Why “The First and the Fifteenth” (1986) Reveals Hong Kong’s Taboo-Breaking Exploration of Modern Relationships
As an English-language blogger committed to unearthing overlooked cinematic gems, I’m excited to delve into The First and the Fifteenth (初一十五), a 1986 Hong Kong film directed by Woo Shan and starring Chow Yun-fat, Carol Cheng, and Wong Siu-fung. Often overshadowed by Chow’s more action-packed roles in A Better Tomorrow or City on Fire, this film is a daring social satire that dissects the fragility of marriage, the allure of liberation, and the contradictions of urban life in 1980s Hong Kong. Below, I’ll unpack its audacious narrative, nuanced performances, and why it remains a provocative commentary on human desire and societal norms.
- A Plot That Challenges Traditional Marriage Ideals
Set in a rapidly modernizing Hong Kong, The First and the Fifteenth follows two couples experimenting with a radical relationship model: the “初一十五” system, where spouses alternate partners on specific days of the lunar month. The free-spirited couple, Wang Kam-wing (Alex Man) and his wife (Wong Siu-fung), introduce this arrangement to their friends Yu Yeung (Chow Yun-fat) and his wife (Carol Cheng), whose marriage is crumbling under routine and distrust. What begins as a playful escape from monotony spirals into emotional chaos, exposing the hypocrisy of “progressive” ideals.
The film’s genius lies in its refusal to moralize. While Wong’s character embraces the system with hedonistic glee, Carol Cheng’s portrayal of a disillusioned wife—who falls deeply for Chow Yun-fat’s character—culminates in a devastating collapse of her family. Meanwhile, the instigators, Wang and Wong, ironically reconcile, clinging to traditional values they once mocked. This narrative duality mirrors Hong Kong’s own identity crisis in the 1980s, torn between Western liberalism and Chinese conservatism.
- Chow Yun-fat: Subverting the Leading-Man Persona
Chow Yun-fat, often celebrated for his charismatic gangsters or tragic heroes, delivers a startlingly subdued performance here. As Yu Yeung, he embodies the everyman—a middle-class professional trapped in a loveless marriage. Unlike his iconic roles in The Bund or A Better Tomorrow, Chow’s character is neither a hero nor a villain but a flawed individual navigating moral ambiguity. His chemistry with Carol Cheng is charged with quiet desperation; a scene where he tearfully confesses his guilt after their affair is stripped of melodrama, showcasing Chow’s ability to convey vulnerability without grandeur.
This role marked a departure from the hypermasculine archetypes dominating Hong Kong cinema at the time. Yu Yeung’s internal conflict—between societal expectations and personal longing—reflects Chow’s willingness to explore roles that humanize weakness rather than glorify strength.
- Carol Cheng and Wong Siu-fung: The Dual Faces of Female Agency
The film’s true revelation lies in its female leads. Carol Cheng, known for her comedic roles, delivers a career-defining performance as a woman torn between maternal duty and self-discovery. Her character’s transformation—from a dutiful wife to a rebel embracing forbidden passion—is a poignant critique of patriarchal constraints. In contrast, Wong Siu-fung’s portrayal of the hedonistic wife initially seems liberating, yet her eventual return to conformity underscores the film’s cynical view of performative feminism.
A standout moment occurs when Cheng’s character confronts her husband: “You wanted freedom, but you couldn’t handle mine.” This line encapsulates the film’s exploration of gendered hypocrisy, where men’s infidelity is trivialized, while women’s desires are pathologized.
- Woo Shan’s Bold Direction: Satire Meets Social Realism
Director Woo Shan, a lesser-known figure in Hong Kong cinema, employs a hybrid style blending dark comedy with stark realism. The use of lunar dates (“初一十五”) as a narrative device is both literal and metaphorical, symbolizing the cyclical nature of human folly. Scenes of chaotic partner-swapping parties are shot with frenetic energy, contrasting with quiet, claustrophobic moments of marital discord.
Woo also integrates subtle visual metaphors. For instance, a recurring image of caged birds in Yu Yeung’s apartment mirrors the characters’ entrapment in societal roles. Meanwhile, the neon-lit streets of Hong Kong serve as a backdrop to the characters’ inner turmoil, emphasizing the city’s dual identity as a playground of freedom and a prison of expectations.
- A Mirror to 1980s Hong Kong’s Cultural Crossroads
Released during Hong Kong’s transition period before the 1997 handover, The First and the Fifteenth reflects the colony’s anxiety about identity and autonomy. The “初一十五” system can be read as an allegory for Hong Kong’s precarious position—oscillating between British colonialism and Chinese sovereignty, never fully belonging to either. The film’s ambiguous ending, where both couples face fractured futures, mirrors the uncertainty felt by Hong Kong citizens at the time.
Moreover, the critique of capitalism is subtle but biting. The characters’ middle-class affluence enables their experiments, yet their emotional poverty reveals the hollowness of material progress. This theme resonates globally today, as modern societies grapple with the commodification of relationships through dating apps and polyamory trends.
- Legacy and Contemporary Relevance
While not a commercial success upon release, The First and the Fifteenth has gained cult status for its prescient themes. In an era where terms like “open marriage” and “ethical non-monogamy” dominate Western discourse, the film’s exploration of these concepts feels strikingly modern. Its refusal to provide easy answers—neither condemning nor endorsing the “初一十五” system—invites viewers to confront uncomfortable questions about love, fidelity, and selfhood.
For foreign audiences, the film offers a window into 1980s Hong Kong’s cultural ferment, where cinema became a battleground for ideological debates. It also showcases Chow Yun-fat’s versatility beyond his action-hero persona, proving his mastery in portraying ordinary men grappling with existential crises.
Conclusion: A Provocative Masterpiece Worth Revisiting
-The First and the Fifteenth* is more than a marital drama; it’s a daring social experiment captured on film. Its unflinching examination of human relationships, combined with stellar performances and audacious direction, makes it a must-watch for cinephiles interested in Hong Kong’s cinematic golden age. While the film’s themes may unsettle some viewers, its intellectual rigor and emotional honesty are undeniable.
In a world increasingly obsessed with redefining relationships, this 1986 gem reminds us that liberation and destruction are often two sides of the same coin—and that true freedom requires more than just rule-breaking; it demands self-awareness and courage.