Latest news with #JocelynTam
South China Morning Post
22-05-2025
- Lifestyle
- South China Morning Post
Tiny Island creative director Alexis Holm opens up to PostMag
The wellness ritual you can't live without? I drop my eight-year-old son off at school just before 8am and go to House of Fitness, a boutique gym on Possession Street in Sheung Wan. I could go to a cheaper gym, but this one is between my son's school and the office, so it's convenient. The most conversation-sparking object at home? Roomba , our robot vacuum cleaner. We have one at home called Rob and another in the office called Bob. People always comment on Rob, whether he's running over the dog or not doing his job properly. Alexis Holm's dog, Mei Mei, with Rob, the Roomba vacuum cleaner. Photo: Jocelyn Tam A scent that immediately brings you joy? Trudon makes a candle called Spiritus Sancti. It has a light incense smell and gives me the feeling of something old, magnificent and calm. It's like being in a church. Your favourite city and the first thing you do there?
South China Morning Post
04-05-2025
- Entertainment
- South China Morning Post
Cirque du Soleil's Kooza comes to Hong Kong
It's a rare sunny afternoon in Seattle, in the United States, and Angelo Lyerzkysky Rodriguez is parked on the pavement in a camping chair, shirt off, eyes half-closed behind sunglasses, peacefully soaking up the warmth. It's a striking contrast to how I saw the 37-year-old Colombian circus performer the night before: also shirtless, but mid-flight, hurtling through the air to great dramatic effect as part of Kooza's Wheel of Death – a high-stakes, high-speed act that elicits gasps of disbelief from the audience. Advertisement The Wheel is one of several acts in Cirque du Soleil's Kooza , a production that trades the Canadian circus company's signature dreamlike abstraction for physical thrills. 'Kooza is an homage. It's a nod to traditional circus,' says artistic director Jamieson Lindenberg. 'We're definitely known for death-defying acts.' That includes balancing towers of chairs seven metres high, bicycles on tightropes, and teeterboards that launch performers in perfect arcs across the stage – all set to live music and slapstick clowning. Cirque du Soleil's Kooza in Seattle, in the United States. Photo: Jocelyn Tam We're catching the tail end of the show's US run, spending two days behind the scenes with the cast and crew before Kooza heads to Hong Kong. It will be the show's first international stop since its post-pandemic relaunch, and its first time back in the city since its 2018 Hong Kong debut Behind the spectacle are the people who bring Kooza to life every night. Many come from a long line of circus performers, such as Rodriguez, who is fifth-generation, while others are following a childhood dream, like aerialist Mizuki Shinagawa. There's 63-year-old Vicente Quirós and his 55-year-old brother, Roberto, both high-wire veterans, and New Yorker Mark Gindick, a film student turned clown. Offstage in the wardrobe department, Alexandra Mancini helps maintain the show's 175 handmade looks. Here are their stories. Vicente Quirós, high-wire act Vicente and Roberto Quirós performing as part of the high-wire act. Photo: Jocelyn Tam My brother Roberto and I were born in Madrid, Spain. We are a sixth-generation circus family. My grandfather did head-balancing, my father did trapeze and Rolla Bolla (balancing boards), my mother was a singer and Spanish flamenco dancer. As kids, we were in school but every summer, Easter or Christmas we would go to see our family at the circus. And we started to love the circus because of family, because of tradition.
South China Morning Post
03-05-2025
- Entertainment
- South China Morning Post
This week in PostMag: behind-the-scenes at Cirque du Soleil and HK cinema
Face paint and the stage were never my thing, so when I found myself with a face full of circus make-up (rosy red cheeks and all) on a brisk Seattle afternoon in early March, I was surprised how I felt. I was ready for my moment. I could feel myself morphing into someone different – less guarded, less self-conscious. More free. Maybe I should have been a theatre kid. That's the power of a mask for you. Cat Nelson, editor of PostMag, with circus make-up at Cirque du Soleil Kooza in Seattle, US. Photo: Cat Nelson In advance of its Hong Kong tour stop this month, Cirque du Soleil had invited PostMag photographer Jocelyn Tam and me behind the scenes of Kooza, the most classic 'circus' of their productions. I'd seen Cirque as a child in 1990s San Francisco, likely Alegria, and remembered it as an expressive, avant-garde performance – not so with Kooza, which is replete with clowning and high-energy antics. Advertisement We spent a few days in Seattle watching what goes into putting on the show. With 121 people on tour and 100 containers of equipment, it's no small feat. We tried our hand at make-up, failed horribly at the low-wire and ate in the kitchen that feeds everyone in the circus' 'village'. We also got to know the cast when the masks come off – or rather, the paint's wiped away – and have told a few of their stories here. In our cover feature, Chris Dobson meets Hong Kong filmmaker Peter Yung Wai-chuen. Recently restored in 4K by M+, Yung's 1979 police drama The System shows a Hong Kong from a different era – drugs, triads and corrupt cops – and was made possible only because of trust he had forged with the mob. The film came about at the start of Hong Kong cinema's New Wave movement, which I know distressingly little about but now my interest is piqued (as I hope is yours). When I hit 10 years in China, it was hard to believe that I'd stayed in one place for so long but I'd never considered the opposite and how exhausting that might be. I felt tired just reading about Thor Pedersen's near-decade-long, globe-trotting journey to visit all 203 countries without flying. As he tells Graeme Green, what the Danish native imagined would take a few years ultimately ended up taking more than double that, in part due to an extended stay in Hong Kong thanks to the pandemic. I imagine Cameron Dueck would be in full agreement with the premise of Pedersen's quest – it's not just if you get there, it's how you get there. How we move through the world colours how we experience it. Dueck puts this to the test in Thailand, where he explores Phang Nga Bay by air, sea and land, finding secluded corners of the gorgeous limestone-punctuated landscape. I'd always found cycling to be my preferred mode of transport but boating's sounding like it might come in a close second. Advertisement
South China Morning Post
01-05-2025
- Business
- South China Morning Post
Drink in Focus: Oyster Shell at Socio
Where other concept menus often lead with esoteric ideas or atmospheres that contextualise their signatures, the front cover of Socio's new menu hits us with just facts: it introduces their community-driven bent, which focuses on reusing waste ingredients from other restaurants and bars in SoHo. Advertisement Upcycling spare/waste ingredients – usually by way of centrifuging, redistilling, using sous-vide or other means of processing – is not a new concept. The question is always whether a waste ingredient still yields enough flavour to produce a delicious drink. This is what we immediately wondered with Socio's Oyster Shell, which reuses about 4.4kg of oyster shells monthly from Caine Road fish eatery and market Hooked. The exterior of Socio at 17 Staunton Street, Central. Photo: Jocelyn Tam 'The shells don't have a lot of flavour,' says co-founder Amir Javaid, 'so we actually add vinegar to bump up the savoury and saline notes. We do a distillation to remove any of the shells and make it a cleaner spirit. You could just infuse the shells, but this is more hygienic.' The rest of the drink leverages those amplified saline and savoury notes. Taking inspiration from the porn star martini, the cocktail batches a mix of the oyster and vinegar – distilled in vodka – with Roku gin before fat-washing it in cocoa butter. The drink is completed with cardamom bitters, passion fruit and lemon juices, then topped with sparkling wine to serve. The result is an effervescent, refreshing reuse of what is usually associated with sea salt and brine. 'Just because we named the drink 'Oyster Shell', people expect a strong taste, but the idea is just that we're using ingredients and we build around them, so it's never going to be the main flavour,' Javaid explains. Advertisement It's taken time, but it's safe to say the group project approach to using oyster shells in drinks has been as successful as it is intriguing. You could start your evening with oysters at Hooked, then walk downhill to Socio to enjoy the rest of that dish in a drink. 'I used to go for fish and chips [at Hooked] and then I got to speaking to the owner,' says Javaid. 'At first he was a little unsure about why I wanted the oyster shells. As we developed the concept, it took some time to win people over.'
South China Morning Post
30-04-2025
- Entertainment
- South China Morning Post
From refugee to music entrepreneur in the wake of war
I was born Duc Thanh in Saigon in 1957, a baby boomer! My father worked in a hotel. He was educated by the French but sent me to a Chinese kindergarten. My mother was from China but grew up in Hong Kong and Macau, and she told my father, 'Hey, send our babies to learn English, because they might go back to Hong Kong or Macau or go to the West.' So, me and my three younger brothers went to the English institute. Paul Au with his family in 1974. Paul is top right. Photo: courtesy Paul Au I grew up in Chinatown, where there are still many old French colonial buildings. My father would bring us French breakfasts on Sunday mornings. We lived in an old French-style building, like a tong lau , with balconies. Everyone spoke Cantonese, we didn't speak any Vietnamese. Hong Kong newspapers, movies, magazines, culture, everything was there. We shared a 1,000 sq ft floor with three other families, like a subdivided flat. My paternal grandfather had been very rich. He was a jeweller. My father grew up like a prince drinking French wine. But then there was a fire and they lost everything. So we were poor. Vinyl in Vietnam Records on display at Vinyl Hero in Sham Shui Po, Hong Kong. Photo: Jocelyn Tam As boys we just thought about having fun, bicycles and all that. My neighbours, the bigger boys and girls, they would be playing The Beatles , Elvis Presley, Motown stuff, and also instrumentals like cha-cha, like the music you hear in Wong Kar-wai movies, that kind of music, like Xavier Cugat. And suddenly, one day in 1972, my father came home with a record player and that totally changed my life. At that time vinyl was unaffordable. All we could get were leftover records from the American soldiers and some cheap bootleg copies from Taiwan or locally, from Vietnam. Choppers and bell bottoms Paul Au with his chopper motorcycle in the 1990s, from the book Paul's Records: How a Refugee from the Vietnam War Found Success Selling Vinyl on the Streets of Hong Kong (2015). Photo: Jocelyn Tam When I was at high school, there were Vietnamese hippie bands in Saigon. They would do the cover versions of CCR (Creedence Clearwater Revival), Jimi Hendrix, Grand Funk Railroad, stuff like that. My dad hated these guys, said they were no good. My parents worried because of the war, but all we thought about was having fun, riding our chopper bicycles, hunting for American soldiers' leftover records, their magazines. At that time, it was trendy to wear bell-bottomed jeans , high-heeled sneakers and have long hair. American culture was very much there because we listened to the AFVN – American Forces Vietnam Network. Not long before I was smuggled into Hong Kong there was the last open-air hippie music festival in Saigon Zoo. I went with my brothers and friends. Time to go A childhood photo of Paul Au with two of his brothers, from the book Paul's Records. Photo: Jocelyn Tam At night we could see the sky going red across the river, people were being killed. The big boys next door were drafted and they never came back. A lot of them, they never came back. My parents were very worried because it wouldn't be long before I had to go. If you could pass a Vietnamese language exam for the elite you didn't have to go, but I couldn't speak Vietnamese. So, finally, in late 1974, after my 17th birthday, I escaped to Hong Kong. We had to wait in a house for several weeks and then got on a big cargo ship. I think it was from Taiwan. Altogether there were 250 Chinese-Vietnamese people on board, including grandmas. I went with my cousin. I was not scared because it felt like an adventure. It was four days and so boring – just sea and no land. My parents had paid gold to a middleman. I had very little money. Later one of my younger brothers escaped. He went to Thailand. Now one lives in the United States and the other in Toronto, Canada. One went missing when he escaped. We never found him. Chinese New Year at Shek O Vietnamese refugees arriving in Hong Kong in 1979. Photo: Yau Tin-kwai On Chinese New Year's Eve in 1975, we were outside Hong Kong waters, waiting for local fishing boats to fetch us. But we were told that first they had to rest and celebrate the New Year. So we had to wait four more days. Then they transferred us at about 8pm. I jumped down onto the beach and squatted in some grassland. Later I found out it was Shek O. It was then that I saw my first double-decker bus. I had only seen them in the movies. I telegrammed my parents to say I'd arrived. My grandmother and my uncles had a rooftop wooden house, a squatter hut on top of a tong lau in North Point. From North Point I went on to live in another rooftop house in Sham Shui Po, in 1983. Urban cowboy An old photo of Paul Au in Hong Kong, from the book Paul's Records. Photo: Jocelyn Tam I did odd jobs on the street and started collecting records that I would sell. In Sham Shui Po, I was next to a flea market. I had many favourite records from the 1960s and 70s and some were doubles, so I started to sell them on the streets. Then I started getting more and more records. There were too many and they were too bulky, so I slept on the street to watch my records day and night, just like the cowboys watching their cattle in the West, like a modern-day cowboy. The Urban Council would come and clear the streets, so my records were unsafe. I started with one trolley, then a second, a third, then finally a train of trolleys all on the street. I covered them in plastic sheets and, when the Urban Council came, I would move them around. During that time I also bought a Harley-Davidson motorbike. I had it for 15 years, but in the end I sold it to pay for more storage for my records. Qipaos and Percy Faith A handwritten sign at Paul Au's vinyl store in Hong Kong. Photo: Jocelyn Tam Why do I love vinyl so much? Because I never grew up. I'm still living in the 70s and 80s. You cannot see time, but when you listen to the songs, you are back there. I love them so much. I'm still the same crazy boy who never grows up. Let me put this record on, it doesn't cost much in Hong Kong still – 'Lover's Tears', sung by Poon Sow Keng. It is so sad and melancholy. It's in the (1965) movie The Lark, with (composer) Joseph Koo's sister (Carrie Ku Mei) acting. It made her famous. I saw it with my mother in a cinema in Saigon and everyone was crying. My mum used to dress like that, in a qipao. I also love Percy Faith's 'Theme from 'A Summer Place''. That's probably my all-time favourite. Vinyl hero Paul Au takes a vinyl record from its sleeve at his store. Photo: Jocelyn Tam I have about 30,000 records here and the rest in a warehouse. How do I know where records are? I have a GPS inside my head. So, it's just like I'm Tarzan of the jungle, because, if you go into the jungle, there will be no GPS; you cannot locate the tigers and the monkeys and whatever. But Tarzan, he knows everything. Journey back in time Paul Au pictured at his store, Vinyl Hero. Photo: Jocelyn Tam Some grandfathers come in here and they want to go back in time. Young Korean tourists also come in to buy records. In 2015, I did my book (Paul's Records, by Andrew Guthrie). I have never been back to Vietnam. I was very worried after the fall of Saigon but in 1983 my parents left for Canada and I have visited them there. I dream of going back to the house where I grew up. A Korean friend went there and took a video, and it's just the same! The blue door is still there, and the balcony where when we were small we could just look through the gaps. I dream that I will bring my book and I will knock on the door. If the people come out, I'll say, 'Fifty years ago, I lived in this house and this book is me.' And I'll ask them if I can take my (vinyl) Walkman and listen to music in their house from that time. Advertisement Paul's Records: How a Refugee from the Vietnam War Found Success Selling Vinyl on the Streets of Hong Kong (2015), by Andrew Guthrie, Blacksmith Books Vinyl Hero, Flat D, 5/F, Wai Hong Building, 239 Cheung Sha Wan Road, Sham Shui Po, Kowloon
