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Shown at the New York Film Festival at Lincoln Center, October 2005.

Hou fans, a serious bunch, will be delighted with the chronological and sociological ambition of "Three Times"; for me it drifted gently downhill after "time" one, a wonderfully touching, minimalist love story about a soldier and a pool hall girl in 1966. The second "time" ("Dadaodeng: a Time for Freedom") is 1911, and to evoke the period Hou shoots the film as a silent with piano music and inter-titles and the subject of a brothel and buying courtesans as concubines -- complicated by a story of going off to fight for freedom -- resembles Hou's cumulatively richer full-length brothel saga, "Flowers of Shanghai," which is easier to follow. "Time" three is now, and Hou lays on the contemporaneity with a trowel: you've got tattoos and cell phones and text messaging and motorcycles and epilepsy and lesbian lovers and smog and nightclub singing... and it all ends chaotically... like contemporary life, I guess. Each period segment has a composedly different style but, number three, "2005: Taipei: A Time for Youth" seems the least uniquely Hou of the three. It takes off from Hou's "Millennium Mambo," but the material has been dealt with in more original fashion by Wong Kar Wai and Olivier Assayas and many others.

What justifies the three segments and makes them interact with each other is the use of the same two actors, the tough but tender Chang Chen and the "impossibly glamorous" Shu Qi as the man and woman for each period. Seeing how they are transformed each time conveys Hou's essential message that we are entirely formed by the period we live in. Everything in the film is ravishing to look at, but it's the shyness of the couple in "time" one ("1966, Kaosiung: A Time for Love") that stole my heart. The final scene, where the girl and boy just sip tea and look at each other and smile and nervously laugh and fall in love, seemed more authentic and present and fresh than probably anything else in the whole film festival at Lincoln Center this year. When Hou hits it, he flies to the moon.

Interestingly enough, two elites of contemporary Chinese directors have presented their latest nostalgic works between 2004 and 2005. Compared to Wong Kar-wai's hybrid style and inscrutable cinematic codes in last year's 2046, Hou Hsiao Hsien's new masterpiece Three times in this year's Cannes is distinctly built on a three-episode structure and simply reminiscent of his chefs-d'oeuvre from his different golden ages.

The first episode "A time for love" is obviously associated with Hou's earlier works in 1980s. Set in Taiwan's snooker parlor in 1960s, a nostalgic aura infused with youthful vigor and adolescent impulse successfully recurred in Hou's stylish, experienced long-shots. The subtle relationship between the two main characters was getting clear with repetition of the Taiwanese old songs and western pops Smoke gets in your eyes, The Beatles' Rain and tears. This episode contains Director's real experiences and was rendered the most accessible of the three stories.

The second episode "A time for freedom" reminds me of his acclaimed classic Flower of Shanghai. Similar backgrounds, characters, chamber settings, fastidious costume designs refer to the identical tragic theme: Historically and emotionally lost. The surprise comes from the narration, which is dealt with in the form of silent movies. What struck me more is Shu Qi's weepy performance of those ancient elegies in an incomprehensible language.

The last episode "A time for youth" drew me back to the contemporary Taiwan in 2005. This episode is shockingly flooded with a variety of Generation-X's stuff such as e-mails, blog, cellar messages, trance music, digital camera, drugs, epilepsy etc., and also focused upon a group of aimless and hopeless younger animals, center of whom is a premature girl played by Shu Qi. Reminiscent of Millennium Mambo, also starring amazing Shu Qi as the key character, this story is loosely predicted on a girl whose relationship between her homosexual lover and a young male camera is morbidly and unapologetically intertwined. It's hard to conjecture why the director chose such an extraordinary story here as a representation of the contemporary society. Utilization of all kinds of most up-dated symbols has, however, proved his master touch in exactly presenting the loneliness, aimlessness and helplessness of the X-Generation living in the new century.

As the best actress in 2005's Golden Horse Award, Shu Qi's portrait of three women from different times is so convincing and laudable that she is totally competent for more difficult characters.

Because this movie takes patience and doesn't depend on the usual understanding of plot and character, it's been under-appreciated, in my opinion. The opening segment takes place in the Sixties, followed by a trip into the past in the next segment, and into the future, i.e. the present, in the last. Because the same actors appear as lovers in all three, the movie invites us to compare historical interpretations of love and life, as well as see what is continuous in all three. Nothing much "happens" in any of the three, though there are small stories in each; the meaning of the movie lies in the sensibility and sensuous effects of each historical section. The beauty and dignity of the 1911 section is contrasted with the repulsiveness of the contemporary urban, industrialized and technological landscape, yet the modern women have a freedom that the heroine of the 1911 section could not dream about. The treatment of love is serious, yet also playful; love songs, love letters and smoking (tea a century ago) are all customs and codes of romance movies that are used ironically here. All in all, a masterful and interesting movie, but not for those who want fast-paced thrills.

THREE TIMES (Zui hao de shi guang) is so frank a film that the viewer may get lost looking for the hidden meanings in this century traversal of lovers' interactions in China. Not one for simple linear film-making, director Hsiao-hsien Hou instead opts for mood and suggestion and leaves the paucity of dialog to make room for emotional involvement and response. Three periods - 1966 A Time for Love, 1911 A Time for Freedom, and 2005 A Time for Youth - are depicted with the same main characters, Qi Shu and Chen Chang, who prove to be exceptionally sensitive to the concept from the director: with each new tale these fine actors mold new characters and questions and yet allow us to see a line of similarity in the couples as the director has suggested.

The film wisely opens with the most successful of the three 'Times' - 1966 A Time for Love - - tracing the emergence of timid passion between a lad headed for the military and a young girl who works in a pool hall. They communicate by letters after their first brief introductory encounter and circumstances interfere with the progress of their relationship in 1966 Taiwan. The middle section 1911 A Time for Freedom is gorgeous visually and conceptually the director has elected to use the cinematic form of the period (silent movie) to tell his story about the freeing of a young girl from the grip of a brothel madam and surveys the political tensions between Japan and China as the quietly lighted story of love and yearning unfolds. The film ends with 2005 A Time for Youth and here our lovers are caught up in the pollution of smog, cellphones, emails, nightclubs, and infidelities for same sex affairs that speak loudly about the tenor of the times.

Hsiao-hsien Hou's films are an acquired taste and many will find the choppy editing, the fragmentary scenes that are not always well focused for the story line, and the over-long length (130 minutes) too much to endure. But the ideas are fresh and the characters and vignettes are memorable, and most of the major critics in the media have lavished praise on this film. It is an interesting work but for this viewer there are enough flaws to keep it grounded. Grady Harp

Three Times, the latest film from Taiwanese master Hou Hsiao-hsien is a lyrical, sensuous, but disappointing collection of three love stories set in 1911, 1966, and 2005. Marvelously performed by Shu Qi (Millennium Mambo) and Chang Chen, the film is both a retrospective of Hou's earlier work, a historical study of a culture, and a cogent statement about how social limitations affect each person's ability to relate. The message, however, that social restraints and modern technology hampers our ability to connect with one another is hardly new and, though depicted via Hou's gorgeous minimalism, was not enough to allow me to become emotionally involved with the characters.

Utilizing a traditional three-act structure, the mood of the film shifts from one time period to the other but the position of the women remains significant. The first segment is set in 1966 and is titled "A Time for Love". Uncharacteristically, Hou uses pop songs as background to the episode involving a chance encounter between Chen, an on-leave soldier and May, a young woman who works at various pool halls in different Taiwanese towns. The songs, repeated throughout the segment in the style of Hong Kong director Wong Kar-wai, are the Platters 1959 version of the thirties love song "Smoke Gets in your Eyes" and the 1968 hit by Aphrodite's Child "Rain and Tears". Chen becomes attracted to May after returning to visit a previous pool girl to whom he had written love letters while away in service.

Both watch each other carefully across smoky pool tables but are forced to leave and the remainder of the segment follows Chen as he attempts to track May in local pool halls across Taiwan. Though the first act contains some poetic moments of mutual attraction, it is mostly teasing in its elusiveness. May and Chen rarely speak and when they do, it is mostly about snooker. Nonetheless, Hou creates an atmosphere of tension as the lovers, perhaps like Taiwan itself at this time, must choose between remaining comfortable in their status quo or taking risks to engender more intriguing possibilities.

Set in 1911, act two, "A Time for Freedom", takes place in a concubine reminiscent of Hou's beautiful but claustrophobic Flowers of Shanghai. This 35-minute segment contains no dialogue, simply intertitles as in silent films and a tinkling piano in the background. Hou's ostensible reason for using this device is that he was unable to recreate the Taiwanese spoken language of the period. Though this is understandable, I doubt if many would have noticed and the absence of dialogue for that long a period of time comes across as an affectation. In this section, the two lovers from the first segment are now reprieved as master and concubine. The master is a political activist who writes articles promoting independence and provides financial help to a concubine pupil to allow her to achieve the status of companion.

Unfortunately, he does not address the issue his concubine is most concerned about - her own personal freedom, and he remains indifferent as she expresses her longings, again perhaps reflecting the political idea that Taiwan was not capable of independence at this time. The final chapter brings us to the modern world of freeways, cellphones, and text messaging. Named "A Time for Youth", the title of this segment is steeped in irony. No longer a subtext, the lack of communication fostered by modern technology reminds us of previous films by the director that eloquently conveyed the apathetic self-indulgence of modern Taiwanese youth, Goodbye South, Goodbye and Millennium Mambo. Unlike Goodbye South, Goodbye, which employed colored filters to highlight the garishness of modern Taipei, however, the city in the current film is now dark and foreboding.

The characters are a photographer, his girlfriend, a rock singer, and her own female lover. The singer is torn between these two lovers and I was frustrated by the intrusion of the female lover who acts as a brake on a fulfilling possibility between the two main protagonists, promised in the opening two segments. Though most likely true to the director's intentions, the final section feels artificial and cold and Three Times, while bearing flashes of Hou's brilliance, comes across as a cinematic exercise, an appealing concept that is ultimately unsatisfying.

Three Times shows Hou Hsiao-Hsien developing further the themes of his two dazzling earlier works Flowers of Shanghai and Millennium Mambo.

It consists of three tales of love and its vicissitudes: A Time for Love, set in 1966, A Time for Freedom set in 1911, and A Time for Youth, set in the present.

As with all great art, everything lies in the style, the tempo, pacing, control of light, the compositions and framing, the control of tone, the nuances of facial expressions and bodily poses and movements, and the way all these amplify and develop the subject.

The incidents depicted are spare and in the case of the first tale almost non existent. Yet through his technique Hou right from the outset creates a mesmerizing, hypnotic, almost overwhelming spell.

This is film making on the grand scale,reminiscent of the great sixties film makers, but almost never seen these days. One wants to invoke the opulence of a Visconti , the deceptively involved and passionate realism of a Godard, the precise formulations of Eric Rohmer and Michelangelo Antonioni.

Beyond film other comparisons come to mind: Raymond Carver's supreme control of tone in elevating the barest of incidents to the stuff of high drama is perfectly matched by Hu, particularly in the first of his tales. The radiant, almost contemplative or prayer-like presentation of the women in all three tales simply reading letters or E-Mails reminds one of nothing so much as Vermeer.

In each part the style perfectly matches the themes - restraint (whether tentative and hesitant, or formalized and implacable) in the first two, and gorgeous excess in the last.

And in each section there is a succession of moments so beautiful, so "right" and so new, one really wants to shout it from the rooftops.

Whilst Three Times perhaps lacks the cumulative dramatic power of the two earlier films, it shares with them the exhilaration one gets from knowing one is viewing a great artist at the peak of his powers, the sense that he can literally do anything he wants, that no subject is beyond him.

If you haven't seen these films do yourself a favor and seek them out - they are quite possibly among the most important art of our time.

My girlfriend is always complaining that I rent gory, hateful Italian horror movies like 'Strip Naked For Your Killer' and 'Cannibal Holocaust', so I figured I'd switch it up and introduce her to the wild world of Hou. I should have stuck with 'Strip Naked...'! She complained the entire time that the film was too slow, that the characters were too vague and the whole thing, well, 'sucked'.

In my opinion, this was a graceful, magnificent film, but it is, what I like to call a 'Phantom Masterpiece' that is, a film which culminates a director's many obsessions, but doesn't really have that special punch that makes masterwork status unequivocal. I felt 'In the Mood For Love' by Wong Kar-Wai was a similar disappointment when compared to his 'true' masterpieces 'Happy Together', 'Chungking Express' and 'Fallen Angels'.

So, while you're right to expect a lot from this movie, don't expect a 'Flowers of Shanghai'.

Regardless, I found this film very fascinating, and one viewer's comment on IMDb about the film as a meta film is interesting, especially when you consider that framing shots of different actors in different times and places are virtually identical sequence to sequence. For instance, when a woman opens a letter, she's shot from exactly the same vantage point every time, regardless of the origins of the letter or herself. Its just too idiosyncratic to not be meaningful.

Also, a lot of this film is playfully back lit as characters are reduced almost to shadows for much of the action, however, as they move through the frame, light finds them and its really quite incredible.

If you are a true film fan, or a fan or Ozu, Haneke, Bresson, or Antonioni, you'll love this.

Masterfully directed, though questionably plotted love story focuses on a pair of star-crossed lovers who end up falling in love throughout three different lifetimes in three different time periods. This mystical romance is presented through three self contained vignettes, which remain as true to the customs and culture of the times as is possible. The scope of this film is quite admirable, presenting a deeply sensitive observation on the true essence of love, karma, and the pressures that keep those apart from each other. However, one finds, after the passionate first segment, that the majority of the film does not quite live up to it's vast promise. Starting with it's most emotionally concrete and acutely observed segment, Hsiao-hsien Hou shows why he has earned the respect of his cinematic peers worldwide by beautifully and subtly capturing the heartfelt story. While the other two segments remain interesting, emotional connections begin to slide throughout the tones of the remaining segments. Hou's decision to film the second segment as a silent film, while breaking up the three contrasting styles nicely, ultimately plays as detached and leaves the viewer unconcerned with the characters involved. Returning to modern times, the third segment regains a little vibrancy, but also comes across as distant and underdeveloped. This would all be a lot more tedious to watch, had it not been for Hou's esteemed composition, and the natural graces of the two main leads, exemplified at it's finest unfortunately far too early in the film.

Like so many foreign and independent films these days, Hsiao-hsien Hou's "Three Times" is less concerned with telling a story than with observing the rituals of everyday life. The movie is so-titled because it uses the same set of actors to tell three different tales of love spanning nearly a century of Chinese history.

The first segment, "A Time for Love", set in 1966, is a sweet and tender tale of an arm's-length romance between a pool hall hostess and the soldier who pursues her. The second, "A Time for Youth," in which a singer yearns for a life outside the brothel in which she works, takes place in 1911 and borrows its style from silent films, using title cards rather than voices to convey the dialogue. The final part, "A Time for Freedom," is a contemporary tale of a bisexual woman caught between her male and female lovers.

All three episodes are more mood pieces than narratives, with emotions and meanings hinted at rather than externalized and dramatized. This is fine up to a point, but eventually, as a trilogy, "Three Times" becomes a case of diminishing returns the longer it goes on. The first section is a work of tremendous charm and beauty, the second considerably less so, and the third is so inscrutable in content and desultory in tone that the viewer winds up virtually pulling his hair out in frustration and boredom by the time it's over. There are some distinct parallels between the first and second story, and I'm sure that one could come up with some grand thematic scheme connecting the three works, but, frankly, none of it really holds together all that well, apart from the use of letters (or, in the case of the third installment, text messages) as a key plot device in each section.

Qi Shu and Chen Chang have charisma and rapport as the two time-hopping lovers, but even they are not enough to keep "Three Times" from being much less than the sum of its parts.

Tonight, a friend and I saw the critically acclaimed "Three Times" at a local theatre. The description that the theatre's site had posted is:

'The film features three different stories of love and memory through three time periods, 1966, 1911 and 2005. The first, "A Time for Love," hinges on the meeting of soldier boy Chen with pool hall hostess May and his subsequent search for her. The second episode, "A Time for Freedom," deals with a courtesan tending to a Mr. Chang during the Japanese occupation of Taiwan. And the third episode, "A Time for Youth," centers on epileptic singer Jing who casually takes up with photographer Zhen while increasingly ignoring her female lover.'

Neither of us left the film understanding what the commotion could have been about. We both reasonably enjoyed the episode taking place in 1966 - it is sweet and innocent, and all the characters seemed happy. In the 1911 episode, the characters were all imprisoned by duty-bound roles, and happiness was not readily apparent. In the gritty modern 2005 final episode, all trace of innocence and happiness seemed to be whisked away in the detritus of the modern anonymous city.

The best scene for me was in the first part; in the sweet romance blooming between our two protagonists, Chen (played by Chen Chang) reaches his hand down slowly to clasp the hand of May (Qi Shu). But rather than enjoy many such touching scenes, I was left a bit puzzled by the dearth of interest, to me, in the rest of the film.

I had expected that Hsia-hsien Hou, cited as filming subtle scenes of beauty, would have cleverly used the three parallel histories, perhaps weaving them and interchanging them nonlinearly, or somehow relating them. All I saw was the coincidental use of two characters in love stories of three different eras. The film was slow; if it were entirely to have taken place in the 1960s, I could have described "slow" with more positive phrases, such as, perhaps, "subtly engaging" or "innocently unwinding" or maybe even "softly touching". I would give the film 5 1/2 or 6 stars out of 10.

--Dilip Barman, Durham, NC, Friday, August 4, 2006 (quote from Carolina Theatre, Durham NC website)

I must admit that I fall asleep twice during the "Second Time", the 1911, but, still, the film has some things that can make it really interesting. Here are two of them: I specially liked the use of the light in the different stories. The light itself talks and tells us how the director feels about each of the periods he describes. Well, I can't talk that much about the second one but the 1966 one and the 2005 story are clear examples of this. The light in the first "time" is a warm light, an innocent one...the colors are soft and confident under that light. Like their love. On the other hand, the light from the final part is cold, blue, distant...it doesn't invite us to join the experiences the characters are living as the one in the first part does. I guess the director becomes the light in this movie...it's the point of view, the subjective eye in the film.

There is another thing I liked a lot in "Three times": the role of communication. In the first time, 1966, there are a lot of handwritten letters, few face-to-face words and delicate skin-to-skin and eye-to-eye contacts. In the Second part, it's mainly conversations. And in the 2005, when the characters are provided with a wide range of communication gadgets, communication seems even more difficult...(the scene with her crying in the motorbike and him asking if she's OK is extremely good in expressing this contradiction of the nowadays world: fast motorbikes, sms, e-mails, pictures...and still we are not able to express our most important feelings!) All in all, and in spite of the fact that the second part of "Three Times" might be too slow, there are a couple of interesting things to see in this film. However I must say that it is not a film for everyone and nor for every moment!

Taiwanese auteur Hou Hsiao-Hsien's movie at The Picturehouse is a movie with three stories told very distinctly, one story after another. Take it as three short films rolled into one, with each actor playing different roles, each character having no distinct relation to their counterparts in different eras. Having them set in 1966, 1911 and 2005 provided vastly different material for each short film to stand out from one another.

The first, "A Time for Love", is set in the swinging 60s of 1966. Chang Chen plays an army enlistee who chances upon Shu Qi's working girl in a billiard parlor. He gets attracted to her, but she, not being a permanent staff, flits from one town to another. Undetered, he spends the weekend off to hunt for her, starting from KaoShiung where they last met, following a trail of different mailing addresses which takes him all over Taiwan. This short plays out like a bittersweet tale of budding love, where one will spare no effort in wanting to meet the girl of one's dreams.

The second, "A Time for Freedom", however, is a tough one to swallow. Set during 1911, there is color, but alas, there's no audible dialog save for opera lyrics sung and Chinese classical music to set the stage. It plays out as a silent movie of sorts, and the dialog pieces are set in inter-titles which you have to read off to understand what the heck they're saying. Very stylish way to portray the era, one which attracted some snickering from the audience, but soon after, you'll have to get very used to the way this section gets presented. The story however, is nothing to shout about, and perhaps the most boring of the lot. Very easy to doze off in the Oscar chair I tell you.

The last section, "A Time for Youth" is set in 2005. Chang Chen plays a photographer, and Shu Qi, a bisexual Goth chick who is on the road to becoming straight, I think. Her character here is the most interesting of the lot, and also because Chang Chen's male leads in all three parts were somewhat ordinary, without an edge. While the first part's environment was in Taiwan's rural areas, which is probably used as it's easier to simulate the retro environment of the past, and the second's highly likely in a sound-stage, this one is familiar urban territory - capital Taipei. It probably is hip to feature lesbians in movies these days, as we see Shu Qi grapple with a clingy lesbian lover. But after having passionate throngs with Chang's character, I guess she must be having second thoughts, or really, is bothered by the clinginess.

Throughout the three sections, dialog is quite scarce, except for perhaps the first one. Peppered most of the time in Hokkien, it was peculiar that the subtitles only had the Mandarin translation, totally neglecting English speaking folks. But for the Mandarin dialog, there was English subtitles. So for those who don't read Mandarin or understand oral Taiwanese styled Hokkien, be prepared to be lost for a bit during the movie.

I didn't manage to tie down the inter-related themes of all 3 parts, except for the obvious one on love. The first, being in the 60s, was portrayed quite innocently, with shy smiles and little surprises and all. The second was more restrained in nature. Fact is, there's very little physical contact between the lovers. While the third opened with sex, which I suspect was snipped off here (didn't see what was in the trailers :P). All three had appropriate music to accentuate the era's mood. You have classics like Smoke Gets In Your Eyes, and Rain and Tears (the one used in the trailer), up against Operatic music, before closing the film with alternative music, sung in heavily Chinese accented English, whose lyrics don't make much sense, being adapted by Shu Qi's character encounters. Communication techniques used in the three movies were as accurate as can be, with A4 sized pen-written love letters, in contrast with ink-brushed wordings in large thin paper, and today's prevalent electronic communication with email and SMS. Perhaps it also serves to highlight the idea of love in those eras. One very innocent, one very plain, and one, non-permanent and fleeting.

Maybe it's just me, but having watch three very arty representations by directors such as Malick, Retaruang and now Hou, made me a little jaded what with having movies where style takes precedence over substance. I think I need to chill out with something as mindless as Ice Age 2 or Ultraviolet soon. Need balance.

ou Hsiao-Hsien's mystical concoction of three love stories told in different time periods but starring the same lead actors (Shu Qi and Chang Chen), finds the Taiwanese director revisiting and expanding upon his favorite milieus and themes. Perhaps it is a bit slow at the beginning, but once you get into it, it is truly a wonderful film. My first thought of "Three Times", was that it was an experiment of beautiful cinema, driven by a masterful director, Hou Hsiao-Hsien. "Three Times" is almost close to masterpiece level.

In "Three Times", only the second of Mr. Hou's films to secure distribution in this country, Shu Qi plays three women living in three historical periods, separate moments that define both their relationships to the larger world and to their lovers, played in each story by the equally striking actor Chang Chen. Although the stories work on their own, they also compliment one another, so much so that the last story, "A Time for Youth," seems less like an ending than a beginning.

Perhaps the most beautiful one of them all, is the first one, "A Time for Love". Its physical attraction and beautiful acting drives viewers to see more. "Three Times" is a rapturously beautiful piece of modern cinema. To stumble on this work of art should be a must see for everyone.

There are great aspects of Three Times, but overall the film falls short of entertaining. The camerawork is quite lovely, especially the long takes, as it gives the piece a very special rhythm. The characterization is meaningful yet shallow in all three stories, which makes it hard to connect thoroughly with the characters. The first story is fantastically charming, but the second is beautifully dull, and the third failed to bring this viewer back into the picture. Three Times is an art piece, and should be viewed as such. The majority of modern movie-goers would not enjoy this film, but it does have merit, and this reviewer can most accurately described it as an experiment in cinema.

Nominated for Palme d'Or at Cannes Film Festival in 2005, Hsiao-hsien Hou's Three Times is a moody exploration of love, freedom and youth. The movie unfolds in three separate stories which take place in three different time zones over a century in Taiwan, with the main roles in each story played by same two actors – Qi Shu and Chen Chang.

In the first story – A Time for Love – set in 1966, Chen meets May in a bar while playing pool. They stay in touch when he joins the army, but when he comes back May doesn't work in the same bar anymore. So he seeks her to different places. In the second – A Time for Freedom – set in 1911, Mr. Chang is frequent visitor to a brothel where he keeps interacting with a singer. When he frees one of the other girls by providing financial help, the singer asks if he would help her too. The last story – A Time for Youth – set in 2005, shows a relationship of girl with a photographer and a bisexual singer.

This is one movie where actually "nothing happens". There are long shots without any dialogue at all, camera just pondering on characters when they do trite stuff, where everything depends on whether you will get sucked into the day to day lives of these people. But even then when you find yourself hooked to the screen, and admire each shot for its perfection and at the same time you connect with the characters all of them being from radically different eras.

The music plays a huge part in the movie and sets the gloomy mood of the movie throughout – especially in the second and third stories. In fact, in the second story, there is no spoken dialogue at all. Though you can see people speaking, all you hear is a long musical piece in the background, and you get to see what is spoken written on the screen like in a silent movie. The first story is played on the background of two soulful songs – Smoke Gets in Your Eyes by The Platters and Rain and Tears by Aphrodite's Child. I became an instant fan of these two songs. I would love to go back to watch this movie again just to listen to these songs with great visuals and atmosphere of love and longing.

Qi Shu gives electrifying performances as May in the first story, the singer in the second, and as the girl torn between the loves of his boyfriend and a girl. Chen Chang is also brilliant – particularly in the first and last story. The best part of the movie is the direction, where Hou keeps you riveted for nearly two hours without much of any story. Overall, this is one of the best movies I have seen in recent which I would love to watch again and again.

http://vishwas8317.blogspot.in/2012/12/threetimes.html

A triptych film about love in different time periods. The first segment takes place in 1966, the second in 1911 and the third in 2005. Like all multiple-segment movies, the segments are of varying quality. People will of course prefer different segments. The first segment is simple and sweet. A man, about to embark on military duty, meets up with a girl who works in a pool hall. He falls in love with her, and writes her after he leaves. When he returns, he searches for her desperately, and they spend a too-short evening together. It's nice, but it doesn't amount to much. The 1960s American love songs strike me as completely antithetical to everything Hou has stood for in the past. I would be surprised if someone saw this and didn't call to mind Wong Kar-Wai. To be perfectly honest, I had a damn tough time paying any attention at all to the second segment. The story works within historical, cultural and political contexts that are not always easy to understand. For some odd reason, Hou decides to convey the dialogue as if it were a silent movie. It's a strange and pointless gimmick. 1911 is a tad too early to be thinking of any well-known silent cinema. I'm guessing that China had barely seen the technology yet. Plus, the segment is filmed just as the other two are, in splendorous colors (the photography is drop-dead gorgeous throughout). I'm not big on Hou, and I'm not especially big on silent cinema, either, so the cocktail did absolutely nothing for me. Oh, and that awful upscale-hotel elevator music is just unbearable! The third segment is by far my favorite, and probably my second favorite thing Hou has ever done. Possibly even the best; I'd have to re-watch Flowers of Shanghai. It's quiet and subtle, like all of Hou's films, but, as rarely happens with me in his cinema, I actually connected with the characters and the story. I don't know if I would have liked it if it were an entire feature, but at this length it worked quite well. Oh, and Shu Qi is a babe. She was also in Millennium Mambo. Kind of wish Hou would have let her make out with that girl in that last segment. Damn you Hou Hsiao-Hsien!

This film is a darling of the critics. Roger Ebert gave it four stars; A. O. Scott of the NY Times describes it, on the DVD's box, as "a masterpiece," adding, "this is why cinema exists." That being the case, if you are, or aspire to be, a devotee of cinema, then this film may be required viewing. But if your sensibilities run toward (mere) movies, beware.

The film, set in Taiwan and China, depicts three love stories -- set in three historical periods: 1911, 1966, and 2005 -- using the same actor and actress. The problem, simply put, is that "Three Times" moves at a glacial pace and little happens. As one of the few critics not to wax euphoric put it, "if this movie moved any slower it could qualify as a photograph." When each segment ended, and when the final credits rolled, the question plaintively asked by Peggy Lee came to mind: Is that all there is?