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A good choice for a biopic, Genghis Khan conquered and ruled a fifth of the world but this first of a trilogy offers a portrait of the man before he was a myth.
The most striking element of Mongol was just how intimate a portrait of Temudgin (Genghis Khan) it is. Tadanobu Asano's (of Zatoichi fame) Temudgin breaks through the legend and is intriguing, powerful and extremely memorable. Those looking for endless battles may be left disappointed as we share more in Temudgin's personal battles, before his military success.
At the age of 9 in 1172 Temudgin is exiled after his father's death and threatened with execution. However, he escapes and grows to be the man bent on marrying his chosen bride, Borte, and reclaiming his place as khan. His successes lead him to unite the Mongol tribes and defeating all enemies. Tribal tradition and rivalries create the authenticity, the volatile relationship with his blood brother Jamukha (superbly played by Honglei Sun) offers the humanity.
An ambitious production at all levels.
Mongol, due to the shadiness of what is fact and fiction, is a bit disorganized. The editing is not as sharp as it should be, and nearly half the film is with Temudgin as a child. The fact it is quite messy means the film paints Genghis Khan to be a morally-inspiring character: the man who will reward an elderly slave who feeds him or spares the lives of his enemies. Considering the rest of the film is so authentic and powerful, to then show this ruthless man in this fashion seems a bit too contrived.
It is in its cinematography, however, that Mongol shows its quality. The harsh climate and varying terrains of the Mongolian steppes is breathtaking. Vast panoramic shots of wide expanses of land, maybe with a small cluster of horses moving across the inhospitable deserts or lush meadows, truly makes it clear how Temudgin would have such a love for his homeland. Directors of Photography Rogier Stoffer and Sergei Trofimov created a raw, authentic and lovingly archaic world of contrasts. The soft washes of misty mornings and the sharpness of a thunderstorm; the brightness of a village in the day and the pitch black of a battlefield.
The music of the film, by Tuomas Kantelinen and Mongolian band Altan Urgan, also adds to the haunting and disturbing feel of Mongol, which was an ambitious production at all levels. With Kazakh and Kyrgyz stunt riders, the battles are strangely beautiful, if still gruesome and unforgiving, and we are witness to the evolution of Genghis Khan's horse warfare strategy.
As Temudgin proudly claims to be laying his own path with his defiant 'Not me' philosophy, Mongol seems to prove the Mongolian proverb true: Do not scorn a weak cub; he may become a brutal tiger. We see the tiger of Genghis Khan, but still admire him. There are faults with the film, but they do not detract from its epic standing.
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