Two art forms that have proven to be unexpectedly compatible bedfellows are cinema and cuisine, with food and film going together remarkably well, especially in instances when the two are combined. Films centring around food in various forms have tended to be extremely popular, since they touch on a universal experience, which is the feeling of having a truly good, satisfying meal and how it can change our mood, or even our entire perception. Someone who implicitly understood the appeal of combining them is Michael Hui, whose wonderful comedy Chicken and Duck Talk (Cantonese: 雞同鴨講), in which he collaborates with Clifton Ko, who expertly handles Hui’s sometimes zany and off-the-wall screenplay, to tell the story of a volatile restaurant owner whose life seems to be falling apart, with the combination of the arrival of his pernickety mother-in-law who judges everything he does, to a demanding wife and son and, perhaps most frustrating of all, the sudden emergence of a fast-food chicken store right across from his humble diner, where he has been specializing in roast ducks for years, forcing our protagonist to take matters into his own hands. A daring and provocative dark comedy in which all the best aspects of Hong Kong humour are on display, Chicken and Duck Talk is an absolute delight – fresh, funny and insightful in expected ways, and driven by a genuine sense of hilarious chaos, the film is a unique examination of certain overarching themes that move towards commenting on ideas much deeper than we’d expect from such a relatively pleasant, innocuous comedy. A masterful collision of talents between Hui and Ko, who are at the forefront of Hong Kong cinema, Chicken and Duck Talk is a gleeful urban odyssey that is as outrageous as it is heartfelt, both of which exist in abundance throughout this tremendously entertaining and oddly meaningful foray into the absurdity of everyday life.

Based on a cursory glance of the premise, one would be perfectly reasonable to expect Chicken and Duck Talk to be an exercise in banality – from the peculiar title to the mundane storyline, this is not necessarily something that immediately leaps out at the viewer as being one of the most intriguing comedies of the decade. Yet, its brilliance is clear from the first frame of the film, with Hui’s sharp humour being matched by Ko’s ability to keep up with his writing, which employs many traditional jokes from both native Hong Kong cinema as well as having some international flavour, which gives the story a sense of diversity in how it presents certain ideas. From the first moment, there is always a joke being presented, and Hui’s writing process is extremely simple: he oscillates between quick, rapid-fire quips and expanded, lengthy running gags that may be predictable, but are still wickedly entertaining. The commitment to different layers of comedy is one of the primary reasons the film works so well, since it never has to dwell on one particular kind of humour – there is an equal amount of slapstick as there is satire, and the oscillation between the two creates quite an interesting dynamic in terms of not only the characters, but the relationship we form with them, which is essentially the heart of the film. Chicken and Duck Talk also runs at an extremely fast pace – it is a decent 98 minutes in length, but it seems so much shorter based on how quickly everything progresses, as well as its ability to draw us into the story in such a way that we don’t even notice the passing of time, leading us to actually feel oddly disappointed when the final resolution is reached and the film ends, since it felt like we could easily saunter around this eccentric version of the world for hours, examining every detail that Hui and Ko so effectively infuse into absolutely every scene, which makes Chicken and Duck Talk simultaneously hilarious and insightful in equal measure, something we may not expect at the outset.

Considering the simplicity of the plot, its staggering to imagine it could could contain such layers, but it isn’t long before we notice the depths to which Hui and Ko are willing to go to tell this story, which is a bold and provocative existential odyssey masquerading as a lightweight comedy about food – and its only afterwards that we notice how deep the film actually goes. Obviously, it’s all a matter of perception, since it’s perfectly appropriate to just luxuriate in the surface-level humour that we find liberally scattered throughout the film, and those of us seeking something more complex can find it with just a little effort. Ultimately, Chicken and Duck Talk is a comedy of errors in which everything that potentially can go wrong does – and we find that this is a film that doesn’t take itself all that seriously, but is still absolutely willing to add underlying commentary that points to something deeper. Mostly, we find that Hui has crafted a very funny film that tackles the sometimes challenging issue of tradition and modernity, a contentious concept that is often explored in culturally-resonant films, particularly in how they are usually formed to appear like a narrative tug-of-war, a battle between two oppositional concepts that struggle for dominance, before the eventual realization that there is a space for both in the contemporary world, and the presence of modern elements does not necessarily preclude traditions from being relevant. Obviously, this aspect is very clear from the start, with the premise being based around the feud between the owner of a traditional duck restaurant (a symbol of Hong Kong’s cultural origins) and the corporation behind a chain restaurant that specializes in chicken forces these themes to be central to the narrative, and both Hui and Ko make valuable contributions to the conversation that are meaningful and captivating in several different ways.

In addition to writing the screenplay (and essentially being the ingenious mind behind this gonzo work of art), Hui also takes on the central role, playing the part of the restaurant owner who finds his entire existence called into question as a result of mounting tensions between his own establishment and the new one that appears suddenly and threatens to rob him of his livelihood. Hui has written and directed several films, but he will always be most appreciated for his efforts as an actor and comedian, since his screen presence is extraordinary and he consistently delivers striking performances that are both hilarious and heartfelt. Like many actors who made their careers in comedy, Hui is not afraid to portray a fool, and this character (who bears his name, although the story is far from autobiographical) is the perfect embodiment of everything that he represents – a bold, off-the-wall character that is always getting himself into trouble, but through shrewd tactics and a lot of luck manages to weasel himself out of just about any situation, leading to the core of the story and the main reasons it is such an outrageously funny film. He’s joined by a wonderful ensemble of actors tasked with playing supporting roles – Sylvia Chang and Ng Leung are absolutely lovely as the protagonist’s wife and son, respectively, and have their individual moments to shine. Yan Pak is a riot as his mother-in-law, and there are a range of smaller performances, mostly by those playing the protagonist’s staff, that prove to have a lot much depth and nuance than we initially may have imagined, leading to a terrific set of performances that all ultimately revolve around Hui’s character, but contribute to the overarching narrative in intriguing ways, making Chicken and Duck Talk an unexpectedly effective ensemble effort from everyone involved.

Chicken and Duck Talk is the kind of film that appears to be rather inconsequential on the surface – a lightweight comedy about trivial matters that seems not to take itself too seriously is a relatively safe assessment, and one that the film handles superbly well. There’s a sense of irresistible charm that runs throughout this film, and it pulsates with a very unique energy that keeps it incredibly captivating and genuinely quite moving, so much so that even at the weakest of moments, it feels compelling and wickedly entertaining. The story is simple, but it’s profoundly effective and is indicative of something much deeper, which is not entirely necessary to understand to enjoy the film, but which does add layers of context to a narrative that seems rudimentary in theory, but has depth that many may not expect. Hui is someone who warrants a lot more attention as an artistic voice – he’s beloved in his native Hong Kong, but to outsiders he’s more obscure, despite his style of comedy being accessible, charming and always enjoyable, particularly in how he lays out the foundation of the stories in an easy-to-process, authentic manner that feels like it is actually saying something of value, rather than just throwing random ideas into the ether and waiting to see which of them make an impression. Instead, he seeks to make us laugh through simple but effective means, aiming for the low-hanging fruit in a way that is earnest and heartfelt, and focusing on the broader aspects rather than the smaller details. As a whole, Chicken and Duck Talk is as entertaining and lovable as we would expect, and one of the great comedies to come out of Hong Kong, which has always been at the forefront of the most innovative and daring flirtations with various genres, even those as simple as this delightfully irreverent and heartfelt comedy about how food is a universal language, and one that can be as beautiful as it can be hilarious, which this film proves in several brilliant ways.