Hero, like yesterday’s viewing of Rashomon, features retellings of a single series of events through the eyes (and lies) of the main characters so it was an easy correlation, but what Rashomon’s black and white color restricted, Hero made a selling point of the film. Zhang’s use of colors in each story not only add a breathtaking element to the storytelling and keep each retelling fresh for the audience, they also help to represent different aspects of the story thanks to the five elements being so rooted in Chinese culture. First, the Qin kingdom and warriors are in all black (including the buildings), meaning that the Qin ruler and his subjects are “heavenly” and/or above all others which falls in line with Broken Sword’s refusal to execute the man who would go on to become China’s first emperor. In this way, the color represents his cause; to become a single unified nation, above all or as Broken Sword put it, “All under Heaven.” The movie goes on to make good use of the elements and colors to convey meaning and associate a character and his/her actions with the meaning behind the clothes they wear. For instance, Sky’s spear plays a pivotal role in convincing the other two assassins that they must sacrifice themselves to allow Nameless a chance at killing the king, so he wears Yellow in all stories signifying that Sky is free of worldly cares, and yellow is considered to be the center of everything.
Beyond the colors of Hero is an interesting notion of peace, voiced by the King of Qin before Nameless’ execution. The king states that there are three stages of the Sword which every warrior must go through. First, the warrior holds the sword in his hand, and he himself becomes a dangerous combatant. Secondly, the sword no longer resides in his hand but in his heart, having internalized the spirit of battle and the lethality of the sword. Thirdly, the warrior then realizes that he must drop the sword, and holds the weapon neither in his hand nor his heart. It’s a great endnote as any, and in a way, makes the fighting of these assassins seem foolish in their quarrels. However, I find it odd that he would have such a philosophy and yet be laying waste to the other kingdoms of China so readily. Perhaps Yimou Zhang means to question the first Emperor’s motivations in unifying all under one banner, protesting the suffering that continued on ever after China’s unification.
It’s surprising to me to find so much depth in such a blockbuster movie, but perhaps Hollywood’s churning out of subpar media has jaded me beyond repair. The action sequences are beautifully orchestrated and amazingly well choreographed, but I was sad to find some of my classmates laughing at the way these fighters would float around the locations, spinning and flipping with such grace. To me, the way in which these fighters do battle is similar to the idea of a “fight within the mind” mentioned in the film. I think the director means to show the elegance that is skilled combat in a way that would normally elude the average onlooker, and instead turns to making the fights fantastic in order to emphasize the grace with which these people move. I certainly find it effective, and the way every fight seems to involve the environment is not only imaginative but genius.
Hero is truly a remarkable piece of work that has enough depth to stand the test of time, much in the way Rashomon has. However, though the two may feature similar story telling techniques, that is really the only similarity and it should be mentioned that the two films are very different while being extremely good. I can only hope that more movies like Hero are made despite the popular films moving less in the direction of historical fight scenes and more for espionage and gunplay.
Rashomon (1950, Akira Kurosawa)
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Akira Kurosawa is, by far, one of the most gifted directors to ever have lived. Each one of his films seems to find a way of being rewatched at my house or covered in film classes, meaning that this was not my first time viewing Rashomon. However, like with any good film, I was able to notice more the second time around than I had the first.
The way in which the tale is told immediately helps the audience to get into the film. Rashomon Gate (in Kyoto) stands partially destroyed, looking ominous as the sound of heavy rainfall alerts us to the poor weather. Here we have the 3 main characters that go on to discuss the differing versions of the murder committed in the forest before the film began. In a way, these are the only present-time portions of the story that are untainted by a character’s interpretation. We, the audience, see these three in the present, while we witness the rest of the film (and the vast majority of the runtime) through flashbacks as narrated by the woodcutter or the priest. It’s as if we are simply another traveler sitting at the fire with these other people, listening to the stories.
This helps Rashomon’s purpose immensely. Perhaps Kurosawa aimed for the audience to be unable to choose which story we believed, signifying that the vast differences between each version make all of them mostly untrue. Watching the way the actors change from one story to the next is easily my favorite portion of the film, and the actors do an excellent job of changing it up when the script calls for it. However, I do find it a bit trying at times due mostly to the extremely exaggerated weeping and laughing that seems almost completely unnecessary even considering the Japanese affection for melodrama during this time period. I began to wonder, now that this was my second time through Rashomon whether or not the priest character was a touch autobiographical for Kurosawa himself which could lead to some very interesting interpretations of those scenes at the gate.
Rashomon’s revolutionary story telling techniques and dramatic acting aside, there’s some interest analytical points here. First, Japanese film was heavily censored by the United States’ occupation, banning anything that could represent feudalism or a loyalty to the emperor; including the sword, found heavily used in this film. One way in which this film employs the significance of the sword is as a representation of a character’s manhood, Tajomaru grabs his immediately after seeing Masako for instance. Those who do not possess the sword are powerless under those who do; perhaps meaning Kurosawa believes that the United States robbed Japan of its manhood by censoring film. Secondly, Rashomon the gate itself is in disrepair, and we get an establishing shot at the beginning which reveals over half of the gate to be in shambles. Even the common man sees fit to break boards off of the gate itself in order to build a fire. If we are to assume that the gate itself represents traditional Japanese culture and values, then I believe Kurosawa is criticizing the common Japanese citizen of being too keen on casting away their sense of history and losing sight of the traditional.
I can’t even begin to fully delve into everything that makes up a film like Rashomon, which is why I think it’s so great. Granted, the pacing can get a bit tedious at times and it’s certainly not the easiest movie to watch but the end result is well worth the effort the viewer puts in. Kurosawa created something that would be imitated and emulated for years to come, and for that, we should celebrate a film like this.
Welcome to Dongmakgol (2005, Kwang-Hyung Park)
Welcome to Dongmakgol is both a comedy and a drama, blending touching or sad moments with goofy dialogue and even goofier slapstick comedy. I was not all too pleased at first, wondering how they could make light of such a terrible thing as the Korean War but the fun grew on me much like it found its way through the soldiers from both sides who eventually learned to enjoy themselves and each other regardless of allegiance. Here lays the thesis of the film, I think, and it’s executed wonderfully.
The way in which these villagers of Dongmakgol behave makes it clear to see why the soldiers would want to stay there. Their innocence helps to bring the two sides together in a clear message of anti-war sentiments and against the still ongoing division of North and South Korea. Pyo even comments that they are truly a combined North and South force in the final battle seen, and all the supporting cast smile at each other; even Mun Sang-Sang refers to an older KPA member as "Elder Brother." The two camps come to find that they’re not so different at all; exhibiting the war as a few men in control of a futile conflict that even its combatants do not fully understand or believe in.
Kwang-Hyun Park makes use of beautifully crafted longshots that exhibit a beautiful Korea untouched by the human hand as well as the Dongmakgol village setting (especially on the celebration night). The colors here are vibrant to the point where I wondered if they were helped by the editing process, made brighter in order to contrast heavily to the dark and gloomy scenes with the military. Again, like the other films we’ve watched this term, Dongmakgol holds environmental criticism of modern day, showing the Southern forces bombings as evil acts, and the permeation of first world ideals a negative effect (the little boy’s father leaves to go to the city and never returns, the villagers also worry about the newcomers). The colors which are so rich in the countryside are dominated by black in the war rooms and in the planes flying over the KPA/Southern forces banded together.
All things considered, there were a few things about Dongmakgol that did bother me. First, the actor who portrays the American air force pilot Smith cannot act very well, and his performance pulled me out of the story more than I can count; an unfortunate fact thanks to the other strong performances from the rest of the cast. Secondly, I felt that the humor was inappropriate at times (though I welcomed it later), especially when one of the KPA soldiers falls from the cliff face as they climb. To me, the Korean War is not anything to be taken lightly and the joking was a bit unfortunate. Third, like a lot of big budget Hollywood movies, I grew tired of the long semi-slowmo portions of the film set to sweeping classical music. To me, these scenes were unneeded and ineffective in being anything other than cliché.
Welcome to Dongmakgol has something for everybody, and certainly was enjoyed by myself and my classmates on Wednesday. Despite its few low points, the film hits every story beat well and the village of Dongmakgol provides an old-world wonder that is often missed in many modern pieces. Judging by this movie and The Host, I think it’s safe to say that Korean cinema has a lot to offer the world.
Please excuse the font change/size issues. Blogspot doesn't seem to like it when I copy from a Word document. Anyway, that's all for now!
GT out.
Changemakers links are broken! Gimmmmmeeee
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