In Paris, a Taiwanese master soars. By BRANNAVAN GNANALINGAM.

SOMETIMES it’s easy to forget just how poetic cinema can be. Flight of the Red Balloon is one of those rare films, an achingly beautiful paean to life, to escape, to humanity. Commissioned by Paris’ Musée D’Orsay and an homage to Albert Lamorisse’s The Red Balloon, this is Hou Hsiao-hsien’s first picture made in Europe. The film’s subtle pace may off-put some (I’m euphemising, there will be a considerable amount of audience members who won’t submit to the gentle, understated, complex rhythms of the text). But that’d be a shame – because they’d be closing themselves off to a masterpiece by one of cinema’s great filmmakers, and one of his most emotionally rich depictions of everyday life.

The film ostensibly centres on a chaotic, confused, charming Juliette Binoche (Suzanne). The other characters revolve around her, subtly shifting our perspectives of Suzanne. There’s the impassive Song Fang, a film student from Taiwan, who becomes Suzanne’s son’s nanny. There’s the son, Simon – a slightly neglected, lovely, but deeply imaginative boy. Her daughter who lives in Brussels, her apartment sharing friend Marc, piano tuners, movers, puppeteers etc. all move in and out of her life. Hou’s vision captures little moments – flashes of light, reflections off windows, the impassive flying of the incandescent red balloon among a magical Paris, character glances, a chance line of dialogue, musical notes. He captures a sense of beauty in amongst the clutter (both emotionally, and in Hou’s construction of space). Hou pays off big-time for attentive viewers, people who are willing to submit to gleaning out the little moments in Hou’s film. Those little moments add up to great emotional resonance.

Hou’s austere style bears similarities to Ozu and Dreyer, his films are punctuated by extensive long-takes, and little camera movement. But there is considerable movement in his films – his characters come in and out of the frame, emotions shift between characters and moments. There’s also considerable visual and emotional tension created by all the movement – his characters (or countries if you consider his other work) are often in transition, not just physically, but mentally too. There are frequent shots of characters using transport or moving. There’s also considerable sadness in the film – a sense of loneliness, abandonment, character trajectories not quite matching.

Flight of the Red Balloon is also self-reflexive, constantly undercutting the reality of the images. There’s a sublime moment involving green and a balloon in Song’s film for example, and the motif of puppets constantly draws attention to this (also a reference back to Hou’s The Puppetmaster). Hou’s detached sense, also creates a sense of the camera (and therefore audience) being God, we’re like the kids at the end examining the painting by looking down at the painting’s characters. But for Hou, we’re also part of the painting too, we’re also looking up to the characters. This is simply majestic work, the intricate rhythms of daily life captured in a way that leaves you speechless.

See also:
» Paris Alight: Flight of the Red Balloon