Zhang Yimou's 'House of Flying Daggers'

At the age of 54, Zhang Yimou is considered to be China’s leading film director. Beginning with his first movie, “Red Sorghum” (1987), Yimou has drawn on a range of themes and genres that have reflected the venerated history, culture, and society of the Middle Kingdom. His past works have been marked by their neorealist style, skillful and creative cinematography, complicated relationships, moral ambiguities, and intensity of emotions. In 2002, Yimou made the jump to what is known in China as the "wuxia" genre, a prominent fixture in Chinese movie-making. Wuxia means “martial arts chivalry.” It emphasizes historical backgrounds, theatrical narratives and motifs, sword-wielding combatants, and the gallant demise of the hero figure. Yimou’s initial wuxia film was the internationally-acclaimed “Hero.” In that production, he made the most of an asymmetrical film structure that was filled with extravagant landscapes, vivid colorizations, and intricate and spectacular arrow-and-sword fight scenes. Following the financial and critical success of “Hero,” Yimou continued on in the wuxia genus with the 2004 release of “House of Flying Daggers.” The movie is similar to “Hero” in that it highlights martial arts and rich imagery. However, “House of Flying Daggers” diverges from its predecessor in that it is primarily centered around the maelstrom of human passions and emotions. The film involves a Tang Dynasty love triangle between two government deputies (played by Andy Lau and Takeshi Kaneshiro) who have been tasked to eliminate the leader of the House of Flying Daggers rebel organization, and one suspected female member of the group played by the strikingly-attractive Zhang Ziyi. The movie’s plot gradually reveals the truth of the characters’ hidden identities and shadowy loyalties amidst elaborately-arranged, computer-enhanced fight scenes. But underlying the showy martial arts action and the cloak-and-dagger deception is the painful transformation of a once-mutual love between two people into an unrequited one. This love, harbored by Zhang Ziyi’s character “Mei,” has receded over time and distance from its original object, which was one of the deputies, and transferred to the other. The final result of this tangled romance is as violent as it is unpredictable. Indeed, unlike the more political and intellectual “Hero,” the “House of Flying Daggers” is essentially a tale of love with the constant clash of arms and furtive manipulation that takes place in the film serving as absorbing sideshows. The feeling of both love and pathos shared by Mei with the two deputies is further magnified by Yimou’s now-familiar employment of a stunning color palette which beautifully complements the movie’s exotic scenery. The tense, but dynamic atmosphere in the film also heightens its director’s flair for the dramatic and the sensual. Some reviewers, particularly in China itself, have raised valid criticisms about the supposedly weak plot and script of “House of Flying Daggers.” It is true that the movie’s dialogue and plot could have been improved upon, and that Yimou’s capable direction and Zhang Ziyi’s exquisite looks do not compensate for these shortcomings. Yet, while it is fair to say that this movie does not compare in terms of overall depth and complexity to the more gripping “Hero,” it is still a visual feast to watch and a decent, if not heartrending, love story to match.