In the years before Wong Kar-wai’s arthouse dramas competed for top prizes at Cannes, Hong Kong cinema had a decidedly different flavour. Already a global force by the early 70s, Hong Kong filmmaking was so popular that it trumped even Hollywood movies in some Eastern territories, with the mass production of stunt-fuelled kung fu spectacles the spur for much of this success. But after Bruce Lee’s death in 1973, the recycled sets and serious tone of Hong Kong’s martial arts cinema began to grow tiresome – and in the decade that followed, the industry was forced to modernise.

A generation of young filmmakers sought to distance themselves from the Chinese fantasy epics that came before. These renegade creatives were acutely conscious of the rapid modernisation in the city, and yearned to reflect these changes through stories of changing social dynamics, migrant conflicts, class struggles and the complexities of personal identity. Their visually rich and stylish cinema was a hit with native audiences, who identified with the socially conscious narratives and relatable characters. Their approach, meanwhile, would lay the groundwork for a greater appreciation of Hong Kong cinema in the West in the decades that followed.

In early 2025, a slate of landmark films from the Hong Kong new wave will arrive in the West courtesy of MUBI, Radiance Films and 88 Films, with many receiving UK distribution for the first time. To mark the occasion, we explore six highlights by three key directors below.

DANGEROUS ENCOUNTERS OF THE FIRST KIND (TSUI HARK, 1980)

Years before he ventured into Hollywood to helm a pair of Jean-Claude Van Damme action spectacles in the 90s, director Tsui Hark was once responsible for a gritty exploitation flick so incendiary that it was banned by the British colonial government in Hong Kong. The furore surrounding Dangerous Encounters of the First Kind stirred enough public interest that a re-edited version became an unlikely box office hit soon after, foreshadowing the rise of violent ‘Category III’ video nasties come the end of the decade.

The film opens with harsh red lighting and images of barbed wire fences, as radio transmissions warn of torrential rainstorms while announcing the discovery of children’s corpses at a reservoir. Against this grim backdrop, a group of delinquent teens with a homemade pipe bomb cause an explosion at a local cinema, inspiring a sociopathic young woman to join their ranks and escalate their criminal activity. 

It’s a nihilistic narrative spiked with meaningless violence, which turns even bleaker when the gang get on the wrong side of a group of Western arms dealers. A stark closing montage of stills from the 1967 Hong Kong riots – a series of anti-colonialist uprisings that resulted in 51 deaths and 5000 arrests – meanwhile underline the searing social commentary. It remains one of the most notorious thrillers of the era.

NOMAD (PATRICK TAM, 1982)

The aim of the Hong Kong new wave, proclaimed Patrick Tam in a 1979 interview with Film Biweekly, was “to establish a new film language” – and the future mentor of Wong Kar-wai perhaps embodied this philosophy better than any of his contemporaries. In the middle of a string of genre-switching productions in the 80s, his film Nomad offered an effervescent tale of carefree abandon and horny ambitions among Hong Kong’s hipster youths, with zippy editing and the use of bold primary colours later earning him comparisons to the likes of French New Wave pioneer Jean-Luc Godard.

Set to a soundtrack that jumps from Bach and Grace Jones to the melancholy ballads and guitar jams of 80s Cantopop, Nomad follows two couples as they drift aimlessly through the city’s vast urban playground. Wealthy introvert Louis (Hong Kong darling Leslie Cheung) hangs with a working-class girl named Tomato and huffs lighter fluid in an apartment adorned with David Bowie posters, while lifeguard Pong has sex with Kathy on the upper deck of the green ‘ding-ding’ tram. Eventually, the group’s reckless and hedonistic behaviour leads to violence in this character-led youth drama. As recalled in a recent interview with New York’s Metrograph theatre, Nomad was “unfairly” prevented from screening upon release due to viewer complaints, requiring additional cuts to be made to several steamy romance scenes.

SHANGHAI BLUES (TSUI HARK, 1984)

In 1937, Shanghai was thrown into chaos during a devastating air raid by Japanese forces. While sheltering in darkness beneath a bridge, aspiring musician and clown Tung makes a pact with beautiful showgirl Shu-Shu (legendary Hong Kong diva Sylvia Chang): once the fighting ends, they will meet again. They part ways without ever glimpsing each other’s faces. A decade on, the would-be lovebirds are unknowing neighbours, having resumed their careers in the city’s vibrant nightlife district. As their lives intertwine, the question remains: will fate lead them back together, or are they destined to keep searching in the dark?

Tsui Hark’s ambling romantic comedy has an air of Old Hollywood: the stagey sets are evocative of a studio backlot, with rainbow-coloured dancehalls, feather boas and frilly dresses elsewhere lighting up the screen. There’s even a dash of Charlie Chaplin-style slapstick thrown in for good measure. It’s a far cry from the grimy violence of Dangerous Encounters of the First Kind — but “the Hong Kong Spielberg”, as Time Magazine called him in 2001, was not one to be easily pinned down.

LOVE UNTO WASTE (STANLEY KWAN, 1986)

With the Sino-British Joint Declaration of December 1984 cementing the terms of the 1997 Handover to China, a fresh tide of uncertainty was stirred in Hong Kong. This moment also effectively marked the beginning of the Hong Kong “second wave” – as directors like Stanley Kwan, Mabel Cheung, and later Wong Kar-wai and Fruit Chan, brought fresh perspective and creative zeal to cement a revitalised cinema on the global stage.

Love Unto Waste, which received its overdue UK premiere via Focus Hong Kong at the BFI in 2024, is a representative production of this era. It opens with a striking montage of deserted apartments and lifeless living spaces, as if to underscore the spatial disruption rife in the public consciousness – going on to foreground themes of loss and introspection via a plot concerning a directionless playboy who stumbles through Hong Kong’s night lounges maintaining tentative relationships with several women. When one of the girls is brutally murdered, it prompts grief, solemnity and reflection in the party-going community.

ROUGE (STANLEY KWAN, 1987)

Though Center Stage (arriving in the UK via 88 Films in March) won Maggie Cheung the Best Actress award at Berlin Film Festival in 1991, Stanley Kwan’s third feature remains arguably his most intoxicating. Built around the kind of ornate set design, lavish wardrobing and saturated lighting that would anticipate global sensations like In the Mood for Love, Rouge – an aesthetic and emotional high-point of 80s Hong Kong cinema – was responsible for an impressive sweep at the 1989 Hong Kong Film Awards, including wins for Best Film and Best Director.

A romantic parable laced with mystery and intrigue, Rouge follows Fleur, a beautiful courtesan from a luxurious 1930s brothel, who re-emerges as a wandering spectre searching for her long-lost lover in an 80s concrete jungle. Patterned wallpapers and floral cheongsam dresses juxtapose with monolithic overpasses in contemporary Shek Tong Tsui in a movie full of striking imagery — as this delirious masterpiece explores the city’s changing identity in nostalgic and melancholy fashion. 

A palpable feeling of loss is further punctuated today by the tragedies that later befell Rouge’s two leads. Real-life best friends and noted pop stars Anita Mui and Leslie Cheung, who became household names and screen icons in the 80s, both passed away in 2003 in devastating circumstances, with Mui succumbing to cervical cancer and Cheung dying by suicide. Their deaths continue to cast a long shadow over Hong Kong pop culture, giving Rouge even deeper poignancy today.

MY HEART IS THAT ETERNAL ROSE (PATRICK TAM, 1989)

This ultra-stylish crime romp occupies a tantalising space between John Woo’s bullet-laden “heroic bloodshed” movies and the delirious melodramas of Wong Kar-wai. As such, this new 2K release by Radiance Films makes for essential viewing for cinephiles as well as action aficionados.

The plot – concerning botched mob jobs, beautiful women and ruthless gang lords in Hong Kong’s criminal underworld – is as formulaic as it is fun, with enough uzi bullets, abandoned warehouses and slow-mo gun-loading sequences to keep any casual filmgoer entertained. But it’s the visual flare that really elevates My Heart is That Eternal Rose, with everything from bright Hawaiian shirts and pink-purple skies to vivid, colour-filtered footage providing eye candy at every twist and turn. 

The superlative acting performances are the icing on the cake. Tony Leung won his second Hong Kong Film Award for his portrayal of a naive, lowly thug, while slap-headed martial arts icon Gordon Liu (best known here for playing kung fu master Pai Mei in the Kill Bill movies) pops up as a banana-munching gang enforcer. Best of all is Chan Wai-mai (aka Michael Chan), who chews the scenery as the film’s steely, serpent-like arch-villain. It’s a role he was born to play: Chan was once the No. 2 in one of Hong Kong’s biggest organised crime gangs, the 14K Triad, having been enlisted by incarcerated gangsters while serving as a prison police officer.