At the 50th Hong Kong International Film Festival, director Herman Yau premiered his latest work, We’re Nothing At All, a provocative blend of queer romance and crime thriller that marks a return to locally grounded Hong Kong storytelling.
Known for his prolific output ranging from edgy cult classics to large-scale co-productions with Mainland China, Yau here turns his focus back to the city’s social margins, examining class tension, institutional indifference, and the fragile visibility of queer lives.
In this conversation, Yau reflects on the challenges of working outside the co-production system, his decision to engage with LGBTQ+ themes, and the real-life case that inspired the film. He also discusses casting choices, narrative structure, and his enduring interest in depicting the struggles of ordinary people in Hong Kong, offering candid insights into both his creative process and the current state of the local film industry.
As this year’s HKIFF50 special correspondent for Private Waves and UK-China Film Collab, I spoke to the director at the Hong Kong International Film Festival 2026.
Li: Over the past decade, many of your films have been co-productions with Mainland China. This time, you’ve returned to a fully Hong Kong–based story. How does that feel different?
Yau: For me, even something like Shock Wave I, II (2017, 2020) is a Hong Kong story, but the funding came from both Hong Kong and the Mainland. Co-productions have to pass Mainland censorship. We’re Nothing At All, although also set in Hong Kong, wouldn’t be able to pass censorship there—mainly because of its homosexual subject matter. That’s the key difference.
Li: What made you want to make a film centered on a homosexual relationship? It’s quite different from your previous work.
Yau: It’s really about timing. Rather than asking why I wanted to make a film about homosexuality, it’s more that I wanted to put what we see in reality onto the screen. I’ve spent many years making Mainland–Hong Kong co-productions, mostly action films. Now I wanted to make something more drama-driven. Action films can also be dramas, of course, but they don’t always reflect the current social reality of Hong Kong as directly.
Li: We’re Nothing At All is based on a 1998 bus bombing in Wuhan. How did you first come across this case?
Yau: I actually knew about it a long time ago, but I didn’t think about it often—my mind is always juggling many story ideas at once. Then in 2024, it suddenly came back to me. For me, the case mainly provided a framework. I used the real number of deaths, but there weren’t many details available online, which actually gave me more freedom to relocate the story to Hong Kong and incorporate more local elements.
Li: Since the case happened over 20 years ago, what adjustments did you make in adapting it to present-day Hong Kong?
Yau: There weren’t major issues in most aspects. During the scriptwriting stage, the main thing I considered was this: is Hong Kong open or conservative when it comes to homosexuality? People’s perceptions vary greatly.
Many believe Hong Kong is quite open—you see same-sex couples holding hands on the street, and no one reacts. But what I wanted to express in this film is that people are actually quite hypocritical. On the surface, they seem open, but deep down, they haven’t truly accepted it.
I have a friend who once said: “I’m very open—I can accept anyone—but please don’t show intimacy in front of me. Especially between men. Women are fine, but if two men kiss in front of me, I’ll hit you.”
There’s also a scene in the bar where Ike (Ansonbean) and Fai (Anson Kong) are harassed and get into a fight—that’s something I personally witnessed a few years ago in Tai Po. You shouldn’t imagine all of Hong Kong as Lan Kwai Fong. Many films focus on big-city spaces, but a large portion of the population still holds quite conservative moral views. Within one place, there are actually very different worlds.
Another point I want to emphasise: in the film, I cast two good-looking actors. If they were just ordinary-looking people, would the audience react the same way? If the characters appear well-dressed and middle-class, people might not mind. But if you see two scruffy, lower-class men embracing, it can make people uncomfortable.
There’s a similar film, Bel Ami (2025) by Geng Jun, about gay men in Northeast China—the protagonists are not conventionally attractive. If something like that happened in Hong Kong, it might even lead to violence. Of course, in my film, I’ve softened this aspect somewhat.
So is Hong Kong open? I don’t think entirely. People are open in words, but not in action. That’s my view—and I find it interesting.
Li: You’ve consistently focused on the lives of the underclass. At yesterday’s premiere, the audience reacted very strongly to the scene where a diner throws tea at a government official on TV.
Yau: Yes, there’s definitely an emotional element there—that was intentional. On one level, it’s for comedic effect, but what I really wanted to express was a sense of absurdity.
Li: Many of the supporting characters also feel like ordinary people, but they all seem to carry a certain aggression, creating a tense and hostile social atmosphere.
Yau: Most of them are strangers—they don’t know each other at all—but there’s a kind of indifference, even mutual oppression, between them.
Li: Why did you choose Ansonbean and Anson Kong to play the two leads? Both are idols with singing and dancing backgrounds.
Yau: But they’ve both acted before—I’ve seen their performances. I chose them because I believed they had the ability to carry these roles.
Casting was actually quite difficult. First, because of the subject matter—it requires actors to challenge themselves. Second, the protagonists are not conventional heroes or idealised figures; they’re flawed and imperfect. For idols like Ansonbean and AK, that carries a certain risk.
Li: The emotional development between Ike and Fai feels somewhat ambiguous. After they meet at the basketball court, Fai is already waiting for Ike when he’s kicked out of his home. Does that mean the audience has missed part of the process?
Yau: It’s true that it’s not explicitly shown. The idea is that they meet at the basketball court, become friends, and by the time Ike argues with his father and leaves home, Fai is already waiting downstairs. The audience understands that they are already close—there’s some affection, but they’re not yet a couple.
In my conception, on the day Ike planned to come out to his family, he asked Fai to wait downstairs for support—but not to come up. He was hoping for good news, but things went badly, and Ike became homeless, so he moved in with Fai.
There were also one or two scenes showing their daily life—buying food, eating together, attempting intimacy. We filmed them lying together in bed, embracing, but not engaging in conventional sexual acts, or perhaps failing to.
I wasn’t trying to make a typical homosexual romance—I wanted to depict a relationship. And in the final cut, the film is already 128 minutes long. I also prefer to keep my films under two hours—for the audience’s patience, and so cinemas can schedule more screenings.
Li: You mentioned that this film fulfils your long-held wish to self-finance a project. Did the process feel closer to your earlier days making low-budget cult films?
Yau: I don’t think I’ve changed that much. Different genres require different approaches, and that’s part of the fun for me.
If I had taken We’re Nothing At All to a production company, there’s a high chance it would have been rejected—first because the subject is niche, and second because it can’t be released in Mainland China.
So honestly, I don’t know what the outcome will be. I’m already satisfied that the film got made. I invested my own money—if it loses a lot, of course I’ll feel bad, but it won’t affect my life too much. I see it as indulging myself a little, spending money to buy a great deal of happiness.
No matter how the film performs—whether it’s criticised or fails at the box office—I hope my next film will be something completely different. I try not to make the same kind of film consecutively.
Li: Do you feel a lot of pressure regarding box office returns?
Yau: The presales for this film aren’t very strong. At yesterday’s premiere, I think more than half the audience were fans of the lead actors—but a film isn’t made just for fans.
Even though AK (from Hong Kong’s popular boy band Mirror) has many fans, they’re not at the level of Andy Lau or Sean Lau. That’s why I understand why so many projects want to cast them.
Of course, I hope the film builds a good reputation and gradually attracts more viewers. Audiences are mysterious—no one truly knows what they will respond to.
Li: How do you view the current state of the Hong Kong film industry? Is it possible for a film to recoup its costs relying solely on the local market?
Yau: It’s definitely difficult to do business now. But I wouldn’t say it’s impossible. It’s challenging and high-risk—but it’s not hopeless.
