Three Times

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I'm a fan of director Hsiao-hsien Hou, but even then I wasn't that fascinated by Three Times (2005). The film is split into three segments that take place in three different periods of time (1910's, 1960's and 2000's) where Shu Qi and Chen Chang appear in the central relationship. As you might guess from that, Three Times' major theme is love.

The first segment is a schmaltzy tale of a soldier chasing an adventurous woman in the 60's. Why do I call it schmaltzy? There is an abundance of pop music of the period that is so mind-numbing in the end that the music loses most of its impact. Even Aprhodite's Child's "Rain and Tears" had a surprisingly tame impact due to the frequent usage.

The second segment is an oddly pretentious effort for Hou. Most of the segment tries to imitate silent films by muting dialogue and sound effects yet changes nothing else so it's a Hou film without sound apart from a constant flow of music. I guess he decided to approach the segment that way since it takes place in the early 20th century. However it's not only distracting, but nearly terrible because Hou still relies on dialogue as much as he usually does so that means there are a lot of title cards that becomes rather tiresome after a while. It also has a very calm, dreamlike pace for no good reason.

The final segment is Hou's take on love in the modern age and I have to say it is clearly the most successful and interesting one. It is the most complex and interesting one and there are no formal deficiencies in the way either.

Apart from the oddities specific to each segment, the form is rather fluid. Hou's incredible photography and sparse editing are still as beautiful as they have always been. The musical choices are good even if occasionally misused. The greatest occasion must be the closing song for the final segment: it is so well as a continuation of the heart-aching ending. And if there's anything to be truly praised in this film it's Shu Qi's amazing acting. The innocent joy of the first segment, the elegance of the second segment and the fragile tour de force of the final segment are all top notch performances. I hope she will eventually be acknowledged as one of the greatest contemporary actresses.

Even though Hou doesn't have that much to say about love he approaches it from so many different perspectives that the film is at least satisfying. I wonder what would have happened to the film without Shu Qi.

Score: 6 out of 10

Flight of the Red Balloon

Hsiao-hsien Hou's Flight of the Red Balloon (2007) reminds me of the director's earlier film, Café Lumière (2003), because in both films he explores a foreign culture so vividly and profoundly in a minimalistic way. Whereas Café Lumière was only about that Flight of the Red Balloon's scope is a bit bigger. As a vital reference to Albert Lamorisse's Red Balloon (1956) a mysterious red balloon follows the son of a puppeteer and his babysitter in Paris.

Hou's "slice of life" approach is still refreshing and brilliant in a way that's hard to put into words. There's a heart-warming aspect to it although the film's atmosphere is occasionally gloomy. Hou creates one of the most interesting characters of his entire career with the Chinese babysitter, Fang Song, who is also a film student interested in shooting footage of the boy's adventures in the city. Despite its freewheeling nature as a vivid document of the culture the film also deals with family issues and art in a significant degree, which makes it even more interesting.

Hou's minimal (but not static) camera movement, gorgeous compositions and calm editing (most scenes are shot with a single take) are as captivating and sophisticated as in his greatest masterpieces such as City of Sadness. The instrumental music is used in a slightly cathartic way that reminds me of Hou's earlier films although this time it was even more effective. Especially the song used at the end of the film was a great choice.

Hsiao-hsien continues to amaze me with his wisdom and sophistication which seem to be never-ending seeing that his career has lasted for so long already and he has never stumbled drastically.

Score: 10 out of 10

Café Lumière

It has only been 3 months since I last reviewed Hsiao-hsien's Café Lumière (2003), but I decided to watch it again to see its chronological position in the director's filmography. I recommend reading the older review first because I'm going to cut to the chase in this review. The earlier review approached the film solely as an Ozu tribute, which is something I didn't notice until now. The film is so much more than that - and it gains more resonance through rewatches.

Even though the filmis devoted to its exploration of Japanese culture, it is also a thorough character study. Yoko's journey is captivating in its simplicity and relaxed emotion. 'Relaxed' is a fitting adjective in this case because the emotions are not necessarily "restrained" - though there are a few minor cases of that as well. By exploring her as a character, Hou plunges deep into the Japanese culture beyond the superficial level that most other films remain. It is surprising how much one can realize from repetition (primarily referring to the train rides and long walks) - which is the key word in Café Lumière's writing.

The form is probably as minimalist as it can get in cinema. It gives the film a natural feel (that doesn't simply "mimic reality"). Personally I also love the fact how Hou uses a lot of visual footage of trains that are both vital to the Japanese culture and for my silly obsession with trains. Unfortunately there's one flaw I can't forgive in the film's form. The few brief instrumental pieces of background music are painful due to their distracting misplacement.

Café Lumière is only a bit away from reaching the status of a "true masterpiece" - for which it certainly had the potential.

Score: 9 out of 10

Millennium Mambo

Hsiao-hsien Hou's Millennium Mambo (2001) shows the director exploring yet another directorial dimension. The final result is bewildering but interesting: it combines the experimentation and subject matter of an up-and-coming director with the confidence of an experienced auteur. The film focuses solely on Vicky, a woman in need of a change to her life. The film begins by showing how her relationship to Hao-hao began - an on/off relationship that eventually comes crashing down.

This is the first time Hou sets the entire film in the contemporary Taiwan (and partly Japan). This time the setting doesn't play a role as huge as in his other films - now the focus is completely on the characters. They are intriguing because most of them are trapped and flawed in a tragic way. Hou explores Vicky's life in dense detail (and honestly) which makes the film emotionally tangible.

Even though Hou experiments a lot with the form this time, he hasn't forgotten his long take aesthetic. Most scenes are built around one long take where the camera is in a fixed position (although it turns around a lot). He mostly uses the same angles and positions for every set throughout the film - which gives the viewer a concrete idea of the surroundings. This is especially effective in Vicky's apartment that is mostly shot from a single position. The experimentation with bokeh and slow motion is intriguing and mostly successful. For example, the opening shot of the film is one of the most haunting ones Hou has ever shot. And that says a lot.

Before I forget I have to mention the clever use of sound in the film. There's a faint musical score in the background most of the time and Hou likes to use "authentic" (not sure if it is, but it sure sounds like that) background noise for most scenes (with the exception being the dreamy passages that serve as emotional catharses).

Millennium Mambo is a fascinating film dominated by its towering lead performance by Shu Qi. She carries the film quite effortlessly even when it could have stumbled hard. It is an all-around good film that could have been better. It creates a strong emotional bond to the characters, but doesn't achieve much through its experimentation.

Score: 8 out of 10

Flowers of Shanghai

Hsiao-hsien Hou's Flowers of Shanghai (1998) is set in the 1880's Shanghai where four brothels have to deal with a wide range of problems from fights between flower girls (a gentler term for prostitutes) to the struggle to gain freedom. Hou explores the subject thoroughly and he manages to create a big cast of complex and fascinating characters.

The film is a return to Hou's more static form in a sense: the camera remains at the same spot in each scene, but it still turns around to follow characters and events when it is needed. The camera is also relatively (= in comparison to his other films) close to the actors, creating more intimacy although the camera still remains as an observer. The editing pattern is mostly one "one scene, one take" and scenes are often changed with a fade to black - which works surprisingly well because it fits to the calm pacing completely. The lighting in this film phenomenal, even more notable than in many other Hou films.

Flowers of Shanghai is a great addition to Hou's filmography even though it does not reach to the level of his masterpieces.

Score: 9 out of 10

Goodbye South, Goodbye

There is an easy way to describe Hsiao-hsien Hou's Goodbye South, Goodbye (1996) in a nutshell: it's the Taiwanese Mean Streets combined with Hou's (relatively) calmer form. It follows the struggles of Taiwanese gangsters as they simply try to make a living. If you dig deeper, you could say (as a reviewer on IMDB put it) the film is about "Taiwan's lost generation". The reckless and (nearly) aimless lives of the two main characters are not necessarily involving for the audience, but that doesn't mean the film fails or that it would be boring - because that's the way it was intended.

Even though Hou's form still features long takes and calm pacing, it's clearly a continuation to what he started with Good Men, Good Women. The camera is not static anymore: there's a lot of camera movement, but most of it is so smooth and calm that you don't even notice it at first. Hou captures the energy and mood of the screenplay in a clever way while still maintaining a distance to the characters - especially during the important plot moments. Hou has used music in his earlier films, but this time it's really intrusive (an aggressive rock track) - in a good way, though.

Even though Goodbye South, Goodbye works well in all aspects, it's a lesser effort from the director. It almost seems as if he played safe after using this new "more improvised" form for the first time.

Score: 8 out of 10

Good Men, Good Women

Hsiao-hsien Hou's Good Men, Good Women (1995) is the conclusion to his trilogy of films dealing with Taiwan's history. This time there are two parallel stories which take place in different periods of time: the first story is an account of Taiwanese people who returned to China to fight against Japan in the 1940's - and the other one is a story of the misfortuners of a single actress.

Hou once again uses a lot of ellipses in the storytelling masterfully. However, his narrative isn't without a problem this time: the first 15-20 minutes of the film are baffling because he plays around too much with the chronology so I had a hard time figuring out who's who. After the initial struggle, the film turns into a clear and stunning take of people struggling with the past. Their mental state reflects the situation of Taiwan itself - a shackled country.

Hou's form is distinctively different in portraying the two stories. The older storyline is depicted in his usual, static way while the newer one is a bit more kinetic, intimate and seemingly more improvised. Both of these styles work very well to reflect the differences (yet possible similarities) between the stories. Hou's use of music is top-notch yet again: especially the song used at the end of the film is unforgettable.

Good Men, Good Women is one of the most directly poignant films Hou has ever made. Despite its initial problems it turned out to be yet another good film from the Taiwanese director.

Score: 9 out of 10

The Puppetmaster

Hsiao-hsien Hou's The Puppetmaster (1993) is the second part of his trilogy of historical films which focus on Taiwan's development. This time the period of time is between 1908 and 1945, which means the focus of the film is on the Japanese occupation of Taiwan. Taiwan's situation is reflected through the true story of a puppeteer, Li Tianlu (who has acted in Hou's other films). Hou mixes elements of fiction and documentary by recreating scenes of his life while letting his interviews with the puppeteer narrate most of the film. The director's admiration of the central character can be seen in the film - he once said that Li Tianlu is one of Taiwan's national treasures.

The easiest way for me to write a review of The Puppetmaster is to compare it with the first part of the trilogy, City of Sadness. While both of them share the social and historical layers, the intimate layer (personal, on the level of characters) is more perplexing in The Puppetmaster because characters come and go and there seems to be no central character other than the puppeteer himself - who remains a bit distant figure throughout the film. The narrative is more like a collection of short bits from here and there - and the way tension is subtly gained and then let loose is weird yet incredibly haunting.

Sadly, the way I saw The Puppetmaster only added to my confusion: the video was severely cropped so some of Hou's compositions were a bit messed up and the complex lighting lost some of its magic when the picture was too dark at times. Despite all of that, it didn't destroy Hou's formal magic that is a feast for the eyes - even though it is very minimalistic. And most importantly the music plays a significant part in The Puppetmaster - a soundtrack so poignant and fitting.

The Puppetmaster is a hard film to digest - there is no doubt about it. I will have to rewatch many times before I give my final evaluation for the film - so don't take this rating as the one that I will firmly stand by.

Score: 9 out of 10

Café Lumière

While Hou Hsiao-hsien's Café Lumière (2003) is clearly a tribute to the Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu, it is still distinctively Hou's film. The film's slice of life narrative follows a wandering Japanese woman who comes to terms with life and independence.

It is interesting to compare this film to Ozu's films because Café Lumière is the closest thing to a modern Ozu film. Japan has hugely changed in the past decades and the result is somewhat puzzling. Family and unity have become irrelevant to the individual - this point can be seen in the film's main character, Yoko. The biggest pro of the film is certainly its calm and observant attitude towards its main characters and life in general. Yoko is fascinating and Yo Hitoto's performance is prominent - she can even rival Tadanobu Asano's performance in the film, which should be worth something.

The form is clearly Hou-like: static shots, long takes and the habit of revisiting the same compositions can all be found in the film. There is a lot of great train (and train station) imagery in the film and it certainly satisfied my strong obsession towards trains (and train stations). As well as being beautifully shot, the pacing is nigh perfect.

In the end, Café Lumière is "only" a good film: it works well in every department, but it never plunges deep enough into its subject and its form is not that fascinating when compared to Hou's other films.

Score: 8 out of 10

City of Sadness

As I have been watching Hou Hsiao-hsien's films recently, I've been eagerly waiting for City of Sadness' turn: I had seen it once before and I had a feeling it would become one of my all-time favourites this time. And yes, it had a huge impact on me.

Hou's City of Sadness (1989) is an account of what one Taiwanese family had to cope with before, during and after the infamous 228 incident during which tens of thousands of Taiwanese were killed or they vanished. It was the epitome of the conflict between the Chinese and the Taiwanese in the country - after the Japanese occupation of Taiwan ended in 1947 due to Japan's loss in the World War II. 

It is amazing how Hou makes the film work so seamlessly on personal, social and historical layers. Although you can't separate the three very well because they are so tightly combined together - especially the latter two. It is so heartbreaking to see the family slowly crumble and fall apart - only because of the political reasons. The family had resorted to "crime" during the Japanese occupation to help the district - yet the wanted change only makes things even worse. The characters are helpless under the cruel force of history and politics. 

Even though making Wen-ching (Tony Leung) a deaf character was initially a practical thing (Leung couldnt speak Mandarin or Taiwanese convincingly), his character became a metaphor for Taiwan's situation. It is even more interesting to take a look at the story in that light.

Hou's form is at its best in City of Sadness: that says a damn lot. His use of ellipses works perfectly this time and causes no real confusion either. The most famous example might be the gangster fight of which we only see the outcome: before we even see it begin, the next cut takes us to the final blow. And because of this, the outcome is even more powerful in its brilliant subtlety.

His compositions and framing are simply wonderful to look at. Just take a look at the snapshots placed below the text. His habit of revisiting the same compositions packs a terribly huge punch in City of Sadness. The best example (by far) is the hospital shot (the 4th snapshot) which is repeated at least 6 times during the film.

All of his formal techniques cause this cleverly powerful influence on the viewer. It gets only better the more you watch the film. And it's not only the form: the content is so bittersweet and tragic that it is certainly an unforgettable experience to watch the film. I was deeply touched by its subtle sentimentality and the profound content.

Sadly, I had terrible difficulties in writing this review. I have utterly fallen in love with the film and I'm struggling to share my passion. City of Sadness is one of the greatest films I've EVER seen.

Score: 10 out of 10

Dust in the Wind

Dust in the Wind (1986) continues Hou Hsiao-hsien's tradition of using someone's memories of growing up as the inspiration for the story. This time it is Wu Nien-Jen's turn. He is the other screenwriter who has frequently worked with Hou. I would also like to mention that Wu Nien-Jen had one of the main roles in Edward Yang's Yi yi which belongs to my all-time favourite films. The film focuses on two young friends who move from their poor hometown to Taipei in search of a job to earn money for their families.

Hou delivers some social criticism this time, regarding the harsh conditions of surviving in an urban Taiwan - and it also raises negative points about military. The two main characters are observed in an interesting way and I grew to really like them during the film. Despite of that, the film never reaches an impact as huge as Hou's other films through subtlety.

Hou's form is solid yet again, but his trademarks dont show up as obviously as in his other films. Yet again, I have to mention his habit of using same compositions more than once during a film. In Dust in the Wind, his compositions of the train station are used in a brilliant way. Especially the last use of the long distance composition is haunting.

In the end, Dust in the Wind is a very good film, but not necessarily great. It works well enough on all aspects, but that's it.

Score: 8 out of 10

A Time to Live and a Time to Die

While A Summer at Grandpa's was inspired by the screenwriter Chu Tien-wen's childhood, A Time to Live and a Time to Die (1985) was influenced by the director Hou Hsiao-hsien's own childhood memories. It is by far his most personal film - and it is also his first movie that uses ellipses in a ridiculously confident way. While ellipses were used already in his earlier films, this film takes their use to a whole new level. 

A Time to Live and a Time to Die concentrates on a Chinese family which moves to Taiwan in 1948. As time goes by, the gap between two generations in the family becomes visible because the older family members are confused due to being cut off from their cultural heritage. As the narrator says at the beginning of the film, the film consists mostly of the director's impressions of his father and memories of growing up in Taiwan. We witness the family's story through the eyes of Ah-Hsiao (Hou's "onscreen alter ego") during a period of several years.

The film's impact slowly burns into your mind and leaves you feeling empty - in a positive way. At first it seems as if it has no way to affect you, but especially after you're done watching the film, it goes deeper and deeper into your mind. The film lingers there for a long while. It is surprising how universal the film's content seems to be even though it's very personal and autobiographical.

Hou inserts small political, cultural and technological details that subtly create the film a world of its own. These details emphasize the distance that grows between the generations. The film isnt completely minimalistic though - for example, its statement on the social position of women is quite vocally expressed through dialogue. It is almost scary to see just how confident Hou is in handling the content of the film.

It is apparent that Hou's skill - to use the same compositions on more than one occasion to have an effect on the viewer - is becoming finer by each film. In this film he makes a lot out of it even though he doesnt use it excessively. His framing is even more precise and admirable this time around. His use of long takes also seems to emerge in this film.

A Time to Live and a Time to Die is a difficult film to watch due to its elliptical and subtle nature. I bet it's a film that only gets better by rewatches and its impact isnt at its best during the first view.

Score: 9 out of 10

A Summer at Grandpa's

Hou Hsiao-hsien's film A Summer at Grandpa's (1984) was inspired by the childhood memories of the screenwriter Chu Tien-wen who has collaborated with Hou on almost every film he has made so far. The coming-of-age story is set into motion when a 11-year-old boy and her 4-year-old sister leave for their grandparents' house while their seriously ill mother stays at a hospital in Taipei. The film is the boy's recollection of harsh, funny and unforgettable events which took place during the visit.

It is fascinating to follow the development of the children throughout the film. They have to face hard situations they cannot comprehend yet a certain degree of maturity becomes visible in their behavior. While the flick is essentially a coming-of-age story, it doesnt avoid harder subjects which the children have to face: thematically it is surprisingly wide and satisfying. The film's narrative is a little elliptical so it might be a bit weird to watch it at first, but it is not something that is hard to get used to.

Hou's minimalistic form flourishes here more than in The Boys from Fengkuei. The revisited compositions are used well to subtly affect the viewer. He observes the small yet important moments with both honesty and passion.

In overall, A Summer at Grandpa's is a film that works well on all departments, but that doesnt mean it's a masterpiece. My fascination with Hou is becoming stronger all the time. The film is also very nostalgic for me at least: it reminds me of my own childhood vividly. Thus, I can say it is a successful film.

Score: 8 out of 10

The Boys from Fengkuei

I've been interested in Hou Hsiao-hsien, the Taiwanese auteur, for quite a while. I saw his City of Sadness (1989) a few months ago and fell in love with it - I'm going to rewatch it soon. In any case, I wanted to get more familiar with his filmography and started with The Boys from Fengkuei (1983). Initially, the film is about a group of reckless youngsters who spend their days by drinking and fighting in a small town called Fengkuei. After a while, three of these guys decide to go to a bigger city to look for work. Gradually the film becomes the story of Ah-ching (one of the three) who has to face the problems the cruel reality brings up.

The film is a nice take on nostalgia and coming to terms with life. While it's not vastly insightful in its content, it is satisfying enough on its own. The film's beginning and ending are amazing and should be appreciated - the development of the characters becomes extremely obvious when the two are compared.

The form isnt very "Houesque" yet, but there are a few of his trademarks visible already. For one, he likes to revisit older compositions on a few occasions although it doesnt have an impact as big as, say, the hospital composition in his City of Sadness. The takes arent nearly as long as in his other films, and the framing is a bit rough. The erratic camera movement is a bit distracting at times, but luckily it isnt too bad in general. The weirdest aspect in the form was the musical score: Hou uses well-known Western classical music which either works somehow or not at all. For example, his use of Vivaldi's Winter was rather random and that piece of music always reminds of Oldboy, which didnt help at all.

In overall, The Boys from Fengkuei is a decent, likable film which suffers from notable flaws. It is a must-see for Hou fans.

Score: 6 out of 10