Shadow
影
China/Hong Kong, 2018, colour, 2.35:1, 115 mins.
Director: Zhang Yimou 张艺谋.
Rating: 7/10.
Stygian chamber drama lacks a script to match the striking visuals and performances.
STORY
China, kingdom of Pei, sometime during the Three Kingdoms period (AD 220-80). Seriously wounded by invading general Yang Cang (Hu Jun) during a battle over the city of Jingzhou, Pei commander Ziyu (Deng Chao) has hidden himself away in a secret chamber in the royal palace and has coached his body double, nicknamed Jingzhou (Deng Chao), to take his place at court. (When Ziyu was eight, his father was assassinated at court, so his uncle, fearing the same fate for Ziyu, secretly found an eight-year-old double for him in Jingzhou city and subsequently trained him to be Ziyu’s “shadow”.) To encourage Jingzhou, who longs to return sometime to his native city, Ziyu tells him he’s found his mother and set her up in her family home there. Jingzhou is given the same wound as Ziyu, plus some special medicine by Ziyu’s wife, Xiao’ai (Sun Li). When he presents himself as Ziyu to Pei Liang (Zheng Kai), the young king of Pei, and asks to be punished for attacking Jingzhou, he’s pardoned from execution but stripped of his rank. Pei Liang notices his wound looks fresh, but Jingzhou explains it away by saying it’s to perpetually remind him of his failure until Jingzhou city is taken back. Despite his generals’ keenness to recover Jingzhou city by force, Pei Liang has offered his younger sister Qingping in marriage to Yang Ping (Wu Lei), the son of Yang Cang, as a way of settling the dispute peacefully. Qingping is appalled, especially when the reply comes back that she can be Yang Ping’s concubine rather than his wife. With things calmer in Jingzhou city, Yang Cang sends 30,000 of his troops to help his commander elsewhere, retaining only 800 to defend the city. Meanwhile, in training the “shadow”, Xiao’ai has come up with a new, “feminine” technique that could prove a winner in any rematch with Yang Cang. And Ziyu, as part of his plan to overthrow Pei Liang and gain the throne, summons disgraced Pei general Tian Zhao (Wang Qianyuan), fills him in on the “shadow” deception, and puts him in charge of an unofficial army of robbers living in the forest. However, the night before Ziyu’s plan is put into action, Jingzhou confesses his love for Xiao’ai and his fears that he cannot win any duel vs Yang Cang.
REVIEW
Within the universe of Zhang Yimou 张艺谋, Shadow 影 is the yin to Hero‘s yang. Sixteen years after the highly stylised martial-arts drama that announced a new phase in Zhang’s career, he’s finally come up with its flip side. Strikingly shot in blacks, whites and greys relieved only by occasional soft skin tones, Shadow is a stygian, highly theatrical tragedy of powerplay and intrigue that’s very talky and extremely operatic in its last-act slaughter. Where Hero 英雄 (2002) was less a historical drama than a colourful, large-scale celebration of martial arts and individualism, Shadow is the opposite – a chamber drama centred on personal identity that’s gussied up with a couple of action setpieces. Though the two are complementary works, Shadow, despite its surface appeal, is still a notch down on its companion piece: it aims at being a character drama but fails to deliver on an emotional level. In its first two weeks of Mainland release, the film has held its own with a respectable RMB500 million or so, but is way down in earning power when compared with Zhang’s previous opus, monster movie The Great Wall 长城 (2016), which was well on its way by then towards its final tally of almost RMB1.2 billion. [The eventual total for Shadow was RMB629 million.]
Lead actor Deng Chao 邓超, 39, more often seen in comedy, works hard in the twin roles of a wounded but manic army commander and the introverted body double (“shadow”) who takes the commander’s place in an elaborate coup d’état; the rest of the cast are also strong down the line, with a surprisingly effective performance from Zheng Kai 郑恺, 32, better known for cocky modern roles, as the duplicitous king. But as a whole, Shadow lacks the sheer variety, sense of surprise, and richness of invention that made Hero such a milestone. Somehow, we’ve almost been here before, in bits – the murky court intrigues of The Banquet 夜宴 (2006), the fluttering curtains of The Assassin 刺客聂隐娘 (2015), the whole tenebrous atmosphere of The Last Supper 王的盛宴 (2012) and even the rainy, courtyard duel of Zhang’s own Hero.
Where Hero proudly blazed in every colour of the rainbow, Shadow has an ascetic black-white look that not only mirrors that of brush calligraphy on paper but also further underlines all the Daoist yin-yang symbols and symbolism that pepper the film – from the giant taiji pictogram on the floor of the commander’s secret hideaway, through the flexible, “feminine” style developed by his wife to counter his nemesis’ hard, “masculine” technique, to the constant presence of rain and water throughout the story. The decision to shoot in this way is clearly thought through, and sustained at a design level through the spare but effective sets of veteran Hong Kong p.d. Ma Guangrong 马光荣 [Horace Ma] (The Crossing 太平轮, 2014-15) and the unexaggerated monochrome costuming of Chen Minzheng 陈敏正 (Phurbu & Tenzin 西藏天空, 2014). The soundtrack, by the eclectic Lao Zai 捞仔 [Loudboy] – aka Wu Liqun 吴立群, a regular with director Ding Sheng 丁晟 – is also suitably spare: duelling zithers that recall the original musical inspiration for Zhang’s House of Flying Daggers 十面埋伏 (2004).
Despite Shadow and Hero‘s opposing looks, their stories are remarkably similar – tales that spin on deception and intrigue, and involve assassination at the highest level. In Hero the setting was the Warring States period that gave rise to a China under a single emperor; in Shadow the setting is the equally contentious and arguably much more bloody period of the Three Kingdoms (AD 220-280), a favourite with writers and film-makers (Red Cliff 赤壁, 2008-09). For all that, however, the film may just as well be set in an unspecified, war-torn period of Ancient China: the palace in which much of the action is set is an abstract thing of shadows, partitions and dark places with no sense of architecture or geography, and shown largely in medium shot or close-up, while the small number of external scenes are studio fabrications, half imaginary, half rain-soaked manga.
As an atmospheric dissertation on the psychology of power, the script by Li Wei 李威 and Zhang – from a story by veteran historical writer Zhu Sujin 朱苏进 (Let the Bullets Fly 让子弹飞, 2010) – is stronger on portraying duplicity than the shattered sense of identity of the “shadow” – a man who was plucked from his city as an eight-year-old and raised to be the protective double of an army commander. When his time finally comes to take the stage in an elaborate coup, he’s torn between duty to the commander and love for the commander’s wife, a conflict that could imperil the whole mission. Deng is quite a presence in the double role, and almost unrecognisable as the manic commander (all hair waving in the breeze), but the screenplay doesn’t nail what should be the central role of the “shadow”, leaving a big hole in the drama.
Maybe that’s half the point – that he doesn’t really have a character beyond being a pawn in a larger drama – but it’s the other actors who make more of a dramatic mark in smaller bits. Adopting a less portentous tone than many of the cast, Hu Jun 胡军 is suitably imposing as the commander’s enemy nemesis; Deng’s actress wife Sun Li 孙俪 (Mural 画壁, 2011) ditto as the commander’s regal, sexually charged wife; and lantern-faced character actor Wang Qianyuan 王千源, here back in a supporting role after attempts at leading roles, very fine as a Pei general. It’s Zheng, however, who dominates the finale, as the duplicitous, seemingly weak Pei king who finally reveals his true colours.
Action by the experienced Gu Xuanzhao 谷轩昭 (The Four 四大名捕, 2012; Journey to the West: Conquering the Demons 西游 降魔篇, 2013; Mermaid 美人鱼, 2016; Legend of the Naga Pearls 鲛珠传, 2017) is kinetically staged, from the climactic swordfight on a mountain platform to warriors with bladed umbrellas whizzing down rainy streets, but is more a construct of camera angles and editing than something to be appreciated for its artistry. In the event, that’s fine, given the whole artificiality of the movie, and is no less effective as the 20-minute duel/battle sequence unfolds at the climax. If only the rest of the film had the same emotional power.
CREDITS
Presented by Le Vision Picures (Beijing) (CN), Shanghai Tencent Pictures Culture Media (CN), Perfect Village Entertainment HK (HK).
Script: Li Wei, Zhang Yimou. Original story: Zhu Sujin. Photography: Zhao Xiaoding. Editing: Zhou Xiaolin. Music: Lao Zai [Loudboy]. Production design: Ma Guangrong [Horace Ma]. Costume designer: Chen Minzheng. Sound: Yang Jiang, Zhao Nan. Action: Gu Xuanzhao. Special effects: Zhang Tao. Visual effects: Samson Wong, Nikos Kalaitzidis, Thomas Lautenbach, Armand Vladau (Zhang Yimou Studio, Digital Domain, Pixomondo).
Cast: Deng Chao (Ziyu, Pei commander; Jingzhou, his shadow), Sun Li (Xiao’ai, Ziyu’s wife), Zheng Kai (Pei Liang, king of Pei), Wang Qianyuan (Tian Zhan, Pei captain), Hu Jun (Yang Cang, general), Wang Jingchun (Lu Yan, Pei chief minister), Guan Xiaotong (Qingping, Pei Liang’s younger sister), Wu Lei (Yang Ping, Yang’s son).
Premiere: Venice Film Festival (Out of Competition), 6 Sep 2018.
Release: China, 30 Sep 2018; Hong Kong, tba.