Mandarin title:  《苹果》

With its sex scenes and sordid look at Beijing life, Lost in Beijing was banned in China for some pretty obvious reasons, though the biggest reason may be that, unlike Ang Lee, director Li Yu just doesn't have the connections to get a film like Lost in Beijing past the censors, even though she cut the film heavily for the Chinese screens.  As a result, Lost in Beijing was labeled "pornographic" and kept out of the Chinese market for months, though that means nothing to millions of curious Chinese who have already downloaded the film from the Internet or bought it from DVD shops.

Many Western critics have applauded Li Yu for the film, and likened it to Lust, Caution, perhaps because of the "Western" style of the love scenes.  By comparison, the love scenes in other Chinese films resemble Western movies of the 1950s -- a discrete fade to black.  I don't mean this as criticism.  In fact, putting a lot of sex into a film doesn't make it good.  And such is the cause with Lost in Beijing, which has the kernel of an excellent film but is dragged down by a meandering plot and not really helped by the sex scenes.

The basic story centers around Liu Pingguo, a masseuse in an upscale Beijing massage parlor, who is played by Fan Bingbing in what is frankly one of her best performances to date.  One fateful day, a drunken Pingguo is raped by her drunken boss Lin Dong (Tony Leung Ka-fai) and winds up pregnant a few weeks later.  Pingguo's husband An Kun, a window-washer played by Tong Dawei, seizes upon her pregnancy as a chance to extort money out of of Lin Dong, whose business and connections have made him super-rich, albeit trashily so.  Along the way, An Kun also starts an improbable, revenge-based affair with Lin Dong's wife Wang Mei.

Lin Dong, who is childless, agrees to pay the couple money and pass off Pingguo as a surrogate mother for his and Wang Mei's child.  This makes An Kun delighted, though Pingguo is more or less forced into the arrangement.  Things go sour in the end, however, as An Kun becomes increasingly jealous of the parental relationship between Lin Dong and Pingguo and winds up kidnapping the baby.  The ultimate result of the story I won't spoil for interested viewers.

Many parts of the film ring true for urban Chinese life.  The film's depiction of the lifestyle of massage parlors and KTVs is spot on, and Tony Leung Ka-fai's gangsterish, prostitute-soliciting, Mercedes-driving massage parlor boss is a man I've seen or met countless times in Tianjin.  Likewise, the documentary-style snippets of people living and playing in a smoggy Beijing setting are refreshingly realistic, as is the backstory of Pingguo and her husband, who have moved to Beijing to make a living. The movie also gives us a look at the subculture of Chinese bribery several times, such as when An Kun bribes Pingguo's doctor to "determine" the baby's paternity.

However, the film fails on two counts.  The first is a matter of simple aesthetics.  The gorgeous Fan Bingbing takes the Charlize Theron route and de-glamorizes herself for her role, and this I can accept.  But Tong Dawei is simply not believable as a window-washer:  no manual laborers have his fair complexion and nice teeth and none of them would appeal to a fashionable fortysomething Chinese woman like Wang Mei.

The second and more damning point is the way the plot develops after the shocks of the opening act.  Lost in Beijing begins as a grim look at life in Beijing and the stark divisions between the Chinese underclass and the new rich.  If it had stayed that movie, Lost in Beijing could have been one of the great films of 2007.  However, once the extortion plot gets into full swing, the movie transforms into a black comedy.  Lin Dong is no longer a sleaze but instead a happy, sappy father-to-be.  And the relationship between An Kun and Wang Mei is unquestionably there as a humorous subplot.  Even the way the kidnapping is resolved speaks to comedy:  Lin Dong is impossibly gracious to An Kun, whereas a real-life Lin Dong would have savaged him.  By the time Lost in Beijing finally returns to a serious mode in the closing act -- signaled by the death of Pingguo's co-worker -- the detour into humor has already done its damage, leaving audiences with a deeply schizophrenic movie.

Finally, another aspect of Lost in Beijing that may unsettle some viewers is the way Pingguo is horribly mistreated by the people around her.  She is less a heroine than a victim, but her seeming unwillingness to rectify the situation left me cold to her.  I wouldn't say her character distracts from the storyline, exactly, but it adds to the viewer's central dilemma of having no one to root for or identify with in the movie.

In all, the film is worth watching, but one hopes that future Chinese filmmakers look at Lost in Beijing and find themes that need exploring while avoiding the flaws present throughout the plot.

Rating:  3 out of 5 stars

Mandarin title:  《色戒》

When I asked my students in 2007 who the greatest Chinese director is, nearly half of them said Ang Lee.  This despite the fact that most of them had never seen an Ang Lee film, and also despite the fact that the first Ang Lee film to become famous in China and the rest of the world, Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, was mocked relentlessly by Chinese on the mainland.  This newfound love and respect for Lee just goes to show what the Oscar will do for you.

Thankfully, the Oscar-winning Lee continues to be innovate rather than rest on his laurels.  (Zhang Yimou, take note.)  His latest effort, 2007's controversial Lust, Caution, builds on Lee's previous themes while giving audience a richly textured portrayal of wartime Shanghai.

Like his Hong Kong contemporary Wong Kar-wai, Lee seems fascinated by the subject of love and torment.  In Crouching Tiger... it was the unspoken love between Chow Yun-fat and Michelle Yeoh's characters; in The Incredible Hulk, the subject wasn't love so much as the anger that can flow from love denied; and in Brokeback Mountain the main characters are famously troubled by gay love at a time when being gay was socially unacceptable.  In Lust, Caution, Lee continues this theme with a Hitchcockian tale of a Chinese traitor and a Nationalist agent out to seduce him, and who, in turn, is seduced by him.

As the female lead Wong Chia Chi, who poses as a wealthy socialite named Mrs. Mak, Tang Wei offers a startlingly powerful performance in her portrayal of a young Chinese girl who is manipulated by forces on both sides of the Sino-Japanese War as she sets a trap for the collaborator Mr. Yee.  She begins as an idealistic actress performing in nationalistic plays with the theme of "China must not die," and is soon compelled by members of her theater troupe to put that motto into action.  The film's comic moments come early on, as the troupe decides to stop acting on stage and start acting in reality.

Tang Wei's Miss Wong/Mrs. Mak outshines Tony Leung in his performance as Mr. Yee, arguably because Leung's character will seem quite familiar to anyone who's seen 2046 -- his glowering, malevolent Mr. Yee is the darker side of the already dark coin Leung showed to us as the spiritually hollow Mr. Chow in 2046.  This is not to say that Leung isn't menacing as he tortures and murders his way through the anti-Japanese resistance, it's just that his performance is not as novel as Tang's.

Lust, Caution is infamous for the sadomasochistic and quite explicit love scenes between Mrs. Mak and Mr. Yee, and the film suffered a number of cuts before release in mainland China.  Having seen both the Chinese version and the international version of the film, I was struck how the cuts leave us with a film that is watchable yet puzzling.

The Chinese version is compelling enough that I could call Lust, Caution a good film even without the sex.  And yet, we never really see how Mr. Yee could establish such a strong hold over Mrs. Mak, or how, in turn, she could make him fall in love.  This is because Ang Lee uses the sex scenes to accomplish what dialogue does not, and the Chinese version would be better had Lee shot some additional footage to fill in the noticeable story holes.

For most Western audiences, the love scenes will seem a bit startling, though probably not offensive.  The bigger mark against Lust, Caution will be that it is too long.  Yet, students of Chinese history might find the time well spent.  I enjoyed the depiction of Shanghai, right down to the Shanghai branch of Tianjin's Kiessling's bakery where Tang Wei waits in the opening and close of the film.  Also, as noted elsewhere, Lee is presenting his mostly-mainland Chinese audience with a daringly different narrative of the war:  the Nationalists, far from being cowards, also fought the Japanese.  While more acceptable in these years of CCP-KMT reconciliation, it goes against decades of Chinese political messages, though few Westerners will really appreciate it.

Overall, in both its cut and uncut versions, Lust, Caution is a good but not great film that is rich in atmosphere and buoyed by a strong performance from Tang Wei.

Rating:  4 out of 5 stars

Mandarin title: 《无间道》

Many moviewatchers will come to Andrew Lau's Infernal Affairs after seeing Martin Scorcese's remake The Departed, and though doing so will essentially spoil the key plot of the earlier film, the style and texture of both films is distinct, with Scorcese's film the gritty and crude Boston cousin of Lau's slick and moody Kowloon masterpiece.

Telling the story of a dueling moles in a crime syndicate and the police department, respectively, Infernal Affairs treats the audience to a thrilling game of cat and mouse as the two moles -- played by Tony Leung and Andy Lau -- try to stay alive long enough to discover the other's identity.

Leung plays Yan, an undercover officer infiltrating the gang of Kowloon kingpin Boss Sam (Eric Tsang).  Tsang isn't given the chance to chew scenery like his counterpart Jack Nicholson in the American film, but as Boss Sam he credibly menaces his men and the police alike.

Faced with extreme stress after working undercover for ten years, Yan is asked to see a psychiatrist, Dr. Lee (played by Kelly Chen).  While this provides Yan with an opportunity for a love interest, Lee's character is flat and the interaction between Chen and Cheung barely suggests romantic attraction.

Yan's opposite in the story is Inspector Lau, played by Andy Lau, who was also planted ten years prior by Sam, and rises high in the ranks of the police department.  Though he tries to discover Yan's identity, Yan reports only to Inspector Wong (Anthony Wong), leaving Lau in the dark.  Lau is also given a love interest in the movie, and their relationship seems more plausible, despite the fact that we are introduced to them as a couple in medias res.

After our hero and anti-hero are established, the film follows the police as they struggle to bring Sam to justice and Sam as he escapes trap after trap with Lau's help.  The film has an excellent way of ratcheting up the tension as the viewers try to guess which of the moles will be caught.  Eventually, however, Boss Sam "rises above his station" -- which in Chinese philosophy always leads to one's downfall -- and comes to a bloody end.

Compared to The Departed, Infernal Affairs feels a little fast, a little incomplete.  Scorcese offers lengthy exposition for scenes that Infernal Affairs breezes through.  To be fair, Scorcese's film borrows material from Infernal Affairs II and runs 50 minutes longer than the Hong Kong original.  What's more, Lau manages to accomplish in 101 minutes what many Hong Kong gangster films cannot -- provide us with a taut, plausible thriller that pulls us into the dangerous lives of cops and criminals.

Rating:  4 out of 5 stars

Mandarin title: 《不能说的秘密》

Secret is the first film directed by Jay Chou, a newcomer to the film world who is more famous for his innovative approach to Chinese pop music.  Unfortunately, Chou's penchant for innovation isn't really reflected in Secret, which takes most of its cues from Korean and Hong Kong romantic dramas.

In fact, as far as imitations go, Secret is a skillfully made, albeit flawed copy.  First two-thirds of the film is a plausible, sweet, and subtle story of school love between music students Jay (Chou is not only directing but also playing a character named Jay) and Rain (played by Taiwanese actress Gwai Lun-mei).  People familiar with the work of Wong Kar-wai will instantly recognize the theme of "restrained" love between the two characters.

Fans of music will also appreciate the piano work throughout the movie, and the David Fincher-esque zooming into the machinery of the piano during a "piano duel" helps transform an almost absurd scene into something cool.

Secret is first and foremost a movie about love, though the love story never drags and is buoyed by frequent comic relief.  In addition to the gags provided by a pair of school rugby hooligans, accomplished Hong Kong star Anthony Wong gives a memorable turn as Jay's father, adding both humor and style to the story.

Things are going too well for Jay and Rain through the first half, which leaves viewers waiting for the dramatic twists that will threaten to tear the lovers apart.  Leaving aside a poorly developed asthma subplot, the first real twist comes from the usual quarters -- the "other woman."  In fact, she's not much in the way of competition for Rain, and would be easily dispensed with were it not for the second dramatic twist, which is of a supernatural nature.

Without spoiling the plot, the audience learns in a very abrupt and confusing way that Jay and Rain are not exactly from the same world.  This revelation comes gift-wrapped with a long flashback, but the sudden shift will leave some viewers dissatisfied with the "secret" of the movie.

This brings us to the other flaws in the presentation.  Chou unwisely decides to shift from a cinematic style to a music video style during the "big reveal," which saps the drama of the moment.  He makes the same mistake at the climax of the film, which again feels like a music video.  Moreover, during the denouement, the movie arguably breaks its own rules and leaves an essential paradox untouched and unconsidered.

Caveats aside, Chou's acting has improved since Curse of the Golden Flower, and his directorial skills show promise.  Secret isn't perfect, but it is a good date movie, and the dramatic twist, while a bit silly, is thankfully never as heavy-handed as some of the Korean films Secret resembles.

Rating:  3 out of 5 stars

All of this changed in 2000, when Zhang went forward with Hero, a martial arts epic inspired by a combination of Rashomon, Mao Zedong's interpretation of the Historical Records, and the success of Crouching Tiger, and made possible through foreign investment Zhang was allowed to secure for the project, which promised not to push any sensitive buttons on the mainland. Hero was an international hit, and Zhang followed up with another wu xia picture with a cast drawn from Hong Kong, Taiwan, and mainland China -- House of Flying Daggers.

Zhang and his former collaborator and rival Chen Kaige gained fame in the 1980s and 1990s as serious directors of provocative films, and Chen certainly took notice of Zhang's commercial success with Hero and Flying Daggers. So he, too, announced that he would make a wu xia film. Thus, The Promise came into being.

The Promise revisits much of the material we've seen in other martial arts fantasies: lush, CGI-enhanced visuals, wicked wire fu battles, and a twisting story of love and betrayal. Yet Chen goes a step farther in this film, making it less a pure wu xia story and more a synthesis of Chinese martial arts film and Japanese anime. Indeed, the film in its highest moments often resembles a live-action version of "Final Fantasy." When things get silly, on the other hand, the influences of "Dragonball Z" can be found.

Much as Flying Daggers used a diverse cast to increase the movie's appeal throughout Asia, so too does Chen's Promise draw together international stars, with Korea's Jang Dong-kun, Japan's Hiroyuki Sanada, and Hong Kong's Cecilia Cheung and Nicholas Tse playing the main characters. While commercially advantageous, such casting is not without its drawbacks: Jang's Mandarin is limited, and his acting consists mainly of showing off his soulful eyes, though, as viewers of his Korean films know, he is capable of so much more. Since his character, the mysterious slave Kunlun, is the protagonist of the film, Jang's threadbare dialogue severely limits both the depth of his performance and the chemistry between him and Cheung. In fact, the love triangle feels forced on all sides, though this is more a weakness of the storyline than the acting, as Cheung and especially Sanada give capable performances.

The Chinese cast is also lacking in points. The silky Nicholas Tse portrays the main villain of the film, Wuhuan, whose stylized weaponry and black-and-white army is the movie's biggest nod to "Final Fantasy." Yet while visually impressive, Tse's Wuhuan is a preening peacock who never quite seems threatening, even when committing mass murder. Sadly, Tse is representative of the young generation of Chinese actors, whose finely polished exteriors are poor substitutes for passionate intensity. Andy Liu would have done better in the role, but the story called for a younger actor.

The plot is typically convoluted, and the viewer quickly loses interest as the movie transitions from one swirl of color and violence to another. Set in a world that is Asian but not distinctly Chinese, the film opens with a young girl, Qingcheng (Cheung), who wanders a corpse-strewn battlefield in search of food. Running from danger, she chances upon the Goddess Hanshen, who grants a Faustian boon: Qingcheng will live a life of luxury and power, with the caveat that all of her loves will come to ruin. Her rise magically empowered by Hanshen's promise, Qingcheng becomes what Tang poet Li Shangyin called a "world-tilting beauty," with kings and generals alike seeking to possess her. Two of the men vying to control her are the aforementioned Wuhuan and the great General Guangming (Sanada).

Guangming, whom Sanada infuses with wonderful bluster, has his own run-in with Hanshen, and she makes a wager that alters his destinty. Wounded by a mysterious assassin, Guangming sends his retainer Kunlun to rescue the king while wearing the general's fabled Crimson Armor. A twist of fate foretold by Hanshen finds Kunlun the assassin of the king and rescuer of Princess Qingcheng. From there, a case of mistaken identity -- Kunlun was wearing the general's armor, after all -- prompts a love triangle between Guangming, Kunlun, and Qingcheng, yet the whole enterprise was so devoid of chemistry that I found myself not caring.

Wuhuan plots against them the whole time, capturing Qingcheng, then capturing Kunlun, then capturing Guangming, then capturing Qingcheng again, then capturing Kunlun again. In-between all these capturings we are treated with beautiful scenery and sometimes spectacular battles and we almost learn the story of Kunlun, who comes from a race of people gifted with magical speed. Had Chen actually taken care to explore Kunlun's history fully rather than forcing us to endure the cliched love triangle and hollow theatrics of Wuhuan, the film would've risen to the level of Hero or Crouching Tiger. As is, the storyline and plotting makes The Promise even worse than even the muddled Flying Daggers.

The conclusion of the film, which apes the end of Hamlet but comes up short on excitement, leaves us with more questions than answers, and contributes to an impression that The Promise is an incomplete story, a shame given that the film is over two hours long. In fact, the ambiguous denouement suggests that Chen, having already squandered his artistic talents once to make The Promise, may squander them yet again to make a sequel.

Rating:  3 out of 5 stars