When most people think about cheongsams in films, Wong Kar Wai’s In the Mood for Love (2000) tends to be the first work that comes to mind. After all, there aren’t many other movies that have since captured the allure that Maggie Cheung exuded in the exquisite cheongsams (23 in all, in case you are interested) that she wore in the film. In fact, thanks to Cheung’s elegance, the film spawned an international fetish for the garment for years after the film’s release.

Other than embodying seduction through its accentuation of the female form, the cheongsam’s appeal lies in its association with hazy Orientalist notions of the exotic Other in the global imaginary. At the same time, its refined and classic silhouette aligns with modern sensibilities.

This brings us to The Hand (2004), a lesser-known short film by Wong that explores the garment’s innate sensuality in a more thorough fashion than In the Mood for Love. The first film in Eros, a trilogy that includes works by Steven Soderbergh and Michelangelo Antonioni, the cheongsam’s pivotal role here is unmistakable.

The film centres on the relationship between Zhang, a fledgling tailor played by Chang Chen, and his beautiful client, Miss Hua, a high-class prostitute brought to life by a luminous Gong Li. Sent by his master to take Miss Hua’s measurements for her cheongsams, their first meeting is marked memorably by an erotic gesture alluded to in the film’s title to ensure that he will think about her when he creates her dresses.

The film has all of Wong’s trademarks, with lingering shots filled with beautifully composed mise-en-scene by long-time collaborator Christopher Doyle. It also features an evocative score with an emphasis on melancholic string music by the late Peer Raben to convey the quiet desperation felt by Zhang, who channels his desire for Miss Hua into the glorious cheongsams he makes for her.

This premise alone provides many layers of meaning to ponder over. As we watch Zhang taking measurements for Miss Hua and painstakingly sewing her elaborate cheongsams at his machine in the workshop, we feel the depth of his feeling for her, just as their fanciful designs heighten our understanding of the cheongsam as an essential tool of her trade. Even the packing of a cheongsam into its paper bag is paid such attention that we see not just the intricacies behind the creation of the garment but the complexity of Zhang’s unspoken yearning, especially in a poignant scene where he places his arm inside a dress he has made for her, as if he were touching its owner.

Most of all, the inordinate focus on the cheongsam as well as the craft of making it reveals Wong’s appreciation of the garment and its symbolism. Whether it’s a close-up on the undulations of lace on the body or the delicate rattle of beads, the viewer experiences the cheongsam as a sensory pleasure.

Ultimately, the film offers a bittersweet take on the gestures of love and desire, as its title suggests, and how they find expression in the absence of consummation. This is no doubt a conscious nod on Wong’s part to the archetypal relationship between artists and their muses. Moreover, just as Zhang transforms from an apprentice into a master tailor, he also becomes a man through his experiences with Miss Hua. However, it is really the cheongsam that anchors this film. Rendering the wearer beautiful yet untouchable, it perfectly reflects Zhang and Miss Hua’s relationship, and inevitably foreshadows its denouement.

Credits:
Chang Chen as Zhang in The Hand by Wong Kar Wai from Flickr
Video from YouTube