Queerpanorama by Hong Kong director Jun Li had its world premiere in the Panorama section of the 78th Berlin International Film Festival this year, we did an interview with him in Berlin.
Following his critically acclaimed features Drifting (2021) and Tracey (2018), Queerpanoramais his latest film.
A graduate of the MPhil in Gender Studies at the University of Cambridge, Li has directed several short films and built a reputation for his compassionate, nuanced portrayals of marginalized communities—Drifting focused on a ragman living on the streets, while Tracey explored emerging topics of transgender identity. Queerpanorama continues this thematic trajectory but with greater boldness and ambition, presenting a resonant narrative of queer identity through homosexual perspectives. It weaves the director’s own lived experience with wider socio-political concerns, creating a striking interplay between the personal and the political.
The film centres on a gay man who frequently dates different partners, gradually developing a habit of mimicking their behaviour and adopting aspects of their personalities. As he loses himself in these performances, he begins to struggle with his own identity amidst a shifting political environment. Notably, none of the characters are given names or clear backgrounds. LI’s intent is not to portray a fixed sense of identity, but rather a fluid and unstable figure in a quiet crisis. In this way, Queerpanorama doesn’t merely represent queer life. It meditates on the fragmented state of selfhood under contemporary conditions.
Queerpanorama had its world premiere in the Panorama section of the 78th Berlin International Film Festival. I had the opportunity to speak with director Jun Li and lead actor Jayden Cheung, whose performance brings energy and complexity to the film.
Rino: Jayden, I’d like to start with you. This was your first time working with Jun on a feature. How did it feel?
Jayden: Actually, we worked together seven years ago on a short film, which opened the Fresh Wave International Short Film Festival. It was Jun’s second short. I was only 15 at the time, 2 years after Jun finished his degree at Cambridge.
Rino: So this is your first feature-length collaboration after many years. What was new about the experience? How did you get into the character through working with Jun?
Jayden: Since we’d worked together before, and most of the crew on Queerpanorama were familiar too, our communication felt natural, even intimate. We were always on the same wavelength, regardless of the topic.
Rino: Did you encounter challenges connecting with the character? How did you embody him?
Jayden: In our discussions, we intentionally avoided creating a typically fixed backstory for the character. The idea was to keep him grounded and real. But that didn’t mean we were improvising randomly. In fact, to a degree, the character is drawn from Jun himself.
Jun: Yes, I’d like to add something to this matter. During the shoot, many people, including the cast and viewers, were curious about the protagonist’s background: his job, his family, and his personality. However, I see the character as a blank canvas. He could be anyone. We didn’t need to fill in the details; the important thing was his presence, guided by the actor’s performance. If he seems vague, you might see him as a version of me—someone who returned from overseas and started writing—albeit I wish he should be someone else. But really, he’s not supposed to “be” anyone. He becomes different persons throughout the film. I wanted to present his most original state, a feeling of hollowness after chasing desire. That experience transcends class, gender, or sexual identity, without further necessity to detail the character’s background information. That’s what the film aims to show.
Rino: The protagonist’s constant shifting of roles reminded me of Judith Butler’s theory of performativity. During the film, he performs different identities, but we never see a “true” self. Would you say his identity is fluid, or perhaps that the film questions the very idea of a stable identity?
Jun: I insist that the character does not know what his true identity is. Instead, what he does throughout the film renders his identity. Identity is not an innate essence that compels him to act, but something that emerges through his actions revealed and shaped in the doing.
Rino: Do you see this portrayal as reflecting the broader anxiety around identity that frequently emerged in contemporary Hong Kong cinema?
Jun: I wouldn’t say it was intentional. But yes, many filmmakers, especially those who grew up in the shadow of 1997, express that anxiety, even if they don’t consciously mean to. It becomes embedded in their work. Of course, when it comes to writing or critiquing a film, it turns into a form of creative practice in itself. As an open text, the film welcomes further responses based on the script. I believe this kind of ongoing engagement contributes positively to the broader creative environment.
Rino: The Chinese title of the film is “Zhongshengxiang” (众生相, meaning various aspects of life), which can be traced back to the edification from Diamond Sutra. It suggests that all beings and appearances are illusory and that “I” was all created no more than existence. This seems to be a fitting reflection of the protagonist’s own method of performance. Did Buddhism influence your creative process?
Jun: That’s a truly amazing interpretation. Actually, I didn’t think about it so consciously. The name came to me intuitively. It’s the first time I’ve felt that strongly about a title. Over the past times, I have shot many short films and written all sorts of screenplays. Film titles may be changed during production, but from the beginning of having the idea to make this film, Queerpanorama has been my first and only choice.
Rino: That surprised me because there isn’t apparent religious imagery in the film.
Jun: We do touch on spirituality in subtle ways through conversations about birth and God, although it’s not explicitly about religion.
Rino: Throughout the film, the protagonist keeps asking: “What is a normal life?” I want to cast this question to both of you: what does a normal life mean to you?
Jayden: I received the invitation from the production team right after graduating from CUHK, the same university Jun was enrolled. At the time, I was in a transitional phase, moving from the idealized life of university into the uncertainty of a professional career. As a newly freelance actor, I was suddenly confronted with a wave of unknown challenges. What I experienced were the emotional ups and downs—not the character I played, but my real self—especially intense fluctuations between being extremely busy and completely idle. That instability made me wonder: is this what a “normal” life looks like for an actor? Every actor says, “I’ve waited so long,” so I started to believe that waiting must be a fundamental part of the job. When an opportunity finally comes, all you can do is grab it with everything you have. Even now, if you ask me what a normal life means, I’d still describe it as a kind of internal wear and tear. Miraculously, I’ve always managed to keep myself occupied while waiting—but in the absence of any external affirmation that I am an actor, self-doubt inevitably creeps in.
Jun: For me, the question arises because life feels fundamentally abnormal right now, marked by ongoing wars and conflicts across various regions of the world. In the final scene of the film, we come to realise that maybe this instability has always been the norm throughout human history. The character asks, “What is a normal life?” after each encounter, whether profound or mundane. In one scene, for instance, he asks if it’s normal to put milk in tea, subtly raising postcolonial questions through this everyday gesture. From his encounters with the American to the Thai man, he explores this very question in varying degrees.
Rino: The film contains a significant number of sexual scenes, but there also seems to be a subtle negotiation of political expression throughout. Personally, I see politics and sexuality as deeply intertwined. Was this intersection something you intended to convey through the characters’ dialogue?
Jun: These kinds of conversations are quite common nowadays, not just in Hong Kong, but everywhere. With the rise of social media, anyone can comment on political issues. People channel their energy into these exchanges, often feeling seen and heard through them. Discussions about cultural differences, political realities, and personal ideas of sex and love have become part of people’s everyday cruising experiences.
Rino: Do you think those conversations necessarily create a more open and diverse space?
Jun: My goal is to document the present moment. It is relevant to the situation we are confronted with. That’s what this film is about. It’s a process of self-discovery.
Rino: The people the protagonist dates are from a wide range of backgrounds, ethnically, socially, and economically. The film also features distinctively Hong Kong locations: food stalls, workers’ dormitories, and hiking paths. How did you choose these settings?
Jun: If it weren’t for cruising, I would never have encountered many of those places. Everyone comes from different class backgrounds and upbringings. For gay men, cruising is often purely about proximity at the moment and the intensity of desire. That’s what leads you to meet such a diverse range of people. After just a short conversation, you might find yourself in a completely unexpected location—an offshore island or a luxury apartment. I didn’t visit these places with any specific research intention. But when you arrive somewhere like a workers’ dormitory, it might seem surprising to you. Nonetheless, for the person who lives there, it’s completely ordinary. Not every place was particularly interesting, of course. Since 2015, I’ve been using dating apps to meet people, and over the past decade, I’ve ended up visiting a wide variety of private spaces and communities across Hong Kong, perhaps even more than many local Hongkongers themselves.
Rino: So many scenes and lines feel drawn from real life. Were there any fictional elements blended in the scriptwriting?
Jun: Some were. The Persian and Thai ones were adapted without any revision from my memory. While the English and German one was mingled with backgrounds and stories from different characters. So I won’t say these characters are exactly a single man I met. The American is my real-world partner, who has special qualities himself.
Rino: Given the sensitivity of some content in the film, have you ever taken the mainland film market into consideration?
Jun: I didn’t think about the market, but I care deeply about the audience. I truly hope viewers in mainland China will have the opportunity to see Queerpanorama. To tell the truth, given the nature of the film, not many distributors are willing to screen it even in France or Hong Kong. Still, I actively seek out my intended audience and hope they can watch it in the cinema. If not, sharing it privately like at a friend’s home in Beijing would be meaningful. That kind of interpersonal exchange matters more to me, as it’s about the film and the act of creation itself. I know not many people around the world are interested in my work, but I genuinely want people on the mainland to see it.
Rino: Do you have any plans for your next film?
Jun: I do. But I want to take a break after this trip to Berlin. I should think things through before moving forward. Some of my other projects are currently in the process of securing funding, and I trust that the right moment will come to carry them out.
Rino: That wraps up our interview. Thank you both for the thoughtful conversation.
Jun & Jayden: Thank you.
Produced by
Good Sin Production
La Fonte
World Sales
Best Friend Forever
