It seems certain that 'House of Flying Daggers', director Yimou Zhang's captivating follow-up to the acclaimed 'Hero', will become, (justifiably) famous for its Wushu-style fight scene amidst the tops of a Bamboo forest, just as 'Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon' did before it. 2004 has been the year in which Hollywood admitted the fact that it now looks to the East for inspiration: we have had a Sam Raimi-endorsed remake of 'The Grudge' and we will soon be witness to 'Infernal Affairs' re-imagined by Martin Scorsese - yet all the while Asian cinema has continued to innovate and excite, refusing to stand still despite censorship and despite the massive marketing spends and product placement fundamental to Hollywood moviemaking. And so, 'House of Flying Daggers' easily trumps the style of 'Crouching Tiger' but to my mind outdoes it on substance as well.

Yimou's achievement with this picture is the masterly fashion in which he constructs the film, contrasting the kinetic thrills of brilliantly imagined battles with intimate moments of personal drama (something that is greatly aided by the superb sound design, the rhythms of which correspond perfectly with the unfolding of events). 'House' tells the tale of an insurrectionary group of the same name fighting the corruption of the ruthless Tang dynasty in the ancient China of 859 AD. Two of the regime's officials, Jin (Kaneshiro) and Leo (Lau), having captured one of the members of the titular resistance movement, the blind but dangerous beauty, Mei (Zhang), contrive a plan to infiltrate the House of Flying Daggers by having Jin rescue her from jail and gain her confidence whilst on the run.

What follows is a battle of the sexes more twisty and turny than the soggiest of rice noodles as various bluffs are called and the issue of whether it is better to be loyal to people or to causes vexes all the protagonists in turn. To compliment this almost Shakespearian investigation of human nature, Yimou conjures up backdrops of incredible beauty against which Jin, Leo and Mei play out their passionate entanglement and this most artful use of mis-en-scene does on occasion seem obtrusive: a constant reminder of the director's power over events. In fact my only real criticism of this invigorating film would be that, at times, we feel the characters to be at the mercy of Zhang Yimou as director, rather than at the mercy of the choices they make and the exigencies of existence. Indeed, 'House' is bookended by two scenes of staggering technical audacity which are mesmerising to watch but perhaps set one off in asking the wrong questions; certainly it is difficult to suspend disbelief whilst viewing them. Having said that, they compliment each other perfectly: the first being set indoors as Mei is forced to dance for her future under the gaze of Jin and Leo; the second being set outdoors in the driving snow as Jin and Leo fight for Mei.

Whether your viewing of 'House of Flying Daggers' makes this a dumbfounding way in which to end your year or a confounding way in which to start the next one, what is certain is that this is a film you will be watching for many years to come.