Directed by Mabel Cheung. Written by Alex Law and Chi-Yeuh Low
Like a Casio keyboard preset melody, Mabel Cheung’s An Autumn’s Tale is a pure and simple romance wrapped in New York autumn colors. Misunderstandings and missed connections provide the frustrating spice, but the outcome is never in doubt.
Jennifer is fresh off the plane from Hong Kong, rushing to see her long-distance boyfriend in New York City, only she finds his hand wrapped around some other woman. Fuck! In a new city where she knows no one except her cousin, Jennifer has a rough landing. The apartment her cousin found her is a squatter’s nest, the immigrant experience is a bad one, and now this heartbreak? Almost too much to bear for this clear-eyed girl striking out on her own for the first time.
An Autumn’s Tale is the story of a girl becoming a woman far away from everything she knows, stepping out from under the protective embrace of her mother and into 80s New York, which is no kindergarten. The streets are run ragged with garbage and vandalism, and in the background of Jennifer’s story there’s the wider community’s battle with racism, gambling, and the upwards struggle of capitalism.
Jennifer’s not alone. Chow Yun-Fat is his charming best as Samuel, Jennifer’s cousin who takes her under his wing and looks out for her the best he can. A roughhousing gambler prone to drink, he’s no mama’s boy, but a sweet inner life looks out from within. Butterflies soon twirl in the autumn air between these (distantly related!) cousins.
Mabel Cheung’s movie is nothing if not easy and satisfying, rounding off the corners of any unpleasantness and never letting its audience worry things are not going to pan out. Its central love story is not far from cinematic muzak, and An Autumn’s Tale is redeemed only by the compelling circumstances surrounding Jennifer and Samuel: the grime and detailed set design, as well as the small thematic inclusions of immigrants’ hidden communities, their entrepreneurship, and the exploitation they often face.
Chow-Yun Fat is a capable romantic lead and anyone who’s familiar with him only as an enigmatic hardass can find themselves surprised by how unseriously he takes himself here as a fun-loving giant with a schoolboy’s sincerity. As Jennifer, Cherie Chung only excels at evoking the frustration felt from dealing with deadbeat lovers and exploring hands, struggling in turn with the loneliness faced by immigrants and the fear one has made a significant wrong turn in life.
Artificially sweet, but sweet nonetheless, An Autumn’s Tale is a predictable romance that offers a time capsule escape to 80s New York, its squalor and opportunities, as well as a different side to Chow-Yun Fat, one that’s gentle as a good-morning kiss and warm as the sunrise. Bottom line: you won’t regret skipping it, you won’t regret watching it.
Mikkel Frederiksen 