Films of Fury: The Kung Fu Movie Book (42 page)

The industry was galvanized by this news. Although the idea of a bio-pic about this venerable sifu had long been considered, it took a director of Wong’s stature to kick-start several competing productions. The one with the most momentum was to be directed by Wilson Yip
and star Donnie Yen
. It was the culmination of their collaboration. Edmond Wong, who scripted
Dragon
Tiger Gate
, wrote the screenplay (borrowing many tones and shadings of several Jet Li
films like
Fearless
and
Once Upon a Time in China
). Sammo Hung
, who played the villain in
SPL
, was chosen as choreographer because he had made the greatest wing chun
film up until that time,
The Prodigal Son
. But to avoid conflict with Wong Kar-wei
’s vision, the assembled producers changed their film’s name to
Ip Man
(2008).

By playing the revered sifu, Donnie was able to act from a place of serenity and center he hadn’t previously hinted at. Always the soul of aggression, he was now performing the soul of discretion, and he wore it extremely well. In fact, the first hour of
Ip Man
, before it descends into yet another insidious Japanese versus intrepid Chinese World War
II saga, ranks among the absolute best — especially an extended confrontation between a raging Northern martial artist (Louis Fan) and the balanced Ip, who brilliantly teaches him that it’s not about the sword … it’s about the sword-holder. This scene displays all concerned — the director, writer, choreographer, and actors — at their absolute finest.

It also firmly established Donnie Yen
as the new king of kung fu films. For the first time he was nominated for “Best Actor” awards, and he was now number one on every action film producer’s list.
Ip Man
won most major Asian film awards.
Bodyguards and Assassins
(2009), the powerful drama Donnie co-starred in, won the major film awards the following year. Boasting an almost unbelievably difficult production history (which spawned an impressive documentary of its own called
Development Hell
), this tale of ordinary people sacrificing themselves to protect freedom fighter Sun Yat-sen
from government killers was a brutally beautiful film — highlighted by Donnie’s on-screen match with famed mixed martial arts fighter Cung Le
(not to mention Donnie’s unforgettable final moment running face first into a galloping horse).

After all his years finding his place in the film world, Donnie seems to be reveling in his freedom to choose any project he cares to. In 2010 he starred in
Ip Man
2
,
14 Blades
(a remake of Lu Chin-ku
’s Shaw Brother Studio production of
Secret Service of the Imperial Court
), and the frenetic, nearly farcical
Legend of the Fist
: The Return of Chen Zhen
— a seeming sequel to Jet Li
’s
Fist of Legend
in which Donnie gets to redo
Fist of Fury
once again while also dressing up like Kato
.

At the time of this writing, he is also playing The Monkey King
in a film of the same name, General Guan Yu in
The Lost Bladesman
(2011) and a film that spans the history of kung fu entertainment,
Wu Xia
(2011). At one time he even spoke of teaming up with Tony Jaa
(aka Panom Yeerum) before the Jackie Chan
-inspired, Bruce Lee
-worshipping, inordinately promising muy thai artist and filmmaker threatened retirement after starring in the
Ong Bak
series (2003-2010) and
Tom Yum Goong
(aka
The Protector
, 2005).

But whatever he does, it’s safe to say that he will be giving it his all. “Martial art is a form of expression, an expression from your inner self to your hands and legs,” Donnie has said. “When you watch my films, you’re feeling my heart.”

So what will the future of kung fu films look like? You’ve probably already seen it. It was in the book-ending sequences that began and ended
Shaolin Soccer
(2001) — a classic kung fu comedy directed, written, and starring another Bruce Lee
idolizer, but one where, when you watch his films, you are feeling his funny bone as well as his heart.

Stephen Chow
Sing-chi loves kung fu. More specifically, Stephen Chow
loves kung fu movies. More generally, Stephen Chow
loves Bruce Lee
. “Bruce Lee
’s wushu theories heated up my heart like a fireball,” he said, “helping me through many difficult times.”

And the now internationally famous filmmaker had many difficult times to get through. Raised in poverty, Chow’s one glimmer of hope came from inside a movie theater where Bruce Lee
broke a “No Dogs or Chinese” sign outside a park, and made clear to all comers that the Chinese were not the “weaklings of Asia.”

“I remember it like it was yesterday,” he told me. “Behind wushu is the spirit of always heading forth and never giving up. This spirit, the fighting will, is what I learned from Bruce Lee
films.”

And he used it well. At first he dreamed of being a great martial artist, but he soon realized that the Bruce he loved was also a great actor (and, of course, intrinsically knew that the road to financial reward was littered with film stars, not kung fu masters). Getting by with a little help from his friends, he managed to get into the local television training school, and wound up the host of a children’s program called
430 Space Shuttle
.

“He was known as being a little tough on the kids,” recalls Frank Djeng
, who was the “master of remaster” at Tai Seng
Entertainment when they distributed several of Chow’s comedies on DVD. “Really, almost rude, but it was the same kind of dry comedy he’s famous for now.”

Ironically, when Chow got his big break into films, it was about as far away from comedy as he could get. He fought alongside such stars as Danny Lee
in
Final Judgment
(1988), David Chiang
in
Just Heroes
(1989), and even Jet Li
in
Dragon
Fight
(1989), but displayed far more acting chops than comedy or kung fu chops. In fact, he won a supporting actor award for the first film.

That, happily, led to roles in eight more films in 1990 alone, before visionary producer Ng See-yuen
tapped Chow to star in his satire of Chow Yun-fat
’s
God of Gamblers
.
All for the Winner
(1990) was that rarest of creatures: a lampoon that made more money than the film it was making fun of. Much of its success undoubtedly came from the writing and directing skills of Jeffrey Lau
and kung-fu choreographer Corey Yuen Kwai
, but there was no denying the invaluable contribution of Chow, whose charm, wit, and obvious pleasure was infectious.

His joy at “making it” was also obvious, especially since he appeared in nearly a dozen movies the next year alone, including two
God of Gamblers
sequels. More importantly, he starred in the hitherto fore unthinkable homage to his childhood idol Bruce Lee
,
Fist of Fury
1991
.
Fist of Fury
, of course, was the original title of the film Americans have come to know as
The Chinese Connection
, and was considered sacrosanct to Hong Kong moviegoers. So it’s a clear measure of how loved Chow had become that the audience flocked to, rather than ran from, the undeniably hilarious film.

It was in this film that all the ingredients of Chow’s burgeoning genius were on display: his manic-depressive/passive-aggressive screen persona and uncategorizeable charisma as well as the balance of sympathy and pathos within ingenious plotting. In this case Chow played a man with the most powerful right arm in all of China … as well as the weakest left one. By the time he instituted another popular film series with
Fight Back to School
(1991) — nominally a comedic combination of
Fast Times at Ridgemont High
with
Kindergarten Cop
— his new brand of screen comedy, known as “Mo Lei Tau,” was in place.

It meant that anything could, and often did, happen, from unexpected musical numbers to sudden satires of any commercial, music video, TV show, or other movie that came to mind. That much was obvious. What wasn’t, to Western ears, was how much humor came from what Chow said and how he said it. Literally lost in translation were his brilliant wordplay, puns, insults, local slang and risqué jokes.

It didn’t seem to make much difference. As Chow targeted the legal system (
Justice My Foot
, 1992), Chinese history (
Royal Tramp
, 1992,
King of Beggars
, 1992), James Bond
(
From Beijing with Love
, 1994), television (
Sixty Million Dollar Man
, 1995), the gods (
Mad Monk
, 1993,
A Chinese Odyssey
, 1994), and many other things, he did it with revelatory invention and unrestricted imagination, often creating satires within satires that were understood wherever they were shown. He also took every opportunity to both spotlight and satirize martial arts, whether it was suddenly fighting like Bruce in
Out of the Dark
(1995) — his spoof of both
Ghostbusters
and
Leon
: The Professional
— or turning a karate
confrontation into a cha-cha during several films.

He had been involved in the creation of all his films, whether through ad-libs or dallying with co-writing and co-directing credits, but 1996’s
God of Cookery
(seemingly a parody of Tsui Hark
’s 1995 culinary comedy
The Chinese Feast
) could truly be called a “Stephen Chow
Film.” It was so popular that Jim Carrey
was set to star in an American remake with Chow directing. But that was not to be. Instead, Chow appeared in five more Asian films (even fighting Jackie Chan
’s bodyguard Ken Lo
in
Tricky Master 2000
) before launching his next full-fledged personal production: an homage to the then-dying Hong Kong film industry called
The King of Comedy
(1999).

It was that film that cemented Chow’s intention to get off the cinematic treadmill. Finally, after starring in more than thirty movies in a dozen years, he decided to take the next step. It was time for Chow to utterly control his destiny and take over the world through the power of cinema. Rather than make one movie a month, he labored on his next for two years. But it was worth it.
Shaolin Soccer
, his love letter to kung fu (that started by showing everyday problems and ended with kung fu solving all the problems) won every Asian film award that wasn’t nailed down and broke every box office record … until it hit an American wall.

Despite soccer’s World Cup being played out on the world stage, for reasons still unexplained, the studio which owned the American distribution rights shelved Chow’s delightful movie for years, then gave it only a nominal release with little promotion. It was a distribution mistake Chow had no intention of making again, no matter how much was offered. Three years later, partnered with Sony Pictures Classics, he proved it with
Kung Fu Hustle
, his flat-out valentine to kung fu cinema.

In order to include every kind of screen wushu, Chow initially hired Sammo Hung
to be its action choreographer. “He did the first fight between the Axe Gang and the people of Pig Sty Alley,” Chow told me. The one where the baker, tailor, and coolie reveal their skills. “I think he did a great job.”

But after that, it is rumored that Sammo wasn’t as interested in being involved in the heavily wired and digitalized subsequent sequences. These were not such a problem for the internationally renowned Yuen Wo-ping
. And, even if they were a problem, Master Yuen didn’t let it stop him. “He was always open to new ideas and suggestions,” Chow reported, “no matter how outrageous.” And they did get outrageous, from satirizing
The Matrix
’s mass slaughter of men in black suits, to making a Wile E. Coyote/Road Runner chase sequence come to live-action life.