Shaolin Boxers | Blu-ray (Eureka)

Director: Huang Ta
Cast: James Tin, Lee Tin-ying, Li Min-lang, Chu Mu, Leung Tin, Tien Mi, Hon Kwok-Choi, Chu Mu, Choi Sui-Cheng, Cheung Chok-Chow, Mars
Running Time: 78 min.

By Ian Whittle

“The only problem with James Tien seems to be his weight. When we first saw him on screen he was slim and muscular but of late his girth seems to have increased somewhat. Perhaps his marriage early in 1974 had something to do with it. The studio claims he does not drink much but home cooking can spoil the form of a kung fu fighter.”

– Clash Magazine, 1975

Ouch!

James Tien is probably one of kung fu cinema’s big enigmas – since retiring in 1993 after Blade of Fury, he does not appear to have given a single interview on his career. The impression some film critics/historians like to cultivate is of him seething away at Bruce Lee having stolen his thunder, much in the manner that we know Bela Lugosi did on Boris Karloff. But it would be nice to think that Tien is happily enjoying retirement and catching up on watching movies. Lord knows that is what I’d do with my retirement!

Tien was originally the star of new studio Golden Harvest’s first contemporary martial arts movie, The Big Boss, but during production he found himself relegated to sacrificial lamb in favour of Bruce Lee. And this was probably for the best – The Big Boss without Lee as the star would likely have seen Golden Harvest bankrupt fairly quickly. Tien consequently was in a fair number of GH’s films, but very much as support or antagonist to the leads – chiefly Lee and Jimmy Wang Yu. And by the end of the 70s he was support/antagonist to Jackie Chan in three films for Lo Wei, before spending most of the 80s as a busy character actor.

So The Shaolin Boxers is quite the oddity – a James Tien starring vehicle. Well, sort of…

Although Golden Harvest’s logo appears at the beginning, it would appear this is an independent production from Jia’s Motion Picture Company. Whose logo appears to be painted on a bedsheet, whilst GH’s Raymond Chow is noticeably absent from the credits. Not a good sign…

1974 was when Shaw Brothers began their Shaolin Cycle films, focusing on the destruction of the Shaolin Temple (allegedly; it turns out that only was there probably not a Southern Shaolin Temple, but that the Northern temple was restored by the Manchus!). Like Joseph Kuo’s Shaolin Kung Fu of the same year, The Shaolin Boxers doesn’t have anything to do with the temple or the legendary masters, but rather with some unknown martial artists who are apparently practicing Shaolin martial arts in what appears to be the early 20^th century.

As a tournament is to be held between the martial artists of the Dragon and North Gate villages, which will decide the fate of the area, tensions and feuds flair up as Dragon fighters Lin (James Tien) and Shao Xiong (Lee Tin-ying) come into contact with a sleazy gangster Lei Biao (Li Min-lang) who is in cahoots with North Gate headman He Rong (Chu Mu). And it turns out Lei Biao raped Lin’s mother when Lin was a child… in front of said child, which is probably why the BBFC gave this an 18 for the recent UK Blu-ray (same rating they gave Dragon Lord back in 2003!)

This is a rather undwheming plot, and an underwhelming production, clearly shot on the cheap in the HK sticks. Where it does score is the very top-notch fight choreography by future HK action movie big cheese Ching Siu-tung, who incorporates a lot of stylish kicking and acrobatics into the fights. As with The Big Boss, the filmmakers seem to be trying out James Tien against another leading man, Lee Tin-ying in this case – here cutting between their fights with different characters at the same time, so as Tien is having his tournament match, Lee is fighting elsewhere against the slime-balls who are trying to rape his girlfriend. Two leading men, neither particularly up to the task of carrying a film, and they are not helped by the dull villain played by Li Min-lang, who is a convincing sleaze but not very intimidating as a martial arts villain – he is fast enough but too scrawny. So the idea that two strapping young men can only beat him with the aid of perennial scrawny clown Hon Kwok-choi is probably the biggest nail in the coffin for James Tien becoming a movie star – the film doesn’t give him a chance!

Ian Whittle’s Rating: 4/10 

The post Shaolin Boxers, The (1974) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“The Sword” Theatrical Poster

Director: Patrick Tam Kar-Ming
Cast: Adam Cheng Siu Chow, Norman Chui Siu-keung, Jade Hsu, Tien Feng, JoJo Chan Kei-Kei, Bonnie Ngai, Eddy Ko Hung, Lau Siu-Ming, Lee Hoi-Sang
Running Time: 86 min.

By Paul Bramhall

In the early 80’s Hong Kong cinema was experiencing what’s come to be labelled the new wave, as a fresh generation of young directors came to the fore. Movies like Tsui Hark’s Dangerous Encounter of the First Kind (1980), Alex Cheung’s Man on the Brink (1981), and Kirk Wong’s The Club (1981) presented a more realistic, gritty approach to the kind of stories they wanted to tell, usually grounded in the day-to-day reality of Hong Kong. Another new wave director who would debut in 1980 was Patrick Tam, and while The Sword eschews the contemporary streets of Hong Kong for a period wuxia setting, the spirit of the new wave is one that can be felt throughout, making for a unique entry in the genre.

Much like Tsui Hark would come to deconstruct the wuxia genre 15 years later with The Blade, in The Sword Tam takes a well-worn story, but frames it through a distinctly different lens than what we’d see had it been produced by the Shaw Brothers studio. Indeed in many ways The Sword feels like a more modernised version of Hua Shan’s Soul of the Sword from a couple of years prior, which was from the Shaw Brothers studio, and featured Ti Lung as a nameless swordsman obsessed with becoming the best regardless of the cost. Here Tam shows he’s unafraid to lean back on the previous decade by casting Adam Cheng as a roving swordsman with similar ambitions, however the tone feels a world apart from the stoic demeanour of Soul of the Sword.

Cheng was already a veteran of almost 40 productions when he took the lead in Tam’s debut, having been acting since the mid-60’s, however it was his roles in TV productions like 1976’s Book and Sword and 1979’s Heavenly Sword and Dragon Sabre that popularised his image as a romantic swordsman. While Cheng gives a suitably confident performance as the self-assured swordsman who we initially meet, the focus on the relationships with the characters around him gives The Sword a distinctly more humanistic and intimate feel than most wuxia’s of the era. Tam puts the characters at the heart of the story over the familiar plot and the expected action, and it’s this aspect which gives the narrative a revisionist slant, not so much creating something new, but rather looking at something familiar from a previously unseen angle.

The futility of being obsessed with being number one is felt throughout, and from the opening scene there’s an air of impending doom that never feels far away. Cheng is on a mission to seek out another famous swordsman who hasn’t been seen for years to ask for a duel, and in one particularly memorable scene receives a tipoff that the man he seeks may be residing in a remote dwelling up in the mountains. However when Cheng gets there he’s greeted by a dishevelled caretaker (played by Lau Siu-Ming), who explains he’s been waiting 12 years expecting the famous swordsman Cheng also seeks to return, quickly convincing himself that Cheng is the one he’s been waiting for all this time. Forced to fight out of disillusionment, the pointless death that the scene ends in sets the tone for what’s to come, as the tropes of fate and coincidence push Cheng further towards his goal.

After rescuing a feisty and seemingly carefree lady (Jade Hsu – Once Upon a Rainbow) from an assassin (a brief but entertaining role for Lee Hoi-Sang, who’d show up in The Young Master and Tower of Death during the same year), she and Cheng stop at an inn for the night to recover. It’s while there that Cheng’s long-lost love also turns up (played by JoJo Chan – Magnificent Butcher), who’s accompanied by her sword collecting husband (Norman Tsui – Sword Master) and his mute bodyguard (Eddy Ko Hung – The Postman Strikes Back). The intertwining relationships between the characters hint at a love triangle forming between Cheng, Hsu, and Chan, who’s marriage to Tsui appears to be one under duress, and matters are complicated further when it’s revealed that Hsu is the daughter of the famous swordsman that Cheng is seeking.

Overlapping desires, an unwillingness to put aside one’s pride, and growing jealousy all culminate in a number of violent confrontations, helmed by fight choreographers Tang Tak-Cheung and Tony Ching Siu-Tung. Both respected directors in their own right, while Tak-Cheung would helm a pair of the best latter day Shaw Brothers entries in the form of Demon of the Lute (1983) and Long Road to Gallantry (1984), it would be Siu-Tung who’d leave an indelible stamp on Hong Kong action cinema with his elaborate wirework fuelled wuxia’s. Making his directorial debut in 1983 with Duel to the Death, Siu-Tung would later direct the likes of the A Chinese Ghost Story trilogy, the Swordsman trilogy, and Wonder Seven, each time also having a hand in the action.

The Sword would be the only time for Tak-Cheung and Siu-Tung to collaborate together on action duty, and director Tam utilises each fight to propel the narrative forward, with violence often breaking out suddenly. A unique blend of old school meets new school, while the sword action itself may not be as intricately staged as we’d see a decade later, there’s a dynamism to the editing and camera angles used which makes them feel fresh. There are elements on display that feel like a precursor to what Siu-Tung would further develop in his own Duel to the Death, the first production to begin embracing the bombastic action that wirework could create. While here wirework is present it feels minimal, opting for quality over quantity that gives it added impact when used, that is until Tak-Cheung and Siu Tung’s creativity is fully unleashed in the final fight, ending on a finishing move special effect that would surely make Chang Cheh proud.

However Tam’s auteur touch is never far away, meaning the action never overshadows his input, with the most shocking moment of violence actually being a single slap that Norman Tsui delivers to JoJo Chan, filmed in such a way that the audience fully feel the pain that comes as a result of it. Somewhat regrettably Tam would only direct another 6 movies in the 1980’s, concluding with the classic My Heart is that Eternal Rose in 1989, before he’d stick with being an editor for most of the 90’s and 2000’s. His directorial comeback in 2006 with After This Our Exile proved he hadn’t missed a beat not sitting in the director’s chair for 17 years, and most recently he contributed to the Hong Kong omnibus production Septet – The Story of Hong Kong.

The occasionally pulsating synthesiser soundtrack by Joseph Koo further adds to the feel of The Sword being a production that has one foot in the past, but the other more firmly planted in the future, and one thing that can’t be argued is that it’s never felt so lonely to be a swordsman as it does here. Tam imbues practically every frame with a sense of longing, one that could so easily be satisfied if the characters were willing to free themselves from the codes they believe they have to live by. While the narrative presents the titular sword as being responsible for the tragedy and violence that follow its owner around, there’s a distinct feeling that Tam is presenting it as a metaphor for human ambition, and the consequences that can stem from it when it goes unchecked.

It’s no secret that I’m a big fan of when a director not usually known for helming martial arts themed movies decides to tackle the genre, as the results are almost always compelling (just don’t mention Fruit Chan’s Invincible Dragon), and Tam here has created a wuxia that feels ahead of its time by at least a decade. Equal parts darkly pessimistic and hopelessly romantic, The Sword saw the wuxia genre at the top of its game as a new decade and era of filmmaking for Hong Kong cinema was ushered in.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 9/10

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

“The Double Crossers” Theatrical Poster

Director: Jeong Chang Hwa
Cast: Shin Il-ryong, Chan Sing, Chao Hsiung, Chan Wai-Man, Sammo Hung, Tutie Kirana
Running Time: 90 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

When is a Korean movie not a Korean movie? The answer is when it’s a Hong Kong movie, and with the influx of Korean talent that was active in Hong Kong during the 1970’s, it’s hardly surprising that some of the territories output would come to bear an overtly Korean influence. Cheng Chang-ho was one such director who’d made the jump from Korean shores to Hong Kong in the late 1960’s to work for the Shaw Brothers, having impressed Run Run Shaw with his Korean output. Already a veteran of over 40 productions by the time he helmed his first Shaw Brothers production with 1969’s Temptress of a Thousand Faces, Chang-ho would stay with the studio for the next 3 years, during which time he’d crank out a further 6 titles. His swansong for Shaw Brothers would be 1972’s King Boxer, the movie which would go on to popularise the kung-fu genre in the west under the re-title of Five Fingers of Death.

After his stint at Shaw Brothers Chang-ho moved across to Golden Harvest, a studio that was still trying to find its place in the Hong Kong film industry after the death of its biggest star Bruce Lee in 1973. Chang-ho’s time at Golden Harvest was distinctly different from his output in Hong Kong so far, with his filmography becoming more focused on grounded and gritty crime thrillers, and 1976’s The Double Crossers is a perfect example. Chang-ho made a total of 5 movies while at the studio, with The Double Crossers being his penultimate feature, only going on to helm Broken Oath the following year (his previous titles included 1973’s The Devil’s Treasure, 1974’s The Skyhawk, and 1975’s The Association).

Similar to The Association, Chang-ho once more casts a Korean as his leading man, this time in the form of Shin Il-ryong, for which The Double Crossers marked his debut in a Hong Kong production. Having made his acting debut in 1970’s A Ghost Story of Joseon Dynasty, similar to Chang-ho’s directorial career by the time Il-ryong was cast here he’d already featured in over 40 productions, ranging from romance to action. It was the latter that likely caught Chang-ho’s eye with roles in the likes of 1973’s Wind from the East showing off his physicality. Il-ryong’s time working in Hong Kong would ultimately be fleeting, turning up as the Godfather in the infamous Bruceploitation flick The Dragon Lives Again in 1977, and playing the villain in Jackie Chan’s only attempt at a wuxia during the same year with To Kill with Intrigue (which was notably filmed in Korea). He’d continue to act in Korea though until he’d retire in 1986.

The plot of The Double Crossers is a classic tale of revenge, with Il-ryong playing a cop based in Singapore who’s out to avenge the death of his murdered father. His father has thankfully left him a cassette with possibly the longest recorded message ever to bring both Il-ryong and the audience up to speed on what the deal is, but basically it boils down to this. Il-ryong’s father used to be involved in a smuggling ring but had been out of it for many years, so when one of his old accomplices contacts him for a favour and he refuses, he correctly suspects that his days are up. Learning that the murderer was one of the most feared kingpins in Southeast Asia who’s now residing in Hong Kong, Il-ryong realises he has limited power as a cop, so quits the force and teams up with a smuggler who was loyal to his father back in his criminal days. Together, the pair concoct a plan to take the kingpin down and exact revenge for Il-ryong’s father’s death.

Il-ryong’s partner in crime (excuse the expression) is played by the legendary Chan Sing, who in 1976 would feature in a total of 5 productions, including opposite Jackie Chan in New Fist of Fury and the underseen new wave crime thriller Jumping Ash. While the kingpin himself is played by Chao Hsiung (The Chinese Boxer, The Golden Lion), most of the heavy lifting when it comes to doing the dirty work is conducted by his righthand man, played by Chan Sing’s Jumping Ash co-star Chan Wai-Man (Dragon Lord, Bloody Brotherhood). Considering the cast of heavyweight martial arts talent onboard, it might be surprising to find that, similar to Chang-ho’s The Devil’s Treasure, The Double Crossers is more of a crime thriller than a martial arts movie, so much so that a fight choreographer isn’t listed in the credits or seemingly anywhere online (at least on English language resources).

If I had to guess though, chances are it was Sammo Hung. He’d choreographed all of Chang-ho’s productions at Golden Harvest up to this point, and as was obligatory for this era of the studio, he also turns up in a supporting villain role. Sporting a French beret, John Lennon style round glasses, and a thin handlebar moustache, he looks the epitome of 70’s chic, and unlike in The Shaolin Plot from the same year when he and Chan Sing where on the same side, this time the pair get to briefly throw down against each other. The lack of martial arts action shouldn’t be a turn off though, with the plot of Il-ryong and Sing looking to lure Hsiung and Wai-Man out of the woodwork alternately seeing them in the roles of pursuers and those being pursued, with the table turning keeping the narrative an engaging one.

There is plenty of other action though, some of it that comes across as entertaining purely for its outlandishness, such as when Wai-Man arrives outside an apartment building in his car, and proceeds to break out a missile launcher to blow up an apartment in one of the upper floors. Clearly discretion wasn’t a necessary requirement of criminal activity in early 70’s Hong Kong (and when an elderly couple question him as to what’s going on a few minutes later, he amusingly tells them there’s been a gas leak). There’s also a particularly brutal torture interrogation scene involving a blow torch that definitely isn’t used only as a threat, recalling the kind of uncompromising nature that Korean crime thrillers would become renowned for 30 years later.

My favorite action moment though hardly lasted a second, with a stuntman performing a particularly painful looking fall down a set of wooden stairs. He falls down them with such momentum that he goes airborne mid-way down and clearly lands hard at the bottom, resulting in an unintentional squint from my side. Eventually everyone ends up in Bali, Indonesia, where a large portion of the narrative plays out, making The Double Crossers somewhat of a globetrotting affair. In my review for 1973’s The Ghostly Face I mentioned how I believed it was “the first and only time a martial arts movie has been filmed there”, and while I’m aware I’ve just gone to great lengths to explain that The Double Crossers isn’t a martial arts movie, it still makes me feel like I was at least half wrong.

The change in scenery that the Balinese culture provides is always a welcome one, and we even get a romantic subplot thrown in that sees Il-ryong gradually falling for a lady who works at the hotel they’re staying in, played by Indonesian actress Tutie Kirana (Imperfect, Affliction). Events eventually culminate in Il-ryong and Wai-Man facing off against each other in a way that encompasses cars, motorbikes (look out for the magically appearing helmet), and of course some fists and feet for good measure. Depending on what version you watch, Il-ryong and Sing either end up being ordered back to Hong Kong, or for the more strait-laced countries the production was sold to, getting handcuffed to serve their time.

In case it wasn’t clear already, The Double Crossers is best approached as a crime thriller with a sprinkling of action rather than the other way around, and I enjoyed the more developed characters the narrative offers up versus the more one-dimensional roles we often see the likes of Chan Sing in. There’s a great scene where he riffs on Bruce Lee’s “the art of fighting without fighting” scene from Enter the Dragon which comes across as a nice little character moment, the kind that’s a rarity to find in the more straight up kung-fu cinema genre, and I liked the trait that Chao Hsiung’s kingpin has a weak heart. Not that there’s anything wrong with a straight up kung-fu movie, but if that’s what you’ve come to The Double Crossers for then only disappointment awaits. If you’re in the mood for a funky slice of 70’s Hong Kong grit, then in that case there should be plenty to enjoy.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 6/10

The post Double Crossers, The (1976) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“When Taekwondo Strikes” Theatrical Poster

Director: Huang Feng
Cast: Jhoon Rhee, Angela Mao, Anne Winston, Kenji Kazuma, Carter Wong, Wang In Sik, Sammo Hung, Andre Morgan, Chin Yuet Sang, Gam Kei Chu, Chan Chuen, Wilson Tong, Billy Chan, Hsu Hsia, Lam Ching Ying
Running Time: 95 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

If there was ever a decade when taekwondo had its chance to shine in Hong Kong action cinema, then it was the 1970’s. Following Bruce Lee’s untimely passing both Golden Harvest boss Raymond Chow and Seasonal Films founder Ng See Yuen frequently sought out taekwondo practitioners to fill the void that Lee left behind with varying degrees of success. However the origins of their fascination with taekwondo arguably started with Bruce Lee himself, who in 1972 convinced Chow to green light a production for his Korean friend Jhoon Rhee, a taekwondo teacher based in the States who would come to be considered the father of taekwondo in America. That production became When Taekwondo Strikes, and sadly Bruce would pass away shortly before the finished product would arrive on Hong Kong cinema screens in September of 1973.

The Little Dragon’s insistence that Rhee could be a legitimate leading martial arts star is certainly an interesting take, since Rhee was already 41 when he’d make his cinematic debut, and after the release of When Taekwondo Strikes he’d only go on to appear in 1 other production (a supporting role in 1981’s The Return of the Great Fighter, which was directed by Miami Connection’s Park Woo-sang). However as his one and only time in the lead, Rhee’s influence is undeniable. He contributed to the story, which unusually for Hong Kong cinema led to tales which focused on Koreans being oppressed by the Japanese becoming just as popular as those which focused on the Chinese being oppressed (although notably it wasn’t the first, with the previous years The Crush covering similar territory).

Rhee also brought along one of his students from America to take on a prominent supporting role in the form of Ann Winton, heralding one of the few times in the kung-fu genre when a gweilo has been cast as one of the good guys, versus the standard villain roles that were usually reserved for foreigners. The fact that Winton was female only shows how ahead of his time Rhee was in his championing of martial arts talent in front of the camera, pre-dating the era of Cynthia Rothrock, Sophie Crawford, and Kim Maree Penn by over a decade.

The production itself though is firmly steeped in the early 70’s Golden Harvest style, with the studio bringing in their leading lady Angela Mao in what’s effectively a co-lead role (some may argue she even is the lead), and their up-and-coming leading man Carter Wong in a significant supporting role. Mao and Wong would frequently appear onscreen together in their early outings (see also Hapkido, Back Alley Princess, The Opium Trail, and The Tournament), so it’s understandable that Raymond Chow didn’t want to take a gamble on placing the whole of When Taekwondo Strikes’ success on Rhee’s shoulders. Chow also went with the safe option by placing Wong Fung in the directors chair, an actor turned director who worked almost exclusively with Golden Harvest and Angela Mao throughout the 70’s, debuting with 1971’s The Angry River and retiring after 1978’s The Legendary Strike.

It would prove to be a wise choice to bring onboard such established talent both in front and behind the camera, because as much as Bruce Lee may have wanted it to be the Jhoon Rhee show (in the days leading up to his death he was still pushing for Rhee to be billed as the top star!), the fact is he’s not exactly leading man material. Rhee’s life is filled with an impressive list of achievements, however being a thespian definitely isn’t one of them, with his receding hairline and wooden performance often making his screen time somewhat painful viewing. The fact that he’s the only cast member who insists on finding an excuse to go shirtless at any given opportunity doesn’t help, and this is in a movie where the Japanese villains garb involves plenty of underwear flashing.

In another example of When Taekwondo Strikes being ahead of its time, Rhee’s physical performance also serves as an example of martial arts mastery offscreen not necessarily translating to having a screen fighting pedigree onscreen (a trope which became particularly prominent 20 years later, when real life kickboxing champions would come to dominate the DTV action market). The action choreography is handled by Sammo Hung (who like in so many 70’s Golden Harvest productions, also turns up as a villain) and Shaw Brothers stalwart Chan Chuen, who also worked together on the action for the previous years The Devil’s Treasure and End of the Wicked Tigers. For a taekwondo showcase Rhee doesn’t really impress, although this could well be because the era in which he studied during the 40’s and 50’s was when the style was still much closer to karate, rather than the kick-heavy style it’d take on during the 80’s. 

It’s Angela Mao who fares the strongest on the action front, who at this point was working under the action choreography of Sammo Hung for the 5^th time, and had studied Hapkido under both Hwang In-shik and Ji Han-jae. Mao displays her usual ferocity in the fight scenes, which at this point where in that transitionary phase somewhere between the punch and block nature of bashers, and the more intricate choreography that’d come later in the decade. She gets a pair of lengthy one on ones against Chin Yuet-Sang (Lion Vs Lion, Hocus Pocus) and Sammo Hung, and in the finale goes up against Hwang In-shik (The Skyhawk, Stoner). In one of the productions more unintentionally funny moments, once the shackled Rhee breaks free during the finale, he gives Mao a light flying kick to knock her out of the way during her fight with In-shik, announcing that things should be settled Korean versus Korean. Well, at least he wasn’t being sexist!

It would also be a crime not to mention Ann Winton, who gets a handful of scenes to show off her moves, and looking impressively sharp for the era When Taekwondo Strikes was made. Likely a combination of her height, and having a background in ballet as well as taekwondo (Michelle Yeoh, Moon Lee, and Cynthia Khan also came from dance backgrounds, so it’s clearly beneficial for screen fighting), it’s a shame she’d only go on to appear in one other production (the Bruceploitation movie Super Dragon the following year) as she clearly had potential. Tragically her life would be cut short in 1982 when she was murdered by her husband.

Despite the varied quality of the action, one aspect of When Taekwondo Strikes that’s inescapable is the overall tone. Made at a time when Golden Harvest seemed to favour incorporating their kung-fu into narratives which tended to be quite dramatic and straight faced, there’s an overwhelming feeling that the story is taking itself a little too seriously. What’s worse is that many of the more dramatic moments are placed on Rhee to pull off, and watching his attempts to emote aren’t exactly convincing to say the least, with a narrative that attempts to somewhat awkwardly combine fighting for Korean independence with a devoutly Christian message of peace. Is When Taekwondo Strikes a Christian kung-fu movie? Arguably yes, although the establishment of taekwondo in the States is inextricably linked to the Korean Christian cult of the Unification Church, so that’s perhaps not a surprise (and is worth a whole separate feature!).

For those who are fans of the early 70’s Golden Harvest style then there’ll undoubtably be something to enjoy in When Taekwondo Strikes, although looking at the production which it has most in common with, 1972’s Hapkido, it’s hard not to agree that the earlier effort is the superior movie. Still, for any fan of kung-fu cinema the chance to see Jhoon Rhee and Ann Winton in their most significant roles, backed up by the likes of Angela Mao, Carter Wong, Sammo Hung, Hwang In-shik, and Ken Kazama (Karate from Shaolin Temple, The Street Fighter), is one that shouldn’t be missed. Will you likely watch it again? Probably not, but without When Taekwondo Strikes, we may never have gotten the likes of The Secret Rivals and Tiger of Northland later in the decade, and for that it’s an important piece of kung-fu cinema history.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 5.5/10

The post When Taekwondo Strikes | aka Sting of the Dragon Masters (1973) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Beach of the War Gods” Theatrical Poster

Director: Jimmy Wang Yu
Cast: Jimmy Wang Yu, Lung Fei, Tin Yau, Sit Hon, Shan Mao, Choi Wang, Kwan Hung, Cheung Yee Kwai, Su Chen Ping, Hsieh Hsing, Cho Kin, Blacky Ko Sau Leung, Jack Long Sai Ga, Lui Jun, Man Man, O Yau Man
Running Time: 97 min.

By Will McGuire

There’s a delightful contradiction between form and content at the heart of Beach of the War Gods: formally the film stands as a love letter to the action cinema of Japan, particularly the work of Akira Kurosawa but all of that love is deployed in a story that is built on the pain and shame of the Japanese occupation during World War 2. It’s as if someone wrote a play in a perfect pastiche of Shakespeare’s blank verse about the Easter Rising.

There’s been a recent reappraisal of Jimmy Wang Yu in the time since I’ve been learning about Eastern cinema. When I began collecting, it was en vogue to highlight his shortcomings and personal warts and praise was handed out sparingly; as if there were a danger should he get too much. Thankfully, things seemed to have swung back in the other direction, and new attention is being paid to his merits, not just as a performer, but as a filmmaker. That’s why it’s so important to really take a deep look at Beach of the War Gods because, and I say this with all due respect to Master of the Flying Guillotine, this film is probably his most impressive work behind the camera.

Foremost, the compositions are masterful. Wang Yu likes to employ multiple layers of depth and focus to create visual interest and really utilize the widescreen format. The first act of this film really illustrates Tarantino’s observation that Wang Yu as a director seems to have gotten the closest of anyone in capturing the feel of the comic book work of the great Jack Kirby and it’s in the framing of objects in the foreground playing against objects in the background while all elements remain in focus. In the first act alone he uses this technique to establish location, to heighten visual tension, and to create a sense of voyeurism in the audience that we later learn is shared by one of the supporting characters.

There’s also a recurring sense of visual irony that feels very Japanese, or almost like a Spaghetti Western: an execution is symbolically rendered as the cutting of a cord by the man who will eventually avenge it, a coffin used as a prop for a massive trap serves its intended use when Wang Yu unceremoniously dumps an enemy commander’s body in it, the blade that kills a samurai early on is revealed to be two blades joined at the side when viewed from another angle.

The story is a condensed version of Kurosawa’s legendary Seven Samurai: a small village located adjacent to the eponymous beach is threatened by a cadre of bloodthirsty Japanese pirates who have sacked the nearest city and are heading this way. By chance, a great swordsman Xiao (Wang Yu), whose uncle was executed in defense of the city, is in the city when the news comes in and must assemble a small team of professional swordsmen to defend the town from the coming onslaught.

Wang Yu dispatches with most of the subplots and almost all the meditation of both the Japanese original and its equally magnificent Hollywood remake for a stripped down and bloody buffet of expert swordplay. Here, Wang Yu’s love for samurai films continues in the framing and editing of the fights. I found, almost immediately, visual references to everything from Throne of Blood to Kobayashi’s Hara-Kiri.

That brings us to the second half of our opening contradiction: the story is set at the height of China’s Imperial power in the early Ming Dynasty. The plot doesn’t really make sense from a historical standpoint– in the 1550’s the Ming were the most powerful state on Earth and Japan was still in the violent throes of the Sengoku civil wars that would end with the installation of the Tokugawa Shogunate. This is not a historical plot so much as it is a transposition of 20th century geopolitics into a time period where epic heroism was possible. The selfless heroism of the Chinese and abject ruthlessness of the Japanese is a reference to the Second World War and pulls into focus the martial arts film’s role as a uniquely Chinese national epic for displaced Chinese in the same way that Greek tragedy served as a rallying point for the mythic history of Athens.

Excellent direction, action, and pacing combined with fine storytelling: Beach of the War Gods is a swordplay classic that deserves the premium release its getting on Blu from Eureka. Track this one down.

Will McGuire’s Rating: 8/10

The post Beach of the War Gods (1973) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Fist of Fury” Chinese Theatrical Poster

AKA: Chinese Connection
Director: Lo Wei
Cast: Bruce Lee, Nora Miao, Tien Feng, Robert Baker, Paul Wei Ping Ao, Lo Wei, Riki Hashimoto, Lee Kwan, Feng Yi, Wong Chung Shun, Alexander Grand
Running Time: 108 min.

By Henry McKeand

You can’t take your eyes off of Bruce Lee. 

This is by design, of course. At the funeral that opens Fist of Fury, he’s the only one in a small sea of black fabric who wears all white. In the next scene, when he enters a Japanese dojo filled with fighters wearing white, he’s in dark threads. When the bad guys are shirts, he’s skins. When they use their hands, he whips around nunchaku. But it doesn’t take contrarian fashion choices or flashy accessories to make Bruce stand out from a crowd. No matter the scene or the outfit, he’s the one moving like a human slingshot, letting out a hyena-like battle cry as he kicks his way through a room of evildoers. 

Fist of Fury was the first film Lee made after his star-making turn in The Big Boss. There, Bruce shared some of the glory with James Tien, who was originally supposed to be the lead. When it came time for Bruce’s follow-up, there was no question about who audiences wanted to see. Tien, whose own career is legendary in its own right, returned for Fist of Fury only as a side character with very little action. Everyone, big and small, had to make room for the man of the hour, who personified the term “lightning in a bottle” perhaps more than anyone in cinema history. 

And make room, they did. When Bruce assumes his combat stance, the surrounding fighters take a step back and strafe him as if to give him his own personal orbit. Then, they charge at him in pairs or one by one until they’re all moaning in pain on the ground. And while winning outnumbered fights was nothing new for kung fu protagonists, there’s something different about how quickly Bruce comes out on top. More often than not, it feels like it’s over before it starts.

Watching a Bruce Lee film in the year 2023, it’s easy to take his “specialness” for granted. Even if you’ve never seen one of his movies (which would be shocking considering the nature of this website), you have an intimate knowledge of who he is and what he represents, which means that an almost impossible standard has been set. But while Enter the Dragon is his most well-known project, Fist of Fury is maybe the single best primer on just what a trailblazing force of nature he really was. It’s even baked into the script. 

He plays Chen Zhen, a character who would later be taken on by both Jet Li and Donnie Yen. Chen has returned to his hometown simply to marry his childhood sweetheart (Nora Miao) when he learns that his master, Huo Yuanjia, has died. Even worse, Japanese colonizers are terrorizing his beloved Jingwu School. The other students tell him that he should turn the other cheek, but it isn’t long before he’s driven to conflict by the constant injustices he encounters. Soon, he’s running from the law and waging a one-man war against the Japanese. 

The character’s fierce individualism feels especially potent in a film otherwise populated by collectivism and uniformity. None of the other Chinese characters are willing to fight back against the Japanese, and they worry that Chen Zhen’s lone wolf crusade will lead to violent backlash from the colonizers. In a sense, there are four major parties in the film’s political struggle: the Chinese civilians, the local police, the nation of Japan, and Bruce Lee. The fact that Bruce Lee is easily the most powerful of these parties, rivaled only by the nation of Japan, lends the film a mythic quality that highlights its star’s sheer intensity.

It’s a perfect role, even when Chen Zhen’s brutality contrasts with Bruce’s typical charming sage image. Some of Bruce’s appeal was always the juxtaposition between his “be water” philosophizing and the near-feral violence he tapped into on screen, but Fist of Fury finds him at his most savage. The character works not in spite of this out-of-control anger, but because of it. If the Imperial Japanese are able to drive someone as measured as Bruce Lee to teary-eyed fury, then they must be truly awful. 

The script doesn’t shy away from this awfulness, either. In fact, the small humiliations and callous dehumanization of imperialism are captured with a surprising honesty. At first, Chen Zhen’s inability to suppress his rage comes off like a flaw in his discipline that he will have to overcome. As things progress, however, it becomes clear that no amount of submissiveness will convince the colonial machine to concede even an ounce of power. By the final act, the film has evolved into a commentary on political resistance and the tragedy inherent in even the most righteous violence. And while much of Bruce’s international success came from appealing to American sensibilities, Fist of Fury is unmistakably Chinese in the way it uses wounds from the nation’s past to heighten its drama. 

Above all, the constant political strife serves as a showcase for Bruce’s endless physical prowess. From his opening Dojo smackdown to his mastery of nunchaku to his climactic fight with his real-life student Robert Baker (AKA Evil Gene Wilder), he’s in peak condition. His signature poses have been copied to death, but the way he flexes and lets his entire body tremble with energy after finishing a combination is still awe-inspiring half a century later. Lo Wei was far from an auteur, be he at least had the sense to get out of the way and let the fighting do the talking. 

It may not be as bloody or exploitative as The Big Boss, but it feels even more dangerous. Bruce would soon drop Lo Wei and inject some silly fun into his projects, but Fist of Fury remains a lean slab of pure, uncompromising kung fu cinema. Now that Arrow has released a pristine 4K transfer, there’s never been a better time to revisit Bruce’s most bombastic performance. As always, you won’t be able to take your eyes off of him. 

Henry McKeand’s Rating: 8.5/10

The post Fist of Fury (1972) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“The Big Boss” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Lo Wei
Producer: Raymond Chow
Cast: Bruce Lee, Maria Yi, James Tien Chun, Han Ying Chieh, Nora Miao, Lee Kwan, Anthony Lau, Lam Ching Ying, Billy Chan Wui Ngai, Peter Yang Kwan
Running Time: 115 min.

By Ian Whittle

The Big Boss remains a rather intriguing oddity. Golden Harvest’s first contemporary martial arts movie, it was released the same month as Shaw’s also Thailand filmed Duel of Fists. But whilst that film is a glamorous promo for Thailand, with cosmopolitan Bangkok playing host to Shaw stars David Chiang and Ti Lung enjoying Muay Thai bouts and water festivals, The Big Boss feels more like a precursor to horror films like The Texas Chain Saw Massacre and The Hills Have Eyes, as Chinese far-from-home find themselves getting dismembered in a run-down backwater burg. The martial arts battles are for the most part clumsy and crude, with industrial tools and knives frequently drawing garish gouts of blood. If notorious 60s gore-auteur Herschell Gordon Lewis made a martial arts film, it would probably resemble this!

I’ve often likened The Big Boss to another of my favourite movies: Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927). Both films were cut down soon after their premieres, both re-scored numerous times (and yes, I would love Giorgio Moroder to re-score The Big Boss with Bonnie Tyler songs, thank you for asking!), both feature beautiful girls called Maria… and thankfully, both now nearly restored to their uncut status after many decades only being available in truncated versions. Whilst the original cut of Metropolis turned up in South America in an archive, amusingly it seems Golden Harvest had the longer version of The Big Boss all along. All anyone had to do was ask… and Arrow Films did!

So let’s take a look…

(this is not an exhaustive breakdown of every bit of recovered footage, just the highlights)

The music

The Mandarin audio for The Big Boss was quite hard to find for a long time. Wang Fu-ling’s score (mostly acquired from several Japanese movies, including Ifukube Akira’s score for period monster film Daimaijin) was dropped, apparently for being too “Oriental”, in favour of a wonderfully OTT original score by German composer Peter Thomas for Western markets. Then when the film was dubbed into Cantonese in the early 80s (which also resulted in the original Mandarin dubber’s fighting cries for Bruce Lee being replaced with audio from his later films), a “new” score was prepared. This was a bizarre mix of the title theme to 50s’ monster flick How to Make a Monster (1958), cuts from Pink Floyd’s “The Dark Side of the Moon”, cues written by Joseph Koo for the Japanese release of The Big Boss in 1974, some decent 80s cues, and a truly irritating chiming melody every-time Bruce Lee looks at his locket.

Wang’s score started to appear on home video in the mid 00s, and it’s an odd affair. Whilst the film itself is very 1971, the music sounds considerably older at times, evoking the 1950s. Although at times atmospheric, it frequently undersells the on-screen action and lacks personality. When compared to the Thomas score, and Joseph Koo’s scores for Bruce Lee’s next two films, it can’t help but be found lacking. Bruce being crowd-surfed to “Danse Macabre” (a horror movie staple, and later the theme for UK TV series Jonathan Creek) remains an amusing novelty.

On a related note, the opening credits are now in-sync with the animation behind them. On the Cantonese reissue prints, Nora Miao’s credit obscured “The Big Boss” title card!

James Tien was robbed!

So the first major surprise in the newly discovered footage is… more of James Tien’s first fight! And it’s surprisingly better than anything else he does in the film – much more brutal and direct kicks, a mean posture, and he does some serious damage to his opponents. Quite why this was removed is a mystery – it’s probably Tien’s only real moment to shine, and makes his character seem less bland and squeaky clean. Given he was stuck in supporting roles there afterwards (the very mediocre-looking The Shaolin Boxer excepted), no wonder he refuses to discuss his career these days. One wonders if this scene was cut as it features a rare example of bad acting from Bruce Lee – you’ll know it when you see it.

All in the family

The extended family of cousins now get introduced to the audience before they are introduced to Bruce. A very brief scene, but cute to have.

The cart scene

Yep this famous lost scene is now back… and it turns out there are two carts and neither is on fire. This scene, and the subsequent restored recap of it back at the family home (present in the extant trailers), is clearly padding, but it does allow us more time with the characters before everything goes to hell, in particular the old uncle who gets a nice comic moment.

More Nora Miao

A very brief scene of Bruce walking past Nora’s stall (glimpsed in the theatrical trailer that’s been around on home video for a few decades). More Nora is always nice to have!

The Thailand Buzzsaw Massacre

Although the shot of a body being sliced by the buzzsaw is abruptly cut, there is now a remarkably ghoulish shot of the factory manager tossing a severed head into a vat! It’s hard to tell if this was cut for censor reasons or because the head has obviously been purloined from a department store.

Tony Liu was robbed!

Just like James Tien’s first fight, Tony Liu’s intro fight where he trains with the boss’s henchmen was trimmed for the shorter version so that you don’t get to see him do any impressive moves. Was Bruce tinkering with the fight scenes to remove the competition?

Han Ying-chieh was robb…actually maybe not

We also get more of the boss fighting, but conversely, here less is more. For some reason I can accept Han Ying-chieh flying 10 feet in the air, but not him throwing half-a-dozen burly men off him.

Blood is thicker than water

Previously seen in one trailer, the shot of James Tien’s head gushing like a burst pipe is now back. As with the extended buzzsaw sequence, it’s hard to tell if this was removed for censorship reasons or because it’s quite funny.

The saw-in-the-head…

…is still missing, sorry folks! As is a shot contained in some trailers of a third body in the ice.

Death in the family

The bloody aftermath of the massacre of the family now shows the face of the first body, Kam Shan’s character, that Bruce finds – not sure why this was cut, considering what was left was already brutal. Heck, they left the kid’s corpse in!

Down by the river

The scene of Bruce contemplating revenge now runs much longer with flashbacks to the dead bodies found in the previous scene. Probably a case of less is more, as the scene now feels overlong, and Bruce’s defiant “I must get revenge!” is somewhat negated by the next scene…

Porky’s 2: The Next Day

The final key missing scene referenced in the original trailer, we now see Bruce return to the brothel. The POV shot of him picking out a prostitute (actually an actress) is rather alarming in its starkness, looking like something from an Italian mondo film as the genuine prostitutes wince from the off-camera spotlight trained on their faces. Bruce’s subsequent sex scene is about as erotic as those old war-time VD warning films, but at least we get to see where he got the crackers from.

The final stand-off

For some reason trimmed down for the HK reissue print (and otherwise censored in the US), Bruce’s final killing of the Boss is now intact. And I think he gets an extra punch in!

I can’t underestimate how thrilling it has been to see all this previously rumoured footage with my own eyes… plus some extra surprises I wasn’t expecting! And to think it was sat safely on a shelf! Does anyone want to ask Fortune Star/Golden Harvest if they have any of the Doctor Who serial Marco Polo? Or the long-lost vampire silent London After Midnight? Or the cure for Alzheimer’s? If we don’t ask, how will we know?

Ian Whittle’s Rating: 8/10

The post Big Boss: Mandarin Cut, The (1971) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Megaforce” Theatrical Poster

Director: Hal Needham
Cast: Barry Bostwick, Michael Beck, Persis Khambatta, Edward Mulhare, George Furth, Henry Silva, Mike Kulcsar, Ralph Wilcox, Evan C. Kim, Anthony Pena
Running Time: 99 min.

By Paul Bramhall

Ask anyone which studio first springs to mind when thinking about Hong Kong cinema’s golden age from the 1970’s – 1990’s, and it’ll likely be Golden Harvest. The likes of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan’s best-known works are preceded by the instantly recognizable GH intro, and looking to expand their horizons, from the early 80’s the studio looked to break into the western market by either fully or co-producing a number of English language productions. Some of these proved to be successful (think the likes of The Cannonball Run flicks and Blade Runner), and others not so much (think the Keanu Reeves starring gymnastics drama Teenage Dream). By far the most unique, and some may argue memorable, of Golden Harvest’s English language output though, has to belong to 1982’s Megaforce.

A movie made in collaboration with toy maker Mattel as a kind of win-win for both companies, these days it has the distinction of being cited by South Park creators Matt Stone and Trey Parker as being the inspiration for their 2004 classic Team America: World Police. From the moment lead Barry Bostwick steps onscreen, adorned in a figure-hugging shimmery gold lycra jumpsuit that leaves little to the imagination, complete with a star-spangled banner patch embroidered on the shoulder, it’s easy to see why. Bostwick, who at this point in his career was most well known for his part in 1975’s The Rocky Horror Picture Show, notably wouldn’t show up on the big screen again after Megaforce until 11 years later in Weekend at Bernie’s II, which should give some indication as to the kind of performance you can expect.

Onscreen text that opens Megaforce explains how they’re “a phantom army of super elite fighting men whose weapons are the most powerful science can devise. Their mission…to preserve freedom and justice battling the forces of tyranny and evil in every corner of the globe.” In this case, their mission involves assisting Persis Khambatta (best known for playing a bald alien in Star Trek: The Motion Picture) and Edward Mulhare (best known as David Hasselhoff’s boss in the Knight Rider series) to protect the peaceful Republic of Sardun from an invading army led by Henry Silva (Code of Silence, Above the Law). 

At the helm is legendary Hollywood stuntman Hal Needham, who rivals Jackie Chan in terms of the number of bones he’s broken (which includes breaking his back – twice!). After starting his stunt career in the 50’s, by the end of the 70’s Needham began making the transition to director, making his debut with 1977’s Smokey and the Bandit. He’s perhaps best known though for being the man that gave Jackie Chan the inspiration to have outtakes play over the end credits, after he became the first director to do so with 1981’s The Cannonball Run, another Golden Harvest backed production that featured Chan in a supporting role. While Needham was undoubtably a fine stuntman, as a filmmaker he was never going to win an Oscar. Minor details like why Silva wants to invade the Republic of Sardun are considered unimportant, and for a large part of Megaforce you’d be forgiven for forgetting there’s a threat at all. 

Instead, a significant amount of time is spent on why Megaforce is so awesome, and even longer on Khambatta proving she has the skills to join the “super elite fighting men” (non-spoiler: she does, only for Bostwick to tell her she still can’t be a part of the mission!). No doubt thanks to Needham’s extensive experience in vehicle stunts (and Mattel’s toy lines) the majority of Megaforces firepower comes in the form of motorbikes which have been fitted out with machine guns and rocket launchers (and even wings, but we’ll get to that later), not to mention laser mounted dune buggies decked out in heavy plated military armour. In an age before CGI became the norm in large scale action scenes, here almost everything is done for real with practical effects, with the missile firing motorbikes being particularly impressive (even the missiles that go awry, which if you look closely in the finale it becomes clear that a few do!).

For all the impressive stunt work that’s on display though, the early 80’s production of Megaforce does see it fall victim to a couple of horribly dated rear projection special effects scenes. A romantic sky diving scene (yes I said romantic) involving Bostwick and Khambatta just about gets away with it thanks to the obviously staged close-ups being intercut with real skydiving footage, however the finale ends things on a laughably ridiculous note. Involving Bostwick becoming airborne on his motorbike thanks to a pair of concealed wings and a turbo charged rocket booster, his attempt to catch up with the Megaforce bomber which has already taken off is about as convincing as a 2000’s era Seagal double.

The special effects aren’t the only elements of Megaforce which are dated. Apart from Khambatta’s Major being side-lined to become little more than a spectator that swoons at Bostwick’s gold lycra from afar, there’s also the character that Michael Beck plays. Essentially cast as Bostwick’s righthand man, how someone goes from playing the lead in Walter Hill’s classic The Warriors just 3 years earlier to appearing in a flick such as this is likely to remain one of life’s great mysteries, however he at least seems to be having a good time onscreen. What’s more eyebrow raising watching Megaforce 40 years later is that, while the other American members of Megaforce (which honestly, is most of them) wear a star-spangled banner patch on their shoulder, Beck wears the confederate flag!

Obviously intended as an innocent reference to his southern roots, it makes for an interesting time capsule of a different era. The other members make for an eclectic bunch, from the classical music listening, Shakespeare quoting Ralph Wilcox (whose IMDB credits include characters such as ‘Black Hit Man’ and ‘Black Manager’ – so just in case you’re wondering, he’s black!) and Evan Kim (Dirty Harry’s high kicking sidekick in The Dead Pool, from a time when Koreans in Hollywood were always cast as either Japanese or Chinese. Here he’s representing Japan.) The diversity of Megaforce is admirable, even if we don’t get to see any of them do a whole lot other than partake in inane banter or look agreeable to any of the crazy plans that Bostwick proposes.

Speaking of the dialogue, Bostwick has mentioned in interviews how the script was particularly weak, so they’d often adlib lines on the fly. Half the fun is trying to identify which lines were made up on the spot, with some being more blatant than others. My personal favorite goes to Silva, who tells Bostwick “I love you, but you’re hopeless.” The legendary line though (so much so that the scene it’s said in is later repeated during the end credits) appropriately goes to Bostwick himself, who after being rebuffed by Silva earlier in the movie for still having the idealism of the 70’s, later tells him “I just wanted to say good-bye, and remind you that the good guys always win, even in the 80’s!” It’s the kind of line that could only come from a movie such as this one, and effectively sums up the overall tone of Megaforce. It’s light, breezy, and by all accounts horrendous, but it’s all of those things very much on its own terms.

Ultimately Megaforce would pull in just $3 million at the US box office against a budget of $20 million, so understandably a sequel (which was to be titled Megaforce: Deeds Not Words, after the motto we see on the standard issue caps the members wear) never got off the ground. Frankly one Megaforce movie is enough for the world, and while it’s stilted script, wince inducing fashion, and bombastic action will be a potent combination for some, for others there’ll be entertainment to be had. Like a live action comic book where everything has been transferred from the page to the screen regardless of nuance or realism, Megaforce may be a misfire, but it’s an entertaining one, and for that it should be applauded. 

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 6/10

The post Megaforce (1982) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Lady Reporter” International Poster

Director: Meng Hoi
Cast: Cynthia Rothrock, Chin Siu Ho, Meng Hoi, Elizabeth Lee Mei Fung, Roy Chiao, Billy Chow, Ronny Yu Yan Tai, Jeff Falcon, Vincent Lyn, Chung Fat, Tai Bo, Melvin Wong Gam San, Wu Ma, Hsiao Ho, Kwan Yung, James Tien Chun
Running Time: 90 min.

By Martin Sandison

In 1995, when I was 13, I visited my local video shop. Ah, those were the days. How I loved perusing the weird and wonderful titles. I still have dreams about it. A couple of weeks before I had rented Project A, an experience that changed my life forever. I was eager for more, and saw a title whose box delighted my eyes: Above the Law, aka Righting Wrongs. It became the first Hong Kong movie I ever owned, and I watched that video to death. I still have it, and it still works despite some tracking lines in the fight scenes. The film is still a firm favourite of mine, and many others. Containing all of the things that made Golden Age Hong Kong cinema so exciting and enrapturing, it also was a showcase for the one and only Cynthia Rothrock. As a kid seeing her kick, punch and sass her way through the movie meant she became my dream woman. I cannot wait for the forthcoming Blu-ray releases of that classic. I’ll be double-dipping, oh yes.

Righting Wrongs is a martial arts action-thriller, one that doesn’t have a lot of room for humour. For the semi-sequel The Blonde Fury, the film-makers decided to spice things up with a healthy dose of Hong Kong style laughs. An approach at turns mildly offensive and at others, due to choice subtitles, hilariously silly. The movie has the distinction of being the only effort in which Rothrock takes lead billing. In Hong Kong film history a Western female taking a lead role hadn’t happened before, and is unlikely to happen again. A wonderful achievement for this legend of action cinema. 

Cyndy stars as Cyndy, a reporter from the States who is charged with investigating a criminal in Hong Kong. Unexplainably she is fluent in Cantonese (Rothrock didn’t speak the language, delivering her lines in English with many consisting of gibberish, that were then dubbed over), and makes friends with Yu (Elizabeth Lee, Long Arm of the Law 3). The two get caught up in all sorts of bother involving photographer Hai (Meng Hoi, Hell’s Windstaff) and CIA agent Chin Siu Ho (Mr. Vampire), culminating in a showdown with the baddies.

The cast and crew of The Blonde Fury is top tier Hong Kong action talent; alongside the aforementioned cast, the eternal 80s and 90s villain Billy Chow is here, and has a mid film fight with Rothrock that delivers in spades. The final reel contains Rothrock going toe to toe with Jeff Falcon (Outlaw Brothers) AND Vincent Lyn (Operation Condor), two of the greatest gweilo bad guys. One section in this fight is reminiscent of the classic Martial Club, in which Gordon Liu battles Wang Lung Wei in an alley that gradually decreases in size. Here the combat takes place in a small gap between freights, using the environment brilliantly. Just before that Cyndy fights lackeys on a rope spider’s web, a contraption which I had much fun playing on in my youth. The scene explores the martial possibilities to the utmost. On choreography duties are Meng Hoi AND Corey Yuen Kwai, and one can see the combination of Meng’s acrobatic grace and Yuen’s hard-hitting exchanges. Meng Hoi is also director here, at a time when he and Rothrock were dating, the lucky bastard! There are longer takes here than in the original Righting Wrongs, combined with logical editing that maximises the dopamine release of the fights. Chin Siu Ho vs Billy Chow is one for the ages, both being in the prime of their careers. Some of Rothrock’s best action lies here, despite there being a measure of doubling for the more acrobatic moves. When we cut to a wide shot, you can be sure Cyndy is delivering that bone-crushing kick.

Unfortunately, the first half of The Blonde Fury suffers from that distinct Hong Kong cinema problem: the narrative set ups are silly, there’s not a lot of action and the direction is bland and uninspired. As soon as the second half kicks in the action moves into top gear, and rewards the viewer in sticking with it. Even the comedy becomes increasingly more amusing come the 40 minute mark. Some of the characters seem to be comic counterparts of the ones in Righting Wrongs: Roy Chiao, an honourable forthright judge in the original is here injected with a drug that makes him delusional, and obsessed with the animated show He-Man! Corey Yuen and his father in the original (played by the mercurial Wu Ma) were sweet and silly, here Meng Hoi and his father (Wu Ma again) veer into Aces Go Places territory. That HK film trope, lines delivered by a bunch of characters in sync, are the order of the day. The copy I watched is the HK version release, and the subtitling is some of the most surrealistically funny I’ve seen. At times characters have conversations that make no sense, and in English form are nonsensically hilarious. Some choice ones: ‘You’re one cover girl for sex rag’ ‘You’ll be brainwashed with toilet water’ ‘Do you want bestiality?’ 

When I first watched The Blonde Fury I was aware that Rothrock’s hair changed length and style throughout the film. This time I noticed it changes sometimes shot-to-shot! And Chin Siu Ho and Elizabeth Lee‘s hair also changes! Hilarious. They were all busy bees back then. While the film is not cream of the crop classic status, once the second half arrives I was in heaven. Taken apart Righting Wrongs and The Blonde Fury are like two sides of the same coin. The latter takes nothing seriously but needs some time to get going, whereas the former hits the ground running and is firmly in serious mode, witty every element, despite some flaws, delivering. Time to rewatch The Blonde Fury’s fights, just as I did with my old VHS of Righting Wrongs, so much so I can recreate the fights in my head. Bliss!

Martin Sandison’s Rating : 7.5/10

The post Blonde Fury, The | aka Lady Reporter (1989) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Game of Death Redux” Theatrical Poster

Director: Bruce Lee
Produced & adapted by: Alan Canvan
Cast: Bruce Lee, James Tien, Chieh Yuan, Dan Inosanto, Ji Han Jae, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar
Running Time: 34 min. 

By Jeff Bona

In 1972, Bruce Lee started filming Game of Death, a movie that would not only have been his 4th Hong Kong action feature, but also his sophomore directorial effort. During this time, Bruce filmed over 100 minutes of footage, most of which, was enough to make up film’s main action finale. But before Game of Death would go further into production, Bruce was offered a lucrative deal from Warner Bros to star in a major Hollywood film. Game of Death was ultimately put on the back burner; and Bruce put his undivided attention on Enter the Dragon, a 007-esque, martial arts actioner that would become one of Warner’s highest grossing films of the year. It also made Bruce Lee a true international action star.

Sadly, Bruce was just weeks away from the theatrical premiere of Enter the Dragon when he suddenly — and shockingly — died. His premature death only amplified his popularity, instantly placing him in the larger-than-life ranks of James Dean, Marilyn Monroe and Elvis Presley.

Bruce Lee left behind a legacy of art, film, self-awareness, determination, and an overall body of work that one can enjoy and study for a lifetime. Most intriguing of all, he left behind Game of Death, a movie he started, but never completed. In fact, the mystique of Game of Death is probably the most talked about subject in Bruce’s life, only rivaling open discussions about his still-mysterious death. How can one ignore imagery of an abnormally tall, barefoot African fighter wearing sunglasses in-doors; a “Karate” guy wearing a traditional uniform blinged out with shiny gold trim; and of course, Bruce’s iconic yellow and black tracksuit with matching weaponry and sneakers. Top it off with its simplistic, one-location setting, and a plot line made up of endless rumors – and it’s easy to understand why everyone is so fascinated by it.

Although bits and pieces of the 1972 footage was teased in documentaries, a good chunk was released in Robert Clouse’s 1978 film, Game of Death, which uses only 11 or so of the 100 minutes Bruce filmed. The butchered footage was surrounded by a marketable plotline involving a fictional Hong Kong action star who decides to fight back after being harassed by local gangsters – of course – shying miles away from Bruce’s original, more philosophical, narrative.

It wasn’t until about 22 years later when Hong Kong film historian, Bey Logan, who at the time was employed with Media Asia Group, stumbled upon the 100 minutes of 1972 footage while having access to portions of Golden Harvest’ archive. The discovery of the footage – as well as Bruce’s notes about Game of Death’s original storyline obtained by the then-Bruce Lee Estate’s official authority figure, John Little – paved way to two projects in the year 2000: Little’s own Warrior’s Journey and Toshi Ohgushi and Toshikazu Ogushi’s Bruce Lee in G.O.D (commonly referred to as “The Artport footage”).

While both presentations utilized a lot more of the 1972 Game of Death footage than the 1978 film (30+ minutes, as opposed to 11 minutes), there’s a sense that their overall presentations felt rushed out to the market with second-rate dubbing, Bruce’s recycled “incompatible” battle cries from Enter the Dragon, subpar picture quality (even for the time), shoddy editing and musical scores that sounded like discount versions of Joseph Koo’s Way of the Dragon theme, or a blasphemous rendition of John Barry’s outstanding 1978 score. And while Warrior’s Journey at least had a decent documentary built around the 1972 footage, Bruce Lee in G.O.D featured a docudrama that’s nothing but an embarrassment to the craft of filmmaking.

As a die hard Bruce Lee fan anticipating newly seen 1972 Game of Death footage, both presentations (Warrior’s Journey and Bruce Lee in G.O.D) of the 1972 footage were “passable” or “good enough”, but lacked the integrity of being in the mercy of someone’s hands who was passionate with every cinematic detail – character by character, line by line, edit by edit – of Game of Death.

Enter filmmaker Alan Canvan, a cinema enthusiast and Bruce Lee fan, who has released his own cut of Game of Death, appropriately titled, Game of Death Redux. Alan’s adaptation showcases 23 minutes of the 1972-era Game of Death footage that’s presented closely the way Bruce intended, while at the same time, keeping in-tact some of the stronger aspects of the 1978 film, such as John Barry’s acclaimed score, as its strong audio design. Alan even brought back Chris Kent (responsible for dubbing Bruce’s war cries in the 1978 film), who once again lent his voice to match the audio portions used from the 1978 film.

There’s definitely some controversial moves made by Alan that some will wonder about. For instance, he reworked sequences for a more dramatic presentation of the narrative – in some cases – he even edits out “valuable” footage, resulting in a tighter, more concise package. This isn’t “let’s use as much Bruce Lee footage as we can just because it’s available”; it’s more like “let’s do it right so that it makes sense”. It’s a safe bet that Alan isn’t trying to please Bruce Lee fans. He’s crafted something for cinema enthusiasts in general. But if you happen to be both a Bruce Lee fan and a cinema snob, then you’re in good hands with Alan’s adaptation.

Game of Death Redux has also been fully restored with a brand-new color grade (see screenshots below), so the completed 1972 footage has never looked better. Bruce’s yellow and black tracksuit; Danny Inosanto’s black and red Filipino garb; Ji Han Jae’s Gold-trimmed outfit; Kareem Abdul-Jabbar’s blue and white leisure attire; blood, sweat and bruises; facial expressions; as well all the artifacts and weathered wooden floors of the pagoda – all looking as alive and vibrant as ever!

Alan’s passion to bring the 1972 footage to its fullest potential for Game of Death Redux is highly admirable. At his own expense, he orchestrated a team of professionals – having the film reevaluated, recut and restored – and presenting the footage, for the first time ever, as a “film”, as opposed to just another edit of footage clobbered together as an “extra” or a “bonus”.

There’s also a couple of Trailers Alan produced that set you up for Game of Death Redux. The first, a Teaser Trailer, featuring a subdued, chill-inducing piano-take on John Barry’s 1978 score, which does its job as being the ultimate tease. The second, its Full Trailer, is the one that shows that Alan means business about showcasing Game of Death Redux as its own cinematic entity (it even features exclusive dialogue of the American mercenary who befriends Bruce’s character prior to his journey to the pagoda). These two Trailers (both embedded at the end of this review) are a testament – in terms of creatively editing sound with picture – to what you can expect from Game of Death Redux.

The bottom line: Game of Death Redux is the newest and best way to experience the 1972 film Bruce Lee left behind.

Jeff Bona’s Rating: 9/10

The following are screenshots from Game of Death Redux: 

The post Game of Death Redux (2022) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“The Tattooed Dragon” Theatrical Poster

Director: Lo Wei
Cast: Jimmy Wang Yu, Sylvia Chang Ai Chi, Sam Hui Koon Kit, James Tien Chun, Dorian Tan Tao Liang, Lee Kwan, Tong Tin Hei, Pipop Pupinyo, Nai Jia
Running Time: 94 min.

By Ian Whittle

After two less than stellar features lensed in Japan, A Man Called Tiger and Seaman No.7, the Lo Wei/Jimmy Wang Yu/Golden Harvest team finally achieve some success with their third collaboration.

In Thailand, a mysterious fighter known only as The Dragon discovers some crooks with stolen charity money. Beating the living daylights out of them, he flees injured with the loot and is taken in by a farmer (Sam Hui) and his fiancée (Sylvia Chang). Meanwhile, the crook’s boss (James Tien) hatches a scheme to get hold of mineral-rich land by opening a casino, and getting the land cheap by obtaining the local’s houses to settle their gambling debts. 

And there’s an adorable dog named Lassie…I mean Lanni, stealing scenes left right and centre!

There is a sense of the guard changing when you have Jimmy Wang Yu and Sam Hui sharing the screen. The former was on his way down from the days when he was a superstar in Shaw Brothers’ wu xia films, and as far as kung fu films went he was being eclipsed by Bruce Lee. One year on from this film, Sam Hui and his brothers would star in Golden Harvest’s box office smash Games Gamblers Play which would show the way forward for the studio.

That said, in The Tattooed Dragon, Wang Yu is very much on top. Although he is never going to be considered much of a martial artist, he was a real life brawler with fighting chops, and seen here ploughing his way through assorted goons, there is a thuggish appeal to him that resonates. This attribute would come to the fore in his international feature The Man from Hong Kong, but would be less well utilised when he slummed miscast in period wu xia (The Killer Meteors) or old school kung fu styles (Tiger and Crane Fists).

Hui by contrast seems rather lost. Dubbed in Mandarin and with no singing or comedy opportunities (unless you count the strange scene where he tries to impress his father-in-law with his farming business plan), he might as well be anybody. And if you thought David Chiang taking on all of Thailand in Duel of Fists was far fetched, wait until you see Hui, who must tip the scales at a buck fifty soaking wet, winning some Thai boxing matches. Not since Burt Ward faced up to Bruce Lee in Batman have you seen such a mismatched battle!

Unusually for a Lo Wei film of this era, Lo himself doesn’t appear in the movie. He had a reputation behind-the-scenes for being too busy listening to horse races on the radio to direct. Which makes one wonder if he was going through a bit of intervention, when he made The Tattooed Dragon, as the film is really preachy about the evils of gambling! I’m not even sure the villains even cheat; they seem to get all the deeds to people’s houses fair and square. And when one desperate boob (Lee Quin) marches off to the casino, deed in hand, his wife takes her children to the river, ties herself and them up, then they all drown! And after all that, Lee decides not to go through with risking his house! It’s a horribly depressing scene, and I’m constantly torn between finding it effective (how could it not be, with Ennio Morricone scoring it?) and thinking: damn Lo Wei, this is horrid!

So what’s the moral of the story? Maybe, as Krusty the Clown’s accountant once put it: “Gambling is the finest thing a man can do…if he’s good at it!” 

Ian Whittle’s Rating: 6/10

The post Tattooed Dragon, The (1973) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Skyhawk” DVD Cover

Director: Jeong Chang Hwa
Cast: Kwan Tak Hing, Carter Wong, Wang In Sik, Sammo Hung, Nora Miao, Chiu Hung, Lily Chen Ching, Lee Kwan, Gam Kei Chu, Shut-Ma Wa Lung, Kim Ki-ju
Running Time: 88 min.

By Paul Bramhall

The Skyhawk is the kind of movie which opens up with kung fu legends Kwan Tak-Hing, Sammo Hung, and Carter Wong strolling down a countryside path together, an image which close to 50 years later is one which indelibly captures a moment in time which can never be re-created. It’s not long before we witness the equally iconic Korean hapkido master Whang In-shik unleash a flurry of devastating kicks, and all of this is crammed into the initial minutes before the opening credits have even appeared onscreen.

As the 2nd production that Korean director Cheng Chang-ho would helm for Golden Harvest, having come off a hot streak with Shaw Brothers that saw him in the directors chair for classics like Six Assassins and the landmark King Boxer, The Skyhawk bears all the distinctive marks of a mid-70’s GH kung fu flick. This era of the studios output had plenty of recognisable traits – from sounds effects for punches and kicks (and falls for that matter!) that sound like someone knocking on a wooden box, to the focus on Korean martial arts like hapkido and taekwondo that was kicked off (no pun intended) with 1972’s Hapkido. 

Chang-ho would maintain a much closer Korean connection for the productions he worked on for Golden Harvest compared to his work at Shaw Brothers, with his first 3 titles (the 1973 thriller The Devil’s Treasure, The Skyhawk, and 1975 oddity The Association) being co-productions with Korean studios. Whang In-shik would be a regular in almost all of his GH work, and for The Association and The Double Crossers he would cast Koreans as the lead. In The Skyhawk In-shik is on villain duty, playing a character that feels very much like a prototype for the villainous role he’d play in The Young Master 6 years later.

The real selling point of The Skyhawk is the return of Kwan Tak-Hing as the titular character Wong Fei-Hung (or Wong Skyhawk as he’s frequently referred to, which I assume to be a direct translation). Tak-Hing first played Wong Fei-Hung in 1949’s The Strong of Wong Fei-Hung – Part 1, and would go onto play the character over 70 times. Rarely a year would go by without Tak-Hing appearing in another instalment of WFH adventures (in 1956 alone he’d star in 25 WFH movies!), until in 1961 it looked like he was going to hang up his no shadow boots with How Wong Fei-Hung Smashed the Five Tigers. It didn’t last though, and 6 years later he returned to the role with a vengeance, kicking off with 1967’s Wong Fei-Hung Against the Ruffians. After cranking out 11 more WFH adventures in just 4 years, at the age of 65 retirement finally seemed on the card for Tak-Hing with 1970’s Wong Fei-Hung: Bravely Crushing the Fire Formation.

Like a Frank Sinatra farewell tour though, 4 years later and now almost 70, he’d return for The Skyhawk. What’s perhaps most interesting is that it didn’t turn out to be a one-off return, and he’d go onto reprise the character in 1979’s The Magnificent Butcher, 1980’s The Magnificent Kick, and 1981’s Dreadnaught. Compared to his final trilogy of appearances though, in which he plays a more authoritative figure suited to his age, The Skyhawk can be considered to be the last movie in which he was still front and centre when it came to the action. Here we meet WFH on holiday in Thailand who’s visiting an old friend that runs a factory. A Thailand setting. A factory. Golden Harvest. The Mid-70’s. Yes, you guessed it, The Skyhawk could just as well be called Wong Fei Hung channels The Big Boss.

Naturally there’s shenanigans going on in the factory, with the villainous Chao Hsiung (The Iron Fisted Monk, Broken Oath) looking to lure the workers for his own nefarious schemes involving opium. He hires Whang In-shik and his lackeys to put on the pressure, but little did he count on Hak-Ting and his faithful disciple Sammo Hung being around. Oh, and of course Carter Wong. When we meet Wong in the beginning he’s looking to escape from In-shik, and when they finally catch up In-shik menacingly asks him “Why did you run away?”. It’s a question we never get an answer to as the audience, which would have helped to establish Wong’s character a little more, but either way after a beating from the hapkido master he ends up being taken in by Hak-Ting and his friend.

This turns out to not be such a bad deal for Wong, as Nora Miao also lives under the same roof, in what amounts to little more than a flower vase role. Apart from flirtatiously making eye contact with the recovering mystery man over the dinner table, and turning up in relevant scenes to show expressions of concern (oh, and at one point giving Tak-Hing a massage, lucky guy!), Miao is left with little to do other than be present. Still, her presence further adds to the feel of The Skyhawk being another attempt to recreate the success of Bruce Lee rather than a revival of the long-running Wong Fei-Hung series. The grindhouse vibe is present and accounted for with typical mid-70’s Golden Harvest grittiness, like a James Bond-esque sequence where a factory worker is tied to a tree trunk, and placed on the conveyor belt heading towards a whirring saw that threatens to slice them in half.

Like many Golden Harvest productions made in that wilderness period between Bruce Lee’s passing, and Sammo Hung and co. taking fight choreography to the next level towards the end of the 70’s, The Skyhawk ultimately feels like a rather middling affair. Kwan Tak-Hing was in the twilight of his career, while the likes of Sammo Hung had still yet to reach his full potential in terms of both choreography style and his onscreen persona. That’s not to say that the action is a write off, which Hung receives sole credit for, far from it, and it’s easy to feel that Whang In-shik probably also contributed some ideas as well. In-shik’s kicks here look deadly, and whenever he springs into action the fluidity of his movements belies the 1974 production, when the punch and block choreography style was still largely predominant. 

Hung himself shows some blink and you’ll miss it flashes of the type of speed we’d become accustomed to in the 80’s, particularly in a brief sparring match against Tak-Hing, offering up a glimpse of what was to come. There are several fights scattered throughout, many involving In-shik’s lackeys that include Korean kung fu flick luminary Kim Ki-ju (Golden Dragon, Silver Snake, Dragon, the Young Master), however there are no real standouts. The fact that one fight briefly pits Sammo Hung against Whang In-shik and falls into the same category almost feels like it should be a criminalised. The skirmish could still be considered a highlight though in the context of comparing it to the finale, which goes for a 1 on 1 double pitting a pole wielding Kwan Tak-Hing against In-shik, and Carter Wong squaring off against Chao Hsiung. 

The thought that an almost 70 year old Tak-Hing could defeat a guy like In-shik in his prime was always going to be a tough sell, and the editing tries to prime us for this by showing how powerful Tak-Hing is before he gets to the main event. Taking on a group on In-shik’s lackeys, his pole amusingly sends them flying through the air in exaggerated slow motion in a movie that up until this point hasn’t had any, but it’s still not enough to suspend disbelief. Even more jarring is that the temple ruins that the fight takes place in in Thailand were too hot for Tak-Hing, so instead they constructed an indoor set in Hong Kong that attempted to replicate the setting. The end result is Carter Wong and Chao Hsiung fighting in the actual temple in Thailand against a clear blue sky, juxtaposed with constant cutaways to Tak-Hing and In-shik fighting in what’s clearly an indoor set, but we’re supposed to believe everyone is in the same place.

Despite being a comeback vehicle for one of Hong Kong cinema’s most enduring characters and the actor who played him, joining forces with some of the brightest talents of the era, The Skyhawk somehow fails to be an entertaining time at the movies. Perhaps because it feels like it’s trying to re-capture the look and feel that the producers probably thought made the likes of Bruce Lee’s Big Boss a success, not realising it was Lee’s presence that made that movie work rather than the pedestrian plot or exotic setting. As a result, much of it feels like going through the motions, and that spark which makes kung fu movies endlessly rewatchable regardless of their shortcomings is here sadly missing in action.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 5/10

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“Double Tap” Japanese Theatrical Poster

Director: Lo Chi-Leung
Cast: Leslie Cheung Kwok Wing, Alex Fong Chung Sun, Ruby Wong Cheuk Ling, Monica Chan Fat Yung, Vincent Kok Tak Chiu, Joseph Cheung Man Kwong
Running Time: 95 min.

By Paul Bramhall

There can be no denying that the Hong Kong film industry was in a miserable place at the turn of the century. There were 2 key factors behind the slump, the first being that many of its biggest directors and stars were still trying their hand in Hollywood, having made the jump based on the uncertainty of what the 1997 handover would bring. The second, and arguably bigger problem (little did we know at the time, but the fear of closer ties to China wouldn’t really manifest until the 2010’s), was that movie piracy was ravaging the film industry to the point of extinction. Despite this, there were some directors who rose to prominence during these dark days. The first who many will think of will likely be Johnnie To (and specifically his Milkyway Image Production house), but there’s also a solid case to be made for Lo Chi-Leung, who made his solo directorial debut with 2000’s Double Tap.

Chi-Leung was a frequent collaborator with Derek Yee, having worked in the capacity of assistant director on Yee’s C’est Le Vie Mon Cheri and Full Throttle, before rising to co-director status for 1996’s Viva Erotica. For Double Tap Yee would step into the producers chair, and gave Chi-Leung the opportunity to direct from his own script. Re-uniting with megastar Leslie Cheung from Viva Erotica, Double Tap follows the relationship between Cheung and Alex Fong (Angels 2, Thunder Run), who play a champion marksman shooting instructor and police inspector respectively. Fong is also no slouch in the shooting department, and there’s an underlying competitive streak between the pair, with Cheung known for his execution of the double tap – the ability to fire off 2 shots consecutively that hit the same mark.

Much of the first third of Double Tap takes place at the shooting range, with an equal amount of time spent on the intricacies of gun maintenance, as Chi-Leung’s script keeps its cards close to its chest and doesn’t appear to be aiming for anything more than a shooting range rivalry. This section of the narrative could be accused of threatening to test the audience’s patience, as there’s only so many times you can watch a bullet be shot at a stationery target. However the plot takes a sharp turn during the eventual competitive face off between Cheung and Fong, as a disgruntled cop barges in with a hostage at gunpoint. When Cheung’s girlfriend (played by Ruby Wong – Where a Good Man Goes, Running Out of Time) is placed in danger, it’s he who takes the shot while Fong hesitates, placing a bullet straight between the eyes.

The competition is left unresolved, and Cheung is sent off to a psychologist to deal with the trauma of killing someone. It’s in a quiet scene between Cheung and Wong that sets Double Tap off into far more interesting territory, as he reveals there’s something he’s been keeping a secret from the psychologist, which is that killing someone made him feel really happy. Skipping forward 3 years, Cheung’s skewered mental state has seen him become an assassin for hire, and when Fong is assigned to a multiple murder scene, the double tap shots convince him that it was Cheung behind the trigger. While there’s no evidence to bring Cheung in legitimately, instead Fong sneakily finds a way to hold his girlfriend, which sets the pair on a bloody collision course.

Firstly let’s be clear that there’s some suspension of disbelief required to enjoy Double Tap, a statement that could be applied to a lot of Hong Kong cinema, but which doesn’t make it any less valid. The question of why Cheung uses the double tap shot when he’s known to be one of only a few shooters in Hong Kong capable of it is never clearly addressed, and what’s more baffling is why Wong has decided to stay with someone who obviously has a dangerous mental illness. But such contrivances do little to impact the overall quality that Chi-Leung achieves here, crafting an effectively taut thriller that weaves in some suitably bloody action sequences throughout its runtime.

This was the first time for Cheung to take on what’s essentially a villain role, having spent most of his career up until this point in either heroic, comedic, or straight drama roles. Scenes which reflect his characters troubled mental state take on an extra level of poignancy watching Double Tap 20 years later that could never have been foreseen at the time, as the star suffered from clinical depression which led to him taking his own life just 3 year later. The role is certainly a vast departure from the Leslie Cheung audiences were used to seeing, a reminder that his breakthrough role as Ti Lung’s brother in 1986’s A Better Tomorrow (when he was 30) was a long time ago, and his appearance here is suitably chilling.

Alex Fong is more one-note as the cop on his trail, and easily the less interesting of the pair. What keeps the plot simmering away so effectively though is the moral ambiguity Chi-Leung incorporates into it. Even though we know Cheung needs to be taken down, as the lynch pin of the plot involves Fong unfairly keeping his girlfriend as collateral, a large part of the audience’s emotional investment goes to wanting Cheung to get her back. It’s a clever bait and switch using the characters perspectives to gain our buy-in based not on what’s the right thing to do, but rather the injustice of separating a couple who just want to be together (regardless of if one has become a mentally unstable killer!). 

The action is handled by Venoms alumni Philip Kwok, for which Double Tap marked his return to action directing after a 5-year hiatus, and there are times when proceedings get surprisingly bloody. Kwok and Cheung had worked together before, having collaborated on Once a Thief, The Bride with White Hair, and The Phantom Lover in the capacity of action director and actor, but it was probably Double Tap which saw them work together most closely. Kwok himself at this point was no stranger to adapting his talents to gun fights after working on the likes of The Big Heat, Hard Boiled, and Love, Guns and Glass (his last movie before going on hiatus), and the action here leans more towards Johnnie To style realism than the bombast of John Woo.

While the initial shooting range scenes serve their purpose, it’s when Cheung lures the cops who are on his tail back to the range that Kwok’s action direction really shines, as he clinically takes them out one by one. Events culminate in a sequence that has everyone converge in a crowded shopping mall for the finale, as Cheung and Fong finally get to pit their skills against each other. There’s a technique on display here that’s probably best described as an updated version of Ringo Lam’s bullet perspective action aesthetic in Full Contact, aided by CGI at a time when the technology complimented action scenes rather than being the action scene. It’s a fitting finale to an underseen slice of 2000’s Hong Kong action cinema, proving that it was still possible to make quality cinema that had both star power and high production values during an era that was particularly bleak.

Double Tap would get a thematic sequel a decade later with 2010’s Triple Tap, which saw Derek Yee sit in the directors chair and featured Fong as a supporting character in the same role (as an interesting sidenote, he also shows up as the same character in Yee’s One Night in Mongkok). Compared to Double Tap the sequel is a terminally dull affair devoid of any tension or excitement, serving only to highlight what an underrated director Lo Chi-Leung is. While Chi-Leung continues to deliver solid genre efforts, most recently with his double whammy of The Bullet Vanishes and The Vanished Murderer, if you’ve yet to see directorial debut, it’s time to check it out. 

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 8/10

The post Double Tap (2000) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Seaman. No 7” Theatrical Poster

Director: Lo Wei
Cast: Jimmy Wang Yu, Maria Yi, James Tien Chun, Tien Feng, Han Ying Chieh, Kelly Lee Hoi Lee, Gam Saan, Chin Yuet Sang, Lo Wei, Lam Ching Ying, Ma Man-Chun
Running Time: 100 min. 

By Ian Whittle

I think we’ve found a winner for the Most Underwhelming Kung Fu Movie Title…no wonder the UK VHS was re-named Wang Yu’s Magnificent Fights.

For some reason, after a winning streak of top-notch wu xia films at Shaw Brothers, and his blockbuster hits with Bruce Lee at rival studio Golden Harvest, director Lo Wei seemed to lose all momentum in 1973 and despite working with top talent Cheng Pei-pei and Jimmy Wang Yu (not to mention Chuck Norris!), his films became increasingly stodgy and over-reliant on dull dialogue passages. This would continue onto his independent productions, where he would try and fail (and then try again) to launch Jackie Chan as a star. Ironically, once Jackie became a star when loaned out to Seasonal Films, Lo would find his groove again in time for the above-average Dragon Fist.

Produced on location in Japan alongside A Man Called Tiger, Seaman No.7 involves a hot-headed sailor played by Jimmy Wang Yu, whose constant wolf-whistling here is presumably meant to stress he is a sailor (as if the gaudy t-shirts and cap weren’t a giveaway) but equally could be a case of “Well, Bruce Lee wolf-whistled in his last picture, and that grossed millions…” Wang Yu, being Wang Yu, hates the Japanese and leaps into a brawl with some Japanese sailors at a bar. During the frey, he accidentally kills a bystander, and escapes by stowing away on a ship bound for Kobe Dock in Japan. He is discovered by the crew and suddenly finds himself in demand with a local Yakuza clan. Having beaten the living daylights out of them, he meets up with a Chinese family living nearby (who don’t seem to mind too much that he is on the run for murder!)

Although there is plentiful action on display, the pace is sluggish, and the lack of music in many places doesn’t help. Wang Yu’s character is so thoroughly unlikeable (despite the half dozen girls in the cast cooing over him) that they might as well have gone the whole hog and had him become a crime boss. Speaking of which, the Yakuza boss here is a doozy. He is played by James Tien, in a thick blond wig and bright pink wardrobe, looking not the slightest bit Japanese but looking outrageously fabulous, already a long way from being taken seriously as a leading man again. Adding to the hilarity, he is followed about by one of the scrawniest looking sumo wrestlers on record. A shot of Tien ranting at his henchmen can only produce giggles when he is sharing said shot with a man in a large diaper. 

As with A Man Called Tige, an effort is made to spice up the action with set-pieces less reliant on martial arts then on props and location. There is a speedboat chase, and a fight on the back of a moving truck that feels like a precursor to what Jackie Chan would do in the 80s, though it is hampered by the slack editing that does not make the scene as exciting as it could have been. Less successful is a lengthy underwater fight, which reminds up of Jimmy Wang Yu’s background as a champion swimmer, and even more so of how boring underwater sequences are without John Barry music or sharks to spice them up!

What does redeem Seaman No.7 is this. During the course of the story, Wang Yu becomes a cleaner at a karate school, and, at first covertly then directly, learns Karate from the sensei, played by Suzuki Masafumi, who would best Sonny Chiba the following year in The Street Fighter. And Wang gets a Japanese girlfriend! After depicting the Japanese several times as savage ghouls resembling vampires, seeing Wang Yu absorbing the culture and heritage of the country is a much appreciated breath of fresh air!

Ian Whittle’s Rating: 5/10

The post Seaman No. 7 (1973) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Hocus Pocus” Theatrical Poster

Director: Chin Yuet Sang
Producer: Sammo Hung
Cast: Lam Ching Ying, Stephen Tung Wei, Law Ho Kai, Chin Yuet Sang, Peter Chan Lung, Tai San, Alice Lau Ar Lai, Fung Lee, Cheung Ging Boh
Running Time: 94 min.

By Paul Bramhall

In 1984 it’d been 4 years since Sammo Hung directed and starred in Encounters of the Spooky Kind, the 1980 horror comedy kung fu flick hybrid that would prove hugely influential throughout the rest of the decade (culminating in a sequel in 1990). Mixing the 3 genres resulted in some interesting titles, from the Billy Chong vehicles Kung Fu Zombie and Kung Fu from Beyond the Grave (released in 1981 and 1982 respectively), to Sammo himself revisiting the genre with Wu Ma’s The Dead and the Deadly in 1982. Both Encounters of the Spooky Kind and The Dead and the Deadly feature Lam Ching-Ying in supporting roles, and in 1985 Ching-Ying would take on the role that defined the rest of his career – the vampire busting Taoist priest, thanks to his iconic turn in Mr. Vampire.

However a year before he put on the famous yellow threads, he featured in another horror comedy, in the form of 1984’s Sammo Hung produced Hocus Pocus. It’s a title that’s rarely spoken of, but in retrospect is arguably the bridge between the Encounters of the Spooky Kind influenced first half of the 80’s, and the shadow that Mr. Vampire would come to cast over the latter half of it. In Hocus Pocus he’s not yet in Taoist priest mode, instead playing the superstitious leader of a Peking Opera troupe who’ve come to a remote town to perform. While the characters profession may be different, traits such as his stoic demeanour and no-nonsense attitude are easily recognizable as those that would be carried over into Mr. Vampire just a year later.

What’s interesting about Hocus Pocus though, is that even though Ching-Ying is playing the leader of the Opera troupe, he’s not actually the main character. That honour goes to legendary action director Stephen Tung-Wai. Between the years of 1982 – 1985 Tung-Wai took a break from action directing (eventually returning in 1986 for A Better Tomorrow and Pom Pom Strikes Back!), and seemed to focus more on his career in front of camera. Apart from Hocus Pocus, he’d also headline the 1985 Shaw Brothers production Journey of the Doomed, before settling back into supporting roles and going onto have a successful run as a director. Notably, he’d direct his co-star Lam Ching-Ying in the 1990 modern day take on the genre mash-up, Magic Cop.

For Hocus Pocus directing duties go to Chin Yuet-Sang. An accomplished action director himself, Yuet-Sang stepped into the directors’ chair for the first time along with Hsu Hsia to co-helm the Lo Meng solo outing Lion Vs Lion in 1981. The pair also choreographed the fight action (and wrote the script, but who comes to these movies for that?), and while everyone’s favorite Toad has never looked better, the bizarre tagged on supernatural ending provides an indication as to where Yuet-Sang’s interests really lie. He’d go onto direct a further 3 movies after Hocus Pocus – 1987’s Crazy Spirit, 1990’s The Spooky Family, and 1992’s Ghost Lover – and as you can probably tell from the titles, all of them had a supernatural theme.

The plot for Hocus Pocus see’s the Opera troupe being hassled by a mischievous ghost, one that turns out to have its bones scattered under the theatre they’re performing at, and really just wants their assistance for a proper burial so it can pass onto the next world. However when the troupe mistakenly retrieve the bones of another long-deceased soul, they must deal with its angered spirit making an appearance to cause havoc and mortal danger. While this may sound like the classic ingredients for an 80’s Hong Kong supernatural flick, well, you’d be half right. First off, it quickly becomes clear that Hocus Pocus is purely a horror comedy, with little interest in the kung fu part. That’s fine by me, the trade-off is that it lives and dies based on how effective the horror and comedy is.

In short, it’s a mixed bag. A very mixed bag. While the part about digging up the wrong bones may sound like the crux of the plot, none of this happens until the final 20 minutes. So yes, while in terms of a narrative it is a decisive turn of events, its fair to wonder what the preceding 75 minutes are dedicated to. In short, there’s a lot of torturous comedy to get through. A lot. The troupe, who apart from Ching-Ying and Tung-Wai consist of Law Ho-Kai (Rosa), Lau Nga-Lai (My Lucky Stars), Wong Kwan-Hong (Satin Steel), Paco Yick Tin-Hung (The Master Strikes Back), Yuen Miu (Blood Child) and Ng Min-Kan (the director of Deadful Melody), turn out to be a bunch of practical jokers.

The problem is, each of their practical jokes tend to be needlessly drawn out. A scene in which they rig Ho-Kai’s room to make it appear possessed goes on for an age, and is representative of many of the other comedy sequences, far outstaying their welcome and often not that particularly funny to begin with. To confound matters further, director Yuet-Sang turns up as the mischievous bulbous headed blue spirit, and is just as up for a joke as the rest of the troupe. Looking like a blue Chinese version of Pennywise, Yuet-Sang’s antics and whiny child-like voice tend to induce feelings of violence, as he prances around the stage during one of the troupe’s performances (invisible to everyone), interrupting key moments of the choreography. Comedy gold it isn’t, and if anything his resemblance to a clown is creepy for all the wrong reasons, making the cute vampire family from Mr. Vampire 2 seem appealing in comparison.

Call it personal preference, but some things I just don’t need to see. Sure, watch any amount of old-school kung fu goodness, and it won’t take long before you come across a scene of a character getting peed on by a kid (usually by accident). Here a kid’s pee is used to exorcise a spirit that’s possessed a human’s body, and said scene literally involves a naked kid being lifted above the possessed characters head, who then proceeds to pee over it. I’m pretty sure Hocus Pocus would top R. Kelly’s list of best Asian movies. A scene in which everyone laughs at a character with a disability (a cameo from Wu Ma) also left a bad taste, feeling like it fell just on the wrong side of the line to derive any enjoyment from. If you can get past these, make sure you’re also cool with what’s construed by western standards as animal cruelty, as there’s a scene involving the cooking of a turtle.

Apart from a couple of brief skirmishes between Tung-Wai and Ho-Kai, it’s in the last 20 minutes that things finally liven up. Nga-Lai is attacked by the angered spirit and it’s played straight, backed up by a score lifted straight from Dario Argento’s Suspiria (look out for a track from The Shining that’s used early on as well). As far as tonal shifts go, it’s up there, and while we still don’t get any kung fu, the havoc the spirit causes gives the stuntmen a top-notch workout, with bodies sent crashing into walls, tables, and any other breakable prop you can think of. It’s always difficult to remain subjective for these type of finales, the ones that have been precursed by over an hour of torturous monotony, as almost any kind of confrontation would be enjoyable by this point, but here the finale genuinely delivers some good fun.

Much like the beginning of the movie, the end wraps up with the troupe taking on the roles of characters from Buddhist mythology, in sequences which serve as both highpoints and bookends to what ultimately feels like a missed opportunity. The action handled by Sammo Hung’s Stuntmen Association is worthy, and heavy on the stunts, but a few dynamic falls and impacts scattered across a runtime which feels significantly longer than it actually is aren’t enough to redeem the many negatives. As it is Hocus Pocus is an unremarkable footnote in the oeuvre of both Lam Ching Ying and Sammo Hung, proving that to make a successful horror comedy kung fu flick hybrid, you need all three elements. Take one away, and in this instance all you’re left with is a lot of gurning, prat falls, and people being peed on.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 3.5/10

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“Lady Whirlwind” Theatrical Poster

Director: Huang Feng
Producer: Raymond Chow
Cast: Chang Yi, Angela Mao Ying, Pai Ying, Oh Kyung-Ah, Liu Ah-Na, Chin Yuet-Sang, Sammo Hung Kam-Bo, Huang Feng, June Wu Ching Erh, Chin Nan Yi
Running Time: 84 min.

By Ian Whittle

Golden Harvest’s early years were devoted soley to martial arts films, and keeping up with their main rival, the Shaw Brothers. After a year of wu xia swordplay, 1971 saw Golden Harvest strike it lucky with the Bruce Lee/Lo Wei blockbuster The Big Boss, which beat Shaw’s similary Thailand set contemporary action flick Duel of Fists into submission.

Alongside the swordplay films, Shaws had started to branch out into what fans call “basher” flicks, focusing on empty-handed “Chinese boxing”, set either in the present day or an earlier circa 1920s era. Besides resulting in Golden Harvest’s 1972 collosus Fist of Fury (again Bruce Lee and Lo Wei), their satellite producer/director Huang Feng branched out into the sub-genre, with choreographer Sammo Hung and, in marked contrast to the new male-oriented box office domination of Chang Cheh, Jimmy Wang Yu and Bruce Lee; a female leading lady, Angela Mao Ying.

Having said that, Mao is not top-billed in this, and the Chinese title translates to “Iron Palm Whirlwind Leg”. Lady Whirlwind is actually primarily about Ling Shi-Hao (Chang Yi) and his feud with a gang led by Japanese villian Tung Ku (Pai Ying), a conflict marvellously summed up in the English dub’s hilarious opening lines:

Tung Ku: “Ling Shi-Hao, there’s no escape. You’re a dead duck!”
Ling Shi-Hao: “You dirty lowdown Japanese!”

However, Ling is also marked for death by the mysterious Tien Li-Chun (Angela Mao), who wants revenge for him abandoning her sister to suicide. She will, however, permit him to defeat Tung Ku first. Which isn’t easy, but then Ling rescues an old Korean man from a snake bite, and is taught a new Tai Chi style…

Lady Whirlwind is a interesting example of a kung fu film where the fighting is probably the weakest aspect. The atmosphere is very effective, with the whole film having a desolate Western feel to it that I find very appealing (it wouldn’t surprise me if the plot came from a Western too). And the canned music (John Barry’s fresh from the record-shop Diamonds Are Forever score turns up a lot) works well.

Chang Yi’s leading man roles were never as engaging as his later cackling villains, and for all his efforts here, he is one of the least interesting performers/characters. Mao, effectively playing a male character as Kim Newman once remarked in his excellent book Nightmare Movies, is a striking prescence and you can see why she caught on in the Western markets even more than in Hong Kong. The film also finds room for two other distinctive female characters: Oh Kyoung-Ah as Ling’s new love interest, and Liu Ah-Na as a marvellous “Dragon Lady” style whip-wielding chain-smoking villianess Tiao. Sammo Hung is a frequent punching bag for the rest of the cast, and Chin Yuet-Sang looks patently absurd pretending to be Japanese ronin Wen Tien: all exaggerated bowing and awkwardly fitting top-not.

Incidentally, this film contains one of my all time favourite bad dubbing exchanges

Tiao: “Go to the inn, you’re welcome to any of my birds.”
Wen Tien: “B..i..r..d…what is a…bird?”
Tung Ku: “Ha ha! It’s a woman, you dumb ass.”
Wen Tien: “Wooo…mannn…Ha Ha! I love em! I’ll take two of them! I’ll take two of them!!!”
Tung Ku: “Sure, sure, sure, sure…I’ll take you there myself!”
Tiao: “You what? The hell you will!”

The fights are many, but rather dated, even by the standards of what Hung turned out in the same year’s Hapkido. By that point, most of the Golden Harvest players had been for a crash course in Hapkido under Grandmaster Ji Han-Jae, and the difference is striking. Lady Whirlwind features a lot of Austin Powerish “Judo Chops!” with the extras milling around wondering where their swords are gone. Awkward trampoline jumps, reverse acrobatics… it’s all very stagey, but charming in itself.

Lady Whirlwind caught the wave of interest in kung fu in the USA, becoming a big hit under the not-to-be-confused-with-any-pornos title Deep Thrust. And it was caught for review by a young critic named Joe Dante.

Hmm, one day a man is reviewing an Angela Mao movie, the next he’s a blockbuster film director. There’s hope for me yet!

I liked it more than Joe did, though

Ian Whittle’s Rating: 8/10

The post Lady Whirlwind | aka Deep Thrust (1972) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Thunder Cops 2” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Jeff Lau
Producer: Wong Hoi
Cast: Sandra Ng Kwan, Shing Fui On, Stephen Chow, Ann Bridgewater, Sunny Fang, Wu Fung, Jeff Lau, Lam Siu Lau, Joh Chung Sing, Eddie Ko Hung
Running Time: 97 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

The sheer volume of movies cranked out of Hong Kong in the 1980’s somewhat belies belief, and perhaps understandably, the on-the-fly nature of so many of them sometimes results in confusion. Such is the case for Thunder Cops 2. It should be simple enough – it’s the sequel to Thunder Cops right? Well, yes and no. In a nut shell, director Jeff Lau’s 1988 sophomore feature Operation Pink Squad proved to be a hit, and within a year a sequel was in the works, predictably titled Operation Pink Squad 2. Both fall into the action comedy genre, with the sequel going for a supernatural slant. For reasons we’ll likely never know, for some home video releases Operation Pink Squad 2 was known as Thunder Cops, and for reasons we’ll definitely never know, during the same year Lau would also grace our screens with Thunder Cops 2.

There are some tenuous connections between the trio. Apart from all being directed by Jeff Lau (who also turns up in a supporting role in all 3), each are headlined by Sandra Ng, with a supporting cast that features the likes of Ann Bridgewater and Wu Fung, and action direction duties going to Yuen Clan member Yuen Cheung Yan. However much like the Tiger Cage series, in each instalment everyone is playing a different character. Unlike the Tiger Cage movies though, which at least kept their theme of being no nonsense cops and robbers fight flicks, Thunder Cops 2 quickly puts to rest the theory of there being any thematic connection.

Lau also enlists the services of Stephen Chow, here in an early screen appearance. The pair would collaborate again in 1995, when they’d make Out of the Dark and the 2 A Chinese Odyssey movies together (although thankfully Chow didn’t return for the 3rd instalment, belatedly made in 2016). In 1989 Chow was still very much in the process of refining his comedic persona (he’d star alongside Jet Li in Dragon Fight the same year), compared to both Lau and Sandra Ng, who’d already established themselves to HK audiences as being associated with the comedy genre. So for Thunder Cops 2, you get the distinct impression the 3 of them sat in a room together, and decided that before they find themselves typecast for the rest of their careers, they’d have a crack at making a gritty and mean spirited revenge flick. Audience expectations be damned.

Or at least, they sat in a room together and had that conversation after the first day of filming. Indeed proceedings start out like many an 80’s Hong Kong flick, with the rather light hearted sequence of Ng’s bumbling traffic cop attempting to arrest a group of illegal street market vendors. In one of those only in a HK movie moments, she then inadvertently stumbles across her father policeman’s (played by Eddie Ko) operation to arrest an armed drug dealer (played with a manic intensity by Sunny Fang). Looking to get in on the act, after the bust goes awry Ng finds herself able to sneak up on Fang from behind, and attempt to apprehend him by passing off the eggplant being held to his head as a gun. Comedy shenanigans all the way, except the eggplant trick doesn’t work, and Fang ends up sending her father to an early grave.

Cue opening credits, and by the time we’re back it’s 1 year later. Gone is the bumbling traffic cop, and in her place is a shoot to kill badass hell bent on avenging her father, one that’s all too happy to manipulate her junkie informant to help her track Fang down. That sure escalated quickly. It’s safe to say that Ng’s role in Thunder Cops 2 is definitely an anomaly in her career, with a Jeff Lau at the helm who seems to have been influenced by the work John Woo was doing around the same time (The Killer came out the same year).

Watching Ng let loose with a Beretta in each hand shouldn’t work, but somehow it does, and Lau shows an unusual cruel streak in the violence he orchestrates. A confrontation on the steps of a wedding hall (newlywed couple included), ends with the bride and groom caught in the crossfire with tragic results, reflecting an aesthetic that doesn’t shy away from showcasing the civilian collateral damage. Lau and action director Yuen Cheung Yan opt to film the bullet ballets mostly in slow motion, with the brief parts that play out in real time acting as explosive bursts of visual punctuation, which for the most part works. There’s an almost ethereal like quality to the bullet riddled mayhem, almost as if the slow motion is meant to represent time slowing down, and it creates a unique feel that heroic bloodshed aficionados will surely get a kick out of.

This is done particularly well in a scene which see’s Ng rescue Chow from a group of assailants. The whole scene plays out from Chow’s perspective who’s been knocked to the floor, as he watches Ng pump the bad guys full of lead looking like a sort of dreamy angel of death. It’s a cool scene, and a distinctly different approach from other movies that were looking to ape the John Woo aesthetic around the same time, such as City War. Speaking of John Woo, it also can’t be denied that Chow’s limp addled brother to Shing Fui On’s drug dealing pimp, is undoubtedly modelled after Chow Yun Fat’s physical disposition in A Better Tomorrow.

The action isn’t only limited to gun fights though, with the appearance of Ng’s partner played by Taiwanese stalwart Lin Hsiao Lu guaranteeing at least one scene of quality fisticuffs. Hsiao Lu starred in many of the late 80’s Taiwanese kung-fu flicks, usually alongside Alexander Lo Rei, and can be seen showing off her considerable talents in the likes of Kung Fu Student and Emergency Police Lady (both from the same year). She’s perhaps best known though as The Child of Peach, in which she played the peach powered son (which part of that title do you want to discuss first?) across 4 movies. Here she gets a hard hitting knockdown, drag out brawl against two assailants which takes place on a construction site, and while it’s the only real fight scene of the movie (unless you count Sandra Ng vs. Stephen Chow), it more than delivers. Impacts, hard falls, and some impressive choreography are all present and accounted for.

When it comes to everything else though, Thunder Cops 2 doesn’t really hit the mark. While it’s well known that many Hong Kong movies had their scripts made up as they went along during the golden era, here it’s never felt truer. There’s a real feeling that, outside of the plot outline of a police woman looking to avenge the death of her father, everything else was simply made up on the fly. Notably Stephen Chow doesn’t even turn up until over an hour in, and he’s never really around long enough to feel like a significant character, despite his appearance in the finale being reliant on the audience being invested in him. There’s something reassuringly familiar about seeing Shing Fui On turn up in a movie like this, however his character here is simply a means for Ng to get to her father’s killer, and subsequently also ends up receiving short thrift.

Special mention has to go to Ann Bridgewater, who as a junkie informer is about as far away from her sexy turn in Full Contact 3 years later as you can imagine. Playing a character who’s opening scene involves being pummelled (note: not in a violent way) by Shing Fui On while Sandra Ng watches on from inside a closet, she definitely puts her all into the role, even if the movie over all isn’t worthy of it. In fact everyone in Thunder Cops 2 looks like they want to be there, so the blame for its incohesive nature would seem to lay largely with Lau himself, a theory that certainly isn’t outside the realms of possibility when you look at his overall filmography.

By the time the credits abruptly roll on Thunder Cops 2, which let’s face it isn’t such a surprise in Hong Kong cinema, I was left with a distinct feeling that I’d watched an unruly and disorganised mess of a movie, with some sprinkles of brilliance thrown in haphazardly. At one point Chow refers to Ng and himself as “one bitch and one cripple”, which perhaps would have been a more fitting title, although certainly no less misleading. Thunder Cops 2 is carried along on Ng’s shoulders (as is Chow in one scene), and for the most part she keeps it watchable, now with the added retrospective ingredient of nostalgia. Is it a good movie though? Not really.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 5.5/10

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“Killer Angels” Theatrical Poster

Director: Tony Liu Chun-ku
Cast: Moon Lee, Gordon Liu, Lau Siu Kwan, Leung Kar Yan, Fujimi Nadeki, Kingdom Yuen King Tan, Shing Fui On, Ng Man Tat, Tony Liu Jun Guk, Mark Houghton
Running Time: 91 min.

By Paul Bramhall

Like most fans of Hong Kong action, I have a soft spot for the Girls with Guns genre. Sure it was short lived (almost every entry that falls under the category was made between 1987 – 1993), and the sheer volume in which they were cranked out meant that there quickly became more bad than good, but there’s something about even the worst ones which means they’re never entirely unforgivable. There were essentially two Girls with Guns series, of which all of the other knock-offs and copy-cats looked to replicate. First was the Yes, Madam!/In the Line of Duty flicks, which were kicked off by Michelle Yeoh and Cynthia Rothrock in the 1985 original, however would subsequently be carried by Cynthia Khan in the following 5 entries (some of which are considered unofficial). Then there was 1987’s Iron Angels, which introduced us to the talents of Moon Lee, spawned 2 official sequels, and a plethora of other loose Angel tie-ins.

Killer Angels was one such production, made during the same year as Angel III, and gives us Moon Lee as one of the Blue Angels trio, a kind of mercenaries for hire service that the police sometimes enlist the services of. When a member of a mysterious triad group called the Shadow Gangsters returns from America, claiming to have a list of all of the HK members of the group, the angels are called in to provide him with protection in return for exchanging the list. Said protection takes the form of fending off the HK based sect of the Shadow Gangsters, led by the legendary Leung Kar Yan and his faithful subordinate, the equally legendary Gordon Liu. Cue the tropes we all come to these flicks for – gratuitous machine gun fire, explosions, hard hitting fights, and a general level of energy that belies the obviously low budget.

Helmed by Tony Liu Chun-ku, much of the reason why Killer Angels proves to be a superlative slice of Girls with Guns entertainment, is likely thanks to his involvement. A director who’d been active since the mid-70’s, after helming Hwang Jang Lee classics like Hell’s Windstaff and Tiger Over Wall, he moved onto directing some of the most well regarded 80’s era Shaw Brothers productions, such as Bastard Swordsman and Secret Service of the Imperial Court. By the end of the decade he’d become somewhat of a Girls with Guns aficionado, usually with Moon Lee as his leading lady, with the pair also working on Devil Hunters the same year as Killer Angels (in which he turns up in a minor role).

Almost as if Chun-ku’s mission statement was to create the archetypal template for any Girls with Guns flick (or late 80’s/early 90’s Hong Kong action movie for that matter), the opening of Killer Angels acts like a check list of required scenarios – assassination in a basement car park. Check. Businessman kidnapped by assailants wearing sunglasses, even though it’s at night. Check. Action scene in a container yard. Check. It may feel overly familiar, but there’s a welcome energy to the briskness of the pacing, and the action on display is crisp. Moon Lee is joined by fellow angel Kingdom Yuen (a name more epic than anything in the movie itself), who plays a geeky but equally capable member of the trio, and eventually a lawyer, played by Yuen Hung, who’s proves to be more lethal with her fists than her legal skills.

Much like the Iron Angels series which it riffs on, while the title indicates the plural, the real star of the show here is Moon Lee. Where Killer Angels sets itself apart from the series that inspired it though, is that Lee’s co-stars are just as proficient in screen fighting as she is. No offence to Elaine Lui of course, however she could never have been argued to been cast expecting to deliver top drawer fights (and notably she was missing in action from Angel III all together). Both Kingdom Yuen and Yuen Hung have the moves, and thankfully get a handful of opportunities to show them off. Both ladies get their licks in against Lau Siu Kwan, who plays the triad they’re protecting, and whose unwanted advances lead to him being kicked and thrown around like a ragdoll.

Such scenes are a reminder of just how much talent the Hong Kong stunt community had in the industries prime. Whereas today, being attached to a wire for the purpose of being launched across a room and thrown face first into a wall would (and rightly so) be considered a high impact money shot, back then it was filmed as if it was no more important that the dialogue scene that just preceded it. Killer Angels is one of those movies were people get punched and kicked around on a regular basis, absorbing some painful looking falls and impacts, the type which as fans we perhaps once took for granted. As the expression goes, you don’t know what you got ’till it’s gone, but thankfully there’s an almost never ending catalogue of HK action flicks that’ll always be there to enjoy.

The other standout of Killer Angels is Moon Lee’s performance itself. She gets a little bit more to do here than just look cute and kick ass, as she finds herself going undercover in a triad run hostess bar. Hired as a singer, this results in her being given a full length musical number, in which she belts out a surprisingly catchy slice of Canto-pop complete with choreographed dance moves and backup dancers. Ridiculously, this scene was completely cut from Tai Seng’s US VHS release, which should be considered a crime considering it’s such a highlight. She also finds herself involved in a rather bizarre love triangle with Gordon Liu, who plays a triad enforcer armed with an enormous revolver, and an affinity for wearing black leather (even his cap is leather!).

Much like the audience, Liu finds himself falling for the charms of Lee’s understated sexiness, and even when he finds out she’s undercover, can’t quite bring himself to pull the trigger. This doesn’t go down well with Liu’s floozy, played by Japanese femme fatale Takajo Fujimi, which leads to a nicely choreographed fight between her and Lee. Killer Angels was Fujimi’s debut, and her career never really took off the same way it did for her fellow countryman Yukari Oshima, possibly because she always seemed to be cast in roles similar to those that Oshima was known for. Despite having screen presence and the moves to back it up, she’d only clock up 13 credits in the 10 years she was active in the industry, with her final appearance in 1999’s forgettable The Kingdom of Mob. As a debut though, in Killer Angels she leaves an impression.

Be warned, if you’re a fan of the Master Killer, this is not the movie for you. Much like many of the movies Liu was making at the time (see also A Bloody Fight and My Heart is That Eternal Rose), he doesn’t throw a single punch or kick, although he does get to shoot a lot. Liu was an actor who always seemed a little lost without his mentor Lau Kar Leung, and he never was able to catch the same magic of his work at Shaw Brothers once the studio moved away from film production. Liu isn’t the only student of Kar Leung in Killer Angels, with Mark Houghton also making an appearance as a Middle Eastern(!?) human trafficker. Houghton had started training under Kar Leung the year prior, and made his debut in film the same year as Killer Angels with the Kar Leung directed Aces Go Places V: The Terracotta Hit.

The blonde gweilo does get his licks in against Moon Lee (in a room graffitied with ‘Jesus ♡ You’ of all places), with fellow Brit Wayne Archer facing off against Kingdom Yuen. The action, which strikes a nice balance between gun play and fist fights, is choreographed by Chui Fat (who also worked with Chun-ku and Moon Lee on Devil Hunters the same year). It marked the first time for the Shaw Brothers stalwart to go solo (unless you count Fearless Hyena 2, which I’m not sure he’d want), and he does an amicable job of putting together a number of brief but high impact exchanges. The final fight between Lee and Leung Kar Yan, who appears to be channelling the Yuen Wah look from Dragons Forever, crams in some painful falls and intense exchanges. It would have been nice if it’d lasted a little longer, but it’s still great a great match-up of two talented screen fighters.

Despite the genre being a minefield to navigate, Killer Angels is one Girls with Guns flick that’s definitely worth your time. The glorious illogic of it – I personally loved the fact that the ladies always seemed to have a grenade somewhere on their person to throw at people, regardless of the scenario – only adds to the charm, and it ticks all of the required boxes. Even the obscure ones that you didn’t realise you needed, like an action scene taking place in an abandoned old building full of breakable wooden furniture and tyres. For a throwback to when even the lesser budgeted Hong Kong movies delivered the goods, Killer Angels fits the bill perfectly. Did I mention Moon Lee sings?

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7/10

The post Killer Angels (1989) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Miracle Fighters” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Diretor: Yuen Woo-ping
Cast: Yuen Yat Chor, Leung Kar Yan, Yuen Cheung Yan, Brandy Yuen Jan Yeung, Eddie Ko Hung, Yuen Shun Yee, Yuen Woo Ping, Tino Wong Cheung, Huang Ha, Chan Tien Lung, Simon Yuen Siu Tien, Lam Moon-Wa
Running Time: 95 min.

By Matthew Le-feuvre

Following the runaway successes of both Snake in the Eagle’s Shadow (1977) and its semi-sequel The Drunken Master (1978), it has always been fervently rumoured that ace choreographer, producer and filmmaker, Yuen Woo-ping ‘expected’ or at least was anticipating another collaboration with rising phenomenon, Jackie Chan, before he abdicated to Golden Harvest. However, having also dramatically laboured as a stuntman at the prolific Shaw Brothers studio, to a much sought after fight arranger and director, Ping was already more than aware how (A): the machinations of the film industry truly functioned, (B): how limiting ‘original’ concepts can be and (C): that the commercial life expectancy would constantly attract imitators and opportunists.

Whilst Chan was macheting his route towards creative autonomy, as well as circumventing an alleged ‘death contract’ issued by his former employer (Lo Wei), Ping, too, desperately tried to reinvent his winning formula by casting his young brother, Yuen Hsin Yee for the critically under-rated Dance of the Drunken Mantis (1979) – an official continuance of ‘Sam the Seed’ mythos. By then, the market had been tsunamied with a whole barrage of “fight, train, fight” pseudo-Chan clones: from Billy Chong (The Crystal Fist) to Jack Long/Li Lin Min (Mystery of Chess Boxing/World of the Drunken Master), to John Chang (Snake in the Monkey’s Shadow). Ultimately, Chan’s broad masochistic appeal was far too strong for Yee to be embraced by audiences, and his career was sadly reduced to playing mentally deranged psychopaths, occult deviants or co-choreographing in association with his equally dynamic siblings: Yuen Chung Yan, Yuen Yat Chor and Brandy Yuen Chun Wei.

As for Ping, an open invitation from Golden Harvest president, Raymond Chow, saw him devise the most potent, innovative and complex kung fu patterns for the otherwise “lacklustre” Game of Death (1978) cash-in: Tower of Death (1981). Again it featured the late Tang Lung (aka Kim Tai Cheung) in dual roles, while the ‘Pagoda’ itself, like Bruce lee, remains absent from sight by reversing the idea of an external backdrop to a subterranean one, poignantly curtailing production costs! Yet according to pre-production sources, the original premise for Game of Death 2 – as it later became internationally known, was to have been faithfully constructed around further alleged missing or unused Bruce Lee/Game footage; notably the incomplete ‘new territories’ promotional fight material. It never happened! Failing that, abridged sequences from Enter the Dragon (1973) were alternatively inserted showcasing Lee’s philosophical exchange with Roy Chiao, as well as an extended arrival scene at Han’s Island where Lee’s character bemusingly surveys his guest quarters. Despite Ping’s obvious genius, the result; although oddly muddled, was more or less an exercise in capitalistic ineptitude rather than inspirational perpetuity.

Before long, Ping was energetically helming ‘Wong Fei Hung’ revival pictures: The Magnificent Butcher (1979) and Dreadnaught (1981). It had been five years since its original leading actor, Kwan Tak Hing returned to the role for The Skyhawk (1974), however these two entries, prior to Jet Li/ Chin Man Chuek 90’s portrayals, were designedly more focused on Wong Fei Hung’s foremost pupils: Lam Sai Wing (Sammo Hung Kim Po) and Leung Foon (Liu Chia Ren aka Leung Kar Yan), respectively. Yet, obstensibly, it was through Hung Kim Po’s influencial reinvention of the Horror/fantasy genre – specifically the ground breaking Encounters of the Spooky Kind (1981) – that Ping became inspired too make The Miracle Fighters, even though they’d been conceptually preceded by Ho Meng Hua (Black Magic) and Liu Chia Liang (The Spiritual Boxer), it was nonetheless still an arena worth exploring and the possibilities were high if presented at the right juncture.

Despite a capricious audience demograph, significantly or not – and this may depend upon personal observation – Hong Kong cinema has always retained a long traditional relationship with the ‘arcane’, the ‘supernatural’ and/or ‘occult’ symbolism. Indeed, compared to the Western hemisphere, it is a vibrant, exotic culture which is both inherently ‘superstitious’ and ‘spiritual’ by nature, therefore it is only proper that these intrinsic values, beliefs and/or rituals should be poetically evident in their iconography, art, literature and of course motion pictures. This may appear like an overt contradiction, one of myriad proportions. Nevertheless, it is a model reflection of Yin/Yang philosophy, something Ping was constantly keen too exploit. And The Miracle Fighters does just that!

Hailed as one of the “weirdest” kung fu/fantasy movies to be distributed under the Golden Harvest banner – and certainly shouldn’t be confused or compared with Tsui Hark’s seminal masterpiece Zu Warriors from the Magic Mountain (also 1982) – The Miracle Fighters is an octane fueled tale of despotism, ego-based ambition and insanely cerebral magical practices. Again using Yin/Yang metaphors, Ping’s physical depictions of Chinese occultism is clearly defined by both ‘light’ and ‘dark’ forces, regardless of its signature trappings or banal dialogue. Its true magical sturdiness lies in the picture’s motion and fluidity, not in the screenplay which, at intervals, is incoherently orthodox of the times: a machiavellian sorcerer who thirsts for dominance over the occult world, a disgraced general of the sovereignty, two bickering Taoists and an obligatory apprentice who must successfully learn the mystical arts of oriental transcendentalism, conjurations to fending off hexes; including a grotesque minion known as a “jar clown” – a pathetic, child-like entity that resembles a Human tortoise, but possessing agile reflexes.

From the outset, this film was a very personal project, and is perhaps one of Yuen Woo-ping’s lesser celebrated forays. Nevertheless, in spite of its apparent unavailability (unless one is willing to invest a large sum of coinage via online DVD specialists), The Miracle Fighters was actually nominated for ‘Best Action Choreography’ at the Hong Kong film awards, which is hardly surprising! But is it worth all the expectant hype? Well, yes! And no!

The Essential Guide to Hong Kong Movies by Eastern Heroes founder, Rick Baker and documentarian, Toby Russell, goes to great lengths in promoting a constructive, if liberal five star rating. And while it was a top-grossing sensation that proceeded to father numerous sequels, plus the strength of an extraordinary cast list featuring an almost unrecognizable Leung Kar Yan, the generally overlooked Eddie Ko and the essential “Yuen” brothers in their respective designated parts: the antagonist, the protagonist, the wise eccentric and the mischievous foil – for some viewers, this may feel like a disjointed journey into absurdity where political oppression inadvertently collides with Taoist arcana.

For most, seasoned by years of devotion and awe, The Miracle Fighters does champion the cosmic balance of the Yin/Yang principle, neither accepting nor rejecting the picture’s elaborate construct or pedestrian shortcomings. But like all of Yuen Woo-ping’s earlier endeavours, the narrative, character development and/or production values were typically starved of attention. Instead, total reliance and confidence is placed upon visual surrealism, rapid-styled editing as well as highly gifted fight/action tacticians.

Matthew Le-feuvre’s Rating: 8/10

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“Eastern Condors” Japanese DVD Cover

AKA: Condors Commando
Director: Sammo Hung
Cast: Yuen Biao, Sammo Hung, Lam Ching-Ying, Dr. Haing S. Ngor, Joyce Godenzi, Yuen Wah, Yuen Wo-Ping, Yasuaki Kurata, Phillip Ko Fei, Billy Lau, James Tien, Ng Hon, Ha Chi-Chun, Billy Chow, Corey Yuen
Running Time: 100 min.

By  Z Ravas

If you only know Sammo from his usual happy-go-lucky characters in old-school kung fu flicks like Knockabout, Eastern Condors might serve as a rude awakening. This is a brutally violent action movie set in Vietnam for which Sammo got serious, slimmed down, and cut his hair. There’s even a scene where Sammo puts Stallone in First Blood II to shame, screaming as he mows down dozens of Vietcong with a gatling gun. For some viewers the Vietnam setting or extreme bloodletting might prove distasteful. For my money, Eastern Condors is one of Sammo’s finest accomplishments as an actor, martial artist, and director.

The plot is time-tested; it’s basically a riff on The Dirty Dozen with a bunch of Chinese-American prisoners being drafted on a suicide mission into the heart of Vietnam during the war. Their Lieutenant is Mr. Vampire himself, Ching-Ying Lam, so you really couldn’t ask for a better man to lead you into battle. The rest of the crew is filled out by incredibly famous faces, including master choreographers Yuen Woo-Ping and Cory Yuen. Sammo’s future wife, the lovely Joyce Godenzi (She Shoots Straight), is on hand and kicks serious ass in the film despite having no martial arts training. Of course, this is a Sammo movie so Yuen Biao is along for the ride and his character “Rat” is probably the only one who manages to keep his rambunctious attitude even after the bullets start flying.

Eastern Condors is almost nonstop action but most of it is intense gun battles. The finale takes place in an underground base and is full of martial arts fighting, i.e. probably what you’re waiting to see. The production design team really outdid themselves here with a set that looks right out of a James Bond film and is the perfect locale for some epic brawls. Yuen Biao fights Dick Wei (Carry On Pickpocket) while Sammo takes on Billy Chow (Fist of Legend) until the two of them must pool their efforts against the ultra-tough Wah Yuen (Kung Fu Hustle).

Special mention must be made of Wah Yuen, who handily steals the last twenty minutes of the movie with his giggling, perspiring Vietnamese General. I don’t know who dreamed up this character but I love it when quirky villains are unexpected badasses, and Wah Yuen gives both Sammo and Yuen a run for their money with his fierce kicks. Wah Yuen has starred in over a 100 movies during his career but this will always be one of his most memorable roles for me.

There’s no way to mince words: Eastern Condors is a violent as hell movie – we’re talking about little Vietcong kids playing Russian Roulette, hands being chopped off, point blank shootings – which may put off fans who just want to see another Sammo and Yuen Biao team-up. However, I think that this film’s gritty edge is what makes it stand out from the rest of Sammo’s filmography. Cory Yuen’s character tells Sammo he respects him because he “doesn’t talk bullshit” – which, let’s face it, is the opposite of most of Sammo’s characters over the years, heh.

Sammo played it straight for this movie (he looks great without his usual bowl cut) and the film benefited by being a lean and mean little action flick. Sure, I wish there was more character development since there’s reportedly over 20 minutes of lost footage. The opening of the movie depicts freeze frames of some prison scenes that were cut and supposedly the Hong Kong trailer also features a lot of missing clips. But with a cast of this caliber and action so plentiful, I will take as much Eastern Condors I can get.

Z Ravas’ Rating: 9/10

The post Eastern Condors (1987) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“To Be Number One” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Poon Man-Kit
Writer: Johnny Mak
Cast: Ray Lui, Cecilia Yip, Kent Cheng, Waise Lee, Amy Yip Chi May, Frankie Chin, Elvis Tsui, Tommy Wong, Kenneth Tsang, Lo Lieh, Paul Chu Kong, Mark Houghton
Running Time: 136 min

By Paul Bramhall

The tale of real life gangster Ng Sik-Ho, more commonly known as Crippled Ho, has experienced a resurgence of late thanks to Donnie Yen’s take on the character in 2017’s Chasing the Dragon. Much of the talk around Ho’s latest incarnation, was how it skilfully frames the story so as to massage it through the Mainland China censorship board, which takes a hard line on any movie perceived as glorifying a criminal lifestyle. While Wong Jing’s (and his small army of co-writers and directors) effort is an admirable one, there was more than one occasion on watching Chasing the Dragon, when I found myself thinking how much better it could have been without all the subtle political narrative manoeuvring. Thankfully, such a version exists, and it comes in the form of Poon Man-Kit’s 1991 epic To Be Number One.

Unlike Chasing the Dragon, which gave equal focus to Crippled Ho and corrupt cop Lee Rock, To Be Number One is a pure gangster tale, and all the better for it. Although on a side note, in the same year Lee Rock would also be the focus of 2 movies, the self-titled Lee Rock and its sequel. Clocking in at 135 minutes, To Be Number One is unlike any other Hong Kong movie of the era in terms of its scope and ambition, anchored by a powerhouse performance from Ray Lui as the titular character (so yes, if you want to see Crippled Ho 1991 vs Crippled Ho 2017, check out Flash Point). Made at a time when Hong Kong cinema was very much in its prime, Lui’s take on Crippled Ho was just one of nine movies he’d feature in during the same year. Interestingly he’d play Crippled Ho twice, turning up for a second time in the Amy Yip (who’s also in To Be Number One) vehicle Queen of Underworld.

While all of the subtitled releases of To Be Number One unfortunately neglect to translate the large swathes of text that intermittently appear onscreen, indicative of the passing of time and significant events of the era, luckily this oversight doesn’t prove to be detrimental to the viewers enjoyment. Man-Kit, who up until this point had cut his teeth directing gritty slices of HK Triad life such as Hero of Tomorrow and City Kids 1989, brought in a whole host of top shelf talent to bring his vision to life. Respected cinematographer Peter Pau, who would go onto lens the likes of The Bride with White Hair and Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, here shows early signs of his unique eye for framing a scene, working from a script by Long Arm of the Law director Johnny Mak and Stephen Shiu.

Several reviews out there make comparisons to Brian De Palma’s Scarface, and structurally it’s a fair comparison. As a country bumpkin from the Mainland (remember when Mainlanders where always portrayed as country bumpkins in HK cinema?), Lui arrives in Hong Kong in the 70’s to escape the Cultural Revolution. While he and his friends find themselves slumming it as coolies in a rundown restaurant, they also work odd jobs that toe the line between legal and criminal, one of which eventually puts Lui on the radar of a powerful HK gang boss (played by Kent Cheng), who sees potential in his ambitious personality. Soon finding himself moving up the ranks within the gang’s well-oiled drug trade, Lui’s goals gradually begin to expand beyond the lot he’s been given, and the lust for power leads to a bloody war between the pair that stretches across the next 2 decades.

It’s a structure that’s proved to be tried and tested over the years, with the likes of Martin Scorsese’s Goodfellas and Yoon Jong-bin’s Nameless Gangster also adhering to the same framework. One aspect that they all have in common though, is that they never feel derivative of De Palma’s classic, and Man-Kit crafts a tale that’s distinctly Hong Kong in its identity. Of course another aspect of any Hong Kong production from the 80’s and early 90’s that deals with the Triads, is the action. It should be made clear that To Be Number One isn’t an action movie, but during this era in Hong Kong action was such an intrinsic part of its film industry, you could expect at least a couple of stunts or fists to be thrown even in the most unexpected genres.

Here Bloodmoon director Tony Leung Siu-Hung is on action choreography duties, and he does an outstanding job of adapting the classical style of his early career (Tiger of the Northland, A Fistful of Talons) to a more contemporary and realistic setting. I’ve always found Siu-Hung’s late 80’s/early 90’s work on triad potboilers to be underrated. He was one of the few action directors who showed a real understanding of how to still keep the hard hitting aesthetic and flow that’s synonymous with HK choreography, but apply it in the context of a more realistic environment. His work on the likes of Walk on Fire and Rebel from China are also stellar examples. Here the action is frequently bloody and brutal, with lime and acid thrown into people’s faces, brutal beatdowns, and even some flying kicks are sprinkled in for good measure, without ever coming across as gratuitous.

Lui’s rise to power is complimented by a fantastic cast of supporting characters. Just like any movie is a product of its time, so it could be said reviews also offer a unique perspective from the time they’re written. Watching To Be Number One in 2018, there’s an undeniable nostalgia to seeing so much talent from Hong Kong’s golden era onscreen together. Waise Lee, Lawrence Ng Kai-Wah, and bulked up bodybuilders Frankie Chan and Dickens Chan (ironically playing brothers) feature as Lui’s fellow Mainlanders and eventual followers. We have Elvis Tsui as a mute enforcer, who at one point gets to go John Woo with some double handed pistol action, and Cat III icon Amy Yip as Kent Cheng’s moll (both Tsui and Yip would star together in the legendary Sex and Zen in the same year). Throw in appearances from Lo Lieh as a gangster and Cecilia Yip as Lui’s better half, you’re left with a cast that can never be replicated.

Any tale that focuses on Crippled Ho eventually culminates in the ICAC’s (Independent Commission Against Corruption) purge against corrupt members of the police force, one which saw Ho’s network of cops that he had in his pocket fall apart around him. While these days the ICAC is more known as the subject of David Lam’s limp wristed Z/S/L Storm series (not to mention 1993’s First Shot – I guess Lam is an ICAC fanboy, if such a thing exists), in To Be Number One the weight of their crackdown is fully felt, as Lui finds himself in increasingly desperate circumstances. Blinded by his own greed and embattled by other rival gangster factions, the added pressure of having to deal with a police force no longer possible to brush off with stacks of cash, all culminate to show just how fragile it is when indeed, you’re number one.

Despite being an early entry in Man-Kit’s filmography, he’d never top the quality on display in To Be Number One. Perhaps too eager to replicate its success, he pulled together an almost identical cast and crew for the sprawling Lord of East China Sea and its sequel in 1993, which saw Lui step into the shoes of Luk Yu-San, a Shanghai fruit seller who rose to prominence as an opium dealer in the early 20th Century. He’d then cast Lui again in Hero of Hong Kong 1949, also from 1993, for another tale inspired by true life events, with equally uninspiring results. It’s proof that even if you have the same chef and the same ingredients, success is not always a guarantee. But in the case of To Be Number One, everything was left to simmer for just the right amount of time and in the right portions, resulting in a satisfying tale of true life crime.

While Chasing the Dragon did its part to prove it’s still possible to tell these tales in today’s SARFT friendly environment, watching Man-Kit’s magnum opus makes you realise just how many sacrifices have to be made in order to do so. While many would say they were worth it, watched against a movie like To Be Number One, there can be no denying, any other attempt could only be a distant number two.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7.5/10

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q8PyjJ1rKlI

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“Angry Ranger” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Wang Lung Wei
Producer: Jackie Chan
Cast: Ben Lam Kwok Bun, Jackie Lui Chung Yin, Sun Chien, Leung Yuen Jing, Mai Kei, Edward Mok Ga Yiu, Benny Lai Keung Kuen, Danny Chow Yun Kin, Johnny Cheung Yiu Wah, Anthony Carpio, Christopher Chan Sai-Tang, Mai Kei
Running Time: 87 min.

By Martin Sandison

Once one of the premier members of the Jackie Chan stunt team, whose greatest role in a Chan movie came with the classic Police Story 2 (he actually appears in two roles, one as an innocent fireman and the other as nasty villain Hung), Ben Lam is one of the great unsung heroes of Hong Kong cinema. Like Yen Shi Kwan (Once Upon a Time in China) or Kim Wong Jin (Operation Scorpio), he appeared in numerous classics such as Legend of the Wolf and Love on Delivery, but unfortunately didn’t make the transition to leading man. There is one movie, however, in which he starred and conveyed his true talent as an onscreen fighter, and as an actor: Angry Ranger. The film has all of the elements that we all love about golden age Hong Kong martial arts cinema, and is also notable as being one of the few movies that legendary Shaw Brothers villain Johnny Wang Lung Wei (Martial Club) lent his directoral hand to.

Peter (Lam) is an ex-con just released for hospitalising some thugs who attacked his friend Hsing (Bruce Mang Lung, Stool Pigeon) and gets a job as a fish vendor. His wild and reckless ways have not been put to bed, and one night him and Hsing steal a car belonging to gangster Lun (Jackie Lui Chung-yin, The Mission). Soon Peter becomes embroiled in a web of gangster double crosses, mainly because, as he puts it, he will beat up anyone that bullies him. It doesn’t help that he becomes romantically involved with gangster Han’s (Sun Chien, Five Venoms) girlfriend Jane (Leung Yuen-Jing, Hard to Kill). Soon the situation comes to a head with what we all wanted: a huge martial arts showdown.

Previous to Angry Ranger, Lam had shown sparks of greatness in his onscreen fighting abilities, but they were all too brief. From the off, Lam’s controlled ferocity, martial arts chops and technique in the film are truly impressive, and make the viewer beg for more. It helps that the film was made right at the heart of the golden age, in the early 90’s, and that choreographing are the Jackie Chan stunt team, coming off the back of Chan’s classic Operation Condor. There are three stand out fight scenes, all mini masterpieces in themselves. The first is the most vicious and cathartic, as Peter has been wronged by the gang for the first time and must bring the smack down. The impact of his punching and kicking places him high in the pantheon of screen fighters; every blow connecting with such power that it jumps off the screen.

The most sustained one-on-one fight comes next, with Lam facing off against gangster Macau Hua (Cheung Kwok-Wah, Shaolin Prince) in an intense duel that sees Cheung using some traditional kung fu techniques against Lam’s kickboxing. The give and take, petering off of the styles here is a wonder to behold, with both fighters adapting brilliantly.

Unfortunately the end fight between Lam and Sun Chien, a mouthwatering match up on paper, is short and scrappy. It’s the most disappointing aspect of the film. But previous to that Lam takes on a bunch of fighters, most tellingly Benny Lai, who kicked Jackie’s ass at the end of Police Story 2. The build up to money shots here is truly transcendent, with two shots especially that blow my mind; one has Lai side kicking Lam, with the latter flying through the air like a rag doll. The next features Lai again showing his masterful kicking, as he performs some wire assisted kicks that fuck up Lam big style.

Aside from the action, Angry Ranger is surprisingly strong in other departments. Lam is a decent actor, and the role brings out his strengths in this regard, with a quietness that erupts in to wildness and violence. Jackie Lui (whose full name in the film is AIDS Lun! Come on, this is early 90’s Hong Kong cinema, so anything goes!) commits to an interesting part, and lends depth to what could have been a very one-dimensional character. A movie like this wouldn’t be complete without a hefty dose of cheddarish romantic montage, terrible-but-charming music, and Leung provides the romance in a sexy and arresting way, despite having no depth to her character at all.

Unfortunately there is a blandness to the aesthetic at times, with little thought being put in to the camera set ups and lighting. It is a case, at times, of the screen going dead when there’s no action. Perhaps it’s not surprising Johnny Wang only directed one movie subsequently, the trash classic Escape from Brothel. That film’s most notable achievement is a scene when a completely starkers Sophia Crawford (Beauty Investigator) fights Billy Chow (Miracles: The Canton Godfather).

Angry Ranger can be forgiven for its lapses in to bad taste, but a scene wherein frogs are stomped to death goes too far, and is completely unnecessary. The execution of the fight sequences is what we’re here for, and with such a high quality on offer, any martial arts movie fan will be in seventh heaven. Seek it out, my brothers and sisters!

Martin Sandison’s Rating: 8/10

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtOl6lHf6Cg

The post Angry Ranger (1991) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Tiger of Northland” Korean Theatrical Poster

Director: Peng Chang-Kuei 
Cast: Park Jong-kuk, Maria Yi Yi, Lau Wing, Lydia Shum Tin Ha, Ko Keung, Chang Il-sik, Yeung Wai, Wu Jiaxiang, Bruce Lai, Tony Leung Siu-Hung, Sammo Hung
Running Time: 98 min.

By Paul Bramhall

After Bruce Lee’s untimely death in 1973, the production company that Lee was signed to, Golden Harvest, scrambled around for a number of years afterwards, attempting to find a bankable replacement that could fill the shoes of their biggest star. While local talent like Jimmy Wang Yu and Angela Mao were pushed to the forefront, producer Raymond Chow also attempted to fill the void with a number of Taekwondo and Hapkido practitioners from Korea. While Lee himself had fought the likes of Whang In-shik (Way of the Dragon) and Ji Han-jae (Game of Death), in the years after his death fellow Koreans such as Byong Yu (The Association) and Jhoon Rhee (When Taekwondo Strikes) were also attempted to be billed as the next big stars.

Unlike the local stars though, many of which came from either sporting or Peking Opera backgrounds, what made the Korean stars stand apart was that all were teachers of their arts, and for many the film industry simply wasn’t their calling. Both Byong Yu and Jhoon Rhee made a single movie and returned to teaching, which they do to this day, as do most of the other Korean stars of the era. However despite the shortness of their time in-front of the camera, the impression they left was a memorable one, delivering a ferocity that made it easy to understand why they were considered as potentially the next big thing. With all learning their arts in the harsh years following the Korean War, the intensity that they brought to the screen was a different kind than their Chinese counterparts, with lethally fast kicks accompanied by thunderous growls usually coming as standard.

Another such star was Park Jong-kuk, who debuted as the title character of Tiger of Northland, from 1976. The movie was a rare example of a genuine co-production between Hong Kong’s Golden Harvest studio and Korea, and again was an example of Jong-kuk being lined up as a bankable leading man in the post-Bruce Lee Golden Harvest era. Filmed entirely on location in Korea, director and writer Peng Chang-Kuei looked to be evoking the same feel of a Bruce Lee movie, casting Maria Yi Yi, who had roles in both The Big Boss and Fist of Fury, as Jong-kuk’s love interest, and hiring frequent Lee cinematographer Tadashi Nishimoto. For whatever reason, this would be the only time Chang-Kuei would direct and write a movie. Having previously worked as an assistant director on the 1971 Shaw Brothers productions The Swift Knight and Six Assassins, after Tiger of Northland he disappeared into obscurity.

It would also be the only time for Jong-kuk to be billed as a lead. In the years following he’d go on to take supporting roles in the likes of The Legendary Strike, Iron Fisted Eagle’s Claw, and Quick Step Mantis, however by the end of the 70’s he was featuring in 100% Korean productions, usually as a supporting player in Elton Chong kung fu comedies. If you’re only going to headline one movie though, then Tiger of Northland is a more than worthy title to be proud of. Jong-kuk plays a Chinese freedom fighter that flees to Korea during the 1930’s, similar to Jason Pai Piao’s role in The Crush from 1972, in order to recruit more fighters to the resistance from both China and Korea. While he’s hitching a ride on a train, he saves a family being harassed by a Japanese soldier, killing him in the process, which results in the Japanese forces in Korea attempting to hunt him down.

That’s essentially the story, it’s about as much of a standard tale of China/Korea vs Japan as you can get, however it sets the stage for Jong-kuk to step into the shoes of a kind of 1930’s era Chen Zhen. In fairness, it’s understandable to see why he was never going to be leading man material, with his performance being as wooden as they come. Frankly it would have been more convincing if Maria Yi Yi had fallen for one of the planks of wood that he kicks in half. However Chang-Kuei is mainly concerned with crafting a tale that has the cruel Japanese forces receiving their just desserts, and to that end, Jong-kuk delivered admirably. In many ways 1976 can be considered as that transitional period between when the basher style choreography, that dominated the first half of the decade, began to develop into a more intricate style of fluid and fast shapes based choreography.

Sammo Hung was one of the action choreographers at the forefront of this change, and here is credited with the action alongside Tony Leung Siu-Hung and Richard Cheung Kuen (both of whom also have roles in the movie). Just one year later Sammo would make his directorial debut with The Iron Fisted Monk, heralding in the era of hard hitting fights, backed up with the innovative camera work that he’d become known for. In Tiger of Northland, the action strikes an appealing balance between the basher brutality and what was to come. Japanese soldiers aren’t just punched off the screen here, they’re kicked to the ground, mounted, and then punched repeatedly in the face until they flop into a lifeless slump.

The production is also notable for being Siu-Hung’s first gig at action directing. The younger brother of Bruce Leung, Siu-Hung has had a varied career, having sat in the director’s chair for such Shaw Brothers productions as Thunderclap, through to HK/USA crossovers like Superfights and Bloodmoon, all of which he also choreographed. As an action choreographer he’s one of the most underrated, having orchestrated the action for such personal favourites as Fistful of Talons and The Magic Crystal, so as an early look at his talents, Tiger of Northland should be of interest to any of his fans.

As was also standard for the era, Sammo makes an appearance as a villain, here as a yellow robed Japanese bodyguard, paired with Shaw Brothers regular Anthony Lau as a facially scarred Japanese Karate teacher. The 2 vs. 1 is a standout, which takes place as part of the finale, and was most likely solely choreographed by Sammo, as the speed of the fight is significantly turned up a few notches from the previous confrontations. There’s also another worthwhile 2 vs. 1, which has Jong-kuk facing off against a pair of action choreographers who are famous in their own right – Hsu Hsia, who directed the likes of Lion Vs. Lion and Kid from Kwangtung, and Chik Ngai-Hung, who choreographed the likes of The Loot and The Challenger. Here they play a pair of staff wielding Japanese guards, and their confrontation nicely segues into the one with Sammo and Lau.

Tiger of the Northland is undeniably one of those movies for which you check in for the action, and to that end, the fights have a raw intensity to them that keeps you glued to the screen, with the camera showing a keen eye for capturing the power behind Jong-kuk’s kicks and strikes. For fans of Korean martial arts cinema of the era, there are also plenty of familiar faces on display, such as Bang Su-il and Chang Il-shik, both of whom can be seen in the likes of Canton Viper and The Deadly Kick. Il-shik in particular is on duty here as the main villain of the piece, and the final fight is a suitably vicious affair, which makes the effort to crank things up by including throws and kicks that send the recipient flying through the air, landing an exaggerated distance away. The difference in choreography style from the rest of the movie makes the fight stand out for the right reasons, while never becoming over the top. Its cinema, and Chang-Kuei seems to understand that.

While neither Jong-kuk or Chang-Kuei would go on to become familiar faces of the kung fu genre, and at the time Tiger of the Northland failed to give the world a new Bruce Lee, with the benefit of looking back over 40 years on, it stands up as a worthy entry in the kung-fu genre. With a combination of hard hitting action, some beautifully framed cinematography, and a suitably fitting score, if you’re after a dose of mid-70’s gritty Golden Harvest style action, then you’ve come to the right place.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7.5/10

The post Tiger of Northland (1976) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“A Queen’s Ransom” Chinese Theatrical Poster

Director: Ding Sin Saai
Producer: Raymond Chow
Cast: Jimmy Wang Yu, Angela Mao, George Lazenby, Ko Chun Hsiung, Tien Ni, Charles Heung, Cheung Pooi Saan, Dean Shek, Bolo Yeung, Peter Chan, Cheung Ging Boh, Chu Tiet Wo, Han Ying Chieh, Hon Yee Sang
Running Time: 93 min.

By Jeff Bona

Three years after the passing of Bruce Lee, Hong Kong’s Golden Harvest Studios was still running around like a headless chicken in search of someone who could fill the shoes of their most bankable asset. This period – between 1973 and 1977 – was a time of trial and error for the once flourishing film company that used to have the biggest star in the palm of their hand. It was a situation that can only be compared to… let’s say… The Beatles losing John Lennon and Paul McCartney at the height of Beatlemania.

To adapt to this challenge, Raymond Chow, head of Golden Harvest, turned to names, old and new, like Ko Chun Hsiung (The Devil’s Treasure), Don Wong Tao (Yellow Faced Tiger), Chan Wai Man (The Handcuff), Jimmy Wang Yu (A Man Called Tiger), Dorian Tan Tao Liang (Hand of Death) and Yue Bing Lung (The Association) to lead some of the studio’s most high concept projects. Heck, they even nabbed one-time Bond, George Lazenby (Stoner), to gain some much needed, world-wide momentum.

Despite some minor hits, none of these guys were able to truly capture the electrifying charisma, intense energy, and most importantly, the enormous box office return that Lee delivered. It wasn’t until a year or two later that Sammo Hung (not as a bad guy or a choreographer, but as a leading man) and Jackie Chan came on board to make Golden Harvest the powerhouse that it once was in the early 70s; but before this was to happen, Golden Harvest took one last stab at creating magic by bundling up some of the aforementioned names into an ensemble project titled A Queen’s Ransom.

In A Queen’s Ransom, a terrorist from Ireland (George Lazenby) leads a group of deadly mercenaries to assassinate the Queen of England. Each of the men have their own special skill: Miyamoto (Cheung Pooi Saan), a Japanese explosives expert; Ram (Bolo Yeung), a Thai boxing champion; Chen Lung (Peter Chan), a Filipino sniper; and Shark (Jimmy Wang Yu), a Viet Cong guerilla warfare expert.

With the help of a bar girl (Tien Ni), Hong Kong police officials (headed by Ko Chun Hsiung and Charles Heung Wah Keung) must race against time and intercept the bad guys before they get to the Queen; little do they know, the bad guys have other sneaky plans up their sleeve.

A Queen’s Ransom definitely starts off on a high note, but goes nowhere but downhill after the first 30 minutes. With its cool title, promising plot and a diverse, all-star cast – including Angela Mao (Stoner), Dean Shek (Drunken Master) and exploitation favorite, Judith Brown (of The Big Doll House fame) – you would think the film would be full of wall-to-wall mayhem, but nope, 85% of it is nothing but dialogue.

Normally, I’m more concerned with the overall pacing of a film, so I don’t need a lot of killings and beat ’em ups to hold my attention; but with A Queens Ransom, you have all these stars that are associated with some of the most memorable action movies of all time, so naturally, I found myself wanting, waiting and begging for some kind of notable fight or action sequence to happen. Eventually, it does happen, but when it arrives, it’s sloppy, sluggish and easily forgettable.

Unlike Stoner and Man from Hong Kong, the absence of Sammo Hung’s choreography is brutally evident. The difference between what Lazenby was physically capable of in Stoner, and what he does in A Queen’s Ransom, is night and day. It’s no wonder Sammo’s name was associated with just about every Golden Harvest actioner of the 70s. He made people, no matter what skill level, look convincing. Instead of Sammo, Lu Tsun handles the choreography, which is crude in every sense of the word. The fact that we’ve never heard of this guy shouldn’t be a big surprise.

I suppose I’d be thinking differently if the non-action scenes were done with more quality in mind, but then again, this is a 70s Golden Harvest flick, and not a well-written episode of Mission: Impossible or The Man from U.N.C.L.E. As it stands, A Queen’s Ransom is filled with a rushed screenplay, careless plot holes and haphazard directing.

A Queen’s Ransom is the third and final film Lazenby would appear in for Golden Harvest studios. After trying to squeeze whatever star power was left in Lazenby with Stoner and Man from Hong Kong, it’s apparent the studio no longer knew what to do with him; so A Queen’s Ransom was produced, which resulted in Lazenby looking like a wooden bad guy with limited screen time.

If you’re wondering if the actual Queen Elizabeth II makes an appearance, she certainly does. However, her “role” is nothing but stock footage (mostly filmed from a distance) during her 1975 visit to Hong Kong, which was spliced into the actual film (a la Bruce Lee’s funeral footage in Game of Death).

At the end of the day, I’d be a fool not to recommend A Queen’s Ransom. Despite being a job to sit through, you can’t deny the film’s dodgy charm and historical spot in the Golden Harvest catalogue. Just be warned, there’s a reason A Queen’s Ransom remains obscure, despite its international star power.

Jeff Bona‘s Rating: 5/10

The post Queen’s Ransom, A | aka International Assassin (1976) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Ebola Syndrome” Chinese DVD Cover

Director: Herman Yau
Producer: Wong Jing
Cast: Anthony Wong, Angel Wong, Vincent Wan, Mariane Chan, Lo Meng, Ng Sui Ting, Peter Ngor Chi Kwan, Shing Fui On, Cindy Yip, Chang Yin, Tsang Yin
Running Time: 97 min.

By Martin Sandison

After the success of the sadistic and powerful Bunman: The Untold Story, the director and star team of Herman Yau and Anthony Wong set about making another classic slice of Category III horror, Ebola Syndrome. Those expecting more of the same will be disappointed, as the movie is far more tongue in cheek than it is nasty. Bunman’s Wong is completely psychotic, and delivers one of the greatest performances of its kind; Ebola’s Kai is one of the most disgusting characters ever to grace the screen. Credit must be given to Anthony Wong for both portrayals, as alongside Simon Yam, he was the king of Category III.

The action starts with Kai seducing his bosses wife, being discovered by him, and promptly murdering everyone. He absconds to South Africa where he works for a pittance as a chef in a Chinese restaurant. When Kai and his new restaurant boss take a trip to a tribe to buy a low-price pig, Kai rapes a tribe girl who evidently has some kind of disease. It’s Ebola, and he contracts it. The irony comes in that Kai is one in ten million people who is immune to the disease; but he can give it to anyone through his bodily fluids, and boy does he love to spread them around.

Some horrendous highlights are: Kai penetrating a piece of meat as he listens to his boss having sex in the next room, and cooking it the next day; in a nod to Bunman he murders people who have the virus and makes them into “South African burgers”; he also wipes his nose, post-sneeze, on garments in a clothes shop. The last one doesn’t sound bad, but as the viewer knows that he has Ebola, and no one else in the movie does, the amping up of his disgusting nature makes for cringe-worthy viewing. Ebola, as explained in the movie, is a real virus that causes internal bleeding that’s fatal, and has a very high death rate.

Of special note, the cast includes Lo Meng (Two Champions of Shaolin) as Kai’s boss, in a noteworthy non-martial arts role; divorced completely from the Venom mob Shaw Brothers movies that made him famous. He aquits himself well in a dramatic and comic manner, the latter especially when he’s channelling his chi having energetic sex with his wife. Shing Fui On (Big Silly Head to his fans) has a small cameo, chewing up the scenery as usual. Vincent Wan Yuen Ming (Wild Search, Don’t Give A Damn) has a small part as the Police officer who goes against Kai, and actresses Marianne Chan Miu Ying (Ghost Punting) and Cindy Yip Sin Shi (A Moment of Romance 2) are featured at different stages of the narrative as Kai’s love interests.

The direction is very well-handled by Yau, with some creative shots, Hong Kong-style visuals and a tight running time. One shot stood out for me as brilliant: a POV inside Kai’s mouth as he goes to kiss a girl, with the Ebola rife in there. It’s hilarious and disgusting, as is the movie overall. Without Wong’s maniacal performance, the movie wouldn’t really stand up; he delivers on every level. As the film climaxes, it breaks into that secret world of Hong Kong filmmaking madness that blows the mind – it cannot be described, because it is a massive spoiler – rest assured, this one doesn’t disappoint.

Interestingly, I watched some extended nasty scenes in the deleted footage. It seems strange were cut out, as they are in no way as bad as some of the scenes in the full length Bunman. The aesthetic of Ebola Syndrome is a little tacky and over colourised, and let’s be honest, the idea is a little silly. This doesn’t detract from a rollicking good piece of category III outrageousness.

Martin Sandison’s Rating: 8/10

The post Ebola Syndrome (1996) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.