Turn your minds back to the 1970s for one second. The film zeitgeist has evolved into something so perpendicular to everything that had come before it. Studios were taking a more cost-effective approach, leading to the rise of indie film makers and foreign ventures gaining a more worldwide attention. And one part of the world that benefitted from such a societal shift was that of East Asia.
It’s humorous to think of now, what with Japanese and South Korean media having become quite normalised in Western society. But it was the films of China, Hong Kong and Taiwan that had taken the world by storm back then, back when the film output of said countries were so overlooked. The genre that exploded onto the scene was that of the martial arts and kung fu niche. Bruce Lee heralded this era with his tendency to mix real-life fighting with acting, ingraining East Asia’s pride into the arts as it had been for decades before, now told to those so oblivious.
My own knowledge of the genre has been rather miniscule. I was inspired to write an article on my recent experience with these once-normalised films after watching the kung fu comedy Half a Loaf of Kung Fu. The film isn’t exactly a shining example of the genre, but it it did leave me lamenting how films like this appear to have faded away into obscurity as they once were. Even Quentin Tarantino’s homage Kill Bill is more than twenty years old, being the last seamless replication of the era.
So, with this article I wanted to highlight just a handful of films that were spurred by this casual, sudden thought. This is less a guide to the world of kung fu films, and more a chronicle of one man’s journey through his hardly-treaded regions. I wanted to go with more obscure choices, so no Enter the Dragon or Police Story. These aren’t all winners: some are, in this humble writer’s opinion, quintessential viewing, some are pretty awful, and some are a little more…we’ll say, adventurous. Enjoy my little ka-powwow.
The Good
Before the kung fu craze of the seventies had hit, the Shaw brothers had crafted a film company dedicated to making some of the greatest martial arts outputs. It was the sixties where they truly came to explode onto the scene, and one of their most prominent works was 1966’s Come Drink with Me. A film that broke tradition and dared to place a strong female into the role typically reserved for men.
Saying this, Pei-Pei Cheng’s Chang Hsuan-yen is not exactly the main character. It starts out with an immediate kidnapping, that of Hsuan-yen’s brother. The lone female warrior poses as a man, fending off any attempt on her life. She eventually runs into the drunkard Fan Ta-p’i (Hua Yueh), whom has his own quarrels with the criminal organisation that kidnapped Hsuan-yen’s brother. Though seemingly led by Ting Chung-yu (Hung-Lieh Chen), this shadowy organisation has a much stronger master behind it who shares a past with our drunken warrior.
Far from being my first foray into the genre, Come Drink with Me did manage to garner some perspective on what the genre entails. What you have here are actors who are not only dedicating themselves to the artform of performance, but also those of whom are blending their naturally-learnt kung fu skills into something symbiotic. This film, and all others going forward, is at its best when the action takes over and the performers become one with the combat. Brutality intervenes with bloody repercussions that aren’t gratuitous and rather serve to highlight just how intense the action is.
What struck me as most exciting was how director King Hu pushed a woman to the forefront. Many, many years before Hollywood clamoured for representation, King had found a way to make such a thing feel natural and empowering. Couple that with the time-honoured tradition of a drunken fool revealed to be a secret master of the fist, and you get this unique blend of deconstructed stereotypes. This, put up against memorable villains and even more memorable stunt work, and you have a film that need not be enjoyed only by those who love the genre, but by everyone.
Come Drink with Me is simple in so many ways, as are all the films that make up this article. But there’s a memorability here that is cast in a blanket of cathartic action that very few films today could replicate. One could speak of how Bruce Lee truly inspired the genre, but that would be better saved for another day, another article.
To continue on this path, the Shaw brothers gave us a slew of iconic kung fu films. I, being that one person that thinks it better to find the more obscure choices, went for Chen Chang’s 1980 film The Flag of Iron. Brothers is more than an apt word to use for this film, as the director explores the meaning of brotherhood, even that of unrelated kinship.
We are introduced to a clan that watches over the village they live in. Dealing with a plague of gambling and prostitution, two of the ‘brothers’, Tsao Feng (Feng Lu) and Yun Liang (Sheng Chiang) put a stop to the debauchery. But this upsets rival clans, causing their master to be assassinated. The eldest ‘brother’ Lo Hsin (Phillip Chung-Fung Wok) takes the throne, while Tsao Feng feels responsible for not stopping the assassination and exiles himself. Time moves on, but Tsao Feng finds that he isn’t able to live a life of isolation for long, having to deal with assassins. Yun Liang informs him that their eldest brother has brought back the illegal businesses, and a white clad assassin offers aid in usurping their former brother.
Familial vengeance is a running theme in these types of films, even when the characters aren’t truly related. China has always believed in this idea of respect and upholding tradition. Damaging as the effects have been in modern society, there is something admirable about that dedication. This is what makes the journey of our lead so endearing. Mix that in with these feelings of regret and low self-esteem, and you suddenly have this shockingly investigative tale of honour and pride.
As was said with the previous film, you’re mainly here for the action. All of this emotional weight is well and good, but we need to see people being brutally killed in intense and satisfying ways. Chang wastes no time on this front, practically throwing assassins onto the screen and letting them die in creatively obtuse ways-ever expect an abacus to be used as a weapon? It’s given a more realistic flourish by how all of the actors seen here came from a troupe of performers, ones that utilised both kung fu and acrobatics in their routines. There’s no movie magic here, the flips and leaping are all naturally honed.
Without spoiling the ending, you’ll find the journey satisfyingly wrapped up. Something that bares mentioning is how these types of films are typically packed with exciting and intense climaxes. It also serves as an opportunity for more creative clashes. I promise you that you’ll be more than satisfied. Never more has a flag carried so much power.
Both film I’ve mentioned so far have been prime examples of how the genre can be done right. But this Asian equivalent to the big action movies of the Western world also come with more than their fair share of duds…
The Bad
At the start I mentioned one particular film that inspired me to write such an article. See, I’m not too privy to the earlier works of Jackie Chan. His output for my-Millennial-generation comes from the Western kung fu comedies like Rush Hour and the obscure cartoon show Jackie Chan Adventures. Chi-Hwa Chen’s Half a Loaf of Kung Fu from 1978, was chosen purely at random. I had guessed that this would be more comical compared to Chan’s other works; I wasn’t expecting it to be as bad as it was.
Chan plays a buffoon of a man whose kung fu skills are subpar, to say the least. This ‘Jiang’ as he is named just so happens to come upon a fierce battle where a man known as the ‘Whip King’ is able to kill a criminal, only to be subdued himself. Jiang decides to take the whip for himself and is incorrectly labelled as the true Whip King-not that he protests. He eventually finds himself in the company of a genuine kung fu master who offers to train him in the way of useful skills, but most of Jiang’s victories are by pure coincidence. Jiang now faces the various clans that once went for the real Whip King, and must protect the household that has taken him in.
Calling this bad may not be entirely true. It certainly suffers from cringe-inducing humour and the easy fall-back of making silly faces, but there is much to enjoy. Even when purposely holding back for the sake of the character’s abilities, Jackie Chan still brings his all, carefully telegraphing each punch and kick so that it only hits went the script demands it. To be a talented and competent fighter is a huge accomplishment, but it takes true skill to hold yourself back to the point of mild skill. And when we do see Chan unleash his natural abilities, it’s as satisfying to watch as you might expect.
But all this balletic choreography is overshadowed by a weak sense of humour and a plot that forgets to set itself up properly. Before you even realise what’s going on, Jiang is suddenly on this path towards fighting a great evil and his various henchman, all with their own gimmick. The first half is entirely nonsensical, with events happening with little to no reason. The second half is overstuffed with characters and attempts at jokes, some crude, some that only a small child will find amusing. All this with a wacky soundtrack and even wackier sound effects. I really can’t fathom what this movie wants to be.
This isn’t something I’m going to recommend, even from a more comedic point of view. I sometimes wonder if this is simply down to cultural differences and our own penchant for what constitutes comedy, or perhaps it’s the change in time. Whatever the case, it’s not my basis for future Chan-ventures. But enough bashing one legendary actor: time for another.
I don’t think it’s too bold to say that Jet Li is somewhat of a poor man’s Jackie Chan. Of course, he has managed to craft an identity of his own, but much of his success came from the explosion of Jackie Chan’s Western popularity. Apparently Tsui Hark, who had more than a great share of successes, decided to capitalise off this phenomenon with the 1992 film The Master. A name that certainly sounds generic-especially next to the other titles I’ve mentioned-but has a fair weight to it.
Jet Li plays…Jet, a Chinese student who travelled to the States to find his master Tak (Wah Yuen). Problem is that Tak’s herbal shop, which he runs after having retired as a martial artist, is attacked by an American practitioner of the same kung fu. Johnny (Jerry Trimble) is intent on ending Tak’s life, but the former master has found refuge in the home of a young martial arts student Anna (Anne Rickets). The Chinese tourist looks for his master, is almost robbed by a group of Latinos, who want to be trained by him, and tries to stop his master’s store from being closed. All the while, he must take down the villainous Johnny.
The plot synopsis screams B-movie shlock. I wouldn’t blame you for thinking so; that’s exactly what it is. Given the predatory nature of this film’s inception, the way it shamelessly reaps away elements of Jackie Chan’s more successful films throws this into knockoff territory. There isn’t much to it that other B-movie kung fu flicks of the time didn’t already have. But there is a shockingly layered subtext to this that is only made so by how ‘cheap’ a lot of this feels.
Tsui Hark had a great reputation at this point in his career with films like Peking Opera Blues and Once Upon a Time in China. So there is a certain auteur aspect to him that gives him credit above other directors I’ve mentioned. This film perpetuates a point about how foreigners feel in America, and not just the Asian community. Frequently throughout the film, Asian characters acknowledge the struggle of fitting into the American mould. There’s criticisms of how America has commercialised East Asian martial arts. We even get some not-so-subtle imagery of how Latino people struggle to co-exist. This is not to say that the subtext is particularly good, but the effort is commendable.
The story is by and far the weakest aspect the film has to it. The action is what maintains the film. Li’s punches and kicks are encouraged by a some of the most satisfying sound effects. Barely any wirework was used, allowing the natural agility of the actors to speak for itself. Unlike other films that I’ve mentioned, it’s very much a one-man show. There are plenty of characters and tons of action to go around. But it’s Jet Li that takes over completely. It distracts from the paper-thin plot and uncomfortable stereotypes that contradict so much of the message.
This one comes under pretty forgettable territory. There’s not a lot that The Master does that couldn’t be done elsewhere. If you want a cheesy, serviceable kung fu movie then I’m sure there are worse choices. It feels wrong to harken on Li when I know he can do so much more. That nicely leads me to…
The Weird
I sat in deep concentration over what constituted weird. The kung fu genre has been laden with fantastical and mystical entries that go far above the standard, choregraphed fights mixed with the overbearing presence of gangs and sects. The films that go above this add a weightlessness-quite literally-to the action; films like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and even John Carpenter’s homage Big Trouble in Little China. But one is too obvious and the other is merely inspired. That’s where Zhang Yimou’s 2002 film Hero comes in.
Hero is not too dissimilar from Akira Kurosawa’s classic Rashomon. We meet a nameless warrior (Jet Li), who recounts his story of how he brought an end to the three warriors that make up the regions of Ancient China. The story is not so straightforward, as the hero speaks of the event from three different perspectives. Each carry the same characters, with the hero meeting Broken Sword (Tony Leung Chiu-wai), a warrior that chooses to end his battles through affection, and Flying Snow (Maggie Cheung), his star-crossed lover that cares more for vengeance and bloodshed. Moon (Ziyi Zhang), has fallen for Broken Sword, doomed to live a tragic third-wheel existence. Then there is Sky (Donnie Yen), whom marks the end of our hero’s journey.
If the names of the characters aren’t enough to clue you in on the film’s more fantastical approach, the mythology-soaked subtext will. Each story, all from the perspective of different characters, provides a different outlook on how important war really is. Given that China was founded off the backs of fallen soldiers, Yimou’s perspective has been bred through his own teachings. Amidst the flashy kung fu moves and literal flying manoeuvres, there’s quite a nuanced view of the world’s need for conflict.
That non-linear structure is what gives the film its identity. The three stories become progressively more subdued, but the characters remain the same. We see a deadly war full of betrayal and bloodshed, a singular tale of revenge vs benevolence, and a battle of love overcoming anger. Each retelling has the same heartache. There’s something so beautiful about a film that offers all sides of the argument without skewing from the idea of affection.
Again, it was difficult to call this weird. But with its unusual structure and tendency for characters to take flight and run on water, the word is quite appropriate. The action is still exhilarating, but there’s a subtlety to it you won’t see in the other films I’ve mentioned. As much as Li is the main character, it’s Leung and Cheung that elevate the film into being something truly masterful. It’s probably the only film on this list that will make you step back and look at your own morals and ponder the opposite side of things.
This is all well and good, but you’re really here for a truly weird film, right? Do I have the film for you.
In 1987, Masahiko Takajo created a manga by the name of Riki-Oh. Like most Japanese manga, this comic was known for its graphic nature and ridiculous premise. Apparently, an independent film company in Hong Kong was bold enough to try their hand at a live action adaptation. In 1991, we received Ricky-Oh: The Story of Ricky, directed by Ngai Choi Lam. If you were expecting a more grounded take, given how difficult it can be to directly adapt such wild material into live action, you’d be sorely mistaken. Ricky-Oh is everything you could want it to be.
The titular Ricky (Siu-Wong Fan) is sent to prison for killing the men responsible for the death of his girlfriend. It doesn’t take long for Ricky to cause some havoc, as the abusive prison guards try to attack Ricky, only to find he has a near-indestructability. While there, Ricky finds that all the prison guards, as well as the warden (Ka-Kui Ho) are completely corrupt, killing prisoners and allowing the more violent ones to run amok. Ricky no longer stands for this, and takes it upon himself to put an end to these violent sycophants.
Ricky-Oh is a treat like no other. For those avid readers, you may be disappointed to see the film make use of a more liminal space than the more open-world nature of the manga. Somewhat like the manga, however, there is a near-post-apocalyptic setting. The budgetary constraint of having this set in a single location honestly aids it. We get a playground of bloody, gory fun that is sure to satisfy the masochists out there.
I make no exaggeration when I say this film is gory. Pulling in the most degraded of violence from the manga, we get pools and pools of death, some seeming like they were ripped out of a Saw film, just with a far more comical feel. The main character is this superhero-like figure that can take more than his fair share of stabs to the stomach, and it’s all loosely explained away by a single flashback of him being trained. But you need to throw logic out the window, because it hardly matters. You’re here for the insanity, and to expect anything more is foolish.
The story is something you shouldn’t spend too much time worrying about. The more dramatic and emotional moments often reach an underwhelming thud, often strewn with misplaced sentiment. The reason for why Ricky is there hardly matters and anything else that happens is all in service to the chaos that is the fight sequences. Paper mache heads and rubber body parts are aplenty, given the charm that can only be achieved by a low budget.
And that was my shortened, abridged journey through the world of kung fu films. In time, I’m going to watch many more-possibly returning to make a second part-as I feel there’s untapped potential for more interesting writings. But for now, I walk away with a more insightful idea of what made this genre so once beloved.
It is a shame that this genre doesn’t quite have the grab it once did on Western culture. Films like John Wick and The Raid certainly have their audience, but these are splayed across various years instead of the barrage that once dominated the seventies and eighties. I have plans to further explore one particular martial artist, a certain dragon with a fiery fist of fury. But that is a story for another day.
Written by Conor Johnson.
Conor's Corner of Criticism 