The QUEEN of News

The Architecture of Ambition

In the polished, high-pressure corridors of SNK News, the truth is not a destination; it is a currency, traded and devalued by the minute. *The QUEEN of News* (2023), directed by Chung Shu-Kai, arrives not merely as a workplace drama but as a gladiatorial spectacle in pant suits and headsets. While often compared superficially to Apple TV+’s *The Morning Show*, this Hong Kong production by TVB vibrates with a distinct, ferocious energy that recalls the "palace dramas" of yesteryear. Here, the imperial court is a broadcasting studio, the throne is the prime-time anchor desk, and the poison is a well-timed leak to a rival network.



Chung Shu-Kai constructs a visual language that is intentionally claustrophobic. The camera rarely lingers on the Hong Kong skyline; instead, it stalks the characters through glass-walled offices and makeup rooms, emphasizing that their entire world is contained within the station’s ecosystem. The lighting is sharp, clinical, and unforgiving, mirroring the scrutiny the characters face both on-air and off. When the red "ON AIR" light hums to life, the show shifts gears into a kinetic, almost military precision. The direction highlights the dissonance between the calm, authoritative faces presented to the public and the chaotic, morally gray machinery operating just out of frame.

At the center of this storm is Man Wai-sum, played with icy brilliance by Charmaine Sheh. Her return to TVB is a triumph of presence; she does not just play the role of the "Queen," she inhabits it with a predatory grace. Wai-sum is not a likable protagonist in the traditional sense, and the script wisely refuses to soften her edges. She uses her team, the "Man Army," as pawns in a chess game against her rival, Leung Ging-yan (Kenneth Ma). Yet, Sheh imbues her with a specific, tragic dignity—the exhaustion of a woman who knows that in a patriarchal industry, a single moment of vulnerability is a death sentence.



The series has drawn ire from real-world journalists for its heightened, sometimes absurd depiction of newsroom operations—anchors don’t typically threaten their bosses thirty seconds before going live. However, to fixate on procedural accuracy is to miss the show’s metaphorical intent. *The QUEEN of News* is less about journalism and more about the corrosive nature of survival in a hyper-capitalist structure. The newsroom is a theater where ethics are constantly negotiated against the price of ambition. When characters manipulate a crisis involving a bus accident or a fire for ratings, the horror isn't just the event itself, but the commodification of human suffering by those claiming to report on it.



Ultimately, *The QUEEN of News* succeeds because it exposes the hollowness of the crown. As the factions war over prime-time slots and political favor, the series quietly asks what is left when the camera cuts to black. It is a sharp, melodramatic, and often thrilling critique of modern success, suggesting that the higher you climb, the less oxygen there is to breathe. In the end, Man Wai-sum stands tall not because she is righteous, but because she is the only one who accepts that in this arena, there are no friends—only sources and obstacles.