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Borrowing stock and trade from gnarly American slashers of the time yet never losing the unique qualities of a Hong Kong horror, The Island begins as a leisurely excursion before steadily mutating into a relentless fight for survival as it plays out a pointed class conflict of its educated urbanites against the violent members of an isolated rural community. Beneath its surface lies an implicit clash between modern urban society and isolated, almost prehistoric violence. The humour in this is very much of its time and place, while the violence is way less visceral than the genre films it aspires to. It's well-shot thanks to director Po-Chih Leong, but it's the island itself that becomes the film's greatest asset. Its rocky coastline, dense vegetation and isolated coves create a convincing natural prison where escape feels impossible. The landscape isn't simply a backdrop; it actively contributes to the mounting sense of dread. It's certainly effective, if a little simplistic, and it manages to feel exhausting even after only 90 minutes. All the acting is solid throughout, but it's the score by Lew Dik that is the true highlight, a synth fan's dream. It really gets the pulse racing, enhancing so many of the more memorable sequences, whilst some of the tense moments get the classic horror treatment. Though overshadowed by more famous Hong Kong horror films, The Island is an otherwise solid little feature with plenty to savour, tense, atmospheric and surprisingly uncompromising, proving that Hong Kong filmmakers could adapt Western horror conventions without losing their own cinematic voice.