Rigor Mortis

In a grim, rain‑slick district of Hong Kong, a crumbling apartment block looms like a relic of forgotten lives. Its narrow corridors, flickering lights, and peeling wallpaper create a claustrophobic world where the ordinary and the uncanny press close together. The building itself feels alive, its walls humming with whispers that suggest the boundary between the living and the dead has begun to fray, setting a tone that is both oppressive and strangely magnetic.

At the heart of this decay is Chin Siu‑ho, a once‑celebrated actor whose personal loss has driven him to the edge of despair. Seeking anonymity in the building’s desolate rooms, he finds the solitude he craves quickly eroded by an atmosphere thick with unseen presences. As his inner turmoil deepens, he becomes increasingly aware that the apartment’s eerie silence is punctuated by forces that refuse to stay hidden, hinting at a struggle that will test his resolve far beyond the confines of his own mind.

Among the building’s other residents is Yau, a quietly diligent neighbor whose day job conceals a lineage of vampire hunting. He moves through the hallways with a blend of ordinary routine and an undercurrent of purpose, offering a glimpse of a world where ancient folklore collides with modern survival. Shadows also linger in the form of a reclusive practitioner of black magic, whose presence adds another layer of mystique to the already volatile environment, suggesting that the building harbors a tapestry of secrets waiting to be unearthed.

The film unfolds as a slow‑burning supernatural drama, steeped in mood‑driven visuals and a lingering sense of dread. Each hallway echo, each dimly lit doorway, invites curiosity while reminding the audience that grief can warp perception, turning ordinary spaces into haunted stages where reality and illusion blur. The interplay of personal anguish and otherworldly threat promises a haunting journey that lingers long after the lights dim.

Last Updated: October 07, 2025 at 13:26