1991

The angelic script slowly scrolls down, and unfolds. The long-clasped hands broke free, and began to instruct, the curtain dutifully parts. The play poses and dances on stage. The Hungarian symphony stimulates in crescendo and sobs ebony tears. The atrementous notes peel itself away, like a gentle blizzard of black snowflakes departing from the sky and then honorably piling themselves up in thin crispy puddles on the cement. A footprint etches itself onto the surface; the cause of infinity and stillness jerks and rattles in rousing thunder. It begins here, in fading time, hour, minute. He follows this hollow and tumultuous music down the never-ending street, the infinite peril. The suspicious crowd watches him, always so profuse in the unexpected corners of every block; their clandestine never looked so inviting. The young triad member carries on, still suave with classic villainous shades and carefully ruffled peacock hair, habitually slaps a brown package against his thigh; rhythmically, hitting on every other footstep in his solitary gait. Only stopping when a huge store crosses him by, the wanted attention hardened his forward motion. The significance here was consciousness, real thoughts forming real words, ideas, all working in the frames and the mechanics of time. Time; the sole entry into "Infernal Affairs". The Buddha wisely worded that time is uninterrupted. Time is boundless suffering for eternal souls. Time is continuous hell, controlled and dictated by a two hands that ticks clockwise every second. The silver rolex, maintains your sanity, imitates your reality; sits by the store window and watches the birth of an eventful night. And like this inevitable time tonight, the young adult reaches his destination, a small opera shop. The music respectfully halts. After introducing himself, he asks to see a man named Uncle Ngai. An old man turns around as he heard his name....but he doesn't recognize the kid.



And still in his villainous, stylishly- dim shades, his tangerine-dyed hair, the kid walks away just as he had came. The old man lies on the ground, something went into his head, something small, fast, and deadly. No one saw anything. The kid's name, we learn, is Ming. Cunning, uncanny, and serene, he has been given orders by the triad to infiltrate the Hong Kong police force. He is played by Edison Chen.



So this is it, ten years ago, before the misfortunes that took place in the original "Infernal Affairs". The sky has not yet fallen. But is aging, crumbling, the stars have begun to align and allineate his every single contingency to be parallel to his enemy's. This, is the prequel, the prelude, aptly named "Infernal Affairs 2"; which, dashingly, exhibits one of the most perfect and unforgettable opening sequences I had ever seen in cinema. How poignant it was when the camera, carefully shaky and dawdling high above, attentively sticks and invades into Ming's routine, almost as if we're watching a live documentary of him carrying out his "assassination". It was simply a wonder to watch and repeat, again and again. Because when time is young, things were old, and simply better. A lot better. We see it because the film studies itself, listens to the ever-present evanescent voice, and most importantly, it goes where we want it to go, absolutely with compelling guidance. It is adamant that it will prevail.



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A couple of blocks away from this murder, caught almost incidentally by the same callous camera, was a scuffle on the streets. Minor, but intense in its minute details. The officers, who were impatiently waiting for the end of the day, slowly arrived and were thankful that they didn't have to do much to hold the men back. Triads, and more triads. And friends as well. It was a complicated World they lived in. The leader of the syndicate took an oath, promising that he would inform all relatives if there ever was a death in the family. Because beyond this street, in the middle of some randomly stuffed skyscrapers, in the nexus of a simple alley where plain and modest people exist, there was an opera shop; Hours earlier, a young triad entered the store. A young cop, hearing of this news, had no reason to care. He had wanted to hide from his family for years, but his identity was shamefully revealed tonight. His comrades and superiors twisted their necks hard and squinted at him, silently interrogating him, as if their demeanor will break him down in crimson sweat. The young cop only dares to hang his head, and nothing more. He is Yan, played by Shawn Yue. The actors, so engaging, prudently performed the act, making it as natural as it can be in the dead hours of the night.




And those hours, under the blinding moon, moved slow. Time barely has the strength to move, but still manages to pass. These incidents were not mistakes, but clever setups that will determine to shake and interrupt the chains that lock the boundaries between the blessed and the cursed. All it took was a bullet, those two shots that impregnated the Earth, like a seed, choking and gagging on rotten dirt, and then spreading, infringing beneath the ground you choose to live on. Destroying you when you blink your eyes to a new feeling of uneasy premonition; and then looking down, knowing that something is wrong. Way wrong.



And only then will everything eventually respond with reckless order. The rats will come out camouflaged in the sewage debris. The roaches will wonder aimlessly, but angrily. The cops and thieves; mortals who are not scared to bear names and faces, once drank and ate from the same table, will now toast their wine glasses for the last time, and then pour it all on the streets, letting the flow of Life choose their fate. Likewise, sergeant SP Wong, and the amateur crook Sam shares a warm middle-classed meal in a private sector of the police station, when Sam gets up to leave, Wong kept a rather forceful and obdurate grin on his face, and bid a grim farewell. They, indeed have different tastes in their drinks, one harder, one softer, flowing in opposite directions.



Right and left. Straight into ambiguity.



Very much like the patterns in the sky, constantly shifting, so that no one really knows where the bluest spot really is; because there isn't one. It's all the same, and different all the while. Sergeant SP Wong stood outside with his companion waiting, and guessing each other's lives --no-- each other's essence. A pack of cards will tell the story, they each pick one to determine the outcome of this situation; a King and an Ace. Buddha will work his evil, faster than you think. And like huge infected bubbles of dooming clouds fleeting in, the germs, the insects, the gangs have arrived, as predicted. The mechanics of Karma works to a charm. Those who held responsible will pay, first with their flawed honor and dignity, then, their lives. And this, right here, is where "Infernal Affairs 2" offers us its best premise; a daring observation into a psychological killing field much larger than the original, and much dirtier. It is a game filled with disorganized pawns, trying to build a king, or secretively trying to become one, so then they can stand atop the center of the city, their vision conquering the infinite space, dancing on the edges of the future.



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1995

The future has soon come, but nothing has changed. It has been the same, except for a couple of people who have hid themselves from the rest of the World. They are fractured figures who are missing parts of their movement, and all of their identity. Like them, he is covered in light numbness, and is obsessing over some imaginary scissors, cutting little erratic crevasses into the wall, where he can see inside, the end of the future, the end of the present. He sat at the stoic and stagnant wooden desk, twirling his pen, simulating soaring theatrics of his cultured and sophisticated confidence. The clear and threatening glass that separates him and his co-workers just gets thicker and thicker. If you tap, prepare to bandage your shattered hand.



He lives in a cube, speaking in his own language. The day is only a chameleon, shifting back into dawn, before changing into the night. The rain is heavenly Niagara, and when it floods, the air turns into an ocean. He drowns in his own impasse. No entrance, no exit, he descends down into that long and widened gash on the impure soil. The scar is immeasurably deep, but it is his only escape. He whispers the truth into these perfect wounds of memory, because silence listens best, and the subconscious preserves.


"I am a cop."

"I long to be righteous."



Who knows? Who cares? Who is right?


Ming and Yan, four years later, this is them dying young. One, a mole in the police force, he works at places immune to the sunlight, and arrests criminals before freeing them. The latter, an undercover officer, his work loyal to the triads, he befriends criminals before arresting them. And his target lives dangerously close. Too dangerous. A half-brother, and also triad leader. Hau Ngai, the King of the game.



This throne has long been occupied, everyone around him withdraws, and backs away. Hau Ngai has won, and has fate by the neck with a spiked leash, cheating him out of his predetermined destiny. There he was with his hands falling comfortably into his bloated pockets, where he hid that missing joker card, still in mint condition, shuffling in the midst of jaded dollar bills, U.S. currency. He stood wide and handsome, but mysterious, like some sporadic arrangement of marbles taunting the streets in stillness, blinking nonstop with a crystallized flare. He strained to keep the shine to himself. So vicious, like a sudden strike of venom, but disciplined, like Poseidon storing the wraths of the ocean within his shaking fist. The constricted and cemented alley widened, the walls made space, stumbled back, the city rumbled, and the streets came to rage with flying rocks. The skyscrapers felt threatened. Hau Ngai is simply the biggest phenomenon in all of "Infernal Affairs". He is an entity, because he believes that he is more than Human. No guilt, no innocence, it's only his word against the passage of God. Death is necessary. Because to him, blood is weakness leaving the body, death is diffidence and humility leaving the sphere. Fraudulence is strength, pain is hope. And torment is great victory.



So Stunning and sagacious, this eminent adversary is portrayed by veteran actor Francis Ng. Who, fluently harmonizes with his role, and he compels his "other" to live within the reality of his round and pearly tears. In one amazing sequence, he sends the sadness away in a gestured, swaying wipe of the thumb, as SP Wong and his partner-in-law eagerly spit insult after insult towards him of his dead father. Then, in a manner adopted from some form of chivalry, he then proceeds to invite the two officers to dine with him in an easy meal dedicated to his beloved dad. He then took off his golden wrist watch, and placed it onto the table, the corners of his lips were amused. Time has come, and what goes around, comes around.



Talk about charm, talk about screen presence, and talk about knowing how to act. This will be the performance that influences others, it is that array of supreme power that sweeps across your face when you see him. This is Francis Ng, his presentation of this realistic gangster can only elevate his status further into the world of Hong Kong cinema. Infernal Affairs 2 was made because of him, alone. Looking cool in a film has never looked this cool. Getting even has now become a style, a trend. And he will make them pay, with flashy colors, those with guilt on their flesh will be skinned. One by one...one by one. He drinks the last of the antique wine, and puts his watch back on.



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1997

Two years later came the final chapter of this quiet masterpiece. The oceanfront, now peaceful, washes a dead man's feet. And the sun lays its shining blanket across the water and the beach. The sand fragilely took calm blows from the wind, and dances backwards in swarms. The location is Thailand; the clouds, agitated and fiery, changes its shape rapidly as if they’re trying to avoid the scintillating heat. The two men, almost ingested by the orange sunset, will be as close as they come to being heroes. The odd couple, after all these years, still got together in a rare moment, pressing their hands over their secured chest, restraining with all their might their heartfelt honesty. SP Wong, now being investigated for conceiving treason against the police force, and Sam, whose wife has died a crucial death, now pour empty their bottles once again. This time, humiliation ripples in scoffing laughter, the two drink them down, and then sob them away. After their confessions, their eyes met, the stroll on the beach ended, the winds stopped.



The matured actors such as these two, Anthony Wong and Eric Tsang, picked their roles honestly. And they showed their frailty by speaking with an accurate voice. Their words and actions were quickly exposed, and they became easy victims in this corrupted, albeit brilliant script. Director Andrew Lau made the two face each other, with their stories of shame penned across their foreheads, they hide it under the tint of the Sun. Hong Kong superstar Anthony Wong is perfectly haunting and ominous in his role as the superintendent. The extra skin that latches on to his heavy cheeks just adds that much-needed dimension to his forbidding guilt. His detached and stoic expressions of apathy were too explicit at some points, and his covert actions too perfect. He believed that the law itself cannot be punished, and since he is a part of its framework, God may overlook his private and illegal ambitions. And the harder he fought, the stronger the enemy became, but it only appeared weak, to him. Until the end, he was exposed and abandoned by the same friend that he worked with. Now, he contemplates under the blue clouds, whether if he should take off those dark glasses, or leave them on, and start something anew, something deadlier. Anthony Wong is absolutely deserving of acting as this ambiguous and challenging character, his talent is worthy of this film, and its wonderful melancholy.



Eric Tsang is quite the polar opposite, he is a vengeful dose that punches, laughs, kicks, rolls, runs, and cries. He is an unordinary man, playing an even more unorthodox character in Sam. He dons the wicked green hat, looking like a niggling gremlin. He playfully pulls down the ring-shaped brim over his nose, and then valiantly opens his dominating smile, which animates the lower-half of his face. His tongue and lips have turned raw green from licking too many dollar bills, and his sneering laughter is strangely energizing and comical. He meanders from nowhere to nowhere, like a curious air balloon purposely venturing off-course, to see if the gold is indeed beyond the rainbow, if a thing such as a rainbow even exists in this day and age. Eric Tsang is simply marvelous, his demeanor is serious comedy, he is everywhere, and he is to be found, first dining with the local police, and then bantering loudly with respectful triad bosses. He is unpredictable, but has a puerile charm that attracts instantly.



In 1997, Hong Kong was handed over by the British to the Chinese. The celebration was underway, the stars exploded in unison, and the remains fought gravity, before descending down. Is this the start of a new era? Or the death of memories forever? Sam celebrates in reflection, with his newly dyed silver hairline, his lively smile contained a frown somewhere beneath, it's all in kismet that those who rise will fall the hardest. And what goes around, will come around. This is the means to the end, the future doesn't matter. But the subconscious preserves....always. "Infernal Affairs 2" is just that separate breath, sweeter and sadder than any other Hong Kong film, and by far the best out of the trilogy. This is poetry, in the form of a piercing bullet. And it will reach your heart, by any means. And if you listen carefully, you can still hear his wound gaping:

"I am a cop",

"I long to be righteous".........




Recommended:
Yes

Video Occasion: Fit for Friday Evening