Film Name: 麦兜·我和我妈妈 / McDull: Me & My Mum
If watching other animated films is trading money for entertainment, then watching a “McDull” movie is trading 80 minutes for a full sack of emotions. Sometimes I really want to criticize McDull—why does he always pay such annoying attention to the tiniest details of life? Why does he always irritatingly make us feel moved by the truest human emotions? Why does he always casually utter words that stay with us for a lifetime?
Because McDull is our lives. Each of us is a pig in this world—we must overcome self-doubt, earn respect, fight for our place, and find our tribe. In those moments, watching the optimistic McDull is like injecting our hearts with a soothing balm, allowing us to pause our busyness and notice life’s true beauty.
The film opens with detective genre elements, where adult McDull solves a case like Sherlock Holmes—he’s now a prominent figure. His speech has accelerated. Indeed, speech rhythm is a defining feature of McDull films. No matter how tense the plot, McDull narrates it with his signature measured cadence. When bargaining, Mrs. McDull’s instructions to McDull are clearly tactics to drive down prices, yet he delivers them in his characteristic slow cadence. This transforms what could be a cutthroat negotiation into a refined exchange. The coldness of human interaction dissolves in an instant.
Of course, I don’t agree with the film portraying McDull as a transcendent being. If having a mother who loves him, protects him, and shoulders all family responsibilities could effortlessly turn a child into a “great man,” then this world would be devoid of cruelty. But the truth is, this world is brutally harsh. The film should have explored what would happen if McDull never achieved greatness, if he remained an ordinary person. How would he repay his mother? How would he keep her forever in his heart? Because that is closer to the reality of each of our lives.
McDull’s growing up shattered all our imaginings of him as an adult. It was like a cocoon breaking open, the mysterious beauty born of uncertainty vanishing completely. I would rather Maidou remain forever in that carefree state of childhood—that is the true Maidou. The Great Detective is not Maidou; it is merely the best of the countless endings we imagined for him, endings that should forever remain only in our minds.
My favorite scene is the “interlude” between Maidou and his uncle. This isn’t just a scene between uncle and nephew—it’s a scene between the adult Maidou and the child Maidou. This is precisely how adult McDull should be: a figure both tangible and elusive, obscure yet steadfastly devoted to his own life’s purpose. He perpetually pushes his food cart into remote wildernesses, places no ordinary customer would ever visit—yet it is there he finds his fulfillment. Everyone possesses their own life’s purpose and their unique path to realizing it. Just as McDull’s mother endlessly drifts from job to job, her true purpose lies solely in loving McDull and nurturing his growth.
The film serves as a documentary record of Hong Kong’s societal transformation. The iconic snack shop, a repository of childhood memories and boundless community affection, has collapsed. The television station, painstakingly yet joyfully run by a few life-loving souls, has collapsed. People are forcibly dragged into the city’s breakneck pace—a life as rapid as McDull’s speech when solving cases. One day, the versatile uses of clothes hangers will be replaced by trendy gadgets. Yet the film forcibly drags us back into those simpler times, reminding those of us who’ve grown distant from snack shops, TV stations, and clothes hangers of their once-warm presence. This gentle reminder is truly enough for us to cherish.
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