Family can be the worst weight on anyone's shoulders, a terrible responsibilty and sources of multiple tensions, conflicts and anxiety. But it can also be the most wonderful support and source of well-being and happiness, a paradox that lies at the heart of "Little Red Sweet", a touching if rather generic family drama.

The story revolves around a family living in Kowloon City in Hong Kong. We especially follow May (Stephy Tang Lai-Yan), the twenty-something daughter, who is just starting a new job as a stewardess. May has her future ahead of her, but her family and her sense of responsibility towards it means that she may not be able to enjoy her own life the way she would prefer.

"Little Red Sweer" is the chronicle of the many vicissitudes the family will go through, from 2011 when the story opens to 2018. Struck by tragedy, parents and children will have to stick together, even though communication and understanding can sometimes come in short supply. Simon Yam is very good as the hieratic, gruff patriarch who yells at and criticizes his daughter seemingly all the time. Yet you don't need dialogue to see and feel that he is a good if clumsy father, full of a love he doesn't know how to express.

The plot also has to do with the transformations of Hong Kong over the years. The opening drone shot shows gleaming modern habitation towers, in the midst of which sit decrepit low-rise buildings and tong laus (old-style tenement buildings) in which traditional working-class families still live. There the mother and the father own a neighborhood restaurant patronized by faithful customers for its famed red bean soup, yet urban renewal and gentrification loom on the horizon and threaten the existence of the restaurant and the family's lifestyle.

This is a very familiar story for Hong Kong cinema over the past few decades, as property developers threaten to destroy the city's history, traditions and identity often play the villains in such movies. Nostalgia is a core emotion in "Little Red Sweet", expressed in flashbacks by the typical low-angle shots of planes flying low over Kowloon City before landing at the old Kai Tak Airport. Such shots form the core of the aesthetics of nostalgia that Hong Kong cinema specializes in, expressing the urban beauty and the longing for a Hong Kong that disappeared long ago - the way the restaurant and Kowloon City might disappear in their turn.

Indeed, much of the film feels like you've already seen it, or another like it. Yet "Little Red Sweet" makes up in emotion what it lacks in originality, offering moving depictions of characters young and old who strive to maintain dignity in a world that may be going too fast for them. A more serious issue, however, is the way that the mellow lighting, crisp images and perfect haircuts make everything look a little too beautiful, polished and clean, which runs somewhat contrary to the idea of an old working-class neighborhood fighting for survival.

A central tension also has to do, unsurprisingly, with the clash between modernity and tradition: May (an excellent Stephy Tang) is young and forward looking, but she stills lives at home and cannot admit to her mother that she would like to rent her own apartment. Willing to travel and see the world, she also has a deep sense of filial duty towards her parents, unlike her younger brother who spends much of his time livestreaming his videogaming from his bedroom. The best part about "Little Red Sweet" is the way it shows how unfairly women are theated in the traditional family, with May facing expectations and criticism her brother totally escapes. This is a more original theme and works well in the film, as it does turn a more critical eye towards tradition.

Finally, "Little Red Sweet" is also a food movie, with cooking and meals offered as symbols for human relationships. The best scene is perhaps when the father tersely teaches his daughter the painstaking process of cooking their celebrated red beans soup. This is a key moment of bonding as the older generation is symbolically passing the baton to the new one, while there is a feeling that cuisine can express ideas and emotions better than words. As May explains later, "we help people retain their memories through their taste buds". This way, perhaps, the history and identity of Hong Kong can live on.