The ballet pic and the biopic come together in a new Australian film that celebrates a tall poppy that this country can now claim as its own.
Mao’s Last Dancer combines several classic myths – rags to riches, the blossoming of an amazing talent against great odds, and the quest for love. But the results are ultimately disappointing.
The film is based on the extraordinary autobiography of acclaimed ballet dancer Li Cunxin, who escaped bitter impoverishment in rural China when he was selected to train with Madame Mao’s Beijing Dance Academy during the Cultural Revolution.
Li’s second escape came when, dancing with the Houston Ballet on a cultural exchange, he was offered a contract and made a dramatic defection to the West, causing a diplomatic crisis and media frenzy. Li now lives in Melbourne with his Australian-born wife and family. The book, first released in 2003, has become a worldwide bestseller with more than 400 000 copies sold.
The film brings to life the decades after the fateful day when communist officials arrived at Li's village school in the north-east province of Shandong and made the last-minute choice that would whisk the 11-year-old away from his large, close family to train in Beijing.
It’s almost saved by the strength of the story itself. Li’s tale has a strong emotional trajectory and is spiked with conflict, pathos and triumph. His astonishing career, the drama of his defection and his continuing loyalty to his beloved parents (beautifully played by Joan Chen and Wang Shuang Bao) keep the plot barrelling along. They also allow the audience to engage emotionally with the story.
The intersections of Chinese history with Li's personal story are as disturbing as they are novel. There's an anachronistic element to the early scenes: we see Li's peasant parents toiling in the fields; Li and his six brothers in their tiny, smoky stone hut; and the chilly village schoolroom with its framed picture of Mao in pride of place. These scenes have an air of authenticity, with cinematographer Peter James creating a grainy, washed-out look that suggests a vanished, little-known world.
This atmosphere also prevails in Li’s early life at the Academy, where indoctrination and military-style discipline prevail amid stark interiors. It’s shockingly harsh and militaristic, the emphasis on gymnastic ability and technique rather than artistic expression, with teachers arguing over whether Chinese dancers should learn from Western styles or ignore them.
The stranglehold the Chinese Government had on its citizens is dramatised in appearances from the doctrinaire Madame Mao. And even when the young Li first gets to the US on a cultural exchange he’s subject to the Chinese consulate-general’s warnings about the dangers of Western women.
The film fits neatly into the ballet film genre. The ghost of the great Baryshnikov, who defected from Russia to Canada in 1974 and has supplemented his successful dancing career with acting, is never far away.
Indeed, the dancing in the film is its great strength, with choreography by Graeme Murphy and Janet Vernon, former artistic directors of the Sydney Ballet Company. (This goes for the studio scenes as well as the huge set pieces.) Highlights include some extravagant communist kitsch at the Beijing Academy that’s great fun to watch; excerpts from an Australian Ballet production of Swan Lake; and a beautiful dance scene featuring Li and Mary McKendry (Camilla Vergotis) with not a point in sight.
Shot in China, Australia and Houston, Mao’s Last Dancer features, both in major roles and as extras, a huge array of actual dancers. These include Chinese dancers, as well as former and current members of the Australian Ballet and the Sydney Dance Company; watch out for Camilla Vergotis, Madeleine Eastoe and Stephen Heathcote in supporting or cameo performances.
The decision to cast dancers in the lead roles mainly pays off. Three actors play Li at various stages of his life, and given that the youngest is a gymnast and the other two dancers, they deserve congratulations.
First time actor Chi Cao plays the adult Li. He’s a versatile leading man – handsome, lithe, and a superb artist with a strong screen presence. In real life a principal with the Royal Birmingham Ballet, his agile grace ignites the ballet scenes, and when Li fills in at the last moment to play a Don Quixote pas de deux, learning the moves in three hours, it’s an absolute highlight.
Chi succeeds in conveying Li’s culture shock as he arrives in the seemingly decadent West and is confronted with ATMs, blenders, and outrageous sums being spent on clothes. His innocence and naivety in a blossoming relationship with dancer Liz Mackey is delicately handled. But the innocent, bewildered persona becomes laboured after a while, as does the joke of Li’s being lured by the capitalist evils of 1980s Houston.
Unfortunately dancer and actor Amanda Schull, who plays Liz – a pivotal role – isn’t quite up to scratch, and she's out of her depth in the scenes that require heavy emotion.
But the acting is not the main problem here. A major issue is that there’s rarely enough complexity to distinguish the characters from the generic. For example, veteran Canadian actor Bruce Greenwood does his best in the role of Ben Stevenson, artistic director of the Houston Ballet and a vital mentor for Li; his ease and gracefulness make you believe he’s a born ballet teacher. But there’s simply no depth to the role, nothing to distinguish him from a thousand dedicated teachers.
This may or may not be a result of the film's origins. Without having read the book, I can’t comment on whether or not it is limited in its ability to convey the complexities of the main players, including Li himself. But the film at least fails to bring the characters fully to life.
Thematically it also lacks originality. The narrative of an individual striving tirelessly for artistic excellence is now hackneyed, and it demanded a more original treatment here. The young Li supplements his luck and talent with a penchant for gruelling practice – we see him toiling after hours in the studio to perfect his split jumps, and hopping up stairs with sandbags around his ankles to strengthen his muscles.
Of course it’s interesting to contemplate how the real-life Li has combined the discipline and technique he learned in China with the artistic freedom and idea of individual achievement that the West must have offered him. But in many ways this is simply a rehashing of the tale in which the individual fulfils the American Dream. Indeed, the film sometimes resembles a propaganda piece for Western values and the freedom and opportunities of the American way of life.
There’s no doubt Mao’s Last Dancer comes to us from a prize-winning team. Producer Jane Scott was behind the award-winning Shine and director Bruce Beresford has achieved international fame with films such as Black Robe and Paradise Road. The screenplay is by the venerable Jan Sardi, who wrote the screenplay of Shine.
But although it offers constant drama and some suspense, ‘light entertainment’ is perhaps the best description of Mao’s Last Dancer. With more sophisticated characterisation and exploration of its themes it could have been much more.
A last note: veteran Australian actor Penne Hackforth-Jones plays a supporting role as Cynthia Dodds and it’s inexplicable that she’s not in the cast list on the film’s official website.
Verdict: dramatic, visually strong at times, but ultimately undemanding
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