Pav Writes

A Fare of the Heart

2012-01-26T18:47:00.000-08:00

Gifted local chefs are breaking free from the restraints of large, well-established restaurants to open their own modest eateries, writes Pavan Shamdasani

Chefs brave enough to follow their dreams and start up their own restaurants need to convince sceptical investors and diners that they have the intelligence and skills to carry it off.

Before former chef Anthony Bourdain become a television personality, he wrote about "owner's syndrome" in his tell-all book, Kitchen Confidential.

"To want to own a restaurant can be a strange and terrible affliction," Bourdain writes, adding the odds of success in the business are about one in five.

But those who beat the odds did so with "a simple, straightforward concept: a bar with decent food, or a simple country Italian restaurant or a bistro loved for its lack of pretension."

We can all name a restaurant in Hong Kong that fits the bill: the little corner kitchen you go to a couple times a week; that weekend spot where your friends meet for a chat and a bite.

And for five Hong Kong-based chefs who've previously worked for some of the biggest names in the world, that's exactly what they have been hoping to achieve.

Some of them might be familiar to you: Yardbird in Sheung Wan is the hottest table in town, its Japanese izakaya/yakitori blend garnering endless praise for former Zuma chef Matt Abergel; Madam Sixty Ate on Wan Chai's burgeoning Johnston Road allows chef Chris Woodyard (previously of Hong Kong's W Hotel) to indulge in modern European cuisine; and Jeremy Biasiol's decade-long stint at Alain Ducasse's restaurants has practically given him a licence to serve contemporary French dishes at The Mirror.

Others might be new to you: the owners at ABC Kitchen in the Queen's Street Cooked Food Centre mimic menus from the defunct M at the Fringe, and at the newly opened ChomChom on Wellington Street, former Caprice chef Peter Cuong Franklin serves traditional pho with a modern twist.

These restaurants have some things in common: there are no formal dress codes or turning tables to restrict patrons from the entire experience; the menus constantly change according to the chef's interests and inspirations; and most importantly, they're all run by highly experienced restaurateurs who are putting their strong personalities into the atmosphere and the cuisine.

The exodus of chefs from the anonymous kitchens of larger restaurants to the cramped-but-creative confines of smaller eateries might seem strange to those in different fields. But for a true chef, there's no other way.

"When I was an apprentice at M at the Fringe, I saw chefs restricted from creating their own dishes because of the risks involved for the restaurant," says Jack Yau at ABC Kitchen. "Now that I have my own restaurant, I can do what I like. Money is only part of owning a restaurant; the diners are the most important aspect."

Abergel says: "Chefs are independent and creative people by nature who, no matter their profile, all dream of opening their own restaurants. I have all the freedom in the world because no one is looking over my shoulder. And fortunately, people are starting to seek out more honest dining experiences."

Most chefs who have gone it alone agree that this trend stems from a wider global interest in great cuisine that does away with all the extras. It's created an environment where chefs can open modest restaurants and offer food that is high-quality and reasonably priced.

"Over the past seven to 10 years, diners have become more interested in the food and less with the frills that go with it. This has allowed many chefs to concentrate on what they do best - cook," says Woodyard. "Customers do not come to Madam Sixty Ate with expectations of marble pillars, waiters in white gloves or food that has been prepared in the same French way for the past 25 years. They expect a more interesting approach."

However, it isn't easy for aspiring restaurateurs to strike out on their own in an extremely expensive city like Hong Kong, where space is at a premium. Most ventures will require financial backers, who are naturally wary of the risks given the high rate of failure.

"Hong Kong is one of the most vibrant and exciting culinary cities in the world. But the restaurant scene here in dominated by profit-driven restaurant groups turning out solid but uninteresting food," says Franklin. "A true chef is creative by nature and more humble eateries have relatively less financial constraints that allow them to take risks in creating their vision."

Franklin's ChomChom has tackled the problem with a small space on the second floor of a building in Central, while Yardbird opened on a sleepy street in Sheung Wan. ABC Kitchen took the most original approach by opening in a cooked food centre.

"I believe ABC is Hong Kong's first fine dining restaurant in a food stall," Yau says.

For others that are suffering the exorbitant rents and limited leases, Hong Kong does offer benefits that other cities don't. Biasiol marks the arrival of the Michelin Guide in 2008 as a turning point as it gave chefs the opportunity to raise their personal profiles. Also, local markets sell delicacies such as frogs' legs and pigeon at a fraction of their imported price.

But culinary freedom also has its drawbacks. Pandering to Hong Kong's Michelin critics often scares them away (think of all the French restaurants without stars, and the Chinese dai pai dongs with), while overloading menus with creative cuisine might have the same effect on diners. Handled the wrong way, it can be a recipe for disaster - which is where experience comes in.

Each of the five chefs has spent a decade toiling away in large kitchens. They have learned the intricacies of certain cuisines, and about finding a balance between simple and extravagant, clientele and critic and, most importantly, between chef and businessman.

"We were told many times before we opened that Hong Kong diners are not interested in change and we have to keep things very simple or the clientele will not get it," says Woodyard. "If you are making profit and are putting bums on seats, you can cook whatever you want. However, as a business person you need to show restraint. You must connect with the customer; once they trust you, they will eat anything you suggest."

Franklin understands this better than anyone: an investment banker for decades, he left his finance career to train at Le Cordon Bleu before working at half a dozen of the world's finest restaurants.

"To maintain Michelin-star standards of quality, a chef must not overstretch, otherwise the team cannot execute properly," he says. "I have seen high-end restaurants where chefs attempt a menu beyond the capability of the kitchen, and the food fails to meet expectations"

But if the positive reviews and full weekend bookings are to be trusted, each restaurant is beginning to find that balance, with the chefs confident about going it alone. They hope their risks and achievements will be an inspiration to others in the industry.

"I was a culinary teacher for two years and I opened The Mirror to give a chance to young chefs who no one really believed in," says Biasiol. "I've tried to show them that cooking is a question of passion, devotion and love, and that when you want something, you can do it. I feel many will open their own little restaurant some day."

Woodyard says young chefs in Hong Kong aren't encouraged to express their creativity, and that it's exciting to see their personal growth when you give them opportunities.

"But you're more likely to see established mature chefs going it alone than the youth," he says. "A seasoned chef has often held esteemed positions and knows more of what they are giving up. It is the love that is still driving them, not the financial desire or fame."

In Kitchen Confidential, Bourdain writes "the most dangerous species of owner ... is the one who gets into the business for love." Each of these chefs has opened a restaurant based on their love of food - but despite the freedoms, it's still a volatile industry of finicky diners, expensive rents, small spaces and overblown restaurant groups.

For their sake - and the sake of all of us who appreciate great food - here's hoping the cynics are wrong.

Originally published in the South China Morning Post, Jan 26 2012

XXX Marks the Spot

2012-01-10T00:51:00.000-08:00

DJ Enso has turned a Sheung Wan space into a unique venue hosting art, music and other events, writes Pavan Shamdasani

It's 2am on a Saturday morning and something's happening in the otherwise sleepy district of Sheung Wan. On a quiet, mostly residential street, a rabble of young rousers has gathered outside a seemingly innocuous metal door. Motorbikes are parked and engines switched off, long-haired youths in skinny jeans chat over clouds of cigarette smoke, and through it all, you can hear the faint sounds of electronic music coming from somewhere below.

This is XXX, the area's latest underground "art gallery" - but down the dark staircase that lies beyond that metal door is a space unlike many in Hong Kong have ever seen. At times called "ex-ex-ex" by its regular patrons, and at others just "triple x", it's the kind of place you'd expect to see in vibrant, arts-focused cities such as Berlin or Antwerp - not Hong Kong.

And that's exactly what its owner, DJ Enso, wants.

Originally hailing from San Francisco, Enso - born Cassady Winston - made his way to Hong Kong in 2007 and quickly established himself as a DJ and an event promoter. He teamed up with DJ Kid Fresh in 2008 to throw popular parties under the banners of Pimpin' Ain't Easy and Hype Nasty, but found himself limited by the venues our city has to offer.

"As a DJ and promoter for the past few years in Hong Kong, it's always been clear to me how much we could benefit from more variety in terms of venue options," says Enso. "A lot of spots do the members-only thing well, but that gets a bit boring. I wanted to offer a venue that had a rougher underground feel, without all that money worry."

XXX's location is key: situated on Wing Lok Street in the burgeoning Sheung Wan district, the space is the first of its kind on the scene, a spacious area that caters to a variety of creatively minded individuals. Music is obviously first and foremost on Enso's agenda, with XXX's underground location and high-quality sound system standing in stark contrast to the numerous Hong Kong clubs that often face noise complaints.

"I've always loved Sheung Wan, especially at night with the old neon signs - it's an old neighbourhood with a lot of history and texture. This made it a perfect place for XXX," says Enso. "It's so close to Central, so it is no surprise to see so many people moving there or opening galleries and restaurants."

But make no mistake: XXX isn't a club - or at least, Enso would prefer if you didn't call it that. The word "club" in Hong Kong has negative connotations to the DJ, often associated with a uniform mentality in terms of music, décor, branding and programming. Couple this with his degree in art history, and one can see why Enso prefers the idea of a gallery space - but of course, not in the traditional sense.

"We aim more to be an underground arts space with different types of things going on," he says. "More than anything I wanted an opportunity to get people in a confined space and mess with them in some creative and constructive ways."

And that's what has happened. In the seven months since XXX opened, Enso has hosted a variety of events beyond the traditional music nights, including art exhibitions, movie nights and ping-pong parties, many of which have seen sizeable turnouts.

That's partially due to the variety of talent and creativity that Enso has secured, but it's also because of XXX's unconventional drinks policy: with no liquor licence, guests are encouraged to bring their own beverages for "that nice house party vibe".

It's a strange system that contrasts sharply with the overpriced, watered-down beverages that fuel bars around town. It also begs the question as to where, exactly, the space is making money from.

"Money does flow in from private event bookings and contributions at the door, and we're starting to make some 'art money'," says Enso. "But it's fair to say that we never set this up as a proper money-making venture - what we are able to make generally goes to pay the bills, with any extra getting reinvested for making XXX bigger and better."

Indeed, Enso is entertaining a number of ideas for future XXX projects, including transforming the venue into a makeshift tutorial centre, where he'll teach local youths to "start standing up for themselves". It's a "silly idea", he says, but it does demonstrate the options available to him. And right now, he's happy with the success of XXX.

"The convenience of living in Hong Kong is a double-edged sword - it's great in a lot of ways, but it can also make people too comfortable and unwilling to try new things," says Enso. "Whereas in most Western cities - or Singapore, Tokyo or Osaka - there are successful club nights pushing underground or niche genres, it's nowhere near that level in Hong Kong.

"Most folks that open a space seem to either be independently wealthy or have investors - neither of which is particularly conducive to taking risks or free creative expression. We've been lucky on this with XXX, probably because we always knew this wasn't a money-making venture. This is about making a creative contribution to Hong Kong and encouraging others to do the same."

Inspiring words, especially when one compares XXX's creative vision with the generally sorry state of the arts in Hong Kong (think the long-delayed West Kowloon Cultural District). Enso is one of the few pushing its boundaries, and while one can't but wonder whether more venues are on the cards for the DJ, the irony in his answer is obvious: "Let me get back to you on this after I pay off this HSBC Personal Instalment Loan."

Originally published in the South China Morning Post, Jan 8 2012

Time to Focus

2011-12-21T01:22:00.000-08:00

Pavan Shamdasani zooms in on the life of famed photographer Albert Watson.

During the past few months, one of Albert Watson's most iconic photographs has been splashed over the pages of every newspaper, magazine and website in the world.

It's a black-and-white shot of Apple founder Steve Jobs, a striking image of the businessman before his body began to show the physical decline of cancer. Wearing his trademark black turtleneck sweater, Jobs looks at the camera, his chin resting on one hand in an obvious allusion to Rodin's The Thinker.

The photograph is a fitting epitaph for a person the world has called "the Da Vinci of our time", one that encompasses his influence, his intelligence and his intensity. But the power of the image derives as much from the person behind the camera, as the individual in front of it.

"Photography as a modern medium, even more so now, has the ability to connect to the average person very quickly; the memorability of the image is key," says Watson. "Memorability, power and iconic quality is what I'm looking for, but don't always achieve."

For a man who has shot some of the most iconic images of our time, that's a remarkably modest view.

Born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1942 with only one functioning eye, Watson might seem destined for the medium of photography. He studied graphic design and film before discovering photography in the 1960s: unlike those two similarly creative fields, photography offered Watson not only a sense of immediacy, but complete control over the finished product.

The five decades since have been spent shooting images which have burned their way into the pop-culture consciousness: over 200 Vogue covers, 40 Rolling Stones covers and a list of celebrities that includes everyone from Alfred Hitchcock to Queen Elizabeth II - the majority of which, mind you, were all shot on what most people consider to be an archaic art form: film.

The obvious question of digital versus film emerges, and the story behind that iconic image of Jobs is a good example of how Watson's views on the debate have changed. Photographed in 2006 for Fortune's 25 Most Powerful People in Business, Watson turned up to shoot Jobs with just a film camera.

"Wow, you're shooting film," said Jobs. Watson nodded and replied: "I don't feel like digital is quite there yet." "I agree," said Jobs, before adding, "But we'll get there."

Five years later and Watson feels they mostly have, although not as wholly as he'd like. "For day-to-day commercial work and certain art projects, digital is fine," says Watson. "But for fine art projects culminating in a large print, film is more beautiful."

Indeed, it's his preferred format, and is one of the few things he shares with the new crop of fresh-faced photographers on the scene - but little else. Although they may have a fancy photoshoot or two under their belt, 40 years of international photography has hardly gone to Watson's head.

For example, when asked how he feels about recently being named one of Photo District News' 20 Most Influential Photographers of All-Time, he simply says: "It's of course very flattering to be included in a list like that, but many photographers are missing."

Among the names he'd include are Paul Strand, Edward Weston, Paul Outerbridge, Andre Kertesz and Brassai. But those choices notwithstanding, Watson's inclusion in that list has raised awareness of his profile: case in point, his much-publicised collaboration with his home country's Scotch whiskey The Macallan earlier this year.

The second in their Masters of Photography series, it had the photographer follow the complex path the whiskey's oak wood makes from Spain to Scotland. The collaboration culminated in a limited-edition Scotch that Watson endorsed; a project that one could argue treaded the line between artistic and commercial.

"Commerce in photography often helps me in a good way to tighten up and be organised," he says. "There were not many projects like this, so it was a rare opportunity to travel in two different countries that turned out to be both challenging and rewarding."

He also recently staged a show in Paris called "Exposed", made up predominantly of nude female images which he hopes viewers saw as "beautiful, not obscene". And after having directed more than 300 TV commercials over his varied career, he plans to finally approach the medium he studied all those years ago: feature films.

"I'm currently working on a film project that I hope to direct," he says. "And of course, cinematography would play a major part."

But his most notable recent piece of news was the Bonham's sale of his nude image of Kate Moss, which went under the hammer last month for a surprising £16,250. "It's always a humbling experience when someone hands over a lot of money for one of your images," he says.

Despite the art world uproar surrounding that iconic image, he's not too bothered about it. Watson will turn 70 next year and instead of focusing on the past, he would rather look forward with all the eager anticipation he had when he first got into the field.

"Hard work and preparation stimulate the creative process, and I have a very good team which enables me to concentrate on the image," he says. "I'm always looking for a new face and nearly every shoot I do now is a dream shoot."

Originally published in Style Magazine, South China Morning Post, December 2011

Game of Death

2011-12-21T01:16:00.000-08:00

The recent announcement that Seattle was planning to open a Bruce Lee museum before Hong Kong was almost shocking, highlighting once again our city's strange lack of interest in our home-grown talent.

In truth, Lee's legacy is mostly based on one US production: Enter the Dragon. But things could have been different. Before he was offered his big Hollywood role, the star was in the middle of a Golden Harvest production that was meant to be his Hong Kong masterpiece: Game of Death, a classic kung fu epic that would showcase his many beliefs in the principles of martial arts.

The film would follow Hai Tien (played by Lee), a retired martial arts champion whose siblings are kidnapped by an underworld gang. They force Hai to once again don his iconic yellow jumpsuit (later re-popularised in Quentin Tarantino's Kill Bill films) to retrieve a precious item on the top level of a pagoda. On each of the pagoda's five levels, Hai faces a different style of challenger, played by various martial arts masters and NBA star Kareem Abdul-Jabbar.

More than 100 minutes of the film were shot before production was paused for Lee to journey Stateside, and his untimely death meant the film would never resume. Instead, Enter the Dragon director Robert Clouse stepped in to complete it - with results that were anything but respectful.

Using just 11 minutes of fight footage and creating a new, revenge-driven, plot about martial arts movie star Billy Lo who fakes his death through plastic surgery, Clouse spent five years piecing together the film using stand-ins, archived footage and even cardboard cutouts.

Through no fault of Lee's, Game of Death became a mortifying cash-in on his legacy. Fans and those involved in the film said that some of Lee's best work was lost in the archives. It took 27 years after his death to find them.

In 2000, two documentaries surfaced on the film, each offering 40 minutes of reassembled footage based on Lee's notes.

The results were astounding: here was Lee at the top of his game, facing off against a variety of martial arts methods and proving the superiority of his fluid jeet kune do style in every instance. Here was Lee acting, choreographing and directing, a maverick filmmaker and artist who could have taken both the East and West by storm.

Fans still argue that there exists more of Lee's original Game of Death somewhere in Golden Harvest's archive - the fact that both documentaries offer slightly different footage is used as testament. It may not be enough to piece together a complete film, but it certainly could be one that could eclipse the available film.

And if nothing else, it may even get Hongkongers excited enough to rename Chek Lap Kok as Bruce Lee Airport - or at least open a museum dedicated to one of our city's best-known sons.

Originally published in the South China Morning Post, November 27 2011

Natural Selection is in the Jeans

2011-12-21T01:12:00.000-08:00

Making sure your denim desires are bespoken for is easy, with made-to-measure companies offering more choices than ever, writes Pavan Shamdasani

Bespoke clothing has a long, rich history. It's normally associated with high-end tailors like those in London's Savile Row and the made-to-measure suit makers of Hong Kong.

The concept is nothing new. But the rise of casual clothes in the workplace has meant that made-to-order wear has spread beyond the standard stiff suits and shoes. Any purveyor of contemporary fashion knows there is a clear distinction between the affordable off-the-rack items from Uniqlo and H&M and the bespoke offerings that designer labels embrace.

The latest trend to emerge in the world of tailor-made clothing is in denim. Considering that jeans were originally created in the mid-19th century as a durable form of clothing for mining communities, it's surprising how perception has changed over the years. Jeans are now as acceptable in the workplace as they are for a night on the town.

But the world of bespoke is hard to find your way around. A walk down Canton Road in Tsim Sha Tsui, with its dozens of alleged tailors, is testament to that fact. What's more, every emerging fashion trend sees companies crawling out of the woodwork to get your patronage. That makes it hard to separate the true, tried-and-tested bespoke denim makers from the HK$400 "make-your-own-jeans" manufacturers.

One company making waves for its tailor-made jeans offerings is New York-based 3x1. Founded by Scott Morrison, who previously co-founded labels Earnest Sewn and Paper Denim & Cloth, the brand's 4,000 sq ft Soho store in New York looks more like a tailor's atelier than a jeans shop.

Starting at US$1,200 a pair, they cost a lot more than off-the-shelf jeans. But the possibilities are extensive. For those with a "favourite pair" that's starting to fall apart, 3x1 will recreate the jeans as closely as possible. Fans of the brand's off-the-rack offerings who require slight "refitting" can also request adjustments. And those who want to try their hand at fashion design can bring in their own sketches and guide the team into creating their dream pair of jeans.

Hong Kong has only recently started to embrace the bespoke denim trend. Moustache, a trendy bespoke tailoring shop located in Sheung Wan, has decided to expand beyond sleek suits for its autumn collection, through a collaboration with Japanese masters Betty Smith.

Betty Smith Jeans is located in Kurashiki, Japan, a town known to casual clothing aficionados as being the world's top producer of denim, and it's the country's first denim mill, factory and jeans brand.

"We are still making jeans in the same factory which we started half a century ago," says Yasuhiro Oshima, president of Betty Smith. "The people of Kurashiki have become denim masters. We're like the Detroit of denim. The entire supply chain is here. From pattern makers to stitchers to indigo dyers, our craftsmen are the best in the world."

In the company's 60-year history, there has been only one other collaboration outside Japan, with tailor Timothy Everest in London. Through Moustache, Betty Smith hopes to bring things full circle with bespoke denim for other parts of Asia.

"In the past, tailors' shops did not carry jeans," says Oshima. "We used to knock on tailors' doors one by one. Denim has gone from being a staple for labourers, via being a wardrobe staple for teenagers, to a wardrobe staple for everyone. Now we work with 80 tailors' shops in Japan. Since Moustache has the highest sense of quality and aesthetic sensibility, it's the perfect match for us."

The service starts at HK$2,900 for a pair of jeans, and takes about a month to complete. More than 100 denim fabrics are available, from standard indigo blues to modish varieties like a Prince of Wales check.

Fabric ranges from as soft as silk to as rough as rhino skin. Nearly everything is customisable: buttons, rivets, stitching colours, pocket embroidery, monogramming are all up for grabs. This ensures that your particular purchase will stand out from the endless sea of off-the-rack blue jeans.

"Obviously the materials are different from suit production, but the basic processes are quite similar: measurement, paper pattern, fabric cutting, sewing," says Oshima. "With more of the world's clothes being mass-produced, people want something special and interesting. Our specially developed fabrics and colours allow customers to express their individual desires."

Originally published in the South China Morning Post, November 25 2011

Rosemary's Baby

2011-11-28T23:44:00.001-08:00

To many living in the tabloid news-filled internet generation, the thought of babies coupled with Roman Polanski can only conjure up images of terror and depravity. It was a similar situation in the 1960s, when the filmmaker was at the height of his directorial powers - although that depravity was limited to projections on a movie screen.

Rosemary's Baby is arguably his most famous film and ranks alongside such classics as Psycho, The Exorcist, and Halloween as defining examples of the horror genre, which have influenced nearly every thrill-and-chill movie since.

Its tale of an innocent couple moving into a creepy apartment building might seem tired these days, but the slow reveal of selling one's soul to the devil in exchange for bearing the spawn of Satan holds just as much shocking power and unsettling fear as it did on its original release.

In retrospect, that heightened sense of terror isn't all that surprising: based on the novel by the macabre-minded Ira Levin (The Stepford Wives, The Boys from Brazil), and directed by convicted sex offender Polanski, Rosemary's Baby now seemed destined to be a match made in the cauldrons of hell.

The film's slow, deliberate pace and lack of cheap shocks or gore are key to creating its sense of foreboding terror, but the thoroughly developed characters and well-rounded cast play an equally important part. Mia Farrow dished out innocence better than anyone as Rosemary, her doe-eyed portrayal now impossible to separate from her personal struggles with former husband Woody Allen. The frighteningly faced Ruth Gordon, meanwhile, was more than deserving of her Oscar for playing the neighbour from hell, endlessly alternating between helpful friend and horrific fiend.

But the true tension of Rosemary's Baby lies not in pace or cast, but in its filmmaking techniques. Polanski's European sensibilities offer a cold, almost soulless approach to this nightmarish tale.

By juxtaposing some of his newfound US home's most idyllic qualities (family life, friendly neighbours, middle-class living) with some of its worst (artificial kindness, perversion, sin), Polanski constructed an American dream scenario tainted by its greed. By directing the film as if the camera was the audience's own voyeuristic eyes, he created a sense of foreboding relatable to every child-bearing mother or family member in the audience.

Rosemary's Baby is that rare horror film, combining the everyman's fears with the most morbid of Biblical myths. But Polanski's influence plays a major part, his shrewd silver-screen touch rocking the film's cradle ever so slightly until it becomes almost unbearable. Just don't show it to your pregnant wife.

Originally published in the South China Morning Post, November 20 2011

Reaping Rewards

2011-11-03T01:16:00.000-07:00

Colonial treasures are hidden among Siem Reap's historical sites, writes Pavan Shamdasani

Not too long ago, it was hard to imagine Cambodia as a realistic tourist destination, let alone one fit for a luxurious escape. The Khmer Rouge's brutal reign of terror in the '70s and the subsequent US "involvement" left the country in shambles.

The rebuilding process has been slow, and during the past 40 years, Cambodia has transformed itself from a travel destination only fit for the dedicated backpacker, to a hot spot known for lush beauty, vast history and fascinating colonial influences.

The region to experience this paradoxical phenomenon the most is Siem Reap, the gateway to the legendary Angkor region, and those hoping to embrace this idyllic traditional lifestyle would do best to plan ahead.

One of the finest restorations of a classical mansion is Cambodia's only Relais & Chateaux property, the Heritage Suites Hotel. Their experience starts from when you first step out of the airport. A classic 1960s Mercedes-Benz, once owned by the present King of Cambodia, waits to drive you back into town.

A luxurious villa that houses just 31 chic rooms and suites, The Heritage's architectural design was based on the blueprints of a former colonial mansion, and the gorgeous interior mix of classical French architecture and Cambodian craftsmanship has resulted in a simple, classical hotel - one that has thankfully pared down its leisure necessities to a well-stocked bar complete with old-fashioned cocktails and constantly changing fine art; a two-storey restaurant with a traditional winding staircase; a sleek swimming pool and gazebo lit by bonfire at night; and a serene spa with just three cosy rooms.

Start your adventures in the suitably named Old French Quarter, an area where the streets are lined with classically quaint mansions and evocative restaurants and bars. The FCC Angkor is easily a must-visit - once the French governor's mansion, it's now a sleek piece of modern architecture that skilfully blends colonial techniques with glowing art-deco touches. An all-in-one experience that houses a hotel, an open-air restaurant and bar as well various shops, it's often called Siem Reap's runway, being the go-to location for the city's largest functions and events.

Next, ascend the steps and settle into the rattan chairs at Cafe Indochine, where bickering Frenchman and Cambodians still to this day dine together. Located in one of the few traditional wooden Khmer houses in the area, it offers the best of both worlds, with a well-ventilated colonial parlour overlooking the busy city street, and a traditional Cambodian garden surrounded by mango trees, coconut palms and tropical flowers in the back.

Diners are given a true Indochina experience, with a menu featuring an eclectic mix of Cambodian, Thai, Vietnamese and French cuisines: their home-style selections include such traditional fare as amok fish, lok lak beef and fresh spring rolls, while the true old-world European is offered a choice from its heavy range of pates, steaks and desserts - although one should keep in mind that the restaurant's specialities are fusion for a reason.

Sundown drinks and late-evening nightcaps are all but necessary in a colonial lifestyle. Miss Wong's might not exactly adopt its Cambodian home, but this sleek, small cocktail bar is a fascinating time-warp to 1920s Shanghai. Decked out like a chic opium den, the bar is heavy on the dark reds, with all your ubiquitous Chinese trinkets: dimmed lanterns, demure calligraphy paintings and dragon ashtrays. The cocktails are more modern than most, but the intimate vibe and respite from the city's ubiquitous French influence make it well-worth the detour.

Siem Reap might not hark back to its French colonial days - and thankfully so, in many respects - but with the city's past influence stretching further than just the history books, you can expect a considerable number of intrepid travellers venturing forth for more than just the temples.

Originally published in Style Magazine, October 2011

Past Pleasures

2011-11-03T00:02:00.000-07:00

A new addition to Hong Kong's skyline goes against the city's love affair with glass and steel. Its architect Robert Stern talks with Pavan Shamdasani.

A tourist arrives at the Chek Lap Kok airport after a tiring long-haul flight. He boards the Airport Express and gets off at Central. He gets in a taxi at the underground station, and as it turns up the narrow tunnel that leads to the very heart of the city, the tourist gets his first glimpse at a Hong Kong building: a classical structure that evokes a different time and era, one both in tune and at odds with the city's aesthetic.

This is 50 Connaught Road Central, a building that seemingly popped-up overnight last June. It's a fascinating piece of architecture, alluding to numerous things at once: some see it as a throwback to our colonial days, when low-rise, stone-based structures lined the now-shrinking Victoria Harbour. Others have called it the city's first truly New York building, a beautiful, art-deco inspired piece of architecture.

But to its creator, the architect Robert A.M. Stern, it will always be a Hong Kong building. "50 Connaught Road Central is very rooted in the tradition of western architecture as it has evolved in Asia, and more specifically Hong Kong," says Stern. "It's rooted in buildings like the old Bank of China, before the invasion of the super-scale, glass-clad buildings that now dominate the city's skyline."

Stern's name might not be familiar to the masses; it might not roll off a hipster's tongue as easily as Zaha Hadid or Thomas Heatherwick. But for true disciples of architecture, Stern is a master.

His students at the many universities he has taught at - Columbia, Yale - have gone on to create some of the world's most defining structures. The books he has penned (there are almost 20 on his website) are considered bibles in the architectural community. And most importantly, his work, which ranges from dozens of classically inspired buildings all over New York to a two-million square-foot development in Xiamen, China, has been revered for decades.

50 Connaught Road Central is his first completed project in Hong Kong. On paper, a 28-storey structure paper might not seem impressive when compared to the city's record 108 floors, but two things make the building stand out, the first being its use of location.

Positioned away from dwarfing skyscrapers such as Two IFC, and surrounded by more modest buildings with unobstructed views of the harbour on one side and the Peak on the other, its location is such that the building has already enticed the celebrated White Cube gallery in London to open its first Asian branch on the ground and second floor.

The second, and more impressive aspect, is its architectural design: a stone-based building that veers away from the city's obsession with glass-and-steel structures, calling to mind classicism not seen since the British colonial rule.

"The principles of classicism are what tie my work together," says Stern. "I have nothing against glass-clad buildings, but it's a one-note approach. It should be one way of architecture, not the only way. That was my criticism of architecture when I was a student in the `60s, and remains my criticism to this day."

It's his long-standing dedication to an ideal - that mankind is the measure of all things, not the machine - which has kept Stern at the forefront of traditional architecture for almost 50 years.

Raised in post-World War II New York, Stern's upbringing in the city during that tumultuous and thrilling period was vital in shaping his ethic. By the time he'd set up his own practice in 1977, the city was at an architectural peak and its most ambitious citizens desperate for his services: 20- and 30-somethings who were starting a more informal family structure and wanted their archaic apartments to reflect that.

As first an interior designer reconfiguring and upgrading pre-war buildings to meet their needs, and then an architect of medium- and high-rise residential developments in some of New York City's most affluent areas, Stern became known for his conviction that western classicism dating back to Greek and Roman times was fundamental to good architecture. For decades, the architectural community respected his method, with his traditional discipline playing a major part in the construction of New York City's timeless skyline.

But, of course, such a reverence for the past eventually brings detractors: a few years ago, The New York Times criticised Stern's buildings as being out of synch with what they saw as a quickly shifting world. They labelled him as being "anchored in the past".

"I'm not anchored in the past; I'm rooted in the past. All art is rooted - when Picasso came to end of cubism, he painted fantastic classically based paintings; his classical period," he says. "There's this idea which some architects support, that you should be running ahead of the crowd. That's not what architecture is about, it's not a race. Architecture is about the continuity of ideas and traditions."

But while Stern is quick to criticise these so-called "wannabe avant-garde architects", he's even quicker to praise the forward-thinking designers he respects. Norman Foster has recently been at the forefront of Hong Kong architectural news, and he believes they share a similar ideal, which is to say, conservative architects working in the tradition of modernism. Hadid and Heatherwick are similarly inspiring, each seen as highly individualistic in a world notorious for shameless imitations and exploitations.

It's not that he despises or can't commit to a radical or "modern" approach. Far from it; many of his more recent projects use innovative methods to "solve each individual problem based on its own situation", he says. What Stern can't comprehend is the idea of looking forward without first respecting the past.

"The house of architecture has many rooms for many different expressions. Everyone wants to be avant-garde, but if every architect is out for personal or individual expression, you just have chaos," he says. "There are places where individual expression is certainly appropriate, but there are many places where the best architects should make buildings that fit in, but also have strong character of their own."

Which brings us back to the values of 50 Connaught Central, and on a greater scale, the loss of traditional architecture in Hong Kong. Having first visited the city in 1990, Stern has seen how ruthless the city's government can be in its lack of architectural preservation.

"I hope that period is behind us," he says. "These buildings give texture to the city; they represent the city's history. If a building has no particular quality, then of course it should be torn down. But if a building was designed with care and can be brought back to life with new purposes, that's one of the most sustainable things we can do in the world."

"We can sustain ideas - we don't throw out a book from 100 year's ago. It may not get read for a while, but it gets rediscovered. I'm all for preservation, and I would like to add my share to the fabric of this city."

It's a central idea that he'd not only like to share with Hong Kong, but all of Asia - apart from our fair city, Stern has projects on the go in Singapore, Taiwan and mainland China. He can't talk about them, of course, but he does see the continent holding a very important future for his firm.

"The most fun I have is not just when I'm confronted with a new building type, but a new geography and culture, and the work we're known for in the United States is now what we're beginning to be known for in Asia," he says.

All the better for us, because if The New York Times and its avant-garde architects don't want Stern, we're more than happy to take him: "The future has a tricky way of doing what it wants to do, and the buildings in Asia are seemingly being swallowed up in this global super-scale where everyone thinks bigger is better," says Stern.

"But there are fascinating possibilities for rediscovering traditional principles and taking them forward in this new century."

Originally published in Style Magazine, November 2011

Stanley Kubrick's Napoleon

2011-10-03T21:43:00.000-07:00

Some call Stanley Kubrick cinema's great intellectual, a director able to conjure up more discussion in a single shot than many can in an entire film. Others peg him as a cold, soulless filmmaker, a pseudo-philosopher with a penchant for long shots and terrible acting. But for anyone who ever doubted his meticulous method-in-his-madness approach, may we present Stanley Kubrick's Napoleon: The Greatest Movie Never Made.

In 1968, Kubrick released his masterpiece 2001: A Space Odyssey, giving him free rein to follow up with whatever he wanted. He chose Napoleon: three-hour epic that would chart the emperor's life from childhood to his last hours. For the next three years, Kubrick oversaw every aspect of the production. Unfortunately, a now-forgotten rival Napoleon film called Waterloo flopped at the box office in 1970 and his backers pulled out. The film was never resurrected, and all we have left is contained here in the 1,100-plus pages of Stanley Kubrick's Napoleon.

Taschen originally came out with this comprehensive collection last year as a limited edition - a US$1,500 set with an imitation hardcover housing 10 smaller books. It quickly sold out, and no doubt to the chagrin of original purchasers, the company has rereleased the collection with all volumes in one gorgeous hardcover for US$80.

To say the book is a daunting read is an understatement - the pairing of Napoleon and Kubrick was a match made in ego heaven, and the filmmaker spent the better part of his life preparing for the big-screen monument. As such, the book details every aspect of the film, from casting choices through to location scouting, production notes, drawings, photographs, slides, transcripts, letters and random scraps of scribbled paper.

As a saga reaching for Citizen Kane heights, it falls flat: it was Kubrick's only original screenplay, and it shows. Opening with a four-year-old Napoleon ending with his death in exile, the moments in between are a messy collection of places, events, dates, names, and a voiceover narration to help us keep up along the way. The script is filled with clunky dialogue, poor transitions, weak descriptions ("EXT - DAY - Army on the march: about 5,000 men") and anachronisms, most notably a Rosebud-like teddy bear that bookends the film.

But with a filmmaker of Kubrick's stature, one weak script is never grounds for the destruction of a legacy. Optimists say the director was never reliant on his "draft", while pessimists point to Kubrick's dependence on material from great authors (Burgess, Clarke, Nabokov, King). Of course, the jarring contrast of extreme detail against a poor blueprint - not to mention the fact the film never was made - makes it impossible to say who's right.

As an academic record of "the greatest movie never made", Napoleon more than lives up to its title. And as a masterclass in filmmaking preparation, the book is without equal. However, fans with no interest in the minutiae of filmmaking might be a little puzzled: oversized, overweight and overlong, one wonders whether even Kubrick himself would be interested in this cross-referenced mess.

But for those looking for insight into cinema's most infatuated mind, Stanley Kubrick's Napoleon an intriguing irony: an obsessive man's failed attempt to document an obsessive man.

Originally published in the South China Morning Post, September 25 2011

All Together Now

2011-09-26T03:23:00.000-07:00

The Red Hot Chili Peppers take change in stride, always bonded by the passion for the music, writes Pavan Shamdasani

Anthony Kiedis steps out of a taxi at the Four Seasons Hong Kong Hotel – and nothing happens. No paparazzi harassing his wife and kid for a sneaky shot, no boob-tube fan armed with a magic marker, no college-kid musician flogging his home-recorded EP. I'm sitting in the hotel's lobby, watching and waiting. Waiting to be shepherded upstairs to interview the Red Hot Chili Peppers on the night before their Hong Kong show, and watching for something to happen. But nothing does.

For a band that has been selling out international shows for over a quarter of a century, you'd expect some recognition for its lead singer. But unlike say, Kylie Minogue or Bob Dylan, Kiedis and his cohorts don't scream superstar personalities. He's wearing his trademark shorts, boots and t-shirt – and while tomorrow night he'll play in front of thousands at the AsiaWorld Arena, right now he could be just another hip tourist.

The truth is – and fellow fans will agree – the Red Hot Chili Peppers aren't a group of personalities. They're not ego-filled celebrities with solo careers who come together for their own benefit. They're a band in the very definition of the word: “a group of musicians organised for ensemble playing” (Merriam-Webster). And it's the band collectively that sells out shows.

Thirty minutes later and I'm sitting opposite Kiedis and his fellow Peppers to talk about their new album, I’m with You. It’s their first release in over five years, which initially sent rumour mills swirling as to a break-up. After all, here’s a band who have survived for almost three decades – how many times can they fall apart and rise again?

But of course, rumours are almost always just that. “We’d been working hard for almost 27 years, and in that time, we’d only taken one six-month break,” says bassist Flea. “Things had gotten a little dysfunctional and we really needed to step away for a while, so we took two years off. It was a wise choice, and after it was up, we went back to work. There’s an impression in the public that we took more time off than we did, but we always spend about one year writing and one year recording.”

Near the end of those two years, another thing happened that had critics circling vulture-like: fan-favourite guitarist John Frusciante left for the second time to focus on his solo career. It again sent the last-leg rumours flying, mostly because Frusciante’s contributions to the band were immense: a virtuoso musician and songwriter, he defined the Peppers’ sound, slowly shifting it from its early funk-rap roots to the more mature, Beatles-like melodies on Californication and By the Way.

“Like so many times when something appears to be the end, it’s just the beginning of something new,” says Kiedis. “It was apparent that John [Frusciante] wanted to do something else. You have four creative individuals working together for years on end, there’s bound to be some dysfunction – but without which, we might not have had the creative productivity we did. It’s just the nature of the beast.

"That’s when we had a long think amongst ourselves. As a band we like moving forward and trying something new, and that’s when Josh came in.”

“Josh” is Josh Klinghoffer, the hotshot guitarist who played second fiddle to Frusciante on the band’s last tour. At the ripe old age of 31, Klinghoffer’s racked up a considerable experience as a session musician, recording and touring with such diverse names as Beck, PJ Harvey, Gnarls Barkley and Perry Farrell.

“We thought ‘where do we go? Who do we get?’” says Kiedis. “There may have been a few other people, but none of them made sense. When we sat with ourselves, it was just obvious. There wasn’t an audition – we just took the time to understand how to work together and we all got along with Josh. That’s a big part of the experience – being in a band is very insular and a lot is spent under duress, so it’s nice to be with somebody you can coexist with and even eat some dim sum with.”

Flea adds: “And someone who can give their heart to the music fearlessly. And not think about whether they fit in, outside of sticking together to make the art that we make. That’s something that a million incredible musicians can’t understand. Josh immediately understands that.”

Their excitement and praise for Klinghoffer is such that the collection of ideas and concepts he brought to their first jam session was immediately embraced. Some evolved into songs on the new album, though they won’t say which. Could it be that Klinghoffer will reinvigorate the Peppers the way Frusciante did?

“We certainly weren’t going to compare ourselves to anything that happened before,” says Kiedis. “Because we had such a huge change with a new member, we were more than ever thinking about being in present and trying to reinvent ourselves without focusing on the outside world. We just wanted to create something that we all believed in as a band, and it was a very productive time.”

Indeed, around 70 songs came out of the 10-month-long I’m with You sessions, pared down to the 14 choice cuts that appear on the final album. That’s partially due to the abovementioned reinvention – Flea spent his years off studying music theory at the University of Southern California, which allowed greater experimentation within the band.

But mostly – and the Peppers happily admit this – the selection came down to the editing abilities of long-time Peppers producer Rick Rubin. “Our opinion is really emotional and subjective; every little piece of music we write is like a child for us,” says Flea. “Rick comes with a more objective viewpoint – he’s very good at taking the essence of things and putting it into a shorter amount of space."

Klinghoffer has been noticeably silent throughout the interview, with both Flea and Kiedis talking about the band like he’s not even there. Granted, with nearly three decades under their belt, they’re used to being in the musical limelight. The young guitarist has been thrown in the deep-end here, especially given the names he has to live up to.

When prodded, Klinghoffer offers: “It’s always been my dream to play music and write songs with people that have as much of a thirst as these guys do. I’ve sworn not to read anything, and I have a hard time thinking that there’ll be any grievances.”

Still, it still begs the question: can a multi-platinum, award-winning band really have a second life, let alone a third, fourth or fifth? Klinghoffer and the new album makes it yet another go for the Peppers, and compared to the adoring acclaim their last three releases received, initial reviews of I’m with You have been mixed.

But it’s too early to tell whether the change-up will breathe more life into the slowly ageing band (Kiedis and Flea will turn 50 next year). And really, it doesn’t matter – the Red Hot Chili Peppers are music lifers. Some things might have changed over the past 27 years, but one thing hasn’t: the pure rock’n’roll fun of it all.

“It used to be that a band would get into a room, and it was about the interaction, about the vibe,” says Flea. “But it’s becoming a lost art with technology. We’re like a family; we kick it in a room and we all just play together. We’re a simple rock band.”

Originally published in South China Morning Post, September 18 2011

Star Quality

2011-07-31T20:12:00.000-07:00

Actress, muse, designer and all-round cool girl Chloë Sevigny talks fashion and film with Pavan Shamdasani.

Chloë Sevigny is late. I’ve been waiting outside her Lane Crawford suite for more than an hour. She’s doing her make-up, says a PR woman. She won’t be a minute.

The door to the suite is slightly ajar. I take a quick peek when no-one's looking and get my first glance at the fashion muse and actress: she’s decked out in a full denim getup – shirt, skirt, jacket – a fashion no-no, but she wears it well, lounging on the couch surrounded by her entourage of six. The girls are all bleach-blond, the guys bearded and bohemian. Champagne and strawberries sit untouched, and there’s not a make-up artist in sight.

When she emerges 10 minutes later, she’s dressed exactly the same and has an au natural look about her. It’s doubtful any make-up has been applied, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a sense of effortless cool to Sevigny, one that forgives any fashionable lateness because, well, here she is and you can’t help but want to be around her.

Sevigny isn’t your average fashion icon. She’s not “model-pretty”, as she would say, but she’s living proof that one doesn’t need stunning looks for a sense of style. In her 17 years in the public eye, she’s played muse to such high-profile names as Marc Jacobs, Terry Richardson and Daisy Von Furth. And then there’s her acting career, which has ranged from a hit TV show (Big Love) and big-budget studio pictures (Zodiac), to indie Oscar favourites (Boys Don’t Cry) and midnight cult classic (American Psycho).

But before she was any of that, she was just Chloë, it girl of the moment. In 1994, Bright Lights, Big City author Jay McInerney was walking down the streets of Brooklyn when he noticed a 19-year-old who he hailed as “the coolest girl in the world”. He wrote a seven-page profile on her for the New Yorker’s first annual fashion issue.

“The media always wants someone to celebrate and I was the person they were celebrating at the time,” says Sevigny. “And I’m glad they did. It helped my career and the things I wanted to do. It set this prestigious tone that people are still referencing.”

Those who read the profile were struck by this exceptionally confident teenager with more style in her little finger than most industry folk had in their whole body. Soon Sevigny was everywhere, critics easily comparing her to such ‘60s fashion muses as Edie Sedgwick and Jean Seberg. But the truth was a little different; your classic tale of a little girl shoved into the limelight.

“Back then I was very tentative about fame and what that meant, I didn’t know what I wanted to do for a living,” she says. “I hated walking into a party or a gallery opening and being so uncomfortable in my skin; it was torturous. I was worried with aligning myself with different things and making a statement, so that came out in my wild dress sense: pink hair, insane outfits.”

Almost two decades later and a lot of things have changed: Brooklyn’s gentrified, its lofts now inhabited by wealthy bankers and hipper-than-thou creative types; McInerney’s washed-up, a vestige of the clubs-and-cocaine ’80s; and nobody really takes the New Yorker’s fashion issues seriously anymore.

Sevigny’s changed too, but for the better. She’s slowly shedded her wild fashion-icon image and all the overblown press that came with it. “I don’t care about being at the forefront or wearing the coolest outfit in the room,” she says. “I’m trying to be more utilitarian without all the accoutrements that made me feel more interesting. Now I feel it just doesn’t matter.”

That sense of carefree comfort is obvious in her acting roles, with most only knowing Sevigny for her Hollywood performances. But it’s her work in the fashion industry that gets Sevigny’s most excited these days. Don’t get her wrong, though – she always wanted to be an actress. “I’ve just always been more attracted to fashion,” says Sevigny. “I feel much more comfortable in the fashion world than in Hollywood. Hollywood’s so much about sex and whether men find you attractive. Fashion, people have so many different interests, and there’s so much more room to be weird and experimental. It’s not about the champagne; it’s about having fun and doing something new.”

Sevigny’s fashion work is currently limited to collaborations with Manhattan-based retail outlet Opening Ceremony, considering it a vanity project more than anything else, a “selfish endeavour”. Of course, not everyone treats it that way: the advent of the internet has seen anyone with a laptop become a critic, and forums erupt when actress-turned-fashion-designer news emerges. The biggest criticisms so far, have been that the pieces are too one-note and expensive.

“Would people say that of [Comme des Garçons founder] Rei Kawakubo?” she says. “When you have your own aesthetics, you just design for yourself. It’s not high fashion; it’s street-wear. It might be more expensive than a disposable brand such as H&M, but it’s still fairly affordable.”

The praise for her work though, has been as extensive as the criticism, which begs the question of whether Sevigny would ever branch out from collaborations and start her own line. She was recently approached by financiers, a group of investors willing to put up most of the capital for a Chloë Sevigny label if she just did her thing.

“But there’s so much pressure,” she says. “My name’s on it, so I’d want to make sure it comes out the way I want. I wouldn’t want to have someone else come up with the ideas; I’d want it to be my project. The J.Lo’s and Gwen Stefani’s are just flash in a pan – it’s so much harder to sustain over the years.”

Ironic as it may be for an actress who’s more interested in fashion, the celebrity-does-couture cliché keeps Sevigny away from fully embracing her passion. While not naming names, she’s positive that many Hollywood celebrities who dabble in fashion are just fronts for other designers (“I can’t imagine stars working with Reebok are really designing exercise bra-tops”). The fashion world’s a tough gig, one that many people – including Sevigny – can’t keep up with.

“I have so much respect for fashion designers. Even just walking through here and seeing all the dresses,” she says. “I think ’My god!’ If I could ever be as imaginative to come up with something like that, maybe I would do it.”

The only possibility would be a collaboration with one of her favourite designers: Christopher Kane, Nicolas Ghesquière and Phoebe Philo. Her future, however, isn’t behind the catwalk or even in front of the cameras. It’s a combination of both: costume design.

“Lots of films I’ve been involved, I’ve wanted to do the costumes,“ she says. “But obviously, you can’t act at the same time, so when I get older it’s something I’ll pursue more. I’m still in love with fashion design, and I really feel fashion adds so much to film.“

The works of Rainer Werner Fassbinder, Jean-Luc Godard, Sofia Coppola and, more than anyone, Gus Van Sant feature her favourite costumes: “[Van Sant’s] My Own Private Idaho is the ultimate; everyone looks like the clothes are extensions of their characters, it’s simple yet detailed.”

Until that day comes, Sevigny has enough on her plate to keep her busy: at 36, she’s no longer just a set of hot legs, her age and experience having reached a point where not only are major filmmakers starting to appreciate her talent, but Sevigny’s own confidence is shining through.

HBO, the network behind her TV show Big Love, recently announced production of what she considers her baby: a four-hour mini-series on 19th-century murderer Lizzie Borden. Sevigny will star and produce, the actress currently knee-deep in pre-production.

Before all that though, she’s starring in the lead role of Hit and Miss, a British TV series about a transsexual assassin. “It’s my first action-y role,” says Sevigny. “I’m really excited.” Indeed, many are: pre-release buzz of the show has been immense, with three major US networks in a bidding war over airing rights. Come next year, don’t be surprised if Sevigny pulls a Johnny Depp-like Cinderella act from indie art-house darling to A-list action star and producer.

And then there’s fashion, an industry always on her radar – although not in the way you’d expect. In June, Sevigny released her latest collaboration with Opening Ceremony, and is planning many more. What styles she’ll conjure up or trends she’ll create is anyone’s guess – including Sevigny’s. “I don’t really look at fashion,” she says with a laugh. “I just wear what I like.”

Originally published in Style Magazne, August 2011

Sky Opens for Jet-Set

2011-06-23T02:48:00.000-07:00

Relaxed airspace restrictions could make China the next big market for private aviation, writes Pavan Shamdasani

Nothing says rich like a private jet. They are the sign of true wealth and power, and are usually associated with rock stars and powerful western businessmen. But with the repercussions of the 2008 financial crisis still being felt in the West, a new flight plan is being charted in our skies. China is slowly becoming the new aviation hub of the world and its entrepreneurs are discovering private jets.

The impetus behind this development is largely down to an uncharacteristic move by the Chinese government. In March, authorities revealed a trial program that would ease airspace restrictions. Li Jiaxiang, director of the Civil Aviation Administration of China, announced that the trial would allow private aviators to fly over certain areas of the country's low-altitude airspace without official approval. He said the government is planning to open the low-altitude airspace of the entire country by 2015.

This relaxation of restrictions is undoubtedly based on a flourishing economy. China's GDP is currently valued at US$5.87 trillion, an increase of 10 per cent compared to last year. China is now the world's second-largest economy.

On an individual scale, Forbes 2010 Billionaire List included 64 members from the mainland. This year, that figure nearly doubled, to 115. Most of the newly rich are making their fortunes through international industries such as mining, oil and property. These industries require businessmen to jet from one country to another at a moment's notice. So it is no surprise to discover that China's aviation industry is booming.

Dozens of new airports are springing up in remote regions of the country, and Chinese passengers are expected to make up a quarter of the world's 800 million travellers by 2014. Despite all this, China has only 200 registered private jets, compared to 11,000 in the US.

"The number of private jets in China is still far fewer than the number in Europe and the US," says Jackie Wu, chief operating officer of business aviation service providers Hong Kong Jet. "But I believe that China could become the major market for private jets in the future, as long as its economy maintains rapid growth and better facilities and more flexible regulations come into being."

Demand for private jets is growing considerably. According to the Civil Aviation Administration of China, there were 32 newly registered jets in 2008; in 2010 that number rose to 56, with a forecast of an additional 60 new registered jets by 2012. The past few months have seen a high number of major private aviation air shows taking place across China, including in Hong Kong, Shanghai and Sanya, in Hainan. At each show, major airline corporations announced record figures and forecasts for China sales. Airbus saw 25 per cent of their 2010 sales go to Chinese customers, Boeing said all of their private jets sold in 2010 were to Asian clients, and Bombardier reported a 27 per cent market share in China. It is forecasting an additional 600 business jet deliveries by 2019.

This has spurred wealthy entrepreneurs to jump into the aviation market before it becomes too late. For example, the China Aviation Industry General Aircraft Co. (CAIGA) was established in 2010 as a business focused on aviation design and resources. The company recently bought out US-based Cirrus Industries Inc., the world's second-largest general aviation aircraft manufacturer. Insiders have said the buy-out will considerably increase production capacity in China. It will also satisfy the country's increasing demand for private jets.

Wu agrees, saying the combination of relaxed restrictions and improved resources will stimulate sales in China. More entrepreneurs will realise that private jets are the ultimate status symbol. With no fixed routes or schedules, owners are free to take off and land in areas otherwise inaccessible by commercial planes. Many airline corporations are also tailoring their jets to Asian tastes, with casino gaming and karaoke rooms.

The future for private jets in China is relatively unknown, but if aviation market researchers JetNet are to be believed, there's a strong possibility the country will soon become the new capital of aviation. JetNet recently reported that China has seen the highest year-on-year growth of any country since 2005, and predicts that the country will have 20,000 general aviation aircraft by 2020.

"Strong economic growth and demand will make China the key driving force of the global private jet market in the next few years. The potential development of the private jet market in China is enormous," says Wu.

Originally published in Net Worth Magazine, June 2011

Some Day My Prints Will Come

2011-06-23T02:43:00.000-07:00

The market is more accessible but can also be highly lucrative, writes Pavan Shamdasani

Collectors and aspiring investors who attended last week’s ART HK fair are no doubt aware of our runaway art market – with a record 63,000 visitors, some of the most lucrative sales included Jeff Koon’s Monkey Train, which sold for US$3.5 million, and Luc Tuyman’s The Couple, 2011, which fetched US$1.1 million.

This market, in short, is notoriously expensive, but for those lost in the perplexing world of overpriced paintings and sculptures, an alternative market exists in the form of prints.

Originally introduced to bring the works of Rembrandt and Goya to wider audiences, prints have now developed into their own respected medium. They are appreciated for not only their artistic subject matter, but also the technical mastery behind each specific piece.

“Printmaking is a medium comprising lithography, etching, drypoint, woodcut, linoleum cut and screenprints,” says Mary Bartow, head of Sotheby’s New York’s prints department. “While original prints are multiples rather than being unique pieces, they are not reproductions. “[They] are customarily well documented, the price history can be traced and prints are generally more affordable than unique objects. For these reasons, new collectors find it an accessible market, one where they can feel comfortable buying.”

In March, Sotheby’s in London held an auction of old master, modern and contemporary prints. On the block were works from Bacon, Lichtenstein, Matisse, Miró and Warhol, among others. A Picasso print dated 1933 sold for just under US$10,000, while Rembrandt’s Death of the Virgin from 1639 went for around US$4,000.

“Pieces of unique art have escalated in price, while prints remain relatively cheap and are much more stable,” says Anders Petterson of art market research firm ArtTactic. “Had you bought a print of Takashi Murakami’s Killer Pink in December 2007 for US$3,200, you could’ve sold it for US$9,600 in April 2010. The print market offers an affordable entry point for established as well as emerging artists.”

The key to a clever investment is understanding the printmaking art, says Kate Bryan, director of the Cat Street Gallery. Research of intricate technical aspects is essential. “I would always say to buy an original work of art, something which was created to be a silkscreen or an engraving, rather than editions [duplicates] after a painting,” she says. “There is also a danger of oversaturation in the market if an artist does not restrict the edition; ideally, the work should be around an edition of 100.”

Angela Li, of Contemporary by Angela Li, agrees: “The smaller the better. Some prominent artists still work with 10 to 20 pieces for a print, and there are also great artists doing mono-prints – one-off pieces that are unique.”

Li herself is an avid collector, often seeing returns five to 10 times her initial investment within a few years of purchase. Much of that is due to a keen eye in terms of the piece’s condition.

“Prints are works on paper, which means conservation and condition are critical,” says Bartow, who recommends keeping your prints in acid-free rag mats and away from direct sunlight.“Improper storage can cause problems, which have problematic effects on a print’s value.”

That sense of value is almost a taboo subject in the print market, the medium having not yet caught up with such monetary-based fine art as paintings or sculptures. Most collectors or connoisseurs will tell you to do it for the love, not the money, but every expert has recommendations in terms of bankable printmakers.

Li advises new collectors to focus on upcoming Asian artists, especially graduates from printmaking academies who are dedicated to their craft, such as Xu Bing, Su Xinping and Wang Yiqiong. Bryan says that there are many artists who “put a lot of energy into their work”, such as Peter Blake, Gavin Turk, Natasha Law and Jake & Dinos Chapman, and that the Asian market is also a safe investment as prices are low.

Sotheby’s Bartow suggests printmakers who are on the rise: Serra and Lewitt, Ellsworth Kelly, Ed Ruscha, Donald Judd and Richard Estes, “artists whose careers are long established, but whose printmaking works haven’t received the attention due”.

ArtTactic’s Petterson is a little more cautious: “I would generally look for artists where prints are a part of the artist’s normal output, and not only a commercial strategy for targeting the lower end of the market,” he says.

But prints have long been an important part of collecting and will continue to be, according to Bartow.“When an artist’s unique works command high prices, buyers are likely to turn to their prints as an affordable means of collecting,” she says. “Prints continue to be a lively and accessible collecting category, and we expect this will be the case for years to come.”

Originally published in South China Morning Post, June 6 2011

A Perfect Combination

2011-06-22T01:47:00.000-07:00

Robert Kuo mixes the whimsical with the serious, writes Pavan Shamdasani

A sleek table with twig-shaped legs stands next to a full-scale pair of lifelike penguin statues; a decorative lotus plant emits a soft light in a room heavy on earthy greys; a mammoth rabbit sculpture that you can sit on. These are the works of Robert Kuo.

An artisan who works in a variety of fields, from practical furnishings to entirely decorative items, Kuo's works defy classification, the designer entirely comfortable in furniture, lighting, sculpture or interiors. But like many a great artist, Kuo's artistic temperament can be traced through his history, a combination of upbringing, exposure and being in the right (or wrong) place at the right time.

Born in Beijing in 1946, mere months after Japanese forces had retreated from the city, Kuo was practically an artist out of the womb: his father was an influential watercolour painter and art professor, a respected man within artistic circles.

His family soon moved to Taiwan - but while most of the world was peacefully rebuilding, the country was facing its notorious "white terror" period, a 38-year struggle that saw more than 140,000 Taiwanese imprisoned or executed for their suspected political opposition.

There was a touch of silver to all the slaughter; they say art flourishes in times of conflict, and for a young artist growing up in a state of civil unrest, where dissidents are routinely being terrorised right outside your doorstep, influences are made apparent and temperament's quickly formed.

It helped, of course, that he came from a background which encouraged artistic endeavours. "Growing up in a family that emphasised the importance of the arts allowed me to be comfortable in expressing my artistic side," says Kuo. "Choosing this path was actually more natural than pursuing other professions such as medicine or law."

When Kuo was 15, his father opened an atelier and the impressionable teenager became its first apprentice. Focusing on the art of cloisonne - the ancient, almost archaic technique of decorating metalworks with enamel - Kuo spent more than 10 years mastering and perfecting the various intricacies involved, the style eventually coming to define the artisan's work over the next few decades.

In 1973, Kuo moved to Los Angeles and opened up his own cloisonne studio in the chic area of Beverly Hills. The migration was perfectly timed: Nixon had just made his inaugural visit to China the year before, and for the first time, the western world was granted a look into a country they'd only heard rumours about.

On the flipside, Kuo was being exposed to fresh artistic styles - in particular, art deco, which was seeing a '70s resurgence. In it, he found a style that was eclectic and streamlined, with a linear symmetry that worked as well in usable furniture like tables and chairs as it could in more decorative items.

"I think the period is important to design and a lot of the art-deco period was inspired by Chinese design," says Kuo. "My intention was to preserve the craftsmanship of these techniques - to design pieces that highlight the quality and timelessness. I feel that pieces that are designed and executed well are not constrained by fashion and the times."

Indeed, in an era where artistic styles are as disposable as IKEA furniture, Kuo's works felt eternal, which is what drew the American public to his mix of classical Chinese and contemporary western. It's not all completely intentional, though.

"My designs are not purposefully trying to be either Chinese traditional or western contemporary," he says. "They reflect the great appreciation and respect that I have for traditional Chinese crafts and techniques, but they also reflect the inspiration derived from the freedom and individuality of the western culture."

It's that combination of old-world respect with new-world freedom that characterises Kuo's works; pieces that are eclectic, innovative and most importantly, original.

Originally published in Style Magazine, June 2011

Man of the Moment

2011-06-16T00:23:00.001-07:00

British Architect Thomas Heatherwick is slowly changing the face of Hong Kong, writes Pavan Shamdasani

Colonialists often wistfully long for the lost Victorian and Edwardian buildings of yesteryear. They have a point: compare classic photos of our early colonial days with the towering skyscrapers that now dominate our city, and one feels a sense of loss, with our slapdash skyline coming off cold and soulless.

But some of the greatest cities in the world have kept their sense of individuality, the connecting factor being they were all defined by a singular architect’s vision: Barcelona’s stunning baroque modernism was due to the preeminent design mind of Antoni Gaudi, Glasgow’s elegantly restrained style came from the talent of Charles Rennie Mackintosh.

In a similar fashion, British architect Thomas Heatherwick is hoping to be the man for Hong Kong, making his mark on the omnipresent structural surroundings of our vast metropolis by building on our sense of history and culture.

To say that Heatherwick is versatile is an understatement: he came to international prominence with his “seed cathedral” – Britain’s pavilion at last year’s Shanghai World Expo – but for almost 15 years has experimented with projects great and small. From the immense US$250 million Teesside power station to the spinning top-inspired “spun chair”, his is a design mind not limited by size or scale.

At different times in his career labelled as an architect, engineer, inventor, product designer and urban planner, his sensibilities lack a thoroughly specified or set-out style. For a city as chaotic as Hong Kong, one often at odds with its own sense of architectural definition, the attribute is a blessing.

“We try not to bring in any assumptions or preconceptions to the design,” he says. “Our job is to have a process that we apply to each project whatever scale it is, whether it’s something small or large, we’re interested in how you can apply similar values and ambitions.”

It’s his adaptable sense of application that initially brought him to the attention of the local public with Pacific Place. And while it might seem strange for a man often associated with pioneering projects to take on something as commercial as a shopping mall redesign, that’s exactly what separates Heatherwick from his contemporaries.

His interests lie in the factors behind a project’s relevance, stimulated by how a building corresponds to a city’s urban context. Hong Kong’s concentrated landscape is unique, and in Pacific Place Heatherwick saw our “first true public space” – which is to say, an environment that brings people together, be it families, friends, colleagues or couples.

“It isn’t just a shopping mall; there are thousands of people who work and live and are based around and interwoven to the shopping environment,” he says. “It’s more like a town than a single shopping mall.”

Comparing it to “open-heart surgery”, Heatherwick’s HK$1.5 billion budget will allow for numerous new hotels, restaurants, bridges and other small touches to be rolled out over the next three years. The changes might seem minor to regular mall visitors, but Heatherwick is a firm believer in the philosophy of less is more: “It’s actually through many smaller projects as well that you really demonstrate our commitment to a city being special for its residents,” he says.

Case in point: Southorn Playground. In 2003, Heatherwick was invited by the Wan Chai District Council to transform the district’s main outdoor space into a venue that would accommodate all walks of city life. Heatherwick was intrigued by the wonderful contrast of a playground surrounded by skyscrapers, and he quickly accepted.

After 18 months of intense research, Heatherwick finally revealed his proposal: the basketball courts would be elevated to allow for a walkway underneath; the football pitch lowered to remove the seedy seating stands; 400 metres would be allocated for open space, where greenery and comfortable seating would entice people in the vicinity to actually enjoy Hong Kong’s outdoor spaces for a change.

The proposal created 50 per cent more public space, and Heatherwick had found a developer willing to put in half the cost of construction if the government matched the rest. But as most Hong Kongers know, more often than not the government can’t quite justify a property project that doesn’t end in profit. Heatherwick’s proposal fell by the wayside.

“For me, there’s strong symbolism in not being able to make a project like that happen,” says Heatherwick. “I’m totally confused that the government is interested in giving money back to the population and yet there is a prime piece of public space in the centre of the city that would need a relatively tiny amount of money to develop. I’m still quietly hoping that our other projects have such positive feedback that it jogs people’s memory. There should still be room for developments like this alongside projects such as West Kowloon; they make a big difference to a city.”

Indeed, one of the few projects the government is willing to spend money on is the endlessly delayed West Kowloon Cultural District. While his studio never submitted a proposal of their own, Heatherwick is positive about the project, but wary of our city’s wealth obstructing a natural cultural landscape.

“The Foster masterplan is great and flexible, but it’s now all down to how it gets implemented. There are many cities in Asia where there’s increasing wealth and general prosperity,” he says. “Often, that’s the moment when there is a sudden move to try to grab culture as if it’s an easily grab-able thing, which gets stereotyped as if it’s just about having a giant opera house, a giant museum, a giant theatre. It’s important that Hong Kong doesn’t follow the same formula; that its new cultural offerings don’t feel like they have been bought in from around the world.”

To Heatherwick, culture has to be distinctive and special, a manifestation based on the city’s people and place. “My fear is, you mustn’t be able to recognise familiar styles of global architecture when you look at the buildings that get built and the spaces that get made,” he says. “Because those global names are doing the same all over the world. I’m interested in how Hong Kong becomes more particular and distinctive, so it’s very important that it invents its own way of doing things.”

With that in mind, Heatherwick’s focus for the far future is firmly rooted in Hong Kong. He’s currently working on a 180-metre hotel tower in the burgeoning district of Sheung Wan, the plans of which are unfortunately kept closely under wraps, but has numerous other city plans he hopes to one day achieve.

Two in particular stand out: the first is similar to his proposal for Southorn Playground; the Happy Valley Racecourse is a unique venue set smack in the middle of our urban jungle, but the surrounding buildings and environment have seen little rejuvenation in decades.He hopes to one day work with the Hong Kong Jockey Club to transform the district into a destination that naturally blends city with country.

The second project isn’t so much an extravagance, as a requirement: “Hong Kong needs to build waste power plants in the coming years,” he says. “I believe that the infrastructure of a city can possibly give an even stronger statement about the values of a society than the more obvious opera houses and art galleries. We previously designed a biomass fuelled power station for a site in the north of England, and we’d love to have the opportunity to take on a similar design challenge in Hong Kong.”

And while his concentration might be temporarily elsewhere – in Britain, he’s working on the 2012 Olympic Cauldron, a Benedictine monastery and a redesign of the London Bus, all of which will blend classic with contemporary – Hong Kong’s unparalleled sense of clashing cultures, the illogical with the fantastic, is what will keep him coming back.

“When I first came here, my breath was taken away by this extraordinary city that combined densely packed towers, in some kind of extraordinary harmony with jungle-clad mountains – a phenomenal overlapping of nature and urban life,” he says. “Hong Kong is an extraordinarily strong city, and it feels like it should just build on what it has.”

Originally published in Style Magazine, June 2011

Office Space

2011-06-08T23:10:00.001-07:00

Originally published in Style Magazine, June 2011

Tastebud Tours

2011-05-11T07:02:00.000-07:00

Hong Kong chefs serve up some restaurant tips. By Pavan Shamdasani

Sightseers are a dime a dozen - decked out in baseball caps, bright shirts and shorts, they follow the masses through the over-visited tourist sites, heavyweight cameras strapped around their necks, never fully embracing a country.

But those who know how to travel take in an entire culture - that doesn't mean you have to trade in your plush five-star hotel for a home-style B&B, but it does entail you throwing yourself into the mix, risking it all and, most importantly, savouring the culinary delights of any given country.

Food is an essential part of travelling, and who better to guide us through cuisine capitals than four globe-trotting master chefs? From such internationally recognised names as Nobu Matsuhisa of his eponymous restaurants and Uwe Opocensky of the Mandarin Oriental, to local Michelin favourites Chan Yan-tak of the Four Seasons' Lung King Heen and Alvin Leung, the Demon Chef of Bo Innovation, let these guides direct you to some top dining options.

Uwe Opocensky, Executive Chef, Mandarin Oriental - San Sebastian, Spain

See Renowned for its Basque cuisine and Michelin-starred restaurants, San Sebastian is one of the classic chef choices - but while its cuisine is certainly a deciding factor, Opocensky's love for the city stems from different reasons. "San Sebastian reminds me of Australia," he says. "It has a similar feel: great beaches and wonderful places to go hiking, and everything is in close proximity."Opocensky hopes to retire there, having a large amount of respect for the Spanish attitude and their way of life: "Especially siestas; it's the best thing in the world".

Savour Opocensky visited the city five years ago, and while he experienced an amazing amount of incredible food, one meal stood out. "There are so many amazing restaurants and tapas bars in San Sebastian, it's difficult to name just one," he says. "But if you pushed me, it would be Mugaritz." Located half an hour from the city centre, Mugaritz is headed up by Andoni Luis Aduriz, who trained under El Bulli master chef Ferran Adria, with his interest in home-grown, organic products giving the restaurant its lauded reputation.

"What made it so special was the people who run it and also the type of food they serve," says Opocensky. "They use local products and make innovative dishes with it: a lot of herbs and flowers. The whole approach to food really amazed me." Opocensky highly recommends the clay potatoes - potatoes cooked in gray clay with cream of garlic confit and farm-egg yolk: "It was food I'd never had before; I found it very inspiring."

Sip Not limiting himself to one watering hole, Opocensky admits that he "would have to list five to 10 bars", so instead offers an entire neighbourhood: "I like the old town area where all thepintxo - tapas - bars are. They are all very special, and you walk around eating and drinking in them all night."

Snooze A touch of home is what draws the chef back to the area, with the Villa Soro his preferred place to bunk down for the night. "It's a small hotel with only 25 rooms. It has this amazing feeling of being at home; it's more like a house than a hotel, which I like."

Alvin Leung, The Demon Chef, BO Innovation - Singapore

See Often known for bucking trends with his molecular-infused cuisine, Leung is equally unconventional in his choice of holiday destination. "I know chefs might be expected to say places such as Spain or Paris, but I like Singapore," he says. "I know nobody ever says the Lion City, but I enjoy its cleanliness and order. To me, it's like Switzerland but with nicer weather." And while most would hark on about Orchard Road or the city's endless gardens and temples, Leung recommends the Marina Bay Sands and Sentosa casinos: "Only in Singapore would you find casinos with civilised people."

Savour "I love the diversity of food of Singapore," Leung says. "I love going from hawker stalls to high-end restaurants. I enjoy the combinations of Indian, Chinese and Malay food." While there, Leung makes sure to drop by the No Signboard Seafood Restaurant in Geyland, the overcrowded, underpriced staple of Singapore dining which serves up arguably the finest chilli crab in the city. But Leung is also quick to admit a weakness for a late-night nosh classic: "I also just like to have Hainan Chicken Rice."

Sip The Long Bar in the Raffles Hotel is where Leung whiles away his post-kitchen hours. "But don't order the Singapore Sling - it's one of the worst I've had, which is ironic since it was invented there. I like to relax, eat the nuts and throw the shells everywhere."

Snooze Leung sensibly prefers to stay close to his favourite bar, in the Raffles Hotel. "It's colonial, but classy and comfortable," he says. He also likes The Regent, but only for more personal reasons. "My friend Jimmy runs a cigar lounge next to the hotel."

Nobu Matsuhisa, Executive Chef, Nobu - Tokyo, Japan

See Tokyo is Nobu's choice, the irony being that the internationally celebrated chef spends more days jet-setting around the world than he does in the cosy confines of his home. "I go to the hot springs," he says. "I travel and do so much business that the hot springs help me relax and recharge."

Savour Preparing, cooking, living and breathing Japanese cuisine would certainly take its toll on any chef, and despite being in the very core of fine Nippon dining, Nobu visits Wakiya, in the Akasaka district of Tokyo. "It is modern Chinese, and it's so fashionable," he says. "The food is excellent, and that makes me happy." And although his choice of ordering the shark fin soup might have some lobbyists up in arms, Nobu nonetheless gushes about its preparation: "The soup is so special and they stew the shark fin for more than 10 days."

Sip With relaxation solely on his mind, Nobu's choice is Maduro, a laid-back, intimate watering hole in the Grand Hyatt Tokyo. Along with its wide selection of classic cocktails and cigars, Nobu's partial to its atmosphere: "I love the luxurious ambiance," he says.

Snooze A classic, refined hotel is Nobu's style, and where better than near his favourite bar at the Grand Hyatt Tokyo? In the popular Roppongi Hills skyscraper, the hotel takes up six immense floors, with stylish, modern rooms and a wide selection of fine dining.

Chan Yan-tak, Lung King Heen - Beijing, China

See As the first Chinese chef to be awarded three Michelin stars, it's little surprise that Chan Yan-tak prefers an escape back in his home country. "I love Beijing, especially in autumn," he says. "The weather is nice and cool, and walking in the old streets of Beijing is so relaxing." He's a great tour guide, offering up numerous must-see suggestions, including the Great Wall and the Forbidden City ("they remind me a lot about my Chinese history"), but also offers a chef's insider tip. "I like to shop in the wet markets in Beijing - there are so many different types of vegetables and seafood, and it's a good way to get a sense of the local culture."

Savour With the plethora of restaurants available in Beijing, Chan is hard-pressed, choosing a home-style classic over anything contemporary. "The one I remember most is the Simple House in Hotel Kunlun," he says. "The decor is traditional Chinese, but sophisticated." The food served at Simple House is Lu cuisine from the Shandong province, the oldest and most influential of all Chinese cuisines, with nearly all modern offshoots being based on the area's techniques. "It uses old methods - the cooking style, the sauce and the ingredients are quite different from Canton food."

With his favourite dishes including wild yellow croaker braised with bean sauce, Shandong style pancake with vegetables and shrimp paste, and braised sea cucumber and scallion, Chan admits that what he loves most about the cuisine is its history. "My interest is based on its use of what was available when it first originated many hundreds of years ago."

Sip Beijing's huge and evolving nightlife and bar scene restricts Chan from choosing just one venue. "I like the Hou Hai bar street," he says. "There are so many bars with sea views. I like to order a beer and enjoy the sunset."

Snooze A red-blooded Chinese man at heart, Chan's choice of the Red Wall Garden is more based on the country's culture than the hotel's luxury. "It's small and discrete, tucked away in the Dongcheng district, but also convenient," he says. "It feels traditional Chinese, and is old in style, with the hotel centred on a courtyard and numerous Chinese traditions in the decor."

Originally published in Style Magazine, May 2011

Dr. Strangelove

2011-04-25T08:30:00.000-07:00

In 2002, film magazine Sight & Sound published its top 10 poll, as it does once a decade. Split into two separate lists of critics’ and filmmakers’ choices, neither held much surprise: Citizen Kane topped both, The Godfather, 8½ and Vertigo were all present, and a Stanley Kubrick film appeared on each.

But while the over-analysing critics voted for Kubrick's ambiguous masterpiece 2001: A Space Odyssey, the directors surprisingly picked his only straight-up comedy: the technically conventional but darkly hilarious Dr. Strangelove.

The two films are admittedly similar in their basic premise – man's ingenious creations ironically lead to catastrophe – but to near-obsessive fans of the filmmaker, Dr. Strangelove never fully feels like a Kubrick movie.

Lacking his distinctly epic approach, the story – a crazed general orders a B-52 bomber to start a nuclear war, while world leaders try desperately to avert disaster – is incongruously small in its scale, set primarily within three cramped locations: an army base, the inside of a bomber and the much-remembered war room. But its selection by the filmmakers – the people who make movies, remember – does offer a strong case for the timeless maxim that all one needs is a great script.

And what a script it is: penned by Kubrick and beat generation writer Terry Southern. The duo were so struck by the comedic possibilities inherent in nuclear disaster that they felt it had to be a comedy. And really, why not? They say that humour is the best way to deliver a harrowing message, and Dr. Strangelove is the ideal definition of a “black comedy”: a political satire so absurdly dark in its true-to-life balance of terror between nuclear powers that one can't help but laugh.

Taking the basic idea that funny people are never as funny as serious people being idiots, the film is anthropological satire at its finest, putting its world leaders and military men in bizarre situations that question how a relatively normal person would react when faced with possibility of nuclear holocaust. In one classic scene, the American president nervously attempts to break the news over the phone that he's “accidentally” about to blow his Russian counterpart's country to oblivion.

And while there's no argument that Kubrick was the devilishly funny puppet-master behind this radioactive riot-fest, it helped, of course, that he had a cast with names like Peter Sellers and George C. Scott.

Sellers is often praised for his three madcap roles, but it's Scott who gets the largest laughs, his horny General Buck Turgidson so over-the-top in his ultra-conservative ideals, that his inflated antics easily steal the show.

Next year, Sight & Sound will once again conduct its top 10 poll, and while Kubrick's sci-fi epic is slowly losing lustre amongst critical circles, Dr. Strangelove's inclusion is all but guaranteed. Because in our dire days of air-strikes, radiation scares and Sarah Palin, we could all do with a good laugh.

Originally published in South China Morning Post, April 10 2011

eXistenZ

2011-03-27T02:15:00.000-07:00

Technology is a theme overrepresented in modern cinema. From action-studded adventures such as The Matrix to overly convoluted visual feasts such as the recent Tron Legacy, many use the subject to awe rather than inspire, and few actually question technology’s role in society. eXistenZ, from shock artist David Cronenberg, is thankfully one such film.

Initially written off as one of Cronenberg's weaker efforts upon its release, the film came in the middle of a poor streak for the director, and had the bad luck of following the controversy plagued, J.G. Ballard adaptation Crash. But time has been kind to the sci-fi mindbender, the film’s technological predictions and philosophical questions seeming more important than ever.

In terms of its technological theme, eXistenZ acts as a spiritual sequel to Cronenberg’s 1980s home-video horror Videodrome, where machinery evolved into the biological and organic, focusing instead on the ‘90s obsession with videogames and virtual reality. Set in a near future where interactive diversions allow users to literally escape by connecting their spinal chords directly into a game, the story taps into a virtual world to play double duty as a sci-fi shocker and molasses-black satire.

Jennifer Jason Leigh plays Allegra Geller, a leading game designer who has recently created eXistenZ, a game that has “realists” up in arms over its invasion of the artificial into everyday life. Ambushed by assassins during its debut, Geller escapes with a young trainee, played by a pre-fame Jude Law, as well as the only copy of the game. Fearing that eXistenZ has been damaged, Leigh convinces Law to test the game with her. Cue an entire world of depraved madness for Cronenberg to explore, one where the lines between the real and the virtual are constantly blurred.

But beneath the mystifying and the monstrous are deeper undercurrents of maturity previously unexplored in the work of Cronenberg. Touching on themes of existentialism (just look at the title), free will and most importantly, the role of technology, eXistenZ’s narrative was a product of pre-millennial panic, its tale of a forward-thinking radical battling extremist opposition being a thinly veiled take of the lack of choices afforded to author Salman Rushdie.

That the film’s release coincided with Rushdie’s reemergence out of hiding, ten years after his fatwa-inducing novel Satanic Verses, is no coincidence. By questioning whether advancements in technology – to many, the obvious next step in terms of art – would violently undermine the belief systems our civilized society had spent so long developing, Cronenberg intentionally mirrored Rushdie’s own faith-defying plight and the freedoms associated with it (Cronenberg and Rushdie are good friends in real life).

And while the film’s surface-level influence on such pop sci-fi films as Avatar and Inception is obvious, the importance of its subversive subject matter seems more relevant today than ever. At a time when cartoon representations are leading to assassinations and social media technology is integral in triggering uprisings and revolutions, eXistenZ stands out as, if not his best work, certainly Cronenberg’s most important.

Originally published in South China Morning Post, March 20 2011

Fight Night Championship

2011-03-27T02:07:00.000-07:00

Boxing, to the uninitiated, is a sport of drama. But the truth to anyone who's actually watched a fight is that boxing is often either over too quickly to build excitement, or too drawn out to keep one's interest.

Game developer EA Sports has dominated the boxing video game since 1995. In 2004, the company all but revolutionized the sub-genre with Fight Night, using a “total punch control system” that recreated the fast-pace and harrowing hits of the sport. Three sequels followed – none of them much better than the first – but with the recently released Fight Night Champion, EA have once again delivered a knockout.

The game has all the standards we've come to expect from the series – exhibition matches, online multi-player, the Legacy Mode where you build a boxer from scratch – but with brilliant addition of the title's single-player Champion mode. Players take full control of the fictional fighter Andre Bishop from his days as a lowly jail-house brawler to the greatest fighter of all-time. The five-hour journey seamlessly blends challenging matches with well-acted cut-scenes, and while the story is admittedly jigsawed together from decades of boxing flick clichés, for once the fights have meaning.

From no-holds barred prison rules, to amateur bouts, matches are fought and won based on your place in the story. A cut above your eye in your first professional match sends you reeling to the jeers of the crowd, while breaking your fist in a championship match means either continuing southpaw or risking the title. It all culminates in the final fight, with an endurance test on par with Rocky's bouts. And when a cut-scene reveals that your Don King-like promoter has fixed the fight, there's no greater feeling than one-punching your opponent in the twelfth to void all bribes.

Along with the much-needed drama, EA have also finally updated the total punch control – no more frustrating half-circles for uppercuts, no more quick-angle jabs; just one flick and your punch of choice is delivered. It initially seems like a dumbing-down, but the new system puts the emphasis firmly on tactic and strategy, rather than the timing of the player's opposable thumb. Fights flow quicker and boxers' movements are smoother; button-mashing is gone, and a bad defense can land you on the canvas mere seconds after a win seemed in the bag.

It all adds up to the easily finest boxing video game ever created, a treat for true fans of of both the real and the fictionalised sport.

Originally published in South China Morning Post, March 20 2011

A League of His Own

2011-01-23T05:32:00.000-08:00

Fresh from his sensational success at the Shanghai World Expo, British designer Thomas Heatherwick tells Pavan Shamdasani why he wants to create heritage in Hong Kong.

He's been called everything from a modern-day Renaissance man to the greatest design mind of our time. But whatever you do, don't call him either to his face. Thomas Heatherwick – artist, architect, engineer, inventor, product designer and urban planner – hates all the labels people that throw at him. Instead, his approach is as simple as it is modest: “I'm just very interested in the world that surrounds us,” he says. “As I hope most people are.”

Since achieving global fame for his groundbreaking UK Pavilion at this year's Shanghai World Expo, Heatherwick has had to stave off attempts to pigeon-hole him. If there is one comparison he will accept it is to the Victoria-era engineers that he respects so much – multidisciplinary men like Isambard Kingdom Brunel, who had his hands in everything from tunnels to steam ships to railroads to bridges.

“They were people who were always thinking of ideas, at a time when things were much more open, more broad,” says Heatherwick. “Now people are isolated into separate professions and it's very fashionable to be multidisciplinary. but that's only if you decide that there are disciplines to be multi of, rather than seeing it as one discipline anyway.”

And that, in a nutshell, is his approach to his profession, the career that many call “design.” If you take a step back far enough, it all blends into one, although not an indistinguishable place of homogeneous cities and landscapes, but a colorfully diverse world in which every city has its own unique character. “It's what my most specific interest is: how you make cities distinctive and not numerous versions of the exact same thing,” he says. “For me, cities are the same as people: I want cities to have their own distinctive characters. But it's easy for an individual to be individual. It's hard for a city which is made up of municipal authorities and governments to dare not to have the same mix of influences that every other city has. That daring is deciding what you're not going to do.”

Born and raised in London, Heatherwick burst onto the design scene in 1997 when he was commissioned by department store Harvey Nichols to create a temporary facade for its Knightsbridge store in celebration of London Fashion Week. Heatherwick's design was audacious, completely razing the storefront windows and winding a “ribbon” of laminated wood throughout. It won him the British Design & Art Direction Yellow Pencil.

He recaptured the spotlight in 2001 with his B of the Bang sculpture in Manchester. A 56m-high structure with 180 surrounding steel spikes, it was designed to resemble a firework and initially won praise for adding a spark of innovation to the generally dreary vibe of the city. However, structural problems developed, with the spikes causing stress on the steel base, and Heatherwick was sued by the Manchester City Council. They settled out of court for about US$3 million, but the bigger cost to Heatherwick was his loss of faith in UK craftsmanship.

Growing tired with the country's “lack of expertise,” Heatherwick began to look at other cities for inspiration. It soon found him, though, when his studio was approached to redesign an area of Wan Chai in Hong Kong. Intrigued by the idea of working in a major Chinese metropolis, Heatherwick arrived in 2006 and immediately fell in love. In it, he saw a glorious design heaven , one that had a heady mix of quality, variety and range when it came to everything from materials to craftsmanship.

Although the Wan Chai project fell through, within months he was offered a chance to redesign Pacific Place, the million square-foot shopping mall that once was the epitome of modern chic, but which had become a relic of the metal-machine motif of the 1980s. He quickly set up a studio here, which he now calls his “alter-ego”, and got to work.

Three years later, at the tail end of 2009, the first fruits of his labor were revealed: a simple yet refined logo redesign; nothing spectacular compared to his other works, but important in that it heralded the sea change that will take place over the next four years in the mall. Comparing the process to “open-heart surgery,” he's faced with the challenge of taking a living, breathing mall and refurbishing it while it remained a vibrant business.

“We knew we couldn't tear Pacific Place down and rebuild it, because it's a very successful place. It's busy and full of people and it's a main public space,” says Heatherwick. “You've got to do these changes while the place lives. We've tried to focus on how we can improve the circulation so that people can move around it better, improve the daylight coming in, and improve the environmental performance of the site. Basically, to move it to the next level ready for the coming 20 years.”

Listing nearly every facet of change that will take place – from such relatively minor alterations as making all the escalator and staircase handrails into a warmer, earthier brown, to such bold modifications as completely overhauling the entire pyramid-windowed roof into a garden with walkable skylights alongside a bridge that will lead from Tamar Site to Garden Court – Heatherwick is passionate about revamping Pacific Place, hoping that it will eventually lead him back to another – his first – Hong Kong project: Southorn Playground.

His plans for the aforementioned “Wan Chai project,” are as bold as they are innovative. After carrying out an immense amount of research, conducting public consultations with the local community and working with the Wan Chai District Council, Heatherwick came up with a plan that would completely revitalize the dilapidated playground.

By elevating the basketball courts above ground to create a covered walkway underneath and lowering the football pitch into the ground to remove its surrounding roofed seating stands, Heatherwick created an additional 50 per cent of public space, which would eventually be used for grass fields, trees and “other things that would make everyone just enjoy the life out there.”

“For me, Southorn Playground is one of the most incredible spaces in the world in terms of urban context,” says Heatherwick. “To have outdoor sports in the center of the city, it's totally illogical and that's why it's fantastic. And I feel it's actually important that it's revitalized, reestablished, reasserted as a very important public space.”

But, as anyone who's spent a significant amount of time in Hong Kong knows, property developers are rarely receptive to anything that doesn't involve making more money. Initially facing problems with developers who wanted to do a land swap, offering an area five times its size in the New Territories in exchange for a building development on the site, he soon encountered a major hurdle with the government.

“We had a developer willing to put in half the money for the whole project, and just needed to be matched by the government,” says Heatherwick. “But they couldn't innovate enough to unlock the little equation where they could justify the project. It told me a lot about Hong Kong, because the government and property developers get obsessed with spending vast amounts of money on mega-projects like West Kowloon Cultural District, when a relatively tiny amount of money could make a huge difference culturally and touristically for the whole of Hong Kong.”

Heatherwick hopes to one day revive the project, based on the glowing feedback his UK pavilion has received in Shanghai, as well as what he hopes will be a positive reaction to his Pacific Place refurbishment. And while he's still working on various projects in the UK – his studio is currently redesigning the classic double-decker bus for the Mayor of London – Heatherwick's main focus is on Hong Kong, “creating heritage” to put the city with all its contrasts at the very forefront of Asia.

“When you look out at Hong Kong, you look at the mountains, you look at the towers. They both look as natural and as beautiful as each other when you stand from a distance,” says Heatherwick. “I'm keen to work with developers in Hong Kong to find an outcome that doesn't exist somewhere else in the world. If we manage to do that, then we hope we're achieving something that will accumulate the layers of local history. But the real question is, whether Hong Kong is willing to make sure it can be the centre of Asia?”

Originally published in Hong Kong Tatler Magazine, September 2010

2001: A Space Odyssey

2011-01-23T05:23:00.000-08:00

It's fascinating to imagine cinema would be like without Arthur C. Clarke and Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey. Released in the late 60s, it appeared at a time when the scientific community's thoughts had naturally progressed from focusing on the origins of our species to exploring our universe and what lies beyond. At odds with this was science fiction's reputation as a genre – reserved for B-flicks, it was used as either the means to a shock-twist end in shows like The Twilight Zone, or wedged in with the similarly disrespected horror genre in such schlocky “alien” monster movies as The Thing from Another World.

2001 changed all that – not only was its story and themes the first to tackle science fiction on a serious level, through its exploration of evolution, artificial intelligence and alien lifeforms, it also revolutionized the way people watched movies. Here was a film that looked and felt like a camera had been shot into space and recorded all that it could see – from its breathtakingly sleek special effects, said to have influence NASA, to its almost psychedelic final third that led audiences on a drug-free hallucination.

Split fairly evenly into three distinct but loosely connected sections, “The Dawn of Man” starts the film at our beginnings, a prehistoric look at humankind's ape-like ancestors as they struggle to survive on Earth's rough terrains. Dialogue-free and authentic in its depiction, its the setting for our first look at the black monolith, the recurring enigma that ties all the stories together. The section ends on that oft-parodied scene, man's discovery of violent tools, with the triumphant bone thrown in the air match-cutting four million years into the future.

This is “Jupiter Mission”, the film's most narratively traditional and thus, audience-friendly section, opening on that classic image of a waltzing satellite set to the sounds of Strauss. The question of artificial intelligence and the power it can assert and sometimes abuse was first questioned here, culminating in one cinema's finest scenes, the harrowing point where the computer becomes self-aware, as an astronaut constantly pleads it to “Open the pod bay doors, HAL.”

It all leads to the most memorable part of the film, “Jupiter and Beyond Infinite,” a surreal visual journey across space and time that ends with what is possibly the rebirth of our universe. Since the film's release, the section has confounded critics and audiences alike; is it about the search for God? The cycle of birth and death? A Nietzschean allegory about the potential of man? Clarke's novel, released after the movie, is said to explain things in greater detail – but to enthusiasts, that takes all the fun out of things.

Great sci-fi is meant to be a place of great beginnings, a jumping off point for further thoughts and ideas. 2001 is in a league of its own in that regard. While it's possible the film's themes are better explored and questions better posed in more recent sci-fi efforts, it will always hold a place in the history of cinema as the beginning of a new dawn.

Originally published in South China Morning Post, January 2 2011

It's Natural

2010-12-06T22:50:00.000-08:00

Yea, yea, hippies suck—but they’re right about one thing: natural supplements. Drugs that can make you bigger, stronger, faster, all in a completely organic way. But walking into your local nature hole these days just ain’t what it used to be. How do you separate the milk thistles from the vita-barley? Hong Kong’s man (or woman) on the move needs a tried-and-tested chart to tackle major problems as they appear. Well thankfully, here it is.

Be Happier with St. John's Wort

What is it? A short yellow flower that grows in the wild, its history dates back over 2,400 years, when Hippocrates himself would prescribe it in ancient Greece. Recent tests have proven it as a more effective antidepressant than the prescription variety, and with fewer side effects.

Experts say: “It’s called a happy herb,” says Aman Dhillan of Nature’s Village. “It’s a natural anti-depressant and it improves your mood. That might sometimes be due to the placebo effect, but we have customers who frequently use it.”

Tried and tested: The bottle said three times a day, but I started easy with just one. They say it takes four days to take full effect, and it might just be the placebo effect, but after an hour I could swear I started feeling giddier, more alive and less serious about life. Of course, the strange depression I went through that very night might be the counterpoint, but this is still an easy alternative to Prozac.

Keep in mind: St. John’s wort is sometimes known to cause dizziness, confusion and tiredness. At its worst, it causes photosensitivity, which produces free radicals that can eventually lead to cataracts. But this is very rare. Oh, and there’s that whole fertility issue.

Where to get it: $190 for 100 capsules from Nature’s Village.

Be Smarter with Ginkgo Biloba

What is it? A species of tree that’s been used medicinally for thousands of years. Its compounds are believed to thin blood and improve muscle tone in blood vessels, which enhances blood flow.

Experts say: “It won’t make dumb people smarter,” says Johnny Hanson of the American Nutrition Company. “It increases circulation and helps memory retention. Some folks have given it a bad rap, but you should try it out first—it’s herbal so it’s not harmful.”

Tried and tested: Again, the possibilities of the placebo effect were still there, but I made sure to ditch my usual two-three cups of coffee that day to be completely objective. Just one pill immediately made me less groggy in the morning—I felt extremely alert, and I was easily able to complete every task at work throughout the day. No signs of fatigue that evening or the next day.

Keep in mind: It may cause clotting in people with blood disorders, it may increase the frequency of seizures in epileptics, and it maybe affect blood sugar levels in diabetics.

Where to get it: $204 for 60 capsules from the American Nutrition Company.

Sleep Better with 5HTP

What is it? A naturally occurring amino acid that’s created when your body’s tryptophan is converted into serotonin. 5HTP helps decrease insomnia by increasing stages in the body’s REM sleep and deep-sleep cycles.

Experts say: “You know how after that big Thanksgiving dinner, you just want to go to sleep?” says Hanson. That’s either the fact that you ate 3,000 calories, or the fact that turkey contains tryptophan. Hanson says, “Some might recommend melatonin [a naturally occurring sleep hormone], but I’d say 5HTP is more useable for Hong Kongers in that it naturally creates melatonin, and it’s cheaper.”

Tried and tested: The bottle said pop one, so I waited till the red-eye—a heavy night where I stumbled home at 5am and just couldn’t sleep. After tossing and turning in bed, I vaguely remember passing out a couple hours in. The next morning, I woke up well rested, refreshed and strangely cheerful.

Keep in mind: 5HTP hasn’t been as strenuously studied as many other supplements, and as such the side effects aren’t as well-known. Just remember not to exceed 100mg a day, and despite what you may have heard, don’t combine it with illegal party pills.

Where to get it: $179 for 30 capsules from the American Nutrition Company

Keep Healthy with Multivitamins

What is it? OK, these aren’t so much of a voodoo drug – they’re just a bunch of vitamins clumped into one pill. But there are plenty of people who wonder what is better for you, the big pharmaceutical multivitamins or the more natural varieties.

Experts say: “There are pros and cons to every multivitamin,” says Hanson.“Because the major brands are synthetically binded, many feel that the absorption levels will be lower. But at the end of the day, even 10 percent absorption is better than nothing.” Dhillan agrees: “There’s been a lot of research into the synthetic binding, but nothing’s really been proven. It’s the same with the food-based non-synthetic multivitamins— some studies say they don’t absorb well either.”

Tried and tested: I’ve been taking multivitamins for years, switching between the cheaper synthetic brands and the more expensive natural varieties. Honestly, they all feel the same to me—which is to say, they definitely help with my immunity and energy levels on a daily basis.

Keep in mind: Because of the amount of vitamins involved, numerous problems may exist. Pregnant women particularly should consult a physician.

Where to get it: Nature’s Village sells Alive!, a 100 percent food-based multivitamin for $324. American Nutrition can mail order Body Guard, a natural multivitamin for $498. Most pharmacies sell Centrum, the most popular multivitamin brand, for
varying prices.

Originally published in HK Magazine, December 4 2008

Blue Movie

2010-12-06T22:22:00.000-08:00

It´s almost a travesty how largely forgotten Terry Southern is these days. A journalist, novelist and screenwriter, Southern burst on the postwar literary scene as a key figure in both the Paris and New York City cafe societies, rubbing Absinthe-stained elbows with such names as Camus, Sartre, Ginsberg and Kerouac. In the 60s, his star grew even more when he was credited with inventing “New Journalism”, and Hollywood soon came a-calling. Seduced by the silver screen, Southern worked on such now-classics as Easy Rider and, more notably, Stanley Kubrick´s Dr. Strangelove.

Post-Strangelove, Southern planned to collaborate on another satire with Kubrick, this time of a world they both knew: Hollywood. The story would follow a famed filmmaker given free rein by his studio and using it to make the ultimate porno picture starring a famous off-screen couple. Kubrick dropped the idea out of respect to his wife (although the similarities to Eyes Wide Shut are obvious), and both moved on, Kubrick to everlasting fame, Southern on a path of obscurity.

Abandoned by his Hollywood “friends” in the 70s and dependent on drugs, Southern resigned himself to teaching, but the talent was still there. Given his blessings by Kubrick, Southern turned their unused film into his own last great novel: Blue Movie, a biting satire of the hand that once fed him. Because of its raunchy, almost pornographic subject matter, Blue Movie was a critical and commercial disaster upon its release.

But the years (and the loosening of sexual mores) have been kind to the book, and many now regard it as Southern´s finest work, cleverly interweaving the author´s Beat-generation prose with his bleak, bitter views of Hollywood, all topped off with a heavy helping of explicitly erotic prose. It´s true that the novel´s reviewers were somewhat justified in their criticisms: some of the sexual acts described are so outlandishly perverted, that at times, the novel borders on tasteless.

But make no mistake: this is far from porn. Southern was a clever writer, never wasting valuable words with smut when a euphemism would work just as well. Even his humor, while admittedly immature, was simple and subtle: a male character at one point asks a physically gifted actress if she has a cold. “No, why?”, she replies. “Your chest looks all swollen,” he says.

And while the novel is peppered with dirty words and filthy scenes, Southern made sure that it was his characters which came off most hideous. From the Sleazy Producer to the Pretentious Director, the Stoned Screenwriter to the Diva Star, no stereotype escapes his all-satirizing wrath, Southern painting Hollywood as its own little world where lying is an art form, insecurity is an admirable quality and ethics are non-existent. And everyone -- absolutely everyone -- is obsessed with sex. It all comes to a forefront in the novel´s incredibly satisfying conclusion, a big middle-finger to the system that chewed up his talents and spat him out.

Seen in retrospect, Blue Movie was a book ahead of its time, one that predates the last few decades´ literary fascination with the depraved and debauched. Southern´s short, sharp prose was an obvious influence on such writers as Bret Easton Ellis and Chuck Palahniuk, and there´s no better introduction to this unsung Beat hero than right here. - Pavan Shamdasani

Originally published in South China Morning Post, November 14 2010

Book of Eli

2010-12-06T22:15:00.001-08:00

Religion is a taboo in film these days. While there once was an era when the Biblical epic was an actual sub-genre and every studio picture had an undercurrent of Christian values deeply embedded into them, times have changed.

Which makes The Book of Eli such a strange beast. It's trailer (included here as an extra) sells it as another post-apocalyptic action flick. A no-holds-barred ravaged future with a desert samurai roaming our sunburnt planet, harking back to the cult classic days of The Road Warrior.

For the most part, that's what we're served. Denzel Washington takes the lead, our titular hero on an unnamed journey to deliver a sought-after book to “the West.” Gary Oldman is his antithesis, an iron-fisted town warlord with his eye on said scripture, out to use its knowledge for manipulation and misdeeds.

It's the classic western: good versus evil, with a strong peppering of bleak and brutal machete-fight sequences thrown in for pure entertainment's sake. And beneath all this ugliness is a sense of visual beauty: wide angle shots of sprawling white-sand landscapes, sepia-toned sunsets filmed in stunning clarity, all alluding to a tale of Biblical proportions.

And therein lies the trouble – it's a film most likely funded by zealots out to convert ignorant filmgoers. It feels like, to put it bluntly, Christian propaganda.

Without spoiling anything: the book is the King James Bible, divinely leather-bound with a shining cross emblazoned on its cover. The power is the word of the Lord, able to stop bullets and save virgins.

What initially starts off as an unoriginal but nonetheless entertaining actionfest, with Washington and Oldman reprising two of their finest pigeon-holes as skilled hero and psychotic villain, slowly peters out into a Sunday school lesson on the all-mighty power of Christ. It's a twist that one would never have expected.

However, if you can ignore all the religiosity, the heavy-handed prayers and saving-grace sermons, you're left with something decent: a finely acted, gorgeously shot, brutally fought, mostly entertaining summer blockbuster. And for Christ's sake, that's still something to write home about - Pavan Shamdasani (as Chandra Shankar)

Originally published in South China Morning Post, June 27 2010

Escape to Victory

2010-12-06T22:04:00.000-08:00

We call it “the beautiful game.” It's the most popular sport in the world, gathering millions around the globe every four years for a month of pure excitement.

But for all its popularity, in the world of film, soccer is severely lacking. Granted, the sport is hard to sell, with Hollywood rarely embracing any form of athleticism that its own country doesn't excel at.

Which, at the very least, means Victory is the sport’s finest cinematic two-hours. And who can argue with a cast including Sylvester Stallone, Michael Caine, Max Von Sydow and Pele. The cult classic is a laughable lovefest of a film. Like its obvious inspiration, The Great Escape, it’s the ideal Sunday afternoon spent with a heady mix of masculine elements - soccer, war, Stallone.

The plot is almost perfunctory, being a mishmash of war film subgenres. Caine, Stallone, Pele and their cohorts are soccer-loving POWs, challenged by kindly Nazi von Sydow to a propaganda match in Paris. But as it is the sworn duty of every Allied officer to escape, a plot to break free during halftime is hatched, and the men are given a life-or-death option: flee from the stadium with their lives, or return to the match for their dignity,

The film was helmed by John Huston, a director whose career was torn between irrefutable classics (Maltese Falcon) and indisputable wastes of time (pointless to mention), with the odd underrated gem tossed in the mix. Victory is in the latter, but only in retrospect. The film was ignored upon initial release, but marathon HBO showings forever secured its now-loved status.

Its themes of honor, sacrifice and the horrors of war might have been better-represented (and crowd-rousing speeches surely better written) twenty-five years before its release, but it's hard to fault a film that eschewed the decade's greed-is-good attitude and Reagan-esque politics. Ignoring the era's steroid-induced machismo however, was a little tougher – and that's not a bad thing.

Stallone was on a career-high, having just come off the first two Rocky films, and their influence is everywhere. From composer Bill Conti's brass-heavy score, to the “against all odds” buildup, it's nowhere more apparent than in the film's final set-piece: the Allied vs. German football match, compressed into a half-hour of Hollywood-style highlights, complete with all the shocks and thrills one would expect from the boxing series.

Soccer, as many know, can be quite boring – it's the reason those out West prefer the instant gratification of high-scoring sports. But when it's played well, as it is in Victory's last act, it's a thing of pride. Choreographed by the great man himself, Pele, the match captures all that is beautiful about the game, revealing its intricacies, its tactics and its pure precision. From the excitement behind a well played pass cleverly converted, to the shocking standstill in the seconds before a penalty kick, it's an exquisite representation, enough to convert even the most die-hard of haters into lifelong fans.

And for that more than anything, Victory is the perfect complement to the World Cup final. - Pavan Shamdasani (as Chandra Shankar)

Originally published in South China Morning Post, July 11 2010

Raise the Roof

2010-12-06T21:40:00.000-08:00

Outdoor bars are booming, writes Pavan Shamdasani (under the name Chandra Shankar)

We live in a small city and our homes, offices and lifestyles are by the size of our metropolis. But when it comes to our nightlife, a trend has emerged - one that's seeing many escape the confines of enclosed bars to embrace the night air.

Outdoor bars have proliferated through the city and, unlike many fads, this trend looks like it might be here to stay.

“Outdoor bars have always been popular all over the world, and Hong Kong is catching on,” says James Gannaban, marketing and public relations manager of FINDS Group, which runs the bar of the same name in Lan Kwai Fong and is soon expanding to the Luxe Manor hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui.

“People live in such contained conditions that we need to offer our guests some relief from cabin fever. When pushed, however, Gannaban offers another reason for the sudden increase in outdoor venues: "Quite simply, the smoking ban is why outdoor bars have increased in the past few years."

Many bar managers might be reluctant to admit it, but it makes perfect sense to migrate your business outdoors because, like it or not, cigarettes and alcohol go hand in hand.

Christian Talpo, general manager of restaurant Zuma, says: “People have changed their habits, and many spaces are now thought out with outdoor seating in mind. More people are finding out why it is so cool to be outdoors.”

Talpo is speaking figuratively, of course. During the summer, day or night, the last thing you'll feel is “cool” outdoors, and the heat and humidity is why many bars have long kept their doors firmly shut and their air conditioners at full blast.

Talpo says that although Hong Kong's weather can be unpleasant at times, many outdoor bars are taking their cue from our Asian neighbours.

“Hong Kong's weather is really not that bad. Just look at Singapore," Talpo says. "They have a huge amount of outdoor drinking and dining, and hardly any better weather than us. What they did in Clarke Quay should be a real eye opener, with its air-conditioning making an outdoor space enjoyable, weather notwithstanding.”

Bar owner Hem Gurung agrees. He recently left his job at Linq, a popular spot on Central's Pottinger Street, to buy out the struggling Bassment venue on Lyndhurst Terrace. He renovated the premises, turning it into a laid-back lounge. A large outdoor area in the back has been fitted out with high-powered fans to battle the summer heat.

"The weather is something we can't really control, and since many bars have been affected by the smoking ban, it just makes sense," Gurung says. "Our outside area is easily more popular than the inside."

Gurung spent months searching for the right location. But when he settled on Bassment, its large outdoor space saved him a hefty chunk of change.

Christina Li, of the E&C Property Agency, says terraces and roofs aren't regarded as “usable” space. Most banks only consider outdoor areas to be worth 10%-20% of their indoor counterparts. So for example, if one were to buy a 3000 square foot commercial space split evenly between indoors and outdoors, it would sell for the same price as an indoor space measuring 1800 square foot, she explains.

So it makes perfect financial sense for bars to head for the great outdoors. With the smoking ban in place, outdoor, air-conditioned, social environments are where it's all happening, and the fact these areas cost less to buy or rent is a boon for bars.

As Gannaban says: “Outdoor bars, from Oslo to Marrakech, have been around forever. People are organic beings who need organic environments."

Originally published in South China Morning Post, July 15 2010.

World of Tomorrow

2010-06-03T22:01:00.000-07:00

Eco-innovation is at the heart of the Shanghai World Expo. Pavan Shamdasani highlights the greenest pavilions

In 1939, 44 million people flocked to the then-burgeoning metropolis of New York City for the World’s Fair. Under the theme Dawn of a New Day, it was the first fair to present a world of the future, featuring a host of achievements that would soon revolutionise lives: from colour photography to televisions, air-conditioners to superhighways, the world marvelled, wondering if these fantastical innovations would ever become commonplace reality.

Seventy years on, one only need look around any room – or even at this very page – to see how those advancements have proliferated. This year, the World’s Fair returns to another city on the rise. The Shanghai Expo, as it’s now called, bears the slogan Better City, Better Life – and like the great change that took place in those post-Depression, pre-World War II years, the expo is hoping to document another revolution, one that sees the world shy away from planet-destroying materialism in favour of an environmental focus on improving the future.

All of the expo’s 300 pavilions are embracing their green side, and while many are notable for their inventive structures – Switzerland’s three-storey “meadow,” Monaco’s “sea” of solar panels – only a few are seriously searching for solutions to our ever-growing problem. Here we present the pavilions that are pushing boundaries, and inspiring people to make changes and rethink their lives.

France

With its subtle, minimalist interior and concentration on its host country’s sense of culture, the French pavilion doesn’t immediately scream “green.” But within its latticed fence exterior lies a long-standing tradition of the country: the formal French gardens, immense green-walled grounds that have been dubbed Sensual City. Giving expo-goers the full French experience, the pavilion allows visitors to immerse themselves in a country that offers its inhabitants harmony and serenity, here lovingly recreated through extensive foliage, ponds, water fountains and a green roof.

And within its inviting interior is a cornucopia of culture: art, film, food and wine, as well as a dedicated area exclusively reserved for luxury brand Louis Vuitton. “The French pavilion is something that’s very open and very accessible to the public,” says Antoine Jarrier, director of corporate heritage at Louis Vuitton. “The pavilion is a contrast to the country – it’s not so much real as it is surreal, so visitors can have a very different view of France.”

Australia

While incorporating many similar features to other pavilions – solar panelling, rain harvesting, smart lighting – Australia’s stands out from the pack with its theme: Smart Solutions for Our Urban Future. Through a three-part walking tour that includes exhibitions and video presentations, visitors experience not only Australia’s history and modern-day life, but also the various sustainable solutions that the country is currently deploying within its rapidly expanding cities.

But the centrepiece is the Green Building Converter, “an interactive experience that shows the user the environmental impact of buildings in terms of life-cycle greenhouse-gas emissions, energy consumption and water demand,” says Evelyn Killick, assistant commissioner general at the Australian pavilion.

By prompting users through a number of scenarios that allow them to “green” both new and existing structures – be they individual buildings or entire city blocks – the programme both educates about what new technologies are available and provides a quick solution to an otherwise difficult and unwieldy problem. The system has already been used to deliver Australia’s first five- and six-star green buildings, The Bond in Sydney and The Gauge in Melbourne, and the hope is that it will catch on globally.

The UK’s contribution embraces the aesthetic and the environmental with equal enthusiasm. Designed by famed architect Thomas Heatherwick, it’s been dubbed the Seed Cathedral, a vast, glowing, living-breathing being that stands out among the sea of standard structures in the immense expo grounds.

And while the pavilion is gorgeous to look it, it’s the structure’s focus on the renewing power of nature that gives it environmental credence. An ecological ark of sorts, the pavilion is made up of 60,000 “hairs,” acrylic rods that each house a number of seeds at their tip. In the daytime, they act as optic fibres, taking in sunlight and illuminating the pavilion’s interior; at night, surplus energy inside each rod makes the whole exterior light up and glow with the evening winds. Its deconstruction will also seed new life and inspire the next generation, with the hairs being distributed to thousands of schools across both the UK and China.

Denmark

While the Danish pavilion isn’t as forward thinking or technologically advanced as its neighbouring countries’, it certainly has practicality on its side.

“With the massive urban explosion in Shanghai, we realised that everybody wants a car and the streets are congested with traffic jams,” says designer Bjarke Ingels. “At the same time, Copenhagen has been creating more bicycle lanes and reducing car traffic. The bicycle has become a symbol of a sustainable city and a healthy lifestyle, so we thought: why don’t we relaunch the bicycle as something attractive in Shanghai?”

Taking a cue from Denmark’s city bikes – free communal bicycles that citizens can borrow for the day – the pavilion allows visitors to cycle through its four-level traffic loop, sending them through an accurate representation of Copenhagen’s sustainable city life. “Our take was to show that a sustainable city is not only a way to reduce our carbon footprint or energy costs, but a real way to increase quality of life,” says Ingels.

Canada

One look at Canada’s immense structure is enough to reveal the massive efforts taken to build it. “The designers employed different strategies to create an energy-efficient building envelope,” says Jean Heroen, media relations officer at the Department of Canadian Heritage. “To reduce urban heat islands, we specified the use of a white membrane on the roof. Also, we used green walls as an effective method of producing a cooling effect. Green walls are also recognised as an effective organic air filter, a natural water retention system and a noise barrier.”

Taking its theme of The Living City: Inclusive, Sustainable, Creative to heart, the country used Canadian red cedar wood to construct the pavilion, raising awareness of the natural resources available in Canada. And along with performances from Cirque du Soleil inside, the country is hoping to inspire the international public by showcasing the various initiatives it’s taken to solve environmental concerns.

Shanghai Corporate Pavilion

At the Shanghai Corporate Pavilion, designer Yung Hochang was presented with the challenge of creating a home that reflected the expo’s environmentalism while embodying the corporate area’s futuristic innovations. Through the use of solar power, recycled materials and collected rainwater, the architect designed a structure made almost entirely of discarded CD jewel cases.

“We wanted to send out the message that the community of Shanghai industries cares deeply about the environment,” he says. “Shanghai produces nearly 30 million waste CD [cases] every year – if these were collected and washed, they could be used to produce polycarbonate granules and manufacture more polycarbonate products.”

And while the monolithic structure is commendable, it’s the advancements inside it that will get people flocking to the pavilion – from a toilet that analyses body waste to a smart car powered by the sun and wind, and from a homestead in the middle of the sea to a city in outer space. Many are far from being realised, while others are likely to be commonplace within in a few years, but if the 1939 World’s Fair proved anything, it’s that with enough people behind it, any idea can become reality.

Originally published in Hong Kong Tatler Magazine, July 2010.

The 11th Hour

2010-06-03T21:56:00.000-07:00

For IWC, environmental awareness isn’t a choice, it’s a responsibility, writes Pavan Shamdasani

There’s little debate as to where the world’s finest watches come from – for the past century or so, the Swiss have had a virtual monopoly on the manufacture of world-class timepieces. In terms of engineering, precision and quality, IWC is one of the foremost among them. As Etienne de Gramont, managing director of IWC Asia Pacific, says, “With its 142-year history, IWC is one of the pioneers of the Swiss watch industry.” And yet, ironically, it was an American who started the company.

In 1868, Florentine Ariosto Jones, a forward-thinking 27-year-old engineer at then-leading American watchmaking house E Howard & Co, was faced with the problem of solving the company’s expensive and relatively inefficient US production methods. At the time, Switzerland was far from being the watchmaking powerhouse that it is today – while the technical know-how of Swiss watchmakers was greater than that of their American counterparts, their wages were considerably lower.

Jones saw an opportunity – leaving his job behind, the entrepreneur teamed up with Johann Heinrich Moser, an industrialist who pioneered the use of white coal in his hydroelectric plant, to establish the International Watch Company in the small German-speaking town of Schaffhausen. The fact that the company’s roots were laid down far away from the famous watch centres in the French-speaking part of Switzerland allowed the company to develop independently, says Gramont.

By the early 1870s, the company was relatively profitable, manufacturing 10,000 watches a year – but Jones was a watchmaker, not a businessman, and by 1875 the American was facing bankruptcy. IWC was sold to the Schaffhausen Commercial Bank, with local machine manufacturer Johann Rauschenbach-Vogel soon taking over and laying the groundwork for the company’s current Swiss ideals. Through four generations – the psychiatrist Carl Jung, a relation by marriage, was even joint-owner of their factory at one point – the Rauschenbach family shaped the company into the luxury watch brand it is today, based on one simple philosophy: “probus scafusia,” or good, solid craftsmanship from Schaffhausen.

“IWC Schaffhausen has a long tradition in the manufacture of mechanical precision instruments,” says Gramont. “Authentic values such as innovation, engineering, precision and quality all have a part to play in our success story. We carefully maintain our roots without closing ourselves off to new ideas and progress, but the spirit of IWC must always shine through.”

Through a series of different “families” of timepieces, IWC has advanced the art of watchmaking again and again. Innovations have included its first digital watches in 1885; its popular Aquatimer diver series in 1967; its partnership with automotive engineer FA Porsche in the 1970s, resulting in the first ever titanium-encased chronograph; and Il Destriero Scafusia, or The Warhorse of Schaffhausen, the world’s most complicated mechanical wristwatch.

But none match the sheer innovation of the Pellaton automatic winding system. Albert Pellaton, IWC’s technical director in the 1940s and 50s, descended from a family of famous watchmakers, noted for their work with tourbillions. IWC’s watches employed a simpler system and, within a couple of years of joining the company, Pellaton’s micro-mechanical expertise resulted in a system using rockers and pawls that revolutionised the world of watchmaking.

“[The Pellaton winding system] makes use of the energy generated by the natural movements of the wearer’s arm,” says Gramont. “To this day, this bidirectional self-winding system is considered the most efficient ever devised for a watch.” Indeed, it has become the high watermark for every Swiss timepiece since.

As the brand enters the 21st century, its focus has been on capitalising on the widespread recognition that it built up so carefully throughout the 19th and 20th centuries. But that hasn’t meant self-congratulation; instead, for IWC, it’s meant environmentalism.

“Environmental awareness is an integral part of our corporate philosophy, and we look upon it as part of our corporate responsibility,” says Romy Hebden, IWC’s head of public relations. “For almost a decade, IWC has been working internally to improve the ways we can protect the climate.”

Over the past few years, the company has taken numerous measures to get its environmental house in order – since 2001, it has reduced its CO2 emissions by 80 per cent, and it’s now certified as a CO2-neutral business. The company also has a dedicated budget to motivate its employees to go green, which subsidises the use of hybrid cars or public transport, and offsets personal CO2 emissions. And, wherever possible, the company employs video conferencing instead of business travel, and electronic documents instead of printed ones. “The aim of this programme is to promote awareness of environmental issues among employees and to encourage them through positive incentives to introduce CO2-reducing measures in their private lives,” says Hebden.

More recently, IWC has been breaking external ground by partnering with various environmental organisations. Through its affiliations with groups such as the Charles Darwin Foundation, The Climate Group, the Saint Exupéry Foundation, the Cousteau Society and David de Rothschild’s Adventure Ecology, the watch manufacturer has supported initiatives in ecologically threatened areas such as the Galápagos Islands. Gramont says that these partnerships “have added emotional elements to our individual watch families. They are accompanied by stories that move people and inspire them.”

It’s the brand’s most recent effort that has gained it the most widespread acclaim – mostly for the project’s sheer boldness. Once again teaming with British adventurer Rothschild, the much-publicised Plastiki Expedition is a unique voyage aboard a one-of-a-kind, 18-metre catamaran made from 12,500 reclaimed plastic bottles and other recycled materials.

Sailing with a crew of five fellow environmentalists, Rothschild shipped off from San Francisco in March, with an 80-day, 20,000km itinerary that will end in Sydney sometime this month. The mission is clear: to explore various environmental hot spots, including the infamous Great Pacific Garbage Patch, a vortex of marine rubbish stretching across a large section of the North Pacific. The journey’s ultimate objective, however, is a little more ambitious.

“The voyage’s purpose is to change patterns of thinking through the worldwide attention it will attract,” says Hebden. “Rothschild and his organisation want to convey the message that all of us are collectively responsible for the unspeakable polluting of the oceans, and examine measures we can take to improve this situation on a sustainable basis.”

Rothschild himself shares this sentiment – communicating straight from the high seas, he says his intention is to inspire. By using what he calls “single-use, dumb, planet-1.0, throw-away plastics” in a fashion that both drives awareness and innovation, Rothschild and his crew hope to encourage people to be agents of change, open minds and find new solutions to the problems the world is facing.

“In reusing plastic, we are creating a metaphor for change and asking people to really undertake their own voyages of discovery and see that anything is possible,” he says. “It doesn’t have to be a chore; it can be a swashbuckling adventure, it can be a lot of fun and we can really challenge these issues with the solutions that are available today.”

The “adventure” aspect of the expedition is one that Rothschild often highlights – and with good reason. The idea that environmentalism can be fun isn’t particularly new, but the Plastiki’s sense of adventure and exploration has fellow environmentalists excited: along with investigating the eco-hot spots, the crew have spent time on various islands along the way, meeting local communities, holding talks at schools and visiting smaller ecological projects to explore the challenges that they face.

In other words, the crew are embracing environmental awareness to its fullest extent, rather than preaching from a soapbox. “Unlike others, David de Rothschild does not simply give lessons; he is also active on the front line,” says Hebden. “Instead of attempting to provoke individual companies with spectacular stunts or actions, he uses his activities to turn the attention of the business world to its ecological responsibilities. Impressed by his commitment, IWC decided to invest for a long-term partnership.”

Based on the brand’s environmental track record, that partnership will no doubt last for many years to come. IWC’s aim for the future, says Hedben, is a bold one: “As a company we try our best to act in the most responsible way – and indirectly this has an effect on how IWC as a company is perceived, and with it our products. Our goals will be met when there is a change in attitude.”

Originally published in Hong Kong Tatler Magazine, July 2010.

Cream of the Crop

2010-03-30T23:14:00.000-07:00

What sets La Prairie apart from the crowd is the luxury skincare brand’s ceaseless innovation and single-mindedness in pursuit of anti-ageing perfection, writes Pavan Shamdasani

A revolution is taking place in the art of skincare. What once was an obsession that involved scalpel-happy plastic surgeons and long recovery times has progressed into a seemingly endless range of creams that melt into your skin and provide near-instant results. It’s the idea of cellular therapy – counteracting the effects of ageing through the use of live cells – that’s finally turning people away from the knife.

Leading the pack is the company that first developed the therapy: Swiss skincare specialist La Prairie. From its humble beginnings in a small clinic near Lake Geneva to its modern-day incarnation as the last word in age-defying products, La Prairie has become synonymous with the idea of luxury skincare.

The history of cellular therapy stretches back to ancient Egypt, where live cells from animal organs were used to cure illnesses. Paul Niehans, a glandular surgeon living in Switzerland at the turn of the 20th century, revolutionised the practice by adapting the very same live cells to stimulate the functions of certain body organs. The technique was first used as an alternative to glandular transplants, but Niehans soon discovered that the addition of new tissue delayed the effects of ageing and stimulated rejuvenation.

He established Clinique La Prairie in 1931 at Clarens-Montreux, and soon word spread about his “fountain of youth.” Treating celebrities, politicians, royalty and even a pope, the clinic’s process was strictly biomedical and in-house for its first half-century. But by the late 1970s, demand for anti-ageing techniques was such that numerous companies had introduced creams capable of reproducing some, if not all, of the clinic’s effects. Not to be outdone, La Prairie’s scientists launched their first Cellular Skincare line in 1978 – and have never looked back.

Since its acquisition by international skincare company Beiersdorf in 1991, the brand has only grown stronger. The past two decades have found the company evolving from a provider of specialised treatments for those in the know to an international brand available in the finest stores. Its products line counters in cities around the world and high-end spas on every major continent, while in state-of-the-art research laboratories, its top doctors and scientists painstakingly study the effects of the ageing process – and the elements that can counter them.

“Just 40 years ago the scientific community mostly believed that the skin only had passive protection functions,” says Sven Gohla, La Prairie’s group vice president, research and development. “Today we know that skin is a metabolic, active and very complex organ. Skin research all over the world is devoted to the understanding of this complexity. La Prairie has a history of launching innovative, highly effective products that set new benchmarks in the anti-ageing skincare industry.”

It’s the company’s dedication that keeps it at the forefront of the industry. The difference that sets La Prairie apart from traditional skincare brands such as Chanel, Dior and Estée Lauder is its unwavering focus on a single line of products. With no make-up or fragrances among its repertoire, there’s nothing to distract the brand from its focus on luxury skincare. It’s this single-mindedness that has given La Prairie the upper hand.

“To remain at the top of the pyramid, we have to give our customers their money’s worth, and that means being pioneers in our field,” says Christina Tan, La Prairie’s general manager for Greater China. “Our products have to be high performance and we have to constantly find the best technology and ingredients. La Prairie works not with just one or two labs, but dozens around the world, so we’re constantly receiving updates and transforming ourselves while delivering the best possible product to our customers.”

Many consumers find the science behind any given product to be largely inconsequential; telling a person which peptides will minimise wrinkles or which polymers will firm the skin rarely sells a product. Many are sceptical about anti-ageing product claims, feeling that your pharmacy-variety knock-off works just as well as its expensive counterpart. In La Prairie’s experience, the only way around that mind-set is to show people why it’s wrong.

“We’re talking about a premium price range, so nobody will fork out that kind of money unless they can see and feel the benefits, and that’s what we give them,” says Tan. “Do consumers question the price, or do they question that it’s worth paying for? Our experience is that it’s only when they use it and see its performance that they justify the price, so we’re very generous with giving samples and giving professional consultations.”

That premium pricing is partly a result of the luxury ingredients that the brand uses – platinum, gold and caviar, for instance. But it’s the amount of research and development that La Prairie dedicates to its products that justifies, for example, charging up to US$1,000 for a small jar of the brand’s cellular cream.

“Research and science are indeed key to our products,” says Gohla. “Development can take between three and five years, with the most time-consuming part being, of course, product formulation. The use of ingredients such as gold and platinum in skincare products requires very specific expertise. This investment is costly. For customers who are looking for immediate visible results and luxury, only the best counts.”

Such is the brand’s confidence in its products that it frequently foregoes advertising, relying more on traditional word-of-mouth to bring in new customers. “We cater to the most demanding woman, and what the most demanding woman wants is product, service and experience,” says Tan. “They don’t want to see advertisements splashed all over the place, and we don’t believe advertising will make our creams fly off the counters. We believe in word-of-mouth, in service, in giving our customers the full experience.”

That sense of experience is what keeps the brand competitive with what it considers to be its main rivals: La Mer and Sisley. What separates La Prairie though, is the way in which it targets different age groups – in that, well, it doesn’t.

“Most skincare brands firmly target specific age groups. We never limit ourselves by a customer’s age,” says Tan. “We see women who are 40 and their skin is flawless. We see women in their 20s who don’t take care of themselves and they look like they’re in their 30s. The products are made for women who are willing to invest in themselves to delay the ageing process and, especially in Asia nowadays, the younger generation has started to prevent ageing very early on.”

It’s this frame of mind, where different consumers have different skincare needs, that has recently seen the company expand its scope. Its number-one market is still the US, but possibly not for much longer. The financial crisis has affected every luxury sector, and while La Prairie hasn’t seen the kind of growth the company would like in the West, that has allowed it to reposition itself to tackle otherwise-untapped markets.

Asia, for La Prairie, has always been an unfamiliar market, and its variety of different skin types has traditionally been a challenge for the Western-focused brand. But, says Tan, Asian women love being pampered – and this, coupled with their growing affluence, has given the brand sufficient reason to finally tackle the continent. “For Asia, the focus is on service and experience. We’ve just started with Asian launches. Eventually, more products will cater specifically to this market. We’re just at the beginning, though.”

The same could be said for the entire company – for while La Prairie has a long and respected history, its spirit of scientific investigation fuels its belief that the industry is still ripe with undiscovered innovations. As Gohla says: “La Prairie will always anticipate state-of-the-art technologies, ingredients, formulations and new directions.”

Originally published in Hong Kong Tatler Magazine, May 2010.

Art Without Art

2010-01-05T07:45:00.000-08:00

Xu Bing sees art in more than just aesthetic values. His contribution to the Biennale, where auctions fund tree-planting schemes in developing countries, is to him an art form, writes Pavan Shamdasani.

In 2004, Xu Bing staged his “The Glassy Surface of a Lake” exhibition at the Elvehjem Museum of Art at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Inspired by the book Walden – Henry David Thoreau’s seminal work that recorded his two years spent living away from creature comforts deep in the woods – Xu was particularly taken by a section where the writer imagined that a lake was inverted so that “you could walk right under it to the opposite hills.”

Converting this passage into wire-linked aluminium words, Xu created a “lake” of text with a net that stretched across an entire upper floor, caving at its centre, where the letters poured down into an indecipherable pile. It allowed viewers to stand on the ground level, tilt their heads back and see what Thoreau described as “Earth’s eye; looking into which the beholder measures the depth of his own nature.”

For anyone who had followed Xu’s career up to that point, it was an obvious change, a transitional point at which his obsession with the influence of language on one’s psyche gave way to an interest in the natural world. “Reading Walden was a great change for me,” says Xu. “My English isn’t very good, but his writing is so beautiful and evocative that I could immediately understand his respect for nature. I had a great appreciation for his attitude where he put individuals very far down the chain, which allowed him to imply all that he did about the significance of nature.”

Indeed, it’s that very significance that has brought the artist to our city, to the Shenzhen & Hong Kong Bi-city Biennale of Urbanism\Architecture, where he is heading up a series of workshops and a tree-planting event that will raise general environmental awareness. It all falls under the banner of Xu’s Forest Project, an undertaking that he found the inspiration for during his time in Africa.

“I was in Kenya walking down a hill one day and was struck by this idea,” says Xu. “I realised that from both an economic and socio-political point of view, trees touch on how people and animals live. It inspired me to come up with a project that involved tree planting, and the best way for an artist like myself to get people involved was through art.”

For the past two years, the ongoing project has seen Xu travel to developing countries to teach primary school students the basics of drawing. The artwork is then auctioned off and the proceeds are used to plant trees in those countries. The idea breaks down to a simple facilitating of funds; that while S$1 might not buy much in the first-world, it’s use to purchase a child’s piece of art can plant five trees in Kenya. Xu is quick to insist that while the project is related to art, its true purpose lies deeper than just in its stylistic or aesthetic value. His interest lies in the project’s connection to people and society, and this was the impetus for him to join the biennale.

“The biennale’s theme of participating with the wider public resonated with me,” says Xu. “The forest project has a wider connection as a social cause, and a good artist will be able to use art to bring out the relationship between society and the art form. What matters more to me is that my work is meaningful to society. I need to inspire people, and whether it’s art in its traditional form matters less to me.”

It’s a philosophy that harks back to a quote that Xu is now forever linked to: “art should serve the people,” with the artist slowly over the years distancing himself further and further from the traditional system of museums, galleries and exhibitions. Abandoning even the specific style that put him on the contemporary map – that of his invented Chinese characters and the theme of language, which threaded through most of his works in the 1990s and 2000s – his art has evolved to what he sees as a multi-disciplinary approach.

“Many artists constantly repeat their style because they’re focused on art as a form, they want to keep with it because of its commercial success. But art isn’t rooted in style; it’s rooted in life. If you’re facing and living life, art will come naturally. I don’t consciously see my art connected to a certain style, and if you’re not concerned about the material of the art form, you can grow across the different disciplines. ”

But don’t think for a minute that this is a case of an artist forsaking his world. It’s more a case of him maturing along with the changing times, and Xu’s interests still lie solely in the world of contemporary art – so much so that he recently left New York, his adopted home of over 18 years, to move to Beijing as the vice-president of the China Central Academy of Fine Arts.

“I wasn’t stimulated by the American system anymore. Time is very important for an artist, and rather than spending another decade in the New York art circle, I chose to move to China. There’s so much experimenting going on here and there’s a lot of new thinking. It’s what I call cultural nutrition: there’s lots of things that you can mentally feed on. To really understand the art world in China, you need to be part of the movement and the development.”

And part of it he is, with Xu planning on exhibiting many of his new works in the mainland. Up next are a pair of Phoenix’s that were built by using leftover construction ashes, which he hopes to exhibit in Beijing or possibly Shanghai. The unbound piece not only recalls his 2003 exhibition “Where Does the Dust Collect Itself?” which used debris from New York’s World Trade Centre site, but reiterates his one ideal that all creative types should take to heart: “as long as you’re not too fixated on art, you can be a great artist.”

Originally published in Hong Kong Tatler Magazine, January 2010.

Simplicity Defined

2010-01-05T07:26:00.001-08:00

Justin Quek, the man behind Singapore’s Les Amis, blends perfectly weighted fare at Whisk, the latest restaurant at The Mira Hotel. Pavan Shamdasani tastes simplicity in its finest form.

“Good food or bad food” – there are only two ways about it for Chef Justin Quek. Whether it’s a three-star restaurant serving up rare delicacies in an exclusive environment, or that little street stall selling stinky tofu, the man behind some of Asia’s finest restaurants views the culinary world in the same way he does his dishes. Which is to say, simply.

With a resume that includes such award-winning restaurants as Les Amis in Singapore and La Petite Cuisine in Taipei, there’s little Quek hasn’t done in the culinary world. And after 25 years of slaving away in the kitchen to get things all mise en place, the celebrated chef has come to Hong Kong to try his hand at consulting, settling down at The Mira hotel’s newest restaurant, Whisk.

“The image of the Mira has changed, which is why I was brought in to help,” Quek explains. “It’s a boutique hotel, so it’s a good size to control in terms of the quality that you’re churning out. We’re trying to position ourselves with good food cooked simply, and I drive that sense of quality.”

Located on the fifth floor of the The Mira, Whisk’s cuisine has been officially labelled as “European,” and indeed the decor of the restaurant resonates with the continental. Mirroring the modern, straightforward style of the hotel itself, its heavy use of greys and browns, glass-and-mirror partitions, and spacious tables that seat no more than four gives it a bistro air that feels decidedly comforting.

But while its look is immeasurably European, the food is so much more, with the continent’s limiting label no doubt pegged on to provide a counterweight to fellow regionally-themed in- house establishments Cuisine Cuisine (Chinese) and Yamm (Japanese). For Quek, who is famed for his seamless fusing of French and Asian dishes, the chance to work at Whisk is a prized opportunity to blend what he sees as two of the most compatible cuisines.

“Hong Kongers love fusion, and it’s unique here in that Cantonese cuisine is very similar to French in terms of their technique and finesse. Both are elegant cuisines that are cooked in a straightforward manner. Both don’t use spices and can turn an everyday steamed fish into a fine dish. And both regions – France and Southern China – are very gourmet.”

Indeed, for Hong Kong’s bon vivants, Quek has fused the two cuisines most effectively in the menu’s centrepiece: roast suckling pig. A dish that even he admits wasn’t easy to pull off in a city where roast pork is sold on every street corner, the crispy skin over perfectly seared, succulent meat is in itself a marvel of Cantonese cooking. But the addition of red wine reduction sauce and mesclun salad smothered in truffle oil turns the otherwise local dish into something distinctly original and extravagant in both taste and texture – a case of two countries, one delicious system.

It’s that sense of open-ended freedom through The Mira’s liberating attitude that has Quek excited. Whether it be customised meals served in private banquet rooms that tailor to every delectable need, or seasonal fare that takes advantage of local produce, Quek is determined to make the restaurant a welcome change from the standard practice of menus only changing once every three months.

To demonstrate, we were served January’s caviar and lobster promotion, each dish of which is a marvel of simplicity. It begins with the mosaic of seafood, a plate of straight-from-the-deep morsels that embraces the Japanese art of sashimi with fresh slices of tuna, salmon, shrimp and more, all showered in zesty caviar dressing. The course is the perfect starter to the month’s selection, flavourful enough to whet the appetite for the coming dishes.

It’s followed by the Maine lobster in Shao Xing wine and sauteed ceps, a dish that sounds overpowering in its heaviness, yet is anything but. With the crustacean’s soft, velvety texture laid over a bed of gently heated mushrooms, Quek explains that the Shao Xing used is fortified wine with a flavour that resembles that of a French red, which gives the dish its lighter touch.

And then comes the plate that best embraces Quek’s school of thought, the idea that every dish only needs the “three elements” of meat, sauce and garnishes. The pan-roasted Challans duck with endive gratin in sage jus is absolutely divine, with smooth-as-butter slices of poultry sprinkled in a light, uncomplicated sauce.

The menu comes to a satisfying end with the chef ’s dessert selection, a trio of mini-afters that contrast superbly with one another. The chocolate sensation mousse is smooth and airy, with its almost dark flavour never overpowering the palette. The fine apple tart is a flat, crispy house specialty, its small, delicate slice putting a spin on the classic dessert. But it’s the floating island that surely takes the proverbial cake in this triplet: ordinarily an egg white meringue in a sea of creme anglaise, Quek has instead surrounded the featherlight dessert in white truffle anglaise, with the unusual sauce blending perfectly for a truly exceptional “fin.”

Quek’s culinary philosophy, the one that he has stayed true to throughout all his restaurants, is more than ever on display at Whisk. His insistence on local produce and simple French-style cuisine with Asian touches has created dishes that find the ideal balance between rich and light fare. For a man who learned his trade by knocking on doors throughout Paris and begging for a free lesson, it’s not surprising that it breaks down to one rule: “the simpler, the better.”

Originally published in Hong Kong Tatler Magazine, January 2010.

Big Bang review

2009-12-01T08:07:00.000-08:00

by Pavan Shamdasani

For the past 20 years or more, Japan has successfully sold its superinfectious brand of pop music in other Asian markets. Now the South Koreans want to follow suit. The vocalist Rain — among the TIME 100 in 2006 — remains the international face of K-pop, but a host of other artists are eager to follow in his wake. Their appeal to Western audiences remains niche — Rain himself has struggled to make an impression in the U.S., despite a ton of MTV appearances and onstage backup from the likes of Omarion and Diddy. That leaves Japan as the prime foreign market for the talented, preening young acts that South Korea produces by the score.

The most promising of these is Big Bang, a domestically successful five-man hip-hop group formed through a Making the Band – style reality show in 2006. A Japanese-language mini-album (With U) enjoyed some success in 2008. Big Bang now hope their debut full-length Japanese-language release — having entered Japan's charts at No. 3 — will deliver the coup de grace. The good looks of the creators certainly won't harm the disc's chances.

A self-titled affair, Bigbang serves up fresh tracks and reworkings of the group's old Korean singles. The tasty production, dance-pop beats, fluid raps and great vocal harmonies comprise an expertly fashioned example of globalized R&B. Tracks like "My Heaven" (a collaboration with top Japanese DJ Daishi Dance) and "Love Club" have plenty of dance-floor appeal. As for swoon factor, well, their track "Let Me Hear Your Voice" has been selected as the theme for the new Tokyo Broadcasting System romantic comedy Ohitorisama. If your work is popping up on Friday-night prime-time drama, total domination can't be that far behind.

Originally published in Time Magazine, November 9 2009

Global Adviser: Clockenflap

2009-12-01T08:05:00.000-08:00

by Pavan Shamdasani

Lying on the grass at an outdoor music festival isn't the kind of activity most travelers associate with urbanized Hong Kong, but if you're in town on the weekend of Nov. 7-8, you might want to consider it. This being Hong Kong, the grass we're referring to is the expansive roof garden of a commercial podium at the city's digital hub, Cyberport. But no matter, Clockenflap, as the event is known, is a highly enjoyable "music and multimedia festival" now in its second year. It replaces the void left by Rockit, an annual band fest in the city's Victoria Park that sang its last hurrah in 2006.

"Rockit opened doors and proved that a festival format was possible in Hong Kong," says Justin Sweeting, Clockenflap's artist-relations manager. "The fundamental difference is that Clockenflap is a festival with film, art and ecological components as well as music."

This year's lineup includes punk act Blood Red Shoes and highbrow indie combo Los Campesinos, both from the U.K., as well as U.S. electronica duo YACHT, DJ Alexis Taylor and local favorites Chochukmo, perhaps the most charismatic band to have emerged in southern China in recent years.

Originally published in Time Magazine, October 21 2009

Alisa review

2009-09-21T06:07:00.000-07:00

by Pavan Shamdasani

The past year has been a momentous one for American-Jewish-Taiwanese singer Alisa Galper. After her win on the Taiwan talent show One Million Star (the island's answer to American Idol), she was quickly signed by Universal Music Taiwan, who immediately began touting her as "Asia's Rihanna." The comparison isn't too fanciful, and what she lacks in the Barbadian singer's rhythmic ease, she makes up for in range and diversity.

Alisa has spent many months working on her eponymous, bilingual debut — and she definitely has a voice. Her first single, "Hound Dog," a cover of the early Elvis favorite, adds a throaty, R&B vibe to the song's rocking swagger. It's one part sweet and two parts sultry, giving the gender switch a sensual twist. Elsewhere, she shows a talent for duets, such as in the Mandarin ballad "Unexpected," counterpointing American-born Taiwan singer Will Pan's smooth tones in a manner that neither controls nor submits.

Unfortunately, the rest of the album falls predictably into two commercial mainstays: the ostentatiously scored, teen-baiting love ballad ("Iron Butterfly") and overtly energetic vocals underpinned with tacky electro beats ("Rock Your Body"). Both sorts are competently produced here, and disappointment sets in not at their presentation but at the potential wasted. Alisa has the talent to gun for critical approval. But she is being steered instead toward commercial safety.

Originally published in Time Magazine, September 28 2009

VAMPS review

2009-08-24T10:44:00.000-07:00

by Pavan Shamdasani

In music terminology, Vamps are recurrent themes, usually chords or series of chords played continually to establish rhythm. Vamps is also the name of a side project by two of Japanese music's leading lights — alt-rock singer Hyde and guitarist K.A.Z. (the professional name of Kazuhito Iwaike).

The two have titled their debut album the same way, and while it's tempting to think of the name Vamps as an advertisement for the chugging three-chord rock within, chances are it's more to do with the fangs and bleeding lips on the album cover, the gothic song titles ("Bite," "Sex Blood Rock N' Roll") and an opportunistic nod to the current youthful fad for all things vampirical. Whatever the intent, the name works both ways.

Hyde's and K.A.Z.'s full-time bands (L'Arc-en-Ciel and Oblivion Dust, respectively) have always had strong presences in the J-rock scene, each shifting tons of albums to a shared fan base. But there's no escaping the fact that their day jobs were never this straight-up. Like a well-deserved summer break, the album sees them do what they do best, showcasing screeching vocals and guitar against the unobtrusive, workmanlike backing of a rhythm section of keyboards, bass and drums. Almost all experimental fat is trimmed.

Split evenly between English and Japanese, Hyde's vocals are at their most grungy and guttural, while K.A.Z.'s fluid technical skill is showcased in endless fret-board runs. Their latest single, "Love Addict," epitomizes the sound with its barrage of power chords, senseless lyrics and throbbing drums. Barring a couple of diversions — the chart-friendly, emo paean "Evanescent," the wistful ballad "Sweet Dreams" — the album sticks to this no-frills template, which is no bad thing. All the hallmarks of classic J-rock are here, but amped up and hardened for a more streetwise generation.

Originally published in Time Magazine, August 31 2009

Simon Birch interview

2009-07-14T06:01:00.000-07:00

Former DJ and promoter Simon Birch has hit it big in the Hong Kong art world with his street culture-inspired portraits. He talks to Pavan Shamdasani about art, life and free noodles.

You shouldn’t believe what I say. Questions provoke lies, especially when there is no answer.

My hands are insured for US$1 million. I had a bad motorbike crash where I broke my fi ngers – now I can’t bend my little fi nger properly. So when I paint, it drags across the canvas and creates little marks.

The price tag on my paintings? These days anywhere between $60,000 to $250,000.

I came from a poor background, from a working-class town in England. I had no opportunity to go to art school when I was kid, so I spent 10 years just making a mess of my life.

When I arrived in Hong Kong, in 1997, I was bankrupt and fucked-up.

Then I made the decision to do something creative. Hong Kong is a city that encourages fresh starts and reinvention. Art really did save me.

I was working during the day on the Tsing Ma bridge, tightening bolts hundreds of feet up in the air. At night I was painting. Then I took a risk and exhibited, and actually sold some work. I quit the day job and here I am.

Somebody said to me the other day, “Maybe if you’d gone to art school earlier, your paintings would suck because you wouldn’t have had all that life experience.”

Without being too romantic about it, painting is a very emotional experience. You’re putting your heart out on the canvas.

I’m 24/7. I can’t switch it off. If I’m not getting my hands dirty, I’m cooking up ideas. These things aren’t going to paint themselves.

You really do fall out of love with your own paintings quite quickly, so I’m generally happy to see the back of them.

Everything else in my life is a mess. My love life is a mess, my finances are a mess.

As you get older, your criteria for what you want in a woman gets more complicated, so there are less women who fi t into it. Maybe I missed my chance.

Here I’m a big fi sh in a little pond. But in London or New York, I’m nobody. I do want my work all over the world, I want the challenge of being in the greater art world.

One of my dreams is, if I ever get rich enough, I’ll buy back my first 100 paintings and burn them all - well, except for a couple.

It’s probably not good to meet people who inspire you because you’ll probably be disappointed. Better that they live on as fantasies in your mind.

I’ve nearly died on a few occasions. Terrible car accidents, fallen off mountains... But those are the experiences when you feel most alive.

I own two little noodle shops and I’m a partner in Yumla. It’s nothing special, just a little hobby. But now I’ve got free beer and free noodles.

Live anywhere? A different planet would be good. Earth-like, but with less people.

People in this world want happiness and freedom. In Hong Kong, we have a lot of that. We’re all fortunate to live here.

This city is a grown-up metropolis, but it has that small-town feel to it. Everyone knows everyone. Best thing about Hong Kong? I can be here working, and in 20 minutes I can be on the beach surfing.

The whole art world is over infl ated. Will the bubble burst? I don't know.

But paintings are selling for a lot more money than they’re worth. If I stop painting, everything in my life stops.

What's precious? The friends who know me and still love me.

You have to understand that what I do for a living is completely self-indulgent. I’m just waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and say, “Hey, go get a real job”.

Originally published in HK Magazine, November 9 2007

Blowup

2009-07-14T05:59:00.001-07:00

by Pavan Shamdasani

Some films last through the ages. Others are products of their time, lost relics of a bygone era that mean little to later generations. And then there are those that fall into a strange middle ground, capturing the obsolete zeitgeist of a period while feeling wholly timeless. Antonioni’s 1966 “Blowup” is one such film.

Both revolutionary and controversial during its time, “Blowup” arrived at the apex of a new generation: months before “Sgt. Pepper’s” sparked the love parade, and years before “Easy Rider” created a new breed of revolutionaries. As with many movies from the cynically ultramodern 60s (and a lot of the films in the Broadway Cinematheque’s “Modern Classics” screenings for that matter), plot takes a firm backseat to the art house aesthetics. The modish London photographer protagonist (David Hemmings) has maybe accidentally snapped a murder through his lens, which starts the story. But like an avant-garde McGuffin, this is just a meaningless plot point around which Antonioni can weave his threads of new-wave novelty and social satire.

But that isn’t to say it’s a bad thing—for while many movies of the time were caught up in the complications of formal structure, “Blowup” aimed for both innovation in its form and to capture the innovations of the era. Antonioni adored and abhorred the period, and used the screen as his canvas—the fast cars and faster women, the free love and hypocritical materialism, the indifferent youth high on acid listening to Jimmy Page. Like a day-in-the-life documentary, we follow our photographer as he investigates, snoops around and then gives up, all mere digressions and asides to Antonioni’s real message: the film is partly a love song to the swinging 60s, and partly a warning about just how badly ennui and indifference can stunt a generation.

And sure, it’s not as controversial as it once was, nor as relevant. But it’s an important film that, like many others that have come to be known for defining a generation, is easily misconstrued as being empty and overblown. And to be honest, I still prefer Brian DePalma’s remake/rip-off, “Blow Out."

Directed by Michelangelo Antonioni. Starring David Hemmings, Vanessa Redgrave. 112 Minutes.

Originally published in HK Magazine, January 2 2009

Body of Lies

2009-07-14T05:55:00.000-07:00

by Pavan Shamdasani

Blame it on Bourne. Since the amnesiac agent broke box-office records with his blend of bone-breaking realism and politically relevant plots, everyone has been jumping on the spy bandwagon. And here’s one of the genre’s few “prestige” pictures—an Oscar-worthy powerhouse with stunning performances, a cunning script, and an ending straight out of the Hollywood textbook.

Roger Ferris (DiCaprio) is a spy. An American CIA field agent, he’s been in the Middle East long enough to fluently speak the language, invisibly cross borders and grow a mean Osama beard. His handler is Ed Hoffman (Crowe), an overweight, overzealous political reactionary who plays Big Brother from Langley. Their mission is familiar: find and capture Al-Saleem, the head of a radical group who’s been in hiding after numerous large-scale acts of terrorism.

Retrofitting the Cold War individual-against-a-country formula to a post-9/11 world, William Monahan’s (“The Departed”) screenplay is mostly a well-paced work of thrilling genius. More Le Carre than Clancy, its politics-heavy plot keeps a firm focus on the machinations and moral grounding of espionage, seamlessly balancing its characterized acts of deception with action-heavy skirmishes straight out of the summer season.

And for the first 100 minutes, “Body of Lies” is enthralling, coming off as convincingly authentic in its summation of America’s deep-cover involvement in the Middle East. It’s unfortunate then, that it doesn’t last. The final twenty minutes sputters to a halt, all due to an implausibly clichéd conclusion. They might as well have stuck a big “The Hollywood Producers Made Me Do It!” sign on DiCaprio’s back just before his brooding spy pulls a highly uncharacteristic turn.

But despite that relatively annoying setback, the film is worth the watch. Because at a time when cinematic escape mostly means violent comic books, it’s nice to see a relevant thriller that you actually want to watch. Which is another way of asking, out of the eight or so films that have tackled the Near East conflict in past two years, how many have you actually seen

Starring Leonardo DiCaprio, Russell Crowe, Mark Strong. Directed by Ridley Scott. 128 mins.

Originally published in HK Magazine, October 17 2008

Breathless

2009-07-14T05:54:00.000-07:00

by Pavan Shamdasani

You can thank Orson Welles for changing the face of cinema—and we’re not just talking about “Citizen Kane.” In 1958, Welles’ last (and arguably best) studio picture, “Touch of Evil,” was submitted to the Brussels World’s Fair. The two French critics who judged the ceremony awarded it the top prize, and both were so influenced by the film that they each made their first films a year later. These turned out to be Francois Truffaut’s “400 Blows” and Jean-Luc Godard’s “Breathless.”

A satirical pastiche on the film noir genre, the bare-bones “Breathless” plot is just an excuse for new-wave novelty: a small-time thief obsessed with Bogart (Belmondo) murders a motorcycle cop and hides out with his American girlfriend (Seberg) while planning his escape. Cue documentary-style photography, train-of-thought dialogue, jump cuts, fractured audio, and plenty of other techniques never seen before.

“Modern movies begin here,” Roger Ebert wrote in his revisionist film review, and it’s arguably true. Without the French New Wave, and “Breathless” in particular, it’s hard to say where movies would be today. From indie filmmakers with nothing but a camcorder, to quick-cut MTV-style editing, the film is a precursor to practically all that we watch today.

Putting aside the film’s technical aspects, one also senses a newness in its characters, emerging just when the Swinging Sixties were about to kick in. Belmondo redefined “cool” as the naïve nobody, a fool who chain-smoked because others did it, while Seberg’s quirky shorthaired student provided a sexy antithesis to buxom brunettes and Marilyn blondes. “Breathless” was something real at a time when tough-talking detectives and men in monster suits hammed up the big screen. It’s a strange ode to immoral behavior and reckless living, with none of it feeling wrong. Of course, like Welles, Godard has never lived up to the expectations surrounding him. But it’s nice to know that today there are still screens for even a spark of greatness.

Directed by Jean-Luc Godard. Starring Jean-Paul Belmondo, Jean Seberg. 90 minutes.

Originally published in HK Magazine, December 12 2008

Hung from a Horse

2009-07-14T05:51:00.000-07:00

Pavan Shamdasani checks out Zingaro, the horse and acrobatics show coming to town for the Arts Festival.

This spring, for perhaps the first time in Hong Kong’s history, horses won’t just be for gambling purposes. During the Arts Festival, a Parisian equestrian stage company called Zingaro will be hosting their acclaimed horse and acrobatics show, “Battuta.” A kind of equestrian opera, if you will.

For over twenty years, Zingaro has been putting on their one-of-a-kind stage show to sold-out hometown crowds before finally taking it on the road. So far, they’ve toured every major city in Europe. In New York, they sold out almost instantly, and the run was extended – twice – with ticket prices shooting up US$15. Those sold out, too.

Now for the first time, the show is coming to Hong Kong. 36 horses and 57 performers have been flown in from France to perform at the Hung Home Ferry Pier Lawn, in a gladiator-like pit that acts as center-stage to both the dauntless riders and their dutiful thoroughbreds. You’ve seen the posters plastered around town – in magazines, on buses, in MTR stations. But enough hype, what’s this show really all about?

It’s best described as a combination of opera, gypsy street show, acrobatics and horse racing. “Battuta,” in particular, differs greatly from other productions Zingaro have performed, in that the humans take center stage, while the horses are used as acrobatic devices.
There’s a sense of imminent speed and danger amidst the equestrian stunts; men stand atop racing horses, swinging from side to side, performing feats of peril that have you gasping in awe and cheering in delight at the same time. Slapstick comedy and liberal doses of surreal humor add to a performance so strange and dreamlike that you step out full of energy, wondering if what you just saw was real. And that’s the point.

“The process of Zingaro is that there is no story, it’s open to the public’s interpretation,” says its creator and director, the one-named Bartabas. “The plot is never explicit, it’s always episodic. You learn something only when you are ready to receive it. Something that doesn’t touch you today but might touch you tomorrow. In this way, the audience participates in the art.”

It’s this idea of audiences involving themselves in the performance and taking part in the gypsy community that was the impetus to create Zingaro in the first place. It started in 1984, in the Aubervilliers suburb of Paris, by Bartabas. In the twenty-four years since, he’s created over a dozen different shows, each taking aspects of a certain country’s culture – Tibet, India, Japan – and adapting it to its equestrian show. But while the idea of acrobats swinging on horses might be associated with your average circus, Zingaro is far from some rodeo clown show, as Bartabas explains.

“The original thought was, with a horse, you could say the same thing that a dancer tries to say with their body,” he says. “The idea of Zingaro is not to show off horses. It’s to show the relationship between man and horse, to show humanity. Even the best choreographer in the world is considered nothing without a good dancer, and this is the same.”

Dance is probably the easiest metaphor to give to a person who hasn’t seen one of Zingaro’s performances, but Bartabas says the show is more about movement than choreography. “Movement is easy – it can be done using the carrot and stick method, which works for both humans and animals. What’s important is the quality of the movement. The horse doesn’t just have to do it, it has to do it with emotion.”

Whether Hong Kongers will care about a horse’s emotion is anyone’s guess, but if audiences make the trip to Hung Hom, one thing’s for sure: they’ll be experiencing one of the greatest stage shows to ever grace our city. But will the crowd meet the venue capacity of 41,000 people? Bartabas isn’t worried.

“It is always interesting to be discovered in a new place, because you never know how they’ll respond,” he says. “If you look at the performance alone and you didn’t know it was from Paris, then I don’t think you would be able to guess the nationality of the company. In that way, I want to surprise the Hong Kong audience.”

Originally published in HK Magazine, January 11 2008

Kitchen Confidential

2009-07-14T05:48:00.000-07:00

Is it the end of the road for our private kitchens, asks Pavan Shamdasani.

They’re hidden in plain sight—unremarkable doors with a lone "Members Only" sign, half-opened shutters with waiters bustling about, obscure names that could be anything.

They’re private kitchens: restaurants in random buildings that offer diners a slice of home. But why is the government cracking down on them? And what stops these entrepreneurs from setting up their own official restaurants?

The problem lies in the licenses. Despite our ever-burgeoning dining scene, the government is still adamant about their licensing policies. Currently, a potential restaurateur who’d like to set up shop would need separate approval from at least four government departments, including food safety, fire standards and general building services. Attaining a full license takes an average of six months, compared to a city like Tokyo where gaining approval can be as quick as 24 hours.

And even if they were to be approved, there’s no saying whether they’d meet all the departmental requirements, many of which are inspected on a random basis. According to the FEHD, 2007 saw over 6,000 convicted cases involving hygiene problems, with fines totaling $16 million. It’s little wonder then that many prefer to open a private kitchen.

Seven years ago, there was a dearth of decent restaurants in our city. Because of all the legalities involved, those passionate about food took a cue from the prohibition days: converting offices and apartments into their own "speakeasies," private kitchens offering a smaller menu made up of better food. The real restaurants were forced to step up their game, and now our market has a unique balance.

But the popularity of private kitchens was also its potential downfall, and soon came the legal issue. Private kitchens tread the line, says Simon Wong, president of the Hong Kong Federation of Restaurants. Many operate under a club license—a legal loophole that allows you to operate as long as patrons are "members," but also comes with its own hygiene and safety regulations. Others choose to ignore the license problem and operate without one. "But if you operate without a license, then there’s no way to ensure the safety of the customer," says Wong.

And it’s the safety, says the government, that matters. Because many private kitchens have flagrant disregard for laws, the Food and Health Bureau (FHB) and the FEHD have been taking action. In 2007, they prosecuted the operators of 2,065 unlicensed food premises. The message is clear: "Operating without a valid license is an offence under the Food Business Regulation. The maximum penalty is a fine of $50,000 and imprisonment for six months."

But the government has also been trying to help. Five years ago, they put forward a proposal to regulate private kitchens. It never went before Legco, but the stipulations included not operating in commercial buildings, opening for only three and a half hours a day, and most importantly, complying with building and fire-safety ordinances.

The latter being an obvious Catch-22, says Frank Sun, former private kitchen owner and current owner of Tribute and Bricolage. Because many operate out of pre-war buildings, constructed when building standards were a lot more lax, they never meet the standards. "The regulations are very tough—they don’t distinguish between the ages of buildings," he says. The proposal was put forth again last year, but nothing was approved.

"I don’t think you can regulate private kitchens. I’d be very surprised if it worked," says Sun. "You’re basically embracing something that is not legal. So you’re recognizing the illegality of something, which is a contradiction."

So is it worth it for potential private kitcheners to open up shop? Yes and no. "Michelin and Zagat are coming in. The restaurant industry’s going to change," says Sun. "If they’re passionate about the food and the concept, I’d say open one. But I wouldn’t recommend it. As it was with mine, if it’s too popular then people try to get you in trouble. There’s a lot of issues involved."

A head chef at a famed Wyndham Street restaurant, who wished to remain anonymous, agrees. A frequenter of private kitchens, he was planning his own but held back because of all the legal issues involved. "A successful concept for a private kitchen is something very homely and private, with the kind of freedom you find in your own house. I’d like to see a big future for private kitchens, but I think the laws are going to change.

"That said, I’d still prefer to spend $700 in a private kitchen over a restaurant. The mix of emotions you have is completely different."

Originally published in HK Magazine, September 12 2008

Dr. Aron Harilela interview

2009-07-14T05:46:00.000-07:00

Dr. Aron Harilela is the director of The Harilela Group. At 37, he’s next in line to take the throne of the prominent family's business empire. He talks to Pavan Shamdasani about polo, politics, and life as a Harilela.

I grew up far away from Hong Kong. I'm thankful I went to boarding school in England. Here, I was relatively spoiled. When I arrived at boarding school, I really thought they had taken me to a third-world country.

I always knew what I was going to do with my life. I wanted to do it. I never wanted to do anything else. It wasn’t a question of choice.

No, I don’t live in the Harilela Mansion. I live in the house next door, which is the best of both worlds. I have my family and yet I have my privacy.

Though I’m from an Indian family, my parents haven’t pressured me to marry. I'm still single because there simply hasn't been the right person yet. That’s it.

I used to go out a lot, but I’m getting too old for it now. I still enjoy going out to big dinners and having a couple glasses of wine or a martini. Generally, I enjoy people.

The trait I appreciate most is the ability to listen. It’s very rare to find a listener, and as I grow older I find it even rarer.

If you do something wrong, or right, you carry the mental weight of it in your head and you attract what some people call "karma." People bring it upon themselves.

Not being able to express yourself is my idea of hell. Mental claustrophobia.

But sometimes people are just pedantic, and I hate people being pedantic.

That said, there are two things I’m extremely pedantic about: I’m always on time, to the minute, and I have this habit of alphabetizing my books. I can be sitting at breakfast and if I see one out of place it’ll really bother me. It’s ridiculous.

I have a fear of haircuts. I get them as rarely as possible.

My father did not have the luxury to make mistakes. He was very precise and he evaluated things carefully. However, I do have that luxury and as a result I can look at things more strategically.

The greatest lesson my father ever taught me was to switch off. He’d say you must take a certain amount of time off during the week. Your mind will not be inspired by stress. It’ll be inspired by calm thought.

I was playing polo a month ago and broke my collarbone in a few places. I now have fourteen pins and a titanium plate in a bone.

I love polo. Unfortunately, there’s no polo in Hong Kong. That's a shame.

Hong Kong should become the equestrian center of Asia. After the Olympics, they should take the bull by its horns and say, “let’s become the equine capital.”

The Indian community here is quite large and very visible, but it doesn’t have enough weight in this city. We need to take a more active role.

Hong Kong can easily knock you off balance.

But the benefit of Hong Kong lies in that it is multicultural, and we should not get away from that, though that has been somewhat eroded after the handover.

What they’re doing to the Graham Street Market is terrible. What are they going to do, convert every single bit of our city into real estate? We’re in a stage of growth in which we shouldn’t just look at dollars.

People have to start taking a stake in Hong Kong, to go out of their way to understand the issues. Essentially, they need to decide their own fate.

What people are beginning to realize now is that economics and politics are extremely intertwined.

People don’t make the conditions possible for their happiness. Everybody just wants happiness thrust upon them.

Originally published in HK Magazine, May 2 2008

Maid in Hong Kong

2009-07-14T05:44:00.000-07:00

What do our domestic helpers do all day? Pavan Shamdasani picks up a duster and finds out the hard way.

I don’t have a maid – not for any ethical reason, mind you. I just don’t need one. So when my editor informed me that I’d be spending a day in the company of a domestic helper, following her around, finding out what makes this underpaid, overworked individual tick, I was a little apprehensive.

I knock at her employer’s door half-asleep at 8am, and there stands my collaborator for the day, Nilda, wide-awake and ready to go. I smile and quickly explain what the hell I am doing there. That, no, I’m not some insane person. That this is all for the purpose of educating and informing you, dear reader, about the lives of our domestic helpers. To put you (or me, really) in their shoes.

We go to work almost immediately. Ironing is the first task of the day: she irons, I fold. I do my best to appease, taking each pressed item of clothing and spending long seconds gently creating piles of perfection. But it soon becomes too much and the heaps of ironed, unfolded clothes stack up. She shakes her head in disbelief and quickly takes over. My first opportunity to talk; I ask how she can stand such a grueling career.

“It’s quite a tough job, but I’ve been doing it for 19 years now. It was worse when I started, back in Singapore. I was earning 250 Singapore dollars a month and I didn’t even get public holidays off,” she says. “I’m very grateful to be here. My employer doesn’t tell me what to do and I have a lot of flexibility. She’s like my best friend – we talk all the time.”

She isn’t the talkative type and speaks in brief snippets, all the while swiftly creating piles of clothing. By the time she’s finished her short memoir, a tower of neatly folded clothing sits on the table. I can’t believe it, taking great effort to hide my amazement at her speed and technique.

At 9am, we move on to the next task: cleaning up the breakfast plates. Again, I’m given the lesser of two jobs, the task of drying-up. She snaps on her rubber gloves and starts to soap up the plates. I wait, dish towel in hand, and continue my inquisition.

“Many of my friends don’t have it so good. Some of them are forced to work when they’re sick. One of them isn’t even allowed to use the toilet inside the house – she has to go to the public toilet down the road,” she says. “Another has three kids, all very young, and her employer doesn’t let her go back home to visit. If her employer’s not home, she can’t eat because she’s not given a food allowance. It’s against the law, but many are scared to report it because they’ll get fired.”

I keep listening and drying. Before I know it, each plate and cup is thoroughly cleaned and being neatly stacked in a cupboard. A surge of pride takes over; so this is what manual labor feels like. I could get used to this. Sorta. OK, 10am – what’s next? Vacuuming and sweeping. We move into the living room, a vast space larger than the average Sheung Wan apartment. It’s a formidable task, but it has to be cleaned and we have two hours before Nilda’s lunch break. First things first, dusting the shelves. I’m handed a rag and get straight to work – slow, steady movements across the rosewood, she says. Try to soak it in with one side, and wipe off the rest with the other. I’m getting better at this, more assured with my work. It’s a dirty job, but we have to do it.

The cleaning goes fast, because next thing I know it’s 11am and we‘re onto the vacuuming. Over the screech of the Hoover, she starts to tell me about her life in the Philippines – how she grew up in the Bicol Province; how she left when she was 27; how she has two kids, a son in school, 20, and a daughter working for the government, 27; how she sends money to them and how she’s going back sometime soon.

We’re out on the balcony, sweeping up the dirt from the potted plants, when she tells me how she’s going to miss this. Her employers are leaving, they’re off to Sri Lanka, and she doesn’t know what’ll happen next. I presume it’s a common scenario in Hong Kong; short-term expats coming and going, not a care what happens to their helper. It’s different with her, obviously, and she says she isn’t worrying because of her long-term experience. But then she indicates a window in a building across the street.

“See her?” she says, pointing out another domestic helper furiously scrubbing dishes. “She gets up at 5am everyday and doesn’t sleep till midnight. I talk to her sometimes downstairs. Her employer makes her work nonstop – without gloves. She has hands like a farmer. It’s almost slavery, but she’s too scared to report it.”

I nod, not knowing what to say. We continue working in silence, until it’s lunchtime. Nilda normally eats alone, so I leave the house for an hour, grabbing a quick bite down the street. The whole time I’m thinking about the woman in the other building – the lives helpers must go through, how spoiled we all are to think that a maid is commonplace in a city as small as ours.

When I return at 2pm, Nilda is ready to go to the market. The daily shopping is necessary, she says, fresh food being one of the benefits of having a maid in Hong Kong. The bus ride down is small talk, chatting about life in Hong Kong and its many conveniences. It’s similar in the supermarket, she tells me about life in the Philippines, about having a doctorate but getting paid less than a domestic helper over here. Many of helpers are more qualified than we are – it’s just that household work pays better than other careers back home.

We pick up the essentials – eggs, milk, fresh fruit and vegetables. Then it’s a quick stop at Oliver’s for “white people food” before a cab ride back. Then it hits me: it’s 3:30pm and the past few hours have passed without much notice. Sure, they always say that the work becomes easier, but who would’ve thought the demanding efforts of the early morning would be so quickly forgotten.

It’s dinner next, and Nilda has to start early tonight. The big meal, she calls it, Hungarian goulash – takes three hours to prepare. It’s almost 4pm and her employers will be back by 6pm. I’m a wreck in the kitchen, an absolute cooking retard, so I stand back. While she cooks, she tells me about her other friends, clearly distraught that her time working here will soon be up.

“One of my close friends is going to Canada,” she says, smiling. “Her employer is leaving and she found a new one out there. The wages are better there, and so are the laws. But her employer won’t pay for the plane ticket – she even refuses to give her the long-service payment [domestic helpers are entitled to a bonus after five years]. It’s amazing how these people are.”

She goes on to tell me about another friend who only gets paid $3,000, when the standard minimum wage is $3,480; about the helper with arthritis who lives in a closet without a heater, and the ones who get beaten. I could write about them, but what difference would it make? There’s a radio show, she tells me, every Thursday night at 9pm on Metroplus 104. Domestic helpers call in to voice their concerns and talk about their problems. She wants you all to listen in sometime.

And then there’s Nilda’s own future.

“I’m not so scared about finding a new employer,” she says. “It helps a lot if you have experience working for foreigners. I’m going to stay in Hong Kong for a while – when my son graduates and starts working, I might go back. My kids keep telling me to go back, but I’m not that old yet.”

She says, again with a smile. She’s 45, uncertain of the future, surrounded by friends who are worse off, earning a salary for a 24-hour day that a fast-food employee would be disappointed with, and still she’s happy. For a profession practically ignored by the vast majority of our city, that certainly says something.

Originally published in HK Magazine, February 22 2008

You Don't Mess with the Zohan

2009-07-14T05:42:00.001-07:00

“Munich” was a great film—a thoughtful, measured movie exploring the futility of the cycle of vengeance that began with the murders of the Israeli athletes at the ‘72 Olympics. It went on to explore the notions of “right” and “wrong” through the lens of the entire Israeli-Palestinian conflict—a complex, heated subject for a film. And then there is Adam Sandler in “You Don’t Mess with the Zohan.”

The Zohan (Sandler) is the best Mossad agent in Israel—hence the immensely popular catchphrase, “You don’t mess with the Zohan!” But a life of capturing terrorists has made the Special Forces soldier world-weary. What he really wants to do is make people’s hair silky-smooth, and after faking his own death and escaping to New York, Zohan takes up your everyday name of Scrappy Coco and joins a hair salon. But what he didn’t count on is that every cab driver, hotdog seller and cornershop owner is a mustachioed Muslim hell-bent on revenge.

Concept ripe with amusing possibilities? Yes. Blatantly racist? Undoubtedly. Funny? Meh—we’re not so politically correct as to think we’re above a little bigoted comedy, but there’s a significant difference between finding humor in somber subjects and beating the shit out of a dead horse. This certainly is the latter. It starts well enough—a ridiculous explosion here, a joke about hummus there, but what at first seems like a few well-written gags to set the pace turns out to be all they have to deliver.

The barebones plot is plagued with constant, constant, constant jokes that exploit what appears to be an ever-more popular trend in film these days: narrowmindedness. The movie targets everything from the Israel-Palestine conflict and the Gaza strip to hairy men, funny accents and yes, hummus. Lots of hummus. Because we “American” viewers are completely ignorant as to what hummus is (“a tasty... diarrhea-like substance”). Whoops—nice one international distributors.

Not to say that the film is completely lacking—Sandler is almost unrecognizable if you squint, John Turturro phones in another scene-stealing performance, and Emmanuelle Chirqui from “Entourage” is very easy on the eyes. That all helps, but it is not enough to make up for the one reason you should stay away from this film: Rob Schneider. Sorry buddy, you’re just not funny.

Directed by Dennis Dugan. Starring Adam Sandler, John Turturro, Emmanuelle Chirqui, Rob Schneider. 113 mins.

Originally published in HK Magazine, September 19 2008

Route Rage

2009-07-14T05:37:00.000-07:00

The government wants to ruin yet another coastal waterfront with a roadway. But is it really necessary, asks Pavan Shamdasani.

The government calls it “Route 4,” the proposed road that—if given the green light—will stretch along the Kennedy Town waterfront right through to Aberdeen, ruining the sea view and turning that stretch of waterfront into another concrete mess. According to the Transport Department, the road will alleviate traffic congestion and allow for easier transportation of goods to the increasingly developed Western District. But with many in the district preferring a railway system instead, is there any point in destroying yet another coastal waterfront with a highway?

There is, but only because the government insists on developing the area, says Paul Zimmerman, one of the founders of Designing Hong Kong, an concern group on urban development. “For example, if more hotels are to be built, they’ll need food delivered and garbage removed on a daily basis.

You can’t deliver those kinds of things on an MTR; you need trucks,” he says.

The Route 4 proposal was originally put forward over 20 years ago, back in 1987, when the government was planning massive reclamations around Hong Kong. However, the plan was only taken seriously in 2001 when a Legco study revealed that by 2016, Aberdeen Tunnel and Pok Fu Lam Road would face major traffic congestion. The plan for Route 4 was met with a healthy dose of community outcry, headed by Designing Hong Kong. “People were fighting very hard back then,” says Zimmerman. Activist Christine Loh went before Legco to propose rail lines as an alternative. “There was progress in the discussions, with the government pushing the road, and the community pushing the rail lines,” Zimmerman says. “The government eventually agreed to develop the rail and now we find that the road is still going to be built.”

One of the new MTR rail lines will extend the Island Line to Kennedy Town, while the other stretches from Sai Ying Pun past Aberdeen to Wong Chuk Hang and Ocean Park. All of the train line’s stations will be located along Route 4, making the road useful only to delivery trucks but completely redundant in terms of mass transportation.

The community organizers, however, were able to strike another small victory. “In response to community pressure against Route 4, the government developed two additional—and expensive—options,” says Central and Western District Councilor Tanya Chan. “The first option was a road through Mount Davis via Cyberport with only a partial destruction of the coastline. The second goes directly through the mountain to Aberdeen.”

The trouble is that neither of these proposals was met with much delight. “With any of the three options, Kennedy Town will be destroyed,” says Zimmerman. “In the end, they decided to keep to the original plan. We pointed out to the Town Planning Board that the Route 4 they’ve chosen is a route nobody wants, but the Transport Department has said that they want it, and the truth is, the community has no input.”

“The government is constantly destroying what once made Hong Kong a multicultural metropolis through constant money-grubbing development,” says Kennedy Town resident Armistice Hui. “Just look at what’s happening to Kennedy Town; right now it’s what Central and Sheung Wan used to look like in the 70s and 80s, but how long will that last? And where is our say in any of this?” Chan agrees. “We need an independent Town Planning Board with jurisdiction over transport planning to give us a voice and help to solve this.”

Of course, that isn’t going to happen any time soon. When contacted about the development, the government’s response was predictable: “[Route 4] will provide an alternative route to the existing north-south corridors...[and] serve as an additional linkage between the Southern District and the Central Business District, as well as the other parts of the territory via the Western Harbour Crossing. The Government will keep the program of Route 4 under review, pending any new developments in the Western District.”

The government is noticeably vague about its construction of Route 4, insisting that it’s still “under review.” But with an estimated completion date of 2016, expect planning and building to begin soon. “No time or cost estimates have ever been disclosed,” says Chan. “The government says they need Route 4 by 2016, so we can expect them to start seeking funding approval from Legco soon if they need to stick to this timeline.”

Zimmerman agrees, and says there is little time for us as a community to act. “There’s currently no system in Hong Kong for the community to be able to say, ‘We don’t want more roads, we don’t need so many trucks, we can use rail lines. We’d like to maintain the waterfront and its heritage.’” We have to decide as a community whether we want to turn the waterfront into roads.”

Originally published in HK Magazine, August 1 2008

What Just Happened?

2009-07-14T05:35:00.001-07:00

by Pavan Shamdasani

Movies are big business. It’s gotten to the point where lack of inspiration has producers scrambling to turn any half-baked idea—even their own—into celluloid gold. “What Just Happened?” is based on the tell-all book by movie producer Art Linson—specifically, it rips out the book’s two best vignettes, Chinese-whispers them up with a bit more tarnish, slaps in an all-star cast culled from years of ass-kissings and owe-ya-ones, and flicks on the projector for one big in-joke.

We follow Ben (DeNiro), a producer who hasn’t had a hit in years, over a one-week period as he balances domestic dramas with the dilemmas of two potential comebacks: a hotshot auteur director who refuses to tone down his excessively violent masterpiece (in actuality, David Fincher’s “Fight Club”), and Bruce Willis refusing to shave his Grizzly Adams beard (in actuality, Alec Baldwin being an idiot).

Like a studio head with an appointment in 5, we’re going to do this the quick and easy way. Here’s the good: DeNiro showing more range than he has in a decade as a spineless gear-grinder, Willis hilariously overplaying his ego, Moon Bloodgood’s tit-flash, and a title that perfectly captures the audience’s reaction as they walk out.

And here’s the one bad point: the entire concept. A producer’s life is, for lack of a better word, boring. There’s a reason HBO’s “Entourage” focuses on actors, directors and agents: producers are middlemen; they round up the cash and deal with the studios. It’s not about creativity or kudos; their eyes are firmly on the box-office prize.

Take all that, toss in their personal life and what you get is everyone relating with how boring this chump’s home and work lives are. Cinematic escape it ain’t. Aww, we feel so bad that you’re rich and live in the Hills and are balancing two women and aren’t as successful as say, Jerry Bruckheimer. Life just sucks, doesn’t it? Harden the fuck up, and next time leave the creativity to the creative types.

Originally published in HK Magazine, November 28 2008

Four Christmases

2009-07-14T05:30:00.000-07:00

by Pavan Shamdasani

“How could he?” you ask. “Three stars? A better-than-average rating for a film that’s been universally panned by the press? Has the critic I love to hate finally lost his mind?” No, dear readers, your favorite arrogant movie reviewer hasn’t gone soft. He’s still the last bastion of real film journalism, a symbol of this magazine’s individuality, and a conceited bastard when all’s said and done. But it hasn’t always been contradicting measures of cynicism and overconfidence at Chez Shamdasani.

No, no, hard as it is to believe, there once was a time of innocence, purity and virtue. That time was Christmas. And so it is every year, as the greedy Hollywood machine churns out its commercialized cash cows aimed squarely at the slack-jawed masses, this critic lets it all slide and takes nostalgic comfort in even the worst formulaic fare. “The Grinch”? “Ernest Saves Christmas”? “Jingle All the Way”? Loved ‘em all. And I loved “Four Christmases” too, every little bit of its ridiculous couple-forced-to-visit-all-four-divorced-parents plotline.

From its blatantly ignorant trailer-trash stereotypes (hicks, cougars, hippies) to the perfectly imperfect yuppie couple, it’s nothing more than a reheated recipe of every “uh-oh, we’re home for the holidays” TV special. But a sprinkle of beating up kids here, a dash of domestic disputes in a nativity scene there, topping it off with Vince Vaughn’s motor mouth, and you’ve got a trim 88 minutes that packs in all the standard seasonal hi-jinks without feeling too worn or weary.

Sure, it’s cheesy, corny and clichéd, but hey, it’s Christmas you Scrooge. Who doesn’t love a yuletide movie? Fine, you got me—I can’t stand that god-awful Grisham crap “Christmas with the Kranks.” Bah, humbug.

Directed by Seth Gordon. Starring Vince Vaughn, Reese Witherspoon, Robert Duvall, Mary Steenburgen, Sissy Spacek, Jon Voight. 88 minutes.

Originally published in HK Magazine, December 19 2008

Tsunami Relief Arrives in Indonesia

2009-07-14T05:22:00.000-07:00

Relief efforts are pouring in to help victims of a powerful tsunami that hit Indonesia's Java Island this week. By Pavan Shamdasani

On July 17, an undersea earthquake that registered 7.7 on the Richter scale triggered a tsunami. The strong waves killed at least 531 people and injured more than 270. Three hundred people are still missing. About 50,000 people were left homeless.

Australia South Africa, Japan and the U.S. are helping the relief efforts. Relief workers are delivering food,tents, drinking water and medical supplies to victims. A temporary shelter has been set-up for about 3,000 people in the city of Pangandaran.

Many at the shelter are not homeless but worry another tsunami will strike. "I did not lose my home, and my husband and child are safe, but we are still traumatized by the tsunami and are too afraid to return home in case another one comes," one woman told the French agency AFP.

To many Indonesians, the tsunami was a painful reminder of the tsunami that struck in the Indian Ocean on December 26, 2004. More than 200,000 people in 12 countries, including Indonesia, were killed. In May, a 6.3 magnitude earthquake hit Java Island, killing more than 6,000 people and leaving 100,000 homeless. The quakes have left the people of Java desperate for protection.

Originally published in Time Magazine for Kids, July 21 2006

Rough Landing

2009-07-14T04:47:00.001-07:00

The government is considering adding a third runway at Chek Lap Kok. But is it worth the price, asks Pavan Shamdasani.

It’s already one of the busiest airports in the world. But if the government approves the construction of a third runway, the Hong Kong International Airport might see its traffic significantly increase – despite numerous voices already pointing out the new runway’s massive cost, ecological impact and general futility.

With the Airport Authority currently examining the feasibility and environmental impact of a potential third runway in two separate studies, there is a very real possibility that the project could be completed in the next few years, an idea that began with a Chinese University of Hong Kong study last year that said the airport could reach its full traffic capacity as soon as 2011. Soon after the study was released, many officials in the government and the logistics industry began talking about transforming Chek Lap Kok into the main hub in a theoretical domestic network with the four other Pearl River Delta airports.

“We want to be one of the most important gateways to China, not in China,” says outgoing Airport Authority chief executive David Pang. He specifically cites the example of the United States, where cooperation with major hubs has led to greater regional economic growth. “We must establish a domestic network, and connect that complicated domestic network with the international network. We can then attract a greater number of people and cargo to come through Hong Kong.” Greater collaboration in the region, it would seem, is the point.

But not if you ask Hong Kong’s biggest airline, Cathay Pacific. “Neighboring hubs like Guangzhou and Shanghai are planning third, fourth, and even fifth runways,” says a Cathay Pacific spokesman. “Hong Kong faces the very real danger of giving our competitive advantage away unless we move quickly and decisively on the third runway.”

In fact, many critics feel that this new runway is competition dressed up as collaboration. Christine Loh, the chief executive of think tank Civic Exchange, believes the government wants to take in as many flights as possible from the region, regardless of the problems that that might cause. It’s what she calls the government’s “business as usual” strategy: building a runway just because it’s the easiest solution, with a complete disregard for questioning whether new infrastructure is even necessary at all. “The kinds of studies the government usually does are for airfreight and air passengers, and those amounts are always going to go up,” Loh says. “That’s why there’s always a ‘need’ for more infrastructure. But they should look at a more comprehensive picture to see what the true questions are – the cost, the air pollution it’ll cause, the environmental damage brought on by land reclamation, and so on. A better solution than competition is true collaboration between the five Peal River Delta airports.”

But so far there have been no studies into how this kind of regional cooperation would work. That’s why people like Professor Li Chung-lun of the logistics management department at the Polytechnic University reluctantly support the idea of a third runway – because there is not enough data yet to say that true collaboration is a better solution. “Forwarding flights to the Pearl River Delta airports is an option [once we get close to full capacity]. I don’t know if it’s a better option. In the short term, it makes sense. But in the long term, the third runway is a strategic move. It’s good for the economy. But it’s a big investment.”

Indeed, it ain’t cheap. Pang says that the construction costs will be extremely high, though he is reluctant to guess specific numbers. This is mainly due to the massive amount of land reclamation necessary for the runway—a deep channel off Chek Lap Kok with a thick seabed of mud would have to be removed. For comparison, it cost $3,561.5 million to reclaim 18 hectares of land from the harbor for the new Central reclamation. So the question is, will we make our money back? The CUHK study estimated that a fully utilized third runway would eventually have an annual economic contribution of $56 billion, though the study failed to fully take into account the potential for growth—and competition, of course—at the region’s other four airports.

And then there are the environmental costs. “If the reclamation work were to go ahead, they’d have to dredge all the mud off the sea floor,” says Samuel Hung, chairman of the Hong Kong Dolphin Conservation Society. “The mud contains a lot of pollutants that, when released and stirred into the water column, would worsen our water pollution problems.”

Hung also says that the reclamation would endanger the Chinese white dolphin population. He says that they’re already threatened with the unavoidable Hong Kong-Macau-Zhuhai Bridge that will stretch into Guangdong from Lantau, and further mass reclamation would mean a significant loss of their habitat.

“Is it worth it?” Hung asks. “The government has to think very carefully about the reclamation. What’s next – a fourth runway? We already have very little land here. At some point, the government has to accept the concept of sustainable development.”

Originally published in HK Magazine, September 26 2008

Bidding War

2009-07-14T04:43:00.001-07:00

Pavan Shamdasani buys himself a car at a public police auction.

Twice a month, unbeknownst to the general public and frequented by the few who make a living out of it, there’s a public auction held in the outer reaches of Chai Wan. It’s an early affair, starting at 10:30am and usually ending before lunchtime. On the block is an array of items abandoned, seized and confiscated by the government—an average sale could include anything from motor vehicles to sampans, defibrillators to brassieres.

A cold, wet Thursday morning trudge to Chai Wan revealed a cornucopia of society’s entrepreneurs—dozens of regulars who spend two days out of their month in fast-paced bidding wars. The other 28 are used for bartering, haggling and generally selling off whatever wares were bought—but it’s obviously a profitable trade. Profitable enough for one dapper gentleman to spend $200,000 on 400 drums of powdered Potassium Permanganate the day I went.

I came to this auction with one intention—to buy myself a car on the cheap. Nothing too fancy or too expensive; something solid and reliable. After perusing the list of items on their website, I was set on a Mitsubishi 1997 saloon that came complete with—shock, horror—a set of car keys and an alarm system. Standard for any used car, but a rarity at the auction since most vehicles on the block were found abandoned.

But there was a problem. It’s not the kind of auction you’d see in a movie. No items are rolled out on stage; you have a week before the auction to schlep out to a certain address and view the item yourself. My busy schedule had meant I didn’t have the time or the means it. It was going to be a blind buy. I had set myself a maximum bid of $10,000.

Arriving early, I registered my HKID card with the stern woman at the desk before making my way into the small room which fits just over 40 seats. It was already packed with regulars, people I’d seen in previous visits. I then spoke to the auctioneer so that he would conduct the auction bilingually. The car was the first item on block and I took a seat upfront, ready to duke it out with whoever was going to steal away what was already in my head, my car.

They were chatting away when it happened. The auctioneer started the auction and the crowd wasn’t conscious in the slightest – “Lot C-301,” he said. “$5,000.” I immediately raised my number and got in the first bid, my heart racing with the hope that no one was going to jump in. “Any bids?,” he asked. “$5,000 going once.” This was it. “Going twice.” I looked around the room, a massive smile erupting over my face.

And he saw it: a regular dressed in the most ridiculous tiger-embroidered sweatpants I’d ever seen. He smiled right back and shouted out “$6,000.” The auctioneer looked over to me with anticipation, and I thought long and hard in the two seconds I had. A blind buy for $7,000? It’s only money. “$7,000.” I turned around. “$7,500,” the bastard said.

The auctioneer looked back once again. I was torn: how far would he go? “$8,000,” I shouted. He sat there, his hand not moving. “$8,000,” said the auctioneer. “Going once. Going twice.” Would he do it again? “Sold.” I had it; the car was mine.

The assistant handed me a receipt and I sat there thrilled. Who cares if I hadn’t seen it? Who cares if it might not run? I was now the owner of a 1997 Mitsubishi with car keys (left). This was a big deal and I wasn’t going to let minor details get in the way. I stayed for the rest of the auction, saw a man spend $200,000 on 120,000 liters of non-edible vegetable oil, saw a TV and fridge go for $150, dazed all the while. I was now officially a driver, albeit without a driver’s license.

I could tell you about the hassles picking up the car at the Tuen Mun Police Station. How the officers refused to tell me why the car was seized. How they wouldn’t let me drive it out because its license had expired. How we had to tow it over to my friends’ parking space. How worried I was that it wouldn’t start. And then how we charged the battery, fired up the motor and how the V6 engine purred like a Japanese bobtail. But that would be telling.

The Government Logistic Department’s Public Auctions take place twice a month in The Conference Room of the Government Logistic Center at 11 Chong Fu Rd., Chai Wan. Details of the auction and items on the block can be viewed at www.gld.gov.hk/eng/auction.htm.

Originally published in HK Magazine, June 20 2008

The Sick House

2009-07-14T04:37:00.001-07:00

With several outrageous hospital blunders dominating the headlines and troublesome reform proposals waiting in the wings, Pavan Shamdasani looks at whether our health system is in need of critical care.

We have one of the best healthcare systems in the world. With 39 public hospitals and 12 private, over 30,000 beds in total and an annual budget large enough to run a small country, there would appear to be no reason to complain. But the recent outcry can’t be ignored. In the past few months, we’ve been plagued with hospital “blunders” ranging from lost baby corpses and deaths on hospital doorsteps to reams of lost patient data (for a larger list see box, opposite), and the public is starting to ask why.

Unsurprisingly, nobody’s taking the blame and everyone’s pointing fingers. Add in last year’s healthcare reform calling for controversial changes, and the future of Hong Kong’s healthcare industry has never looked so uncertain.

Ask anyone involved in the medical industry and they’ll agree that while it’s not without its problems, the current system isn’t all that bad. “Like any healthcare system in the world, it has some really great points and some not so good,” says Professor Anthony Hedley of the Department of Community Medicine at the University of Hong Kong. “Delivering services to sick people is a very exacting task and we have to expect to not get it right all the time. But when people make mistakes, the media makes a meal of it and it gets blown out of proportion.”

Many agree, explaining that errors are commonplace in any industry and coincidences like this are bound to happen. Legislator for the medical sector Dr. Leung Ka-lau points out that the industry handles about 20 million cases a year, and that even if there was an error rate of 0.0001 percent, we would still see 2,000 “blunders” annually.
Critics might argue that in an industry where lives are on the line, errors should never happen. They would have a strong case, but when one considers the massive divide between the public and private sectors, with veteran doctors preferring a private practice to a government wage, and the government having little choice but to hire fresh graduates with little experience, things don’t seem so cut-and-dry.

“The problems we’ve seen are all due to the limited resources in the public sector,” says Pang Hung-cheung, community organizer for the Society for Community Organization (SOCO). “Senior staff have little chance to be promoted, so they start private practices, which opens the gate to junior doctors who lack experience.”

Adds Leung, “From 2001 onwards, the government was constantly cutting expenditures, which led to damage such as demoralized staff and a decrease in quality care. This is not consistent with the growing demand for public healthcare services.”

Such criticism has prompted the government to talk about major healthcare reforms, and it was only last March that they finally launched a consultation paper. Reform was proposed in five areas: enhancing primary healthcare, promoting partnership between public and private sectors, sharing health records electronically, enhancing the public sector’s safety net, and most importantly, six options for additional financing. With $50 billion reserved for the proposals, they’ve become the subject of plenty of debate.

“Two-thirds of the public agrees there is a need to reform the existing healthcare financing arrangement,” says Jessie Wong Lai-kun, senior information officer for the Food and Health Department. Options put forth to help the situation include increasing hospital user fees, a compulsory healthcare contribution and a mandatory health insurance program. Each has its own supporters and detractors, but the overall sentiment is that while those options would help in the short term, the solution lies in the government’s use of its expenditures and an overhaul of the entire system.

Part of the problem begins with you, the general public, the source of much of the wasted healthcare expenditure in the system. Walk into a public hospital on any given day and you’re likely to see the outpatient waiting room crammed to capacity, most with problems as minor as a headache.

“People tend to be given higher levels of public healthcare when they may not need it,” says Hedley. “This makes it difficult for people with genuine emergencies in the public sector.”

Leung agrees. He also believes the public sector should focus on underprivileged people and emergency services, while the middle class with minor problems should be redirected, with the government possibly footing part of their bill. “The government should make the limitations of the public system clear and encourage a better system so that patients who can afford private care can plan for themselves,” he says.

Meanwhile, the government has their own strange solution to the problem. Whereas previous budgeting between hospitals was determined by patient numbers (e.g. a hospital that services 2 million patients on average is given more resources than one that services 1 million), their new funding system—currently in the trial stages—is called “pay for performance.”

In simplest terms, the government wants to fund hospitals based on the type and number of cases they receive, rather than the number of people they treat. “Say they have 1,000 heart disease patients a year,” says Pang. “At the end of the year, the headquarters will multiply that 1,000 against the cost per patient, thus figuring out whether a hospital needs more or less resources.”

This has its own host of complicated intra-industry problems, including possible abuse from service providers. And even to the layman, it seems ridiculous to presume that a hospital would face the exact same number of specific cases year after year. A better option is the one adopted by the private healthcare industry called “money follows patient.” Under this one, according to Pang, “the government will calculate a standard price for say, diabetes, and the patient will pay that at either the public or private sector, with the service provider receiving a fixed amount from the government.”

This not only gives patients a choice, but it allows healthy competition between both sectors and gives them additional government resources, which would eventually attract better staff and improve service quality.

Of course, none of the options are economically viable in the middle of a recession. “Despite their promises, it’s unlikely the government will decide to do anything given our economic situation,” says Pang. “The public isn’t willing to give more in a recession, and it’s possible in three to four years from now, the financial reform might be put forward.”
Indeed, the government has even said as much, with Wong admitting that they will increase healthcare expenditure from 15 percent to 17 percent (an anticipated $10 billion) by 2011-2012, and vaguely explaining that they will make “best use of the increased government funding for healthcare in the next few years.”

That’s quite a bit of time, and it again raises the question of how we can fix things immediately in light of recent problems. The only financially feasible solution lies in a structural reform, namely one focused on reducing the previously mentioned divide between the private and public sectors. This would ease the abuse of public healthcare and allow an industry-wide introduction of “money follows patient.” More importantly, it would create an equal distribution of experienced staff between hospitals.

One important first step would involve sharing information between the sectors, says Hedley. A doctor himself for over 20 years, Hedley recently observed the healthcare system as a patient while being treated for cancer. While he rates our system between “very good and excellent,” he along with many others finds it strange that it lacks continuity.

“There’s a disconnect between primary and secondary care, where you can choose your doctor, but you can’t take your records,” he says. “It needs to change so that if a patient goes to another doctor, they can push their records across a desk and say ‘this is me.’”
The resistance comes from medical practitioners, he says, as doctors regard medical records as part of their intellectual property. And while part of the healthcare reform calls for sharing of medical records, it’s unlikely to be included in the final restructuring (if and when it ever gets passed) thanks to pure fear.

“Many people have been trying for many years to change this,” he says. “But the government doesn’t have the political will and probably would be unwilling to put in the resources. The Hospital Authority has also backed off from assisting because of political sensitivity. It’s an insolvable problem and no one in the system seems to care.”

Again, we’re at an impasse, a vicious cycle where “blunders” can only be solved through increased resources and improved communication. Neither are likely to come about anytime soon because we’re in a dire economic situation with everybody focused on their own interests.

Despite all the complications, many are positive about the situation, emphasizing that we have a good foundation to build upon. “We’re not going to solve all these problems by throwing money at them,” says Hedley. “We need to look at available ways of using resources wisely. That doesn’t mean cost-cutting; it means changing the ways we use our services.”

Pang is equally focused on the future, but less optimistic. “We’re now at a crossroads. Both the resources and service quality have been eroding in the past decade. If the government isn’t willing to do something to change the situation, the problem will turn very serious.”

Originally published in HK Magazine, January 23 2009

Pushing Kids to Get Healthier

2009-07-14T04:21:00.000-07:00

Former President Bill Clinton announces a program that will set nutrition and physical standards in school. By Pavan Shamdasani

How do we help kids live healthier lives? Go to their schools, where they spend most of their days, says former U.S. President Bill Clinton. On Monday, Clinton spoke to representatives of 170 schools about a new Healthy Schools Program.

The program helps schools set standards that encourage healthy eating and more physical activity. The program is sponsored by the Alliance for a Healthier Generation, which is a joint project of the American Heart Association and the Clinton Foundation. "I believe these standards can be a great step forward in shaping the health, education, and well-being of the next generation," said Clinton.

The Healthy Schools program follows a recent decision made by the nation's largest beverage distributors to replace sugar-filled sodas in school vending machines with healthier choices. As part of the program, standards are being set for schools to include healthy food choices in cafeterias, health education and physical activity during and after school. Bronze, Silver, Gold and Platinum awards will be given to schools based on their performance.

"School is where our children spend their days and where they learn habits that stay with them for life," said Dr. Risa Lavizzo-Mourey, president of the Robert Wood Johnson Foundation, which supports the program. "The schools that are taking part in the first year of the program will help us write the lesson plan to improve health for millions of children."

More than 200 schools in 12 states have already been chosen for the program. During its first year, the program will focus on schools where students are most at risk for obesity.

"We aren't just expecting schools to reach those goals on their own," said Dr. Raymond Gibbons, president of the American Heart Association. "We are giving them support along the way."

The Alliance for a Healthier Generation realizes that kids may not always be interested in what their schools offer. That's why it has partnered with kids' cable channel Nickelodeon. The Let's Just Play Go Healthy Challenge is a television and online effort to encourage students to adopt a healthier lifestyle. To date, more than 100,000 kids have already signed up to Go Healthy.

Originally published in Time Magazine for Kids, August 1 2006

Resident Evil 4

2009-07-14T04:16:00.000-07:00

by Pavan Shamdasani

Anyone who ventured into the traumatizing hell that was the first Resident Evil knows that horror is a gaming genre waiting for an ideal successor. It’s with little surprise then, after two or three meager entries, Capcom returns triumphantly with the fourth part in their spine-chilling series, and the first for the Playstation 2.

Once again we assume the boots of Leon Kennedy, this time sent deep into the backwoods of Europe in search of the President’s daughter, kidnapped by a mysterious satanic cult. Taking many of its queues from classic 1970s horror flicks (Hills Have Eyes, Evil Dead), the view here is purely apocalyptic, ditching the now-stale zombie motif for some down-and-dirty Texas Chainsaw-style freaks. Where once we could take our time sniping those laughably slow-moving cannibals, now terror is unleashed as we face hordes of frighteningly-realistic sprinting lunatics.

As one would expect from such enrichment, the difficulty factor has been kicked up a notch — but so has the appearance. Losing none of its state-of-the-art audiovisuals in the port over from the Gamecube, the presentation here is astonishing, with a widescreen perspective offering a creepy cinematic feel to the slaughter-fest.

With a rich, lengthy storyline a remarkably impressive audiovisual presentation and more shocks than Dick Cheney at a sauna, Resident Evil 4 easily reclaims the horror throne — just try not to shit your pants.

Originally published in The L Magazine (New York), December 7 2005

Prodigy - Their Law

2009-07-14T04:11:00.000-07:00

by Pavan Shamdasani

“Fuck ‘em and their law,” raved the Prodigy on their breakthrough album, signaling the death of dance culture’s restraints and it’s subsequent rebirth as ‘electronica’. But in the 13 years since he announced his undeniable presence, Liam Howlett’s public image has gone from revolutionary to downright repulsive — making Their Law an ideal bookend for a group whose humble beginnings were in helium vocals and siren whistles.

Kicking off with three shrewd choices from dollar-bin favorite Fat of the Land, the album is culled mostly from the under-sellers: five selections from Jilted Generation, four dated cuts from Experience and three feeble choices from 2004’s underrated Always Outnumbered. Those willing to fork out for the limited edition are treated to a curious collection of rare tracks, with a notable absence in rohypnol love-ballad ‘Baby’s Got a Temper’. Instead, we’re given its B-side ‘Razor’, Tom Morello on ‘No Man Army’, a few remixes that trump the originals and some incendiary live tracks that flaunt their onstage ferocity.

Originally publised in The L Magazine (New York), November 23 2005

Road for Sale

2009-07-14T04:07:00.000-07:00

The government is idling on a road pricing proposal that would alleviate traffic congestion and air pollution. By Pavan Shamdasani.

We have a traffic problem. Hong Kong has over 618,000 registered vehicles – almost a third more than the number in 1998.

Over 21,000 were registered in the first nine months of this year alone, up 9,000 from 2006 - the sharpest increase in half a decade.

With traffic congestion as bad as ever and half of the city’s air pollution coming from the roads, a simple solution seems obvious: road pricing – a system that taxes vehicles in the city’s most congested areas.

Road pricing has already been used successfully in numerous cities throughout the world. When road pricing was introduced in Singapore in 1975, the city saw an immediate traffic drop of 44 percent in its first year. When introduced in London in 2003, they saw a drop of 20 percent in its first few months. So why not here?

The government is currently conducting a study on its feasibility, but that’s nothing new. Since 1983, dozens of studies have been conducted on the possibility of Hong Kong’s road pricing. Most fail to reach a consensus or are lost in the red tape.

“Many years ago people wouldn’t even think about road pricing as an option,” says Hung Wing-tat, associate professor at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University Department of Civil and Structural Engineering. “The solution to traffic congestion was infrastructure. But how can you just keep building more roads?” But it seems the government has no problem with the archaic solution of building more roads, with a new waterfront highway being a key part of the ongoing Central Reclamation plan (which led to the demolition of the Star Ferry Pier).
But as history has proven, infrastructure is not the answer, says Dr. Timothy Hau, associate professor at the University of Hong Kong School of Economics and Finance. As a example, he cites the sorry state of Los Angeles’ freeway system, where city dwellers have to wake at 4am to beat the traffic. “More roads are not going to work according to fundamental laws of traffic. It’s hard to make the government understand that road pricing is another instrument in the transportation package. They simply see it as another tax that the public won’t accept.”
But Hau and other transport experts agree that a simple road pricing scheme is the key to solving our congestion problems. “If the road pricing scheme is easy to understand, it is likely people will buy into the idea,” says Dr. Agachai Sumalee, assistant professor at the Hong Kong Polytechnic University Department of Civil and Structural Engineering. “Singapore started with a simple system in the 70s, as did London in 2003. They weren’t perfect systems to start with, but they were simple and moved on from there.”

Indeed, the system that was introduced in Singapore and London is quite straightforward: it taxes vehicles during the peak hours of a congested district just once, no matter how many times they enter and leave. Hau says the Central and Western District is our current congestion deathtrap. Introducing road pricing would allow the formation of alternate routes, particularly along Gloucester Road and Connaught Road.

Of course, a surcharge is a struggle on its own. Many just see another tax, but Hau explains that the tax would only really affect private car owners, who account for a mere 7 percent of Hong Kong’s population – the 93 percent who use public transport would actually benefit from road pricing in the long-run.

“Most people focus on the surcharge, but they forget the benefits,” says Hau. “During off-peak hours, when there is no pressure on capacity, prices would stay as they are. During peak hours, the price would increase, but you’d reach your destination faster – and time is money. The whole system would utilize more passengers in less buses, and cause less air pollution from those diesel-spouting beasts.”

Dr. Alexis Lau of the Institute for the Environment says that road pricing would certainly help with our air quality: “In other places where road pricing has been introduced, the air quality has been improved. London’s road pricing immediately led to a reduction in air pollution. Of course, road pricing is only one way to accomplish this. But at least it’s on the table as a proposal.”

But therein lies the problem. Over twenty years of road pricing discussions have just sat there, on the table. This is largely due to two issues:

1. How to organize the road pricing scheme: “There’s a good chance, if we design the scheme correctly, it should deliver the appropriate result,” says Sumalee. “But the problem is the diversion effect – if you toll one area, people will use the other area, creating alternative congestion. We have to be very careful – the calculations have to be right.”
2. How to redistribute the tax money collected: “The trick is to not to collect it as tax revenue and to ensure revenue neutrality, says Hau. “The key is to do some kind of compensation – you need to rebate drivers or use the revenue transport fund to improve road or public transport.”

Why, after two decades of debating, the government hasn’t accepted a simple solution to an ever-growing problem is surprising. Hau finds it extremely perplexing, especially considering the irony that the Singapore government regularly asks him for advice when updating their systems. We have the experts, the technology and the means to pull it together – what we lack is initiative.

Originally published in HK Magazine, November 30 2007

Tipped Off?

2009-07-14T04:01:00.000-07:00

What’s up with Hong Kong’s service industry? Pavan Shamdasani sticks his hand out.

You’ve reserved months in advance; your timing is perfect and your date looks ravishing. But the minute you step inside the restaurant, it all goes wrong.

You can’t get the waiter’s attention. The order is wrong. Your bill comes before you ask. And then there’s that 10 percent “service charge.” For all the hullabaloo we make about being a world culinary capital, our state of service is severely lacking.

Or is it? “Service in Hong Kong is just a different culture [than it is in the west],” says Peter McMahon, director of operations for the Aqua group. ”It’s obviously going to be different from a city like Paris, where the focus is completely on the dining experience. Hong Kong is an international, fast-paced city where people don’t have any spare time.”

But doesn’t being an international city imply that we should have superior service? Is this sub-par service, as McMahon argues, part of our culture? According to a recent study by the Catering and Hotels Industries Employees General Union, waiting is one of the lowest-paid professions in Hong Kong, with an average salary paying just $6,270 per month. In comparison, a janitor working an eight-hour shift receives $6,746 per month, while a retail sales rep with just one year of experience receives $12,041 per month. And in a city where a straight-out-of-school graduate with a decent command of the English language can pull in tens of thousands teaching, why would anyone want to traffic plates between a sweltering kitchen and your table for a meager four-figure salary?

Many waiters we spoke to said it’s an entertaining job that’s relatively easy to get into if you’re unskilled. “It’s kind of a joke, you hang out with other waiters and talk crap all day,” says former waitress Wilma Liang. “There’s really not much involved apart from occasionally running between tables at lunchtime. Who cares if you don’t do it well? Nobody sticks with waiting. Nobody becomes a professional waiter, do they?”

Not anymore, for while waiting was once seen as much of a profession as any other skilled job, over the decades the job has been downgraded into just another career for the ambitionless. “The problem is, you just can’t find the right staff, so you hire anyone with two arms and two legs,” says former M at the Fringe chef Mark Percy, who was also in charge of hiring wait staff. “There needs to be professional waiters, people who see waiting as a career. Hotels do that; there are waiters who have been at the Mandarin and the Peninsula for decades, and that’s largely due to the benefits.”

Which also explains why the majority of Hong Kong’s best restaurants are to be found in hotels. For example, take the Peninsula Hotel, home of Gaddi’s, Felix and other staples of fine dining and service. Out of the hotel’s restaurant staff, a good 40 have been serving for between 15 to 50 years.

“We respect our staff and value them, ensuring that we provide good benefit packages,“ says Susanna Yau, director of The Peninsula’s human resources. “We arrange regular staff gatherings, and we offer a great deal of training, including a range of language lessons and in-house training about wines, spirits and other drinks.”

Training is essential, says those in the know. “Obviously, if inexperienced staff come in and are properly trained, they’ll be fantastic resources,” says McMahon. “But if they’re thrown straight into the deep end, as they often are, it’s terrible for any restaurant.”

He says the lack of training is one of the major factors behind the constant turnover of restaurants: “Even if the food is good, if the service is bad you’re not going to go back to the restaurant and you’re certainly not going to tip.” McMahon goes on to say that the Aqua group, along with other major restaurant groups, provide the training, career opportunities and job security that individually owned restaurants do not.

The tips should be where the $6,000-base salary waiters earn most of their money – they’re certainly not going to be counting on that 10 percent service charge we’re all forced to pay. Because, despite where you wish to believe that money is going, for most restaurants that 10 percent is going straight back into the daily operation costs, according to McMahon. It’s very rare that the “service charge” is ever distributed among the servers. Both McMahon and Percy agree that if our poor standards of service are to improve, the 10 percent system must be abolished and mandatory tipping, like in New York City, should be established.

“The short answer is, mandatory tipping would create better service. The long answer is, how do you implement it?” says McMahon. “If restaurants no longer receive that 10 percent, it means that meal prices will have to go up. But Hong Kong should be working towards that mandatory tipping situation.”

But even if efforts were put forward to make that change, Percy still sees the situation as a catch-22. “If you don’t get the service, why should you tip? And if you don’t tip, why should the service be any good? It could take a whole generation before both sides understand.”
Until then, the only answer is to take the lead from the hotels: caring for and nurturing the staff to make them feel like they matter. “It all comes down to the employers,” says Percy. “If waiters are treated like more than just a plate-hauler, they’d take it more seriously and the service would improve. Only then we can see about getting rid of the 10 percent system, introducing tipping and making our city more international.”

Originally published in HK Magazine, January 25 2008

Sign of the Times

2009-07-14T03:58:00.000-07:00

There is nothing more iconic in Hong Kong than a street full of neon signs—but increasingly more people are fed up with the pollution they cause, and the danger posed by their potential collapse. By Pavan Shamdasani.

They are an important part of Hong Kong’s street culture and character——large neon signs dangling above the street, just inches from the passing double-decker buses. Tourists love them, and we love them. But not everyone does—green groups are upset with the amount of pollution they generate, and for unsuspecting pedestrians, falling pieces of derelict signs are a tragedy waiting to happen.

In 2008, there were 20 cases of material falling onto streets from signboards, resulting in at least one reported serious injury. Besides being smacked in the head with a falling sign, there are other, less obvious dangers. Dr. Cheung Luk-ki, the division head of scientific research and conservation at Green Power, says that many of the signs that line Nathan Road obstruct airflow and create an “urban heat island” effect (much like the skyscrapers in Central), creating increased temperatures and higher levels of air pollution. “There are too many signs like these around the city,” Dr. Cheung says, “and most of them are quite large, which results in the disruption of the horizontal movement of air. If it’s a busy main street with a lot of vehicles, such as Nathan Road, the effect is worsened.” For years, groups such as Green Power have been trying to find a solution, and have been recommending removals to the government.

The excessive amount of light pollution generated from these signs is another common complaint. Light pollution became a topic of popular concern in Hong Kong last year after environmental group Friends of the Earth called for a boycott against Prada unless they dimmed their illuminated signboard in Central. Legislative councilor for the architecture sector Patrick Lau says that many people are now calling for a law to protect against light pollution. Though Lau recognizes light pollution as a “disturbance,” he points out that “neon signs bring a sense of charm to our city.”

Engineer Dr. Greg Wong agrees that the lights are an important part of Hong Kong, but one must take into account the downsides. “As a prosperous commercial center and as a ‘shopper’s paradise’ we can’t avoid neon signs, and they provide a sense of visual pleasure you don’t get in other cities. But we must consider issues like public safety and pollution, which are more important than the issue of image. I’m not saying we should ban signboards. We just need to control them.“

The government recognizes the risk posed by derelict signboards and last year sunk $1 million into the inspection of 32,000 signs and removed 2,000 they determined were at risk of collapse. Some legislators are critical of the government’s methodology, however, pointing out that there is no clear and comprehensive review system to gauge the danger of signs, which is further complicated because as Dr. Cheung points out, many dangerous signs are derelict and no one can find the owners, if they still exist. Lau says, “There must be a system to remove signs that are dangerous and not well-maintained, and this is especially true during typhoon season.”

Signboards generally face a relative lack of governmental oversight. Currently, signboards are regulated only for maximum display area, dimension, position, material and the structural standard of signboards. Also, guidelines state that all signboards are supposed to be constructed in a way that “no part of a signboard shall obstruct or reduce the required natural lighting and ventilation or open space provided to a building,” according to a spokesperson for the Buildings Department. There are no regulations about the amount of light generated by an illuminated signboard.

Wong, and many others, point out that this is simply not sufficient. In terms of the structural safety of the signs, “the government must implement a better system to monitor and control the building of signboards instead of sending inspectors all around the city.” Specifically, Wong suggests that the government start with stricter guidelines on illegal signboards, and implement a fine scale for offenders. He also suggests that any application for a signboard require a large deposit so that the government could quickly remove any signboards that don’t comply with regulations.

But of course, this wouldn’t happen overnight. Wong says we should start “by implementing inspections alongside the Mandatory Building Inspection Scheme,” a scheme that will be put forward to Legco later this year, requiring all buildings over 30 years old to be inspected and repaired if necessary on an annual basis. Inserting an amendment to involve signboards wouldn’t be difficult.

The Buildings Department has another solution underway. Starting in March this year, the department will launch “a special operation” to remove 5,000 abandoned or dangerous signboards over the territory within 12 months. Members of the public can participate in assisting the department, which is requesting assistance from the community to “identify abandoned or dangerous signboards.”

Whatever the solution may be, as Lau points out, we need to strike a balance between the negatives and positives. “Commercial signboards are essential for businesses and necessary for our city,” he says. Hong Kong just wouldn’t be the same without its iconic neon-lit streets.

Originally published in HK Magazine, February 20 2009