On Saturday, thanks in no small part to the kind offices and overall gameness of the brother and sister-in-law, the cinetrix took in first The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou, then House of Flying Daggers [and is she the only person who thinks of the Rapture whenever she reads that title?].
Both films were notable for their masterful, vivid palettes; static, flat tableaux vivant; and romantic triangles that end in tragedy, as such geometries always must. Why, then, did the mythic Chinese characters feel much more real than those sailing on the Calypso manqué? The latter seemed, for lack of a better word, shallow.
As we left the theatre after Daggers, still slightly gobsmacked, I turned to the sister-in-law and said, "It's really not fair to Wes Anderson to see his movie and Zhang Yimou's on the same day."
More anon. My time in the north is rapidly drawing to a close, and I have at least two more movies on the docket before I depart.