Editorial note: Family holds a central place in Chinese culture, yet closer relationships often reveal deep-seated conflicts and emotional wounds. This reprinted film review from Territory (JingJie) explores a recent high-grossing Hong Kong film that delves into these complexities. Through its depiction of Taoist rituals for the deceased, the film vividly portrays the intricate entanglements and connections within a Chinese family, offering a poignant reflection on the need for true salvation to break free from the relational bondages of life.
The Hong Kong movie The Last Dance (破·地狱) premiered in mainland China on December 14. It previously made history as the highest-grossing Chinese-language film in Hong Kong, surpassing 100 million HKD at the box office.
The Chinese title “破地狱”, transliterated as Breaking Hell, refers to a Taoist funeral ritual where a traditional Taoist priest performs symbolic actions to “open the gates of hell” and transcend the souls of the deceased. Known for its dance-like movements, the ritual is also referred to as “The Last Dance,” which inspired the film’s English title. In the story, Dominic Ngai (played by Dayo Wong), a wedding planner struggling in a declining economy, pivots to become a funeral planner. His path crosses with Taoist priest Man Kwok (played by Richard Ng), leading to several conflicts and eventually reconciliation. Through the lens of the funeral industry, the film delves into the struggles and emotional entanglements of the living. Beneath polished exteriors, many live lives bound by invisible chains, as though trapped in a personal hell. They even romanticize suicide as a hopeful escape rather than a desperate act. Dominic sums it up succinctly—It’s not just the dead who need deliverance; the living need to break out of hell too. “Living can be hell.”
Man Kwok’s daughter, Yuet Kwok, longs for her father’s love and affirmation. Yet, bound by traditional norms, she is unable to inherit her father’s craft. Her brother Ben Kwok also struggles under the weight of familial expectations. Their father’s stubbornness, repression, authoritarian tendencies, and poor communication only deepen the rift within the family.
The climax of the movie is Man Kwok’s own funeral. After suffering a stroke, Man Kwok leaves a will entrusting Dominic to oversee his funeral and requesting that his children perform the rituals for him. In the will, Man Kwok finally acknowledges his daughter, revealing that her name, “Man-yuet,” means “precious treasure.” The “last dance” scene is deeply moving, as the father’s love for his daughter and the unresolved emotional knots within the family are released in the face of life and death. In the shadow of death, awareness dawns. The father seeks forgiveness from his daughter, expressing his remorse with raw and sincere repentance. After a shared dance, the brother finally musters the courage to say sorry to his sister.
The distortion and contamination of love have led to the belief that “hell is other people,” but even more poignantly, “hell is family.” In close relationships, it is not magic but love and forgiveness that hold the key to breaking free from hell.
It’s worth mentioning that Chu Pak-hong, who plays Ben Kwok, grew up in a Taoist family. During a time of loss and confusion, he found hope in the Christian faith. As the only Christian in his family, he deeply understands the challenge of living out love within his household. If faith truly transformed his life, his family would be the first to witness it. He once thought his mother’s conversion to Christianity would be as improbable as winning the lottery, but he eventually witnessed her baptism. Similarly, it was the power of love and forgiveness that broke down the walls of estrangement and misunderstanding.
As I walked out of the cinema, I was reminded of a moment before my mother passed away. My father and I knelt together in prayer. It was the first time I saw my father weep openly, pouring out his grief over my mother’s imminent departure and his regrets toward our family. Without the love of the Lord, my reserved father would never have initiated heartfelt conversations with his distant children in the years that followed. Though the pain of losing my mother remains, I am grateful. Her passing allowed my father and me to forge a new connection in God’s love. This love comes from the One who loves us. His love cancels the record of judgment against us, breaks every curse, and restores the streams of love within families.
Editor’s note: This article was originally written in Chinese and published by Territory (JingJie). It was translated and edited by the ChinaSource team with permission.
Image credit: Florian Wehde via Unsplash
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