“Remember this feeling, and you’ll make beautiful clothes.” Surely among the saddest hand jobs in film history (or, more likely, just further evidence that there’s probably no such thing as a happy hand job). Just as Wong can masterfully spin a mood into a narrative, a touch, too, can last a lifetime. The feel of another person like a haunting, what pleasures we can produce on the outside while still remaining so inaccessible on the inside. A stunning climactic collision of shots; the back of Zhang’s head as he tells the polite, official story of Miss Hua’s fate, then cutting to the tears falling as we see him head-on, knowing he’ll have to live all alone with her reality forever. What she was, what she should have been, what they might have been, what they never could have been, what he’s stuck carrying.