Hear/Say

Recently been celebrating Asian movies.

Where slapstick comedy has practically died for mainstream audiences (I’m not… talking about… Paul Blart, Mall Cop… the general consensus seemed to be oh my god, that guy from King of Queens must hate himself) in America, we have some good oldies here in Asia.

As kung-fu practically is a continuing thread in daily culture (pass a park, you will see a mob of old people slowly moving in group tai chi; the park down the street also hosts a gathering of a kung-fu with a stick-prop, where they practice this passion against each other or in movement together), movies featuring the necessity of photogenic fighting (rarely is it graphic. once a man is hit, he stays down but in one piece) to continue the excitement of a plot also feature exaggerated, slap-stick physical comedy of magical kung fu powers (Buddha’s laugh, the Tien Chi– sky in chinese– footstomp, etc.) These are run during the middle to evening of the day, with hilarities abound– pervy quotes and quips, lust abound, greed for money and addiction to gambling is not a rare characteristic in a stooge or two– and the tangent of plots range from romance to ridiculous, all in one movie. They often throw in one or two fat jokes, if not three, and there is always ramen involved in at least one scene.

These are in direct contrast with the serious cinematic ventures of master filmmakers like Ang Lee or Wong Kar Wai– the emotional intensities of these milestone movies (think Kurosawa, as well) are, I feel, unmatched by other international films. There is a weight of each glance that may not necessarily be revealed to an audience in their first experience of the movie, complications of saving face, honor, and unspeakable customs for respect or disrespect that run under the surface of parted lips or a blank tension in the creases of his eyes.

Much of Asian cultural communication lies in these expectations, the unspoken meanings that are clearer than the words that are declared– from a Western perspective, this is called passive aggressiveness. But to assume that the passivity is to avoid confrontation at the cost of the would-be-confronted is an incorrect assumption: the passivity is perhaps more aggressive in that they have already assumed that you would agree of your fault– so there is no need to bring it up in person for fear of further embarrassing the person of their faults, but to ask them to correct it in a way to save your face. There is no need for a public solicitation for an apology; only a silent nod of assent and the asked change in behavior.

In Rashomon, the false claims of the wife, husband, and thief reveal more about their insecurities and shed a clearer light on the complications of their personal circumstances than plain words could ever work to portray. It illustrates the stakes of honor they have in the outcome of the sentence. In the end, it is the entire film’s storytelling that precisely conveys the texture and crisis of each person as they would rather publicly condemn themselves of a lesser shame in order to hide their greater fault.

In Lust, Caution, the realistic crisis of lust versus caution becomes a pain we ourselves feel and experience along with the anti/heroine. We feel her humanity, despite her excellent facade– and to the actress: to act an actor/actress is not an easy task. There is a play within a play– but when she finds that the seduction of Mr. Yee has become the only real aspect of her life, the separation of each stage vanishes and leaves her as a woman who has come to love a man. Ang Lee frames these intangible thoughts, these indescribable feelings with carefully placed reflections, and Wei Tang’s most impressive acting skills– she even overshadows Tony Leung’s experience and star fame– we are transported and convinced of a world where politics of identity are submerged in sexual politics, a surprising power struggle between ideals and morals, and a revelation that vulnerability becomes luxurious strength.

At the end, we are left with an eerie feeling that the girl has always been Mrs. Mak; that she has poured so much of her soul into creating this character that there is nothing left of the girl who only once acted in a patriotic play, and that her love for the man she tried to help kill was heavier than the desire for him to die. So much so, that we see that she is at peace even at the mercy of her fate.

This was obviously an expensive film: the quality of each frame was careful composed; nothing left to chance. It is unfortunate that it is only in these pricey productions can we find a quality of a genuine human glance, where veiled eyes and folds of significance need not be captioned by empty words and loud, meaningless phrases.

see: owen wilson, jennifer aniston, ben stiller, blake lively, and all american romance movies, also, director gary marshall

***edit*

Also, forgot to mention Chunking Express, which was also fabuloso– what also impresses me is the persuasively unique characters that *could* be human, that *could* exist, that deviate from the typical archetypes found in American films (girl next door, diva, shy but strong, indie alternat–er, zooey deschanel. etc.)