Film Name: 神奇两女侠 / Wonder Women / 神奇兩女俠
Hong Kong’s 1980s and 1990s produced a wealth of female-driven films. The women in these movies were bold, independent, and captivating—passionately devoted to love yet fiercely capable of hatred. They preserved their innocence amidst a corrupt world. “Wonder Women” portrays precisely such extraordinary women. If you ask me what makes them extraordinary, I can only answer: courage. These remarkable women made Hong Kong cinema vibrant and vivid. Some people struggle to see what’s brave about the women in this film. Carina Lau’s character in “Intimates” is bold and decisive, yet here we have two seemingly brainless women being manipulated by a scumbag. I’d argue that bravery isn’t innate—it’s a choice made after recognizing mainstream values. Some choose submission, some choose resistance. Some never lift a finger, lying flat in life while dreaming of success.
It seems most assume rebellion only happens when cornered, or that one needs privilege to resist. But how do you define “rebellion”? Is it chanting slogans daily, caring for imaginary underdogs, then basking in self-congratulatory tears over your “heroism”? Or is it thoughtfully navigating your surroundings, authentically being yourself, and living each day truthfully? The two women in this film are utterly ordinary. They’ve never experienced dramatic highs or lows, holding only mundane values. They possess neither social status nor extraordinary skills, nor have they fallen to the streets begging for pity. Artsy types might dismiss them as “crass” and uncultured, unworthy of sympathy since they haven’t suffered societal oppression—let alone serve as a mirror for projecting one’s own “misery.” So why do I call them brave? Because their courage is profoundly grounded in reality—the kind you encounter daily. When you feel powerless to confront your circumstances, you might choose escape, becoming a false version of yourself. Yet these two women never shirked life. They embraced every mundane aspect of existence, yet they maintained their boundaries.
Liang Haoqiu (played by Cheng Yu-ling) and Lian Zirong (played by Ye Tong) are two ordinary women navigating the mundane world. They pursue everything defined by mainstream values: beauty, money, fame. Liang Haoqiu is the quintessential dumb blonde. She loves participating in shallow beauty pageants, believing her beauty is her only asset. She thinks she should win a title while she’s young, so that fame will bring money and change her life. Lian Zirong’s father is an intellectual who fled mainland China to Hong Kong. Her family opposes her participation in beauty pageants, yet the allure remains irresistible to a woman blessed with beauty. After all, it allows her to “monetize” her looks—just as mainstream values promise: beauty grants you everything. You become the fairy-tale Cinderella whose life transforms, achieving success without effort. Faced with such a “shortcut,” what woman could refuse? This is the sustenance heaven bestows—what I deserve. For heaven is inherently unfair: some are born beautiful and thus need to strive less.
Women blessed with natural beauty enter the mainstream value system from a very young age. Those around them constantly reinforce the message that beauty is all that matters. From childhood, they are shaped by mainstream values to pursue beauty and compete with each other over who is more beautiful. But does reality match their expectations? Can beauty alone translate into tangible rewards? Undoubtedly, beauty pageant contestants are all attractive. Within this group, no one holds an absolute advantage, and they are all measured against a single standard—one that remains invisible because beauty should never have an absolute benchmark. Naturally, contestants begin to speculate about this elusive standard. Under the gaze of the media, which shapes these standards, they start playing a different role: a beauty conforming to mass aesthetic expectations, rather than their authentic selves. The film features numerous scenes about the media. Liang Haoqiu and Lian Zirong perform in a studio. Liang Haoqiu, who normally thinks less and lacks confidence, acts particularly fake because she constantly guesses others’ standards to conform. Staff outside the studio laugh at her for only knowing how to “shake her chest” with no acting skills. In truth, these people simply crave large breasts; they revel in showcasing beauty pageants’ vulgarity to flaunt their own “superiority.” Lian Zirong, however, is more educated and performs with greater authenticity. She doesn’t actively seek to conform to others’ expectations, fully aware that beauty pageants are widely mocked.
In real life, Lian Zirong worked as a receptionist at a small company. After her pageant defeat was sensationalized by the media, her colleagues and bosses mocked her for being vain. Under this pressure, she resigned. It seemed beautiful women held more “influence” over others because they were perceived as “strong.” yet in reality, they become objects of scrutiny, paraded by media for their “brainlessness” and “vanity.” If you defy this mold—if you think for yourself—you fall outside mainstream values’ judgment. Liang Haoqiu constantly chased media attention, always trying to ride the wave of trends. She naively believed that more exposure would increase her chances of winning, blindly trusting every “method” the mainstream values told her. She was deeply dissatisfied with the judges’ aesthetic standards, believing the winners weren’t particularly attractive and had undergone plastic surgery—this system was utterly unfair. It wasn’t until they finally gained access to an upper-class party that they realized beauty queens were merely commodities for the flesh trade. Even Zirong dragged Liang Haoqiu away from the gathering, pleading with her not to engage in such work, not to sacrifice her dignity for fame and money. At that moment, they were just one step away from success. Liang Haoqiu wept, confessing she only wanted to see the world and improve her life. She hadn’t realized that beyond the dazzling stage lights of so-called mainstream values lay the demand to abandon dignity without limits, to “voluntarily” do things against one’s will. Those seduced by fame and fortune often make foolish choices. That night, they lingered before the massive Gucci display window in the mall. The store had long closed, leaving only the two of them like ghosts wandering in the shadows behind the lights. Lian Zirong confessed she desperately wanted a luxury item—it was every woman’s dream. Who didn’t want to live with dignity? They could only afford discounted goods from factories leaking wastewater. Liang Haoqiu remarked that celebrities didn’t buy their own luxury items either—they often took gifts from others back to stores to cash them in at a discount. This, she said, was just like beauty pageants: selling dignity for the illusion of luxury. In truth, that facade wasn’t theirs at all, and by participating in this deception, they themselves became discounted goods. Lian Zirong insists she wants to buy with her own earnings. She refuses gifts, knowing they always come with a price—the price being one’s moral integrity.
The latter half of the film depicts the friendship between two women being tested by a handsome jerk. This guy is the quintessential “nice guy”—everything he says and does seems to perfectly align with their desires. Yet, in their competition for his attention, their friendship turns into enmity. This scumbag actually represents mainstream values. Sacrificing your true self, precious friendships, and the purest parts of yourself to conform to these values is utterly worthless. Yet, caught in the “allure of love,” you can’t distinguish truth from falsehood. You believe these values favor you, willingly giving up everything for them. In reality, he deceives and manipulates everyone without genuine affection. In the end, both women confronted the scumbag, each expressing their affection for him—because it was genuinely voluntary. Regarding the deception, each slapped him across the face. They didn’t seek revenge but thanked him for helping them see the true nature of mainstream values and understand themselves. It was incredibly satisfying! Beauty is merely a yardstick of mainstream values. Trapped within it, you often lose sight of yourself, convinced of your “worth,” when in truth others are merely playing games! This fraudulent standard leaves no room for genuine character. Everyone deceives each other, ultimately awarding you a prize like a luxury item. This prize isn’t for your effort or beauty, but for your ability to truly “conform to the rules” and abandon your authentic self.
The ending on the tram: Liang Haoqiu asks Lian Zirong what “utopia” means. Lian Zirong replies that “utopia” is much like a gang in the underworld—something you must never touch. She advises that one should stay grounded and down-to-earth. In truth, beauty pageants are utopias—gilded facades of artificially imposed mainstream values. These rules teach deception, forcing you to wear a “mask,” ultimately killing your authentic self.
The film features two women: one contemplative, who contrasts the mainland’s “utopia” with the beauty pageant’s “utopia.” Both pursue only appearances and face, with no fundamental difference. The other is naive and easily swept up by mainstream values, yet she still chooses resistance over playing palace intrigue within the system. What truly moves us is her innocence. The film’s theme song, “Gan Ai Gan Zuo” sung by Alan Tam, captures their essence: they dare to love, so they get hurt; but they also dare to act, slapping mainstream values in the face. That’s real-life courage—you can SAY NO!
Daming Yipai once wrote a song titled “Shen Qi Nv Xia” for this “Wonder Women,” included in the album “Wei Ren Min Fu Wu.” Let us conclude this review with its lyrics:
The crowd fills the stage
All eyes on her exaggerated eyelids
Yet no passerby
Cheers for this lady’s looks
The crowd’s subway logic is
About last night’s Miss Hong Kong finals
Vaguely within this pair of eyes
Anticipation also seeks applause on stage
Whenever she sees her reflection
Feels doubly lovely within the mirror
Often hopes one day to break through this wall
She dons the sun’s radiance, with new destinations
No need for nights chasing Jade Theatre
Progress is forced, forced, forced. Each day grows brighter.
No longer rushing to catch the station train.
Strolling leisurely at noon as usual,
Pausing at every high-end boutique.
Brands made in France.
In this land, everything is beautiful.
Boredom leads her into Landmark,
Gazing at sparkling jewels with feigned admiration.
Idly wandering, pretending to be amused—
All to avoid being killed by tedium.
Every day I hate having to watch my step
For that former manager
Always hoping one day to break through this wall
She cloaked in sunshine, with new horizons
No need to chase the Jade Theater at night
Progress is forced, forced indeed, each day grows brighter
No more rushing to catch the station
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