Hero (Hong Kong, 2002, Yimou Zhang) AKA Da Doo Ran Ran Da Doo Rashomon

We live in extraordinary times. Never has there been a freer flow of movies worldwide, as a global network of filmmakers has the ability to get his/her film seen in just about every corner of the world; conversely, filmmakers get to see just about everything that’s happening around the world as well. Now, ignoring the irony of the fact that Miramax has had this wonderful film on a shelf for over a year, so only cinephiles who purposefully seek out the import Asian DVD will have had a change to see it, I’m wondering, after watching Hero, if director Yimou Zhang (known for his elegant and intensely personal dramas like Ju Dou, Not One Less, Raise the Red Lantern) has recently been enjoying the extravagant works of Bollywood. I ask because, while this stunning art house martial arts film certainly uses enough of the touchstones of the genre to pass muster as a "traditional" wu xia film, it also has a similar Bollywood-like heightened emotion with the requisite climactic romantic tragedy and, perhaps more importantly, a vivid sense of colour, applied both general, in the primary colour palette used to indicate shifts from one version of the story to another, and specifically, in the more arresting fight sequences—during a rain storm, or in an orchard being showered with petals. Further, the film’s focus on the conflict of traditional values, represented by the King of Qin, with the more modern aesthetic, represented by the "selfish" agenda of the Nameless Assassin, sounds remarkably similar to the central concerns of many Bollywood epics as well. Either that, or it’s some sorta Jungian collective unconscious thing, where we all have similar tales genetically encoded in us. Anyways and regardless, now that I’ve got that peculiar personal impression out of the way, mebbe I can move on to talk about what is on its own merits and Bollywood parallels notwithstanding, one helluva fine film.

Hero is both a rousing and thrilling epic that combines an examination of broad philosophical questions with a quietly intense psychological study of human relationships. Based on an ancient Chinese legend, the film gives us the tale of four figures, a King and the three assassins who seek his death. When the Nameless Assassin, played by Jet Li, is ushered into the King of Qin’s presence and hailed as a hero because he bears proof that he has vanquished the King’s greatest enemies, Li is asked to tell the tale of how he was able to achieve what thousands of the King’s troops could not. As Li recounts his adventures, we are encouraged to wonder exactly how much he tells us is embellishment or even downright imaginary fantasy. Zhang applies his talents as a student of human psychology, as the combatants must find and exploit their opponent’s mental or emotional weaknes, while, in the end, the Nameless Assassin is uncovered not because the stories lack internal logic or appropriate detail, but because the King discerns that his stories lack psychological resonance.

Li, whose muted manner seems appropriate for his character, seems to have tailored his performance on the stoic Man With No Name figure in Sergio Leone/Clint Eastwood westerns of the 60s, is well-supported by his fellow assassins, including the great Tony Leung, who remains filmdom’s best sad-eyed puppy, and Maggie Cheung, movie’s most effective ice princess. That these two work so beautifully together is hardly surprising: they are our Hepburn and Tracy, offering an Asian twist on the running battle of the sexes.

This "all is not as it seems" school of storytelling has as its most famous cinematic progenitor Kurosawa’s Rashomon. While the question of what is true or real teases us throughout the film as the stories of the assassins are told and re-told; each shares enough similarity to suggest that certain things appear to have happened, but they differ just enough to provoke confusion and uncertainty as to what those events really mean. The film’s sorta like real life, in that way. Plus, the whole role of the storyteller is raised as a key part of the equation here. How much can we believe anything we are told, considering how full of uncertainty we must be about the motives of the person telling us the tale? While Hero tells us that Truth and Simplicity are the essence of swordplay and calligraphy, life proves more challenging and complex. Each variation of the tale is like another of the sheets that Broken Sword and the Emperor must battle through, adding to the layers of confusion, illusion and self-delusion. Finding truth proves difficult.

Cinematographer Christopher Doyle’s contributions are key, as Hero may be the most beautifully-photographed movie I’ve ever seen. Likewise, Zhang’s use of space, sound, image, and movement is absolutely thrilling. The film’s exquisitely choreographed mano-a-mano battles are oddly reminiscent of a Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire musical, or, perhaps more accurately, a ballet with medieval weaponry. Scenes where Zhang fills the sky with arrows whose lethal plague-of-locust descents are awful, in the full sense of the word, and in one case carry us towards some Ran-like imagery in a calligraphy school, as an old master sits at his chair, with dozens of deathly quills whizzing past his head, while he tells his students that the soldiers may take their lives, but they cannot touch their culture. Christopher Doyle’s cinematography throughout is absolutely exquisite. There is extraordinary cinematic joy expressed in every frame; this is how to use the technology to engage an audience’s gut AND noggin. And it isn’t just the martial arts showdowns or the epic set pieces that evoke wonder. Some of the quieter, intimate shots, such as those of the Assassin and Emperor sitting and talking in the castle while separated by a bank of wind-blown candles are real stunners.

While Hero is surprisingly audience-friendly, and may remind many of Ang Lee’s breakthrough Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, it is, like Wong Kar-Wai’s narratively elliptical and esoteric wu xia arthouse film Ashes of Time, simultaneously challenging, imbued with visual swagger and philosophical sophistication. Just as the characters discuss how certain skills—music, chess, calligraphy, sword fighting—require a similar sort of mental and physical acuity, so too is Zhang suggesting an implicit, underlying connection of all things in "Our Land." Audiences may leave Hero wondering whether obliterating the individual for a cause greater than oneself is this the supreme sacrifice or the ultimate in futility; similarly, the film’s Zen-like paradoxes that accompany the emperor’s epiphanies are rife with ambiguity. To determine whether the film justifies the slaughter of innocents under the guise of unity, you’ll simply have to get yourself to a theatre to discern for yourself.

Score: 92/100

Agent Cody Banks: Destination London (USA, 2004, Kevin Allen) AKA Frankie Goes to Hollywood

Oh my. Where to begin? This film, at once witless, charmless, humourless and pointless, yet simultaneously vapid, tepid, pedestrian and dull, somehow manages to make contemporary London look about as interesting and appealing as Soviet-era Vladivostok. Frankie Muniz reprises his role in a 2003 surprise hit of minor proportions, conveying all the range of Keanu circa Much Ado About Nothing, with the subtle comic timing of neither Larry, Curly nor Mo. I know that this is supposed to be Bond for kids, but this is all about the gadgets, and--particularly now that Angie Harmon is outta the picture, carrying the whole "Summer of ‘42" thang with her (and no, I don’t count a peck on the cheek from Hannah Spearritt as particularly sexy. Hannah’s no Hillary Duff)--with none of the accompanying and absolutely essential sexiness. And Bond w/o sex is like a martini w/o vermouth. Factor in the lead-footed direction by Kevin Allen, who commits to screen some of the most ineptly filmed action scenes this side of Kevin Smith’s hockey sequences in Chasing Amy, and the predictably banal comic mistimings of Barbershop/Kangaroo Jack alumnus Anthony Anderson, and you’ve got yerself a recipe for one of the year’s most inconsequential and cynical money grabs. So nice to see you’ve still got it, Hollywood.

Score: 33 1/3/100