Office Christmas Party
Another reminder that allowing your cast to madly improvise instead of actually providing a coherent script with a scintilla of inherent logic often leads to…
After awkwardly collecting dust in the Weinstein attic for at least five years, Mikael Håfström’s “Shanghai” is finally getting released. This pre-WWII noir, released in China in 2010 before going MIA until this weekend, cannot blame time for any of its flaws, no matter the year. Even if an uncredited editor were hired to make clear sense of these pieces, the film wouldn’t work. Like a ball of Christmas lights dumped on our laps by Uncle Harvey (Weinstein) after missing for years, the knotted and frustrating “Shanghai” is now out for audiences to dare to untangle, if that sounds fun.
John Cusack plays Paul Soames, an American spy who comes to Shanghai in October 1941, pretending to be a Nazi-sympathizing reporter for the Shanghai Herald, planning to meet up with his fellow spy friend Conner (Jeffrey Dean Morgan). However, Conner is killed one night while seeing a mysterious woman named Sumiko (Rinko Kikuchi), causing Paul to seek out who committed the murder (even though it could have been anyone, considering the murder is more like a protocol hit than a casual kill). While attending a party in the German sector of the city with his Nazi friends, he meets a Japanese general named Tanaka (Ken Watanabe) and a Triad boss in very good graces with the Japanese, Anthony Lan-Ting (Chow Yun-Fat), husband of a woman that Paul actually randomly flirted with the night before, Anna Lan-Ting (Gong Li). Anna secretly works with the Chinese Resistance against soon-to-be-invading Japan, and is present during brutal attacks on Japanese officials. Nonetheless, Paul thinks that if he can find Sumiko, then he can solve Conner’s murder. At the same point, Paul’s personal investigation intersects with his growing interest in Anna, which then leads Paul to learn about a Japanese warship, missing from port in the late fall of 1941.
“Shanghai” is clearly inspired by the likes of “Casablanca,” but its execution with archetypes and pulp is of a greedier, lazier, modern breed, propelled by the desire to always have "something big" happen, whether that means twisting a character beyond their believable limit or relying on happenstance. Eventually, everyone in “Shanghai” seems to be some sort of spy "just because," and Cusack’s lead snoop has only made progress from a single murder to a World War with very dumb luck.
Håfström’s film is also at odds with its own emotional desires. It wants to be a type of political statement about the widespread damage of war, and how one life means nothing in the hardened environment. Many scenes of violence conclude with police photograph-like snaps of dead bodies, belonging to characters we barely know, but the brutality is meant to be scarring enough. But simultaneously, the film focuses on Paul's tedious obsession with a single person, the missing Sumiko, despite the much bigger picture of its international boiling points. By "Shanghai's" end, for a film that ends on the day that Pearl Harbor is attacked, there's a baffling lack of immediacy to such threat of doom.