As the 53-year-old filmmaker moves into martial arts and swordplay (wuxia) films, with Hero and now House, he brings with him the grand themes and precise details that made his much-revered arthouse films so distinctive -- the gorgeous billowing of fabrics (Ju dou [1990]), the building effects of diurnal niceties (The Story of Qiu Ju/Qiu Ju da guan si [1992]), the gentle breezes alongside the incessant force of destiny (The Road Home/Wo de fu qin mu qin [1999]).
Among our favorites are the historical dramas, Raise the Red Lantern and Ju Dou, and the touching tales of peasants Not One Less and The Road Home.
Shackled with these jaded preconceptions and a mountain of advance hype (aided by a maddeningly peekaboo release schedule), the critical and popular success of director Yimou Zhang's Hero came as a welcome shock; an unexpectedly deep Goliath which married the emotional precision of his earlier films (such as Raise the Red Lantern and Ju Dou) with a newfound gargantuan energy and scope--the glee of a small-scale model expert who suddenly discovers a giant robot revving up in his backyard.
FLYING DAGGERS is the most seamless piece of sensuous expressionism Zhang has created since Ju Dou (1990).
It is difficult to imagine that this is the same filmmaker who fashioned anti-authoritarian tracts like Ju Dou or To Live giving Chinese government officials conniptions.
House of Flying Daggers (its title in Chinese the loaded "Ambush from Ten Directions"--essentially an ambush from everywhere) is at its essence an allegory for rape and the Chinese tradition of concubinage that Zhang has already explored to varying degrees in Raise the Red Lantern, Ju Dou, Shanghai Triad, and, of course, Red Sorghum, in which a young woman played by Gong Li (Ziyi's predecessor as Zhang's muse) is saved from rape by a young man with whom she later runs a winery.