A FRUIT CH AN FILM

A group of acclaimed creators steps outside the box for Dumplings: Three...Extremes. A ninety-minute version of director Fruit Chans segment of the horror omnibus Three... Extremes (which also happens to be the sortof sequel to 2002s award-winning horror anthology Three), Dumplings comes courtesy of a variety of unexpected creators.

Based on a novella from Lillian Lee (Farewell, My Concubine), and produced by Peter Chan, the film stars the unlikely pair of box office queen Miriam Yeung and Hollywood actress Bai Ling. It also nixes the supernatural creepiness normally associated with the genre and delivers a haunting and even realistic glimpse at human horrors. As such, it runs the risk

of being viewed as pedestrian, especially since Fruit Chan doesnt go way overthe-top ALA Herman Yau of The Untold Story. Regardless, this is excellent, though questionably appetizing stuff.

Miriam Yeung dons subtle makeup and an unflattering old lady hairstyle to play Ching, a middle-aged former TV star whose best years are far behind her. When we first meet her, she s just shown up at the apartment of Mei (Bai Ling), a mysterious woman whos alluring in a trashy / sexy way. Immediately, Mei knows that Ching is here to sample her renowned and extremely expensive dumplings. Featuring a glutinous,

semitransparent outer skin and filling thats alarmingly pinkish in hue, the dumplings are renowned not necessarily for their taste, but for their reputed antiaging properties. More to the point, the dumplings are supposed to make a middle-aged woman with sagging skin into a firm-skinned goddess bursting with sexually-appealing youth. Or so Mei claims.

Its not whats in there that horrifies, but the mundane and deliberate process of obtaining the materials and preparing the dumplings is given exacting and disturbing detail. The audience is given a ringside view as Mei hunts down her ingredients and prepares them for consumption. The sequences are alternately appetizing and horrifying. It sure looks like shes creating something tasty, but as soon as you figure out whats in there, your stomach may not not forgive you for thinking so. Ching experiences the same mixed emotions as the audience, as her own disgust at eating the dumpli ngs is initially obvious. But since shes so intent on reaping their benefits, she steels herself to eat them. Whats more, she develops a morbid curiosity at the whole process of making these special dumplings, a trait that leads her to shock, then acceptance, and ultimately an unwavering desire. The need for Ching to feel young is developed in her quiet attentiveness, and as she deliberately slurps down each dumpling, the camera luxuriously floats over her face, neck, and hands, as if were supposed to see them working their magic. Miriam Yeung brings a quiet and utterly believable emotion to her middle-aged character, and when the stuff starts working, she seem ingly starts to glow onscreen. Miriam Yeungs work here is head-turning and miles away from Love Undercovers goddess of silly, and shes matched by Bai Lings brassy, sexy turn as the amoral Mei.

Unfortunately, Meis character is more of a showpiece than an actual living, breathing person, but Bai Ling brings enough animation to her to make her seem real. Well, as real as a near-immortal woman could possibly be. Dumplings does have some rather noticeable debits. Fruit Chans hands-off realism could be undermined by the films fantasy aspect, and the journey taken doesnt result in anything concrete or enormously defining. Unlike whats dispensed on the DVD cover blurb, there is no price to pay for eating Meis dumplings. That is, aside from possibly losing ones soul, though not having a soul in the first place seems to be a prerequisite for chowing down on Meis culinary delights. A person doesnt seem to change as a result of eating the dumplings. Rather, choosing to eat them reveals the ugly vanity inherent in the human desire to remain young and beautiful. Wanting to stay as you are makes sense, but to go to such extremes to do it, you have to be one seriously disturbed individual. And apparently, thats what all these characters are: ugly and seriously disturbed.

Since Fruit Chan chooses not to go the over-the-top route, and instead handles matters in a quietly revealing fashion, some people might see Dumplings as boring stuff not worthy of its inherently alarming subject matter. However, the lack of Hey, this is screwed up! astonishment might also be the films greatest strength. Instead of a showy journey into madness and human degradation, we get a dis turbing and transfixing revelation of ugliness via the pursuit of beauty. This juxtaposition of the beautiful and disgusting is best demonstrated by Christopher Doyles fantastic cinematography, and is echoed in the glowing radiance of Miriam Yeungs flawless skin. Everything about Dumplings is beautiful and almost otherworldly in presentation, from Meis dumplings to Chings dresses to the very color on the walls of Meis apartment. But beneath it allor maybe even on the other side of the wall theres something sick, ugly, and just plain wrong, even if its never explicitly said. That silent, undefined juxtaposition could mean snores for some people, and lovers of Hong Kong Cinemas Category III glory days might find this film tame by comparison. But for discerning audiences who enjoy a film that slowly but surely crawls beneath your skin, Dumplings could be oddly exhilarating, coldly fascinating, and yet utterly affecting stuff.