BATMAN BEGINS (2005), dir. Christopher Nolan

The Dark Knight Dawns Again

“Batman Begins” is a cross between a superhero action film and a biopic. It proposes to do for the titlular character what “Ali” and “The Aviator” did for the world’s greatest heavyweight champion and Howard Hughes, respectively. The movie wants to dig underneath the cape and cowl, the utility belt full of weapons. Sure, we get backstory on how billionaire scion Bruce Wayne (Christian Bale, adding another American psycho to his resume) acquired those wonderful toys. But more importantly, the filmmakers show us the events that shaped Batman into what he is—not just a man in a Halloween costume, but a hero.

It turns out Batman’s origin is a lot more complicated than Bruce Wayne sitting around in his study when a bat flew in. Yes, that did happen. He wanted to become a creature of the night, something that would strike fear into the hearts of criminals everywhere. But that wouldn’t explain his martial arts training, or his exceptional stealthiness. It wouldn’t explain why Bruce—whose parents were gunned down right in front of him—will fight criminals, but stops short of killing them.

“Batman Begins” fills in those gaps. What’s really interesting is that Bruce Wayne has values, but as the movie shows, he did not acquire them overnight. There was a time when the thirst for revenge, not justice, consumed him. After Joe Chill, his parents’ murderer, gets out of prison thanks to a plea deal, Bruce waits in front of the courtroom steps, loaded pistol in hand. Fate intervenes when Chill is killed by Falcone (Tom Wilkinson), the mob boss he was supposed to testify against. At first, Bruce has no problem seeing the man dead. However, when he tells this to Rachel (Katie Holmes), his childhood friend and Gotham City’s assistant district attorney, she shows him the ghettos, where poverty and drugs create a hundred new Joe Chills each day.

Rachel’s point: There are greater evils in the world that must be fought. But Bruce Wayne is not yet up to the task. Anger still possesses him, so he runs away to the Far East. After being locked away in a Chinese prison, he is rescued by Ducard (Liam Neeson), emissary for a secret society called the League of Shadows. The members of the League have been trained in ninjitsu. Their ultimate purpose is to fight back evil when it becomes too powerful. Ducard enlists Bruce in the League’s cause, and makes him travel to a monastery high atop the mountains. There, he offers to train his body, make his mind strong, and help him control his emotions.

Bruce agrees, and becomes Ducard’s greatest pupil. However, he falls short in one regard: The day of the final test, a farmer is brought in caged. According to Ducard, the man murdered his neighbor in a jealous rage. As a way of proving his dedication to the cause of justice, Bruce is told that he must execute the farmer. But the student will not. His own experiences with Joe Chill have shown him that justice cannot be served through retribution. “I will dedicate my life to fighting men like this, but I will not become like him,” he says to Ra’s Al Ghul (Ken Watanabe), the League’s leader.

Lest we confuse “Batman Begins” with the Tom Cruise pic “The Last Samurai,” Bruce Wayne returns home to Gotham, where he takes up a crusade, if not yet a costume. Having grown and evolved since he was last in the states, Wayne Enterprises now has its fingers in numerous pies. With the help of Lucius Fox (Morgan Freeman), a former executive relegated to the dead-end applied sciences division because he “asked too many questions,” Bruce begins piecing together his future bat-costume and bat-arsenal. He’ll need them, since gangster Falcone is more powerful than ever. With the help of a deranged, scarecrow mask-wearing psychiatrist (Cillian Murphy, channeling James Spader’s creepiness), and a mysterious third villain (whose appearance will surprise no one), the forces of evil are set to unleash a deadly weapon of mass distraction upon Gotham’s citizenry.

Luckily, Batman gets help in the form of street cop Jim Gordon (Gary Oldman, making for a surprisingly-effective ordinary joe) and assistant D.A. Rachel, with whom his alter-ego exchanges some meaningful glances. Michael Caine is also on hand portraying indispensible butler Alfred Pennyworth. The scenes between Bruce and his faithful man-servant contain the best dialogue in the movie. More a father-son relationship than employer-employee, Alfred has the thankless job of keeping Bruce from destroying himself in order to give birth to Batman. This makes all the more affecting his coming to the rescue when his master’s plans inevitably go to blazes.

“Batman Begins” was directed and co-written by Christopher Nolan, the man behind the cult fave “Memento” (2000) and the Al Pacino remake of “Insomnia” (2002). Both films used sudden jump-cuts to imitate the disoriented minds of their protagonists (In addition, “Memento” ran the last scene first, and the first scene last, to mimic how Leonard Shelby’s short-term memory loss made every new experience vague and unfamiliar). In his fourth movie, Nolan uses the same tricks to hint at Bruce’s repressed fears; when Ducard prompts him about what it is he’s afraid of, Nolan cuts, almost-subliminally, to the swarm of bats that traumatized Bruce as a child. The director also has fun depicting the point-of-view of victims who have been drugged by the Scarecrow’s fear gas, as bats, maggots, and flames come spewing out from the doctor’s burlap sack of a face.

Compared to the past four Batman movies, Tim Burton’s gothic “Batman” (1989) and “Batman Returns” (1992), Joel Schumacher’s neon-infested “Batman Forever” (1995), and the tepid “Batman and Robin” (1997), this latest installation actually underwhelms with its production design. Also, many of the action sequences feel slightly over-edited. This is mildly distracting when Bruce and Ducard are practicing their swordsmanship atop an icy pond. However, during the actual Batman sequences, this approach makes sense; he’s supposed to take bad guys down before they know what hit them.

Even if Christopher Nolan isn’t the action directing equivalent of Warners’ Wachowski Brothers, he still manages to accomplish what Burton and Schumacher failed to do: He makes Batman into a fleshed-out character. Working with David S. Goyer (“Dark City,” “Blade I-III”) off Frank Miller’s popular “Batman: Year One” miniseries, he brings the Dark Knight himself to life, not just his four-color universe. Simultaneously epic-scaled and intimate, “Batman Begins” should stand the test of time better than the franchise’s last three volumes. However, only ticket sales will determine whether Warners green-lights a sequel. Hopefully, audiences won’t shy away if word-of-mouth spreads that this superhero movie emphasizes story over action. If Nolan can indeed return to continue the saga his Batman begins here, we may be witnessing the birth of comic book movies’ Golden Age, led by “Batman,” “Spider-Man,” “X-Men,” and “Sin City.”

Overall rating: **** (out of ****)

THE BLADE (1995), dir. Tsui Hark

Hark (Tsui)! The One-Armed Swordsman Swings!

Tsui Hark is considered by many to be the master of the martial arts epic. But with “The Blade,” he truly outdoes himself, taking the genre to new operatic heights.

Swords, daggers, and flying kicks remain the order of the day in feudal China. But a gang of merciless horse thieves have another weapon at their disposal: Bear traps. These can puncture flesh and shatter bone between their jagged metal jaws. The horse thieves deposit them around their camp, just waiting for human prey to set a leg or an arm inside.

Ding On (Chiu Man-Cheuk), who ran away from home to find his father’s murderer, becomes their latest victim. He loses his right arm fighting to rescue Ling (Valerie Chow), a childhood friend and daughter of a wealthy sword-maker. Ding On vanishes into a foggy ravine, where he is presumably lost. He awakens in the care of an aborigine farmer (Veronique Kaneta), and has to try and rebuild his life using only his left arm.

Complications arise, however, when he discovers his father’s killer, Fei Lung (the incredible Xin Xin Xiong), in the nearby village. Then a gang of Arab marauders set upon Ding On’s new home. They string him up, beat him, and burn the farm to the ground.

Realizing that the weak are doomed in a lawless world, unless they learn to fight back, Ding On begins training with the help of a half-charred kung-fu manual. The figures in the diagrams are all missing one arm, a disadvantage for most, but perfect for him. Armed with the broken blade his father once fought with, Ding On develops a new style that emphasizes spinning around very fast.

While the one-armed swordsman prepares to declare war on all roaming bandits, Ling arrives in the village with Iron Head (Moses Chan), a volatile young man. They are here to find Ding On. But he is too ashamed to face them, having stolen the broken blade from out of Ling’s father’s house.

Luckily, her father has run afoul of the Arab marauders, who hire Fei Lung to raid the sword-maker’s factory. Sensing a chance for redemption, Ding On returns to the birthplace of his dishonour. There, he meets Fei Lung in an astonishing final battle. It isn’t a fight so much as a natural disaster; a head-on collision between two tornadoes, each lined with razor-sharp cutlery.

“The Blade” ranks with the best work produced by Hong Kong director Tsui Hark. His 1986 film “Peking Opera Blues” is considered to be a classic. During the early 90’s, he started a revolution with the “Once Upon a Time in China” trilogy. Now experiencing a revival in the West, thanks to the popularity of its star, Jet Li, these movies featured Wong Fei-Hung, Chinese folk hero, performing elaborate fight sequences, the likes of which had never been seen before in a martial arts film (but were almost immediately imitated).

Never content to be a one-trick pony, Hark cuts back on the high-flying, wire-aided stunts this time. He creates a new kind of martial arts movie with “The Blade.” Now he injects ferocious speed, using some brilliant, low-tech ideas he might have picked up while attending the University of Texas at Austin.

For some action sequences, the film is sped-up. Just as effective, however, was Hark’s idea to use doubles of Chiu Man-Cheuk. Either Man-Cheuk or his stunt copy disappear off one side of the picture, then the other quickly leaps in from the opposite side. Either method creates the illusion that Ding On is some kind of sword-wielding Speedy Gonzalez. He's there one second, gone the next. Frequently, his opponents notice the same phenomenon applies to their legs.

Physics-bending, genre-blending

If Tsui Hark doesn’t make the same martial arts movie over and over, nor does he adhere to the same genre. Over his twenty-six-year career, he has helmed a critically-acclaimed musical (“Shanghai Blues,” 1984), a sports comedy (“The Chinese Feast,” 1995), a drama (“Love in the Time of Twilight,” 1995), even a special-effects extravaganza (“Legend of Zu,” 2001). In 1980, Hark put his career into high gear career a suspense/horror/comedy entitled Diyu wu men (“We Are Going to Eat You”).

If his versatility isn’t obvious by the list of films he has directed, it might be more apparent in his producing filmography. In 1987, he produced Siu-Tung Ching’s “A Chinese Ghost Story,” which contained some pretty horrific, albeit aesthetically-pleasing moments, thanks to Film Workshop, the special effects company Hark founded.

In 1994, he produced Ringo Lam’s “Burning Paradise,” which combined martial arts with haunted house-style horror. Most recently, Hark attempted to revitalize the once-popular Chinese golden vampire movie with “Vampire Hunters” (2002), which Herman Yau directed.

Thanks to an enduring, versatile career, it is never a surprise to see Hark borrow from another genre for a particular effect. In fact, one of the best scenes in “The Blade” feels like it was lifted from horror movies:

Ding On has overheard Ling talking to her grandmother about his father’s gruesome fate. Having never heard this information, he bursts into the room, demands to know the truth. As a thunderstorm rages outside the factory, Ling runs across a corridor that is enveloped by shadows. Flashes of lightning reveal the emptiness of the room. Suddenly, we hear Ding On’s voice screaming, “Who killed him?!”

Ling turns around, looks directly into the camera. Lightning glints blue off the surface of her skin. Wind whips her hair into a mild frenzy. The room becomes dark again, then the camera does a 180-degree turn. A solid, dark mass takes up almost the entire picture. Then there is another flash of lightning, and Ding On’s face materializes, looking ominous and scary.

Among other resources the director draws on, Hark clearly knows a thing or two about the stage. It often appeared in his earlier films, and always authentic-looking when it did. The theatre was central to “Peking Opera Blues;” Wong Fei-Hung’s sidekicks shanghaid a public one in “Once Upon a Time in China.” Quite a few times in “The Blade,” Hark presents the action with what seems like an eye for stage theatrics.

During a flashback that shows the sword-maker, Ding On’s father, and other warriors fighting some bandits, the good guys stand frozen in dramatic-looking poses, looking directly at the camera. A few moments later, they start fighting the brigands. After dispatching them, they freeze into dramatic-looking poses again. According to the sword-maker’s voiceover, this was supposed to be a battle. The way Hark choreographs, however, it seems more like interpretive dance.

Like a good stage director, Hark also uses backgrounds to dramatize events or reflect his characters’ moods. The flashback scene, for example, takes place during a violent rainstorm. The raging elements mirror the bloodlust frothing up in both the warriors’ and the villains’ hearts. Later, when Ding On storms the horse thieves’ lair, he is already possessed by a rage that makes him the equal of twenty men. As a way of underlining the character’s burning anger, Hark lights the scene using only the torches and smoldering bonfires that are part of the scenery.

Bold visual touches like these help “The Blade” resonate emotionally. Few martial arts movies before or since have matched its energy and passion.

Overall rating: **** (out of ****)

HAPPY TOGETHER (1997), dir. Wong Kar-Wai

The Heart Has Its Reasons / “Starting Over Again” with Wong Kar-Wai

The setting is Argentina, birthplace of the tango. We get to hear some of that music in the background of various scenes.

I cannot say whether the two relationships at the heart of "Happy Together" are tangos in themselves. After all, it seems like the tango can be a metaphor for anything nowadays. If it implies an irresistable attraction, which we are helpless to fight off, though we know it will lead to disaster, Lai Yiu-Fai (Tony Leung Chiu-Wai) and Ho Wo-Ping (Leslie Cheung) are definitely dancing a tango. Likewise, if it means finding comfort in the presence of a kindred spirit, Yiu-Fai and his young friend Chang (Chang Chen) are tango-bound.

Though Argentina is a sunny country, "Happy Together" is, for the most part, not a sunny picture. Lai Yiu-Fai’s relationship with Ho Wo-Ping gets the majority of screen time, but theirs is a most turbulent affair. As Yiu-Fai’s voiceover tells us, they have known each other for a long time. But within that span, they have butt heads, broken up, and gotten back together, too often to keep count. Wo-Ping is usually the one who does the dumping. He is also the one who crawls back, and asks to start the relationship over again. Yiu-Fai always takes Wo-Ping back, thus perpetuating their vicious cycle. "Happy Together" observes a stretch of their on-again/off-again relationship, which is severed by jealousy and resentment. Eventually, Wo-Ping looks to reconcile again. But this time, Yiu-Fai has had enough.

"Happy Together" might put some viewers off, because it is about gay men. But this movie has very little interest in the politics of homosexuality. It is more interested in portraying the ordeal of its main character, Lai Yiu-Fai, in a way that is true to life. His emotional struggle is meant to be universal: the unextinguished candle that still burns for the love object; the insecurity and mistrust that degenerates into possessiveness; gradually understanding that things were not meant to be.

While the movie sounds simple, writer/director Wong Kar-Wai understands that the emotions involved are deep and complex. So the way he conducts the film, he plays the emotions like a kind of music. He underscores his characters’ silent longings with French New Wave-style flair, making them big as life.

Kar-Wai uses slow-motion, freeze shots, and multi-angle edits to turn seemingly meaningless moments into intervals of great profundity. When a character places his head on another character’s shoulder, it’s shot in slow-motion, with tango playing in the background. Slow-motion draws attention to their faces; we can practically read what Lai Yiu-Fai feels—suspicion combined with genuine temptation. By using tango, Kar-Wai reminds us that his characters, though they are sitting in a cab and staring straight ahead, are engaging, emotionally, in a give-and-take that indeed qualifies as a dance. Another interesting moment occurs when Lai Yiu-Fai walks into a men’s room, and unexpectedly finds Ho Wo-Ping. The picture freezes. Lai Yui-Fai is surprised, his emotions overwhelmed. As a result, his reality, represented by the film itself, momentarily seizes up.

The director also employs an unique narrative device to give his characters’ relationship added depth. A scene will be shown, such as Yiu-Fai receiving a call from Wo-Ping, or him startling Wo-Ping and accusing him of rifling through his closets. Then the film flashes back to a prior event, which may have taken place minutes, hours, or days before. Kar-Wai and Christopher Doyle, his frequent cinematographer, elect to use black-and-white photography for the flashbacks. This way, when we see Wo-Ping, alone in his plush hotel room, go out into the hallway to call Yiu-Fai, or Wo-Ping rummaging through the closets, it doesn’t impede the story. We can tell the difference between what is happening now, and what happened in the past.

Why does the director choose to structure the film in this fashion? Why detour from chronological order? By intercutting flashbacks into the linear narrative, Kar-Wai gives us two points of view for every scene he meddles with. This way, we can observe how the characters distrust each other, how even basic interactions feature deceit. In the previous example, Yiu-Fai only knew that his personal belongings had been tossed about. Thanks to the flashbacks, we know (and Yiu-Fai doesn’t) that Wo-Ping was looking for a particular thing.

We are privy to information one character has, which the other does not have. When Yiu-Fai gets the call from Wo-Ping, and the invitation to his hotel, he assumes that Wo-Ping wants to show off the spoils of his gigolo lifestyle. Far from it. Wo-Ping has a comfortable bed, and luxuries meant to satisfy his hedonistic urges. Pornography blares from his hotel room TV. The dresser is decorated with open bottles of alcohol. What’s conspicuously missing, however, is intimacy of any sort. To try and alleviate the aching of his heart, Wo-Ping reaches out to Yiu-Fai. But Yiu-Fai is not privy to the flashbacks, nor the information they contain. As a result, he does not realize his former lover’s intent, nor the complicated emotions that inform his actions.

As a final nod to Kar-Wai’s gift for mise-en-scene, "Happy Together" might contain the boldest example of symbolism I have seen in his movies. There is a shot of a giant waterfall, used to underscore Lai Yiu-Fai’s emotional state after being dumped. The sight of the waterfall (which is presented via a slow, panning shot, probably done from a helicopter) delivers a powerful emotional impact. It is conveniently juxtaposed. It follows the scene where Wo-Ping tells him that their days together are dull. Yiu-Fai walks towards the camera, head down. He looks grief-stricken. When we see the waterfall, we infer that the thousands of gallons pouring from the falls represent the sorrow gushing forth from Yiu-Fai’s heart. It’s a picture that speaks a thousand words, from a man who really knows how to use images to encompass volumes.

"Lai-Yiu Fai… We could start over again."

These are words his lover, Ho Wo-Ping, constantly says to him. When he wants to break up, he offers that caveat. Someday, perhaps, they can start over again. Eventually, Wo-Ping will want to get back together. Then he will say the same thing: “Lai Yiu-Fai… We could start over again.”

How interesting that Wong Kar-Wai should set “Happy Together,” about two gay men who try to start a new life together, in Argentina. After all, during the 1880’s, immigrants from all over the world flocked there to begin anew. Of course, they could never leave the Old World behind completely. When time came to commiserate about failed romance or cultural alienation, these immigrants from Europe, Africa, and other distant lands drowned their sorrows in the tango. The tango combined familiar musical styles with some unfamiliar ones. It produced an exotic sound, but also reflected home.

Over a hundred years after the original immigrants, Lai Yui-Fai and Ho Wo-Ping also try to start anew. But can a person really begin again? Can we return to a past romantic partner, without digging up old resentments? Wong Kar-Wai seems to argue that you can indeed start over. But only if you are a different person than you were the previous time. Otherwise, the past has a tendency to repeat itself, as it does for Lai Yiu-Fai and Ho Wo-Ping.

Yiu-Fai and Wo-Ping face a nearly-insurmountable obstacle. Wo-Ping is selfish, indulges too much. He is too much attracted to Argentina's wild nightlife. Yiu-Fai, on the other hand, is practical, giving, and responsible. His and Wo-Ping’s values greatly differ. When they get back together in Argentina, things go well for a while. But only because Wo-Ping needs Yiu-Fai’s help. Special circumstances lead to this comfortable, symbiotic relationship developing. It only lasts, however, for as long as Wo-Ping remains hurt.

As soon as Wo-Ping’s begins recovering from his beating, he regresses to his old ways. This leads to conflict, and inevitable dissolution. Part of the problem is Wo-Ping, who is unwilling to change his behavior. But at the same time, Yiu-Fai will not stop being possessive. At one point, Yiu-Fai buys two entire cartons of cigarettes, so Wo-Ping won’t have that excuse to leave the apartment at night. This sends him into a brief rage. Wo-Ping makes it clear to Yiu-Fai, who would rather he stayed home, "If I want to go out, I’ll go out."

Jealousy and suspicion also seep in. These two know each other too well, and have experienced too much pain at the other’s hands. It must have occurred to Yiu-Fai that his partner might get bored, and leave again. So he takes something of Wo-Ping’s. This stolen object guarantees that, even if he leaves, he cannot get too far.

How much better it would be if Yiu-Fai and Wo-Ping started over alone. Especially since neither character has changed since they last broke up. For them, there is no point in trying to start again. If their personality conflicts drove them apart in the past, and both men are still the same, history must repeat itself. Of course, if their relationship did not collapse again, Wong Kar-Wai would not have his movie. One of the truths about the human heart, which “Happy Together” espouses very well, is that sometimes, the mighty organ cannot help itself. It yearns for the departed. It tosses aside common sense to try and reclaim some joy from the past.

But the heart can also find pleasure in something new. One day, Yiu-Fai crosses paths with Chang, who works at the restaurant where Yiu-Fai has taken a job. Gradually, they get to know each other. We can tell from his voiceovers that Chang is a sensitive boy.

Yiu-Fai relates to Chang much differently than with Wo-Ping. With the latter, the attraction was mostly physical, and Kar-Wai established this early on. The very first shot of the movie showed Yiu-Fai’s naked body being observed by Wo-Ping. He followed that up with a scene of them having sex. By contrast, Yiu-Fai and Chang share a deeper, more emotional bond. Both their souls are homesick. Chang, however, wants to see more of the world before going back.

Although their relationship never becomes sexual, Chang gives Yiu-Fai something more important: Strength to truly start over fresh. Hearing Chang talk about home, and his family, he is reminded of a past indiscretion. He realizes that he cannot go home as the same person, for the injured party will not accept him. So Yiu-Fai begins the process of change by writing a long letter to the injured. Once upon a time, he could not imagine doing such a thing. Yet here he is, writing the letter. But Yiu-Fai still isn’t ready to return home. He must embark on a descent into the underworld, where he wanders aimlessly through Argentina’s gay subculture. It is an abyss of orange sunsets and temptations of the flesh.

With Chang gone, and Wo-Ping at a distance, Yiu-Fai finally gets the chance to stare into the abyss, and not look away. He gets an opportunity to build character. Now, when he returns home to Hong Kong, having survived loss, loneliness, and the quietus that is a solitary mind, he will be a different man. He will have conquered himself; he will have left Wo-Ping behind for good. Now he gets his chance at redemption and forgiveness. Now he can really start over.

Overall rating: **** (out of ****)