Under the spotlight of Chinese-language cinema, Jun Li’s Queerpanorama (also known as The Crowd), armed with five Golden Horse Award nominations, marks itself not only as an independent film that challenges boundaries but also as the year’s most textually profound and controversial “dark horse.” Deviating from conventional social realism or romantic sentimentality, this work delves deep into the pathological psychological structure of a city. It precisely captures the “Post-22 Years”—the era following the 22nd anniversary of Hong Kong’s handover, marked by major social upheavals and the subsequent pandemic. Against this backdrop, it depicts an extreme and intimate posture of survival chosen by Hong Kong’s younger generation amidst collective trauma and the nihilistic sense that “resistance is futile.”
This is not an erotic film; it is a pathological report on the disintegration of Hong Kong’s zeitgeist.
I. Fluidity of Identity: The Collective “Depersonalization” of Hong Kong
The film’s core narrative device is the protagonist: a nameless, unemployed, wandering hollow shell who systematically appropriates the identities, discourse, and professions of his partners through post-coital conversations. Every physical connection becomes an act of identity “harvesting” and “transferral.”
Post-Colonial Rootlessness: This infinitely fluid identity points directly to the lingering issues of Hong Kong’s post-colonial history. The city has never possessed a stable, autonomous “Id,” only constantly playing roles assigned to it in the cracks between colonial rule and the handover of sovereignty. The protagonist’s behavior is an allusion to this Depersonalization—when politics and history fail to define you, the individual chooses to completely detach from the self, becoming a constantly shifting, non-threatening member of “the crowd.”
The Ultimate Embodiment of “Lying Flat” (Tang Ping): After experiencing immense defeat, the nihilism of “resistance is futile” has catalyzed a spiritual “lying flat” among Hong Kong’s youth. The protagonist is the extreme embodiment of this mindset: since the world cannot be changed, he abandons becoming a real self, downgrading himself to an “Information Transfer Station.” He passively receives and transmits the fragmented anxieties of countless individuals in the city, yet never utters a voice of his own.
II. Political Hookups: Exchanging Intelligence and Trauma in the Flesh
Sex in Queerpanorama is thoroughly stripped of traditional romance or pure desire, transformed instead into a form of “Political Hookup.” Its core functions are exchange, confirmation, and catharsis.
The Intelligence Exchange: The conversations after sex are the only moments the protagonist focuses on. He is not making love; he is “dating” a city and a collective anxiety. When political discussion in public spaces is suppressed, individual anxiety and struggle are pushed into the most private bedrooms for “underground exchange.” Physical connection becomes the briefest, least responsible medium for this exchange.
A False Sense of Collectivity: The connections established by these “hookups” are transient and replaceable, much like “like” culture on social media. It gives individuals the illusion that “I am not alone” because everyone faces similar predicaments. However, this false intimacy cannot be transformed into the power of collective action; it remains merely an individualized, emotional political catharsis.
III. Circular Destiny: The End of Time in Black and White Imagery
The film employs full black-and-white cinematography and extensive static shots, which not only elevates the aesthetic sense of alienation but also completes a brutal termination of the “sense of time” at the semiotic level. Black and white strips away the saturation of hope in the city, leaving only grim repression.
The Endless Circle: Structurally, the ending of the story loops back to the beginning, suggesting that the protagonist’s wandering is an endless cycle. This is the most pessimistic prophecy regarding “Hong Kong’s Futurity”: when past glory and future hope are erased, all efforts and struggles are imprisoned in a constantly repeating, inescapable “Now.”
The Invalidation of Resistance: Within this circular destiny, “change” becomes an extravagant hope. This reinforces the philosophical tone that “resistance is futile,” driving individuals to choose “lying on the tracks” (a metaphor for giving up/lying flat)—seeking the lightest, least responsible way to survive through bodily comfort and false role-playing.
IV. Decoding Details: Three-Person DNA and the Political Allegory of the “Future Child”
The film’s most profound and futuristic code is the protagonist’s retelling of a scientist’s claim that “three people’s DNA can help those with congenital diseases make up for defects.” This seemingly casual line forms a strong irony against his ongoing “political hookups.”
LGBTQ+ Reproductive Rights and Legal Defects: Under Hong Kong’s awkward dual status as an “International City” with “Legal Conservatism,” LGBTQ+ reproductive rights (the legal claim to “family” and “future”) remain in a legal vacuum or are outright rejected. This “Legal Defect” is far more colossal than any genetic defect.
Questioning the “Child of the Future”: The ultimate question posed is: Can we, in this city limited by law and filled with collective trauma, legally and safely conceive a “Future Child” who does not carry the “traumatic genes” of the previous generation? The longing for new life is locked within the circular destiny and an unrecognized legal framework.
The artistic achievement of Queerpanorama lies in its elevation of the individual’s most private sexuality to a profound interrogation of collective political fate. With its black-and-white alienation, it reveals the Hong Kong of the “Post-22 Years”: a portrait of sentient beings choosing to exchange loneliness in “political hookups” and collectively “lie on the tracks” within a loop of destiny.