Set in China (but written in English), The Last Emperor charts the story of China’s last
emperor. That history is written in such a way as to give us a flavour of China’s several political regime changes of the
20th century, from the Kuomintang and the first Chinese Republic,
to Mao Zedong’s Cultural Revolution in the 1960s. The historical elements are
well-portrayed throughout, and are perhaps most intriguing in the film’s early
stages, when we witness the ancient and arcane rituals of Beijing’s
Forbidden City (so-called because the emperor
is the only male permitted to enter it, hence the hundreds of eunuchs that are
servants there.)
An alternative twist to the Forbidden
City is that the emperor may not leave it. The infant emperor,
although supremely powerful in his own realm, gradually yearns to join the
outside world, but may not, because the gate to the city is guarded on both
sides. Indicating that the emperor is a figurehead, a symbol whose life is not
really his own, this conundrum draws out the human interest element of the
emperor’s story. Throughout, he is portrayed not simply as a head of state but
rather a person who finds himself in an extraordinary position of omnipotence.
Unexpected though his position is, he gradually grows into it (after some
childish testing of his subjects’ and retainers obeisance). Taking the the
reins of his imperial status yields mixed results. He successfully implements
some reforms in his court, thereby punishing the unfaithful servants who line
their own pockets from the imperial treasury. His dalliance with the Japanese,
however, proves misguided in the extreme, and ultimately leads to his
“re-education” in a post-WWII prison.
It’s a relatively long fall, his re-education, because
although apparently fairminded, we have seen how he enjoyed the trappings of
the emperor’s office. There are many in his staff who
apparently live to serve. His valet ties the emperor’s shoelaces and prepares
the material for his morning ablutions, to the extent of putting toothpaste on
his toothbrush, even while they both share a prison cell. Drugs, women and
wealth are present in much of his life. Japan’s policy of popularising
opium use among Manchuko’s population for the purposes of generating revenue is
a shocking backdrop to his own wife’s terminal decline through it’s misuse.
On first impression, we suspect that it’s the fact that
the emperor is so young, not that he is that last in his line, that is of
unique interest here. This suspicion is echoed in the film’s marketing poster
and promotional material, based around images of the imperial infant. It’s
therefore almost surprising when we find ourselves still interested in the
adult emperor. That being said, like the emperor himself, we have to work a
little harder in the latter stages.
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