The Monkey Goes West | Blu-ray (Imprint)

Director: Ho Meng Hua
Cast: Yueh Hua, Ho Fan, Pang Pang, Tien Shun, Fan Mei Sheng, Kao Pao-Shu, Lan Wei-Lieh, Li Yin, Diana Chang Chung-Wen, Mao Wei
Running Time: 112 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

Having gotten into Asian cinema in the late 1990’s, my first exposure to the phenomena of Journey to the West mania came in the 2010’s. For most of the decade it felt like a big screen adaptation of the 16^th century novel was never more than a few months away – from Soi Cheang’s Monkey King trilogy (2014 – 2018), Stephen Chow’s double bill of Journey to the West: Conquering the Demons (2013) and Journey to the West: Demon Chapter (2017), Derek Kwok’s 2017 adaptation Wu Kong, to a big budget 3D animated feature in the form of The Monkey King: Uproar in Heaven (2012). That’s before you begin to count the literal bombardment of web-movies (easily pushing into double figures) that also took the tale as their inspiration.

Looking at the bigger picture though, it quickly becomes clear that movie adaptations of Journey to the West have never really gone away. Since the first known version in 1927 called Journey to the West: The Spider’s Cave, the tale of a monk travelling to India to retrieve a Buddhist scripture has been having the spotlight stolen out from under him for close to 100 yearsby one of his travelling companions, namely – Sun Wukong, the Monkey King. One of the most famous adaptations came in 1966, when the Shaw Brothers studio took up director Ho Meng-Hua (The Flying Guillotine, Shaolin Hand Lock) on his idea to bring the tale to the screen for the first time under the famous Shaw Brothers logo. Released in January (just 2 months after the Josephine Siao starring Monkey Saint Teases the Fairy of Flowers!), The Monkey Goes West proved to be a hit.

Released a year before Chang Cheh’s iconic One-Armed Swordsman, a production which shifted HK action cinema into a more violent and male orientated direction, The Monkey Goes West very much feels like a movie treading the border between the traditions of old, and the direction cinema was heading towards. This can be seen almost from the get-go with the top billing of Diana Chang, one of the most sought-after starlets of the 1950’s and 1960’s, for which The Monkey Goes West was one of her last roles before retiring from the film industry the following year. Despite having what essentially amounts to an extended cameo, the fact that pre-1960’s Hong Kong cinema was primarily dominated by female actresses (and their names carried the most star power) sees her name take the top spot. The real star of the show of course, as the title indicates, is the Monkey King himself.

The character proved to be one of two breakout roles in 1966 for Yueh Hua, with the other being cast in King Hu’s Come Drink with Me. Still a relative newcomer to the film industry, his dancing background saw him as a glorified extra in the likes of The Dancing Millionairess (1964) and The Lark (1965), but it was also this background which saw him chosen to play the sprightly Monkey King. The success of The Monkey Goes West would see a total of 3 sequels ushered into production, with one released later the same year (Princess Iron Fan), and the others being released in 1967 (The Cave of the Silken Web) and 1968 (The Land of Many Perfumes) respectively. However in a move that would act as a precursor to Donnie Yen’s decision after playing the same role in 2014’s The Monkey King, Hua would only return to the role for Princess Iron Fan, siting the makeup routine as being too much of a hassle to go through any further.

The other actors who make up the core foursome of any Journey to the West tale – the righteous monk, the gluttonous Pigsy, and the dependable Friar Sandy – were more game, and would maintain their roles throughout the sequels. The plot of The Monkey Goes West can basically be surmised as the origin story of how the 4 come to be together, with the monk meeting the others on his journey, and the various mishaps they encounter along the way, giving the narrative a road movie like feel. Ho Fan (Vermillion Door, Madam Slender Plum) plays the righteous monk, and somewhat ironically is most notable for transitioning into a director of Category III sleaze once he retired from acting in 1973 (including the 1991 classic Hidden Desire). Meanwhile Pang Pang (Killer Darts, The Water Margin) plays Pigsy, and Tien Shun (Tiger Boy, Too Late for Love) plays Friar Sandy.

The location shooting in Taiwan offers up some stunning scenery, which is mixed in with the Shaw Brothers lavish indoor sets, all of which are complimented by some charmingly old school special effects work. While rarely acknowledged for it, as a director Ho Meng-Hua helmed some of the Shaw Brothers more ambitious (or at least out there!) gene efforts that incorporated special effects in the 1970’s, with his name attributed to the likes of The Mighty Peking Man and Oily Maniac. Here we get everything from rear screen projection (the entire underwater finale is set against the backdrop of a fishtank), super imposition, some slightly clumsy wirework, and possibly the origin of the atrocious orange wigs from Spiritual Kung Fu. Sure it looks dated now, and some of the underwater costumes definitely have a “whoops, we’ve got 10 cents left, just get whatever you can” (yes, even for 1966) feel to them, but it all adds to the charm.

Other parts may possibly feel a little too quaint for modern audiences. At this point in Chinese cinema it was still considered quite normal for certain scenes to be sung in the Chinese Opera style, even if the production itself wasn’t considered to be a musical, such was the tradition so embedded in the cinematic output of the era. So we occasionally get conversation exchanges sung rather than spoken, although there admittedly is one musical number, the subject of which is how delicious the monk’s flesh is going to be. It sounds much more macabre on paper than how it comes across onscreen. In other scenes though it’s possible to see the modern style of filmmaking beginning to encroach. At one point the Green Snake Demon attempts to seduce Pang Pang by offering her 3 daughters for marriage, a scene which sees them disrobe to expose some shot from behind nudity, something that was unthinkable just a few years prior.

However it’s the brief bursts of action which offer the strongest indicator of how The Monkey Goes West had one foot in the future. While an action choreographer (criminally) isn’t credited, there’s a sprinkling of fight scenes that fall into the classic SB category of one versus many. The fluidity and speed of the action feels surprisingly ahead of its time, with Yueh Hua jumping and somersaulting around staff in hand fending off multiple opponents. In many ways the grounded nature of the choreography reminded me of Chang Cheh’s Journey to the West: Go West to Subdue Demons, which came 25 years later in 1991, and featured Tung Chi-Wa as the Monkey King (and I dare say features similar effects work to the 1966 outing!). Unlike Chang Cheh’s version though here the action is of a family friendly variety, which applies to the production as a whole (yes, even the brief sight of some bear butts won’t cause any offence for young eyes).

From a purely historical perspective, for fans of Hong Kong action cinema The Monkey Goes West also features the onscreen debut of a certain stuntman and member of the Jackie Chan Stuntman Association by the name of Mars, here just 11 years old and briefly turning up towards the end as a sand demon. However The Monkey Goes West serves as much more than just a historical snapshot of where Hong Kong cinema was at before it gradually became more modernised. Even almost 60 years on from its release it remains a genuinely enjoyable road movie that, by choosing to make its core focus the story of how the main foursome come together, proves that sometimes the simple approach is best. As a throwback to a time when big budget fantasy spectacles had to be made without any assistance from CGI, The Monkey Goes West is a refreshing journey to an era that we’ll never see again.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7/10

The post Monkey Goes West, The (1966) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

The Snake Prince | Blu-ray (Imprint)

Director: Lo Chen
Cast: Lin Chen Chi, Ti Lung, Helen Ko Ti-Hua, Fan Lei, Wong Yu, Ng Hong-Sang, Wong Ching-Ho, Ching Miao, Leung Seung-Wan, Lin Wei-Tu
Running Time: 93 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

When it comes to 1970’s Shaw Brothers oddities there are a few titles that will likely spring to mind. Whether it be the studios riff on King Kong with The Mighty Peking Man, venturing into mutant territory with The Oily Maniac, or taking a crack at the tokusatsu genre with The Super Infra Man, all come with their own distinctive charms of the era. One production which seems to have flew under the radar though for fans of the bizarre is 1976’s The Snake Prince, an unlikely genre mishmash of Chinese folklore, musical, kaiju action, horror, and even a little eroticism and kung-fu thrown in just for good measure. If you were looking for the Shaw Brothers movie that has everything, then The Snake Prince could well be the one that ticks all the boxes.

Helmed by Lo Chen, as a director he was one of the Shaw Brothers most prolific filmmakers in the 1960’s working outside of the studio’s martial arts flick factory. Adept at making a wide range of genres, Chen’s output spanned everything from comedies (The Tryst), musicals (The Shepherd Girl), dramas (Torrent of Desire), and Chinese Opera (Comedy of Mismatches). By the time the 1970’s rolled around Chen increasingly worked for other studios as well as the Shaw Brothers and, like so many directors, inevitably found himself directing a handful of martial arts flicks thanks to the genres rising popularity. Whether they be wuxia’s like 1971’s The Mad Killer (notable for being the choreography debut of Yuen Woo-Ping) or gritty slices of kung-fu like 1974’s The Concrete Jungle, it seemed Chen was never comfortable as a kung-fu movie director, so in many ways The Snake Prince represents him making a return to what he does best.

Opening with a solemn Lin Chen-Chi (The Spiritual Boxer, The Battle Wizard) leading the members of her drought-stricken village in song to ask the Gods for rain, the first impression may be one of a serious drama retelling a Chinese legend. However that’s before the funky electric guitars kicks in, and we basically spend the first 15 minutes getting down in the Chinese folklore equivalent of a tiki bar, complete with scorpion bowls and straws. Of course any village that features Lin Chen-Chi sauntering around in song is likely to draw attention, and sure enough three snake spirits from the nearby Snake Mountain slither down to check things out, handily able to take on human form through thousands of years of practice. The Snake Prince of the title is played by Ti Lung (The Blood Brothers, Four Riders), flanked by his loyal followers Wong Yu (Executioners from Shaolin, Dirty Ho) and Ng Hong-Sang (The Daredevils, The Proud Youth).

Unable to resist the sound of 70’s funk (who could?), the trio decide to get in on the action, and after a couple of synchronised song and dance numbers, Lung finds himself helplessly enamoured with Chen-Chi. This particular version of the folk tale, of which there are a few, takes its inspiration from The Snake and Three Sisters, which sees Chen-Chi’s father venture into the forbidden Snake Mountain to ask the snake spirits if they could put an end to the drought. Lung agrees to use his “snake magic” to give them access to their water source, but on the condition the father grants permission for him to marry Chen-Chi, after which you can bet we’ll get to see a very different kind of “snake magic”. While Chen-Chi herself is happy to marry Lung (even after learning he’s a snake), everyone else, from the villagers to her 2 older sisters, are resistant to the idea, and gradually the human world begins to threaten their happiness together.

The best way to describe watching The Snake Prince is to say that it’s a bit of head trip. The role is a complete departure for Ti Lung, who’d star in much more familiar fare like Chang Cheh’s Shaolin Temple and Chor Yuen’s The Magic Blade during the same year, and who’s closest experience to appearing in a musical was a blink and you’ll miss it musician cameo in 1970’s The Singing Killer. His actual participation in the song and dance numbers (which, to be honest, mostly disappear after the initial 30 minutes) is limited, meaning his dance moves are few enough to not be held up to too much scrutiny. Appearing far more frequently is his scaly reptilian makeup, which definitely doesn’t hold up to much scrutiny, although there’s a certain charm to be had in the old school nature of the effects.

While the stuck-on snakeskin may be blatantly obvious, the three gigantic snakes fare much better, seemingly created from a lot of rubber and some rudimentary animatronics. They also take centre stage for what essentially becomes an all-out human versus kaiju finale that becomes surprisingly bloody. A number of extras meet a grizzly demise, whose facial expressions so far have sometimes struggled to hide their confusion at why they’ve been asked to sing and sway in the background, versus the usual routine of waving around a weapon in a non-descript fashion. From being set on fire, falling off a cliff, repeatedly rammed into a rockface, to being eaten alive, all the while blood is liberally splattered everywhere and eyeballs are impaled with arrows. The last 10 minutes of The Snake Prince almost feel like director Chen was visited by Chang Cheh for a quick masterclass on orchestrating bloody onscreen mayhem.

Which brings us to the question of exactly who the audience is (or was) for The Snake Prince. For the first two third’s proceedings are for the most part family friendly, there’s even some comedic kung-fu thrown in, however in the last third things start to get rather raunchy and violent. On their wedding night Lung confesses to Chen-Chi that he can only have sex in snake form, leading to one of the most bizarre snake human sex scenes ever committed to film (although I’m not sure how much competition the scene actually has). Intimacy coordinators would certainly have earned their pay cheque with that one. However it’s the introduction of Chen-Chi’s 2 sisters that really begins to derail Lung and Chen-Chi’s marital bliss as, upon seeing the riches of Snake Mountain, both attempt to seduce Lung without a thought for their younger sister.

As the middle sister Ko Ti-Hua (The Sugar Daddies, Virgins of the Seven Seas) is a particular highlight. I confess I haven’t seen many musicals so am far from an expert on the genre, but from those I have seen, The Snake Prince is the first that offers up a musical number completely in the nude. Knowing that Lung is in the vicinity of the bathing area, Ti-Hua de-robes to take a bath, busting out a sultry musical number to grab Lung’s attention while in her birthday suit. She also proves to be the most ambitious in her desire to replace Chen-Chi, leading to her interruption of Chen-Chi’s giving birth resulting in a particularly traumatic birth scene, one of those that falls into that distinctive category of “only in Hong Kong cinema.”

It is worth pointing out that, as with almost any Hong Kong production from this era that involves snakes, for those averse to animal cruelty there are certain moments when you’ll want to look away. While there’s nothing on the level of Calamity of Snakes (but then again, what is?) which would come 7 years later, or even Shaw Brothers own The Killer Snakes from a couple of years prior, there’s still a few instances of snake trampling on display and threats involving fire.

Subjectively answering the question of if The Snake Prince is a good movie is a tricky one. Throwing seemingly every genre that you can think of at the screen, and wrapping it up in occasional outbursts of song and dance, feels like it shouldn’t work, but perhaps thanks to the fact it’s been aged by almost 50 years and they just don’t make them like this anymore, more often than not it does. For a dose of snake-skin mid-riff bearing waist coats, and Ti Lung passionately singing about embroidered handkerchiefs and face cream, The Snake Prince is the movie you’ve been looking for.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7/10

The post Snake Prince, The (1976) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Shatter” Promotional Flyer

Director: Michael Carreras
Co-director: Monte Hellman
Cast: Stuart Whitman, Ti Lung, Lily Li Li-Li, Peter Cushing, Anton Diffring, Ko Hung, Keung Hon, James Ma Chim-Si, Lau Nga-Ying, Lo Wei, Wong Pau Gei, Lau Kar Wing, Roy Chiao Hung, Fung Hak On
Running Time: 89 min.

By Ian Whittle

It’s probably no surprise that Hammer ended up getting into cahoots with the Shaw Brothers – in 1974, tactical programming meant that lucky Brit cinemagoers could enjoy a double bill of Captain Kronos: Vampire Hunter with Shaws’ The Girl with the Thunderbolt Kick (a retitled Golden Swallow), or Frankenstein and the Monster from Hell with Taiwanese indie Fists of Vengeance. So we got the infamous, indeed marvellous Hammer/Shaw co-production The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires. Oh, and Shatter…

As with Golden Vampires, the British and Chinese crews frequently did not get on, and their different work practices frequently led to conflict. Originally, cult American director Monte Hellman was assigned to direct, but creative differences saw him outed in favour of the film’s producer/Hammer head-honcho Michael Carreras… which as anyone who put on a double-bill of Two-Lane Blacktop and Slave Girls could tell you, is like trying to follow-up Chateau Briand with a day-old Big Mac. Carreras admitted defeat, claiming “In my opinion, the action scenes lack excitement, the dialogue scenes are dull and Hong Kong looks like a slum. I just don’t know how to salvage it.”

By 1974, Hammer was fading into oblivion (temporarily, given their several attempts at a comeback) and given how their earlier films had relied on stars like Bela Lugosi and Brian Donlevy, it’s probably no surprise that Shatter features another Hollywood-leading-man who had gone to seed and was on intimate terms with John Barleycorn – Stuart Whitman. Whitman plays Shatter, a hit-man who assassinates an Africa ruler, then travels to Hong Kong to collect his payment. However, whilst Shatter thought he was acting on behalf of the U.S. government, it turns out his paymasters were in fact a crime syndicate lead by Leber (Anton Diffring)… who now refuses to pay, and has Shatter marked for death.

Shatter’s conception predates Golden Vampires, and indeed Hammer’s involvement with the Shaw Brothers – it was originally meant to be a Canadian co-production. Consequently, the film’s HK setting is mostly tourist eye-candy for the most part, which I actually really appreciate. So many of the HK movies of this era that I have seen are period dramas mostly shot in the studio or out in the New Territories, so being able to see the sights and sounds of 70s HK remains a charming novelty. There is a scene where Shatter is having a conversation with undercover policeman Rattwood (Hammer legend Peter Cushing, who is downright creepy here) on the Peak and the camera slowly pans around them to reveal a stunning panoramic view of the city.

Rather belatedly, the film finally introduces what we and probably everyone (even die-hard Hammer fans) came to see… Chinese kung fu! Shatter befriends a Chinese girl Mei Mee (Lily Li) and her bartender/kung fu master friend Tai Pah (Ti Lung). On the one hand, we have to squirm through scenes of the leathery Shatter bedding a girl a good two decades younger than him. But on the other, we get to see Ti Lung make mincemeat of various extras… and, as with David Chiang in Golden Vampires, we get a very rare opportunity to hear his real voice (both were routinely dubbed by others for their Mandarin films). Ironically, whilst Ti Lung gets far fewer lines than Chiang, his command of English is much better.

There is a martial arts showcase sequence midway through the film, where Ti Lung takes on 3 challengers – a Thai boxer, a Korean Taekwondo master and a Japanese karate fighter, with Li Hai Sheng as a referee of the same name! Weirdly, this scene is shot in slow motion, but only slightly, suggesting the wrong setting was chosen on the camera. And rather embarrassingly, the film gets the Korean and Japanese characters mixed up!

In the end, the novelty value of this film probably makes this more of interest to Shaw fans than Hammer fans. The lack of gothic horror means that only Cushing and Diffring (both of whom played Frankenstein for Hammer) represent the old guard, and whilst the film is looking to the future by having its closing scene set up a TV series, its very limited release (not released in the UK until 1977 and not in Hong Kong until 1980!) meant that its impact would be very little indeed. And although I enjoyed the film, I didn’t end it thinking “what could have been.”

And this film must have some record for featuring the worst/best example of dummies pretending to be falling bodies…

Ian Whittle’s Rating: 5/10

The post Shatter | aka Call Him Mr. Shatter (1974) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“The Jade Raksha” Theatrical Poster

Director: Ho Meng-Hua
Cast: Cheng Pei-pei, Tang Ching, Wong Ching Wan, Ku Feng, Yeung Chi Hing, Fan Mei Sheng
Running Time: 91 min.

By Will McGuire

In the midst of the current avalanche of Shaw Brothers titles getting top-shelf physical releases in America, it’s only natural that fans will look for hidden gems in the enormous Shaw catalog. As publishers get deeper into the backlog, and more obscure films begin to compete for your hard-earned dollar, fans want to know where the real classics are, and which titles are more fantastic than formulaic.

The Jade Raksha is what you’re looking for.

This 1968 wuxia film was totally unknown to me just a few months ago, but the beautiful photography, strong central performances from Cheng Pei-pei (Come Drink With Me), Tang Ching (Bat Without Wings) and Ku Feng (The Avenging Eagle), along with a healthy dose of swordplay and surreal violence mark this along with The One-Armed Swordsman as one of the gems of early Shaw wuxia.

The story begins conventionally before introducing a number of interesting complications to the typical formula: Cheng plays the Jade Raksha, a beautiful swordswoman traveling as a man and seeking vengeance for her dead family. Overcome with rage, she’s beheading any man with the surname Yan because she doesn’t know which member of the family betrayed her clan. Tang Ching plays a fellow swordsman out for vengeance named Xu Ying Hao who befriends the Rashka, though has some reservations about her methods. When his own quest for vengeance ends in catastrophe, he returns home to his ailing mother and as a favor to her works as a bodyguard for local landowner Yan Tian-Long (Yang Chi-Ching, best known as Long-Armed Devil in One Armed Swordsman). Yan pretends to be a great philanthropist as a cover for his ruthless crimes, and cared for Xu’s sick mother specifically in order to get the great swordsman as insurance against the Jade Raksha.

I won’t give any details about the third act but there’s a depth of conflict in this picture that’s unusual for Shaw of this period outside of the work of Cheng Cheh. The Raksha and Xu are torn between their mutual respect as well as their life experiences even before Yan affects his deception and the film artfully balances the tragic aspect of their friendship with elegant swordsmanship and even a small flavoring of Gothic horror in how the Raksha stalks and strikes fear into her quarry.

The artful and workmanlike quality of the film is no surprise when you consider the director: Ho Meng-Hua. That name will be most familiar to Shaw fans for both his horror work in Black Magic and the giddy energy of his King Kong homage, Mighty Peking Man. Here both qualities are on full display with early shots that could have been lifted from a Hammer horror film, married to a devil-may-care audacity in the later sequences that breathes life to them. 

I was particularly taken aback in the third act by two shots: a top-down angle from the ceiling on Cheng Pei-pei as she takes refuge from a circle of killers, and a wide angle vista of a wooden bridge across a ravine with the heroes and villains on either side. Ho was a Shaw director who defied genre working in almost every type of picture the studio made, but the unifying feature of his work is the beauty of his eye for composition and interesting photography and they elevate already strong material here. 

This picture is a great showcase for Cheng Pei-pei, who is playing a darker and more conflicted character than is usual for her and her presence is allowed to hang over the film, even in scenes where she’s not present. I particularly enjoy an early Inn sequence that plays like a sly nod to her previous success with King Hu’s immortal Come Drink With Me: she’s once again traveling in disguise and subtly showing off her immense skill in ways that only the trained swordsman can pick up on. 

That said, the real surprise from an acting standpoint is Tang Ching who invests so much humanity into Xu that he becomes one of the very best heroes I can recall from a Shaw film of the late 60’s. He’s skilled and resourceful but by no means perfect, and the way his early failure colors his character for the rest of the film gives immense depth to the proceedings.

As we in the West get to sample a larger and larger palette of Shaw action, there is the temptation to think that all these films run together. What draws me back again and again to Shaw Brothers films is not only the care and craftsmanship in their best work, but the sense that, like in Warner Brothers films from the Golden Age, that at any moment the film can become more than the sum of good parts and really take you by surprise. I’ve seen about a hundred Shaw Brothers films and I’m still at times taken aback by a film that’s new to me and that reignites my passion for this genre. That was the feeling I got from The Jade Raksha. The feeling that there are, even now, new classics to uncover.

The Jade Raksha is currently available on Blu-Ray from ShoutFactory as part of their “Shaw Brothers Classics Vol. 1” boxset.

Will McGuire’s Rating: 8/10

The post Jade Raksha, The (1968) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Shaolin Martial Arts” Theatrical Poster

Director: Chang Cheh
Cast: Chi Kuan Chun, Alexander Fu Sheng, Fung Hak On, Feng Yi, Leung Kar Yan, Gordon Liu, Lau Kar Wing, Johnny Wang Lung Wei, Tino Wong Cheung, Irene Chan Yi Ling, Bruce Tong Yim Chaan, Simon Yuen
Running Time: 107 min.

By Ian Whittle

“I go out and sweat blood to make a swell picture and then the critics and the exhibitors all say, ‘If this picture had love interest it would gross twice as much.’“

That’s a line from my all-time favourite movie, King Kong (1933), but I bet Chang Cheh frequently found himself saying it. His Yang Gang style of filmmaking became increasingly male-dominated as the 70s progressed, but every so often he presumably came under pressure from the front office, and he would suddenly let the girls into the treehouse (though heaven forbid they should be allowed to do anything as cool as fighting). The main example is probably 1978’s Invincible Shaolin, in which three of the Venoms each get a girlfriend, and in several ways, that film is a remake of 1974’s Shaolin Martial Arts – a film that feels less like a Chang Cheh movie, and more like one from its co-choreographer, Lau Kar-leung.

Set generations after the destruction of the Shaolin Temple (which Chang and Lau had just shown in Heroes Two and Men from the Monastery), the films begins with a ceremony at which both Shaolin and Manchu students are present. A petty squabble over a ritual results in a Manchu killing a Shaolin student, and a fight breaking out. The Manchu government decides to crack down on Shaolin and has its martial instructors (Fung Hark-on and Kong Do) recruit two Qi Gong experts (a debuting Leung Kar-yan and Wang Lung-wei), who are practically invulnerable.

The Shaolin master (Lu Ti) sends two students (Gordon Liu and Bruce Tong) to learn new kung fu styles from an eccentric master (Chiang Nan), who makes them learn the wacky way – grabbing fish from the river and pulling bark off trees with their bare hands. Since Chiang Nan nearly always played treacherous, wormy villains, it’s probably no surprise that neither student is able to defeat the Manchu villains, and the Shaolin master kills himself.

But two other students (Alexander Fu Sheng and Chi Kuan-chun) manage to escape, and go to learn the Hung Kuen and Wing Chun styles from two other eccentric masters (Yuen Siu-tien and Feng Yi), whilst their doting girlfriends look on. Will the secret kung fu, and the power of love, be enough to defeat the machinations of the maniacal Manchus?

Rather unusually, there is no music for the title sequence of the film, which shows Fu Sheng, Chi, Liu, Tong and Wang demonstrating their skills in the woods. I suppose the intention was to give the film a documentary feel, but it just comes across as though the soundtrack is defective. This rather sedate pace then keeps up through the beginning of the film, with the ceremonial ritual shown in full whilst characters explain the circumstances. After the blood-and-thunder intros of the previous two Shaolin films, this takes some getting used to.

Where the film score is in the casting coup of a young (and beardless!) Leung Kar-yan, who is appropriately creepy as a sinister thug with retractable genitalia! It’s very different from his later roles, and ironically, Leung looks a lot more like Bruce Lee here than any of the official clones ever did! By contrast, Wang Lung-wei is somewhat hampered by being relatively chubby here, and his recurrent fatal attack is to challenge people to punch him in his super strong belly. After three or four schmooks die this way, I was really hoping the heroes would just bop him in the nose instead!

And as a prophetic taste of things to come, Fu Sheng learns kung fu from Yuen Siu-tien, in a prototype of the roles he would play in later comedy hits like Drunken Master. And it is very unusual in a Chang Cheh movie to have a scene where an old kung fu master and a young lady sit down and talk about her romantic future. Maybe Lau Kar-leung did direct this after all?

Ian Whittle’s Rating: 7/10 

The post Shaolin Martial Arts (1974) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Shaolin Intruders” Theatrical Poster

AKA: Battle for Shaolin
Director: Tang Chia
Cast: Derek Yee Tung Sing, Lau Yuk Pok, Jason Pai Piao, Elvis Tsui Kam Kong, Chan Shen, Kwan Feng, Lee Hoi San, Philip Ko Fei, Ku Feng, Alan Chan Kwok Kuen
Running Time: 95 min. 

By Chris Hatcher

It’s not every day a good detective mystery shows up in the midst of a great old school kung fu flick. So when a gem like Tang Chia’s Shaolin Intruders comes along with such a formula, you tend to sit up and take notice. And take notice you will… because the film is magnificent in every sense of the word! From gravity-defying action to intriguing story to great acting, it elevates the typical kung fu tropes to greater heights on every level. In short, it’s Tang’s masterpiece of his directorial trilogy and boasts the excellent fight choreography that made him a household name at Shaw Brothers for nearly two decades.

Tang’s work as a stunt coordinator for Shaw films was the stuff of legend from the mid-1960s through the early 1980s. He collaborated as co-action director with greats like Lau Kar-Leung on more than 170 films (with over 100 of those being for Shaw) and was considered a master at staging all types of weapons-based fights. Tang’s Temple of the Red Lotus (1965) was his first coordinator project for Shaw and it set the tone early on for great things to come; the film broke box office records and was heralded as the start of a new era in Hong Kong martial arts cinema. 

By 1970, Tang worked exclusively for Shaw and became an action staple for directors like Chang Cheh, Chu Yuan, and Sun Chung. His work with Chang in the late 60s and early 70s produced such classics as The One-Armed Swordsman (1967), The Boxer from Shantung (1972), and Shaolin Martial Arts (1974). In 1977 alone, Tang and Chu put out four Wuxia hits: The Sentimental Swordsman, Jade Tiger, Death Duel, and Clans of Intrigue. And by the end of the decade, The Avenging Eagle (1978) and The Deadly Breaking Sword (1979) were two of Tang’s most popular films under Sun. So as the 1980s rolled around, regardless of director or what style of kung fu was being portrayed, one thing became perfectly clear… Tang Chia’s action sequences spelled immediate success for Shaw Brothers’ films.

Then Shaw got curious. Could Tang take the helm as director and still deliver the top-notch choreography that made him such a hot commodity? That was the question Shaw Brothers posed which all but forced Tang into the director’s chair unwillingly. And after directing the kooky-but-fun Shaolin Prince in 1982, Intruders in 1983, and Ti Lung’s tour de force Opium and the Kung Fu Master in 1984, that was it; Tang not only climbed out of the director’s chair for good, he all but retired from the industry at the height of his game. So before I get misty-eyed just thinking of all the Tang Chia-directed flicks that might have been, I’ll tell you why I believe Shaolin Intruders is one of the greatest kung fu films of all time.

Let’s start with the mystery; something is afoul at Shaolin Temple and Lei Hsin (Derek Yee) is determined to bring it to light. Area chiefs are being attacked and killed for treasure by four hooded figures who leave evidence of the Shaolin Palm technique on their victims. And when Lei’s friend, Ching Hua (Lau Yuk Pok), sees the faces of monks under those masks during a stakeout to catch the thieves in the act, it’s off to the temple to identify the culprits. Lei’s detective partner and jovial gambling buddy, Qiao Yiduo (Jason Pai Piao), rounds out the trio on a mission that includes clearing Ching’s name when her infamous golden swords show up at one of the crime scenes.

Could peaceful monks really take part in such murderous treachery? Shaolin’s Chief Abbot (Chan Shen) and his 2^nd in command, Abbot Jianxing (Phillip Ko), certainly don’t think so. And it’s here where Shaolin Intruders really takes flight as a wonder to behold when Lei and Qiao are challenged by the Chief to complete three tests for the right to interrogate his monks. This includes gangs of monks using weapons and insane acrobatics in a game of keep away to prevent Lei and Qiao from passing their solo tests, and an exhilarating hand-to-hand showdown between the duo and Chief Abbot on a tower of rickety benches! It’s some of Tang’s most elaborately-staged choreography, complete with eye-popping wirework and a ferocity level seldom seen in his action director only films.

By the time our heroes successfully navigate the tests and the identified monks are dispatched in swift fashion, we’re barely past the half way point so you know there’s more mystery and action to come. And it all unfolds rather quickly when the killing of chiefs resumes, leaving Lei to wonder: Is someone else at Shaolin Temple ordering the executions? Why would monks leave evidence of their secret technique at the scene of the crime? And is there more to Ching and her golden swords than meets the eye? 

Shaolin Intruders doesn’t waste a second telling slapstick jokes or tossing in comedic filler actors with questions like these to answer. Not to mention throwing in a good old-fashioned plot twist (or two) and some unexpected sentimentality to boot. Instead, it wisely spends its time staging uniquely acrobatic fight scenes, concealing the true villain’s connection to Shaolin Temple and why chiefs are being murdered, and setting up for a grand fight finale of breakneck proportions! 

In the end, the recipe works to perfection and Tang is left looking like a true master of both action and directing crafts. As choreographer, his fight sequences look sharper than ever, especially in the lengthy temple test scenes and grand finale. I still can’t believe Tang converts a 3-tiered wall of monks standing on shoulders into a Voltron-like fighting unit, but he does! Twice! And he even pulls off a few crazy weapons and wirework maneuvers with the hooded monks a la Five Element Ninjas; an obvious salute to his time with Chang Cheh. Trust me when I say you’ll be grinning from ear-to-ear when the foursome come together to create a whirling ninja kick machine, and gasping when they start slinging nine section whip spears into the heads of a dozen extras!

Even more impressive about the action in Shaolin Intruders is that we’re treated to a decent mix of both weapons and hand-to-hand fighting, and I seriously cannot tell you which I preferred because it’s all that good! One moment you think Tang hits his peak after watching Lei and Qiao flawlessly flip, spin, and weave through groups of pole-wielding monks, and the next he goes and blows your mind in the duo’s bench fighting showdown with Chief Abbot! And everything comes at you hard and lightning fast! (I would say the bench fight is the highlight of Shaolin Intruders, but then I wouldn’t be properly preparing you to have your mind blown, yet again, by the finale!)

As director, Tang also proves he can bring in the right stable of actors to pull everything off, with none being more important to the film’s success than the tandem of Derek Yee and Jason Pai Piao. Yee plays an excellently stoic lead and is on-point in every scene… whether throwing kicks, dodging staffs, blocking strikes, or swinging a sword. He shines during the temple challenges, looking equally great at blasting his way through monks or teaming with Pai to exchange blows with Chan Shen. It’s my favorite Yee role and the one that made me a fan of some of his other films like Heroes Shed No Tears (another of Tang’s action director flicks) and the aforementioned Death Duel.

Pai, on the other hand, plays Qiao as a good-natured gambler with a playful streak… the perfect complement to Yee’s stoicism. I mentioned earlier that Shaolin Intruders doesn’t waste time on slapstick jokes or comedic filler actors, but I never said it wasn’t amusing. Thanks to Pai’s spirited performance and perfect timing (a bucket of snakes never came in so handy), it’s actually funny in all the right ways! There’s no Dean Shek or Peter Chan Lung playing the creepy or oafish, unskilled martial artist saying creepy or oafish things; it’s just Jason Pai Piao… balancing his wit with some of his best sword play ever.

I dare say Pai upstages Yee in many of the more humorous scenes simply because he’s so damn likeable as a wise-ass sidekick! When Pai and Lau Yuk Pok’s Ching butt heads in one particular scene, the interaction is hilarious as Qiao protects the last drops in a busted jug of wine from Ching’s outrage, faking an onset of Drunken Master Syndrome with each sip as he avoids her advances. And Pai’s interaction with the great Philip Ko during his temple test is simultaneously humorous and thrilling because of the verbal and physical chess match taking place. It really is fun watching Ko try to stay monk-ishly professional with his words to Pai who is grinning and mocking the entire time… all while Ko and his clan swing bladed guandao poles at Pai’s head! Buddha’s name be praised!

Speaking of Ko, he is a favorite of mine who never disappoints when playing a Shaolin monk (see 8 Diagram Pole Fighter for proof). In fact, he, Chan Shen, and Lee Hoi San as a fiery master of Shaolin’s disciplinary program are all excellent in their roles. Chan, known for playing some of Shaw Brothers’ scummiest bastards, puts in his strongest work as Chief Abbot; the bench fight is hands down a career best for him. And Lee turns in another good performance as an old crotchety monk.  

Doubling back to Ko, I want to mention that he not only has a couple of absolutely terrific fights in this one, but he also gets to show off some equally great acting skills. By the end, he’ll range the gamut of emotion from grief and sadness to sheer rage, and the film is all the better for it. I would even say I was surprised and moved by Ko’s performance, with the only thing more surprising (and equally moving) being Pai’s sudden dramatic turn; just more evidence of Shaolin Intruders’ wall-to-wall greatness.

So to answer Shaw’s question asked earlier in this review… Yes! Tang Chia proved to be an excellent director and choreographer on his projects, even if the dual success was short-lived. I would even go as far as to say Tang’s role as director allowed him to uncap his creative process and achieve a level of intricate grandiosity in his stunts that was somewhat held in check by other directors he worked under. Shaolin Prince shows signs of this theory with some fierce fights and insane wirework, but falls just short of greatness due to an unfocused story and some unintentionally goofy gimmicks (see the demon possession scene and Derek Yee’s “magic sword” for good examples). 

Shaolin Intruders opens the flood gates with its grand spectacle and proves my theory outright, answering a question I like to imagine Tang might have asked himself after completing his directorial debut: How can I produce even bigger and bolder fights, but sharpen the techniques, trim the frills, and hone in on the best elements of dramatic storytelling to create a true masterwork of the genre?

All that’s really left to say is that it’s pretty damn impressive he managed to accomplish all of these feats in one fell swoop. Not too shabby for a guy who, it turns out, hated directing!! So do yourself a favor… find a copy of Shaolin Intruders, sit back with great anticipation, and experience the euphoric rush brought on by this top 10 all-time classic!

Chris Hatcher’s Rating: 10/10

The post Shaolin Intruders (1983) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Shaolin Avengers” Chinese Theatrical Poster

AKA: Invincible Kung Fu Brothers
Director: Chang Cheh
Co-director: Wu Ma
Cast: Alexander Fu Sheng, Chi Kuan Chun, Chan Wai Lau, Bruce Tong, Lung Fei, Choi Wang, Johnny Wang Lung Wei, Chiang Sheng, Leung Kar Yan
Running Time: 93 min.

By Martin Sandison

As a kid I remember settling down to watch Chang Cheh’s Shaolin Temple – for me the crowning achievement of his monumental Shaolin-cycle. A depiction of the classic story so nuanced, well-acted and topped off with a fantastic end fight, the film is one of the all-time best Shaw Brothers productions. The same year Chang as usual was an incredibly busy man, and made another Shaolin-cycle movie, Shaolin Avengers, featuring Alexander Fu Sheng and Chi Kuan Chun reprising their roles from Shaolin Temple, the film surprised me with an original style of narrative, advanced choreography for the time it was made, and a hilarious and horrid approach to the classic weak spot kung fu movie trope.

Fong Sai Yuk (Alexander Fu Sheng), his brother Fong Xiaoyu (Bruce Tong Yim Chaan, The Naval Commandos) and Hu Huigan (Chi Kuan Chun) have common enemies. In a novel approach to the storyline, they face off against them at the beginning of the film. As the fight progresses, flashbacks reveal the lead up to this deadly battle.

As you would expect from a Shaw Brothers classic like this boasting an innovative narrative, it’s written by Kuang Ni, who scripted most of the greatest films in the canon, and has over 200 writing credits to his name. Chang Cheh also assisted in the writing process, something he did from the very start of his career. The incorporation of the flashbacks never seems forced or jarring, they are a natural way to tell the story. I hold my hands up, and say I don’t have much knowledge of the real Fong Sai Yuk, and whether there is much historical accuracy here. But I’m guessing not, let’s be honest these movies play fast and loose! And there are so many of them telling similar stories, both Shaw Brothers, Golden Harvest and the Indies, that for many of them the phrase fast and loose is an understatement.

Interestingly, both this film and Shaolin Temple were not choreographed by the crack masters Lau Kar Leung and Tang Chia. They had the action reins of so many Chang Cheh films at the time, many of the Shaolin-cycle such as slices of brilliance like Shaolin Martial Arts and Men from the Monestary. The choreographers here are Hsieh Hsing and Chen Hsin I, who previously had worked with Chang on the disappointing Marco Polo. Both men cut their teeth in bashers and early 70s Indies such as Hero of Chiu Chow and Hurricane. So do their efforts at least match Lau and Tang? In my mind they most certainly do, and at times are more impactful and mind-blowing than Lau and Tang’s output around the time such as the flappy-handed 5 Shaolin Masters.

‘76 was a watershed year for the kung fu movie, mainly with the release of two Indies: Hong Kong’s Secret Rivals and Taiwan’s The Hot, the Cool and the Vicious. Both films were choreographed by the unsung master Tommy Lee, and ushered in a new style of action. Flashy high kicks, intricate handwork and an impact that hadn’t been seen before were ground-breaking. Shaolin Avengers was made the same year, and I would argue some of that influence can be seen here. There are the usual concentration on traditional styles of kung fu, to the point of overkill, but some takes are resounding in their impact, with a crispness and excellent timing that would be seen as the genre advanced in to the ultimate year of the old school: 1978. Having watched the majority of Fu Sheng’s filmography, I would say here is some of his best action. One take had me in bootwork heaven, as he deals with four lackeys, interchanging kicking techniques brilliantly. Chi Kuan Chun, a legitimate master of real kung fu, is in incredible shape as always and brings a brooding physicality to his role.

The variety of villainous actors displayed here is one sure to turn old school fan heads. ‘Beardy’ Leung Kar Yan, Odd Couple, in one of the first films in which he sported his infamous beard, gets a couple of fights and performs a deadly pull-out-the-innards-Shaws-style finishing move. Wang Lung Wei, Martial Club, the ultimate Shaw Bros villain, has a small part here and a couple of great two-on-ones versus Chi Kuan Chun. Among the lackeys there are Venoms Lu Feng and Chiang Sheng, and The Dragon, the Hero choreographer Tang Tak Cheung. The biggest surprise is that perennial Indie movie villain Lung Fei, in his sole Shaw Brothers part. I love this guy. From my favourite axe-action in Dream Sword to hamming it up as a Karate master in One Armed Boxer, he is always one to rely on. His fight with Fu Sheng on that great set, the wooden poles, is one for the ages.

At times the cracks of Shaw Brothers approach to film-making begin to show; there’s a set used in countless films that stages kung fu contests used here, plus painted backgrounds that look a little silly, taking you out of the film. The formulaic nature is of course present here, with a shooting style, character types and storyline we’ve all seen before; it’s a basic revenge plot, with Shaolin heroes doing their thing, and a standard filmic style with little variation or innovation from what we have seen before. However, when it comes to the fights there is freshness and impact, and the flashback narrative echoes this. Plus – get this – Fu Sheng goes through invincible skin training, meaning his whole body is impenetrable. Apart from… his anus. Whoah.

While not in the top pile of Chang Cheh flicks, for me this one is near the top of the Shaolin-cycle, just shy of its predecessor Shaolin Temple. Will Fu Sheng feel the sting in his brown eye? Watch on to find out.

Martin Sandison’s Rating: 8/10

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9sqKFbsqUkI

The post Shaolin Avengers | aka Invincible Kung Fu Brothers (1976) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Young Lovers on Flying Wheels” Chinese Theatrical Poster

AKA: The Motorcycle
Director: Ti Lung
Cast: Ti Lung, Ching Hoh Wai, Got Dik Wa, Dean Shek Tien, Lee Man Tai, Lam Fai Wong, Gam Gwan, Lee Hoi San, Chiang Nan, Lo Wai, Wu Ma, John Woo
Running Time: 99 min.

By Matthew Le-feuvre

Although, in part, influenced by the ‘biker’ B-flicks of 60’s Americana. This interesting ‘variation on the theme’ was a radical departure for matinee idol, Ti Lung; whose ‘then’ career had been proliferous under Chang Cheh’s mighty guardianship before moving on to collaborate with the analogous likes of Sun Chung, Lo Chen and Tang Chia. Here, this inclusion to Lung’s (already) hulking filmography – bar exception his anaemic cameo in The Generation Gap (1973) as well as the erstwhile, long overlooked Dead End (1969), was more or less engineered to be an urban commentary on 70’s materialism; in this case, a Suzuki motorcycle and the accompanying social status that comes with owning one.

In a change from the habitual slew of wuxia theatre or the empty hand dynamics of The Savage Five or They Call Him Mr. Shatter (both, also 1974), Lung dutifully and creatively appropriates duel responsibilities of leading man/director for what tentatively appears to be an endearing essay about the fundemental standards of ‘life decisions’ and the ‘maturity’ to effectuate the importance of emotional growth over conceited ambition or needless ‘materialistic’ philosophies: being the “best” or possessing the “best” does not necessarily conjure limitless happiness or contentment. In fact, it can also (un)intentionally draw its opposites – society being superfluous with ‘hungry wolves’, ever prowling for opportunity, hoping too inherit the slightest fraction of the top dog’s mantle.

While this is a minor aspect of I Keung’s bulky, if not frenetic screenplay, Lung is certainly assiduous in tackling these contemporary issues and situational ingredients which; for the sake of external padding, emerge in frequency to the point of ridiculousness, I.e, Loan sharks who (instead of regular re-payments) want to peddle Lung’s rare blood type to two inept thieves played with moronic abandon by stalwarts: Li Hoi San and the over gesticulative Dean Shek, toppled by the contrived inclusion of a potential father-in-law who abhors bikes of any description, involuntarily morphes into a dramatic impediment rather than anchoring audiences into states of empathy,

Lest do we ignore that these mushrooming subplots and emotionally bloated diversions actually smokescreens the essential crux about an office clerk’s singular passion (or obsession?!) for motorcycles. Yet, from a psychological perspective, this hehaviour would be a typical catagorization for a neo-freudian where the bike itself becomes a symbolic extension of the character’s (Song Da/Lung) manhood; whilst in concurrent terms his zealous need for ownership via unorthodox means (entering a kung fu tournament) subtly represents/conceals an inability to interact with society and relationships in general, particularly from the picture’s opening shots of Song Da/Lung rejecting his girlfriend’s amourous advances to ensueing sequences where he’s virtually hypnotized outside a dealership showroom.

As per usual, Lung is worthy of acclamation, combining social naivety with forceful resolve for a performance, which, although supported by a consistent flux of balletic altercations – courtesy of Liu Chia Liang/Lau Kar Wing’s toned-down action arrangements, undividedly showcases a very complex, not necessarily ‘heroic’ character who is basically a ‘victim of circumstance’ despite being (A): one-dimensional in his thinking, (B): competitive the next to (C); a complete egotist governed by his own maxims until external factors truly challenge him both in combat and reponsively. Thus birthing an optimistic conclusion.

In a profound way, one could assert that the characteristic nuances of Song Da/Lung are to some extent almost a physical epitomization of the late Robert South’s philosophical/psychological observance on “possessions”:

“In all worldly things that man pursues with the greatest eagerness and intention of mind, he finds not half the pleasure in the actual possession of them as he proposed to himself in expectation”.

Verdict: By no means a memorable or essential Shaw Brothers classic. Still, regardless of “too many situations” that tends to ricochet from urbanized drama to replicative incongruity, when viewed today, Ti Lung’s proficient direction and usage of familiar locations/stock players; contrarily, adds a touch of nostalgic charm as well as a sense of irony to an otherwise pretentious excursion into mediocrity.

Watch out for an extremely youthful John Woo in an unflattering cameo, sobbing at a police reclamation vehicle depot. Needless too say, twelve years later, woo would rescue Lung’s declining career by casting him as one of the triumvirate leads for his pioneering gangster epic: A Better Tomorrow (1986).

Matthew Le-feuvre’s Rating: 7/10

The post Young Lovers on Flying Wheels (1974) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Duel of Fists” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Chang Cheh
Producer: Runme Shaw
Cast: David Chiang, Ti Lung, Cheng Lee, Guk Fung, Chan Sing, Cheng Miu, Wong Chung, Yeung Chi Hing, Yuen Wo Ping, Yen Shi-Kwan, Yuen Shun-Yi, Yuen Cheung Yan, Chan Chuen, Lau Laan Ying, Tong Dik
Running Time: 102 min.

By JJ Hatfield

In 1971 Chang Cheh took Ti Lung and David Chiang to Thailand to film a Muay Thai boxing tournament movie/travelogue. That may not be the Shaw Brothers description, but it’s accurate. It might have worked as one or the other, but the mix is annoying, tiresome, and a waste of talent.

A young up and coming engineer and martial arts expert learns a long-hidden secret at his father’s deathbed. Before he passes father informs son he once had an affair with a woman in Thailand which produced a male child. With only vague clues to follow the loyal son sets off to find his Muay Thai fighting brother as it was his father’s dying wish. By the time the long-lost brother is discovered, he is in a fight for his life.

David Chiang (The New One-Armed Swordsman) is Fan Ke, the dutiful son who exchanges his suit, tie, and glasses for brightly colored early 70’s polyester threads while he searches for his brother Wen Lieh played by Ti Lung (The Pirate). Fan Ke finds a ditzy date (Pawana Chanajit), and they promptly forget about searching for his brother and go sightseeing around Bangkok instead. Meanwhile, Wen Lieh is discovering the reality of being a Muay Thai fighter with less than ethical associates. He has risen to a position of being a top fighter in Thailand only to learn his talent and skills in the ring may not be enough to win the tournament or keep him alive. When Wen Lieh is not fighting, he spends time with his girlfriend, Yu Lan (Ching Li) who is teary-eyed for most of the movie.

The primary cause of Yu Lan’s weeping is Cannon the killer Muay Thai boxer. Cannon (Ku Feng) will fight Wen Lieh for the championship. Despite Yu Lan’s pleas Wen Lieh has no intention of quitting because this is a Chang Cheh movie and real men never back down even if they are about to be served their heads. That and Wen Lieh must fight because he needs the money for… well it is such an original idea I don’t want to give it away.

Too often the camera is trained on Chiang and his hyper-happy girlfriend pretending to look at a well-known tourist spot. I could understand if Chang wanted to include the brothers going to a temple to offer incense for their deceased father, but the travelogue episodes were like having to watch your neighbor’s home movies of their summer vacation. Momentum was lost, and so was the film.

Muay Thai boxing received respectful treatment by Lau Kar Leung and Tong Gaai when the fighting was in the squared circle. Ti Lung and Ku Feng are passable as Muay Thai boxers. Editing creates the illusion that the actors are performing extensive Muay Thai boxing pre-fight rituals and bouts. However, the two are on-screen less than it appears. In contrast to the two men ‘dueling’, the fights that occur outside the ring are chaotic brawling with multiple opponents. Neither style produces much in the way of memorable matches.

Duel of Fists should have focused on Muay Thai boxing and the search for the brother story. The two female characters were wasted (and Chanajit may have been wasted on something). The travelogue should never have been used in an action film. The two stars do not exert themselves acting, and I think Chang was off enjoying the sites as there is little sign of his direction.

The only reason I ranked Duel of Fists as high as I did was that it is one of the first movies to have a tournament as the focus of the film as well as being one of the first to showcase Muay Thai boxing.

There are many excellent movies with the “Iron Triangle,” and most offer better action than Duel of Fists. If you are working your way through Chang Cheh, Ti Lung or David Chiang movies save Duel of Fists for later. This one barely kicks a 6/10.

JJ Hatfield’s Rating: 6/10

The post Duel of Fists | aka Fist Attack (1971) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“The Thunderbolt Fist” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Chang Il-ho
Producer: Runme Shaw
Cast: Chuen Yuen, Shih Szu, James Nam, Fang Mien, Tung Lam, Lee Ka Ting, Wong Chin Feng, Yukio Someno, Gam Kei Chu, Chan Feng Chen, Cheung Hei
Running Time: 86 min.

By Paul Bramhall

In the history of kung fu cinema, 1972 was one of the most significant years. The Shaw Brothers studio had imported several experienced directors and martial artists from Korea, and in this particular year it proved to be a move that paid dividends, when Chung Chang-wha directed a little movie called King Boxer. Not only was it a runaway box office success locally in Hong Kong, but it would also become forever remembered as the movie that introduced western audiences to the world of kung fu (under the title Five Fingers of Death). Sensing that Chang-wha had formulated a recipe for success, understandably fellow Korean director Chang Il-ho was subsequently tasked with replicating it, and the end result came in the form of The Thunderbolt Fist.

Unlike Chang-wha, who by the time he made King Boxer had already been working at the Shaw Brothers studio for 3 years (during which time he churned out 6 movies), for Il-ho The Thunderbolt Fist was his debut for the studio. It was far from being his debut as a director though, with a filmography that already came close to almost 50 titles made in his native Korea since the early 60’s. Being tasked with imitating the success of another movie is arguably not the best way to start your career at a studio though, and perhaps as a result of this Il-ho would only make two other movies for the Shaw Brothers – The Deadly Knives which was made the same year, and Devil Bride from 1975.

The Thunderbolt Fist gives half Dutch half Taiwanese actor Chuen Yuen his first lead role at the studio. A popular actor in Taiwan, Yuen moved to Hong Kong and took a contract at the Shaw Brothers in 1968. After various roles playing an extra or supporting part (he can be spotted in the likes of Chang Cheh’s Vengeance! and The Duel), it was The Thunderbolt Fist that gave him headliner status. Here he’s teamed with Shaw Brothers starlet Shih Szu, who was heavily marketed by the studio as the next Cheng Pei-Pei, for a tale which (much like King Boxer) has the Chinese rise up to take on the oppressive Japanese forces, led by Korean actor James Nam (aka Nam Seok-hun). Like several of the actors who appear in The Thunderbolt Fist, Nam also has a role in Chang-wha’s earlier production.

So enough of tip toeing around it, let’s be clear from the start that The Thunderbolt Fist is completely derivative of King Boxer. The structure even follows the plot beats with remarkable familiarity. The hero tries to take on the Japanese, hero fails and ends up with one of his limbs partially crippled, hero trains to overcome his disability, hero takes on the evil Japanese and comes out victorious. In fairness, there are plenty of other movies out there that could also have that same plot description applied, however considering the timing and structure of The Thunderbolt Fist, I’d be willing to bet none do it quite so flagrantly as we see here.

With that being said, The Thunderbolt Fist shouldn’t be written off as just a second rate imitation of King Boxer. Despite the similarities, it’s also noticeable that Il-ho is trying to at least put as much of his own stamp on proceedings as the story will allow. By 1972 Chang Cheh has already developed a reputation for his excessive use of bloodshed, usually leaving the screen coated in liberal doses of the red stuff, but here Il-ho gives Cheh a solid run for his money. Stabbings, decapitations, and more projectile blood spitting than you can shake a stick are liberally sprinkled throughout, with the ground and walls of any given action scene usually caked in blood splatter by the end of any given scuffle.

What is immediately noticeable though is that Yuen isn’t a trained martial artist, or, as it would sometimes seem, much of a trained actor. To be fair, he’s not to blame for one major issue. We spend some time with the child versions of Yuen and Nam (played by kung fu cinema legends Austin Wai and Stephen Tung Wai respectively, here both making their screen debuts), and they look no older than 12 years old. When it skips 10 years forward and Yuen steps into the role, the fact that he should be no older than 22 just doesn’t match his appearance, which looks significantly older. The discrepancy between age and appearance also results in some cringe worthy moments. In one scene Yuen is resting in a field, recalling his time with a childhood sweetheart, shown in flashback. When it cuts back, he does a deep sigh while looking wistfully at the camera. I promise it’ll make you temporarily look away in embarrassment.

It’s the kind of scene that someone like David Chiang could have pulled off perfectly, but with Yuen it just comes across as slightly awkward. The same also applies to the choreography. While both Szu and Nam look sharp, with Nam in particular outshining everyone whenever he springs into action, Yuen only comes across as average in comparison. He visibly lacks that same sharpness, which is no more evident than when, in the middle of a group melee, he lands in a chair and performs an over the shoulder kick, with no one being there to receive it. The action itself is choreographed by Leung Siu-Chung (the father of Bruce Leung, who can be seen as an extra if you look closely), who never really found himself in that top tier of fight choreographers like his contemporaries Lau Kar Leung and Tong Gaai. Leung does deserve credit though for incorporating the likes of judo and karate into the choreography, but there’s no doubt that the action on display falls into the basher category.

What can’t be denied is that for fans of the genre, The Thunderbolt Fist offers a wealth of early glimpses at those who would become legends within a decade of its release. Apart from those already mentioned, it’s also possible to see the likes of Lam Ching Ying, Tony Leung Siu-Hung, Corey Yuen Kwai, and Alexander Fu Sheng in small parts. Throw in the likes of Kim Ki-ju, aka the guy who seems to appear in every Korean kung fu movie ever made (and of course, King Boxer), and there are plenty of familiar faces to keep the kung-fu cinema fan happy. Where The Thunderbolt Fist gets really interesting though, is in its application of what the title suggests, or rather, lack of.

Just as Il-ho’s effort is heavily influenced by King Boxer, so King Boxer was heavily influenced by Jimmy Wang Yu’s directorial debut The Chinese Boxer, from 1970. The Thunderbolt Fist in many ways is a kind of unintentional hybrid of the pair, with the aesthetics borrowing heavily from Chang-wha’s influential classic, while the element of Yuen’s arm being rendered crippled coming straight from Wang Yu’s earlier movie. However it’s due to this very point that The Thunderbolt Fist seems to lose its way in terms of narrative logic. With one arm rendered useless, Yuen trains his fist extensively from a secret manual explaining (guess what), the Thunderbolt Fist. However after an initial confrontation with Nam and his cronies, the villains are left to reflect on how deadly Yuen’s kicks are. If there was ever a “Huh?” moment in a movie, then this ranks as one of them.

At first I figured something had perhaps got lost in translation, but the more I thought about it, the more it became apparent to simply be a lack of coherency on the part of the filmmakers. We spend time watching Yuen train his fist, however in the last reel all the attention is diverted to his feet. I mean, if he had a powerful kick, why did we have to wait for him to become cripple before he kicked some Japanese posterior!? It doesn’t make sense, and coherency is thrown more and more out of the window as we head towards the finale. Nam sends a crony to injure Yuen’s leg before their penultimate battle in an outdoor ring (think the finale of Ip Man, it’s identical), however despite the crony being successful in his mission, during the match itself it doesn’t factor in whatsoever.

Despite this, such incoherency can be somewhat forgiven for delivering a finale that lays on both the creativity, and the bloodshed, in equally heavy doses. When Yuen is confronted by a group of Japanese attackers, it’s revealed they have concealed blades in their shoes, in a clear nod to the work Tong Gaai was doing with Chang Cheh at the time. Plus it’s not a spoiler to say that Yuen’s finishing move against Nam is worth the price of admission alone, providing one of those rare spit your coffee/beer/whatever it is you’re drinking out moments. As derivative as it may be, The Thunderbolt Fist does its best to compensate with ample bloodshed and over the top violence, and while it’s true to say they’re appealing to the lowest common denominator, sometimes that’s exactly what we need.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 6/10

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“Opium and the Kung Fu Master” Chinese Theatrical Poster

AKA: Lightning Fists of Shaolin
Director: Tong Gai (Tang Chia)
Cast: Ti Lung, Chen Kuan Tai, Robert Mak, Philip Ko Fei, Lee Hoi San, Tang Chia, Lau Leanne, Ku Kuan Chung, Alan Chan, Ma Chao, Yuen Wah, Yuen Bun
Running Time: 86 min. 

By Chris Hatcher

Knowing one could be blacklisted in many kung fu cinema circles for making the following statement, here goes nothing: I have always been somewhat underwhelmed by the great Ti Lung.

Now before you reach for the torches and pitchforks, hear me out: I’m aware of Lung’s prowess for dramatic acting… he won the 1986 Golden Horse Best Actor Award for John Woo’s exceptional A Better Tomorrow and the 1999 Hong Kong Film Best Supporting Actor Award for The Kid; I know about his roles as a street-tough brawler in blood baths like Vengeance and The Duel, both of which have merit for fans of director Chang Cheh’s early hack-n-stab formula; and I know his leads in The Delightful Forest and The Blood Brothers exemplify his commanding on-screen presence. So what exactly is my issue with Ti Lung, you might ask?

Let me answer that question with a follow-up question: Where is Ti Lung’s signature film that showcases the best fight choreography of his career while also delivering on the other qualities that made Lung great in the eyes of his fans?

Whether it’s mundane action in an otherwise high-quality film like Avenging Eagle or all-around misfire like Cheh’s Ten Tigers of Kwangtung, many of Ti Lung’s films failed to hone in on his technical skill as a martial arts superstar. The Heroes (aka Story of Chivalry) had some decent action and highlighted Lung’s skill fairly well, but the fights fell a bit on the slow side; The Kung Fu Instructor practically put me to sleep with its humdrum stick fighting scenes; and Shaolin Prince, though outrageously entertaining, focused more on Lung pulling off wire work feats than impressing with his fighting style. In short, Lung has been involved in WAY too many generic battles for a star of his stature.

Well, I’m happy to say I finally found the answer to my question with a recent first-time viewing of Opium and the Kung Fu Master, an excellent film by Tang Chia that highlights all of Lung’s best traits – dramatic thespian, rugged fighter, good screen presence – and tops them off with a truck load of the technically-driven fight choreography I’ve always wanted for him. Opium gives us more of the brilliance of Lung’s brief but fantastic hand-to-hand fighting in Shaolin Temple (aka Death Chamber); more of the speed he demonstrated in the fierce weapons play of The Deadly Breaking Sword; and more of a reason to become a Ti Lung fan some 33 years after his heyday. Better late than never I always say.

My initial thought while viewing Opium was, “How did I miss this one after all these years?!” The likely reason spawns from once hearing it was a sequel to Ten Tigers of Kwangtung and immediately dismissing it without further research. That was my mistake because Opium is not a sequel to that snoozer, but merely a telling of how the leader of the Ten Tigers overcame an opium addiction to rescue the town he had sworn to protect. Lung portrays the Ten Tigers leader in both films (though differently named in each).

In this particular story, Lung’s Tieh Chiao San is a kung fu master and militia adviser who garners the utmost respect from his students and local townspeople. His presence strikes fear in the hearts of criminals as witnessed in an opening skirmish with Golden Cat (played by the excellent Philip Ko). The brief encounter puts Lung in a light I’ve rarely seen as every strike and block is delivered with a ferocity that signals greater things to come in the fight department. (Finally… signs of the Ti Lung the old school kung fu world needs AND deserves!)

Of course, Golden Cat escapes and reports the trouble with Tieh to his master, Yung Feng (Chen Kuan Tai). Cat wants to deal with Tieh, but Yung quickly reminds him why they’re here… for opium. More specially, to open a local opium den and earn bank while ruining the lives of people they hook on the drug. Throw in a couple of business partners played by Ku Kuan Chung and Lee Hoi San and the foursome make for a pretty damn good troop of villains.

Screenwriter Ying Wong could have kept his story as simple as local hero takes on drug gang, but instead throws in the interesting twist of depicting Tieh as one of the town’s opium addicts. Tieh tries to convince his blind instructor (played by choreographer/director Chia) and head student (Robert Mak) that he only hits the pipe every now and then, but it eventually becomes clear that his skills are eroding. A brief pole fighting sequence with Master Yi (Chia) and a lesson with Gua Su (Mak) lead to questions of whether Tieh’s habit is slowing him down (which is somewhat amusing considering Lung looks fantastic in both encounters!).

The big reveal, however, comes when Yung challenges Tieh to a public showdown after Su sets fire to the opium den in an act of retribution. Yung’s dual spears versus Tieh’s Tie Sin Fist is lightning fast and extraordinary to watch. But as the fight wears on, with Yung goading Tieh as his skills begin to wane, we see the full effects of opium abuse in a weak man who’s unable to steady his sword due to the shakes. And those shakes bring tragic consequences, delivering one of Opium’s best all-around scenes and giving the film a quasi-Rocky complex in the sense of portraying a fallen hero who must find a way to climb back to the mountain top (because we all know redemption is coming).

All in all, Opium and the Kung Fu Master is a powerhouse of action with strong contributions from everyone starting with Lung. I can’t stress enough how exceptional he looks, especially in the frenetic rice house scene where he swoops in to take on Philip Ko and a band of thugs. It’s one of my favorite bits of action complete with Robert Mak challenging Ko’s cool tiger claw in an acrobatically rousing clash. From speed to timing to power, Lung’s every move looks sharp and deliberate and I couldn’t have been more pleased. The legendary Chen Kuan Tai is also very much on point each time he takes up his spears.

Speaking of Mak, he really gets to show off his talents in this one via some great encounters with Ko and Lee Hoi San. And, he demos another nifty lion dance to boot (just like in Martial Club). I liked Mak in Martial Club, but I really loved his overall performance in Opium.

Hands down, Lung’s weapons and hand-to-hand technique are faster and more dynamic in Opium than in any other film of his career. But as powerful as his fight scenes are to the action, it’s Lung’s immensely intense portrayal of a man coming to grips with his addiction that proves equally powerful. From sacrificial deaths to woeful suicides, characters die unexpectedly at every turn with opium the root cause, and Lung takes these occurrences to heart in wonderfully dramatic fashion. You can see the conviction in his eyes each time a cautionary warning about Tieh’s opium habit leads to tragedy; it’s truly heartbreaking.

By the time Tieh begins the long journey to kicking his habit, regaining his superior kung fu (there’s an excellent pole training sequence with Master Yi), and restoring his stature, Lung is in full-on drama mode. There are some familiar episodes of melodrama that come with the old school territory, but most of the dramatic moments are genuine and effective. And though Lung has played high-stature characters many times over, I would go as far as to say none come close to resonating as strongly as Tieh Chiao San due to the levels of tragedy and high drama taking place throughout the story. It’s part of what admirably separates Opium from other kung fu tales.

I suppose the man to thank for the wonderful balance of action and drama is Chia, whose credits as a director include the aforementioned Shaolin Prince and the magnificent Shaolin Intruders. Opium was his third and final film in the director’s seat, and it was fitting (though unexpected) for Chia to choose a historical subject like opium abuse in China as his directorial swan song. Watch all three of his films back-to-back-to-back and you’ll quickly understand why Opium is considered the tame one; the action scenes in his other two films are insanely death-defying! It’s truly a shame Chia didn’t helm more projects over the course of his long choreography career.

My only real complaint about Opium and the Kung Fu Master (and it’s somewhat of a big one considering I was ready to give this film a 9.5 rating out of 10) is that the film’s finale felt rushed and serves as little more than an exercise in proficiency. And that’s really all I can say about it; it’s proficient.

For some, this might be good enough. But after Chia spends an hour and twenty minutes establishing Lung’s character as larger-than-life, breaking him down in dramatic fashion, building him up better than ever for the final showdown, and delivering some really excellent kung fu along the way, I expected a balls to the wall finale! I expected a drawn out confrontation considering Lung had to contend with Ko, San, and Chen! I even got giddy imagining what was to come as Lung made his walk to the center of town.

And then it was over in what felt like the blink of an eye. Proficiently executed and skillfully crafted, but short and workmanlike, nonetheless. All weapons, no hand-to-hand, and not everything I was hoping for in light of all the great fights leading up to this point. My minor issues with Mak and Lau Leanne’s throw-away love story and the continuous hints at Lung’s decline only manifesting in one fight scene were long forgotten. I found myself wishing I could turn back time, reshoot the finale, and set Opium back on its path to near-perfection.

Then I was snapped out of my fantasy stupor by my wife’s calls to take out the trash and quickly found myself back in the real world. After all, we’re talking about old school kung fu cinema here, not ending world hunger. And as far as finding the ultimate Ti Lung showcase was concerned… mission accomplished. So add Opium and the Kung Fu Master to your must-watch list and know you’ll be seeing Lung at his absolute finest!

Chris Hatcher’s Rating: 8.5/10

The post Opium and the Kung Fu Master (1984) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“The Deadly Breaking Sword” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Sun Chung
Writer: Ni Kuang
Cast: Ti Lung, Alexander Fu Sheng, Shih Szu, Ku Feng, Chan Wai Man, Lily Li Li Li, Ngaai Fei, Chan Shen, Kara Hui, Ha Ping, Alan Chan, Cheung Gwok, Chow Kin Ping, Gam Tin Chue, Hung Ling Ling, Keung Hon, Eddie Ko Hung
Running Time: 101 min.

By JJ Hatfield

An arrogant assassin and an unlucky gambler are brought together by pride, greed and a captivating courtesan in The Deadly Breaking Sword. This wuxia with comedy was the second film Sun Chung directed for the Shaw Brothers with Ti Lung and Alexander Fu Sheng, the first being Avenging Eagle.

Ti Lung (The Savage Five) is Tuan Changging, the titular “Deadly Breaking Sword.” His character is established at the beginning of the movie with the help of an opponent played by Michael Chan. Changging is a master swordsman who finishes his matches with a particular stroke of his blade. He is wealthy, refined, and a pompous ass. Changging is a self-appointed dispatcher of evil-doers, and he never kills indiscriminately. He has rituals for a fight and rules for using his unique sword style.

The comedy is in the form of Fu Sheng (The Chinatown Kid) as Xiao Dao or Little Dagger. He is known as Xiao Dao because he uses small knives when fighting. Xiao Dao’s introduction occurs during a skirmish in a gambling parlor. He is poor, unsophisticated, and a thief when he has no luck at gambling which is often. It is his larceny habit that results in meeting Changging.

Xiao Dao and Changging seemingly share nothing in common. Changging has no use for those who don’t recognize his self-proclaimed superiority in all things. Nor is he much interested in women. Xiao Dao is interested in women, but he has far more passion for pursuing wealth. However, they are both drawn to the courtesan Lin. Shih Szu (Black Tavern) is Lin Yinxu, the newly arrived prostitute at the brothel. She uses her beauty to achieve her objectives, and she knows how to approach a man to get what she wants. Yinxu attempts to manipulate Changging and Xiao Dao to do her bidding. Changging becomes involved because of his egotistical eccentricities, while Xiao Dao’s motivation is money. When Yinxu makes odd statements about the local doctor, Changging must decide whom he should believe before confronting his next opponent.

Xiao Dao brings out the personal side of Changging. When they are together, Changging will let down his emotional guard. Xiao Dao is the only one that dares to make fun of Changging, but he does so without any malice. In a bonding scene, they play the drinking game also seen in Shanghai Noon, but The Deadly Breaking Sword (TDBS) predates that film by over twenty years. The real life friendship comes through in more than one scene. Several times Ti looks as though he is going to break character and burst into laughter, especially when he is supposed to be offended by Xiao Dao.

Most of the screen time is held by Changging or Xiao Dao, or both in the same scene. Shih Szu aside the women don’t fare well in TDBS. Kara Hui is wasted in her role at the brothel, and Lily Li Li has the unfortunate part of Luo Jinhua, owner of a gambling parlor.

Changging is familiar if exaggerated fare for Ti Lung. He seems to enjoy his role of the smug, self – righteous swordsman. Ti has been a sword wielding character in a number of movies but never has he played a narcissist. As usual with Fu Sheng, viewers will either thoroughly enjoy his style of humor or want to see Changging use that sword of his.

Plenty of action is on hand, but half of the fights are disappointingly brief. Tong Gai and Wong Pau-Gei as action directors show standard moves and sword work that appears unusual because of the camera angle. The fighting includes the use of props as weapons at a gambling parlor and in Yinxu’s chambers.

Sun Chung only helmed a few films with the Shaws compared to some. I think directors like Chang Cheh made so many memorable movies that others like Sun became lost in the sheer numbers. However, he was a creative and talented director who has often been overlooked and under-rated. He was interested in finding new ways to use technology to elevate his films. Several new techniques made it into TDBS including the freeze frame.

The screenplay is by the extraordinarily prolific writer Ni Kuang who creates an extreme version of the distinguished swordsman. Unlike many films of the era, the plot does not come from an ancient Chinese epic, story or poem. Ni wrote a simple tale, just enough to give the characters motivation. The audience knows only what the characters know. The addition of a little mystery helps along the thin plot.

The Shaw sets are lavishly decorated. The brothels furnishings are elegant. Costumes are beautiful with rich, vibrant colors, and attention to detail. Yinxu’s wardrobe is dazzling. Changging’s garments are nearly as impressive.

At 101 minutes TDBS would have benefitted from tighter editing. The characters aren’t explored in-depth but then it isn’t necessary. TDBS is not a classic or an epic film. It isn’t cerebral nor does it have the greatest fight scenes ever filmed. It is an entertaining way to spend a little over an hour and a half, and that is good enough.

JJ Hatfield’s Rating: 7/10

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“Martial Club” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Lau Kar Leung
Producer: Mona Fong
Cast: Gordon Liu, Kara Hui, Robert Mak, Wang Lung Wei, Ku Feng, King Chu Lee, Chu Te Hu, Wilson Tong, Hsiao Ho
Running Time: 102 min.

By Chris Hatcher

Of the storied directors in old school kung fu cinema, none stand higher on the mountain top than the great Lau Kar Leung. His directorial run from 1975-1986 produced some of the Shaw Brother’s most celebrated classics including The 36th Chamber of Shaolin, 8 Diagram Pole Fighter, and Legendary Weapons of China. Known for creating realistic training and fight sequences influenced by the Chinese martial art of Hung Gar, Lau saturated his films with some of the most authentic choreography in the genre’s history. And no one added to his formula for success as frequently, or as spectacularly, as the Master Killer himself, Gordon Liu.

Lau cast Liu in 18 films and starred him in over half of those during a time of forging a new path in martial arts cinema. He ended his long-time work as an action choreographer for director Chang Cheh on the set of 1975’s Marco Polo out of need to focus more on the martial arts itself and less on Cheh’s affinity for blood-soaked violence. As one of the few directors to be an actual martial artist and the first choreographer to direct a feature film, Lau mentored actors like Liu in the ways of depicting spectacular kung fu on screen. And his approach paid off; Liu’s breakout role in 36th Chamber sealed their partnership and sky-rocketed both men to superstardom. In short, you can’t have a conversation about the best in martial arts cinema without mentioning Lau Kar Leung and Gordon Liu.

Whenever I read opinions on the duo’s best collaborations, it’s a given to see the films already mentioned sitting in the top spots. However, I’m always a bit surprised to find Martial Club towards the bottom of the list, or nowhere on the list at all. Granted, when you have so many great films under your belt it’s hard to find room at the top for everyone. But Martial Club seems… forgotten. Like it’s the one Lau/Liu film placed on the backburner simply for being a lesser known title in the filmography of these two greats, which is truly unfortunate. Here’s why:

Martial Club contains some of the best martial arts action to never kill a character on screen, which I greatly admire (a feat Lau/Liu pulled off three years earlier in the superbly bloodless Heroes of the East); it also displays an excellent blend of humor and action throughout; and, in what I consider the most compelling argument for its greatness, the finale features the single best Gordon Liu/Wang Lung Wei showdown of their many excellent encounters (which is truly saying something if you’ve ever seen these two go at it). Mix all of this together and you get a film that would likely rank top three on any other filmmaker’s “Best of” list. For a supreme director like Lau, however, it’s just another day at the office.

Martial Club’s plot keeps things light with Liu once again taking on the role of legendary troublemaker Wong Fei Hung (he previously played the part in Lau’s Challenge of the Masters). He and Robert Mak are students of neighboring kung fu schools, each always looking to one-up the other in friendly combat. An opening credits lion dance (featuring rules explanation by Lau) sets the stage for a third school’s head student (King Chu Lee) to break etiquette and challenge Mak’s Wang Yinlin to a lion dance-off. The aftermath finds the two schools’ masters, Zheng (Wilson Tong) and Lu (Chu Te Hu), seeking mediation from Fei Hung’s father (Ku Feng), a process that goes awry and leaves the two sides at odds.

When the hijinx of besting one another leads Fei Hung and Yinlin to ask their closest confidants (Hsiao Ho and Kara Hui) to rig a fight contest on their behalves, the result is a run-in with Master Shan (Wang Lung Wei), a northern kung fu expert who’s come southward to make friends and blend styles. Turns out he’s a guest of Master Lu’s, and an unsuspecting pawn in Lu’s shady plan to exploit the northerner’s talents and lead all rival schools. What ensues is a series of misunderstandings, double-crossings, and deceptions, each spawning a grander scale fight scene than the one before in route to the climactic showdown between Fei Hung and Shan.

Martial Club has been called one of the purest kung fu films ever made in some circles; another reason it demands to be more widely known by the fu fan masses. Lau is truly a master at highlighting kung fu intricacies and this one follows suit in multiple areas. For starters, I love his focus on strength of stance throughout the film with one particular scene showing Fei Hung goading a group of classmates to try and move him before his father secretly slips in to take a turn. The encounter is brief but exhilarating as Liu and Ku Feng demonstrate great footwork in a contest of focus and strength between father and son.

Another similar scene pits Gordon against Wang Lung Wei and Chu Te Hu as they attempt to break Fei Hung’s stance using long drapery-style material being offered as gifts. Each man winds cloth around his legs and attempts to hold his ground in the name of testing its quality when, in fact, the quality of the stance is the very thing being tested. Lau’s play on context is humorous and clever, not to mention pretty cool to watch.

Speaking of humor, Martial Club has plenty of it with Liu’s and Mak’s shenanigans taking center stage (Liu doesn’t play Fei Hung as zanily as Jackie Chan did in Drunken Master, but it works). Whether the two are posing as head coaches of their respective schools and being taught a lesson by a real master or Yinlin is impressing tricks in a brothel with his strength, the story is never bogged down by the silliness. In fact, it’s enriched by it due to Lau’s ability to flow effortlessly from the funny to the fighting and back again. Liu and Kara Hui demonstrate this when a misunderstanding leads Yinlin’s sister (played by Hui) to come after Fei Hung. The result is a school-on-school brawl featuring some great hand-to-hand and weapons combat between the two.

Which leads us to why we watch kung fu films in the first place… the fights. And no one stages great action like Lau with Liu, Hui, and Wang leading the way in a number of exciting clashes. I would go so far as to say Martial Club showcases some of Lau’s very best work and the final showdown between Gordon and Wang is the definitive proof. It’s one of the most breathtaking displays of technical skill I have ever seen in an old school film with the highlight being the alley it takes place in growing smaller in width as the fight progresses! Marvelous styles, stances, and flare throughout… oh, my!

But seriously, the fight is truly spectacular and I love the notion of their showdown being for nothing more than honor and the testing of skill. No revenge, no blood, no death… just honor and skill. It’s the epitomical scene for why Lau decided to sever his ties with Chang Cheh and blaze his own trail as a filmmaker… and the kung fu cinema world is a much better place for it.

Chris Hatcher’s Rating: 9/10

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“Seeding of a Ghost’ Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Richard Yeung
Producer: Mona Fong
Cast: Norman Chu Siu Keung, Philip Ko Fei, Tin Mat, Maria Yuen Chi Wai, Wong Yung, Wai Ga Man, Hung San Nam, Pak Man Biu, Jaime Chik Mei Jan, Erik Chan Ga Kei
Running Time: 86 min.

By Martin Sandison

Beginning with 1975’s Black Magic, the legendary Shaw Brothers studio began to make horror movies which became increasingly grotesque, darkly funny and gory. Most of these centred around the practices of Chinese black magic, and Seeding of a Ghost was one of the last examples of this genre before the studio closed its doors. While a little formulaic, the film is a great example of extreme cinema that had been birthed around the world, with movies as notorious as Cannibal Holocaust pushing the boundaries of what can be seen onscreen.

The movie stars two of the greatest martial arts actors of the time, Phillip Ko Fei (Techno Warriors) and Norman Tsui Siu Keung (Sword Master). They had appeared together in two of the classics of independent kung fu cinema just previous to Seeding of a Ghost, The Loot and the Challenger. A complete change of pace for both, the film does feature a couple of fights but they are presciently in the style of the Heroic Bloodshed films that revolutionised Hong Kong cinema.

In Seeding of a Ghost, Ko is a taxi driver who runs over a master of the dark arts who tells him never to become involved in his practices or he will perish. Tsui plays a successful businessman who seduces Ko’s wife Irene (Maria Yuen Chi Wai). One night, Tsui and Irene have an argument and she runs off only to be raped by a couple of delinquents. Ko goes after the two and Tsui, but to no avail. He decides to visit the Master, who puts into action the titular seeding of a ghost ceremony…

The Blu-ray release of the movie, by 88 films in the UK, is brilliant. The film looks like it could have been made yesterday, and it’s great to see a movie as schlocky as this one be given the HD treatment. There’s some really disgusting stuff on show here: A man puking up worms, a person having sex with a corpse that has come back to life and a pregnant women’s stomach exploding. The effects are on the whole animatronic, organic and great; even a little computer effect doesn’t look dated.

The influences are plain to see; mostly body horror movies that came out around the time such as David Cronenberg’s genre defining Videodrome. The biggest influence is from my favourite horror film of all time, John Carpenter’s The Thing. While of course not on the scale of the shape-shifting aliens of that masterpiece, the ending has some great shots and is on a par in terms of gore. The roots of the genre come in the form of the ideas of Chinese black magic, which could not be shown in Mainland Chinese movies post-Mao. This gives it a distinct Hong Kong style and flavour, one that could only have come out of the former Colony. An extra on the Blu-ray is a piece by film critic Calum Waddell, which goes into this historical context in detail, is very enlightening.

Director Richard Yueng Kuen, who also directed Phillip Ko Fei in the Independent kung fu classic Duel of the 7 Tigers, had a career that began in the 1960’s and stretched in to the early 1990’s. He didn’t direct much for Shaw Brothers, but shows an aptitude for the extremes of the genre. The lighting and camerawork are of a high standard, even the animatronic corpse doesn’t look too bad. Being an exploitation movie there is also a lot of nudity and sex scenes – they’re quite racy, but not too explicit. The rape scene is drawn out and hard to watch, but the act is over in a matter of a few seconds. Ko and Tsui put in two of their best performances here, especially the former who depicts the desperation of his character superbly.

Seeding of a Ghost works so well on the level of pure shlock and gore that you would be forgiven for thinking it’s without depth; at the tailend of the Shaw Brothers filmography, the studio began to embrace these types of movies – and with others of its ilk ushered in the Category 3 film, which would eventually become more explicit a few years later in Hong Kong cinema. Highly recommended.

Martin Sandison’s Rating: 8/10

Beware of spoilers in the following clip from Seeding of a Ghost:

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“Four Riders” Chinese Theatrical Poster

AKA: Strike 4 Revenge
Director: Chang Cheh
Cast: David Chiang, Ti Lung, Chen Kuan Tai, Wang Chung, Cheng Li, Lily Li, Yasuaki Kurata, Tina Chin Fei, Tina Chin Fei, Chan Chuen, Chan Dik Hak, Chui Fat, Dang Tak Cheung, Fung Hak On, Ho Hon Chau, Ho Pak Kwong
Running Time: 104 min.

By Paul Bramhall

The period from 1971 – 1972 could well be referred to as ‘The Iron Triangle on Tour’ era. The term ‘Iron Triangle’ came about as a reference to the collaborations between director Chang Cheh, and his two favourite leading men of the era, Ti Lung and David Chiang. Many of their collaborations proved to be a recipe for box office success, and the trio churned out 9 movies alone during the 2 years mentioned, all for the Shaw Brothers studio. During 1971 they went to Bangkok together, and made Duel of Fists, then hit the streets of Tokyo a year later to make a sequel, titled The Angry Guest. However Thailand and Japan weren’t their only destinations during this period, as they also travelled to Korea, during which time they made Four Riders.

By 1972 the Shaw Brothers studio already had a number of Korean talents working for them. During the same year director Cheng Chang-ho made the seminal classic King Boxer, while fellow director Chang Il-ho made The Deadly Knives and The Thunderbolt Fist (which also had a Korean star in the form of James Nam). Surprisingly then, outside of the location shooting and some of the extras, Four Riders features no local Korean talent. In a way it’s understandable, Golden Harvest founder Raymond Chow also travelled to Korea the same year and made Hapkido, which was the first time for the likes of Whang In-shik and Ji Han-jae to really show off their talents. By the end of the decade, the thought of filming a production in Korea and featuring zero Taekwondo or Hapkido practitioners would be an unthinkable one.

While this could be considered a missed opportunity (especially when you consider how much Muay Thai was showcased in Duels of Fists and The Angry Guest), the fact that Four Riders is from the era when everyone involved was in their prime, makes it easy to forgive. Lung and Chiang weren’t the only pair with whom Cheh had forged a successful working relationship, with action choreographers Lau Kar Leung and Tong Gaai equally contributing to the popularity of his output. By the time of Four Riders, Kar Leung and Gaai had choreographed over 20 of the directors movies together, dating back to The Magnificent Trio from 1966. Here the duo had plenty of martial arts talent to work with, as joining Lung and Chiang to complete the Four Riders of the title, are fellow Shaw regulars Chen Kuan Tai and Wong Chun.

The title is a reference to the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, as read by a bible brandishing Chen Kuan Tai to his nurse girlfriend, and alluding to the characters themselves. The best thing about this scene is that, as Kuan Tai reads the passage, scenes of the horsemen in battle play concurrently via a split screen, indicating that if Chang Cheh had ever decided to make a biblical adaptation, it would have been suitably epic and bloody. I question whether these scenes were filmed specifically for this sequence, or if perhaps they’re unused footage from The Heroic Ones made 2 years prior, however in either case, they work within the context of the scene.

The setting for the movie itself is July 1953, immediately after the end of the Korean War. Ti Lung plays a Chinese G.I. stationed in one of the Korean army bases, and having declared to his superior that he no longer works for him now that the war’s over, tears off his stripes and instigates a mass brawl. While the other G.I.’s are busy fighting each other, Lung takes the opportunity to steal a jeep. Armed with his army pay-out and no plans for the future, his only goal is to drive to Seoul and live it up for as long as he can. On the way he picks up another wandering G.I., played by Wong Chun (who amusingly jumps off a wall into the jeep as it’s driving past, reminding us that amongst all of Cheh’s trademark macho heroics, he always had an eye for the goofy), and the pair make their way to Seoul together.

Much like Cheh’s Thailand and Japan set productions, the pairs drive into the Seoul cityscape plays out like a travelogue, as the camera lingers and takes in the surrounding sights and monuments, all the while played to a funky 70’s lounge track. Indeed despite the setting supposedly being 1953, it’s a hard sell to say the least. The music, fashion, and even surroundings are all distinctly 1972. Most glaringly, in a latter nightclub scene, Cheh can’t seem to resist the opportunity to do a similar travelogue like montage of Seoul’s neon sign lit streets, further indicating that the reference to 1953 is almost supposed to be taken as thematic rather than literal. Chun has plans to visit his friend in hospital that was wounded in action, played by Chen Kuan Tai, and the pair go their separate ways upon arriving in the Korean capital.

It’s worth noting that Chiang also plays a G.I., one who is already in Seoul, and spends all of his time witling away his money in a hostess bar (amusingly named ‘Hello John!’) with Shaw Brothers starlet Lily Li. Chiang doesn’t actually meet the others until over an hour in, but he’s present throughout, as the story establishes his friendship with Lung. It’s when Lung is framed for murder that he’s reunited with Chun, as the hospital also doubles as a temporary prison, and his insistence that he’s innocent prompts his new friend to get to the bottom of what’s gone down. In fact Lung has been framed by the gangster that runs ‘Hello John!’, which acts as a front to recruit money hungry and jobless G.I.’s to act as drug mules to shift product, imported from Japan, to the U.S.

The Japan connection is significant, as it explains the casting of a fresh faced Yasuaki Kurata as the gangster in question. It was director Cheh that gave Kurata his break in Hong Kong, with The Angry Guest being his debut from the same year. Interestingly the Japanese star spent the remainder of the 70’s in independent bashers, only once returning to the Shaw Brothers studio to feature in Lau Kar Leung’s 1978 masterpiece, Heroes of the East. Decked out in a sharp black suit, he certainly looks the part, and exudes a menacing cool. Until we get to the scenes in which he interacts with his American boss, and he’s suddenly dubbed into English by what sounds like a softly spoken teenage boy. In fact all of the cast are dubbed at various points in the movie, either to speak English, or more frequently to speak Korean.

Four Riders deals with some interesting themes, even if they’re not explored in a particularly competent way. Chang Cheh was, after all, called the Godfather of the Kung Fu Film, not the Godfather of Existentialism. However the theme of the G.I.’s becoming aimless wanderers after the war creates some moments that resonate. In one particular scene, a guards asks Lung why everyone is fighting as he drives out of the base in his newly acquired jeep, to which he responds, “I wouldn’t know. But still, it’s been a long war. They’ve got to fight somebody.” The movie also opens and closes with wide shots of Korea’s snow covered countryside, which play out in silence, allowing us to occasionally glimpse the outline of 4 figures wading through the harsh landscape, before focusing on a single flower that’s bloomed from the bitter conditions. Indeed the war may be over, but beauty takes time to return.

However more than anything, Four Riders is, like any Chang Cheh flick, about the action. While there are several brawls throughout, including an intense throwdown between Chiang and Kurata at the 40 minute mark, the extended finale is really the highlight. Lung, Chun, and Kuan Tai face off against a horde of about 50 attackers in a gymnasium (which of course, comes with a trampoline), in a skirmish that literally has bodies flying all over the screen, while Chiang throws down against an equally ferocious group of attackers in the bar. Watching this particular scene again now, I can’t help but feel that Gareth Evans was giving it a nod with the scene in The Raid 2, in which Yayan Ruhian is ambushed in a remarkably similar setting. Chiang has never looked more furious than he does here, even more so than in the finale of Vengeance!, as he stomps on heads, delivers kicks to the face, and even scalps someone amidst a joyous amount of collateral damage.

The brawl in the gym is equally energetic, which has Lung at one point brandishing a barbell as a weapon, providing the Shaw Brothers fake blood department with plenty of work. The scene even throws in an early example of heroic bloodshed, giving an indicator of how Cheh’s apprentice John Woo developed his style. The sheer number of opponents the trio have to fend off, and the flow of choreography to coordinate such a mass showdown, is a joy to watch. Even Kurata enjoys it, who spends the initial stages calmly brandishing a Winchester rifle as he watches on, cigarette hanging from his lips. Watching any Chang Cheh movie of this nature, you know how it’s going to end, and Four Riders delivers the characters of its title a worthy finale, providing a liberal helping of fists, feet, bullets, and bloody mayhem.

As a self-confessed fan of this era from Chang Cheh’s filmography, for me Four Riders is on par with the likes of The Duel and Blood Brothers as the cream of the crop. Sure it gets goofy, such as the surveillance camera in the gangsters office being able to follow a fight around the room when being watched on TV. But for every goofy scene, you have one that exudes macho cool, like when Chiang confidently swigs directly from a bottle of Johnnie Walker, and Kurata calmly puts a bullet through it courtesy of a gun fitted with a silencer. For whatever reason, Four Riders often seems to be overlooked when discussing Cheh’s best movies, so if you haven’t seen it, do yourself a favour and check it out.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7.5/10

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“Hex” Blu-ray Cover

Director: Kuei Chih-Hung
Producer: Runme Shaw
Cast: Tien Ni, Wong Yung, Chan Si Gaai, Shum Lo, Lee Sau Kei, Hon Gwok Choi, Ma Chao, Chan Laap Ban, Lau Yat Fan, Wong Ching Ho, Stephen Chan Yung
Running Time: 90 min.

By Martin Sandison

Hex is the first release from 88 Films’ new “88 Asia” Collection. This UK-based label is known its horror/exploitation releases, and have pledged with this new line to release full HD Blu-rays with supplemental material. As a flagship for this, Hex is wonderful. The picture is clear, not upscaled, and the extras feature some good information from the ever-present, Hong Kong film historian, Bey Logan.

Unfortunately, the film itself is a little disappointing. Of course the viewer has to take into account that Hex was made in 1980 and has dated, especially in its approach to effective horror. But as far as Asian-style atmospherics and Shaw Brothers charm are concerned, there is much to be enjoyed.

Set sometime in the early 20th century, Hex begins as Chun Yu (Wong Yung, Bastard Swordsman) beats his consumption-riddled wife Chan Sau Ying (Tanny Tien Ni, The Magic Blade). Along the way, the daughter of a family friend, Leung Yi Wah (Chan Sze Kai, Buddha’s Palm), offers to help out by looking after Chan. Together, the two plot to murder Chun, which results in them being haunted by his ghost, or so it seems…

Hex starts off well, but the mix of horror, comedy and drama doesn’t do it any favours as the plot develops. Hex is overlong, with the entire comedic interlude pointless. Ma Chao, who appeared in countless films of the time (recognisable from his trademark “crossed eyes”) is heavily featured in this section. Suffice to say, it’s tiresome.

On the plus side, the film’s set design, roving camerawork and lighting are of high standards. The family’s house is especially creepy and is used brilliantly by director Kuei Chih Hung (The Gold Connection), who began as an assistant director for Shaws in the 60’s, graduating to director later on. He helmed one of the most notorious Hong Kong horror films, The Killer Snakes (1974), and went from strength to strength after this.

Hex shows signs of a good eye and attention to detail in its aesthetic. There are definitely some good ideas when it comes to horror devices. In one scene, a disembodied hand crawls on its fingers towards a victim… if Sam Raimi didn’t see this before making Evil Dead 2, I would be very surprised; such is the similarity to that masterpiece. Also, the ending’s ritual, filmed with surrealistic visuals, is something to appreciate.

The scares, which may have been effective at the time, are predictable and silly for today’s standards. This is unfortunate, given the Shaw Brothers approach to their action films (made during the same year) have certainly not lost any impact.

Those looking to get their adrenalin pumping with a scary Asian movie, look elsewhere. But if you want a strong atmosphere, laced with the period stylings of a Shaw Brothers film, then check it out.

Martin Sandison’s Rating: 6.5/10

The post Hex (1980) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“The Black Tavern” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Teddy Yip
Producer: Run Run Shaw
Cast: Shih Szu, Ku Feng, Dean Shek Tien, Tung Li, Wong Hap, Yue Fung, Kong Ling, Kwok Chuk Hing, Lee Ho, Barry Chan Wai Ji Wan, Chan Chan Kong, Unicorn Chan, Cheung Hei, Chiang Nan, Chu Gam, Ho Kei Cheong
Running Time: 83 min.

By Matija Makotoichi Tomic

Seems it’s impossible to write a review about The Black Tavern without mentioning King Hu. When it comes to inn-based wuxia films, who could match the skill and the vision of this undisputed master? After seeing what Hu can do, did it really make sense making a movie that probably owes it’s very existence to the classics he has blessed us with? Well, actually it did, becuase even though Teddy Yip lacks that touch of zen that made Hu the King of the genre, his movie follows a different formula but ultimately delivers and should be recommended for it’s pure entertainment value if nothing else.

When a shabby monk sings a song about the corrupt official who’s heading south carrying treasure he mounted through the years, the greedy bunch of no-goods surrounding him starts scheming on how to get their hands on the loot. Soon, they begin gathering at the remote inn waiting for their target to come.

Director Teddy Yip had an interesting directing career. In 1971, he made a movie called The Blade Spares None, lovely swordplay with Nora Miao as Miss Ho, a heroine dressed in red known by her nickname “The Blade That Spares None.” It was his first and only movie for Golden Harvest, followed later that same year with The Eunuch, his first movie made for Shaw Brothers studio.

The Black Tavern came next and was his second and last SB movie. Not having a major studio to support him didn’t slow Teddy Yip down, he continued his work and eventually ended up directing some very well known and well-reputed Beardy flicks. Even though it was only his third movie, The Black Tavern is made with considerable skill. Teddy used what he had to maximum efficiency starting with the inn that he turned into a stage on which he successfully gave life to his vision. It is the combination of those inn shots with the snow covered exteriors that give this movie a unique atmosphere; imagine The Hateful Eight with swordsmen, an inn in place of a haberdashery and SB sets covered with false snow instead  of the beautiful, 70mm snowy Colorado scenery. Needless to say that the lack of real snow or location shooting didn’t result in ruining the general impression, nor the atmosphere for that point.

What makes the whole inn gathering situation so interesting is the fact that it seems there aren’t any good guys as they all seem to have bad intentions. It will take until the final third of the movie to filter the potentialy good ones from the rest of the thieving lot. Here’s where Ku Feng takes his chance to shine and be proven best while he is the worst of them all. His is the role of the infamous Whipmaster and his perfomance is flawless. Even the whip action he delivers is more impressive than what can be seen in Lo Wei’s 1971, SB classic The Shadow Whip with Chang Pei Pei doing the whipping.

Another rightful legend appears in The Black Tavern: it is pale-faced Wu Ma as the false corpse herder with a deceitful plan which includes the Five Ghosts of Xiang Xi he’s the leader of. Dean Shek has the role of the aforementioned singing monk. His character is (as expected) not a serious one and his performance only borderline goofy this time.

Last but not least is Shih Szu, SB beauty who gets more and more screen time as the movie reaches its end. She is Caibing (Cuiping), a student of Lady Hermit, obviously reprising her role from Ho Meng-Hua’s The Lady Hermit made one year prior to this movie. These movies share the same writer, Yip Yat-Fong, so that explains  the connection. While in the first movie Caibing was searching for Lady Hermit wanting to become her student, here she’s continuing her master’s quest to cleanse the martial arts world from scum.This connection is not enough to make The Black Tavern a sequel to The Lady Hermit but could in a way be considered its spin-off.

Even though Chang Cheh deflowered the martial arts audience shedding heroic blood all over his films, somehow it still surprises me to see an old schooler as bloody as this one is. There are a few imaginative decapitations which are all but boring and already seen, and the villain takeout should be filed under: legendary. Violence here is satisfactorily brutal and spices up what is already a fine action.

If you ask me, I would say The Back Tavern is definitely above average. I was watching old SB stuff randomly these days and I can say this one succeded where others have failed. First of all, in keeping my attention for the whole time but also in getting that smile on my face that means I’ve just seen a really good movie. So, if you’re not on a mission to watch every martial arts movie SB studio ever produced but are interested in more than just the best of, you won’t miss with this one. I doubt Tsai Ming-Liang would ever consider making a movie called Goodbye Black Tavern since it’s not major league material as King Hu’s masterwork, but it offers more than expected in less than 90 minutes of your time.

Matija Makotoichi Tomic’s Rating: 7.5/10

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“The Swift Knight” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Jeong Chang Hwa
Producer: Runme Shaw
Cast: Lo Lieh, Yau Lung, Chan Shen, Wong Hap, Margaret Hsing Hui, Chin Han, Fang Mien, Chai No, Tung Lam, Wong Chung Shun, Fan Mei Sheng, Hsu Yu, Mama Hung, Lau Kar Wing, Lee Pang Fei, Ou-Yang Sha Fei, Shum Lo
Running Time: 81 min.

By Matthew Le-feuvre

Up to his much lamented death in 2002 from heart failure, former stalwart, international cult icon and introspective celebrity, Lo Lieh will be fondly remembered in martial arts film circles for being cast as perennial miscreats, anti-heroes or unsympathetic characters. Yet, beyond all the demoniacal frowning, sadism and (the) obligatory mocking guffaws, there was so much more depth and refinement to this late star than critics would dare like to admit.

Overworked, underpaid and definitely underrated, Lieh’s frenetic career could almost be perceived as a dereliction of his true creativity in spite of kickstarting the whole “Kung Fu craze” in the West with the enormously influential King Boxer (1972) – better known as Five Fingers of Death – essentially, the first Hong Kong import from the prestigious Shaw Brothers to be marketed and distributed by Warners. Sadly, Lieh never received the credit he was due. He was just another stock-actor in a field of many, defined only as ‘a number’ until executives kept reanimating him like some contractual golem – submissive and robotic to the commands of a studio director (whose sole objective was to be on budget for an expedited release) – and even then, Lo Lieh was constantly overshadowed by the princely leads of David Chiang, Ti Lung and Fu Sheng. These were a handful of reasons why other contemporar­ies such as Chi Kuen Chun (not to be confused with fellow traditionalist, Chen Kwan Tai) couldn’t wait to escape their legal agreement(s) with the Shaws’.

However, there was a time when Lieh illuminated the jade screen as a hero of chivalrous magnificence, expressing a quiet charm, grace and spiritual enigmatism that was far more appealing in (polar) contrast to his iniquitous behaviour on offer within the narrative of stapled classics: 36th Chamber of Shaolin (1978), Mad Monkey Kung Fu (1979) and Dirty Ho (1979) for instance, as well as the creme dela creme of ethnic prejudice (as) allegorized through the representation of fighting styles; this of course is Wang Yu’s seminal trendsetter, The Chinese Boxer (1970). In it, Lieh apes with cocksure barbarity, as he struts, chops and fly kicks his way through an echelon of brave, but inexperienced mainlanders, leaving behind a pyre of broken bodies while his Japanese accomplices specialize in eye-gouging and dismemberment. Surprisingly, this was a far cry from Lieh’s previous excursion into the mindset of heroic patriotism or, contrarily, self sacrifice in the aid of the exploited.

Here, snarls aside – before Lieh took up the quentessential ‘vill­ian’ mantle full-time – pictures shot and essembled in a similar vein to The Swift Knight (1971) feel innocuous, formal and yet idiosyncratic compared to The Chinese Boxer, and future incarnations such as the demented Chao Chin from The Human Lanterns (1982) or the odious Pei Mei (believed to be a joint catalyst behind Shaolin’s inital destruction). Lieh, naturally, reveled in his portrayal for Lau Kar Leung’s master­piece Executioners from Shaolin (1977). He later reprised this role for his own version or remake, depending on one’s own perspect­ive. It was a challenge indeed for the Indonesian-born star, but the result, otherwise generally titled in certain territo­ries as Clan of the White Lotus (1980), apparently thrilled packed houses into a frenzy as open mouthed audiences marveled at Gordon Liu’s desperate attempts to find the secret of Pei Mei’s alternating life-force.

For some fans, this was the pinacle of Lieh’s repertoire. After that, the inevitability of typecasting would take precedence over the luxury of personal choices, and nostalgic recalls of Lieh in his heyday would be confined to the ebbing memories of plaudits old enough to be around at a time when Wu Xia was dominant, experimental and downright exhilarating. The Swift Knight, although again ‘essembled’ in that habitual manner we’ve all come too appreciate, lovingly encapulates all these qualities regard­less of a patent script, carbon sub-characters or an over familarity with (studio constructed) bamboo forests, isolated taverns, bustling gambling houses or elaborate palace interiors where a corrupt sovereign determines the fates of the working classes. Evocatively, all these nuances are – if one deeply observes – innumerably recycled to the point of being a requis­ite necessacity.

The Swift Knight is directed by future Lo Lieh collaborator, Jeong Chang Hwa (King Boxer, The Association). This Korean-born filmmaker, unlike the prolific Chang Cheh, wasn’t interested in the theme of brotherhood per se or political metaphors. Instead, his target was to pepper the human senses through simple story­ telling, less complex action choreography (despite the inclusive tools of wire-work and trampolines) and minimal dialogue; especially from Lieh, who tends too convey his character’s soul through expressionless glares and slow-eye movements. When confronted, he erupts into a balletic dynamo, scything through a barrage of inferior antagonists with ease and majestic presence. His sword, truthfully and quite literally, becomes an extension of himself, eventhough Lieh’s motives are primarily somewhat ambivalent, largely because the screenplay centres around the Prince Regent’s drastic search to eliminate his half brother/sister, Qin Rue and Xian Qin (Margaret Hsing); heirs apparent to the throne.

Interacting with the sibblings (each incognito as lowly peasants), via a shared providence, is Lei Fan (Lieh) aka ‘the swift knight,’ a wanderer who embezzles tax funds from magitrates to finance his solitary lifestyle; a vagabond named Lu Xian Ping (Chin Han), who’s actually a secret service general dispatched to find the heirs and safely deliver them to the Emperor; and a discredited guard (Fan Mei Sheng). Their paths intertwine while pursued by the Prince’s loyal Assassin, Zu Pao, a relentless brute posing as part of an imperial envoy. However, his identity is exposed along­with the Regent’s inimical ambitions to seize power. It all becomes a deadly race against time, and numerous foes, as the once incongruous trio unite to restore a semblance of political harmony under Xian Qin’s rule.

Verdict: Mixing romance with political intrigue, The Swift Knight richly deserves to be catagorized into that niche of signifi­cant landmark pictures: The One Armed Swordsman (1967) or Have Sword will Travel (1969) continually springs to mind for the majority. Sadly, The Swift Knight, unwillingly, for some critics fits into that mould in “Not quite being a classic!” Nevertheless, there is still enough breathtaking imagery: particularly the opening credits of Lei Fan striding across open praries; nocturnal rooftop encounters; as well as kinetic swordplay sequences, featuring Lieh’s almost supernatural deployments against Zu Pao’s impaling projectiles.

Matthew Le-feuvre’s Rating: 7.5/10

The post Swift Knight, The (1971) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Mercenaries from Hong Kong” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Wong Jing
Cast: Ti Lung, Chan Wai Man, Candice Yu On On, Nat Chan Pak Cheung, Lo Lieh, Ngaai Fei, Philip Ko Fei, Wong Yu, Johnny Wang, Yuen Wah, Lee Hoi San, Aai Dung Gwa, Cheng Miu, Cheung Gwok Wa, To Wai Wo
Running Time: 90 min.

By Matthew Le-feuvre

Known for his affable personality as well as an eccentric reputation for having “fingers in many pies” pursuits, Wong Jing began his steadfast career at the Shaw Brothers’ prominent movie town enclosure, learning the logistics of a machination that was, essentially, built upon committment, self opportunity and the ability to present original concepts within a studio production collectively. And, like most of his peers, he excelled himself as a notable scriptwriter and 2nd unit director prior to being exclusively upgraded to a full directing credit with casino/gambling sensations: Challenge of the Gamesters (1981) and Winner Takes All (1982); both pictures – unreleased in the western hemisphere – featured the late, sorely missed Wong Yue; stalwart ‘Shaw’ contractee, Chen Kwan Tai; and the rather underrated, long redundant Patrick Wu, as principal stock players.

In addition to producing or working over the years with highly ranked A-listers – such as Jackie Chan, Jet Li, Simon Yam and Michelle Yeoh – Jing maintained a collaborative and personal friendship with quirky funnyman, Lolento Chan (The Magic Crystal), himself a regular participant of whatever production Jing is currently involved in. However, no stranger to the art of performance – giggles aside – this spirited filmmaker has also delighted in gracing the jade screen with truly demented Hitchcockian-type cameos (ala Twin Dragons (1992), playing an inffectual faith healer), yet contemporary audiences are probably more familiar with Jing’s controversial and extremely viscreal 90’s features: The Naked Killer (1992) and The Last Blood (1991), although both City Hunter (1992) and the wire-fu laden Last Hero in China (1993) had been designedly toned down at a time when age restricted categories were systematically endorsed; these alternative, but no less enjoyable popcorn distractions, were/are still endulgent enough to satisfy even the most hardened of cynics.

Indeed, Jing’s world of ‘make believe,’ often surrealist approach is ebulliently crafted in a way the great Tsui Hark or even the nihilistic John Woo may wince with envy or applaud with competitive enthusiasm. In equal designation, technically, these resourceful, gifted and innovative visionaries basically retain a similar celluloid style: multiple quick edits and an inordinate bodycount are two personalized touchstones that tends to inspire audience appreciation, but can simultaneously infuriate critics for lack of realism or originality. Nevertheless, after continued exposure absurdity becomes championed by escapism in its purest form, which is why a film like Mercenaries from Hong Kong might have struggled either commercially or (in) dealing with censorship issues if had it been released following the wake of John Woo’s A Better Tomorrow (1986) sequence or Ringo Lam’s City on Fire (1987).

Mercenaries from Hong Kong is bloody, gritty and extremely fast-paced, as one would expect from a Hong Kong picture. Jing’s unappologetic third foray behind the camera dispenses with storyline subtleties or complexities from the outset. Either by choice or tactful administration, he also limits himself from using over elaborate production values, special effects or convoluted dialogue seemingly by steering directly to the crux without pretension or stylized self glorification as Mercenaries from Hong Kong opens to a rock orientated soundtrack and unusual close-up shots of a heavily tattooed enforcer Luo Li (Ti Lung), rigorously weight-training for a solo revenge assignment against a triad-linked drug dealer, who’d previously and intentionally hooked Li’s niece to heroin dependency.

In a scene blatantly lifted from Andrew V. McClagen’s political action hybrid The Wild Geese (1979), featuring then-James Bond sensation, Roger Moore: Li force-feeds his target with his own narcotics, thus inducing death. Barely escaping, Li options (as anyone would do!) to go underground as he discovers a contract has been circulated for him, via a prevailing triad fraternity.

Conveniently at this juncture, Li is approached by a mysterious lady named, Hei-Ying (Yvonne Yu), whose tycoon father had been murdered by an assassin, Na Wei (Philip Kao). Ying propersitions Li to (A): hunt down Wei, (B): kill him and (C): retrieve an audio tape containing top illicit business deals which is in Wei’s possession. In return for Li’s services, Ying offers the luxury of both money and freedom if he journeys to the treacherous jungles of Cambodia to fulfill his mission. Agreeing with her terms, Li assembles a special team of former army comrades comprising of Lei Tai (Lo Lieh), a sniper trained soldier who desperately needs capital for his daughter’s kidney transplant; Hong Fan (Wang Lung Wei), a driving ace; conman/cabaret nightclub performer, Curry (Wong Yue) and womanizing explosive expert, Blanche (Lo-Lanto Chan). Together, after confronting numerous obsticles, both in Hong Kong and Cambodia, the mercs reach their objective where Na Wei is being protected by a guerrilla army that discreetly trades opium for weapons or medical supplies. Posing as smugglers they gain entrance, capture Na Wei and learn all isn’t what it appears to be. Suspicion, dissension, duplicitousness and sacrifice ensues at an untold price.

Verdict: Motifs of brotherhood, loyality and naturally, betrayal, are all quinessential elements which one favourably reconciles with, despite the fact of being proverbially generic, either erswhile or in contemporary terms. However, solid performances (especially from Ti Lung) and consummate fight choreography including very few explosive set pieces, otherwise reinforces Mercenaries from Hong Kong from plummeting into total obscurity. Although at intervals, reprehensible and horrifically violent, but never commonplace, this slice of exploitational cinema, perspectively, is an unique exploration into military bravado and criminal machiavellianism.

Matthew Le-feuvre’s Rating: 8/10

The post Mercenaries from Hong Kong (1982) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“The Boxer from the Temple” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: John Lo Mar
Cast: Ng Yuen Jun, Kwan Feng, Wong Mei Mei, Lau Fong Sai, Wang Sha, Lam Fai Wong, Lau Hok Nin, Keung Hon, Cheng Miu, Chiang Cheng, Baan Yun Sang, Chan Fai Kei, Cheung Hei, Chin Siu Ho, Chow Gam Kong, Chui Fat
Running Time: 92 min.

By Martin Sandison

Being the two main choreographers of the classic Shaw Brothers output, Lau Kar Leung and Tang Chia’s contribution to martial arts cinema with the great studio cannot be denied. The Venoms came in to their own towards the end, but one man to me is the third best and creator of some of the finest Shaws action: Hsu Hsia.

Beginning as an extra and actor in the 60’s, he appeared in ridiculous amount of classics including The Duel and The Deadly Duo. As the late 70’s Independent kung fu boom occurred, he worked on the action in the immortal Snake in the Eagle’s Shadow and Drunken Master under Yuen Woo Ping. He also acted in the latter as the ‘King of Sticks’, his most memorable part.

In 1979, Hsu moved back to Shaws as head choreographer and made two films: Five Superfighters and Boxer from the Temple. The former needs no introduction, and stands as one of the undisputed classics of the time, Shaw or not. As a viewer, I knew of and loved Five Superfighters, but was less aware of Boxer from the Temple. My anticipation mounted, and I hoped not to be disappointed.

The film is very interesting because it takes existing kung fu movie tropes of the time and twists them to create something with a little originality. The almost universal trope of the baby left by its sick/dying mother at a place of refuge opens the film, as the young one is left at the steps of the Shaolin Temple by the ‘mad lady’ who is never present onscreen. As in most genre films of the time, the lad is an outcast but is then trained by a Monk who takes a liking to him. The Temple scenes are short and to the point and the lad, nicknamed ‘Crazy Kid’ is cast out in the world not through his wrongdoings, just because he doesn’t fit in. He arrives at a village and makes friends easily, and becomes a chef in a Vegetarian restaurant! There, he gets involved with the local gangsters and ends up befriending a prostitute who has ran away from a brothel and has a young son.

It is no surprise that the screenplay is written by Ni Kuang, perhaps the all time greatest kung fu movie creator. By 1979, Kuang was dividing his time between Shaws and independent studios, and had written my childhood favourite Death Duel of Kung Fu the same year. His ability to weave simple storylines into classic kung fu is undeniable, and Boxer From the Temple sees him really challenge himself. The dialogue and actions of the ‘Crazy Kid’ are at turns naive, naturalistic and surprising for a kung fu film; one scene sees him discussing the prostitute, with such an innocent mindset that he didn’t consider her former profession a hindrance to their getting together. This reinforces the depth of the depiction of his character tenfold, and sets up the bite of the reality sandwich that occurs later in the narrative.

Starring as ‘Crazy Kid’, Ng Yuen Jun appeared in Five Superfighters in one of the main roles, and carries Boxer from the Temple like a veteran. He is in A Deadly Secret, also choreographed by Hsu Hsia. That’s definitely on my list. It’s a shame Ng’s career never really took off, as his action and acting chops are exemplary. In Boxer from the Temple, he really gets to shine, and it is his signature role.

Starring as the prostitute San Niang, Wong Mei Mei made her debut in the film. She also has small roles in some other Shaw films, such as Holy Flame of the Martial World and Roving Sworsdman. She was a favourite of Hsu Hsia, and worked on a lot of the films he was involved in. The penultimate villain is played by Lau Hok Nin as Lian Shang Yao, who was an independent player, only working on a few Shaw movies, mostly involving Hsu Hsia.

The ultimate villain Wang Chang Huai is played by Kwan Fung, who was in plenty of Shaw movies subsequent to Boxer From the Temple, including one of my personal favourites (with one of the best titles ever) Bastard Sworsdman, and one of the deepest Shaw movies Opium and the Kung Fu Master.

Playing Xiao Hei, ‘Crazy Kid’s’ best friend, Lau Fong Sai gets some good fight scenes and proves his kicking ability in a dramatic scene towards the end. A Shaw stalwart, his most unusual credit is main action director on Tsui Hark’s A Better Tomorrow 3. Presumably he took over the role of pyrotechnics after the Vietnamese film maker they hired blew himself up!

As the film’s first half progressed, I was impressed by the trope-breaking approach, but not by the action. Slow and overly comedic in approach with some terrible music cues, I was disappointed. However, this movie is another one wherein the fights get better as the movie goes on. By the third main fight I was in raptures, as Ng takes on room after room of baddies with excellent rhythm and a Chan-worthy comedic delivery. The end fight as he takes on both villains contains some stuff that’s up there with the best of Five Superfighters, and intensity-wise is a suitable payoff for the interesting narrative.

The film is in my humble opinion much more engaging story-wise than Five Superfighters, as that film was very formulaic. However the first rate level of the choreography and the frequency of the fights give it ultimate classic status. Unfortunately Boxer from the Temple suffers a little in this aspect, but the second half action more than makes up for this, and it is up there with the better lesser known Shaw Brothers films.

Martin Sandison’s Rating: 8.5/10

The post Boxer from the Temple, The (1979) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires” Japanese Theatrical Poster

AKA: Seven Brothers Meet Dracula
Director: Roy Ward Baker
Co-director: Chang Cheh
Cast: Peter Cushing, John Forbes-Robertson, David Chiang, Robin Stewart, Julie Ege, Shih Szu, Chan Shen, Tino Wong Cheung, Fung Hak On, Lau Wai Ling, Lau Kar Wing, Wong Pau Gei, Lo Wai, James Ma Chim Si
Running Time: 89 min.

By Zach Nix

The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires is a fun martial arts film co-produced by the Hong Kong based Shaw Brothers and the British centric Hammer Pictures. While most action fans are familiar with the Shaw Brothers, some may not be as familiar with Hammer. Hammer Pictures was a British production company that flourished in the late 50s and 60s with their colorful and Gothic horror films that made stars out of Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing. Technicolor classics of theirs include Horror of Dracula, The Curse of Frankenstein, and The Mummy, all starring Lee and Cushing.

Hammer eventually made attempts to revitalize their production company as Gothic horror went out of style in the 70s. Therefore, Hammer got in on the martial arts craze when they teamed up with the Shaw Brothers for The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires. The two companies set out to produce an action film that would offer the best of what each studio had to offer, as well as two of their biggest stars: Peter Cushing (Horror of Dracula) and David Chiang (Vengeance). Even though this action/horror hybrid is a blast to watch, the film lacks the distinct qualities that made the best Hammer and Shaw films classics.

The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires opens with a prologue set in 1804 in Transylvania where a man named Kah tracks down the infamous Count Dracula. Kah begs Dracula to revive the seven golden vampires in China so that their reign of terror may continue. Dracula agrees, but only if he can take over Kah’s body in order to escape his castle. The film than fast-forwards 100 years to Chung King, China where Professor Van Helsing (Peter Cushing) lectures on a Chinese legend concerning the seven golden vampires. One of the students, Hsi Ching (David Chiang), reveals his relation to the man in Helsing’s story and proclaims the legend to be true. Ching and his seven brothers offer for Helsing, as well as his son and their new friend Vanessa (Julie Ege), the chance to travel to the village of Pang Kwei with them in order to destroy the golden vampires once and for all.

There is no denying that The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires is a fun blend of Hong Kong martial arts and Hammer Gothic horror. You would be hard pressed to find any other film in existence that features hopping vampires, Peter Cushing, and martial arts. Therefore, The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires excels based purely on its uniqueness and blend of genres. Unfortunately, the film is only able to represent the most superficial elements of each company, thereby lacking the strong points that made each company’s strongest films classics.

For example, a Hammer classic like The Mummy is a great film because it blends Gothic horror and monstrous action with memorable characters and deep themes. The film offers the kind of B-movie entertainment that you expect, but achieves greatness through its romanticized tone, lavish sets, and excellent costume design. The same can be said for a Shaw Brothers classic like The 36th Chamber of Shaolin. Shaolin features the death defying stunt work and jaw dropping fight choreography that you expect from a martial arts genre picture. However, the film also features strong character work and themes of enlightenment and Buddhism. Shaw, much like Hammer, blended B-movie entertainment with great filmmaking when they were at their best. Unfortunately, The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires never excels beyond basic B-movie entertainment, thereby delivering the most superficial elements (i.e. the boobs and the blood) of each studio.

The cast is a lot of fun, as the film features both Peter Cushing and David Chiang in dual lead roles. Cushing portrays Van Helsing once again for Hammer as a man who has decided to move to China to look for the seven golden vampires. However, he gets more than he bargained for when he ultimately realizes that Dracula himself is behind the raising of the seven vampires. The film itself has no true connection to any previous Hammer Dracula film, even though Cushing returns as Helsing. Even Dracula himself is recast, with John Forbes-Robertson taking over for Christopher Lee. Dracula fans should be warned though that the lord of darkness only appears in the film for mere minutes.

Chiang plays Hsi Ching, a man who decides to team up with Helsing in order to rid China of vampires. Chiang doesn’t do much more than kick monster butt and destroy people left and right during his action sequences. He gets to partake in a little bit of romance with Norwegian actress Julie Ege as well. Surprisingly, even the aged Peter Cushing gets in on the action. However, his fight choreography never excels beyond anything more than swinging a flaming stake around.

I wish I could overlook Legend’s plentiful flaws and simply embrace its B-movie goodness, but I just can’t. The film suffers from extremely uneven pacing; opening with an unnecessarily long prologue, than a 100-year jump in time, followed by a lengthy flashback. This film, along with its plot and character motivations, are all over the place. After all, it takes some creative thinking to come up with a reason for Dracula to move to China of all places.

The fight sequences, while manic and bloody, are never particularly exciting or gripping. Besides an impressive bout between the seven brothers and a group of men in an open field, Legend features several uneven fights where characters either defeat their enemies with ease or fall at their hands conveniently. This unfair balance deprives the film of any danger or stakes (get it, stakes) and makes the characters’ fates all the less worrisome. Stronger action sequences, as well as more finely tuned characters, would have strengthened Legend’s action/horror hybrid proceedings.

Even though I spent most of this review bashing The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires, I still recommend it to the uninitiated. The film is a fun historical gem in which two legendary and iconic companies teamed up to produce a film that offered each of their stars and genres. While most definitely a far cry from each company’s best, Legend is still a blast to watch if you turn off your brain and soak in the B-movie goodness. If anything, The Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires should be on your viewing list come next Halloween if you need a little action to go with your horror. Just don’t expect anything elegant or thematic. This is Hammer/Shaw schlock through and through, courtesy of the year 1974.

Zach Nix’s Rating: 6/10

The post Legend of the 7 Golden Vampires, The (1974) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

"Asia-Pol" Chinese Theatrical Poster

AKA: Asiapol
Director: Ma Chi Ho
Writer: Gan Yamazaki
Producer: Kenzo Asada, Run Run Shaw
Cast: Jimmy Wang Yu, Ryoriko Asaoka, Wong Hap, Cheung Pooi Saan, Yuen Sam, Jo Shishido, Takashina Kaku, Chan Sing, Gam Tin Chue
Running Time: 97 min.

By Matthew Le-feuvre

When Sean Connery announced of his unexpected departure from the James Bond franchise in early ’67, and that You Only Live Twice would be his final entry, disbelief shook the film world. Financiers, investors and fans of Ian Fleming’s popular literary creation fretted, pondered, and even obsessed what direction Britain’s superspy was to recommence from. Understandable, Connery – at this point – had become totally disenchanted with not only the legalities of his contract, but furthermore his artistic constrictions as an actor; despite the fact (away from Bond) he’d sucessfully garnered lead roles in Hitchcock’s psychological thriller Marnie (1964) and the brutal stockade drama The Hill (1965).

Although former model/TV advert star, George Lazenby, had been furtively engaged too replace, even supersede, Connery before eventually sucumbing to the igmony of Albert Broccoli and Harry Saltzman’s alleged “black listing” tactics, numerous powerful studios – including the Shaw Brothers – regarded Connery’s temporary absence (he subsequently returned to the role in 1971 for Diamonds Are Forever and unofficially in 1983 for Never Say Never Again) as as an opportunity to muscle in on the proceedings with their own variations, interpretations and debatable cash-ins: The Man From Uncle (1964-68) and Our Man Flint/In Like Flint (1965/67). Surprisingly, even Connery’s own younger sibling, Neil, starred in Operation Kid Brother (1968), a forgettable slice of hokum, which included the exploitation of the original Bond-essemble (Lois Maxwell, Bernard Lee, etc.) to audaciously re-casting Anthony Dawson and Adolpho Celi in similar antagonist roles as presented under Terence Young’s direction for Dr No (1962) and Thunderball (1965) respectively.

While George Lazenby was being conditioned, groomed and moulded into 007, albeit one-time only; fresh from his groundbreaking performance as the mono-limbed Feng, Jimmy Wang Yu briefly traded in his half-sword for gadgetry of an alternative kind as the modern world of espionage is transported from the gritty industrialism of Japan to the obstreperous back streets, and costal ports of both Hong Kong and Macao. However budget-wise Asiapol fails dramatically from the outset to capture or take advantage of the exotic splendors on offer, unlike its international counterpart You Only Live Twice (also ’67).

Clocking in at just 92 minutes, Asiapol explosively begins with top agent, Chen Ming Xuan (Wang Yu) trailing a gold smuggling organization – headed by a shady character singularly known as ‘George’ – who he suspects are concealing their loads in transport trucks. In a dizzy sequence virtually lifted from the finale of From Russia With Love (1963), a helicopter aerial attack leaves Ming Xuan’s partner, Chen Loong-Seng, fatally wounded while Ming himself narrowly escapes a falling barrage of hand grenades. From there on the potentiality of much eye-brow raising is sadly dampened by obvious femme-fatales, protracted foot pursuits, as well as an obligatory-wining air hostess with a secret – all await Ming as he meanders from one encounter to another avoiding incendiary golf balls (of all things!), a novelty in-car bomb made all too apparent by a “tick-tock” acoustics and an enigmatic assassin named Lai Yu-Tien (Wang Hsia), whose actions appear contradictory on both sides.

It goes without saying that despite these standard plot elements or budgetary reasons for downplaying travelogue landscapes/production values. Rough fistfights are few and far between Ming’s less-than-tense confrontation with nemesis ‘George’ – revealing a trite, almost immature confessional; and a strained ‘would-be’ relationship with Monneypenny-type contact, Miss Sachiko (Ryoriko Asaoka), is repeatedly marred by stale dialogue in addition too tiresome interactions devised in (either) a telephone box, melancholic bars or claustrophobic hotel rooms: yet, all are favourable for expeditious departures.

Verdict: Not in the usual Wang Yu cannon, having begun his career mostly in traditional features. However, over the years Asiapol has been critically deemed as one of the Shaws’ more obscure co-productions (in association with Nikkatsu Films, Japan), eventhough genre-wise, they’d previously bank rolled independent spy thrillers: Operation Macao (1966) and the rather libel James Bond Chinese Style (1967) with varying degrees of commerciality. As for this picture, structurally, Asiapol is (A): disappointingly episodic; (B): convoluted script-wise to being (C): utterly banal. Indeed a little humour would’ve sufficed! Nevertheless, whether or not (?) Wang Yu was conciously aware of these shortcomings, unarguably he returned on better form – not just in physical terms – for Golden Harvest’s vastly superior The Man From Hong Kong (1974).

Matthew Le-feuvre’s Rating: 5/10

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“From Vegas to Macau II” Chinese Theatrical Poster

AKA: The Man from Macau II
Director: Wong Jing
Co-director: Aman Chang
Cast: Chow Yun-fat, Nick Cheung, Carina Lau, Shawn Yue, Angela Wang, Michelle Hu, David Chiang, Kimmy Tong, Philip Keung, Wu Yue, Jin Qiaoqiao, Kenny Wong, Derek Tsang, Connie Man, Rebecca Zhu
Running Time: 110 min.

By Paul Bramhall

The 2014 Lunar New Year movie From Vegas to Macau was far from perfect. It featured a droll performance by Nicolas Tse, an irritating Chapman To, and a wasted action role from Philip Ng. However it also had its pluses, the biggest of which was Chow Yun Fat returning to a Wong Jing directed gambling flick for the first time since Return of the God of Gamblers, made a whole 20 years earlier. Chow, who spent most of those 20 years starring either in Hollywood productions which should have been beneath him, or cardboard cutout period epics from the mainland, couldn’t have had a more welcome return to the world of Hong Kong movies. While From Vegas to Macau was very much a hit and miss affair, just seeing Chow doing his thing front and center in a Hong Kong movie was enough to make it enjoyable.

Wong Jing, never one to let go of a winning formula, sure enough embarked on throwing together From Vegas to Macau 2 in time for the 2015 Lunar New Year. With the original relying almost solely on Chow’s charm, while I like him just as much as the next guy, the prospect of watching another 100 minutes of Chow hamming it up and little else would be stretching even his biggest fans patience. The second installment also does away with most of the supporting cast. Nicolas Tse, Chapman To, and Philip Ng are all gone. Unfortunately so is Jing Tian, who was one of the high points and had good chemistry with Chow. Thankfully though, the new cast ensures none of them are likely to be missed. From Vegas to Macau 2 surrounds Chow with plenty of local Hong Kong talent in the form of Nick Cheung, Shawn Yue, Carina Lau, and even Shaw Brothers legend David Chiang gets a worthy role.

The sequel is also noteworthy as being the Shaw Brothers studio return to feature length filmmaking. Sporting an updated logo for the new millennium, the glossy opening credits provide a worthy accompaniment to the legendary studios come back. It also brings me great relief to say that so does the rest of the movie. From Vegas to Macau 2 does a lot to rectify the faults of its predecessor, and it does so in the way you’d expect a HK Lunar New Year movie to – more action, more spectacle, and more wacky comedy. It should be noted that reviewing any Lunar New Year movie comes with a certain amount of caveats, these productions are never intended to be judged as serious movies, rather they’re supposed to be raucously fun, star filled slices of entertainment for local audiences to enjoy during the New Year festivities.

Previous examples of Lunar New Year productions include the Aces Go Places series, many of the My Lucky Stars movies, Millionaire’s Express, and into the 1990’s most of Jackie Chan and Stephen Chow’s movies were released to coincide with the Lunar New Year. Cohesive storytelling, well developed characters, and if the movie is going to be remembered a few months later are all entirely disregarded when it comes to this genre. Their goal is to entertain, and with this in mind, they should also be reviewed from this perspective.

On the basis of the above, there’s not a lot to dislike about From Vegas to Macau 2. From the moment it starts a breakneck pace is set up of out there humor and random actions scenes, and neither really let up for the duration of the run time. Relaxing with wine on a boat is disturbed by pistol wielding female assassins on jet skis and flyboards (imagine a water powered jet pack, here the first time I’ve seen them used in an action movie), a huge robot with a machine gun arm decimates the interior of an apartment, and gold plated cards are thrown to disarm the enemy. Viewed as a legitimate piece of cinema, From Vegas to Macau 2 is completely stupid and illogical. Viewed as an entertaining way to spend 100 minutes of your life, you could do a lot worse.

It almost feels like a review would be incomplete without a brief plot summary, but really, here the plot is so thin (even in comparison to its predecessor!) that it’s hardly worth mentioning. In a couple of lines though, the evil organization D.O.A. is back, and they have their sites set on Nick Cheung, a former employee who stole a ton of their cash. He’s now on the run with his child daughter, however Interpol are also on his tail, led by Shawn Yue, playing a character who happens to be Chow’s godson. Yue asks Chow to help, and through a series of events Chow ends up buddied up with Cheung in Thailand, which leads to various comedic situations and action. Okay, that was three lines.

Carina Lau also stars as a love interest for Chow, and fans of Taylor Wong’s 1987 flick, Rich and Famous, will no doubt get a kick out of the fact that scenes from the movie, which also starred Chow and Lau as a couple, are used to explain their back story. Despite all the comedic shenanigans, Chow and Lau’s relationship is surprisingly heartfelt, and serves an important part in the finale, delivering some welcome emotional weight to close out proceedings. The same applies to Nick Cheung’s relationship with Yolanda Yuen, and despite their scenes together being remarkably brief, they effectively convey a worthy level of emotion. Although arguably it shouldn’t feel earned considering all the hijinks surrounding such scenes, the quality of their performances somehow make it work.

From Vegas to Macau 2 really excels though when it comes to the action, and it crams in a lot of it. From a raid on a safe house in Thailand 30 minutes in, which contains a fantastic mix of live explosions and stunts, combined with some nice use of GoPro shots, to a Muay Thai match that has one of the most unlikely pairings you’ll ever see – a 60 year old Chow Yun Fat vs. Ken Lo. The match is played for laughs, and provides plenty of them, as Chow hilariously cramps up when trying to throw a kick, and uses stalling tactics which bring to mind Stephen Chow in the finale of Love on Delivery. For those looking for some real toe to toe action though, Shawn Yue gets to briefly throw down a couple of times against Wu Yue, one while handcuffed that sees Wu also agree not to use his hands, and the other in an airplane cabin not dissimilar to a scene in The Transporter 2.

The action is all complimented by the onscreen pairing of Chow and Cheung. Both are great actors, and here they bounce off each other well, whether it be backing each other up in a dodgy Thai casino, or surrounded by a group of hungry crocodiles. From Vegas to Macau 2 is interestingly the second time Cheung has found himself confronting crocodiles while in Thailand, the first being Benny Chan’s awful 2013 action flick The White Storm. The chemistry between the two unintentionally makes the movie a few notches better than it would be had it been another actor left to play Chow’s foil (Nicolas Tse we’re looking at you).

Throw in a bunch of on the mark jokes that reference everything from Donnie Yen, Lost in Thailand, The Walking Dead, Unbeatable, and even Korean drama He Who Came from the Stars, and From Vegas to Macau 2 not only captures the spirit of those 80’s HK ‘everything and the kitchen sink’ movies that we love so much, it genuinely feels like one. For those who have seen the original, the closing couple of minutes wrapped up with an interesting cameo, and the sequel does the same. While last time a few people were left scratching their heads, this time it’s a safe bet that with the closing shot, anyone who counts themselves as even a casual fan of Hong Kong cinema, will most likely be left grinning from ear to ear.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 8/10

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“The Heroic Ones” Chinese Theatrical Poster

AKA: Shaolin Masters
Director: Chang Cheh
Writer: Chang Cheh, Ni Kuang
Producer: Run Run Shaw
Cast: David Chiang, Ti Lung, Chan Chuen, Lily Li Li Li, Chan Sing, Bolo Yeung, Ku Feng, Chin Han, Wang Chung, James Nam Gung Fan, Chan Feng Chen, Cheng Hong Yip
Running Time: 121 min.

By JJ Hatfield

In a time when warring factions fought for a divided China, a powerful Mongol warlord and his thirteen generals ruled the territory with swift and savage force. Any and all who dared challenge their authority were summarily dispatched. They were an invincible force none could defeat, meeting every challenge with supreme confidence, never doubting certain success. To those who counted them on their side they were The Heroic Ones.

Amidst the chaos and conflict of the latter part of the Tang Dynasty, Li Ke-Yung, played by Ku Feng (My Rebellious Son), together with his thirteen generals, is a power to be reckoned with. Li considers all the generals his offspring, lavishing them with the best of everything, denying them nothing. His generals are as enthusiastic about bloody battle as they are about drunken debauchery – every one of them a fierce fighter and arrogant as hell.

The Heroic Ones is directed by the prolific Chang Cheh (Five Deadly Venoms) with David Chiang (Kung Fu Jungle) and Ti Lung (A Better Tomorrow) having standout roles in the large cast. Though an early ‘Iron Triangle’ film, Chiang has the lead role to himself with the most screen time as Li Tsun Hsiao, the youngest of the thirteen and the fond favorite of Li Ke-Yung. Tsun Hsiao is deadly in combat being exceptionally skilled with a spear. He also carries out a unique piece of action choreography during an encounter with an enemy general played by Bolo Yeung of Enter the Dragon fame.

Ti Lung is Shih Ching Szu, the only other brother to recieve much attention from Li Ke-Yung. Though he isn’t the focus of the film, Ti manages to shine in an epic warrior battle against a barrage of hundreds of the enemy. Not only an impressive display of valor but one of the longest fight scenes to be found in a martial movie of any age.

With The Heroic Ones, Chang and his co-writer Kuang Ni (The Pirate) drew from the late 800’s – early 900’s China for the basis of the story with more more than a few liberties taken with the facts. The movie has been noted by some for the effort afforded to costumes and set pieces consistent with the time period and culture, but it should not by any means be taken as a true portrait of history.

If The Heroic Ones was being filmed today, it would feature computer generated armies with one or two actual people doing battle. In 1969, they did it the real way with a couple hundred people and Lau Kar-leung, Tony Gaai, and Lau Kar-wing orchestrating the training and directing for the throng of actors, stuntmen and extras who must appear to be familiar with weapons. The hard work paid off in the realism of fight scenes, many times with one general against a multitude.

Once the onslaught begins, the torrent of enemies rarely lets up. Purely on an action level fans will be thrilled with the profusion of nearly non-stop combat and The Heroic Ones certainly delivers on that count. Unfortunately, the size of the cast is unwieldy even in Chang Cheh’s usually capable hands. And though the film clocks in at a little over two hours, Chang spends little time on character development for the majority of the cast. That decision on Chang’s part ultimately renders the film’s ending unfulfilling, lacking the impact The Heroic Ones could have had.

JJ Hatfield’s Rating: 7.5/10

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“Killer Constable” Chinese Theatrical Poster

AKA: Karate Exterminators
Director: Kuei Chih-Hung
Cast: Chen Kuan Tai, Gam Biu, Ha Ping, Keung Hon, Kong Do, Ku Feng, Kwan Yung Moon, Lam Wai, Lee Chun Hwa, Jason Pai Piao, Walter Tso, Dick Wei, Yuen Wah
Running Time: 92 min.

By Matthew Le-feuvre

Released in the closing years of the Shaw Brothers reign, Kuen Chia Hung’s arresting socio-politically charged actioner confidently reintroduced the interesting, if not debatable, abstraction of misplaced loyalties for the crux of a generous travelogue adventure. Although previously, and obviously, examined by filmmaking giants: Chang Cheh, Liu Chia Liang and Sun Chung; therefore what else could be said, or more appropriately, visually expressed?!

For very few critics it was a tired formula that harkened back to a pioneering decade where local superstars – David Chiang and Ti Lung – were (screen) struggling against corrupt administrations; and/or Tartar influenced monarchies, forfeiting their many incarnations for the sake of national identity. However too hardened Hong Kong audiences, it was an alternative universe where the daily grind of employment could be put aside for a few hours, even though the apprehension of a spiralling economy loomed like an inevitable sunrise. Worse still were the afterthoughts of Thatcher’s impending tense negotiations with mainland China over the prospective future of the colony. This reality was always a favoured metaphor for aspiring screenwriters and filmmakers to exploit, yet shielded their personal concerns behind traditional values.

Indeed, no stranger to controversial themes dealing with either occult imagery (i.e. The Killer Snakes, The Boxer’s Omen), underdog aspirations or ideologies of the criminal classes as overtly depicted in Kuen Chia Hung’s earlier seminal masterpieces: The Teahouse and its highly anticipated follow-up Big Brother Cheng. It was these pictures that started a long association with its leading actor, Cheng Kwan Tai – an unglamourous, if not stoic personality in the Charles Bronson mould who (was) catapulted to international recognition playing the doomed streetfighter-turned-syndicate boss for Chang Cheh’s brutal morality tale: The Boxer from Shantung.

In due course, Tai furthered his career with reprised epitomizations of Shaolin/Hung Gar folkhero Hung Xi Kwan for the aforementioned Cheh and Liu Chia Liang. Yet prior to his extensive affiliation with the Shaw Brothers, Tai – also a former fireman, – had already established a legitimate tournament background where he invariably demonstrated his mental and physical prowess as a ‘Monkey’ stylist competitor. It is not fully known ‘how’ and ‘where’ Tai became involved within the HK film industry: an invitation, the lure of fame or rich rewards perhaps?! He did, like the majority, entered this exhausting profession as a stuntman – reliable and resolute – generally meeting an unbefitting end-at the hands of either Wang Yu or (soon-to-be contemporary) David Chiang.

Killer Constable afterall wasn’t so much a departure for Tai, but more of a welcomed reunion into that cycle of pictures which, in formative terms, manufactured and celebrated his star status. He projected a majestic, brooding and ofttimes, an intensity other leading actors’ simply lacked; few surprisingly did not retain proper martial arts qualifications, often relying on locally trained Peking opera debutants to perform intricate movements that on first viewing defy both the mechanics of grace and the physics of gravity.

Tai, on the other hand did not opt to sell himself as a showman of inordinate strength, nor did he confine his versatility to elaborate spectacles or generic fighting falsehoods: namely improvisation or overly rehersed circus routines. Instead, he was notably tenacious, exerting authentic techniques and in some cases ‘vulnerability.’ Hung Xi Kwan, for example, was a very human depiction(s); a passionate character whose emotions fueled members of his inner circle into total committment, eventhough their collectiveness for political liberation appeared conflicting, especially in Cheh’s classic Heroes Two (1974).

Here, for his third and final collaboration with Hung, Tai’s performance – bordering on the psychotic – as ruthless Ching loyalist Ling Tien Ying, is quite the antithesis: sinister, morose and absent of humanity. Nevertheless, while peers’ and village-folk subjects have deified him beyond the physical extension of Judge, Jury and Executioner, Ling’s intrinsic self-confidence and, equally, unparalleled skills as an official bounty hunter are so well respected, none question his resolve until the royal treasury is expertly looted by a select number of Han patriots.

It is up to this juncture of the first act where Hung’s epic scope diversifies into a fascinating pursuit-type picture with Ling energetically rampaging across countryside farm lands, imperial coastline vistas and treacherous Han-occupied landscapes where (much to the repulsion of his morally-divided assemble), one by one, Ling instinctively apprehends and methodically tortures each suspect involved in a travail of learning the ring leader’s identity (as played by stalwart character actor, Ku Feng). As the body count rises on both sides, the ethics of right and wrong becomes increasingly blurred, giving Ling the opportunity to curb the pressures of duty and compliance while awakening personal reflection and self analysis during a chance encounter with a lonely blind girl, who maybe potentially linked to the Han rebels?

Verdict: Although a loose reworking of The Invincible Fist (1969) – starring Lo Lieh and David Chiang in his lead debut – as it stands, Killer Constable, on occasion, is not an easy watch. Moments of grandiosity are overshadowed by melding alleged historical events with sullen melodramatics, however the real beauty is within the film’s iconography, Ling’s broadsword for instance – a weapon of true elephantine proportions – amputates limbs and other body parts with nimble ease. Tellingly, another profound and underrated classic from the Shaws’ vast film depository.

Matthew Le-feuvre: 9/10

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