This crime drama set in rural China starts as an ok neo-noir about a jealous husband who puts a hit out on his wife, but then gets increasingly lost in self-conscious Tarantinoisms like chapter headings, fractured narrative, a funky soundtrack, and worst of all, b&w silent movie sequences. Unlike a lot of post-Pulp fractures, this narrative might have been interesting if they didn't fuck with it: something something masculinity of the modern mainland Chinese man. But the movie loses momentum the more it strays from a straight line.

Colm Meaney: "We're all just trying to get home." [Dramatic Pause]

Me: Please don't, oh please ...

Colm Meaney: "Isn't that profound?"

Me: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

I first saw this movie a few days after I turned sixteen. It was my first favorite movie, but it wasn't (just) the T&A that left an impression. This was the first time I noticed a film's production values, the first time I was blown away by a movie's skewed camera angles and rapid-fire editing. Meyer's insistence on playing Roger Ebert's script with a straight face put me off the smug, knowing tones of deliberate camp for life. I still don't understand when people respond to BVD as if its meant to be taken seriously, but I guess that confirms Meyer knew what he was doing.

Because the best way to remember our fallen veterans is to dance for them.