Most critics admire this as a study in controlled longing, and the praise gathers almost entirely in two places: Wong Kar-wai’s direction and the two leads. Reviewers return again and again to the cramped 1960s interiors, the colour, the slowed rhythm and the sense that the whole film is being remembered rather than watched. Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung are singled out for conveying everything without saying much, and Cheung in particular draws repeated attention for the way the sadness sits in her movement and posture.
The reservations come from the same restraint. Variety, reviewing from the festival, admires the visuals and performances but finds the melodrama too slight to leave a lasting mark, and The New Yorker calls it accomplished but peculiar, a film that refuses the emotional payoff it spends its length preparing. The spread is narrow: one mixed notice, none negative, and the later reviews are, if anything, firmer in their admiration than the first.
