The Grandmaster (Yi dai zong shi)

 

Director Wong Kar-wai

Actor Tony Leung as Ip Man

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

THE GRANDMASTER (Yi dai zong shi)                    B+                                                          Hong Kong  China  (130 mi)  2013  ‘Scope   US cut (108 mi)  d:  Wong Kar-wai              

Don’t tell me how well you fight, or how great your teacher is, or brag about your style.           Kung fu: two words.  Horizontal.  Vertical.  Make a mistake, horizontal.  Stay standing and you win.     —Ip Man (Tony Leung)

Wong Kar-wai puts his art house stamp on the martial arts drama with this sweeping, magisterial work, made over the span of five years, with lead actor Tony Leung breaking his arm twice during the extended production in his role as Ip Man, a legendary martial arts figure who mastered the art of Wing Chun, which emphasizes self-defense through short-range combat with direct punches and blocks and low kicks, gaining notoriety for having taught Bruce Lee in Hong Kong in the late 50’s, who developed his own hybrid martial arts philosophy, Jeet Kune Do (“The Way of the Intercepting Fist”).  Shot on 35mm by Philippe Le Sourd, filmed in a range of stunning locations that include the snow-swept landscapes of Northeast China and the subtropical South, divided by the Yangtze River, the lush visual approach accentuates a luxurious look onscreen, highly operatic and hypnotically beautiful, becoming the director’s highest grossing film, outgrossing his previous four features combined.  Even so, the American release is subject to controversy, largely due to the influence of Harvey Weinstein, as it cuts more than 20-minutes from the Hong Kong version (both versions approved by the director), where viewers have a choice which version they prefer, with David Ehrlich meticulously outlining the differences (Kung Foolish: How The American Cut of 'The Grandmaster ...).  Assuming one has the opportunity to view both, start with the American cut, which largely showcases Ip Man, yet despite being gorgeous to look at, feels unfinished, like a connection of vignettes all strung together, poorly written, feeling emptier and more shallow, as if missing an overall story, while the longer version adds a fuller depth of characterization involving Ip Man and Gong Er, which seems to improve the viewing experience, though significant scenes in each version are altogether missing in the other, making them two contrasting versions, each with their own aesthetic virtues.  Examining China from the early 30’s to the early 50’s, a time of chaos, division, and war that was also the golden age of Chinese martial arts, founded on two basic principles of horizontal and vertical, given a near-biographical examination, opening in Foshan with Ip Man in his white hat battling dozens of combatants in a downpour of rain, creating a choreography of ballet-like rallies and retreats, THE GRANDMASTER | Opening Scene YouTube (1:51), yet successfully fends them all off, leading to early flashbacks of his life, narrating many of the scenes himself.  Seemingly content in his role, they are visited by Gong Yutian (Wang Qingxiang), a Wudang Boxing martial arts grandmaster from Dongbei in northern China who has successfully combined many different fighting styles into one, but he announces his retirement, replaced in the north by his successor Ma San (Zhang Jin), determined that the south should have the opportunity to appoint its own leader.  Gong’s daughter Gong Er (Zhang Ziyi) arrives, urging her father not to fight, as none are worthy of his stature, yet her father takes a broader view, recognizing the need for younger talent to distinguish itself, with Ip Man easily fending off competition, Best Fight Scene From The Grandmaster 2013 (Ip Man Fights With Other Masters) YouTube (6:48), leading to a face-off with Gong, who instead challenges him to a battle of wits, testing his philosophical mettle, with Ip Man successfully prevailing in the challenge, becoming the bonafide leader in the south.

More of a somber and reflective film, recalling ASHES OF TIME (1994), the director’s last martial arts film, which he fiddled with for more than a decade before releasing a finalized version entitled ASHES OF TIME REDUX (2008), which was more of a western, with little emphasis on actual fighting, yet the prevalence of death pervades throughout, while this has uncommonly superlative production values, where the photography, costumes, and interiors are stunning, incorporating philosophical meaning behind the combat, yet even if much of this falls flat, attempting to add cerebral layers of depth and sorrow to the personal relations, the dialogue never distinguishes itself, feeling empty, lacking the depth it seeks, but it does beautifully frame combat in romantic detail.  Gong Er doesn’t rest with his victory, challenging Ip Man to regain her family honor in a highly elaborate and festive occasion, including ornate costumes and a banquet feast, Shigeru Umebayashi - Moyou on Vimeo YouTube (4:11), pulling out all the stops for this main event, which gathers tremendous publicity, and with it prestigious honor, yet the competition is different in that a man and woman are involved, where deep feelings of desire underlie their every move, exquisitely designed by choreographer Yuen Wo Ping, becoming an outpouring of affection both for the sport and each other, as their faces come in near contact, barely grazing the other, showing much restraint and admiring respect as well as scintillating moves.  They both agree that “Kung Fu is about precision,” so the first to break a piece of furniture becomes the loser, literally dancing across the screen in carefully calculated movements designed to impress as well as challenge any perceived weakness in their opponent’s defense, becoming extremely erotic and acrobatic, set to the music of Lentini’s Stabat Mater, Best Martial Arts Scenes : The Grandmaster Ip Man vs Gong Er YouTube (5:18), where courtesy is Ip Man’s ultimate undoing, barely breaking a stair step while gallantly saving her from falling.  She declares victory, redeeming her family honor, yet the two develop a mysterious intimacy that is profoundly affecting, with Ip Man demanding a rematch in the north, staying in contact through an exchange of letters, but Japan’s unexpected invasion of Manchuria prevents that from ever happening, routing Beijing and Shanghai, while capturing the Chinese capital of Nanjing, resulting in the Rape of Nanjing in 1937.  Japan’s brutal occupation moves from the historical background to become a central focus of the film, leading to the murders of several hundred thousand Chinese, some buried alive in a scorched earth policy, burning entire villages, where many women were captured and gang raped, their bodies grotesquely mutilated afterwards.  In a sign of national betrayal, Ma San throws his allegiance to Japan, while the hardships endured by ordinary Chinese citizens are massive, enduring years of deprivation and poverty, with excessively bleak times of rampant starvation where millions died, taking the lives of Ip Man’s own children, leading him to pursue a new life in Hong Kong in the early 50’s, filled at the time with fleeing refugees, trying to establish a martial arts academy, but finding it slow going, as there are various martial arts styles vying for superiority, valuing technical mastery over any philosophical inclinations, introducing his own Wing Chun techniques, which more than holds its own against the competition, but he refuses to become a circus act or street performer in carnival-like street exhibitions and instead ekes out a modest living.  By the time he sends for his wife, the borders of Hong Kong have been closed, caught in a time warp keeping both separated and apart, never able to see each other again.  Alienation and regret dominate the later years of their lives, each leading a solitary existence.            

Layered in sadness and profound solemnity, among the darkest films since THE GODFATHER (1972), almost entirely pitched in black, opulently lit, with the war having driven the country apart, leaving families decimated, separated over time and distance, many suffering in silence.  Out of curiosity, Ip Man discovers Gong Er has given up martial arts and has set up a doctor’s practice, so he pays her a visit, but discovers how profoundly her life has changed, now using opium regularly, literally detached from the world.  A flashback sequence that she narrates reveals the source of her anguish, returning back to the war years when the traitor Ma San kills her father as an enemy of the people, taking over the martial arts school and compound, with Gong Er vowing revenge, revealing her closeness to her father growing up, never allowing anyone to tarnish his name, THE GRANDMASTER | Daughter Of The Master YouTube (3:05), set to the music of Shigeru Umebayashi – Kokuhaku (Sorekara Epilogue I).  Making a vow to Buddha to never teach, marry, or have children, devoting her life to vengeance against Ma San, whose arrogance knows no bounds, “You’re just a woman.  You don’t count.”  Her ultimate showdown takes place in a flashback on Chinese New Year’s Eve in 1940, a dazzling train sequence set in the snow filled with poetic flourish, THE GRANDMASTER | Train Fight YouTube (3:44), leaving little doubt of her true capabilities, an avenging angel using a strategy taught by her father that Ma San never learned, paying the ultimate price.  Yet the fight has left her injured as well, battle scarred through the years, using opium to ease the pain, losing all interest in the martial arts.  Meeting her on Chinese New Year’s Eve in 1950, she reveals her lifelong affection for him since their first fight, which she’s not afraid to divulge, knowing the degree of her extreme detachment, where nothing will come of it, yet their meeting is one of polite formality and grace, shot with excessive tenderness.  The film style is typical Wong Kar-wai, sumptuously beautiful, luscious and extravagant, often changing film speed, using slow motion or extreme close-ups, varying the look and tone with the melancholic musical score, which even veers into the operatic, using Bellini’s “Casta Diva” from Norma to accentuate the extreme elegance and delicacy at work here, especially when he makes Chang Chen’s Razor, another of the grandmasters and an expert of the Bajiquan school, utterly stupefied when he makes the blade sing, which has him shaking his head with disbelief, suggesting a well-matched opponent is as rare as a good friend, finding a balance in their extremes, actually attaining true harmony (not shown in longer version).  The contrasting styles are at the heart of any martial arts saga, with Ma San and Razor reflecting sadistic impulses of supreme arrogance, while Gong Er and Ip Man are more refined and dignified, displaying a relaxed confidence, maintaining the tradition of Kung-fu as a shining example of decency, supreme art, and wisdom, where their lives are defined by the martial arts code of honor.   Ip Man trades in his former status as a warrior to become a teacher of new generations, where his Wing Chun school flourishes, popularizing a once secretive and elitist martial arts on a worldwide scale, training a young student named Bruce Lee, who himself popularized the martial arts and put his own stamp on the artform by making movies, becoming an international star.  This film allows Ip Man to emerge from the shadows of history and take his rightful place of honor, with Wong Kar-wai providing a masterful portrait of poetic eloquence, but whether it lives up to Hou Hsiao-hsien’s equally enthralling 2015 Top Ten List #9 The Assassin (Nie Yinniang) is another story.  

The longer Hong Kong version alters the film significantly, as it’s more drawn out and elongated, more of a melodrama, profoundly sad, mournful, and tragic, extending Gong Er’s character significantly, as well as her bodyguard and clan protector Jiang (Shang Tielong), almost always seen with a monkey on his shoulder, who stands by her through the bitter end.  Her role is expanded significantly, given greater characterization, almost equal to that of Ip Man, both rivals in combat and in love, though she remains true to her vows.  Gong Er’s vow of revenge against Ma San is told with great passion, among the more lyrical scenes in the film, placed in greater context, particularly after the murder of her father, adding a sense of urgency to her family honor, where her family name is at stake.  Her ferocity in her fight scenes are emblematic of a fierce individualism, unafraid and emboldened by the weight of the moment, yet tragically her later years are filled with pathos and regret, which comes to embody the deeper meaning of life, as what is life without regrets?  The longer version eliminates the sequence of Gong Er as a young girl learning from her father, practicing her martial arts moves in the snow, while also eliminating the music of Bellini’s Norma, where the music is decidedly different, more tragically overwrought, resurrecting an Ennio Morricone theme from ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA (1984), Ennio Morricone (Live) - Once Upon A Time In America (Deborah's Theme) YouTube (3:34), given the deeper context of a melodrama.  Ip Man is married to Zhang Yongcheng (Song Hye-Kyo) in limited screen time, though has more screen time in the longer version, including moments of intimacy, where at one point each gives the other a bath.  Among the more memorable scenes is watching the family take a photograph together, adding the look of vintage photographs, but it’s also the last time they would all be together, as the war decimated their family.  Much of the historical period is told like a newsreel of unfolding events, complete with bluster and bombast, creating decorative pageantry reminiscent of Kurosawa, with soldiers led by flags and flying banners caught up in a nationalistic fervor.  Curiously, some of the better scenes in one version are completely left out of the other, including musical selections, leaving each version significantly flawed, yet still effective, with Wong Kar-wai, the ultimate master of unrequited love, perhaps most defined by IN THE MOOD FOR LOVE (2000), seemingly more interested in the story of Gong Er and the unleashing of her repressed desires, with the longer version ending in the silent emptiness of the Buddhist temple where Gong Er took her vows, the source of her spiritual renewal.  There is no mention of Bruce Lee in the longer version, which also extends the stories of other characters, like Razor (Chang Chen), who ends up being a nationalist spy, protected from the Japanese authorities in a train sequence by Gong Er, using her coat to hide a bloody injury.  The longer version feels more connected, where there’s an over-arching story of a romantic love triangle, one with his wife and another never realized with Gong Er, where the flames are sadly reduced to an ember, leaving only smoldering memories of what might have been, where an unrelenting loneliness defines their lives in the later stages, with Ip’s wife stranded in Foshan after the closing of the Hong Kong borders, while Gong Er looks at the lost promise of her younger self, giving up her martial arts training, a major part of her identity, seemingly resigned to let it go, where nagging injuries plague her later life, returning to opium for relief.  That melancholic sadness is more pronounced in the Hong Kong version, where loneliness and the pain of living is more elevated, taking a toll on their lives, leaving them all a shell of their former selves, with only Ip Man retaining his love of martial arts, establishing an academy in Hong Kong teaching Wing Chun, while those who have had the biggest impact in his life are only a fleeting memory, disappearing like a puff of smoke. 

2015 Top Ten List #9 The Assassin (Nie Yinniang)

THE ASSASSIN (Nie Yinniang)          A-           
Taiwan  China  Hong Kong  France  (107 mi)  2015  d:  Hou Hsiao-hsien     Official site [Japan]

Winner of the Best Director at Cannes, shot on 35 mm by longtime cinematographer Mark Lee Ping Bin, this is undoubtedly one of the most ravishingly beautiful films ever seen, thought of during the screening as a cross between Wong Kar-wai’s ASHES OF TIME REDUX (2008, from 1994 version) and Kurosawa in 3D.  From the outset one can’t help but be impressed by the luxuriousness of the images and the multiple layers of form that exist like wavy tree branches swaying in the breeze, with someone seen stirring in the shadows, moving slowly between the various fields of visions, as rocky crevices seemingly protrude off the screen, where movement is expressed by changes of focus within the frame of the same shot, continually altering the depth perception of the viewer, offering an experience like no other.  While this is Hou Hsiao-hsien’s rendering of a Wuxia film, slow and hypnotically mesmerizing, thoughtfully accentuating the historical period detail in a film drenched in a painterly opulence that supersedes any consideration for action sequences, credit must be given to costumes and production designer Huang Wen-ying that so illustriously recreates the meticulous look of the 9th century, including paintings on the set that were drawn by students from the academy of fine arts in Taipei, while also featuring the captivatingly percussive music by Lim Giong, as there isn’t a single frame that doesn’t appear in synch with the director’s artistic vision.  The problem, as there is for most all martial arts films, is there’s simply not much of a story, and what little there is feels overshadowed by the luminous dreamlike quality of the film.  His first costume drama since the hypnotic allure of Flowers of Shanghai (Hai shang hua) (1998), and his first feature in 8 years since THE FLIGHT OF THE RED BALLOON (2007), this is an almost equally financed Taiwan-China production (also a first for this director) costing ten times more than any of his previous works, adapted from a 9th century short story from the Tang Dynasty scribe Pei Xing, known as chuanqi, freely reimagined by the director who has had this film in mind for the past 25 years, initially written in very precise, classical Chinese language, simplified in the English subtitles for easier comprehension, yet also pared down again by the director who refuses to reveal too much, eliminating all extraneous material, leaving behind only a minimalist, barebones outline of a story.   

Set in a time when the Imperial Court and the Weibo province (the largest and strongest of the many provinces) co-exist in an uneasy alliance when various military factions are still vying for power and control in China, the film is named after the lead character, Nie Yinniang, Shu Qi from THREE TMES (2005), exiled by her family at the age of ten where she was raised by Jiaxin (Sheu Fang-yi), a princess turned Taoist nun, a near mythological creature that trains her to become a lethal assassin charged with the task of targeting a tyranny of governors that avoid the authority of the Emperor in the Imperial Court.  In the opening prologue, filmed in black and white, condensed into a boxed 1:37 aspect ratio, we see Yinniang (which means Hidden Woman) dressed entirely in black, waiting patiently lurking in the shadows before springing into action, literally flying across the screen, striking a lethal blow, slitting the throat of a man on horseback, all happening in the blink of an eye, seemingly faster than the eye can see.  When it becomes apparent what’s happened, the stunned guards react angrily, but all we see are flashes of swords chasing through the foliage of a dense forest that fades into darkness.   Moving on to the house of her next prey, she is once again a near invisible presence, but decides not to strike her intended victim, preferring not to kill him in front of his young son seen innocently chasing after a butterfly.  This sentiment clearly angers her teacher, believing the art of killing is coldblooded efficiency, with all emotions held in check.  As a test of her resolve, Jiaxin sends her on a mission to murder the governor of Weibo, the place where Yinniang was born.  Upon returning to the familiar grounds of her family home after the passage of who knows how many years, a place she no longer has any connection to, the frame expands to widescreen along with bursts of color, as the opening title greets the audience set against the crimson colors of a stunning landscape shot at sunset.  What follows is a stream of confusion, as Hou introduces a flurry of new characters each with differing motives, including a new palace aflutter with rumors and political turmoil in an expanding interior architectural design featuring stunning ornamental decors, blending the lavish elegance and color of the silk robes illuminated by candlelight with the curtains blowing in the breeze.  Once again, the camera pans around the corners of existing layers that exist within the frame of each composition, where Yinniang lurks in hidden places only the audience sees. 

Chang Chen, previously paired with Shu Qi in THREE TIMES (2005), having evolved from the young 14-year old nonprofessional lead in Edward Yang’s masterwork A BRIGHTER SUMMER DAY (1991), plays the targeted governor Lord Tian Ji’an, the most powerful leader in the Weibo province, who just happens to be Yinniang’s cousin, where once they were young lovers slated to be married, but we learn his mother betrayed her, so she was sent away instead, and a political marriage was arranged between two powerful families in order to help maintain the peace between Weibo and the Imperial Court.  One of the more poignant aspects of the film is revealed when Lord Tian explains the significance of two matching jade pieces that he and Yinniang were given as children.  All of this adds an element of intrigue surrounding her mission, as she’s ordered to kill a man she once loved.  In the flurry of activity inside the palace, Lord Tian has problems of his own, where the supposed peace appears to be crumbling, angrily banishing a young lord for speaking unwisely, sending soldiers after him to bury him alive, leading to a confrontation with Yinniang in a gorgeously realized ambush in the birch trees, while his wife Lady Tian (Zhou Yun) is growing more increasingly hostile towards his favorite concubine, Huji (Hsieh Hsin-ying), who is concealing her pregnancy.  Making matters worse, Lord Tian is regularly approached by a seemingly dark presence that appears out of the shadows, always arriving unexpectedly, none more amusing than when Yinniang reveals herself to the Lord by falling from the roof and coming face-to-face to announce Huji’s pregnancy, then disappearing just as quickly into the night.  One of the more bizarre scenes features Yinniang having to dual a literal mirror image of herself, another female adversary in a gold mask, which suggests she’s from a wealthy house, in contrast to the black outfit worn by Yinniang.  While this scene is never explained and is more of a puzzle than anything else, with some suggesting she’s fighting her own inner demons, the lady in the gold mask is none other than Lady Tian, apparently unhappy with the way Yinniang has returned to meddle in her husband’s affairs, also showing she’s willing to fight any perceived threat to her own family’s position in Weibo, playing a more complex, Lady Macbeth role (even more devious later), which gives Yinniang reason to pause.  Of interest, the lady in the gold mask and Lady Tian were two different characters in the original script, but were merged into one by the final shooting.    

One of the more sinister characters behind the scenes is a bald wizard with huge eyebrows and an overflowing beard, viewed as a martial arts master with magic powers (perhaps the teacher of Lady Tian), who makes paper dolls carrying demonic spells.  In the one supernatural sequence of the film, the doll produces a poisonous fog that seems to disintegrate the unsuspecting Huji, only to be thwarted by the intervention of Yinniang who discovers the murderous plot.  When the soldiers find the old wizard, they shoot him with a volley of arrows.  In Hou’s original conception, however, the old man magically escapes by disappearing in front of the soldiers, leaving the arrows to find only his clothes that remain without a human body.  But Hou never found a way to make this look convincing, so the old man perished.  Certainly one of the most gorgeous scenes is a rhapsodic ceremonial sequence that is literally drenched in the visual extravagance of Oriental fantasies, which is an astonishing physical reconstruction of 9th century Weibo.  Populating the landscape with remarkably dense forests from Inner Mongolia and China’s Hubei province, the martial arts sequences are themselves conceived as short bursts of energy, viewed as a perfect economy of the spirit, practicing humility, while always maintaining harmonious balance according to the teachings of the I Ching.  According to interviews, Hou has indicated viewers may need to see this film as many as three times in order to fully understand the intricacies involved, first to get a rough idea of the artistic presentation, second to understand the story buried so deeply within the rich textures of the film, and third to fully appreciate just how extraordinary this film is.  It does pose a Shakespearean dilemma posed in Hamlet, but in this film, which audaciously features an assassin as the protagonist, it asks the question:  to kill or not to kill?  Spending most of the movie waiting and ponderously observing, the character could serve as an alter ego or stand-in for the filmmaker himself, as Yinniang is torn between the teachings of her Taoist master to carry out her assignment, while also having to contend with her own family, as her father is an advisor to Lord Tian, to whom she may still have an unspoken connection of her own, becoming something of a prolonged battle of wills.  While it’s extremely unusual for a lead character to only have about nine speaking lines, her opaque, gravely toned down performance matches the severity of her mission, which allows the audience to interpret what she’s experiencing while continuously looming behind the scenes.  While she’s curiously indecisive, playing to the strength of her mental resolve to evaluate in its entirety just how things are playing out in the Weibo palace before she acts, only intervening from time to time, as she allows the natural order of things to unfold while assailing the unpredictable fluctuations of history and time.  When all is said and done, she emerges as the master of her own destiny, much like the director who has made yet another film unlike anyone else, redefining the well-traveled genre as an art form that can literally transport an audience back into another mystical time and place in breathtaking fashion.