Combining the cinemas of East and West is the cinematic equivalent of nuclear fusion: theoretically possible, potentially enormously rewarding, but in practice extremely difficult. And then came Ang Lee's Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, with its combination of Eastern philosophy and fighting, and western dramatic gravity. This, it was hoped, would be the film to crack the formula. The director said he wanted something that would be "like a summer blockbuster in Asia but an arthouse film in the rest of the world". But, if anything, the reverse has been true.
Having conquered film festivals across Europe and north America, Crouching Tiger took less than three weeks to become the UK's highest grossing foreign-language film of all time. In the US, it has also performed spectacularly ($53 millon and rising). It recently received two Golden Globes, and is among this year's Oscar favourites.
Back on home territory, however, the reaction has been decidedly mixed. The film has scored well in Singapore and Taiwan but, in Korea and Japan, it has been outshone by domestic and Hollywood competition. In Hong Kong, despite critical acclaim, the film has taken $2.12 millon since July, including a recent re-release. By way of comparison, Jackie Chan's latest, Accidental Spy, has racked up almost twice as much in Hong Kong in its first three weeks.
"For Hong Kong Chinese there's simply not enough action," says Maria Wong, a post-production film executive in Hong Kong. "I grew up with this type of film. You can see them every day on TV. It's nothing new, even the female angle. But Crouching Tiger is so slow, it's a bit like listening to grandma telling stories."
For Hong Kong and Chinese audiences, the historical martial arts (or "wire-fu") genre is exemplified by 1980s films such as Ronnie Yu's The Bride With White Hair or Tsui Hark's Zu Warriors from the Magic Mountain and his Once Upon a Time in China series. The fight scenes are usually longer, more frequent and more technically skilled (Michelle Yeoh was the only real martial arts expert in Crouching Tiger).
Further, any intervals between fights are filled either with slapstick comedy or rapidfire exposition, so as to cram in the extravagantly complex plotlines. Crouching Tiger's static drama was exacerbated for audiences in Hong Kong by seeing their Cantonese-speaking heroes, Chow Yun-Fat and Malaysian-born Michelle Yeoh, struggling with Mandarin prose.
In mainland China, where the film was shot, receipts have also been low, estimated at $1.5m, though its performance may have been affected by Lee's Taiwanese nationality. Given China's strained relationship with the renegade republic, the mainland authorities are unlikely to have taken to the film. It was, in effect, off the market for three and a half months because of a dispute between producers, during which time millions of pirated DVDs of the film are said to have flooded the market, killing off subsequent demand.
Co-writer and executive producer of Crouching Tiger, James Schamus, is quick to defend it. "It was the highest grossing Chinese-language film in virtually every Asian territory; even if it hadn't been released in the West, it would have been a huge success. It didn't do well in some places, but who's complaining? Not me!"
Schamus also dismisses as "western xenophobia" recent accusations that director Lee has tailored his "Chineseness" for western audiences, to deliver "cleverly packaged chop suey". Elements of the film were undoubtedly selected with western appeal in mind, however: cast members with international recognition; a score by cellist Yo-Yo Ma, well known in western classical circles; fight sequences by Yuen Wo-Ping, who now carries the suffix "of Matrix fame". Most importantly, the screenplay was in continual ping-pong between James Schamus and two Chinese scriptwriters, teasing out cross-cultural resonances from the source text: the fourth episode of Du Lang Wang's historical fable.
So Lee didn't quite crack the global formula, but he is not the first Chinese auteur to be feted in the West and ignored at home. Wong Kar-Wai, for example, has triumphed on Western arthouse and film festival circuits with meditative urban tales such as last year's In the Mood for Love, but his films have only been minor hits in Hong Kong itself. Likewise with mainland stars such as Zhang Yimou (Raise the Red Lantern), Chen Kaige (Farewell My Concubine) and their successors. Frequently they have been forced to smuggle their films out of China for the benefit of appreciative Western audiences.
For a film to conquer all corners of the world, it would have to be the cinematic equivalent of McDonald's: a big, bland, undemanding work of the type Lee will hopefully never produce. Films that succeed globally are usually out-and-out Hollywood epics such as Titanic or Mission: Impossible Two. From the Asian side, only Jackie Chan has that world-beating potential.
Even so, Crouching Tiger has, it is hoped, improved both sides of the equation. Western filmgoers might be tempted to delve further into the wire-fu genre - where works by Tsui Hark, King Hu, Chang Cheh among others await - and Chinese film-makers might be encouraged to return to it. The genre has all but dried up since Hollywood began tempting away its best exponents, most of whom had acquired cult status in the West with their home-made efforts, but whose USmade films have been dull.
Hark, for instance, produced the indifferent Jean-Claude van Damme vehicle, Knock Out, in the US, but is now back in Hong Kong working on a sequel to 1983's Zu Warriors. He is reportedly trying to push the boundaries of the genre even further, in response to the success of Crouching Tiger. Given the West's new love affair with the genre, the film could even secure a theatrical release in the US or the UK, something Hong Kong action directors could never have dreamed of before.