory. Lit by the larger-than-life billboards of countless restaurants—lavish locales for both business negotiations and amorous rendezvous—the street is paved with dreams and heartbreak, triumphs and failures. If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. Following the show’s chart-topping success in China, throngs of visitors have rushed to Huanghe Road, just to experience its allure with their own eyes. Such is the magic of Wong’s visual style, through which memories are made flesh, tantalizingly alive to the senses. 

Blossoms Shanghai marks a full-circle moment for the filmmaker, who began his career in the writers’ rooms of soap operas. This is a homecoming, in more ways than one. Wong not only returns to his birthplace of Shanghai but also to the recurring themes that have animated his body of work. Across 30 episodes, traces of his cinematic trademarks abound. The meticulous attention to period detail—coupled with his signature use of step-printing techniques—channels Wong’s perennial preoccupation with the passing of time. In this wide-ranging conversation, the filmmaker discusses his artistic approach to the small screen, his personal attachment to Shanghai, and the place of the show within his expansive oeuvre.

MUBI: Shanghai was your hometown. What are your memories of growing up in the city, and what was it like for you to return to your birthplace after time away?

WONG KAR WAI: Shanghai has always been a city of echoes for me, with my parents’ memories layered over my own brief childhood impressions. I left Shanghai as a child in 1963, but that city never left me. When I first returned in 1976, the city felt unfamiliar. Over the years, I kept coming back, searching for traces of my own Shanghai. Making this series is part of that search.

MUBI: In terms of storytelling, how does the expansive format of a series differ from feature filmmaking for you?

WONG: The novel’s expansive, episodic structure demanded room to breathe. 30 episodes allowed us to preserve its essential quality—the accumulation of small moments that collectively reveal an era. In many ways, this format offered more space for storytelling than a feature. The series format was a deliberate choice. Some stories require breathing room to achieve their full effect—the gradual unfolding of relationships, the subtle shifts of an evolving city. Cinema and television are different languages; we spoke in the one this story demanded.

MUBI: Jin Yucheng’s source novel begins in the 1960s and ends in the year 2000. Why did you decide to focus the series around the 1980s and the 1990s specifically?

WONG: The novel is profoundly Proustian, capturing the entire sweep of modern Shanghai’s transformation. For better storytelling, we chose to focus on the crucible of the late ’80s to the roaring nineties. This was the period when our characters—no longer in the youthful innocence of the ’60s—were thrust into the torrent of history, navigating the monumental shift from a planned economy to a market one. Their faces, their reinventions, their very souls were forged in that specific fire.

MUBI: Your films from the 1980s and 1990s often observed an era of change as it was happening. With Blossoms Shanghai, how was it to look back and reconstruct a period that had already passed?

WONG: My intention was never to simply look back, but to capture the raw vitality of that moment when Shanghai was feverishly redefining itself. The 1990s were a time of both rupture and continuity. And this story is not merely Shanghai’s alone. To me, Hong Kong and Shanghai have always been mirror cities, twins.

In films like Days of Being Wild [1990], I filmed Hong Kong to find traces of Shanghai. Here, in filming Shanghai, I inevitably found the reflection of 1990s Hong Kong. One city’s rise fueled the other’s hunger. In this way, Blossoms Shanghai is their shared story.

MUBI: Many of your lead actors—Hu Ge, Ma Yili, Tiffany Tang—are Shanghainese. How did you approach casting local talents and directing performances in the dialect?

WONG: This is not one man’s story, but the odyssey of a generation. Jin Yucheng resurrected a world not just through plot, but through the very specific cadence and rhythm of Shanghainese life—its dialect is the ecosystem. Casting actors who carry that city in their bones was essential. They didn’t just learn lines; they channeled the whispers of their parents’ generation. That intimate, ingrained cultural DNA breathes a palpable truth into every scene, making their performances not merely acted, but lived.

MUBI: The step-printing technique is a signature of your visual style. How did this technique evolve in Blossoms Shanghai, and how do you keep such elements fresh?

WONG: In the 1980s, a famous billboard in Shenzhen declared: “Time is Money, Efficiency is Life.” That slogan captured the spirit of the era—a nationwide pursuit of speed and acceleration. Shanghai was no exception, transforming at a dizzying pace. Everyone lived on a high-speed track, trying to compress 48 hours into a day. Technically, step-printing works by condensing time, packing more visual information into a fleeting moment. Using it to depict 1990s Shanghai, therefore, felt like more than a stylistic choice; it became an apt visual metaphor for the velocity of that time.

MUBI: You are known for lengthy editing processes. Blossoms Shanghai was completed relatively quickly. Did the sheer volume of material force faster decisions in postproduction?

WONG: It was a completely new experience. We did not shoot Blossoms Shanghai like a conventional television series. We approached every single scene with the rigor of making a feature film. By that standard, the entire series is equivalent to about fifteen movies. The pressure on the production was immense. Our editing team was integrated from the very beginning, a workflow that reminded me of my early days in television. It was a relentless, continuous process.

We began our research in 2017. Filming started in 2019, only to be disrupted by COVID-19 and the Shanghai lockdown. We had to disband the crew twice to ensure everyone’s safe return home. Ironically, those months of forced suspension became a focused, reflective editing period, allowing us to refine the narrative. By the fall of 2023, when principal photography concluded, we already had a fine-cut version of all 30 episodes in hand. From formally acquiring the rights to the novel in 2015 to its premiere in 2023, the entire journey spanned almost a decade—longer than any of my previous films. The only consolation is that the final work is also longer than all my previous films combined. I still recall Jin Yucheng gently asking at our first meeting in 2015, “You are famous for taking your time. Do you think this is possible in just ten years?” I said I would try. Today, even with three years lost to the pandemic, we kept that promise. A promise is always made with time.

MUBI: In Blossoms Shanghai, we see the larger-than-life glamor of Huanghe Road and the Peace Hotel, but also other parts of the city such as the docks in the Yangpu District. How did you choose which parts of Shanghai to highlight in the show?

WONG: The geography of our story had to mirror its theme. Our selection was never about cataloguing postcard views, but about finding landscapes that held memory and meaning. 

The Yangpu District docks represent the stark, honest weight of Shanghai’s industrial backbone—a world of concrete, steel, and toil. We used its raw, unadorned expanse as the visual counterpart to Miss Wang’s arduous reinvention; her journey begins in this realm of grit. In contrast, scenes along Suzhou Creek are bathed in crepuscular blue-grays, mirroring the quiet, resilient life flowing in the city’s hidden arteries.

To capture the explosive energy of the 1990s, we needed its beating heart, its epicenter: Huanghe Road, where the nouveau riche would feast beneath constellations of neon. We reconstructed all 732 meters of it at 1:1 scale. Peter Pau and I studied the nocturnal electricity of 1990s Hong Kong, translating it to screen through mercury-vapor lamps that bled color onto rain-slicked asphalt, transforming the street into rivers of liquid ruby. This was our chromatic ode to that dual-city energy.

Ultimately, we chose not just locations, but emotional coordinates. From Yangpu’s stoic docks to Huanghe Road’s delirious glow, each space was a deliberate stroke in painting a portrait of a city—and its people—in profound transition. Together, they form the visual symphony of an era.

MUBI: How does food function in Blossoms Shanghai compared to your other films? Here, eating together can be a matter of business but also of romance.

WONG: Shanghai has always been heralded as China’s fashion capital, and its definition of fashion extends beyond clothing to cuisine, which perpetually evolves. A century ago, as the premier international city of the Far East, Shanghai became a haven for the wealthy during wartime, which created a melting pot of regional and international cuisines that defined the city’s culinary DNA.

By the era of Reform and Opening-up, the rise of private restaurants infused the city’s dining scene with new energy. Unlike their state-owned counterparts, these new entrepreneurs fully embraced the market economy. To attract the fortune-seekers flooding into Shanghai, they offered novelties—Hong Kong–style delicacies, French cognac, fine wines—which became symbols of status and purchasing power. The adage of the gastronome Brillat-Savarin, “Tell me what you eat, and I will tell you what you are,” rings especially true for the 1990s. In our series, food reveals character. Miss Wang, representing the new white-collar class, shares simple, local Shanghainese fast food with Ah Bao in private. Ling Zi, returned from Japan, blends home-style Shanghainese dishes with Japanese influences at her restaurant, catering to the influx of tourists. Li Li, hailing from the southern frontier of Shenzhen, leverages Hong Kong and Macau flavors. Huanghe Road, adjacent to the stock exchange, was more than a food street; it was a colossal business arena where deals were made between clinking glasses. People express their identity, ambition, and alliances through what and with whom they eat.

MUBI: The show also specifically highlights Shanghainese cuisine. Is there a particular dish from the city that holds sentimental value for you?

WONG: Bao’s porridge: rice soaked in hot water or broth. It is the most basic dish, the most authentic way of Shanghai life. It transcends social class, taking the leftovers from the dinner table and pairing them with a bowl of steaming porridge as a late-night snack or the next morning's breakfast. It speaks of frugality and practicality, but above all, it carries the feeling of home.

MUBI: Costume has always been an important and beloved aspect of your films. Various characters in the show undergo internal transformations, which then manifest sartorially. How involved are you with the costume department?

WONG: The social changes brought by the Reform and Opening-Up did more than enrich Shanghai’s palate; they brought color to its wardrobe, transforming a sea of blue into a garden of vibrant hues. An influx of foreign films, fashion magazines, and overseas visitors rekindled the city’s innate sense of fashion. Imported brands and their domestic imprints became market bestsellers, signaling personal taste and social standing.

To authentically reconstruct that era, the costume department and I studied countless period photographs. For each character’s identity, we replicated or sourced appropriate vintage pieces from various platforms, ultimately building an archive of over 20,000 garments—a complete sartorial library of the 1990s.

MUBI: In terms of costume, there are fascinating differences between the three main female characters. While Miss Wang has a very contemporary ’90s wardrobe, Li Li has a retro glamor to her look and Ling Zi has certain Japanese accents in her fashion. Why this contrast?

WONG: Ling Zi, Miss Wang, and Li Li form the three pillars of Bao’s world, and their clothing is an extension of their essence.

Ling Zi embodies Shanghainese tenacity—resilience like silk over steel. She worked in Japan in the 1980s, during the boom years of Ginza, and we needed her to wear her history. We referenced numerous Japanese fashion magazines from that time, sourcing vintage Issey Miyake, Comme des Garçons, and the Cartier watches favored by Japanese women then. We are also deeply grateful to Miuccia Prada for generously selecting iconic pieces from the brand’s archive to enrich Ling Zi’s wardrobe.

Miss Wang blazes with a dare-love-dare-hate intensity. Her journey is mirrored in her sharp, contemporary ’90s wardrobe. She represents the emerging white-collar class. Though without a prominent family background, her role in foreign trade, hosting international buyers, demanded a professional and sophisticated work style. While women in state-owned enterprises typically wore trousers, female professionals in foreign trade, influenced by Japanese TV dramas, began to wear skirts. Miss Wang’s style perpetually oscillates between skirts and trousers.

Li Li is an enigma from the Reform era’s vanguard. Her retro glamor is a calculated veil. Her style leans into the Hong Kong aesthetic, into the mature and luxurious image of a femme fatale. Abundant animal prints—leopard fur coats, snakeskin suits—amplify her dangerous allure. Expensive diamond jewelry, wide-brimmed hats, and body-conscious pieces by Thierry Mugler, Romeo Gigli, and Dolce & Gabbana make her an undeniable presence. 

Together, the three characters chart the constellations of the Blossoms Shanghai universe, each through their distinct visual language.

MUBI: In the show, there are a lot of ruthless business dealings, but there is also mentorship and collaboration between various characters. Why did you choose to envision camaraderie alongside cutthroat competition?

WONG: A city like Shanghai is not built in a day. Like New York on the other side of the globe, it was shaped by waves of arrivals seeking their promised opportunity, transforming marshland into a metropolis. This alchemy requires more than individual effort, luck, or cunning; it requires transmission. Just as Uncle Ye sees his younger self in Ah Bao, every era has its Ah Bao. Blossoms Shanghai is but one chapter in Shanghai’s century-long story—a story of individuals trying to find their place in a rapidly changing world, trying to make a name, and trying to navigate love, friendship, and betrayal. Ambition is a global language, but it is the passion, the principles, and the unexpected alliances of these “ordinary” people that forge something extraordinary. Mentorship, trust over a shared meal—these are the invisible threads that make up the fabric of the city itself.

MUBI: In Blossoms Shanghai, certain musical themes from 2046 [2004] and The Grandmaster [2013] return. What was behind your decision to include music from your past work?

WONG: Repetition is the mechanism of memory. The same song, heard in a different time and place, accrues new meaning. It is not mere nostalgia; it is a haunting. Days of Being Wild, In the Mood for Love [2000], and 2046 are a loose trilogy connected by the spirit of certain characters, exploring time and longing in 1960s Hong Kong. Blossoms Shanghai is a different constellation in the same sky. It shares the DNA of exploring a city at a pivotal moment—here, the explosive 1990s in Shanghai. The familiar musical motifs are threads consciously woven in to continue that spirit across different worlds, to echo the same obsessions with time, memory, and irretrievable loss. This creates a resonance, a dialogue between eras and emotions that I find compelling.

MUBI: Blossoms Shanghai also features an incredible array of Mandopop and Cantopop songs. How important is pop music to your depiction of 1980s and 1990s Shanghai?

WONG: I often use period music because it functions as a color, a filter that tints every frame with a specific emotional shade. Mandopop and Cantopop were the shared heartbeat, the collective daydream of that generation. They were the soundtrack of their private aspirations, secret romances, and public heartbreaks. Mandopop and Cantopop function not just as background music; these songs are auditory memories that instantly reconstruct the feeling of the time—its reckless hopes, its frantic haste, its bittersweet sentimentalities. To hear these songs is to be transported. They complete the picture, making the past feel not just visible, but visceral.

MUBI: It was wonderful to see pop star Fei Xiang referenced in the show. How did that cameo come about?

WONG: Fei Xiang, also known as Kris Phillips, is a Taiwanese-American singer who became a national icon in 1987. His performance of “Winter Fire” on the CCTV New Year’s Gala—a rendition of the Nolan Sisters’ “Sexy Music”—was a cultural lightning strike. In a relatively conservative social climate, his provocative and dynamic stage presence challenged norms and captivated a nation, especially its youth. He became a symbol of the era’s burgeoning openness to the new and the foreign. While we could not recreate the exact brilliance of his youthful performance, embedding his name and legend within our series felt essential. It is more than a cameo; it is a historical footnote, a nod to a specific moment of cultural awakening that defined the spirit of the times our characters were living through.

MUBI: The characters in the show often speak of timing: the right time to fall in love, or to lock a business deal. How do you see Blossoms Shanghai fitting into your filmmaking journey, timing-wise?

WONG: My entire life may have been leading up to this. I left Shanghai as a child, but the city never left me. My films have always been acts of preservation and excavation—recreating the Hong Kong of my youth, and now, finally, rebuilding the Shanghai of my earliest memories. To excavate the scent of one’s birthplace requires the patience and perspective of a lifetime. Blossoms Shanghai is that patient, long-awaited conversation with my own origin.

MUBI: Finally, what is your next project?

WONG: The novel taught me this truth: What remains unsaid often resonates loudest.