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Thursday, October 28, 2004

pangalawa sa huling yugto ng NYSOM

Gusto ko sanang magdawdaw ng madeleine sa aking tsaa at baka sakaling bahain din ako ng ala-ala't gunita ng aking unang pagbisita sa Manhattan. Parang Marcel Proust na nag-quieme sa A la recherche du tems perdu: ang mimistulang pagdawdaw niya ng madeleine sa tsaa ang nagbigay-daan sa mga gunitain ng kanyang pagkabata.

Sa mundo ng panitikan, ito ang tinaguriang The Proustian Phenomenon. Sa ngalan ng pagdawdaw ay isinilang ang Ala-ala ng Lumipas, Remembrance of Things Past. Pero...ah, hindi lang. Mas accurate yata ang Pagbawi sa Nakalipas, Recovery of Things Past.

Unang tanong: Pa'no na kaya kung si Proust ay maganang kumain noon at sa halip na isang maliit na biskwit, ang idinawdaw nya sa kanyang tsaa ay isang pagkalaki-laking piraso ng monay? Di kaya nakapagsulat pa sya ng nobelang di lang basta nabihag ang nakalipas, bagkus ay nagawa din nya tayong bihagin upang manatili sa kanyang pinaglipasan.

Ikalawang tanong: Saan kaya ako kukuha ng madeleine sa mga oras na to, o baka naman pwedeng iduldol ko na lang ang mukha nung kapit-unit naming si Madelyn (na nag-iiskateboard sa loob ng unit nila 2:00 ng madaling araw) dito sa iniinom kong Harney and Sons black Ceylonese tea? Tutal extremer naman sya, kandado pa nga ang hikaw sa isang tenga. (Steel brush siguro sipilyo nya).

Ikatlong tanong: Kailan ko kaya huling ginamit ang salitang bagkus? Parang nalalansahan ako sa sarili ko, gayahin ko nga si idol Dennis Andrew E (este, A), hello Rizal, cliche' kpb?
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May dalawang kasabihan sa India patungkol sa Syudad. Una, kung saan daw pipirme ang Negosyante, yun ang Syudad. Ikalawa, kung sira raw ang ulo mo, magtungo ka sa Syudad.

Hindi pa ako nakarating sa India pero mahilig akong mang-Indian. Eto ngayon ang pangatlo, sabi ko: Kung saan pipirme ang sira-ulong Negosyante, yun ang Syudad ng New York.

Nasa harap kami ng Flatiron Bldg, yung gusaling korteng plantsa, at nag-aantay tumila ang ulan ng may lumapit sa aking dambuhalang Afro-Amerikano na akala ko'y si Idi Uma Amin. Pustura, naka-Amerikana't may briefcase. Tumayo sa harap ko sabay bukas ng briefcase. Akala ko baka taga-Immigration at naghinalang TNT ako (Are you a dynamite, brother?) o baka buhusan ako ng uzi (as in uzi eliserio, you're such a dynamite, vroddah! pakita ka naman!!!) Yumpala tinamaan ng kulog e salesman lang ng kurbata si Idi. Want some ties, sir, one of a kind? No thanks, sabi ko; at bakit naman ako magsusuot ng necktie na may design na Empire State Bldg. aber, combie?

Sa Cafe Wah sa Greenwich Village (talo ng Village ang Savannah, GA sa ka-eccentricihan ng tao't hayop) may mga shows sila na ang guest stand up comics ay mga tv personalities na inam kung babuyin ang mga kostumer. Tinanong nung isang stand-up guest na taga SNL ang isang kostumer, Sir, what do you do for a living?, I'm a doctor, sagot ng kostumer, What kind, tanong uli, You don't wanna know, sagot uli, C'mon doc, don't be a pooper, Okay, I'm a gynecologist. Aha!, sabi ng stand-up, See those women on that table over there, sabay turo sa mesa ng 5-6 na kababaihan, Can you give them a much-needed pap smear right now?
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Sosyal ang mga tao sa Manhattan. Sosyal at sosyabol. Pero pagkatapos lang ng opisina to, ha, kasi habang nagtatrabaho o patungo sa trabaho, feeling nilang maghuramentado. After work, huwaw, cocktails ang trip, tara... eavesdropin natin yung 2 kumag sa kanilang Manhattan cocktail repartee:

Man: Musta ka na, malaki pa ba ang bunion mo? ha-ha-ha...
Woman: Aiii, pinapatay ako, hi-hi-hi...
Man: Bat di ka muna maupo, ayun ang silya o, ha-ha-ha...
Woman: 'Nong akala mo sakin, taga-Alabama, hi-hi-hi
Man: E ano ba bago sa yo? ha-ha-ha...
Woman: Lahat ng nasa muka ko. Atin-atin lang ha, tutal close tayo, bago tong ilong ko, bago rin tong pisngi ko, hi-hi-hi...kung ikaw nagpadetox ako nagpabotox, hi-hi-hi...
Man: Kaya pala tingin ko ang ganda-ganda mo Karen, ha-ha-ha...
Woman: Tanga, ako si Cindy!
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Di lang sila sosyal at sosyabol, inkredibol din sila. Sa kaprangkahan. Sa ka-direct to the pointan. Eavesdropin naman natin yung nagfi-first date na yun...

Man: Hi, so this is you Kat...
Woman: Yup, that's me, and Ken, you look much younger in person than in the internet...
Man: So they say. Here, take this (sabay abot ng manila envelope).
Woman: (Binuksan ang envelope at kinuha ang nilalaman). What the...? (nanlaki ang mata, tapos natawa. Ang laman ng envelope ay isang clean bill of health, medically certifying na ang midlife challenged na si Ken ay walang AIDS)
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Sa Ny pwede kang mag-palipas oras ng libre. Sa Barnes at Borders pwede kang magbasa hanggang gusto mo, pwede ka ring matulog, di ka pakikialaman, emphasized ni Ate. Trained daw ang mga empleyado na wag na wag papansinin ang mga buraot na kostumer basta di nanggugulo (parang sa Pasig, trained yung mga Motel employees na wag na wag titingnan ang muka ng mga pumapasok, laluna sa muka ng babae. Totoo ba yun, di ko alam). Ngayon, kung Barnes at Borders ang plano mong paglipasan ng oras, eto tip. Sa NY Public Library na lang, yung malaking gusali sa 42nd and 5th, may bantay pang dalawang rebultong leon na sina Patience at Fortitude, pinakilala sa amin ni...nino pa...ni Ate, e libre and entrance. Sa isang section, may exhibits. Mga aktwal na sulat ni Walt Whitman. Omigosh, nangangatog na naman ang tuhod ko, si Mang Walt, sulat ni Mang Walt (pero bat naman sa lapis, ala bang ballpen noon?) Swear, dapat na makita mo yun, Ma'am Belle Nabor, o baka naman mag-o captain my captain ka pa jan!

Pwede ka ding humilata sa malaking park sa likod ng NYPL, habang tumutugtog ang symphony orchestra at tinutugtog halimbawa ang, walang bolahan, Bolero ni Ravel.
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Panay ang tingin ko sa salamin sa restroom ng Gershwin Theatre. Lintek ang porma ko, naka pang-gahasa. Nakita ko sa labas ng theatre si Linda Hamilton, sabi naman ng kontrabida kong Ate, O wag kang lumingon jan, para kang taga-Iloilocos...

Alas-otso daw ang start ng show, Showboat, muhn, my 1st Broadway musical. Nilawayan ko muna yung kilay ko, parang si Chiquito sa Goryo en his Jeepney, amputah, buko ang edad ko...

Martsa kami, siguro 8 kaming lahat, martsa, martsa, Sunod lang kayo sa akin, sabi ni Ate. Pangalawa ako sa linya, nararamdaman ko na nakatingin sa amin ang mga tao, andami kasi namin, isa pa e wahaw... dun kami sa front row, siguro sabi nila... Sinong mga unggok kaya to, front row pa? Habang nagmamartsa kami sa kahabaan ng aisle, di maiwasang mapahanga ako sa likod ng ate ko, naka backless kasi sya, amputi-puti nya tapos itim yung evening dress nya, contrast talaga, tapos maya-maya kinilabutan ako, what the hell is that, me nakaumbok sa likod nya, anan, me anan si ate, naka-embossed pa!!!

Upo na kami, very 1st row, muhn. Aba kami lang ang nasa row na yun.

Umpisa na si palabas. Nood ako, nood, nood, maya-maya tawanan ang mga tao, Bat sila nagtatawanan?, tanong sa akin ni bunsoy, Ewan ko, sagot ko naman, di ko alam kasi pinanonood ko yung dalawang artista na yun sa may kaliwa. Yumpala, may patawa dun sa parteng kanan ng stage. Sa sobrang laki ng stage, di kaya ng field of vision na makita ang lahat ng nangyayari...KAPAG NASA FRONT ROW KA.

Kaya pala kami lang ang andun eh. Kaya siguro kami pinagtitinginan, as in...Omigosh, don't tell me they're gonna sit there...oh no!

Obvious ba? Na hindi kami taga-NY. Wala kasi kaming NY State of Mind.

Pero naman...

noon yun.

Ngayon, hmmm...ala pa rin cguro.

Saturday, October 23, 2004

ika-5 yugto ng NYSOM

Andaming kainan sa Manhattan ang nagbubukas at nagsasara at any given day. Nabasa ko nga yata minsan na bawat hinga mo daw, may nagoopen/close for business na restawran (kaya kung gusto mo ng mabilisang transisyon, bilisan mo paghinga mo.) Pero ang common thinking, mahal ang kain sa Manhattan. Gzzzzt! Wrong answer.

Sa Gray's Papaya, merong "recession special". Dalawang hotdog at fruit juice? $2.50. Sa Tom's Diner sa may St. John the Divine Cathedral (na laging featured sa Seinfeld), for a hearty breakfast of Corned Beef Hash and Egg, plus toast, coffee and orange juice? $3.50. Sa Hungarian Pastry sa may Columbia U, isang slice ng blue-berry cake, could very well be the best in the world, di lang to die for kundi to kill for na rin, tsaka unlimited coffee? Ala pa yatang $5.00. Pero isang pig-out dinner sa Hop Kee sa Chinatown na puno ng Pinoy? Priceless!

Lamang ang Pinoy sa Chinese sa Hop Kee nung kumain kami pagkagaling kay Manang Libay ilukat mo man. Kulang na lang may marinig ako na "pssst, hoy waiter, kalahating kanin pa nga" o kaya e "patis, patis, wala bang patis", o kaya e "mggghndd bgkk lksdgrds", susundan ng nanay nya ng "ang hilig mo talagang magsalita na puno ang bibig, baboy kah!"

Garlic crabs. Ngasab-nguya. Stir-fried watercress (parang adobong kangkong). Ngasab-nguya. Steamed sea bass. Ngasab-nguya. Wanton soup (sabi ni Rico, pinakamabigat na sopas daw, o, corny mo bok!) Ngasab-higop-nguya. Seafood chowmein. Ngasab-ngata-ngatal-nguya.

"Excuse me waiter, where's the john?", tanong ni bunso. "Kabayan", sabi ni waiter na akala ko taga-Southern Hunan province, "masyado kang nagbabasa ng Cosmopolitan magazine. Andun ang banyo", sabay turo sa pamamagitan ng nguso nyang pagkaytulis-tulis.

Ahhh, sarap kain, o sige bayaran nyo na, sabi ko naman sa tropa. Bunot si bayaw ng wallet nya, habang nilalabas nya yung card tingin ko ba ang pagkakahawak nya sa wallet nya isang daliri ang nakalawit, yung pang-gitna, tapos nakaturo sa akin. O baka naman paranoid lang ako? O baka naman immersed lang talaga si bayaw sa buhay-Manhattan? Favored finger kasi nila yung middle, anything at the center, anything at the heart of the matter, the universe revolves around them, damn Red Sox, boom, talo, back to reality. San na ba ako, a tungkol dun sa daliri ni bayaw...

Lakad uli kami, lakad-lakad sa kakitiran ng Chinatown. Tayo ako sa may isang corner store. Ekyu me, ekyu me, sabi nung Chinese merchant na may bitbit na dalawang balde. Tabi ako. Maya-maya binuhos nya yung laman ng 2 balde sa malaking lalagyan na kahoy na parang lalagyan ng tinitindang bigas sa Pilipinas. Wahaww, sabi ko, Rolex man, timba-timbang Rolex ang binebenta rito. Kumuha ako ng isang relo, chineck ko baka Lolex ang tatak, given the situation. Aba hinde, Rolex talaga ang nakasulat o, pero kay gaang nya, yari sa lata ng Campbells siguro, pero man, wag mo kalugin, wag mong timbangin, Rolex sya talaga, malupet sa Chinatown, walang panama yung tindahan ng sapatos sa Tanauan, Batangas, wahaw sabi ko, Puma, 25 php lang, paglapit ko, hanep sa tatak, Pusa. Pusang jilao ka talaga oo Prudenciooo!

Sabi nung isang aleng ungas, I mean, angas, sa isang blog, sapantaha daw nya e sa Pilipinas lang may bootleg o kung meron man sa ibang bansa, malamang Pinoy ang utak. Sakit nyong magsalita ma'am, sagad sa buto kong marayuma. Sa Chinatown, di pa pinalalabas sa sine, may tapes na nung pelikula. Hmmm, di naman mukang Pinoy yung may tinda ng dvd. Tingin ko nga e taga-Southern Hunan Province sya.

Next thing I know, nasa Observatory na kami ng Empire State Bldg, sa 86th Floor. Observatory. Ampangit na salita ano? Pinaghalong observe at lavatory. Ano ba inoobserbahan mo sa lavatory? Ganun din ang dating sa 86th Floor sa Observatory, para kang, hmmm teka, tanda ko yung tanong sa akin ng business-oriented kong brod na si Jun nung umaangat na ang eroplano papuntang Cebu, "Tol, pag dumudungaw ako sa bintana, nakikita ko ang daming magagarang bahay, puro prospective clients ito, dang, anlaki ng market ga, ikaw ano nasa isip mo pag dumudungaw ka sa airplane window, pag nakikita mo ang magnitude ng suburbia?" "Hmmm", sabi ko, "iniisip ko lagi, sa mga oras na ito, ilan kaya sa loob ng mga bahay na ito ang may naglalaplapan?".

86th Floor. Dungaw na parang sa airplane window. Sa N: Ilang magsing-irog kaya ang nagbobolahan sa kalakihan na yun ng Central Park? Sa E: Ilang diplomats kaya ang nagbobolahan sa session ng United Nations? Ilang tao kaya ang nahuhumaling sa Chrome-roof ng Chrysler Building? Ilang private yachts kaya ang nagjojourney to the unknown sa East River? Journey to the unknown kasi marami sa kanila, reception ng kasal, lakbay-ilog ang type ng ikinakasal, Till death do us part for tomorrow we'll file for divorce, honey. Sa S: Ilang daliri kaya ang ginugupit ng Cosa Nostra sa Little Italy? At dang, sa Wall Street, ilang batang investor kaya ang nagsabing, Eureka! I made my 1st million, dang, sanhi lang ng singkong pag-angat ng stock yun, o kaya, nakaswerte sa IPO, o kaya lintek ang insider nya, Hellow, Martha, sarap ba tulog mo? Talaga naman pagharap mo sa South, totoo yung sabi nila, The wealth of the world has a NY address, hmm ako kaya, ah, dun na lang ako sa tindahan mangangalap ng merchandise para sa nanay ko, pangalan ng tindahan e NY Stocking Exchange. Sa W: Ahhh, Hudson River, ahhh, Ilan kaya ang tao sa New Jersey ang sa ngayon ay nakatingin sa amin?

Ito ang test kung gusto mo sa NY. Dumungaw ka sa kalye, four corners of Manhattan, kita ang nagsasalimbayang sasakyan, mga taong parang kuto-kuto, halihaw ng mga sirena ang tangi mong maririnig, aha! aksidente dito, bugbugan doon, the city is alive, ano ang pakiramdam mo? Para ka bang nilalamon ng halimaw? Gaya ng Maneater, sabi ni Hall and Oates? O para kang involved? Attached? Immersed? Gaya ni bayaw, nakalawit ang gitnang daliri, Hey all of you, listen to me, I am Pinoy, I'm very much a part of this city, partake this finger...

cbs to bayaw: huy, marinig ka nung cosa nostra sa little italy.

he wants to ride
the back of a carabao and bolt up
Madison Avenue screaming
like Tandang Sora or shout
hala-bira! hala-bira!
- Nick Carbo
Ang Tunay Na Lalaki Stalks
The Street Of New York

(magtatapos, ayyy mabuti naman, sabi ninyo)

Sunday, October 17, 2004

ika-4 na yugto ng NY State of Mind

Kung ang New York City ay binubuo ng limang "spots" lamang, ito sila: Empire State Bldg., Brooklyn Bridge, Wall Street, Times Square, at Statue of Liberty. May aangal at magkikilos-protesta: Asan ang Chrysler Bldg.? Pano naman ang Rockefeller Center? May NY bang walang Central Park? Asus, di kasama ang MET? Bronx Stadium, wa? Grand Central Station, itsapwera?

Pakitirin mo ang tanong. Kung ang NYC ay isang "spot" lamang, ano ito? Sa ngalan ng hustisya, sigurado ang consensus: Statue of Liberty.

Sa bagong libro ni Alberto Manguel na A Reader's Diary, sabi da: Ang sinumang di makabisita sa Simbahan ng San Andres de Teixido sa Galicia habang siya'y nabubuhay ay kailangang magtungo roon pronto matapos nyang mapirdi. A San Andres de Teixido vai de morto quen non foi de vivo.

Dang. Kung sino man ang magaling mag-spanggol at may sinusulat na libro, pakitranslate at pakisingit lang po 'to: Ang sino mang di pa nakikita ang Statue of Liberty ng personal, di pa muna dapat mamatay.

Malakas ang impluwensya ng Pransya di lang sa panitikan kundi pati din sa pagpapahaba ng buhay.
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Ayokong umakyat, sabi ko sa grupo. Dito na lang ako sa labas, titingnan ko mukha nya hanggang sa sumakit ang leeg ko. Di ko nga maramdaman ang pagkangalay. Alam ko lang, ang gaang ng pakiramdam ko. Gusto ko ngang magkrus lagi, parang napaka-sacred ng ambiance. Sacrosanct pa nga yata ang appropriate na term. Ewan ko ba tong mga turista, gusto lagi pumasok sa loob ng estatwa. Mga bastos, bat hilig nyong ipenetrate ang ninang ko?

May mga lugar daw na walang salitang maaring maghanda sa napipintong paghaharap ninyo ng Grand Canyon sa Arizona, Machu Picchu sa Peru, o Taj Mahal sa India. Basta ganun lang. Gumawa ka ng sarili mong description kung kaya mo. Tapos pag kinwento mo sa iba, di rin sila maihahanda nun. Pero hindi pwedeng ihanay ang Lady Liberty sa tatlong lugar na to. Iba kasi ang dating ni Madam Libay. Hindi naman kasi sya tinirik ng tao o nililok ng ilog at hangin para pambulag o pambulaga. Mas malakas ang simbolismo nya, yun ang talagang dating, pandemokrasya, pangkalayaan, tingin nga si Madam sa malayo may hawak na ilaw para kahit sa dilim makakita, sa katahimikan at kawalang-kataga sumisigaw sya, lapit, lapit kayo rito, dito kayo, dito tayo, sama-sama tayong lahat...!
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Hoy c, tama na yang katitingala mo, o baka umiyak ka pa, wag kang mag-alala, maraming beses mo pa syang mabibisita - si ate ko uli yun, kontrabida (si Manang Libay ang bida). Balik tayo ulit, ha, bos ate. Oo na! Babay na kami kay Manang, habang naglalakad pabalik sa ferry nakatingin ako sa kanya, di ko inaalam ang nilalakaran ko, Arekup, sorry sir, nabangga ko tuloy yung mamang naka-turban, nanlilisik ang mata nya, akala ko dudukot sya ng flute at pasasayawin ako na parang kobra. It's hokay, sabi nya, sabay lakad ng mabilis, mas importanteng makita agad si Manang.

Sabi ni Chateaubriand, dala raw ng bawat tao ang isang mundong binubuo ng lahat ng kanyang nakita't minahal at kung saan sya muli't muling nagbabalik, kahit pa sabihing ibang mundo ang kanyang nilalakbayan o tinitirhan.

Aba e di New York City ang mundo ko. Kahit pa sabihing isa lang ang "spot" nya.

Tuesday, October 05, 2004

cbsreview #2: The Motorcycle Diaries
(to lp, for sharing the value of empiricism;
to jet david, for revealing the secret burden of silence)

The words of German poet Nelly Sachs seemed to reverberate in my inner ear halfway through this movie: Instead of a homeland I hold the metamorphoses of the world.

Certain signs dispute the theory of coincidences. It was halfway through the movie when the lead character displays his moment of epiphany: on a chance encounter with a poor and oppressed Communist couple working in a copper mine in Chile, he gives them not just his attention but money as well, all of $13.00 in his pocket originally reserved for something else.

In movie as in literature, epiphany works 2-ways: For the medium, it is when the lead character encounters the reality of experience; for the watcher/reader, it is when the theme of the story reveals its exact focus. In The Motorcycle Diaires, the epiphany worked not only 2-ways but that these two ways occured at the same time. To this watcher, the movie's theme was illuminated by that act of generosity by the lead character - the virtue of looking beyond his indulgence, sharing beyond his means, envisioning beyond his years - occuring halfway through the movie.

Prior to TMD, my only knowledge of Che Guevarra was that he joined Fidel Castro in his pursuit of a Cuban Revolution and that he was killed by soldiers in the jungles of Bolivia. And prior to TMD and the scant knowledge I had of him, my connection to him was only via a sticker of his iconic face with beard and beret on the cover of my favorite gradeschool book, Short Stories On Parade.

Connection, like love, is lovelier the second time around. Halfway through the movie, I had my epiphany, my moment of illumination, not only of the TMD's exact moment of thematic focus - but more importantly, the larger truth of Che Guevarra's icon.

The larger truth is here, as TMD is fact, culled from diaries recently discovered and it tells us many interesting things about the diarist such as these: that his nickname Che was probably media-imposed, "che" being merely a common expression among Argentinians ; that this Argentinian fully-named Ernesto Guevarra dela Serna's true nickname was Fusar; that he came from a wealthy family; and, that he was close to getting his degree in medicine when he and bestfriend Alberto Granado (a biochemist, currently still alive) decided to see and experience South America on a dilapidated Norton 400 motorcycle.

The movie tells us that Che Guevarra in his young adulthood was sui generis, a class of his own, a dilettante with a mission. When he and his friend decided to travel from Argentina to Chile to Peru to Colombia to Venezuela within the scary confines of a motorcycle, we knew at once that
we, you and I, can never be like him - a combination of daring and caring, boldness and coolness.

There are two things in the movie, aside from the acting of Gael Garcia Bernal (as Guevarra) and Rodrigo dela Cerna (as Granado), that brings it to the level of great - South America itself, a fantastic geography never before emphasized in a full-length film, and its soundtrack (which I cannot wait to acquire).

See this movie for yourself and learn what real journey is all about, the noblest of which, like what Guevarra himself experienced (especially at the leper colony), ironically had the shortest route of all: it starts from the head and ends in the heart.

The Motorcycle Diaries. Just like Sachs. Just like lp. Just like jd.

5 stars.

Saturday, October 02, 2004

cbsreview #1: HERO

First, a parody. In a public square full of Chinese, one Westerner called another, "Hey you", and half of the Chinese looked. The one who was called heeded, "Who, me?", and the other half of the Chinese looked.

Second, an analogy. In his short story A King Listens (Under the Jaguar Sun), Italo Calvino tells the tale of a paranoid king brought to paranoia by the power of his throne and his hearing. From where he seats he agonizingly listens to the sound of vengeance - a cry, a moan, a weeping resonance of anger and suffering - emanating from the walls and dungeons of his imposing castle, making him a virtual prisoner of his ear.
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The film Hero proves the joke's on me. The Chinese peoples of ancient times put signification in their names in the same level as martial arts - as a discipline - itself. In this film the lead character (Jet Li) goes by the name Nameless, an apparent reference to the theological line that the Great One shall have no name, an apparent underscoring that in the naming of a Chinese, there should be no room for the blandness of a Westernized Hei Yu and Hu Mi .

But in this vein it would have been far-reaching to say, Go ahead and title this film Nameless Film if it is the Great One, for it is not, though in the company of Western movies in a very weak year Hero could be there up high compared to any film of any genre.

Up high is precise. The film soars, literally, by way of a number of previously unseen fights and flights, an excelsior of images, bodies and arrows galore. Think of the fight scenes in Matrix and Crouching Tiger, in combination, and add a little more grace and a little more steps in the symphony of their routines, and they should give you an idea of how Hero's characters tested each other's resolve and martial arts skills.

But unlike most martial arts movie, and verily like The Matrix and Crouching Tiger, Hero has a story - despite pronouncements of moviegoers simply drowned by the picture perfection of every scene. And that, to me, is the movie's setback: The cinematography, the color treatment, the fight scenes, the locales, are all bigger than the movie itself, thus making the story, despite itself, an ignored feature.

Here's the story, in capsule: The King of Qin, like Calvino's King, has not known sleep in the wake of three assassins going after his life. Broken Sword, Flying Snow, and Sky (my favorite character) are ruthless fighters vying for the King's blood and in their race thereof met instead a different enemy and fate: the Nameless, their deaths.

The Nameless himself has a different agenda and this is where the movie gets to be ingenious and original. Nameless kills all three assassins (with trickery in the case of the lovers Broken Sword and Flying Snow) to be able to be near the king - within 10 paces, as the latter himself says by the latter part of the movie - just so he could kill him himself. As they sit within 10 paces of each other in the palace, Nameless tells the king of his encounters with the assassins, shown flashback to depict the scenes on how he finished them. The issue with the lovers gets to be complicated when he comes up with different versions of the encounters, each encounter characterized by different fight scenes, different genesis of the fight, a different hue of the screen - red, yellow, blue, and white - each color symbolizing a meaning that you, yes you, are better off to determine. Which color signifies truth? Half-thruth? All out lie? (These changes, these different versions, somehow remind me of some proverb that a flame's identity depends upon the object it burns. To my mind, Nameless has different objectives in every version he narrates.)

Martial Arts, like any logus, any study, are a discipline. In one scene where Nameless and Flying Snow try to save the art school from the King's warriors - fending off thousands of flying arrows with lightning agility and impeccable moves - Broken Sword is shown inside doing a calligraphy, matching the intensity of those saving the school. The strokes of calligraphy art, he later says, are comparable to the cadence of swords.

But as in most movies of this genre, we are told of the virtue of honor, personified and revealed mostly towards the end of the movie by Nameless. Wherefore, watch this movie and find out Hero's heroic version of honorable.