Film Review: Why The Flowers of War Makes Us Cry

If I were a certain kind of man, I might make a joke along the lines of: “I like my movies how I like my women: beautiful, dramatic and ultimately hollow. That’s why this one was great!” Thankfully (for all of us), I am not that man. So instead, let's talk about crying.

Set against the Japanese conquest of the city of Nanjing in December of 1937, the film hones in on a motley collection of civilians sequestered in a Catholic cathedral, hiding out from the atrocities of the massacre. Headliner Christian Bale plays John Miller, a mortician out to make a quick buck by burying the cathedral’s head priest, but whose conscience soon (and rather unconvincingly) drives him to help look after the others. Who are these others? In a boarded up basement, a band of prostitutes led by an alluring woman named Mo (played by newbie actress Ni Ni), and upstairs, a group of convent schoolgirls. As you can imagine, all the characters must negotiate the strange waters of heroism, mutual contempt and even sexual attraction. (Yes, audiences and this Hollywood Reporter review have cringed at the crassness of the heightened sexuality in a film set during a period of civilian killings and rape.)

In a nutshell, we were wowed by Zhang’s stark-but-still-beautiful imagery and big-budget production values (blah blah Saving Private Ryan blah blah). We cried. We screamed. We averted our eyes. But mostly we look back and see what could have been, and for that, we really weep.

As global reactions go, there’s of course the inevitable criss-cross of misunderstandings. Between casting Batman and submitting the film for the Oscars, it’s clear that Zhang (not to mention his backers) intends to reach a foreign audience. Then again, the film is clearly China-made and China-approved, and based on a topic much more likely to pull on the heartstrings of domestic viewers. Discussing the movie with Chinese locals and foreigners (not to mention reading all the different reviews) reminds me of that time I brought a friend to my family’s Chinese-American Thanksgiving dinner. Some things – like the sticky rice as turkey stuffing – made perfect sense to many at the gathering, but as far as my friend was concerned, explanations were in order.

Most foreign media are panning the film as “unconvincing” (THR), “a gauzy tear-jerker” (the New York Times), “human suffering reduced to visual showmanship” (The Village Voice) and my favorite: an “epic wilt” (San Francisco Chronicle). Lee Mack over at City Weekend oddly reserves his most savage criticism of the film for not going deeply enough into the expat psyche. (We think if you're turning to Zhang Yimou epics for answers to your complicated life as an expat, you may have bigger things to worry about.)

On the other hand, and perhaps unsurprisingly, reactions from Chinese audiences have skewed positive. The film’s racking up an 8.2 on the review aggregator site Douban.com, up from a 6-point average just after its opening. (The question is: is that an accurate read of audience responses, or a mass mobilization of the loyal 50 cent party? We’ll never know … ) Either way, theater exit polls have collected a solid bulk of generally positive reactions.

Jokes aside, Lee makes a fair point that the film’s greatest failure is its characterization. It tried really hard to give the protagonist substantial motivation for cavorting between selfish, money-grubbing drunk and saintly, self-sacrificing savior, but does so in a bewildering fashion. One minute, he’s donning a dead priest’s uniform in a drunken bid for Mo’s affection, the next, he’s running his palm against the robes, as if thinking, “What am I wearing? Oh my, this must mean I should try being a good, upstanding man … " And then "Ding! Here I am!" It's like a character development microwave. Later, some brief exposition about his own past acts as a surprise “reveal” about his character, but it’s too little, too late.

Then there's the whole segment in which two prostitutes risk their lives on a fool's errand (never has that phrase rung more true for me) to retrieve pipa strings and left-behind earrings. This is where Zhang's exploitation of blind sentimentality handicaps his storytelling. However, I should mention that, if anything, this sequence is most like the aforementioned sticky rice. Non-Chinese audiences seemed to find it much less believable than their Chinese counterparts. "She wanted to play for the dying solder from her hometown! It makes perfect sense!"

I won't tell you what happens to the girls, but I will tell you that one of the very first scenes has one of those women clutching her pipa against her as a Jeep rolls past. In a striking slow-motion closeup, we watch as the vehicle's rugged exterior drags against her instrument, severing three of the four strings one by one. Snap, snap, snap. Foreshadowing much?

These visual details – and others, showing the symbolic and very visceral shattering of stained-glass windows, the tumble and tatter of various textiles, etc. – would be extraordinary, if only the plot were convincingly character-driven. Instead, it has too many weak spots and lacks the ambition to fill the epic war-torn space built up around it.

In the end, what’s sad is how badly we all wanted it to be good. Whether we like it or not, films tasked with striking a balance between English and Chinese, and Western and Eastern culture, are very much in our future. While it’s a big divide to cross, we all hope it can be done. Otherwise, those of us who care enough to observe the inevitably rough starts will have a painful stint of moviegoing ahead of us.

(As for more behind-the-scenes looks at Chinese/foreign collaborations, we’re excited to stay on the news trail for you. The New York Times had an interesting article about how Zhang Yimou got connected with Christian Bale. You may also have heard other news about Bale while he was in town for the film’s premiere – yes, we are being intentionally vague and yes, you should Google it for yourself. So if the films themselves aren’t good, at least the drama surrounding them will be worth paying attention to.)

One thing I will say about this movie: The last Zhang Yimou epic I watched was Curse of the Golden Flower, back in 2006. I couldn’t decide what was more overblown: the plot or the bosoms. I found the whole thing so boring and inane that I declined to watch any of his subsequent films ... until this one. The Flowers of War reminded me why his eye for beautiful shots and wonderfully textured cinematography is so celebrated. And I’m ready to see what he gives us next. All I ask is please, please find yourself a good scriptwriter to work with. Lest you have us crying again, for all the wrong reasons.

The Flowers of War is currently showing in theaters around town. Have you seen the movie? Tell us your thoughts in a comment below.

Photos: Filmstage.com, NYTimes.com