A sampler of novella-length films set in
three different time periods and starring the same two actors, Hou
Hsiao-hsien's Three Times resembles one of those delicate trios served at
fine restaurants, each a fresh interpretation of a common ingredient. And
there's no question that they look good on the plate: Working again with
first-rate cinematographer Mark Lee Ping-bin (In The Mood For Love), Hou recreates each
world with scrupulous detail, from the caged-bird chambers of a courtesan in
1911 to the smoky provincial pool-halls of the '60s to the grinding pulse of
contemporary nightclubs. But how do they taste? As with Hou's other work, form
and texture are generally more important than anything approaching conventional
melodrama; feelings are evoked rather than expressed, and the heavy atmosphere
bears down on the characters and audience alike. For the uninitiated, Three
Times
presents an ideal primer, a condensed K-Tel collection of themes that have
consistently reappeared throughout his career.
Of the three, only the first, "A Time For
Love," achieves real transcendence, synthesizing Hou's deep nostalgia for his
'60s youth with a dreamy pop romanticism that could be mistaken for Wong
Kar-Wai's work. And as with many of Wong's films, gorgeous musical ballads do
much of the talking, specifically The Platters' "Smoke Gets In Your Eyes" and
Aphrodite's Child's "Rain And Tears," which are love songs that can bridge
distances. In fact, the largely unspoken connection between pool-hall girl Shu
Qi and the handsome Chang Chen just seems to grow when he's sent off to
military service and writes her affectionate letters from afar. During a short
leave, he seeks her out again, but upon discovering that she's left for another
town, Chang follows the scent, leading to a reunion sequence that's crystalline
and sweet, a small slice of perfection.
After the strong start comes the inevitable
anticlimax, though the last two segments have merit; they just lack
distinction. Recasting Hou's beautiful Flowers Of Shanghai as a silent chamber
piece, "A Time For Freedom" recycles the suffocating hothouse milieu of a
high-priced, turn-of-the-century brothel. Outside its walls, the Japanese
occupy Taiwan, but inside, a sad-faced courtesan (Shu) caters to the needs of a
well-heeled client (Chang). Though accomplished as a formal experiment, the
short plays to Hou's weakness for making a repressed atmosphere instead seem
arid and lifeless, a problem compounded by a tinkling piano phrase that keeps
repeating. Though the last short, "A Time For Youth," breaks out into the open
spaces of contemporary Taipei–the opening shot of Shu and Chang zipping through
the streets on motorbikes seems especially liberating–it again finds Hou
spinning his wheels, offering a more concise and less affecting variation on
his 2001 film Millennium Mambo. While the third pairing of Shu and Chang (this
time as an epileptic singer and a photographer, respectively) gives Three
Times a
sense of continuity, Hou's rumination on alienated modern youth is a little too
expected in light of his previous work. He moved in a new direction with the
opening segment; it's a shame to see him stepping back to the familiar.