NO
BORDERS
“Hero”
Film
Review by John Demetry
Reality exists. Metaphors express emotions.
Shared recognition of the beautiful – and, ultimately, the sublime – unite a
community. Zhang Yimou’s “Hero” daringly proposes that faith in these eternal
truths should be the basis for social organization, intimate interaction, and
humane Pop-Art (each indivisible from the other). Perhaps still reeling from a
symbol’s destruction (9/11), some in New York City dismiss Zhang’s profound
assertion by labeling it: “fascinatin’ Fascism.” Zhang, in fact, makes
undeniable the foundation for democratic vision (so that the film’s haters
suffer the same anxiety of freedom exposed in Jonathan Demme’s 2004 film of
“The Manchurian Candidate”).
Those who would deny Zhang’s revelation perform
the true Fascist act: a repressive annihilation – then manipulation – of
meaning. Zhang, reinterpreting the mythic birth of his nation, dramatizes
liberating imagination when the Emperor of Qin (Daoming Chen) contemplates a
scroll bearing the “twentieth variation” of the sign for the word “sword” – 
the artform of the subjugated Zhao
tribe. Before that symbol, Qin announces his history-changing realization about
the warrior’s ultimate ideal, understood in the nuances of form in the
calligraphic artwork: “The sword disappears. The warrior embraces all around
him. Only peace remains.”
Zhang invites the viewer to “read” his complex
film with the same sense of responsibility and awe that the King expresses. It
is the best film released in the United States this year. To reject that
achievement as Fascist is to wilfully misunderstand how profoundly “Hero”
elucidates History, the process by which civilization evolves to respond to spiritual
need. “Hero” dramatizes the move from tribal warfare to monarchical
unification. Doing so, “Hero” joins John Boorman’s similarly towering
post-postmodern work of ecstatic philology “Excalibur” (the secret of the
scroll reflects the secret of the Holy Grail) and the establishment of justice
(catharsis) after generations of revenge/bloodlust in Aeschylus’ Greek Tragedy
“The Oresteia” (mirrored in this film’s Fritz-Lang-inspired chorus with its
insistence on the Word of the Law). The process proves violent – “dialectical”
– but it also evidences the historical resonance and complex signification of
cultural totems.
As in the great American films of the year –
Steven Spielberg’s “The Terminal” and Demme’s “The Manchurian Candidate” – both
of which recognized the American experience as encapsulated by Black-American
expression, the sign of a conquered people in “Hero” shapes the future of the
new nation. In “The Terminal”, this truth was found in jazz’s global
inspiration. “The Manchurian Candidate” identified this veracity in the
gestures of compassion shared by people suffering from oppression’s duress –
first, between Blacks, then, proving democracy’s hope, cross-racially.
Now, “Hero” validates the faith expressed by
the calligraphy school – soon to be wiped out by the arrows of the Qin
Emperor’s mighty army: “They can never eliminate our written word. Today, we
learn the true meaning of our art.” That written word – the true meaning of the
art – will define the new nation, as the sword of war phases into the symbol of
unification. Conversely, Fascism means to erase history and to cleanse
multi-ethnic influence – much like the Western critics denying “Hero”. They
would prefer that China never existed. Fascists, heal thyself!
Zhang’s retelling of the legend imposes a great
responsibility on the spectator. “Historical inaccuracy?” – a specious argument
when dealing with myth. In “Hero”, Truth is History. The multiple narratives
that make up the film reveal the ideals and motivations of storytellers, the
spiritual struggle – the kernel of truth – around which a new nation will form.
As Spielberg and Demme reiterate: for freedom to exist, responsibility must be
embraced. The beauty of “Hero” (diminished by some as merely “pretty” – an
anti-democratic conceit) makes the embrace both challenging and undeniable, an
empathic gambit and gesture. China’s destiny becomes the spectator’s own: “Our
Land.” (John Ford must smile down from Heaven at this film’s yellow ribbon.)
“Beautiful calligraphy,” Nameless (Jet Li)
compliments Broken Sword (Tony Leung) on the creation of the “sword” scroll.
Nameless deflected the Emperor’s “storm” of arrows from disturbing Broken
Sword’s creation of the scroll. That sequence locates graphic similarity between
Nameless and Flying Snow’s (Maggie Cheung) bounding whirls through the air and
Broken Sword’s calligraphy and swaying hair: a dance of liberation and shared
sensitivity amidst the hegemonic onslaught of arrows. “Beautiful swordplay,”
Broken Sword returns the favor: “Without your sword, the scroll would not
exist.” Zhang writes the Truth essential to each of the narratives, and to the
story proper, in the film’s mise-en-scene. Every movement in space inscribes
meaning to be read: feelings and thoughts made concrete, legible.
This is dramatized in the first
fight sequence between Nameless and chess- and music-lover Sky (Donnie Yen), a
Zhao assassin, like Broken Sword and Flying Snow whose existence endangers the
Emperor. After detailing the space of the chess grounds where the actors engage
in conflict, Zhang presents the warriors’ battle as it occurs in their minds.
Cinematographer Christopher Doyle switches stocks from color to
black-and-white, a PoMo activation of consciousness that pays off in the intense
color schemes of the following narratives. Thus, Doyle represents the
characters’ shared visualization. “Combat unfolded in the depths of our minds”
– a process Catholic thinkers refer to as evidence of faith.
A dazzling, gravity-defying dance ensues between
the opponents (one protecting the Emperor, one intent on killing him). It is
politics – converging motivations – in motion. The sequence is instigated – and
concluded – by the performance of a string musician. Nameless pays the musician
to play. A neat shot of coins falling into a bowl is followed by a comic
ellipsis to a shot of the musician’s preparations – a concise negotiation of
folk culture’s transformation to global pop culture (e.g. the international
appeal of Kung Fu movie codes). When the strings on the instrument break,
Nameless exacts the mortal blow, signifying a choice – an act of freedom and
sacrifice – that distinguishes from what might have been. “How swift your sword
must be,” the Emperor punctuates Nameless’ tale.
Through the mirroring, contradictory
narratives, Zhang utilizes contemporary sophistication – deconstructionist
modes of discourse – to get to spiritual essences: the epitome of
post-postmodern art. The candle flames separating Nameless and the Emperor sway
in response to Nameless’ “murderous intent” and encourage the Emperor to
analyze with skepticism Nameless’ story of the infidelity that divides and
defeats lovers Broken Sword and Flying Snow. This story reveals its own truths
to be read: Emotional conflicts wrought out in the winding corridors and
peek-a-bamboo walls of the calligraphy school. Emotional boundaries edged with
mortal danger, a sword pierces the wall and the first of the film’s three drops
of blood is spilled: “We are both very foolish,” Broken Sword bemoans his fate
to Flying Snow.
The essential emotions in this section expand
into the revelations presented later in the film. The need for a home conflicts
with unresolved pain, dividing lovers and comrades, subjects and rulers. Each
of the main characters – Nameless, Broken Sword, Snow, and Moon (Zhang Zhiyi) –
are orphans of the storm. A potential nation – the home for which each
character longs – hangs in the sway of unexpressed emotions. Broken Sword
sacrifices his life to prove the connection between his faith in “Our Land” and
his love for – his desire to assuage the pain of – Snow, who has inherited her
father’s sword as an oath of vengeance (there’s a reason he’s named Broken
Sword). When Moon, Broken Sword’s pupil, despairs over the loss of her adopted
family, Zhang Yimou answers her need (through montage) with Nameless’ final,
heroic offering (similar to the queered radical sensitivity in Mel Gibson’s
“The Passion of the Christ”, in which Jesus reinvents the family/community,
assigning the Apostle John as the new son of His mother amidst the anguish on
the cross – intuiting the connection, critics show no faith).
Just as Nameless characteristically
colors his story with sorrow and vengeance, the Emperor retells the story in
the image of his own idealism. He envisions the deaths of Broken Sword and Snow
as sacrifices to their cause. Their faith in Nameless’ swift sword is
consecrated by Moon’s gesture of hope and look of trust (giving Nameless the
sword of her master to present to the Emperor). The assassins’ common idealism
is staged via the Emperor’s own dream. Nameless proves his prowess by breaking
the bundles of scrolls and toppling the school’s library (dissolving a “fasc” –
the root of the word “Fascism”). Zhang Yimou cross-cuts the meeting of Broken
Sword and Snow as they pass through blue veils (“No borders”) to consummate
their sacrifice: “To go is to die.” In this sequence, the Emperor establishes
the values of idealism, nation, and brotherhood as an alternative to (a means
to address) the – recognizably, palpably expressed – uncontainable anguish
portrayed in Nameless’ initial version of the story.
What the Emperor learns, however, is that
Broken Sword had already “read” the Emperor’s great intentions: “Who would have
thought an assassin would understand me best?” Understanding the connection
between calligraphy (expression) and swordplay (political force), Broken Sword
deciphers the Emperor’s tactical brilliance as a declaration of faith. During
their fateful duel, the Emperor scribes his ideal in space: cutting down the
green tapestries that adorn his great hall. As Broken Sword spares the
Emperor’s life (blood-drop number three), the tapestries plummet to the ground.
Through the sharing and, in response, analyzing
of each of their stories, Nameless (“I have no family name,” he narrates at the
beginning) and the Emperor achieve a similar understanding: the shared
sensitivity, recognition of symbols and offering of gestures through which the
Emperor will realize his destiny and address the spiritual need of the film’s
marginalized heroes. Their interaction outlines the very basis of culture, from
the sword to the embrace.
This connection takes the characters and
spectators beyond language to a land with “No borders.” Of all the beautiful
images (each shot is sublime), none are more beautiful than the close-ups of
Maggie Cheung’s face as Flying Snow: spying on her lover’s infidelity (a slice
of light illuminating her eyes and tracing the tracks of her tears), facing the
challenge of Moon’s revenge (pale make-up revealing lines of experience), the
unbridled facial transformation of her final scream (Maggie Cheung, YOU are the
quarry!). Tony Leung, whose enlightened, sexy concentration gives way to
overwhelming feelings, and Zhang Zhiyi, whose every emphatic gesture conveys
emotions as if they were new-born, match Maggie Cheung’s majesty. Between the
three of them, no human emotion goes unexpressed.
When Flying Snow and Moon fight, Moon’s death
transforms the falling leaves (which Zhang Yimou graphically matches to Flying
Snow’s tearful response to the death of Broken Sword) from gold to red – as if
colored by the single drop of blood (number 2) from Flying Snow’s sword. Zhang
Yimou associates the color-coding of each of the stories (red, blue, green,
white) with the phenomenon of emotion: the release storyteller Nameless so
desperately desires. With its uniqueness and shadings, its inability to be
contained by context, the experiences of color and emotions are equally
sublime. The shared recognition of the sublime (the characters’ revelatory
gestures, the film spectators’ imaginative feeling) define the film’s
contemporary vision of social possibility.
As the Emperor informs us in his
narration of his version of the Broken Sword/Flying Snow drama, Nameless and
Broken sword fight each other with their hearts (just as Nameless and Sky
fought with their minds). Nameless and Broken Sword dance, glide, skip, and
hover above a reflecting lake, soaring on the wings of their feelings. The site
of Snow’s funeral pyre also symbolizes Broken Sword and Snow’s dream of home, a
land with “No borders” (a spiritual conception made concrete in “Our Land”).
Broken Sword and Nameless’ faces are super-imposed over longshots of the
landscape (pace “Excalibur”: “The Land and the King are one”).
Nameless and Broken Sword’s engagement of each
other through choreography/swordplay signify their sense of brotherhood as well
as the gravity of the loss inevitable in their plan to assassinate the Emperor.
No greater elegiac image exists in the history of cinema than the underwater
p.o.v. of Broken Sword and Nameless in combat just above the lake. It’s ballet!
It’s opera!! It’s jazz!!! The two, in an improvised moment of bonding, bat a
drop of water to each other with their swords. The water drop swerves through
the air and lands on the face of the dead Snow, representing a teardrop.
Distracting Broken Sword, it opens him to attack from Nameless. The vision of
this symbolic teardrop, however, forces Nameless against the surface of the
water. The water splashes onto his face as if he were weeping, signifying his
depth of feeling. He turns his back to the lover’s last goodbye.
No borders. Emotions are miracles. You can walk
on water.