House of Flying Daggers

by Ari

I don’t think anyone expected Zhang Yimou to undertake the martial arts film when he began his career. Zhang established himself with subtle, eloquent dramas like Shanghai Triad, To Live, Ju Dou, and what many still consider to be his masterpiece, Raise the Red Lantern. These were beautiful, artful character pieces that distinguished Zhang from his peers during the Hong Kong new-wave of the late 80’s and early 90’s. While filmmakers like John Woo and Ringo Lam were garnering respect and acclaim for their energetic and gritty visions, Zhang Yimou and Wong Kar Wai were demonstrating more diverse, avant-garde sensibilities. Only recently with Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles has Zhang returned to the small-scale drama that made his name. A Zhang Yimou martial arts epic seemed like a complete reversal from who he was a storyteller, a path towards commercial accessibility and success. And in a way, this is true.

Hero and House of Flying Daggers are easily his most successful films, not only increasing his fame in China, but spreading his name to a wider foreign audience. It’s a simple fact that most American audiences know him as the director of two handsomely mounted martial arts films of recent years. Of course, these martial arts films aren’t about exploitation thrills or silly comedic antics or continuous violence and mayhem. What Zhang accomplished with Hero and House of Flying Daggers was a perfect introduction to what makes his work so appealing and special. Audiences expecting his martial arts films to be lesser works (which I fully admit to being a part of) would find something far different. What initially struck me about Hero was how it represented Zhang’s essence as a cinematic artist, while signaling an evolution of his craft. Like his earlier films, Hero was shot with the eye of a visual master, while being dramatic, exquisite, and visionary. Hero brought romance and intrigue to a genre that is hardly known for being sophisticated. This was a film by Zhang Yimou through and through. The only problem was its bizarre, confounding thematic message about succumbing to fascism for the greater good. It’s a bleak and confusing conclusion to an otherwise powerful and visually lush adventure epic. Despite its flaws, Hero was a more than worthy inclusion to his exceptional filmography.

With his follow-up, House of Flying Daggers, Zhang elevated his craft even further, retaining his intimate emotional expression, but setting it against a vast and enormous back-drop. House of Flying Daggers is basically the complete guide to his artistic sensibilities. It contains a strong female lead like his earlier films, explores the nature of love and emotional freedom, and takes you on a journey of grand thematic elegance. A simple story that involves only three key characters, Zhang turns a classically structured love-story into a passionate and sensual cinematic poem that is amongst his finest achievements.

Two government captains during the Tang dynasty receive information about a possible member of the secretive, rebellious organization called the “Flying Daggers”. The Daggers fight the oppressive, unjust government with their secret, mysterious tactics - planning a critical attack that will leave a major blow to the corrupt dynasty. Leo (Andy Lau), a government officer, hears about a blind dancer at a local brothel who is believed to be the daughter of the old Daggers leader. He sends Jin (Takeshi Kaneshiro), the captain of the county, to investigate the brothel and discover her secret. Jin is handsome and charming, or as he puts it, “never shy around women”. Once there, Jin meets Mei (Zhang Ziyi), the beautiful girl they mean to arrest. As part of a plan to unveil her true identity, Jin gets drunk and attempts to take advantage of her, leading to Leo’s entrance and a short battle.

After they arrest her, the two captains get the idea of a mission that will earn them a great reward from their General. Jin will break into the prison and rescue her, acting the hero and having her take him to the leader of the Flying Daggers, who they will then arrest. It’s a good plan until the unexpected happens. Jin falls in love with Mei on their adventure through the country, turning sides and risking his life to save her from the government troops on their tail. However, appearances can be deceiving, and twists and secrets are revealed along the way. The story is a sweeping romantic epic performed incredibly well by the lovely Zhang Ziyi and the sensational Takeshi Kaneshiro, one of my absolute favorite actors working in film today. She’s beautiful and innocent, but emotionally hurt by her affection between two men. She falls for Jin, complicating matters greatly as a member of the Flying Daggers. Ziyi is pitch-perfect in this role, bringing a sensuality and complexity to her character. Kaneshiro is the charming romantic hero, both amusing and dramatic. Their chemistry is effortless.

There’s something about the romantic martial arts epic that feels similar to classical Hollywood musicals. Both genres are based in the same ideas: invest the audience in a sweet or emotionally affecting story, while entertaining them with numbers or set-pieces that heighten or exaggerate the drama stylistically. The masterfully choreographed set-pieces in House of Flying Daggers are essentially the contemporary equivalent of what Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, or Gene Kelly and Cyd Charisse did with their musicals. You have these numbers intertwined with the story, bringing the emotion into a more lively and stylized beat. House of Flying Daggers contains these numbers, only with swords and spears and arrows. There are three major set-pieces in the film, all of them feeling more like a dance than anything else. The “Echo Game”, the bamboo forest battle, and the final climactic showdown. Each one is a spectacular display of Zhang’s visual and emotional command of cinematic language.

The “Echo Game” has Ziyi surrounded by a half-circle of drums. Leo throws a peanut at one of them, which then bounces off and hits another. Ziyi must follow the sounds, then hit the correct drums in a very theatrical, elegant fashion. The game lasts for several rounds, each one increasing in difficulty. The sequence is a beautiful piece of dance choreography that starts the movie on a highly impressive note.

The bamboo forest battle is extraordinary. Government troops fly through the trees chasing Mei and Jin who are running on foot - a sequence that contains aerial combat, dangerous traps, and eventually, flying daggers. This sequence is arguably the best in the film. Thrilling, romantic, and epic. The beauty of Zhang’s imagery is something that really has to be seen. His use of color, his framing, his rhythm and pacing - the technique is fascinating. The rich, green cinematography during this battle gives it a natural, atmospheric elegance.

The final showdown between Leo and Jin is far more brutal and intense, but the operatic scope keeps it line with the poetic tone previously set. The two warriors battle fiercely, splashing blood on the thick, white snow around them. The imagery is vivid and powerful.

House of Flying Daggers is Zhang Yimou’s most entertaining movie, and it still retains the intimate artistic expression that defines his work. This is escapist art at its finest.