By Darius
When the Lumière brothers filmed The Arrival of a Train at La Ciotat, did any audience member imagine this black-and-white snippet would evolve into an art form influencing billions over the next century?
When Georges Méliès, in an era devoid of spacefaring technology, launched his protagonist moonward via cannon in A Trip to the Moon, who could foresee entire galaxies eventually materializing on the silver screen?
As Jackie Chan's The Fearless Hyena swept across China like wildfire, who knew he would become an insurmountable peak in Hong Kong—and even global—cinematic history?
Film, as an industry, follows cyclical patterns and operational logic; as an art, it remains profoundly unpredictable. Today's cinematic landscape is thus dominated by reliably profitable blockbusters, with occasional outliers of deeper artistic ambition. The so-called "critically acclaimed but commercially lackluster" films—often contemplative art-house works or unvarnished documentaries—face inherent barriers: the former demand refined tastes, the latter struggle to captivate amid harsh realism.
A friend of mine once remarked, "Art films have become a rich man's game—no one struggling financially would choose to make one." In theory, commercial cinema should satisfy mainstream appetites while subsidizing less lucrative genres. Yet recent years reveal a paradox: blockbusters, ostensibly the easiest to produce, now falter globally. Disney's live-action remakes flounder; Marvel's projects generate hype but diminishing returns. Hong Kong, despite Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In's success and The Last Dance's philosophical depth, remains far from its 1970s-90s golden age of diversity.
"What about mainland China?" some ask.
While Ne Zha 2 shattered records worldwide, few recall its theatrical contemporaries—most lagged far behind in quality and marketing. The film's dominance underscores a dearth of worthy competitors, an unhealthy sign for any industry.
Some blame pandemic-era theater closures, but cinema's inherent malaise runs deeper. New-generation directors and stars lack their predecessors' cultural heft; without star power or exceptional quality, audiences and even investors dwindle. Shrinking returns depress practitioners' incomes, deterring fresh talent, creating a slow but inexorable downward spiral.
Post-pandemic, Hong Kong launched initiatives like Cinema Day to reignite public interest, drawing crowds that proved latent demand persists. The SAR government injected HK$1 billion (2019) and HK$1.4 billion (2024) into the Film Development Fund, establishing support programs.
The path forward demands synergy: policy interventions and funding as "adrenaline shots," paired with talent cultivation and industrial innovation. Only thus can Hong Kong's celluloid phoenix rise anew.
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