ad info

TIME Asia Home
Current Issue
Magazine Archive
Asia Buzz
Travel Watch
Web Features
  Photo Essays

Subscribe to TIME
Customer Services
About Us
Write to TIME Asia
TIME Canada
TIME Europe
TIME Pacific
TIME Digital
Latest CNN News

Young China
Olympics 2000
On The Road

  east asia
  southeast asia
  south asia
  central asia

Other News
From TIME Asia

Culture on Demand: Black is Beautiful
The American Express black card is the ultimate status symbol

Asia Buzz: Should the Net Be Free?
Web heads want it all -- for nothing

JAPAN: Failed Revolution
Prime Minister Yoshiro Mori clings to power as dissidents in his party finally decide not to back a no-confidence motion

Cover: Endgame?
After Florida's controversial ballot recount, Bush holds a 537-vote lead in the state, which could give him the election

TIME Digest

TIME Asia Services
Subscribe to TIME! Get up to 3 MONTHS FREE!

Bookmark TIME
TIME Media Kit
Recent awards

TIME Asia Asiaweek Asia Now TIME Asia story

JULY 10, 2000 VOL. 156 NO. 1

Edko Columbia Tristar.
Chow Yun-fat and Zhang Ziyi in a scene from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.

Martial Masterpiece
Michelle Yeoh, Chow Yun-fat and two young stunners help director Ang Lee fashion a thrilling action drama that roars and soars

From the beginning, the film seemed cursed. "We started shooting in the Gobi Desert," Ang Lee recalls. "That night, the crew got lost in the desert and it wasn't until 7 a.m. that we found them. We delayed shooting until 2 p.m. After the second shot, a sandstorm came in." Halfway through the shoot, cast and crew looked like survivors of the Long March, with no Tiananmen Square triumph in sight. "We shot around the clock with two teams," says the 45-year-old director, dimpled but unsmiling. "I didn't take one break in eight months, not even for half a day. I was miserable—I just didn't have the extra energy to be happy. Near the end, I could hardly breathe; I thought I was about to have a stroke. It was bad. Six months later, I'm still resting now, trying to get fit again. But since I'm middle-aged, I'll probably never come back to normal."

The gentle listener wants to shout: "It's only a movie, Ang." But people working on even the lamest film know it's never only a movie. So much is at stake. So many egos, fragments of an artistic vision or commercial ambition, battling like Qing Dynasty swordsmasters. It's amazing—not that a film emerges from this mix of summer camp and boot camp, but that the combatants survive and come back for more.

Cover: Instant Classic
Taiwan filmmaker Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon is not only a star- studded epic, but also a rule- bending masterpiece that weds martial arts with sense and sensibility
All Aboard for the Zhang High Express: Actress Zhang Ziyi sizzles
'I Felt Like a Mouse and Ang Lee was a Lion': Zhang Ziyi on acting, stardom and Richard Gere in this web-only exclusive interview
'It's Emotional and Dramatic': Michelle Yeoh is no stranger to action-packed films, but the going was tough in Ang Lee's surefire hit
'I Thought I Was Going to Have a Stroke': Exclusive Web-only interview with Crouching Tiger director Ang Lee
'Speaking Mandarin Was Like Speaking Shakespeare': Chow Yun-fat on martial arts, Hollywood and mastering another language

Asia's Fine Performance
The region's filmmakers score big at this year's Cannes festival, winning four of the top prizes (6/5/2000)

Back to China
In the martial-arts drama Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Ang Lee and a cast of big stars struggle with moviemaking on the mainland (11/29/99)

On Set With Ang Lee
Elaborate sets, derring-do and big stars are all found in the martial-arts drama "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon"

Now consider the cinematic and emotional vectors converging in Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon. A $15 million action movie and a poignant tragic romance. A fight choreographer, Yuen Wo-ping, who had won international acclaim for his work on The Matrix and was bound to tangle with the soft-spoken, hard-to-budge Lee. A top-flight, all-Asian cast, with Chow Yun-fat (Hong Kong), Michelle Yeoh (Malaysia), Zhang Ziyi (Beijing) and Chang Chen (Taiwan). Only one of the cast—Zhang, then a 19-year-old ingenue—spoke anything like the mainland Mandarin that Lee demanded. (Lee, also raised in Taiwan, didn't speak it either.) At least these dangers were built into the scenario. What no one expected was that Yeoh would break her knee and need a month's rehab, or that it would rain sheets in the Gobi.

As the sage said: dying is easy, filmmaking is hard. But everyone was so serious on Crouching Tiger because Lee, who made his reputation with adult dramas-of-manners like The Wedding Banquet and Sense and Sensibility, had a child inside screaming to get out. He was finally ready to pay homage to his lifelong ardor for martial-arts novels and pictures. He had made beautiful films; now he would bend his considerable artistry to make, dammit, a movie. And nothing only about it.

Now that Crouching Tiger is opening in Asia, after stoking enthrallment at this May's Cannes Festival, viewers can see that all the agony produced exactly what Lee hoped to create: a blending, not a collision, of Eastern physical grace and Western intensity of performance, of Hong Kong kung-fu directness and British attention to behavioral nuance. Chinese stars convene from three movie eras: pioneer kung-femme Cheng Peipei from the '60s, Chow and Yeoh from Hong Kong's glorious '80s, and bright new lights Zhang and Chang. The fight scenes evoke grand old movies with computer technology. It's contemplative, and it kicks ass. High art meets high spirits on the trampoline of the movie's plot. Lee initially described the film to Yeoh as "Sense and Sensibility with martial arts." But it's not a hybrid; it's a new, exotic strain. Put it this way: a powerful film, a terrific movie.

Based on part of a Wang Dulu novel that runs to several volumes and thousands of pages, the script by James Schamus, Wang Huiling and Tsai Kuojung concerns the theft of a sword, the Green Destiny. This is the holy weapon of Li Mubai (Chow), a noble and expert warrior looking for peace in his later days. He entrusts the sword to Yu Shulien (Yeoh), a gifted martial artist with whom he shares an unspoken love. Then Jen (Zhang), daughter of a political bigwig, arrives, and everything tips off-balance. The wiser, more cautious adults are both drawn to and upset by Jen's beauty and vagrant energy. They sense Jen's avidity for rare toys like the Green Destiny. They are also suspicious of her governess (Cheng Peipei), who bears a resemblance to Jade Fox, a ruthless thief and the killer of Li Mubai's master. And then one night, the sword disappears.

COVER: Instant Classic Taiwan filmmaker Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon is not only a star-studded epic, but also a rule-bending masterpiece that weds martial arts with sense and sensibility
Hot Stuff: Actress Zhang Ziyi sizzles

HONG KONG: Man of the Jeer
Three years after its return to the mainland, the former British colony is showing signs of economic resurgence. But the public isn't happy with the guy at the helm, Tung Chee-hwa
Viewpoint: A legislator says democracy is losing

INDIA: Treasure Hunt
Officials are red-faced as villagers in a remote settlement loot a vast, historically significant discovery of gold and jewels

CAMBODIA: Strike, We're Out!
Asia's long-exploited factory workers are making their voices heard, downing their tools and demanding a better deal



TRAVEL WATCH: Grape Escapes in the Vineyards of Thailand

The Green Destiny is what Hitchcock called the MacGuffin: the object that kick-starts the adventure and puts everyone in frantic, purposeful motion. In Crouching Tiger, that motion has its own poetry; for these semi-gods and demidevils have a buoyancy to match their gravity. The film's first action scene, with Shulien chasing the sword's thief (who, we soon learn, is Jen), sets the tone and the rules. The two fight hand-to-hand and foot-to-foot, with elbows at the ready. Jen suddenly floats up, as if on the helium of her young arrogance, and cantors up and down the courtyard walls as if they were velvet carpets, with Shulien in graceful pursuit. Jen executes a squat spin, then rises like a vertical dervish and escapes.

At its screenings in Cannes, this scene was greeted with spontaneous applause, even from those professional misanthropes, the critics. From that moment on, Crouching Tiger had the Riviera swells in its pocket. They gasped with glee as Jen and Jade Fox soared into the night (Who does that? Angels and witches). They misted up at the friendship of Mubai and Shulien, two brave warriors who haven't quite the courage to say I love you. They happily took the film's 20-minute detour to the Gobi, where in a flashback Jen meets her bandit beau Lo (Chang) and makes love with the spontaneity of a first-time tryst and the calculation of a girl who has to be on top. (Forget the tepid marriage her father has arranged. Jen wants to love a fighter and fight her lover.) At the end, they sobbed farewell to an old friend who gives a beautiful valediction.

To Western viewers, Crouching Tiger has the tang of novelty. But Asian moviegoers, especially those of Lee's age, need no scholarship to plumb the lore of martial arts, or wuxia (knightly chivalry). In the '60s and early '70s young men came to maturity—or were pickled in adolescence—watching sabre-rattling heroes of both sexes in such classics as Chang Cheh's The Golden Swallow (starring Cheng Peipei, the avenging villainess of Lee's film) and King Hu's epic A Touch of Zen. Some of the Crouching set-pieces, like Jen's one-woman stand against half a dozen marauders at an inn, are echoes of more recent films; Yeoh herself laid righteous waste to many a hostelry (in Tai Chi Master, Wing Chun, etc.). But as a newly illustrated memory book of youthful obsession, the movie has its roots in films of 30 years ago—before and after Bruce Lee.

In A Touch of Zen, the knights prudently do battle under bamboo trees. Lee had the inspired—or crackpot—idea to stage the fight between Mubai and Jen on the tree's branches. Says Zhang: "I had to swing up and down, swirl and remember to try and act, all at the same time." Chow was grateful to the action director: "Wo-ping gave me as much protection as he could. He knows I'm not a martial arts man. And when you're hanging 60 feet up in the air in a bamboo forest, you need protection."

When he thinks about the scene, Lee is both chagrined and giddy. "It's nuts," he says. "It's sexy. Nobody wanted to do it. And there's a reason why people don't do that: because it's almost impossible! The first three days of shooting we did were a complete waste of time. There were 20 or 30 guys below the actors trying to make them float. It was just chaotic." Finally it worked: a scene so buoyant that the audience roars and soars along with the stars.

Russel Wong for TIME.
Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon star Chow Yun-fat at Hong Kong's Felix restaurant.

In other martial-arts scenes, it was Yuen, the old action pro, who had to bring Lee back to earth. "Ang would say he didn't want to shoot things the Wo-ping way because it was an Ang Lee movie," Chow recalls. "But his ideas couldn't be worked out in reality. Finally, he'd go to Wo-ping and say 'Master, I'm wrong. Let's do it your way now.'" Lee doesn't dispute this account of his Method martial artistry. "I wanted kung fu to be a dramatic experience as well as a performing experience," he says. "I wanted action, suspense and emotion—and those are almost contradictory things. I'd fantasized about this since boyhood, and I was full of ideas, but a lot of them weren't feasible or didn't look good. It was difficult for Wo-ping and distracting to the actors."

Lee is a visionary and a perfectionist; the movie he's directing rarely measures up to the one in his mind's eye. "The art of film," he says, "is the art of regret." So he fights for what he can get, which is often more than his colleagues can freely give. "Detail by detail, we had to find a way to make things work. And the actors aren't machines. After a few takes they're worn out. Then you're doing Take 31, and things are getting worse instead of better." Yet Lee's doggedness impressed and inspired at least one participant: Yeoh. "Usually when we do martial arts," she says, "we shift the focus—the action becomes everything. But here there's such a balance. It's emotional, it's dramatic. It transcends everything."

Lee might not like to compromise, but he has to adapt. He had first thought of Jet Li, he of the flying feet and dour demeanor, as Li Mubai. When Chow took the role, the action scenes were reduced but the character ripened. And, at times, what seems like a disappointment can be a sweet surprise. That was the revelation of Zhang Ziyi.

For all its pan-Asian star power, the movie depends on Jen and the actress who plays her. When first seen, Jen seems lovely but unformed, a dreamy adventuress who wants the freedom of the heroes she reads about. In one sense, she's the spoiled rich girl with a racing emotional motor. She aches for the forbidden thrill because she knows she would like it—and knows she'd be good at it. Gradually, though, Jen (or, rather, Zhang) reveals the steel will beneath her silky ways—and a more toxic, intoxicating beauty. On the cusp of womanhood, she could tumble either way: become a fearless heroine or a ferocious harlot. We know that she is guilty of one theft: she steals the film.

Everything is pretty in movies, but nothing is easy. And that includes Zhang's immersion into the character. She got to know the actor who would play her demon lover because, as Chang says, "We took acting lessons before we started the parts, so we were familiar with each other before shooting started." Lee's pre-production instructions to the young actor were simple: eat. "My biggest task was to put on weight, as the director said I was too skinny." (He bulked up fine; he's halfway to hunkdom.)

But Lee had stricter demands of his starlet. "For a time," he says, "she was nowhere near where I thought Jen should be. But when you can't get something to work, you improvise. If the mountain doesn't turn around, make the world turn around. So we made the character closer to her until there was a meeting in the middle. We veered the movie toward her. She is very sexy and we thought, sure, let's use that. It makes things start to happen. She is the most marvellous thing I've found."

Zhang Ziyi, though a game gal, was not schooled in martial arts, so lithe young stunt doubles, male and female, executed the more strenuous feats. "To find a good stuntwoman," Lee says, "is harder than finding a good wife." And to find a woman who is tops in stuntwork, acting and all-round allure is almost impossible. That's why Yeoh is so precious. On one good leg or two, she wore those wires, scaled those walls.

Russel Wong for TIME.
Malaysian-born actress Michelle Yeoh is no stranger to action-packed films.

"I've waited 15 years to work with this guy," says Yeoh, who signed on early and accompanied Lee on some location scouting. "He's gentle and very emotional. During a sad scene at the end of the film, he kept telling me to do different things, and when he'd come over I saw he was red-eyed, teary. I could barely look at him. He gets so completely involved. And when he says, 'Good take,' after a shot, he really means it." For Lee, that was a great take. "I know those weren't 'acting' tears, they were real tears. It works, and it brought tears to my eyes. Michelle had to cry in every take, for five hours. At the end she was drained."

Lee drove Yeoh nearly to tears with his insistence on precise Mandarin speech. "I don't think I studied this hard even for exams," says the actress, whose family language was English. "Every single word needs the right intonation. I'd deliver a 16-line speech, get one word slightly wrong and Ang would say, 'Let's do it all again.' I'd say, 'Can't we just do the one word again?' 'No, let's do it all.' So many times I thought, 'I'm so stupid, I'm so stupid, why are you using me?' But it builds character. If you don't listen to Ang, then you're gonna do it again and again, so you'd better listen up."

After two Hollywood tough-guy films and a lovely turn as the King of Siam in The King and I, Chow was used to learning a new language with each script: "First English, then Thai, now this." But the experience was, as he says, "awful. The first day I had to do 28 takes just because of the language. That's never happened before in my life. It gave me a lot pressure."

So Chang and Zhang went to acting school; Chow and Yeoh crammed to speak Mandarin. And throughout, Lee was learning the limitations in the laws of stunt physics from Yuen. Movies, like life, are an education on the fly, with pop quizzes every moment. How apt, then, that the theme of Crouching Tiger should be teaching. In this war of the generations, the adults are as eager to instruct the young as the kids are to rebel against authority. And the wicked carry grievances for years. Jade Fox says she killed Mubai's master because "he would sleep with me but never teach me" the secrets of wuxia; and she bitterly resents Jen because the child hoarded martial lore for herself. Here, knowledge is power. And only the most powerful, like Mubai, can share it.

The star pupil, of course, is Jen, and the film's main question is: From whom will she agree to learn? Shulien and Mubai both want to test themselves against her precocity. But for Mubai it is a mission. "What do you want?" Jen asks him, and he replies, "What I've always wanted—to teach you." For him education is a kind of intellectual and ethical parenting. Teaching this bright, willful girl is as close as he will come to fatherhood—even if, as he must be aware, the job carries fatal risks.

"She needs direction and training," Mubai says of Jen." Surely that is Ang Lee speaking. A film director is the ultimate father figure, doling out responsibility, praise and censure. On Crouching Tiger, Lee, who secured his early fame with the so-called Father Knows Best trilogy (Pushing Hands, The Wedding Banquet, Eat Drink Man Woman), was a father-teacher to Zhang the budding actress, to Yeoh the first-year Mandarin student, to Chow the man on the flying bamboo. And behind Lee was another family figure: the young Ang, mesmerized by tales of great fighters and images of impossible physical grace.

However much the middle-aged Ang Lee suffered in making this exquisite film, he should take a little pleasure knowing he helped realize the young Ang Lee's dream.

—Reported by Stephen Short/Hong Kong

Write to TIME at

This edition's table of contents
TIME Asia home


Quick Scroll: More stories from TIME, Asiaweek and CNN


U.S. secretary of state says China should be 'tolerant'

Philippine government denies Estrada's claim to presidency

Faith, madness, magic mix at sacred Hindu festival

Land mine explosion kills 11 Sri Lankan soldiers

Japan claims StarLink found in U.S. corn sample

Thai party announces first coalition partner


COVER: President Joseph Estrada gives in to the chanting crowds on the streets of Manila and agrees to make room for his Vice President

THAILAND: Twin teenage warriors turn themselves in to Bangkok officials

CHINA: Despite official vilification, hip Chinese dig Lamaist culture

PHOTO ESSAY: Estrada Calls Snap Election

WEB-ONLY INTERVIEW: Jimmy Lai on feeling lucky -- and why he's committed to the island state


COVER: The DoCoMo generation - Japan's leading mobile phone company goes global

Bandwidth Boom: Racing to wire - how underseas cable systems may yet fall short

TAIWAN: Party intrigues add to Chen Shui-bian's woes

JAPAN: Japan's ruling party crushes a rebel at a cost

SINGAPORE: Singaporeans need to have more babies. But success breeds selfishness

Launch CNN's Desktop Ticker and get the latest news, delivered right on your desktop!

Today on CNN

Back to the top   © 2000 Time Inc. All Rights Reserved.
Terms under which this service is provided to you.
Read our privacy guidelines.