Trapped in a Self-Made Bubble: The Lens of Modernity in Wong Kar-wai’s 'Fallen Angels'

By Joanne Yau

The tunnel scene in Fallen Angels.

For Wong Kar-wai, style is substance. One frequent criticism of his direction is that his narratives tend to be weak, but I argue that much of what he wants to convey is embedded in his postmodernist visuals, which, according to Ewa Mazierska and Laura Rascaroli, is associated not only ‘with new ways of experiencing the world surrounding us, but with new perceptions of the very dimensions of human experience, such as time and space’, rather than an objective material reality.  His films are filled with experimental camera angles, filming locations and symbols that flow with hidden nuances of isolation, transience, and yearning. Hence, there is something almost visceral about his narratives; the ambivalent spirit of time is felt physically. In his films set in Hong Kong, a metropolis characterized by its rush and grind, he emphasizes subjective temporal-spatial experiences, carefully preventing them from becoming overwhelmed amidst rapid urbanization. Therefore, I argue that instead of sacrificing narrative for mood and atmosphere, his visual style is a narrative of modernity. While it may not be as popular as In the Mood for Love or Chungking Express, I consider Fallen Angels to be the perfect example of Wong’s treatise of the modern condition, especially in its visual representation of self-alienation, desire for connection and the fleeting present.

Like many other Wong Kar-wai films, Fallen Angels unfolds through intertwining, fragmented storylines – a hitman who is trying to give up his job but is infatuated with his agent/prostitute, and an ex-convict who falls for a lovesick woman while dealing with the loss of his father. The use of wide-angle lens pervades the diegesis: cinematographer Christopher Doyle utilized a Century Tégéa 9.8mm with a wide-angle attachment to give the images a 6.8mm depth of field. This enlarges the characters’ faces, trapping them inside a ‘bubble’ and inviting the viewer to enter their headspace, while distancing the former from their physical environment. The characters’ surroundings may appear cold and indifferent, but it is uncertain whether this is merely a self-projection. As she dines alone, the agent contemplates her infatuation with the hitman, reflecting that ‘there are some people that you can never get close to’, but also that ‘everyone needs a partner’. Much of the film’s dialogue is told through voiceover, representing the characters’ inability to openly communicate their feelings. ‘Get too close and you will find him boring’, muses the agent. They fear looking beneath the surface to uncover any identity or meaning in their relationships, Thus, despite the character-driven plot, the film’s people feel like object of study more than characters. Their modern lives appear adventurous, yet connections are only built through the camera’s intervention.

The wide-angle lens used in the film.

The camera also functions like a character, its material presence strongly felt throughout. Wong Kar-wai switches from step-printing montages, to freeze-frames, to slow motion and black-and-white sequences, conveying the frenetic, disorienting pace of modernity. As the wide-angle lens wanders through seemingly quotidian urban locales that I grew up frequenting – from cha chaan tengs (tea restaurants), McDonalds, to the Tsim Sha Tsui Cross-Harbor Tunnel, I found an uncannily defamiliarized Hong Kong. Buildings are distorted, streets become labyrinth-like, hallways are meandering. I find the ending scene the most striking, which shows the hitman and his lover riding a motorcycle in a tunnel. The wide angle creates a conflicting sense of isolation and intimacy – the characters appear to be leaning towards one another affectionately, but their surroundings appear vertiginous. The female says, ‘the road home isn’t very long and I know I’ll be getting off soon. But at that moment I felt such warmth’. There is a momentary glimpse of hope, but the sequence foreshadows the wakening moment from an oneiric state, punctuating the futility of their relationship.

Time is not linearly divided into day and night in this film but is rather represented through the characters’ subjective associations with it. There is this tension between the desire to have a meaningful life, to have a history and a memory, and the desire to live ‘lightly’. The characters latch themselves onto past remnants; juke boxes are filled with messages that are never delivered to loved ones. The lovesick woman is stricken when she smells the perfume of her ex-lover on another woman’s body. Hence, they thrive in the immediate present to abscond from any burden from the past – the hired killer proclaims when he shoots his targets – ‘I do not know who these people are and I do not care. Soon they will be history’. The characters are frequently shown walking and never quite settling down. Living spaces are constantly shifting; they never anchor themselves in one place. Trains represent relentless comings and goings. Therefore, for critics who argue that Wong’s films are ‘style over substance’, that is because he is depicting a modern society that is inherently empty underneath, one that lingers in the veneer of the ever-changing surface.  

The present is constantly moving but it feels empty.

I believe that Fallen Angels is meant to be slightly confusing upon viewing – its fragmented narrative, on top of disorienting landscapes, leaves no satisfying resolution. However, instead of trying to piece together the story, I see it as a kaleidoscopic nosedive into an exhilarating yet exhausting montage of modernity which finds resonance even today – the isolation felt from advanced telecommunications that are ironically meant to connect us, from emotionally shallow relationships in which one seeks validation from the other who is merely a placeholder, and from the desire to indulge in present sensualities and not think about their  consequences. What I would conclude, however, is that the film poses the dilemmic question: are we all ‘fallen angels’ of modernity, or are we the ones feeding into its hollowness?

Works Referenced

Mazierska, Ewa, and Laura Rascaroli. 2000. ‘Trapped in the Present: Time in the Films of Wong Kar-Wai.’ Film Criticism 25 (2): 2–20.

WatchingtheAerial. 2021. ‘Searching for Fallen Angels’ Lost Lens.’

ST.ART does not own the rights to any images used in this article.