2046

周慕雲與蘇麗珍的戀情是時空的一次錯摸，周慕雲自始被困在2046號房間，那裡有他與蘇麗珍最精彩的時光，也有他最深藏的秘密；可以說，周慕雲的心從來沒有離開過2046。為了維繫自己與現實世界的紐帶，他塑造出半自傳式的小說人物木村，讓他帶著周慕雲的秘密離開2046，以謎般笑容睥睨天下間沉淪在潮濕的回憶世界的眾生(包括現實世界中的自己)。但是，這個充滿自嘲意味的人物卻是個不中用的傢伙，他雖然離開了，卻忍不住一次又一次地回去，重複著希臘神話中Sisyphus的輪迴惡夢。「你願意跟我走嗎？」木村一次又一次地追問機械人王菲，明知道她不會有答案、她的沉默也不是一種答案，而更重要的是，這個機械人並不是他所追求的對象！他問的已不再是一條實質的問題，而是一條rhetorical question，因為這條問題的真正對象，也就是《花樣年華》中的蘇麗珍，已經從周慕雲的世界中徹底抹消。

小說中的木村替周慕雲揹上一切感情包袱，令現實中的周慕雲能夠把男女之間的關係蒸餾至僅存情慾。他對白玲的冷漠，並不是為了裝酷而擠出來的，而是他的人生態度。他並不認為自己傷害了任何人。房東大女兒觸動了周慕雲對蘇麗珍的感情，但他不敢造次，躲在暗處偷偷張望，像個生怕被揭發偷腥的和尚一樣踟躕著腳步慢慢靠近，最後還是退下陣來。鞏俐和王菲是《花樣年華》中蘇麗珍的兩個reincarnations，也是在周慕雲的回憶中，對蘇麗珍最印象深刻的兩個側面：前者代表離別時的銘深刻骨，而後者則是交往時的溫馨窩心，也是一個重生的契機。周慕雲選擇了放棄，因此小說的結局改不了，也不知道從何改起。

跟王家衛過去的作品一樣，《2046》的每一格膠片都美得叫人窒息。我相信所有被王家衛拿來當草稿的膠片應有"雖死猶榮"之歎：沒有你們，便沒有《2046》！配樂也是第一流的。《2046》最大的問題是拍攝經年，故事焦點和節奏有欠理想，而且畫外音也用得過火－《重慶森林》那種展現角色內心思想的soliloquy變成了今天喋喋不休的monologue，是向抨擊他的觀眾妥協，還是對自己的表達力產生懷疑－我希望是前者。

Personal History by Katharine Graham

Although lauded for her journalistic integrity during the Watergate fallout, the late Katharine Graham is in fact not much of a hero, or for that matters, someone with particularly admirable traits. In her autobiography, she reminiscences the life of a daughter, a wife, a mother and a businesswoman overshadowed by and overly depended on the men surrounding her. She is constantly looking for a dominant male figure to take her under his wing. She has no strong intention to take the centerstage, not even in the thick of challenges. She's there only for the ride, and so it seems.

Despite a relentless name-dropping frenzy, Mrs Graham comes across surprisingly honest in her book. Her personality literally shines through the pages. She hasn't so much as trying to take undue credits for the Post's achievements (she makes it very clear she has little to do with exposing the Watergate scandal), and has laid bare her own weaknesses to the amusement of the readers (she admits she's eager to please, which is only too obvious, and is haunted by feelings of insecurity, despontency and underachievement).

A few anecdotes about several US Presidents are recounted, but nothing that will make you ooh and aah. Personal History is a well-written and intimate account of a fantastic and eventful life that was hardly the making of the protagonist. Not that surviving the life of a rich parent's daughter, a franatic and suicidal genius' wife and the head of a national media conglomerate anything close to easy, but Mrs Graham seems habitually taking the back seat as if she's a bystander. Success is almost handed over to her. After all, born right is all that matters, at least that's what I have in mind when I turned the last page.

The Historian - by Elizabeth Kostovo

I let out a long exhale after I finish The Historian, not out of the excitement of an enthralling experience but a "thank God I waded it through" kind of relief. The book is dense, plodding, slow, constructed and, the deadliest of all flaws for a counter-factual fiction, far-fetched. Writing in the epistolary style is no easy feat and Ms Kostovo is simply not up to the challenge. All the letters are written in such a strange register inappropriate for the characters responsible for them and the huge amount of superfluous details soaking up every single page have only made the letters all the more plastic. The characters are phony and overly feminine. The ending is one of the weakest in recent memory, too. All in all, this book is hyped beyond belief.

Batman Begins

I was drumming my figures when I started writing this blog ten minutes ago. Do I like Batman Begins? Sure, I'm entertained, to a certain extent, but frankly, I don't like it...or maybe just a little. Yes I'm a nit-picking bastard, but there're too many problems for me to turn a blind eye to. David Goyer's screenplay is weak if not downright bad. All the silly pap about the nature of fear in the first act is so very passé, exactly the kind of material that doomed tons of novels to the bargain bin. The plotline on how and why Bruce Wayne commits himself to a criminal life is also poorly written (and shot). The motive is neither clear nor strong enough, or even relevant. True, his parents are killed before his eyes, but the perpetrator is only a street bum, not the mastermind of a giant crime syndicate or anything of that caliber. No matter how traumatizing the experience is for the young Bruce, it's simply not a reason good enough for him to embark on an anthropological investigation of human wickedness (and risk his life and limb by doing so) and be motivated to commit to the enormity of such an aspirationin as to rid Gotham of evil, instead of a more straightforward response, i.e. an-eye-for-an-eye revenge. Given that he chooses to be a loner hiding in the dark waiting for his prey, it's only too obvious that Bruce is a troubled lad. Avenging his parents is not at the top of his agenda. There lurks something deeper! Disappointingly, the screenplay never tries to leave the comfort zone. Samuel Fuller's Shock Corridor depicts a somewhat similar scenario, in which a reporter commits himself to a mental institution, in order to investigate a murder case and hopefully win himself a prize for it. He's also risking his neck in an entirely different sphere, but the motives are much more convincing. Bruce Wayne, by comparison, looks like a melodramatic fool. It's all too old-school and not as biting as it could have been, and I was hoping to see Nolan pushing the envelope. Once again, it proves that gifted director needs to stay in poverty to be creative.

Another gripe I have with Batman Begins is the production design. The look of Gotham City is a far cry from previous outings. The hybrid design of a modern cityscape featuring a comic-tinged ghetto just doesn't cut it. Batman is a larger-than-life character, not someone you'd expect to be living in your neighbourhood, and so the city he strives to protect should also be of striking difference from ours. Besides, Batman doesn't have any superpower. He's all blood and flesh. A realist approach strips him of the air of mystique so important to a masked hero, and turns him into a boy scout or 007 donned in lycra! Darn, he looks fetish! I left my conceptions of reality at the door only to be caught completely off guard by how close the film had stuck to it!

It's a tough act to rescue a tarnished franchise (thanks to Joel Schumacher), much tougher to reinvent without offending the die-hard fans. That explains why Goyer hasn't pulled any stunt with the screenplay. And with a steadfast focus to stay on the safe side, he borrows copiously from another hit in the superhero genre - Spiderman. Bruce stumbles as he takes on his new role as the Dark Knight, and reveals his secret to a girlfriend at the end - it's Spiderman 1 & 2 all over again! And when he's not borrowing ideas, he takes the short cut. So Morgan Freeman is given the role of a Santa Claus handing out candies in the basement: Need a suit? No problem! Weapons and gadgets? There on the shelves, go knock yourself out! A Batmobile, that's new! But I've got just what you need! If this is not lousy, I don't know what is! In fact, ain't Morgan Freeman just another Q?! I'm not going to stop just yet. What's wrong with Nolan when he shot those action sequences? All the tight shots and lightning-fast nauseating quick cuts have left my head spinning!

I try to take the good with the bad. The good being the decent performance of the cast, and the ultra-cool bat cave. But they aren't enough, are they?

Duplex

It's Sunday and I'm feeling lazy. So I switch on Cable and see what's on the movie channel. And there's Danny DeVito's Duplex, starring Ben Stiller and Drew Barrymore. I'm not a fan of the duo, but a few chuckles to tide me in till Monday-morning syndromes kick in is not such a bad idea. It turns out to be a dreadful, dreadful experience. I think it's meant to be a satire about how rent control makes apartment owner's life miserable. And it's quite successful at that, but not as a satire. We see how Stiller and Barrymore are tortured by a cunning old witch living upstairs in their newly-purchased duplex and how they come out at the end of the movie penniless, homeless, jobless and remain duped to the extent that they think of their abuser as a cute little lady. The whole movie relies on too many variations of one joke. And that old woman, aptly played by Eileen Essel, is so nasty to the point that I truly believe she's a worshipper of Beelzebul and is breathing fire when I'm not looking! There're a few funny moments but most of the time, I feel like strangling that old bag myself (that stupid couple comes next on my list). On second thought, I guess Danny DeVito should be the guy I go after. He should never quit his day job as an actor. Why I sat through the past 90 minutes is a mystery to myself. I guess boredom has got the best of my judgment again. Avoid this movie if you can!

Star Wars III: The Revenge of the Sith

It doesn't take a Jedi to sense a great disturbance in the Force. Star Wars III: The Revenge of the Sith crash lands in the theatre as yet another dumb movie, albeit having a somewhat richer (not better) story than the previous prequels. The first ten minutes of it is an orgy of CG effects as the lousy story struggles to set the stage for Anakin's ultimate transformation. But instead of being awed and inspired, the onslaught of cartoony CG is extremely tiring to watch given the constant sensory bombardment. It's all been that, done that. The mediocrity raises another notch with the subsequent gratuitous fight in the space cruiser's control tower (who in their right mind will bring two mighty Jedis to the control tower if not to let them wreck havoc on you and kick your sorry ass?); the awkwardly choreographed saber duel; and the super-duper cheesy emergency landing. It doesn't bode well for the rest of the movie, and I'm ready to send out my first distress signal.

And then the killing begins. First, the all-powerful Cont Dooku is slain like a little kitty (Christopher Lee must be pissed for his Saruman character was also treated like dirt by Peter Jackson). But, really, he shouldn't get too bitchy about it because Dooku's demise is already decent enough in comparison with our beloved heroes of the Jedi Council-Lord Windu is flung out of the window by Anakin, and the rest fall like flies by the hands of troopers! Lucas must have grown so weary of Jedis' self-righteousness and moral mumbo-jumbo that he decides to get rid of them in the most insulting and humiliating way! Fascinating! A near total absence of character depth has become the signature of the prequels for Lucas dumps characters like used condoms; but then again, they are so corny that you won't care much for any of them. So I bear with it, and wait for THE moment.

Anakin's turn to the dark side of the Force should be the darkest, the grimmest, the most heart-rending moment of the Star Wars saga, right? Unfortunately, it turns out to be a fart of the first degree: We are told Anakin has a premonition of Padme's death by childbirth. And before long, we see Anakin unleashes a killing spree, sparing no one in his path because Palpatine promises to teach him how to raise Padme from the dead, even though that crook never once shows him how exactly is that going to be done. Who wrote crap like this? Are we supposed to feel sorry for such a gullible coward? Lucas must honestly believe that our eyes will get all watery by the time Anakin wakes up in his Lord Vader costume and cries out NOOOOOOOOO!! This scene is destined to go down in the history of cinema as a textbook example of pure cinematic junk.

I don't think the chemistry between Anakin and Obi-Wan, arguably the two most important characters in the prequels, has ever sizzled. The moral cleavage between the master and the apprentice hasn't been satisfactorily explored, leaving two shallow characters no livelier than their CG-generated counterparts dwelling the same scene. And speaking of Lucas' love affair with CG, he may have given birth to this modern cinematic magic that glosses over tons of dreadful screenplays, but his complete reliance on it renders a live-action production such as Star Wars verging on being a cartoon. And to add to the insult, more often than not, the CG backdrop doesn't look that much different from traditional matt painting. I don't want to go into the acting and editing, which are just as disappointing as everything else. Lucas never seems to be able to put two and two together in figuring out the fate of Anakin and the Republic. He churns out one mediocre scene after another and infests them with ear-wilting-ly stupid dialogue. The Force is no longer (if it ever was) with Lucas. May episode 7, 8 and 9 never see the light of day.

Blade Trinity

Blade rides on the good ole theme we never grow tired of - Good vs Evil. But it warrants a different reading. Blade is both a vampire and a human, and he drifts between the human world and the vampire world. Being both at once makes him neither of them. He is a stain in the picture, and it's that very stain that maintains the balance and wholeness of the world. That's the charm of Blade and what makes the first two Blade movies successful.

Sadly, the franchise is fucked in Blade Trinity, to put it mildly. No wonder they have to end it. David Goyer said in the making-of special feature on the DVD that Blade was pitched to the studio as a three-part project which is nothing but bullshit. These days, if a studio or a filmmaker wants to milk a franchise for more bucks, they said all the sequels were meant to be in the first place. And speaking of sequels, I rather appreciate Dimension's honesty in that Final Destination 3 and Scary Movie 4 weren't planned from the get-go, they're just good business!

First the good thing, Jessica Biel is a hottie.

Now on to the bad. David Goyer is so full of shit when he talks about his vision for Blade Trinity, when there obviously is none! Dracula again, you heard me, Dracula! Bram Stoker's Dracula! It's fine if you can add some real twists to this all-too-familiar character (like Elias Merhige's brilliant Shadow of the Vampire which gives Nosferatu a whole new spin) , but a Dracula who talks about honor and knightship is just lame! Vampire as a mirror of human being and their paradoxical nature so well illustrated in the previous two films are ditched in favour of Alien-like monster kill-fest! Goyer even lets a smug psychologist theorize vampirism in the most trite terms at the beginning of the movie so as to discredit any inquiry into vampiric culture, and basically sets the stage for all out bravura and brawn. This is fine, too, if you can make the action right. But Goyer screws it up again! The chase sequences between Dracula and Blade feel like scenes stolen from NYPD Blues (Why does Dracula have to flee from Blade if he's so legendarily strong and invincible?! And why does the vampire king have to hold a baby hostage?!) and the final duel between them is a complete yawn. To rub salt to the wound, Goyer puts in a clown with a silly name: Hannibal King. What kind of handle is that?! Amidst all the ass-kicking and moral ambiguity promised by the Blade franchise, why do we need comic relief and recycled-trillion-time one-liners?

Moral of the story: Writers and directors are not interchangeable. They're two different species! A writer may dream up a lot of things in his mind, but the transformation to the silver screen through a myriad of lens require a completely different sort of mindset, one that can weave ideas into real images under the guidance of a singular vision (I mean what kind of vampire killer would need to listen to her iPod when she laid waste to the undead, huh?). The screenplay of the first two Blade movies are some of Goyer's best works - I'll give him that. And I look forward to seeing his treatment of Batman in Batman Begins (directed by Christopher Nolan and starring Christian Bale, a must-see).

Dogville

Lars von Trier is known for his peculiarity and as a die-hard experimentalist of modern cinema. Dogville brings to the plate just that. It is disturbing, the kind of film you either love it or hate it. Nicole Kidman, in one of her more stellar performances, portrays Grace, a ravishingly beautiful blonde doggedly pursued by mobsters. She bumps her way into a dead-end town under the Rocky Mt. named Dogville. As a fugitive and possibly someone on the wrong side of the law, the honest folks of Dogville greet her with great suspicion. She is granted two weeks of probationary stay and she labors herself to win the approval of the town. Happy times are cut short by repeated visits of the police. People of Dogville consider the risk too high and after deliberations, they reckon it's only fair to ask for a premium. Grace starts to work longer hours with less pay. Then abject humiliation and harassment are thrown in as a total package. After a failed escape, things get real ugly. Chained down like a dog, Grace is turned into a sex slave. It's, to say the least, extremely harrowing. But we wouldn't expect anything less from Trier.

The first scene begs difference from average cinema. There's barely any scenery. Starting with a bird's eye view, we see the doomed town with its plot laid out by chalk lines in a soundstage. Houses are stripped bare of walls except where it's neccessary to show their original purposes, e.g. the town bell, and the shopping window of a small shop. The characters are thus exposed to our naked eyes and so are their lies, cruelty, and bitterness. Later when Grace is raped by Chuck in his "transparent" shack, the townsmen's (or our) nonchalance to violence and injustice is more than graphically illustrated.

The central character is a self-proclaimed aspiring writer who barely writes anything at all, but in an attempt to find excuses for his less than productive writing endeavour he takes it upon himself to hold moral rearmament meetings for his fellow townsmen at the mission house. The unexpected arrival of Grace provides him with the "illustration" for his moral lessons he so desperately needs. He coaxes Dogville into accepting Grace, and that makes him giddy with accomplishment and self-satisfaction. But there's no genuine compassion for the weak. Everybody wants something from Grace, or just about anybody else. No one in this wretched little town is innocent, including the kids. It seems like Lars von Trier has this deep sense of disillusionment with humanity that he has finally had enough. In Breaking the Waves, Bess forgives and endures in order to redeem the soul of her husband. Grace, as we know by the last chapter of Dogville, also believes in forgiveness but this time, she concludes it's a losing game after all. It's not fear, despair, betrayal, pain, indignity or suffering, but grave disappointment that drives Grace to torch Dogville to the ground. She witnesses human souls, like the glassware Mr Henson grinded so thin, shatter into smithereens by their own weight. Her observation leads to a series of revelations which culminate in a violent ending. Violence, as suggested, is the only way to rip open the hypocrisy people rely on to hide their fraility. Both Grace and Bess, and even Selma in Dancer in the Dark, believe in sufferance and forgiveness, and thus have this air of religious martyrs or messengers from some higher powers about them ( even the name Grace is ominous). But this time, judgment has passed.

Some American critics lash the film from the angle of anti-Americanism, which is arrogance in grand display, the same thing Grace and her mobster father accuse each other of at the end of the film. Unembellished arrogance. The story may take place in America but the theme is universal. There's a bit of the Lord of the Flies in it that the real problem of human being comes from surviving each other, not unpredictable natural calamities. Kidman shines, and so is the ensemble cast. Paul Bettany is very convincing as the chicken-feet, pedantic opportunist, and the guest appearance of James Caan is delightful. Dogville isn't for eveyone, but I enjoy the mix of novel production, brilliant performance, old-fashioned melodrama and the unabashed critizisim on human nature.

"Kingdom of Hope" by Ryu Murakami

Ryu Murakami's "Kingdom of Hope" is a tale of decadence, destruction and just possibly, hope. It's my second encounter with Murakami since "Coin Locker Babies". Told from the point of view of a magazine reporter, the story spins around a group of junior high dropouts with a concrete plan to turn the game of adults on its head- innovatively making use of modern day inventions (i.e. the Internet, media, forex etc.) to strip the complacent, smart alec adults of their sense of dominance- and take the future in their own hands. In a way, it's Joseph Schumpeter's idea of creative destruction being played out in a darwinian scenario in which the adults is the dying breed. In a mature capitalistic world where morality and values have been shaken to their very cores and the building blocks of society are crumpling down in an ever-increasing pace, a desire for radical changes is definitely brewing. The problem is who will take charge. As authority-led social transformations tend to reinforce the corrupted power-sects in one way or another, the idea of having junior high students helm the course of social reengineering or even a full-blown revolution doesn't sound so far off the mark. I'm only half way through the book, but I'm hooked and fast becoming a fan.

Closer

Closer is a complete mess. There's nothing so clever about the contrived plot, the characters are abhorrently inconsistent and histrionic, and the transitions are as abrupt as they are unexpected, not to mention the emotions are all wrong. Characters burst into heartrending tears or fall madly in love or give up hopes they so dear at overly dramatized moments that even the most forgiving part of me had a hard time suspending my disbelief. The writer and the director choked the plot with all that have already been said or mused about relationships in an attempt to philosophize sex and love, but they're no philosophers, much less observant persons (heard that it's actually a play-turned-movie, but it is all the same). It's as if they tore pages out of a bunch of pulp romances and stitched them back together on the silver screen. It's such a sore sight!

I know people who cheat in their relationships, some even enjoy playing heartbreakers and all, but they are saints in comparison with the characters in Closer! Their dispositions and actions are just so over-the-top and unbelievable. Some may say the director is shooting for "realism" or "the brutality of truth" or whatever high-sounding gibberish one cares to conjure up, but at the end of the day, Closer's nothing more than a lousy soap opera about four miserable souls: A prick who cares only about sex, a loser who, coincidentally, cares only about sex, a fake who leads multiple lives with a penchant for drama, and a confused who acts now and regrets later. The stereotyping of the two sexes is unrelenting: Men crave sex more than anything and women are victims in general. Dan said, towards the end of the movie, that "without truth, we're animals". But god forbidden, show me a decent human being here! Closer should be renamed as "National Geographic Present: The Mating Urge of Unscrupulous Homo Sapiens", in which nothing gets in the way of a good fuck, not even love.

Performance wise, the cast does bring a lot to the table and is the only saving grace of this piece of highbrow garbage. Clive Owen, shedding his silly Arthurian armor, is definitely in his element playing Larry the misanthropic, manipulative and hotheaded jerk. Natalie Portman brings to her character the complexity required and then some, despite the half-hearted pole dance. Julia Roberts delivers Anna's subdued emotions of a self-victimized woman with incredible restraint and precision that it's almost like music. Jude Law plays Dan, the most uninteresting character in the mix, and thus comes off flat and forgettable (the last time he did a good job is in a brilliant sci-fi called Gattaca, which apparently nobody cares to see). Closer does remind me of one thing: If we admit people fall in love by pure chance (like Dan and Alice, and Anna and Larry in the movie), then whether a relationship can last or not is also a matter of chance or probability. In other words, you can't do much about your relationship. How sad.

Oliver Stone's Alexander

Is Stone's Alexander as pathetic as many said so? I think not. For one, he scores rather high on historical accuracy. There're alternations that I think he does it purposefully and are well within artistic license (e.g. Darius III's family was captured in the battle of Issus not Gaugamela; Alexander got his arrow wound when laying siege to an Indian town not from the battle with prince Porus; and he returned to Babylon not because of his wound but a mutiny, etc.). Stone also pepperes the actual events with interesting titbits of legends, such as the Persian Queen mistaken Hephaestian as Alexander, which touch up the characters nicely. And of course, the battle scenes are breathtaking to say the least. Watching the phalanxes in action is such a thrill! They make all the sword buckling in Troy (one of the worst in 2004) look like child's play. Peterson is no match for Stone-no two ways about it!

What I think are some of the bummers include Stone's fixation on Alexander's "sexuality" (this is in fact not the right word to use, as people in the antiquity didn't look at sex the same way we do today) when it doesn't have a lot to do with how Alexander has come to be. Stone's reasoning for the less than enthusiastic reception to the picture is that people are taken aback by the "homosexual" undertone, but he forgets he's the one who plays it up! The tiring Freudian interpretation of Alexander's insatiable appetite for conquests and battles (yeah, mother again), and the perplexing choices of leaving out some of the important exploits in the early career of Alexander as a conqueror (particularly the atrocity he committed in Thebes and the battle of Issus when he let Darius flee and thus set the stage for Gaugamela) also leave the audience cold. The biggest blunder has to be his shyness in forming an opinion about Alexander when we really expect one from him. Stone does make up his mind on some whodunnit mysteries, such as who killed King Philip and was Alexander poisoned by his Companions, but they're not what we expect from someone who's famous for his propensity to take side on more important issues, such as how Alexander should be remembered. Stone's adviser Robin Lane Fox describes a Homeric hero in his book, but under Stone's lens, Collin Ferral's too busy exchanging seductive glances with Jared Leto that Alexander looks more like a gigolo than hero. Ptolemy's final comments about how great and flawed a person Alexander was is downright cliché and stupid!

Stone does his best in painting a picture of Alexander, a towering historical figure so complex that historians still have a lot to debate and study, and that is truly admirable. Anyone with a passing interest in Alexander should go see it. Stones stretches our attention too thin sometimes with a plethora of Greek names and geographical locations that no sane person can pronounce, least of all work out their relations; nevertheless, it's still good education if you have the patience. You may very well leave the theatre feeling more cultured. Don't get me started on how Alexander will turn out if it falls on the hands of lengend-butchers such as Jerry Bruckheimer and gangs. Why can't people just cut Stone some slack? This is more than a passable job. The Chinese title of the picture defies Stone's intention to tell the story of a person rather than a king, especially when Alexander isn't all that much of a king.