Macau, the gaming paradise off Hong Kong harbor, is a glamorous place and a dazzling world. Among many other things, "Ballad of a Small Player" is also a tribute to Hong Kong cinema, one of the most important styles of world cinema for 60 years.
Well-known actors appear here in small supporting roles, and in its expansive imagery and its desire for visual storytelling, Edward Berger's film largely breathes the spirit of this Chinese-Western film melange.
The main character, however, is - like the director - a "guailo", a foreigner, as western white people are called in Cantonese.
Colin Farell embodies a dandy, gambler and likeable con man who lives here in a 5-star suite even though he has hardly any money for a taxi, pretends to be an English lord even though he is an Irish bourgeois, and hopes that his streak of bad luck will break and he will finally get money for his hotel bill.
But he loses again and again... it seems like magic. Even the old gamblers who gamble away their husbands' money here mostly ridicule him.
And at some point, debt collector Cynthia Blithe (Tilda Swinton) from England is hot on Doyle's heels.
At least he is lucky in love. Because he meets the Chinese woman Dao Ming (Fala Chen), who works as a casino manager and recognizes a good soul in the desperate man.
Although the bombastic style of "Ballad of a Small Player" stands in stark contrast to Berger's previous work, the director once again deals with the inner conflict of humanity, with temptation and redemption - but this time in the form of a bright, opulent film.
Without question, this film is less fascinating than "Conclave", its theme is far less "important" and "sublime" - but I like that everything is staged in bright Technicolor, in partly psychedelic images, and one increasingly wonders what is real here and what is produced in the intoxication of consciousness.
The crucial question is: “What is it really about?” The film sometimes seems like a moral parable about gambling addiction, but at other times it seems like a dazzling celebration of it.
There's a lot of humor, but it's no more a real comedy than it is a farce or a romantic drama - it's most likely a surrealistic fairy tale for adults: elegantly staged, but never profound.
The whole is less than the sum of its magnificent but disjointed individual parts. So once again Edward Berger remains a director with a lot of technical skill, but without his own author's signature, without a style or theme that holds what he does together.
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