Film Name: 风林火山 / Sons of the Neon Night
Last night I finally caught the last new release of the National Day holiday season, “Sons of the Neon Night.” Now it’s complete.
As for my take on the film, it’s rather complicated—physically, I found it quite enjoyable. The cinematography and visuals were stunning, and it had a strong, deliberate style that knew how to “put on airs.” Psychologically, though, I can’t say I liked it. It carried itself with too much pretension, constantly leaving sentences hanging. That dead, lifeless quality that lingered throughout was genuinely depressing.
My stance on this film aligns with many others: tolerable, but not one I’d actively recommend.
Given that “Sons of the Neon Night” is essentially a TV-length work condensed into a two-hour film, leaving ample room for interpretation and speculation—and since I’m too lazy to engage in that analysis… this rambling post will simply share my subjective impressions.
When watching a work, I tend to first examine its background and setting. Historical or realistic themes have their solid foundations, while alternate or fictional settings offer their own unique charm—and “Sons of the Neon Night” is precisely such a film set in an alternate universe. Its story unfolds neither in 1994 Hong Kong nor any location within our timeline, despite bearing many superficial similarities.
This city in the film endured a nuclear blast years prior. It explicitly mentions dangerous “radiation zones” (the desolate tunnel where Li Wutong awakens at the beginning clearly indicates many areas have been abandoned). The sun is never seen throughout the entire film; even daytime scenes are perpetually shrouded in haze, as if radioactive dust perpetually blankets the sky… My most vivid visual impression of the film is that of particles dancing in the sky—like tranquil snowflakes blanketing the heavens, yet also like deadly nuclear dust or swirling white powder. This stunning spectacle forms a perfect pairing with the splattered blood.
Additionally, several intriguing details reinforce this: Wang Zhida contemplates emigrating with his daughter to “any place with clean air”; the “stray dogs” raiding for drugs now wield bows and arrows; after shootings and explosions, the already faltering police force plunges into paralysis…
I have every reason to believe this is a Hong Kong approaching “post-apocalyptic wasteland” status. Basic order still exists, but barely. Justice is still pursued, but only in theory—the Bridge Speech Group and corrupt cops are the city’s true rulers, while the government and police can only tread carefully.
Watching this film, I felt almost no humanity. Everyone is cold and detached—either waiting to die, seeking death, or on their way to it.
Wang Zhida (played by Lau Ching-wan) shows no concern for his undercover agent Mai Chun-yin. While he claims to act for his daughter’s sake, his words and deeds suggest he’s a corrupt cop driven by a love for crime. Cheng Wenxing (played by Louis Koo) began his death countdown the moment he entered the trade. He seeks no attachments; when Xiao Ye showed affection, he pushed her away with deadly force. Liu Sixin (Gao Yuanyuan) comes across as nothing more than a calculating gangster’s wife and a mental pharmacist, lacking any maternal warmth. Di Wenjie (Tony Leung Ka-fai) is steady, efficient, and ruthlessly decisive. He and his crew appear to be the ultimate winners, yet you sense no exhilaration or joy in their success—only the flip side of the coin: “The game begins anew.”
“Despair” might be the word that best captures the spirit of Sons of the Neon Night. The people in this city are either already dead or living like the walking dead. They are cold, indifferent, devoid of emotion, merely twitching a few times before life ends completely. Even if the apocalypse truly arrived tomorrow, they would quietly accept their fate.
This film’s aesthetic of life-weary indifference is sophisticated when viewed in isolation, but it proves disastrous for a “non-purely-art-house” movie. The tone is set too high and too distant, causing both the story and characters to float away entirely. There’s simply no anchor point or emotional connection to grasp.
Unless it’s pure stream-of-consciousness where we abandon conventional thinking, a film should at least present some attitude, stance, or emotion. Even despair should stem from desire and carry nuance—not be treated as a constant stylistic prop, as in Sons of the Neon Night.
That’s why my favorite character throughout the film remains Li Wutong (played by Takeshi Kaneshiro). His “humanity” (compared to others) is the most palpable: he has desires. Upon learning his father Li Poshan intended to pass the throne to his elder brother Li Wendi, he orchestrated a series of actions, step by step, to secure his existing power. He harbors rage, venting frustration by punching walls alone and personally disciplining incompetent subordinates. He also has future plans: after seizing control, he aims to abandon traditional drug trafficking, defy the syndicate’s old guard, and completely clean up Qiaoyan.
Even his method for cleaning up Qiaoyan Group relies on selling painkillers—compared to his elder brother Li Wendi’s desperate approach of continuing to sell white powder and letting everyone die from addiction sooner rather than later, Li Wutong’s safe yet highly profitable transformation could almost be called merciful.
Yet Li Wutong ultimately miscalculated, falling victim to Di Wenjie’s counterplot at gunpoint. This outcome signifies that all desires will inevitably be swallowed whole by darkness—a conclusion that aligns with the film’s unique aesthetic.
“Sons of the Neon Night” is precisely such a film—scenic yet out of focus. It’s “visually appealing” yet unlikable, “tasteful” yet as bland as chewing wax.
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