“What Time taught me is that it’s possible for us to write our own stories and connect with the audiences through them,” he says of the surprise hit. “Why are we often writing our screenplays with one eye on the market? That’s not really necessary. When you write a good script, the market will open up for you.

“In the past, everyone said that musical dramas or stories about elderly people have no place in Hong Kong cinema, and I kept asking: Why not? Have you tried it yet? If you haven’t, how do you know?”

A comedy-drama about the loneliness of Hong Kong’s ageing population, Time marks the feature directing debut of a long-time assistant director, Ricky Ko Tsz-pun, and stars 1960s screen icons Patrick Tse Yin and Petrina Fung Bo-bo.

“That film had a great influence on me. I never thought that we were going to receive any recognition that year. Then again, it also gave me a better understanding about my own purpose in this industry.

“As an actor, of course there’s a sense of vanity involved,” he pauses for an embarrassed chuckle, “and it’s always nice to have some applause. But as a producer,” he says, “I always begin by contemplating the meaning behind doing a project. … I’m concerned about the people I pick to work behind the scenes. I hope to give them opportunities.

“Of course, it’ll be their own doing whether they can go further afterwards. But at least I’ve given them a platform to try and start from.”

We put it to Lam that he has been doing a lot more for Hong Kong’s emerging talents in the past decade than most of his peers: all those critically acclaimed productions (from Gallants and Trivisa, to Hand Rolled Cigarette and Time) and even the film he’s currently shooting (a black comedy in which he co-stars with Aaron Kwok Fu-shing and Richie Jen Hsien-chi) are made by directors who were waiting for their big breaks.

“Let’s just say that we’re giving each other an opportunity,” Lam says with a big smile. “This is the [least] I can do. I know that audiences are feeling sorry for the current state of Hong Kong cinema. [That’s] the reality. So as someone with experience, if I could be of any help, I’d do it. … And it would only work if you discover the new directing talents and give them the opportunities too.”

Lam knows what it’s like to struggle. In his earliest days as a television actor, his starting salary was even worse than the basic salary that a bellboy could get in a hotel, he says. “I was making HK$3,000 a month at the television station, whereas I could make HK$20,000 and eat buffet every morning working in foreign exchange – but I did the latter job for only a year and quit because I really wasn’t happy.

“I asked myself if I really wanted to be an actor – and I really did want to be an actor. I did ask myself that question,” he says as he recalls the pivotal moment in the early 1990s. “It was never about money.”

His enthusiasm for assisting those in need stems from an experience early in his life. When we ask him to clarify the usage of his English name “Gordon”, which is prevalent in the press coverage about him but has had sporadic use in his official film credits in recent years, Lam says: “I don’t really use the name, but I don’t mind it either.

“The name was actually given to me by a church, though I wasn’t even Christian. [My family] were living in a resettlement area during my primary school years, and there would be people from the church coming to visit. They asked for my [English] name, I told them, ‘I’m just Lam Ka-tung’, and then they gave me the name [Gordon].”

“The point was that if I followed them back to the church, I’d be given food,” he laughs. “I was a Primary Three kid and there was free food for me to eat! This memory is still shaping the way I look at things later in my life. Irrespective of whether it was the right religion for me, the attitude those people demonstrated in helping others – I got it.”