Tsui Hark is one of Hong Kong cinema’s most acclaimed director and producer, responsible for Peking Opera Blues and the legendary Once Upon a Time in China series.

I was born in China and my father brought
me over to Saigon, Vietnam, when I was a child. I grew up there until when I was 14, when my family moved to Hong Kong.

My father was a very conservative businessman,
but he prided himself on being adventurous and creative. After he died, I learned that he’d been through difficult times. People like that have to become creative in order to survive.

As a child I focused on trying to please my
parents and do well in school. Only after school did I feel a sudden hesitation to continue along on the wellbeaten path and become, say, an engineer. That was the most critical moment of my life.

After university in the US, I worked in
New York on documentaries and in newspapers. If I hadn’t gone into film, I’d probably be a reporter right now.

When I returned to Hong Kong in 1976,
one of the easiest jobs to apply for at that time was in TV. Working there was one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve ever had. The series I directed, The Gold Dagger Romance, was suddenly being called the best thing on TV. Up till then, I never had that experience of being talked about.

I joined the film industry in 1979 when it was
recruiting new blood. It was like opening a door and walking into a whole new world. It was scary.

Almost every project I take on is a major
challenge. Doing something creative such as film is rewarding but grueling if you want to make something original. When you really go into the details and explore the material, you’re actually exploring parts of yourself.

I have moments when I feel that nobody I’m
working with understands what I’m trying to do. Different people visualize the same project in different ways, and they are influenced by everything, from what movies they’ve seen to their personal understanding of life.

My relationship with my wife (producer
Nansun Shi) is like that of a projector and a screen. There are many people in life whose feedback you don’t need to care about. But with an emotional partner, you feel like you don’t exist if you don’t receive a response from them. This is the same way that a projector can’t completely exist without a screen.

Working together with my wife involves
the same learning curve one faces in all aspects of modern life. One encounters plenty of bumps, but you can avoid unnecessary conflict if you learn to compromise.

Most filmmakers go to China
now because of the size of the market. But I don’t think the Hong Kong film industry will die because people start heading to a different city. If the audience continues to support Hong Kong films, then Hong Kong films will flourish.

It’s only natural for Hong Kong
investors and producers to be ambitious and try to appeal to the China market. But filmmakers can still base a film in Hong Kong and make it very strong.

As a filmmaker, one just doesn’t lose energy
if one feels like there are still more films in you to be made. So many new ideas accumulate in your mind ... so many projects that have yet to be done.

Every time I finish a project I feel proud
and happy. But when I look back in the long run, it’s like those past achievements are no longer part of me now, they’re part of a previous self.

I don’t think about how I want to be
remembered. You can’t control the impressions or memories people have of your life. What you can control is how you live and enjoy that life.—Interview by John Robertson