Infernal Affairs
Whatever else you do as you watch Infernal Affairs, don't blink.
You might miss some of the finest and most subtle acting and scripting Hong Kong has to offer. From the leads and the main story, to the little guys with their three lines in the movie, the actors and script writers transport you effortlessly, breath-takingly into the world of cops and triads in modern day Hong Kong. So hang on tight, you're in for quite a ride.
The story is not so unusual in and of itself. It follows two moles, Andy Lau's Ming - a triad member planted in the police force and rising fast in its rank, and Tony Leung's Yan - a policeman undercover in the triad, ten years after they start to live their double lives, and the stunning plot twists that accompany their complex lives. What makes this movie magnificent is the intricate and minimalist, yet thoughtfully constructed, script - and, of course, the highest caliber actors that only a country with over twenty years of prolific (almost frantic) movie/serial-making can hope to train.
The intellectual spark in the experience comes from watching the dividing line between appearances and inner truths, identify and acting, blur. Even as Ming and Yan, stark mirror-image negatives of each other, start to question if there are limits to their loyalties and differences between inner and external identity, the script begins to drop hints that the story is not all that it would seem on the surface, and that the narrators of the story are not always reliable. Like Ming and Yan, the audience is cast off onto a sea made up of shades of dubious gray.
Yet, for all its cleverness, the movie scores highest on its emotional resonance. The words articulating emotions are few to none, the relationships between characters pared down to the bare minimum- yet the smatter of words and screen time given to any one relationship and any one characters are carefully chosen, and exquisitely executed to give an unforgettable context to the central tragedy.
The memorable characters are many, their outlines sketched in broad but evocative strokes. The smallest roles linger: Two slightly comic, pathetically paranoid but loyal triad members, one of whom will go on, in an understated but heartrending scene, to tell Yan that he trust him. Special mention goes to Kelly Chen and Anthony Wong.
Anthony Wong has had a long illustrious career of his own in the HK movie industry, but he outdoes himself here. His role is magnificently sympathetic. As the head of the Police department, he is one of only two men who know that Yan is a mole. His handling of the increasingly unstable Yan, his compassion for Yan balanced by his cold need for Yan to continue his existence of drudgery and danger, his stiff features contrasting his occasional kind word, and above all his intelligence and his integrity provide some of the most uplifting and inspiring moments in the movie. Occasionally he almost steals the show from the two leads with his biting lines and grim smiles, his sharp mind, fluid plans and counter-plans, and- perhaps most of all- his unbendingly upright core. In a world where friends and enemies, truth and lies cannot be distinguished, he is the foundation on which Yan, and the audience, can rest. Anthony Wong portrays this complex character with wonderful finesse.
Kelly Chen, as Yans physciatrist, has a brief romantic interlude with Yan; They have, perhaps three scenes together- all short. Even with the brief time span and few lines, their relationship is given (by the elegant script and graceful, understate acting on both Kelly Chen and Tony Leungs part) those beautiful broad strokes that make you feel the depth of human relations in mere seconds of simple conversation. In the world where everything is to be feared, where truth can get you killed and your best friends and your bitterest enermies are not distinguishable, she offers Yan an oasis- It is only on the couch in her office that he can, under the pretext of getting psychiatric help, get a few minutes of blissfully untroubled rest.
Tony Leung, actor-magician extraordinaire, is in his element everywhere in the movie. On the outside, he is all that Ming is not. Ming wears high contrast, sharp suits with impeccable poise; Yan slouches around, unshaven and disreputable in his torn up leather jackets; Ming speaks with confidence, is the darling of the Police department, is buying a gorgeous apartment complete with state-of-the-art sound system for his happy fiancée; Yan swears, is increasingly unstable, gets into violent fights, smokes, sniffs heroin to check its quality for his boss, and has said-boss smash the hand he already had in a cast. It is Tony Leung's own special brand of magic that allows us, with hardly a hint of emotion, to look through the damning, unattractive façade and see the gentle, righteous soul inside.
Take a brief interlude in an otherwise tense, fast-paced movie - Yan bumps into his ex-girlfriend on the street- his sudden stillness warns us she was no casual fling. She tells him she is married, and Yan even sees her daughter; She asks if hes still in the triad, and the implication hangs in the air that she does not approve, perhaps that was what broke them up. The, as if to shake away memories, she tells Yan that her husband is coming to pick them up, and asks him to leave. And here Tony Leung shakes himself out of his revelry too, smiles with aching grace, mutters that, coincidently, he too needs to be elsewhere, and turns away. A beautiful character moment is far. And yet, there is another twist, and that twist in the scene makes it even more forlorn and hopeless than what Yan and his ex say to each
other.
The director (and script-writers and camera folks) clearly knew what they were doing- they set up a dramatic moment and the just let the actors faces do the talking.
One scene continues to haunt me, and, I suspect, will for a long time: Yan watches the dead body of a friend and confidante fall from a high-rise onto the cab he just stepped out of. We see the still, bloodied face of a character we have come to love. For an eternity, nothing happens after the horrifying thud of body contacting taxi cab. A strangely ethereal opera plays in the background. I dare you to watch and not flinch at the flicker of inhumanly suppressed emotions on Tony's face. The circumstances that surround that moment are complex, and, with the triad surrounding him, Yan cannot afford any display of emotion. Yet, for the few seconds I watched Tony Leung's face, I felt sure that behind the subtly distorted face, Yan was going insane with guilt, grief, terror, utmost pity, respect and love. Bravo!
If, after reading this, you think this might be a wonderful movie to watch some lazy Sunday afternoon, then, gentle viewers, beware. This is a story that will grip your guts and may not let go. Save this movie for when you are in the mood to be moved and shaken and even angered. The ending can make you feel that there is no God in the cold universe of triads-and-cops, that justice is not always served, and sacrifice, not always recognized in time. In the last scene there is a shot, where the camera watches the Chinese characters that make up Yan's name for a few seconds - Yong Ren (ever kind). That was when I gave up my hopeless pretense of objective distance.
