Review by Benjamin Poole
Directed by: Bizhan Tong
Starring: Adam Pak, Selena Lee, Kenny Kwan
Earlier in the week I was chatting to a film critic about the reboot of I Know What You Did Last Summer, which is effectively a remake ("requel") as it hinges on a diegetic recreation of the 1997 original's highly specific circumstances (a plotline which, in fairness, the 2025 film a) contorts itself to justify and b) realises is absolutely ridiculous and duly leans into the ensuing camp). I personally loved the reboot (the outfits that Mari-An Ceo chooses for Madelyn Cline and Chase Sui Wonders are gorgeous throughout, the kills are slick and fun, and Jennifer Love Hewitt so beautiful) but my colleague hated it, seemingly because of its pedigree: "the reboot no one asked for." While the derogatory sentiments of Radio Wales' chief film critic have certainly been borne out by IKWYDLS' underwhelming box office (no Brandy sequel for me ☹), I take umbrage with the paradigm itself and was about to duly launch into my patented "Ah, but from the earliest days of cinema horror is a revamp culture; why there was a remake of Nosferatu made at the same time as the original was being filmed, a product which itself was based on existing IP [as is IKWYDLS and Tape], and remakes proliferate in horror, sometimes as familiar lens to better reflect the given anxieties of an era, Cronenberg's The Fly for example, or often because the visceral pleasures of the genre are so direct that audiences demand replication: isn't every slasher film a "remake"? But the film we were watching - The Kingdom - started so I had to pipe down and after the screening all I could think about was Ghjuvanna Benedetti's incredible performance and that was that.
Watching Bizhan M. Tong's remake of Tape, the 2001 indie-chamber piece by Richard Linklater, itself based on screenwriter Stephen Belber's play, notions regarding the purpose of remakes resurfaced. Not unduly either, as this film makes a point of its lineage via a sizeable opening credit telling you that it is "Based on the play written by Stephen Belber and the film written by Stephen Belber and the film directed by Richard Linklater" (the two are also given producer credits), an unusual flex: did the recent Road House remake cite Rowdy Herrington? Foregrounding the emulation intrigues, and the original Tape was made during a bygone era where American indie cinema was in its imperial phase (it was one of two films Linklater released in 2001), and the film's photography technique directly links it to this period. Two years after Blair Witch Project, Linklater uses the vogue innovation of filming on camcorder to give the film a unique immediacy, a style which must have seemed thrillingly novel to early 00s audiences, giving the talky nature of the film voyeuristic urgency at a point where the mainstreaming of camera phones and reality television were a few years away. Plotwise, the film was also progressive within its 2000s circumstances, focussing on concepts of sexual consent and male entitlement (mad that we had the iPhone before #metoo): a very precise remit. In order to produce a meaningful and contextualised review of Tong's remake, spoilers follow...
While Tong doesn't do a Van Sant, it's fair to say that he doesn't stray far from the original Tape's template (a prototype, it is worth stressing, that the film has explicitly reminded us of). On the night before his film festival debut, film director Jon (Kenny Kwan) reconvenes with high school best friend Wing (Adam Pak) in a Hong Kong Airbnb. While Jon's life seems to be on the up, Wing is on his uppers as a part time firefighter (volunteer lifeguard in the original: differing cultural archetypes?) but full-time drug dealer. As the evening progresses, Wing accuses Jon of raping his ex, Amy (Selena Lee), who Jon hooked up with following the breakup. Wing is hoping to surreptitiously record a confession from Jon, and, in the third act, Amy arrives at the house to facilitate a climax... As in the original, the shifting morality of the film engages with how far you trust that Wing is doing the right thing, or if the purpose of exposing Jon is to satisfy Wing's jealousy at his friend's success vs Wing's subsequent failures (an icky detail is that Wing did not have sex with Amy when they were a couple, with the film suggesting Wing is envious of the fact that Jon did, regardless of the circumstance). The push/pull dynamics of the film, shot in a single location (although as a clean and modern city apartment the setting lacks the grimy claustrophobia of Ethan Hawke's sweaty motel room) predicate upon male pride, loyalties and accountability.
Although while there are nods to close circuit digital recording, for the main part Tape is filmed in familiarly cinematic HD, and while the novelty of the OG Tape's digital filmmaking is gone, Tong's film nonetheless lacks the stylistic exigency of its forbearer with the 2025 effort being shot in mannered medium frames. A crucial innovation, however, is the inclusion of a writing credit for Selena Lee, allowing for a female perspective within this film about men discussing women (a concession not afforded to the original, where the gender of the storytellers ironically replicated the character dynamic), and one hopes that the clear cut of the line "you set up a victim, just to appear the hero" was courtesy of Lee's pen. In the first Tape, the motivations of Uma Thurman's character were gnomic with her presence secondary; in this variant, a more explicit focus on Amy offers more polysemic impact. Because while the style and phrasing of the original film may seem slightly dated now, the ideologies and attitudes it sets out to explore still abide. Moreover, in Hong Kong, most rapes go unreported as victims are too ashamed of perceived stigma. In this dialogue forward film, some of the rhythms of the performance may be lost on those of us who don't speak Cantonese, but the relocation of Tape to this milieu is vital to its ongoing cultural meaning.
Tape is in UK cinemas from September 19th.
