Song Hwee Lim's Celluloid Comrades is one of those rare delights: an "academic" text that stimulates rather than bores, providing much-needed historical context and interpretive depth to films that the author himself also clearly enjoys. It reads, in short, like a labor of love. Someone outside the usual debates surrounding "Chineseness" and queerness, so common in Chinese cinema and cultural studies circles, at first might not fully appreciate the subtlety and force of some of Lim's arguments, but they are very good ones on the whole. Like many film lovers, I am prone toward skepticism of those with a tendency to over-interpret filmic texts or violently impose pre-given theories on to cinematic material. To be sure, atypical readings can yield useful insights at times, but unless they "fit" in some way with the structure and history of the films in question the latter too often become strangely superfluous in these intellectual exercises. Happily, Lim is immune to these practices; theory, for him, is a means rather than an end.
As a result, he has little patience with the kinds of serial over-readings such as those that plague Rey Chow's uncharacteristically misguided Lacanian/poststructuralist take on Happy Together (to take just one example). While Lim clearly sympathizes with Chow's desire to avoid the sort of reductive readings that insist that pre-handover Hong Kong films, whatever their content, are in some sense really "about" 1997, Lim patiently and rightly points out that there are ample reasons to continue to read this particular film on a social and political register (its closeups of the main characters' British passports at the beginning, the interplay of Hong Kong and Taiwan as home/image, etc.), without denying the other notable characteristics of the film, such as its apparent celebration of monogamous domesticity and the issues that this raises. He brings similarly incisive and engaged takes to his discussions of East Palace, West Palace; Lanyu; and, perhaps most of all, Tsai Ming-Liang's queer (in every sense of the word) trilogy. (Lim is currently working on a book dealing with the auteur's works.)
I would happily recommend this book to anyone with an interest in Chinese cinemas or queer cinematic representation more broadly. The background information it provides and the introductory discussion of Chinese identity alone make it invaluable, but the additional sections are all wonderful and really brought the films--some of which I watched for the first time while reading Celluloid Comrades--to life, opening up new ways of viewing and thinking about them and the questions they raise.