[psycho d]

Fallen Angels (1995). Strapping neon lights in the dark underbelly of Hong Kong sets the stage for this uber-hip tale of isolationist tragedy of love-shorn fallen heroes as they try to make their way amongst the cold heartless throngs of civilization. Where connections of life are hostile, our players literally create from scratch a method to link a distant humanity to their otherwise meaningless lives. The result is pure visual bliss. To not be pleasurably mesmerized by this flick is a treason best left without a conviction. The story is a haphazard scramble of lost souls loosely linked by a cinematic art form best left undefined. The direction is just as indescribably perfect, like putting into words the puissance of Mona Lisa's hinting smile. The camera man must have enjoyed a cocktail of methamphetamines washed down with steroids, the result being a wonderfully frenzied complex of voyeuristic energies and incongruous situations whose symbolic import are indelibly brought together in this flick's perfect ending. The only problem was that, as in all of life, the good times all must come to a painful end, a lustful need for more conjugated to an emptiness that life verite' seems unwilling to fulfill.
Genruk