by: Rob Watson

For anyone not sated by the spectacle of Takeshi Kitano's blind swordsman pulverizing his feudal-era Japanese foes in Zatoichi (released in the U.S. last summer), House of Flying Daggers offers Zhang Ziyi, the deceptively gamine star of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Hero and Rush Hour 2, as another sightless ass-kicker. Zhang Yimou's latest film, a slightly more intimate companion piece to his worldwide hit Hero, is another ancient Chinese epic marked by a decidedly feminine sensibility.

While American action blockbusters have reaped the benefits of pouring Cameron Diaz and Angelina Jolie into skintight shorts and having them show off some modified chopsocky moves in the name of "girl power," the recent, popular Chinese martial arts epics have been driven by sincere, fully felt love stories. House of Flying Daggers is even more strongly relationship-powered. What looks like a lavish martial arts epic soon blossoms into an intimate saga of romantic betrayal.

Mei (Zhang Ziyi), a blind, apple-cheeked showgirl at a brothel called the Peony Pavilion, rebuffs an overzealous client by turning a sensual dance into a whirling spasm of rage. She looks like a porcelain doll, but she erupts like a volcano, at one point twirling daggers with the ends of her scarves. Turns out she's not just any sightless, blade-wielding hooker - the government suspects that she's the new leader of the Flying Daggers, a dangerous cabal of anarchists.

The police, witnessing Mei's outburst at the brothel, toss her in jail. She's sprung - in a death-defying escape - by her client from the opening scene, a bandit identifying himself as Wind (Takeshi Kaneshiro). Mei and Wind evade the police by venturing through a verdant forest; this leads to many time-honored "mismatched lovers on the run" tropes, including Girl Bathes in Spring While Guy Pretends Not to Watch and Blind Girl Discovers What Guy Looks Like By Caressing His Face. House of Flying Daggers is cheerful in its use of these scenarios. When Mei sizes up Wind by lowering her touch and gently gripping his hands, it's a genuinely erotic moment.

The movie revels in triple-decker plot twists, as the true identities of the characters - Mei, Wind, the cop (Andy Lau) on their trail, even the friendly madam (Dandan Song) - are never what they seem. Mostly, however, House of Flying Daggers is a stripped-down two-hander in which the two would-be lovers fall for each other while evading their pursuers. Slow-burn scenes of burgeoning romance are punctuated with whipsaw knife-fights, filmed with electrifying speed and agility (by cinematographer Xiaoding Zhao).

One small complaint: Zhang, the director, occasionally relies on less-than-convincing CGI to portray the intricate interplay of airborne daggers, surging blood and balletic limbs, which takes us out of the moment and undercuts the achievements of Zhang, the actress (and her co-stars). Still, the action scenes provide a visceral thrill nicely balanced by the almost quaint story of love transcending the mystery of the characters' allegiances.

At the climax, love and war merge in a heartbreakingly ironic and beautifully realized standoff that brings the emotional volatility of a love triangle to vivid life. In a lovely bit of magic, a sudden snowfall coats the verdant plain, each lover makes a life-or-death choice and, soon, the snow is stained red. To the film's great credit, the ending, which has the rueful irony of a Shakespeare tragedy, might wring a tear or two - the story maintains its integrity despite its eight-car pileup of seemingly arbitrary plot twists.

House of Flying Daggers lacks the grandeur of Hero, which dealt with nations at war and often employed a cast of thousands to stage epic battles. But its tale of a woman reconciling love with political allegiance is no less passionate. Zhang Yimou has always excelled at intimate period epics - Raise the Red Lantern, Shanghai Triad, To Live - but by reaching far into the past and utilizing the aesthetic pleasures of the martial arts, he has done a graceful job of putting the violence of romantic conflict onscreen. Who knew flying daggers would make such an apt metaphor for true love? When they land, if properly aimed, they pierce the heart.