Not Coming to a Theater Near You

House of Flying Daggers / Shi mian mai fu / China / 2004

NYFF COVERAGE – Zhang Yimou’s House of Flying Daggers is only his second wuxia (martial arts) film, but the director seems to have mastered the form and imprinted on it his own bravura style. Like Hero, which has just been released in the United States, Flying Daggers is absurdly extravagant; each set, costume, and landscape is as finely detailed and beautiful as the balletic fight sequences. But unlike its predecessor, which has drawn some criticism for its overly generous depiction of historical figures, the new film addresses politics in a far more conscious and circumspect manner, drawing vague connections to the complexities of contemporary politics under the lush surface of its Sinophilic fantasy world.

Set in 859 AD, during the Tang Dynasty, the film’s opening titles announce the government’s widespread corruption and the dissatisfaction of the people. The “House of Flying Daggers” is the name of an underground resistance movement, a group of dissidents bent on assassinating and overthrowing the corrupt officials of the government. Determined to crush any resistance, those in power unleash all the means at their disposal – torture, clandestine police activity, assassination – to infiltrate and destroy the rebels.

Having captured a beautiful female assassin, Mei (who may or may not be the blind daughter of the former leader of the Flying Daggers), police captains Jin and Leo construct a plot to insinuate themselves into the rebel group. Jin liberates Mei from prison, convincing her that he is a renegade and enemy of the corrupt state, desperate to help the House of Flying Daggers defeat the government. But Jin soon falls for his own ruse, inevitably falling in love with Mei and finding himself caught between the arch machinations of the government and the dissidents.

The film’s script, written by Zhang and Hero collaborators, Li Feng and Wang Bin, weaves an intricate pattern of dissimulation and illusion. The characters are continually trying to determine what is “for real,” but their beautiful exteriors mask the intricacy of their motives and true emotions, just as the film’s ornate sets, staging, and costuming form a lush, artificial surface that obscures the complex emotional core behind the action. And while few of the plot twists are truly surprising, the sheer force of the visuals and of the expertly choreographed and shot fight sequences is surely enough to seduce the spectator.

But at heart, House of Flying Daggers is an erotically charged love story, with much sword-caressing and heavy breathing. The film impressively relates the complex interrelations of its characters, and it is with this emphasis on the emotional lives of the characters that its political (or apolitical) point of view is stated. With both the government and the Flying Daggers against them, Jin tells Mei that they “are like pawns on a chessboard. Nobody cares about us.” Their realization of their lives’ lack of value in the grand scheme of their political environment leads the characters to a desire for an apolitical status, a freedom from the oppressive political dichotomy.

In this way, though it is by no means an explicit criticism of any government agenda, the film expresses a tragic exasperation with the tendency of political situations to subsume the rights and lives of individuals, to require that one choose alliances at the expense of one’s desire. It is thus significant that, in the film’s final moments, none of the principal characters aligns with either the government or the rebels. Their erotic lives eclipse the political situations in the film’s backdrop, transcending the repressive force of their binary structure.

by Leo Goldsmith | Source: Sony Pictures Classics 35mm print
06 Oct 2004 3:23 PM | Submit Comment