Reviews

Zhang's movies are an exquisite treat, like the experience of eating at one of those restaurants we are only privileged to visit every so often. A meal of this calibre must meet so many demands, and to enter the realm of truly memorable, must excel in all of them. Story, casting, cinematography - all of these must be properly seasoned and nuanced to create a work that is exciting and sublime.

Zhang is one of the directorial masters of our age. To me the essential element of all his films is their basic humanity, drawing us into the story because though they may be set in distant times and far off places, we know the characters so well and can so readily empathize with their stories. Zhang's genius enters by placing his characters into such lush settings though with remarkably spare dialogue, like simple shavings of parmesan on rich bed of risotto.

With this said, I will have done with the food analogy and give my unreserved recommendation to this piece. Many other commenters have aptly recounted the story of the bumpkin and gangster moll, so I'll spare you any spoilers.

I will, however, point out some observations that demonstrate Zhang's prodigious talent. I noted the simple shot during the opening credits, where our bumpkin has just arrived in Shanghai. All we see is his face as he scans the bustling crowd of a train station, his face alone revealing so much detail without one word of dialogue or narration. He is new to the city, frightened, excited and apprehensive. It is apparent he is seeing many things taken for granted by those around him for the very first time in his life. We learn this from one wordless shot at the outset.

Contrast the closing credits, where after the boy loses anyone he has grown to care about in Shanghai, he hangs suspended by his feet, seeing the world, the simpler, more honest world of his youth and his country upbringing, literally turned upside down. He is brought into the decadent and dangerous world of the Boss, where he and the other little girl will inevitably succumb to decadence or perish, if not both.

Second, I love to frolic in Zhang's love for his native people, their innocence, pluck and natural good nature. Zhang is far to respectful and artful to coat his people in sentimental goo like many in the movies. (need I mention Forrest Glump?) The Road Home is a superior expression of this basic lovliness. I chuckle when I imagine that story told by Ron Howard or Mel Gibson. Ewwww.

He is also keenly aware of the dangers lurking to consume and corrupt his naifs, whether it be western culture, as in Triad, indifferent communist bureaucracy, as in Qui Dou, simple rural poverty, as in Not One Less, or simply the heartlessness of selfish people around them, as in Happy Times.

The cinematography in Triad is roundly wonderful, rich in color, dimension and expression. Zhang's love for the natural beauty of his native land is obviously abundant.

Personally, I quickly forget I'm watching a chinese film when I watch Zhang's films, because Zhang's distillation of the human essence is so rarified that it transcends race and culture. This is the work of a confident master.

Contains Spoilers But this one did so. My reaction emanated from the graceful and moving story given to us by Tom Tykwer who directed this script from a story penned by Kieslowski and his regular writing companion. Kieslowski, rest his soul, would have been honored by Tykwer's respectful handling of a subject so essential and personal as Christian allegory. We don't discuss religion much in polite society because it is such a personal matter, and so Kieslowski's vision of his faith renders this movie an incredibly personal piece.

First off, from reading others' comments, you either get this film or you don't. And I can see at least two ways of approaching it, from the perspective of a Kieslowski fan or that of a Christian. And when I say Christian, I don't mean the bible-pounding fire and brimstone stuff that passes for Christianity today, but its deepest core where love and redemption rule instead of judgement and moralistic dogma.

Kieslowski was known for approaching profound themes around him, whether it be the modern implications of the ten commandments, or the patriotic stripes of his adoptive homeland. And I personally believe he was quite masterful in dealing with these subjects. Blue, White and Red each were eloquent fugues on the themes of liberte, egalite and fraternite that resonated beyond the enigmatic French mindset to reach an American cretin such as myself. I recall Juliette Binoche awakening in the hospital after the tragic accident that claimed her husband and daughter and left her free of all her past to claim her place as the musical genius behind her husband's unfinished symphonic work. How would we handle such complete freedom if it were handed to any of us so abruptly? Would we march proudly and defiantly among those around us? Our first reaction would probably be much like Ms. Binoche's - she tried to kill herself. The rest of the film relates her gradual embrace of the freedom which was her birthright.

But this is a discussion of Heaven, the first of what was apparently to be a new trilogy based on the eternal realms of Heaven, Hell and Purgatory. (Does anyone know if the others were written or might be considered for production?) Kieslowski's departure was tragic, dying after writing the script, but Tom Tykwer has respectfully completed the project. The characters are rich and complicated, human to the core. The dialogue spare, allowing us to concentrate on the gorgeous imagery and personal implications of the story. These are hallmarks of Kieslowski.

And the allegory is beautiful, free of any preachiness or didacticism. Phillipa (Cate Blanchett) is human, an everywoman, one seeking justice but in a rude human manner which invariable goes awry. Grieving her husband's death from an overdose and frustrated at trying to get the police involved, she plants a bomb in the office wastebasket of the local drug lord. The bomb, however, detonates in the wastebasket of an unfortunate cleaning woman who happens to be on an ascending elevator with a father and his two small daughters.

Phillipa is hauled before the police to answer for the crime, and she is horrified to realize that she killed innocent people. (Sin, remorse). The cherubic Giovanni Ribisi is her translator before the Italian authorities, her intercessor, who determines with complete confidence of purpose to rescue her from certain judgement. His love for her is overwhelming, pure and complete. His name is Fillipo, emphasizing his identification with her. There is confession, there is a confrontation with Fillipo's father, another police offer, who grants his blessing on the couple based only on his love for his son.

The scene of Phillipa and Fillipo standing naked on a hill in the Tuscan country side under a hill sillouhetted at sunset is so simple, so elegant and profound, my jaw dropped.

I was moved by both Kieslowski's vision, which I found very much in keeping with his previous work, Tykwer's respect for that vision, not to mention the acting and cinematography. The vision is profoundly christian, the sort of humble, loving christianity we rarely see in popular culture. In this sense, I equate Heaven with Jesus of Montreal. I truly hope more people get to see this movie and "get" it as well.