The Curse of the Golden Flower
is all gilded up, with nowhere to go.
The Curse of the Golden Flower
, director Zhang Yimou's (
House of Flying Daggers
,
Hero
) most ambitious film to date, is a tale of betrayal, revenge and imperial succession, replete with oedipal
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undertones, Shakespearian dramaturgy and enough cleavage to fill a Victoria's Secret catalogue.
Set in 10th century China, the saga centers around an icy Empress (Gong Li) who realizes she is being slowly poisoned by her husband, the Emperor (Chow Yun-Fat). In tow are three potential princes, one of whom is not only her stepson but also her lover. When the Empress sets in motion a plot to overthrow her husband, her sons are forced to pick sides, and the purported lofty ideals of fealty, duty and honor are quickly discarded.
Typical of the modern Asian epic, Zhang desperately strives to immediately reel in the audience to empathizing with his characters. Yet the first half of the movie is given over to lengthy exposition as the characters roam through various palace rooms. While soap-operatic melodrama builds plot tension, it never compels a real connection with any of the characters.
Despite these attempts to capture the audience, many viewers will only be stoically waiting for the butt-kicking to begin, like children steadfastly swallowing their vegetables, thinking only of the chocolate sundae to come. Even these viewers will be somewhat disappointed. The chocolate sundae arrives; it's reduced-fat vanilla soy slathered in imitation Hershey's. We eat it, of course. But there is no joy. Yes, hooded ninjas do finally slide into the plot via cool zip lines, but they produce neither "oohs" nor "ahhs," just a glutted satiation.
Likewise, the final battle, though a spectacle, is not spectacular. Employing what is fast becoming a genre formality-an overload of extras, raining spears and dizzying violence-Zhang's excess nevertheless fails to make its climax stand out in our minds against those of similarly budgeted blockbusters.
But what of the aesthetic beauty we feel entitled to after Zhang's previous entries, such as
House of Flying Daggers
,
Hero
and
Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles
? Like the cleavage that adorns every female character, the lavish, intricate costumes,
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sumptuous set design and eye-enkindling colors are pushed to the very limit, rendering
The Curse of the Golden Flower
, as expected, visually magnificent. But at times, this magnificence can seem overwrought, crossing into a gaudy kitsch reminiscent of casino interiors. Moreover, its repeated closeups, tears mingling with globules of sweat quivering on wretched, taught faces, do not compel the viewer to join in the emotional fervor. The effect is, instead, numbing. Sadly, to any fan of Zhang's previous films, this effect infects the aesthetic experience; it leaves one overstimulated and yet emotionally disengaged.
The Curse of the Golden Flower
attains dimension from the disparity between the glittering, spectacular façade of golden armor and palatial splendor, and the Machiavellian machinations of the royal court. However, the real gulf turns out to be not between the beautiful façade and the ugly behavior, but between the beautiful façade and the film's ability to sustain interest or evoke emotion.
