Ye tries to make Kuan comfortable, but he soon runs away, and then goes so far as to hatch a kidnapping scheme. Distraught, Ye sends Kuan back to his mom, and, in her vulnerable state, is made into a mark by several con people, most notably the suave Pan (Chow Yun-Fat). After she is bled dry both financially and mentally by the con artists, Ye soon finds herself in the care of her daughter, Liu (Vicky Zhao), but their long-ongoing rocky relationship doesn't make an easy time of things.

The Postmodern Life of My Aunt is a bit of a strange picture. The above plot synopsis would lead you to think that this is a very depressing movie, and at many points it is. But there is also a extremely cheerful energy running throughout the film, brought to life mostly via Siqin Gaowa and Chow Yun-Fat's wonderful performances. Usually, when movies try to mix comedy and tragedy, the results are like the proverbial oil and water and come off as overwrought twaddle, but Ann Hui's smart direction lets both of the worlds co-exist off of each other in a solidly made symbiotic mix.

If there is fault to be leveled at The Postmodern Life of My Aunt, it would be the utter lack of any resolution by the end of the film. Of course, Hong Kong and Chinese movies are well-known for often not tying up everything and presenting an ending wrapped in a pretty package. But it did come off as more than a bit disappointing here, since the characters were so interesting -- it seemed a shame to leave the audience hanging. True, that sort of "lost" feeling was probably one of Hui's intents, and the ending (or lack thereof) doesn't ruin the film, but it would have been nice to see what eventually happened to Ye and her family.

Although Chow Yun-Fat has somewhat mixed his uneven Hollywood career (high point being the sadly neglected Anna And The King) with stints in Asian cinema since 2000's often mentioned Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, 2006 became more of a celebration for those wishing for the immortal charisma and actual talent of Yun-Fat to appear more closer to his actual home. Starring in Zhang Yimou's Curse of The Golden Flower, personally actual excitement entered when The Postmodern Life Of My Aunt was announced, Chow's re-teaming with director Ann Hui. Tracking back to 1981, Hui directed Chow to wide acclaim (but superstardom was yet to come) in her tragic The Story Of Woo Viet and while this Mainland lensed production doesn't contain the compelling harshness of said social commentary, many bitter pills can be find in Hui's comedy-drama. Many of which are about progressing naturally anyway. Following through till the last frame is therefore vital because this mish-mash of moods, characters and storylines only cohere towards the end where we realize we also have an acceptable (but not EXceptional) Ann Hui movie on our hands.

Linking the themes of the film to the word postmodern, it could basically boil down to our older character not wanting to be in tune with the new times of Shanghai or simply not having the strength anymore. Watching Ye, it's probably a little of both but main issue still concerns relationships torn prior and the question of whether they can be mended. Pretty basic templates, ones Hui used to complex effect in her autobiographical drama Song Of The Exile so don't necessarily relax with The Postmodern Life Of My Aunt.

Starting with the story of Ye and Kuankuan, clearly she has trouble being a proper caretaker, ranging from having no food at home to not warning the kid about birds flying freely in her apartment. The kid recognizes his downsized role though and quickly negotiates living rights but also adheres to his disappearing pattern ("He'll usually come back on the 3rd day"). Now things really begin to take unexpected turns and we begin to wonder where the focus in the work is at! Because soon Kuankuan meets up with what is presumably an online friend (scarred character of Fei Fei, played by Wang Zwen) and we got a kidnapping scheme on our hands shortly after. Is this a movie adhering to some age old Hong Kong cinema insanity?

Knowing Ann Hui, it's probably worth taking the whole trip and not just 25 frustrated minutes of it before the dvd is ejected. After some detours into Ye's attempts at being an upright citizen by reporting littering and not getting a tutoring job because the parents wants their child to learn American English, Li Quang's writing begins speaking of Ye as being abandoned by the demands of the world at this point. It's a point in developing. Finally entering the frey is Chow Yun-Fat, in what is billed as a special performance (and it certainly is) but is close to a supporting act (most performances are as this is mainly Siqin Gaowa's show). Connecting to Pan via their love of opera, him being a conman reveals the thematic strands of gullibility and frankly stupidity in Ye as the often off-key, totally unconvincing and scripted nature to Pan's rants and stories would have a sound character running for the hills. But anyone can get lonely and risking it all for a bit of physical love, possibly even long lasting romance sees Ye go even further into business with the charming Pan. And it's here heaps of praise should be thrown at Chow Yun-Fat who perfectly catches the unconvincing, at times goofy nature of the conman. Deadly charming and charismatic (character AND the actor), it's wonderful to see Chow being playful again close to home grounds, feeling extremely comfortable in the company he's in.

However the bitter pills pretty much kick in by Chow exiting the picture but the wackiness and flirts with questionable focus finally start to pay off. The dark comedy turning into somber drama means we get a complete circle. Being postmodern, for whatever reason as explained above, comes with the territory of being old according to our storytellers here and aside from some abstract behaviour from director Hui, her throughline that concerns family relations more than anything manifests itself in a basic, affecting manner. Because using simplicity as her tool doesn't turn the film into something truly transcending into class cinema but being sufficient is damn good coming from Hui and the cinema output overall in the territory. Not that Hui has forgotten to be mean and angry as evident by her work on Goddess Of Mercy, The Postmodern Life Of My Aunt is still only a fairly somber but also warm experience for the moment. And those moments are perhaps what Siqin Gaowa's very vulnerable Ye counts as worth going through. It is for us on the other side anyway.

The story opens with spoilt nephew Kuan-kuan travelling to Shanghai to see his parochial aunt Rutang. Though living in the city, she is isolated in a world she doesn't understand and struggles to understand what has happened to the values of the people around her. Rutang and her nephew hardly enjoy an emotional reunion and neither understands the other's lifestyle. This becomes even more apparent when Kuan-kuan disappears for a few days and then puts his aunt through the emotional mangle when he pretends that he has been kidnapped. Rutang's pastoral naivety is further exploited by duplicitous ex-Opera singer Pan who uses his oily tricks to charm his way into her affections. Each and every new character that Rutang meets in the city appears to have a hidden agenda in gaining her trust and eventually she realises that the people around her are as shallow as Shanghai's glittering opulence.

It is commendable that both director and big name star are so keen to subvert the usual role we expect of our beloved Chow Yun Fat. For years he was either the slick romancer or the ice-cool hero, but here he plays a pathetic worm of a character who preys on Rutang's obvious loneliness. Chow is outstanding in the role and uses all of the smiles and winks that used to attract his leading ladies for more nefarious means. The scenes between him and the admirably virtuous yet ingenuous Rutang are what make this film so watchable, but the rest of the story fails to quite live up to their time together.

Essentially this is a story of how the milk of human kindness can curdle and the tragedy of the general cynicism that inevitably creeps into Rutang's personality. It makes for depressing viewing, seeing a variety of characters - from her brat of a nephew to the conniving mother who she takes pity on - take advantage of the main protagonist. It becomes a predictable pattern of behaviour by the supporting players, yet Hui and her main star Siqin Gaowa manage to keep our interest thanks to the quality of their respective crafts. Hui weaves in a couple of moments of black humour that make this much more than an essay on how manipulative city-folk are and when the action switches to a more rural setting the director's sharp critique is equally despairing of people there. Hui also uses her lens to contrast the traditional view of Chinese communities with the new China that is bursting forth from the city; earthy shots of urban Shanghai are contrasted with glitzy views of futuristic Pudong, the two apparently worlds apart in the understanding of Rutang. In terms of creating a visually rich tapestry, Ann Hui once again succeeds though the story struggles to have the same impact.

Much as we sympathise with Rutang's vulnerability, there is a lack of background to her - how she ended up in a city she feels so lonely in is never explained nor is the reason for her fractured family relationships. This does not constitute a fatal flaw, yet it somehow undermines the decisions Rutang makes and our understanding of them. The narrative also staggers during the final twenty minutes as the focus turns from Rutang to Vicky Zhao's character, a move that appears tacked on the end and fails to add anything the the overall drama. As much of the film is carried by Siqin's excellent performance, any move away from her is likely to suffer in comparison.

'The Post-Modern Life Of My Aunt' is expertly made, superbly shot and mostly involving. Yet there's something missing in this odyssey of an elderly woman's experiences in the city, something that not even Ann Hui's skills can compensate for. It still amounts to a drama of obvious quality, but there is the constant feeling that it should have been even more.