A blissful motorcycle ride in stolen wedding costumes might not last long for Wah and Jo Jo’s doomed lovers, but they have to hope it lasts long enough. Bursts of dreamy romanticism – amour fou silently born while racing away from a getaway car engulfed in flames, swooning into a weeping fit while the stuffing from a toy heart rains down upon them, a passionate kiss with a bloody nose – are like Borzage translated by John Woo. And if I sometimes wished those bursts were sustained just a bit more (as when his nosebleed drips on to her lace gloves, and the next shots have them back to being pristinely white, I can’t help but see it as a massive missed opportunity for the unforgettable stuff of pop-art love among the ruins [Patrick Tam surely would have committed to the image]), the poetic highs do more than enough to make up for some of the more familiar star-crossed-lovers stretches. Pop romance as an elegiac anthem for doomed youth, Jo Jo’s abandoned bride desolately wandering the emptied-out early morning streets alone with nothing but an unanswered prayer. “No regrets in loving you.”