The Warrior’s Way (2010) | Review by Mark Leidner
Aside from weeping uncontrollably before, during, and after The Warrior’s Way due to an unrelated depression (I started therapy today), this movie was as bad as you have feared. What happens? A bunch of swordfighting, I think. Also a beautiful woman is there. Geoffrey Rush is there too. I don’t know. It was hard to see through the veil of tears. The popcorn was good. Some jokes were made. The main character has a single expression I would politely describe as “confident Asian confusion.” Why? Clowns, opera, Brandenburg concertos, “French” accents, Xbox ninjas, computerized stars, normal slow-motion, 1985 slow-motion, Matrix slow-motion, random sepia-toned hallways, exploding bowling pins, skeletal Ferris wheel, red puffs that I think symbolized blood, magical lava mountains, a baby, two babies at one point, a giant sun, a child rapist, “sad flute penis” – an actual line uttered in the movie, except it was more like, “Sad flute… penis?” – you get the idea. In the next paragraph I won’t even mention this movie since if you’re smart enough to be able to read words on a computer screen, there is no chance you will go see it.
Youth! How I long for it. It seems only yesterday I was a young ninja of language, enjoying life, enjoying writing poetry, finding the beautiful sounds and ancient forms dripping with generosity and wisdom and love for all human beings, happily scuba diving the reef of interconnection with all things. Poetry seems so alive, so powerful, so free when you’re in your twenties. It’s like this magical spring from which meaning and beauty multiplicitously burble, unfolding fractally, branches branching branches branching branches, bearing fruit! Then you turn thirty and everything is vapor. Vanity is the ghost that haunts your every waking endeavor, and no verse will save you. Death ravages us all, and thinking accelerates it. And yet, there is hope. As I type this there is hope. In the car ride after the movie Hannah told me a story about a time in her life when she felt lost, felt as if her life had been a failure, and there was nothing left to look forward to. And then she told me how it passed. And how it is now. And I felt better because it was a beautiful story. Too private to detail here. But too beautiful not to mention. If anyone ever reads this and they are down, down deeper than they have ever been, looking at people – strangers, friends – and seeing only nothingness. Don’t give up. There is an order you cannot fathom, holding you. For the first time in my life, I feel it holding me.