Film Name: 食神 / The God of Cookery
In Stephen Chow’s films, there invariably features a female lead embodying truth, goodness and beauty – truth being sincerity, goodness being kindness, and beauty being inner grace. As for her appearance, she is either breathtakingly beautiful or shockingly ugly, yet regardless of her looks, she invariably serves as the embodiment of pure innocence.
Stephen himself typically portrays a comically tragic male figure, frequently poking fun at his own character through wildly off-the-wall, exaggerated performances and dialogue that generate countless laughs.
Yet no matter how absurd or over-the-top his films become, they consistently uphold one virtue: they never caricature women. They are either stunningly beautiful or capable of supporting their families, embodying loyalty, integrity, and unwavering resolve. Moreover, Stephen Chow’s satire always targets specific types of people or societal phenomena, never descending into crude personal attacks. Thus, regardless of how absurd the gags or how far the dialogue and visuals stray from so-called highbrow standards, his comedies remain down-to-earth without ever becoming vulgar.
In The God of Cookery, Stephen deconstructs the dismal state of the catering industry, profit-obsessed operators, flashy yet hollow marketing tactics, and merchants’ vulgar money-grabbing schemes through wildly fluctuating plot twists and unconventional, extreme character portrayals. Yet in this film, driven by the inspirational theme of ‘I can reclaim what I’ve lost’ and centred around cuisine, the most delicious element remains an ordinary bowl of char siu rice.
This bowl of char siu rice represents the sole kindness extended to Stephen Chow’s character, now destitute on the streets with no word from family or friends. From culinary legend to penniless street-dwelling freeloader, Stephen Chow’s journey embodies the crushing fall from the pinnacle of success to the depths of despair.
Though Stephen Chow favours cloaking the bleakest despair in comedic trappings—like sugar-coating bitter medicine—the lingering bitterness and sorrow remain hard to swallow upon reflection.
In the initial throes of despair, even kindness feels repulsive; yet when hopelessness reaches its zenith, the slightest genuine gesture becomes immeasurably precious.
That bowl of char siu rice, delivered by the meddlesome old woman’s hands, bore the weight of profound devotion. Yet it symbolised the purest sincerity and heartfelt compassion this world can offer. Even if the man lying there is a worthless scoundrel who’d just picked a fight with you, you cannot remain as cold-hearted as the rest of society, leaving him to starve and perish.
Stephen Chow’s films never overplay the bitterness. There are no tearful lamentations of regret, no perfectly placed background music to stir the heart with snow-like loneliness. The most desperate moments are captured in mere frames, a motionless figure lying on the ground.
Without that bowl of char siu rice, would this man remain forever prostrate, accepting every indignity, just as his fallen posture suggested?
Yet thankfully, this bowl of char siu rice—free from contempt or indifference—offers warmth to those in dire straits, light to those shrouded in darkness. It not only fills the stomach but also nourishes a hollow, adrift heart. Those who add flowers to brocade are as numerous as clouds; those who offer coal in the snow are as rare as the moon. Yet this sliver of moonlight suffices to illuminate your courageous journey through the night.
The God of Cookery also weaves threads of romance, where selfless devotion entails immense sacrifice—a notion at odds with our modern ideals of equal love. The narrative seems to insist that only a woman who loves to the point of willing sacrifice can genuinely redeem a seemingly irredeemable wretch. Yet I believe Stephen Chow’s ultimate redemption stems from a force transcending mere love.
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