Let's cut to the chase: Anita is the first Chinese-language biopic I've ever watched in a theater, and it's genuinely moving-though it's hard to tell whether its brilliance comes from the storytelling itself or the sheer magnetism of Anita Mui's legendary life. With most foreign biopics, I can usually dissect them calmly, analyzing performances and pacing with detached objectivity. But Anita caught me off guard. For the first time, I sat in a cinema and watched strangers around me wipe away tears, completely disarmed by raw, unguarded emotion. In one haunting scene, as the woman beside me quietly dabbed her eyes, the screen showed Anita Mui in her iconic final concert, belting out a song that felt like a farewell to her fans and life itself. That moment-where reality and cinema blurred-was pure magic.
The film's greatest strength lies in its refusal to sensationalize or deify its subject. Unlike many biopics that either elevate their heroes to sainthood or twist their flaws into drama, Anita opts for a grounded, almost humble approach. It doesn't shy away from her struggles-loneliness, health battles, the weight of fame-but it also doesn't milk them for cheap tears. Instead, it lets her humanity speak for itself. Sure, the pacing drags at times, and some chapters of her life feel glossed over. But the film's simplicity and honesty make it resonate deeply. You're not watching a polished myth; you're seeing a woman who lived fiercely, loved recklessly, and left too soon.
That said, the movie isn't flawless. The supporting characters often feel underdeveloped, and the script leans heavily on nostalgia (cue the montages of '80s Hong Kong). Yet, even with these hiccups, Anita works because it channels the essence of its star: unapologetically real, fiercely passionate, and utterly unforgettable. By the end, you're not just mourning Anita Mui-you're mourning the fact that we'll never see another like her.
