by Victor Pryor
Ruined Heart is playing at the Lincoln Center Walter Reade Theater in Manhattan on July 2. For more information and tickets, click here.
The Criminal. The Lover. The Friend. The Pianist. The Godfather. And of course, The Whore.
These are our dramatis personae, our entryway into the cinematic hellscape that is Khavn de la Cruz’s Ruined Heart.
That’s not an insult, by the way; that’s a mission statement.
Any movie with opening credits that take the form of tattoos on a corpse laying on the sidewalk being ignored by all the cars driving by relays a pretty definitive statement, and the film’s ethos is equally straightforward: life is brutal, everbody’s suffering and no one gives a shit, so you might as well get your kicks where you can.
And that’s before we even get to the subtitle of the film, “Just Another Love Story Between A Criminal And A Whore.”
So, to answer your question: no. No, it will not be a tea party.
Our protagonists are the Criminal (Tadanobu Asano, in a transcendantly physical performance) and The Whore (Nathalie Acevado, grittily luminous), and as their appellations might indicate, this is not a story to be taken literally. Hell, it’s barely even a story at all.
What happens is very basic. The Criminal and The Whore fall in love, go on the run. Not that there’s anywhere to run to. But when you’re born doomed, standing still is a little death all its own, isn’t it?
For all it’s directness, it’s possible the details might get lost in the style of the thing. Because again, we’re not watching a story here, we’re watching archetypical anthropology.
The characters, restless and hungry for sensation in a decaying world, run from spot to spot, dancing, boozing, and fucking. Everyone is hollowed out, devoid of passion, devoid of hope, devoid of everything except hunger for the next distracting sensation.
Though sometimes, miraculously, love does slip through.
And in a world where no moment of grace can go unpunished, those sorts of slips are most dangerous of all.
Because words are meaningless here, there is almost no dialogue. The only words we hear are the melancholy lyrics to the pop songs that constantly blare in the background (many of them by the band Stereo Total, as well as roughly a hundred different versions of the song that provides the title of the movie). The songs express the feelings the characters are too numbed to express themselves.
Ruined Heart has a grimy, vulgar pulse that’s impossible to deny. It feels raw and rancid and out of control in a way that few movies even begin to approach. It portrays an entire community built on dedication to depraved decadence and depraved indifference. And then it makes us watch helplessly as the consequences of living in that world unfold with ruthless inevitability.
The cinematography by Christopher Doyle gives the thing some stylistic without ever compromising the inherent griminess of the world.
As ugly as it all is, there is beauty, too. The Whore in the back of a stolen bus, dancing joyfully (or as close to it as its possible to get round these parts). The Criminal, dancing on a stairwell. The Friend, playfully showing off his impressive martial arts moves with some sparring partners (and without spoiling later events, it’s important to note that the film is actually fairly ambiguous on who ‘The Friend’ is actually a friend to…). Young lovers inexplicably incorporating a phone book into their sex play, both erotic and unsettling. The Whore, smiling, chasing and being chased by a flock of laughing children in the ruins of a church carnival, a steel guitar version of Pachelbel’s Canon In D highlighting the passing glory of a single moment.
But then in the next moment, Doyle’s camera will pan impassively over grotesque tableaus of dead-eyed perversion and brutal murders. So: Urban nihilism and fleeting glimpses of genuine affection, both observed without judgment. There is an extended close up of a face in this film that’s shockingly graphic and enigmatic in its implications.
What does it mean? Who knows? Does it matter? Does anything?
And yet, for all that, the standout image in the film doesn’t involve Doyle at all: it’s a scene of escape where The Criminal runs from unseen pursuers. It’s a handheld shot with the added twists that Asano himself is doing the holding. And somehow, it doesn’t come off as stylistic showboating; it’s as close to total physical immersion in another world as movies can get.
Though, whether this is a particular world you want to immerse yourself is another question entirely.
Ruined Heart is categorically not for everyone. It’s at the axis of the art house and the grindhouse. But for those on it’s fetid, sick souled wavelength, it’s an experience not to be missed.
The New York Asian Film Fest is running from June 28 to July 11. For details on showings and more, click here.
