When I first watched Wong Kar-Wai’s In the Mood for Love, on a VHS tape borrowed from the English library in Heidelberg, I was unable, for several hours, to let go of the dream-like state induced by the movie. Haunting music, colours and shadows of Hong Kong, muted emotions of characters – all combined to create a grip every director aims for but few manage to sustain.
The second viewing, a few years later, didn’t make it any less intense. The unfinished story – the unconsummated love – left an ache, a burning desire to follow the character’s lives further. The story apparently continues in 2046, but I’m not sure I want to watch the sequel: it may take away the precious feeling of longing I attach to the movie.