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The toys allow him to follow the in-flight progress of blades and darts, and to reinforce his actors’ lofted scorn for the operations of gravity.
My favorite Nichols film is still “Carnal Knowledge,” whose Jules Feiffer script was as venomous as Marber’s. The new picture from Zhang Yimou, “House of Flying Daggers,” is packed with notable advances.
In fact, we have bounced ahead in time, but at no point in “Closer,” the plot of which unrolls over four years or more, does a title flash up saying “One year on” or “Two weeks later.” The plan, presumably, is not to confuse but to cram—to yank the film away from the romantic decorum that views love as a narrative, with clean beginnings and ends.
What we get, instead, is knots of desire, clumped together and hard to tease apart.
The man is Dan (Jude Law), a writer of obituaries for a London newspaper, who wears a hangdog suit as if in half-mourning for his subjects.
Portman plays a slip of a thing named Alice, a stripper by profession, just in from New York.
Toward the end, a snuffling Dan confronts Larry in his office, and I was embarrassed to see how comprehensively Owen, resplendent in tie and pinstripes, wipes the floor with Law, whose voice goes high and husky under the assault.
Larry’s gibes are guided like missiles, and the meanest of them is unanswerable: “You .”Given this firepower, why does “Closer” the movie leave fewer scorchmarks than “Closer” the play?
The tension that thrums through this movie, however, is entirely bound up with physical threat, whereas its political equivalent is nil.
This marks an extraordinary shift for Zhang Yimou, who, in his greener days, was a thorn for the Chinese authorities.
Larry himself is no angel, and his devilry is destined to leave its mark; once he encounters Alice at a show of Anna’s photographs, another stage is set.“Closer” began in the theatre, hitting a nerve in more than thirty languages around the world.
Language is the battlefield, or the minefield, here—our foursome talk of almost nothing but sex, yet there is no sex, unless you count Alice’s bendy, no-touching display in a professional club—and I would be interested to learn how Anna’s tirade, in which she compares the seminal flavors of our two heroes (“the same as yours, but sweeter”), went down in Serbo-Croatian or Mandarin.
The Flying Daggers are a network of guerrillas, agitating darkly against a corrupt government, and Mei is the daughter of their late leader.