Man of Tai Chi
(2013)
Keanu doesn’t know
Tai Chi. At least, his villainous alter ego in Man of Tai Chi doesn’t. Keanu Reeves’ directorial debut is a star
vehicle for fight choreographer and diminutive chum Tiger Chen (with whom he
worked on The Matrix trilogy). Chen,
who bears a passing resemblance to John Cazale, more than holds his own as a
leading man, in a rudimentary but effective narrative that finds him overcome
with yin and battling to regain his yang. This, naturally, involves a lot of
fighting.
This premise is recognisable anywhere, any time; Tiger
(Luke) is trained by a master (Ben Kenobi/Yoda) but is tempted by the dark
(Yin) side that is Donaka (Reeves; Darth Vader/the Emperor). His master is even
called Master Yang (Hai Yu); it’s up there for all to see in orange highlighter.
It’s no secret that Lucas’ films consciously blended Eastern and western
religion and mysticism in order to tap into universal themes.
Here, right from the start, Master Yang is worried about the
disruptive forces within Tiger (“You are
not controlling your Chi. Your Chi is controlling you”). Tiger is attracted
to power, to prove that Tai Chi is effective for fighting (and so to disprove the
pronouncement of his opponent in a local competition; “Tai Chi is just for show. You’ve already lost”). In so doing, Tiger
attracts the attention of Reeves’ super-rich Donaka, owner of a private
security firm. He runs an illegal fight club in which the contestants may end
up dead, one that is under investigation by police officer Sun-Jing Shi (Karen
Mok).
Of course, it’s necessary to provide Tiger with motivation
to sign up (fighting for money is not honourable, so he requires the lure of a
threat to his master’s temple). When he does, a series of escalating encounters
ensue. Reeves the director, aided by Woo–ping Yen designing the action, has
learnt well. He ensures the fights are brutal and vital, complemented by a
driving soundtrack that adds a touch of the oriental to Matrix style beats. Michael G Cooney’s script embraces the
archetypes and furnishes a few modern touches; Tiger’s life becomes a Truman Show, filmed at every stage to a
paying audience; when it is played back for his edification/horror, it feels
like a strange mash up of Peter Weir’s film with The Parallax View test reel.
There wouldn’t be any movie if Tiger accepted his master’s
wisdom at the outset, so evidently it’s much more fun to pursue the yang path
in filmic terms. This is coloured, however, by having rigid, succinct Donaka
(Reeves playing to the minimalist, an effective choice) root for Tiger to
become all he can be. Donaka’s methods are merely an inversion of his own
master’s teaching, and ultimately there is a blurring of the lines of attainment.
Tiger rejects Donaka’s path, refusing to kill for him. But Donaka has his way
in the end, when he confronts Tiger and the latter calls upon Yang’s technique
of palm striking his opponent. So Tiger delivers Donaka the life he is owed,
while Tiger, in so doing, acts with the control Master Yang saw as essential to
development.
While the Tiger fights are consistently engaging, Reeves is
responsible for the occasional misstep. The
Raid’s Iko Uwais is wasted in a cameo as one of Tiger’s opponents, while
Reeves is stiff and unconvincing of pose during the climactic confrontation.
His appropriation of martial arts worked when conveyed within the stylistic
trappings of the Wachowskis’ Matrix
universe, but, paired with Tiger, he’s more akin to a lumbering giant.
Additionally, the investigation subplot never justifies its inclusion.
Reeves is willing to indulge supernatural elements (the palm
strike, the beast like snarl Donaka emits when roused), but he stops short of
fully embracing elemental forces. As such, there’s a wee bit of a hodgepodge
going on, the director and writer straddling stools at any given moment. Still,
this is a decent and modest spectacle, and hopefully Reeves will get back in
the director’s seat again soon.
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