O: Was it the same with the actor who played The Beast? Did you know his films from when you were younger?

SC: Oh, he's different. Leung Siu Lung. He is one of the most famous kung-fu stars of the '70s, from right after Bruce Lee's death. There were a lot of "Bruce Li," "Bruce Leung," a lot of people trying to imitate Bruce Lee's image. I think Leung Siu Lung is one of them. But I think he was special from any other, because he has a real kung-fu technique, and he's a real fighter. His kick, really powerful and fantastic. He came up in my mind in the last minute, right before shooting. There were a lot of changes in my mind, a lot of testing different actors from different places, but I was not quite satisfied for all of the casting. I thought about him, and it took time to bring him back, because he was out of the business. I still remember, he was wearing a wig in my office for the interview. And then I asked him if he didn't mind to take it off, and what I saw when he did, this is exactly what you saw in the movie, exactly the same hairstyle, with a cute face, but with a balding head and thin, long hair. But it looked tough. It's so special. Then I told myself, "That's the one." [Laughs.]

O: What was the hardest thing for them about coming back out of retirement for this film?

SC: I think they're all happy. Because they are professional, and they are so experienced. I think for the acting, there's no problem at all. And with the action, and all the stunts, I had the best choreographer, Yuen Woo-ping, and I'm paying him to do the job, so I didn't see any problems. [Laughs].

O: What style of kung-fu do you practice?

SC: Well, most of the time, I train on my own. Like, I watch movies and then I imitate those actions. [Laughs.] You know, Bruce Lee… I train my muscles, and I do a lot of stretching, and try to kick higher. But for me, practicing kung-fu is a way to relax myself. I did learn Chinese kung-fu in a school for a short time, but I couldn't afford to pay for long-term learning. The form is called wing chun; it's exactly what Bruce Lee learned in the old days. That's what I learned.

O: Is there anything particular that attracted you to that martial art over others? Anything about the philosophy or method?

SC: I would say it's all because of Bruce Lee. Because I fell in love with Bruce Lee after I watched his movies, and I wanted to become a kung-fu practicer, and I would like to be someone like Bruce Lee. That's why I learned kung-fu, and that's why I picked the wing chun style, because it's his style. That's why I decided to be an actor, to go into show business, because of him. It's all because of Bruce Lee.

O: You decided to be an actor when you were very young, but when did you decide you wanted to be a director?

SC: It's hard to tell you when. I don't know the exact day that I started to think about if I could become a director. I just kept thinking about it. When I was an actor in some movies a long time ago, I was so curious about all the camera movements–why is the camera placed here, and why does it move like this? And why the set and the background, the color? It's a lot of questions for me to ask, because I was so interested, not only in acting, but also the whole process of filmmaking. So I kept asking the director at that time about these strange questions. For them, you know, it's "You're an actor. Why do you need to know about camera movement? You want to know the reasons? Are you crazy?" [Laughs.] But I really wanted to know. So one day, one of the directors, my best friend, Jeff Lau, he told me, "What you are thinking about is beyond an actor." Then he gave me a book about directing. "Why don't you read this book? Maybe it will be helpful for you, and hopefully you will find your own way in this business, in your career." He told me, "I know someday you will be a director."

O: Was his directorial style a strong influence on your work?

SC: Yeah. Jeff Lau, I like his work, of course. But also, a lot of Western movies. Hollywood influences me. Like Steven Spielberg, my all-time favorite. Also Clint Eastwood recently, Million Dollar Baby. And also Martin Scorsese. There are so many.

O: What kind of things have you learned from those directors?

SC: I'll tell you what I've learned from Steven Spielberg. I think he always picks fantastic subject matter, fantastic ideas. Jaws is a story about a shark that attacks people. It's so simple. It's such a good idea. [Makes thumbs-up gesture.] So therefore what I think right now is, to make a movie, you have to have the right direction of the story. You have a good idea first, and that's the most important thing. Then you have all the rest. If first of all you have a wrong idea, then it's kind of wasting time. No matter how hard that you try with a wrong idea, it makes it difficult to be successful.

O: Steven Spielberg has become known for pioneering technical effects in his films, which you're doing as well. Has the increasing use of effects and computers changed your career and your process significantly?

SC: Yes, of course, it's totally different. Any of my work in the past–especially in Hong Kong, CGI is not that popular, and not used very often. I think everything starts from Shaolin Soccer, the CGI involved. That was the only way to make Kung Fu Hustle. I don't think we could have made it without CGI. For me, it's more difficult to make a film with all these complicated processes. With a lot of CGI people in one single shot, it takes time for the tests, shooting over and over again. Somehow you have to accept this and you have to face this. The CGI nowadays can really help if you can use it in the right way. It's the same thing–you have to move in the right direction, and not overcome the story. Because in the movies, it's always the story. The main theme is the story structure. In Kung Fu Hustle, I had no choice but to put a lot of CGI in, because the idea is so exaggerated and so imaginative. Like the fighting with musical instruments–I can't imagine doing that without CGI. But CGI should always assist the story, so the story can go on and work, and can move people. So it's no problem for me. I don't mind doing hard work with CGI.

O: Was there a specific inspiration, or a specific point, where you decided you wanted to do this kind of effects-based humor?

SC: One very important element for me to make a movie is, it has to be unique and different from any other. Sometimes it's really hard to analyze, or hard to tell you what works and what doesn't work. For me, it's a kind of feeling. Somehow, I believe my feelings. With Shaolin Soccer, I had this script in my hands, and I went to some investors about the idea, but there was hesitation. I think because it was [a type of film that had] never happened before, and there were no checklists to follow. "What's the relation between kung-fu and soccer?" There were a lot of questions, a lot of uncertainty. But that is what's hard about movies. You really don't know what's going to happen next. Somehow, you have to take a risk. You need to. You cannot avoid this situation. Every project for me is a risk that I bet on. I believe my senses, and hopefully it will be successful. But sometimes you make it, and sometimes you fail. [Laughs.] If you can keep going and never give up, ultimately you will get something that you really want.

O: Have you ever tried to do something in a film that just didn't work as a CGI effect?

SC: Of course, yes. In Kung Fu Hustle, there is a scene in the script where–it sounds crazy, but there's someone fighting with a shark underwater. [Laughs.] But when I talked to the CGI people, they said, "No, forget about this." It was about in the middle, when the two assassins appear. This was how they came along. It's quite different now, because there's a different setup, and they're different characters. They were from the sea, and they fought the shark to show their power. It's a crazy idea. Obviously, the CGI people didn't think they could make it.

O: Do you worry at all that effects-based films could devalue more traditional, naturalistic kung-fu films?

SC: Yes, of course. But if I could fight like Bruce Lee, I'd really prefer to show this power, instead of any wires or CGI. Unfortunately, I'm not as good as him. I'm quite far away from this level. [Laughs.] So I do what I can with the CGI. But in my point of view–what a kung-fu movie means to me is not only a kung-fu performance, not like a kung-fu show or demonstration. It's a story with action packaging. If we're talking about a story, a drama or a comedy or a combination, I don't think it has to be a real kung-fu demonstration. Unless you are someone like Bruce Lee, with the charm to draw people's attention–just a self-demonstration is good enough for the audience, because he's so good and so charming, but I'm not. I don't think anybody can do the same as Bruce Lee did. So now for me, everything is the backup for the story itself.

O: Is it true that at one point you were asked to direct a remake of your film God Of Cookery, but starring Jim Carrey?

SC: Yeah, I heard about this.

O: What happened with that project?

SC: I don't know. Can you tell me what happened? I don't really know. [Laughs.] I wasn't approached about it, I just heard about it. It's quite strange.

O: Would you be interested in a project like that, remaking one of your movies with American actors?

SC: Sure, why not? Yeah. That's my ambition. To only be a director, instead of acting and directing. Of course, to repeat my work one more time, that seems like not a first priority. If I can have a choice, I prefer to vote for a new project instead of a remake.

O: You spend less time onscreen in Kung Fu Hustle than in your previous projects. Is that part of your move away from acting?

SC: Yes. But it's going this way very naturally, because I have to direct and I'm so busy. To run around the camera and act, and then back to the chair, then focus on the set, then act again… [Laughs.] So from a director's point of view, if I can create different characters which impress the audience, that's fantastic for me. So in Kung Fu Hustle, you see, there's a lot of different characters. Not only me as the center of the story. Because I am the director as well, I would like to create more and more different types of characters to tell the story.

O: But you haven't stepped out of your features completely. Is there still some reason acting appeals to you?

SC: Acting is more simple. I think acting's easier. Also, they want me to do it. [Laughs.]

O: Who's "they"? The audience? The people you make the movies with?

SC: I don't hate being an actor. But if there's a choice, I prefer to direct. I've been an actor for such a long time already. As a director, everything is fresh and new. For me, if I can make a choice, I would prefer this, to go this way more than the other. But it doesn't mean I hate to act and I don't want to act anymore, it's not like that. I still enjoy everything about being an actor.

O: As a filmmaker, have you seen a major difference in the Hong Kong industry since the city returned to Chinese control?

SC: No. Not really. There have been big changes, especially right now, that we're facing in the Hong Kong film industry. But it has nothing to do with the takeover from mainland China. No. There, I think we have a better situation for the film industry, because we have a big Chinese market as a backup now. The problem that we are facing–and I have no idea how it happened–is the lack of talent. No newcomers, no new talent. I'm getting old. [Laughs.] I'm going to retire. Twenty years ago, I started to get involved with this business. From then until now, it's already twenty years, but I'm still the one. It's not healthy. So you see a lot of new faces in my movies. In every one of my movies, I just want to take someone new, and try to provide them a chance to become something.

The Last Critic interview featuring Matty Wishnow and Joey Levy

Cornbread Mafia interview featuring Evan Mascagni, Drew Morris, Joe Keith Bickett, Jimmy Bickett, and Bobby Joe Shewmaker 

Sinner Supper Club interview featuring Daisy Rosato, Nora Kaye, and Sophie Sagan-Gutherz

If this is the entertainment industry’s canary in the coal mine moment, that bird might already be on the floor of its cage. Paramount acting so quickly to punish a journalist that disagreed with the powers that be is a warning of the kind of management style that would control more than a third of the industry if the merger goes through. Just days away from Hollywood potentially changing as we know it, it’s important to take stock of what’s at stake with the merger: how it will affect the immediate film and television landscape, entertainment journalism, and what awaits audiences on the other side.

As CinemaCon began on April 13, a coalition of advocacy groups published an open letter with around 1,000 signatories voicing their opposition to the merger. The letter explains that there will be one fewer studio in the marketplace to fund and create new projects, further consolidating opportunities at a time when the industry is already hemorrhaging jobs. Fewer opportunities mean fewer ways for creators to sustain themselves. Fewer opportunities also translates to fewer options for what to watch, as fewer movies and TV shows will be produced. These limits will affect who gets to create and what those creations get to say, giving Paramount an easy cover when firing and blacklisting talent it doesn’t align with politically. In just a week, almost 4,000 members of the entertainment community have signed the open letter, including noted HBO showrunners like David Chase and Damon Lindelof, stars of current HBO hits like Noah Wyle and Pedro Pascal, directors like Jonathan Glazer and Celine Song, and free press advocates like Jane Fonda and Mark Ruffalo. 

This retaliation on the eve of a shareholder vote is just the latest example of what’s to come. Paramount has shown its Trumpian colors many times over since its merger with David Ellison’s Skydance Media. Smothering its DEI programs, firing a talk show host critical of the current administration, and giving the historic CBS newsroom to a conservative dilettante—the behavior of the company in the wake of its own 2024 merger has not exactly inspired confidence for the future stewardship of CNN’s global reporting, HBO’s adventurous TV roster, or Warner Bros. Pictures’ Oscar-winning slate. Of course, the next step in its hard-right transformation would be to attack members of the press critical of the heir apparent and his management decisions. Could investigative reporters and critics who don’t shower their movies and business tactics with praise cost outlets their access? It’s a move not without precedent from an unscrupulous media corporation: Back in 2017, Disney tried to ban Los Angeles Times film critics from screening their movies after an unflattering investigative report, but quickly backed down as outlets and critics groups banded together. 

It may be time for another moment of solidarity. This is a delicate flashpoint in the industry’s history. As politicians dither over tax incentives to keep production jobs in California, there may be fewer roles to save when the merger’s aftermath brings sweeping layoffs. There are few people working on a set today who aren’t worried about their job security, and the ramifications of that will be felt all the way to movie theaters and streaming devices across the country. Some have raised questions about the process’ transparency heading into Thursday’s vote, but those voices are ultimately rare—possibly because pin-gate could be just the beginning of the bullying tactics against the press. If one politically motivated despot can control almost 20 percent of Hollywood—even ignoring the fact that they’re bringing back the blacklist—it’d be bad for business and audiences alike.

Such judgmental views of Leaving Neverland said more about those who pointed the finger than it did about these families. But those opinions were also a sign of the times. In 2019, Hollywood and society at large were still grappling with new waves of horrifying #MeToo revelations, which were ignited by The New York Times and The New Yorker‘s October 2017 reports from women who claimed to have been sexually assaulted by industry mogul Harvey Weinstein. (Leaving Neverland was not the only film at the 2019 Sundance to examine a legacy of abuse—Untouchable, a documentary about Weinstein’s crimes, also premiered in Park City.) After the Weinstein accusations were published, new misconduct claims came to light seemingly every other month, including those against Louis C.K., Kevin Spacey, and Brett Ratner.

No matter the accused, the story was always the same: We had heard rumors, but nobody ever did anything. I remember back in 1993, when Jackson went to court over charges of sexually abusing Jordan Chandler at age 13. (Chandler’s family and Jackson agreed to a financial settlement the following year.) A decade later, I had seen the TV documentary Living With Michael Jackson, featuring interviews with the singer at Neverland Ranch, which chronicled his unsettling disconnect from reality as he assured viewers that his behavior around children was utterly harmless. I was well aware of the disturbing allegations against Jackson. I just didn’t think about them. I wasn’t alone.

But the #MeToo movement opened my eyes (and many others’) to the realities of sexual abuse, exposing our ignorance. This awkward learning curve played out in everyday life, but also in how some around me responded to Leaving Neverland. The complaints leveled at the film—and abuse survivors in general—began early: “Why didn’t this person speak out when the abuse was going on?” In the case of Robson and Safechuck, the pushback was also, “Why did they previously claim they had not been sexually assaulted?” What Leaving Neverland laid out so well was just how profoundly complicated sexual abuse can be for the survivors—how it can be confusing, humiliating, scarring, and decimating, especially when it’s inflicted by someone you thought loved you. 

Reed aimed to make a movie not about Jackson but, rather, what being a survivor looks like and feels like. At the same time, though, Leaving Neverland also tacitly insisted that viewers who adored the pop star question, perhaps for the first time, just how monstrous he may have been when out of the spotlight. Reed’s documentary didn’t achieve this on its own—later films like On The Record (about Russell Simmons) and Allen V. Farrow (about Woody Allen) followed in its wake—but Leaving Neverland inflamed the modern, ongoing, unresolved debate about whether the “separate the art from the artist” argument, which had long been used to insist that bad men’s indelible creative work shouldn’t be canceled along with its creators, was a sensible or moral position.

Writing in The New York Times a month after Leaving Neverland‘s Sundance screening, Wesley Morris, who had lived his whole life adoring Jackson’s music, spoke for many of us when he expressed his struggle to reconcile his fondness for the songs with the upsetting new information he had about the singer. “[T]he question now, of course, is what do we do?” Morris wondered. “It’s the question of our #MeToo times: If we believe the accusers (and I believe Wade and James), what do we do with the art? With Jackson, what can we do? … Michael Jackson’s music isn’t a meal. It’s more elemental than that. It’s the salt, pepper, olive oil and butter. His music is how you start.” There are no easy answers to these questions, but Leaving Neverland impelled us to ask them of ourselves.

After its festival premiere, Leaving Neverland came to HBO that March. A smattering of protesters attended the initial Park City screening, but the estate of Jackson, who died in 2009 at the age of 50, brought its considerable resources to bear to damage the film. HBO was sued, the estate claiming that the company had violated a non-disparagement clause it had entered into with Jackson in order to broadcast a 1992 concert from his Dangerous tour. After years of legal fighting, HBO reached an agreement with the estate in 2024, which included removing Leaving Neverland from HBO Max. Reed’s 2025 follow-up, Leaving Neverland 2: Surviving Michael Jackson, which is under an hour and available on YouTube, contains clips from the original film. Otherwise, good luck finding the documentary in the U.S. in any official form. It’s like Leaving Neverland never happened.

Those who saw it remember, though, reminded by all that followed. The film has left a permanent stain on everything the Jackson estate has done since—even if it hasn’t for so many still besotted with the late singer. The 2021, Tony-winning Broadway smash MJ The Musical continues to travel the country. After some reworking, Michael, starring Jackson’s nephew Jaafar, comes to theaters on April 24, reportedly covering the musician’s childhood stardom through his 1980s heyday. (The producers decided to kill a finale involving the accusations against Jackson.) At a recent public screening of EPiC: Elvis Presley In Concert, I saw a trailer for Michael, which frames the biopic as an inspirational tale of surviving adversity. Some audience members clapped at the end.

Reasonable people can differ on the “separate the art from the artist” debate. But the estate and his most defensive fans’ refusal to even acknowledge this other side of the artist they worship is what’s truly galling. There’s no internal wrestling, no dark nights of the soul. Leaving Neverland allowed Wade Robson and James Safechuck to tell their stories and then asked viewers to examine their own consciences. It’s sad how many elected not to take that opportunity to do so.

Great documentaries have been made about Jackson’s creative brilliance. Spike Lee’s films covering Off The Wall and Bad are euphoric. Michael Jackson’s This Is It finds an aging performer still in his prime. But that artistry is inherently incomplete without also weighing what Leaving Neverland has to say about our culture’s willingness to grant carte blanche to genius to behave however it sees fit. For those who saw the film, we recognized it wasn’t just a portrait of Robson and Safechuck’s loss of innocence—it was also ours. We had heard the accusations against Michael Jackson before, but we ignored them. Now, we no longer could. Jackson’s estate tried, and continues to try, to bury the full picture of the superstar it seeks to glorify. But his handlers can never truly erase the truth we saw with our own eyes, or quiet the shockwaves that still reverberate from it.