THE LAST EMPEROR: 4K UHD Blu-ray (Hemdale, Recorded, Columbia, 1987) Arrow Academy
Mesmeric and whimsical, utterly
trivial in spots, and fictional to a point, Bernardo Bertolucci’s The Last
Emperor (1987) is, at least in hindsight, film-making on a truly epic
scale, and so like its contemporary predecessors, Chariots of Fire (1981)
and Gandhi (1982) only achievable abroad with private investors funding
the project. This afforded Bertolucci freedom to explore every creative facet
without outside meddling from studio bean-counters. And the resultant film
reflects the purity of Bertolucci’s vision. The Last Emperor is an
affecting saga to depict China's last Imperial ruler, Pu Yi (John Lone) as
something of a complicit pawn, who fumbled in his reign, shaped by largely
unseen, and perhaps even sinister political ambitions. Pu Yi, a sensitive man,
is ill-timed/ill-fated and destined to see his beloved dynasty crushed by the Communist
might of changing times. Taken from his mother at the age of three and raised
to believe in his own divinity as an absolute monarch, the first half of
Bertolucci's sprawling costume drama examines Pu Yi’s yearning for a mother’s
love, reared under the most rigid – and occasionally absurd – traditions, archaic
and devastating to a sensitive soul within the walls of the Forbidden City.
Eager to shoot in China, Bertolucci proposed two possible projects to the
Chinese government – an adaptation of La Condition humaine (Man's
Fate) by André Malraux and The Last Emperor. The Chinese preferred
the latter. The project was turned down by virtually every major studio,
forcing producer, Jeremy Thomas to instead cull together his $25 million budget
for this indie-epic from outside investors. Given China’s usual aversion to western
influences, Bertolucci freedom to shoot within the walls of The Forbidden City
was unprecedented. Bertolucci and his cinematographer, Vittorio Storaro made
exemplary use of China’s culturally historic landmark. And the Chinese
government proved uncannily as accommodating in other ways, offering Bertolucci
its Armed Forces as extras, of which 19,000 can be seen in a single shot.
Fresh from their flourish of
success with Oliver Stone’s Platoon (1986), Hemdale Film Corporation
acquired all North American distribution rights to The Last Emperor.
Then, in a remarkable turnaround, Hemdale licensed these rights to Columbia
Pictures who were extremely reluctant to a theatrical release. Indeed, apart
from a cameo by Peter O’Toole, The Last Emperor had no stars to
capitalize upon. Hence, the movie was to have one of the most unusual general
releases in all of Hollywood history. On a limited engagement, it built itself
on prestige and word-of-mouth alone into a top 10 box office winner, but only
after its twelfth week of buzz, just before a slew of Oscar nominations. From here,
Columbia had a change of heart, putting the picture into wide release, on which
its reputation with the general public was considerably elevated. The Last
Emperor would remain in the top ten box office draws for the next eight
weeks, 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 a lavish
regression into his former 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 communist prison camp.
Peter O’Toole appears briefly, and,
to good effect midway through the first half of our story 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 does this union end happily ever after, marred by the
princess’ chronic and debilitating drug use. Forced to flee his gated world, Pu
Yi succumbs to all the modern decadence of 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 the
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 still
alive, 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 attains its
tragic level of poignancy, a glimmering reminder China’s 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 plot becomes static, seemingly
endless and meandering. But the sheer grandeur of Storaro’s visuals override
this storytelling stoicism, even when Bertolucci lingers, perhaps longer than
he ought on plot-absent moments, just a tad too enamored with his own prowess
as a film-maker. Outside of Peter O’Toole, the picture has no stars. As such,
its success rests squarely on the slender shoulders of John Lone’s masterful
re-creation of the adult Pu Yi.
But it would behoove us to pause a
moment here and acknowledge that John Lone is also a fascinating man. Born in
Hong Kong, Lone’s childhood was spent in an orphanage. Adopted by a
Shanghainese woman, training with the Beijing opera, Lone adopted 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 fragmented legacy. 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 represents 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 immersed
in the traditions to cultivate a young monarch’s mindset, a ‘warts and all’
exploration by Bertolucci…well, sort of – as the young emperor’s feces are
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 bizarre ‘emotional
attachment’ – eventually denied him, as the girl is exiled from the Forbidden
City. Peter O'Toole’s stodgy, bicycle-riding professor arrives at precisely
this stalemate – Pu Yi, not yet old enough to assume the throne or (as played
by Tao Wu) manage a whole movie on his own. O’Toole’s strengths as a consummate
pro are self-evident in the way he practically cake-walks through this ‘Mr.Chips-like’
identifiable and beloved performance. O’Toole’s educator provides the necessary
bridge between Pu Yi’s stunted adolescence – romping about with a giggling
empress and her secondary consorts beneath silken sheets – through to the
sobering realities after the rigors of a changing world that does not value Pu
Yi’s divine right to rule, impose their will upon him. Ejected from the only
home he has ever known, life beyond the Forbidden City is a disaster for Pu Yi
and the Empress. He becomes a playboy. She, an opium addict, and, a grotesque
embarrassment for him. She wants a divorce. He refuses to entertain the notion.
Instead, he succumbs 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. 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. 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 attachment to Ar Mo. Thus, she too is removed, 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 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, concluded with an
acknowledgement of his death in 1967.
Well, it is about ‘friggin’
time! The Last Emperor won an
Oscar for Best Cinematography in 1987, an honor overshadowed by the absolutely
disgraceful way this movie has been handled on home video ever since. After
some brutally bad DVD releases from Artisan Home Video throughout the late
1990s, in 2016, indie label, Criterion announced it had been granted the rights
to release a deluxe hi-def Blu-ray. Regrettably,
even that set left much to be desired. As released theatrically in 1987, The
Last Emperor ran 2 hr. 43 mins. and was framed in 2.20:1 ‘Techniscope’ with
a limited 70mm engagement in 2.39:1 (which I actually saw at the show and was
absolutely blown away by). When the movie finally found its way to television a
year later, it was heavily cropped to 1.33:1 and spread across a 2-night
viewing event, with its runtime girth lengthened to 3hr. 39 mins. Inexplicably,
for Criterion’s hi-def release, the executive decision was made to crop and
reformat the image yet again, this time to 1.78:1. At the time, Criterion
insisted that this was to Bertolucci’s creative preference although commentary
from the movie’s cinematographer, Vittorio Storano was conspicuously absent. Point
blank: it made absolutely no sense to so severely crop the image, with
characters in medium shot and close-up now barely contained within the frame,
drawing undue attention to the fact there ought to have been far more
information originally shot than what was actually being seen in this 1080p
transfer.
We can forget all of that now,
because Arrow Academy has finally stepped up to the plate with a restored 4K
UHD release, containing both the theatrical and TV cut in their native 2.39:1
aspect ratio. Aside: only the theatrical cut is in 4K and 'region free'. The TV edit is on
Blu-ray (region 2). The results speak for themselves. The Last Emperor in 4K
exhibits some breathtaking quality. The image is crisp with fully saturated
colors. Fine detail is evident in every last frame, even during scenes shot at night. The hints of
edge enhancement that plagued the Criterion release have been eradicated in 4K
and film grain, that exhibited questionable resolution before, now appears thoroughly
indigenous to its source. Arrow offers us a 2.0 DTS audio on both versions, as
well as a 5.1 DTS upgrade on the theatrical cut only. Included on the 4K
theatrical disc is a new visual essay, First to Last: The Road to the
Forbidden City by film critic, David Cairns who covers Bertolucci’s
career leading up to the making of this movie. There is also another essay by
Cairns, Open the Door, accompanied by Fiona Watson. Together
Cairns and Watson compare and contrast the movie’s plot with the actual history
of events that took place. The 4K is capped off by an archival interview with
Bertolucci from 1987, and another interview with John Lone and Joan Chen.
Finally, there is Postcard from China, raw video footage of
Bertolucci’s location scouting and a theatrical trailer and image gallery to
sift through.
The second disc, a standard
Blu-ray (region 2), exclusively contains the 3hr.+ TV edit of the movie by itself with
zero extras. Comparatively, it’s a step down in image quality from the 4K
theatrical cut. However, it is far from disappointing. In fact, overall image
sharpness and color saturation are quite pleasing. Film grain appears a tad
clumpier, and contrast occasionally looks anemic, mostly during the inserted
sequences that were not a part of the theatrical release. We may assume these
were sourced from archival materials not quite up to standards. That said,
there really is nothing to complain about. There is also a lot of swag here,
including reversible artwork, 8 double-sided postcard-sized lobby card
reproductions, a fold-out poster, and a collector’s booklet with essays from
critics, Kat Ellinger and Philip Kemp, along with selected archival reading
material. Bottom line: The Last Emperor’s theatrical cut on 4K, at last,
rectifies the unforgiveable sins perpetrated on the home video release of this
movie for decades. Even if you already own the Criterion, you owe it to
yourself to snatch up this ‘region free’ Arrow set as it represents the only
genuine effort to preserve Bertolucci’s masterpiece in its original aspect ratio.
Very highly recommended!
FILM RATING (out
of 5 – 5 being the best)
4
VIDEO/AUDIO
4K UHD – 4.5
Blu-ray – 3.5
EXTRAS
4.5
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