It was nearly quarter past 3pm on Wednesday, May 6, and one particular room in Hong Kong Sanatorium & Hospital was buzzing with unusual excitement – so much so that the nurses had to ask the people inside to quieten down. One of those caught up in the hysteria was Derek Tsang Kwok-cheung. The 40-year-old Hong Kong filmmaker was tearfully embracing his ailing mother. Rebecca Chu had moved back from Canada to Hong Kong to receive medical treatment after falling ill last year and the mother of two had been in and out of hospital. She would die a little less than three months later, on August 3, but their sadness was magically suspended in that moment as the family learned that Tsang had swept the 39th Hong Kong Film Awards with his latest feature, Better Days . Of its 12 nominations, it came out on top in eight categories, including best picture, best director and best screenplay. It says much about the bizarre reality of life under a pandemic that the most prestigious film awards in the city were announced via live streaming on a weekday afternoon. Yet for Tsang, who remains in cynics’ eyes little more than the son of Hong Kong entertainment icon Eric Tsang Chi-wai, the accolades for Better Days were a long-awaited validation, tuxedo-clad or otherwise. “Of course, I’m very happy about the results,” Derek Tsang says in his Kwun Tong office several weeks later. “But I’m also very surprised. Honestly, I didn’t expect the film to win in so many categories, because you could see from the past few years that the Hong Kong Film Awards have been a big supporter of local productions.” Better Days , by contrast, is a Hong Kong-mainland China co-production telling a China-specific story, in Mandarin, with an all-mainland cast. “I was very happy to find that the voters did treat every film fairly.” Tsang’s second feature with sole directing credits, the heart-wrenching drama is based on a novel by Jiu Yuexi and stars popular actress Zhou Dongyu and singer Jackson Yee as a pair of star-crossed teenagers on the run from bullies, gangsters and, ultimately, the police. Producer Jojo Hui Yuet-chun first came across the novel and passed it to Tsang once the director’s previous film, the sentimental friendship drama Soul Mate (2016), had finished shooting. “I read the story in one night, and I was excited to take up the project,” says Tsang. “But there were many people who told us not to do it, because its subject matter might be relatively edgy and sensitive.” Better Days had been selected to premiere at the Berlin International Film Festival in February 2019, but just before the festival began, it was pulled for “technical reasons” – a euphemism habitually reserved for productions that have yet to clear censorship in China. A statement posted on the film’s Weibo page innocuously suggested it was not ready in time, but the plot thickened when it failed to open in Chinese cinemas as scheduled that June. The movie missed out on yet another chance for glory when it was, like most other mainland productions, absent from the 2019 Golden Horse film awards – the Oscars of Chinese-language cinema – presumably to stay in line with Beijing’s boycott of the Taipei event . (Tsang politely declines to comment on either Berlin or the Golden Horse.) That October, Better Days made its long-awaited debut in the mainland, going on to gross more than 1.5 billion yuan (US$220.85 million) at the box office. Despite both commercial and critical success (the film scores 8.3 out of 10 from more than 1.1 million users on rating site Douban), it also faced accusations of plagiarism by some audiences, who noted similarities in plots between Better Days and novels by Japanese mystery author Keigo Higashino . “I think that was because we were not sensitive enough,” Tsang offers. While the filmmaker denies that he knew of the plagiarism claims against Jiu’s original novel when he took up the film adaptation, he would not have been overly concerned had he been aware of them. “In our understanding, the novel was always supposed to be just a blueprint [for the film]. It’s our habit to thoroughly rewrite a story after we read [the source material]. “There were people [in China] who felt that the novel was a work of plagiarism, and we didn’t take their concern seriously enough,” says Tsang, who is based in Hong Kong but frequently travels to Beijing. “At the time, we thought we were going to rewrite this story from scratch anyway. But I believe also, that if you were to fairly and objectively judge our film, you wouldn’t think of Better Days as a work of plagiarism.” There are still people out there who say that it’s all about your father’s influence – even after you’ve won best director at the Hong Kong Film Awards! Derek Tsang In the grand scheme of things, that debate pales in comparison with the existential struggle in which Tsang has often found himself: the view of some observers that whatever his accomplishments, they must be down to the fact he is his father’s son. He admits to being troubled by media reports that invariably insert the qualifier “Eric Tsang’s son” before his name, but says he has now largely made peace with the situation. His success at this year’s Hong Kong Film Awards, however, has brought out the worst from his detractors. “After the results, I did go online,” Tsang confesses. “There were many who were still saying that kind of thing. Of course I was angry. But I had to persuade myself to let it go. No matter how well you’ve done, there will always be a small group of people who are biased against you.” What does he think of his prospects of ever fully emerging from his father’s shadow? “No chance,” he says, grimly. “I mean, there are still people out there who say that it’s all about your father’s influence – even after you’ve won best director at the Hong Kong Film Awards! […] There’s nothing I can do to change their opinion.” It is a common misconception that Derek Tsang grew up in the entertainment industry, that he was raised by his famous father and was expected to become a filmmaker. The truth is, Tsang Snr wasn’t much involved in Derek’s upbringing. “My father had already moved out of the family home to live on his own when I was very young, maybe three or five,” he says. “I don’t remember when exactly.” In 1978, a year before Derek was born, the rise of Hong Kong’s middle class saw the completion of Mei Foo Sun Chuen , the city’s first private housing estate and new home to some 80,000 people of upward mobility. Derek lived in the Kowloon development with his mother, grandmother and younger brother, Mark, until he was 11 years old, when the family – without celebrity father – moved to Canada. “Mei Foo Sun Chuen was interesting in that it represented a lot of filmmakers in that era,” Derek Tsang says. Many of the actors and directors who had their first taste of fame and wealth in the 1970s, including his father, would invest in properties in the housing estate. “At the time, Sammo Hung Kam-bo , Karl Maka and many others who started their film careers during that period were living in Mei Foo Sun Chuen. To me, that felt like something very special. “My father lived on his own because he thought his work would bring too much inconvenience to the family,” Tsang says, matter-of-factly, at one point, even complimenting Tsang Snr for leaving his family. “My father was very conscious about – and he put a lot of effort into – separating us from his circle. He didn’t want us to grow up as a celebrity’s sons, or be surrounded by the industry.” Tsang says he is “really thankful” for his father’s decision to give him “an ordinary, middle-class upbringing”. Consequently, his early memories of cinema are the same as those of every other Hong Kong kid: he watched Jackie Chan films and then imitated the action star’s moves at home. On the one occasion he visited a set – during shooting of his father’s 1989 film Forever Young – the young Derek was told off and sworn at after he tripped on a lighting stand. “I remember thinking, ‘Whoa, filmmaking people are so mean,’” he chuckles. Tsang’s earliest memories of film have more to do with the sensation of cinema-going than the movies themselves: the aroma of food sold by hawkers; the soft and sticky texture of sugar cane, then a popular street snack, discarded on the floor. “It was a big deal to go to the cinema,” he recalls. “They were a lot bigger than they are today. It was the golden age. Whenever our mum said she was taking us to a movie on a weekend, we were ecstatic.” He recalls one film in particular: Stanley Kwan Kam-pang’s decadent drama Love Unto Waste (1986), which is definitely not for children. “I remember watching the love scene between Tony Leung Chiu-wai and [Irene Wan Pik-ha] set in a rice store. I was seven, and that scene had a big impact on me. I felt some kind of a reaction in my body – it was not exactly physical – and I was shocked that a film on the big screen could give me that kind of [sensation]. That moment has always stayed with me.” Tsang started to develop a passion for cinema when he was 15, bingeing on art-house films after he was introduced to world cinema via the work of Hong Kong festival darling Wong Kar-wai . While there were no culturally inclined people in his immediate circle to guide him, Tsang credits his Taiwan-based half-sister, the Mando-pop singer and actress Bowie Tsang Baoyi , as the person who taught him about literature and film. It’s a bit of a cliché, but you do need to love every one of your characters. The greatest lesson that sociology has taught me is to accept and empathise Derek Tsang When the time came for university, Tsang picked sociology over film school, despite his only ambition being to become a filmmaker. “That’s despite the fact I knew nothing about film production,” he says. While he acknowledges that his sociology degree from the University of Toronto broadened his perspective and taught him critical thinking, a learned sense of compassion has continued to inform his vision as a filmmaker. “It was after I became a screenwriter and director that I realised how important it is to empathise with your characters,” he says. “Even when a character has seemingly done a lot of bad things, you still have to find an angle, or a reason. It’s a bit of a cliché, but you do need to love every one of your characters. The greatest lesson that sociology has taught me is to accept and empathise.” Celebrity offspring often get an easy start in show business. From Hollywood to Bollywood, nepotism is an accepted norm. And the son of an influential actor-director-producer of Hong Kong cinema was no exception. After Tsang moved back to Hong Kong in 2001, his father immediately arranged for him to join the company of director Peter Chan Ho-sun , still basking in the afterglow of winning nine prizes at the 1997 Hong Kong Film Awards for Comrades, Almost a Love Story . During Tsang’s early days in the company, he worked a series of odd jobs. His first assignment was to assist a casting director on a Chan project that never got made. He spent a long time scanning film stills for the company’s records. The first movie he had a proper post on was Going Home , Chan’s segment in the horror triptych Three (2002). Over time, Tsang worked in a variety of positions, from script supervisor to assistant director. More importantly, it was in this company that Tsang began to work with Jojo Hui, who became his mentor and then his closest collaborator. “We’re now partners in crime,” he jokes, acknowledging that Hui is the person who has helped him the most in his career. She has, among other things, produced both of Tsang’s solo directorial efforts, Soul Mate (with Chan as a co-producer) and Better Days . On the set of 2002 blockbuster Golden Chicken , for which Chan, Hui and Tsang Snr shared producer credits, the young Tsang (overseeing continuity) met another aspiring filmmaker, Jimmy Wan Chi-man (second assistant director). The pair went on to co-direct numerous short films as well as two full-length features, Lover’s Discourse (2010) and Lacuna (2012). Despite his lack of interest in pursuing a full-time acting career, Tsang has, curiously, found himself in an eclectic range of film roles over the years. From Whoremonger #3 in Golden Chicken and bawdy outings in several Pang Ho-cheung comedies, to the leading role as an impoverished slacker in the violent satire Robbery (2016), he has built a 50-plus-film acting résumé, peppered with unflattering characters. “I’ve never thought I’m a very good actor,” but “there are two reasons I’ve played so many of these characters,” he says. “First, it may be down to the fact people thought my image was very bad – that I’m a naughty boy – and so they cast me in those roles.” The second reason, which sounds more plausible, is that few Hong Kong actors of his age would risk being typecast in such parts. “The actors back then were less open-minded, they thought your image would be tarnished if you kept taking that kind of role. But I didn’t mind because it was not my goal to be an actor. From the very beginning of my career, I’ve always been working towards becoming a director. Acting was an accident.” Yet the perks of hanging around film sets are undeniable. Tsang first met Pang – who became one of his most frequent collaborators – when he cameoed in the latter’s 2003 film Men Suddenly in Black . The two hit it off on the set of forgettable 2004 web series Academy of Detectives , in which Tsang played the lead and Pang made a cameo appearance. Pang then invited him to play a lead character in his 2005 film AV , about four sex-starved college students who try to trick a Japanese porn star into taking part in their fake film shoot. Tsang also helped write the screenplay for Pang’s next project, Isabella . That 2006 film marked the first time Tsang received a screenwriting credit. Their trip to the Berlin film festival for its premiere remains one of his most abiding memories, Tsang says: “We wrote a film and it got into Berlin. We were so thrilled.” In retrospect, Tsang says that his father’s compartmentalising work and family was just what he needed. “In terms of film aesthetics, he’s had zero influence on me,” he says, noting Tsang Snr’s aptitude for mainstream productions with minimal intellectual depth. “But he did influence me by making me think filmmaking is something I can do […] He would tell me to take any opportunity that comes my way. ‘You never know what you’d learn, or who you’d meet, and that may well change your career down the line.’ I think that’s great advice.” On a personal level, Tsang met his wife, emerging actress Venus Wong Man-yik ( To Love or Not to Love , 2017; Unleashed , 2020), during the shooting of a Macau-set short-film anthology produced by his father, released in 2016 as Good Take! and Good Take Too . Despite his new-found status as a blockbuster filmmaker, and a growing reputation as an accomplished director of actresses (Zhou Dongyu and Sandra Ma Sichun shared the best actress prize at the 2016 Golden Horse Awards for Soul Mate ; and Zhou won best actress at the Hong Kong Film Awards for Better Days ), Tsang says he is “more inclined to not” cast Wong, 28, in his own films. “I don’t want people to think that she’s getting acting opportunities only because of me,” he says. “Because I’ve experienced exactly this. I don’t want her to be under the same kind of pressure […] If there’s a script and a character that I feel she’s perfect for, then yes – but otherwise, I tend not to want it to happen.” Tsang’s mixed feelings about his father do linger. With regard to any contribution Tsang Snr made towards the success of Soul Mate and Better Days , “he’s had zero participation”, says Tsang. “It’s not his business. But, of course, many would say it’s all down to his friendship with Peter Chan that Chan would give me the opportunities …” Tsang pauses, knowing that this is an issue that will never die, and uncharacteristically raises his voice. “I’d counter that if Peter Chan thought I were a bad filmmaker, he wouldn’t have offered me the opportunities just because of my father. Would he?”