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Film: Hero
Release date: 21st February 2005
Certificate: 12
Running time: 95 mins
Director: Yimou Zhang
Starring: Jet Li, Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Maggie Cheung, Ziyi Zhang, Donnie Yen
Genre: Action/Adventure/Martial Arts
Studio: Miramax
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong/China
While Zhang Yimou stuns audiences with this martial arts adventure where cinematography takes to the foreground, the message conveyed to some through the story has managed to spark debate over Yimou’s political implications of the film. But with the themes of love and war at centre stage in China, no less – what else can be expected?
Set in 3rd century BC China, the King of Qin (Daoming Chen) is on a mission to bring all the surrounding warring dominions in to one ‘united’ kingdom. Naturally, war is met along the way, sparking three illustrious assassins to seek personal revenge on the king, and end all the seemingly irrational destruction he is causing around the lands. For security, no-one is allowed within a hundred paces of the king unless proving their faith to him somehow. Enter Nameless (Jet Li), a warrior brandishing the three swords of the assassins (thus proving their defeat by his hand) who is allowed within ten paces.
Four different versions of the story ensue, each truer than the last, of how the assassins meet their demise. Essentially in all versions, there is first a battle between Nameless and Sky (Donnie Yen) in a chess house, where Sky meets his downfall. Then, there is a battle between Nameless and Flying Snow (Maggie Cheung), where she also loses out to Nameless’ unmatched skill. The third assassin, Broken Sword (Tony Leung), is also Flying Snow’s lover, and complications between the two allow for Nameless to obtain the last sword. However, there is a twist in the story, as it slowly becomes revealed that Nameless is not actually who he says he is, and now that he is within ten paces of the king, knowledge and righteousness put him to the test to discover if he really can be a true warrior…
Perhaps Yimou’s previous experience as a cinematographer influences the weight given to the film’s abounding aesthetic. However, credit must be given to this film’s cinematographer, Christopher Doyle, as the film is so amazingly visually rich. The individual versions of the story are told with different colour schemes; saturated primary colours, which provide evocative contrasts to otherwise beautiful but barren landscapes.
Tan Dun’s score provides a constant melancholy theme throughout, which is soft and dramatic, and nearly always present. This gives credence to the film’s existence as a piece of art as much as an entertaining film. Of course, drums are at hand for the fight scenes and moments of tension, which add authenticity to the Chinese culture of the film.
The storytelling should not be overlooked either. Its Rashomon-style flashbacks add layers of depth - four to be precise - to energise the story. They allow for not only four different stories to be told, but four different versions of assassin characters to be explored. In this way, Yimou gets to play with the audience by keeping it guessing until the very end.
It is difficult when watching and listening to a language so completely different from English to be able to fully appreciate what is being said, and how it is being expressed. From every other aspect that the renowned cast can be scrutinised from, none of them disappoint. They adhere to the choreography of the duel scenes with such natural ability, and although the expression of emotion is not at the forefront of the film, each carries a great weight of believability in their (many) roles.
We are not met with copious amounts of dialogue, and combat scenes fit to take your breath away seem to occupy more time in the film than any speaking. The general lack of conversation aligns with the elemental approach of the film, and so this is not a problem, however, the same ‘lost in translation’ issue can be said of the script. A western audience cannot be sure to receive the same message as what is understood by a Chinese speaking audience.
Following in the same vein, the most important feature in the film, Broken Sword’s depiction of the word ‘Tianxia’, accurately translates as ‘all under heaven’ (i.e. the world), whereas the western translation is ‘our land’, as in China. Both notions imply distinct differences, and hit on a critical debate over the film and Yimou’s intentions. Critics of Yimou have said the film’s approval by the Chinese government admit it to be a film of pro-totalitarian rule, of which Yimou has denied. Nevertheless the film certainly makes an impact politically, emotionally and visually.
Only those opposed to the wuxia genre may want to give it a wide birth, as there are a lot of combat episodes, however, those able to appreciate the elegance behind finely choreographed martial fighting, clever storytelling, and visual mastery will not want to miss it. MI
Film: Hero
Release date: 21st February 2005
Certificate: 12
Running time: 95 mins
Director: Yimou Zhang
Starring: Jet Li, Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Maggie Cheung, Ziyi Zhang, Donnie Yen
Genre: Action/Adventure/Martial Arts
Studio: Miramax
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong/China
Zhang Yimous’ sumptuous historical warrior epic certainly lives up to, if not surpasses, the two years of excited hype that this is the most expensive Chinese film ever made. Falling firmly within the wuxia genre, this breathtaking (although sometimes mind boggling) piece of cinematography softly coaxes you through a dramatic journey of loyalty, love and sacrifice that deals with both personal and political issues without feeling as though you are having to wade through a torrent of boringly obvious morals and ethics.
The determined dream of King Qin (Daoming Chen) to become the first emperor of China draws the attention of three deadly assassins from neighbouring warring kingdoms. It seems as though there is nobody who can defeat the killers until an enigmatic nameless warrior, surprisingly called Nameless (Jet Li), appears to seek a private audience with the naturally wary king.
Nameless claims to have battled and beaten all three of the king’s enemies - Broken Sword (Tony Leung), Flying Snow (Maggie Cheung) and Long Sky (Donnie Yen) - and modestly explains the details of the slayings. Even with the dead assassins’ weapons as proof of their demise at his feet, the king is unconvinced and proceeds to put forward a completely different version of how he thinks events played out.
Two powerful men with two opposing powerful stories, but which is the right one?
The actors carry off a solid set of performances, creating powerful, complex characters. Particularly of note is Jet Li’s portrayal of Nameless, our perfectly inscrutable hero warrior, who manages to subtly layer his character, leaving the audience questioning whether his motives are entirely honourable and honest. Maggie Cheung’s never faltering grace and beauty also shines through by combing a lethal combination of femme fatale with the ability to slay opponents with the ease of a warm knife through butter.
The director stretches the delicious battle scenes so that they make up a huge portion of the film, and revised in different ways according to who is telling the tale. Time is taken to create a tantalising flow of impressive frames that only serves to whet the appetite for the next. The direction is wonderfully unique, a prime example being when Nameless and Long Sky are engaged in battle purely in their minds. It is undoubtedly amazing visual art, but the audience would be forgiven for thinking they were being deliberately swept away by the set design to detract from the sometimes dubious plot points.
But, to be honest, it’s hard to care or be bothered to rack our brains over such mere doubts when there is so much more to be inspired by. Christopher Doyle is in charge of photography and has managed to create a masterpiece. Whether it’s the goose pimple inducing battle sequences, the majestic serenity of the floating assassins, or the fantastically vibrant use of nature and landscape that takes your breath away, it’s the perfection of imagery that makes Hero a must to watch.
Although the backdrop is arguably one of the most beautiful in cinematography, the halting nature of the narrative doesn’t give the characters enough opportunity to open up and develop to their fullest potential. Confusing changes in the storytelling and the battle scenes means the audience spends more time trying to figure this out and has less time concentrating on the characters. Subsequently, the film lacks the emotional appeal that made Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon such a winner.
Still, Zhang Yimou certainly has succeeded in making a special martial arts spectacle, although to merely class Hero as a martial arts film doesn’t give justice to the sublime richness of the movie. Although the warriors float around the screen as if part of a tightly woven, intricate dance, the audience knows that the possibility of blood, pain and death is ever present - a poetic brutality if you will - but these moments are kept comfortably waiting in the wings whilst the senses are overwhelmed by the genius of the picture.
All in all, this beautifully beguiling story is a timeless action movie, a heavyweight title clincher that will enjoy both commercial success as well as satisfying lovers of foreign films. At times lacking in plot substance and slightly confusing which, possibly, has been anticipated by the director, prompting the use of colour coding to indicate through which eyes the story is being told and also the individual stages in the story. However, this is a mere spot of rust in an otherwise impeccable suit of armour. Hero is an awe inspiring experience that should be sought by all movie lovers.
Film: Hero
Release date: 21st February 2005
Certificate: 12
Running time: 95 mins
Director: Yimou Zhang
Starring: Jet Li, Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Maggie Cheung, Ziyi Zhang, Donnie Yen
Genre: Action/Adventure/Martial Arts
Studio: Miramax
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong/China
Finally, two years after its creation, and as a result of severe petitioning to Miramax Studios from Quentin Tarantino, Zhang Yimou’s Hero obtained its western cinematic and unedited DVD release. Following in the mould of its spiritual predecessor Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon, Hero is a succession of sweeping landscapes, vivid colours and high wire action that sees Jet Li return to his native China to assume the lead role.
Summoned by the King, an orphaned warrior, Nameless, is hurriedly ushered through the gates of the palace so as to confirm a miraculous achievement. Presenting the Prime Minister with three boxes, each containing the weapons of three powerful assassins killed by Nameless, he is permitted into the throne room to drink tea with the King.
The King is a single-minded militant who wages war on the other regions in China, yet his philosophy is to do so not for personal gain but to make the nation strong, unifying them under a single leadership and language. Eager to learn how this mysterious warrior, who held a position of nothing more than a mere local Prefect in his Kingdom of Qin, defeated these assassins, the King invites Nameless to recount his feats. Nameless states he does not possess the abilities to have defeated them collectively yet reveals by separating and confronting each assailant individually he knew he would be victorious.
While it is widely known Broken Sword and Flying Snow are lovers, Nameless reveals that the couple had not spoken to each other in three years because of an illicit encounter Snow had had with the third assassin, Sky. Shown through flashback, Nameless, having infiltrated a calligraphy school in Zhao, reveals to the remaining martial arts masters the remains of Sky’s spear, claiming that Snow's compassion would lead her to avenge his death. This revelation leads to a startling and spiraling sequence of events where Broken Sword, distraught by the actions of his paramour, engages in sexual gratification with his student Moon to earn Snow’s resentment. Snow in a fit of indignation and rage retaliates by killing her former lover. Nameless, in the hall of the King, states this emotional unsettling as a result of the cunning plan he had instigated made the disposal of Snow in combat a formality.
After pondering this lavish tale, the King of Qin announces he has been deceived by the orphaned swordsman, and professes his own entirely new account of what transpired…
With directorial projects that have earned him Golden Bear’s and the elusive Grand Jury Prize, it is unsurprising that Hero exudes the confidence of a director who is comfortable in his craft. Hero is a visual feast as Zhang sculpts beautiful, if not iconic, imagery from the shifting landscapes of Chinese deserts through to the poetic motions of his actors’ choreography. It is impossible not to underestimate the painstaking effort that went into making sure the director achieved perfection in every single scene, as not one inch of the screen is wasted or not deliberately thought out. For the fight scene in the forest, between Maggie Cheung and Ziyi Zhang, Yimou Zhang had a man spend days there purely to inform him of when the leaves began turning yellow so that the director could achieve his vision of the juxtaposed yellow and red colours. Not simply this, but the lake scene involving both Cheung and Tony Leung could only be filmed for two hours a day because this was the only time the waters in the lake would be still enough to create the mirrored effect desired.
Yimou Zhang’s dedication to faultlessness in his artistry is the primary reason Hero is undeniably hypnotic in the sheer scale of its visual palette, but he accompanies this with an interweaving sequence of stories. When Jet Li’s Nameless delineates the fits of jealousy his craftiness sent Broken Sword and Snow into, the film and the characters are awash in red. From wearing red robes through to the red calligraphy house, there is a striking statement being made. It is only, however, when the King begins his hypothesis that the colours start to resonate as being more than just bright garlands when the same characters and school are depicted in a calming blue.
Zhang’s colour coding typifies the emotional thought processes of the characters, where red symbolises passion and rage; blue is representative of sacrifice; green is the exemplification of mercy; while white, as the closing of the thematic colours, can be interpreted as truth, birth or death. While the director has been quoted as claiming the colours bear no direct correlation to any one theme, this must be taken with a pinch of salt for Zhang is undoubtedly aware of the symbolism he himself must attribute to each shade - his declination of a definitive response has created much discussed ambiguity and subsequent publicity.
At its heart, despite the kaleidoscopic opticals, Hero is a martial arts film. Thankfully the high-wire choreography does not overly bend the rules of physics so as to feel nonsensical, but does so just enough to gift his characters an ethereal and benevolently enlightened feel. Despite Jet Li and Donnie Yen being the only schooled martial artists in the primary cast, the remaining protagonists all undertook weeks of training, and the result is there as evidence to the hard work they put in. Not one scene is compromised as a result of an individual’s inability - all the actors are beautifully convincing as they glide through air, bounce off lakes and pull off remarkable feats of dance-like combat.
There are criticisms that Hero, for all its breathtaking visuals, harbours an overriding doctrine of unification, and a philosophy that supports an individual's desire to bring peace to the masses through blood thirsty conflict and totalitarian rule. There are certain parallels that can be made to modern day China leading to a school of thought that Hero is pro-communist propaganda. However, as with the meaning of colours, Yimou Zhang’s true reasoning is open to interpretation by all, and while from a certain standpoint it is difficult to ignore these observations, it is also difficult to ignore the seemingly obvious that his story is based on history, and that certain events cannot be changed. Eastern cinema has a great penchant for the philosophical, endowing the perceived antagonists with moral codes, blurring the lines between 'good' and 'bad'. Yet the reasoning in this instance may be as simple as the director choosing to implement his poetic license, but then in Hero, nothing is ever quite as it first seems to be.
While some may have an unwillingness to swallow the simple premise as a means for justifying ninety minutes worth of sword-clanging, finding it a tedious exercise in high-wire showboating, it is impossible to deny the sheer beauty which resonates throughout this sumptuously narcotic feast.
Whether it be through majestic landscapes, the vibrancy and range of striking colours on show, or the graceful movements of some of China’s finest stars, Yimou Zhang champions a case for style when done with substance. BL
Film: Infernal Affairs III
Release date: 26th September 2005
Certificate: 15
Running time: 118 mins
Director: Andrew Lau Wai-Keung & Alan Mak
Starring: Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Andy Lau, Leon Lai, Daoming Chen, Kelly Chen
Genre: Action/Crime/Drama/Thriller
Studio: Tartan
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong/China
The first movie in the Infernal Affairs trilogy was so good, it helped win Martin Scorsese his long-awaited Oscar for another film. Its prequel follow-up established an epic urban grandeur the like of which had rarely been seen in Hong Kong cinema before. Box-office receipts were good, worldwide critical acclaim was high. Andrew Lau and Alan Mak visit the well one last time - has it, by now, run dry?
In Infernal Affairs III, we pick up where we left off - and just before we came in. Ten months after the devastating conclusion of the first film, we return to ask the question - did Ming (Andy Lau) the ‘victor’ of that original cat-and-mouse game truly escape his “continuous hell?” The continuing saga is juxtaposed with events leading up to the film’s opening, the viewer a bystander helplessly watching two tragedies leading into their inevitable sad conclusion.
Ming becomes obsessed with atoning for his life of deception and murder, and, when he becomes convinced that old boss Sam has another mole inside the police department, he determines that arresting him will make up for everything that he did. But is Ming, whose mental state is quickly deteriorating, up to the task?
Meanwhile, in the recent past, we fill in the gaps in the life of undercover cop Yan (Tony Leung) as his life inches inexorably closer to the tragedy of the first film. The events that led up to the first film’s endgame have direct implications on Ming’s story in the present - because, as always in an Infernal Affairs film, things are never quite what they seem…
No film series, no matter how inspired, is completely immune from the law of diminishing returns, and the Infernal Affairs series is no different. That is not to say Infernal Affairs III is not good. In fact, by any standards, Part III is a fine trilogy conclusion, boasting as it does a committed performance from Andy Lau, who gets deeper into the character of Ming as the tortured detective mentally unravels from the consequences of his actions in Part I. Haunted, falling apart and being drawn helplessly into his “continuous hell,” Ming’s guilt breeds a potentially deadly paranoia, and it is to Lau’s credit that he anchors a sharp turn in a new direction for a formerly down-to-earth, gritty crime drama. Where Parts I and II presented “continuous hell” as purely an existential construct, played out against a grimy urban backdrop, Part III essays the psychology of its protagonist. As such, it lacks the emotional grandeur of - especially - the first film, but with Lau giving it everything without, crucially, straying into ‘hammy’ territory, the concluding part of the trilogy still packs a heavy emotional punch.
Lau might steal the show in Part III, but there is fine work to be found throughout the cast - most notably with Leon Lai, whose natural, appropriate impassivity is put to the best use since his turn in Wong Kar-wai’s Fallen Angels. Lai has one of the more interesting characters in the film, his Detective Yeung is a cold, calculating cop whose motives are murky, and the means used to achieve them murkier still. His early bullying of a nightclub owner is a crucial injection of energy into the film, as the loyal audience wonders if there’s any new ground to cover with Yan, Ming, Sam and Wong.
And upon closer inspection, one suspects that it was ground perhaps best left unexplored. Unlike Part II, Part III has little to add to the first film but, by this point, enriching the Infernal Affairs mythology does not seem to be the paramount concern of the filmmakers. By employing a dual narrative - one half taking place six months before the events of the first film, the other half ten months after - Lau and Mak give themselves license to bring back dead characters, making the final film more of an excuse for a cast reunion than a necessary continuation of the saga. The effect is certainly satisfying on an aesthetic level - Part III has one of the ‘starriest’ casts in recent Hong Kong cinema - but such an obvious concession to crowd-pleasing makes Part III instantly a lighter affair than its predecessors. Its commitment to accommodating its marquee names results in its split narrative, not to mention detours into the unravelling psyche of its protagonist, occasionally confusing. Audiences are used to having to pay close attention to the plot of an Infernal Affairs movie by now, but Part III slips the narrative leash more than once (the appearance, for example, of Andy Lau and Leon Lai in rather prominent roles in the flashback sequences keeps a viewer at a distance trying to figure out how this all fits together, unlike the first two movies, which kept the viewer firmly in the role of keenly-observing passenger on board a thrilling cinematic ride). But then, of course, directors Lau and Mak have a quite marvellous cast to ensure the viewer remains hooked, even when they’re slightly befuddled.
Furthermore, while the present day continuation of the Infernal Affairs story contains high levels of intrigue and suspense (even if it cannot hope to jump the bar set by the original), the flashback scenario comes loaded with a sense of inevitability it never quite shakes off, and thus has less in the way of true narrative momentum. Tony Leung is as charismatic and watchable as ever, and he certainly works extremely hard, but it just never feels like an essential chapter of the saga (though the explanation of how Yan came to be wearing a cast on his arm in Part I is a nice touch).
Not a perfect film then but, as third chapters go, Infernal Affairs III is exemplary. Where Part II forsook the first film’s central theme of redemption, and the struggle to be good, Part III places that time-worn, but always compelling cinematic theme back where it belongs - front and centre. It may offer nothing in the way of thematic conclusion, save a stinging sense of existential futility, or even anything new to say on the subject, but it grounds the more melodramatic parts of the film, and lends it an air of relevance that might not be entirely genuine.
At the conclusion of the film, which takes the viewer right up to the opening of a memorable early scene from the original movie, the viewer is in no doubt that a thrilling, memorable landmark trilogy has come to a close. JN
Film: Infernal Affairs
Release date: 28th June 2004
Certificate: 15
Running time: 101 mins
Director: Andrew Lau Wai-Keung & Alan Mak
Starring: Andy Lau, Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Anthony Wong Chau-sang, Eric Tsang, Kelly Chen
Genre: Crime/Mystery/Thriller
Studio: Tartan
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong
When Infernal Affairs was released in Hong Kong, in 2002, it was described by the media as a ‘box office miracle’, resuscitating an ailing local film industry that had been experiencing one of its leanest periods. In 2006, its core story was reintroduced to international audiences as The Departed, the film which would go on to win the Best Picture Oscar. Eight years on, does it still stand up as one of the finest achievements in contemporary Asian cinema?
Yan (Tony Leung) and Ming (Andy Lau) are both Hong Kong police officers. They are also both in the employ of ruthless Triad kingpin Sam (Eric Tsang). How is this possible? Both are moles. Yan was plucked out of the police training academy as a teenager to work undercover with criminals, an assignment that has dragged on for nearly ten years, wreaking havoc on his soul and psyche in the process. Ming grew up under the guidance of Sam, and entered the police force specifically to be Sam’s man-on-the-inside.
Now, the double lives led by both men are beginning to cross, as the determined Superintendent Wong (Anthony Wong) makes it his mission to take down Sam. Yan and Ming are thrown into the deadliest game of cat-and-mouse, where the victor will reclaim his identity and honour, while the loser will spend eternity in “continuous hell…”
Commercial Hong Kong cinema, with its basic business model of quick productions generating even quicker profits, is not renowned for its traditions of slick plotting and deep characterisation. The emphasis has always been on spectacle filmmaking, the scripts - such as they are/were - functioning to justify the set-pieces, for which Hong Kong film has long been justly renowned. So, it was no surprise that Infernal Affairs - a film which effortlessly marries Hong Kong cool with a tight script full of ingenuous suspense sequences and rich character - was a standout film in the first half of the noughties, becoming a bit of a breakout cult hit when released internationally.
On first viewing, Infernal Affairs feels like a brand new experience: an intriguing set-up giving its brilliantly cast co-lead roles they may never better; and expertly crafted suspense sequences that prompt much hand-wringing from the audience (look no further than the first act drug bust sequence, with Yan and Ming behind enemy lines, desperately trying to help their real bosses, not to mention keep themselves alive afterwards; that it revolves around sly morse-code communication makes it all the more thrilling). Yet, what is most notable about the film is the way it builds on Hong Kong cinema tradition to provide that brand new experience. Infernal Affairs is the next logical step in the evolution of the Cantonese gangster movie, a direct descendant of John Woo’s equally seminal 1986 movie A Better Tomorrow, his 1989 masterpiece The Killer, and Andrew Lau’s own mid-90s Young And Dangerous saga. Those earlier films are its aesthetic, formal foundations to spin a complex, elusive tale, with an appealingly grounded, down-to-earth sensibility not found in its genre ancestors. John Woo’s films, with Chow Yun-fat in the lead role, were instant myths; the Young And Dangerous movies were relentlessly kinetic, cinematic manga, with a troublingly romantic view of the Triad lifestyle. Infernal Affairs, in contrast, combines the very best elements of urban Hong Kong cinema - the enthralling drama of Woo’s heroic bloodshed, combined with Lau’s energy and innate cool; and, topping it off, the existential ponderings connoisseurs would most frequently associate with Wong Kar-wai.
That the film recalls Wong Kar-wai’s work should be no surprise. Co-director Lau, who is also co-credited with cinematography, is a veteran collaborator of Wong’s, serving as cinematographer on As Tears Go By and sharing credit on Chungking Express with Christopher Doyle, who is credited here as Visual Consultant. Quite what Doyle’s role, and his level of influence was is perhaps unknowable upon viewing, but there’s no denying that Infernal Affairs has a unique visual look that is not quite replicated or matched in its two sequels. Hong Kong has rarely looked better than it does here; the camera capturing the beauty of the island, while also reflecting the characters’ growing sense of paranoia and isolation. Even scenes taking place in broad daylight, on rooftops overlooking the magnificent harbour, somehow manage to feel claustrophobic.
But this is also a testament to a tight script, spinning wickedly from its simple but ingenuous set-up. By placing utmost priority on the central characters, Infernal Affairs plays like an urban Shakespearean tragedy, with snap decisions and (dis)honourable impulses creating knock-on effects that spill out of the characters’ control. To claw their way out of one mess, Yan and Ming have to place themselves in an even bigger mess, creating a pervading sense of doom (or, more poetically, the concept of “continuous hell,” introduced in a subtitled Buddhist proverb over the film’s closing credits) looms large, even in the quiet, expository scenes. Yan and Ming live under a dark cloud of threat and retribution, the cloud constructed of their own existential guilt.
Co-directors Lau and Mak pull off a master-stroke with the central casting of Tony Leung and Andy Lau. Veterans of Hong Kong cinema, with numerous popular and art house films on their CVs, they were guaranteed to bring in as many mainstream as discerning viewers; their well-matched charisma sells the more stylised sequences and occasional unlikely plot-turn/contrivance; and their sheer talent conveys the slowly-mounting inner agony of both men.
Lau’s turn here was something of a surprise. One of the biggest box-office draws in all of Hong Kong cinema, known internationally for more mainstream, genre films, his quiet intensity is as alluring as it is despicable; Ming’s mouth may tell his colleagues one thing, but his eyes tell the audience another. Though he expresses a wish to simply break free of Sam’s grip, and live up to the high-achieving persona he has created for himself, Ming’s shifty, alert gaze is a window into a mind working overtime to figure out how best to save his own skin, whatever the cost.
In any other year, Andy Lau would have won the Hong Kong Film Best Actor award for which he was nominated, but the lone superior performance was in the same film. As Yan, Tony Leung brings all of the quiet, soulful sadness of his earlier award-winning role in Wong Kar-wai’s In the Mood For Love, infusing it with a more volatile, unhinged personality than we regularly see from him. With the retrospect provided by the sequels, it is easy for the audience to imagine the angst and anguish rioting in Yan’s heart; but in the first Infernal Affairs all Leung had to work with was a breakneck prologue establishing the premise. Nevertheless, ten years of deception and paranoia is etched into Leung’s face. It is a magnificent performance.
The supporting cast are not afforded the time and attention to match the central pair, but there is a brace of truly wonderful turns from Anthony Wong, whose gravitas elevates a slightly underwritten superior officer role, de facto father figure to both moles. The surprise package of the secondary roles is Eric Tsang, who eschews the buffoon persona he perfected in Sammo Hung’s Lucky Stars series (the films for which he is perhaps best known internationally) in favour of a startlingly villainous, oddly charismatic Triad boss.
Infernal Affairs is an undoubted classic of its genre, though not without the odd flaw. Its plot is dependent on contrivances made forgivable by the strength of the theme and characterisation, even if the directors’ touch with characterisation is not extended to any of the three female roles. Under-written and underplayed to the point of irrelevance, neither Kelly Chen as Yan’s appointed psychiatrist, Sammi Cheng as Ming’s live-in girlfriend (whose aspiring novelist character often feels like a missed opportunity), or Elva Hsiao as an old flame of Yan’s make a mark on the film - theirs being ‘written’ emotions that do not match the organic, genuine and raw emotions of the male cast. Cheng is a trophy girlfriend, there to represent what Ming has put at risk with his double-dealing; Chen serves as a counter-point in scenes acting as breathing space between plot sequences, her half-hearted exposition and musings telling the audience nothing Tony Leung isn’t making clearer just with his eyes; and poor Hsiao has a thankless role where she gets misty-eyed over a clichéd and obvious back-story at odds with the vitality of the rest of the film.
But these niggles are ones the viewer applies after the fact. Put simply, Infernal Affairs is a film about troubled men, and if the female characters don’t contribute much to proceedings, they certainly don’t subtract from a viewer’s enjoyment of a well-crafted, slyly plotted, and brilliantly acted thriller that is one of the finest, most enjoyable, and gripping films of its decade.
Infernal Affairs has certainly left a legacy, not just in the obvious cribbing of its visual and tonal stylings in Hong Kong/Asian cinema. As noted above, it formed the basis of Martin Scorsese’s The Departed, which went on to worldwide success, as well as awards glory - in its wake came some pleasingly sophisticated crime dramas and thrillers, most notably and recently in the directorial work of Ben Affleck, whose Gone Baby Gone and The Town owe a clear debt to Scorsese’s film and, by extension, to Scorsese’s source, Infernal Affairs. To return to the very beginning of this retrospective, it was said upon its release that the original Infernal Affairs was a ‘box office miracle’ in Hong Kong - a little bit of that miracle was sprinkled over Hollywood, and it was the movie-going public that benefited. Superlatives are exhausted. See this film if you haven’t already. JN
Film: Red Cliff
Release date: 5th October 2009
Certificate: 15
Running time: 142 mins
Director: John Woo
Starring: Chang Chen, Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Zhang Fengyi, Takeshi Kaneshiro, Zhao Wei
Genre: Action/Adventure/Drama/History/War
Studio: Entertainment In Video
Format: DVD
Country: China
The father of heroic bloodshed returns to his roots with a majestic re-telling of the Battle of the Red Cliffs and the birth of the three kingdoms. Revered for his work in the action genre, Woo journeyed west where his talent was diluted by the Hollywood studio system. In 2009, he returned with this, a lavish experience that brings that distinct Woo signature to the period epic.
During the Han dynasty of imperial China, ambitious Prime Minister Cao Cao is given power by the weak willed emperor Xian. Cao Cao seeks to dominate the southern regions by defeating the armies of Lui Bei and Sun Quan.
Cao Cao’s forces are overwhelming, displayed through several bloody skirmishes, yet many brave and skilled warriors still fight for the south.
Liu Bei’s chief advisor Zhuge Liang feels the only way to get a foothold in the war is to recruit the services of Sun Quan and the Wu Empire. Zhuge quickly bonds with Sun’s most trusted official, Zhou Yu, and together they persuade Sun Quan to enter the war against Cao Cao.
Meanwhile, Cao Cao’s forces approach the Wu stronghold of Red Cliff from all directions. As the vast armada approaches from sea and land, the southern alliance prepare to defend themselves against Cao Cao’s assault…
Red Cliff came as a refreshing change for a western audience gorged on Wuxia adaptations. Thanks to Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, the crossover appeal of period Chinese cinema increased tenfold, audiences flocked to see gravity defying assassins, colour coded armies and CGI arrows. Yet, as undoubtedly wonderful as those films are, they adhere to an almost fairytale like formula, complete with the fanciful dream logic that formula allows.
In John Woo’s triumphant return to Chinese cinema, there is no flouting of Newton’s law, no stylish and aesthetically pleasing swordfights, just nationwide warfare painted with epic brushstrokes.
It’s clear from the outset that we are not in familiar Woo territory. A sweeping score accompanies us through the clouds and across the lush vistas of a perfectly re-created 3rd century China. The set design, costume and photography is painstakingly meticulous - spectacle is the film’s chief characteristic.
Perhaps the most surprising thing about Red Cliff when comparing it to the director’s other work is the strength of the story and characters. Adapted from ancient literature concerning the tribulations of the three kingdoms, the script is surprisingly diplomatic with some of the historic figures. Cao Cao isn’t the moustache twirling, merciless villain that he could have been, Fengyi Zhang instead offering a ruthless yet ignoble portrait of the dictator. Elsewhere, Takeshi Kaneshiro is a joy to watch as the brilliant strategist Liang, and Tony Leung once again displays stoic confidence as Zhou Yu.
Strangely for a John Woo film, Red Cliff has some impressively strong female performances, a considerable departure from the wafer thin plot devices that usually populate the director’s work. In a film replete with almost superhuman men, it’s refreshing to see some ‘girl power’.
The highlights of Red Cliff, though, are its many spectacular battle scenes. The bloody opening battle is just the tip of the iceberg - later there is the tortoise formation, in which the southern forces lure Cao Cao’s army into a deadly maze of shields and spears. This is just one of many inventive gambits cooked up by Liang, another being the almost comedic acquisition of arrows from Cao Cao’s legion of archers to replenish his own supply.
It is during these epic action scenes that Woo can cut loose and unleash those beloved filmmaking tics. The heroes of the south stalk through the battlefield, cutting a swath through the opposing forces in glorious slow motion. While his career has been stagnating in Hollywood, it has been easy to forget how much of an accomplished technician of carnage Woo actually is.
A triumph for all concerned. Strong performances lead what must surely be John Woo’s finest work. Epic battle scenes punctuate a wonderfully told story of political turmoil intrigue. Woo presents a lovingly recreated depiction of 3rd century China, with extra doves. KT
Film: 2046
Release date: 23rd May 2005
Certificate: 12
Running time: 129 mins
Director: Wong Kar-wai
Starring: Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Li Gong, Faye Wong, Takuya Kimura, Ziyi Zhang
Genre: Drama/Romance/Fantasy
Studio: Tartan
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong
How to follow up one of the most internationally acclaimed films of recent times? If you’re Wong Kar-wai, you serve up a semi-sequel, sort of-remix. Does 2046 match up to In The Mood For Love?
Picking up four years after the events of In The Mood For Love, newspaper man, Chow (Leung), still nurses a broken heart over the loss of Su Li-zhen, and returns to Hong Kong from Singapore in 1966 as a calculating womaniser who leaves a trail of emotional destruction in his wake.
As he bounces from woman to woman, he documents his experiences in a serialised, allegorical science-fiction story about a semi-mythical utopia called “2046” - a place where people go to “recapture lost memories. Because nothing ever changes in ‘2046’. Nobody really knows if that’s true - because nobody has ever come back…”
What is the significance of the number 2046 as a film title? Is director Wong Kar-wai exploring hitherto un-chartered political waters, presenting audiences with symbolic angst over Hong Kong’s eventual return to overall Chinese control (the famous “one country, two systems” policy being due to expire in the year 2047, with no official word yet on how Hong Kong will be run beyond that point)? How can a character speaking Cantonese have a fluid conversation with a character responding in Mandarin? And why does Gong Li’s character have the same name as the one essayed by Maggie Cheung in Days Of Being Wild and In The Mood For Love?
These are just some of the many questions a first-time viewer will be left scratching their head over during the closing credits of 2046, a film which veers from mildly confusing to outright alienating, all the while being never less than utterly compelling.
Where In The Mood For Love was a heart-driven movie about restrained passion, 2046 is a more cerebral affair about human beings as wounded animals, and the terminal ache of unrealised desire. Thanks in large part to wonderful work from a fine ensemble cast, Wong’s emotional themes resonate profoundly, even if his intellectual commentary may initially seem somewhat garbled.
Gong Li makes a great impression in a very small role, while Zhang Ziyi really begins to show depth and range as a lovelorn escort. But the anchor of the film is Tony Leung, who revisits the romantic hero of In The Mood For Love and re-imagines him as a heartless cad, effortlessly conveying that the promiscuity and emotional cruelty on display are never anything more than weak tonics for his own broken heart.
Technically, the film is never anything less than exquisite. Wong’s visual flourishes remain peerless, whilst the cinematography from Christopher Doyle and Lai Yiu-fai is typically stunning, with its rich texture and originality of composition. Between the fine cast and the matchless crew, a first viewing of 2046 is always arresting, if not especially satisfying.
It’s on repeat viewings that the majesty of the film really shines. With hindsight, the director’s reprisal of music cues from earlier works, such as Days Of Being Wild, become more noticeable, as do various other recalls - such as moments where a character considerately removes a lady’s high heels as she pretends to be asleep; or the use of mysterious female characters who hide behind adopted names/personae in lieu of facing up to who they really are - and in aid of running from memories that are just too painful.
While 2046 may, at times, play like a mid-concert medley of a singer’s greatest hits, to dismiss it as purely self-indulgent is to misunderstand the level that Wong is working on. His abiding theme, consistent in each of his films, is memory and its destructive power over our lives. And what better way to illustrate the weight of memory than to recall characters, metaphors and leitmotifs from his oeuvre?
That being said, 2046 falls just short of ‘classic’ status for this very reason. Though he is among the most distinctive directors working today, Wong’s fingerprints have never been so clearly visible on one of his films before. Where his previous work saw richly realised characters gently meandering through their lives, the director, seemingly at the mercy of their actions (or, more often, inaction), is much more in control of his characters, forcibly guiding them through scenes and sequences to serve his existential commentary. Gone is the exploratory joyousness of Chungking Express and Fallen Angels, and in its place is a colder detachment that one would not normally associate with the director. But this is a minor notch against a film of staggering depth and ambition, that rewards repeat viewings like few others. It may not play well for the uninitiated, but for anyone who has ever seen a single Wong Kar-wai film, it is simply essential.
Not quite a masterpiece, but an engaging and enlightening career retrospective that also happens to be a rather excellent movie in its own right. As the final word on Wong Kar-wai’s cinematic obsession with memory and loneliness, it leaves admirers very excited to see which path he takes with his career from this point. JN
