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This review may contain spoilers
What We Choose Not to Take
I rewatched this on Netflix recently, and it immediately took me back to those wuxia movies I used to watch with my dad. Half asleep, half understanding the plot, but fully absorbed in the feeling. That slightly dreamy, slightly melancholic atmosphere that sticks even when the details fade, firmly rooted in a different era of filmmaking.
Coming back to it now, I understand the story much better, but strangely, it still works in much the same way. It’s less about what happens, and more about what stays with you afterward.
The setup is pretty simple. Li Mu Bai, a legendary swordsman, decides he’s done with the martial world and asks Shu Lien to deliver his sword, the Green Destiny, as a kind of final goodbye. Of course, that doesn’t go as planned; the sword gets stolen, and suddenly this quiet exit turns into a chase that pulls everyone back into a world they were trying to leave behind.
That’s where Jen (Yu Jiaolong) comes in.
At first, she comes across as the familiar restless noble girl, dissatisfied with the life arranged for her. But the more you watch, the more it becomes clear that her struggle isn’t just about restriction, it’s about direction. She’s highly skilled, trained in secret, capable in ways she shouldn’t be, but that ability doesn’t stabilize her. If anything, it pushes her further off balance. It’s like giving someone wings before they’ve learned where to land.
Her dynamic with Shu Lien is one of the most interesting parts. Shu Lien sees right through her, sees both the potential and the recklessness, and tries, in her own way, to guide her. But Jen doesn’t want guidance. She wants freedom, without limits, without consequences. And the film keeps quietly asking: what does that kind of freedom even look like?
Meanwhile, there’s this entire undercurrent with Jade Fox, Jen’s mentor, who represents something darker: bitterness, resentment, someone who was shut out of the martial world and never really moved past it. You start to see how Jen could easily end up the same way, just with better sword skills.
And then there’s Li Mu Bai and Shu Lien.
Their story almost seems like it belongs to a different movie: quieter, older, heavier. They’ve known each other for years, clearly care about each other, and yet nothing ever happens. Not because it couldn’t, but because they chose not to. Honor, loyalty, timing, whatever it is, they let it pass. Watching their relationship feels like looking at a road not taken for too long.
The action reflects all of this rather than distracting from it. The rooftop chase feels like Jen testing how far she can push her freedom. The famous bamboo forest scene isn’t just visually striking—it plays out almost like a conversation neither side knows how to resolve. Shu Lien stays grounded, controlled, rooted. Jen moves like she doesn’t want to be held by anything at all. It’s less about who wins and more about what each of them represents.
And then the ending.
Jen goes to Wudang Mountain with Lo, the one person who represents a different kind of life for her: simpler, maybe more honest. He tells her that story again, about the man who jumped off the mountain and had his wish granted because he believed. And she just… jumps.
And that moment can mean a lot of things. Maybe she believes in the legend. Maybe she wants freedom in the only way she can define it. Or maybe she’s just tired of not belonging anywhere: too wild for one world, too constrained for another. It doesn’t feel like a triumphant ending, and it's not meant to be. It feels more like someone finally letting go, even if we don’t know what that leads to.
What stood out to me most on rewatch is how little the film insists on anything. It doesn’t guide you through every emotion or spell out its themes. It leaves space, but that space can also create distance. Some moments feel intentionally understated, while others feel just out of reach, especially if you’re looking for a more direct emotional connection. Like a conversation that ends without a clear conclusion, but stays in your head anyway. The movie doesn’t meet you halfway; you have to go to it, and not every viewer will respond to that approach.
Visually, it holds up effortlessly. It’s more like it doesn’t age because it never tried to look trendy in the first place. Natural light, real movement, no over-processing. it feels closer to something you remember than something you just watched.
A strong 8.5 upped up to a 9, not just for the fantasic action or the layered story, but for the way it lingers around questions of choice, consequence, and what people leave undone.
Coming back to it now, I understand the story much better, but strangely, it still works in much the same way. It’s less about what happens, and more about what stays with you afterward.
The setup is pretty simple. Li Mu Bai, a legendary swordsman, decides he’s done with the martial world and asks Shu Lien to deliver his sword, the Green Destiny, as a kind of final goodbye. Of course, that doesn’t go as planned; the sword gets stolen, and suddenly this quiet exit turns into a chase that pulls everyone back into a world they were trying to leave behind.
That’s where Jen (Yu Jiaolong) comes in.
At first, she comes across as the familiar restless noble girl, dissatisfied with the life arranged for her. But the more you watch, the more it becomes clear that her struggle isn’t just about restriction, it’s about direction. She’s highly skilled, trained in secret, capable in ways she shouldn’t be, but that ability doesn’t stabilize her. If anything, it pushes her further off balance. It’s like giving someone wings before they’ve learned where to land.
Her dynamic with Shu Lien is one of the most interesting parts. Shu Lien sees right through her, sees both the potential and the recklessness, and tries, in her own way, to guide her. But Jen doesn’t want guidance. She wants freedom, without limits, without consequences. And the film keeps quietly asking: what does that kind of freedom even look like?
Meanwhile, there’s this entire undercurrent with Jade Fox, Jen’s mentor, who represents something darker: bitterness, resentment, someone who was shut out of the martial world and never really moved past it. You start to see how Jen could easily end up the same way, just with better sword skills.
And then there’s Li Mu Bai and Shu Lien.
Their story almost seems like it belongs to a different movie: quieter, older, heavier. They’ve known each other for years, clearly care about each other, and yet nothing ever happens. Not because it couldn’t, but because they chose not to. Honor, loyalty, timing, whatever it is, they let it pass. Watching their relationship feels like looking at a road not taken for too long.
The action reflects all of this rather than distracting from it. The rooftop chase feels like Jen testing how far she can push her freedom. The famous bamboo forest scene isn’t just visually striking—it plays out almost like a conversation neither side knows how to resolve. Shu Lien stays grounded, controlled, rooted. Jen moves like she doesn’t want to be held by anything at all. It’s less about who wins and more about what each of them represents.
And then the ending.
Jen goes to Wudang Mountain with Lo, the one person who represents a different kind of life for her: simpler, maybe more honest. He tells her that story again, about the man who jumped off the mountain and had his wish granted because he believed. And she just… jumps.
And that moment can mean a lot of things. Maybe she believes in the legend. Maybe she wants freedom in the only way she can define it. Or maybe she’s just tired of not belonging anywhere: too wild for one world, too constrained for another. It doesn’t feel like a triumphant ending, and it's not meant to be. It feels more like someone finally letting go, even if we don’t know what that leads to.
What stood out to me most on rewatch is how little the film insists on anything. It doesn’t guide you through every emotion or spell out its themes. It leaves space, but that space can also create distance. Some moments feel intentionally understated, while others feel just out of reach, especially if you’re looking for a more direct emotional connection. Like a conversation that ends without a clear conclusion, but stays in your head anyway. The movie doesn’t meet you halfway; you have to go to it, and not every viewer will respond to that approach.
Visually, it holds up effortlessly. It’s more like it doesn’t age because it never tried to look trendy in the first place. Natural light, real movement, no over-processing. it feels closer to something you remember than something you just watched.
A strong 8.5 upped up to a 9, not just for the fantasic action or the layered story, but for the way it lingers around questions of choice, consequence, and what people leave undone.
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