Is ‘Hero’ Even Better Than ‘Crouching Tiger?’
We take a deep dive into Zhang Yimou’s martial arts epic
by Marc Walkow
Celebrating its 15th anniversary this year — though Miramax didn’t release it in the US until 2004, and even then only at the prodding of none other than Quentin Tarantino — Zhang Yimou’s Hero made a big splash at the time as the first foreign-language film to debut at the American box office at #1. Despite its popularity then, and the fact that it remains the third highest grossing foreign film ever released here, it’s a bit overdue for reappraisal, considering the dozens of other martial arts or Chinese war epics that have come out in its influential wake. Hero also seems to be easily forgotten when compared to the massive blockbuster status of Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000), which even gained a long-gestating sequel last year (a Netflix premiere of a Weinstein production), though it was poorly received by just about everyone. An unfair situation, given that Hero’s talent roster is equal to that of Crouching Tiger, and the film itself is at least as good, if not better, than its more well-known predecessor.
Until Hero came along, Zhang had never directed a martial arts film or period epic, although 1994’s brilliant family drama To Live might qualify in the “epic” regard, albeit on a more personal scale. His films had also been much smaller-scale and more modestly-budgeted, though well-received both critically and commercially at home and abroad (To Live took the Grand Jury Prize at Cannes despite having been banned by the Chinese government, and Zhang’s 1992 film The Story of Qiu Ju took the Golden Lion at Venice that year). But Hero allowed the director to work on a much larger scale, and with the full cooperation of the Chinese government and all its resources; shot all over the country and with a reported 18,000 extras participating in certain scenes, it was the biggest and largest-budgeted Chinese film ever made at the time. While Hero had obviously been made partially due to the international success of Crouching Tiger, Zhang’s next film was a more direct follow-up: 2004’s House of Flying Daggers, co-produced by Sony, which had also been behind Crouching Tiger, even though the follow-up was less successful both critically and commercially. Zhang’s success continues to this date; he was asked to direct the Opening Ceremonies for the 2008 Beijing Olympics and made a more recent international splash with the admittedly slumming effort The Great Wall, a $150 million Chinese production which stunt-cast Matt Damon as a European mercenary helping the locals to fend off CGI monsters.
Even with a powerhouse director at its helm and the estimable resources of the Chinese government supporting it, Hero outpaced its competition with its cast as well, giving its five main roles to the top box-office stars of the region, a who’s-who of Chinese celebrities circa 2002, all of whom are still international movie royalty. Mainland-born martial arts champion Jet Li returned to Chinese-language cinema for Hero after some success overseas with the likes of Lethal Weapon IV and Romeo Must Die, his first local production since 1997’s Once Upon a Time in China and America and Tsui Hark’s Black Mask (1996). Li portrays “Nameless,” a warrior who presents himself to the Qin king (Mainland actor Chen Dao-ming in a role supposedly originally offered to Jackie Chan) after having defeated three assassins after the royal’s head. Much like Masaki Kobayashi’s samurai tale Harakiri (1962), the film’s events proceed as flashbacks told by this seated protagonist, with the tales hewing closer to objective truth as the film goes on.
Cast for a single action sequence showing how “Nameless” defeated the first of the trio of assassins, China-born but U.S.-raised martial arts superstar Donnie Yen portrays “Sky,” the master of the long spear. Yen had been cast at the suggestion of Li himself, after another actor proved unsuited to the role; it was the first reunion of the two action performers since Tsui Hark’s 1992 film Once Upon a Time in China 2, which had been a breakout role for Yen. In the meantime he had had supporting roles in good films (Dragon Inn, Iron Monkey) as well as leading roles in not-so-good films (Asian Cop: High Voltage, Ballistic Kiss), plus work in the U.S. in Highlander and Blade sequels. But Li’s graciousness allowed Yen to shine in a showcase role that displayed not only his astonishing martial arts skill but also his great charisma; it undoubtedly led to him being cast in Jackie Chan and Owen Wilson’s Shanghai Knights the following year, plus the resurgence of his career that began with 2005’s SPL (aka Kill Zone) and continues to this day. In fact, of all the actors in Hero, it’s probably Yen who has the most successful career nowadays, having been christened the go-to star of contemporary Hong Kong action cinema, and the inheritor of Jackie Chan’s throne.
For the remaining two assassins, Zhang needed a pair of actors who could handle the dramatic and emotional demands of two important roles which included not only fighting, but also some heavily emotional acting. And so he cast two famous Hong Kong actors who had had experience making martial arts films without practical training in the discipline, but who were more importantly recognized for their dramatic talents most of all, having appeared together in Wong Kar-wai’s In the Mood for Love (2000) among many, many other important films. As assassins Broken Sword and Flying Snow, Zhang couldn’t have done better than Tony Leung Chiu Wai and Maggie Cheung. In the same year, Leung had appeared in the ridiculous Chinese Odyssey 2002 and the sublime Infernal Affairs, and although his career has slowed down recently, his collaborations with John Woo and Wong Kar-wai remain some of the finest Hong Kong films ever made. Cheung seems to have put herself into retirement since 2010, and Hero was one of her last Chinese-language roles. Nevertheless, her career in Hong Kong cinema remains one of the most prestigious an actress has ever had, and she continues to be recognized internationally as a superstar. Her pairing with Leung in Hero is magnificent, and the ever-changing, Rashomon-style flashback structure of the film allows the duo to explore a variety of emotional relationships, from feuding couple, to hateful revenge, to achingly romantic suffering and loss. More so than poster boy Li, Leung and Cheung are the heart of Zhang’s film.
Apart from these four, plus Chen and Zhang discovery Zhang Ziyi as Broken Sword’s apprentice / lover Moon, making her second major international appearance after Crouching Tiger, the rest of the cast is comprised primarily of extras; for such an expansive film, its roster of players is remarkably intimate. But like its main cast, the behind-the-scenes talent of Hero is also comprised of Chinese-language film all-stars. Former Tsui Hark collaborator Tony Ching Siu-tung handled the plentiful action, and Academy Award-winning Japanese costume designer Emi Wada mirrored her gorgeous, color-coordinated work on Akira Kurosawa’s Ran (1985), and also went on to do costumes for Zhang’s Flying Daggers two years later. Chinese composer Tan Dun, who had come to international notice with his work on Crouching Tiger, created the lush and percussive score for Hero. And perhaps most importantly, Australian-born cinematographer Christopher Doyle, who had made his name working on the films of Wong Kar-wai (including In the Mood for Love), contributed an astonishingly gorgeous look to the film which garnered him multiple awards and set the still-current high bar for what Chinese period epics are meant to look like.
Although its plentiful CGI effects are hopelessly dated and look quite dodgy at times (oh, those arrows), it’s amazing just how much of what’s onscreen in Hero is real or was created on-set, not least of which being the vast numbers of extras who appear as part of the king’s army. The size of the film is unbelievably massive, particularly the early scene where “Nameless” enters the Forbidden City (familiar from Bertolucci’s The Last Emperor) , surrounded by thousands of armor-clad warriors; while one overhead shot is clearly CGI-enhanced, most of the sequence is done for real, with the coordinated movement of the soldiers a wonder to behold. Zhang’s own meticulousness during the making of the film is also well-documented, whether it was waiting months for the right weather to allow them to shoot the lake sequence over perfectly-still waters, or gathering leaves of a specific hue of yellow by hand for the forest battle scene between Cheung and Zhang.
The film’s dramatic themes also continue to hold resonance, perhaps even more so given China’s growing influence not only in world politics but also international filmmaking. Although Li’s “Nameless” and Chen’s king tell assorted tales with varying degrees of accuracy to each other, with personal perspective often blinding them to the truth, the Rashomon similarities end there: Hero ends in unmistakably objective reality, and nearly all of the characters’ true ends and motives are laid bare for the audience to experience. What moral ambiguity the film possesses lies in the final motives of “Nameless” as he exits the film, although Hero clearly ranks among the most deeply-felt film tragedies regardless of its (anti-) hero’s motives. While the moral lesson the assassin and the king teach each other — “All under heaven” — might seem a bit sinister given contemporary global politics (and probably that way to anyone in China’s sphere of influence in 2002), it’s undeniable a uniquely Eastern take on sacrifice and heroism. Less important than personal loss or glory is the realization that one is but part of the gigantic whole, and the choices one makes, even if they end one’s life, can be heroic even if they go unnoticed by future generations.
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