Year of Asian Cinema: 4, 5

There is perhaps a case to be made that if it takes over a month to get around to writing about a movie, that maybe the movie isn't really worth writing about. And if it takes over a month to even watch said movie, there is definitely a case to be made.

But in both cases, actually, it's not true. It's just that audiobooks and nights with friends and decisions all intervened and prevented both the watching and the writing. And so, here we are.

Hero, directed by: Zhang Yimou 2002
begun in mid-September, finished in mid-October
in Mandarin, with English subtitles

To be fair, the night we initially watched this movie was interrupted numerous times by an unusually fussy baby and a par-for-the-course fussy television. Sometimes we couldn't hear, sometimes we couldn't see, and mostly we couldn't concentrate. We finally gave up, and only finished it weeks later, watching on our computer.

Which is a shame, because what Hero has going for it are the visuals: dramatic Western China scenery, artistic martial arts scenes that are part dance and part fight, large advancing armies. It uses color, calligraphy, and music to great effect and Hero doesn't even try to be subtle.

Besides the visuals, what made Hero worth watching is that it's a classic example of a "Wuxia" film. Wuxia is very much part of pop culture in Chinese communities, and it is (according to Wikipedia) a "broad genre of Chinese fiction concerning the adventures of martial artists, generally set in ancient China."

Wuxia heroes are generally independent operators, from lower social classes, who maintain a code of honor and use their power to right injustices. Think Robin Hood, or Western gunslingers, or Omar from The Wire.

Unlike The Wire, however, the plot and characters were a little thin, leaving the movie easily interruptible. But sometimes you need a movie like that: enjoyable without being too engaging. Christmas card season is coming up, folks.

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter ... and Spring, directed by Ki-duk Kim, 2003
viewed October 21, 2009
Korean, with English subtitles

We watched this movie during our Phuket vacation, on our computer. And contrary to Hero, which really benefited from the large screen, Spring ... was large enough in itself that it didn't hurt it to be viewed on a laptop. Not that it wasn't visually lovely, it was extraordinarily so. Set on an isolated lake, much of the film is silent and observant of the passing seasons. But it was primarily a study of the passage of a life, of several lives. The quiet moments and gestures that make a life show up very well on the small screen.

A Buddhist monk lives in a floating temple on this lake, where he raises an apprentice monk from a very young age. The monk teaches him wisdom and compassion as he grows, but inevitably the boy becomes a teenager and falls in love with the first girl he meets (a girl brought to the monk for healing.) He leaves the lake to follow the girl but has a difficult time in the world and eventually returns, seeking healing himself.

As is clear from the title, Spring ... is a story of timelessness and of the cyclical nature of life. The film itself feels timeless and almost mythic, and when the girl and her mother show up wearing current fashion it's almost a shock, so out of time did the story feel. There are doors that stand alone without supporting walls, animals, Buddhist rituals and exercises, and nameless characters that all contribute to the mythic feel, and yet I ended up feeling emotionally connected to this apprentice, watching him journey from boy to man, from man to monk.

The pace is deliberate and the movie is certainly subtle, like many Asian films. But it's not at all distant and in fact packs quite an emotional punch, maybe the more so for its simplicity. If Hero is a Western, then Spring ... is a poem, the kind of poem Garrison Keillor would read on Writer's Almanac.

Year of Asian Cinema : 3

Since last I posted we've developed quite a list of titles, thanks to your comments and emails and Matt's movie-watching colleagues. I'll try to compile them someplace so you can watch along with us ...
Now, onto no. 3.

• Secret Sunshine - Lee Chang-dong, 2007
• viewed on Monday night, September 28, 2009
• Korean, with English subtitles

Our new movie rental store, like most movie rental stores here in Hong Kong, is tiny and packed to the gills with dvds and vcds. Not arranged or organized in any manner I can discern, finding a particular movie and then figuring out what it's about is tricky, to say the least. Last week I was in there with Finn, trying to get in and out as quickly as possible, and this movie had an interesting cover and had won some awards. It was almost dinner time and Finn was cranky, so even with no plot synopsis, that was good enough for me.

Well. Secret Sunshine is quite a movie to just happen upon. And though I heartily recommend it, I also think it's fair to know what you're in for. That two-sentence plot synopsis I didn't find would have read something like this: "A recent widow moves with her young son back to her husband's hometown to start a new life. Her plans shatter when tragedy strikes, and she turns to religion in her grief."

That tells you right there that any parent is going to have a hard time watching this, and any person of faith is going to be challenged by questions about God's will, forgiveness, grace, and hypocrisy among the faithful. It's intense and emotional, yes, but with a long slow burn rather than a punch in the stomach. We're still thinking and processing, a week later.

Perhaps it's not as gut-wrenching as it could be because it's a Korean film instead of an American one. The slow pace and lack of music just make it feel very real ... and grief, in real life, often takes time to erupt, with plenty of long pauses at the kitchen sink where you forget what you're doing. Matt pointed out that the Asian films we've seen thus far are even lit differently than American ones, with a cool, blue-gray realism, rather than golden-hued sentimentality. (Have you seen The Secret Life of Bees? A beautiful movie, and we love the book, but really, did the entire movie take place at sunset?)

Secret Sunshine's portrayal of Christianity is a fair one, I think. Not entirely flattering, it's not mocking or ridiculous either. The woman, Shin-ae, becomes a Christian as a direct response to her grief, and it's clear she has a lot of work to do emotionally to synthesize her grieving process with her newfound faith. It's not clear, however, that the Christians she knows will be able to help her move beyond simple answers to a more mature understanding, and I kept wishing I could tell her that doubts, struggle and anger with God are as much a part of faith as that blessed assurance is.

The scene that has provoked the most conversation between Matt and I is about forgiveness, and I should warn you now that if you plan to watch Secret Sunshine and you hate spoilers, you should stop reading. Come back after you've seen it and tell me what you think. Really, I don't want to ruin the impact of this scene, and the review digresses into theological ramblings at this point anyway. It's clear that I really just need to talk about this film some more, so please---go watch it and respond!

For the rest of you, Shin-ae decides to convey forgiveness to the man who has harmed her, and said scene is of their conversation. (Alright, so question no. 1 is---did she really need to convey the forgiveness? Could she just forgive him privately but not face him or tell him? She thinks she does need to tell him, at least in part as a witness to God's love, and maybe, deep down, out of a desire for some level of power over him, the power of offering or withholding forgiveness.)

To her surprise, she finds that he too has become a Christian, and that he has received absolution from God and feels at peace. She has the response that any of us would have, I think, and resents this. Clearly she's not ready for him to feel peace, not when her pain is still so raw. Nor is she thrilled to have even this power taken away as well.

If we are to take him at his word that he has truly become a Christian, which is really all we can do, then we have to accept that he's in the same position that she is, spiritually speaking. Both in psychological torment, both need immediate relief, both find relief in religion. And as she feels a need to forgive, he feels a need for forgiveness. After their conversation, we are left wondering if the forgiveness was real---both what she offered and what he felt from God. Did the fact that she still wanted him to feel some pain mean she wasn't really ready to forgive? Did the fact that he already seemed free of pain or guilt mean that he hadn't really faced what he did, and thus maybe God's forgiveness of him wasn't real?

I see forgiveness as more of a process than an event, and this understanding shapes my view of this scene. Her forgiveness was real, just not complete. When anger or pain is still fresh, even the desire to forgive counts. And even though it wasn't too early to want to forgive, it probably was too early to see him. She'll need to forgive again and again, as new layers of anger and grief emerge. And as for the forgiveness being mixed up with some superiority or desire for power, that's pretty real for us humans.

Likewise, his absolution and peace are real (again, if we take him at his word), much as I hate to admit it. I may think this guy eventually deserves forgiveness (or at least I can accept God's forgiveness of him) but I certainly don't think he deserves peace ... not yet, anyway. God, however, extends grace to all of us, deserving or not. I'm trusting that as time passes and he grows in faith, he will grow in compassion. His understanding of his sin will grow, and he will likewise need to seek forgiveness over and over again. Not because God's forgiveness wasn't complete, but because his own repentence wasn't. Again, forgiveness is more of a process than an event, and God forgives to whatever extent that we can repent. Just as Paul tells us to "work out our salvation in fear and trembling," (Philippians 2:12) we work out our forgiveness, in just as much fear and trembling.

In Secret Sunshine we get to watch some of this working out, and it's not at all clear where Shin-ae will end up. Our preacher this past weekend reminded us that the larger meaning behind the cliche "Amazing grace" is that grace puts us in a maze. It is bewildering, it makes us feel lost and unsure where to go. The lame walk, the poor are fed, and yes, the undeserving get forgiven. Of course, Shin-ae is already in a maze, put there both by random bad luck and intentional violence. She thinks Christianity is her straight path out of that maze, but it just doesn't work that way. As a believer myself, I have every hope that somehow God's peace will sustain her through the coming hard days, and will be there, waiting, when she is ready for it.

A Year of Asian Cinema: 1, 2

We've committed ourselves to watching Asian movies this year ... because they are readily available on every block, because there are thriving film industries in Hong Kong, India and Japan, and because we'd like to delve a bit more deeply into this place we're living.

I'm going to chronicle the movies we watch here on this blog. Film reviews aren't nearly as interesting to me as restaurant reviews and book reviews, but I at least want a record of what we watch and what we like. So here goes.

• Departures, directed by Yojira Takita, 2009


• Viewed on a rainy Sunday night, August 30, 2009


• In Japanese, with English subtitles

Filled with lovely music and beautiful images, this film satisfied on many levels. An out-of-work cellist returns with his wife to his hometown and the house his mother left him. He begins to work in a funeral home, helping to prepare the dead for burial, and helping the living to grieve. It's not popular or respected work, but he grows to see it as something of a ministry. The movie is a bit predictable, but even as you know where it is going, you don't want it to go anywhere else. A certain Japanese quirkiness and humor keep it light, and themes of the nature and purpose of work, and what makes work meaningful, resonate with us right now. Just lovely.

• The Way We Are, directed by Xu Anhua, 2008


• Viewed Sunday night, September 7, 2009


• In Cantonese, with English subtitles

Sweet, subtle, and maybe a bit slow, The Way We Are portrays a friendship between two women of different generations who work in a supermarket, each alone in her own way. (The slowness is fine with me, since it allows me to knit, even with subtitles!). Their friendship is evidence of what Bobby Ives says about people---every person you meet has something they need from you, and has something to give you. For us it was an insightful, detailed glimpse into the everyday lives of real Hong Kongers, and we loved recognizing the scenes we've observed right on our street. The younger woman of the pair reminds us of our favorite doorkeeper, but I think we would have gotten attached to both women even without that. More complex than it seemed at first, the movie deals with themes of family, religion, and the intense human need for someone to love. The Way We Are doesn't make any simplistic moral judgements---being poor and hardworking doesn't necessarily make one more happy or more righteous than a wealthy person, but neither is the opposite true.