Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings

Because, Well..."Magic"

or

It Always Pays to Accessorize...

 
Shaun (Simu Liu), your friendly valet down at that swanky San Francisco hotel is seen by most not to be living up to his potential, and that includes the family of his pal, Katy (Awkwafina), who also valets, and she might agree with them, if she didn't also enjoy the slacker lifestyle and its freedoms.

 

But, they don't know the half of it. Not even the tenth of it. Shaun is actually Shang-Chi, son of the immortal villain Xu Wenwu (Tony Leung, MVP), who, after the death of his mother (Fala Chin) by enemies of his father, was trained as a martial arts assassin to avenge her death. When charged by Wenwu to carry out an assassination, Shang-Chi disappeared, leaving behind his sister Xialing (Meng'er Zhang) and becoming invisible in the world, and leaving behind the world of evil in which his father lives. 

 

All this is to say: tip your valet next time. You don't know what he's been through to get there.

Look. This movie has spent a long time getting made. Marvel was going to do something with "The Ten Rings" as far back as the original Iron Man movie, kind of fluffed the chance when they botched the character of The Mandarin in Iron Man 3—it is alluded to here in this film—and it looks—for now—that they're going to center "Phase 4" of the Marvel films around it (at least until something better comes along). 

 

I mean, c'mon, if nothing else this movie has Tony Leung in it...Tony Leung!

 

That's great. One could speculate as to why Marvel chose to go with "The Infinity Stones" story-line in the last phase, but it would be to the detriment of the studio and its perception of their audience. No, let's just say this next step opens up the Marvel Universe to other cultural worlds and can expand their exploration of the Asian culture beyond ninja's and sumurai.

Because, let's face it, the origin of Shang-chi (or "Master of Kung Fu" or "Brother Hand" as he's been known) at Marvel is a little cringe-worthy: unable to obtain the rights to adapt the TV series "Kung Fu" to comics, Stan Lee and the creators at Marvel decided to make their own, snagging the rights to Fu Manchu and creating Shang-Chi as his son. When the "Fu" rights expired, the writers changed the story-line/origin story and allowed the character to mature beyond pulp stereotypes.

The Ten Rings story is an interesting one—not unlike the Infinity Stones, but they're more complex and can do more things,* and it appears that the MCU is making them bracelets as opposed to the comics' finger-rings to make them visually more distinct than the Infinity Gauntlet thing. I'm sure there will be moans from the comics fans that everything isn't completely faithful to the originals, but then, the X-men never wore leather in the comics, either.

So, how's the movie? Pretty good—the first Marvel character movies have traditionally been good to great and then slide into mediocrity (with the exception of the Captain America series, interestingly) although the story is not much to write home about—Delusional Evil Dad wants son back and sends his agents to find him and bring him home. What makes it special is Tony Leung Chiu-Wai is such a great actor that you actually work up some sympathy for him. Plus, Michelle Yeoh is there as "Aunt Nan" (really) and she's always welcome.

Director Cretton keeps things fast and moving, including the dialogue, and as so much of this movie is fighting, he has a great way of filming choreography, which is always a plus in a genre where one should be as expert as possible in animating fisticuffs. 

 

Again, an interesting start for Marvel which makes one excited for things to come.

* And I guess that may be my major complaint about the movie—the Rings aren't explained, they're just a given. They're magic. They do magical things. Why? And how? It tends to negate any sense of tension when there aren't any rules or limitations explained, so that when somebody gets the upper hand you think "Wait! Can he do that?" It's like playing a board game without reading the instructions. There's no meaning to it. It's an adjunct of the visually stunning Marvel comics that had those magnificent ships appearing over a cityscape and having it explained by a character that said "I don't know what it is, but it sure is BIG!"

Lust, Caution

Lust, Caution aka "Se, jie" aka 色，戒 (Ang Lee, 2007) Despite its NC-17 rating, Lust, Caution is a spy thriller, not a sex film (the "NC" rating was created to separate films of merit that had explicit sexual content from the porn-dominated "X" rating, but it doesn't seem to have translated for mainstream audiences). 

And yet, until later, it's not exactly a spy film, either. It involves infiltration and spying and deception with a means towards assassination, but the activities are not conducted by any government organization (at least not initially), but by activists against an organization. The differences and particulars are minute, as subterfuge and manipulation are the weapons—this could be the "Impossible Missions Force" at work.

If not that infiltrators are amateurs who might be considered just playing a part with severe delusions of grandeur.

It is 1938, and a group of drama students in Japanese occupied Hong-Kong put on a patriotic play that raises donations for the resistance. But the play's director ("Typical director," says one of the actors, "he never listens to anyone else.") decides it's not enough to raise money—a relative of his has discovered his employer is a Chinese collaborator, and the student troupe, in a surge of patriotism (and drunkenness) vow to assassinate the man, Mr. Yee (Tony Leung Chiu Wai). 

They set up an elaborate ruse insinuating two of the troupe as prominent business-people and over shopping trips and mah-jongg games befriend Mrs. Yee (Joan Chen). Before long, the smartest and most gifted of the actors, Wong Chia Chi (Wei Tang) has caught Yee's eye, and makes plans to set him up for the kill.

Despite spending hours at the movie theaters watching Ingrid Bergman and Cary Grant movies (Lee uses them specifically), she would have saved herself a lot of grief if she'd seen the only movie the two starred in together, Alfred Hitchcock's Notorious (1946)." Spying is probably the world's second oldest profession, seeing how inexorably linked it is with the first. In Notorious, Bergman's floozy socialite is used by intelligence services to infiltrate a Nazi cell by playing on the affections of one of its leaders. She's a honey trap, using her target's weakness for her as a weapon. Her superiors (in all matters, save moral) are only too willing to let Bergman's character prostitute herself for their ends. And like Louis Calhern and his hypocritical Notorious cronies, the actors-playing-resisters are only too willing (while feeling somewhat guilty) to let Chia Chi seduce Yee.

The preparations come for naught, however, even though Chia Chi has managed to put Yee under her spell and he is tempted by her. Before any real seduction/assassination can take place,  Yee and his wife move back to Shanghai and the company disbands, but not before killing one of Yee's circle, who had become aware of the plan.

Move ahead four years to 1942 Shanghai where things have changed: Kuang (Leehom Wang), the leader of the drama club now works for the Nationalist Party's secret service, the Juntong, and Mr. Yee is now head of the secret police, whose job is to eliminate Chinese resisters and members of the party—known as the KMT. Things have changed but, when Kuang encounters Chia that old plan resurfaces and with the Juntong's blessing, Kuang begins the process anew—upgraded with weapons training and being given a suicide pill if she is discovered—with the stakes now dangerously higher.

Chia Chi meets with Yang—who remembers her as "Mrs. Mai," her role in the initial attempt—and Yee, still smitten with the woman, falls for the plot. Discreet meals become clandestine meetings, schedules re-shuffled, sex initiated—first roughly, crudely and Yee is shamed by Chia's outrage and hurt, then more intimate, considerate—but Chia finds the details of arranging the assassination challenging, not only for the stalling of the KMT "for strategic reasons," but because she is starting to have feelings for Yee and she wants the assignment over, done with. She is starting to fall into dangerous ground, where, though she may betray her body, her mask of subterfuge is at risk and her core emotions may be exposed and threatened. The lie is becoming real and her initial sense of purpose and her love of self and country (in the larger scheme of things) may be compromised.

But this is where the drama is. Lust, Caution was attacked by some for its "plodding" pace (its far subtler than Hitchcock and the unsubtle sex is distracting) and for its contained emotions (it is a spy film, after all), but it deals with masquerades and the subjugation of self for appearance, something that everybody knows and buys into as a matter of course, especially in this sub-set of thrillers. But, in a game of manipulation, hearts can't be worn on sleeves and deception is a strategy of truth suppressed and artifice as shell. For Lee, its another of his "repression" films, be it Sense and Sensibility or Hulk or Brokeback Mountain where the Id's fight is the prominent conflict on-screen.

As far as spies are concerned, this is the very well-plowed field that John le Carré has toiled in for years, where the loyalty of the heart betrays loyalty to duty or country. Intimacy creates allegiance. Consideration creates confusion. Depending what side of the War (Cold or Hot) you situate the tale, it is a Triumph of the Will for good or bad. Do you betray the mission or do you betray yourself? The trail of the heart leads to rapture or an early grave.

Lust, Caution has been unfairly neglected as a great work, with accusations of more emphasis being paid on the key players to the detriment of the historical context (and the stakes involved that would lead a woman to such actions—one hesitates to say it, given political turmoil's costs, but in a tale of the Soul, it's nearly as dismissible as a McGuffin), and for its sexual content—which amounts to five minutes of the film's 2 1/2 hour length (in its unexpurgated form)—and for which, as a result, actress Wei Tang experienced a professional black-listing (but not Tony Leung, interestingly but not surprisingly) despite a truly great dramatic performance. These are small and smallish arguments. Looking at the larger picture, Lust, Caution slots in so well with both the intricacies of the spy genre and Lee's ouvre, and one day, one hopes it might be re-discovered as a highlight of both lists.

Ciang Chee realizes her friends have no problems prostituting her.

In The Mood For Love

In the Mood for Love (aka Faa Yeung Nin Wa, 花樣年華, Wong Kar-Wai, 2000)

"It is a restless moment. She has kept her head lowered...to give him a chance to come closer. But he could not, for lack of courage. She turns and walks away."

They are ships that pass in the night...or the hall-way. Mrs. Chow (Maggie Cheung) and Mr. Chan (Tony Leung) rent rooms next door in the same Hong Kong building (circa 1962) and move in the same day, meeting when they exchange items mis-placed by the movers. She works as an assistant for a shipping company. He works as a journalist. Sometimes, the hours are long, but not so frequently that they can't spend time with their spouses.

But, they can't. Both spouses work more erratic schedules and are frequently away "on business." We never see them, only hear their voices in other rooms or over the phone. Mr. Chan's wife is only identified by her flip hair style and Mr. Chow (in the only time we see him from the back) has the same brylcreemed hair as Mr. Chan. But, they have a lot more in common than just off-schedules and domiciles. And for being neighbors, Mrs. Chow and Mr. Chan share a lot, as well.

They spend a lot of time apart from their spouses, and given the cramped quarters of the hallways, they sometimes dance out of each others' ways. They frequently eat alone, and walk the streets at night to get food—Mrs. Chow with her noodle thermos and Mr. Chan eating at the alley-way cookery. Their land-people take note of the odd hours and their alonen-ess. They get invited to dinner, but they are appeciatively waved off. Mrs. Chow works for Mr. Ho, and must work with her boss' needs for scheduling and gifting his wife and his mistress. Sometimes, the gift is the same thing, even matching color.

Gifts are exchanged in the adjoining apartments, as well. New rice cookers, ties and hand-bags. But, familiarity breeds suspicion. After passing each other on a fairly regular basis, Mr. Chan makes the excuse of acquiring an imported hand-bag for his wife to ask Mrs. Chow out to dinner and the two compare notes—Mr. Chan is wearing the same imported tie that Mrs. Chow says her husband was gifted by (according to her husband) "his boss." And the two realize that their mutual spouses are probably having an affair. Small world, Hong Kong.

They walk back to their place, both in a bit of shock. He speculates who made the first move, and he's sure it was her husband, and he in turn wonders if they should pay them back in kind. Mrs. Chow briefly smiles, then turns dark refusing to stoop to their level. He then says it doesn't matter who made the first move—it's already happened. She turns on him: "Do you really know your wife?" And stalks off.

But, they meet again...discreetly, of course. It's Hong Kong in the 1960's and marriage is between a man and a woman, but anything else? It attracts talk. It attracts suspicion. And they've made a vow; they won't be like them. But, they have a bond, and they hurt, and so they discuss, share experiences and feelings and meals, trying to understand each other's situations. It's therapy, and they're doing nothing wrong. But still, no one must know.

They rehearse her confronting her husband about the affair, practice it, for when the time comes. She asks him what he'll do, and he thinks he'll do what he did before he had to be part of a couple—go see movies, he may even write that martial arts serial that he wants to do. She likes them, too—she's borrowed his collection; why doesn't she help him write? The idea seems absurd to her, but soon they are both writing, separately, comparing notes. But, then they have to write together and when they try at his place, she's trapped when the neighbors come home early and decide to play an all-night mahjong game.

That doesn't work. They can't work and the serial is getting attention (the kind they might want), so he rents a room away from their mutual place. But, the stigma if they're caught scares her and she resists going there. It is difficult to trust, at this point, and what if it becomes something more? But, one trepidatious visit and her fears are calmed. It's business and it's joyful and they both enjoy the writing.

They love it, in fact. And as he says, at one point, "these feelings creep up on you." They don't talk about love. They don't talk about their need. But, they feel it, and, at one point, he announces that his paper is short-staffed in Singapore—she's not going to leave her husband, anyway—why not take it?

Why not? Because it'll break their already broken hearts is why. But, they're already enured to that feeling, numb to it, even, and they can't carry on this way and it has to be curtailed. Doesn't make it any less painful, no matter how numb they are.

In the Mood for Love is tough stuff, while at the same time being one of the most beautiful movies ever made. Taking 15 months to shoot from the bare-bones outline of a script, it outlasted the availability of cinematographer Christopher Doyle, whose work here is mesmerizing (the film was completed by Lee Pin-Bing), along with the production/costume design and editing of William Chang, and the vivid eye of Wong, all done in eye-popping Technicolor in Hitchcock-psychology reds and greens. Because the story is told through image, some audiences might get lost—especially if they're depending on sub-titles to show the way—and the movie evokes a fragile, sensory-heightened time with its rich palette and it's frequent languid slowed motion effects that lull and stretch out the moments of joy or loneliness that evoke the numbed state of surviving alone-ness.

There is a visceral precision to it—like Cheung's elaborate 60's hair-do's and the taught perfection of wardrobe right down to the seams in her nylons—despite the wandering eye of Wong's camera or the disparate soundtrack of songs—that invoke deeply buried emotions that are repressed both in a society and in individuals, the need which goes unfulfilled by choice or duty, suffered in silence, but exquisite in its pain.

In the Name of Love keeps the emotions buried and only gives it full-flower in the vividness that burbles to the surface and enchants the eye. It is a platonic love story told in erotic hues, both beautiful and painful. 

It's one of "those" must-see films.

The Grandmaster

Two Words.  Vertical.  Horizontal.
or
Once Upon a Time in Forshan

Let's get one thing out of the way first.  The version I saw of Wong Kar-wai's The Grandmaster (aka "Yi Dai Zong Shi" aka 一代宗師)  is the Weinstein Company release, which runs 108 minutes. The original Chinese version runs 130. That's about 20 minutes of footage missing. So, I don't know whether I'm reviewing Wong Kar-wai's latest film, or a long, long trailer for it.

Normally, I wouldn't be doing much kvetching about this, but I've seen enough of the man's movies to know that The Grandmaster is something very, very different from what he's done in the past (In the Mood for Love, Chungking Express, 2046): more formal, less dialog-driven, more image-conscious and more experimental (and Wong has pushed all sorts of boundaries already in his career).  Usually, when a distribution company does this much hatchet-work on a film (Ironically, this film is "presented by Martin Scorsese," who's also had a couple films filleted by the Weinstein's), the most interesting character-driven parts get left behind as "fat," leaving the parts with the most action.  

Well, in this case Wong might have already done that for us, for in telling the life-story of Ip Man—one that's been in the process for ten years—he's hit the highlights and the high fights and other than some discussions of philosophy and technique, that's it. It's simultaneously illuminating and frustrating: frustrating because the movie plays like a bio along the lines of DeVito's (and Mamet's) Hoffa or Mann's Ali, all life-highlights and nothing to connect the dots; illuminating because it appears to be a dramatic choice, making Ip Man's life segmented between life and work and philosophy and not much else—there is no historical context other than the scripted titles telling you what is going on in the rest of the world.*

It begins with a fight in the rain between Ip (Tony Leung Chiu Wai) and several combatants, staged as a brutal ballet in various speeds, escalates through the number and various tactics of the opponents, and ends with the defeat of the strongest combatant. Ip then flashes back on his life starting with his marriage to Cheung Wing-sing (the incredibly beautiful Hye-Kyo Song), and the news that the master of Northern China, Gong Yutian (Wang Quixiang) has retired and bequeaths the role of master to Ma San (Jin Zhang), with the caveat that the South should have their own master. It is decided that Ip should challenge Gong for the right, and he is put to the test by three Southern masters before the match with Gong.  

That match is anything but typical, has nothing to do with the training of the Southern masters, and Gong declares Ip his heir in Southern China. That does not sit well with Gong's daughter Gong Er (Ziyi Zhang), who challenges Ip for the sake of family honor. Their meeting and subsequent fight is an amusing affair of restraint and dexterity, and the fight concludes to Gong's satisfaction. Ip can only smile and say "I want a rematch."

Gong Er's moment of triumph.  You can see it in her face.

Now, despite this country-wide grudge match, and the Sino-Japanese War, which plunges the country into a depression and, as a result, sends Ip to Hong Kong to provide for his family, the film could not be more personal, keeping its eye on Ip, while, in the meantime, Gong, who has been only secretly trained in kung fu by her father, seeks revenge against Ma San, in a totally focused, life-sacrificing mission to the death. The two are poles apart in purpose and drive and yet they are drawn together, players on opposite sides. The film is a series of fights, the important ones, punctuated by a series of beautifully photographed scenes of domesticity and meditation, broken up into chapters of title cards, as from the silent film days.

Wong's approach to this is very formal, the photography sumptuously lit, golden light betraying dark spaces and staged sometimes as formal portraits of a time and place, emotions run high, but not betrayed by the faces of the principals, the most expressive being Ip Man's wife, who disappears from the film very early on. I'd be hard-pressed to find a more beautiful film to see this year, even if the beauty comes with a certain static quality that pushes the audience away, albeit gently. And the fights are balletic brawls, filmed with depth and in tight close-ups, but at a pace that allows for position and space to be registered without sacrificing speed. In fact, it's quite invigorating to see a slow-motion concentration edited quickly as the fights are done here, as it is during the first fight in the rain. But, befitting the styles and other situations—the Gong Er/Ma San fight has its own bizarre energy-force—Wong gives each confrontation a different presentation that makes each one different, and mesmerizing.

There is one odd, touching thing that brings up the ghosts of the past just as the title cards harken back to the silents, Wong brings to bear Sergio Leone as a touchstone by making sure that he gives Gong Er a borrowed theme from Once Upon a Time in America to communicate the regret she cannot express herself. It produces goose-bumps, and not just from recognizing the source of the haunting cue, but for being so solidly apt and instantly evocative (composer Ennio Morricone can do that). It's a beautiful, odd, off-kilter film. I only wish to see more of it.

Portrait of the Artist as a Portrait-Artist:
Wong Kar Wai book-ends chapters in Ip Man's story with staged sittings

* There have been three other films, heavily fictionalized, on the same subject in the time that Wong was working on this film, as well as a couple television films about him.