The Emperor and the Assassin

viewed January 19, 2000 at the Bridge

For full information about this film, click here

Ah, a sneak preview of Chen Kaige’s new film -- very exciting.  A lot of buzz through the theater, and a lot of people with passes, more than the actual seating could accommodate.  And I had a party of four, two of whom (my mom and her friend) hadn’t arrived yet to an already packed theater.  Fortunately I was able to find a few open seats, thrown one article of clothing after another on each to reserve them.  Then I decided to be a little more greedy and used my business card to get into the press area.  Once my own place was secure I held the seats adjoining mine, so that we were able to sit as one happy contingent, with a perfect view of the screen.

Naturally with all the buzz and people, and having met the director and
seeing some of the choice clips from the film, my expectations ran high.  But by the time the two hours and thirty minutes had passed, I couldn’t believe my feelings of disappointment for what was supposed to be the greatest epic ever produced by China ­ and indeed, it is often beautiful to look at -- but was often awkwardly lacking in the fundamentals: dialogue and narrative flow.  Chen Kaige obviously set out to make a film of tremendous proportions, worthy of its subject, and somewhere along the way he got lost.

The exposition of the story seemed to be cut into huge chunks divided
between the Emperor and then the Assassin ­ the narrative shifts for 30
minutes on one of them, then 30 minutes on the other, and it takes an
hour and a half before the two storylines converge into something cohesive and dynamic.  The film is highly stylized, not only in the expansive sets and lush colors, but in the loud-voiced, ceremonious acting.  It seems   to be taking after some dormant Chinese dramatic tradition, but more often than not the effect is campy, not nearly as dignified as Chen probably intends.  This isn’t helped much by the dialogue, which seems to beat a narrow set of ideas into the ground. Too often does the script remind us that the assassin, Jing Ke, does not want to kill anymore, and that the Emperor’s self-sworn duty is to unite all of China.

This may be a ritualistic approach towards character and theme, but in
the process an enormous set of subthemes concerning the significance 
and righteousness of the Emperor’s reign are left neglected.  Chen seems 
too squarely set on criticizing the Emperor’s arbitrary ruthlessness, Chen’s way of indirectly criticizing the present administration.  His points are valid, but he compromises the depth of his film as a result.  When the princess (Gong Li, in a disappointingly mediocre performance in spite of the exotic cheek scar and luminous wardrobe) urges the Emperor to throw down his arms and embrace a civilization built on peace and love, it seemed as if the hippies had originated in the Qin Dynasty 200 years B.C.

The final scene, the assassination attempt on the Emperor, is clearly the best staged and realized of the film, but it comes too late to carry any climactic momentum with it.  When it was over, I breathed a sigh of relief and exhaustion, as the lights came up to a smattering of applause.

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