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Yonden Lhatoo

It seems like some cinema hall is closing down somewhere in Hong Kong every other week. Good.
I’m surprised there are still so many cinemas around in this day and age when streaming services have changed the game to the extent of rendering the old model of movie-watching almost obsolete.
I don’t go to the cinema any more, unless I’m dragged there against my will to fulfil some social obligation I can’t wriggle out of.
What am I missing, the “ambience” and “group experience” that I wouldn’t be able to recreate otherwise at home? No thanks.
I’ll tell you what I don’t miss: being trapped in the dark in a concrete cavern with hundreds of coughing, sneezing, masticating, restless noisemakers for up to two hours at a time.
I get to avoid irritants that drive me into a murderous rage in the middle of a movie, like mobile phones going off and loud chewing because people must talk and stuff their faces with popcorn the entire time.
Watching a movie at home, on the other hand, is comparative bliss, with a decent entertainment system, a catalogue of hundreds of continuously updating movie titles to choose from, and a remote control that empowers me to start, stop or rewind whenever I like.
However, now that I’m so spoiled for choice, it’s a natural progression to becoming picky.
And I must declare I’m sick and tired, in particular, of one Timothée Chalamet being cast in every new film. Is there no one else in Hollywood these days?
To be fair, he was impressive in The King and the Dune movies, but how much of that had to do with good filmmaking and not necessarily his waifish presence?
And now I’m expected to conjure up a willing suspension of disbelief and accept him as every man from Willy Wonka to Henry V and Paul Atreides – even Bob Dylan now?
What next, Chalamet as the new 007 in James Bond: The Emo Years?

Call me old-fashioned, perhaps even a fossil, but my idea of a leading man who can bring about a willing suspension of disbelief and capture the imagination of this jaded soul with movie-star heroics on the screen is not a super-mopey, extra-delicate, ultra-sensitive, 98-pound specimen of manhood.
When did teenage girls become such a powerful audience demographic to determine for the rest of us what the ideal male standard for Hollywood heartthrobs should be these days?
While we’re at it, I’m familiar with the name “Timothy”, but what’s up with spelling it as “Timothée”, and how do you even pronounce it with that random diacritic above one ‘e’? Don’t bother answering the question – I don’t really care.
I know I’m risking the wrath of Chalamet’s vast and fanatical following around the world. But that’s all right – I like living dangerously when I’m bored.
I was similarly reckless when I wrote a blasphemous column back in 2016 about Cantopop star Leon Lai Ming’s tone-deaf “singing”, unleashing a torrent of abuse from his fan base. I lived to tell the tale, although I still get the occasional “shame on you” email from a couple of irate readers who are determined to never let it go.
I’ll give Chalamet this much: he looks ridiculously younger than his age. He’s no spring chicken at 29, but somehow manages to look very much like one.
Some Chalamet fans in my circle of friends trying to decipher my “unhealthy obsession” about him – just because I’ve passed an intermittent negative comment – have broken it down to postulating that he is everything I am not, hence my “resentment”.
He’s young and good-looking.
He’s rich and famous.
He has luscious locks of hair.
Oh my God, is it just jealousy then?
You might very well think that; I couldn’t possibly comment.


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Tired of Timothée Chalamet

Timothée Chalamet at the Venice International Film Festival in 2022. Photo: Getty Images

Timothée Chalamet attends the Wonka premiere in Paris in 2023. Photo: WireImage

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Film-goers snap selfies at MegaBox on its final day of operation on Sunday. Photo: May Tse

Golden Harvest MegaBox in Kowloon Bay. Golden Harvest has closed five venues since last April. Photo: May Tse

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An unsympathetic look at the closure of Hong Kong’s cinemas and a personal complaint about an overdose of one particular actor


An unsympathetic look at the closure of Hong Kong’s cinemas and a personal complaint about an overdose of one particular actor.


Hollywood

Expresses the views, ideas and conclusions of the author. (Eg. Enough of Crazy Rich Asians, think of crazy poor Hongkongers.)


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Just Saying

Tired of Timothée Chalamet

.css-1c6uqr6{color:inherit;font-weight:inherit;font-size:inherit;font-family:inherit;line-height:inherit;overflow-wrap:break-word;}An unsympathetic look at the closure of Hong Kong’s cinemas and a personal complaint about an overdose of one particular actor

An unsympathetic look at the closure of Hong Kong’s cinemas and a personal complaint about an overdose of one particular actor