My Princess (2011-Korean Drama)

Lee-Sul (Kim Tae-Hee) is a woman who enters college later than other girls. Like her peers, they dream of one day becoming a princess, but for Lee-Sul she actually becomes a real life princess ...

Hae-Young (Song Seung-Heon) is a 31-year-old diplomat. He is the sole successor of the Daehan Jonghap Group (the largest conglomerate in Korea). Hae-Young is also handsome and graduated from an Ivy League school. Agreeing to his grandfather`s creed, Park Hae-Young decides to give up his rights to the company and all of his assets. This is all for a young woman named Lee-Sul.

Lee-Sul is a 25-year-old college student, majoring in Art History. She doesn't think about the secrets surrounding her birth or her stepsister who teased her behind her back. Lee-Sul keeps a shabby appearance and works several part time jobs on top of her college career. She also has a crush on her professor Nam Jung-Woo (Ryu Su-Yeong). One day, Lee-Sul becomes a princess overnight. In order to make her a princess, the President of the Daehan Jonghap Group offers all of his assets. 50,000,000 people stamp their approvals for her and royal families from all over the world sends congratulatory telegrams. Lee-Sul accepts the role of Princess, but she is now locked up in her palace and forced to study from dawn to late at night. Even worse, Park Hae-Young is her only instructor and he is snooty.

Yoon-Joo (Park Ye-Jin) is a 30-year-old woman, who works as the director of Hae-Young Museum. Her father is the secretary for the President of the Daehan Jong Group. Yoon-Joo hopes to marry Park Hae-Young one day to gain control over the company. Her plans come to a halt when the Princess suddenly appears. For the Princess, the President of the Daehan Jonghap Group returns all of his property to the community. Even Hae-Youngs begins to have favorable feelings for Lee-Sul. Yoon-Joo can't forgive Lee-Sul for what she has caused. Yoon-Jo then makes a plan and if it succeeds Korea will lose their imperial family.

Jung-Woo (Ryu Su-Yeong) is a professor, archeologist and holds a PH.D in the Arts. He is also popular among the female students. Jung-Woo grew up in a poor family. Even now with his high status, his financial situation isn't so good. Because of this, Jung-Woo hasn't proposed to his girlfriend Yoon-Joo. One day, something strange happens. Jung-Woo's student Lee-Sul (who always submits papers late, but works hard at excavation sites) turns out to be a princess. Lee-Sul then asks Jung-Woo to become an advisor for the "Redemption Committee of Imperial Family Cultural Assets".

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* TV Show: My Princess
* Revised romanization: Mai Peurinseseu
* Hangul: 마이 프린세스
* Director:
* Writer: Kim Eun-Suk, Jang Young-Sil
* Network: MBC
* Episodes: 16
* Release Date: January 5, 2011 --
* Runtime: Wed. & Thurs. 21:55
* Language: Korean
* Country: South Korea

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DVD Review: Tears of the Black Tiger

Thai director Wisit Sasanatieng's avant-garde western, Tears of the Black Tiger is equal parts parody and tribute to both spaghetti westerns and Technicolor-era love stories. The movie is about Dum, a gangster more commonly known as the Black Tiger. Dum and his best friend Mahesuan are employed by the local crime boss, Fai. Dum's life gets turned upside down after he finds out that the man he is sent to kill is engaged to his childhood sweetheart, Rumpoey.

By far, the most noticeable thing about this movie is its visual appeal. Most of Tears of the Black Tiger was shot on closed sets with painted backdrops. These backdrops were never meant to be realistic, instead they invoke a dreamlike utopian feel. The colors of the sets are vibrant pastels and make the film look almost as if each frame was hand-painted. The fantastic production design and equally lavish action sequences are more reminiscent of early Warner Brothers cartoons than they are of any live action films.

The action in this movie is exaggerated and the characters are larger than life. The gunfights feature grenade launchers and automatic weapons. The violence is stylized with every wound spraying bright red blood and thousands of bullets flying while the protagonists are miraculously unscathed. There is even a shot from the perspective of a bullet as it dispatches one of The Black Tiger's adversaries.

The romantic elements are just as melodramatic as the action sequences are extravagant. The love story in this movie uses all of the major clichés. When Dum and Rumpoey are reunited in Bangkok, Dum initially tells Rumpoey that she has him mistaken for someone else because he feels like he would only hurt her. Later in the movie there is a scene where Rumpoey and Dum promise to meet at a gazebo that they feel is "their spot." Also, Dum's change of heart when he realizes that the man he is sent to kill is Rumpoey's fiancé is something out of the proverbial melodrama handbook.

In many movies the surreal sets, fanatical violence, and overly sappy melodrama would be too unbelievable to be entertaining. In the case of Tears of the Black Tiger, the more absurd things get the more fun the movie becomes. Few movies pull off "zany" quite like Tears of the Black Tiger does. It is hard to tell if director Sasanatieng saw too many or not enough love stories and westerns. The final duel scene at the movie's end is without a doubt heavily influenced by Sergio Leone, but the way that this scene is executed is more derivative of Mel Brooks' work than Leone's. The sweetness of the love story is something out of the Rock Hudson/Doris Day era while the delivery is as unabashedly hokey as Rob Reiner's The Princess Bride. Tears of the Black Tiger is more spectacle than substance, but unlike most movies with this quality, this one works exceptionally well and is worth recommending to total strangers.

Director: Wisit Sasanatieng
Movie Genre: Western, Romance
Country: Thailand

more about asian film review visit http://www.asianfilmreviews.com

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Movie Review: Death Note (2008)

Director: Shusuke Kaneko
Writer: Tetsuya Oshi
Stars: Tatsuya Fujiwara, Kenichi Matsuyama, Asaka Seto, Shigeki Hosokawa, Erika Toda
Genre: Horror, World Cinema
Length: 126 minutes
Cinema: 25 April 2008
Country: Japan


While Hollywood horror producers seem content to turn Asian horror into a set of cliched scares involving ghost girls and paranormal curses, Eastern filmmakers themselves are experimenting with new directions. That's certainly the case in Death Note, an enjoyable J-horror reboot. It's based on a popular manga about a notebook that allows idealistic law student Light (Tatsuya Fujiwara) to kill people simply by writing their names in its pages. Fiendishly unusual, it's an offbeat time-waster that genre fans will definitely want to make a note of.

Banish all thoughts of Ring, The Grudge or any other Japanese horror movie of the last ten years. Directed by Shusuke Kaneko - who was once responsible for the giant monster chaos of Gamera - this is less a scare-machine than a goofily entertaining thriller. Like the manga original, it follows power-crazed Light as he goes from using his notebook to kill deserving criminals to murdering the innocent. Light's goaded into his kill spree by the God of Death; a lolloping CGI ghoul in rock star clothes, who appears out of nowhere and offers advice while munching on apples. Weird, huh?

"MORE DAFT THAN DEADLY"

Meanwhile, the cops on Light's tail are being helped by teenage slacker genius L (Kenichi Matsuyama), who embarks on a chess-like battle of wits with our anti-hero. More daft than deadly, Death Note is executed with bags of cult flair, Kaneko nailing the manga's hyperstylised visuals in live-action, while lead actors Fujiwara and Matsuyama effortlessly exude teen cool. Despite clocking in at over two hours it ends with a gob-smacking cliffhanger that'll either frustrate or completely intrigue. Tie-in videogames, novels, an anime series and a movie sequel are already out in Japan – so if it hooks you, there's plenty more to come.

Death Note is out in the UK on 25th April 2008.

Source: www.bbc.co.u

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Jackie Chan and Jet Li Plan Another Movie Together

This a good news for Asian movie lovers. Jackie and Jet Li will soon be come back.

Anyone who has any appreciation at all for the Kung-Fu genre can’t help but be at least a little excited (even if only in principle) about the notion of a Jackie Chan/Jet Li movie! Yeah… The Forbidden Kingdom doesn’t look like it’s going to be all that good (we’ll see soon enough), but it’s still Chan and Li together, so a lot of us will be there.

But for those of you who lament the fact that Forbidden Kingdom looks like it will suck… THERE IS GOOD NEWS! Apparently Chan and Li liked working together so much, they’re already planning on doing another film together. Yahoo News gives us this:

“The first day we started filming, it felt like we had worked together for many years,” Chan said, adding, “after filming this movie, we didn’t have enough fun.” “In four months (of filming), we went from friends to becoming brothers,” Li said. Chan said their fight sequences went so smoothly that cinematographer Peter Pau told them to slow down.

He said “The Forbidden Kingdom” is not the movie he wanted to make his first collaboration with Li, but he signed on when the project came along because “if I had kept waiting, who knows how long I would have had to wait.” Chan and Li said they want to shoot another movie together based on a script they started working on 15 years ago, but both stars refused to give details. Both actors were lukewarm in earlier comments about the “The Forbidden Kingdom,” which was shot in China but largely targets U.S. audiences.

The good news is that they seem to love working together and that it does appear another (hopefully better) Chan/Li film is on the way. The bad news is that they seems to be less than thrilled with Forbidden Kingdom. Yikes! When the stars seem lukewarm about an upcoming movie, you know there’s trouble ahead!

But who cares… I’ll still be there to see it, and I’ll anxiously await the next one they do… hopefully it WILL NOT be an American production.

Source: themovieblog.com

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Contemporary Korean Cinema: Identity, Culture, Politics

For the non-Korean speaking Korean film fanatic, our primary text resources are slim. There is The History Of Korean Cinema by LEE Young-Il and CHOE Young-Chol (Jimoondang Publishing Company, 1988), which, unless you know how to order it, (you have to correspond with the Korean Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society), can be difficult to come by. Another book you have to know about is Seoul Stirring: 5 Korean Directors (Institute of Contemporary Arts, 1996) written by the infamous Asian Film critic Tony Rayns for a Korean Film Festival at the Institute of Contemporary Arts in London. Although chock-full of many films we love, more books are needed. As for Lee Server's Asian Pop Cinema: Bombay to Tokyo (Chronicle Books, 1999) it appears he only made a change of planes in Seoul as evidenced by his almost pointless chapter on Korean Film.

In enters Hyangjin Lee's book Contemporary Korean Cinema: Identity, Culture, Politics (Manchester University Press, 2001). Lee, a Lecturer in the School of East Asian Studies at the University of Sheffield brings us 200 pages on not only South Korean film, but North Korean film too, with a nice filmography of major films at the end. Will this satisfy our fix for information and musings on our particular geographical variation of cinephilia?

As is the answer to most Yes or No questions, it depends. Lee's book is meant for the academic, thus it is full of the jargon and theoretical references expected of people pursuing tenure, that is, if tenure is a pursuit of British lecturers. That said, some of us might find the language dry and less entertaining than what one finds in Premiere magazine. Personally, I like dissertations and academic texts so I'm fine with the meanderings about race and gender and allusions to dead philosophers I have never heard of. And, when discussions of such amazing films as YU Hyonmok's A Stray Bullet are included, I can't help but be caught up in the magnificence of such films, regardless of the prose style.

For those of you who share my interest in the academic, Lee's book offers meaty discussions of important South Korean films and provides interesting comparisons with their North Korean counterparts. Lee's particular interests are the "ideological messages that the film conveys about present society through its images of the past. By examining the ways in which previous experiences are reinvented on the screen, we can discern the subtle and complex operations of contemporary ideologies in everyday life" (page 3). Lee does not see films about the past as windows to the past, but as rearview mirrors to the present. Taking a recent film as an example, Peppermint Candy by LEE Chang-dong (pictured below left), Hyangjin Lee is not interested as much in what the film conveys about Korea's past, but in how present-day Korea filtered this film's depiction of Korea's past. In other words, Lee continues to ask, "Why this Then now?"

Peppermint Candy The first chapter surveys the history of Korean cinema within the context of the history of the two Koreas. Of particular interest in this section is the debate around what was the "first" Korean film. "First" is debatable depending on what you consider "film" and "Korean." (For example, is a film funded by the Japanese but directed and acted by Koreans a "Korean" film?) Lee offers The Righteous Revenge (1919) by KIM Tosan, part film/part stage drama, as the film most Korean film scholars argue was the first, but she provides equal time for those who argue The Plighted Love Under the Moon (1923) by YUN Paengnam was first. Yun's film doesn't even make the cut for some purists who note that the Japanese colonial government produced this film. Lee also brings in recent arguments that KIM Tosan's The National Borders actually completed production, contrary to previous reports, and was shown prior to The Plighted Love...

The three principles of film-making required by North Korean film-makers are addressed in this chapter: "seed theory" (the "proper" revolutionary themes that should be presented), "modeling" (the "proper" portrayal of working class struggles to achieve class liberation), and "speed campaign" (the quick production of films to meet The Party's needs).

Major genres of Korean film are discussed as well. This chapter also explores the effect of the American movie industry on South Korean production. Lee labels the present South Korean film industry as being in a depressed state, although, from information gathered from Darcy Paquet's www.koreanfilm.org website regarding the box office hits Shiri (KANG Jae-Kyu, 1999), JSA (PARK Chan-Wook, 2000) and Chingu (KWAK Kyung-Taek, 2001), new information appears to contradict what Lee has argued here. Lee primarily stops collecting data at 1999, so we can't fault her for not seeing what we're seeing now. (And, in terms of social analytic procedure, does a three-year peak demonstrate a trend or merely a blip?)

Chapter 2 is all Chunhyang all the time. Lee looks at the portrayal of the Chunhyang myth in two North Korean films (YU Wonjun and YUN Ryonggyu's The Tale of Ch'unhyang (1980) and SHIN Sangok's musical Love, Love, My Love (1985)) and three South Korean films (SHIN Sangok's Song Ch'unhyang (1961), PAK Tae-Won's The Tale of Song Ch'unhyang (1976), and HAN Sanghun's Song Ch'unhyang (1987). (Sorry, no IM Kwon-Taek, since it wasn't released until 2000, again, after this book was in final production.)

Gender and class are the main focus of Lee's analysis. Lee argues that Shin's Song Ch'unhyang is "aligned with the male gaze, [because] the camera dwarfs Ch'unhyang's status, visually evoking her powerlessness and inferiority, which are equated with her femininity" (p. 75). The three South Korean films are said to


...constitute different facets of an ideal female constructed in a male fantasy: a virtuous and yet sexually attractive woman with childlike vulnerability. This composite Ch'unhyang figure is wife, lover, sister and many others at the same time, who appeals to the male's erotic desire as well as his ego as provider and protector. This figure can turn contradictory attributes into complementary and compatible ones and embrace them all. The character Ch'unhyang is thus, remarkably adaptable to the male-centred gender dynamics. In this sense, the three films do not place it in the larger context of gender issues. In fact, they all tend to appropriate feminist concerns for their immediate commercial profits. Moreover, they avoid the subject of social class all together (p. 83).


Lee finds that both South and North Korean Chunhyang films, in their portrayal of gender, are "rooted in traditional Confucian ethics, which succour differential treatments of men and women" (p. 90). Yes, we've entered a Women's Studies class here. Personally, I eat this stuff up. I really miss college.

As for class analysis, Lee sees the North Korean films as finding Chunhyang and Mongnyong's predicament dictated by class conflicts, whereas South Korean films show the problem residing in individual character traits. After reading this chapter, one is provided new lenses with which to view IM Kwon-Taek's take on this tale. Keeping within Lee's frame, we can ponder what Im is saying about Korea now in his portrayal about Korea then.

Missing from this chapter, however, is a comparative analysis of SHIN Sang-ok's separate South and North productions of the Chunhyang myth. This almost begs discussion, but Lee avoids explicitly noting the similarities and differences with the exception of one brief reference.

In Chapter 3, Lee discusses how the ideological perspectives of North and South Korea impact their films. In North Korea, anti-imperialism defines nationhood while the three principles of film-making allow for great control over what is produced. O Pyongch'o's CHOE Hakchin's Family (1966), CH'OE Ikkyu's The Sea of Blood (1969), and CHO Kyongsun's Wolmi Island (1982) are used to underscore this point.

The available freedoms in South Korea make it more difficult to pinpoint an overall ideological perspective. However, Lee uses anti-communism as a base for her analysis. IM Kwon-Taek's didactic The Banner Bearer Without a Flag (1979) best illustrates this perspective, whereas YU Hyonmok's classic A Stray Bullet (1960), and CHONG Chiyong's Southern Guerrilla Forces (1990) are utilized to show the subtler, more nuanced effects an anti-communism stance has had on South Korean film. Lee's analysis of A Stray Bullet continues to fuel my desire to one day see this film translated.

Although Lee sees common ground concerning gender and family issues, seeing North and South based on Confucian ideals of harmony, unity, and loyalty, as well as respect for the educated, North and South filmic portrayals are seen most in conflict regarding class. North Korean film attempts to defend their social structure through all those shiny, happy, comrades. O Pyongch'o's The Untrodden Path (1980), CH'AE P'unggi's The Brigade Commander's Former Superior (1983), and CHO Kyongsun's Bellflower (1987) are used by Lee to show how North Korea's films betray the "classless society" it claims to be through their portrayal of characters seeing the errors in their discontent with the system. If it were so great, why would they be discontent in the first place? And why do they need to be convinced of their role in North Korean society through the fables of these films?

Black Republic A number of South Korean films, on the other hand, challenge their social structure, its economic miracle, focusing on those left in the tugboats as the chaebol liners dock to shore. The South Korean films, YI Changho's A Nice Windy Day (1980), PAK Chongwon's Kuro Arirang (1989) and PAK Kwangsu's Black Republic (1990, pictured left), illuminate South Korea by showing "the suffering masses behind the bright slogans of the rapidly developing country" (p. 165). Yi's film portrays the experience of rural working class men dreaming to Seoul, whereas the two Paks represent the tradition of college students entering the ranks of the working class to test and prove their ideas on social reform. In the United States, condescending portrayals of privileged (read White) characters who enter ghetto slums to guide the poor (read Black or Latino) to the promised land (of Whiteness) has always been an emotional trope. Lee feels PAK Chongwon's Kuro Arirang is not a condescending depiction because "instead of portraying the poor, undereducated factory girls as innocent victims who need paternalistic protection and leadership, the film emphasizes their inner strength and self-respect" (p. 176).

Lee concludes her book by reiterating the differences in portrayal of class between the two Koreas and how the similarity in referencing Confucian values is a starting point for future relations. Although not the most accessible of books, Lee provides a valuable resource for those of us whose fingers ache following posts to Darcy's page analyzing every little taste of Peppermint Candy or flickering detail of Shiri.

However, I must admit, it's difficult for me to critique her points regarding these films since I have not had the privilege to see ANY of them. I want to see them, but the provincialism of the United States film industry and the Korean film industry's unwillingness to take more risks into the U.S. market, or insistence in holding out on selling U.S. marketing rights, results in their not being available presently.

All I'm left with is what I can apply from Lee's book regarding films I have been able to see. Taking Lee's lessons, two interesting items arise.

First, IM Kwon-Taek's portrayal of the Chunhyang myth is provided with a new layer. As David James and Kyung Hyun Kim's soon to be published book IM Kwon-Taak: The Making of a Korean National Cinema (Wayne State University Press, 2002) states in its title, Im has always been conscious of creating a national cinema for Korea since the chains of totalitarianism were loosened. Im's choice to direct yet ANOTHER Chunhyang film in 2001 was not only a nod to Korea's most well-known myth, but Im may also have been giving props to his peeps who came before him in Korea's film history.

See, with all that controversy regarding which film constitutes Korea's "first" film, one thing is clear: YI Myongu's The Tale of Ch'unhyang was the first sound film directed and produced by Koreans. In remaking Chunhyang, Im is, by default, alluding to Korea's first sound film. And Im's choice to have a pansori singer narrate the film for us, a clear reference to Korean culture and history on its own, and his choice to go back and forth from filming the pansori singer's performance to filming the Chunhyang myth, this all could be argued to represent an allusion to The Righteous Revenge, the film most film historians argue was the first Korean film. I argue this because The Righteous Revenge was part stage drama/part film. Im's filmic Chunhyang was part pansori performance/part film within a film. In their essay "The Simpsons and Allusions: Worst Essay Ever" (The Simpsons and Philosophy: The D'oh of Homer, edited by William Irwin, Mark T. Conard, and Aeon J. Skoble, Open Court Publishing Co., 2001), William Irwin and J.R. Lombardo argue that unintended allusions should be referred to as "accidental associations" if they cannot definitively be credited to the auteur. I agree, however, I feel further delineations are needed, such as "default allusions" that reference remakes and "accidental allusions" rather than "associations" that refer to what Im has done here. Im may have not intended this allusion, but the allusion is so tight that it goes beyond a mere "accidental association." Oftentimes, great artists are so attune with their subjects, the allusions emerge without intent. Such is what I feel has happened in Im's Chunhyang. I will never know for sure until I have a chance to speak with Im myself. Until then, the evidence for this accidental allusion appears strong after reading Lee's history of Korean film.

Second, Lee provides evidence that the Shiri/JSA pairing was not an aberration in Korean film. What I mean by this is that Shiri was a film along the lines of U.S. blockbusters that relied on black-and-whiting the North/South Korean conflict. Immediately, JSA followed this film the next year providing a more complex view of the conflict with less reliance on caricatures and good-vs-evil clichés. Lee presents this back and forth-ing of Modern and PostModern portrayals, either/or-ing vs. and-ing, when talking about The Banner Bearer Without a Flag and Southern Guerrilla Forces, although these films are separated in their release by over ten years. Lee argues Southern Guerrilla Forces was really the first Korean film to challenge the need for definite good and evils regarding the conflict between the two Koreas. What Lee's analysis shows is that such is a recurring event within South Korean cinema. Shiri and JSA, separated by only one year, both breaking box office records, show that this ebb and flow has come to the point where films will immediately counter one another, a Modern portrayal followed by a PostModern followed by a Modern, ad infinitum.

Along with providing information about the history of Korean film, Hyangjin Lee's Contemporary Korean Cinema has fashioned my intellectual tools with which to fiddle my personal horizontal hold when watching Korean film. She has encouraged me to test my ideas above by watching The Banner Bearer... and Shiri together, as well as Southern Guerrilla Forces and JSA when the chance is afforded me. She has given me ideas surrounding how to relook at Im's Chunhyang when I finally purchase the DVD. She has further fueled my desire to see such films as A Stray Bullet and Black Republic. And she has reminded me that what I have to say about all these Korean films may tell you more about my America now than their Korea then.

This article written by by Adam Hartzell, published at http://koreanfilm.org

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Movie Review: Curse of the Golden Flower

In the ten years since Chinese director Zhang Yimou (Hero, House of Flying Daggers) and his one-time muse and mistress, actress Gong Li (Memoirs of a Geisha, Miami Vice), parted personal and professional ways, their respective careers have flourished, crossing international film barriers. It was together, however, that they created a series of memorable masterpieces (Ju Dou, Raise the Red Lantern, Shanghai Triad) - films which relied less on traditional Chinese martial artistry and instead, engaged audiences with compelling narratives and cinematic beauty. The historical epic, Curse of the Golden Flower (which marks their first reunion in over a decade), is no exception. Lush with lavish costumes and exotic set designs, Yimou intricately weaves wuxia martial arts with tragedian elements of passion, betrayal, incest, fratricide and murder in order to create an eye-popping extravaganza about the familial decay beneath the gold and jaded walls of the Imperial Palace. And it is no surprise, that his most precious Flower, the incomparable Li, is at the center of it all.

Adapted from one of China’s most famous plays (Cao Yu’s Thunderstorm), Curse of the Golden Flower takes place during the flamboyant Tang Dynasty, circa 928 A.D. On the eve of the Chong Yang Festival, the cold-hearted and chauvinistic Emperor Ping (Chow Yun Fat), along with his second-born son, Prince Jai (Jay Chou), return from a three-year battle with the Mongols. The royal bed has hardly gone cold during his absence, however, for the Empress Phoenix (Li) has been keeping warm with the Crown Prince Wan (Liu Ye), the Emperor’s first-born, from a previous marriage. Although heir to the throne, the less-than-political Wan prefers to evade the deadly ramifications of such love triangles and run away with Chan (Li Man), both the Empress’ servant and daughter to the Imperial Physician (Ni Dahong). Unbeknownst to Prince Wan, however, the Emperor’s faithful have already advised him of the illicit affair.

Rather than confront the adulteress, the Emperor orders the doctor to add black fungus to his wife’s daily medicine; a deadly concoction that will slowly, and painfully, cause her to lose all mental faculties. (And you thought your family was dysfunctional.) Problem is, an unlikely source (Chen Jin) has already advised the Empress of her husband’s diabolical design (a confidante who also proffers family-shattering insight into the tangled web of deceit woven by the Emperor during his rise to power). Thus, with every mandated sip, the Empress aligns a bloody coup that will ultimately pin son against son, son against father and husband against wife.

Martial arts enthusiasts looking for non-stop, Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon-esque action, be forewarned: Curse of the Golden Flower plays more like a slow-moving Shakespearean drama, almost devoid of hand-to-hand combat, building psychological tension until it finally explodes in a bitter bloodbath. And even then, the computer-generated armies are less than awe-inspiring. Rest assured, however, that even though martial arts is merely a supporting actor, there are some scenes to behold: the black-cloaked ninjas descending through a mountain pass are, for lack of a better word, awesome; when the steely-eyed Emperor takes on his weak, third son, Prince Yu (Qin Junjie), the beating is brutal; and when a blood-soaked Jai approaches the palace door shielding his father, your heart races, imagining what is to come.

But for what Curse of the Golden Flower lacks in martial artistry, it makes up for in beauty. A $45 million production bathed in pure opulence (the most expensive in Chinese film-history), every inch of every frame is drenched in gold (symbol of economic power) - walls, carpeting, wardrobes, fingernails, the endless sea of chrysanthemums that line the courtyard, even the lips that dare not speak of the atrocities that occur within the royal family’s gilded cage. Although the kaleidoscope of color, at times, nearly swallows its characters, it is a constant and chilling reminder of how even the most self-imploding feudal family must always present a facade of strength and family unity. (The most dramatic example occurs post-slaughter. Watch how after the chrysanthemums are covered in blood and thousands of bodies are strewn across the courtyard, palace servants immediately haul the carnage away, scrub the blood-soaked tiles and replace each and every pot with fresh, blooming chrysanthemums.)

Recorded in Mandarin Chinese with English subtitles, the commanding performances of Gong Li and Chow Yun Fat require no spoken words; be it a defiant stare, a change in posture or a stroke of the beard, their facial and physical expressions speak over and above what the written dialogue can offer. And while Junjie and Ye are, unfortunately, less effective as book-end princes, the only character to upstage this Asian-royalty is the royal wardrobe, itself.

Nominated for an Academy Award, costume-designer Yee Chung Man ensured that his oppressed army of female servants looked stunning while tightly bound, his Empress’ robes could swallow the five servants required to administer her deadly tea, and his males were draped in astounding garb that only reinforce their palatial dominance. (In fact, it took a team of forty, over a two month period, just to embroider the layers of gold necessary for the Dragon Robe and Phoenix Gown adorned during the Chrysanthemum Festival.) Even more astonishing is the “choreography” of the wardrobe. Ornate hair pins fly, releasing Li’s hair when she encounters a struggle; the Emperor’s train swirls violently behind him when he becomes enraged; when the crowns are adorned, strength is invigorated; and when blood touches the Empress’ embroidered chrysanthemum scarves, it symbolizes her own blood to be shed.

No one can deny that the final chapter of Yimou’s wuxia martial arts trilogy, Curse of the Golden Flower, offers a haunting yet visually intoxicating view into the opulence, and decadence, that pervaded the insular palace-world of the Tang Dynasty. A breed of ancient tragedy mixed with pure eye candy, this film is packed with intense, emotional story-lines, veteran performances from Asia’s leading actors and the most luxurious costumes and set designs to grace the screen. And while many action-oriented fans will find that its melodramatic pace, color-drenched palate, host of unanswered questions and less than breathtaking fight scenes cause it to wilt in comparison to its martial arts predecessors, Yimou’s faithful will immediately recognize that Curse of the Golden Flower has blossomed from unique garden of films planted by Yimou and Li years ago. As such, it should neither be compared nor tampered with, but merely admired for the beauty it possesses.

Brandi L. James
www.franksreelreviews.com

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