Winner of the Maureen Furniss Award for Best Student Paper on Animated Media (2024), awarded annually by the Society for Animation Studies

Introduction

In Hong Kong, while homosexual acts have been decriminalised since 1991, there is currently no specific anti-discrimination legislation to protect individuals based on sexual orientation or gender identity. Although the territory has enacted four anti-discrimination ordinances addressing sex (1995), disability (1995), family status (1997), and race (2008), the lack of protection for sexual orientation and gender identity leaves queer individuals without explicit legal safeguards. Consequently, concerns about the future are prevalent among queer residents and this anxiety is underscored by Yiu Tung Suen and Randolph Chun Ho Chan’s research, which identified a ‘gay brain drain’ (2020) as many contemplate or enact migration to other countries. As a result, the lived experiences of queer Hongkongers risk disappearing if not documented and shared, especially amid considerable societal changes.

My recent PhD research project is inspired by these challenges and employs two distinct investigations. First, I conduct semi-structured interviews with queer individuals from Hong Kong who are navigating migration. Second, I explore a transdisciplinary filmmaking methodology to examine and represent these narratives through a postcolonial lens. The culmination of these investigations is a series of animated documentary shorts titled Animated Queer Experiences of Saying Goodbye to Hong Kong (hereafter AQE). Each short employs different animation techniques to reflect the unique lived experiences of the participants, emphasising that no two stories are alike. Techniques utilised so far include collective filmmaking, generative AI interpretations of original choreographed dance, and animation methods such as bokeh, Pepper’s ghost, projection, thaumatrope, stop motion, and replacement animation. To maintain anonymity, all spoken narratives have been recreated by voice artists at the request of the participants.

To challenge and redefine the representation of queer identities within the AQE project, it is fundamental to clarify the project’s definition of ‘queer.’ In this context, ‘queer’ serves as an inclusive term for the broader LGBTQIA+ community, encompassing all non-heterosexual and non-cisgender identities. This usage aligns with Judith Butler’s assertion that queer must remain a flexible term, continuously evolving and serving urgent political purposes (19). Thus, queer representation should not be confined to static frameworks; it must embrace fluidity and multiplicity, reflecting diverse experiences beyond traditional categories.

Additionally, in discussing concepts of queer animation specifically, Kodi Maier highlights the discrepancies between academic and social justice interpretations of ‘queer’ (2018). While the academic definition may offer greater flexibility, the social justice perspective often emphasises community and identity. Andrew Gayed further argues that contemporary diasporic artists should reimagine kinship and embodiment, broadening their geographic understanding to account for transnational connections (11). This perspective is particularly relevant in Hong Kong, where the interplay of Asian and Western cultures creates a rich tapestry of experiences that challenge singular narratives.

The first completed AQE short tells the story of ‘Connor’, the pseudonym of a gay male Hongkonger now living in the UK, and is titled Hello UK, Goodbye Hong Kong. It is essential to note that documentary content produced in Hong Kong faces government-imposed restrictions, limiting approved topics. This reality necessitates participant anonymity, and interviewees may have various social, familial, or political reasons for their choice. Some narratives may remain unexplored, with each interviewee’s consent, reflecting the suppression and manipulation faced by queer Hongkongers.

Prior to formal interviews for the AQE project, I engaged in preliminary practice to familiarise myself with interview methodologies, conducting interviews with queer artists from Hong Kong, Taiwan, and South Korea. One interview highlighted the influence of a translator on responses, emphasising the need for careful consideration in multilingual contexts. Due to budget constraints, I currently conduct interviews exclusively with English-speaking Hongkongers, which unfortunately excludes many valuable perspectives (according to the 2021 Hong Kong census, 55.3% of the population speaks English, with a higher percentage of 90.6% reported for Cantonese speakers.) I am collaborating with a professional translator to develop a framework for future projects that ensures access to diverse voices. In Hello UK, Goodbye Hong Kong, non-English translation is provided through subtitles accompanying the English audio.

Connor was actively involved in shaping all auditory and visual elements of his film through regular discussions, which is integral for this project’s ethical documentary production. Bill Nichols advocates for subject agency and collaborative practices as essential for engaged representation (2001, 149–150), and this collaborative approach is exemplified in Jonas Poher Rasmussen’s animated documentary Flee (2021) where the filmmaker’s relationship with the subject facilitates an intimate portrayal of the refugee experience. However, there is a concern that as queer identities circulate globally, they risk being simplified and commodified, losing their political dimensions and the richness of local cultures. Connor’s ongoing involvement throughout the production (2022–2025) has been vital in keeping his identity central to the narrative.

The contemporary geopolitical landscape is characterised by change and instability, profoundly affecting queer individuals in Hong Kong. Recent developments have created uncertainty regarding their ability to engage with unfamiliar or unsafe spaces. For Connor, migration is not merely physical relocation; it involves adapting to a transformed environment and bidding farewell to a familiar Hong Kong, now marked by new complexities. He shares a number of personal motivations for his migration to the UK, including experiences of racism as a mixed-heritage individual, particularly in housing struggles – notably, he highlights the struggles he and his (also mixed heritage) boyfriend faced to rent apartments in Hong Kong as one specific example within in the film. The prevailing culture in Hong Kong, emphasising social cohesion over individual desires such as expressions of queerness, further complicates these challenges.

In September 2021, NPR reported on China’s ban on effeminate men on television, part of a broader initiative to curb social and cultural norms considered harmful to society (‘China Bans Effeminate Men On TV’). This regulation also targets the use of slang, non-standard Mandarin, and tattoos. The government’s actions have been viewed as an attempt to exert greater control over media and popular culture while promoting a more conservative vision for society. The TV regulator issued a statement urging broadcasters to 'resolutely put an end to sissy men and other abnormal aesthetics,' using the derogatory term ‘niang pao,’ or ‘girlie guns,’ to describe effeminate men. As Travis Kong writes, gay individuals like Connor '[migrate] to Britain as a result of their own deliberate and conscious decisions – not only for the common reasons of poverty, social mobility and individual advancement through studying or training, but also for the hidden reason of escaping the homophobic culture of Hong Kong, with a burning desire to experience gay sexuality' (141). Connor articulates this sentiment, stating, 'In Hong Kong, I couldn’t tell anyone I was gay. It was a secret. But in the UK, others know, and it’s good. It’s happy' (Connor, interview, 2023).

Animating Queerness and Hong Kong

Judith Halberstam notes that animation has been utilised by both the political right and left to debate the indoctrination of youth through seductive and seemingly harmless imagery (174). For example, Disney’s output has been critiqued as a vehicle for imperialism, particularly in Ariel Dorfman’s 1994 commentary on the studio’s 1970s shorts, How to Read Donald Duck (98); conversely, Sergei Eisenstein describes animation as a poetic methodology that can serve as a form of revolt, enabling viewers to perceive the world differently through absurd oppositions that disrupt conventional realities (1988, 4). In this context, Halberstam references Gilles Deleuze’s argument that, like cinema, animated images act as 'disruptions to habitual methods of thought' (177). This dynamic is increasingly relevant in contemporary animation, exemplified by the global success of animated features like Ne Zha 2 (Dir. Yu Yang, 2025), which transcends Western-centric narratives and engages diverse cultural perspectives.

The AQE project focuses specifically on modes of animation that represent the shared stories of individual queer Hongkongers, disrupting heteronormative and hegemonic methods of thought. An exploration of Hong Kong’s popular animated culture reveals diverse modes and technologies used for cultural translation and transmission. The first made in Hong Kong animated feature emerged in the 1981 with the release of Old Master Q (English title Old Master Cute, dir. Zhizhong Cai, Chin-Tu Hsieh & Sau-Yee Wu). Since then, Hong Kong has cultivated a rich portfolio of independent and distinctive animation. However, as Winnie Fu acknowledges, despite having talented animators, the lack of a robust industry has hindered the nurturing of these talents (7). Hong Kong animations often provide exclusive insights into the city’s cultural fabric, incorporating elements of daily life, societal issues, and local traditions. Films like My Life as McDull (Dir. Toe Yuen, 2001) and No. 7 Cherry Lane (Dir. Yonfan, 2019) serve as social commentaries on historical dynamics and observations of everyday and turbulent lives in the territory. These films blend real-world photography with narrative elements of historical events and attitudes. My Life as McDull juxtaposes animated sequences with photographs and live-action footage, creating a layered visual experience that grounds the story in a recognisable reality while allowing for imaginative exploration. This approach critiques issues such as class, identity, and aspiration within a historical context, highlighting the evolution of these attitudes for contemporary viewers. Similarly, No. 7 Cherry Lane employs a hybrid narrative, interweaving character-driven storytelling with real historical events and cultural references from Hong Kong’s late 1960s socio-political climate. Both films utilise real-world photography and historical narratives alongside animated fiction to portray the intersections of personal and collective histories, reflecting poignant explorations of love, loss, and cultural identity. By fostering dialogue while evading constraints imposed by the prevailing political climate, these works exemplify how animation allows for critical examination of complex socio-political environments.

However, today’s Hong Kong introduces further complexities related to its socio-political landscape and cultural identity. The city is marked by contradictions in influence, law, and history, complicating narratives surrounding its identity and governance. Following significant civil unrest that occurred over multiple instances from October 2019 to early 2022, it became illegal to wear a face mask in Hong Kong on 1st October 2019. This law remained in effect for 2.5 years, even as COVID-19 restrictions mandated mask-wearing outdoors starting in July 2020, therefore making the wearing of masks simultaneously legal and illegal in outdoor spaces. Additionally, Hong Kong has been historically recognised as a colony and later a dependent territory of the British Empire from 1841 to 1997. However, the Hong Kong Education Bureau rewrote that history (Burns). This context adds depth to the juxtaposition of ‘real-life’ indexicality – such as live-action documentary footage – and animated indexes, as these forms interact to question the nature of truth and representation in a politically charged environment. In light of contemporary perspectives on 'truth,' 'truthiness,' and 'post-truth' (Ehrlich 29) – which sequentially refer to an adherence to factual reality, subjective perceptions of truth (whether or not something ‘feels true’ to the individual,) and the diminishing influence of objective facts in shaping public opinion – Hong Kong presents a complex environment for queer documentary filmmakers. This context offers opportunities for exploration of identity, resistance, and the role of art in activism, while simultaneously imposing legally enforced creative constraints.

Animation serves as a potent medium for documentary filmmaking, transcending the limitations of traditional representation to evoke emotional resonance and complex narratives. While some audiences may struggle with the perceived lack of indexicality in animated forms, this very abstraction enables a deeper exploration of subjective truths and imaginative realities, illuminating lived experiences in ways that conventional documentary methods may not. Recognising the importance of combining ‘real-life’ with animated visuals as a means to address what cannot be openly depicted, we can explore the interplay between shared narratives and performative retellings. This duality facilitates the expression of anonymous truths, fostering dialogue and reflection within legal and cultural constraints.

Ehrlich evidences a remarkable surge in the contemporary production of animated documentaries through her analysis of Vimeo and YouTube data, summarising that 'the collective creative recourse to animated modes and imagery is more characteristic of the current era than any earlier period' (35-36). This rising popularity as a medium for nonfiction storytelling is supported by technological advancements, increased online distribution platforms, and a growing demand for diverse and authentic narratives in an era of misinformation. However, as Bella Honess Roe has written, some viewers may express reservations about attributing the term ‘documentary' to animated works (20). This ongoing debate underscores the tension between creative interpretation and narrative authenticity, particularly in fostering 'epistephilia' (a desire to know) in its audience (Nichols, 2001, 40) and negotiating the film/filmmaker–subject–audience triad.

Ehrlich emphasises the role of sound and voice in animated documentaries, noting that audio interviews are increasingly common, grounding the depiction in familiar documentary conventions. She argues that when audio acts as a warranting device, more fluid visual depictions can be sanctioned since they are not the only – or even the main – criteria for authentication. In this context, presence is signified by aural, not visual, elements, which contribute to the animated documentary’s authenticity (55). She further explains that the soundtrack can act as an index of the protagonists' embodied bodied existence, retaining a trace of physical presence and ensuring they are not perceived as dehumanised (182). Halberstam writes of the uncanny nature of animation, arising from its reliance on the manipulation of figures in front of the camera by those operating behind it, suggesting that the interdependent relationships – and even relationships of submission – are precisely what audiences seek to escape when they go to the cinema (178). Animation captures and incorporates ghostly shifts, revealing transitions between action and intention, desire and constraint. These shifts compel viewers to confront a darker reality about humanity and the nature of representation (Halberstam 178). The audience’s reception of the film’s soundtrack plays an important role in this debate. The combination of sound and image in cinema forms a constructed relationship; when Michel Chion refers to the audiovisual relationship as a 'symbolic pact' (222), he underscores that the connection between sound and image is not inherent or self-evident. Instead, it is an understanding that the viewer engages with when perceiving sound and image as belonging to a unified entity within the film. This cognitive process is vital, allowing viewers to merge sound and image into a cohesive whole, thus acknowledging the interplay between auditory and visual elements.

This intersection of intent and reception highlights the complexities inherent in animation as a documentary methodology and sets the stage for a deeper exploration of how voice performance can enrich these narratives. By examining the role of voice performers in anonymising subjects within animated narratives, we recognise that just as viewers synthesise sound and image into a cohesive cinematic experience, voice performers embody the anonymised voices of interviewees. In the AQE project to-date, all audible voices are performed by actors to maintain anonymity at the request of each film’s subject. This interplay of anonymity and voice is essential for bridging individual experiences with shared cultural discourse, allowing for a nuanced exploration of queer identities within a complex socio-political landscape.

Exploring the intersections of subjectivity and artistic practice-led research within the AQE project reveals parallels between animation and queerness. Maier argues that animation serves as an inherently queer methodology, emphasising how both animation and queerness challenge conventional notions of reality and normalcy (2018). Maier suggests that animation expands our understanding of reality and pushes the boundaries of what is considered normal. This transformative power enables animation to redefine traditional narratives and subvert accepted perceptions. Additionally, Maier references Halberstam’s idea that queerness operates as part of a broader assemblage of resistant technologies, highlighting how animation can disrupt established narratives and foster new forms of expression (2018).

Lilly Husbands proposes that experimental animation can be regarded as the queerest form of animation due to its tendency to 'bend, break, and question' conventional narrative and representation (2021). She emphasises its potential for radical freedom of form and expression, positioning it as a counter to mainstream animation practices. Husbands notes that experimental animation resists codification, refusing to conform to rigid definitions or fit comfortably within capitalist systems. Its labour often serves non-commercial purposes, presenting conceptual and perceptual challenges to viewers, further underscoring its queerness. This unique approach allows experimental animation to create a space for alternative narratives and expressions that defy traditional constraints.

In the case of AQE, I would like to clarify that my analysis of animation and queerness does not seek to equate lived experiences with symbolic domains. Instead, the objective is to highlight the potential inherent in animation’s growing cultural and political significance, both in practical applications and creative outcomes. This underscores the role of individual voices and animation as collaborative affirmations of identity through creative expression in the narratives of queer Hongkongers. The examination is situated within a framework of perspectives on margins, power, and discourse, recognising the interconnected nature of practice, research, and subjectivity, and highlighting their capacity to engage with and inform one another. Esther Leslie and Joel McKim suggest that life and animation are uniquely enmeshed in contemporary experiences, with the animated form becoming increasingly present in media, proposing that 'animation is increasingly fundamental to processes of knowledge production and the creation of various modes or elements of life. This appears to be a particularly critical moment to ponder animation’s expanded cultural and political role' (207).

The significance here is that a ubiquitous medium such as animation can be explored and critiqued through less public-facing lenses – such as individual lived experiences of queerness – evidencing new benchmarks in application and capability for the medium. Additionally, Gayatri Gopinath notes that liberal discourses on gay and immigrant rights commonly align with normative concepts of family, home, and child. In contrast, the aesthetic practices observed within queer diaspora communities offer alternative understandings of these constructs, diverging from the perspectives entrenched in liberal affirmations of both gay and immigrant rights (5). Noting the value of artistic practice in representing and archiving the unseen or less visible, Gopinath argues that queer visual aesthetic practices serve as both archival methods and means of proposing alternative interpretations of time, space, and relationships, which are often overlooked in mainstream historical narratives. To conceive and produce animated film content as a queer-identifying practice-based researcher, then, is to survey and embody the interrelationship of textuality and animation processes. The performance of roles and generation of assets – essential to the animation pipeline and markedly distinct from text-only forms of survey – incorporates inherently queer understandings as embodied research methodologies, where the researcher’s embodiment and practice are key components of the approach. Animated filmmaking within AQE, therefore, serves as a methodological framework for examining the lived experiences of gay migration, providing novel insights into the queer Hong Kong migration experience.

Vocal Resistance

For the voiceover for Hello UK, Goodbye Hong Kong, Connor requested a British-accented voice artist to perform the anonymised representation of his own words. Notably, this request was made without prior prompting. When asked why, he initially stated that a 'British voice seems nice, as it can be more anonymous' (Connor, in conversation, 2023). Upon further prompting about his specific choice of a British-accented voice, Connor explained, 'Because I do not have that accent, so it’s hard to recognise.' Ultimately, he provided no additional insights, leading to a conclusion of the topic. The literature review of the AQE project reveals several factors that may have influenced this decision, as well as significant implications that warrant careful examination. It is essential to reiterate, however, that any speculation regarding Connor’s motivations – beyond what he articulates himself – remains conjectural and poses a risk of imposing an inauthentic hegemonic interpretation on his individual lived experience, which is the antithesis of the AQE project’s intentions.

The dynamics of power and representation in queer narratives illustrate how personal stories can challenge dominant hegemonies. The cultural implications of voice – both British and queer –highlight the intersections of identity, agency, and narrative authenticity within the animated documentary of Connor’s story. Halberstam notes a prevailing focus in contemporary academia on studying hegemony over counter-hegemony, referencing Gramsci’s concept of counter-hegemony as the production of alternative ideas for social change (17). Halberstam argues that the dominance of hegemonic narratives often overshadows the potential for counter-hegemonic alternatives and emphasises the importance of education in fostering such ideas through an open, adaptable pedagogy (16). Michel Foucault’s philosophy further emphasises that disciplines create systems of normalisation that perpetuate themselves and stifle dissent (2003, 38). This critique aligns with the concept of 'low theory' (Edward T Hall and Mildred R Hall, 1990), which challenges the prioritisation of certain forms of knowledge and advocates for the inclusion of marginalised perspectives. Together, these theories illuminate the politics of representation, focusing on power dynamics in visual and symbolic forms. They underscore the need to amplify diverse experiences while acknowledging the tensions that arise when critiques of representation confront the emphasis on individual narratives.

In the context of the AQE project, Connor’s narrative as the inaugural animated documentary output allows for a collaborative exploration of the potential of animation to reflect and amplify the complexities of individual queer identities within a broader socio-political landscape. Following discussions with Connor, ‘subjective visions’ was established as the creative direction for his film. This approach entails visually layering animated representations of Connor’s visceral-emotional responses to his lived experiences within footage of Hong Kong and UK locations (serving as indexical markers of those experiences.)

Rather than employing seamless methods of integrating animation into real-world spaces, such as augmented reality or digital VFX, the film adheres to the behind-the-camera tradition of queer-informed performative documentary – the transparent involvement of the director is a notable characteristic in the construction of New Queer Cinema films (Rich 18). The emergence of this movement in the early 1990s provided on-screen representation for queer individuals and communities while reshaping our understanding of documentary. The concept emerged to describe a wave of independent films addressing queer themes and experiences, popularised through influential articles by critic and scholar B. Ruby Rich in publications like Village Voice and Sight and Sound (Geiger177). Key titles within the movement include Jennie Livingston’s Paris Is Burning (1990), Derek Jarman’s Blue (1993), and Wong Kar-wai’s Hong Kong drama Happy Together (1997). Many New Queer Cinema films exhibit self-reflexive qualities, acknowledging the filmmaking process within the narrative. This can include breaking the fourth wall or utilising meta-narratives to highlight the constructed nature of film. As Michele Aaron notes on Swoon (1992), ‘just in case one misses Kalin’s swipe at Hitchcock, Swoon restages a scene right out of Rear Window, with Jeff and Lisa’s romantic dialogue now taking place between the male lovers' (4). Other examples of queer cinema, particularly in documentary, also recognise the filmmaking process. For instance, Welcome to Chechnya (Dir. David France, 2020) employs VFX to overlay synthetic faces – commonly known as ‘deepfake’ – to safeguard the anonymity of its participants, a technique revealed to the audience when the subject courageously surrenders his anonymity. Similarly, Flee grapples with ethical questions surrounding representation, particularly in how Amin’s story is conveyed. Flee director Rasmussen’s approach to handling sensitive topics like trauma and identity reflects an awareness of his responsibilities as a storyteller, evident in the construction of intimate dialogues throughout the narrative. In the example of Paris is Burning, Livingston’s deep engagement with ball culture and her relationships with the film’s subjects are clearly reflected (Daniel T Contreras, ed. Aaron, 2004). While discussing the analog animation techniques in my film, it’s essential to connect them similarly to the aforementioned self-reflexive qualities, and the production’s representations of and relationships to the subjects. The use of these techniques not only adds a layer of visual texture but also symbolises the intimate and often complex nature of this relationship. And so, in terms of the visual creative direction for Hello UK, Goodbye Hong Kong, analog animation techniques and illusionary methods (such as the phenakistiscope, thaumatrope, and zoetrope) are integrated into real-world environments and, by employing methodologies that capture animation within these spaces – such as filming the creation and spinning of a thaumatrope in a close-up shot that emphasises the device – the resulting sequence serves as an important archival record of both the animation process and Connor’s story. The adoption of 19th-century animation techniques, a period when the concept of subjective vision first emerged (Jonathan Crary, 3), serves as an appropriate foundation for a creative direction seeking to explore and present the visceral-emotional sensibilities of the individual. This visual direction highlights how Connor’s identity and experiences are constantly in a state of becoming, shaped by the interplay of various forces, including cultural norms, power relations, and historical legacies. Further, as per Husbands (2021), this experimental technique further affirms that the film will unapologetically reflect queer perspectives.

The specific choice of vocal narration in Connor’s film plays a crucial role in amplifying these layered representations. This emphasis on voice performance aligns with the project’s overarching goal of redefining representation, allowing for a nuanced exploration of Connor’s emotional connections to both Hong Kong and the UK. As the narrative unfolds, the interplay of spoken word and animated visuals fosters a deeper understanding of the fluidity and multiplicity inherent in Connor’s experiences and identity constructs.

Connor’s choice for a British-accented voiceover encountered considerable academic resistance as the project progressed. However, voice replacement in documentary filmmaking is a well-established practice that continues through contemporary award-winning works. A notable example is Welcome to Chechnya, where a total of eight voice doubles are credited, three of whom are designated as 'ANONYMOUS.' Similarly, Flee also credits a number of 'ANONYMOUS' voice artists. Importantly in both documentaries, the voice actors perform with accents that audiences might conventionally associate with the subjects’ authentic, un-anonymised speech, and it remains unclear whether this decision was made at the behest of the subjects involved. While this technique may enhance the audience’s 'symbolic pact' (as per Chion) with the film, it simultaneously perpetuates hegemonic narratives by implying a singular, normative speech pattern for marginalised and/or Othered individuals. It is essential to recognise that there will be instances in which alternative perspectives may be more appropriate in the retelling of certain individual narratives. For instance, we must remain acutely aware of the lasting impact of societal gay shame (Todd), which underscores the importance of fostering unity through shared queerness. Queerness, as a construct of identity, is a valid lens through which to understand individual experiences, holding equal significance to other strands of intersectionality. If we were to reject Connor’s desire for a British-accented voiceover – an integral aspect of his individual queer identity construct for the film – in favour of the institute’s preferred ‘Hong Kong-sounding’ accent, we risk erasing a vital component of his individual queer identity in favour of hegemonic thinking. Such an approach would be both inauthentic and unethical and invalidate the film’s standing as a documentary of individual lived experience.

Subjectivity plays a fundamental role within the realm of animated documentaries, as the artistic interpretations inherent in this form have the power to evoke emotions, enrich symbolism, and convey subjective perceptions that may be difficult to capture through conventional live-action documentary techniques (Pilling 6). Arguably, then, Connor’s choice of a British-accented voice could be interpreted as a transparent indication of the British lens – both in researcher and practitioner – through which the AQE project is collaboratively constructed. Equally, Connor may seek to subvert expectations, an act that is a hallmark of queer cinema. While one could argue that the primary objective of employing a voice actor in the film is to conceal Connor’s identity, it is plausible that he finds greater comfort in creating a deliberate distance between himself and his narrative. For Connor, whose interviews were conducted entirely in the UK, the complexity of personal and geopolitical notions of ‘home’ adds further complications. Farhana Sultana writes that 'positionality and subjectivity are tempered both spatially and temporally, and are unstable and not fixed' (378). Returning to the UK to conduct fieldwork with Connor was by no means a return to ‘home’ for me, a British citizen by birth. Having left the UK in May 2007, I have not resided there for almost 20 years. The UK has undergone numerous changes in that time, including Brexit, the impacts of Covid-19, and social upheavals under a far-right populist government. These factors have contributed to my own sense that the UK is now unrecognisable from the place I once knew – and therefore no longer home – while Connor, who holds a Chinese passport and currently has no British citizenship, considers the UK to be home. This highlights the subjective ways in which individuals may perceive and relate to their own sense of drift, belonging, and deterritorialisation. During his interview, Connor stated, 'For me, when I moved to the UK, I thought, like, maybe my life would have been happier if I moved here sooner. Why didn't I just study here years ago? I like the lifestyle here; it’s better. It’s good, yeah.' He contrasts this with unfavourable reflections on much of his life experience in Hong Kong.

Following Connor’s voice request, it was important to me personally that the voice artist should self-identify as a member of the queer community. During a conversation with Connor, I raised the possibility of selecting a British-accented voice artist who also identifies as queer. We engaged in an open dialogue about this idea, ultimately finding common ground on its potential value for enhancing the authenticity of the voiceover.

An Animated Resolution

Regarding the vocal performance in Hello UK, Goodbye Hong Kong, Connor’s British-accented voice reflects his own individual choice of representation within the film, distinct from any other person’s identity construction. However, considerable pushback arose at my institute regarding academic expectations for ‘more authentic’ (hegemonic) representation. Concerns were raised that the British-accented voiceover erased Connor’s ‘authentic’ voice. These concerns were made in good faith, attending to how accent-based mediation may evoke colonial and postcolonial legacies. Suggestions put to me for alternatives included an AI-generated voice, a female voice, and a Chinese or Indian voice (as Connor is of Chinese and Indian heritage). However, all of these risk inherently problematic issues. For instance, an AI voice not only raises industry concerns (about job erasure and skills theft) but also – significantly to the AQE project – removes a distinct human element from the process, potentially leading audiences to perceive Connor’s story as fictional. A female voice, suggested as a means of anonymised representation, overlooks the implications of heteronormative society’s emasculation of gay men. Additionally, a Chinese or Indian voice reflects a limited view of what a Hongkonger or person of Chinese-Indian heritage is ‘allowed’ to sound like. Ultimately, as with all future AQE film outputs, the decision on voiceover rests with each film’s subject. Future iterations of the AQE project will benefit from the preceding shorts, as together they will effectively showcase a commitment to diverse representation throughout the whole series. For instance, the second film features a Chinese Australian-accented performer, echoing the interviewee’s own voice at his request, while the third interviewee has requested that his story be translated into Cantonese audio with English subtitles, viewing this as essential documentation of his spoken language at a time when 'political and social upheaval are diminishing [the] language' (‘As Cantonese language wanes, efforts to preserve it grow’). However, Connor’s story, as the inaugural AQE film, lacks the advantage of drawing from an existing diverse portfolio.

Through the construction of each sequence, Hello UK, Goodbye Hong Kong employs a performative mode unique to its animation methodologies and techniques. This approach not only highlights the filmmaker’s impact within the filmmaker-subject collaboration, but also ensures that the final shots – the results of each ‘behind-the-lens’ construction – represent Connor’s narrative inclusion. In doing so, it bridges the gap between creation and representation, effectively communicating the film’s collaborative nature to the audience. Intentionally, the film omits visual representations of Connor’s physical form, allowing the animation to document his visceral and emotional connections through abstract and experimental visual elements that evoke his experiences, all while situated within the real-life indexicality of Hong Kong and UK locations. For example, when Connor reflects on Hong Kong’s crowded streets – 'always so many people' – the animation employs a bokeh effect to convey his discomfort with this aspect of life in the city: the lights from bustling real-life environments transform through stencilled photography into animated shapes that rhythmically suggest the imposing movement of crowds, encapsulating Connor’s perspective of the surrounding environment. Thus, the audible voice becomes the sole embodiment of Connor’s physicality.

Ehrlich’s concept of the 'boomerang effect' describes how the initial distancing created by animated visuals paradoxically enhances viewer engagement and empathy towards protagonists, even in their physical absence: 'The eventual rupture of the separate and supposedly fictional animated world and its reconnection to actual events, the boomerang effect, strengthens the work’s representational viability and documentary value' (267). She suggests that a ‘sense of distancing can occur because the animated visuals depict information in a novel manner, supposedly creating a fictional world or at least one different from the ‘actual' world where the events occurred' (260). As a non-naturalistic form of representation, animation prompts active interpretation, compelling viewers to navigate the gaps between visual presentation and documentary content. This cognitive engagement leads to a more profound connection with the material, drawing viewers back to the subject matter through intricate processes of interactivity (267). Furthermore, animated documentaries often depict highly personal accounts, using expressive designs and intimate oral testimonies that foster empathy, allowing viewers to 'step into the minds of the speakers' (256). By employing avatars or graphic stand-ins, these documentaries preserve the anonymity and dignity of their subjects while enhancing viewer empathy. Through these strategies, animated documentaries transform the initial distancing effect of their constructed nature into a powerful tool for fostering deep viewer engagement and ethical responsibility.

Therefore, the decision to obscure Connor’s visual representation in favour of more abstract animated visuals invites viewers to engage more deeply with the emotional and psychological dimensions of the narrative. This approach fosters a connection that transcends mere physical appearance, encouraging a deeper engagement with the auditory narrative – the voice evokes a sense of presence and identity that surpasses any artificial physical representation. As audiences navigate these animated interpretations, the interplay between sound and image compels them to construct their understanding of Connor’s experiences through the lens of his voice. This emphasis on vocal performance highlights the significance of Connor’s chosen British accent as a crucial intersection of his identity, enriching the narrative and paralleling broader filmmaking choices in Hello UK, Goodbye Hong Kong. Together, it is hoped that these elements create a cohesive narrative that emphasises the complexity of identity and representation within the documentary form, serving as a reminder of film’s constructed nature and performative mode. By showcasing the filmmaker’s role in conveying Connor’s narrative, the film invites further reflection on representation and authorship.

As discussed above, the film takes the creative direction of ‘subjective visions.’ In addition to this, ‘cyclicity’ is employed as the film’s key visual motif. The homeland, according to Jasbir Kaur Puar, is not merely a demographic or geographical place but a spatial phenomenon that emerges through corporealities, emotional experiences, and multiple contingent temporalities. Puar expands this notion by suggesting that the sensation of place is not solely tied to a specific geographic location or historical memory. Instead, it coheres through 'sensation, vibrations, echoes, speed, feedback loops, recursive folds and feelings' (171). Within Hello UK, Goodbye Hong Kong, the term ‘cyclicity’ is employed as a descriptor denoting the representation of circles and recursive loops as prominent visual motifs of the film’s final output. Cyclic motifs in cinema often symbolise wholeness or unity, representing a harmonious state or the interconnectedness of all things (141 Wollen). Additionally, Wollen notes, 'Within a Modernist view, however, all work is work in progress, the circle is never closed. Incompatible elements in a text should not be ironed out but confronted' (141). This perspective has relevance for contextualising the AQE project – by embracing the idea that narratives are never fully resolved and that incompatible elements can coexist, this work reflects the complexities and nuances of queer identities, and aligns with the Modernist view that the process of storytelling is dynamic and evolving, much like the fluidity of queer identities themselves. Throughout the film, the visual motif of cyclicity manifests through looping and circular motifs, with particular relevance to Connor’s narrative, across various analogue techniques.

SEQUENCE 01

The film opens with the animated logo for Animated Queer Experiences, created using the experimental draw-on-film technique. This logo is set against a vibrant spectrum of colours inspired by the Progress Pride flag, immediately establishing a rich contextual framework. As Husbands (2021) notes, this cameraless technique underscores a commitment to embracing and representing queer experiences in animation. In terms of the AQE project, it signals an inclusive exploration of identity from the outset. The AQE logo, while remaining a cameraless construct, will take on a different visual identity in each film of the series – this reflects the individuality of each film and storyteller.

SEQUENCE 02

Next, a contemplative shot of a Hong Kong harbour presents the textual voice (written only, and unidentified/distinct from the film’s audible voices which embody Connor): ' Between 2022 and 2024, a number of gay Hongkongers were invited to share stories of their lived experiences for a series of animated films. At their request, all names were changed, and all dialogue was re-recorded by actors. No visual likeness of the storytellers appears on-screen during this film. This is Connor’s story.' Here, before Connor’s narrative begins, and before any audible voice is presented, Connor’s story is situated within the broader AQE methodological pipeline, and the singularity of his shared narrative is established, emphasising that the film does not seek to represent the experiences of any queer Hongkonger other than himself. We also establish that, within Connor’s larger life, this film is a snapshot from within a three-year period.

SEQUENCE 03

The film transitions to a black screen with spoken Cantonese language. An on-screen translation states: 'I want to use a British accent, I think that makes it more anonymous – Connor, October 2023.' This underscores Connor’s desire for anonymity and personal choice of identity construct, highlighting the interplay between language, identity, and individual representation.

SEQUENCE 04

A British-accented voice narrates over a visual of the film’s title in Connor’s handwriting. Although the handwriting is not explicitly credited to Connor, its inclusion alongside the British voice aims to prompt the audience to consider the complexities of self-representation and the fluidity of identity. Following this, a time-lapse transitions from a macro view of the Hong Kong cityscape – presented through live-action footage – to an animation of Connor’s chosen pseudonym, again rendered in his own handwriting, and finally to a micro view of food, depicted through animated photography, which is significant in Connor’s narrative. His statement about feeling like 'half Chinese-style food and half Western-style food' underscores his multicultural experiences and reflects a fusion of identities, while further validating his preference for a British-accented production as an expression of his unique self.

In reference to Puar (2002), speed emerges as a meaningful factor contributing to the queer individual’s sensation of place as homeland. Time-lapse facilitates a critical re-examination of the environment by constructing a new, unconventional timeline. In its compression of temporal scales, time lapse reveals the hidden rhythms, patterns, and transformations intrinsic to a given space. Within the film, this technique serves as both an introductory (intro) and concluding (outro) element, emulating the sequential properties of animated loops.

SEQUENCE 05

Here, the bokeh effect is employed to illustrate Connor’s reflections on Hong Kong and the UK. The shots detail how stencils of keyframes from a walk cycle reshape the environment, creating an abstraction of Connor’s thoughts. Ultimately, in a UK setting, Connor’s assertion that 'the UK is much more relaxed' is visually represented through a disruption of the bokeh effect, allowing the established pattern to break. The sensation of place as homeland for queer individuals is profoundly influenced by vibration, as Puar suggests (2002). In photography, bokeh refers to the aesthetic quality of out-of-focus areas in an image, creating visually pleasing vibrations, or blurs, that reshape light into new forms. This technique effectively conveys the broader oppression Connor experiences as a queer individual within Hong Kong’s collective culture: bokeh involves manipulating light through stencil cutting to create animated movements that explore the growth and decay of image silhouettes, progressing from the original digital frames through various stages to culminate in a timeline of sequentially arranged imagery.

SEQUENCE 06

Briefly returning to more Hong Kong live-action timelapse as further indexicality, this sequence utilises a body of specially-shot photography to create a replacement animation of Hong Kong apartments (thereby not associating a fixed identity through suggestions of Connor’s former residence.) The deliberate monotonous framing of the visuals here reflects Connor’s negative attitudes towards Hong Kong apartment housing, which he further elaborates on in sequence 08 (with sequence 07 providing valuable context.)

SEQUENCE 07

This sequence begins with the construction of a thaumatrope, which is subsequently animated. The thaumatrope features a Hong Kong flag on one side and an Indian flag on the other, serving as visual shortcuts to identify each territory. Throughout this process, several actors participate in the creation and performance of the thaumatrope, illustrating a visual representation of intersectionality that aligns with the device’s 'both not half' approach (Ahluwalia), combining Connor’s Chinese-Indian identity in motion. The thaumatrope is an ideal animation methodology for representing dual instances that form a unified whole, reflecting Connor’s self-identifying heritage. Its simple technique allows for a subjective viewing of these two distinct instances which, through recursive folding, coalesce into a single unified image. Moreover, the construction and manual operation of the device further situates the animation within real-world indexical space.

SEQUENCE 08

Here, 2D animated representations of the rejections experienced by Connor and his boyfriend employ a traffic light system. The potential for renting apartments is initially indicated by a green light, which quickly shifts to a red light upon meeting various landlords. This transition features representations including the Western gesture of shaking one’s head alongside the word ‘no’ in English, as well as the Hong Kong gesture of crossing one’s arms accompanied by the word ‘no’ in Chinese. For indexicality, the animations are projected into the doorways of a number of Hong Kong apartment buildings.

SEQUENCE 09

In Hong Kong, Connor’s sexuality was concealed from everyone except his boyfriend. In contrast, upon moving to the UK, he experiences a newfound openness regarding his sexuality in both professional and social contexts, regularly visiting gay bars and clubs with his new friends. This transition is illustrated through the use of the Pepper’s ghost technique. Initially, a wide shot reveals the vibrant colours of the Progress Pride flag, within the confined space of a glass dome, in a larger public Hong Kong setting. As Connor’s narrative unfolds and he contemplates more open expressions of his sexuality, the sequence of shots gradually pushes in, removing the confining glass dome from the frame and emphasising the abstract visuals of this emotional process. Ultimately, in the final wide shot, the dome reappears, while the animated representation of his thoughts becomes blurred within an unapologetically queer UK environment. This visual metaphor illustrates that, despite his increased openness, Connor’s sexuality remains hidden from his family, leaving an echo of the confinement he experienced in Hong Kong. Puar writes that echoes play a profound role in shaping the queer individual’s sensation of place as homeland (2002). Employing a single animated sequence across multiple geographic locations effectively depicts the perpetual nature of experiential transformation. In this context the Pepper’s ghost technique is utilised, with the apparatus relocating to various regions in Hong Kong and the UK while remaining centrally framed in each shot. This approach ensures the centering of Connor’s narrative, forming a cohesive visual continuity and facilitating effective editing. The echoed image – via projection – occurs within a sphere (visually suggesting cyclicity, a unified whole) as an interconnectedness of all environments in shaping Connor’s experiences.

SEQUENCE 10

The narrative concludes with a repetition of the opening time-lapse, inviting the audience to now reconsider earlier perceptions of Hong Kong through Connor’s perspective and emphasising the subjective nature of experience. The final pre-credits audio component features a timecode ‘beep,’ further underscoring the focused construction of Connor’s singular story. Throughout the film, by showcasing the filmmaker’s role in conveying Connor’s narrative, it invites reflection on his individual queer lived experiences, representation, and authorship. The outro shot seamlessly integrates as a novel component of the introductory sequence, mirroring Connor’s introspection regarding this encapsulated life event and reaffirming the cyclic motif.

SEQUENCE 11

Lastly, the film’s closing credits take on a different tone in visual and tempo, reflecting a sense of resolution and empowerment to cap the narrative. The closing score is based on the jingle played in Hong Kong’s MTR (Mass Transit Railway) stations, remixed to resonate with Connor’s sense of both excitement and nostalgia as he hears this familiar tune for the last time upon leaving Hong Kong. This auditory motif not only reinforces Connor’s personal connection to the city but also serves as a poignant reminder of the everyday experiences that shape one’s identity, how personal experiences and familiar sounds can intertwine, highlighting the enduring impact of place on individual narratives. This final musical choice underscores the film’s exploration of transformation and the potential for renewal within the contexts of self identity and cultural belonging, bridging themes of memory and place to evoke a bittersweet sense of farewell, while encapsulating the emotional complexity inherent in leaving a home that has substantially shaped Connor’s journey.

In Conclusion

Hello UK, Goodbye Hong Kong serves as an exploration of the intersections between queer identity, postcolonialism, migration, and animation as they relate to Connor’s individual lived experience in Hong Kong. Through Connor’s story, the film navigates the complexities of individual representation and the ethical considerations inherent in wider queer documentary filmmaking, and challenges traditional narratives surrounding identity and belonging.

The work also highlights the connection between queerness and animation as a methodology that resists traditional norms and categorisations: both animation and queer identities disrupt established narratives, offering radical forms of expression that reflect the complexities of singular lived experiences. This approach positions animation not just as a medium but as a site for political and cultural significance, particularly in representing the diverse realities of queer individuals.

Further, this research also examines the implications of voice, the significance of participant agency, and the challenges posed by hegemonic expectations in representing queer narratives. Connor’s choice of a British-accented voiceover exemplifies the ongoing negotiation of identity within the context of postcolonialism and migration, revealing how personal and socio-political dynamics intertwine. It considers the politics of representation as this relates to the AQE project, discussing the broader implications of voice representation in animated documentaries – particularly in the context of queer identities. It critiques the tendency to impose normative speech patterns that can counterintuitively undermine the authenticity of constructed marginalised representations. The interplay between voice, identity, and narrative authenticity is crucial, as it challenges dominant hegemonic narratives and calls for an inclusive understanding of queer experiences, underscoring the necessity of maintaining diverse perspectives in storytelling, particularly within politically charged environments.

In addition to Hello UK, Goodbye Hong Kong, a second AQE film is now completed. The second film, Rhythms of Identity (2026), tells the story of YC through a pipeline in which specially-choreographed dance and cinematography is mediated by the inherent hallucinations, biases, and interpretations of GenAI modelling. The implications of Rhythms of Identity are discussed in my co-authored open access paper 'Queer Representations in Motion: Documenting Identity through Animation' (Pattinson and Shaw, 2026). Moving forward, I aim to broaden the AQE project's research scope to include narratives from a wider geographical pool and more diverse representations of queerness, with funding for a feature project.

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