The Last Emperor (1987, Bernardo Bertolucci) (Patreon)

53/100

Second viewing, last seen during its original theatrical release. No amount of stunning pageantry showcasing the Forbidden City can obscure this film's essential nature, which combines the shapeless great-man biopic (possibly my least favorite cinematic genre...) with one of those grim tales about people being helplessly buffeted about by the tide of history (...unless it's that one). That this particular imprisoned, powerless individual also technically ruled China for a while provides some welcome irony, and Pu Yi's life took enough genuinely arresting turns—I'd totally forgotten about his crooner-playboy phase—to forestall the plodding rhythm from which such pictures tend to suffer. But there's still a certain frustrating arbitrariness to the narrative, exemplified by the moment that sees Wenxiu, the secondary consort, take her leave just as self-proclaimed spy Eastern Jewel arrives from out of nowhere. (Admittedly the shot itself dazzles, with Bertolucci following Wenxiu left to right as she departs, lowering the camera slightly, and then following Eastern Jewel right to left as seen through a railing's balusters, which nearly creates a zoetrope effect.) Also I gotta say that it's become hard for me to roll with the conceit of English dialogue in non-Anglophone contexts, which thankfully has grown somewhat rare (though you do still see it occasionally, as in Ridley Scott's Napoleon); might have been less thrown had the kid who plays Pu Yi at age eight sounded thoroughly American, whereas the kid who plays Pu Yi at age 15 seems to be doing a first-rate John Lone impression. Speaking of which, my overwhelming feeling this time was a sense of potential cruelly wasted when it comes to superb Asian-American actors. Lone was a beast in the '80s (see also The Moderns)—what happened to him? Joan Chen still works regularly, but I haven't actually seen her in anything since Lust, Caution, 17 years ago. How is it possible that a stick of lit-dynamite charisma like Maggie Han never really got her career going beyond a guest spot as one of George Costanza's abortive dates? I know the answer, but it's depressing.