From a narrative perspective, The Departed deviates from Infernal Affairs in one significant way: one additional cop knowing the identity of the cop’s mole. This has a significant effect on the entire film.

In The Departed, Sergeant Dignam, along with Captain Queenan, are the two cops aware that Billy Costigan is an undercover cop — a mole placed in Frank Costello’s mob. This plays a crucial role in the plot: when the mob murders Queenan, there’s another cop aware of Costigan’s innocence.

When SP Wong (Queenan’s equivalent) dies in Infernal Affairs, no one else is aware that Chan (Costigan’s equivalent) is innocent. The cops know there is a mole, but they don’t have access to SP Wong’s files. When Lau, the mob’s mole, deletes the files, all the proof is gone.

This affects the resolution. In Infernal Affairs, Lau turmoils between light and dark throughout the film, even killing his mob boss Hon from this internal unrest. As he salutes Lau during his funeral, he is regretful and wishes his life took a different route. He now has to live his life in perpetual guilt.

In The Departed, Colin Sullivan (Lau’s equivalent) has no internal turmoil. He kills Costello, not because he’s inherently good but because he finds out that Costello is an FBI informant and fears that Costello will turn him in. After Costigan’s funeral, he’s wearisome, a little tired but still anxious. Sullivan remains unattached and just looks after himself.

This is why it’s poetic to kill him in The Departed. Were he to survive, he would not live his life perpetually guilty. The final scene is of Sullivan finding Dignam in his apartment after grocery shopping. Dignam is wearing both feet gloves and hand gloves, completely prepared for this assassination. Without any words, Dignam shoots him in the head. The camera turns to a rat, and the credits roll.

The inclusion of Sergeant Dignam profoundly impacted this film. Without him, Sullivan would have survived. To make thematic sense, Sullivan’s character would have needed to be more morally ambiguous, ideally tormenting between good and evil and feeling enormous guilt at the end of the film. I see this as a missed opportunity, because Matt Damon is more than a capable actor for this arc and the more nuanced message is right up Martin Scorcese’s ally (think Henry Hill from Goodfellas). Instead, we get a cheesy ending of triumphant vengeance with Dignam’s headshot. Everyone else is dead, and there’s nothing more to think about.

I don’t let these evenings go to waste. I went a week straight using the book Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat to cook dinner for my family. The weather in SoCal is nice enough for me to read in my backyard, often hours a day. I am getting into sci-fi, nearly done with The Three Body Problem trilogy. I dived deep into Asian cinema, inspired by Bong Joon Ho who at the Golden Globes said “Once you overcome the 1-inch-tall barrier of subtitles, you will be introduced to so many more amazing films.”

I could go on and on…

I sense that many of my friends share this “What if it was a gift?” mentality, delightfully rediscovering themselves with hobbies that, in normal life, they would deprioritize.

It recently occurred to me that this mentality is akin to Mrs. Park’s, the “rich mom” in Parasite. After the family camping trip is cut short because of severe rainstorms, she throws a birthday party for her son the next day. The day is sunny, clear, perfect — and Mrs. Park excitedly calls the previous night’s storm a blessing in disguise.

But she’s oblivious to how devastating the storms were to the poor. The Kims (the “poor family”) find their home completely flooded by the storm with water reaching the ceilings. They’re forced to spend the night in a gymnasium with hundreds of other displaced people. When the Parks wake them up early to come back and work, they cannot afford to call in sick, despite little rest.

To the Kims, the storm was not a blessing in disguise. It destroyed their home. But notice: they’re not too devastated by this. Entrenched in poverty, they’ve come to expect nothing more. There’s a scene where Ki-jung, the “poor daughter,” lights a cigarette on top of a ravaging toilet and then puts her feet on the seat, coolly accepting the hopelessness of her harsh, poor reality. Brown liquid goo sprays from the closed toilet, but she’s unfazed.

It’s disconcerting that I relate more to Mrs. Park than Ki-jung. My house is strong enough to withstand most rainstorms, and my family would probably just set up the fireplace to cozily watch a movie. If filth were shooting up from my toilet, I wouldn’t sit there calmly. I would run to my mother and call a plumber. “It’s an emergency!”

Worse, I dared to call COVID-19 a blessing in disguise, something, while not good for the world, potentially good for me. A little out of control these past few months, I actually looked forward to this reset button as I flew home from New York City to Orange County. At home in my big house, I could rediscover myself, do things I normally wouldn’t do, etc.

This is a very privileged view.

I’d like to change, but we’ll see. I feel somewhat guilty, but truthfully, I know I’ll act similar to Mrs. Park had she read about the displaced in the papers. She would be sympathetic, a little saddened, maybe even considerate enough to donate or volunteer but eventually — just like me as I start to stream a movie— ready to move on with the rest of her life.

Phil Jackson flipped the switch in 2000, but that’ll be the subject for another write-up. Today, we’ll talk about Game 1 of the 1997 playoffs against the Blazers — the first Laker playoff game for both Shaq and Kobe.

Kobe only got garbage time, although he sank his sole midrange jumper (with — my god — really loose handles). Kobe Bryant playing less than a minute surprised me because I’m familiar with his four airballs in the fourth quarter / overtime against the Jazz that same year, ending the Laker playoff run. Nevertheless, this is understandable. He was only a teenager.

The Lakers were a young but deep team. They had fast guards like Eddie Jones and Nick Van Nexel, a veteran presence in Bryon Scott who showed flashes of Showtime, solid frontcourt players including Robert Horry and Elden Campbell, and a string of rookies including Kobe Bryant and Derek Fisher.

The real star of the show was obviously Shaquille O’Neal. He was fast, big and lean. I jumped out of my seat numerous times with how quickly and how forcefully he would get his shots off. He had a graceful power unstoppable by the strong but slow giant in Arvydas Sabonis.

Over time, you got a sense of Shaq’s go-to moves. He would evade double teams with half-spins into baseline floaters. Even when he did get trapped in a double team, it didn’t matter much.

The Lakers would set up a double back screen to get him isolated in the paint. In these situations, Shaq liked to reverse spin and go for the lob. But even with just a pass into the post, he often got the ball with such deep positioning that there was no time for help.

When Shaq got the ball, he showed patience. He didn’t try to just jam it in or clank it up (unlike his Superman successor Dwight Howard). Shaq was smart with his moves and had a light enough touch to either kiss it off the backboard or use the rim to cradle the ball in.

Claiming that Shaq wouldn’t survive in today’s NBA is a travesty. He is the most dominant physical specimen since Wilt Chamberlain. Even if he never developed a jump shot, he would have so much more space to operate. Double teams would lead to easy three’s.

Early Shaq would eat up modern defenses with pick-and-rolls. He was quick and athletic enough to do damage twelve feet away from the rim too. Nothing you could do but foul him when he had enough space for a nasty dribble spin move. In this game, he grabbed a loose ball behind the backboard, eight feet away from the rim. A quick one dribble floater later, he scored two points fluidly.

For his size, athleticism, and young agility, I expected Shaq to be an elite defender. But, he wasn’t. He was caught with poor defensive positioning several times against Sabonis. The poor positioning led to silly fouls, and there were times where he didn’t jump or even raised an arm to contest.

It’s undeniable that Shaq could have played with more consistent defensive effort on the court. Off the court, he could have been in much better shape and put in the time to become a much more skilled big man.

Kobe once said, “To think of me as a person that’s overachieved, that would mean a lot to me. That means I put a lot of work in and squeezed every ounce of juice out of this orange that I could.” Shaq only lightly squeezed his orange. No wonder Kobe thought he left eight championships on the table.

Bill Simmons argues in the Book of Basketball 2.0 that Shaq was lazy because basketball wasn’t really fun for him, and I agree with that. Shaq had to fight for every pass into the post. Once he got the ball, he had to fight to get a shot up. He would get hounded, and many fouls went uncalled every game. Even when he did get fouled, he had to go to the free throw line where he missed half the time. Staying in shape when you’re 7’1 and well over 300 pounds likely isn’t easy either.

Shaq may have loved rapping, acting and simply being a personality more than being a basketball player, and that’s perfectly fine. He obviously doesn’t owe anyone anything. As a Laker fan, I can accept that and appreciate what he gave to. Because at the end of the day, even though he only lightly squeezed his orange, that was one big fucking orange with more than enough juice to leave us satisfied.

First, there is the depiction of men as symbols of exploitation and ruinous of the beauty and purity of women. In The Handmaiden, Lady Hideko’s ugly uncle raises her for the sole intention of marrying her. She’s young and beautiful, sure, but his main goal is to seize her magnificent inheritance, bestowed upon her by her wealthy dead parents. Count Fujiwara too pursues Lady Hideko for her wealth, and his blunt touches around her waist trying to seduce her are intrusive and borderline harassment.

In Portrait of a Lady on Fire, Héloïse’s future husband does not appear on screen, but his existence causes the events in the film. Héloïse’s mother — an emissary for this no-face suitor — brings Marianne to her mansion to paint a portrait of Héloïse. Héloïse’s mother plans on taking the portrait to Milan to show the potential suitor. Héloïse has no agency in this. Her portrait is her representation — silent, still, and created to be gazed at, nothing more.

These are one-sided exchanges, where men only take from women. They give nothing in return. Héloïse and Lady Hideko feel suffocated, angry and disillusioned by their position. In an unequal and unjust world designed for men, these women are powerless.

Count Fujiwara and Héloïse’s mother use Sook-Hee and Marianne respectively to get something from Lady Hideko and Héloïse in deceit. Sook-Hee is to serve as Lady Hideko’s maid and nudge her towards falling in love with Count Fujiwara, and Marianne is to accompany Héloïse on walks, learn her features and secretly paint a portrait of Héloïse without her knowledge.

Through this deception comes love — a love of equals, a love of empowerment, a love between two women unmatched by the love between a man and a woman. Both relationships between the women are of give and take. Sook-Hee and Lady Hideko are able to give each immeasurable sexual pleasure, break down the master-servant barrier, and be loyal companions to one another. The same can be said about Marianne and Héloïse. It’s important for both films to take place in the past, where this love is forbidden, scandalous and thus even more exhilarating.

The love eventually becomes too strong, and Sook-Hee and Marianne are unable to fully carry out their deceit. Sook-Hee reveals the scheme as Lady Hideko attempts suicide, while Marianne smudges her portrait after showing it to Héloïse — the painting not true to either the artist or the subject.

In this climax, the women do not abandon each other. They understand and trust each other in a way no man could. When Héloïse’s mother orders Marianne to leave, Héloïse stops her. After Sook-Hee confides in Lady Hideko and prevents her from killing herself, Lady Hideko confides in Sook-Hee too: Sook-Hee, the trickster, is the one being tricked.

In the wake of these reveals, the plans do not fall apart. Rather, they’re renewed with stronger focus and better direction. Héloïse and Marianne’s love intensifies, and they become true equals by the end — both artists, both subjects. With Marianne beside her, Héloïse puts the final touches on her own portrait. Sook-Hee and Lady Hideko still use Count Fujiwara to escape the confinement of the uncle but ultimately betray him with his own potion, his wedding gift to Lady Hideko.

But these two films differ in their resolution. Marianne is unable to save Héloïse from her fate to wed the Milanese gentleman. The last thing Héloïse says to Marianne is “turn around” right before she leaves — a nod to the Greek legend, Orpheus and Eurydice. Their love remains in their memories and lives on in portraits of each other: Héloïse’s face on a circular keepsake and Marianne’s body on page 28 of a book. Sook-Hee and Lady Hikdeo, on the other hand, find freedom and empowerment through each other. Their enemies erased, they glue to each other as they sail through the night.