Manhattan Sur

Year of the Dragon doesn't need too much plot write-up. I'll try in a sentence, just to test this: a tough-as-nails-racist-maybe-sexist-don't- play-by-the-rules-but-not-crooked-wannabe-Mickey-Spillane cop (Mickey Rourke) goes head-to-head with the Triads of New York's Chinatown, lead by a calm businessman-cum-psycho (John Lone) while juggling two lovers and a police force who don't like him much. There, let's move on: this movie is frustrating. Simple as it gets, Michael Cimino's rehabilitation from Heaven's Gate to try and get back into Hollywood's good graces (with Oliver Stone as his screenwriter) is preachy, loud, and full of BIG moments that should add up to more. Frankly, Heaven's Gate was more satisfying (if less tonally consistent) on simple entertainment/quality levels.

It's a little like the East Coast cousin of 1985's own To Live and Die in LA. But where Friedkin had a firmer grasp of William Peterson's anti-heroism with fantastic action set pieces, Cimino's direction is either just basic stuff (lots of people talking with dialog that is padded and just speaks too heavily on the points over and over again as if we didn't hear it the first time) and the action, with some exceptions like a climactic shoot-out by a train-line, cluttered and just TOO over the top. Yes, even for an 80's action movie.

Maybe there is some real interest here, in doing a story on the triads and gangs of Chinatown, or how it spreads to the exploitation of workers in sweat-shops and factories. It dances with that, and I'm sure Cimino and Stone did their research, but it doesn't add up to more than just a simplistic pot-boiler - and not a strong one either. Rourke certainly tries to act his ass off (or, sadly frankly, sometimes over the top as well, or smirking through scenes), and John Lone certainly makes good back-up. Other players, like Ariane as the One Female Reporter who will get the scoop (cause, you know, there aren't any other reporters who might cover a big crime war in New York city except for the one Chinese one), are not very good at all except in one note turns.

And maybe more than anything, the consistent tone of just nastiness from this character of Stanley White, which also permeates other cop and gangster characters, left a bad taste in my mind watching it. There are moments where other characters call Stanley on his myriad of faults - and that he uses Vietnam as a crutch for his issues and as another Rambo 'still fighting the war' (how obvious they tell us, more than once, almost makes Rambo: First Blood Part II subtle by comparison) - and yet none of it really stuck with me to have any kind of feeling for the character except distaste. Again, Rourke does try to make him sorta likable... which could make it worse. When he cries in Ariane's character's apartment for not having anyone else to go to, and a tear goes down his cheek in close-up, there was just indifference there between myself and what was going on. Not good.

Yet Cimino does pull off moments that do work, shots that can get excited about. Hell, even a scene I didn't expect to work, which is a funeral for a (should be more) significant character as the second plot turn, was touching for how Cimino held back and let the big emotion swell instead of being the same high pitch. But for all that should be well-intentioned in Year of the Dragon, or 'realistic' as based on a Robert (Prince of the City) Daly book, it just isn't. Year of the Dragon is dated, probably racist Hollywood trash which fluctuates too much between something better and something s**t too often.

Cimino has crafted a tough, gritty policier. I went into this film thinking that it would be mediocre at best. Boy, was I surprised. An intelligent script and passionate performances keep this film moving along. The movie kept me enthralled throughout it's length.

When "Year of the Dragon" was released in 1985, it was ripped to pieces by Chinese anti-defamation organizations as being a very racist film. The film was likewise given lot of bad reviews by critics, who probably wanted to be politically correct.

Being a Chinese American who was raised in Boston's Chinatown, I had expected bad things about this film. Even though "The Deer Hunter" is a great film, the depictions of Vietnamese and Chinese in that film are truly horrendous (no, Chinese DID NOT engage in Russian Roulette!!) I expected the same with "Year of the Dragon." I was totally shocked after I saw the film at how realistic the film was about Chinatown. I do understand many Chinese Americans do not want themselves portrayed as drug dealers, gang members, etc. However, I don't think there has been any film in Hollywood history who portrayed the dark side of Chinatown as accurately as this film. I know because I grew up in the area when there lot of Chinese street gangs and mafia activity.

The sad thing is after this film was released, depictions of Chinese Americans has gotten a LOT worse; they are depicted as chopsocky kung fu gangsters (now isn't that ironic!!) in Jet Li and Jackie Chan movies, or as baby killers, rapists, or domineering bigots in "The Joy Luck Club" (by the way, this film is truly truly AWFUL in it's portrayals of Chinese; the ignorant critics however gave this movie great reviews.) Strangely, Chinese anti-defamation leagues has been very silent during these years.

"Year of the Dragon" is Cimino's unappreciated gem. According to my view, it's his second best film. I understand this film has flaws but Cimino was brilliant in showing the side of Chinese Americans that few Americans know. Not all of us Chinese went to CalTech or MIT and became successful software engineers or research scientists.

Michael Cimino's Year Of The Dragon is a visceral blast of pure Americana as only the man could bring us. It kills me that he suffered through that whole Heaven's Gate fiasco (which is actually a really good movie, but that's another story and argument entirely) because it extinguished any hopes of him making future films, and in doing so the studios effectively committed genocide against their own. Sure the guy was crazy as hell, but damn could he ever make a great film. This one is one of the most criminally overlooked cop flicks of all time, partly due to Cimino's scorching direction and partly due to a a performance of monolithic grittiness from Mickey Rourke as Captain Stanley White, the cop who won't stop. White is fresh out of Nam and mad as hell, launching a unilateral crusade of racist violence and self righteous fury against the Chinese crime syndicate in New York City, particularly a young upstart in their organization named Joey Thai (John Lone). Thai is as ruthless as White is determined, and the two clash in ugly spectacle, causing leagues of collateral damage on either side and inciting them both to roar towards an inevitable, bloody conclusion. Thai's elderly superiors warn him of men like White, men who are fuelled purely by anger, bitterness and nothing else, smelling the fire and brimstone in the air and wisely stepping out of the way. Thai is of a younger, more petulant generation and foolishly decides to meet the beast head on by essentially kicking the hornet's nest. White is warned by his caring wife (Caroline Kava) and fellow cop and friend Lou (Raymond J. Barry is excellent, firing Rourke up further with his work) not to mess with such a dangerous crowd. He has a volatile relationship with a beautiful Chinese American reporter (Arianne is the only weak link in the acting chain) who puts herself on the line for him by digging around in dangerous corners. The intensity level of this film is something straight from the adrenal gland; even in episodic scenes of introspect we feel the hum of the character's emotions, and when the conflict starts again, which it does in fast and furious amounts, the actors are simply in overdrive. Rourke has never been better than he was in the 80's, it was just his zenith of power. This isn't a role that gets a lot of recognition, but along with Angel Heart, Rumble Fish and Pope Of Greenwich Village, I think it's his best. He puts so much of himself into Stanley White that the edges which separate performer from performance begin to blur and waver, until we are locked into his work on a level that goes beyond passive consumption of art and elicits something reflective in us. Not to sound too hippie dippy about it, but the guy is just that good. On the calmer side of the coin, John Lone brings both evil and elegance to Joey, a slick surface charm that's constantly disturbed by Rourke's hostility, leading to an eventual meltdown that's very cool to see in Lone's expert hands. This is one for the ages and should be in the same pantheon with all timers like Heat, Serpico, The French Connection and others. Rourke fires on all cylinders, as do his colleagues of the craft, and Cimino sits cackling at the switchboard with a mad calm, yanking all the right levers in a frenzy of unhinged genius. Not to be missed.

Cimino shows that he is a crass and hysteric filmmaker here. His sensibilities place him somewhere between Cecil B. DeMille and Francis Coppola. He's got to film big, so even a cop flick about violence in Chinatown has to be a saga. There's no weight to it, it just has to be a sprawling story that's only vaguely about social issues of importance. He's got to have both the scope and relevance, preferably something to brood over. He's got to have lots of people and lots of scenery in the frame. There's a pretty ludicrous scene set in backwoods Thailand that only seems to exist so that a Triad boss can majestically gallop in view of a swarm of soldiers (and later brandish a severed head).

There's nothing worse than a filmmaker who can only leverage ambition and control in his art (Coppola once in a while had good intuitions). So at its most profound, cinematic beauty is at perfume ad level here, say a woman in silhouette sliding into a majestic night-view of New York. What's the term, 'elephant art'? I say it doesn't breathe.

Worst of all, since he is very much a storyteller, these days a novelist living in Paris, his dramatic sense is a lot of puff and noise on a typewriter. It has no life. It's screen writing 101 like in one of those books that tell you about the 'hero's journey' and where to put the 'inciting incident': the couple is growing bitter and distant, and it's right on the first scene that they have to curse, yell, and throw things as they explain all that's wrong between them: he's never at home, he doesn't care, she wants a baby.

And he's got the ideal writing partner for this. Oliver Stone: so angry barbs at the media, school-lessons in American and Chinese history, and Vietnam is behind all of it. It's all abrasive on this end, as is Stone.

Mickey Roorke, usually game for roles that call for lots of smirking and boyish thrashing-about, is the violent, crazy, anguished new sheriff in 'Town. He browbeats and ridicules the Chinese journalist girl and of course she goes to bed with him the moment he has finished doing so, because what's more charming than a 'flawed protagonist'.

The film is bookended by public funeral processions and that could have been something, connoting obsession, artificial images, false narratives. Watch John Lone in M. Butterfly for that. Watch Fukasaku for chaotic action.