杜然的blog——i'm blinded by blackness » 2006年
终极版瑞士军刀，如果这还能被叫做“刀”的话
杜然 发表于 2006-12-30 19:20:59
1970年，英国登山队在领队Chris Bonnington的带领下登上珠峰，Bonnington当时随身携带着一把瑞士军刀，他后来说，那把军刀除了刮鱼鳞的功能没用上之外，其他的全给用上了，但责任不在军刀，根本原因是珠峰上压根没有鱼。美国宇航局的宇航员在上天的时候，每人也会带着一把军刀，不过不知道会是哪一款，我想刮鱼鳞的功能他们应该也用不上。瑞士军刀的确是个好东西，各种功能让人一头雾水，所以纽约的当代艺术博物馆特地把瑞士军刀作为功能设计的杰作加以收藏。
世界上只有两家企业有资格生产瑞士军刀，第一家叫Victorinox，这个品牌由瑞士的刀具商人Karl Elsener在100多年前创立，当时他看到瑞士军用刀具竟然是由德国人提供，就决定为自己的祖国做点什么。在1893年的时候，他有了一个竞争者，即后来Wenger。1908年，瑞士政府决定军队从两家企业各订购50%的军刀，同时还批准Victorinox声称自己是“最早的瑞士军刀”，Wenger则是“真正的瑞士军刀”。果然是一个中立的政府。
世界上生产类似刀具的还有两个品牌，一个叫Ambassador，这个牌子的刀具功能中有牙签但没有开瓶器，所以被称为“白领”的刀具；还有一个牌子叫Manager，听这个名字就觉得矫情，所以你在这个牌子的刀具功能中还能发现专门用于剥橙子皮的刀片。
Wenger最近推出一款终极版瑞士军刀，带有85种功能重达2斤，售价约8000人民币。我想从中我们能看出一些苗头：瑞士军刀对消费者提出了新的要求，比如你得有钱，身体得够结实，不然到哪儿都带着一个2斤重的刀，也不是一般人（无论是在身体上还是心理上）都能接受的。Wenger自己也说了，这款刀针对的是完美主义者和收藏家。
这让我想起前段时间车展的时候，有一款外国车特地推出加长版，据说可以在车上泡浴缸。我比较好奇的是，究竟谁会在二环或者三环上洗澡？或者堵车实在堵得心烦，得！我泡个澡先。
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世界上最糟的
杜然 发表于 2006-12-28 18:51:04
三联新近出品的《世界上最糟的——美国人眼中的蠢人蠢事》收录了世人（主要是美国人）的愚蠢和丑陋。看人笑话，从道义上来说是不高尚的，但从心理治疗的角度看，却不失为一种平息内心愤怒与不满、获得安慰的手段。正如作者在导言中写的：“（发现那些著名人士不为人所知的一面）是多么令人愉快的惊喜呀！“
内容挺适合坐在马桶上看，只是翻译的水准还有很大的提升空间。
今天买了一本2000年的畅销书Me Talk Pretty One Day。当时看介绍觉得好玩，回家之后才发现作者与我刚看完的《Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim》是同一个人——David Sedaris。这事儿太诡异了！
内容挺适合坐在马桶上看，只是翻译的水准还有很大的提升空间。
今天买了一本2000年的畅销书Me Talk Pretty One Day。当时看介绍觉得好玩，回家之后才发现作者与我刚看完的《Dress Your Family in Corduroy and Denim》是同一个人——David Sedaris。这事儿太诡异了！
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不到500万，算上偷的也没有900万
杜然 发表于 2006-12-27 22:34:34
今天，飞猪（www.flypig.org）端上他的ipod，恭请我听一首叫《NINE MILLION BICYCLES》的歌。有点民谣有点爵士，歌是好听，就是歌词太扯：There are nine million bicycles in Beijing.That's a fact.It's a thing we can't deny.Like the fact that I will love you till I die（在北京有900万辆自行车，这是真的，我们没法否认，就像无法否认我会爱你到死）。如果我爱你到死跟北京有900万辆自行车也能扯上关系，那么我同事昨天穿着平底鞋在平坦的马路上把脚给崴了，不知道是不是和劳拉·布什刚切除皮肤癌能扯上关系。前两天还看到一个比较扯的比喻，盛赞作家David Sedairs的机智与风趣：If wit were measured in people, David Sedaris would be China: His talent is that huge.（如果用人口作为衡量智慧的标准，David Sedairs就是中国）。极妙，结构和类比有点像原来看到的另外一句话：如果放屁是一门艺术，你一定就是毕加索。
再回到那首歌。歌者叫Katie Melua，本是格鲁吉亚人，后来在英国学表演的时候被唱片公司发掘。尽管被称为诺拉·琼斯第二，但是她的音乐风格其实融合了很多音乐元素，《NINE MILLION BICYCLES》这首歌的爵士风格并不重。对于爵士乐，我有一个见解：The singer sings everything except the tune.这句话不是我不想用中文说，只是变成中文就不好玩了。《NINE MILLION BICYCLES》这首歌来自她2005年的第二张专辑《Piece By Piece》，这张专辑上过英国排行榜的冠军位置。这首歌baidu.com有下。
据耳朵好使的说这首歌的高音部分用了爱尔兰短笛，但我一直以为是中国的笛子。真是不好意思，耳朵献“聋”了！
另外，我查了相关数据，说北京的自行车不到500万辆，算上偷的也没有900万辆。
再回到那首歌。歌者叫Katie Melua，本是格鲁吉亚人，后来在英国学表演的时候被唱片公司发掘。尽管被称为诺拉·琼斯第二，但是她的音乐风格其实融合了很多音乐元素，《NINE MILLION BICYCLES》这首歌的爵士风格并不重。对于爵士乐，我有一个见解：The singer sings everything except the tune.这句话不是我不想用中文说，只是变成中文就不好玩了。《NINE MILLION BICYCLES》这首歌来自她2005年的第二张专辑《Piece By Piece》，这张专辑上过英国排行榜的冠军位置。这首歌baidu.com有下。
据耳朵好使的说这首歌的高音部分用了爱尔兰短笛，但我一直以为是中国的笛子。真是不好意思，耳朵献“聋”了！
另外，我查了相关数据，说北京的自行车不到500万辆，算上偷的也没有900万辆。
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口吐白沫的洗衣机和文宣王
杜然 发表于 2006-12-25 21:44:41
ONE
每次我把洗衣液和衣物消毒液混在一起，家里的洗衣机就会产生大量的泡沫，然后从洗衣液的注入口反刍出来，我称之为口吐白沫。昨天进厨房，发现满地的泡沫，踹了洗衣机一脚，骂了一声bitch。跟一个朋友说起这段，她愤然：为什么洗衣机就一定是bitch而不是bastard或者son of bitch？你为什么一口咬定洗衣机就是阴性的？你这是sexism(性别歧视)。后来她可能还说了一些诸如沙文主义之类的话，吓得我赶紧撂下电话。又发现一个潜藏的女权主义者，生活真是危机四伏啊，特别是对男人！
TWO
在《读书》上看到林子明写的《基因研究没有解开谜团》，说2004年，复旦大学进行了一项基因分析，发现今天的南方汉族是北方汉族和南方上述民族共同繁衍的后代。
中国历史数千年，中国人怎么可能不杂种？这个结论并不稀奇，但是仔细读下去，发现一些有意思的细节，比如从基因角度看，湖北人、上海人、安徽人、江苏人算是北方人。从数据分析，南方汉族形成的过程中，融入南方汉族的南方少数民族女性远远多于男性，而北方汉族的男性对南方汉族的形成做出了最大的贡献。作者写道：“北方汉族南下与原住民族远缘婚配有利于提升中华民族人口素质，更何况还传播了先进文化。使我们不安的是，伴随着移民进程，绝大多数原住民男性为什么没有后代传下来？”
中国历史上有三次大规模的由北向南的人口迁徙。第一次发生在西晋八王之乱和五胡入华时期，迁徙规模至少90万；第二次是安史之乱及其后的军阀混战，迁徙人口大于西晋；第三次是北宋靖康之难和南宋蒙古南侵，迁徙规模约500万。
读到此处，各位一定着急知道绝大多数原住民男性为什么没有后代传下来。你再看看这篇文章的标题，不是都说了这是基因研究没有解开的谜团吗？既然是谜团，就是现在还没有答案。
THREE
“万寿无疆”很讨厌知识分子，不然他们的命运不会如此不堪。突然想到唐玄宗为什么追封孔夫子为文宣王？那意思是，你们这些知识分子搞搞文化宣传就够了，不要多事，简称“文宣”。胡说八道向来是我的优点，聊博一乐。
耳闻北大清华人大的几名博士生搞了一个宣言，号召大家不要过圣诞节。听到这消息，我还真乐不起来了，为这些精英的反智倾向忧心。究竟什么叫“过”？这个词的定义必须厘清。如果只是借用这个日子，朋友之间、家人之间、情人之间找个机会去吃饭喝酒，这不是很好吗？大家也都看到了，大多数中国人所谓“过”圣诞节只是多了一个消费、享乐的机会而已。国家有税收，人际更和谐，GDP里面有你的功劳也有我的功劳，于国于民皆有利的事情，为什么要反对？如果把是否去教堂作为“过”圣诞节的标准，那就更没有理由指责了，那叫信仰自由！再说了，礼拜日的时候这些博士生是不是就该在寝室一动不动做木鸡状？因为礼拜日也是来自宗教呀！《创世纪》第二章的开始说：到第七日，神造物的工已经完毕，就在第七日歇了他一切的工，安息了。神赐福给第七日，定为圣日，因为在这日神歇了他一切创造的工，就安息了。
如果你们不是教徒又不喜欢圣诞节，那就把12月25日当一个平凡日子，但不要弄一个哗众取宠的宣言，暴了自己的短。神啊，俄底神啊，看看你的这些子民，顶着一无所有的脑袋，何德何能方可造就？
每次我把洗衣液和衣物消毒液混在一起，家里的洗衣机就会产生大量的泡沫，然后从洗衣液的注入口反刍出来，我称之为口吐白沫。昨天进厨房，发现满地的泡沫，踹了洗衣机一脚，骂了一声bitch。跟一个朋友说起这段，她愤然：为什么洗衣机就一定是bitch而不是bastard或者son of bitch？你为什么一口咬定洗衣机就是阴性的？你这是sexism(性别歧视)。后来她可能还说了一些诸如沙文主义之类的话，吓得我赶紧撂下电话。又发现一个潜藏的女权主义者，生活真是危机四伏啊，特别是对男人！
TWO
在《读书》上看到林子明写的《基因研究没有解开谜团》，说2004年，复旦大学进行了一项基因分析，发现今天的南方汉族是北方汉族和南方上述民族共同繁衍的后代。
中国历史数千年，中国人怎么可能不杂种？这个结论并不稀奇，但是仔细读下去，发现一些有意思的细节，比如从基因角度看，湖北人、上海人、安徽人、江苏人算是北方人。从数据分析，南方汉族形成的过程中，融入南方汉族的南方少数民族女性远远多于男性，而北方汉族的男性对南方汉族的形成做出了最大的贡献。作者写道：“北方汉族南下与原住民族远缘婚配有利于提升中华民族人口素质，更何况还传播了先进文化。使我们不安的是，伴随着移民进程，绝大多数原住民男性为什么没有后代传下来？”
中国历史上有三次大规模的由北向南的人口迁徙。第一次发生在西晋八王之乱和五胡入华时期，迁徙规模至少90万；第二次是安史之乱及其后的军阀混战，迁徙人口大于西晋；第三次是北宋靖康之难和南宋蒙古南侵，迁徙规模约500万。
读到此处，各位一定着急知道绝大多数原住民男性为什么没有后代传下来。你再看看这篇文章的标题，不是都说了这是基因研究没有解开的谜团吗？既然是谜团，就是现在还没有答案。
THREE
“万寿无疆”很讨厌知识分子，不然他们的命运不会如此不堪。突然想到唐玄宗为什么追封孔夫子为文宣王？那意思是，你们这些知识分子搞搞文化宣传就够了，不要多事，简称“文宣”。胡说八道向来是我的优点，聊博一乐。
耳闻北大清华人大的几名博士生搞了一个宣言，号召大家不要过圣诞节。听到这消息，我还真乐不起来了，为这些精英的反智倾向忧心。究竟什么叫“过”？这个词的定义必须厘清。如果只是借用这个日子，朋友之间、家人之间、情人之间找个机会去吃饭喝酒，这不是很好吗？大家也都看到了，大多数中国人所谓“过”圣诞节只是多了一个消费、享乐的机会而已。国家有税收，人际更和谐，GDP里面有你的功劳也有我的功劳，于国于民皆有利的事情，为什么要反对？如果把是否去教堂作为“过”圣诞节的标准，那就更没有理由指责了，那叫信仰自由！再说了，礼拜日的时候这些博士生是不是就该在寝室一动不动做木鸡状？因为礼拜日也是来自宗教呀！《创世纪》第二章的开始说：到第七日，神造物的工已经完毕，就在第七日歇了他一切的工，安息了。神赐福给第七日，定为圣日，因为在这日神歇了他一切创造的工，就安息了。
如果你们不是教徒又不喜欢圣诞节，那就把12月25日当一个平凡日子，但不要弄一个哗众取宠的宣言，暴了自己的短。神啊，俄底神啊，看看你的这些子民，顶着一无所有的脑袋，何德何能方可造就？
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纽约时报和村声杂志关于《黄金甲》的影评
杜然 发表于 2006-12-24 20:44:06
《黄金甲》21日（美国时间）开始在纽约上画，22日开始在洛杉矶、旧金山、西雅图、波士顿、芝加哥、温哥华等十四个美加城市上画，1月22日开始全美上画。
《纽约时报》和《村声》对这部电影的评价都不算太高，基本观点还是场面华丽，故事贫乏。比较逗的是，《纽约时报》的评论在说明电影为什么被定为R级（17岁以下需要父母或者其他成年人的陪同方得观看）时，是这么说的：“电影里面有飞来飞去的刺客、血腥的战争场面以及一个爱上自己儿子的妈。”另外，《纽约时报》的影评人对于电影中的“汤碗胸”也是印象深刻。
《纽约时报》的影评
Dynastic Dysfunction and Loathing
By JEANNETTE CATSOULIS
With each new martial-arts drama, the Chinese director Zhang Yimou widens the distance between his adult self and his dismal youth during the Cultural Revolution, pushing himself to ever greater heights of ambition and experimentation. Energy and excess — of color, symbolism and emotion — are his antidotes to memories of uniformity and repression. His extravagant stories celebrate unfettered artistic expression as if it were a gift his Western counterparts have long taken for granted.
In “Curse of the Golden Flower” Mr. Zhang achieves a kind of operatic delirium, opening the floodgates of image and melodrama until the line between tragedy and black comedy is all but erased. Set in A.D. 928 during the late Tang dynasty, the movie wallows in the rotting marriage of a cruel emperor (Chow Yun-Fat) and his secretive wife (Gong Li), a union so corrupt that each is plotting the other’s annihilation.
The emperor, with the help of the royal physician and a rare fungus, is slowly destroying his wife’s sanity. Because palace protocol forbids her to refuse the “medicine,” the empress retaliates by planning a bloody coup during the coming chrysanthemum festival, persuading the most biddable of her three sons (Jay Chou) to join her revolt.
By this point most directors would have their hands full, but Mr. Zhang piles on the intrigue, adding a forbidden love affair, a vengeful first wife and two varieties of incest. His actors respond in kind, straining their facial muscles with silent-movie enthusiasm and doing everything but shooting flames from their eye sockets.
Matching them is a production design (by Huo Tingxiao, channeling Liberace) that brilliantly conveys the oppressiveness of opulence. As the empress moves through the palace’s endless corridors, her upper body at once compressed by and overflowing from her bodice and her face covered in poisonous beads of sweat, we can almost feel the weight of her brocade gown and pendulous hair ornaments. Not the most useful ensemble for a wife intent on fleeing her husband.
Bathed in thick, primary colors and Shigeru Umebayashi’s thumping score, “Curse of the Golden Flower” is more lurid and less romantic than Mr. Zhang’s previous martial-arts drama, the swooning “House of Flying Daggers,” but its path to destruction is paved with visual gold. The climactic coup, staged with competing armies advancing in waves of black and gold across a field of millions of bright yellow blossoms, may be computer enhanced but is nonetheless breathtaking. Parked in the clouds, the camera gazes down on a forest of lances bisected by the massive palace walls; the screech of metal on metal sears the ears.
But the movie’s most thrilling sequences belong to the silent, black-robed, assassins who attack by swinging from wires like malevolent spiders. In formation no less.
As the emperor, and the film’s seething fulcrum, Mr. Chow, the action star, delivers a performance of amazing intensity, focusing his considerable energy inward to suggest a volcano primed to erupt. His pairing with the incomparable Ms. Gong is no less than inspired. Locked in a tug of war for control of their offspring, the couple provide the film with a core of marital toxicity that’s almost nonverbal and deliciously unstable. Whenever the empress is not openly making cow eyes at her weak-willed stepson (Liu Ye), she’s sneaking more venom into a glance at her husband than he is sneaking into her bloodstream.
Though embroiled in familiar themes of fraternal rivalry and Freudian jealousy, Mr. Zhang is aware of the ridiculousness of man’s passions in the face of his impermanence. One of the film’s loveliest and most allusive sequences focuses on the royal cleanup crew as it restores order after the bloodbath, rinsing away gore and burying stains beneath a fresh carpet of golden chrysanthemums. In the wake of this shadow army, the battle is erased and the dead are swept aside like so many dust bunnies.
Since his debut in 1987 with “Red Sorghum” Mr. Zhang has made more controlled films but never one that’s more fun. With “Curse of the Golden Flower” he aims for Shakespeare and winds up with Jacqueline Susann. And a good thing too.
《村声》杂志的影评
Blade of Flying Sparks
Visually stunning (as always), Zhang's latest is better seen and not heard
by Rob Nelson
Like his Hero and House of Flying Daggers, Zhang Yimou's third global-market gigaproduction makes little sense in narrative terms even after two screenings, but the sets, costumes, and cinematography are so intoxicating that it doesn't much matter. Zhang's interest in the wuxia (martial arts) film may well extend no further than the kick he gets out of constructing ostentatious palaces and then watching from behind the lens as they crumble to the ground—he's a movie director, in other words. As much as Marie Antoinette, Curse of the Golden Flower, set in the later Tang dynasty, circa A.D. 928, pits its cloistered melodrama against the riffraff that threatens to penetrate the royal chambers. It's a battle of genres, and after 90 minutes of mostly talk, talk, talk, ostensibly there to placate bourgeois newcomers to Asian action, the wuxia wins.
The Will Durant quote with which Mel Gibson commences Apocalypto could apply here too: "A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself from within." First seen getting dolled up and draped in gold from head to toe while warriors approach her fortress on horseback, Gong Li's medicine-swilling Empress is regrettably anemic—ditto her dialogue. Blame the Emperor (a bored-looking Chow Yun-Fat), who has been peppering his lady's herbal remedies with poisonous black mushrooms. Meanwhile each of three young princes (Jay Chou, Liu Ye, Qin Junjie) is scheming for power or love, the incestuous machinations failing to excite as much as the sight of black-suited, scythe-twirling assassins swinging on ropes toward the palace like Spider-Man on his web. Zhang's impressively acrobatic battle scene culminates in a torrential CGI spear storm that sets out to blockbust and does, even by, say, Two Towers standards.
Until then, the film's seemingly endless revelations of double- and triple-crosses would play like bad mid-'60s Hollywood epic wanking were it not for Zhang's mise-en-scéne, including long blue, green, and orange corridors that suggest a kaleidoscope in a funhouse. (Production designer Huo Tingxiao deserves every award.) Color combos here border on the psychedelic, but alas, they don't inspire Zhang to get trippy with the storytelling. This is the director's flimsiest material to date, and while you'd hope for some sexual frisson in his first film with Gong since Shanghai Triad in '95, her scenes with Chow deliver nothing but more evidence that Zhang is mainly in it for the carpentry and the computer FX. Flying daggers return in full force, but the neato trick this time is the slo-mo spray of sparks from a sword as it scrapes against armor or another blade. A great leap forward in film technology or another example of civilization destroying itself from within?
《纽约时报》和《村声》对这部电影的评价都不算太高，基本观点还是场面华丽，故事贫乏。比较逗的是，《纽约时报》的评论在说明电影为什么被定为R级（17岁以下需要父母或者其他成年人的陪同方得观看）时，是这么说的：“电影里面有飞来飞去的刺客、血腥的战争场面以及一个爱上自己儿子的妈。”另外，《纽约时报》的影评人对于电影中的“汤碗胸”也是印象深刻。
《纽约时报》的影评
Dynastic Dysfunction and Loathing
By JEANNETTE CATSOULIS
With each new martial-arts drama, the Chinese director Zhang Yimou widens the distance between his adult self and his dismal youth during the Cultural Revolution, pushing himself to ever greater heights of ambition and experimentation. Energy and excess — of color, symbolism and emotion — are his antidotes to memories of uniformity and repression. His extravagant stories celebrate unfettered artistic expression as if it were a gift his Western counterparts have long taken for granted.
In “Curse of the Golden Flower” Mr. Zhang achieves a kind of operatic delirium, opening the floodgates of image and melodrama until the line between tragedy and black comedy is all but erased. Set in A.D. 928 during the late Tang dynasty, the movie wallows in the rotting marriage of a cruel emperor (Chow Yun-Fat) and his secretive wife (Gong Li), a union so corrupt that each is plotting the other’s annihilation.
The emperor, with the help of the royal physician and a rare fungus, is slowly destroying his wife’s sanity. Because palace protocol forbids her to refuse the “medicine,” the empress retaliates by planning a bloody coup during the coming chrysanthemum festival, persuading the most biddable of her three sons (Jay Chou) to join her revolt.
By this point most directors would have their hands full, but Mr. Zhang piles on the intrigue, adding a forbidden love affair, a vengeful first wife and two varieties of incest. His actors respond in kind, straining their facial muscles with silent-movie enthusiasm and doing everything but shooting flames from their eye sockets.
Matching them is a production design (by Huo Tingxiao, channeling Liberace) that brilliantly conveys the oppressiveness of opulence. As the empress moves through the palace’s endless corridors, her upper body at once compressed by and overflowing from her bodice and her face covered in poisonous beads of sweat, we can almost feel the weight of her brocade gown and pendulous hair ornaments. Not the most useful ensemble for a wife intent on fleeing her husband.
Bathed in thick, primary colors and Shigeru Umebayashi’s thumping score, “Curse of the Golden Flower” is more lurid and less romantic than Mr. Zhang’s previous martial-arts drama, the swooning “House of Flying Daggers,” but its path to destruction is paved with visual gold. The climactic coup, staged with competing armies advancing in waves of black and gold across a field of millions of bright yellow blossoms, may be computer enhanced but is nonetheless breathtaking. Parked in the clouds, the camera gazes down on a forest of lances bisected by the massive palace walls; the screech of metal on metal sears the ears.
But the movie’s most thrilling sequences belong to the silent, black-robed, assassins who attack by swinging from wires like malevolent spiders. In formation no less.
As the emperor, and the film’s seething fulcrum, Mr. Chow, the action star, delivers a performance of amazing intensity, focusing his considerable energy inward to suggest a volcano primed to erupt. His pairing with the incomparable Ms. Gong is no less than inspired. Locked in a tug of war for control of their offspring, the couple provide the film with a core of marital toxicity that’s almost nonverbal and deliciously unstable. Whenever the empress is not openly making cow eyes at her weak-willed stepson (Liu Ye), she’s sneaking more venom into a glance at her husband than he is sneaking into her bloodstream.
Though embroiled in familiar themes of fraternal rivalry and Freudian jealousy, Mr. Zhang is aware of the ridiculousness of man’s passions in the face of his impermanence. One of the film’s loveliest and most allusive sequences focuses on the royal cleanup crew as it restores order after the bloodbath, rinsing away gore and burying stains beneath a fresh carpet of golden chrysanthemums. In the wake of this shadow army, the battle is erased and the dead are swept aside like so many dust bunnies.
Since his debut in 1987 with “Red Sorghum” Mr. Zhang has made more controlled films but never one that’s more fun. With “Curse of the Golden Flower” he aims for Shakespeare and winds up with Jacqueline Susann. And a good thing too.
《村声》杂志的影评
Blade of Flying Sparks
Visually stunning (as always), Zhang's latest is better seen and not heard
by Rob Nelson
Like his Hero and House of Flying Daggers, Zhang Yimou's third global-market gigaproduction makes little sense in narrative terms even after two screenings, but the sets, costumes, and cinematography are so intoxicating that it doesn't much matter. Zhang's interest in the wuxia (martial arts) film may well extend no further than the kick he gets out of constructing ostentatious palaces and then watching from behind the lens as they crumble to the ground—he's a movie director, in other words. As much as Marie Antoinette, Curse of the Golden Flower, set in the later Tang dynasty, circa A.D. 928, pits its cloistered melodrama against the riffraff that threatens to penetrate the royal chambers. It's a battle of genres, and after 90 minutes of mostly talk, talk, talk, ostensibly there to placate bourgeois newcomers to Asian action, the wuxia wins.
The Will Durant quote with which Mel Gibson commences Apocalypto could apply here too: "A great civilization is not conquered from without until it has destroyed itself from within." First seen getting dolled up and draped in gold from head to toe while warriors approach her fortress on horseback, Gong Li's medicine-swilling Empress is regrettably anemic—ditto her dialogue. Blame the Emperor (a bored-looking Chow Yun-Fat), who has been peppering his lady's herbal remedies with poisonous black mushrooms. Meanwhile each of three young princes (Jay Chou, Liu Ye, Qin Junjie) is scheming for power or love, the incestuous machinations failing to excite as much as the sight of black-suited, scythe-twirling assassins swinging on ropes toward the palace like Spider-Man on his web. Zhang's impressively acrobatic battle scene culminates in a torrential CGI spear storm that sets out to blockbust and does, even by, say, Two Towers standards.
Until then, the film's seemingly endless revelations of double- and triple-crosses would play like bad mid-'60s Hollywood epic wanking were it not for Zhang's mise-en-scéne, including long blue, green, and orange corridors that suggest a kaleidoscope in a funhouse. (Production designer Huo Tingxiao deserves every award.) Color combos here border on the psychedelic, but alas, they don't inspire Zhang to get trippy with the storytelling. This is the director's flimsiest material to date, and while you'd hope for some sexual frisson in his first film with Gong since Shanghai Triad in '95, her scenes with Chow deliver nothing but more evidence that Zhang is mainly in it for the carpentry and the computer FX. Flying daggers return in full force, but the neato trick this time is the slo-mo spray of sparks from a sword as it scrapes against armor or another blade. A great leap forward in film technology or another example of civilization destroying itself from within?
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