On the final day of this year’s Qumra (3-9 April), celebrated Hong Kong filmmaker Johnnie To took centre stage for a highly anticipated master class, held at Doha’s Museum of Islamic Art. Moderated by Richard Peña, the discussion traced To’s life-long relationship with cinema – from a childhood fascination to the founding of his production powerhouse Milkyway Image – in a session that was as humorous as it was reflective.

He opened the conversation by recalling how he first fell in love with film, a formative memory dating back to his early school years. “I was probably eight or nine when I really discovered cinema,” he said. His father worked in a warehouse behind a movie theatre, and To was often taken along. “We weren’t allowed to sit with the audience, so I’d sneak behind the screen and watch from the back. I had to move my head from side to side to take in the full width of the picture,” he added with a smile. “It felt miraculous. Cinema was something between real and fake – and I began developing feelings towards films.”

Despite his clear affection for the screen, To admitted he wasn’t an academic child. “I wasn’t a good student. I didn’t think continuing my studies would be useful, so I started looking for a job.” He applied for four positions, and the first offer came from the television broadcaster TVB, where he was assigned to the Drama division. “That’s when I realised that actors needed a script,” he laughed. “I didn’t know that before.” What began as a job quickly evolved into a passion. “The more I worked, the more I understood. I wanted to make a living, but I also wanted to make something meaningful.”

The 1970s and 1980s were a golden era for Hong Kong film, and To found himself right in the thick of it. “It was a lucky time to be in the industry,” he reflected. “Both TV and film were booming, and if you had any ability, you felt like you could make it. Directors were exploring new genres to meet audience expectations. That was the peak.”

Peña pointed to To’s rich and varied filmography, asking about his genre-blending hit The Heroic Trio (1993), a film featuring three female leads in a super-powered fantasy-action setup. “Originally, I was thinking about casting a male actor, but that would have cost too much,” To recalled. “With the same budget, I was able to get three women. Why not? Everyone had a great time on that set. It felt like we were filming in a post-reality world – almost like animation.”

To also discussed his unconventional approach to screenwriting. “I often don’t have a complete script when I start filming,” he said, although he clarified that this wasn’t always the case. “For some productions, especially where we had to move around complex backdrops, we needed more structure. Still, I often write as I go. In Hong Kong, unlike Hollywood, budget restrictions really affect how we work.”

The conversation turned to the creation of Milkyway Image in 1996, a milestone that gave To creative control. “By then, I’d directed several box-office hits,” he said. “But I felt like an engineer more than an artist. I needed a break.” He spent 1995 away from the camera, thinking deeply about his next steps. “In 1996, I made the decision to set up Milkyway. Since then, our productions have been original. Even now, I’m not fully satisfied with most of my films. I still haven’t made the one I truly love. But I keep trying.”

To illustrated the spontaneity of his working method with anecdotes from films like PTU (2003) and Running Out of Time (1999). “When I was filming PTU, I was working on two other films at the same time. One day, I showed up at a location and saw a hotpot restaurant. I thought, ‘Let’s do something here.’ That scene appeared early in the film, but I hadn’t even thought of the second half yet.” What mattered to him was capturing the “sense of cinema” – a mood and rhythm that transcended dialogue.

Asked about recurring themes in his work, such as the moral ambiguity of law enforcement, To said such portrayals were rooted in Hong Kong’s reality. “Police in Hong Kong have always had their own rules. As long as they don’t overdo it, they look out for one another. If they don’t, they risk becoming victims themselves. It’s always been like this – they see things, but don’t talk and don’t ask for help, because it could make things worse.”

To also spoke about his preference for working with a regular crew and trusted actors. “I don’t like wasting time explaining things. After working with me for a while, they become like silent partners,” he said. “It’s the same for some Hollywood directors, too.”

When the topic turned to CGI, To was clear: “I prefer the traditional way. I think film should have a human touch – artistic and commercial. Even if CGI is made by humans, it lacks that. If I slap your face with CGI, there’s no pain, no human reaction. It’s not real.”

Peña probed the issue of violence in his films and whether To believed it could negatively influence viewers. “Some might feel that way, but I don’t think so,” he said. “It’s just a movie; it’s fake. I actually try to ‘beautify’ violence, not show it in a horrible or cruel way.”

As the session drew to a close, Peña asked To for his thoughts on the future of Hong Kong cinema. “I am concerned,” he admitted. “But coming to Doha has been an eye-opener. This place has transformed from desert to city – wealth, cleanliness, opportunity. That gives me hope. Every era brings change, and maybe this is a chance for Hong Kong’s industry to evolve.” He encouraged younger filmmakers to look beyond their borders. “Countries such as Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia didn’t use to make many films, and now they are. Hong Kong needs to broaden its horizons.”

To singled out a recent European Netflix series, Adolescence, for praise, calling it “not expensive or hard to make, yet very resonant”. For him, the key lies in embracing flexibility. “We don’t have to insist on cinema. We’re creators. As long as there’s a platform, we can express our ideas. Things aren’t as complicated as before. Just try whatever pops into your mind.”