Cities of Sadness
Great artists can be at once personal and universal,
and Hou Hsiao-Hsien certainly qualifies. This Taiwanese director is one of the
most underappreciated filmmakers around, although that isn't a big surprise: His
slow-paced films are very Taiwan culture and history-specific, and most outsiders
don't have the time or patience to absorb them. But if there's a film that may
serve as his breakthrough to the art-house masses, it's "Millennium Mambo." It's
not a major departure from his previous work, but in subject matter and storytelling,
it may be his most accessible effort yet. Whether you like it or not might hinge
on whether you can empathize and sympathize with aimless drifters -- not an simple
question these days, with the moralistic dicta many seem to have about movies:
What's the point of seeing a story with people I don't like?
The film unfolds in a retrospective manner: Vicky (Shu Qi), referring to herself
in the third person, provides a voice-over narrative which recalls the crazy days
she had ten years ago in 2001, when she was involved with Hao Hao (Chun-hao Tuan),
a local Taipei street punk with a fascination for DJ equipment and no skills to
speak of (besides procuring drugs and being good in bed). Their paths eventually
intersect with that of benevolent gangster Jack (Jack Kao, who reprises his paternal
mobster role from Hou's "Goodbye South Goodbye," minus the harsh edges), and the
end result leaves all three of them stranded, forced to begin anew.
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If that synopsis sounds rather boring, I would agree.
Most of Hou's films sound boring on paper. But on film, he works a kind of magic,
turning the most mundane, domestic moments into incidents of novelistic detail
and richness. He doesn't go for the big loud events that characterize typical
dramas -- in fact, the major epiphanies in this movie mostly occur offscreen.
Like Ozu, he's a master at using interior spaces (as anyone who has seen his recent
"Flowers of Shanghai" can attest) as centers of conflict, tension, and resolution.
We rarely get a glimpse of outside Taipei -- instead we see the insides of ratty
apartments, clamorous dance clubs, sleepy late-night bars. Within these spaces,
characters argue, yearn for connection, grow bitter or desperate, often without
saying a word. Hou uses the camera freely: holding on a character's face in a
silent moment of crisis, or lingering just outside the action during a tense moment.
The handheld work of DP Mark Lee (who also did "In the Mood for Love") is stellar,
especially in a rapturous opening involving nothing more than Shu Qi sashaying
down a street at night. It's the best opening to a movie I've seen since … er
… "Ichi the Killer."
What this film is ultimately about is what it feels like to be a youth on the
cusp of becoming an adult, how the hurtful, upsetting moments, the mundane, quiet
moments, and the liberating, ecstatic moments all have unforgettable impact. Vicky's
connections with Hao Hao and Jack may be doomed to failure -- the former because
of Hao Hao's unwillingness to grow up, and the latter because of the gangster
life Jack has chosen -- but even in the space of these abbreviated relationships,
we get a sense of whole lives in play, snapshots which reveal much more than the
present moment. Events are considered from all angles, like jewels in the hand
-- this repetition is most apparent (and jarring) in a passage in which Vicky
narrates a story of Hao Hao's run-in with the law, and we witness the actual incident
several scenes later. Despite the spareness of the script, we understand more
about these characters, their backgrounds, and their feelings in two hours than
most dramas can achieve in five. The final shot of the movie -- snow covering
a northern Japanese town in winter, even as crows and the first signs of spring
move in -- signals that Vicky, as well as Taiwan, is on the verge of a new understanding,
a future free from the aimless drifting of the past, and as such, it's one of
the most liberating endings Hou has given us. If you have a chance to see this
one, sink your teeth into it. And if you're underwhelmed, let the movie percolate
in your mind for a while. Chances are it'll stay with you. I should also note
that the soundtrack for the film (which features a few rave-ups and one of the
most hauntingly tender techno themes I've heard, courtesy of Lim Giong) is a must-have.
