Viewers who like their martial-arts epics fast-paced, or even medium-paced, will certainly find challenges in The Assassin, a Taiwanese film that inserts a lovely professional killer into the even lovelier court of a provincial governor in ninth-century China. It’s not really a criticism to say that the movie is glacially paced; it’s designed to lull more than thrill, to tantalize more than engage. If it’s often frustrating as a narrative, though, it’s wholly satisfying as a cinematic art exhibit. The Assassin is, without doubt, one of the most beautiful movies of the year (perhaps of the decade). It’s hard to call it entertaining, but it’s certainly rewarding.
Even director Hou Hsiao-Hsien’s most fundamental creative choices seem calculated to evoke classical art rather than the wuxia conventions he’s appropriating. Hou shoots in a nearly square Academy ratio rather than widescreen, so his frames automatically lend themselves more readily to breathtaking landscapes than breathless action sequences. Actually, even calling The Assassin a martial-arts film creates expectations that might be left unsatisfied—perhaps as many as five of its 107 minutes are devoted to the gliding, gravity-defying combat that has come to define the genre.
Instead, The Assassin unfolds like a treasure hunt. Hou often favors static camera setups and long takes, so you’re left to search the frame for subtle nuances—the turn of a head, or even the quick shift of a glance—that stand in for any broader sense of character or plot development. It’s a technique that’s often more interesting than effective.
The Assassin takes place mostly in Weibo, a military province on the outskirts of Tang-dynasty China. The eponymous killer is Nie Yinniang (Shu Qi), a young woman who was abducted when she was 10 years old and raised by warrior-nun Jiaxin (Sheu Fang-yi), the enigmatic leader of a clan of female assassins.
As a killer, Yinniang is nearly without parallel; she is swift, patient, and utterly deadly. But for all her lethal ability—she bats away a flying sword as if it’s a carelessly thrown dart and hardly breaks a sweat as she fends off a half-dozen royal guards—Yinniang is a gentle soul. When she can’t bring herself to kill a politician in front of his young son, Jiaxin punishes her by sending her to Weibo to slay its governor, Lord Tian (Chang Chen). The catch is that Tian and Yinniang have a history that stretches back to their childhood, and his royal court includes the family from which she was abducted 13 years ago.
For much of the film, Yinniang feels more like an otherworldly force than a character. She doesn’t so much stalk her prey as haunt him, a presence lurking in the corner of his eye as she bides her time and watches the political turmoil that’s unfolding behind the gates of his palace.
As Yinniang watches, so do we, often from behind gauzy, billowing curtains and clouds of ceremonial smoke. Lengthy policy discussions stand in for elaborate martial-arts sequences, and the central question in The Assassin doesn’t concern Yinniang’s actions, but whether she will act at all.
It’s a wholly different experience than what you might expect. The Assassin is, by Western measures, elusive at best and plodding at worst; it doesn’t benefit from comparisons to the infinitely more exportable Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. As a storyteller, Hou seems bent on frustrating his viewers, or at least keeping them at a distance.
But as a visualist, it’s the highlight of his career so far. The Assassin is rich, densely textured, and impeccably shot, with images so stunning they’re impossible to forget. Not that you’ll want to—there’s no onscreen bloodletting, and not a single frame that would look out of place on a museum wall.
As loved as he is by international critics, Hou has mostly eluded popularity in America. The Assassin isn’t likely to change that. It earned rapturous applause at Cannes—not to mention the festival’s Best Director award for its filmmaker—and it’s an obvious choice for Taiwan’s Best Foreign Language Film bid in next year’s Oscar race. For all its sumptuous visuals and technical mastery, though, it’s a tough sell for audiences hoping for something a little more accessible. It’s not always an easy film to watch, but it’s a great film to have seen.
April Snellings is a staff writer and project editor for Rue Morgue Magazine, which reaches more than 500,000 horror, thriller, and suspense fans across its media platforms. She recently joined the lineup of creators for Glass Eye Pix's acclaimed audio drama series Tales from Beyond the Pale, an Entertainment Weekly “Must List” pick that has been featured in The Wall Street Journal and The New York Times.
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