Films of Fury: The Kung Fu Movie Book (14 page)

Meanwhile, his studio colleagues had their own rice to fry. Although Chang Cheh
and Liu Chia-liang
were clearly the pillars upon which the Shaw Brothers
Studio’s kung fu film crown rested, there were others whose contributions were telling — the most prominent being the aforementioned Chu Yuan
… for quantity, if not for quality. At the height of his powers at Shaws, he was lauded for being able to work on eight films at the same time. It’s not surprising, therefore, that his filmography, although substantial, ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous.

Born in 1934 and educated at the Faculty of Chemistry within Sun Yat-sen
University, he ultimately followed in his actor father’s footsteps and entered the film industry. Not only did he find it to his liking, he even found it easy. He rapidly progressed from scripting to assistant directing, then started helming entire productions in 1959. By the time he came to the Shaw Brothers
in 1971, he had already directed more than seventy films, setting the stage for his unprecedented assembly-line approach. Within five years he had created his most successful and renowned films, starting with
Intimate Confessions of a Chinese Courtesan
(1972) — an impressive melding of a softcore erotic and legitimate kung fu film.

Following that, he established what could be called the “no-trapdoor-remains-unsprung” wuxia
sub-genre with
Killer
Clans
(1976) — launching an extensive series of like-titled (and like-looking) Jiang Hu
tales of inter-family kung fu squabbles in which secret compartments were everywhere and double-crosses were multiplied into veritable quadruple-crosses. That same year he also Shaw-ized an unholy combination of Spaghetti Western and 1940s Hollywood cliffhanger serial into an endlessly malleable series of “sword-slinger” films. In fact, in
The Magic Blade
(1976), he dressed Ti Lung
in much the same serape Clint Eastwood
wore in
A Fistful of Dollars
(1964) and placed his six-shooter-shaped sword in a holster on his hip.

The final ingredient in Chu’s marathon mash-up was novelist Gu Long
, whose complex, convoluted wuxia
epics served as starting points in the majority of Yuan’s multitude of films. By the time Shaws shuttered its film units in the mid-80s, Yuan had made more than a hundred movies for them, the most popular of which was
The Sentimental Swordsman
series (1977-1982) and the most ludicrous of which was 1976’s
Web of Death
— where the villain is a big, obviously fake Halloween-decoration spider filmed with color-tinted lenses. Most, if not all, of his efforts were, at the very least, wild, convulsive fun.

Less prolific, but perhaps more important to the genre, was Sun Chung
— possibly the most underrated kung fu filmmaker. Probably the reason for this was that he was so versatile. Like legendary American director Robert Wise
, he was great at virtually any genre he attempted, and therefore his fame never quite took public root in any of them. In any case, his kung fu films were always recognizable by his unusually inventive camera work and imaginative approach. Born in 1941
, he knew he wanted to work in movies early on, and went to school in Taiwan for it. His first film was a musical (
Wild Girl
) in 1968. His second film was a comedy (1970s
Tops in Every Trade
) and a big hit. That brought him to the attention of the Shaw Brothers
.

He hit the ground running, treating the studio like a big toy box. He was most lauded for his crime thrillers, but with
The Avenging Eagle
in 1978, kung fu fans sat up and took notice. Ostensibly a straight-forward revenge tale, Chung elevated it to classic status with a cunning collaboration between his camera crew, cast, and kung fu choreographer (not surprisingly, Sun was the first Shaw director to utilize the Steadicam). Liu Chia-liang
’s ex-partner, Tang Chia
, was Sun’s go-to action guy (as, in fact, he was for director Chu Yuan
as well), and the two worked beautifully together. The two directors also shared a deep appreciation of actors Ti Lung
and Alexander Fu Sheng
— using both every chance they got.

With the critical and box office success of
Avenging Eagle
, Sun officially launched an impressive series of fine kung fu films, including
Judgment of An Assassin
(1977),
The Proud Youth
(1978),
The Kung Fu Instructor
(1979),
To Kill a Mastermind
(1979),
The Deadly Breaking Sword
(1979),
Rendezvous with Death
(1980), and
The Kid with a Tattoo
(1980) — all culminating with his landmark
Human Lanterns
(1982), a potent combination of a classic kung fu movie and a slasher, body-count, film.

The director seemed to stumble after that, still making fine films, but ones with obvious aberrations. For instance, his hysterical sequel to
The Kung Fu Instructor
,
The Master Strikes Back
(1985), is the greatest castration/crotch-shot martial art movie in history. Thankfully he also made
A Fistful of Talons
(aka
Protecting Eagle
, 1983) outside the studio, which remains the best film of “Jackie Chan
clone” Billy Chong
(the personable Indonesian actor who also starred in such nice Jackie knock-offs as 1979’s
Crystal Fist
, 1980’s
Super Power
, and the unforgettable
Kung Fu Zombie
and
Kung Fu from Beyond the Grave
, both 1982).

The remaining two major Shaw kung fu creators essentially flew under even the Studio’s radar. Ex-actor John Lo Mar
’s checkered martial art movie directing career essentially began with the ignominious assignment of helming the sad hack job that was
Bruce Lee
and I
(aka
I Love You Bruce Lee
, 1976), but he quickly became better known for his comedies and crime thrillers. Every once in awhile, however, he would gather his kung fu friends (including future choreographer superstar Ching Siu-tung
) and patch together a story apparently using existing sets and locations. This resulted in several lean, mean, enjoyable fighting films, like
Five Super Fighters
(1979),
Fighting Fool
(1979)
Monkey Kung Fu
(1980).

Then there was Lu Chin-ku
. As the Studio grew ever closer to closing its film units, more and more veterans began jumping the sinking ship, while more and more newcomers looking for a lucky break eyed the empty director chairs. Lu came relatively late to the game, but made up for it in flamboyance. Reminiscent of Busby Berkley
or Baz Luhrman
in his willingness to use a full color palette, wires, trampolines, special effects, and exaggeration, no one could be sure what might happen in his genre films.

Exploding onto the Shaw Scene with
The Master
(aka
3 Evil Masters
, 1982) — the Studio’s attempt to fashion its own Jackie Chan
-like kung fu comedy — Lu then eschewed trying to copy others’ successes and carried on with his own unique visions. With
The Lady Assassin
(1983),
Holy Flame of the Martial World
(1983), and especially
Bastard Swordsman
(1983) and
Return of Bastard Swordsman
(1984), he created his own fabulous fantasy factory. He went out swinging with 1984’s
Secret Service of the Imperial Court
(remade as
14 Blades
in 2010), which featured one of his finest moments, immortalized as “The Eunuch Slap.”

Liu Yung
(playing a psychotic, glitzy eunuch who has taken over the Government) is told the painful truth by a wise old counselor. The eunuch rewards him with a slap across the face … which sends the old man shooting through the air, across the room, and into an upper wall, before crashing in a bloody heap to the floor — all in the blink of an eye. That’s Lu Chin-ku
for you (as is the moment in
Return of Bastard Swordsman
when a super-powered warrior grips another under the ribs, causing him to vomit blood like a firehose which paints a gigantic white marble sculpture red).

Finally, there’s Tang Chia
himself. Although he avidly avoided the director’s chair for much of his career, as the epoch of the Shaw Studio film units drew to a close, the opportunity to create his own films became more pronounced. Chia tested the waters with
Shaolin Prince
(1982) and
Shaolin Intruders
(1984) — two elaborate phantasmagoricals that reflected the independent influence of Yuen Wo-ping
, who, when left to his own devices, created similar wire-wrought extravaganzas (but more on that later). Although colorful and imaginative, they came as quite a surprise to audiences used to Chia’s previous, smooth, sophisticated work.

As the sun set on the Shaw’s film units, Chia was no doubt aware that his time in the director’s chair was limited, and that his next choice for a personal project could be his last. For whatever reason,
Opium and the Kung Fu Master
(1984) was as different from
Shaolin Prince/Intruders
as
Iron Man
(2008) was from
Iron Giant
(1999). Working in tandem with planner Ling Yun from a scenario by Huang Ying, Chia decided to deconstruct the classic Cantonese kung fu action comedy.

Inspired by a tale of the Ten Tigers of Kwangtung leader’s alleged addiction, Chia was going to symbolize the drug culture’s insidious influence by letting its presence in his film destroy everything audiences had come to expect from the genre. As the film starts, all the clichés and stereotypes are in place: from the artificial-looking sets to the goofy Cantonese comedy characters to even the Peking Opera
-esque “Mr. Spock-style” eyebrows painted on the hero.

But as the title opiate takes hold, audience expectations begin to break down. The comedy becomes tragedy, the love story is shattered, and the student/teacher relationship is turned upside down. Tang Chia
himself plays the kung fu master’s blind sifu, who is forced to become his doctor and counselor as our hero must survive going cold turkey just in time for the emotional, action-packed finale.

To accomplish his goal, Chia called upon many of his friends. There are no fewer than a half-dozen martial art directors on the film, including, of course, Chia himself, his longtime assistant Huang Pei-chi
, as well as co-star Li Hai-sheng
(not to mention Yuan Pin
, Yuan Hua
, and Chiang Chuan
). Knowing the end was near may have inspired Chia to give as many associates as much behind-the-camera experience as possible to help them in future endeavors.

And the end was, indeed, near. Liu Chia-liang
was in China directing Jet Li
’s third movie,
Martial Arts of Shaolin
(1986) when the official word reached him. The Shaw Brothers
Film Units would be terminated, and those who weren’t transferring to the television units were out of a job. The Golden Age of Chinese Kung Fu Films was over. The New Wave had already begun, but it certainly didn’t seem as if there was room in it for such veteran workhorses as Chang Cheh
and Liang.

Most of the actors would be fine. Shaw’s most versatile and honored performer, Ku Feng
, was too good not to get work. Having played everything from venal martial arts masters (
Avenging Eagle
) to handicapped cuckolds (as in 1982’s
Tiger Killer
), and everything in between during more than two hundred and fifty performances, he was ready for more outside the studio walls. The same was probably true of the kung fu stuntmen, villains, and supporting actors. Wang Lung-wei
, Kao Fei
, Li Hai-sheng
, and the rest would be seen again. Likewise for such major stars as Ti Lung
, David Chiang
, Chen Kuan-tai
, Lo Lieh
, and Gordon Liu
.