"You can't change the World, but the World will change you."
Written: May 21 '07 (Updated May 25 '07)
|
Product Rating:
|
|
| Suspense: |
 |
|
|
Pros: One of the best-looking films in the history of Hong Kong cinema. Superb cinematography...
Cons: Not as good as the first two installments.
The Bottom Line: Infernal Affairs 3 should not be seen as a sequel...but more as a "detailed" explanation of the first two films.
|
|
|
| diseased's Full Review: Infernal Affairs 3 |
The city is no longer alive, the windows no longer reflect, the sound no longer echoes. The sky is no longer there, just the grey remains screaming for mercy. The tenebrous cloud boils in like a mutated living organ. Shape-shifting; disgusting, swallowing the wind into its swollen and inflated testicles. It moves with unconscious force; strong waves of repulsion forced out of God’s hands, he waves his arm with might, the torturous current wades forward. Is this evil, or is this fear? The man tries to answer his own question. He fears for his life, but is he evil? His fingers struggle to tangle themselves into the buttonholes of his suit. He dresses the attire of a gentleman, and he looks at the mirror. Buddha judges with a million eyes, and curses you with a million voices. The man shows his insanity blooming with a rainbow smile; thin-threads of cutting radiation, sizzling like untamed bullets, leaving strings of amplifying explosions in timeless sequence. They crash into his memory, his skull. And they nest in the thickly dotted cracks and dents that they created. It's where he rests, within his memories, but he felt an awakening that launched him. Out-of-body. Out-of-mind. He saw everything, vivid flowers in the sky, dazzling in fire, then falling like the wet and ugly weather onto the ground. There lay the body of his memory, the humiliation of his consciousness, like an amateurish and deformed collage. The smile fades, his eyes stainless and transparent. This time, he looks into the mirror. He is trapped in a glass along with his enemy. They observe each other, their weakness is each other. The tension colors their faces, showboating their extra-suave expressions in cinematic slow-motion. This can only mean one thing – it's on. Definitely on.
This all started a year ago, and it's always something that should not have happened. The Sun still burns him. That day on the rooftop when they met, and when it ended, he signed his name with comely sophistry, it made him think that he was the winner. And when he came down the elevator, he guarded his heart with his police badge. Held it firm for the first time since he became a cop, and fancied it sternly, and proudly. He changed something, but what? Or did he just change the rules to his advantage? Or did the rules change him? His friends gave him a pat on the back, and their approving arms blanket themselves across his shoulder, giving full acknowledgement and support. Weeks went by, he stepped outside, the Sun wavered, like a shaded mirage in the process of dying. But he lived on, still showing that same cheerfulness everyday; by an exotic smile that has become overly simple, almost begging for forgiveness. Except that no one saw it. They all listened to him, hooked on his star-studded words and those attention-grabbing openers. Those lines, so guilty and easy, written by the blood of others:
"I'm a cop"
He mouths it everyday while staring at the long hallway before his desk. Eyes transparent...but still smiling. Looking more and more insane.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
This is some playful caper, someone is enjoying a game, but not too serious. It was witty, but it was letting you know, rolling up its tricky sleeves beforehand; an array of gadgets, coiling, winding, flexing its devious metal in your face. And then comes the deceitful hand, gloved, reaching open for what you own, and for what you owe. You're left confused, is this stupidity or intelligence? Honest deception? Somewhere along the middle, this was just a careful attempt at the public's money. A smart decision, but maybe even more slanted, it was a business decision, a natural decision. This pertained to "Infernal Affairs 3", of course. The film was in fact made and completed in two short months, finishing the trilogy with the sky raining silver coins. But in the end, lightning cracked the streets at two opposite ends. It struck ambiguity. They had to face the face of truth, us:
Was this epilogue a necessity?
Yes.
But was this conclusion real?
Well...
We wait for the answer. We watch the movie. And there it is. Fluctuating into the most perfect modulations. Conjugating, as anonymous as can be, going at the right pace. It went slow, like a parasite permeating through the flesh of exoticness and sensitivity, stimulating the orgasms of hope and regret. We throw pieces of ourselves into the wishing fountain, the small mellow splash so close to our ears, so lush to our eyes, as if we're watching a chain of green snakes silently engulfed in a crystalline river. Following it into another heaven. We sit paralyzed by that familiar tune, the singing washes over us like a new spring, into us. Music makes the words, and the sounds. But they always end up at the same place, between someone's eyes. Men fall down, and down, the girl sings for the dead. We are truly mesmerized. What is the answer?
Images magnify the screen, the landscape. Stone Buddha statues praying for the beginning, or the end. Little men in long black suits gaze up, the incense burned down to their fingers, only then do they regain attention. One of them turned around, his somber thin hair violently swaying in front of his dark glasses. Watching closely, the smooth black lenses reflected the soul of the city; breathing smoke at night, wandering the long and empty galleries. At daylight, the windows had their own lustrous scenes to play; facing and shooting the distant skylines that threaten to drift away on a floating island. There is a movie within a movie. He walked past this heavenly view, his shoes clicking sharply against the marble floor, a three-note piano chord repeats itself in balance. Another lone figure sat parallel to the rectangular windows. His back slouched with both his hands warming a gun, in deep pessimistic meditation. And then all of them met in one room. Andy Lau, Leon Lai, Anthony Wong, Tony Leung, posing and modeling as an archetype of new age Asian maledom. The camera quickly swooshes around before you can even react and say the words "sexy".
This film embraces all. It's about the city, the people, rising in their eternal dreams. Living in a place where their mistake is their excellence. And it would cost them nothing, only harmless self-deprecating humor. If only you can laugh your pain away. But the more you laugh, the more you hone that hatred, that rage. It's always chasing, no matter how far, how many days you left it behind, how many years. Our aberrant hero Ming, is running away from this creature, but not knowing that his foot has a string tied to it. He is a man that has no heart, and is scared of courage. He works at places immune to the sunlight, in an office that is forever locked in the secret passages of the building. There he sleeps with his caffeinated eyes open. When he awoke, he felt the creature next to him. The flame in its breath, his hand glides smoothly across its stomach. Could this be real? He is clueless, no longer wanting to know, just sliding his hands back and forth across the glossy surface of the wooden table.
It's all part of this daring plan, this expanded script written by Alan Mak and Felix Chong. Their goal is to make Ming completely insane, infected with paranoia, into a thin impersonation of his former self. At last, truth will suddenly become lies, and even the lies themselves are strongly misguided. There is nothing at the end, except for the shadow of his deluded past coming in and out like a broken streetlight in a blank alley, hiding beneath his eyelids. He tries to sneak, scope, and search for signs, still listening to what his crippled and sporadic brainwaves are telling him. Like hearing those footsteps, clicking blatantly, approaching the distance. He immediately followed. Into the maze he went, and right there not far in front of him was a rebellious kid, stepping and crushing on some tin cans. Click, click, click.
It's all in his mind now. And this wasn't the only time something like this happened. A situation earlier sent shock waves that nearly collapsed his spine. No, not further paranoia. But an enemy. No, not the one that he sees every time he looks in the mirror, but a new one. More advanced and much smarter. It's another one of "them" in the police force, named Yeung. This one knows a lot more. In fact, he knows everything that Ming doesn't. Those little round glasses gives proof, for they can see right through those cloudy skies and into the eyes of Buddha. And the sharp hook at the end of his lip pitches up and down like a snake's tail. By God, what to do? Simple, more sneaking, snooping, scouting, cracking passwords, playing the detective, going off the deep end; visits to the shrink. That's right, the psychiatrist that everyone loved so much in the first film is now back, full time. Her performance can be only described as heart-to-heart. And her tears still sparkling, saturating the outskirts of her eyes, gaining strength and sympathizing for her previous patient, an undercover cop who we all remember, named Yan. Ming lay down, using her, she's an expert of his enemy. He falls asleep quick, and sees Yan lying next to him in another chair, she speaks to them both. They talk back, those same words, same lies:
"I'm a cop"
"I long to be righteous.
Finally, we now remember what it was like. The pangs of that little sob story, ripening in our eyes, our nose. The recurrence is played once again, the valiance of him glorifying his own unwarranted death, those devastating pupils meeting the audience, and those boundless hair twirling like a merry-go-around, we are forced to look down and turn away. But we nod our heads, accepting and submitting to this inevitable course. They have really done it, even though we expected it. They did it. These excuses, albeit good ones, are used to revive the old and pit them against the new. How perfect was this. The cast is all brought back and very much breathing, all the characters who had no business of being here in the first place are once again playing cops-and-robbers, hide-and-seek. Tony Leung renews Life for the first and last time as Yan, penetrating through his award-winning role marvelously. He is youthful, clean-shaven, extra-dynamic, and trusting of the people who are still loyal to his stained dignity. But he is most afraid of strangers, especially those who hide in shadows. When they close in, he can only charge in first, facing them. And then, he came out of the night dragging them. Soon, he was sent to psychiatric care where he met Dr. Lee, and a private relationship between them developed behind veiled windows. This was the place where he lost his identity; no longer a cop, no longer a thief, no longer a burden; a friendly hand reached out and touched his heart. Surprisingly, "Infernal Affairs 3" was able to devote partly to this affair, something that the prequel never had a chance to do.
The only other person who knew of Yan's identity was Superintendent Wong, and veteran superstar Anthony Wong reiterates as this character. Now, even more ominous than before, brooding the frightened whispers around him, the heavy silence. He worries every minute about his little roach, afraid of the fact that it could be stepped on anytime, anywhere. Wong presents a caring man, but just no place, and no margins to show any affection. He never speaks anymore, only biting words into the sides of his tongue. That path used to be lined with black buildings, white pavement, but now long strokes of rain hits the roof of his skull, slowly creeping down his forehead, strings of little red storms torments his face. The truth was never written, not in cheap sentences, but surprisingly it is a person, walking and breathing. It is the argot of authenticity, unflinching even in the homely abode of the adversary, unmoved even when he welcomes you, your hand firm as a rock, just in case. You will see this enemy everywhere, but it's just that he always sees you first, leaning back at the end of the hallway, infrequently rubbing the lens of his glasses, his name tag pinned to his suit: Inspector Yeung.
Leon Lai, the newest and at most a welcome addition into infernal hell, plays this powerful and mysterious figure. His hands always soothing his gun so the bullets will burn faster. But he never had to use it, all he needs is intimidation. Cocking his head a couple of axis to the side, his eyes hypnotized with subliminal threats. His lips, slanted upwards, showing enough of a smile. He warns you to "be careful". To not stray erratically behind whom you want to target, but instead stay far, far ahead. That's the only way to win, and to gain knowledge. This incipient omniscience is only the beginning, like God before he became God, watching everything, and finally discovering himself.
In between all this, there was missing time. Whatever there was before "Infernal Affairs", and whatever is left after. Only the watcher knows, recorded in a collection of black tapes, hidden in his own Pandora Box. But the lid was purposely left ajar for you to peek, and if your hand starts to itch, it means he has won--again. Every event will be destroyed, and new ones will be created. In "Infernal Affairs 3", everything will change, not for the better or for worse, but because it was inevitable. Directors Andrew Lau and Alan Mak were forced return to the origin, at the top of the white blank paper, ideas joining in explosive melee. The tape still recording, and we start over at the opening paragraph, with the lovable cop Yan running up a staircase like a child free of punishment, and entering the electronics store where he works. He crouches down behind the counter, and pushes a bag of overpriced cocaine into one of the speakers. He nearly fumbled it as he suddenly heard someone approaching behind him. He jolted up in a hurry, and reacted to the customer's request. He saw him, Ming, pointing to a stereo in the center of the room, asking about its sound and quality. Here they met for the last time....
Recommended:
Yes
|
|
|
|
Epinions.com ID:
diseased
|
|
Location: Purgatory
Reviews written: 41
Trusted by: 43 members
About Me:
Let em know...my word IS my word
|
|
|
- Add to My Yahoo!: 
- Add to Google Homepage: 
© 1999-2009 Shopping.com, Inc.