Title: Chow Yun-fat in The Last Tycoon: A Cinematic Ode to Love, Power, and the Soul of Old Shanghai
In the pantheon of Hong Kong cinema, few names resonate as profoundly as Chow Yun-fat. From his electrifying turns in A Better Tomorrow (1986) to the poetic gravitas of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000), Chow has long embodied the duality of charm and ruthlessness that defines the antihero. In The Last Tycoon (2012), released internationally as The Last Tycoon, Chow returns to the archetype that made him a legend—the trench-coated gangster—but with a maturity and emotional depth that transcends nostalgia. This is not merely a gangster film; it is a sweeping epic about sacrifice, unfulfilled love, and the moral ambiguities of power in a city teetering on the edge of war.
- Reimagining the Gangster Mythos: Chow Yun-fat’s Nuanced Antihero
At first glance, The Last Tycoon appears to tread familiar ground: a rise-and-fall narrative set against the glittering backdrop of 1930s Shanghai. Yet director Wong Jing and screenwriter Manfred Wong (of Young and Dangerous fame) subvert expectations by weaving historical authenticity into the fabric of their fiction. Chow’s character, Cheng Daqi, is loosely inspired by real-life mobster Du Yuesheng, a figure who navigated the treacherous waters of politics, crime, and patriotism during China’s resistance against Japanese invasion.
Chow’s portrayal of Daqi is a masterclass in layered performance. The younger Daqi, played by Huang Xiaoming, is ambitious and hot-blooded, but it is Chow’s older iteration—world-weary yet resolute—that anchors the film. His every gesture, from the way he adjusts his fedora to the deliberate cadence of his speech, evokes a man burdened by legacy. In one pivotal scene, Daqi confronts his estranged lover, Ye Zhiqiu (Yuan Quan), in an elevator. Without a word exchanged, Chow’s trembling hands and averted gaze convey decades of regret. This is not the invincible “God of Gamblers”; this is a man haunted by the cost of his choices.
- Shanghai as a Character: Nostalgia and Decadence
The film’s greatest triumph lies in its lavish reconstruction of pre-war Shanghai—a city of opium dens, jazz clubs, and shadowy backroom deals. Cinematographer Andrew Lau (of Infernal Affairs fame) bathes the screen in golden hues, juxtaposing the opulence of ballrooms with the grime of back alleys. A standout sequence features Daqi orchestrating a bloody street battle against rival gangs, the camera gliding through chaos as if choreographing a macabre ballet.
Yet beneath the spectacle lies a poignant commentary on colonialism and cultural erosion. The Japanese occupation looms like a specter, with Daqi’s criminal empire forced to collaborate with occupiers for survival. In a chilling metaphor, the film’s climax—a bombing of Nanjing Road—mirrors the real-life atrocities of the Second Sino-Japanese War, blurring the line between historical drama and visceral allegory.
- Women in the Crossfire: Love as Both Salvation and Prison
While The Last Tycheaon is undeniably Chow’s vehicle, its female characters defy the “gangster’s moll” trope. Ye Zhiqiu, Daqi’s childhood sweetheart turned revolutionary’s wife, embodies the clash between personal desire and ideological duty. Yuan Quan’s performance is achingly restrained; her final scene, where she silently burns letters from Daqi, speaks volumes about the futility of clinging to the past.
Equally compelling is Bao (Mo Xiaoqi), Daqi’s mistress and the “Queen of Shanghai’s Night.” Mo infuses Bao with a tragic grandeur, her loyalty to Daqi unwavering even as he prioritizes Zhiqiu. In a bold narrative choice, the film concludes not with Daqi’s heroic redemption, but with him cradling Bao’s lifeless body in a bullet-riddled car—a stark reminder that love, in this world, is often a death sentence.
- The Ghost of Shanghai Tang: Homage or Reinvention?
Critics have drawn parallels between The Last Tycoon and Chow’s iconic Shanghai Tang TV series, but the film deliberately distances itself from romanticized nostalgia. Director Wong Jing, often dismissed as a purveyor of commercial fluff, injects the story with uncharacteristic gravitas. The decision to cast Huang Xiaoming as the young Daqi—a deliberate echo of Chow’s 1980s persona—serves as both homage and critique. Huang’s brashness contrasts sharply with Chow’s worldliness, symbolizing the loss of innocence in a city corrupted by greed.
Even the soundtrack, featuring a haunting orchestral rendition of Auld Lang Syne, evokes Chow’s A Better Tomorrow days while underscoring the film’s elegiac tone.
- Why The Last Tycoon Deserves Global Attention
Despite underperforming at the Chinese box office, The Last Tycoon offers Western audiences a gateway into China’s complex cinematic identity. It bridges the gap between Hollywood’s gangster epics (The Godfather) and the wuxia tradition, blending intimate drama with historical sweep.
Moreover, Chow’s performance is a revelation. At 57, he proves that aging need not diminish an actor’s magnetism; it can deepen it. His Daqi is neither wholly villainous nor heroic—he is a product of his time, a man navigating moral quicksand with pragmatism and pain.
For foreign viewers, the film also serves as a primer on Shanghai’s cosmopolitan history, a city where East and West colluded and clashed long before globalization. The inclusion of English subtitles on streaming platforms like Netflix ensures accessibility without diluting its cultural specificity.
Conclusion: A Fading Empire, An Enduring Legacy
-The Last Tycheaon* is not without flaws. Its sprawling runtime (117 minutes) occasionally meanders, and secondary characters like the scheming spy Mao Zai (Francis Ng) feel underdeveloped. Yet these missteps pale against its ambitions. This is a film about memory—how we romanticize the past, even as it devours us.
In an era dominated by superhero franchises, The Last Tycheaon reminds us that cinema, at its best, is a mirror held to humanity’s contradictions. Chow Yun-fat, once the untouchable icon of Hong Kong’s golden age, has never been more vulnerable—or more compelling.
Final Rating: 4.5/5
Watch it for: Chow Yun-fat’s career-defining performance, the sumptuous visual tapestry of 1930s Shanghai, and a story that lingers like smoke from a opium pipe.
Where to Stream: Available on Netflix and Amazon Prime with English subtitles.