(note: moderate spoiler advisory)
(note: definite verbosity and pretentiousness advisory)
Having been presented with the opportunity to acquire Zhang Yi Mou's much lauded Hero over the weekend, I eagerly watched it the night before last, and can finally voice my opinion on what has become perhaps essential watching for dedicated HKfilmers.
Some in the community may be surprised by my opinion on the film, just as I was surprised by the film itself. In short, my reactions to the film are mixed.
Having anxiously awaited my chance to view the film, I was elated when it finally began; the usual attitude of nonchalance which accompanies first viewings of even eagerly awaited films was absent, and my attention was fully with the film from the very first frame.
As the film began, I was awestruck by its cinematographical beauty, and lyrical chiaroscuro.
Oddly enough, however, by about twenty minutes into the film, I was becoming rather disoriented by the film, perhaps even slightly annoyed.
After what was a distinctive and exciting recounting of the battle between Nameless and Sky, the narrative choices of the film seemed somewhat random, even divested of emotional impact.
Midway through the sequence in which Nameless recounts his meeting with Broken Sword and Flying Snow, and the relationship thereof, I began becoming honestly disconcerted, especially at the point in which Flying Snow is takes the drastic action that she does (for the sake of avoiding spoilers, I will not divulge that action at this point).
After that point, I was questioning the intent of the filmmaker, whom I have greatly respected in the past for his emotional touch in understatement, and deeply moving characters.
This was a Zhang Yi Mou I was unfamiliar with; a director who seemingly could not present emotions with subtlety and power. The extraordinary events and circumstances in which the characters found themselves seemed devoid of genuine impact.
I honestly began feeling alienated by the film.
By the point of the film where Flying Snow and Moon duel, I was totally seduced by the film's fantastic visual flair, and by the absolutely brilliant contrasts in the film's tempos and color schemes.
At the duel between Nameless and Broken Sword, I was totally entranced by the utter beauty of the film's cinematography, and I began genuinely feeling the emotions of the characters for the first time.
By the final end of the film, I was left, as I have previously stated, with somewhat mixed emotions on its merit and appeal.
Upon first impressions, I was disappointed by the lack of emotional impact, and the Rashomon-like (inevitable comparison), disjointed, narrative seemed to actually detract from the film's power. Each of the recounted tales seemed merely to be a collection of strung-together incidences, all of which led to miniature climaxes within the plot structure of the film. In fact, any one of the numerous battles could have served admirably as the grand finale of a lesser wuxia of the early nineties. Upon first analysis, it seemed as though the film were a brilliantly shot series of climaxes without end, storylines without impact, and, ultimately, a largely pointless affair, despite being brilliant at times. The film seemed to exist without a message, aside from the propagandistic theme of "unity," which is enough to irritate anyone objectively familiar with Taiwanese-PROC politics.
But then, just as I had after experiencing the film's shift in color tones for the duel between Moon and Flying Snow, I was forced to re-evaluate the film, in this case, its narrative.
When I realized the true meaning behind Nameless's visit to the soon-to-be emperor Chin Huang-di, I was forced to re-evaluate his recounting of events.
Unlike Kurosawa's adaptation of Ryonosuke Akutagawa's Rashomon, in which the viewer is left unsure of the truth of events, save the fact that good can come from evil, and truth from despair, Hero's narrative structure differs radically in one crucial respect; we know at the end of the film for certain who was telling the truth, because it is presented to us explicitly. In this respect, the film's narrative totally differs from Rashomon, and no fair comparison between the two can be made, aside from the flashback-within-flashback element (at two separate points in Rashomon, a flashback-within-a-flashback-within-a-flashback occurs).
When I re-evaluated the film's initial narrative by Nameless, the complexion of the events changed entirely.
It finally occurred to me why the events seemed rather contrived and lifeless; Nameless had invented them himself, and his own personal attitude was profoundly morose. When I fully realized this, I realized that Zhang Yi Mou had not lost the emotional impact of the film; rather, his direction was absolutely brilliant!
Indeed, once the film's narrative is set upon the remembrances of Chin Huang-di himself, the romance and emotional impact of the film is sharpened considerably. Whereas before the character's duel seemed vivid and alive with color, the character's actual emotions were cold and morbid. That distance I sensed in the character's actions which had distracted me, and made me feel as though something was wrong with the narrative format of the film, or Zhang's direction itself, was in fact, absolutely brilliant film-making!
Whereas I had found it very difficult to relate naturally with the film from Nameless's perspective, I found it much easier to feel genuine emotions from Chin's, or from Nameless's later narrative, the true aspects of the story.
In fact, the morbidity and pallor of Nameless's duel with Sky, and the coldness of Flying Snow's duel with Moon, which had seemed so alienating before, now made perfect sense, and the narrative burst into life as I realized the truth behind the events.
Once I had re-evaluated the film, I was completely reaffirmed in my absolute respect for Zhang Yi Mou as a filmmaker.
Still, however, a small blemish exists on my opinion of the film. Even after re-evaluating the film's structure, it still seems somewhat meaningless. This is a film, what with Nameless's ultimate fate, and even its title, seems to imply a message, a meaning.
One very intriguing aspect of the film is the side-plot involving Broken Sword's new character for "sword," an absolutely fascinating side-note about the impact of Chin Huang-di's unified Chinese lexicography of characters. This aspect deserves earnest debate, debate which I am most likely not knowledgeable enough to do justice.
I cannot, however, seem to understand or discover the film's meaning, beyond the obvious, and perhaps even irritating one.
Perhaps upon repeat viewing, I shall discover it.
As far as the performances are concerned, I cannot really judge the performers very directly, as this is very much the director's affair.
The thread, so to speak, which held the film together, is Jet Li Lian-Jie's portrayal of Nameless, which he did either adequately, or brilliantly--it is had to tell with such a morbid, emotionless character. At times, especially toward the end of the film, emotion could be seen flickering beneath the stone-faced surface of Nameless; I honestly believe Li's performance to have been exceptionally good.
Tony Leung Chiu-Wai's performance as Broken Sword was perhaps the one stand-out among the cast of all-stars (but we could hardly expect anything less from the talented actor). His performance is layered, as necessitated by the narrative shifts, but he is the one character who appears to be totally sympathetic throughout the film--Nameless must have respected him.
Maggie Cheung Man-Yuk's personification of Flying Snow similarly varies, and ranges from cold to irrational, shifting with Nameless's narrative. One might even say that Nameless perhaps identifies with her at some points in his narrative, and not at others--consider the duel, and then her actions with Broken Sword. When Nameless recounts her skill in fending off arrows, or her duel with Moon, she is a stoic figure, very commanding and powerful; when she feel jealousy, and takes hasty action against Broken Sword, she seems irrational, and we can't really identify with her....
Zhang Ziyi's Moon is something of a background character, and serves merely as a catalyst for plot devices throughout most of the film. As such, however, she pouts at the right places, cries when appropriate, and turns in a solid performance all-around.
Donnie Yen Ji-Dan's Sky is a fleeting character, more often alluded to than seen, and is not clearly observed or understood, beyond other character's assertions, and his scant screen-time. He fills the role of a powerful martial artist quite well, however, and seems more soulful and deep than in most of his other performances.
Of final note, Chen Dao Ming's Chin Huang-di is a notable, and finely crafted performance, although he does seem to change midway through the film from cackling-super-villain to misunderstood-victim-of-circumstances-and-history to a degree.
In any case, this film totally and completely deserves re-viewing, and I would heartily recommend it to anyone who loves art, film, or Chinese history.
