Grade:  A

Richard Wagner famously observed that the final movement of Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony was “the apotheosis of the dance.” His remark can be adapted to refer to Zhang Yimou’s “Hero.” Voluptuous and amazing, this isn’t a martial arts film–it’s the apotheosis of the martial arts film. And it’s a stirring national epic, too–though that fact might cause some to look at it with less admiration.

“Hero” is set in the third century B.C., when the divided realms that make up China were first being forcibly united under the dynasty of Qin. The story is told in three parts, all consisting of flashbacks involving hand-to-hand combat that, taken together, cover the same territory, “Rashomon” style, from different perspectives. The first act offers the narration of a mysterious swordsman called (shades of Clint Eastwood’s spaghetti westerns) Nameless (Jet Li), who is brought before the all-conquering king of Qin (Chen Daoming) to describe how he successively defeated the ruler’s three most dangerous enemies–the assassins Sky (Donnie Yen), Broken Sword (Tony Leung Chiu-Wai) and Flying Snow (Maggie Cheung Man-Yuk)–who were seeking vengeance for the monarch’s brutal takeover of their native land. Then in part two the king, suspicious of the warrior’s story, offers an alternative account of the battles. In the final segment Nameless responds with “the truth”–and reaches a decision that points to the emergence of China as an entity in whose service all inhabitants must sacrifice any individualistic or provincial concerns.

Zhang’s film is thus like an artistic triptych, in which each of the three “acts” serves as a narrative mirror to the others. And all of them are exquisitely rendered. Few films in cinematic history can match the visual splendor of this one. The compositions are flawless, every frame fashioned with the eye of the master craftsman; one gets the feeling that each droplet of water, which figures in several of the set-pieces, and each leaf within the swirling masses of them featured in another, are precisely situated for the maximum effect, and the crowds and massive army formations are choreographed with an exactitude that recalls Eisenstein. The use of color is also remarkable, with each of the reiterated combat sequences given a hue of its own–one verdant green, another blazing red, another pure white, still another sky-blue, and others mixtures of browns and grays–to reflect the changing emotional moods. (The technique recalls what Richard Brooks attempted in his adaptation of “The Brothers Karamazov” back in 1958, but it works far more tellingly here.) Much of the story is told (and retold, like a theme and variations) through the martial arts flashbacks, and some viewers may be surprised (perhaps disappointed) that many of them are quite brief. But they haven’t been designed to outdo the extravagant, elongated routines one finds in more conventional films; they’re like distillations of such routines, elegantly reduced to their essentials and presented with a virtuoso technique that surpasses even what Ang Lee achieved in “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” and their very economy enhances their effectiveness. The combination of landscape, costume, musical accompaniment, and physical dexterity turns them into something balletic, one astonishing pas de deux after another–demonstrations of ethereal agility and loveliness. (It’s difficult, amidst such riches, to select the absolute highpoint, though certainly the breathtaking battle on the lake–using those words quite literally–has to be singled out. But the duel in the trees, with full autumn foliage, isn’t far behind.) “Hero” is, quite simply, a stunningly beautiful film that enchants the eye from beginning to end; much of the credit goes to Zhang, of course, but production designers Huo Tingxiao and Yi Zhenzhou and cinematographer Christopher Doyle must also be mentioned, as well as the effects team headed by Ellen Poon, which was responsible for the remarkable shots of massed arrows ripping through the air in several scenes. (The ear doesn’t suffer, either: there’s a lush, powerful score by Tan Dun, in which the violin solos are played by no less than Itzhak Perlman.)

Within this visual context, the actors serve as iconic figures, and fit admirably within Zhang’s vision. Li might seem excessively stoic and inexpressive to some, but he’s supposed to cut a figure of distant, quiet authority as controlled as the one Eastwood played in the Leone films, and he does so well. Leung and Cheung are more emotionally open as the fighting (and romantic) team of Broken Sword and Flying Snow, and they score strongly, as do Chen as the swaggering monarch and Zhang Ziyi as Broken Sword’s faithful servant. (Along with Yen, they all show great skill in the action sequences, of course.)

Some American viewers might object to the final scenes of “Hero,” which exalt Chinese nationalism and the submission of local and personal interests to the larger unity. But in reality that message is little different from the patriotic ones found in American films about the founding or the civil war. Any charge that it reduces the film to the level of propaganda–which some observers may voice–is simply chauvinistic.

Indeed, the only serious criticisms one must raise regarding “Hero” have to do with the gross mishandling of this remarkable film by its American distributor. For some reason Miramax chose to hold back the U.S. release of the picture for a couple of years (foreign DVDs have been circulating for a long while); the treatment certainly diminished its chances of becoming a serious contender in the 2003 Oscar race as best foreign-language film if 2002. (It absolutely should have won over the earnest but stilted “Nowhere in Africa.”) Now the studio is marketing the picture as an ordinary action movie, trumpeting the names of Quentin Tarantino (its “presenter”) and Jet Li in ads and running trailers on TV programs directed at the “young male” audience. There hasn’t been this inept a campaign for a film that needs careful handling (and a slow roll-out) since Newmarket blundered in trying to sell “Donnie Darko” as a typical teen comedy back in 2001. And it’s not likely to work any better in this case–which is a real tragedy, since Zhang’s film is a work of enormous artistry that could, as a result, be overlooked by the very audience that will most appreciate it. Don’t be misled; this is one of the year’s very best films.