THE LAST EMPEROR: Blu-ray (Columbia, 1987) Criterion Collection
BEST PICTURE -
1987
Mesmerizing and
whimsical, utterly trivial in spots, and fictional to a point, Bernardo
Bertolucci’s The Last Emperor (1987)
remains film-making on a truly epic scale, and so like its predecessors, Gandhi and Chariots of Fire, only achievable abroad with private investors
funding the project, thus also affording Bertolucci freedom to explore every
creative facet without any outside meddling. Bertolucci’s saga is affecting,
representing China's last Imperial ruler, Pu Yi (John Lone) as something of a
complicit pawn, whose fumbled reign was shaped by largely unseen, and perhaps
even sinister forces. Pu Yi, a sensitive man, is ill-timed/ill-fated and
destined to see his beloved dynasty crushed by the Communist might of his adversaries.
Taken from his mother at the age of three and raised to believe in his own
divinity as absolute monarch, the first half of Bertolucci's sprawling epic
examines Pu Yi’s yearning for a mother’s love, reared under the most rigid set
of traditions and, some might say, archaic brutalities within the walls of the
Forbidden City. Eager to shoot in China, Bertolucci proposed two possible
projects to its government – an adaptation of La Condition humaine (Man's
Fate) by André Malraux and The Last
Emperor. The Chinese preferred the latter. Denied any major outlay to
undertake the project, producer Jeremy Thomas instead managed to cull together
the $25 million budget for this indie-epic from outside investors. Given China’s
usual aversion to outside influences, Bertolucci freedom to shoot within the
walls of The Forbidden City was unprecedented; Bertolucci and his
cinematographer, Vittorio Storaro making exemplary use of China’s culturally historic
landmark. And the Chinese government proved as accommodating in other ways,
offering Bertolucci its Armed Forces as extras, of which 19,000 can be seen in a
single shot.
Fresh off their
flourish of success with Oliver Stone’s Platoon
(1986), Hemdale Film Corporation acquired all North American distribution
rights to The Last Emperor on behalf
of producer, Thomas. Then, in a remarkable turnaround, Hemdale licensed these
rights to Columbia Pictures who were extremely reluctant to theatrically
release it. The Last Emperor had an
unusual run in theaters too, building into a top 10 box office winner only
after its twelfth week in general release, the weekend just before it received
a slew of Oscar nominations. From this point onward, the picture’s reputation was
considerably elevated, and it remained in the top ten for the next eight weeks,
before peaking at #4 in its 22nd week. Like most latter-day epics, The Last Emperor is told in a
succession of flashbacks from the vantage of a mature Pu Yi, imprisoned as a
war criminal by the People’s Republic of China in 1950. Pu Yi attempts suicide
– his last thoughts, triggering the start of this lavishly unfolding retrospective
on his life. Throughout this weighty and epic tome, Bertolucci unveils a series
of vignettes that are – more or less - accurate snapshots of Pu Yi’s
upbringing; his bittersweet relationship with an estranged mother and emotional
attachment to his wet nurse; his arranged marriage to opium addicted princess,
Wan Jung (Joan Chen), the murder of their only child, and, finally Pu Yi’s
internment inside a prison camp.
Peter O’Toole
appears to good effect midway through the first half as Reginald Johnston,
English tutor to his Majesty on matters of diplomacy, regarding the outside
world. Although his tutelage is beneficial, it does not prepare Pu Yi for his
arranged marriage; nor the union eventually marred by her chronic and
debilitating drug use. Forced to flee his gated world, Pu Yi succumbs to all
the modern decadence as a playboy; his importance self-inflated, yet fatally
diminished in the outside world where he becomes an elegant stooge, and
finally, the sad, fading shadow and victim of China's cultural reforms and
re-education programs. Ironically, Bertolucci dedicates the latter half of this
story to an almost wish fulfillment revision of actual history. As an aged
gardener, Pu Yi witnesses a Maoist parade and makes imperial remonstrance to
Red Guard students who are participating in the pageantry. Next, he ventures into
the Forbidden City as a tourist and meets a precocious child who instructs him
to step away from the throne he once sat upon. Instead, Pu Yi takes his place
on the gilded chair – discovering the cricket bequeathed to him as a pet some
70 years earlier – the insect, a Chinese symbol for good luck, hope and promise.
The Last Emperor is a vivid reincarnation of this
brutal and tragic last chapter in China’s imperial history. At intervals, Bertolucci’s
visually arresting storytelling is poignant; a reminder of an ancient ancestry whose
traditions were swept away by the winds of change. The screenplay by Mark
Peploe and Bertolucci uses China’s Forbidden City as an allegory for a
pampered, yet caged existence, destined to doom our protagonist to a nightmare
of isolation and sorrow. Occasionally, the screenplay falters in static moments
that seem endless and meandering. But the sheer grandeur of Storaro’s visuals
suffice, even when Bertolucci lingers, perhaps a moment or two longer on
plot-absent moments, just a tad too enamored with his own prowess as a
film-maker. Outside of Peter O’Toole’s brief appearance, the picture has no
stars. Thus, its success or failure rests squarely on the slender shoulders of
John Lone’s masterful re-creation of the adult Pu Yi. Born in Hong Kong, Lone’s
childhood, spent in an orphanage, but later, to be adopted by a Shanghainese
woman, has given the actor an intuitive understanding for his subject matter. Training with the Beijing opera, Lone would
adopt the name ‘Johnny’ and chose for himself ‘Lone’ to reflect his orphaned
past. His sponsorship by an American family, led to bigger and better things;
an early romance and marriage: also, continuing his formal education at the
American Academy of Dramatic Arts in Pasadena, California, before moving to New
York to pursue a theatrical career.
Lone’s superior
incarnation of Pu Yi carries with it the pang of his own equally as fragmented
youth. And his tenure in New York, recognized for an Obie in David Henry Hwang’s
F.O.B., led to his being discovered
by talent agent, Jadin Wong and cast as the crime boss in Michael Cimino’s Year of the Dragon (1985). Subsequently,
this brought Lone to the attention of Bertolucci and The Last Emperor. Yet, despite his intercontinental success, Lone
eventually retreated from the spotlight, concentrating his efforts on a career
in the Asian market. Lone and his alter ego in The Last Emperor share many intrinsic traits and characteristics
that make them kindred spirits. Pu Yi became emperor of China two months before
his third birthday in 1908; the part, played by no less than four actors
throughout our story, of which Lone is the final re-embodiment. Before him, is Richard
Vuu (Pu Yi at 3-years), then, Tsou Tijger (8-years), and then, Tao Wu (as a teenager).
Following the 1911 revolution and formation of a Chinese republic, Pu Yi was
forced to abdicate. He was rechristened as a figure head in the Japanese puppet
state of Manchukuo in the 1930s, taken prisoner by the Red Army in 1945, ‘re-educated’
by Mao Zedong's communist regime in the late 1950’s, and finally, persecuted as
a war criminal during China’s Cultural Revolution.
The Last Emperor’s first act is exceedingly
fascinated by the traditions to have shaped the young monarch’s mindset; so, we
get the ‘warts and all’ exploration by Bertolucci…well, sort of – the young
emperor’s feces, inspected by his ministers (presumably for dysentery), and, Pu
Yi’s utterly weird compulsion to be breast-fed by his wet nurse long after he
ought to have been weaned, and, with whom he forms an even more curious ‘emotional
attachment’ – eventually denied him, as the girl is exiled from the Forbidden
City. Peter O'Toole’s stodgy, bicycle-riding educator arrives at precisely this
stalemate in the plot – Pu Yi, not yet old enough to assume the throne or (as
played by Tao Wu) manage a whole movie on his own. By this juncture in his
career, O’Toole’s strengths as a consummate pro could be deemed as easily
identifiable and beloved. He provides the necessary bridge between Pu Yi’s
stunted adolescence – romping about with a giggling empress and her secondary
consorts beneath silken sheets – to the sobering, stark realities of life after
the rigors of a system that does not value his divine right to rule, impose
their will upon him. Ejected from the only home he has ever known, life on the
outside is a disaster for Pu Yi and the Empress. He becomes a playboy; she, an
opium addict, and, a grotesque embarrassment. She wants a divorce. He refuses
to entertain the notion, succumbing to the charms of Eastern Jewel (Maggie Han), a cross-dressing sophisticate with ulterior motives. Disenchanted,
the empress makes a garish disgrace of herself at her husband's coronation,
eating the floral arrangement, indulging in a bit of recreational lesbianism and
doing more drugs. In reality, it was Pu Yi who allowed his life to unravel –
going mad, injecting heroine, and beating a servant to death for ‘trivial
offences.’ Alas, none of this truth would make for great theater, and so, we do
not have it in the movie.
Instead, made
with the Chinese government’s blessing, it is perhaps understandable – even forgivable
- that Bertalucci would desire a more empathetic figure at the center of his
narrative. Even so, The Last Emperor can hardly be considered pro-Chinese propaganda. Bertolucci
has, in fact, drawn an uncanny parallel between the ritual and organization of
the imperial court vs. that of the even more rigidly structured Maoist China,
with only the aesthetic of authoritarianism, not its substance, having changed.
And although Bertolucci captures the essential tragedy, he avoids the far
uglier truths in these final years from this real emperor’s tapestry of life. Our
story begins in 1950, Pu Yi interned for five years by the Red Army after the
Soviet Union’s foray into the Pacific War. Considered a political prisoner by
the People's Republic of China, Pu Yi quietly attempts suicide. He is revived
and told he must stand trial. We regress to 1908, the toddler, Pu Yi
unknowingly summoned to the Forbidden City by the dying Empress Dowager Cixi and
informed he shall rule China after her. Upon his coronation, Pu Yi is
frightened by his new surroundings and repeatedly expresses a desire to return
to his mother. Surrounded by an ancient cacophony
of priests, eunuchs and consorts, his only real friend is his wet nurse, Ar Mo
(Jade Go).
Eventually, the
boy forms a deeply troubling and unhealthy alliance with Ar Mo. Thus, she too
is removed from his circle, barred from ever returning to the Forbidden City.
Confined to the palace, Pu Yi is eventually allowed to meet his brother, Pu Chieh
(Henry Kyi), who abruptly informs him he is no longer Emperor. China is now a Republic
– a very bittersweet reality to be faced. We jump ahead to 1919 and the arrival
of Scotsman/tutor, Reginald Johnston, hired to afford his majesty a Western-style
education. Desiring, though unable to leave the Forbidden City, Pu Yi consults
Johnston, who suggests the best way to attain his freedom is through marriage. After
some consternation Pu Yi (now played by Tao Wu) concurs and choses as his wife,
Wan Jung, with Wen Hsiu (Vivian Wu) as his second consort. At last the master
of his own fate…well…sort of, Pu Yi instills sweeping reforms and expels the
thieving palace eunuchs. His reign is cut short, when, in 1924, he too is
expelled from the palace and exiled to Tientsin following the Beijing Coup. Disillusioned,
Pu Yi adopts a wanton lifestyle, ultimately siding with the Japanese after they
invade Manchuria. Wen Hsiu divorces him,
but Wan Jung remains loyal, succumbing to her shame as an opium addict. Exploiting
Pu Yi for their own political gains, the Japanese crown him Emperor of their
puppet state of Manchukuo – a reign, once again foreshortened by the Soviet
invasion at the end of WWII.
Under Gen. Mao’s
re-education program for political prisoners, Pu Yi is coerced to ceremoniously
forsake his alliance with the Japanese. With nowhere left to turn, Pu Yi recants this
association and is considered rehabilitated and set free in 1959. We speed
ahead to 1967 and Mao’s Cultural Revolution. Reduced to a simple gardener, Pu
Yi lives as a proletarian, pausing a moment to observe the Red Guard on parade.
Retreating to the Forbidden City as an
ordinary tourist, he meets a curiously forceful little boy wearing the red
scarf of the Pioneer Movement. The young Communist orders Pu Yi to step away
from his throne. Instead, Pu Yi illustrates for the boy that he was, indeed,
once considered the Son of Heaven, producing the 60-year-old pet cricket given
to him by palace official, Chen Pao Shen (Victor Wong) on the eve of his
coronation. Fascinated by this gift, as the cricket is still very much alive,
the boy is startled when he turns, only to discover the emperor has vanished
into thin air. Flashing ahead to 1987, we hear a tour guide summarizing Pu Yi’s
life with a few scant details, concluding with an acknowledgement of his death
in 1967.
The Last Emperor won an Oscar for Best
Cinematography. But you would never guess it by examining the mishandling of all previous
incarnations of this movie on home video. Long overdue for an update, Criterion's
ought to have been the definitive Blu-Ray offering. Regrettably, the results
are less than perfect. As released theatrically in 1987, The Last Emperor ran 2 hr. 43 min. and was framed in 2:20.1 ‘scope’
aspect ratio. Inexplicably, for this hi-def release, the image has been cropped
and reformatted to 1:78.1. Criterion insists that this is how Bertolucci always
intended the film should be shown. It would be interesting to know
cinematographer, Vittorio Storano’s thoughts, as the current framing often
looks cramped, with characters in medium shot and close-up barely contained
within in the frame, drawing undue attention to the fact there is more
information originally shot than what we are actually seeing on this transfer. I
have stated in the past that I am against ‘director approved’ home video
revisions made to any movie, unless, of course, the original cut is also
included for audiences to judge such alterations for themselves. We are not
given the option here.
The Last Emperor’s image quality is impressive;
sharp, with clean, crisp colors and fine detail evident even during the darkest
scenes. There is some edge enhancement, and a few instances where film grain
appears slightly digitized and rather heavy. But overall, this video presentation
will not disappoint, once you get over the fact the image is not, either as you
remember it or as was originally shown theatrically. Criterion’s PCM 5.1 audio
is adequate, owing to the limitations of vintage Dolby, and dialogue, that is
always frontal sounding, with few moments to exercise the full extent of its
remastering efforts. Extras have been directly ported from the previously
issued DVD from Criterion. We get a cornucopia of rare archival and new
documentaries, featurettes, interviews, theatrical trailers and stills – all in
all, some 5-hours worthy of Criterion’s asking price. The best of the lot is a
47-minute documentary on Bertolucci. There is also a very informative audio
commentary. Now for the slam: Criterion has decided not to include the much
longer TV edit as it did on its lavishly appointed 4-disc DVD release of The Last Emperor. Disappointing, to say
the least! Bottom line: The Last Emperor
is an epic still in need of its definitive home video release in its native
2:20.1 aspect ratio and with another hi-def disc devoted to the 3 hr. 39 min. TV
cut. Recommended, but with sincerely caveats.
FILM RATING (out of 5 - 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
3.5
EXTRAS
3.5
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