‘Blossoms Shanghai’ Review: Wong Kar-wai’s Seductive Chronicle of China’s Economic Boom

The owner of a relatively small but remarkably distinguished body of work—Chungking Express, Happy Together, In the Mood for Love, 2046, to name just a few—Wong Kar-wai has long been synonymous with a singular cinematic signature: instantly recognizable, widely imitated, and deeply influential. After several years tangled in projects that never fully cohered—his last feature, The Grandmaster, dates back to 2013—Wong returns with a project whose sheer scale surpasses, at least in duration, everything he has previously directed. The result is Blossoms Shanghai, a 30-episode drama that premiered in China in 2023 to enormous success.

Many of Wong’s hallmark stylistic traits resurface here, now fused with a narrative structure calibrated to serialized storytelling. The marriage is not entirely seamless. At times, the tension between his elliptical, mood-driven cinema and the demands of long-form plotting becomes apparent. Yet even when the balance falters, the series generates striking moments and, above all, an intoxicating atmosphere in which even the most disoriented viewer can surrender to the flow.

The series centers on a historical transformation often explored in contemporary Chinese cinema but largely absent from Wong’s own filmography: the economic boom that followed China’s market liberalization in the 1990s. This terrain—frequently examined by filmmakers such as Jia Zhangke and Wang Bing—is typically approached from the perspective of those left behind by rapid modernization. Wong, by contrast, shifts the lens toward those who initially rode the wave. The catalyst is the reopening and explosive growth of the Shanghai Stock Exchange, which drew millions of new investors willing to gamble their savings in pursuit of dizzying gains. It was the birth of a new economic ethos—one promising prosperity but carrying its own latent perils.

Through meticulous production design recreating 1980s and 1990s Shanghai—largely constructed on studio sets but anchored by surviving landmarks such as The Bund’s public façades and the iconic Peace Hotel—Wong immerses both characters and viewers in a world of newly minted wealth. The costumes, cars, and interiors gleam with opulence; ambition saturates the air. Restaurants open nightly along Huanghe Road, near People’s Park, becoming stages where romance and commerce blur into one continuous performance.

“Was it a relationship for money, or was it real?” a man asks a woman about to leave him. “Money is real,” she replies. That exchange functions as a thesis statement for the series’ early chapters: in this milieu, self-interest is not the hidden subtext but the governing principle. The protagonist, Ah Bao (Hu Ge), narrates the story in voiceover, recounting China’s economic opening and the stock market frenzy—before being struck by a taxi in downtown Shanghai and left gravely injured. Accident or assassination attempt? If the latter, who stands to benefit?

The question operates as a somewhat contrived entry point, transforming the ensemble of characters into potential suspects and justifying the constant use of flashbacks. Through these temporal shifts, Bao traces his meteoric ascent from modest beginnings in the late ’80s to becoming the unofficial “King” of the Shanghai exchange. Under the stern mentorship of Uncle Ye (You Benchang), he evolves into the most sought-after operator in the city, surrounded by a tight, loyal circle.

Recovering in a lavish suite at the Peace Hotel, Bao eventually reenters society. His return means navigating rivalries, suspicions, and the ambitions of those eager to align themselves—financially or romantically—with his rising star. The financial elite congregate nightly on Huanghe Road, and restaurant owners compete fiercely for his presence. Chief among them is Li Li (Xin Zhilei), the enigmatic proprietor of the new Grand Lisbon, whose extravagant opening anchors the early episodes.

She is hardly alone in seeking Bao’s attention. There is Miss Wang (Tang Yan), his close professional associate; Ling Zi (Ma Yili), who runs the cozier, homestyle Tokyo Nights in counterpoint to Huanghe Road’s flashy establishments; and several others orbiting this figure who resembles a hybrid of Jay Gatsby and Jordan Belfort—a seductive, wealthy, and faintly inscrutable man whose voiceover hints that one of these relationships may ultimately precipitate his downfall.

Visually, the series is sumptuous. Cinematography by Peter Pau (known for The Killer and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon) bathes scenes in saturated color and velvety light. Wong deploys his familiar arsenal: slow motion, occasional step-printing, oblique camera angles, frames heavy with negative space, and a lush romantic score. The characters appear as though styled for glossy magazine covers, and the melodramatic elegance evokes 1940s cinema.

The crucial distinction, however, lies in the narrative emphasis. Business is not background texture but foreground substance. Dialogue is dense with financial jargon—stocks, trades, market maneuvers, even a potentially volatile listing known as “414.” Unlike Wong’s earlier films, where voiceover often compensated for minimal dialogue, here both coexist. The narration remains unobtrusive—almost expected in a Wong project—and serves as orientation, but the speed and intensity of the financial exchanges can be overwhelming.

Blossoms Shanghai rewards patience. Even when the rivalries and shifting alliances grow convoluted—or momentarily seem beside the point—Wong’s aesthetic opulence sustains attention. The series invites immersion in textures: the gleam of tableware, the choreography of waitstaff, the layering of fabrics. At times, one may find oneself studying décor so intently that subtitles slip by unnoticed. In a sense, the show tolerates—and perhaps even encourages—that kind of distracted absorption.

What remains elusive, at least so far, is the aching romantic lyricism that defines Wong’s finest films. The gestures, costumes, glances, and meticulously composed spaces are all present, yet the tone often turns dry, even transactional. Emotion has not fully claimed its territory within the series’ vocabulary. Still, it is an experience worth entering, if only as an act of exploration. Blossoms Shanghai does not radically reinvent the rags-to-riches saga or the tale of ambition and betrayal. What it does is relocate those familiar dynamics into a far more beguiling environment. Romance, mystery, and even corporate treachery prove more seductive in the neon-lit alleyways of Shanghai than in a glass tower on Wall Street.