Manual Labor Day Weekend

It’s funny to realize this, but apart from a staycation or two in Hong Kong over the past eighteen months, I haven’t had a proper getaway since I flew down to Thailand in February 2020. So, last week, when my sister Danii and I drove to Atlantic City for an amazing lead-in to Labor Day, it felt like a full-fledged holiday. Yes, it was an incredible return to a place where I spent a great deal of time as a child. And although gambling didn’t really play too big a part in our exploits, I still feel like a winner in the wake of this trip. As summer starts its inevitable fade into fall, I’d just like to take a moment to preserve some of my top memories of the mini-vacation, plus the days that followed when we’d returned back north as we savored one final glorious sunny stretch! 

I’ll never forget the moment I first walked into our top-floor oceanfront room at the Claridge Hotel on Thursday. It was dusk, and the lights were dimmed, so my eye was immediately drawn to the large picture window facing the sea. A storm was rolling in, the trees in Brighton Park swaying in the heavy gales and white-capped waves pounding the Jersey Shore. My jaw dropped and I’m pretty sure I let out an audible ‘wow’ on the spot. I could have stood there and just gazed over that vista for my entire trip, it was so dramatic and spectacular. Little memories like this can be so magical.

We hit the boardwalk a little while later, making a short trek to St. James Place and popping into the historic Irish Pub for dinner. Although I’ve heard a ton about the place, this was actually my first visit, and I loved the friendly staff, who took us around the whole building, telling tales of its illustrious history.

My corned beef special was off the charts, and a cold pint of Guinness has rarely been more fitting. All consumed in the atmospheric dining room, its walls lined with eye-catching bric-a-brace, it made for an incredible evening.

Back on the boardwalk, it felt like a category five hurricane was rolling in. Of course, it was actually the remnants of Ida, but the gusts were so strong that at several points, Danii and I felt like we were about to lift off the ground! In fact, although I was giggling and enjoying the phenomenon, my poor sister was actually frightened out of her wits. She insisted we immediately head indoors, so we popped up to Bally’s casino, where I lost a double sawbuck in the blink of an eye.

I consoled myself with a quick dip in the Claridge’s elegantly floodlit swimming pool, before we retired to our room, with the view as dramatic as ever. Before I finally climbed into bed, I sat in an armchair pointed out the window for what might have been hours, as I drank in the scene.

We took an early morning stroll on the boardwalk that next day, and one thing was clear: the storm had come and gone, leaving little but its memory in Atlantic City. Having heard terrible stories of the damage wrought further north, including the area where we live, I was scared southern New Jersey might have received similar damage. 

But as the dawn rays warmed the wood of that iconic promenade, there was no doubt this was going to be a glorious day.

When Danii first proposed this quick jaunt down to Atlantic City, the first thing I said was, “We have to go pay a visit to Lucy.” No, not some friend of mine who lives in the vicinity, but rather the famous seaside attraction Lucy the Elephant.

Built back in 1888 and standing six stories just off the beach in the neighboring town of Margate, Lucy is an icon of the Jersey Shore. And, perhaps shockingly, in all my previous visits to AC, I’d never gone to see it. When we caught a news story mentioning that the structure was badly in need or repair and would be closing towards the end of September for a ten-month restoration, I knew the timing of our trip couldn’t have been more perfect!

So after our boardwalk stroll that morning, we hopped in the car and drove the ten or so minutes down to Margate. It was lovely just cruising down the quiet streets outside of main heart of town, as urban gave way to suburban, with dozens of the cutest little beach houses you’ve ever seen lining each street.

But it was Lucy herself who made the morning so memorable. We paid the minimal fee to take a fully-guided tour of the structure, entering in one of her hind legs, spiraling up the staircase into her surprisingly cavernous interior, gazing out through her porthole-like eyes and venturing up to her rooftop, the nullah, for dreamy views of the sea.

To finally be standing there, and to know we were among Lucy’s final visitors before her temporary closure, all coupled with the peerless weather, made for a very memorable encounter with the peaceful pachyderm. And I have a feeling my first visit with dear old Lucy won’t be my last!

Back in Atlantic City, Danii and I popped down to Bally’s Beach Bar for some giant pouch cocktails, and I even snuck in a cheeky tequila marinated watermelon and pineapple platter, which doubled as both my late breakfast and my early lunch.

As the banner-towing planes glided across the sky, and all manner of beachgoers made their way to the sand, we whiled away a pleasant hour, before I returned to the Claridge (my phone was dangerously low) and Danii settled in on the beach to soak up some color.

After getting a little juice in the old iPhone, I headed up to the Claridge’s incredible rooftop space, VUE, which has an expansive outdoor patio overlooking Atlantic City in all its glory. Eventually—and by that I mean hours later—Danii came up and joined me, as we plotted plan for the evening. I had booked two spaces on a sunset cocktail cruise, and her friend Kristina planned to drive down and join us for dinner and drinks, so we had a lot of look forward to.

The cruise turned out to be wonderful. Run by an operation simply called Atlantic City Cruises, our captain sailed us in the backwaters behind Absecon Island, passed the ritzy homes and private docks of the citizens of Brigantine.

And as the sun dipped lower in the sky, the friendly bartender kept our delicious drinks re-filled, and we even spotted a group of dolphins frolicking in the calm waters. I made it my duty to sample as many of the cocktails off the ship’s menu as I could in the all-too-brief sixty-minute cruise time, and by the time we moored back at the pier, I was confident I had done well for myself!

Back at VUE, we ultimately linked up with trusty Kristina, but because she had gotten into town slightly later than we had originally expected, we opted to dine in our hotel’s signature Italian restaurant, Twenties, instead of journeying farther afield. I had an incredible tri-color Jersey tomato appetizer, followed by a sumptuous pasta dish, all washed down with a strong highball.

Like that, it was Friday of Labor Day Weekend. And I was up and at ‘em shockingly early, literally in time for the sunrise. I started watching the skies illuminate from the secluded grandeur of the room, but I realized the hulking towers slightly to the north would obscure the sun’s actual appearance over the Atlantic. So I rushed down to the sand and slowly made my way along the shore, as the morning spectacle reached dazzling heights.

At one point, I even called friends in Hong Kong because I wanted to show off the beauty of my home state. And, boy, oh boy, was it beautiful at that moment! I even had the opportunity to walk directly underneath Steel Pier, its sturdy pillars casting dramatic shadows on the sand.

I spent an enormous amount of time walking up and down the boardwalk afterwards, spotting as many of the Monopoly street signs as I could locate. My objective was to scope out what I felt was the best spot for breakfast, as I knew my late-rising sister and friend would be in touch soon, with empty morning stomachs. I thought Bungalow Beach took the prize for most inviting venue with its airy, plant-strewn patio immediately fronting the boardwalk. And, almost on cue, Danii sent me a message asking where I was.

What can I say? Paul can pick ‘em. It was a great spot for breakfast, and we made it even more memorable by hailing one of Atlantic City’s famous rolling chairs to shuttle us there from the Claridge. Seated on the sunny al fresco eatery’s sizeable terrace, I promptly ordered a mimosa and a stack of sumptuous Godiva pancakes, studded and drizzled with chocolate.

Our appetites taken care of, Danii and Kristina wanted a few more hours of summer sun on their skin, and I duly tagged along to the beach, even taking several dips in the perfect ocean. I was reminded that I rarely feel more alive than when I swim in the Atlantic. Yes, the dreamy seas of Southeast Asia are easy on the eyes, to be sure, but bathing there is similar to swimming in a pool or even a bathtub, with warm water and hardly any surf. You’ve really got to be on your toes in Atlantic City, with massive waves apt to knock you down every moment if you’re not properly prepared. And, well, I simply adore it.

As the afternoon wore on, I left the girls on the sand and headed to Steel Pier, because I had every intention of riding the giant Ferris wheel before leaving. I mean, are you really surprised? You can see the huge contraption from all over town, including from the hotel window, so I’d been enticed since our arrival. And I’m so glad I got to take a whirl on it.

Our last official duty in Atlantic City before driving back home was to stock up on salt water taffy, the original Jersey Shore treat, invented here back in the 1800s and a popular snack to this very day. Walking back to the car with our treasure, it was a quirky moment to spy the Claridge’s beautiful art deco architecture recreated on the box! I’m pretty sure I’ll keep this long after the sticky candy has disappeared, as a glorious memory of a quick-but-phenomenal vacation.

We still had the rest of what promised to be a glorious Labor Day Weekend ahead of us. And although Saturday mostly turned into a rest and recovery day, our energy had returned by Sunday. Danii and I had a delicious waterfront brunch on the dock of Jakeabob’s Bay, over in Union Beach. And we capped off the night at the Regal Cinemark in Hazlet, watching Jordan Peele’s new updating of Candyman.

My dad and I spent Labor Day itself in Perth Amboy, a little city about ten minutes’ drive north of our house. Perth Amboy has a quaint downtown, but for me, its real charmer is its picture-perfect marina, with myriad boats of all shapes and sizes plus dreamy views of Tottenville over on Staten Island.

Over the years, I’ve worked out the perfect Perth Amboy routine. On a sunny day, as this was, you have to stop for at least one drink at the waterfront Armory to soak up the perfection of the scene. 

But for the best eats in town, you have to sacrifice your panorama ever so slightly, and make a beeline for the Barge, a restaurant whose chefs know how to broil fresh seafood like you wouldn’t believe. So after a Mezcal mule, my dad and I were seated at a window table feasting on decadent scallops before sating our sweet tooths with rich, waitress-approved chocolate mousse.

Perhaps needless to say, when we passed a local ice creamery en route back to the car, I couldn’t resist the temptation to indulge. “Life is better with sprinkles,” a sign on the back wall proclaimed. You better believe it!

As summer’s last day merged into summer’s last night, I made myself a final cocktail of the season, which I sipped on our back deck, as the skies changed color and I kept my eyes pealed to spy the last of the lightning bugs. I feel so lucky I got to catch the tail end of such a special time of year back home, after being kept away for so long!

So, when my sister and her friend Phil announced they were headed to Sundae’s for a quick dessert and volunteered to take me along, I didn’t really have to think twice. In spite of the chocolate mousse and first ice cream of the day over in Perth Amboy, I hopped right in! And I savored every spoonful of those delectable scoops of Key lime pie as I reflected over the most precious of memories.

Cheers, summer 2021! Glad we got to know each other, and I look forward to the arrival of your colorful cousin, fall!

Dog Days

Well, greetings from good old Central Jersey! That's right... after nearly two long years stuck in Hong Kong, I finally decided to fit in a trip home. It was worth the wait, and it's marvelous to be back with family and friends after so long a dry spell.

Originally, I was supposed to stay home for a month, venturing back to Hong Kong on 15 September. When I made the preparations for this little voyage, the SAR government allowed fully vaccinated residents with proof of effective antibodies to quarantine for a mere seven days in a designated hotel. That was good enough for me. Don't get me wrong: I can't say I was exactly excited to hole myself up in a tiny cramped box for a week, but it seemed a fair tradeoff to finally slip past the boundaries of my adopted home city. 

Well, lo and behold, a few days after my departure, the government reversed course, and put America on its "high risk" list. The end result of this means I would now have to quarantine for twenty-one days in a designated hotel, upon my return, regardless of my vaccination or antibody status. Well, if seven days wasn't exactly going to be a walk in the park, you can imagine how twenty-one days would feel. And at my own expense, to boot! So I'm probably going to wait it out in the Garden State until local authorities come to their senses. 

Right now, anyway, I couldn't care less. I've got a flatmate and good friends who are taking loving care of my dear Fredric. My boss is happy for me to continue working remotely as long as my productivity doesn't suffer. And my family is thrilled to the nines to have me home for even longer than originally expected. Win, win, win. 

So I've been home for just a little over two weeks now, half of my initially anticipated holiday. And so much has happened. I guess it makes sense to catch you up on some of the major highlights of my visit thus far, so here it goes. 

First things first, let's talk about the flight and layovers. Now, air travel used to be something that featured regularly in my life. I'd say I rarely went more than two to three months without a little jaunt, whether near or far. But since my return from Thailand on Leap Day last year, 29 February 2020, I hadn't sat on an airplane! It was a memorable date that only comes up once every four years, so it struck me as doubly funny when I was sorting through options (what a trip to be furiously scrolling through SkyScanner again!) that the most convenient and cost-effective itinerary sent me out of Hong Kong on Friday the 13th! Memorable bookends between my flights indeed! 

So on Friday, August 13, 2021, I bought a ticket for the Airport Express and at 8:30pm sharp, we pulled out of Hong Kong Station. Just sitting on that train felt odd, a mixture of nostalgia, uncertainty and giddiness. I don't mind telling you that as my plane actually roared down the runway and lifted up into the night skies, I actually started to cry. Luckily, I had a full empty row to myself, and with my body turned towards the window, my eyes gazing over the panorama of Tung Chung and the South China Sea, none of my fellow passengers were alerted to my stifled sobs. 

Fast forward twelve hours and we touch down in Zurich. My good friend Serena recently moved back to Switzerland from a year studying abroad in Hong Kong, and she and her boyfriend Toby were MVPs for my seven hour layover. They met me in the city's main train station, only a ten minute skip from the airport, and before I knew it, I was wandering about the subdued Saturday morning cobblestone streets of a European gem. 

Down tiny alleyways exuding ancient charm, past iconic churches, a stroll along the river and lake, and an amazing breakfast of freshly-baked Swiss breads. We even stumbled upon a weekend flea market selling all manner of antiques and curios! It was slightly surreal to be able to experience all that, and I can only have wished my layover was longer! But mark my words: I'll be back in Switzerland, and, specifically, Zurich, as soon as I can to see more! 

But nothing could dim my excitement to see my family. So let's fast forward again to finally touching down at JFK! Well, without a checked bag, there was no unnecessary waiting time. The immigration line took around fifteen minutes, but once I was through, I wasted not a minute, hopping directly on the AirTrain and catching an LIRR to Penn Station, where my pal Heidi—ever the trusty drinking buddy—met me at our favorite bar, Kabooz's, for a few long-overdue libations before I stocked up on a dozen Krispy Kremes and caught the New Jersey Transit North Jersey Coast Line's departure for Matawan.

My sister picked me up at the station, dad was waiting at home with a fresh pizza in tow, and I couldn't have been more elated. After twenty-two months since my last trip to the USA, I was home! 

These days have been wonderful, with walks to the local bagelry up the street, Jeopardy! and Wheel of Fortune viewings in the living room, afternoon drinking sessions with a tasty craft IPA on our back porch. Even something as simple as cleaning the basement or doing a load of laundry holds certain rare pleasures.

I've loved going to the supermarket and spying all the brands I used to love, like Hostess, and Entenmann's and Tastykake. I've stocked up on the goods, too, don't worry! I've gone on hikes in Cheesequake State Park, just a short walk from the front door. And just cruising up and down the local roads is a pleasure unto itself. 

I also love all the dogs I've gotten to spend time with since I flew back, in a spate of incredibly lucky timing. Many of the friends and family I've visited with have adorable pooches, so I got to celebrate the dog days of August in appropriate fashion, including on National Dog Day last week. Alas, I had to be content with looking at photos of my own little mutt, eight thousand miles away. But I know we'll be together again soon, so I hope he's enjoying his vacation as much as I am! 

Of course, it's the time with family that has been the most special, particularly Dad and Danielle. I've loved just being with them, laughing, catching up, reminiscing. It's been a glorious fortnight, and I'm so glad I have lots more time to bask in their incredible company! 

I zipped down to Manasquan to visit my cousin Michelle and Aunt Mary-Ellen one day, too. Since my last visit, Michelle has become a mother of two, and I got the first opportunity to meet both of her bundles of joy, nearly two year old Ryan and two month old Francesca. 

And on another evening, I took the train to Red Bank, my old high school stomping grounds, where my old friend John and caught up in spectacular fashion, feasting on fresh lobster, sitting on an open-air dock facing the Navesink River. It was a real throwback to our salad days, a la 2003. And it couldn't have been better. So much has changed in our lives since then, but some things remain as they always were.

So, yes, I'm eating all the good, doing all the things and spending time with all the people, in summertime, in New Jersey... Who could ask for anything more? Who could ask for anything more? 

Dreamy July

Six Years With The Mutt

 Shock! Craziness! This you won’t believe!

Or perhaps you will. But today marks six years, yes SIX!, since I adopted my beloved pooch. And I just wanted to post a quick little installment in my series of anniversary posts, to celebrate our partnership!

Here’s to all the hikes and island days, the rooftop parties and restaurant outings, here’s to all the little ways in which you make my life so much more fun! 

To celebrate, after work tonight, I took him up the Peak for dinner at Rajasthan Rifles, followed by our favorite moonlit stroll along Lugard Road. Amazing, as always…

Love ya, little guy, and many happy returns of the day!

Whoops!

Cinephilia 2021

Well, the forty-fifth annual Hong Kong International Film Festival drew to a close two nights ago, as I ventured to Tsim Sha Tsui via Star Ferry for the umpteenth time in twelve days, to catch an intense but stunning Russian drama called Dear Comrades! It was a fitting ending to a powerful stretch of (mostly) great movies that had started back on the first of the month. 

With the 2020 iteration of HKIFF cancelled twice last year due to COVID, I made up my mind long ago that, as long as the government gave the festival a green light, I was making the most of things. 

Boy, did I do it. I bought seventy-four tickets to twenty-five screenings. So I guess it's pretty safe to assume I got my money's worth on my Cine Fan loyalty card! 

Now, to be clear, many of those seats went to friends who came along with me to the movies. Since I was the one with the discount card, it made the most sense for me to do the purchasing. For two screenings, I didn't even wind up going at all, I simply passed the tickets off to the friends who wanted to attend.

Still, that means I made it through a whopping twenty-three movies myself, across three separate venues on Hong Kong Island and Kowloon. And I'd like to just pause for a brief moment now that things are over to record my reviews for posterity. 

The festival opened with Septet: The Story of Hong Kong, a most delicious pretext for a local movie. Seven iconic directors were each assigned a different decade and tasked with filming a short twenty-minute segment that, when all strung together, were meant to reflect the diversity, gumption and soul of this city and its inhabitants. 

While the results were, cinematically speaking, something of a mixed bag, the glamour of having five of the seven auteurs introduce the screening in person, plus the excitement of attending the opening of the festival, made for nothing short of a magical evening. 

There were several moments of pure delight, and the very best segments were truly the stuff of cinephilia, and I'll fondly recall the uproarious ending for many months to come, which put me in such an effervescent mood that I walked out of the Grand Theatre of the Hong Kong Cultural Centre practically skipping towards the Star Ferry to cross back to the Island. 

And things only got better from there. 

The next afternoon, a group of seven of us met for Minari, the Oscar-nominated story of Korean immigrants trying to successfully forge a new life in rural America. Deceptively simple and utterly unforgettable, Minari is worthy of all the praise it's received of late. With acting of the highest pedigree, plus a symbolism-rich story with autobiographical flourishes that made it clear this was a very personal work, the movie lingers now as one of the true highlights of this year's HKIFF. 

Later that night, I caught a French ski drama called Slalom at the K11 Musea, which told a disturbing story about a fifteen year old girl engaging in an emotionally-confusing affair with her much older instructor as she scales the heights of the European winter sports world. 

Both movies that day included post-screening interviews, pre-recorded via Zoom, with the film's directors. At previous festivals, a handful of screenings always featured in-person talks, but COVID forced the organizers to think a bit more outside the box this year. Let's just say, I hope that moving forward, these little segments become a permanent fixture of the event. Of course, I'll always relish the chance to see a living director in the flesh before or after a movie. Still, it will never be possible for every filmmaker to journey to Hong Kong, and this was a great way to still give the audience additional insight into the backstories of very intriguing films. 

Hong Kong classics ruled the day on Saturday, with three favorites from decades past. 

My friends Sarah and Omar joined for the first movie, Rouge, directed by this year's filmmaker in focus, Stanley Kwan. Starring two veritable local legends, Anita Mui and Leslie Cheung, the 1987 romantic drama told the story of a ghost who had died in 1934 searching for her lost love in then-current Hong Kong. 

The mysterious air that pervaded the film was compelling, and although our seats in the far reaches of the upper circle of the Cultural Centre were about as bad as could be, it was still an amazing experience. We couldn't resist a few post-movie drinks at Harbourside Grill in Harbour City to digest the disturbing implications of the story, while the three of us agreed the imagery and acting held us spellbound for the entire running time. 

Hong Kong's most internationally-renowned director has got to be the iconic Wong Kar Wai, and this year's festival included four restored versions of his most famous films. Although I missed out on snagging seats to In the Mood for Love, which I caught years ago at the Museum of the Moving Image in Queens, I did manage to get spots for the other three, which I hadn't seen before. 

And the first of the bunch wound up being the unquestionable apex of the entire festival for me: Fallen Angels. From the opening moments of a desperate-looking young woman storming through an MTR station, to the haunting final shot of two lovers cruising through a tunnel beneath the skyscrapers of Central while the Flying Pickets croon "Only You," I was truly rapt from start to finish. 

I've had some amazing moviegoing experiences over the ten festivals in which I've actively participated since my arrival in Hong Kong in 2009, but the privilege of attending this screening surely makes the short-list for all-time bests. 

Another of Wong Kar Wai's pictures, 2046, a quasi-sequel to In the Mood for Loved, dazzled us immediately after. And although the story and its fragmented telling made for a slightly confusing first viewing, I was completely won over, without a need to fully understand every aspect of the tale. This is a movie I know I'll watch and study over and over again. 

The next day was Easter, and, just like last year, I reserved a table at the Verandah at the Repulse Bay. Still, by nighttime, I was ready to re-enter the K11 to catch the Chilean documentary The Mole Agent, which was almost too delicious for words. 

The premise was as simple as it was irresistible: a dapper octogenarian accepts a job as a spy in a nursing home, to report back to a detective agency hired by another resident on whether or not there is some funny business going on in the day-to-day operations of the facility. But, through the sheer force of his charming personality, he winds up changing the lives of all the other inhabitants of the place, teaching them not to give up on life in spite of their situations, and even reminding several of the female residents that they are still capable of romantic feelings! 

Both Monday and Tuesday were public holidays here, meaning I really could indulge in my cinematic passions without having to worry about balancing work responsibilities. And the first day included an enticing idea for a double feature. 

In 1991, Stanley Kwan created a mega-biopic about the life of Chinese screen legend Ruan Linyu, who burned brightly in 1930s Shanghai before her untimely suicide at the age of thirty-four. Maggie Cheung was awarded the Best Actress award at the Berlin Film Festival that year for her sublime lead performance, and the recreation of the lost world jazz age China made for essential viewing.

But the icing on the cake, at least for me, was to immediately follow this up with a screening of Ruan Lingyu's most iconic performance, The Goddess, from only a year before her death. To juxtapose the cinematic retelling of her life alongside perhaps her greatest role was a stroke of genius on the part of the Film Festival Society. And to have Stanley Kwan appear at both screenings was also a special treat, in spite of the fact that all his commentary was conducted in Cantonese without any attempt at an English interpretation. 

Heigh ho. 

I hurriedly crossed the harbor after The Goddess, because my final screening of the night was over in Wan Chai, at the Hong Kong Arts Centre on Fenwick Street. In the tiny but immaculately proportioned Louis Koo Cinema (really more of a screening room than a movie theater), I caught a charming 1938 Japanese comedy called The Masseurs and a Woman. This rarely-scene gem told the story of two blind masseurs working at a country resort, and their gentle interactions with the rest of the guests at the inn. 

One of the best things about the festival is that it provides such incredible opportunities to see restored classics the way they were intended to be screened, with an audience on a big screen, not on a television or laptop. I'll forever take advantage of such opportunities whenever I get the chance. 

Tuesday was the first and only "four movie day" for me at this year's festival. This is the maximum number of screenings I can cram into a single day, and I'll only do it if there's no other way. But the timing was pretty perfect, with an ample stretch between each film to allow for reflection and travel to the next venue. 

The first two movies were both projected on the giant screen in the Hong Kong Cultural Centre. First up was an animated fable retracing the life of a dog as she dies, looking back on the various owners who took care of her at various stages in her life. 

It was wiggy and colorful, with such an engaging visual style that, looking back now, I'm tempted to rank it number one among the crop of new releases. (I'm pretty certain a restored classic will always take the top slot for me at any given festival.) There were moments of great humor and others of great sadness, and if you have the chance to experience this bravura example of modern filmmaking, please don't pass it up. Marona's tale is fantastic for sure, and you won't want to miss it. 

Wolfing down a speedy Rueben at the neighboring Langham Hotel, I tried my best to get in the mood for Woody Allen's newest charmer, Rifkin's Festival, one of the director's most appealing works in awhile. Set amidst the backdrop of the San Sebastian Film Festival, it tells the story of a couple who's marriage falls apart amidst a mélange of film screenings, press conferences, cocktail parties and swanky dinners, while a black-and-white series of dream sequences poke uproarious fun at some of the greatest classic films of all time, like Citizen Kane, 8 1/2, Breathless and The Seventh Seal. 

True, the three friends who attended this one with me didn't quite catch every Fellini or Bergman in-joke. But the dreamy images of gorgeous Spain, plus the star-studded international cast, made for an enjoyable, fluffy romp. 

It was fitting that the next movie of the day was a classic, You Only Live Once, directed by Fritz Lang during his time in Hollywood, and starring the luminous, legendary stars Henry Fonda and Sylvia Sidney. Truth be told, I've seen this movie before. In fact, I actually own it on DVD. But I never even considered skipping out on this screening, in spite of the fact that I'd have to cross from Kowloon to Hong Kong Island and then back again to make it happen. 

And I closed out the day with Corpus Christi, an unforgettable Polish film that was nominated for last year's Oscar for Best International Feature. Both the original idea and its execution were of a very high standard here, where a troubled youth fresh out of juvenile prison poses as a priest in a small town to avoid working in a factory. 

While not every aspect of a religious life appeals to him, he really finds a place among the townspeople, changing their lives for the better with his unconventional approach to spirituality. But when secrets from his past bubble to the surface, it becomes clear there will be no happy ending. 

It was back to the office on Wednesday after a long, lovely five day weekend, so you better believe I couldn't wait for the workday to end come 6pm. I had a quick dinner at Sexy Crab before catching an elegiac French documentary called The Last Hillbilly over at the K11. 

This was perhaps the most unconventional and surprising film of this year's bunch. Basically, a young French duo happened to befriend a quasi-philosophical hillbilly while seeking inspiration for a documentary in rural Kentucky. They spent a series of multiple months spread over many years living with him and his family, and the portrait they captured of a dying way of life was filled with wisdom, humor and joy, all tinged with a mournful quality of melancholy as the subjects seem well aware of their vanishing way of life. 

Thursday's screenings included the final Wong Kar Wai installment, Happy Together from 1997, which tells the bittersweet romance of two Hong Kong men stranded far from home when their finances fall through on a vacation in South America. Beautifully shot by Wong's stalwart cinematographer Christopher Doyle, and with captivating performances from Cannes Best Actor recipient Tony Leung and Leslie Cheung, it was another intriguing feature from Hong Kong's master director. 

Later that night, after another stop at Harbourside Grill's expansive terrace, I ventured back to the Cultural Centre for Miranda July's newest work, Kajillionaire, which had me roaring with laughter at its unconventional, awkward humor. 

The movie tells the story of a poor family who live off of the funds they raise via scams, schemes and petty crimes. They rob mailboxes for gifts they can return, take trips so that they can falsely claim for lost luggage insurance and scour trashcans for anything that could be converted into cold hard cash. 

It was a late screening that didn't begin until 10pm that evening, but I'm oh-so glad I summoned the energy to stay up for this wonderful, offbeat tale. 

I must confess, by the time I arrived at the Cultural Centre for Lan Yu, another Stanley Kwan feature, on Friday, I was a little the worse for booze. You see, my company Easter lunch had taken place earlier that afternoon, and among a pina colada, some sangria, a few double Scotches and even a glass or two of port, I was not exactly in the best condition to study the cinematic merits of the movie. 

Still, sitting in the front row of the Cultural Centre's balcony, I was at least able to savor the visual splendors of the movie. Similarly, the next screening, right on its heels, a Kazakhstan dark comedy called Yellow Cat, about an ex-con and his prostitute girlfriend who long to open a cinema in a remote corner of an already-remote country, has moments of breathtaking beauty, if the film as a whole didn't capture my imagination. 

I was back to my old self on Saturday, for another two-movie days, featuring a duo of spy-related films set far in the past.

The first was a Japanese WWII-era drama called Wife of a Spy, which told of a couple who attempt to betray their own country upon learning some dreadful secrets about the actions of their government. Although I felt the story lacked the requisite excitement to be a top-class spy drama, there were stretches of incredible poignancy, and the pitch-perfect recreation of 1940s Kobe alone was worth the price of admission. 

But it was the second film that day that almost blew me away, Roman Polanski's newest feature from France, An Officer and a Spy, which re-tells the true history of the Dreyfus Affair with an exquisite attention to detail and a bevvy of fine performances from a cast of troupers. 

A few reviews have remarked that the movie should be a textbook example of how to make a historical drama, and I can't help but agree. Polanski's assured direction, an unforgettable lead performance from Jean Dujardin, and evocative recreations of nineteenth century boudoirs, offices, courtrooms and city streets, meant the two-plus hour running time simply evaporated for me. 

As the festival neared its end, I caught a final movie in the Cultural Center on Sunday afternoon, Jean-Luc Godard's seminal Breathless, which had been memorably spoofed by Woody Allen in the same venue only a few days before. Of course, I've seen this one in the past, but never in as opulent a setting as the Grand Theatre. What can I say? Sixty years after it's release, it remains a true classic of the cinema. And I'll never refuse a chance to see it on the big screen when it comes my way. 

Monday concluded back in the K11, with that final screening I mentioned earlier of Dear Comrades! Stunningly shot in crisp black and white, with a fierce performance from its lead actress as she searches for her missing daughter after the military opens fire on protesters in post WWII Soviet Russia, the movie was an unflinching portrait of government corruption, at once a historical document of the time in which it was set yet laden with nuance and resonance for the modern world. 

As Aaron Kwok, singer, movie star and seemingly perpetual ambassador of the HKIFF appeared on screen after the movie to draw the festival to a close, I couldn't help but thank my lucky stars at having had such a full and fun experience at this year's event. While it's always a bit sad when the festival ends, I know I'll keep stellar memories of the forty-fifth Hong Kong International Film Festival for a lifetime. And you know where to find me next spring, when it returns to our city again!

Until then, that's a wrap, folks!

It Might As Well Be Spring