Bang bang wo ai shen

I watched this film in a packed auditorium at the 2008 Istanbul International Film Festival, and what amazed me was that there was not a single audible laugh throughout the entire thing. The reason this was amazing is that the movie is, in parts, truly hilarious. Perhaps because the feel and movement of the production is so realistic, and there are long sequences of no dialogue, the audience didn't know what it was watching. Also, because the movie has a lot of fairly explicit sex scenes and lots of marijuana smoking, some people were likely shocked. On one side of me sat a middle-aged woman who was evidently there with her daughter. The woman shook her head and put her hand to her mouth several times, and might have got up to leave if she hadn't had to climb over several laps to get out.

The story follows a pot-smoking protagonist who has apparently fallen on hard times recently. He lives in a multi-floor apartment in Taipei that must be rather grand by the standards of Taiwan, but he's lost a lot of money in the stock market and now has to start selling his household goods to finance his pot habit. He's a small man in his mid- to late-thirties', and his girlfriend has recently left him. A few of the scenes of him stoned at home by himself are very funny. In one scene he is talking to (presumably) his ex-girlfriend on the phone while a kettle is boiling. He keeps walking back into the kitchen to take the kettle off the range and make it stop whistling, then going back in and putting it back on the burner, clearly having just forgotten why he took it off in the first place. People who have never experienced the effects of marijuana will not understand the humor, probably. In another scene he's watching a program on TV in which a fish is being prepared for some kind of traditional dish. The fish is scaled and gutted but is somehow still alive when served on the plate (a 'delicacy'). You can see the fish's mouth opening and closing in an obscene gaping motion, as our hero clutches a pillow and stares horrified and motionless at the screen.

He has an instant messenger chat partner he has never met. His chat name is "Marihuana is God," hers is "Little Cookie." Little Cookie is one of the main characters but she is fat, largely because her husband—evidently a professional cook—cooks sumptuous dishes for her all the time at home. He long ago lost interest in her physically, and when a male guest comes to stay, she understands that the two of them are carrying on together. She develops an online attachment to Marihuana is God, but the protagonist is busy luring young, attractive hookers to his apartment, getting them stoned, and having gangbangs with them. One of the hookers actually starts to become attached to him, then is heartbroken when he only cares about getting stoned and having it off with any of the girls at the "hooker depot" where he originally picked her up.

The value of this film, which is not high, is that it gives a vision of Taipei street life: strange, brightly-lit little kiosk-type shops where escort girls in see-thru skirts and hooker outfits sell cigarettes and other conveniences all night; credit hotline agencies where row upon row of girls in cubicles answer calls from the hordes of debtors in Taiwanese society; vans with screens on three sides broadcasting lottery news and results. It is ultimately a highly depressing image but it nevertheless feels real in its nihilism, and its examination of how debts and gambling affect Oriental societies more severely than Western ones. For anyone who wants a look at Taipei, this is worth a look. Otherwise this movie is just another post-post-modern slice of super-depression, depression that is not negated by all the laughs.

In a big city it is easy to become a number, unknown too all but one self. This film shows the tale of a trader that lives such a life, down on himself and a phone helpline when he is in trouble.

Filled with additives like weed and graphic sex this slow film offers a clear picture of the desolation that is called loneliness but unfortunately it also manages to show the picture of boredom. Slowness in a film isn't bad but there is a thing called "too slow" and this one is just that. Events could have been packed in 30 minutes less and then the pace would have been high enough to make it interesting but this is just too much symbolism and sticking to scenes to express points that were already clear minutes earlier.

Nice imagery, some of it very nice, I will have to admit. Strong expressive film making, I will admit that too. But just stretched out far too long and therefore calling on boredom and even irritation more than on anything else.

4 out of 10 potheads blazing

If one has seen films made by Tsai Ming-Liang, one would recognize Lee Kang Sheng, the actor and director of Help Me Eros, as he is the main character in all his films. Thus, it is no surprise that Help Me Eros feels like an extension of Tsai's films, as it mimics his style and atmosphere. Sadly, Lee Kang Sheng has not learned his mentor's directing touch. As a result, his work becomes a muddling piece of junk and I consider it a complete failure.

In Help Me Eros, the film opens with a memorable opening scene, similar to Tsai's films, and appears to head in a promising direction. However, by the end of the film, the film bored me to death, as I struggle to finish the film, and I ask the question: Is this an art film, or a soft-core porn film? Even though its style is reminiscent of an art film, the director is unable to convey a message to the audience. At the same time, although the explicit sex scenes definitely belongs to the porn film category, they do not go far enough. Instead, they become out-of-place and unnecessary. Help Me Eros, in the end, is a hybrid soft-core porn and art film. Sadly, the result fails to deliver the mystique of either an art film or the "satisfaction" and "fulfillment" one get from a porn film. It is just a messy piece of work.

There is absolutely no point to this film. Don't bother with this film. Check out Tsai Ming-Liang's films instead.

This is indeed an excellent film, featuring compelling characters, powerful images and memorable situations. The dreamlike aspect of the film reminds me in many respects of 'Mauvais Sang.' Admirers of that film will find much to savor here.

One correction to the first comment offered above: the city that 'stars' in the film is not Taipei, but Taiwan's southern port city of Kaohsiung. Many of the scenes were filmed on the banks and bridges of Love River. This setting resonates with the tale: the characters we see are living their lives at the opposite end of the island from Taipei, the capital city that features so prominently in the news reports. We are far from the centers of power and upscale sophisticates--yet a river called Love flows on, right outside our doors.

Highly recommended.

I've got to admit that while I find it difficult to enjoy the works of Tsai Ming-liang and his protégé Lee Kang-sheng, there's still something about it that still draws me to their movies, perhaps in a determined attempt to try and cut through the usual droning of themes like alienation and loneliness, to discover if there's anything else that I could connect to and hang on for the duration of the movie. I thought I'd find something here, but unfortunately it degenerated into something quite messy midway, before some redemption in the finale afforded some relief.

Telling the story of Ah Jie, Lee himself plays the protagonist who in a stroke of a bear market, was reduced to a pauper, having his assets like his home and car impounded by the authorities. Does it deter him? Of course not, as he still goes back to the pound to drive away his vehicle, and continues to ignore the seal outside his apartment. He sells his belongings in an effort to try and raise whatever little cash he can, and in his idle time, he tends to his high-grade homegrown marijuana plants, which he cultivates and smokes to get high in his own little escapism from the hardships of life.

In an attempt to connect, he befriends plenty of betel-nut beauties (one played by Yin Shin as Shin), and stalks whom he thinks is Chyi, a lady he got to know from his calls to a sex-chat hotline, allowing him to fantasize about the hot chick with the hot voice. It's really quite pathetic though, because I thought it's always ironic that hot voices over a telephone line belong to someone other than can be labelled shallowly with the term "hot". Or at least Help Me Eros plays along this line of generalization. The betel-nut beauties on the other hand, is a trade that follows the mantra of skimpier clothes leading to better patronage, and some 10 years ago when I was in Taiwan, this is a phenomenon that's quite true, as you pass by booths set up along highways, and these ladies in their various state of undress, try to entice you for a stop to get your regular packet of cigarettes, or to get into the habit of chewing the equivalent of gum.

But this is not just a story about Ah Jie, as the real Chyi (played by Jane Liao) is the other character placed under the spotlight. She's horizontally challenged, no thanks to the various delicacies that her cook husband Ah Rong (Dennis Nieh) concocts as part of his television food programme. And indeed, it is this portion of the movie that I found much more intriguing, as it was almost documentary like. There were some nicely down parallels between how the food was prepared and designed, and the state of the characters. Like when we're introduced to Ah Jie, we see a live fish being slaughtered in an inhumane manner, clobbered in the head, before having its body cut out, and when presented on the plate, it's still bloody alive, gasping for air. I can't imagine anyone having the stomach to eat it, and this desperation in staying alive, prepares us for Ah Jie's character who is at wits end.

Chyi too finds herself pretty lonely with a husband who perhaps found a new love (with a guy), and while she dispenses advice over the phone, she's clearly in need of some herself. Lacking intimacy in her life, she had to resort to getting it on with a bathtub of eels. Yup, you heard me right. In fact, those expecting some eroticism might find a number of such scenes here being quite unsexy, despite its R21 rating, perhaps having those highly offensive ones edited away. Some old uncles expected to see plenty of naked flesh, but in art film fashion, these have been dealt with so nicely that they can't help but to walk off.

I learnt for starters to appreciate such a film, not to try and look at it as a whole, but to enjoy the moment, where strengths of individual scenes surpass one trying to find deeper meaning in something. Particularly enjoyable scenes include one which Ah Jie and Shin go on a joyride and having their pictures taken (you must check this out), and the ending which like many other surreal scenes in the movie, paints a very dream-like, picturesque postcard portrait.