“Baby Assassins: Nice Days” Theatrical Poster

Director: Yugo Sakamoto
Cast: Akari Takaishi, Saori Izawa, Sosuke Ikematsu, Atsuko Maeda, Atomu Mizuishi 
Running Time: 112 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

Whatever your opinion of director and writer Yugo Sakamoto, what can’t be denied is that few filmmakers are keeping grounded martial arts movies alive quite like he is. In the 4 years spanning 2021 to 2024 his Baby Assassins trilogy has cemented a modern-day iron triangle of action goodness – with the other key players represented by co-star Saori Izawa and fight choreographer Kensuke Sonomura. That’s not counting The Janitor (which provided the assassins their first appearance) and the 12-episode mini-series. Admittedly, everything in-between the action is more of an acquired taste. The first Baby Assassins was an unsuccessful mix of forced quirkiness and abrasive characters, while the sequel struck a much more palatable balance. At the heart of every entry is the pairing of leads Saori Izawa and Akari Takaishi as the assassins of the title, and 2024 saw the release of the third entry, Baby Assassins: Nice Days.

Ditching the more episodic nature of the previous 2 entries, BA: ND (as I’ll refer to it from here on in) opts for a more linear narrative that does wonders for the pacing. For a start we don’t spend any time on the couch of their Tokyo apartment this time around, with the pair enjoying some downtime in the beachside town of Miyazaki, in-between a contracted hit the guild has assigned them to in the nearby locality. Problems arise though when they bust in on their target, only to find another assassin about to pull the trigger and beat them to it. Played by a scene stealing Sôsuke Ikematsu (Shoplifters, Death Note: Light Up the New World), he plays the classic renegade assassin with a passion for killing. His freelancer hitman proves to be a formidable opponent for the pair, resulting in him walking away unscathed, and their target managing to escape.

Displeased with their employee’s performance, the guild sends a pair of senior assassins to join Izawa and Takasihi, played by Atsuko Maeda (Before We Vanish, Masquerade Hotel) and newcomer Mondo Otani, with the foursome’s mission being to kill Ikematsu, and then finish off the original job. As expected, the socially awkward and carefree attitudes of Izawa and Takaishi soon start to clash with the no nonsense approach of their new colleagues, but when it turns out Ikematsu also works for the hilariously named Agricultural Assassin Co-Op, they realise they’ll need to work together to survive.

Sakamoto seems to have realised with the third entry that the recipe needed to be changed up to stay fresh, and by putting Izawa and Takaishi up against the wall from the beginning, it delivers the intended narrative thrust that gradually builds in momentum across the 112–minute runtime (marking the longest of the trilogy). The initial confrontation between Izawa and Ikematsu (which takes place as Takaishi attempts to chase down their target) is both brutal and innovative, with the pair literally fighting as they run, desperately trying to reach a handgun that’s constantly kicked or thrown further out of their reach. It shows all the signs of a collaboration between director, fight choreographer, and star who’ve worked together long enough to start pushing each other’s abilities to the next level, and it’s a delight to watch.

The decision to switch from CGI blood to fake blood is also a commendable one, with the makeup department not shying away from showing the damage that Ikematsu’s barrage of fists and feet take on Izawa, particularly when she’s left a bloodied heap on the floor at the end of their initial confrontation (and this is even before the title has appeared onscreen, which eventually arrives over 20 minutes in!). For the first time in the series there’s a tangible sense that one of them may possibly not make it to the end credits (even though the fact the TV series is set after this instalment acts as a minor spoiler that they both do).

Events transpire to give BA: ND somewhat of an Accident Man: Hitman’s Holiday vibe through the direction the plot takes, with the actual target (played by the singularly named Kaibashira – Koji Shiraishi’s Never Send Me, Please) eventually falling under the protection of Izawa and Takaishi. Hunted by members of ‘The Farm’ – the nickname for the previously mentioned Co-Op – the situational humor around the fact those who end up protecting him also plan to kill him once they’ve offed the troublesome Ikematsu delivers the intended laughs (much like the situation Scott Adkins and Perry Benson find themselves in!). In fact it’s fair to say that with this third outing Sakamoto shows a level of maturity when it comes to both the characterisation and the humour, with the latter no longer feeling as forced as it did in the first instalment.

While anyone clocking into any of the Baby Assassins movies (and now TV mini-series) will be doing so for the action, the investment in Izawa and Takaishi’s relationship feels much more relatable this time around, with the danger they’re in allowing both actresses to display a genuine concern for the other. The shift away from the cutesy and quirky actually allows both characters some breathing space to feel more like people the audience should care about, and by the time the end credits roll for the first time I was left wanting more.

However the most important aspect of BA: ND is, expectedly, the action. As mentioned earlier proceedings start off with a bang, and choreographer Kensuke Sonomura does a stellar job of building on the action as the plot progresses. In the same year he’d direct Ghost Killer, which starred one half of the Baby Assassins in the form of Akari Takaishi, for which he also handled the action, and while the fight action was of the usual high quality, one of my complaints was that the gunfights felt uninspired and flat. Not the case here, with a bullet riddled finale executed with creativity to spare, and while no one is ever going to mistake these movies for coming with a high budget, the kinetic energy of the scenes does enough to overlook any minor misgivings.

Where the action truly shines though is when the cast are left empty handed, or at least, armed only with a knife. Stuntman Santoshi Kibe not only clocks in an assistant action coordinator credit, but also makes one of his rare front of camera appearances (the last time was in 2019’s Hydra), playing the most feared assassin from the Agricultural Assassin Co-Op. Given the opportunity to bust out some monkey kung-fu against Mondo Otani in a basement carpark, his agility mixed with the fact he’s fully suited and booted make his brief appearance a memorable one. We need more monkey kung-fu in contemporary action movies (caveat: no references to Steven Seagal’s 2003 masterpiece Out for a Kill allowed)!

Of course the heavy lifting is given to Izawa in the finale, who after taking on a group of assassins in a frantic melee, is finally given the opportunity for a rematch against Ikematsu. Both know how to make Sonomura’s choreography shine, with the fight ensuring we understand she’s the underdog from the get-go, once more clearly being overpowered and outdone by the latter’s aggressive attacks. It’s a knock down drag out affair, and there’s some genuinely hairy moments when it seems a certainty the end is near, which only makes the way Iwatsu and Akaishi end up teaming up all the more satisfying. The culmination of everything the narrative has been building to so far, it ranks as one of the most satisfying final fights in recent years.

The expression goes that the third time’s a charm, and with Baby Assassins: Nice Days director and writer Yugo Sakamoto has very much proven it to be true. At the end of my review for Baby Assassins I concluded that “It’s really not an action movie, so at the end of the day, it’s both ironic and a little sad that there’s not much to recommend outside of it.” Just 3 years later, and the 3^rd instalment not only delivers on the action, but remembers to make us care about everything else as well. Recommended.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 8/10

The post Baby Assassins: Nice Days (2024) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Invincible Swordsman” Theatrical Poster

Director: Luo Yi Wei
Cast: Kitty Zhang Yuqi, Tim Huang Xiyan, Xuan Lu, Terence Yin, Sammo Hung, Yun Qianqian
Running Time: 118 min.

By Paul Bramhall

When Brigitte Lin was cast as the character Invincible Asia in 1992’s Swordsman 2, few could have predicted the role would become so iconic, leading Lin to spend the last 3 years of her acting career as a mainstay of the new wave wuxia genre. In just a few short years she appeared in more than 10 new wave wuxia’s, and her role in each is probably reason enough why, even with the technological advancements in the 30 years since, few directors have been bold (or dumb, depending on your perspective) enough to try and remake any of them. The last to try was Jacob Cheung, who in 2014 helmed The White Haired Witch of Lunar Kingdom, a re-make of Ronny Yu’s 1993 classic The Bride with White Hair, which was mostly met with negative reviews.

Now in 2025, for his sophomore feature director Luo Yi Wei decided to take a crack at remaking the very movie that made Lin such an iconic presence in the new wave wuxia genre, with Invincible Swordsman tackling the same story as Swordsman 2. Debuting in 2022 with Swords Drawn, Yi Wei admittedly has a convenient out of any potential comparisons, thanks to the fact the source material is one of wuxia writer Jin Yong’s novels, The Smiling, Proud Wanderer. While it’s almost impossible to count the number of time Yong’s The Condor Heroes has been adapted for the screen, comparatively The Smiling, Proud Wanderer is one of his lesser adapted stories. Apart from the Tsui Hark produced trilogy of the early 1990’s, there’s been a couple of TV adaptations in the 2000’s and that’s it, so the source materials relative scarcity of appearing onscreen make the comparisons to its last big screen adaptation all the more inevitable.

While The White Haired Witch of Lunar Kingdom saw Fan Bingbing step into the role that Brigitte Lin originally played, in Invincible Swordsman the honours go to Kitty Zhang (The Mermaid, Legend of the Demon Cat) who’s tasked with stepping into the shoes (or should that be billowing silk?) of Invincible Asia. In the role of Lunghu Chong (played by Jet Li in Swordsman 2) is Tim Huang (Creation of the Gods I: Kingdom of Storms, Creation of the Gods II: Demon Force), whose biggest problem is his friendship with Xuan Lu (Midnight Hair, Battle: The Insidious). She plays the daughter of a power-hungry clan leader played by Hong Kong mainstay Terence Yin (New Police Story, Special ID), so naturally Huang’s own clan doesn’t approve of their budding relationship, ultimately leading to him bring expelled.

Lucky for him, he’s taken under the wing of a martial arts master who’s been living in seclusion played by Sammo Hung (God of War, The Bodyguard), who trains him up on such awesomely named techniques like the Sword Nourishing stance. While Huang lives in isolation on the (equally awesomely named) Cliff of Contemplation, Zhang defeats Yin and becomes the leader of the Sun Moon Cult, imprisoning him by blocking his vital points, and vowing to take over the martial arts world. When Huang gets wind that his former clan is also in danger from her plans for world dominance, he decides to return to the world of jiang hu, using his new skills to go into battle with members of the cult. It’s in the midst of a fight that he mistakenly believes he saves Zhang, not realising who she is, beginning a doomed love story as the truth is bound to eventually reveal itself.

It goes without saying that Invincible Swordsman is a much more straightforward affair than its last iteration on the big screen. The whole element of how Invincible Asia is actually a man, who after making himself a eunuch has transitioned into a woman, is here not given a mention (despite being more culturally relevant today than it was in the early 90’s!). The only slight reference it gets is in a throwaway scene where Zhang admires the female servants she’s surrounded by, implying a feeling of physical attraction, although in a stark contradiction she then falls for Huang minutes later. There’s also understandably a lack of the political subtext that Tsui Hark is known for, but considering China’s current cinematic climate that’s to be expected. Instead we’re left with a relatively pedestrian re-telling of the source material, one that gets by on the goodwill of seeing the likes of Sammo Hung back in a wuxia production again.

More an extended special appearance than a supporting role, Hung’s main duty is to pass on his martial arts skills to Huang in a CGI rendered clifftop setting, and it’s always a pleasure to see him onscreen. The last time he was in a wuxia you have to go back to 2010’s 14 Blades, but his role here as a white bearded martial arts master is more likely to recall his role in Wong Jing’s 1993 slice of wuxia madness Kung Fu Cult Master (speaking of which, it’s Wong Jing who’s on script and producer duty for Invincible Swordsman). Hung’s always been able to evoke a sense of authority when his performances call for it, something we saw last in the previous year’s Twilight of the Warriors: Walled In, and it’s a joy to see the elder statesman of kung-fu cinema supplant that same authority from a contemporary setting into a wuxia one.

Others fare less well. As the main character Huang is decidedly one note, appearing in every scene like he’s just been told to “smoulder for the camera”, and little else. Sure any wuxia flick requires a degree of posing in a variety of heroic martial arts stances, but when the entire performance feels like posing, it becomes a problem. Similarly Zhang struggles to make the role of Invincible Asia her own, too often feeling like she watched Swordsman 2 on repeat for a few weeks, then attempted to emulate Brigitte Lin’s performance as best she can. Inevitably, the scenes they share together which are intended to carry the most dramatic weight land with a resounding thud, devoid of any chemistry.

Regardless of performance quality though, the one aspect of Invincible Swordsman that nobody can escape from is a painfully pretentious script. Almost as if ChatGPT had been asked to create a script consisting entirely of fortune cookie pondering, lines like “Gain and loss are but two sides of the same coin” and “How long is an inch of justice? How long is an inch of longing?” are commonplace. It kind of feels like there was an unspoken rule that if a character was going to speak, they had to come out with something deeply profound, but the result is one that leads to plenty of eyerolling fairly early on. If anything, it came as a relief when there was a scene involving one of the clans throwing a celebration, and the song they decided to belt out consisted purely of a bunch of men chanting “raa raa raa!” on repeat.

That leaves the action, which sees Wu Yue (Paradox, The Brink) stepping into an action director role for the first time since 2016’s The Adventures of Wei Bao, and he does a serviceable job. Invincible Asia’s threaded needles benefit best from the CGI enhancements, with one particular scene involving a character getting one of them straight through his eyeball, which is then used to pull him forward. The appearance of a trio of villains – named Greed, Anger, and Ignorance – also feels like a call back to the crazed wuxia’s of yesteryear, with the use of a lute and oversized butchers knives providing both variety and energy to the action beats. There’s nothing really on display that hasn’t been seen before though, and there’s a distinct feeling we’re watching the go-to action beats from the ‘Wuxia Wirework for Non-Martial Artists’ playbook, meaning there’s no standout moments to separate Invincible Swordsman from its contemporaries.

As it stands, for his sophomore feature director Luo Yi Wei shows just how far the Chinese web movie industry has come in the last 15 years, as Invincible Swordsman received a theatrical release despite being funded by the likes of iQIYI and Tencent, production companies that once exclusively made movies for streaming. Indeed the budget may be higher, the CGI locations now mixed with actual location shooting, and the runtime much longer, but is Invincible Swordsman likely to stay in the memory any longer than the average 75-minute web movie wuxia? Honestly, probably not.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 6/10

The post Invincible Swordsman (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Wall to Wall” Netflix Poster

Director: Kim Tae-joon
Cast: Kang Ha-neul, Seo Hyun-woo, Yeom Hye-ran, Kim Hyun-Jung, Jeon Jin-Oh, Park Sung-Il, Yoon Jung-Il, Kim Yoon-Jin, Lee Jong-Goo, Na Ho-Sook
Running Time: 118 min.

By Paul Bramhall

Wall to Wall, or 84 Square Metres as its Korean title directly translates to, fits into that distinctly 21^st century genre of homeowner anxiety. In Korea such productions usually find themselves set in one of the myriad of towering apartment complex villages, where multiple faceless residential towers provide a backdrop for everything from stalking to murder, all set within that one place we should feel the safest – home. The likes of 2013’s Hide and Seek, and 2018’s double-bill of Door Lock and The Witness, have all effectively used apartment spaces to create a sense of tension, and Wall to Wall takes a similar approach in its story of a new homeowner becoming increasingly frustrated with his neighbours.

Played by Kang Ha-neul (Yadang: The Snitch, The Pirates: The Last Royal Treasure), an effective opening plays out in montage to bring the audience up to speed on his life, the events which briefly flash up onscreen culminating with the purchase of said apartment. Now with a precious piece of Seoul real estate to call his own, it’s soon revealed it came at a cost, with the decision taken to call off his own wedding, and his loan status completely maxed out. Essentially broke, Ha-neul spends his time stealing food supplies from the office pantry to avoid buying his own, uses a camping light rather than use any electricity, and stubbornly refuses to turn on the air conditioning even at the height of summer. All of these inconveniences pale in comparison though to his biggest source of frustration – the noise from the upstairs neighbours, of which the banging and running around is almost constant.

The sophomore feature from director Kim Tae-joon after 2023’s underwhelming Unlocked, both of which he also wrote, like his debut Wall to Wall also comes courtesy of Netflix, making him the first Korean director for whom all of his work has released exclusively to the streaming giant. There’s a recurrent theme so far in the two movies he’s made, with Chun Woo-hee feeling trapped by her phone in Unlocked, and likewise Ha-neul feels like he’s trapped by his own apartment in Wall to Wall. With interest rates on the rise his repayments are becoming more and more unmanageable, to the point that he finishes his office job only to spend the evenings on his bike making food deliveries. Coming home to a flurry of Post-it notes on his door from the downstairs neighbours complaining about the noise, the case of mistaken apartment sends Ha-neul on a mission to find the real culprit, starting with the neighbour directly above.

Greeted by Seo Hyun-woo (Nocturnal, Thunderbird), his tattooed and heavily scarred character is enough to take the wind out of Ha-neul’s riled up sails, however the plot thickens when Hyun-woo also reveals he’s constantly disturbed by noise from his upstairs neighbours. The biggest issues though seems to be that any time Ha-neul brings another character into his apartment, usually in an attempt to prove he’s experiencing the same noise from upstairs as his neighbours have pinned on him, the only sound is one of silence. It’s a subtle but powerfully effective way to demonstrate that Ha-neul isn’t the most reliable of narrators, and just how much of his perspective that we watch the movie through is reflecting actual reality?

From a director standpoint sophomore features are always interesting to watch, and personally my approach to them is usually dependant on my feeling towards their debut. If it was a strong debut, are they able to build upon it for their 2^nd feature (Jeong Joo-ri’s A Girl at My Door and Next Sohee being a classic example), or alternatively, if the debut wasn’t so strong, have they been able to take the learnings and apply them to make an engaging 2^nd feature? I was hoping Tae-joon would fall into the latter category, and by being placed into the headspace of Ha-neul through the constant sound of footsteps overhead and his strained mental state, Wall to Wall proved he definitely had. Not that preconceptions should play any part in a review, but I’d initially been worried it was going to be another tale of greedy homeowners preying on the poor, which we’ve seen far too much of from Korean cinema in recent years.

Instead we’re thrust into Han-neul’s world as his enquiries see him navigate the apartment hierarchy. Coming into contact with the Resident Representative and penthouse owner, played by Yeom Hye-ran (Cobweb, Special Delivery), she reveals that the Post-it note happy couple living under Ha-neul are only renting, and would be happy assist in ensuring they leave the complex at the end of their tenancy. It’s an interaction that raises the question of if it’s happening at all, or is what we’re seeing a reflection of what’s going on in Ha-neul’s imagination? While the latter is the far more interesting approach, unfortunately, it happens to be the former. In fact not only did the conversation actually take place, but those sounds of someone constantly stomping and banging around overhead? They all turn out to be for real as well.

So, if we’re not following a character’s descent into madness based on his perceived noisy neighbours and suffocating financial pressure that see him living more like a squatter than an apartment owner, what exactly are we left with? The answer isn’t one I expected, if only because it made me feel like I’d been gaslighting myself, but to summarise it in a nutshell – Wall to Wall isn’t a psychological thriller at all, but rather, it’s another tale of greedy homeowners preying on the poor. To say that Tae-joon’s script jumps the shark is probably an understatement, taking a sharp turn into increasingly ridiculous territory, as Ha-neul suddenly has to deal with a psychotic freelance journalist eager for content, and rich homeowners attempting to get richer through the most nefarious of means.

The comparison with Unlocked is inevitable, which similarly derailed in the latter half thanks to changes in plot direction that stretched believability, and Wall to Wall suffers from the exact same issue. If anything the issue is exasperated in this sophomore feature by the fact it requires the audience to backtrack, re-visiting certain moments that (at least in my case) felt like a certainty to be taking place in Ha-neul’s head, and accept them as reality. None of it works. By the time it reaches its stab happy finale, the promise of the claustrophobic first half feels completely squandered, instead relying on familiar tropes that we’ve seen plenty of times before.

As a director and screenwriter Tae-joon makes for a frustrating proposition. Both of the movies he’s helmed come with a unique angle that’s initially executed with plenty of promise, before devolving into overly familiar genre tropes that fail to convince. As the audience there’s a certain level of infuriation seeing ideas which start off strong, only for them to take a nosedive once you’re already too far in to go back. Compared to those movies which are clearly not going to be worth your time from the first 15 minutes, allowing you clock out early, it’s a different feeling all together if you come to the same realisation only when the end credits are rolling after almost 2 hours.

With that said, for anyone who’s lived (or does live for that matter!) in an apartment complex, there’ll be certain moments in Wall to Wall that feel relatable, essentially taking some of the minor inconveniences communal living can come with and magnifying them to insufferable levels. Out of all the entries in the homeowner anxiety genre, it’s still Hong Kong’s Dream Home from 2010 that feels like it towers about the rest, committing to its concept with joyful abandon that still allows it to feel relevant 15 years after its release. As for if anyone will still be talking about Wall to Wall 15 years later, I doubt anyone will be talking about it just a few weeks after its release.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 5/10

The post Wall to Wall (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Nocturnal” Theatrical Poster

Director: Kim Jin-Hwang
Cast: Ha Jung-Woo, Kim Nam-Gil, Yoo Da-In, Jeong Man-Sik, Im Sung-Jae, Lee Hye-Soo
Running Time: 100 min.

By Paul Bramhall

Nocturnal dares to ask the question, what if Ha Jung-woo hadn’t become a mainstay of Hallmark channel style ‘based on a true story’ movies in the 2020’s, and instead went back to the kind of gritty roles he frequented in the late 2000’s and early 2010’s with productions like The Yellow Sea and Beastie Boys? The answer is a welcome one, with the harsh Korean winter serving as the backdrop to his recently out of prison ex-gangster, now attempting to get by as a day labourer working construction. Of course the rules of the genre mean that he can’t lead a peaceful life for long, and when his younger brother turns up dead in one of the local karaoke bars, he dons a heavyset winter jacket, throws a steel pipe in his rucksack, and begins traipsing around town looking for answers.

From the opening scene of Jung-woo strolling away from a bloody beatdown, decked out in a dishevelled suit and with blood dripping from the aforementioned pipe, director Kim Jin-hwang’s sophomore feature feels like it announces itself as a throwback to a time when Korean cinema had a harder edge. After helming a number of short films Jin-hwang would make his feature length debut in 2016 with the crime thriller The Boy Who Cried Wolf, however in the intervening years he’s only cropped in a handful of minor acting roles, with the release of Nocturnal making it almost a decade since he last directed. Like The Boy Who Cried Wolf, the script for Nocturnal also comes from the pen of Jin-hwang, and the plot settles down to focus on Jung-woo’s search for the girlfriend his brother was living with, played by Yoo Da-in (Tastes of Horror, The Suspect), who’s disappeared without a trace.

What gives Nocturnal a unique slant is the introduction of a character played by Kim Nam-gil (A Man of Reason, Memoir of a Murderer), giving the production a similar sophomore opportunity for he and Ha Jung-woo to reunite after co-starring in 2020’s The Closet. Anyone who’s a regular reader of my reviews will know I’m not the biggest fan of Nam-gil, as I often find he comes across as miscast in the roles he ends up in, a fact which is ironically offset by him also being the star of one of my all-time favorite Korean movies in the form of The Shameless (although I remain convinced that’s because he was acting alongside Jeon Do-yeon!). Here he plays a novelist, and his latest novel – titled Nocturnal – involves a character’s murder that closely resembles the demise of his brother, pointing to Da-in as the culprit. When it’s revealed the pair were acquainted, Nam-gil also scrambles to find Da-in, hoping to locate her before Jung-woo.

While Jung-woo’s reasons for finding Da-in are clear – to find out if she was responsible for his brother’s death, and if so, send her off to meet him – Nam-gil’s are less so. We know he met various attendees of lectures he was hosting to gain inspiration for his novel, and it was during one of these meetings that Da-in revealed how she’s regularly beaten and abused, and of her dream to be able to kill her boyfriend because of his ill treatment. But did she and Nam-gil end up in a relationship together, or does Nam-gil simply feel guilty for using her wish fulfilment story as the basis for his novel? Or is there a third reason – perhaps he was the one who killed the brother so that they could be together? The ambiguity behind his role in the story works effectively, however it also frustratingly concludes in a distinctly anticlimactic fashion.

I’m always keen to avoid spoilers when writing reviews, although my exasperation was such at this part of the plot that I’m going to go out on a limb, and suggest what I’m about to say isn’t a spoiler. The part about Nam-gil playing a writer of a novel that essentially predicts Jung-woo’s brothers death ends up having no bearing on the plot whatsoever, and is dropped altogether in the last third. We don’t even get to find out what the relationship was between Da-in and Nam-gil, he’s left to just silently fade out of the picture. It’s almost as if it was written as a brief sub-plot (even though the movie also takes its title from the novels name!), but in the final product came out as a prominent part of the narrative by mistake, making its sudden irrelevance to what unfolds come across like a glaring omission.

In retrospect, that leaves the heavy lifting to Jung-woo, and there’s an undeniable pleasure in seeing him back as a crumpled and world-weary antagonist prowling the back alleys of nightclubs, low rent karaoke joints, and late-night diners. I don’t know if it was because of the presence of Kim Nam-gil, but the locations of Nocturnal more than once reminded me of The Shameless, with the greyness of the Korean winter almost making the bitter cold feel tangible. As a character Jung-woo makes for an intriguing proposition, with Jin-hwang initially painting him as someone who’s understandably out to seek revenge for his brother’s death, perhaps from guilt that he was the one who brought his brother into the fold of the criminal world in the first place. He may not be the most likeable guy to grace the screen, but his motivation is relatable.

However as the narrative continues, it becomes harder and harder to sympathise with him. Even after learning what a lowlife his brother was, constantly strung out on drugs and regularly beating his girlfriend, he still pushes forward blindly seeking revenge, despite it becoming clear his brother may have gotten exactly what was coming to him. If it was an intentional move to introduce a main character who becomes more difficult to root for as the plot progresses, then it was a bold one, and for the most part Jin-hwang pulls it off. However there’s also no denying that Nocturnal feels like it should be Da-in’s movie rather than Jung-woo’s, as a karaoke bar receptionist who finds her abusive boyfriend dead, and goes on the run as the boyfriends brother, the novelist she may or may not be involved with, and the police begin to close in on her. It’s just a shame that in its current form her character her very little to do beyond running away.

While far from being action heavy, there are a couple of skirmishes that feel refreshingly old school. Technological advances have seen camerawork during group melees become increasingly dynamic in recent years, but it can also tend to lack weight, case in point being many of the action sequences found in the recently released Netflix series Mercy for None. Here there’s a grounded scrappiness to them, with an initial skirmish seeing Jung-woo and his trusty pipe going against a group of lackeys shot with a sense of brutal immediacy. Taking as many hits as he dishes out, there’s a sense of realism from Jung-woo’s choice to take out his attackers as effectively as possible – which for the most part involves hitting them in the face with his steel pipe. A clear case of quality of quantity, when the violence does hit, it resonates. Plus I think this may be the first time for me to see a frozen fish brandished as a weapon (very effective!).

It’d be a crime not to mention Nocturnal’s stellar supporting cast, with the always reliable Jung Man-sik (I, The Executioner, Revolver) cast as the gang boss that Jung-woo used to be a part of, and who his brother had continued to work for while he was inside. Similarly Seo Hyun-woo (Escape, Seire) and Lee Seol (Hard Hit, The Divine Fury) reunite from 2022’s underseen Thunderbird, this time as a pair of cops who are also looking to find the culprit behind the murder.

As the credits rolled on Nocturnal I couldn’t help but feel it was a deeply flawed movie. Important plot threads I’d expected to be resolved were simply dropped, and the narrative leaves the audience with a main character who you root for less and less. However at the same time I also can’t deny the fact that I enjoyed a lot of Kim Jin-hwang’s sophomore feature, with its story unfolding on dilapidated streets and old school marketplaces, there’s a sense of grittiness to it that gets removed in the sheen applied to so many recent Korean productions. Perhaps a case of enjoying it for the movies it reminded me of more than the movie it is, Nocturnal has the ingredients for greatness, but seems like it doesn’t know quite what to do with them.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 6/10

The post Nocturnal (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Ziam” Netflix Poster

Director: Kulp Kaljareuk
Cast: Prin Suparat, Nuttanicha Dungwattanawanich, Vayla Wanvayla, Johnny Anfone
Running Time: 95 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

While 2003’s Ong Bak launched a Muay Thai movie boom out of Thailand that lasted for much of the 2000’s, towards the end of the decade filmmakers had turned to increasingly creative ways to portray the powerful martial art onscreen. Fireball gave us Muay Thai blended with basketball, Raging Phoenix introduced Muay Thai mixed with dancing, and Power Kids offered up pintsize Muay Thai with a bunch of kids delivering the expected elbows and knees. In what was clearly a missed opportunity, somehow no one ever thought to mix Muay Thai with zombies. That is, until now, as in 2025 director Kulp Kaljareuk released his sophomore solo feature length outing with Ziam.

Set in a post-apocalyptic future, the bar for Thai zombie movies that take place in such settings is admittedly a low one thanks to the likes of the 2019 atrocity The Driver, however Kaljareuk comes with the benefit of Netflix backing his latest. With a decent budget to work with we’re introduced to a world that’s on the brink of collapse, with climate change induced disasters leading to mass food shortages. Thankfully Thailand has become one of the few safe havens left in the world, with a rich businessman having created a sustainable food source to keep the population from starving. Transported by truck drivers tasked with navigating the dusty yellow hued wastelands to make their deliveries, the concept has echoes of the Korean series Black Knight (also produced by Netflix), which similarly focused on truck drivers making essential deliveries in a post-apocalyptic landscape.

The driver who becomes the focus of Kaljareuk’s latest is played by Prin Suparat (Necromancer) who, in a handy piece of foreshadowing, has a line thrown in his direction by his co-driver about how he wouldn’t want to go back to “a life of underground boxing.” No sooner has the line been spoken, than their truck finds itself ambushed by a group of marauding bandits, offering up a pre-title card sequence that gives the audience a chance to see what Suparat is capable of. Unfortunately the answer is an unimpressive one. Offering up a masterclass in what a fight scene can look like if it’s shot by someone unfamiliar with shooting action, we get camera cuts before hits are made to disguise a lack of impact, at one point a kick is filmed from the waist up so we don’t actually see it, and the sound design feels slightly off.

Normally at this point it would be a good enough reason to clock out, but I mean, the concept of Muay Thai versus zombies is one that’s tantalizing enough to hope that things will improve. Of course every zombie outbreak needs an origin story, and in Ziam those origins feel muddled at best. The rich businessman, played by Johnny Anfone (The Legend of Suriyothai) has apparently discovered that the liver of monkfish has revitalising properties, so wishes to use it to treat his comatose wife who’s been relying on regular blood transfusions to stay alive. Although it’s never directly implied, the assumption is the rest of the fish is served up as a delicacy for the rich, with his righthand man offering it up as sashimi for a gathering of officials from the totalitarian government. Taking the first bite so as to put everyone else at ease, it isn’t long before it turns out consuming the fish turns people into flesh hungry zombies. Chaos ensues.

Where did the monkfish suddenly come from? Why does eating it make someone turn into a zombie? Was I unknowingly taking micro-naps and missed an important plot detail? I don’t have the answers. In any case, thanks to plot contrivances it turns out our trusty truck driver Suparat’s girlfriend is the doctor responsible for looking after Anfone’s comatose wife. Played by Nuttanicha Dungwattanawanich (Ghost Lab), she soon finds herself trapped on the 10^th floor of the hospital as zombies run rampant, and it’s up to Suparat to come along and Raid things up to reach the top floor and rescue her. Naturally, he ends up with an annoying kid in tow, who’s characterised to the extent of being asthmatic and finding wheelchair bound zombies to be a point of amusement (whether he’d still find someone in a wheelchair funny prior to their undead state is left to audience interpretation).

Once Ziam establishes it’s one-location setting of the hospital it almost feels like the post-apocalyptic setup was a ruse, since it has little to no bearing on the rest of the plot, essentially becoming the tale of a guy who knows some Muay Thai moves kicking zombies in the head to reach the love of his life. While the setup is one that feels ripe for some hard-hitting entertainment, unfortunately most of the action feels like a damp squib. Perhaps a hangover from the 2000’s era of Thai action, a time when wince inducing elbows and high impact falls became trademarks of the countries action output, the inevitable comparisons that those who were around to enjoy said era will make aren’t going to be kind ones.

Suparat obviously knows how to throw a kick, the issue is that he doesn’t really do a whole lot else, and the imagined brutality you’d have to unleash against a member of the undead with only your fists and feet never really materialises. Despite there being hordes of the undead on every floor, Suparat’s assault on them only ever sees one zombie dawdling towards him at a time, some of which seem to be taken out by simply pushing them out of the way. The absence of any danger feels palpable, as it soon becomes clear Suparat is definitely not the next incarnation of Tony Jaa. He’s not even the next incarnation of Mike B. At least those guys could emote a little, even if it was for the sole purpose of expressing rage, but here Suparat clocks in a bland performance that’s unlikely to get anyone’s adrenaline levels pumping.

Proceedings completely derail in the final third, with the pièce de résistance saved for when a fire activates the hospital sprinklers, the result of which sees the contact with water turn the zombies into zombie monkfish hybrids. Yes, zombie monkfish hybrids. While you may be imagining a toothy undead take on a mermaid, the reality is most of them just have a cheap prosthetic over the bottom half of their face (although admittedly, it looks like part of the budget was at least spent on showing one of them transform using passable CGI, its mouth splitting open either side to reveal razor sharp teeth). Much like the post-apocalyptic setting though, the switch up from standard zombie to fishy zombie makes precisely zero difference to the plot, with the reveal being strictly aesthetic.

By the time everyone ends up trying to get to the chopper on the roof, as a director Kaljareuk makes a complete dog’s breakfast of the setup. A supposedly heartbreaking scene ends up coming across as incomprehensible, and is surely a contender for the award of ‘Most Unnecessary Self-Sacrifice in a Movie’ this side of the 21^st century. Proceedings are only made more insulting by tagging on what I want to call a post-credits sequence, but it appears so quickly (probably based off an assumption by Netflix that viewers would turn it off as soon as the credits start rolling) I don’t think it can really qualify. Revealing that the most unnecessary self-sacrifice in a movie may have actually been survived, it’s a clumsy hint that there could be further instalments of the fish-induced undead, one that’s unlikely to generate much enthusiasm from those who made it to the end.

Like so much made-for-Netflix content, Ziam ultimately comes across as an inoffensive time passer, destined to start slipping from the memory once a few hours have passed (I’m writing this review a couple of days later, and trust me, it’s been a struggle). The problem is, the concept of pitting Muay Thai against hordes of the undead was never supposed to fit into the category of being an inoffensive time passer, which makes it feel even more of a wasted opportunity. Perhaps a zombie elephant could have livened things up, but until we get one of those, do yourself a favor and dig out that old DVD of Kung Fu Zombie. You’ll thank me later.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 4/10

The post Ziam (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Ghost Killer” Theatrical Poster

Director: Kensuke Sonomura
Cast: Akari Takaishi, Mario Kuroba, Masanori Mimoto, Sora Inoue, Akaka Higashino, Naohiro Kawamoto, Hidenobu Abera, Naoto Kuratomi, Satoshi Kibe
Running Time: 105 min.

By Paul Bramhall

A lone figure in the darkness of a deserted marketplace alley faces off against 3 masked attackers, fending them off set to the rustle of their clothes, the shuffle of their footwork, and a flurry of quick, precise strikes. Within seconds the choreography on display can be identified as the work of Kensuke Sonomura, an action director who’s been active since the mid-2000’s, acting as the action choreographer on the likes of The Machine Girl and Deadball. However it was with his 2019 directorial debut Hydra that he really cemented his distinctive style – one that dials back action scenes to their purest form, absent of any kind of soundtrack, and relying purely on the movements and sounds of the performers onscreen to create a sense of conflict and danger.

It’s a style that’s immediately recognizable in the same way that the Jackie Chan or Donnie Yen style of choreography comes with its own distinctive DNA, and Sonomura has found a muse for his onscreen mayhem in the form of Masanori Mimoto. With a choreographer-performer relationship dating back to the likes of 2010’s Alien vs. Ninja and 2013’s Bushido Man, it made sense that Sonomura cast Mimoto as the lead for his directorial debut, and he’d crop up again in Sonomura’s sophomore crack at sitting in the director’s chair with 2022’s Bad City. They say third times a charm, and in 2024 Sonomura has returned to the role of both director and action director with the release of Ghost Killer.

The lone figure that opens Ghost Killer with the marketplace fight scene is also Masanori Mimoto, and after disposing of the trio of assailants, he finds himself on the wrong end of a bullet. Playing an assassin for hire, his untimely death sees him harbour a grudge, one that prevents him from entering the afterlife until justice is served. Thankfully an opportunity arises to do exactly that when a college student discovers the casing of the bullet that delivered the kill shot, which allows Mimoto’s spirit both to communicate with her directly, as well as (and more significantly) possess her body, providing a vessel for his considerable fighting skills. Played by one half of the Baby Assassins, surprisingly Sonomura has chosen to go with the non-stunt performer of the pair, and cast Akari Takaishi as Mimoto’s only way to continue communicating with the world of the living.

It’s a familiar setup, riffing on the likes of Hong Kong’s Where’s Officer Tuba? and Taiwan’s Kung Fu Student from the 1980’s, transplanting the dynamic of a martial arts savvy ghost possessing an unexpected member of the living to the streets of modern Japan. While it’s Takaishi who takes top billing, Mimoto can essentially be considered a co-star, since there aren’t too many scenes when he’s not by her side or being called into action. Takaishi isn’t the only link to the Baby Assassins trilogy (and now a TV Mini Series as well!) though, as apart from all of them featuring Sonomura’s action direction talents, it’s also their director Yugo Sakamoto who’s penned the script for Ghost Killer (one of the funniest lines has Takaishi suggest to her roommate that they could “…watch those three shitty movies we talked about.” – a clear in-joke referencing the Baby Assassins trilogy).

The result is one that makes Takaishi’s struggling college student feel like a not-too-distant incarnation of her Baby Assassins character, and how much you enjoyed her character in that series will be a strong indicator of how much you’ll enjoy Ghost Killer. Living in a state of perpetual exasperation even before she realises there’s a ghost following her around, her frazzled state is one we spend the majority of the 105-minute runtime with, and if your sense of humor isn’t in tune to the constant outbursts of flusterment, it could come across as a little grating. Much like Saori Izawa provided the counterbalance in Baby Assassins, its Mimoto’s sardonic hitman that takes on the same role here, strolling around with a blood-stained sweater where he got shot, and reluctantly coming to accept that his hitman days are over.

Their relationship acts as the anchor to Ghost Killer’s tried and tested plot of an assassin who’s been wronged by the agency he provided his services to, heading to the inevitable confrontation between former (well, actually dead) employer and those he used to work for. Able to possess Takaishi’s body by clasping hands, soon she’s putting the beatdown on her friend’s abusive boyfriend, and confronting cinnamon sniffing influencers with a tendency to spike girls drinks to take advantage of them. The fight that takes place within the confines of a small bar against the latter also acts as one that sets the rules for the possession plot device, with Mimoto realising he needs to keep his opponent in a choke hold 30 seconds longer than usual due to Takaishi’s “skinny arms”.

It’s a smart angle to take possession trope from, with a lethal hitman having to adjust to applying his skillset in the body of a female college student, but it’s not one that Sonomura sticks with. By the time we get to the finale, an uninspired shootout sees the scene alternate between having both Takaishi and Mimoto appear onscreen, however when it comes to the inevitable one on one, Sonomura wisely givens centre stage to Mimoto. It’s a decision which will likely split audiences down the middle, and I can imagine for anyone watching Ghost Killer who doesn’t have a vested interest in the talents involved, the sudden departure from one of the most interesting plot points will likely seem like a criminal oversight. For those that do (and if it wasn’t clear already, this is the category I fall into!), then the fact the decision means we get a rematch between Mimoto and Naohiro Komoto makes any narrative misdemeanours forgivable.

The finale of Hydra gave us an uninterrupted 4-minute showdown between the pair, and here it ups the ante by stretching their fight out to 7 minutes. Their rematch serves to once more show why Sonomura is one of the best fight choreographers working today, with the fight seamlessly transitioning between knife work to empty handed strikes and grappling, and while the finish doesn’t have the same sense of catharsis as their confrontation in Hydra, it still delivers. Sure, it makes no sense whatsoever that it’s actually supposed to Takaishi who’s on the receiving end of Komoto’s blows, but then again if the rules were being strictly adhered to, the fight would probably have been over in 2 minutes.

Despite ending on a strong note, as the end credits rolled there’s an undeniable feeling that at 105 minutes, Ghost Killer is a tad overlong. The 75-minute runtime of Hydra feels like the perfect sweet spot for Sonomura’s directorial talents, with Ghost Killer’s mid-section suffering from a lack of narrative thrust that makes the time start to drag. While as an action director Sonomura is a master at being able to inject tension into the fight scenes, when it comes to doing the same for the more dialogue driven and dramatic elements of the story, for the most part these scenes come across as flat and pedestrian. Much like in Bad City, the runtime would have benefitted from leaving some of the more superfluous characters on the cutting room floor in favour of being leaner, in this case an apprentice hitman played by Mario Kuroba (Hard Days, Sadako DX) could easily have received the chop.

Despite Akari Takaishi receiving top billing, Ghost Killer feels more like it belongs to Masanori Mimoto. It’s his character that ultimately gets a narrative arc to conclude his story of a ghost with a grudge, while Takaishi’s character serves little purpose beyond acting flustered and delivering some rather laboured attempts at comedy. If you’re able to sit through the latter, then you’ll be rewarded with some of the best action of this decade from the former.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 6/10

The post Ghost Killer (2024) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Revelations” Netflix Poster

Director: Yeon Sang-ho
Cast: Ryu Jun-yeol, Shin Min-jae, Shin Hyun-been, Han Ji-hyun, Kim Bo-Min, Kim Do-Young, Moon Ju-Yeon, Bae Youn-Kyu, Oh Chi-Woon, Woo Kang-Min
Running Time: 122 min.

By Paul Bramhall

The journey of Yeon Sang-ho as a filmmaker has been an interesting one. Gaining attention amongst cineastes in the early 2010’s for his gritty feature length animations like King of Pigs and The Fake, it was his transition to live action filmmaking that brought him to international attention, with the 2016 zombie movie Train to Busan. However in the years since he’s continuously struggled to find a consistent cinematic voice, with his switch to live action seeing him pivot from the grounded, reality-based nature of his animated features, to more fantasy, sci-fi, and supernatural infused flights of fancy. The major studios seem to have the same concerns, as with the exception of 2020’s Train to Busan sequel Peninsula, all of his subsequent work has exclusively gone straight to Netflix.

In fact it’s a safe bet to say no other Korean filmmaker has debuted on Netflix as much as Sang-ho has. Whether it be directing feature length productions like 2017’s Psychokinesis and 2022’s Jung-E. Helming drama series adaptations like Hellbound (the first season in 2020 as well as the second in 2024) and 2024’s Parasyte: The Grey. Or even stuff he just wrote the script for, like 2024’s 6-episode series The Bequeathed. All of them landed on Netflix, and in 2025 his latest feature length production once more skips a theatrical release, with Revelations similarly debuting on the streaming giant.

Interestingly Revelations is probably the most grounded work story wise that Sang-ho has done since his 2013 animated feature The Fake. The plot tells 2 parallel stories that gradually start to overlap with each other, with the first being of a pastor running a dilapidated church in a rundown part of Musan. Played by Ryu Jun-yeol (Believer, Alienoid), to say he has a lot on his mind would be an understatement. For a start his suspicions about his wife cheating on him look like they may be true, and exasperating his stress is the discovery of a mega church that’s being built not far from his own. His mentor is responsible for the new church, which should make him the natural choice to be selected as the pastor to run it, however it seems religious politics point to the mentor’s son being the preferred candidate. To top everything off, a convicted sex offender has just been released from prison and has moved into the local neighbourhood.

Played by Shin Min-jae (Smugglers, Killing Romance), when Jun-yeol’s daughter goes missing on the same day he unknowingly tried to sign up Min-jae to become a church member, Jun-yeol becomes convinced it’s Min-jae who’s responsible for her disappearance. The 2^nd plot involves a detective who’s recently been reinstated to the violent crimes division after some time off, played by Shin Hyun-been (Beasts Clawing at Straws, The Closet), whose sister was one of Min-jae’s victims. Haunted by visions of her sister’s ghost, Hyun-been seems to spend more time popping sachets of prescription pills and tracking Min-jae than anything else, however when both he and a young girl who attends Jun-yeol’s church go missing, she makes it her mission to get to the bottom of it.

It’s not a spoiler to say it’s Jun-yeol who’s responsible for the disappearance of Min-jae. After following him in his car up a remote mountain road, the pair end up in a tussle, with Min-jae slipping down the mountain and cracking his head open on a rock. Uncertain of what to do next, when lightening illuminates a nearby mountainside Jun-yeol is convinced he can see the face of Jesus, taking it as a sign that he’s doing the right thing. What unfolds is probably best described as a mix of Bill Paxton’s 2001 horror Frailty meets Kim Seong-hun’s 2014 thriller A Hard Day, as Jun-yeol becomes increasingly convinced that God is sending him signs, whether it be in the shape of the clouds or graffiti on a wall, so decides to cover his tracks. Meanwhile Hyun-been sees a chance to redeem the fact she couldn’t save her sister if she can get to the missing girl before it’s too late, but with minimal leads and the suspect missing in action, it won’t be easy.

In writing the synopsis I realise on paper it actually sounds like all the ingredients are there for a compelling supernatural tinged thriller, however Sang-ho has somehow managed to inject precisely zero narrative thrust into the 2-hour runtime, making it an exhaustingly plodding affair to get through. As a director and scriptwriter he’s dabbled with religious themes before with his series Hellbound which suffered from the same issues, and yet somehow that was granted a 2^nd season (which to me at least, is a bit like drinking an expired bottle of milk that’s been sitting in the sun for a week, then saying you’d like to have another one). Both are adapted from comics he also wrote, and perhaps it’s their translation to the screen where something becomes lost.

By far the most disappointing aspect of Revelations though is the question of who’s responsible for the missing girl’s disappearance, which for a good half of the runtime Sang-ho convincingly leaves the audience completely in the dark. It comes as something of a damp squib then, when it’s revealed it actually is Min-jae who kidnapped her, despite it seeming like an all too obvious narrative choice to have the actual kidnapper be the sex offender who’s just gotten out of prison. It seems to be a trait in Korean cinema that the thought of a prisoner becoming rehabilitated from the crimes they committed is unthinkable, so as soon as they’re released the expectation is they’ll be up to their old tricks in no time at all. Kim Joo-hwan’s Officer Black Belt, that also debuted on Netflix the previous year, suffered from the same issue, and here it simply feels lazy, with the built-up intrigue effectively being unintentional.

Despite the heavy-handed nature of everything onscreen, thankfully Jun-yeol offers up some entertainment value as the pastor who increasingly starts to lose it as the narrative progresses. If I had to guess, Jun-yeol’s inspiration for the role would be Aaron Kwok in Roy Chow’s 2009 slice of Hong Kong insanity Murderer. We’re not even halfway through and he’s already become a sweat drenched mess, yelling at his wife in the car to confess her sins, while belting out borderline hysterical prayers to the congregation when he holds a prayer meeting for the missing child. He admirably remains fully committed to the role no matter what ridiculous places it takes him, and by the time he’s wielding a steel pole while a tied-up Min-jae sings hymns at him in an abandoned golf resort, things have gotten pretty ridiculous.

Hyun-been is similarly committed despite the script at times working against her. The biggest issue is the ghost of her sister, played by Han Ji-hyun (I Bet Everything, Seobok), whose appearances feel like they should be quietly menacing, but instead end up coming across as gratingly annoying. Is this the first time for a ghostly apparition in Asian cinema to be an annoyance? Possibly. The biggest issue is her appearances mostly consist of her whining about why Hyun-been didn’t save her while she was alive, which starts to feel repetitive. However the coup de grâce is when she shows up in a scene where Hyun-been has been left alone with Min-jae, and descends into the kind of hysterical yelling usually reserved for scenes where a family member has learnt about the death of a loved one. For some reason, ghosts and hysterical yelling just isn’t a combination that works.

In the end it’s difficult to ascertain what the point of Revelations is, even with a Murderer-esque exposition dump from a psychiatrist towards the end who explains all about how everything is connected to past trauma, it fails to convince that everything that’s come before was worth watching. Consistently dull, frequently misguided, and narratively empty, the only revelation I hope comes from Sang-ho’s latest is that he re-assesses his direction as a filmmaker.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 2/10

The post Revelations (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Hi-Five” Theatrical Poster

Director: Kang Hyeong-Cheol
Cast: Lee Jae-in, Ra Mi-ran, Oh Jung-se, Park Jin-young, Ahn Jae-hong, Kim Hee-won, Shin Gu, Yoo Ah-in, Choi Eun-kyeong, Na Jin-su, Jin Hee-kyung
Running Time: 119 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

Where audiences suffering more from superhero fatigue in 2025 than they were in 2022? It’s a question worth pondering, since the 3 years in-between is how long the Korean superhero comedy Hi-Five has sat on the shelf. Delayed from its original release after actor Yoo Ah-in was charged will illegal drug use in 2023, since his release from serving a five-month prison sentence in February 2025, it would appear the completion of his punishment has also served as the cue to release the past productions he was involved in. The Match hit screens in May 2025, a drama which cast Ah-in alongside Lee Byung-hun and had originally been set for release in 2023, and a month later Hi-Five also hit the screens, which had originally been planned for release even earlier in 2022.

Whatever your views are on Korea’s approach to celebrities who commit misdemeanours, its always a relief when a completed movie that was potentially going to have its release cancelled finally sees the light of day, particularly when the director at the helm is Kang Hyeong-cheol (Swing Kids, Sunny). Much like Choi Dong-hoon, Hyeong-cheol is one of Korea’s most consistent filmmakers when it comes to mainstream entertainment (and they also both share a Tazza connection, with Dong-hoon directing the 2006 original Tazza: The High Rollers, and Hyeong-cheol directing the 2014 sequel Tazza: The Hidden Card). Debuting in 2008 with the comedy drama Scandal Makers, Hyeong-cheol’s style of filmmaking has proven to be consistently popular with local audiences, and his latest bears all of his typical trademarks.

Involving the recipients of a recently departed superhumans organs, the mysterious donor’s abilities soon start manifesting themselves in their unsuspecting new hosts. Lee Jae-in (Hard Hit, Our Body) plays the taekwondo loving outsider whose new heart imbues her with immense strength and speed. Ahn Jae-hong’s (Time to Hunt, Missing You) struggling screenwriter finds his new lungs enable him to blow gale force gusts of wind. Yoo Ah-in’s (Burning, Seoul Vibe) pompous layabout has a pair of new corneas that allow him to control electro-magnetic waves, able to send texts and control electricity with the click of his fingers (or toes for that matter). Kim Hee-won’s (Unlocked, The Merciless) factory foreman has a new liver which gives him the power to transfer others wounds to himself, and finally Ra Mi-ran (Intimate Strangers, The Mayor) received the donors kidney, but insists all she’s noticed is her improved skin.

There’s something admirable in Hyeong-cheol’s approach to the superhero genre, blatantly refusing to bother with any kind of time-consuming backstory, and instead having 4 of the 5 organ recipients conspire to meet each other within the first 20 minutes. Intrigued by the appearance of a tattoo on their wrists (except for Mi-ran, who’s stuck with an unflattering tramp stamp on her lower back to comical effect), the 5 eventually come together, go to a chicken restaurant, and try to figure out what use their respective powers are. The lack of grandiosity is one of Hi-Five’s greatest strengths, subverting the usual epic feel that the superhero genre has become increasingly lumbered with, and instead opting to filter it through Hyeong-cheol’s lens of feel-good comedy.

The quintet’s research leads them to realise a sixth organ is possible to be donated, which its revealed has gone to a revered cult leader who’s been laying comatose on his deathbed. Kept alive by his greedy family, upon unwittingly receiving the donor’s pancreas, he suddenly wakes up and sets about resuming his role as a self-declared God, only realising when he gets into an argument with a former associate he has the ability to drain any living things life force by touch. Played by veteran actor Shin Koo (YMCA Baseball Team, Bluebeard), the more life force he absorbs the younger he becomes, eventually transforming into former K-pop idol Park Jinyoung (Christmas Carol, Yaksha: Ruthless Operations). Naturally, once he realises the other donors have inherited superpowers of their own, the temptation to absorb their powers for himself becomes his top priority, giving Hi-Five its all-important villain.

The delayed release means there are likely to be inevitable comparisons with the 2023 superhero themed 20-episode series Moving, despite it being originally planned to be released earlier, however thankfully Hi-Five still stands on its own. There’s a likeable chemistry between the 5 leads, and the pace rarely lets up, making it a brisk 2 hours (especially for those who are drama series allergic like myself and struggle to find 20 hours!). The lightness of tone suits the narrative perfectly, with a highlight being a vehicular chase sequence involving a car full of the cult leader’s lackeys in pursuit of Mi-ran’s humble yoghurt cart, being pushed to ridiculous speeds by Jae-in while the other 4 cling on for dear life. The action feels like a Looney Tuns inspired mix of Arahan meets Kung Fu Hustle, and what other movie in 2025 is going to revive the Rickrolling phenomenon, with the whole sequence set to Rick Astley’s Never Gonna Give You Up!?

An unexpected highlight comes in the form of Oh Jung-se (Cobweb, Killing Romance) as Jae-in’s overly protective taekwondo teacher father (an observation the productions marketing department must agree with, since it’s his image that replaces Ah-in’s on the poster). Clueless to his daughter’s new abilities, and unknowingly putting himself in harm’s way more than once, a scene where he uses his taekwondo skills to take on a small army of cult followers feels like classic Hyeong-cheol. Executed with unseen assistance from Jae-in, who uses her powers to lend a helping hand, the wholes scene feels like a throwback to the more slapstick style of comedy Korean cinema leaned into during the 2000’s.

Another element of Hi-Five which feels like a throwback is the occasionally awkward mix of comedy and abrupt departures into rather dark territory. It’s a very Korean cinema-specific trait to blend light and breezy narratives with dark tragedy (see Officer Black Belt – light hearted buddy comedy vs. violent paedophiles) or histrionic filled melodrama (see I Can Speak – cranky old woman learning English comedy vs. forced prostitution during the Japanese occupation), and while Hyeong-cheol’s latest doesn’t go as heavy as either of these examples, it still rears its head enough to be noticed. In particular the circumstances around what led to Mi-ran’s organ transplant are a particular downer, and it’s the same circumstances which are used for a post-credits scene which will either raise a smile, an eyebrow, or possibly both.

Events eventually lead up to a finale that pits the 5 against Jinyoung, who comes with an advantage of having partly absorbed the powers of Yoo-in and Hee-won. Like any modern superhero movie, the fact that CGI is at a point where literally anything imagined can be portrayed is both a blessing and a curse, and somewhat regrettably the final showdown eschews the smaller scale comedic feel for an attempt at an epic battle between the 2 sides. It’s competently executed, and who doesn’t want to see some superpowered taekwondo? However at the same time the sight of bodies flying across the screen at hyper speed and buildings taking on structural damage feels like something we’ve seen plenty of times before, and the whole battle goes on for a tad too long. On the plus side though, we do finally get to understand what Mi-ran’s superpower is!

Overall these are minor issues in what’s a highly entertaining slice of popcorn cinema. We do get occasional glimpses into the origin of the powers, with a couple of brief scenes showing a cave from ancient times that houses a mysterious being, however these are never elaborated on to mean anything significant, leading me to speculate if Hyeong-cheol intended Hi-Five to be a franchise starter (in which case, the Ah-in issue may unfortunately have derailed any chance of a sequel). Whatever the case may be, as a standalone piece of superhero cinema, I’ll take Nine Girl, Tank Boy, Fresh Girl, Bluetooth Man, and Battery Man any day of the week over yet another cookie cutter Marvel or DC outing. In an era where superhero productions often drown out the voice of the director at the helm, perhaps the biggest compliment I can give Hi-Five is that it feels like a Kang Hyeong-cheol movie through and through.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7/10

The post Hi-Five (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Escape From The 21St Century” Theatrical Poster

Director: Yang Li
Cast: Ruoyun Zhang, Chuxi Zhong, Yang Song, Xiaoliang Wu, Yanmanzi Zhu, Zhengrong Wen
Running Time: 98 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

Keeping up with what is and isn’t allowed in Chinese cinema is always somewhat of a daunting task, with everything from ghosts to cleavage falling victim to strict censorship laws in recent years. While these days the National Radio and Television Administration sits directly under the Central Propaganda Department, where it’s been since 2018, during the early 2010’s the department was still just as feisty over what was considered acceptable for audiences to consume. In 2011, in its previous incarnation as the SARFT (the State Administration of Radio, Film and Television), time travel made it onto the blacklist, with the reasoning being that too many time travel stories were being released that “disrespected history and promoted superstition.”

Such reasoning may explain why there was a 4-year gap between Donnie Yen’s Iceman 3D released in 2014, where time travel didn’t really play a significant part in the plot, and 2018’s Iceman: The Time Traveller, in which time travel was central to its premise. In any case, it’s safe to say that in the latter 2010’s the ban was no longer being actively enforced, and in 2024 time travel was on the agenda again in Escape from the 21^st Century. Director Yang Li isn’t taking any chances though, so in a similar style to how China’s straight-to-streaming action genre tends to set itself in fictional Southeast Asian countries, here Li takes it one step further and sets the story on a completely different planet. Planet K to be precise, although the only giveaway that we’re not on Earth is the hazy sight of multiple moons in the daytime sky, and a passing reference to how the days are only 12 hours long rather than 24.

This isn’t the first time for Li to visit the theme of time travel, with Escape from the 21^st Century marking his third feature length production, having debuted in 2011 with Lee’s Adventure. The story of a gamer who comes across a game capable of opening a door to the past, it was a remake of his own short film from 2009, and considering the year it came out, perhaps was also partly responsible for the time travel ban! Li played it safe for his sophomore feature in 2018 with the coming-of-age comedy Nuts, so it’s good to see him return to a more creative venture with his latest.

Set in 1999, the plot focuses on a trio of 18 years old friends played by Li Zhou Zhao (The Wandering Earth), Chen Yi Chen (Love Death and Cat) and Kang Qi Xuan (Successor). After getting into a brawl with another gang from their school, they all end up in a lake along with a mix of colorful chemicals that have spilled from a bunch of oil drums amidst the scuffle, the result of which first sees Zhou Zhao realise he can travel 20 years into the future by sneezing. Leaving his 18-year-old body behind in 1999, in 2019 he’s now played by Song Yang (The Sword Identity), and discovers he’s a gun for hire working for an illegal organ trafficking syndicate.

Also able to travel back to 1999 via a sneeze, soon Yi Chen and Qi Xuan follow suit. Yi Chen’s future self is played by Zhang Ruo Yun (Sky on Fire), a journalist looking to uncover the same organ trafficking ring that Yang is involved in, while the chubby Qi Xuan finds himself played by Leon Lee (Dragon Hunter), now a ripped 30-something who’s become the alpha of the trio. Most significantly, Lee also finds himself in a relationship with Zhu Yamanzi (An Elephant Sitting Still), who back in 1999 was in a relationship with the 18-year-old Zhou Zhao that they thought would last forever. Something clearly went wrong along the way, with the Qi Xuan back in 1999 hesitant to tell Zhou Zhao that in the future he’s in a relationship with the love of his friend’s life, and in 2019 Ruo Yun’s investigation gets ever closer to uncovering that his friend Yang is now involved in illegal organ trafficking.

The complications the future hold may give some indication as to the origin of the title, and while many sites have made comparisons between Escape from the 21^st Century and Everything Everywhere All at Once (although here there’s definitely no lesbians, something that not even setting the story on another planet would fly with the Chinese censorship board!), these are for the most part surface level. If any comparison had to be made, then I was most reminded of Korean director Lee Myung-se’s distinctive visual style in the likes of 1999’s Nowhere to Hide and 2005’s Duelist. It’s safe to say that Li’s latest is the most hyper stylised piece of cinema of recent years, with an almost non-stop barrage of cinematic techniques used to tell the story. From the different aspect ratios used between 1999 and 2019, to animation being mixed in with live action, the narrative propels itself forward in a visual kaleidoscope of color.

There’s so much happening onscreen at any one time that Escape from the 21^st Century feels like a prime candidate to have the accusation of style over substance levelled against it, however behind the sensory assault the story that Li’s chosen to tell has a surprising amount of heart. Ruo Yun finds himself falling for the journalist he’s partnered with, played with a feisty zest by a scene stealing Zhong Chuxi (The Knight of Shadows: Between Yin and Yang), with the ideals of his 18-year-old self clashing with the reality of life 20 years later. A scene where she puts on a pair of headphones before fighting off a group of attackers is a highlight, with her usage of the headphones explained by her disliking the “sound of men screaming”, and the script gives her some of the best lines.

Similarly the inevitable conflict that builds between Yang and Lee is well handled, with a fight that breaks out between the pair creatively constructed so that it plays out across both 2019 and 1999 (where Zhou Zhao and Qi Xuan take over). Amidst the internal strife of the trio, Li smartly offers up a bad guy for the good guys to rail against in the form of Wu Xiaoliang (Brotherhood of Blades 2), playing a character in 2019 that’s part of the same organ trafficking ring that Yang is working for. He makes for a suitably imposing figure, with the origin of his powers linking back to the trios lives in 1999, but perhaps more importantly, his presence offers up the opportunity for a final fight set to Bonnie Tyler’s Holding Out for a Hero. It’s the final fight soundtrack you never knew you needed, but within the context of the world Escape from the 21^st Century takes place in, somehow it just works.

There’s a welcome humorous streak in Li’s latest that also works in balancing the zany tone of what unfolds onscreen. I’m not usually a fan of movies that choose to be intentionally self-aware, but after an adrenaline pumping training montage of the main trio, when it cuts to Zhung Chuxi straight after announcing “What a useless montage” directly to camera, it was impossible not to laugh. An ongoing joke around how Ruo Yun has a small brain similarly has a killer pay-off, and Li even manages to ensure a censorship board approved message is weaved into the finale via a laugh, with a damning indictment of what can happen to you if you become addicted to pornography.

In the end Escape from the 21^st Century acts as a reminder that only what we do in the present has the ability to set out the path to the future, so we should strive to be better versions of ourselves, something that’s relatable to anyone regardless of culture. The fact that it’s chosen to be told through a mix of bag pipes, kamikaze ravens, the threat of a microwaved cat, a scientist with a constantly steaming head, and references to Streetfighter II, all come together to make Li’s latest his most distinctive work yet. Perhaps most notably, it’s a sign that even within an industry where a multitude of restrictions need to be navigated around what can and can’t be shown onscreen, with the right amount of creativity and vision, it’s still possible to craft original pieces of cinema that transcend their limitations. Strongly recommended.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 8.5/10

The post Escape from the 21st Century (2024) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Big Deal” Theatrical Poster

Director: Choi Yoon-jin
Cast: Yoo Hae-jin, Lee Je-hoon, Byron Mann, Son Hyeon-ju, Choi Young-Joon, Kim Ki-Hae
Running Time: 104 min.

By Paul Bramhall

Watch any Korean movie from the last 30 years, and it won’t be too long before the ubiquitous green soju bottle (usually several of them) makes an appearance, the alcoholic beverage that’s remained the number one best selling hangover inducer in the world for almost as long. While soju has always played an integral part in Korean cinema – from the tipsy conversations of practically every Hong Sang-soo movie ever made, to the comedic mishaps in the likes of Daytime Drinking – Big Deal is certainly the first production that can label itself as a soju themed financial drama.

Spanning 6 years from 1997 to 2003, the plot takes its inspiration from the real-life story of Jinro Soju, which was acquired by Hite with a little help from Goldman Sachs in the late 90’s (check the back of any soju bottle in your local Korean restaurant or Asian supermarket, and chances are you’ll find it was made by Hite Jinro). For obvious reasons, in Big Deal the name of the soju brand is the fictional Gukbo, with the narrative opening in the midst of the Asian Financial Crisis. With Gukbo facing bankruptcy, the company president tasks the loyal financial director to work with a consultant from a global investment firm, with the latter promising they have the strategy to get Gukbo out trouble.

The CFO is played by Yoo Hae-jin (Yadang: The Snitch, Exhuma), bringing his typical mix of cheerful amicability to the role while hiding a sad past, with his unwavering dedication to the company costing his relationship with his wife and daughter. His dedicated company man is played off against the consultant he’s paired with, played by Lee Je-hoon (Escape, Time to Hunt), who after living overseas for 10 years views working as simply a way to make money, and can’t quite fathom why Hae-jin is so passionate about securing the future of Gukbo. But secure it Je-hoon he does, finding a way to offer the company a 5-year reprieve from debtors, while hiding the fact that behind the scenes he’s using his access to Gukbo’s financial records to set up a takeover by the investment firm he works for, the plan being to then sell it off for a significant profit.

Financial thrillers are a tricky proposition (see Herman Yau’s A Gilded Game for the perfect example of how not to do one), however in recent years Korean cinema has occasionally looked to the Asian Financial Crisis era for inspiration, with 2018’s Default also set during the period. While Default told the bigger picture of Korea’s negotiations with the International Monetary Fund when the country was on the brink of bankruptcy, comparatively Big Deal feels like a more intimate portrayal, instead using the crisis as a framework to focus on the relationship between Hae-jin and Je-hoon. Indeed there are times when the movie it most recalls is Pretty Woman, just minus the woman part. Je-hoon and Hae-jin’s relationship echoes the dynamic between Richard Gere as the detached businessman buying up faltering businesses, and Ralph Bellamy as the traditionalist, unwilling to let go of the company he’s dedicated his life to.

Does the world really need a Korean take on a side story from a 1990 Hollywood romcom? The odds feel stacked against it, however for the most part Big Deal works as an engaging character drama. It also feels like a distinctly Korean topic (a comment I also made about The Match that was similarly released in 2025 – could it be the Korean film industry is shifting back to more local tastes after years of targeting the global market?), as there’s no escape from the fact it’s the story of a soju company experiencing financial trouble, and the question of if it can be saved or not. It’s not going to be immediately relatable subject matter for overseas audiences, and there’s a lot of the inevitable soju talk of how “the taste is bittersweet, just like life”, however Hae-jin and Je-hoon make for a likeable pair, and their onscreen chemistry works well.

Outside of the pair though other characters don’t fare quite as well, with a supporting cast that occasionally dips into caricature territory. The number one guilty party is the casting of Steven Seagal regular Byron Mann (Belly of the Beast, A Dangerous Man), who plays one of the Chinese American executives in the investment firm Je-hoon works for. Wearing a smarmy villainous grin for the entirety of his time onscreen, liberally using the word “f*ck” in every other sentence, and generally hamming it up to pantomime like levels, there’s a glaring lack of subtlety to his portrayal that makes it impossible to take him seriously. As a trivial side note, while Big Deal marks Mann’s debut in a Korean production, he notably played the bad guy in the Park Joong-hoon starring Hollywood movie American Dragons from 1998.

The directorial debut of Choi Yoon-jin, who previously wrote the scripts for 2013’s Steel Cold Winter and 2014’s Office, for his first time helming a production Yoon-jin is also expectedly behind the script of Big Deal. There’s some welcome humor interspersed amongst the talk of bonds and creditors, with one particularly fun poke at how many feel soju brands all taste the same, as Je-hoon struggles to describe the taste of one of Gukbo’s latest concoctions. Due to his character having lived in New York for 10 years, the script understandably gives him plenty of lines in English, which unfortunately come across as a little too phonetic to feel authentic. While I always admire actors tackling a language that isn’t their own, when the result is that it reminds us precisely that it’s an actor delivering lines in a language they’re not used to, for the audience it breaks the immersion in the story, and that’s sadly the case here.

Despite these minor issues though, for the most part Yoon-jin displays an assured hand for his first time in the director’s chair, and shows a welcome level of restraint in keeping the runtime to a brisk 104 minutes. In a climate where it often feels like everything needs to be shown rather than simply suggested, it’s admirable that we never have to sit through any flashbacks of Hae-jin back when he was still living with his wife and daughter (and I confess I was expecting them!), instead letting his facial expressions show the regret he feels. There’s a simple joy in seeing an actor be allowed to act, and trust that their acting is enough to tell the story without explaining it through exposition (or throwing in pace deadening flashback sequences), and it’s refreshing to see such an approach in a directorial debut.

Admittedly some of the symbolism feels a little on the nose, none more so than how the likes of the company president and villainous lawyers all insist on sipping glasses of whiskey rather than soju. At one point I wouldn’t have been surprised if one of them declared “soju is too much of a working-class drink for our educationally superior tastes!” Thankfully the implication is kept visual, and at least most of the whiskey sipping is done by the stellar supporting cast. Son Hyun-joo (The Phone, Hide and Seek) is suitably entitled as the self-serving company president who inherited its riches from his parents, with almost every line he speaks related to how he can make himself richer. While his character may be two dimensional, he still imbues it with a few distinctive quirks, with the constant opening and closing of his Motorola flip phone to express frustration fleshing out his character in a way the script fails to do.

Surprisingly Big Deal opts for more of a low key ending over any kind of corporate histrionics, a decision that works in its favour, with Yoon-jin using a post-credits sequence to show the passing of time from the closing scenes, one which offers up a satisfying coda on the simplicity of finding happiness. Transcending the financial drama label to end up more as a story of friendship and life lessons learnt, much like a bottle of soju after a long day at work, Big Deal hits the spot. Best of all, it’s only the former that leaves you with a headache the next day.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7/10

The post Big Deal (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“The Match” Theatrical Poster

Director: Kim Hyung-Joo
Cast: Lee Byung-Hun, Yoo Ah-In, Ko Chang-Seok, Hyun Bong-Sik, Moon Jeong-Hee, Jo Woo-Jin, Kim Kang-Hoon
Running Time: 115 min.

By Paul Bramhall

More than 10 years ago I reviewed a Korean movie called The Divine Move, which at one point I described as consisting of “an abundance of scenes with characters playing Go, and then beating the living daylights out of each other”, the implication being that the latter made the former scenes more palatable. While I’m now slightly older, it’s debatable if I’m any wiser, so when I heard there was going to be a movie about 2 of Koreas most famous Go players – Cho Hun-hyun, and his student turned rival Lee Chang-ho – it didn’t necessarily spark that much interest.

The movie in question was The Match, and my lack of interest quickly changed when it was revealed that Lee Byung-hun (The Man Standing Next, Ashfall) had been cast as Hun-hyun, an actor who’s remained someone I’ve religiously watched anything they appear in since the early 2000’s. The casting announcement was followed by Yoo Ah-in (Burning, Veteran) being attached to play Chang-ho, and suddenly my curiosity was piqued. As it was, it would stay piqued for a while, since its original release date of 2023 was ultimately pushed out to 2025, the result of Ah-in being charged with illegal drug usage in October 2023.

While similar activity in Hollywood would be frowned upon, in Korea it’s a whole other level, with such offences usually resulting in permanent banishment from the entertainment industry. Ah-in was recast for the 2^nd season of Hellbound, his scenes in the drama Goodbye Earth were practically all removed, and both of the completed movies he starred in – Hi-Five and The Match – were placed indefinitely on the shelf. Thankfully, after being released from prison following completion of a five month sentence in February 2025, it seems like the studios are feeling a little more at ease to put the movies out there that have Ah-in’s name attached to them, with both Hi.5 and The Match finally given a release in May (albeit with a noticeable lack of any publicity). Of course if you’re reading this in 2035 rather than 2025 all of this will be completely superfluous, but reviews aren’t anything if not products of the time they’re written.

Indeed there’s a certain feeling of being displaced in time watching Ah-in on the screen in 2025. His last role was in 2022’s Seoul Vibe, one of the worst Korean movies of the 21^st century, so to go back to a role that really left an impression you have to look to 2020’s Voice of Silence, a whole 5 years ago. Thankfully The Match is a production that knows how to utilize his talents, and if it does turn out to be his last role, it’s at least a worthy one. The plot is, by its nature, more compelling due to the fact it’s based on a true story. Cho Hun-hyun spent the 1970’s dominating the sport of Go, and in 1984 he took the 9-year-old Lee Chang-ho under his wing as a live-in student. The opportunity to learn from the best saw him become professional only a couple of years later, and in 1989 the then 14-year-old Chang-ho met his teacher in the final of the 29^th Chaegowi, coming out the victor and launching a year’s long teacher-student rivalry.

The plot focuses on Byung-hun’s meeting with his to-be student when he’s still a boisterous and boastful kid growing up in Jeonju, played by Kim Kang-hoon (Metamorphosis, Exit), who the locals believe to be a Go prodigy. When Byun-hun sits down with Kang-hoon for a game he ultimately walks away unimpressed, but when the latter solves a question Byung-hun had posed before leaving, it leads him to rethink his decision. It’s a nuance in the world of Go that would be lost on those unfamiliar with the culture surrounding the game, but what made the decision for Hun-hyun to start teaching Chang-ho such an unusual one was that Hun-hyun was still at the top of his game, whereas normally a teacher would take on a student when they’ve already retired. Of course it’s also that same decision that led to one of the most unique rivalries in any sport, with teacher and student going head-to-head for close to 15 years.

The Match is the sophomore directorial feature of Kim Hyeong-joo, who debuted as a director with 2017’s The Sherrif in Town, and he already shows an assured hand through his ability to make the games of Go (and there’s a lot of them!) compelling enough for audiences to be invested. CGI is occasionally used to effectively present the stones being placed on the board one by one in quick succession, accelerating the outcome of the game, but without compromising the performance of the actors. Other times the camera finds unique ways to frame the players, such as filming from underneath a transparent board, so that it’s possible to see the players face between the stones. At the heart of it though, we’re still watching 2 people play a game of Go, and there are no acid spraying tables that douse the loser like in The Divine Move 2: The Wrathful to liven things up, so to that end audience mileage may well vary.

More than the game itself though, The Match feels like it belongs to Lee Byung-hun, his character being one who goes from having his world shattered, to one who’s able to pick himself back up and get back in the game. Like all of the best sporting dramas, it’s the story of human resilience, and even if a game of Go may not get the adrenaline pumping like a game of soccer (Dream), table tennis (As One), or even baseball (YMCA Baseball Team), the principle remains the same. Where Hyeong-joo gets it right is the mix of drama between the 2 leads, and the way it’s framed in such a way that allows for the games of Go to become extensions of that drama. There’s a tangible sense of awkwardness when Ah-in first beats Byung-hun, then they have to return to living under the same roof together, the live-in student having now beaten the very person who’s provided for them since they were a kid. The change in dynamic is tangible.

The plot structure isn’t flawless though, admittedly suffering from a common trait in Korean cinema, in which if it’s known a character is going to face adversity later on, the time spent portraying life prior comes across as overly saccharine. In the early scenes it feels like everyone is a little too cheerful and amicable, creating a somewhat detached feeling from reality, almost as if the future hardships are being foreshadowed with a sledgehammer because, really, can life feel this breezy and pleasant!? I’m not sure I have the answer of how to do it better (and I guess if I did, I’d be directing movies rather than reviewing them), but when the emotions don’t feel authentic, it makes it difficult to relate to the characters beyond two dimensional caricatures. I distinctly remember Lee Chung-hyun’s 2020 horror The Call suffering from the same issue when it had to portray scenes where essentially ‘life is good’.

Overall though this is a minor gripe in what feels like one of the most distinctively Korean movies to grace the screen for a while. From the smoke-filled Go rooms to the plastic tent pocha snack stalls, it’s perhaps by virtue of it being about the game of Go that The Match refuses to rush itself, instead adamantly sticking to its own good-natured lane. The supporting cast are also stellar, with Moon Jeong-hee (Hide and Seek, Deranged) as Byung-hun’s wife who finds herself in a tricky situation under her own roof, and Jo Woo-jin (Harbin, Kingmaker) as a fellow Go competitor who befriends both Byung-hun and Ah-in at different moments in their journeys.

The closing scenes reveal that both Cho Hun-hyun and Lee Chang-ho remain active in Go competitions to this day (as well as showing photos that reflect just how much the casting of Byung-hun and Ah-in nailed their appearances), a reassuring coda to know they’re still doing what they love. Quietly unassuming, The Match is one of those movies that gradually pulls you in without you even realising, but by the time the end credits roll, you’re glad it did.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7.5/10

The post Match, The (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Next Sohee” Theatrical Poster

Director: Jeong Joo-ri
Cast: Bae Doo-Na, Kim Si-eun, Jung Hoe-Rin, Kang Hyun-Oh, Park Woo-Young, Park Hee-Eun, Kim Yong-Joon, Sim Hee-Seop, Park Yoon-Hee, Yoon Ga-I
Running Time: 135 min.

By Paul Bramhall 

It can sometimes be a tough job being a Korean cinema fan, with some of the best directors often taking years between the movies they release. Oh Seung-wook made audiences wait 9 years between 2015’s The Shameless and 2024’s Revolver. Lee Chang-dong kept us hanging for 8 years between 2010’s Poetry and 2018’s Burning. Even a director as popular as Park Chan-wook left 6 years between 2016’s The Handmaiden and 2022’s Decision to Leave. Jeong Joo-ri, a former student of Lee Chang-dong who made her debut with 2014’s Bae Doona starring A Girl at My Door (which Chang-dong notably produced) looks set to follow a similar path, with her sophomore feature Next Sohee finally arriving in 2022.

Once more directing from her own script, Joo-ri has also re-teamed with Bae Doona (The Drug King, Tunnel), however Next Sohee for the most part belongs to actress Kim Si-eun as the titular Sohee of the title. Here given her first starring role after minor supporting turns in the likes of The Negotiation and Boys Be!! (along with plenty of K-drama work), Si-eun completely owns the role as a teenager attending a vocational college in rural Korea, one that offers a pathway to fulltime employment through placement in an ‘externship’ program. Despite dreaming of being a K-pop dancer, when she’s given the opportunity to be placed in a telecom companies call centre, the corporate surroundings being a stark contrast to the factories many of the students find themselves placed, it seems like she’s landed herself a good deal.

It’s only once she starts the role that she learns her job is to take calls from customers wanting to cancel their subscription service, and convince them to stay (or even better, convince them to stay and upsell another product). Faced with high retainment targets, an initially supportive manager who soon begins to crank on the pressure, and the frustration of discovering her salary incentives are being withheld due to contract fine print, what seemed like a good deal gradually starts to turn into a soul-destroying nightmare. The call centre environment that Next Sohee takes place in somewhat inevitably echoes the previous year’s Aloners, a movie that similarly focused on a female who joins a call centre, however despite the initial similarities Joo-ri takes her story in a very different direction.

Watching someone fresh to the workforce become slowly beaten down by the unfairness of the program she’s been placed into may not sound particularly engaging, but much like A Girl at My Door Joo-ri’s ability to create characters who feel relatable shines through. Si-eun is a revelation in the role, imbuing Sohee with a sense of resilience that makes her easy to root for, even when the difficulties she faces start to feel overwhelming (especially when her manager commits suicide in his car). It’s worth to point out that once I read Next Sohee was being directed by Joo-ri, I decided to avoid reading anything further and went in blind, so after spending an hour in the company of Si-eun and getting to know her character, it came as a genuine shock when she also chooses to kill herself.

It’s at this point that the plot reveals itself to be a tale of 2 halves. In the latter half we meet Bae Doona’s character, who up until this point we’ve only glimpsed briefly in the dance studio that Si-eun would go to practice her K-pop routines. In recent years Doona seems to have become the go-to Korean actress for playing slightly distant cop characters with an undisclosed traumatic past (usually re-located to a rural station for good measure). Here she could well be playing the same character as she did in A Girl at My Door, and of course we also saw a similar role in Hirokazu Kore-eda’s Broker. Initially tasked with a straightforward round of interviews of those who knew Si-eun so the case can be closed, when it comes to light she wasn’t the first person to kill herself who worked at the call centre, Doona refuses to wrap things up, and begins to look deeper into what led to the deaths.

There’s a quietly seething anger that permeates throughout Next Sohee, an anger that bubbles ever closer to the surface as the narrative progresses. Joo-ri has stated in interviews that the idea for the story came about after she saw a news report in 2016, covering an incident where a girl who’d been sent on an externship program in a call centre killed herself within 3 months of working there. The investigation afterwards brought to light the unfavourable working conditions and how, to some degree, the students who were placed from vocational colleges were being exploited by the companies the colleges partnered with.

The narrative structure is a bold one, eschewing what looks and feels like a murder mystery in its back half, but isn’t precisely because we already know there’s no mystery, having seen how Si-eun chose to take her own life. Rather it becomes the tale of 2 people, both somehow connected through their willingness to rail against the injustices that they see, even though there’s no singular villain for either them or us as the audience to aim our anger towards. In many ways Doona’s role doubles as the avatar for the audience watching, as what starts as mild frustration at the lack of clarity she gets from anyone she speaks to soon develops into outright exasperation at the system that’s operating in plain sight.

On the one hand the approach can be viewed as a nihilistic one from a purely plot perspective, but Joo-ri’s script and direction is constructed in such a way that our closeness to the characters onscreen feels like it’s more important than the circumstances that surround them. In any other filmmaker’s hands Next Sohee would likely have been structured from the perspective of Bae Doona, uncovering how Si-eun decided to take her own life by unfolding it in flashbacks, thus framing it from the perspective of the mystery genre. However by spending the whole of the first hour with Si-eun it feels like we get to know her intimately, as if she’s the main character of the movie (which it could well be argued she is), and therefore allowing the investigation in the second half to be more about getting to know Doona’s character, since we already know Si-eun’s story.

The reason why Next Sohee manages to be so compelling is in the way it crafts a pair of characters who in some way mirror each other’s values, refusing to be defeated by a system that’s so deeply entrenched it’ll never change, yet still remain true to their principles. Will that make it enjoyable for everyone? Probably not, and those expecting any kind of cathartic payoff at the end of the 135-minute runtime will be left disappointed. The injustice is a part of the hierarchal nature of Korean society, and no single suicide or person is ever going to change that, so in the face of such an overbearing beast, the best you can do is be kind to others and let them know they’re not alone. In the final scene Doona’s character seems to realise this, embracing a willingness to do what’s in her control to try and stop a similar tragedy happening to the next Sohee, and hoping the offer of connection is enough.

Managing to tread the fine line between being both a subdued character study and seething indictment of certain aspects of Korean society, Joo-ri’s sophomore feature is a success not so much because of the system it portrays, but rather the impact that it has on the characters that she’s created. For Bae Doona, Next Sohee marks another stellar performance that’s a standout in her filmography, and for Kim Si-eun she’s already gone on to be cast in the 2^nd season of the popular Netflix series Squid Game. As for Jeong Joo-ri, my only hope is that we don’t have to wait another 8 years for her next production to hit the screens, as she remains one of the brightest talents working in Korea today.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 8.5/10

The post Next Sohee (2022) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning” Teaser Poster

Director: Christopher McQuarrie
Cast: Tom Cruise, Hayley Atwell, Ving Rhames, Simon Pegg, Henry Czerny, Angela Bassett, Esai Morales, Pom Klementieff, Mariela Garriga, Pasha D. Lychnikoff
Running Time: 170 min.

By Paul Bramhall

It’s been almost 30 years since the original Mission: Impossible hit the screens in 1996, and over the course of 8 movies producer and star Tom Cruise has made it his defining statement on action cinema – loud, adrenaline pumping, minimum CGI, and perhaps most importantly of all, watched in a cinema. As the last bonafide star of a generation, the kind whose name itself is capable of selling movie tickets, it’s undeniably bittersweet that Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning arrives as the final instalment of the franchise, not least because, there’s no one waiting in the wings who does what Cruise does. Aged 62 at the time of its release, it’s understandable that he’s chosen to call it a day when it comes to the death-defying stunts that have come to define the M:I series, and while quitting at the top of your game is admirable, there’s a certain sadness around not having another entry to look forward to.

M:I: TFR (as I’ll refer to it from here on in) is the first entry in the franchise that’s a direct continuation of the last, with 2023’s Mission: Impossible: Dead Reckoning Part One (as a sidenote, the sequel was originally intended to have the obvious Dead Reckoning Part Two title, but was later dropped) introducing us to the Entity, a rogue A.I. program that’s infiltrated cyberspace. The sequel picks up with Cruise and his team on the run from various different factions (including their own government), with their possession of a key capable of accessing the Entity’s source code making them the only one’s capable of purging it from the world’s nuclear weapon systems that it’s started to infiltrate. Or more specifically – Ethan Hunt is the only one capable of stopping it.

Any series that’s spanned 30 years and across 8 different entries is going to have a certain weight on its shoulders when it comes to wrapping things up, and with a 170-minute runtime, the first hour of M:I: TFR feels overwhelmingly self-serious and heavy handed in a way the series has never felt before. The world is portrayed as being on the verge of post-apocalyptic chaos, and in an opening voiceover to Cruise spoken by Angela Bassett as the U.S. president (introduced in 2018’s Mission: Impossible – Fallout), he’s propelled to almost mythical status as a highlight reel from the previous entries plays across the screen. Reminders that Cruise is the only person capable of saving the world are littered throughout, as if to constantly hammer home the point that it’s humanity itself that’s on the brink of all out annihilation this time (because the scenes of nuclear bombs being detonated all over the globe aren’t enough), and it all feels a little much.

Arguably a case of not knowing how big of an impact some of the seemingly smaller ingredients of the franchise have until they’re gone, the almost complete absence of humor from much of M:I: TFR makes it the dourest entry of the series. However considering the threat at hand it could also be seen as an understandable choice to dial the humor back, with the occasional one-liners that are thrown in there not always hitting the mark, mainly down to everything surrounding them being so poker faced. The perfect example being at one point Hayley Atwell (Ant-Man) tells Cruise she “likes the long hair”, a line that doubles up as an acknowledgement of his change in appearance from the last entry (Dead Reckoning Part One and The Final Reckoning were originally intended to be filmed back to back, but the COVID-19 pandemic ultimately delayed the shooting of the latter). Unlike Cruise’s hair though, the line falls flat.

Like every M:I entry since 2015’s Rogue Nation, it’s Christopher McQuarrie who both penned the script and sat in the director’s chair, having become Cruise’s go to filmmaker since 2012’s Jack Reacher, and there’s a feeling that the sheer scale of the threat has proven to be a tricky beast to balance onscreen. The constant end of days talk by senior government officials and military higher ups begins to feel ham-fisted, and while the connections made to previous entries (particularly Mission: Impossible III) are smart, the point in the plot they’re introduced only makes them feel like more exposition. Thankfully it’s not all doom and gloom, with the return of a character from the original 1996 Mission: Impossible (who I won’t mention so as not to spoil it) being a stroke of genius, and one that provides M:I: TFR with a surprising amount of heart.

It’s not only the returning cast members who offer up some of the best moments in the latest entry, with a handful of new faces also being welcome additions to the mix. Tramell Tillman (Barron’s Cove) plays the commander of the U.S. submarine Cruise ends up on as if he’s just stepped out of a 1980’s action movie, and somehow it works perfectly, as does Katy O’Brian (Twisters) as a fellow crew member who feels inspired by Vasquez from the 1986 classic Aliens. Fans of DTV action will also no doubt get a kick out of seeing Scott Adkins regular Lee Charles (Accident Man) as a bulking lackey that Cruise has to face off against, even if most of it takes place offscreen.

Indeed despite the lack of any real narrative thrust during the first hour, a crime that can’t be taken lightly when you look at the pacing of any other entry, once Cruise’s trusted team – now consisting of returning members Simon Pegg (Hot Fuzz), Greg Tarzan Davis (Top Gun: Maverick), and Pom Klementieff (The Killer’s Game) – spring into action against a group of Russian militants, M:I: TFR finally finds its groove. It’s immediately followed by Cruise undertaking a deep-sea dive to retrieve the source code, and despite my reservations around underwater action scenes (even the one in Rogue Nation didn’t offer up that many thrills), this time it hits the mark. An impeccably put together sequence consisting purely of Cruise underwater and containing almost no dialogue for several minutes, it’s a classic example of cinema being a visual medium, allowing the visuals alone to tell the story. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time.

It’s the kind of sequence that earns enough goodwill to forgive the drudgery of the first hour, and injects a sense of urgency into the narrative that had so far been missing. The ace up M:I: TFR’s sleeve is of course its aerial finale, that sees Cruise in pursuit of villain Esai Morales (Master Gardener) in, or rather by hanging off, a biplane. The biggest mistake McQuarrie has made with the entries he’s helmed in the M:I franchise remains the opening 10 minutes of his debut with Rogue Nation, when the best stunt of the entire movie – Cruise hanging onto the side of a cargo plane – was framed as a superfluous throwaway pre-credit’s scene. The lack of investment the audience had in the scene (topped off with a decidedly underwhelming final action sequence) felt like it was a wasted opportunity, so almost as if McQuarrie realised the error of his ways, here he re-visits the same setup, this time making it the finale.

If M:I: TFR does mark the last time for Cruise to do one of these death-defying stunts, then he’s definitely put through the wringer, as regardless of how many safety wires have been erased in post-production, the fact is he’s hanging onto a plane for dear life, often through some particularly hairy manoeuvres. As a way to send off the franchise on a high note (quite literally), the sequence achieves its aim with aplomb. Could the more cynical amongst us say it’s essentially a rehash of the finale from 2018’s Fallout , just with biplanes instead of helicopters? Sure, but then that’s like being a fan of kung-fu cinema, and complaining because you watched two of them and they both finished with fight scenes. The fact that the sequence was filmed for real and without any greenscreen offers up a timely reminder that, no matter how good CGI becomes, there’s a tangible difference when you see it done for real.

While M:I: TFR feels like it tries a little too hard to play things serious and place Ethan Hunt as the saviour of the world, in doing so sacrificing some of the key elements that make the M:I franchise so much fun, luckily it still delivers where it counts, offering up a spectacle that no other cinematic series comes close to. Cruise’s thoughts on A.I. are clear, and can perhaps be taken as a metaphor for how he feels about cinema – technology may mean the possibilities are endless, but how many of them will actually be done for real and not in front of a greenscreen? In Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning the message is that nothing can beat the real thing, and when you see Cruise dangling from the wing of a plane several thousand feet up in the air, it’s hard to disagree.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7/10

The post Mission: Impossible – The Final Reckoning (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“The Old Woman with the Knife” Theatrical Poster

Director: Min Gyoo-dong
Cast: Lee Hye-Young, Kim Sung-Cheol, Yeon Woo-Jin,  Kim Moo-Yul, Kim Kang-Woo, Shin Shi-A
Running Time: 122 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

It’s been at least 5 minutes since a female assassin movie has hit either the big screen or a streaming service, so to ensure any withdrawal symptoms are avoided, in 2025 Korea stepped up to the table with The Old Woman with the Knife. The Korean film industry has been on the female assassin bandwagon for a while already, with the likes of Kim Ok-bin in 2017’s The Villainess, Jeon Do-yeon in 2023’s Kill Boksoon, and Jeon Jong-seo in Ballerina from the same year all delivering a dose of femme fatale action with varying degrees of success. The selling point for this latest entry in the genre is its focus on a female assassin in the twilight years of her career, with Lee Hye-young (The Anchor, Raging Years) playing a legendary killer who’s been in the business for 50 years, with no plans to retire.

Those plans are upended though when she’s seriously injured during one of her hits, and wakes up in a veterinary clinic, having been taken in for treatment by the kindly doctor who found her collapsed on the street. With a ‘leave no witnesses’ policy, Hye-young’s decision to let the doctor live causes tensions in the assassin agency which she oversees, especially from a recently hired young upstart with a vicious streak, who takes an unusually close interest in her activities both in and outside of work. Played by Kim Sung-cheol (Troll Factory, The Battle of Jangsari), his discovery of Hye-young’s decision soon puts the innocent family at risk, and Hye-young has to decide if they’re worth protecting. Adapted from the novel of the same name by Gu Byeong-mo, published in 2013, onscreen the result is an uneven mix of believability stretching violence and melodrama stereotypes (the kind that Korean cinema has cultivated so well over the years).

Much like the exorcism genre, the assassin genre has become so saturated over the last 10 years that the template for such stories rarely offers up any surprises. Usually ending up as some variation of – assassin doesn’t go through with a hit, ends up becoming a target themselves, while (in most cases) also needing to protect the target that they let go – TOWwtK (as I’ll refer to it from here on) sticks to the template to a T. The challenge for any director then is what freshness they can bring to a genre that feels so structurally limited, and here Min Gyoo-dong looks to leverage the age angle. As a director Gyoo-dong debuted with the 1999 Korean Wave classic Memento Mori, and over the last 25+ years has proved himself an effective filmmaker across multiple genres. From comedy with Everything About my Wife, period raunch with The Treacherous, tearjerker drama like Herstory, and even sci-fi with The Prayer.

TOWwtK marks the first time for him to venture into action thriller territory, and if one thing can’t be argued it’s that the casting of Lee Hye-young is a masterstroke. While in recent years Hye-young has become a Hong Sang-soo regular (most recently featuring in 2024’s A Traveler’s Needs), her filmography dates back to 1982 when she debuted in Mother’s Wedding at 19, remaining a fixture on Korean cinema screens ever since. Her collaboration with Gyoo-dong marks the second time for Hye-young to headline an action thriller, with the first coming in the form of Ryoo Seung-wan’s sophomore feature from 2003, No Blood No Tears (which ironically paired her with Kill Boksoon leading lady Jeon Do-yeon), and her character is easily the best thing about TOWwtK.

As an assassin in her latter years a medical condition has resulted in a shaky hand, and her body can’t heal as fast as it used to, making for an unusually vulnerable protagonist. Thankfully her experience still makes her a danger, able to draw a weapon on potential victims without them even noticing, and her unassuming appearance allows her to blend into the crowd (an ideal trait for stabbing a target with a poisoned needle on a crowded train). It’s particularly refreshing to see in her first real fight that her slight figure is easily overpowered by the bigger opponent, a reflection of all the cunning in the world not being much use if there’s someone double your size in front of you determined to stay alive. For some reason though, after this scene Gyoo-dong does a 180 on how the action is approached, and once Hye-young decides to protect the doctor who saved her, she effectively becomes The Woman from Nowhere.

It almost feels as if they couldn’t quite decide on how to frame the action, so we go from a protagonist who’s vulnerable and easily overpowered, to one who’s a relentless killing machine, able to stroll into a nightclub and start taking out multiple bodyguards like she owns the place. It’s a jarring shift, made all the more so by the fact the initial approach was so different, and the transition never really convinces. It’s not the only personality disorder that TOWwtK suffers from though, with it feeling like there was a meaner and grittier version of the story somewhere underneath. The perfect example is a scene where the doctor chases after Hye-young, and once they’re in a secluded spot she steps out of the shadows, slitting his throat which covers her face in arterial blood spray. It immediately then cuts to him still chasing her, revealing the prior scene to (presumably) be a clumsy attempt at what Hye-young may have been contemplating.

Unfortunately though it just comes across as a cheap shock tactic, without actually wanting to commit to the shock itself, the biggest problem being that TOWwtK would have been far more interesting if the imagined scene actually happened. Other parts of the plot feel strangely underbaked, like the introduction of a limping character played by Kim Kang-woo (The Childe, Recalled) who appears to be the de facto manager of the agency, and who’s started taking on hits that go against the agencies principle. The assassins call themselves “pest control” whose job it is to “kill bugs”, with the classic trait of only assassinating those who deserve it, but Kang-woo has started to say yes to everything. It’s something that’s mentioned a couple of times, however nothing is really done with it and nor does it create any conflict that impacts the narrative, so it ultimately feels superfluous.

Far more interesting are the flashbacks to 1975, when a teenage runaway Hye-young (played by Shin Si-ah – clocking in her sophomore feature length appearance after debuting as the lead in 2022’s The Witch: Part 2. The Other One) is taken under the wing of an assassin played by Kim Mu-yeol (Space Sweepers, The Gangster, The Cop, The Devil). After accidentally killing an American GI who was attempting to rape her, Mu-yeol tells her not to worry since she’s “just killed a bug”, and her apprenticeship begins. The flashback scenes give Mu-yeol the opportunity to flex his knife skills last seen in The Roundup: Punishment, but more significantly they answer the earlier question of how to make the assassin genre still feel fresh in 2025. I would have happily watched a whole movie about a female assassin operating in 1975 Korea, but as it is the scenes with Si-ah and Mu-yeol are mostly there to humanise Hye-young’s character in the present.

TOWwtK truly jumps the shark though in its action heavy finale, that takes any credibility that may have been remaining around the capabilities of a slight 65-year-old assassin, and throws them into the shredder. Set in an under construction circular building, by the time Hye-young grabs a rope and jumps off an upper floor, swinging around and blasting away at the bad guys like a senior citizen version of Angeline Jolie’s bungee cord scene in Tomb Raider, the only thing left to do was laugh at the audaciousness of it all. What should have been a grounded and gritty finale highlighting her 50 years of experience as an assassin, instead ends up as a circus act, although admittedly a very bloody one.

On the plus side, in an early scene Hye-young adopts a dog, so if anything when it comes to the inevitable male counterpart comparisons, hopefully it means that instead of the all too common “female John Wick” references, we’ll get a “female Gino Felino” quote instead. As it is, The Old Woman with the Knife feels like a missed opportunity for all involved.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 5/10

The post Old Woman with the Knife, The (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Hunt the Wicked” Streaming Poster

Director: Suiqiang Huo
Cast: Xie Miao, Andy On, Andrew Lien, Shuang Hong, Sara Aliu, Jing Gu, Rui Han, Jane Wu
Running Time: 102 min.

By Paul Bramhall

The challenge of getting noticed in the Chinese web movie world of giant creature features, ropey sci-fi flicks, and kung-fu throwbacks is a real one, however in the 2020’s Xia Miao has arguably risen to the top of the latter. Titles like Eye for an Eye (and its sequel!), Fight Against Evil (and its sequel!), and multiple turns playing iconic characters like Sun Wukong have seen him keep consistently busy. So much so that he’s already made close to double the number of movies in the 2020’s than his entire filmography of the 2010’s. It’s telling of just how popular the action genre has become in the world of Chinese streaming that it’s fair to say Miao even has some competition – notably Fan Siu Wong (arguably the pioneer when it comes to HK kung-fu alumni turning to Chinese steaming content) and Ashton Chen (who, like Miao, was also a child star).

Hunt the Wicked is the latest dose of web movie action to star Miao (and I say that tentatively, since these productions come out so quickly that, by the time this review is published, there may already be another one), and in it he’s given co-star status alongside Andy On. An actor who’s similarly tapped into the action genre safe haven that platforms like iQIYI provide for HK action stalwarts, On is a rare case of a performer who continues to find success both on the big screen and in the world of streaming. Balancing roles in big budget productions like 100 Yards and Ride On alongside headlining streaming titles like Blind War and The Grey Men, it’s the latter that allows for 2 of Hong Kong action cinema’s most recognisable faces to share the screen together.

The plot involves Miao’s cop on the trail a drug manufacturing gang who are making a dangerous new drug called “spider ice”. While the higher ups are keen to paint a picture of the drug being made overseas and imported, Miao suspects it’s being manufactured closer to home, and all indications point to a sashimi loving criminal played by Andy On. Such is his love of sashimi, that his weapon of choice is a sashimi knife that he keeps on a rope, so when he’s not using it to feed himself slices of raw salmon, he uses it like a rope dart. There’s an idea for a franchise in there somewhere, in which the villain uses a utensil associated with their favorite food as their weapon of choice – pizza slicers, ice-cream scoops, crab crackers – the possibilities are endless.

In any case, crab crackers would be off the menu for Hunt the Wicked, since it’s explained that in the city the story unfolds in “no one’s eating the shrimp and fish because of the outdated sewage system.” Wait, doesn’t Andy On spend all of his time eating sashimi?  Yes, but this is a web movie, you shouldn’t be paying that much attention! It’s also the city that makes for another of Hunt the Wicked’s curiosities, one that I always find to offer up some low-level intrigue. In short web movies can get away with much more than mainstream productions in the Chinese film industry, where any movie is subject to passing a strict censorship board before its approved for screening. Elements like bad guys who aren’t completely bad, and good guys who aren’t completely good, are strictly off the table, however web movies have seemingly found a loophole in the system.

Usually setting themselves in a fictional country, to see what they’ve come up with has become half the fun of watching them. Here it’s Wusuli, and it contains of all the expected oddness from a city found in these type of movies – everyone speaks in either Chinese or horrendously dubbed English, all signage and documentation is written in English, and there are references to other strangely named cities like Manula (presumably the same Manula mentioned in Blind War!). The result of course, is that when Miao’s suspicions prove to be correct and the drugs turn out to be made locally, it’s ok – because Wusuli isn’t China, a country where an activity like drug manufacturing could never happen! My favourite bizarre “only in a Chinese web movie” moment occurred though when one of Miao’s colleagues invites him to a movie, and upon presenting the ticket it turns out to be for 1996’s From Dusk Till Dawn!

Directed by Huo Suiqiang, Hunt the Wicked marks the 3^rd time for him to collaborate with Andy On, having first come together on 2022’s Blind War, and then again on 2023’s The Comeback (and with a 4^th in the pipeline in the form of The Sixth Robber). Having made his directorial debut in 2017 with Twin Detective Suiqiang is already a veteran of the web movie scene with 14 titles under his belt, and when it comes to his collaborations with On it’s Long Zhao who’s become his action choreographer of choice. According to English language sources, the 3 collaborations between Suiqiang and On (along with the Yuen Qiu and Philip Ng starring Second Life from 2024, which was also directed by Suiqiang) are all the credits to Zhao’s name, however despite being a relative newcomer the action still delivers for the most part.

An early fight between Miao and On (which is really their only fight – worth mentioning to manage expectations of those waiting for a Miao versus On finale) is a highlight, with Miao wielding a sledgehammer attached to a chain up against On’s sashimi knife on a rope. There’s some welcome creativity in the choreography, with the CGI assistance given to the sledgehammer successfully conveying its impact. Unfortunately the same can’t be said for when there’s any exchange that becomes open handed, which is usually my favorite type of onscreen combat. The issue isn’t so much in the choreography itself, more so that it’s painfully obvious there isn’t much power behind the hits, and while this can often be compensated for by cranking up the sound effects, here Suiqiang has opted for the ‘soft’ sound design, which only exasperates the issue.

Thankfully most of the action is either done with weapons or relies on the good old car chase. A brief fight that sees Miao facing off against a group of electric trident wielding attackers reminded me of a similar scene from 1997’s Drive, which saw Mark Dacascos facing off against a similar group, just swap out the electric tridents for electric cattle prods. Similarly a raid that sees Miao and On teamed up against a small army of attackers is also effectively done, even though there are a few too many Shaw Brothers-esque moments, where lackeys are left busying themselves in the background by waving their weapon back and forth rather than actually attacking.

There is one fight that’s criminally mistreated, with Miao fending off an attacker while trying to save an injured colleague, which he does by telling his colleague to recite the team’s favorite meals so that they don’t lose consciousness. Watching a fight scene set to a soundtrack of a weak voice saying stuff like “spaghetti bolognese, beef curry, duck leg with rice….” in the background didn’t quite hit the intended dramatic note it was probably intended to, instead coming across as unintentionally amusing.

Overall though for anyone craving a simple and undemanding action fix, Hunt the Wicked should temporarily scratch the itch. For true web movie aficionados Suiqiang even throws in a cheeky nod to On’s character in Blind War, when he visits a police station where Miao is being held by pretending to be his blind lawyer. While not quite on the same level as the Xie Miao starring Eye for an Eye series, or web-movie action filmmaker extraordinaire Qin Ping Fei, there’s enough fists, feet, bullets, and car crashes to keep any fan of action cinema entertained. For everyone else, the question of if the residents of Wusuli will ever go back to eating the cities shrimp and fish should be one that keeps them watching to the end.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 6/10

The post Hunt the Wicked (2024) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Holy Night: Demon Hunters” Theatrical Poster

Director: Im Dae-Hee
Cast: Ma Dong-Seok, Seohyun, David Lee, Kyung Soo-Jin, Jung Ji-So, Cha Woo-jin, Lee Da-il
Running Time: 92 min.

By Paul Bramhall

It’s been almost 10 years since Ma Dong-seok’s breakthrough role in Train to Busan, and in that time he’s battled zombies, serial killers, crocodiles, gangsters, reptilian human hybrids, gangsters, heavenly guardians and even the yakuza. It was perhaps inevitable at some point then, that his anvil sized fists would be aimed in the direction of satanic demons from the depths of hell. Holy Night: Demon Hunters is the movie that gives us exactly that, with Dong-seok running the Holy Night demon hunting agency (yes you read that right). What’s even more surprising is that it’s not the first time for Korean cinema to prove demons can be dealt with by being punched in the face, with 2019’s The Divine Fury offering up an MMA infused take on the battle of good vs. evil.

In his latest outing Dong-seok is paired with former Girls Generation member Seohyun (Love and Leashes, I AM.) as a shaman with supernatural powers, and Lee David (Svaha: The Sixth Finger, Pluto), who doesn’t seem to have any purpose other than to turn up and film their encounters. It’s a legitimate question to ask if it’s possible to have too much of a good thing, and certainly in the late 2010’s when Dong-seok was starting to cultivate his amicable onscreen persona (combined with an ability to knock out a gorilla), it felt like it’d be impossible to tire of seeing him in action. However I’d state the case for Holy Night: Demon Hunters being the straw that broke the camel’s back, as it’s hard to describe it as anything other than a sloppily made hodge podge of tired exorcism tropes, mixed in with Dong-seok doing exactly what you expect him to.

Admittedly it’s refreshing to see a more visceral take on the done to death exorcism genre (Devils Stay and Dark Nuns were both released in the 12 months prior), however first-time director Lim Dae-hee feels out of his depth in his debut feature. The punchy (no pun intended) 90-minute run time is strangely absent of any kind of narrative thrust or tension, with stilted dialogue often making any scenes that don’t involve Dong-seok hitting things (and there’s many of them) feel stagnant. This issue is exasperated by the reason for his presence in the first place feeling like it’s based on shaky ground, with the explanation being that when someone’s possessed, Satan worshippers will naturally gravitate towards their vicinity. So while Seohyun performs the exorcism, Dong-seok is there to punch out any satanic lackeys who show up (and they always do).

Taking place in a red-mooned Seoul, when the trio are hired by a neuropsychiatrist who begs for their help in saving her possessed sister, they find themselves dealing with a demonic force more powerful than anything they’ve encountered before. The sister is played by Jung Ji-so (Parasite, The Tiger: An Old Hunter’s Tale), clocking in a performance that’s likely to induce feelings of mild irritation to possible annoyance. Most of her screentime is spent incessantly screaming, with a highlight of unintentional amusement being a literal montage of home video footage capturing her possessed activity in the house. Playing out like a Scary Movie style riff on every possessed character stereotype in the book, at one point her face suddenly appears in front of the camera, which elicited laughter from the audience of the cinema I saw it in.

The lack of any real scares being induced from Ji-so’s paranormal activity is reflected in almost every aspect of Holy Night: Demon Hunters. If the unintentional comedy hits the mark, then the intentional comedy doesn’t fare so well. Ever since the first Roundup sequel Dong-seok’s distinctive style of self-effacing laconic humor has faced diminishing returns, and here things get off to an awkward start from the moment he’s introduced. When a client opens the door to his office and he swivels his chair to face them, the chair keeps on spinning so he ends up facing away from them again. The problem is that coming straight after a horror focused opening the comedic tone has yet to be established, so the scene falls flat on its face, with Dae-hee likely assuming it would work simply because audiences are expecting a Ma Dong-seok movie. It’s lazy filmmaking.

Thankfully it’s not a complete write-off, with a handful of Dong-seok’s self-written one liners delivering the intended laughs (including when he asks a demon if it’s Korean), but the ratio is more miss than hit. Action wise he’s once more paired with his go-to choreographer (and now sometime director) Heo Myeong-haeng (The Roundup: Punishment, Badland Hunters), with the action mainly consisting of one versus multiple opponent brawls. While there’s nothing on display we haven’t seen before, with Dong-seok falling back on his tried and tested boxing skills, he doesn’t quite get the easy ride that we see in some of his movies where no one can lay a finger on him which is a welcome change.

The action does achieve some originality in the way it offers up a chance to witness a classic Ma Dong-seok beatdown combined with special effects, at least in a role where he’s not playing a God (yes, Dong-seok has played a God twice – first in Along with the Gods: The Last 49 Days and second in The Eternals). With smoke and burning ash flying off upon contact between fist and face, it may feel more like a throwback to 1990’s era Blade or Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but it’s still a nice touch.

Unfortunately the decision was made to have some of the action framed from the perspective of Lee David’s video camera, clocking in what’s likely to be a contender for the most pointless role of 2025. Harking back to 2000’s era productions like Hong Kong’s Dragon Squad, having a character armed with a video camera that we have to constantly see various scenes through (you know the deal – timer running in one corner, battery percentage in the other, framing lines in the corners of the screen) proves to be superfluous, feeling more like a jarring distraction than anything else.

The biggest tragedy of Holy Night: Demon Hunters though is how cheap it feels, with much of the runtime playing out in the house that Ji-so and her sister used to live in together. While limited locations aren’t necessarily an indication of a bad movie, here they feel restrictive, and it isn’t helped by the fact every time some Satan worshippers show up they look exactly the same as the last batch. It’s easy to get the impression that it was likely the same set of masked stuntmen each time lining up to get a walloping from Dong-seok’s fists, which is ok, but there should be no doubt that what’s presented here is the Ma Dong-seok beatdown playlist at its most rudimentary.

It’s worth noting Dong-seok himself is imbued with an ability to call forth supernatural strength, a trait that’s explained in a number of poorly constructed flashbacks to when he was an orphan, and a tragedy occurred between he and his brother that set them on different paths. All three of the Holy Night trio have a connected past, but the way the flashbacks are interspersed feels haphazard, rarely feeling relevant to the context in which they’re presented. I won’t get started on the CGI demon that haunts Dong-seok in his dreams.

As one point while watching Holy Night: Demon Hunters I found my thoughts turning to how the only entity that Dong-seok really has left to punch in the face is Satan himself. But then surprisingly, in the finale, that’s exactly what he does. Once you’ve given a right hook to the source of all evil, where else is left to go? Time will tell, but for now, it’d be best if he exorcises Holy Night: Demon Hunters from his filmography all together.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 3/10

The post Holy Night: Demon Hunters (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Havoc” Netflix Poster

Director: Gareth Evans
Cast: Tom Hardy, Timothy Olyphant, Forest Whitaker, Sunny Pang, Justin Cornwell, Luis Guzmán, Jessie Mei Li, Yeo Yann Yann, Quelin Sepulveda, Michelle Waterson, Gordon Alexander, John Cummins
Running Time: 105 min.

By Paul Bramhall

Most of the audience for Havoc will consist of the average Netflix subscriber looking for their latest action fix, which isn’t a bad thing. For some of us though, it’s a much bigger deal than just the latest straight to streaming action movie, marking the return of director Gareth Evans to feature length action movie making for the first time since 2014’s The Raid 2. While in-between the Welshman has directed the folk horror tale The Apostle in 2018, as well as helming several episodes of the TV series Gangs of London (which he created), for action fans he’ll always be known for the trilogy of movies he made in Indonesia with Iko Uwais, a silat practitioner who he discovered in 2007. Together they made 2009’s Merantau, 2011’s The Raid: Redemption, and the previously mentioned sequel from 2014, productions that would have a lasting influence on action filmmaking that continues to this day.

With Evans departure from Indonesia to return to his home country it felt unclear for a while if that meant he’d also put his action filmmaking days behind him, however if what’s on display in Havoc is anything to go by, then that clarity is now very much there – 11 years on he’s still very much an action filmmaker. Described by the man himself as being strongly influenced by Hong Kong’s heroic bloodshed genre, defined by the likes of John Woo’s Hard Boiled and The Killer (no, not the 2024 version), Havoc sees Tom Hardy (Mad Max: Fury Road) cast as a jaded cop with a dark secret. Separated from his wife and six-year-old daughter, when he spots the son of a wealthy property developer who knows his secret involved in a drug deal gone wrong, Hardy makes a deal to help the son get away so that they can call it even.

That’s not as easy as it sounds though, as part of the reason why the drug deal went wrong is that the son of a triad boss played by Malaysia actress Yann Yann Yeo (Petaling Street Warriors) ended up dead, and now she’s made the trip to the U.S. to take revenge on those responsible. I mention the U.S. as the city is never identified by name (and is actually the capital of Wales, Cardiff, in disguise), however the look and feel of the surroundings evoke the kind of grittiness and grime of 70’s thrillers like The French Connection and Dirty Harry. Like all of the best action movies, Evans sets Havoc in the lead up to Christmas, with the U.S. location allowing the filmmaker to create a snow-covered backdrop to the chaos, the kind he already hinted at being a fan of through the audaciousness to feature a snow scene in the Jakarta set The Raid 2.

Hardy comes across as suitably grizzled as the lead, sporting an Al Pacino-esque accent that sees him rampaging around backstreet doctors and old junkyards in an attempt to find the son, played by Justin Cornwell (We Are Boats), before both the triads and the cops get to him. It’s familiar territory plot wise, and proving that no filmmaker is immune to the laws of the Netflix ‘Completion Rate Playbook’ (as I like to call it), proceedings open with a vehicular chase that sees several cop cars in pursuit of a stolen truck. Playbook rule number one – the production must open with an action scene to immediately grab the viewer’s attention, increasing the chance that they’ll continue watching to completion. To its detriment the scene comes with a lot of blatant digital assistance, the kind that’ll likely have those familiar with Evans’ work craving for the grounded vehicular mayhem seen in his earlier productions, but it serves its purpose.

However in many ways it’s also a scene that tempers the expectations for what’s to come. Evans has frequently said that The Raid 2 was always intended to be the original, a sprawling crime epic with a layered story involving multiple players. Since he couldn’t get it funded, he made The Raid instead, creating it as a straightforward prequel that sees the cops who were intended to be just one part of the original story as the sole focus, with their mission simply to get from the bottom to the top of a high-rise building crawling with criminals. Havoc is neither as simple as The Raid, however nor does it reach the mastery of the sprawling crime epic that was The Raid 2, with it instead sitting somewhere in the middle, the combination of the straightforward plot and character dynamics resulting in an inevitable sense of familiarity.

While the action itself is kept on a slow burn for much of the first hour, being drip fed in brief bursts, around the 55-minute mark Havoc lets loose. Setting up Hardy to meet with Cornwell’s girlfriend, played by Quelin Sepulveda (making her feature length debut), Evans’ love of using the nightclub setting for things to get bloody doesn’t go to waste. The so far brief bursts of action give way to a minutes long brawl of sustained carnage, as both the triads and the corrupt cops (led by a suitably slimy Timothy Olyphant –Hitman) descend on the club at the same time, and the grievous bodily harm starts to get dished out in spades. It’s a frantic sequence, and one that acts as a reminder of just how skilled Evans is with the camera when it comes to action, not only capturing it, but also contributing to it with the camera’s movement.

Notably he’s also credited as the ‘action editor’, however its Hong Kong alumni Jude Poyer who’s in the role of action director. A veteran of Hong Kong cinema during the late 1990’s to the mid 2000’s, featuring in the likes of the Jet Li starring Hitman and Daniel Lee’s Star Runner, for the last 20 years Poyer has become a respected stunt coordinator in Hollywood. That also includes becoming Evans’ go-to guy for action, having also worked on The Apostle and Gangs of London together, and it’s clear the pair have an understanding of each other, with Poyer’s work on Havoc being some of his best to date.

The nightclub scene sets the stage for the lead up to a gloriously lengthy showdown in and around a lakeside wood cabin that acts as the finale. Containing a ridiculous amount of gunfire, the thunderous sound design practically begs to be cranked up full volume (why oh why couldn’t this have gotten a theatrical release!?), with the use of slow-motion cuts to lackeys being riddled with bullets evoking both Sam Peckinpah and John Woo. Poyer’s HK influenced choreography skills aren’t put to waste either, with Hardy getting a satisfying one on one against mixed martial artist and former UFC fighter Michelle Waterson (Crossed Lines) amidst the hail of bullets. While Havoc is in no way a fight flick, the inclusion of one is definitely appreciated, with the conclusion being suitably painful.

If there are any gripes to be had, it’s that the switch to giving more attention to the relationship between Cornwell and Sepulveda during the finale doesn’t fully resonate, mainly because the plot hasn’t really focused on it at any point. Rather they’ve been separate plot devices in the form of 2 characters who Hardy needs to protect, which works in the way the plot frames itself as a ticking time bomb before the different factions close in on them, but once we’re expected to actually care about them being together it’s a more difficult ask. It’s far from a deal breaker, however the plot could perhaps have benefitted from us seeing them together a little more earlier in the movie, so that once they get more screentime later there’s a degree of investment to want to see them survive.

It’d be a crime not to mention the supporting cast, with Jessie Mei Li (Last Night in Soho) as the fresher faced cop making a perfect contrast to Hardy’s hard faced weariness, and the always reliable Luis Guzmán (In the Blood) and Forest Whitaker (Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai) elevate any scene they’re in.

As throwaway as so much of Netflix’s content is, it’s also proven a welcome home for some of the best action movies in recent years – from Indonesia’s The Night Comes for Us and The Shadow Strays, to South Korea’s Revenger and Carter, to Hollywood’s Extraction and Extraction 2 – and thankfully Havoc can sit comfortably alongside them. In the time since The Raid 2 it’s been filmmakers like Timo Tjahjanto who’ve picked up the baton in cranking up how violent onscreen action can become, however with Havoc Evans proves he’s definitely still got it. As a fan of action cinema, his return to the genre is a reason to smile.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7.5/10

The post Havoc (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Yadang: The Snitch” Theatrical Poster

Director: Hwang Byeong-gug
Cast: Kang Ha-neul, Yoo Hae-jin, Park Hae-joon, Chae Won-bin, Ryu Kyung-soo, Kim Geum-soon, Yu Seong-ju, Lim Sung-kyun, Cho Wan-ki, Kim Mi Suk
Running Time: 122 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

In Korea the term Yadang refers to a professional snitch, a role that exists as an unofficial liaison between the junkies and the cops, forming a kind of symbiotic relationship that allows the latter to leverage the former in extracting information on where the drugs they take are coming from. The snitch is paid for their services under the table, and technically everyone should walk away happy – the cops get a fast track to intel that would otherwise take months of investigative work, and the junkies escape jailtime thanks to the information they’ve given up. In Yadang: The Snitch the title role is played by Kang Ha-neul (The Pirates: The Last Royal Treasure, Dongju: The Portrait of a Poet), who we meet in a fast-paced opening segment that shows how he came to exclusively work for an ambitious prosecutor played by Yoo Hae-jin (Exhuma, Confidential Assignment).

Keen to work his way up the ranks, the pair have become so good at what they do that Hae-jin starts getting to the criminals before the cops do, much to the chagrin of a detective played by Park Hae-joon (Heart Blackened, Believer), whose months of investigative work turn out to be for nothing. However when the trio’s paths overlap during a drug bust involving the rich son of a presidential candidate, their fates become interwoven, with Hae-jin agreeing to let the son off the hook in return for a seat in the Central Prosecutors Office. The classic case of a character’s ambitious streak clouding their moral judgement, the decision costs Ha-neul and Hae-joon dearly, and when the dust settles both set out to settle the score.

Directed by Hwang Byeong-gug (My Wedding Campaign, S.I.U.), while watching Yadang: The Snitch there was more than once when I was reminded of Ryoo Seung-wan’s 2010 crime thriller The Unjust, which similarly focuses on the interweaving fates of 3 characters operating on both sides of the law. The comparison is a complimentary one, and perhaps the familiarity also comes from the fact that Yoo Hae-jin played one of the leads in the earlier production as well. There’s a certain throwback vibe throughout Byeong-gug’s latest, one which is particularly felt during an early scene featuring a gang of angry steel pipe wielding cops chasing down a vehicle. I can’t pinpoint exactly when Korean cinema turned away from portraying the trusted steel pipe as its police forces go-to weapon of choice, but if I had to guess I’d say it was probably around the time when Korean culture started to become popular globally in the mid 2010’s.

The relationship between informant and the law has been explored before in the likes of Dante Lam’s The Stool Pigeon, and here Byeong-gug proves there’s plenty of mileage left in the dynamic to anchor a crime thriller around. As the Yadang of the title Kang Ha-neul initially seems to be going for the over-acting award of the year, with a somewhat grating portrayal of a role you’d assume would require an element of staying under the radar, so as not to make yourself known to the wider criminal world. Not so here. Ha-neul is a loud, cigar smoking, hummer driving attention magnet who, only through the assumed magic of cinema, has remained as successful in his role as he has. The portrayal turns out to be a narratively fuelled one though, with his brash demeanour soon fizzled out when the betrayal he suffers leads to some grizzly results.

It works, if only just, although it’s easy to feel that in the hands of a director like Oh Seung-wook or Lee Hae-yeong the way Ha-neul’s character is portrayed before and after would likely have been handled with a bit more nuance. Far more effective is the ever-reliable Yoo Hae-jin, who nails his role as the prosecutor whose ambitions ultimately see him fall victim to temptation. There’s something about Hae-jin that remains inherently likeable even when he’s cast in villainous roles, and as such there are several moments throughout Yadang: The Snitch when you find yourself hoping he’ll redeem himself. However the deeper he’s pulled into the world of political corruption, the harder it becomes to turn back, making his characters journey a particularly compelling one in the way he starts out as someone to root for, but by the end you’re hoping to see his downfall.

Similarly Park Hae-joon clocks in a stellar performance as the detective, with the narrative structure essentially acting in reverse when it comes to how the audience feels about his character compared to Hae-jin. While his frustration at being pipped to the post by Hae-jin’s prosecutor initially frames his role as the typical incompetent cop, as the plot progresses it becomes clear that, even if he’s not the most likeable guy in the room, he does his job well. Once he realises he’ll have to work with Ha-neul to have a chance of taking Ha-jin down, the chemistry between the pair makes for one of cinemas more enjoyable reluctant team-ups in recent years.

While more a crime thriller than an action thriller, there are some welcome doses of the latter throughout the runtime. A couple of vehicular crashes are well staged (including Ha-neul’s hummer mounting the front of a car), and if what we see in Yadang: The Snitch is anything to go by, could it be that in 2025 we’ve finally seen the back of CGI car crashes? Ha-neul and Hae-joon also get their own fight scenes during a visit to a fish restaurant that come courtesy of stuntman turned director Heo Myeong-haeng (Badland Hunters, The Roundup: Punishment). There’s something about Korean movies that feature restaurant set brawls that always hits the spot, from Arahan to Public Enemy, and here Hae-joon’s face off against an axe wielding lackey is a highlight. The brawl is intercut with Ha-neul’s own throwdown against a buzzsaw brandishing gangster in the back of an eel filled delivery truck that features some wince worthy moments.

Despite the narrative moving at a brisk pace, there are some scenes that descend into cliché, and would arguably have been better left on the cutting room floor. At one point Ha-neul and Hae-joon team up with an up-and-coming actress played by Chae Won-bin (Strong Underdog, Run Boy Run), due to her being on the invite list of the drug fuelled parties the presidential candidate’s son holds, the plan being to perform a sting and get the evidence they need to put him away. After successfully pulling it off there’s a whole scene dedicated to her video calling them while driving so they can celebrate together, however it feels out of character and blatantly obvious as to what’s coming next, the setup to get to the outcome feeling all too predictable in its execution. A little more nuance in these one-off scenes would have benefitted Byeong-gug’s latest, however thankfully they’re not enough to diminish the overall entertainment factor.

The son himself is played with villainous delight by Ryu Kyung-soo (Broker, Jung-E), and while his comeuppance is always peripheral to the main plot involving the trio of leads, he makes the most of his limited screentime, ensuring the audience will want to see him receive his just deserts. Similarly the likes of Kim Geum-soon (Seire, Svaha: The Sixth Finger) and Yu Seong-ju (Revolver, The Land of Happiness) clock in effective supporting turns as rival gangsters in the drug trade, their presence broadening the scope of the world the story takes place in, and offering up a suitably bloody conclusion to their own sub-plot.

While Yadang: The Snitch doesn’t necessarily offer up any new ingredients to the tried and tested crime thriller, it cooks them up in a way that feels fresh, and the combination of Kang Ha-neul, Yoo Hae-jin, and Park Hae-joon prove to be an effective trio of leads to share the spotlight. If anything, we may see a shift from the expression “snitches get stiches” to “stiches get third degree burns and forcibly injected with North Korean methamphetamine.” It may not roll off the tongue in quite the same way, but I think it could catch on.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7/10

The post Yadang: The Snitch (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

The Monkey Goes West | Blu-ray (Imprint)

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

By Paul Bramhall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7/10

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

The Snake Prince | Blu-ray (Imprint)

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

By Paul Bramhall

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7/10

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

“The Uninvited Guest of the Star Ferry” Theatrical Poster

Director: Kim Si-hyun
Cast: Im Ja-ho, Seo Jong-ah, Hwang Jang Lee, Heo Yang-mi, Yoon Yang-ha, Baek Hwang-ki, Park Hui-jin, Lee Suk-koo, Baek Hwang-ki, Choe Hyeong-geun
Running Time: 92 min.

By Paul Bramhall

When it comes to the niche world of Godfrey Ho’s infamous cut ‘n’ paste gweilo ninja movies, Ninja Terminator pretty much sits at the top of the pile. A cult oddity featuring Garfield phones, crab cookery gone wrong, and Richard Harrison with a heavy dose of eyeliner, when I first watched it in the early 2000’s the most that was known about the production the scenes had been spliced into was that it was a “low budget Korean kung-fu movie”. In the 20+ years since information on pre-21^st century Korean cinema has become much more accessible, and thanks to resources like the Korean Movie Database, by the time the 2010’s rolled around it became common knowledge (well, at least in kung-fu cinema fan circles!) that the movie in question was called The Uninvited Guest of the Star Ferry.

Released in 1984, like so many Korean productions from the 1980’s, tragically it seemed like the original had been lost to the sands of time (Trouble Solving Broker being a classic example). While we don’t usually talk about specific releases on cityonfire, this time it’s worth to make an exception, as without the release in question there would never have been an opportunity to check out The Uninvited Guest of the Star Ferry in the first place. Thanks to Neon Eagle’s 2024 limited edition Blu-ray of Ninja Terminator, not only did they stack the release with special features, but they also managed to track down a 16mm print of The Uninvited Guest of the Star Ferry, complete with its original Korean audio. While it’s included in the set as one of the extras, for fans of Korean cinema – particularly the taekwon-action genre – the fact that a title once resigned as lost is now suddenly available to be enjoyed feels like nothing short of a miracle.

Directed by Kim Si-hyun, since debuting in 1965 with the drama A Long Journey, he soon found his calling as an action movie maker. From the swordplay genre that was popular in the 1960’s with titles like A Bloody Fight at Suramoon and A Wondering Swordsman, through to the taekwon-action era of the 1970’s, where he frequently partnered with Dragon Lee for the likes of Golden Dragon, Sliver Snake and Enter the Invincible Hero. In fact I’d argue no other filmmaker has had their movies suffer at the hands of the IFD Films crew than Si-hyun, with him being at the helm of many of the cut ‘n’ paste efforts that used Korean movies as their base. Apart from Ninja Terminator using The Uninvited Guest of the Star Ferry, in 1986 Ninja Champion bastardizes Si-hyun’s 1985 rape revenge thriller Poisonous Rose Stripping the Night, while 1988’s War City 2: Red Heat Conspiracy used his penultimate movie Maze of Love.

In fairness by 1984 Si-hyun’s persistence in creating taekwon-action flicks was a little out of step with the times. Many consider 1982’s previously mentioned Trouble Solving Broker to be the end of the taekwon-action era, before the Korean film industry increasingly turned its focus to cranking out erotic cinema for much of the decade, thanks to the loosening of censorship over how much skin could be shown on screen. However Si-hyun stuck to his guns, and would continue to push Im Ja-ho as a new taekwon-action leading man, following his turn in Nam Gi-nam’s Leopard Fist Ninja from 1982. A formidable kicker, while Ja-ho can be seen in the background of many a 1970’s taekwon-action production, his late promotion to leading man unfortunately never saw him become as popular as his counterparts from the previous decade like Han Yong-cheol and Bobby Kim.

In The Uninvited Guest of the Star Ferry Ja-ho plays a private investigator who arrives in Hong Kong (hence the reference to the Star Ferry in the title), intent on getting to the bottom of a restauranteurs murder in Korea Town. Tensions have been running high between the locals and the Korean community because the “Koreans work harder”, but the truth behind the murder could be closer to home. Hired by the victim’s sister (played by Seo Jong-ah – The Last Witness, The Hut) to find those responsible, soon Ja-ho is unleashing his ferocious footwork, possibly falling for the sister he’s been hired by, and taking flak from the Korea Expat Association for poking his nose where it’s not wanted. As a plot its functional if far from inspiring, there mainly to allow Ja-ho to frequently get into scuffles with taekwon-action regulars like Baek Hwang-ki and Park Hui-jin (rocking a haircut which makes him look like a case of Casanova Wong-sploitation!).

Of course one of the most infamous elements of Ninja Terminator is the presence of legendary super kicker Hwang Jang Lee, decked out in a ridiculous blonde wig, fake rubber hand, and white suit that would make any 42^nd Street pimp proud. By the mid-80’s Jang Lee was no longer the omni-present villain that he was just a few years prior, with The Uninvited Guest of the Star Ferry being just one of 3 productions he’d feature in during 1984 (the other 2 being Demon Strike and Shaolin: The Blood Mission), compared to the 9 he featured in just a couple of years prior in 1982! One of the unexpected surprises of being able to watch the original is that there’s still no explanation as to why he’s wearing a blonde wig, although the fact that he’s named his lackey names like Duncan, Jackson, and Barbara somehow makes up for it.

The cuts between Hong Kong and Korea also provide a dose of unintentional amusement, with the HK footage mostly comprising of Ja-ho strolling down the unmistakable neon lit streets, before cutting back to the mountainous countryside of Korea where the main plot plays out (even though we’re still supposed to believe it’s HK). If Si-hyun’s geography is to be trusted, then apparently a Buddhist temple complex in the remote mountains is just a short stroll away from the busy streets of Kowloon. Thankfully the fights come thick and fast, and with contemporary set taekwon-action movies being a rarity in the genre, it’s a pleasure to watch Ja-ho unleash in a modern environment. The only part that requires a little adjustment is getting used to the way many of the fights play out to an upbeat soundtrack, one that sounds like it could be the opening to a daytime TV soap opera, offering up a slightly surreal feel to the violence onscreen.

The inoffensively pleasant soundtrack choice is at least offset by 1984 making The Uninvited Guest of the Star Ferry a latter entry in the genre, meaning that the choreography has developed in such a way that it’s noticeably more impactful than the early to mid-1970’s, when the genre was at its peak. Bodies go flying over cars in slow motion, somersaults result from kicks to the crotch, and of course, this is the only time that Im Ja-ho would face off against Hwang Jang Lee. Taking part in and around a port before segueing onto the beach, despite the 10 year age gap (with Ja-ho being younger) they both give as good as they get, with Si-hyun offering up a typically Korean detour into the absurd as Jang Lee’s leaping around sees him buried up to his waist in sand. In a career that’s seen the boot master beaten by everything from the sight of a woman’s breasts to cat kung-fu, death by accidentally burying yourself in sand is definitely up there.

Whilst far from being the best the genre has to offer, Si-hyeon still shows some occasional flourishes that reflect a filmmaker who cared about the final product. A sequence that sees Ja-ho sprinting to reach Seo Jong-ah before the bomb she’s been strapped to goes off is particularly effective, with the scene including a number of freeze frames to torturously extend the passing of time, while the sound of the bomb ticks away in the background. It’s a small touch, but it works well, instilling a sense of urgency into a genre where such feelings are usually reserved strictly for the fight scenes.

Throw in Kenny Loggins Footloose’, projectile dice, and ill-timed confessions of love, ultimately all of them come together to give The Uninvited Guest of the Star Ferry an odd charm that seems so unique to much of Korea’s output in the 1980’s. It may not be the perfect taekwon-action movie, but it should definitely scratch the itch for anyone seeking a dose of blonde wigged kicks to the face.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 6/10

The post Uninvited Guest of the Star Ferry, The (1984) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

Released in June last year, Severin have confirmed that future pressings of The Game of Clones: Bruceploitation Collection Vol. 1 will include a trigger warning advising viewer discretion at the beginning of the 1978 production The Dragon Lives Again.

The move comes after several complaints were received from first time viewers who’d been expecting to see the spirit of Bruce Lee battling it out against the likes of Marlon Brando, Clint Eastwood, and Max von Sydow, reprising some of their most iconic roles such as the Godfather, the Man with No Name, and the Exorcist.

The nature of the complaints center around viewers being objectionable to the fact characters have been race swapped to be portrayed by Chinese and Korean actors. One particular complaint that was shared with COF sees the portrayal of the Godfather drawing particular ire, with an extract reading “I thought I was going to be watching a lost Marlon Brando movie, reprising his role as the Sicilian immigrant who builds a criminal empire, but instead I find this Shin Il-ryong nobody in his place. Am I supposed to believe this guy is Italian? The whole movie is a joke. Worst of all, I’m not even sure if the main actor was Bruce Lee.”

The press release from Severin states –

“We acknowledge that some of the casting choices in The Dragon Lives Again have been confronting for certain viewers, especially those long-time fans of the characters portrayed onscreen. We apologise for any distress caused, and have included a written disclaimer that’ll be displayed on future pressings that reads – Please note the production you’re about to watch includes portrayals of characters traditionally played by Caucasian actors recast by actors who are of an Asian ethnicity. Viewer discretion is advised.”

The press release goes on to say it hopes the incident won’t prevent anyone who’s purchased the The Game of Clones: Bruceploitation Collection Vol. 1 from watching the other titles that make up the set. Upon reaching out to Severin, an insider who spoke to us on the condition of anonymity had this to day – “We’re living in a culturally sensitive time, something that can be witnessed first hand when looking at the backlash against many of Disney’s live action reboots. With this we acknowledge that race swapping characters that fans hold near and dear without any prior warning can potentially be a traumatising experience, so by adding the disclaimer the intention is to mitigate that risk, allowing viewers to enjoy one of the more bizarre slices of Bruceploitation.”

Severin have confirmed they won’t be rolling out a disc replacement program, and have encouraged anyone who’s been impacted by watching The Dragon Lives Again to reach out to their nearest health provider.

The post Feeling triggered? Future pressings of the ‘Bruceploitation Collection Vol. 1’ have you covered! first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Leopard Fist Ninja” Theatrical Poster

AKA: The Return of Twin Dragons
Director: Nam Gi-nam
Cast: Im Ja-Ho, Baek Hwang-Gi, Kim Yoo-Haeng, Jo Choon, Im Hae-Rim, Chia Kai, Kim Ki-Beom, Jo Hak-Ja, Park Jong-Seol, Choe Jong-Sook, Kang Cheol
Running Time: 83 min.

By Paul Bramhall

By the 1980’s the popularity of the taekwon-action genre was starting to wane in its native Korea, a decline brought on by the hugely popular release of Drunken Master, which saw the kung-fu comedy become the order of the day. As with any shift in genre tastes, not every filmmaker was in a hurry to adapt to changes in the current trends, and in Korea one such director was Nam Gi-nam. After spending the 70’s helming movies like Return of Red Tiger and Double Dragon in Last Duel, Gi-nam maintained his poker-faced approach to action movies into the 80’s, of which The Return of Twin Dragons falls squarely into the category of.

While the likes of Jeong Jin-hwa (Elton Chong) and Seo Byeong-heon (Benny Tsui) were attempted to be sold as local equivalents to Jackie Chan, usually cast as high kicking comedic buffoons in a series of Drunken Master inspired outings, another new face on the block named Im Ja-ho wasn’t so lucky. Arguably arriving in the taekwon-action genre a little too late in the game, while Ja-ho had spent the late 70’s playing supporting roles in the likes of the Bobby Kim vehicle The Mark of the Black Dragon and Chang Il-do headliner The Martial Arts of Dharma, it wasn’t until the 80’s that he’d become a leading man. Along with Keum-Kang Martial Arts, it would be The Return of Twin Dragons in 1982 that gave Ja-ho his first starring role, although unfortunately none of the productions he starred in proved to be a hit at the box office.

In fact I’d argue Ja-ho would likely have become lost into the annals of taekwon-action history if it wasn’t for another last-ditch attempt to make him a star of the genre with Kim Si-hyeon’s 1984 production The Uninvited Guest of the Star Ferry. While the title may not be immediately recognizable, it was one of many Korean productions that Hong Kong distributor Godfrey Ho picked up as part of his IFD Films outfit, and found itself subject to Ho’s now legendary cut ‘n’ paste technique of adding gweilo ninja footage featuring Richard Harrison. Re-branded and re-dubbed for the western market as Ninja Terminator, the mix of Garfield phones, talk of the Ninja Empire, and Hwang Jang Lee in a blonde wig saw it become a cult hit, and for many western audiences Ja-ho became known as Jack Lam – the unintended star of the fiasco (which was followed by the Ja-ho featuring Poisonous Rose Stripping the Night becoming Ninja Champion!).

The Return of Twin Dragons was also acquired by Godfrey Ho, which (as with so many taekwon-action movies) sees his name slapped on as the director in the English print (which, also as with so many taekwon-action movies, is the only available way to see it). Re-titled Leopard Fist Ninja, it at least has the dignity of being one of the last productions that Ho got his hands on prior to his obsession with completely changing storylines and incorporating gweilo ninja footage into the mix. With that being said, there are already signs of Ho’s tendency to start chopping up and re-editing productions to fit what he believed would be sellable to a western audience on display in Leopard Fist Ninja. While a similarly acquired production like 1979’s A Man with Seven Faces was left intact, with only the title changed to Blood of Dragon Peril and an English dub added, here scenes are noticeably out of order and frequently nonsensical.

Admittedly not all of the nonsensical elements are down to Ho’s meddling. Opening with a family consisting of a husband and wife, their 2 kids, and a grandfather hiding away from marauding Japanese invaders, the reason they’re being targeted is due to them being in possession of a secret manual. It’s an 80’s martial arts movie, so of course the manual details how to master a deadly martial art technique right? No, actually it’s the secret to Korean pottery. Is this the first movie where the secret manual the villains are after reveals how to make the perfect vase? Perhaps. What’s more unusual is that Ho didn’t decide to change the nature of the manual in the English dub (which initially I thought he may have, changing it to pottery just for laughs, but upon reading the original Korean plot synopsis, I can confirm that it’s a pottery manual in both versions).

That’s not the only oddity though, with one of the kids being played by Seo Jeong-hee (A Woman’s Castle, Milky Way in Blue Sky). When both parents are murdered the grandfather helps the kids narrowly escape and start training in martial arts for revenge, cue the standard scene of showing them practicing their moves, then throw in a cut to 20 years later and Jeong-hee has now become….Im Ja-ho. That’s right, someone who was a girl when they where a kid grows up to be a heavily moustached guy, and there’s zero explanation for it. Let’s just say gender fluidity has been around for a lot longer than the actual expression itself. The other sibling grows up to be played by taekwon-action regular Baek Hwang-hi (Golden Dragon, Silver Snake, Secret Executioners), here given a rare opportunity to not only play a more prominent supporting role over his usual lackey appearances, but also be one of the good guys!

The rest of the plot for the most part consists of Il-ho getting into fights with an assortment of lackeys while seeking out the Japanese general responsible for his parents death, played by the most recognisable bald fella in the taekwon-action genre, Cho Chun (Returned Single-Legged Man, Eagle vs. Silver Fox). Although here he’s adorned with a funky wig, so that may not be a fair statement. Amusingly Chun has enlisted the services of a Japanese swordsman for hire, played by Kim Yu-haeng (Revenge of Drunken Master, Evil Hits Evil), who comes flanked with 4 foreigner fighters that aren’t credited anywhere (although if you go off the pictureless profiles on the least reliable Asian movie resource on the internet – the IMDB – they could be Willie Freeman, James Exshaw, Chuck Horry, and Dicky Hunt). At least moderately proficient in some form of martial arts if definitely not in screen fighting, the foreigner threat feels largely superfluous.

Far better is the introduction of another revenge seeking orphan played by Choe Jong-suk (Martial Arts for Revenge, Fist of the Golden Monkey), who brings a welcome dose of ferocious female footwork to the table. Despite a fleeting filmography of just 7 movie appearances between 1979 and 1985, her flying kicks make her a welcome presence, and when she teams up with Im Ja-ho and Baek Hwang-hi to take on Kim Yu-haeng in a 3-on-1 fight that precedes the finale, Leopard Fist Ninja delivers the intended entertainment value. While it’s impossible to discern who the fight choreographer was based on the available resources, there’s a good chance it was Hwang-hi considering he’d increasingly moved into a choreographer role during the 80’s. The fight scenes also show why director Gi-nam put his faith in Ja-ho as a taekwon-action leading man, since his kicks feel legitimately dangerous, conveying a palpable sense of power and speed.

Indeed for a dose of no frills taekwon-action Leopard Fist Ninja delivers the goods, although in its current form it comes with the significant caveat of needing to tolerate the increasingly out of order fight scenes. In fact one editing choice that Godfrey Ho made inexplicably attempts to blend 2 fight scenes together, which sees the opponent Ja-ho is fighting against bizarrely change mid-way through the fight. Attention to detail clearly wasn’t the order of the day, although looking at it from a positive perspective, it could well be the small quirks that maintain audiences attention between the fight scenes (including one bizarre scene, which I suspect was supposed to be the closing one, where a bare chested Ji-ho and Hwang-hi cheerfully hold hands and stroll off screen after coming out victorious in one of the many fights!). Far from being top tier, Leopard Fist Ninja should satiate anyone looking for a teakwon-action fix, but certainly nothing more.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 6/10

The post Leopard Fist Ninja | aka The Return of Twin Dragons (1982) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Fallen” Theatrical Poster

Director: Lee Jung-sub
Cast: Yang Ji, Jang Tae Young, Han Sung Min, Kim Ga Hyun, Lim Jung Min, Lee Ji Yong, Hwang Se On, Yun Ha Bin, Ju Seo Eun, Oh Ji Young, Kwon Ip Sae
Running Time: 110 min. 

By Paul Bramhall 

In the 2019 Korean production Fallen a famous sci-fi author played by Yang Ji, previously only seen in small bit roles in late 2000’s/early 2010’s productions like I Came from Busan and Mr. Idol, is having a bad day. Opening with her as the subject of an on-camera interview for TV, despite it supposedly being about her latest work, it seems the interviewer is more interested in asking about the leaked sex tape she’s featured in, and the fact her mother is a convicted serial killer. Her publicist isn’t much help, insisting she joins him to a local bar considering she’s holed herself up at home for so long, where he suggests that the best thing she can do is to apologise to the public for appearing in the tape. Things go from bad to worse when she wakes up kidnapped, zip tied and stuffed in a drum in an unknown location, her fate in the hands of whoever has taken her captive.

Based on the above description, on paper Fallen probably sounds like it fits the mould of similar female in peril 2010’s era Korean movies like Midnight FM or Manhole, however that would be before taking into account that it’s the directorial debut of screenwriter and producer Lee Jung-sub. Also responsible for scripting 2017’s psychological neo-noir action flick Real, often unfairly sited as one of the worst Korean movies ever made, it’s this production which was originally intended to be Jung-sub’s directorial debut, however for reasons unknown he stepped back shortly after filming commenced. Arriving a couple of years later, Fallen is no less of a head trip than Real (maybe even more so), even if it’s clearly got nowhere near the same budget.

For a start, it turns out that Yang Ji isn’t the only one to have been kidnapped on that night, with everyone else from the bar also turning up in the same location. Except the fact that she’s so dishevelled, and everyone else looks exactly like they did when they were drinking together, provides the first indication that they are, in fact, all in her head. In an earlier scene Ji reveals she doesn’t like being in crowded places, since her creative instincts soon start to imagine everyone around her as characters for her next story, and that would appear to be what’s happening here.

A kidnapped novelist talking to figments of her imagination is just the start of Jung-sub’s ambitious plot though. In parallel we’re introduced to a group of delegates representing global agencies, sat around a table in the middle of a large minimalist set. They’re there to try a murderer who claims to be from 2059, the result of a sinkhole opening up in Seoul containing a portal to the past. Time travel has been made illegal in the future, the result of too many people using it since 2019 is a much more prosperous era than 2059, however the bigger issue is that AI programs have become sentient, and are downloading themselves into people in 2019 so they can take on human form. Referred to as the Fallen, the only catch is that the transition causes them to gradually become blind, so the discovery of a human with a “peculiar antibody” that can prevent it makes them a target. Kind of like Skynet, but with poor eyesight.

What does all of this have to do with an author waking up to find herself kidnapped in a drum? Why is there a random dance number involving a guy in a leotard and a whip in the middle of the movie? Are we really expected to believe that in the future blockchain controls the world and Elon Musk was right about everything all along? (That’s right, Elon Musk gets namechecked more than once thanks to his thoughts on time travel!) Much like in Real, it feels like answering every question that’s posed isn’t the primary concern, with similar themes of identity being explored in ways that, while occasionally feeling like they’ll buckle under their own weight, consistently feel original and fresh. Fallen is frequently beguiling and certainly guilty of being pretentious, but it’s also entertaining in part due to just how different it is from anything else coming out of Korea, and in part because on some level (even if it’s an astral one), it works.

The conversations Ji has with the other bar patrons in the remote warehouse she’s trapped in tend to revolve around how she can escape, with Jung-sub seemingly going for a playful approach by name checking other filmmakers when considering the approach she could take. From Hollywood alumni like Bruce Willis (specifically in Die Hard!), Michael Bay, and Ridley Scott, to more local talent like Jang Sun-woo, Won Bin, and Kang Dong-won, the name checking comes in thick and fast. In fairness I also have Fallen to thank for now knowing who Cormac McCarthy, Gary Pasparov, Lee Sedol, and Hyun Jin-geon are, so if anything I’m slightly more cultured than I was a couple of hours before (although it’s admittedly a low bar to begin with). It all feels a little gratuitous, but then again that could well be the point, with it being clear that subtlety is one of the least important aspects of Jung-sub’s work.

In fact one of the cleverer elements of his directorial debut is that the bar patrons in Ji’s head are so talkative, it’s easy to overlook the fact that for the majority of the runtime, Ji herself has barely more than a few lines of dialogue. Instead we’re watching her thoughts and personality projected onto the characters she was in the bar with, essentially having them speak for her, while barely saying a word herself. It’s indicative of Jung-sub clearly having talent as a director, and combined with also being in the producer’s chair, he finds himself in a position where he can bring his vision to the screen within the limits of his own financial means, without having to worry about compromising.

If one thing becomes apparent in Fallen, it’s how much of Jung-sub’s visual directorial style is also imprinted in Real, certainly enough to raise the question of how much creative input he had in terms of what ended up onscreen. Whereas the finale of Lee Sa-rang’s only movie ended with a ballet infused action scene, in Fallen Ji takes to some ariel silk inspired acrobatics to eventually free herself from her gender fluid cyborg captors, the parallels in the incorporation of performance art making the comparison hard to ignore. It’s a scene which segues into an extended chase sequence that makes up the finale, as Ji attempts to outrun a zombie hunting sniper from the future, before a final scene coda that reveals that Siri is responsible for saving the world.

Had Jung-sub’s directorial debut been released in the early 2000’s I’m confident it would have been able to confidently sit next to the likes of Save the Green Planet and A Bizarre Love Triangle as a similarly sci-fi infused exercise in genre blending. As a 2019 production though, after the backlash against Real it’s perhaps not surprising that Fallen had never been officially released in its native Korea, apart from when it screened as part of the Bucheon International Fantastic Film Festival during the same year. It’s a shame, since in a film industry that’s increasingly leaned into more conventional genre narratives during the 2020’s, Fallen stands as a truly original piece of filmmaking, even if it does occasionally entangle itself in its jumble of multi-layered plot threads.

When asked in an interview at the time of its release how he thought Fallen would be perceived 10 years in the future, Jung-sub replied that he’d “like to think that this film would be considered educational.” While we’re still 4 years away from that 10-year mark at the time of writing in 2025, I’m not sure educational will be a word that springs to mind whatever year it is, however it does end with a message of hope that acts as a reinforcement that humanity is fundamentally good. Even if some of the other messages get lost in translation, Fallen nails the landing on its most important one, and the fact that it does so through a mix of time travelling sink holes, gender fluid dancing cyborgs, and lesbian sci-fi novelists makes it an experience that’s unlikely to be repeated.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7.5/10

The post Fallen (2019) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.

“Demon City” Netflix Poster

Director: Seiji Tanaka
Cast: Toma Ikuta, Masahiro Higashide, Miou Tanaka, Ami Touma, Taro Suruga, Mai Kiryu, Naoto Takenaka, Takuma Otoo, Masanobu Takashima, Matsuya Onoe
Running Time: 107 min. 

By Paul Bramhall

If I had to guess I’d say the audience for Demon City falls into 2 categories – the first being those who’ve been waiting for the sophomore feature from director Seiji Tanaka, and the second being fans of the manga that it’s adapted from, Oni Goroshi. Personally I fall into the first category, with Tanaka’s 2018 debut Melancholy being one of the best surprises of the 2010’s, a witty and offbeat tale of a bathhouse worker who comes to realise it’s used by the yakuza after hours to carry out hits. As a new voice in the world of Japanese cinema it showed a lot of promise, and despite it taking 7 years to release his 2^nd feature, the anticipation to see how he’s developed as a filmmaker is no less. Netflix hopefully feel the same way, since it’s their platform that Demon City has landed on.

Taking a slice out of Timo Tjahjanto’s The Shadow Strays, Demon City opens with an assassin played by Toma Ikuta (Miike Takashi’s The Mole Song trilogy) taking out a household full of yakuza in violent fashion. The massacre was intended to be his last job (aren’t they all?) before he settles down with his wife and 5-year-old daughter, but unfortunately the rival yakuza who sanctioned the hit want no trace left over, so his post-shower family time is interrupted by 5 demonic mask wearing men in suits who have come to finish the job. With his wife and daughter meeting a grizzly demise, he’s left for dead and falls into a coma for the next 12 years, with the news of his waking up resulting in the same villains who murdered his nearest and dearest returning to finish the job.

Why didn’t they just kill him in the first place if they know that’s what they’re planning to do if he ever wakes up from the coma he was in? Demon City isn’t concerned with you asking such questions, and in any case there’ll be plenty more plot hole induced head scratching before the end credits roll. A character explains how the port city of Shinjo is believed to be afflicted with a demon that possesses someone every 50 years, causing said person to go on a killing spree. Is Ikuta’s awakening a sign that he’s the one that’s been possessed this time? It’s never explained, nor is it at any point hinted at, leaving the audience baffled as to whether we’re watching a vengeance fuelled husband and father extracting revenge, or something more supernatural.

Tanaka’s uncertainty around how much the supernatural element should be leaned into unfortunately results in moments of unintentional comedy which, reading between the lines, where probably intended to reflect Ikuta being imbued with some kind of supernatural ability. The speed he recovers from the coma offers up the first eyebrow raising moment, immediately getting into a fight with 3 assailants while still lacking full mobility of his body, before throwing in a few clicks of the neck and he’s on his way, easily putting Steven Seagal in Hard to Kill to shame. There’s another moment in the finale where he’s repeatedly struck across the face by a steel pole wielding opponent. They’re the kind of hits that would leave anyone unconscious after a single blow, but the fact he’s able to stand there and repeatedly take them in slow motion, all set to a harrowing score, feels like some kind of absurdist slapstick.

In fairness to Ikuta none of these issues are his fault, who does well as the lead role. After his awakening in the first 10 minutes the script gives him even less lines than Keanu Reeves in John Wick: Chapter 4, instead allowing him to convey a quietly brooding presence. Ikuta’s performance makes it easy to buy into his plight, even if his choice of a Dodge Charger sometimes makes Demon City feel more like a Japanese take on Drive Angry than it does an adaptation of a manga. The action also picks up considerably after the awkwardly edited hospital throwdown, with the action direction coming courtesy of Takashi Tanimoto, who previously served in the same role on the adaptation of City Hunter from the previous year (and notably played the bounty hunter character in 2013’s Bushido Man).

A brawl in a factory is a highlight, and once Ikuta get his hands back on his trademark weapon – a large machete style blade attached to a rope, things get particularly bloody. The manga influence comes through in the exaggerated explosions of blood that come out of anyone who finds themselves on the end of Ikuta’s blade (although unfortunately it’s all done with CGI), feeling like an update to the blood geysers seen in the likes of the Lone Wolf and Cub series, and there’s a few worthy impacts shots thrown in for good measure. Interestingly the more the plot progresses the messier the action gets, with the finale in particular feeling more like a desperate brawl, all set to the throbbing electric guitar riffs of Tomoyasu Hotei.

One aspect that Tanaka has definitely secured bragging rights to with Demon City is having Hotei come onboard as the composer, one of only a handful of times he’s done so in his illustrious career as Japan’s most recognizable electric guitarist. For anyone unfamiliar, I can practically guarantee you’ll have heard his piece Battle Without Honor and Humanity somewhere, with its first, and arguably still best, use in Kill Bill: Vol. 1. Having an electric guitar riff as the main soundtrack in a 2025 action movie may feel a little antiquated, but personally I’d take old school charm (even if it is kind of cheesy) over the generic electro soundtracks that populate so many straight to streaming action movies any day of the week.

One observation in watching the action play out is that I get the feeling the evolution of onscreen hyperviolence is reaching the same tipping point that we’ve seen with the devolution of CGI, albeit it’s got there far faster. 14 years ago The Raid set an exciting new bar by focusing as much on bodily damage as the choreography itself, the result of which felt exciting and fresh. However with the advancement of technology, much like we’ve seen with large scale CGI set pieces, there’s also come a realisation that when there’s no limits to what can be shown onscreen, violence can quickly lose its edge. Stabbing frenzies in a 2020’s production rarely carry the same shock factor as they do in a 2000’s production, and similarly here when a machete gets wedged in the side of someone’s face, the expected “whoa!” moment is missing in action. Ultimately the seamless digital illusion still isn’t quite there, and so neither is the intended impact.

Overall Demon City feels like a movie with an identity crisis, one that’s fallen between the cracks of how much it should fit into the Netflix straight to streaming action movie template, and how much it should attempt to faithfully adapt its manga origins (which as of the time of writing is still an ongoing series, currently 14 volumes in). It’s a conflict which sometimes feels like its playing out on the screen literally, with one scene seeing a character realistically slump to the ground after being shot in the head, and another scene having a character react to receiving a head shot by somersaulting to their death.

Which brings me full circle back to my first paragraph – I said the audience for Demon City falls into 2 categories, and while it may be a disappointment to both, there’s actually a 3^rd category – the casual Netflix viewer looking to get their next action fix. From their perspective Tanaka’s sophomore feature may well fit the bill and, although I’m afraid to look, will no doubt invite some kind of comparison to the Japanese John Wick. From the perspective of it being the follow-up to a debut that showed there was a fresh new voice in Japanese cinema, Demon City for the most part feels like a generic follow up, lacking any of the touches that made Tanaka a talent to be excited about. Should a directors sophomore work be judged against their debut? There’s probably no right or wrong answer, but in my case, I was hoping for much more.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 5.5/10

The post Demon City (2025) Review first appeared on cityonfire.com.