The Persistent Lens: Peter Chan Ho-sun on the Future of Cinema, AI, and the Human Condition

At the recent Singapore International Film Festival (SGIFF), the Grand Ballroom at Marina Bay Sands was held in rapt silence as one of Asian cinema’s most prolific voices, Peter Chan Ho-sun, took the stage. For an audience of aspiring filmmakers, industry veterans, and cinephiles, the "In Conversation" session with the director of Comrades: Almost a Love Story and The Warlords served as both a masterclass in resilience and a sobering assessment of the modern entertainment landscape.

As the industry grapples with the existential threats of shrinking attention spans and the rapid integration of artificial intelligence, Chan offered a nuanced perspective: while the medium of film is facing its "toughest time," its survival is not just likely—it is inevitable.

The Human Element in an AI-Driven Era

The shadow of generative AI loomed large over the discussion. However, Chan was quick to draw a definitive line in the sand. "I will probably use AI as a technique," he admitted, comparing the technology to the evolution of CGI and special effects, which have quietly integrated machine learning for years. "Anything that helps me make movies, I welcome."

Yet, he was staunchly opposed to the rise of AI-generated content (AIGC). For Chan, the distinction is fundamental: "They won’t know art. Movies are still made by people."

His skepticism toward AI as a creative force stems from his belief that cinema is fundamentally an act of human expression—a way to answer life’s persistent questions. While algorithms may dictate the marketing strategies of modern Hollywood or the content feed of a vertical drama app, they lack the lived experience required to craft a narrative that resonates on a soul-deep level.

A Chronology of a Restless Career

To understand Chan’s perspective, one must look at his trajectory, which spans over three decades of tectonic shifts in the film industry.

The 1990s: Creating the Flow

In the 1990s, while Hong Kong cinema was dominated by the rigid tropes of gangster films and wuxia epics, Chan and his cohorts at the United Filmmakers Organization (UFO) carved a different path. "We were not exactly going with the flow, but we did make the flow, somehow," he recalled.

The crowning achievement of this era was 1994’s Comrades: Almost a Love Story. Released when Chan was just 34, the film captured the transient, melancholic pulse of Hong Kong between 1985 and 1995. While it barely broke even at the box office, its cultural impact proved massive, reverberating through mainland China, South Korea, and beyond. "That movie gave me a lease of movie life for the next 30 years," he reflected.

The Hollywood Experiment

Following the success of his early work, Chan ventured into the U.S. studio system with the DreamWorks film The Love Letter. It was a formative, if difficult, experience. As a Thai-Chinese filmmaker, he was used to navigating the role of an outsider, but the corporate bureaucracy of Hollywood—with its reliance on test screenings and opaque decision-making structures—proved stifling.

"Had I gone to America or Hollywood with the knowledge that I have of film and marketing and dealing with corporate, I probably would have fared better," he admitted. "I was too young then, too naive."

The Pan-Asian and Mainland Pivot

After his Hollywood stint, Chan returned to Asia to establish Applause Pictures, a venture that pushed the boundaries of genre by focusing on horror, including the The Eye franchise. However, he soon realized that being pigeonholed into a single genre was not his path. He pivoted toward mainland China, directing the 2005 musical Perhaps Love, marking the start of a new chapter that would culminate in the massive scale of The Warlords.

Navigating the Spectrum of Modern Media

Addressing the anxiety surrounding the death of the "feature film," Chan pointed to a paradoxical reality. On one side of the spectrum, Gen Z audiences are increasingly tethered to short-form and vertical dramas, driven by the decline of traditional attention spans. On the other side, audiences are flocking to marathon-length podcasts and the purist, large-format cinema championed by directors like Christopher Nolan.

"So there are two completely opposite ends of the spectrum that are surviving and thriving simultaneously," Chan noted. He remains confident that the two-hour narrative will endure, even as the delivery mechanisms for storytelling continue to splinter.

Current Projects: The Road Not Taken

Chan’s latest project, The Road Not Taken, serves as a bridge between his past and his evolving craft. The film deals with early-onset Alzheimer’s, but as Chan explains, the medical condition is merely the canvas.

"My new movie is about Alzheimer’s, but it’s really not just about Alzheimer’s. It’s about a broken family that has all sorts of problems a family could have," he said. The film centers on a couple facing divorce, where the wife’s memory loss causes her to regress to the time they first fell in love. By incorporating his own daughter’s experiences—who is training to be an actor—and his long-standing partnership with actress Sandra Ng, the film reflects the deeply personal nature of his work.

The English title is a nod to Robert Frost’s famous poem, which Chan considers his life motto. The Chinese title, Ming Tian Hui Geng Hao ("Tomorrow Will Be Better"), underscores his philosophy: "There’s really no right path. Whether it’s right or wrong, it’s all about how you walk it. You make it right."

The Brutal Craft of Storytelling

For aspiring filmmakers in the audience, Chan offered a blunt assessment of his creative process. When asked how he handles a scene that isn’t working, his answer was ruthless: he doesn’t fix it for the writers; he makes them rewrite it until it is right.

"I milk the writer to death, and then I milk another writer," he confessed. With nine credited writers on The Warlords, it is clear that Chan’s process is collaborative to the point of exhaustion. "The writers’ community really doesn’t like me very much. But making movies is not about being well-liked."

Implications for the Industry

The implications of Chan’s career and his current outlook are significant for the future of film production in Asia and beyond:

1. Censorship as a Creative Catalyst: When asked about navigating the complexities of mainland Chinese censorship, Chan provided a pragmatic, if stark, response. "Dealing with a corporate is very, very difficult. And if I can survive that, I can survive anything." He argues that external limitations—whether from studios, budgets, or censorship boards—actually force directors to be more creative.
2. The Persistence of the ‘Auteur’: Despite his genre-hopping nature, Chan identifies a consistent thread in his work: the study of human connection. From the love triangles in his debut to the complex familial dynamics in his latest film, he views his entire body of work as "answering some sort of life questions that I have at that stage."
3. The "Flow" Strategy: Chan’s career advice is rooted in a philosophy he learned in a Chengdu care home: "go with the flow, and know when to stop." In an industry currently obsessed with rapid growth and technological disruption, Chan advocates for a more grounded approach—one that acknowledges the realities of the market while remaining fiercely protective of the human-centric nature of storytelling.

As the industry moves forward, Peter Chan Ho-sun stands as a testament to the idea that while tools, platforms, and audiences change, the core of cinema remains static: a human being trying to make sense of the world, one frame at a time. He isn’t worried about the survival of the two-hour feature; he is too busy ensuring that the stories told within those two hours continue to matter.