Netflix exists as the embodiment of analysis paralysis: too many choices leading to no decision at all. Luckily, I can act as that metaphorical friend on the couch without the Wii-mote who goes, “Wait, wait, wait — go back. What was that one?”
One of the name plates you might have seen pass by is the striking black, red and white cover of a movie called “Man of Tai Chi.”
The 2013 martial arts film is noteworthy for several fascinating reasons. First, it is a hybrid effort of Chinese and American movie studios, with about 60 percent of the dialogue in Mandarin Chinese. Second, it is the directorial debut of Keanu Reeves.
Whoa.
People are separated into Keanu-lover and Keanu-hater camps. Personally, I am one o f the lovers, partly because of his genuine personality and partly because of my adoration for “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.”
In “Man of Tai Chi,” Reeves additionally plays the deliciously id villain, masterminding the fights of hero-protagonist Tiger Chen, played by real-life badass Tiger Chen.
When still a teenager, Tiger Chen (the person, not the character) immigrated to the United States to ply his martial arts training in Hollywood. There, he became the protégé of legendary Chinese martial arts choreographer and film director Yuen Woo-ping. He became Reeves’ personal trainer for the 1999 film “The Matrix.”
As they trained and became friends, Chen told Reeves stories about his own master back in China and his fantastical feats of chi and oneness achieved by generally being a mythical badass.
These ideas rattled around in Reeves’ head for years until: Voila! “Man of Tai Chi.”
“Man of Tai Chi” is surprisingly deep, thoughtful and beautifully shot for a film that is largely centered on the premise of watching dudes smacking the bejesus out of each other.
At its core, “Man of Tai Chi” is about a noble man’s descent into a baser, darker state as he grows more powerful. Tiger Chen’s character becomes embroiled in an underground fighting ring, setting him on a path significantly different from his simple existence training in tai chi. His character is even under constant surveillance in his normal life, allowing the film to rub against critiques of the National Security Agency, consumerism and media culture.
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Anyone familiar with the fetishism of light-versus-dark as well as master-versus-apprentice will certainly be reminded mightily of “Star Wars,” in addition to the traditions that inspired it.
Tai chi is often portrayed as ineffective as a martial style (used “only by old people or for exercise”), and this is addressed in the film. Tai chi is characterized by those wide, circulating motions of the hands and by the symbol probably second only to the smiley face in terms of dissemination: the yin-yang.
The film is very conscious of color, as Tiger Chen and his master flow back and forth physically, just as Tiger Chen flows spiritually. Yin and yang represent complementary forces, and the film is very much concerned with this very thing.
Images of polluted Chinese cityscapes are not glamorized or hidden, and even the Arcadian tai chi temple cannot fully escape the momentum of modernity. One gorgeous scene strikes with jaw-dropping visuals of popping neon and traditional Chinese imagery.
Reeves’ eye for visual beauty is additionally taken to the fights themselves. In a cinematic landscape where “shaky cam” is king (utilized as a sort of short hand for frenetic and “realistic” action), the martial arts duels that dot the film are shot cleanly and smoothly. Kung fu geeks and enthusiasts will find a number of different martial styles represented, clearly showing Reeves’ respect for the arts as a whole.
If this is Keanu Reeves’ first go in the director’s seat, I deem it a fascinating success and eagerly await his second try.
Until then, “John Wick” looks pretty damn sweet, right?
Graham Gentz is a theater and film reviewer for the Daily Lobo. He can be reached at culture@dailylobo.com or on Twitter @DailyLobo.
