This documentary parallels the Mr. Chow restaurant chain - a lot of flash, but ultimately unfulfilling and not a little bit oily.
While there are fascinating aspects to Michael Chow's biography (immigration, racism, colonialism, totalitarianism, oppression, AIDS), these remain mostly unexplored. This documentary functions for the most part as a hagiographic informercial for a purposefully zany millionaire. Why have we been getting so many of these sleek, superficial bios of corporate figures and stories of corporations lately? Looking at you, FERRARI. And that ridiculous BLACKBERRY movie. Have we run out of heroes to believe in? Or has the dream of moving up in class been so thoroughly shot through that it no longer holds any narrative truth?
Chow's story contains aspects of struggle, but never financial ones. And his personal ones are glossed over rather abruptly. We find him in his 80s, hair dyed, in a tailored suit, married to a much younger woman (oh, there's got to be some messy gossip there, but we never hear it), in his vast studio filled with his pretty, but self-indulgent art, where he can afford to hire staff to bring him paint and hammers. It all feels very artificial, and there isn't a whiff of critique.
The documentary suggests that Chow's character is performative and therefore he is unknowable. Yeah, sure, whatever. But they didn't worry about making him likable.
While there are fascinating aspects to Michael Chow's biography (immigration, racism, colonialism, totalitarianism, oppression, AIDS), these remain mostly unexplored. This documentary functions for the most part as a hagiographic informercial for a purposefully zany millionaire. Why have we been getting so many of these sleek, superficial bios of corporate figures and stories of corporations lately? Looking at you, FERRARI. And that ridiculous BLACKBERRY movie. Have we run out of heroes to believe in? Or has the dream of moving up in class been so thoroughly shot through that it no longer holds any narrative truth?
Chow's story contains aspects of struggle, but never financial ones. And his personal ones are glossed over rather abruptly. We find him in his 80s, hair dyed, in a tailored suit, married to a much younger woman (oh, there's got to be some messy gossip there, but we never hear it), in his vast studio filled with his pretty, but self-indulgent art, where he can afford to hire staff to bring him paint and hammers. It all feels very artificial, and there isn't a whiff of critique.
The documentary suggests that Chow's character is performative and therefore he is unknowable. Yeah, sure, whatever. But they didn't worry about making him likable.