Fallen Angels Review (page 4)

On the technical side of things, this film has acting performances which vary from outstanding to merely workmanlike. Michelle’s is startling and complex, switching between nonchalant street chic and wracked emotional anticipation with a sureness that is impressive. Though she isn’t called upon to say a lot, WKW perfectly magnifies her motifs and mannerisms to cement a memorable performance. Takeshi, too, is impressive with his hyperactive energy providing a charisma which the camera eats up. Whereas his Chungking role was subdued nearing flaccidity, here his presence, like his hair, has taken on a new lease of life. Leon, though, is as blank as can be, his only interesting point being his connection to Michelle. This leaves his role rather inarticulate - and a performance which doesn’t really shine. Karen and Charlie both tackle roles which are difficult, and it is hard to imagine how actors can get ‘in’ to such characters - Karen’s portrayal works, to a degree, such that we feel some curiosity towards her, Charlie, though, is less impressive, and more artificial.

Production-wise, the sets are more carefully crafted than Chungking’s, trading spontaneity for a hyper-reality of texture and feel. William Chang’s designs mix motifs and cultures, flavour and taste to create a stylised montage of clashed worlds in the present: cheongsams and fishnet stockings, iconic neons texturing the living space with the flow of modernity. Sound and cinematography are predictably excellent. Chris Doyle’s active camera has a strength of expression which ensures interest, and brings the viewer into active contact with the tale. This results in a film which, for even those who dislike WKW agree, is spectacular to experience, second to none. The sound, too, is excellent, merging ‘ordinary’ trendiness (trip hop and quirky pop) with daffy and touching moments (the end rendition of Only You and local opera), and clever snippets along a range of media within Hong Kong (television and radio, local news and international history). WKW weaves all this into a fabric which utilises his technical mastery, albeit not just for technical ends but to further the ability which a film has to connect to emotions; to actively re-imagine the portrayal of conscious existence, rather than to merely scratch the aesthetic surface.

And those who experienced Chungking Express can enjoy, too, the connection to that film. References abound, re-spinning and inverting concepts espoused in Chungking - often directly, such as in Takeshi’s ‘philosophy’ speeches, though also indirectly, such as in ideas of impermanence and change. There are clever contrasts (between the ‘0.01 cm’ proximity concept in Chungking, and the physical separation of Leon and Michelle) and comparisons too (like between the screwball play of Faye Wong, and the exotic darkness of Michelle Reis, both performing lone domestic chores). WKW plays with technical contrasts: wide angle here compared to Chungking’s telephoto; the way the stories are juxtaposed. In the end, these amount to more than self-reflection: there exists a neatness of expression which allows WKW to play on Chungking whilst acknowledging what possibilities lie beyond that film. Each reference summarises a symmetry which stretches concepts beyond their original expression - and the result is that Fallen Angels, whilst being a film which stands on its own, can also be appreciated as an expansion of the concepts which made up Chungking, into territories which that film didn’t cover.

If one still needs final confirmation of the ability of WKW to wed technical mastery to artistic vision, consider the scene when Leon hears the jukebox song, ‘Forget Him’, for the second time. The song is the highly contrived method he uses to reject Michelle, and it is this sense of contrivance which initially grabs the viewer. Yet, when we and Leon hear the song for the second time, the sense of haunting irony and emotional recollection is just right. Leon is in the Japanese restaurant (where Takeshi worked - their paths cross at this point, although without narrative significance), talking to the boss about his future plans. Then, with casualness, the boss or Takeshi puts the song on. Despite the different setting, and the fact hammered home to us that the song is insignificant for the others, to Leon and us we are instantly transported to the bar with the jukebox which links him and Michelle. The absolute inversion of mood and instant alienation from the present is so perfectly executed that, at first, it seems a fluke. However, on further viewing it becomes apparent how WKW’s scheme makes the scene so effective. It is not just the song which connects us, but further motifs, some which work at a subconscious level. Leon’s sideways glance suddenly puts the restaurant - the present - into the background, as we see his face in a distorted reflection. This recalls a theme of the bar scenes: the way they are shot - in a mirror, its refractions ingraining the character to the texture of the location. And so the mirror motif is an embodiment of Leon’s recollection, a resonance subconsciously representing him ‘seeing’ into his past. This marriage of technique to vision shows that WKW does not simply use artifice for its own sake, and it shows his advantage in that he dares use such innovations, risking accusations of technical obsession, but proving that the result is profoundly human.

So is the film any good then? As one can probably tell, this reviewer is fairly in awe of the way the film is expressed, but is it liked? As ever, this depends on whether one likes WKW. This movie actually proves to be divisive: many people see too much style, whilst others appreciate how WKW throws off the shackles of responsibility to craft a movie which is both off-the-wall and emotionally engaging. To some, this film typifies WKW, for good or bad, whilst others find it more of an exercise beyond his usual territory. My own opinion is that WKW isn’t prolific enough for Fallen Angels to typify him, but it clearly has an iconic quality. However, I also feel that the film is within WKW’s usual range, even if the expression is extreme. To conceptually bind his films, many have cited solitude, solipsism, alienation and unrequited love as being common factors. The last factor is perhaps erroneous in that WKW doesn’t seem to concentrate on the fact of love unrequited per se: he seems more interested in the expression of love unilaterally, from the individual viewpoint, irrespective of whether it is requited. Fallen Angels lends support to this, in that Saito-san’s love for his family may be requited, and we know that Takeshi’s connection to his father is bilateral. Even when we see both sides of the relationship - Leon and Michelle - WKW draws emotion from the disunity of their unilateral emotions, rather than allowing them to empathise together.

Fallen Angels also exhibits the characteristic WKW sense of hope. But, as has been acknowledged, he doesn’t contrive this out of the narrative: in fact, he deliberately challenges the viewer to see the narrative’s contradictory nature. This gives the viewer the option of seeing both the hope and the tragedy - neither can be taken for granted. In this sense, this is one of the most distinctive and accomplished WKW films. Add to this the fact that the film also carries a sense of enthrallment tied up with its emotional depth, combining uplifts and epiphanies with insight and feeling, and Fallen Angels is definitely WKW on form. As for liking the film, that’s a matter of taste: I treasure it, but I do acknowledge that the film isn’t made to be easily liked - there are factors that will turn some people off: the film challenges the viewer to ask why there should be any involvement at all. But if one sticks with the movie and retains an open mind, the experience is profound and memorable.

Forget him: memory, in the sense of recollection or even nostalgia, is something very often derided by critics as too sentimental and escapist. Yet, the whole point, as WKW shows, is that there is no such thing as an uncoloured memory. Even so-called shared memories of cultural identity will hold an underlying flavour based on the individual. This is even more significant when we own the same products or listen to the same music - that we can hold memories based on these same things, yet with vastly different, individual meanings is what defines who we are