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Film: Legend Of The Fist: The Return Of Chen Zhen
Release date: 31st January 2011
Certificate: 18
Running time: 102 mins
Director: Andrew Lau Wai-keung
Starring: Donnie Yen, Shu Qi, Anthony Wong, Huang Bo, Zhou Yang
Genre: Action/Drama/History/Martial Arts
Studio: Metrodome
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: Hong Kong/China
One is an acclaimed director, the other an ever-growing martial arts man-of-the-moment. Their source material is Bruce Lee’s finest hour. How does this first collaboration between Andrew Lau and Donnie Yen shape up?
In this sequel to the mid-90s television remake of Bruce Lee’s Fist Of Fury, Legend Of The Fist sees Chen Zhen returning from fighting in World War One and assuming the identity of a fallen comrade in order to evade the Japanese Imperialists who believed that he died years before.
Becoming a partner in the famed Casablanca nightclub in Shanghai, run by the likeable Mr Liu (Wong), he falls for the charms of Kiki (Shu Qi) a beautiful singer/hostess at the club, not knowing that she is really a Japanese spy.
As the Japanese Imperial might grows stronger and more impressive, Chen’s sense of righteousness prevents him from simply sitting in the shadows. Adopting a secret identity as ‘The Masked Warrior’, he stalks the streets at night and sabotages the Japanese villains’ assassination attempts, quickly becoming a scourge of the Imperialists, and a mythologized hero to the locals.
Challenged to a wager by the evil Colonel Chikarasishi (Kohata), whereby they bet on how many dissident Chinese intellectuals the Japanese can assassinate before ‘The Masked Warrior’, Chen Zhen is drawn deeper and deeper into a desperate fight for freedom…
Opening with an intense First World War/No Man’s Land sequence featuring Donnie Yen in super-heroic mode, Legend Of The Fist establishes an extremely arresting visual style that sets the tone for a classic extravaganza of action. Along the way, the ‘classic’ adjective begins to fade, but the film remains very much the kind of thrilling fight movie that Hong Kong and China do better than anyone else.
This opening sequence, featuring Yen’s Chen Zhen battling German soldiers with just his fists, feet and occasional knives, is pure cinematic adrenaline - Lau’s stylised visuals and Yen’s kinetic choreography creating a comic book-like Saving Private Ryan. Not only does the intensity and breathtaking action set a bar so high that what follows does not always clear it, but its brief exploration of the experience of Chinese labourers conscripted (in lieu of an army) to aid the British in World War One is fascinating and unfamiliar - and instantly compelling. By the time the film returns to 1920s Shanghai, one can’t help feeling that they are leaving a more interesting film (perhaps even several) behind to tell the kind of story we’ve seen many times before.
The comic book sensibility of the prologue is retained in a very colourful depiction of occupied Shanghai, which is a pleasing layer of a gloss on a film that settles into a straightforward story of rebellion, plotting, counter-plotting and treachery, enlivened mostly by Anthony Wong’s gravitas, Shu Qi’s luminescent star quality (never more in evidence), and the presence of Donnie Yen promising that some sort of wicked beat-down is never too far away.
The film aims for political intrigue, but keeps it mostly hinted-at and often off-screen. It might play well for local audiences who can fill in the gaps, but these gaps will be occasionally frustrating for an international viewer. The filmmakers do little to prompt us to care about the story and characters beyond painting very distinct shades of good (the Chinese) and evil (everyone else, especially the Japanese). Most interesting, and even troubling, from a cinema point of view, is the presence of Gordon Chan in the credits, as both producer and co-writer. Chan directed the 1994 remake of Fist Of Fury, starring Jet Li as Chen Zhen and, in that film, showed at least a willingness to take an even-handed approach to his depiction of the Japanese. Sixteen years later and that even-handedness is sacrificed in favour of a straight-faced, chest-thumping nationalism, which is uncomfortably close to propaganda. Without seeking to excuse the atrocities of Imperialist Japanese of the era, nor dismiss the suffering of the Chinese of the time, one nevertheless is prompted to ponder if the filmmakers might be better served taking a colder, more distant view of the historical period - with several characters having monologues about the importance of national unity, making references to the list of foreign forces throughout history who tried and failed to overrun China, it is inescapable that the film aims to speak to contemporary audiences, as though China still fights the battles of centuries ago. A cause for concern, yes, but also fascinating from an academic standpoint.
But the nationalism question is really one for the viewers to informally discuss after the credits have rolled. There is more to Legend Of The Fist, though perhaps not as much more as a film this expensive warrants. It is overly straightforward, at times frustratingly so, the script doing nothing to elicit audience sympathy beyond piling one Japanese atrocity upon another (assassination, hanging, torture, rape), near-pummelling the viewer into agreeing that vengeance must be sought, even if we’re not angrily clamouring for it ourselves.
The film’s opening act - after the ingenuous prologue - serves to get all its characters in place so as to justify the action sequences most punters are paying for. Unfortunately, this results in something of a plodding, listless narrative in which one struggles to fathom certain characters’ motivations and aims, and many seem to have none at all - for example, Anthony Wong’s sympathetic nightclub owner has no real objective other than to keep his club open and leave his hands clean of blood (admirable, to be sure, but the character hovers around the story, adding no drive or momentum to the narrative). Chen Zhen is on a crusade to protect Chinese dissidents from the oppressive Japanese but, aside from an intriguing wager made between Chen and the Japanese villain Chikarasishi (that would have perhaps made the basis for an excellent action film all on its own), the film seems to assume that ‘fighting the Japanese’ is all the justification that is required.
That the film is not especially emotionally involving is a surprise when one considers who is at the helm. Andrew Lau is responsible for some of the more visceral and engaging moments in recent Hong Kong popular cinema (consider his Young And Dangerous movies, or the original Infernal Affairs), but here he shows an oddly clumsy hand with character and emotion. A low-key dialogue scene between Chen Zhen and Kiki, where each almost stumble upon the other’s real identity, is an alienating mix of repetitive questioning and overblown fake-outs, none of which creates any suspense. This romantic subplot (which develops along a pleasantly chaste and subtle trajectory) culminates in an emotional climax that would have had immense impact had their earlier flirtation been relatable. The actors work hard, and have chemistry, but the filmmakers give them little to work with beyond the expectation that the audience simply ‘knows’ the beautiful leading lady and debonair leading man must have feelings for each other. Viewers have been conditioned to expect more convincing humanity from Andrew Lau.
More curious is Lau’s liberal use of homage - not just Bruce Lee in general, but The Dark Knight (the framing and general presentation of Yen’s ‘Masked Warrior’ is highly reminiscent of Christopher Nolan’s depiction of Batman) and even Mad Men (Chen Zhen’s identity swap) - which effectively stamps out the directorial voice that boomed so loudly through every frame of his Young And Dangerous series. Indeed, Legend Of The Fist draws direct comparison with some of Lau’s misfires from a decade ago - Storm Riders and A Man Called Hero - where his feel for character and moral ambiguity could not coexist with the demands of a big budget epic movie. Legend Of The Fist is better than both those films, but it does not come close to the cinematic brilliance of Lau’s Triad movies.
Lau benefits from a committed cast that works very hard. Donnie Yen has perhaps always carried himself like a leading man but, here, he confirms his status as a peer of, rather than successor to, Jackie Chan or Jet Li. Infusing his natural, unsuppressible ‘badassery’ with the stoically righteous and relatable qualities that first came to the fore in Ip Man, Yen holds the movie together, and keeps the audience on his side even when they’re not always sure what, exactly, he wants to gain beyond beating up Japanese people. He may be no Bruce Lee, but he is a magnificent Donnie Yen.
Legend Of The Fist is an event movie, and it has an event movie cast. Frequent Lau collaborator Anthony Wong is an immense asset to the film, bringing life to a character not given much by the script. Shu Qi, always growing and improving, manages to garner sympathy for a plot device. Shawn Yue turns up in an under-written role as the son of an off-screen Chinese General, whose motives and allegiances aren’t always clear. Huang Bo does well in the one comic-relief role in the film, even if his Inspector character oscillates between cowardly and upstanding at the script’s convenience.
Of course, plot and characterisation aren’t the main course for aficionados of this genre, and Donnie Yen, as action director, ensures that fight fans eat heartily with Legend Of The Fist. His recent output since his ground-breaking work on Kill Zone is very much ‘a tale of two Donnies’. There is the hard-hitting, grounded and realistic fight staging of Kill Zone and Flashpoint, where Yen shows a keen awareness of mixed martial arts and a commitment to authenticity; the other side of the coin is the over-the-top, outrageous excesses of films like Dragon Tiger Gate - and it is into this category that Legend Of The Fist falls. While Yen incorporates flashes of Jiu-Jitsu and even Wing Chun into his action here, the emphasis is squarely on comic-book style, almost supernatural feats that, in the wrong hands, can alienate an audience. Yen’s creativity with the OTT fight scenes is unmatched in this era, but there remains throughout Legend Of The Fist the niggling suspicion that, had he toned it down, it would have boosted the intensity of the fight scenes, and made us care in ways that the script simply does not. Had he lived, there is no doubt that Bruce Lee would have certainly approved of Yen’s cinematic mixed martial arts trailblazing; it is interesting to ponder what he would made of this updating of his Chen Zhen character.
This is not to take away from the action on show, for it is clearly the main reason to catch Legend Of The Fist. Always exciting, always breathtaking, and never predictable, it will hopefully ensure a decent cinema and DVD run for this movie - and if it prompts new converts to check out some of Yen’s superior back catalogue, then so much the better.
Given the talent involved, it was not unreasonable to expect something of a classic. This is far from it, but its set-pieces still contain more genuine imagination and excitement than is likely to be found anywhere else - especially in the thrilling prologue sequence, which prompts hope from this reviewer that, someday soon, the conscripted Chinese soldiers in World War One get the cinematic tribute they truly deserve. JN
Lau Wai-keung directs this martial arts action drama set in Japanese-occupied 1920s Shanghai.
Seven years after the apparent death of Chen Zhen (portrayed by Bruce Lee in the 1972 film Fist Of Fury, and played here by Donnie Yen), the avenging hero returns.
When he is not courting sultry nightclub singer Kiki (Shu Qi), Zhen takes it upon himself to stop the wave of assassinations sweeping Shanghai, donning a black mask to infiltrate the mob and track down the Japanese hitmen who have been killing off those named in their top-secret Death List.
Film: Legend Of The Fist: The Return Of Chen Zhen
Release date: 31st January 2011
Certificate: 18
Running time: 102 mins
Director: Andrew Lau Wai-keung
Starring: Donnie Yen, Shu Qi, Anthony Wong, Huang Bo, Zhou Yang
Genre: Action/Drama/History/Martial Arts
Studio: Metrodome
Format: DVD & Blu-ray
Country: Hong Kong/China
Film: Infernal Affairs III
Release date: 26th September 2005
Certificate: 15
Running time: 118 mins
Director: Andrew Lau Wai-Keung & Alan Mak
Starring: Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Andy Lau, Leon Lai, Daoming Chen, Kelly Chen
Genre: Action/Crime/Drama/Thriller
Studio: Tartan
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong/China
The first movie in the Infernal Affairs trilogy was so good, it helped win Martin Scorsese his long-awaited Oscar for another film. Its prequel follow-up established an epic urban grandeur the like of which had rarely been seen in Hong Kong cinema before. Box-office receipts were good, worldwide critical acclaim was high. Andrew Lau and Alan Mak visit the well one last time - has it, by now, run dry?
In Infernal Affairs III, we pick up where we left off - and just before we came in. Ten months after the devastating conclusion of the first film, we return to ask the question - did Ming (Andy Lau) the ‘victor’ of that original cat-and-mouse game truly escape his “continuous hell?” The continuing saga is juxtaposed with events leading up to the film’s opening, the viewer a bystander helplessly watching two tragedies leading into their inevitable sad conclusion.
Ming becomes obsessed with atoning for his life of deception and murder, and, when he becomes convinced that old boss Sam has another mole inside the police department, he determines that arresting him will make up for everything that he did. But is Ming, whose mental state is quickly deteriorating, up to the task?
Meanwhile, in the recent past, we fill in the gaps in the life of undercover cop Yan (Tony Leung) as his life inches inexorably closer to the tragedy of the first film. The events that led up to the first film’s endgame have direct implications on Ming’s story in the present - because, as always in an Infernal Affairs film, things are never quite what they seem…
No film series, no matter how inspired, is completely immune from the law of diminishing returns, and the Infernal Affairs series is no different. That is not to say Infernal Affairs III is not good. In fact, by any standards, Part III is a fine trilogy conclusion, boasting as it does a committed performance from Andy Lau, who gets deeper into the character of Ming as the tortured detective mentally unravels from the consequences of his actions in Part I. Haunted, falling apart and being drawn helplessly into his “continuous hell,” Ming’s guilt breeds a potentially deadly paranoia, and it is to Lau’s credit that he anchors a sharp turn in a new direction for a formerly down-to-earth, gritty crime drama. Where Parts I and II presented “continuous hell” as purely an existential construct, played out against a grimy urban backdrop, Part III essays the psychology of its protagonist. As such, it lacks the emotional grandeur of - especially - the first film, but with Lau giving it everything without, crucially, straying into ‘hammy’ territory, the concluding part of the trilogy still packs a heavy emotional punch.
Lau might steal the show in Part III, but there is fine work to be found throughout the cast - most notably with Leon Lai, whose natural, appropriate impassivity is put to the best use since his turn in Wong Kar-wai’s Fallen Angels. Lai has one of the more interesting characters in the film, his Detective Yeung is a cold, calculating cop whose motives are murky, and the means used to achieve them murkier still. His early bullying of a nightclub owner is a crucial injection of energy into the film, as the loyal audience wonders if there’s any new ground to cover with Yan, Ming, Sam and Wong.
And upon closer inspection, one suspects that it was ground perhaps best left unexplored. Unlike Part II, Part III has little to add to the first film but, by this point, enriching the Infernal Affairs mythology does not seem to be the paramount concern of the filmmakers. By employing a dual narrative - one half taking place six months before the events of the first film, the other half ten months after - Lau and Mak give themselves license to bring back dead characters, making the final film more of an excuse for a cast reunion than a necessary continuation of the saga. The effect is certainly satisfying on an aesthetic level - Part III has one of the ‘starriest’ casts in recent Hong Kong cinema - but such an obvious concession to crowd-pleasing makes Part III instantly a lighter affair than its predecessors. Its commitment to accommodating its marquee names results in its split narrative, not to mention detours into the unravelling psyche of its protagonist, occasionally confusing. Audiences are used to having to pay close attention to the plot of an Infernal Affairs movie by now, but Part III slips the narrative leash more than once (the appearance, for example, of Andy Lau and Leon Lai in rather prominent roles in the flashback sequences keeps a viewer at a distance trying to figure out how this all fits together, unlike the first two movies, which kept the viewer firmly in the role of keenly-observing passenger on board a thrilling cinematic ride). But then, of course, directors Lau and Mak have a quite marvellous cast to ensure the viewer remains hooked, even when they’re slightly befuddled.
Furthermore, while the present day continuation of the Infernal Affairs story contains high levels of intrigue and suspense (even if it cannot hope to jump the bar set by the original), the flashback scenario comes loaded with a sense of inevitability it never quite shakes off, and thus has less in the way of true narrative momentum. Tony Leung is as charismatic and watchable as ever, and he certainly works extremely hard, but it just never feels like an essential chapter of the saga (though the explanation of how Yan came to be wearing a cast on his arm in Part I is a nice touch).
Not a perfect film then but, as third chapters go, Infernal Affairs III is exemplary. Where Part II forsook the first film’s central theme of redemption, and the struggle to be good, Part III places that time-worn, but always compelling cinematic theme back where it belongs - front and centre. It may offer nothing in the way of thematic conclusion, save a stinging sense of existential futility, or even anything new to say on the subject, but it grounds the more melodramatic parts of the film, and lends it an air of relevance that might not be entirely genuine.
At the conclusion of the film, which takes the viewer right up to the opening of a memorable early scene from the original movie, the viewer is in no doubt that a thrilling, memorable landmark trilogy has come to a close. JN
Film: Infernal Affairs II
Release date: 10th January 2005
Certificate: 15
Running time: 150 mins
Director: Andrew Lau Wai-Keung & Alan Mak
Starring: Anthony Wong Chau-sang, Eric Tsang, Carina Lau, Francis Ng, Edison Chen
Genre: Action/Crime/Drama/Thriller
Studio: Tartan
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong/China/Singapore
That there was a sequel to Infernal Affairs is not a surprise. In Hong Kong, if something works, odds are it will be sequelised, or simply ripped off. Even so, the bar was high for Infernal Affairs II. Did directors Andrew Lau and Alan Mak clear it, or did their endeavours fall short?
In Infernal Affairs II, Andrew Lau and Alan Mak take us back ten years, to the origins of their tragic tale. Expanding on the first film’s prologue, we see how Yan (Shawn Yue) fared once thrust into the Triad underworld, and how Ming (Edison Chen) wormed fell inextricably under the spell of Sam (Tsang).
As the drama unfolds, and the characters’ fates inch inexorably closer to the emotional and existential carnage of the first film, we see how Yan was damned by family connections he could not escape, and how Ming came to enjoy power and influence just a little bit too much…
The first Infernal Affairs was an expertly crafted, intelligent and sophisticated thriller, full of low-key suspense and underplayed tension. Part II - a prequel covering the years 1991-1997 (though any wider, socio-metaphorical relevance of the latter year is unexplored) - retains the character-first storytelling of its predecessor, but the emphasis is placed more heavily on drama than on tension. This is an origin story, showing how Yan and Ming came to be in the “continuous hell” in which we found them as grown-ups. As such, there is less of the ingenuous set-pieces and stunning plot twists, and much more emotional conflict and angst. The cat-and-mouse aspect of Part I is missed, but what is here is absolutely enthralling - because what made the first film work so well was its strong, multi-layered, contradictory characters. Lau and Mak, returning as co-directors, know that they can’t pull off the same cinematic miracle twice, and go in a brand new, exciting and fascinating direction with their saga, which begins to take on an operatic dimension.
This time, the co-protagonists are played by younger actors Shawn Yue and Edison Chen (both of whom made fleeting cameos in the first film’s establishing prologue, the continuity one of the most pleasing elements of Part II). Both are lightweight in comparison to their older counterparts - Yue’s younger Yan is a restless ball of energy, wide-eyed and more outwardly conflicted; Chen’s Ming is a sullen young man, almost eagerly accepting onto his shoulders the weight of his double-life, even as it is only just getting underway. It is a sharp contrast with the performances of the older actors, but a smart choice by the cast and filmmakers - this is our conflicted protagonists at the beginning of their long and tortuous roads. The contrast makes the prequel less of your usual quickie Hong Kong cash-in, and more of a necessary expansion of the characters and urban mythology.
The chief appeal of this second film in the saga is the performances of Anthony Wong and Eric Tsang, playing younger versions of their characters, before they became deadly enemies. To see them on friendly terms is arresting, and instantly fascinating, their straight-faced jousting of the first film replaced by a more jovial verbal sparring, drowning in tragic subtext. As cop and crook (in both generations) find themselves in ever deeper holes, the tension felt by the audience lies in not in the fears for their safety (because we know all four must survive this film to make it to the original), but in the anticipation of how they make their escape - the audience feels the dread of the “continuous hell” that we know is just beyond the horizon for them all.
Elsewhere, new faces play new characters, broadening the scope of the film to an almost epic degree. Francis Ng and Roy Cheung (both veteran villains of Andrew Lau’s Young And Dangerous series) bring acting muscle to brand new roles un-hinted at in Part I. Ng, in particular, whose reluctant Triad contains clear echoes of Al Pacino’s Michael Corleone in the first two Godfather movies (to which some have compared Infernal Affairs as a Hong Kong equivalent), and brings a new dimension to series. Ng’s performance is an affecting one, and serves to give deeper meaning to much of Tony Leung’s performance in the original movie. Cheung, in an almost wordless role as Ng’s imposing right-hand man, is a dynamic physical presence, prompting an audience to realise just how under-utilised he is in other movies.
In its writing and casting, Part II even manages to correct the glaring flaw of the first film by including a plum role for an actress. Carina Lau almost walks away with the whole film as Mary, girlfriend of Sam, whose curious, pseudo-oedipal relationship with Edison Chen’s Ming is the most compelling aspect of the film. Given that it is a relationship not hinted at in the original film, Lau and Mak work cinematic wonders to ensure that it enhances the characterisation of Ming, as played by Andy Lau.
And this gem of a screen pairing just about sums up the second film in the trilogy - a thrilling surprise of a picture that enriches repeat viewings of the (mildly superior) first film, making the viewer appreciate it even more, and not simply by favourable comparison. Andrew Lau and Alan Mak are beginning to reveal the width and breadth of the canvas on which they are painting an epic Hong Kong crime drama - the question remained, could they pull it off one more time?
A superb achievement, to offer something different while remaining faithful to the original film. Comparisons to first two Godfather movies is not hyperbole. JN
Film: Infernal Affairs
Release date: 28th June 2004
Certificate: 15
Running time: 101 mins
Director: Andrew Lau Wai-Keung & Alan Mak
Starring: Andy Lau, Tony Leung Chiu Wai, Anthony Wong Chau-sang, Eric Tsang, Kelly Chen
Genre: Crime/Mystery/Thriller
Studio: Tartan
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong
When Infernal Affairs was released in Hong Kong, in 2002, it was described by the media as a ‘box office miracle’, resuscitating an ailing local film industry that had been experiencing one of its leanest periods. In 2006, its core story was reintroduced to international audiences as The Departed, the film which would go on to win the Best Picture Oscar. Eight years on, does it still stand up as one of the finest achievements in contemporary Asian cinema?
Yan (Tony Leung) and Ming (Andy Lau) are both Hong Kong police officers. They are also both in the employ of ruthless Triad kingpin Sam (Eric Tsang). How is this possible? Both are moles. Yan was plucked out of the police training academy as a teenager to work undercover with criminals, an assignment that has dragged on for nearly ten years, wreaking havoc on his soul and psyche in the process. Ming grew up under the guidance of Sam, and entered the police force specifically to be Sam’s man-on-the-inside.
Now, the double lives led by both men are beginning to cross, as the determined Superintendent Wong (Anthony Wong) makes it his mission to take down Sam. Yan and Ming are thrown into the deadliest game of cat-and-mouse, where the victor will reclaim his identity and honour, while the loser will spend eternity in “continuous hell…”
Commercial Hong Kong cinema, with its basic business model of quick productions generating even quicker profits, is not renowned for its traditions of slick plotting and deep characterisation. The emphasis has always been on spectacle filmmaking, the scripts - such as they are/were - functioning to justify the set-pieces, for which Hong Kong film has long been justly renowned. So, it was no surprise that Infernal Affairs - a film which effortlessly marries Hong Kong cool with a tight script full of ingenuous suspense sequences and rich character - was a standout film in the first half of the noughties, becoming a bit of a breakout cult hit when released internationally.
On first viewing, Infernal Affairs feels like a brand new experience: an intriguing set-up giving its brilliantly cast co-lead roles they may never better; and expertly crafted suspense sequences that prompt much hand-wringing from the audience (look no further than the first act drug bust sequence, with Yan and Ming behind enemy lines, desperately trying to help their real bosses, not to mention keep themselves alive afterwards; that it revolves around sly morse-code communication makes it all the more thrilling). Yet, what is most notable about the film is the way it builds on Hong Kong cinema tradition to provide that brand new experience. Infernal Affairs is the next logical step in the evolution of the Cantonese gangster movie, a direct descendant of John Woo’s equally seminal 1986 movie A Better Tomorrow, his 1989 masterpiece The Killer, and Andrew Lau’s own mid-90s Young And Dangerous saga. Those earlier films are its aesthetic, formal foundations to spin a complex, elusive tale, with an appealingly grounded, down-to-earth sensibility not found in its genre ancestors. John Woo’s films, with Chow Yun-fat in the lead role, were instant myths; the Young And Dangerous movies were relentlessly kinetic, cinematic manga, with a troublingly romantic view of the Triad lifestyle. Infernal Affairs, in contrast, combines the very best elements of urban Hong Kong cinema - the enthralling drama of Woo’s heroic bloodshed, combined with Lau’s energy and innate cool; and, topping it off, the existential ponderings connoisseurs would most frequently associate with Wong Kar-wai.
That the film recalls Wong Kar-wai’s work should be no surprise. Co-director Lau, who is also co-credited with cinematography, is a veteran collaborator of Wong’s, serving as cinematographer on As Tears Go By and sharing credit on Chungking Express with Christopher Doyle, who is credited here as Visual Consultant. Quite what Doyle’s role, and his level of influence was is perhaps unknowable upon viewing, but there’s no denying that Infernal Affairs has a unique visual look that is not quite replicated or matched in its two sequels. Hong Kong has rarely looked better than it does here; the camera capturing the beauty of the island, while also reflecting the characters’ growing sense of paranoia and isolation. Even scenes taking place in broad daylight, on rooftops overlooking the magnificent harbour, somehow manage to feel claustrophobic.
But this is also a testament to a tight script, spinning wickedly from its simple but ingenuous set-up. By placing utmost priority on the central characters, Infernal Affairs plays like an urban Shakespearean tragedy, with snap decisions and (dis)honourable impulses creating knock-on effects that spill out of the characters’ control. To claw their way out of one mess, Yan and Ming have to place themselves in an even bigger mess, creating a pervading sense of doom (or, more poetically, the concept of “continuous hell,” introduced in a subtitled Buddhist proverb over the film’s closing credits) looms large, even in the quiet, expository scenes. Yan and Ming live under a dark cloud of threat and retribution, the cloud constructed of their own existential guilt.
Co-directors Lau and Mak pull off a master-stroke with the central casting of Tony Leung and Andy Lau. Veterans of Hong Kong cinema, with numerous popular and art house films on their CVs, they were guaranteed to bring in as many mainstream as discerning viewers; their well-matched charisma sells the more stylised sequences and occasional unlikely plot-turn/contrivance; and their sheer talent conveys the slowly-mounting inner agony of both men.
Lau’s turn here was something of a surprise. One of the biggest box-office draws in all of Hong Kong cinema, known internationally for more mainstream, genre films, his quiet intensity is as alluring as it is despicable; Ming’s mouth may tell his colleagues one thing, but his eyes tell the audience another. Though he expresses a wish to simply break free of Sam’s grip, and live up to the high-achieving persona he has created for himself, Ming’s shifty, alert gaze is a window into a mind working overtime to figure out how best to save his own skin, whatever the cost.
In any other year, Andy Lau would have won the Hong Kong Film Best Actor award for which he was nominated, but the lone superior performance was in the same film. As Yan, Tony Leung brings all of the quiet, soulful sadness of his earlier award-winning role in Wong Kar-wai’s In the Mood For Love, infusing it with a more volatile, unhinged personality than we regularly see from him. With the retrospect provided by the sequels, it is easy for the audience to imagine the angst and anguish rioting in Yan’s heart; but in the first Infernal Affairs all Leung had to work with was a breakneck prologue establishing the premise. Nevertheless, ten years of deception and paranoia is etched into Leung’s face. It is a magnificent performance.
The supporting cast are not afforded the time and attention to match the central pair, but there is a brace of truly wonderful turns from Anthony Wong, whose gravitas elevates a slightly underwritten superior officer role, de facto father figure to both moles. The surprise package of the secondary roles is Eric Tsang, who eschews the buffoon persona he perfected in Sammo Hung’s Lucky Stars series (the films for which he is perhaps best known internationally) in favour of a startlingly villainous, oddly charismatic Triad boss.
Infernal Affairs is an undoubted classic of its genre, though not without the odd flaw. Its plot is dependent on contrivances made forgivable by the strength of the theme and characterisation, even if the directors’ touch with characterisation is not extended to any of the three female roles. Under-written and underplayed to the point of irrelevance, neither Kelly Chen as Yan’s appointed psychiatrist, Sammi Cheng as Ming’s live-in girlfriend (whose aspiring novelist character often feels like a missed opportunity), or Elva Hsiao as an old flame of Yan’s make a mark on the film - theirs being ‘written’ emotions that do not match the organic, genuine and raw emotions of the male cast. Cheng is a trophy girlfriend, there to represent what Ming has put at risk with his double-dealing; Chen serves as a counter-point in scenes acting as breathing space between plot sequences, her half-hearted exposition and musings telling the audience nothing Tony Leung isn’t making clearer just with his eyes; and poor Hsiao has a thankless role where she gets misty-eyed over a clichéd and obvious back-story at odds with the vitality of the rest of the film.
But these niggles are ones the viewer applies after the fact. Put simply, Infernal Affairs is a film about troubled men, and if the female characters don’t contribute much to proceedings, they certainly don’t subtract from a viewer’s enjoyment of a well-crafted, slyly plotted, and brilliantly acted thriller that is one of the finest, most enjoyable, and gripping films of its decade.
Infernal Affairs has certainly left a legacy, not just in the obvious cribbing of its visual and tonal stylings in Hong Kong/Asian cinema. As noted above, it formed the basis of Martin Scorsese’s The Departed, which went on to worldwide success, as well as awards glory - in its wake came some pleasingly sophisticated crime dramas and thrillers, most notably and recently in the directorial work of Ben Affleck, whose Gone Baby Gone and The Town owe a clear debt to Scorsese’s film and, by extension, to Scorsese’s source, Infernal Affairs. To return to the very beginning of this retrospective, it was said upon its release that the original Infernal Affairs was a ‘box office miracle’ in Hong Kong - a little bit of that miracle was sprinkled over Hollywood, and it was the movie-going public that benefited. Superlatives are exhausted. See this film if you haven’t already. JN
