Film Review: My First of May 無名指 (2025) - Hong Kong
Reviewed by Andrew Chan (Film Critic Circle of Australia)
I rated it 7/10
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James Hung's “My First of May” arrives on our screens like a well-worn, tear-stained handkerchief – familiar, perhaps overly so, but undeniably effective in its purpose. This Hong Kong family drama, anchored by veteran actors and a heartbreaking premise, knows precisely which emotional chords to pluck. It plays them diligently, sometimes predictably, yet with a sincerity that ultimately earns its tears, even if we see the machinery whirring beneath the surface.
The story finds Tang Suk Yin (Aaron Kwok), once a champion squash player whose life echoes the hollow thud of a ball hitting a dead wall. His world collapses when his young daughter, Chi (a remarkable Natalie Hsu), is diagnosed with a rare spinal disease. The burden proves too much; his wife (Gigi Leung) vanishes into the Hong Kong haze, and Suk Yin himself retreats, becoming a spectral figure haunting the fringes of his own life. He leaves the Herculean task of Chi's daily care to her steadfast grandmother (Nina Paw, radiating quiet resilience). A decade drifts by, marked by absence and regret, until the grandmother's own failing health forces Suk Yin back into the cramped apartment and the devastating reality of the daughter he abandoned.
Kwok delivers a solid, if somewhat familiar, portrayal of masculine failure and slow-dawning remorse. He embodies the physicality of defeat – slumped shoulders, averted gaze – effectively. But the film's true revelation, its beating, fragile heart, is Natalie Hsu as Chi. Confined almost entirely to a bed or chair, her character possesses heartbreakingly limited physical expression. Yet, Hsu performs a minor miracle. Through infinitesimal shifts in her eyes, the faintest tremor of her lips, and the profound stillness she commands, she conveys an ocean of feeling – longing, intelligence, resentment, and a flickering, unkillable hope. It’s a performance that transcends the physical constraints and elevates the entire film. Her Chi is no mere symbol of suffering; she is a person, observant and complex, waiting to be truly seen.
Technically, the film captures the suffocating intimacy of struggle within Hong Kong's cramped realities. The modest sets aren't just backgrounds; they are characters themselves – walls that seem to close in, windows offering glimpses of a world moving on without this fractured family. The central metaphor of the ring finger (the film's Chinese title, 無名指), representing those small, vital signs of life and potential connection, is handled with grace, avoiding heavy-handedness.
Where “My First of May” stumbles is in its adherence to a well-trodden path. The screenplay, while earnest, often feels like it's ticking boxes on the "redemption drama" checklist. It leans heavily on sentiment, sometimes at the expense of deeper exploration. The harsh, complex realities of long-term disability care and the profound psychological toll are smoothed over in favor of simpler, tear-jerking moments – a shared ice cream cone serving as a primary symbol of reconciliation feels emblematic of this calculated approach. The first act lingers perhaps too long on establishing Suk Yin's "loser" status, delaying the more compelling and nuanced father-daughter dynamic we crave. Furthermore, Suk Yin's transition from profound abandonment to committed fatherhood feels rushed, lacking the necessary depth of self-reckoning. The tonal shift from bitterness to healing needs more breathing room, more earned introspection.
“My First of May” is not a film that will surprise you with narrative innovation. It walks a path paved by countless melodramas before it. Yet, within that familiar framework, it finds genuine moments of grace and human connection, primarily through Natalie Hsu's extraordinary, wordless performance and the palpable chemistry of its cast. It’s worthy experience: a sincere, well-acted, and ultimately moving drama that resonates despite its formulaic tendencies. It earns its tears honestly, even if we recognize the familiar hand reaching for the handkerchief. For fans of social realism and performances that speak volumes in silence, it remains a worthwhile, if predictable, emotional journey. Sometimes, the ring finger trembles, and that tremor is enough. (Neo, 2025)