The movie is told through scenes shot mainly (perhaps solely) in a single shot of slow, composed movement - it never moves outside; it's utterly claustrophobic and hermetic. In the beginning it's too much of a whirlpool of characters to be assimilated, but then the audacity of the structure starts to clarify - some of those initial people never seem to be seen again, whereas others recur - slowly building a theme of the flower girls' aspirations to freedom or at least self-determination. There's no overt passion here, no nudity, no sex - motivations remain somewhat obscure although they're obviously born in an intricate subculture of sexual politics and social hierarchies - these are unfolded gradually, but remain as formalized and inaccessible as the strange game the men continually play (that just seems to consist of words and hand movements). There's a sort of resigned serenity to the way that some stories but not others find closure, and the camerawork evokes a calm, mystic eye - finding moments of truth but never yielding its mystery.
Review of Flowers of Shanghai
