What constitutes an "art film" will be debated for as long as art films are produced. But, no matter how subjective, there is a line that separates "good" art films from "bad". The Island Tales belongs in the latter camp. Adjectives like "tedious", "pretentious", and "self-indulgent" only mildly describe the agony of sitting through this look at a half-dozen souls stranded on an island that may or may not be contaminated by a plague.

The works of director Stanley Kwan Kam-pang are, admittedly, an acquired taste that some critics have never acquired. While one is intrigued by the underlying premises of films like Centre Stage or Full Moon in New York, the execution of the ideas leaves many shaking their heads in desperation. Kwan also has numerous enthusiasts, and many of his films have won awards and received praise at international film festivals. With The Island Tales, Kwan has created a movie which might turn off even his most diehard fans.

The central idea in Jimmy Ngai's script has cinematic possibilities. A disparate group enters uncharted territory as it faces the ultimate challenge of survival with no one to rely on but themselves. And a disparate group it is. Sharon (Michele Reis) is a serious-minded Eurasian taking a "sentimental journey" to May Fly Island (a fictitious locale, shot on location in Lantau), scene of some not very happy childhood memories. Her friend Marianne (Kaori Momoi, familiar to Hong Kong audiences as the matriarch in The Yen Family) is a free-spirited Japanese coquette. When the government orders the island quarantined, they make the acquaintance of Mei-ling (Shu Qi), an elfin Taiwanese beauty who works for the proprietress of a local restaurant (Elaine Jin). Other personalities include teen idol Hon (Julian Cheung Chi-lam), who has come to May Fly to get away from it all, and a tubercular Japanese writer, Haruki (Takao Osawa), who types away as he tries to conquer his illness.

The movie deals with its "profound" issues in such a labored manner that after five minutes one may feel exasperated and ready to bolt for the exit. But a critic's responsibility is to see a movie till its close. One waits, watches, and hopes, much like the characters in The Island Tales. And, just as it is for them, the experience is not pleasant.

A major problem is the dialogue, most of which is in English and constitutes what is among the most poorly written colloquies outside of student film projects. When Julian Cheung boasts about his sexiness and superstardom, it comes across as awkward-stilted rather than cute-pompous. Michele Reis, who proved in Flowers of Shanghai how good her acting can be when given the chance, delivers one of the worst performances in the history of recent Hong Kong cinema. It's not her fault. Even Meryl Streep would have had problems delivering most of those lines.

At least the English of Reis and Cheung is clear and intelligible. When the two Japanese actors speak, they are often incomprehensible. Were it not for the Chinese subtitles, viewers would frequently be clueless as to what they are saying. Not that they have a better chance when speaking in Japanese (with Chinese and English subtitles). Haruki's drunken soliloquy towards the end of the movie is embarrassing to witness and dull to boot. At times, it seems like a spoof of a bad Zuni production.

The Chinese dialogue is no better. A scene where Mei-ling and Hon meet on the beach at night is full of Mandarin and Cantonese talk. They talk and talk and talk and the talk is so fatuous that it's a wonder they didn't become as drowsy as the audience.

Throughout the film, most of the characters relieve their stress by getting drunk or high or both. The imbibed behaviour is supposed to come across as adorable, uninhibited, and cool. Obnoxious is a more apt description.

The movie ends with the line, "The quarantine lasted less than fifteen hours." Despite a running time of only 93 minutes, The Island Tales gives the impression of lasting more than fifteen hours. Viewers may prefer to be quarantined.

This review is copyright (c) 1999 by Paul Fonoroff. All rights reserved. No prt of the review may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner. This review appears in HKMDB by kind permission from Paul Fonoroff.