HALFWAY INTO an explanation about his solo stand-up comedy show at the Hong Kong Coliseum at the end of the month, Michael Hui Koon-man puts on the most solemn expression possible and says he has to make an announcement. 'I hope you can get this across on my behalf,' he says. 'I had wanted to talk non-stop for two hours - but since most of the stuff I had prepared was based on Tung Chee-hwa, the show will now have to be cut to five minutes.'
Satisfied that he's delivered a flawless punchline, Hui howls with laughter before pressing on. 'Not that I'm too worried about having lost such a good source for my one-liners, since Hong Kong sees in-jokes nearly every day,' he says.
'But, yes, for the past seven years we could all go about our business in the most ordinary of manners because we have this sandbag called Tung Chee-hwa on whom we could vent our frustrations every day. If you crashed into people on the street, you blamed it on Tung Chee-hwa; if you were playing a losing hand in mahjong, you blamed it on Tung Chee-hwa; when my movies didn't pan out, I just went out to the balcony and shouted 'Tung Chee-hwa' three times and I felt better. So what should we do now after we've kicked out our own bogey man? That's something I want to examine with the audience.'
With his tendency to delve into mischief, it's difficult to take Hui at his word. The veteran comedian insists he's serious about this - that underneath all the gags in the Michael Hui Talk Show lies an intention to bring about a self-introspection of Hong Kong's collective malaise. 'I think it would be great fun during the next few months, because things will get more progressive as we go into a period of 'examining inadequacies',' he says, referring to President Hu Jintao's now oft-quoted critical phrase that quickened the demise of Tung's reign. 'And now we really need to look at inadequacies - our inadequacies. It's time to face the truth and figure out where the angst comes from now that we can't just blame Tung for everything.'
But for all his talk, the show was born out of financial rather than social concerns. Hui, 62, admits the show came about in the wake of a hugely successful revival by his younger brother, singer Sam Hui Koon-kit, whose 38 sold-out concerts last summer sent Hong Kong into a frenzy of nostalgia for the 1970s and 80s. At Sam's invitation, he performed a 20-minute skit at each concert, and the reaction of the audience and press sparked his comeback.
Hui, however, is no shallow, happy-go-lucky entertainer. Beneath his grin lies a fiery character ill at ease with excesses in Hong Kong's everyday life, who weaves dark humour into depressing events.