今天应该很高兴

“Finch and Midland” and the Art of Saying Nothing Loudly How a film about the Hong Kong diaspora in Canada manages to miss the mark on every level. I walked into Finch and Midland with a glimmer of hope. A film premiering at VIFF, helmed by a young Chinese-Canadian filmmaker, focused on the Hong Kong diaspora in Canada — this could’ve been the kind of timely, emotionally charged, culturally specific story that we rarely see on screen. Instead, what unfolded was a mess of disconnected clichés, shallow writing, and squandered opportunities masquerading as “universal storytelling.” 1. Disconnected Stories That Say the Same Empty Thing The film presents itself as an ensemble piece, interweaving the stories of multiple Hongkongers living in Canada. But these aren't interconnected in any meaningful way. Instead, we get separate, clumsily written vignettes that never build into a thematic whole. There’s the washed-up 90s Cantopop singer, reduced to performing for tour groups in tourist restaurants, spiraling into alcoholism and flaking on his daughter’s recital. There’s the factory manager (played by the legendary Anthony Wong, who frankly deserves better), caught between the white boss he imitates and the Hongkong factory workers he’s asked to fire. There’s the lonely middle-aged woman glued to dating apps, swiping through a sea of other Hongkongers (because apparently no one else exists in Toronto?), whose arc culminates in a borderline misogynistic farce of a seduction attempt on a pizza guy. What do these stories have in common? Generic tropes, lifeless plotting, and a shocking lack of cultural texture. These aren’t diasporic stories — they’re lifeless soap opera sketches that could take place in literally any country, in any time, with the Hongkong elements sloppily pasted on top. 2. A Bubble of “Representation” That Represents No One The strangest thing about Finch and Midland is how it manages to isolate the Hong Kong diaspora from everyone else. There are barely any non-Hongkongers in the film. No interaction with the broader Chinese community, no sense of Toronto as a multicultural city. It’s as if the director only sees the diaspora as a closed loop — a self-contained bubble where everyone speaks Cantonese, everyone is sad, and everyone is stuck. This is not authenticity. This is myopia. Even the one thread that had potential — Anthony Wong’s character navigating assimilation, language politics, and workplace power structures — is ultimately neutered by a bizarre subplot where he befriends a weed-smoking teenage Hongkonger squatter. It feels like the director ran out of ideas and decided “emotional bonding over weed” was the solution. That scene should be studied in screenwriting classes — as a cautionary tale. 3. Cringe-Worthy Writing & Misguided Directorial Choices Let’s talk writing. These scripts feel like Film School Year 2 assignments — painfully on-the-nose, lacking subtext, with zero understanding of narrative structure. No inciting incidents. No escalation. No dramatic payoff. Just trauma tropes strung together by mopey dialogue and Cantonese ballads. The woman on the dating apps? Her arc ends with a scam, a failed seduction, a cruel portrayal of her body and loneliness, and a forced “healing moment” with her mother that resolves nothing. What was the point? Was it social commentary? Black comedy? Melodrama? The film doesn’t know — so it just mopes. And speaking of emotional shortcuts: any time the director wants the audience to feel something, he just slaps on a mushy Cantopop track, and these cliche pop songs are doing all the emotional heavy lifting. Instead of building mood through storytelling, cinematography, or sound design, the film leans on music like a crutch. It's the cinematic equivalent of cueing a sad violin when you don’t know how to write grief. The result? A movie that often feels less like narrative cinema and more like a clumsy, out-dated music video. 4. No Nuance, No Vision, No Justification There is a difference between universal and generic. This film mistakes vagueness for universality and ends up with a narrative so empty, so recycled, it could be AI-generated. Except an AI might have added more subplots.There’s no cinematic eye at work here. No thought given to framing, camera movement, or mise-en-scène. The production design is flat, the cinematography uninspired. It’s the kind of film where you can feel how proud the director is of their “quiet” storytelling — but all that quiet leads to a deadening silence. By the end, you feel like you’ve seen... nothing. Final Verdict: A Case of “He Tried” Cinema Finch and Midland isn’t even bad in an interesting way. It’s just bad in the most disappointing way — the kind that feels earnest, effortful, and completely out of its depth. After the screening, the director mentioned that all of the stories were based on real-life anecdotes he had heard from others. But that’s not enough. Storytelling isn’t transcription. It’s not enough to collect fragments of someone else’s life and copy-paste them into a script. You need to observe, to think, to interpret — to understand people in context, in place, in history. Without that, all you're doing is repeating, not representing. And it shows: the stories feel shallow, performative, and strangely dead behind the eyes. The film lacks sincerity not because the subject matter isn’t real, but because the world around the characters doesn’t exist. These Hongkongers are floating in a void — a fantasy version of Toronto where no one else seems to exist. No white Canadians, no mainlanders, no Black or South Asian communities, no social fabric. Diaspora doesn’t happen in a vacuum. You can’t tell a diaspora story without situating your characters in the time and space they actually live in. When you isolate them, you erase the relational tensions — the cultural frictions, the racism, the assimilation, the community — everything that gives real diaspora stories their depth, their soul. And once you do that? Your characters stop feeling real. Your story dies with them. It’s clear the filmmaker wanted to say something imortant. But cinema isn’t about wanting. It’s about doing. About making choices. About seeing people clearly. This film doesn’t. And it wastes its biggest opportunity — especially in the one storyline that flirts with something deeper, Anthony Wong’s brief confrontation with whiteness and class dynamics — only to retreat into clichés and half-baked redemption arcs. This is the kind of project that should’ve remained a short film, or a writing workshop draft. Or at the very least, someone on the creative team should have asked the director the one question that could’ve saved it all: “What are you really trying to say — and who are you saying it to?”

今日在英皇戏院看完了杨永光编剧/导演的《今天应该很高兴 Finch & Midland》（以下称《今》），感觉实在是太棒的一部电影。回味无穷。 电影的中文片名，是达明一派的知名金曲。恰如这首欢快的曲名与落寞的歌词（正诉说着友人各奔美澳）间的张力，电影几位主角也活在这种“今天应该很高兴”但实在高兴不起来的颓唐状态中：临近退休却被裁员的工厂中层管理岗位黄Sir；兼差按摩女拼命备考地产经纪的中年单身妈妈绮红；一度辉煌现况凄凉即将失去妻女的过气艺人Dan Leung（谭耀文饰）；以及多年照顾老妈却不被待见、对爱常怀憧憬却屡屡失望的微胖阿姐诗敏。 四位主角，四条故事线，共享着同一套底色：流亡离散、漂泊无依的海外华人群像，浸泡在萧瑟清冷的多伦多深秋傍晚或凌晨，在寂寞萧疏的野草间，在伤痕累累的丰田车里，在嘈杂纷扰的唐人街后厨和仓库。这些场景对我而言再熟悉不过，那些主角默默无言，燃起一根香烟的瞬间，那些举目四望，不知该向何处的瞬间。 导演兼编剧杨永光无疑是十分熟悉多伦多城市街区和华人社区的创作者。尽管他并没有刻意把镜头对准CN Tower或者Spadina Street Car, 我依然能感觉到这个故事和加拿大城市空间的紧密关系。同时，这种恰当的疏离又能给人一种感觉：尽管这发生在多伦多，这个故事同样可以发生于纽约、波士顿、旧金山、墨尔本、悉尼、伦敦、法兰克福、或是马德里。 先说当然不会让人失望的黄Sir —— 高预期、高满足、毫不意外的高品质演出。Tony Wong这个角色非常拧巴。更早的华人移民，往往在唐人街做小业主（餐厅、洗衣店、超市）或者他们的雇员。更晚的华人移民，往往是带资移民，留学移民，念完书直接进入银行、外企、高校，过着光鲜体面的生活。而黄Sir是在外国人开办的工厂，从打工仔一路奋斗，凭借稍好的英语水平，进入了中层管理岗位。工厂也借用了他能说广东话、英文的双语优势，把他变成了管理华裔劳工的代理人。然而，尽管他买了全套高尔夫球具，试图与白人老板握手言欢，但每天早晨寒暄之后，白人老板潇洒进入办公室，黄Sir依然只能老老实实在计时打卡机上punch in/punch out。与此同时，午饭时候尴尬的场景进一步凸显：白人老板管理层坐一桌，华人、南亚劳工热热闹闹围坐吃午饭，孤独的黄Sir只能独坐独食。更为窘迫的是，随着市场不景气，一次次裁员的信封送来，老板定要让他这个中间层做这件最难、最受夹板气的事：通知坏消息。这时，平时求他的华人工人拿他做出卖工人和同胞的叛徒内鬼，平时与他称兄道弟的白人老板也毫不客气地继续让他充当黑脸，直到榨取过他的所有利用价值后，同样一封遣散信让他卷铺盖走人。这样的重压之下，黄Sir的表达是含蓄、克制、内敛的。他仍然不失体面地最后一次打卡收工，平静地回到自己安稳、孤清的郊区小独栋 —— 直到遇见了生活的闯入者，Jaden Kwan饰演的少年Peter。 闯入者Peter虽然不是影片的四位主线人物，但也是另一类华人的代表：海外第二代。故事并没有交代他的更多细节，但我们可以猜想，也许他是CBC，生在北美，或者年纪很小就来到这边留学。父母也许仍在亚洲，也许工作繁忙。仍在念中学的他下午早早放学，无所事事。正如《阳光灿烂的日子》里马小军一样，他把溜门撬锁、窥探他人生活，用一种基本无害的方式寻找生活中的乐趣。接着Peter的窥探视角，我们看到了黄Sir的妻子早逝，黄Sir的儿子Thomas，不知为何，也许为事业在其他城市打拼，离家多年未归，甚至已经过世。他第一次的闯入无伤大雅，留下了一些烟草味道，飘然而去。他第二次的闯入正好被裁员颓丧归家的黄Sir撞了个正着。然而没有暴力，没有抓马，没有什么戏剧化的对峙，黄Sir看清楚了这小伙子没有什么威胁，于是只是问了一句，你饿不饿？两个男人，无压力，无功利，无暧昧，无杂质的quality time，随着迷幻的音乐和迷幻的烟草味，徐徐展开。黄sir的长篇独白，娓娓道来。那些追问，不论是关于移民离散的决定，还是关于中年晚景的喟叹，还是关于我们曾经为生活努力过的笃定与再确认，都让人唏嘘不已。他面对似懂非懂，或许明白，但在此时此刻全然交心的华裔少年的这番话，正是两代港人、两代海外华人的心灵独白 —— 我们努力过了，我们曾经追梦过，我们累了，现在交棒给你们了，哪怕你们什么都不做，爸爸也懂，也明白。这一刻他终于可以卸下所有重量，对那个不曾回来的儿子，也对这个面前的少年，释放一次父爱与温情。 虾头杨诗敏则是在《正义回廊》震撼过我一次后，再度贡献出了让我起立鼓掌的精彩演出。她的角色身上有很多属性，并不好拿捏：面对日渐衰老、脾气略嫌古怪、明显重男轻女的母亲，她有些怨怼，但仍是日日照料不离不弃的好女儿，她负责认真、任劳任怨，感觉母亲在她这里总可以有所指望、有所倚仗；而在面对适龄男士的时候，她对爱和浪漫的憧憬，甚至有些不切实际、天真到花痴的程度。她一次次地上交友软件，右滑like所有过眼的男嘉宾，但是几乎没有太多回粉；她过度美颜后的照片，依然得不到太多男士的青睐。不论是日常的pizza小哥，工作间歇偶遇的保安，她都有意释放讯号，但是无人回应。唯一一次遇到回粉的男士，在共度晚餐之后却成了逃单的轻度诈骗犯（还好不是更大额度的诈骗案件）。这种对感情的痴想，在第二次点pizza时候达到了高潮：她走出房间，解开睡衣，但外卖员并没有共赴巫山，而是吓得落荒而逃连餐费都忘了索要。正当我还在试图调和两种人设的反差时，正当我还在困惑这位女主角到底对自己的年龄、容貌有没有概念的刻薄瞬间，这条故事线也在鲍起静和杨诗敏这对母女档间推向高峰 —— 母亲不停怀念久久不来的儿子，不停数落着面前悉心照料为自己剪指甲的女儿；女儿终于全面爆发，爆发时对着妈妈终于把自己内心的苦闷发泄了出来：“妈妈！我快五十岁了！我不年轻了！”是啊，她也有原本可以但被迫放弃的梦想，她也有不得不面对的生活重担，她可以偶尔活在幻想里期盼爱情，但是心底里她也明白那些随着衰老与自己渐行渐远。争吵之后，母女俩又能并不突兀、在调笑间宽容彼此，却不是矫揉造作的煽情，而是擦泪用了擦脚巾，生活的无奈中自有幽默的笑料。鲍起静的老人家状态拿捏神准，虽有些让人不理解、无法喜爱，但有不得不承认这是生活中常见的真实老人形象。 谭耀文的角色Dan并不讨喜，而且在北美华人社会很难找到对应的原型。但据说，这种曾经红过，但流散海外后只能从事各类职业的演艺圈人士，在温哥华、多伦多、墨尔本、悉尼、洛杉矶这些城市并不在少数。无论怎样，他的生活窘境你可以想象：一个人在二十岁曾经如流星般闪耀过，但那次高光时刻之后人生只有一路地滑坠，而且随着衰老，随着当年的记忆褪去，随着华人社群的不停更新迭代，他的处境只有更加悲凉。他在华人酒楼临时助兴，主持加演出，帮助一些老年旅游团、中年生日派对活跃气氛，但他心目中自视的艺术家、明星和酒楼老板心目中的乞儿弃儿相去甚远，中老年旅行团的观众们几乎无人在意他的演出，只是闷头吃饭，或者偶尔应付一些礼貌的掌声。他的生活分崩离析，他的前妻即将改嫁并带女儿远走温哥华，他依然放不下端着的架子，放下一句要去电台录节目（天知道还有多少人在听radio，更不要说是加拿大的粤语电台）就扬长而去。然而绝望的生活还不是最悲凉的；更悲凉的是绝望中不时有希望的火苗。他时不时回看自己1980年代的初版专辑、出道作品、年轻时候的获奖录像、封面杂志；还不时有记得他的中年女歌迷，给他零星的鼓励和慰藉。然而呢？之后的他还是要面对瓦解的生活，远去的女儿。女儿如果只是厌弃他还则罢了；女儿乖巧可爱，彬彬有礼地把他当作一个有意思的外人，毫不介意他的迟到和爽约，礼貌大方甚至有些居高临下地施予他理解和善意，轻飘飘地挥一挥衣袖，走入了自己在温哥华那中产优渥、富足而无聊的新生活去了。在多伦多夕阳下的巨大电线塔下，Dan的九手丰田车散发着悠长的暮气。 李绮红则给我更大的个人冲击。作为看着小辣椒、郭襄长大的一代，她明明昨日还是那个明眸皓齿、灵动雀跃的少女啊！在这部电影中，她直面自己的老去，用精彩的演出把握住了这位中年单亲妈妈(人物角色名：Fan)的艰辛与坚毅。Fan不仅白天在超市做收银员，晚间还在华人区二楼破败可疑的按摩场所做按摩。为了多赚点钱，正如隔壁那些更年轻的越南女孩，她不停暗示顾客要不要出火？昏暗的灯影里，联排的几个房间呻吟声此起彼伏，Fan一边机械地工作着，一边打开伸过来的咸猪手。而白天，常有顾客认出她，加以骚扰，她却勇敢坦诚地反抗回去，让色迷迷的顾客当众掩面而去。除了这些，她还勇敢地报考地产经纪牌照，凭着日渐衰朽的记忆力和脑力与年轻人竞争，试图改善自己和女儿的生活。然而生活并不总是回馈她的坚韧和努力：女儿印象不错、对她颇为照顾的超市经理，在某个晚上和她在按摩院对望，小姐和嫖客在最不该相遇的地方相遇了。这个地方作者并没有洒狗血，甚至没有过度的特写和音乐渲染，只是让男人在远景落荒而逃，女人在近景黯然低头。终于考过的地产经纪牌照，更像是电影故事线里虚假的胜利 —— 出名的华人地产公司金牌经纪人，招聘她之前依然要挟她提供额外的服务。这里 —— 影片给出了最恰如其分的留白：李绮红夺门而出，在户外的停车场面对特写镜头皱眉、流泪、悲苦、失望 —— 但之后呢？她回去了吗？她回去是厉声呵斥？还是用另一种坚毅，拿下这份期盼已久的机会？我们都不知道，作者也恰当地停在了此处，画面转黑。这场特写，表情与内心曲折尽在短短的几秒钟，然而情感冲击力巨大，我直到现在都还久久难以平静。 编剧/导演对细节、人物状态、城市空间、离散社群的气氛把握得深沉有力。 特别是一些小对白、小场景、小幽默，颇为体现导演对生活的观察功力，和幽默感与趣味。例如过气歌手Dan带着仰慕者一起唱K，但歌厅里的点歌系统却只有他的profile，点进曲库却没有一首歌曲；这恐怕只有真的自恋的过气艺术家，才会有这样的生命体验。这部电影真的给我太多太多惊喜，太多太多感触，不吐不快。有机会，我一定要认识一下作者杨永光导演，以及几位主创，要当面谢谢他们带来的这部优秀电影作品，为我九年的多伦多时光写了一首悠长的回忆曲。