Films of Fury: The Kung Fu Movie Book (37 page)

Kevin Eastman
and Peter Laird
had originally created the
Teenage Mutant Ninja
Turtles
as something of a joke, but they wrote and drew their independent comic book seriously as an homage celebrating their love of great martial arts movies. The public responded to these “heroes on a half shell,” and especially to Eastman and Laird’s honest conviction. Once a savvy marketing genius ran with the idea, these pizza-loving creatures (Donatello, Leonardo, Michelangelo, and Raphael, named for famous artists), were everywhere — which was where producer Kim Dawson
and writer Bobby Herbeck
found them.

Making a deal with all concerned, they signed director Steven Barron
. Barron became famous with a series of innovative music videos, including Dire Straits’
Money for Nothing,
A-ha’s
Take on
Me,
and Michael Jackson’s
Billie Jean.
His first movie, however, was a different story.
Electric Dreams
(1984) was hobbled by a silly script, but there was no question that it was the work of an original thinker. His thought for the Turtles was simple: the more outlandish the characters, the more realistic the atmosphere and photography had to be. It would be a concept that he had to continually fight for, but one that helped make the first
Teenage Mutant Ninja
Turtles
(1990) film the only one worth watching.

The animatronic suits for the leading characters were made by Jim Henson
’s Creature Shop. But to fill those tiny suits required very small, very capable martial artists. They were three Asians and three Americans: Yuen Mo-chow
, Choi Nam-ip
, Chi Wai-chiang
, Reggie Barnes
, Ernie Reyes Jr
., and Kenn Troum
.

“You could hardly see in there, and you could hardly breathe,” Troum told me. “And, oh yeah, you sweat buckets as well.”

While Pat Johnson
, veteran of the first four
Karate Kid
pictures (1984, 1986, 1989, and 1994) handled the stunts, the kung fu consultants were Chun Wai “Brandy” Yuen
(who worked with Sammo Hung
on
Dreadnaught
and
Pedicab Driver
, among others) and Tak Wai “Billy” Liu
.

“They all conferred together,” said Troum, “but it was usually Brandy and Billy who worked with us on the more intricate kicks and hits.”

This combination of American and Hong Kong experience lent an authenticity that audiences around the world appreciated. It came together in an international hit, which the producers then squandered with inferior sequels that upped the level of absurdity while diminishing the realistic look of the original.

The Turtles’ success in theaters, TV, and toy stores made networks and studios far more receptive to Asian concepts that they had rejected in previous years. For instance, Tokyo producers had been trying to convince American television stations that the many teams of costumed superheroes that were beloved in Japan
would also be as big a hit in America. The biggest costumed superhero in Japan, in both size and success was
Ultraman
, but despite many attempts to Westernize him, his truncated, dubbed appearances on English-speaking television, and in American comic books, were mostly forgotten.

The problem seemed to be the pesky differences between Eastern and Western cultures.

To see one of these Japanese superhero shows was essentially to see them all. They all started with an interchangeable alien villain deciding to take over the earth. The only thing standing in their way is a group of supernaturally powered teenagers. So every week a new monster is dispatched to defeat the heroes and destroy the population. The first half of these efforts was all setup and the second half was all action. Mobs of biodegradable thugs are thrown against the heroes to soften them up, only to be defeated easily. The main monster would then appear and trash the town as well as the costumed teens, until the kids banded together into a gigantic robot. The monster would then grow magically to giant size and slug it out until the team blew him up. Then there would be just enough time for a joke or important life lesson.

Television executives took one look at these redundant, silly shows — albeit colorful and action-packed — before dismissing them without a rational thought. Looking for any way in, the Tokyo entrepreneurs even tried getting American producers to laugh with them rather than at them. In the wake of Woody Allen
’s
What’s Up Tiger Lily
(1966), in which Allen redubbed a bad Japanese espionage movie, members of the SCTV comedy troupe did the same for thirteen half-hour episodes of a high-flying Japanese television series. The result,
Dynaman
(1988), was shown on the USA cable network’s
Night Flight
anthology music and comedy series, before disappearing.

Finally, the Saban company convinced Fox television to air what they were calling
Mighty Morphin Power Rangers
(starting in 1993 and still on the air as of this writing), hodge-podged from various seasons of the
Super Sentai
series (which has been running continually since 1975).
They kept the Japanese action sequences while refilming the non-costumed moments with an interracial, English-speaking cast. In fact, to make it even more attractive to its young audience, they made one of the boy heroes (the yellow ranger) into a girl. It didn’t matter. As the long-suffering Japanese producers figured, the series was a big success in the States, spawning two movies as well as many different series.

By the time of the first American film version,
Mighty Morphin Power Rangers
(1995), California (and, eventually, New Zealand) filmmakers were producing most of the material — allowing an actual woman in the yellow ranger’s suit and more kung fu to carry the day. But just like the Turtles before them, subsequent films and TV series were not as good as the first, but, again, just like the Turtles before them, new incarnations continue to be created. As of this writing, brand new versions of both the Turtles and the Rangers are being readied for the Nickelodeon Network, to air alongside the
Kung Fu Panda
TV show.

The question is, will enough people care? A notable percentage of new audiences were turning to videogames for their prime entertainment. There, martial arts in general, and kung fu in particular, is a mainstay. Naturally movie studios tried to get in on the act, with mostly disastrous results.
Mortal Kombat
(1995), in fact, was the only halfway decent movie adaptation of a video game. It helped that the video game itself had more of a back-story than most, but it didn’t help that the game featured more blood than a date with a starving vampire.

The filmmakers, led by director Paul Anderson
, wanted to attract the under-seventeen crowd, so meaningless movement replaced the bone-snapping thrills of the game. Aiding greatly in the film’s acceptance was the game’s driving musical themes, not to mention co-star Robin Shou
— the only one of the leads who actually knew any kung fu. Although Shou contributed some decent wushu to the special effect-laden mix, nothing made much sense in the finished film, and the seemingly slapped-together script constantly undercut whatever involvement the audience might feel. It was even worse in
Mortal Kombat
: Annihilation
(1997), which not only made almost no sense, but wasn’t even remotely exciting. By then the kung fu had been reduced to empty movement, with no intellectual or emotional reason for being.

But then
Rush Hour
premiered in movie theaters, one month after the success of the martial arts-vampire movie
Blade
(1998),
while, a month after that,
Martial Law
premiered on CBS television. Meanwhile, the samurai-sword stylings of the long-running
Highlander
movie series (1986-2007) were still going strong, and, despite the tragic death of Brandon Lee
,
The Crow
was given new life on television in 1998, with Mark Dacascos
— a veteran of many kung fu exploitation films and future host of
Iron Chef America
— as the avenger from beyond the grave.

But this was all just prelude to a game-changing event in 1999. Sure, everyone knew that Jackie Chan
and Jet Li
could do kung-fu, but what about that mythical audience the studio executives always talked about? The ones who would “never” accept a Chinese star? Who would be their hero? Would you believe Keanu Reeves
? Actually it was more Yuen Wo-ping
, because he was the one who choreographed the martial art action in
The Matrix
, the pioneering, influential science fiction epic.

Despite its disappointing sequels,
The Matrix
cannot be underestimated in terms of American kung fu. This time it was American-born actors who were able to learn enough to be almost credible as kung fu fighters. Their stances may be a bit off-balance and their actions more ice than water, but they were credible enough to convince viewers (and, maybe more importantly, other movie stars) that they too could, as Keanu put it on screen, “know kung fu.”

Although the
Matrix
trilogy quickly descended into substandard superhero and sci-fi, that one fight between Reeves and Laurence Fishburne
— mislabeled on screen as “karate
” in true standard-operating-racism ignorance — was enough to whet whole new audiences’ appetites for kung fu … appetites that
Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon
quickly satisfied. Tragically, however, Hollywood raced forward to staunch the hunger as quickly and effectively as they could. The descent started, as many cinematic descents did, with
Star Wars
I: The Phantom Menace
(2000).

The non-spaceship action in the original Star Wars
trilogy —
Star Wars
(1977),
The Empire Strikes Back
(1980) and
Return of the Jedi
(1983) — was clearly based on samurai films. The action in the Star Wars prequel trilogy —
The Phantom Menace
,
Attack of the Clones
(2002) and
Revenge of the Sith
(2005) was clearly based on kung fu films — specifically
Moon Warriors
, the 1993 “
Crouching Tiger
meets
Free Willy
” film directed by Sammo Hung
, which was screened at Lucasfilm prior to the prequels’ production. That film’s acrobatic action was solidly translated into light-saber terms, but the fight choreography, credited to stunt coordinator and sword master Nick Gillard
, was the very model for the internally-closed, pod people version of “kungfoo” known in the trade as “empty movement.”

This style of “empty movement” kungfoo fighting was not just embraced by Hollywood, but bear-hugged with ferocity. It eliminates substance, drama, variability, and inner energy (chi) from the battles, leaving only pretty, nonsensical, repetitive, monotonal, and ultimately, boring combat behind.
The Matrix
sequels quickly added insult to injury by having Wo-ping do soulless variations on Jackie Chan
classics (like the
Project A
fight on the nightclub staircases). But tinseltown wasn’t done with the Yuen family yet. Drew Barrymore
’s film version of the
Charlie’s Angels
(2000) TV series brought in Yuen Cheung-yan
to design, supervise, and train the actors for the film’s lighter-than-air “wire-fu” fights.

Not surprisingly, American filmmakers are far more comfortable with this special effect-assisted fantasy superheroic type of flying, floating, and spinning than gravity-based, chi-powered kung fu. They also far prefer their heroes to be emotionless or angry rather than communicate the kind of serenity great kung fu requires. American movie producers seem intent on almost always showcasing the “biggest s.o.b. in the valley,” leading to endless, increasingly implausible scenes of blank-faced sorts walking away from elaborate explosions without flinching, blinking, tensing, pausing, or reacting with any sort of logical realism. To U.S. producers, this denotes “cool” … rather than ridiculous, pitiful, stupidity.