Huang jin shi dai

A film that could be even longer. A masterpiece, made by all those who cares. There are so many things well done. I appreciate it for it shine,for all scenes and street views, for costumes and interiors,for narration,because not insist over horrific scenes. All story only seems to be lighty but it have a hide loaded ,,weight'' meant for more wise people. Who can to not like this film when it start with shine of the sun and ends in the same manner? Among thousands of insignificant movies with fights, battles, horrors, juicy stories, juicy lovers, this film shows shining. Hard to find one flaw....To see more Japanese guys or battle scenes; or more love? To see more political conflicts? No, it's not the case,all story is perfect (for me so ), as it is presented.

1) A very bad script with poor arrangement of storyline, scenes, characters appearances, boring narration, extended unnecessary anecdotes.

There seems not enough stuff to fulfill the biopic, so the screenplay writer just keeps blabbering lot of boring segments of the heroine's uninterested enough background back story. The heroine died at 31 years old, so there's not a lot to tell but pumped a lot of yada yada to make it longer. A very poorly scripted screenplay, trying so hard to say something but ended up telling nothing and nothing worthwhile telling.

2) A movie directed by a too old, too traditionally grabbed director, who could only direct the film with her formulaic ways of directing with similar paces and prescription. She has received many awards but never could get rid of her rigid, one way directing habits. A habitual burden pressed down almost all of her films, long, straight line one direction narrative, randomly arranged scenes forced to patch up with flashbacks, jump-around plots, young and old images of the same character. Too traditional way of directing that not catching up the modern way of viewing paces and tempos of the present audiences. A slow-like-hell pace that only nicotine pills might keep the viewers awakening enough to make the ticket fare worth.

3) Very poor editing. The director obviously always sticks to her peer of editors who got the same problems of evolving with time. This film suffered too many back-and-forth patch-up scenes.

4) Too many unnecessary scenes and worthless unimportant anecdotes or incidents, like a randomly patched up quilt with many unrelated pieces of clothes.

5) Pumped into this boring film with lot of historical literary characters, trying to get the audiences connected, but ended up in a nothing but Zzzzzz meh big yawn.

First the good things: Tang Wei is a competent actress, perfectly cast for the role. high production value. good attention to details.

Now for the bad: over 3 hours long! The director is so in love with herself, if she had hired a proper editor, the film would have been a much superior one at 90 min. Deliberately trying to be avant-garde. breaking the mold for the sake of breaking mold. The movie is dotted with interviews of the characters around the author, some experimental technique, which completely breaks the immersion while contributing nothing to the film.

summary: tries to be avant-garde like Duras' films, but lacking.

I love biographies, especially with strong and talented women, who fight against adversity and overcome themselves every day, Brave Xiao Hong, although it doesn't seem confusing, chronological absence, not very detailed, the narration of the other characters helps, but not enough many unanswered questions, how did she get her living, is implicit, but not explicit... Despite being numerous texts and works that she left a legacy, many of them intimate, I felt that I couldn't capture the essence of the protagonist, I can't understand her, it seemed kind of without purpose, something was missing, feeling...

Hong Kong auteure Ann Hui's 3-hour-approaching biopic about Chinese female writer Xiao Hong (1911-1942), whose given name is Zhang Naiying, opens with our heroine (Tang Wei) sternly proclaiming her own provenance (hailed from a landowning family in Heilongjiang Province of North-Eastern China) and pre-mature death (in a war-ridden Hong Kong) à la fourth-wall-breaking against a monochromatic background, a faux-documentary conceit that will be intermittently strewn into the film's non-linear narrative, with sundry friends and acquaintances (but not the ones with whom she shares intimacy in various stages) letting on their smattering pieces of information about Xiao Hong, many facets of whose wretched life has been enveloped in mystery due to the wanting of factual records.

That is a condition the filmmakers brave with tact and discretion, for instance, the chunk of the story centers around her romance with fellow man-of-letter Xiao Jun (William Feng), they meet when Xiao Hong is pregnant and deserted by her fiancé, in debt and destitution, it is her literary flair that instigates Xiao Jun's attraction, together they make their marks in the literature arena (predominantly riddled with anti-Japanese polemics and agitprop works at then) through their respective works (Xiao Hong published her most famous novel THE FIELD OF LIFE AND DEATH in 1935), enjoy their transitory "golden era" when they befriend Lu Xun (Wang Zhiwen), the doyen and trailblazer in Chinese literature of its time. But relative to their ultimate break-up (even with Xiao Hong is gravid with Xiao Jun's child), whose grounds can only be traced with assumption and interpolation, screenwriter Li Qiang discreetly hints its seed might lie in the discrepancy between their faculties (plainly, Xiao Hong is the more talented of the pair) and Xiao Jun's latent sexism and machismo abetted by a tumultuous wartime, he opts for answering to a political calling to join the Red Army and fight against the Japanese aggressors, but for an apolitical Xiao Hong, all she hankers for is a quiet place to write, a luxury she is rarely purveyed during her ephemeral lifetime.

Therefore, Ann Hui tacitly relegates a contentious political agenda to the larger context of the Second Sino-Japanese war, and what coheres here is her compassionate threnody to a sensitive, vulnerable and talented woman, an ecrivaine-maudite who is displaced continuously, drifts around piteously and languishes in the noxious times leaving her no chance to survive. Embracing an epic scale, the film traverses from Harbin, Shanghai, Wuhan to Hong Kong, Hui faithfully recreates a tangibly bewitching period mise-en-scène with a strong showcase of its sublimely arresting cinematography and a poetic leitmotif that poignantly underscores Xiao Hong's own wording which transmits a scattershot dispersal of pathos.

LUST, CAUTION (2007) alumna Tang Wei, brings a remarkable presence to the forefront with her physically exacting effort and internally contemplative stamina, in the face of the narrative arc's intrinsic elision. A spate of nationally well-known thespians constitutes the supporting team laden with household names of literati, William Feng's Xiao Jun subsists with a pertinacious verve; Zhu Yawen's Duanmu Hongliang, Xiao Hong's husband, is wishy-washy prima facie, but works up with a patina of hard-earned complexity during Xiao Hong's final days; Hao Lei singles out an effulgent semblance from Ding Ling, another fêted female writer whose persecuted latter life renders her an impossible subject to green-light her own biopic; but the most award-worthy one to this reviewer's money is Wang Zhiwen, whose sedate, civilized portray of Lu Xun, beautifully elicits an impression of dignity and earnest without seeming to be trying it at all.

There is little wonder THE GOLDEN ERA was met with an under-performed box office revenue not just because of its unusual length but also Hui's hard-line artistic integrity, its fragmented storytelling averts a spoon-feeding expectation from those entertainment-seeking audience and it is an unalloyed art house passion project doesn't cash in on immediate financial payback, winning BEST FILM in the Hong Kong Film Awards (5 wins including BEST DIRECTOR), and copping a BEST DIRECTOR trophy from the Golden Horse Film Awards show the veneration to the film and Hui from within the industry, which sets the film aside from the audience-pleasing churned-out products flagrantly infesting the buoyant Mainland Chinese market these years, a film is here to stay.