Bruce Beresford, a celebrated Australian director, brings to the screen a film that resonates deeply with audiences who appreciate the art of dance. Mao’s Last Dancer tells a compelling, albeit somewhat familiar, story of a young, gifted dancer escaping the confines of a totalitarian regime to embrace the liberty of the West. While the narrative arc of defection might tread a well-worn path, the film distinguishes itself through breathtaking dance sequences and powerful performances, making it a truly engaging cinematic experience.
The protagonist, Li Cunxin, is portrayed initially as a somewhat naive character. As one might consider, his extraordinary talent could have propelled him to the pinnacle of the dance world within China’s system. However, the allure of Houston’s modern marvels – its shopping centers and towering skyscrapers – coupled with a burgeoning romance with an American dancer, and a profound disillusionment upon discovering the Party’s deceitful portrayal of America, fuels his decision to defect. This pivotal choice ignites a minor diplomatic incident and temporarily separates him from his family. It’s crucial to remember this momentous decision was made when Li was only eighteen years old, a testament to the powerful forces at play in his young life.
The film benefits immensely from the performances of its lead actors. Chengwu Gao, embodying Li as a boy, and Chi Cao, portraying the eighteen-year-old Li, deliver exceptional performances, especially considering they are not professional actors. In fact, the entire ensemble of Chinese actors shines brightly, lending authenticity and depth to their roles. The supporting cast, featuring familiar faces like Jack Thomson, playing his signature legal role, and Kyle Maclachlan in a more straightforward part, are adequate. However, Bruce Greenwood’s portrayal of Ben Stevenson, the director of the Houston Dance Company, might strike some as slightly grating, though his perspective on the Chinese dancers as more athletic than artistic is a point of view presented within the narrative.
Despite its strengths, Mao’s Last Dancer does have minor imperfections. Notably, some scenes set in Houston were filmed in Balmain, Sydney, with visible green street signs – a geographical inaccuracy that is hard to overlook for those familiar with Houston. This is a curious detail given that Beresford did film in Houston and invested significant effort in filming in China. Conversely, the scenes depicting Li’s village in Qintao are beautifully composed, and the film’s concluding scene subtly suggests Beresford’s success in assuring wary local Party officials that the movie would meet their approval. This is particularly noteworthy when considering the absence of overtly critical portrayals of figures resembling Madam Mao, despite the film’s underlying themes of political constraint and personal freedom.
An interesting postscript, absent from the film itself, reveals that after his dance career concluded, Li Cunxin transitioned into the world of finance, retraining as a stockbroker – an unexpected turn that underscores the multifaceted nature of his life journey. He currently resides in Melbourne. Beresford and Jan Sardi adapted the screenplay from Li’s acclaimed memoir, and their collaboration undoubtedly enhances the film, not least through the inclusion of stunning ballet sequences, with the excerpt from Stravinsky’s “Firebird” being a particular highlight. Mao’s Last Dancer ultimately succeeds in delivering an inspiring and visually rich story, celebrating both the dedication required to achieve balletic mastery and the courage to pursue personal liberty.
