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

The Hole

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If you have followed this blog for a while, you must have figured out that I'm a big fan of the director Ming-liang Tsai. I finally had the chance to see one of the few films of his I had not yet seen - The Hole (1998). It is yet another exploration of alienation and loneliness from the director: in an abandoned Taiwan, two "survivors" try to cope with said themes after a lousy plumber creates a hole between their apartments.

This is the first time Tsai uses slapstick comedy and musical scenes during his career and they already work quite well - although they are not as refined as in his later films like What Time Is It There and The Wayward Cloud. When it comes to Tsai films, you are guaranteed to get a thorough study on the same themes so the focus is shifted towards how he approaches it. The song-and-dance numbers are surprisingly straightforward in the way they are related to the actual plot. The humor stands out so well that it sometimes feels as if Tsai isn't serious about the script at all. That's only a minor gripe, though.

Combined with the relatively bad audio quality of the DVD, the film's weird sound design was rough on my ears at first, but I got used to the constant background noise caused mostly by neverending rain. Tsai uses only Grace Chang's songs as the soundtrack - and even they are only used in the musical scenes. The (intentionally) downright ugly sets were intriguing yet they never made the film seem as grim as they could have. Tsai's long take aesthetic is always present and this film is unsurprisingly yet another photographical achievement for the director.

Tsai's films might be tough to watch - and even harder to review - on the first time so I don't think I have achieved what I wanted with this review. Tsai's cinema is the cause of undying fascination for me and it is something I will certainly delve deeper into in future. I hope I can write a better review for this blog of The Hole someday.

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

Vive L'amour

Ming-liang Tsai's Vive L'amour (1994) is clearly the first notable film the director made. While Rebels of the Neon God was a good effort, it was far below his usual level of quality. Vive L'amour is probably even more ambitious - or at least more challenging - than his later films because it doesn't dive into its thematics/subject the same way. While his later films always have a comical aspect (slapstick) along with the serious side, Vive L'amour is ONLY serious. Or the humor isn't as pointed out, at the very least.

Primarily the film is about alienation and sexual frustration, just like The Wayward Cloud, but this time he approaches the themes without porn or musical scenes. The focus of the film is not only on Kang-sheng Lee's character, there are also two other characters who are connected to Lee because they use the same apartment even though they are not aware of each other at first. The screenplay is fascinating even if it's a bit tough even by Tsai's standards because there is no "comic relief".

As for the form, it's magnificent yet again. Tsai's long takes, calm pace and gorgeous photography are still there. This time he doesn't use music at all, which fits the screenplay.

Tsai's film making has become quite refined already by this point, but the film is a bit too monotonous for its own sake so I can't honestly give it a 10.

Score: 9 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

Yi yi

Edward Yang's Yi yi (2000) is a film that moves me unlike any other: it can be said that the movie tells in a nutshell what it means to live in a contemporary society. We take a look at a Taiwanese for a short period of time that includes several major events (wedding, funeral, birth) and the time gaps between them. There are lots of important storylines which smoothly develop at the same time and somehow Yang keeps the entire situation perfectly clear to the viewer throughout the film. That's a great achievement on its own. The narrative is freakin' dense. For example, it can be seen in the character (and plot) development and the sheer number of all sorts of motifs.

Even though the film comments a lot on Taiwan's current situation, it is handled subtly. In addition, the film deals with a lot of universal problems so it can easily touch a viewer of any nationality. Yi yi manages to take on so many themes and subjects and explore them in profound ways. First of all, the generation gaps between the grandmother, the parents and the kids are explored thoroughly. Secondly, even though the film focuses on family dynamics, there is no serious problem between the family members themselves. However, even in a good family each member faces loneliness and alienation from time to time - and that's what the flick's multi-layered content focuses on.

NJ, the father of the family, is an honest and reliable guy - unlike his greedy business partners who he has to deal with. After he meets his ex-girlfriend his daily routine is thrown out of balance as the reunion makes him revisit painful memories and face nostalgia. Due to his work, he meets a wise Japanese man, Mr. Ota, who gives him the best possible advice in many ways. Ota is also a fascinating character and Issey Ogata's performance is stunning. When Yang began writing Yi yi, he wrote the character of NJ for Nien-Jen Wu, a famous Taiwanese screenwriter. His performance really captures the essence of the character and I find out more and more incredible layers in his performance after repeated views.

Min-Min, the mother of the family, faces an existential crisis after her mother falls into coma. Her character development happens mostly off-screen and relies only on a few bits of dialogue. Through a spiritual trip she realises something essential about life. Elaine Jin makes the most of her relatively short screentime and turns in a breathtaking performance - especially her rant about her life's meaning is praiseworthy.

Ting-Ting, the older child of the family, deals with guilt and first love after she befriends the new neighbour. Arguably, she experiences most emotional growth in the film and that is why she is the most fascinating character for me. Kelly Lee's restrained and natural performance is probably the greatest among the brilliant performances of the film. There is an elegance in her performance that is quite rare for someone of her age.

Yang-Yang, the younger child of the family, is hungry for knowledge as he takes photographs, faces problems at school and becomes distracted by innocent attraction. Along with Mr. Ota, Yang-Yang delivers the most philosophical and thought-provoking ideas in the film - such as the idea of us seeing only "half of the truth" because we can see what is in front of us, not what is behind us. After a long bout of minimalism, his speech at the end of the film is the best bit of sentimentalism (probably) ever used in film. Jonathan Chang's performance is one of a kind: Yang tried to make him feel as natural and free as possible in front of the camera and it shows. There is no pretension in his facial expression or posture. It is a surprisingly honest performance for a child actor.

There is also the story of Min-Min's brother, Ah-Di, who gets married at the beginning of the film and he has to deal with financial problems throughout the film. His storyline is weak in comparison to the other storylines, but it isn't bad by any means. In fact, it is brilliant, but its connection to the others isn't strong and it is unfair to compare any story to those three brilliant storylines that dominate the film.

When all of these storylines and characters come together in a single 3-hour film, the viewer is given an unforgettable experience. The content alone is so beautiful and profound that it leaves me in awe for days after I've seen the film. No matter how many times I watch the ending scene (or lots of other scenes, as well) I shed a tear - not because it is necessarily sad, but it is so beautiful and tangible.

Yang's cinematography is calm and distant. The camera moves in the least possible ways for many reasons: it gives us time to enjoy the gorgeous compositions and it gives the film a life-like pace. In addition, the film uses a lot of long takes. Some of the action happens off-screen because (for example) the view is blocked by a wall. Yang employs this technique very effectively. He often uses reflections in the compositions to create fascinating imagery. Often Taipei is reflected on the glass for many thought-provoking purposes.

The camera is often far away from the central characters so that we can observe them more objectively. Or as the director himself said: (not a direct quote, more like a sum of his thoughts on the commentary track) If the camera was close to the characters, why would they reveal their innermost secrets to a stranger (referring to the camera) who is near them. But when Yang uses close-ups of the characters, they are very, very hard-hitting.

The film is not only visually stunning and intriguing - it enthralled in auditive ways as well. The use of sound is very central: there are even important audio motifs in the film (e.g. the sound of lightning in Yang-Yang's storyline). Sometimes the sounds from different storylines overlap to another in order to create interesting parallels. The soundtrack consists of known classical compositions and Kaili Peng's (the director's wife's) instrumental music. All the music in the film fits in perfectly and creates occasionally a haunting atmosphere for the film. For example, the closing scene ends with one of Peng's compositions (that isn't sadly released ANYWHERE) which plays all the way through the credits. This composition refuses to leave my mind at peace because it's so moving in its subtlety and simplicity.

Even though this review is quite long, I feel the task of covering everything important about the film impossible. There is so much to be found on repeated views and there is so much I still have on my mind, which I can not express in this review. The film provides me with something that other films don't succeed in (at least on Yi yi's level): a perfect and thorough catharsis.

Score: 10 out of 10

Rebels of the Neon God

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Tsai Ming-liang's Rebels of the Neon God (1992) is nothing like the director's other films. There are only two trademarks that can be noticed in his second first film: casting Lee Kang-sheng (and his family) and the metaphoric use of water. The movie portrays Hsiao-Kang's days as a teenager while he faces feelings of alienation and frustration. Tsai also focuses on a rather separate storyline which involes two hoodlums chasing a beautiful girl. While Hsiao-Kang often observes these characters, there is hardly any interaction between the two storylines.

I've read that the film is the perfect depiction of Taiwan at the end of the 80's and the beginning of 90's so I guess that counts as a pro. It examines somewhat decently the dislocation the adolescents feel in the harsh environment. I have to admit it was a bit problematic for me to watch the film because I expected yet another story focused completely on Hsiao-Kang, but the other storyline was even more central than HK's storyline. It was confusing for a while, but it was fitting when I started to think about its relevance for the themes.

Tsai's form is almost completely the opposite when compared to his later films. There are almost no long takes so his editing patterns are largely different. The camera is moving most of the time which gives the film more energy - which is fitting when you realise the film is about the reckless youth. I'm not sure if it was a conscious decision or if Tsai hadn't simply figured out his own unique style yet. Tsai also used music quite a lot - and none of it was old Mandarin pop. The compositions weren't so precise either - there were a few exceptions though.

In overall, Rebels of the Neon God is a bit uneven although it is not a bad effort at all. In fact, Tsai shows hints of his brilliance already at this point, but he doesn't succeed in creating a masterpiece: his form is lacking and the content doesn't feel focused enough.

Score: 7 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

What Time Is It There?

Tsai Ming-liang's What Time Is It There? (2001) is a film about alienation and loss. As usually with Tsai's films, Lee Kang-sheng plays a character named after the actor himself. This time his father dies, and the film shows us how he and his mother react to the loss. That's only half of the story. He also meets a woman (Chen Shiang-chyi, plays a character named after herself as well) while selling watches on an overpass. Unfortunately, the woman leaves for Paris the next day.

The film focuses on the concepts referred to in the title: "there" and "time". Both of the main characters feel dislocated from time and space. This phenomenon is examined in a poetic way. Lee spends a lot of time alone in his bed - he even resorts to peeing into plastic bags and bottles. He becomes fixated with resetting every clock he sees to the time that is in Paris - he believes he can maintains his relationship with Chen that way. Chen, on the other hand, only finds peculiar guilt and loneliness in Paris.

And because the film is directed by Tsai, there are excellent moments of slapstick in the film. He even applies some of this subtle humor (it is funny to say that slapstick is subtle) to the central themes and motifs, but luckily that doesnt ruin the impact of its content.

The elegance of Tsai's form is stunning. He proves he has his film tightly under his control. The best example of his self-confidence and talent is the very first scene that is constructed of one clever static shot. I believe he used more cuts in this film because the story is split into two storylines, and thus requires more editing. His compositions are not only beautiful, but they also heavily reflect the dislocation the main characters feel.

What Time Is It There? is a stunning film, and I realised my review doesnt entirely express my admiration of it. It might actually be my favourite from Tsai's filmography.

Score: 10 out of 10

The Wayward Cloud

Tsai Ming-liang's The Wayward Cloud (2005) is certainly a unique film: it is a Taiwanese arthouse porn musical. Sadly I havent yet watched Tsai's What Time Is It There? (2001) and The Skywalk Is Gone (2002). The Wayward Cloud continues the stories of the characters seen in those films. In any case, the film doesnt rely heavily on those characters because I felt like there was nothing missing in the story.

The Wayward Cloud examines the relationship between an amateur porn star and a lonely woman. They know each other from the past and both of them are desparately seeking a connection. Will they succeed? They go about their daily lives on a calm pace which is sometimes interruped by odd musical numbers. These musical bits are charmingly off-beat when compared to the rest of the film. It is like the film's story flows back and forth between two completely different layers. There is this sort of "dualism" in the "porn" scenes too. Sometimes you can see the people behind camera in rather amusing situations, and then there are scenes where they are completely non-existent. Tsai brilliantly switches between these two "styles" to emphasize certain aspects of the content. For example, the first porn scene catches the viewer completely off-guard and it is done "professionally" with no visible cameramen, complete with costumes for both characters. The most shocking part is what actually happens during the scene - I'll leave that for you to find out.

Despite the film's cold and alienating attitude most of the time, there are truly hilarious moments. Tsai is able to include his "trademark humor" into the serious content seamlessly. For example, there is a lovely scene which uses only one shot: the shot is divided by a wall in the middle of it and we can see one main character on each side. The man tries to be nice to the woman and accepts the drink she offers to him. While she goes behind the wall, he disposes of the drink without drinking it - because it's god awful. When she comes back, he kindly gives the glass back to him, which she interprets as him wanting more. His facial expression after she fills the glass again is priceless. The same sort of composition is used later in the film for a completely another purpose, but it is certainly meant to be parallel to this scene.

The film's Taipei is under a drought which has made watermelons extremely common, to the point of them becoming a fetish. All of this can be seen as a metaphor for the "dryness" in the relationships of the characters, the lack of connection. The Wayward Cloud's watermelons are infamous among cinephiles.

Apart from the musical scenes, Tsai's form doesnt hold any exceptions in comparison to his other films. He likes to linger on carefully framed and beautiful shots which are often used for a certain purpose. Even his musical numbers follow his tradition of only using old Mandarin pop songs which surprisingly fit really well with the modern setting. 

I seriously cant find any mentionable flaws from the film, and it is great as it is. It is an intriguing example of how far cinematic language can go.

Score: 10 out of 10

A Conversation with God

I happened to find Tsai Ming-liang's rare short film, A Conversation with God (2001), on YouTube. I decided to watch it because I'm very interested in Tsai's filmography. He made this short film while working on What Time Is It There? (2002), and I guess it is about religious rituals. The short film is put together from documentary footage that Tsai has shot on his own, it seems. There is hardly any coherency in the film. We have shots of a religious ritual, a stripper's performance, lots of dead fish and yet another religious ritual, the purpose of which couldnt be understood. I'm not wondering why Tsai hasnt put a lot of effort into this film because it seems to me that he simply took his camera and wanted to shoot something and experiment with it. All these different scenes/sections/sequences are separated by shots of white tunnels. It gives the film a clear structure and rhythm so that it is a little easier to follow. There is nothing redeeming in the form either. It is a simple point-and-shoot film, with no effort put into the form. The rating might sound horrible, but it wasnt a waste of 30 minutes for me though. Whatever Tsai does, I'll do my best to watch it.

Score: 2 out of 10

Goodbye, Dragon Inn

Tsai Ming-liang's Goodbye, Dragon Inn (2003) is the director's tribute to cinema. A movie theater is about to be closed and for the last day a special screening for old films is held. We see vague characters wandering around the silent, ugly and trashy theater.

There are two characters that the narrative follows most of the time. The first is called "Ticket Woman" (in the credits, at least) who takes care of the theater along with the projectionist seen at the end of the film. She limbs along hallways and climbs up and down stairs very slowly. Some sort of a romantic relationship is suggested between her and the projectionist, but it is never directly implied. The other "main character" is a shy man who tries to make contact with the other people watching films, but to some degree fails in the end. There are also a few other people often seen in the film. I would like to mention two elderly men who shed tears at the end of the screening. I interpret that as them mourning for the loss of cinema.

I think it tells a lot about the "nature" of this film that there is almost no dialogue. If you dont count the dialogue coming from the film(s) they watch, there are roughly 10 lines spoken- in fact, it might actually be less than 10 lines. The ticket woman's slow movement and the silence emphasize the "death of cinema" (or the death of cinema-going experience) Tsai tries to portray in this film.

The film lingers on carefully framed shots for minutes and there isn't a lot that happens onscreen. For example, there is a 5-minute shot of an empty theater which felt like Tsai's true moment of respectful silence for cinema. The camera never moves and the few cuts set the film for a really calm and slow pace that annoys some viewers. This is why there are people who criticize the film for being "too boring", but for me it is the complete opposite. The respectful and honest take on a nostalgic subject kept me glued to the screen. Even the 30's Mandarin pop song at the end of the film is closely tied to the idea of "dying cinema" because it's a song about how hard yet bittersweet it is to let go of the past.

Despite being so calm and silent, there are a few moments that are absurdly hilarious. It is Tsai's trademark to have these moments of comedy gold in middle of a quiet film. Most of these funny bits come from the lack of communication (or failed attempts to communicate) between the characters in the film.

Goodbye, Dragon Inn isn't easy to watch by modern blockbuster standards. But if you are willing to give it a chance, you will find a bittersweet and caring tribute for cinema. It is a truly stunning film.

Score: 10 out of 10