Director Wayne Wang ("The Joy Luck Club," "Smoke") is so skilled at refreshing old stories and discovering the drama in the everyday that he could film someone mowing a lawn and make us care about it.
Give him a stunning setting and talented actors, and anything’s possible.
The basic story in Wang’s new film "Chinese Box" is one that ordinarily I would say did not need to be made again. So many have done (badly) the story of two lovers facing the loss of one to terminal illness that the prospect of another did not thrill me.
But this is Wang, I reminded myself, the director who turned a smoke shop melodrama into one of the most moving films of the decade. The same director, remember, who skillfully condensed Amy Tan’s epic novel "The Joy Luck Club" into a complex, involving movie.
"Chinese Box" is no ordinary tragic love story. I cannot understate how unusual this film is, despite its conventional plot.
For one thing, "Chinese Box" has a political immediacy nearly unprecedented. Filmed in Hong Kong in 1997 during the months before the island reverted from British to Chinese rule, "Chinese Box" vibrates with the excitement of a city on the verge of quiet revolution. Student protestors are committing public suicide as statements against the approaching Chinese rule. Everywhere, businessmen are wondering if their greedy grip on economic power will be jeopardized.
In the midst of this, John (Jeremy Irons), a British writer and expatriate, wonders if he should tell the woman he loves but cannot have that he is dying.
The woman he loves is Vivian (Gong Li), a Chinese-born prostitute hoping to marry a Hong Kong businessman who treats her as a wife, but seems unable to defy propriety to make their marriage official. A wife with a past could jeopardize the man’s business reputation and, according to "Chinese Box," business is the state religion of Hong Kong.
As the death of British rule in Hong Kong approaches, John tries to achieve love on his own terms, without the benefit of pity over his illness, but before his own death arrives. Yet even though Vivian loves John, she has concerns he could never understand, secrets he might not be able to forgive.
Yes, it’s melodramatic, but Wang carefully maintains focus on the human drama. Irons and Li are superb as lovers restraining their passion for one another as they protect their respective secrets. Irons portrays vulnerability better than any actor going. Every look betrays the character’s confusion and desire.
Li’s complex performance dominates the screen. In an unforgettable scene, John begs forgiveness from Vivian while she studies Marlene Dietrich’s performance in "A Foreign Affair" on a video screen. Vivian mimics Dietrich’s hand gestures and facial expressions, becoming Dietrich’s character to the point of adopting her hardness. This allows Vivian the strength to deny John at a time when she needs him most. John lingers afterward, catching Vivian’s sorrow in a mirror’s reflection.
This kind of scene construction is just one example of Wang’s artistry. "Chinese Box" employs digital home video shot by veteran cinematographer Vilko Filac of actual events in Hong Kong. Intercut with largely hand-held and mobile camerawork, the energetic video brings Hong Kong into immediate, exciting life.
It is fitting that "Chinese Box" follows last week’s screening at the Fountain Theatre of Martin Scorsese’s "Mean Streets," a film Wang clearly owes a debt to. The hyperkinetic camera Scorsese used to bring New York to life is present in Wang’s portrait of Hong Kong. Wang film soars through the city’s layers of greed, consumption, and poverty. Wang’s Hong Kong breathes on the screen.
But that’s not all. Wang specializes in bringing minor characters to life as well. Maggie Cheung poignantly portrays Jean, a disfigured street woman whose obsessions draw John’s attention, and Ruben Blades brings humor and humanity to a small part as a photographer and John’s friend. Wang gives both characters important and extremely moving scenes, making "Chinese Box" an even richer film.
Admittedly, the metaphor invited by the story of a British expatriate whose terminal illness threatens his love affair with a Chinese prostitute in Hong Kong is a bit too obvious. Sure, we are invited to see John as Britain, Vivian as China, and Jean as Hong Kong. If Wang stopped their, "Chinese Box" would be just another overtly sentimental, vastly simplified political love story.
But Wang does not stop there. He goes deeper, well into the heart of Hong Kong and into the heart of desire. I advise you to open Wang’s "Chinese Box." The discoveries will be endless.
"Chinese Box" is rated R and contains brief violence, nudity, and sexual situations.