Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon

Until Crouching Tiger… came along, martial arts movies stuck to the tried and tested formula. Dastardly drug-dealing bad guys dishonour granite-faced hero by slaughtering his wife/parents/cat, whereupon he gets Real Mad and spends the ensuing 85 minutes kicking seven shades of crap out of them. But in 2000, Ang Lee brained-up this laziest of genres with a plot adapted from a five-part pre-war novel that was banned in his native Taiwan. It’s a complex, involving tale of love, honour, loyalty, repression and rebellion within a strictly regimented society, every bit the equal of the best the bonnet’n’corset brigade have to throw at the screen, with the added attraction of truly astonishing swordplay and gravity-defying stunts.

The story begins with legendary, unbeaten warrior Li Mu Bai (Chow Yun-Fat) deciding to jack in all villain-nobbling stuff by symbolically giving up his ancient sword, the Green Destiny. He surrenders this mythical weapon to Yu Shu Lien (Michelle Yeoh), herself the nation’s most skilled female fighter, who’s charged with presenting it to the reverend Sir Te in Beijing. There’s plenty of history between these two ageing warriors, both of whom have sacrificed personal happiness in the cause of tradition and justice. Their love for one another is as palpable as it is undeclared. In Beijing, snotty, spoiled young aristocrat Jen (Zhang Ziyi) shares none of these values, having once enjoyed a tumble with a hairy bit of rough (Chang Chen) who resolved to come over all honourable in order to marry her. But she’s about to be forced into an arranged marriage to advance her father’s political ambitions. When the Green Destiny is stolen by a slight, masked, black-clad woman in an audacious raid, Yu is astonished to find the trail leads to Jen, and the two women draw closer.

Chow Yun-Fat got his most complex role to date as the ageing swordsman, certainly atoning for his participation in the appalling Anna and the King, but this is a film whose mildly feminist subtext means that it really belongs to its female leads. Michelle Yeoh is quite outstanding as the older, wiser warrior who jousts emotionally and physically with her younger, hotheaded adversary.  But although the film won four Oscars, the performances were overlooked, which was particularly unfair. Nineteen-year-old Zhang Ziyi really deserved a nod, as she steals the entire film from under the noses of her more experienced colleagues with a truly mesmerising performance that combines wilful determination, youthful innocence and extraordinary acrobatic skills. That brings us to the action sequences and swordplay, courtesy of the choreographer behind The Matrix, which manage to be both eye-poppingly astonishing and extraordinarily graceful. Factor in the gorgeous widescreen photography, and you’ve got a martial arthouse movie that fulfils its promise on every level.