SPECIAL FEATURE: DVD Review: Sukiyaki Western Django

Film: Sukiyaki Western Django
Release date: 2nd February 2009
Certificate: 15
Running time: 121 mins
Director: Takashi Miike
Starring: Hideaki Itô, Masanobu Ando, Kôichi Satô, Kaori Momoi, Yûsuke Iseya
Genre: Action/Western
Studio: Contender
Format: DVD
Country: Japan

This is an English-language release.

Takashi Miike’s name is synonymous with the effect and style of Asian extreme cinema. Most notably Ichi The Killer, Audition and Three Extremes displayed a penchant for gore, twisted characters and the sickest of themes. With Sukiyaki Western Django, we are given Miike’s take on the spaghetti westerns of old. If this director’s reputation is anything to go by then this project promises a depiction of gun slinging worlds apart from the works of Sergio Leone and John Sturges.

The film starts sometime in the past as loner cowboy Piringo sits by his campfire with rattlesnake for dinner. As a small gang of enemies approach him, he tells the story of an ancient rivalry between the Genji and Heike clans, one which has been going strong since the Genpei war. He reveals a prophecy, “the mighty fall at last, to be no more than dust before the wind,” and in a flash he kills his attackers.

Many years later, and the rivalry lives on as strong as ever in the rural western town of Yuda. The white warriors of the Genji are lead by master swordsman Yoshitsune, and they live in hatred for the red warriors of the Heike and their talisman Kiyomori. The small town is growing poorer by the day, but there is great wealth to be found there - legend hints that lying somewhere in the hills is an ancient treasure of staggering value. The two rival tribes are each determined to find it before the other.

One day a gunman rides into town, and although mystery surrounds his past and his appearance, it soon becomes apparent that he is a highly skilled shot and warrior. Both tribes offer him riches beyond his wildest dreams for his help in finding the treasure. As speculation rises as to who he will join, so too does intensity between two lifelong enemies. Soon the small town breaks into a frenzy of murder, backstabbing and split allegiances...


One of the most striking and eye-brow raisingly strange elements of Miike’s film is the language in which it is spoken. This is technically the Japanese director’s first English-language film, but the delivery of the language comes in a way that is so stalled and disjointed that it is barely coherent. With subtitles throughout, this is no doubt deliberate, and it serves to produce the biggest of eastern/western contrasts - it also brings a smile to hear lines like “paybacks a bitch,” and “smells like victory,” spoken in an accent that makes it sound utterly foreign.

The presentation of the script reeks of homage to the type of dialogue you would expect to find spoken by Eastwood or Brenner - it does indeed borrow much from Sergio Corbucci’s 1966 script for Django, which is the film’s main basis. The homage’s come thick and fast, and not only offers the most comedic of parody but shows the director’s infatuation with the genre. We are treated to showdowns, femme fatales, and a mass of other genre conventions - the notion of the lone gunman who comes to town played by Hideako Ito has Charles Bronson written all over it, and the film’s cowboy town is called ‘Yuda’ based in ‘Nevada’.

With a wealth of spaghetti western elements on show, Takashi Miike’s attention to style is still the most effecting part of the film, and its slight downfall. The film has a cameo role for Quentin Tarantino, and it would seem this film has been done much in the same light as 2007 geeked out parody fest, Grindhouse . Unfortunately, it also shares a very similar smugness, and although you must admire Miike’s ability to create remarkable imagery, this film is not as smart as it thinks it is. The bizarre nature of his work may be his trademark but it comes across in many places here as thoughtless – take, for example, the hyper schizophrenic sheriff whose presence on screen is utterly grating.

The imagery, though, is at times beautifully weird and wonderful. We see a range of heavily painted backdrops, a wardrobe that is a pleasing mix of rugged western and Asian robes and, of course, the gore is top notch. Miike is able to show the most stomach churning and explicit visuals to the most comic effect - in one laugh out loud scene, a protégée of the Heike clan has a sword embedded into his skull to the shock of a silenced room, but as blood spurts from his head, he continues to attempt a block.

Unfortunately, the film’s superior style seems to sacrifice any clear plot, and the narrative is often too busy. A cast of unbelievably perverse and crazy characters compete for the screen, and the action is so hectic and relentless that it is all a bit too much to comprehend – the fight scenes are ruined. That said, for fans of Takashi Miike, this is pure indulgence, and to many, its mindless violence is not necessarily a bad thing.


In the context of Miike’s back catalogue, this is not one of his better films. Although this will divide audiences, the prospect of seeing a man as peculiar in his ways as Takashi Miike tackling something as classically revered as the western is a sight to behold. For fan boys especially, this is very worthy of your attention, with enough action and incident for three western epics. LW

REVIEW: DVD Release: 9th Company

Film: 9th Company
Release date: 11th June 2007
Certificate: 15
Running time: 139 mins
Director: Fyodor Bondarchuk
Starring: Artur Smolyaninov, Aleksey Chadov, Konstantin Kryukov, Ivan Kokorin, Mikhail Evlanov
Genre: Action/Drama/History/War
Studio: Contender
Format: DVD
Country: Finland/Russia/Ukraine

Over the years, we've had countless war time epics, covering the many major battles in the timeline of human conflict. We've had Pearl Harbour, the storming of Normandy beach and the Vietnam War. Based on actual events, first time director Fyodor Bondarchuk brings us his award-winning interpretation of the lesser known struggle fought against the sun kissed sands of Afghanistan. Setting a forgotten squad of embittered Russian paratroopers against hundreds of Mujahedeen warriors, this film was hailed as Russia’s answer to Platoon and Full Metal Jacket - this is the 9th Company.

Set during the Soviet War in Afghanistan in 1987, the film begins with a solemn farewell in Siberia, where we are introduced to the main cast as they say goodbye to their family and friends.

A story told in two parts; the first half of the film covers the troop’s preliminary training as they bid farewell to their loved ones and commence boot camp in Uzbekistan.

After the initial hair shaving scene, and the preparatory transition of having your individuality ripped away to settle into the conformity of the armed forces, the focus shifts between each of the main cast members, as we begin to learn more about their own personalities and the inimitable differences between them.

As you would have it, every character starts off “green”, from the baby faced Vorobey (Aleksey Chadov) to the arduous Lyutyy (Artur Smolyaninov). We watch as they push forward through the requisite assault course and rifle training, under the brutal tutelage of Warrant Officer Dygalo (Mikhail Porechenkov) - a drill instructor edging toward insanity - only to emerge from the other end with AK-47 in one hand, hammer and sickle in the other, and the iron cross burnt chaotically into their hearts.

At the height of the camaraderie, a bond which spawns from the odd fist fight, phallic shaped explosives, and an almighty scene where they ultimately tune into each other’s workings, they finally realise it was teamwork that was missing all along. As well as amusing fiddling with the local slut, the film shifts up a gear as the company is shipped to the Khost province in Afghanistan under the command of Khokol (played by Fyodor Bondarchuk himself).

They are split up, with the crux of them ordered to defend/secure a supply route near the Pakistani border. Unbeknownst to them, the war in Afghanistan had ended during their mission, and they are left on Hill 3234 as the rest of the Russian forces begin to withdraw. With the security of their location compromised, the now forgotten company defend themselves against wave after wave of Mujahedeen, leading to a truly epic and bloody battle…


Fans of war epics should be citing many comparisons about now, especially to the tune of Full Metal Jacket. The beginning scenes mirror the genius drill instructions giving by R. Lee Ermey, however, the major difference being that inevitably Russians don’t mess about.

What Bondarchuk has chosen to focus on in his attempt at boot camp is the raw brutality of how they do it. Discipline is beaten into the juvenile squad in effect to diminish their arrogance, and in essence, what you end up watching in the first half of the film is a group of boys turn into men who kill. The director has decided to forgo the opportunity to make any sort of hardcore political statement in regard to ‘Russia’s Vietnam’, and instead he has woven together a tale of brotherhood and integrity that that shines against the vicious nature of conflict. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s thrown in some jaw-dropping action sequences for good measure.

Of course, this is a tried and tested concept - done over and over again in films such as Saving Private Ryan - but the issue is whether 9th Company stands out amongst the elite.

The film is wonderfully cast. The young actors are brilliant in their individual roles, and play up well to their intended clichés. You have the standard good, bad and ugly characters you would expect from a war film. Along with the previously mentioned, you also have the cool, Gioconda (Konstantin Kryukov); the bully, Chugun (Ivan Kokorin); and the knowledgeable, Ryaba (Mikhail Evlanov). What is quite peculiar but without doubt befitting of the film is that even though the characters are arguably stereotypes, most of them have interesting backgrounds, which makes it easier for the viewer to warm to them during the course of the film. For instance, Gioconda is presumably a middle class painter, while contrasting this, Lyutyy is homeless. As you would expect, the two butt heads. Chugun is an unloved bully, while the Drill Sergeant, Dygalo, who would have mutilated Gomer Pile, is also a troubled man dealing with post traumatic stress disorder. All this adds to the human focus of the film and keeps the characters fresh.

It is clear the actors have put a lot of effort into their performances. Motions are infused with a sort of Russian vigour and spirit, which clearly sets them apart from the armed forces we are used to seeing. There are times when the strain and blighting emotion is clearly visible on the actors’ faces. They bark their soviet principles with strength and passion, and it only makes one think that this is a far cry compared to the stoic nature of their American counterparts.

It feels as if Lyutyy is the central character, but what is difficult is that (especially toward the end) it is never quite clear who the main protagonist is. Audiences may find it difficult to warm to one particular character since they all have such redeeming qualities. This does makes sense if Bondarchuk wishes for us to see the group as one unit working together, but it does feel like a missed opportunity when he could have taken full advantage of characters such as Vorobey for extra emotional impact.

Compared to cinema today, the locations are a tad over familiar. The desert is another tried and tested concept that can be tiresome to watch, but colour is put to good use here. Arguably, there are only really two colours in this film: blue/grey combo for the first half of the film and a sharp orange for the second half. The obvious change in colour (which is hard to miss around the hour mark) signals a stark change in environment for the cast. It neatly adds to the atmosphere of suffocating heat and tension in Afghanistan, as well as providing action sequences more reason to kick up dust for increased chaos.

The action here is very Hollywood, which is by no means a horrible thing. It makes full use of the arduous terrain, with the big budget stretched to its limit to provide us with some truly blockbuster-esque set-pieces involving plenty of explosions, gunfights, bloodshed, and ample adrenaline pumped screaming.

The film is beautiful to watch throughout. Cinematography is top notch. There is plenty of slow-mo, extreme close ups and the old ‘camera on the rifle’ trick to keep the film visually stimulating and interesting. Music hits in all the right places, and is epic as you would expect. During the final battle, all of this coupled together will no doubt have you on the edge of your seat.


One of the major criticisms levelled at this film is that it’s not an accurate representation of actual events. This is a war flick that shows a brotherhood in peril rather for entertainment value rather than a historical drama. An impressive debut for first time director Fyodor Bondarchuk that is well worth watching, even if just for the explosive and action-packed conclusion. VLN

REVIEW: DVD Release: The Big Boss

Film: The Big Boss
Release date: 23rd October 2006
Certificate: 18
Running time: 96 mins
Director: Lo Wei
Starring: Bruce Lee, James Tien, Maria Yi, Han Ying-chieh, Nora Miao
Genre: Action/Crime/Drama/Martial Arts/Thriller
Studio: Contender
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong

In 1971, Bruce Lee returned to his native Hong Kong after unsuccessfully trying to launch himself in Hollywood. Capitalising on the popularity of his US television series The Green Hornet, Lee took the lead role in this low-budget exploitation flick. How was anyone to predict that he was about to provide a watershed moment in Hong Kong film history?

After getting in trouble in Hong Kong, Cheng Chao-an (Lee) travels to Pak Chong, Thailand, where his mother hopes he will be able to stay out of street violence. Wearing a locket to remind himself of the promise he made to her that he would never fight again, Cheng meets up with Hsu (Tien), leader of a small group of Chinese expats working in Thailand. Here, he finds camaraderie, and maybe even romance in the form of Chiao-mei (Yi).

Cheng gets a job with Hsu and the others, working in an ice factory, where the Chinese workers are bullied by the Thai foremen, who are in the employ of the mysterious ‘Boss’ (Han). When two of their group discover that the factory is really a front for a heroin smuggling operation, they are offered a place in the crime gang. When they refuse, they are brutally murdered, and pronounced missing.

But when Hsu visits the boss to get some answers, and he does not return, the Chinese expats finally begin to suspect that something sinister and deadly is going on at their workplace. How long will Cheng be able to keep his promise to his mother?


There is something innately thrilling about watching a movie star come into their own before your very eyes, and with Bruce Lee, the experience is intensified by the knowledge that The Big Boss was the Little Dragon’s very first leading role as an adult. Unlike Jackie Chan, who would succeed him as Hong Kong’s number one box office performer in the second half of the 1970s, Lee had no trial and error period where he perfected a cinematic persona, no artistic or commercial misfires to signpost his pathway to Legend-status. Like his launching into action at this film’s midway point, he exploded onto the Hong Kong cinema circuit a fully-formed icon - he just needed a film in which to appear. Though he would add and subtract elements in his subsequent movies, the core of the Lee persona is already in place in The Big Boss - here, Lee plays an initially mild-mannered young man looking to avoid confrontation until the moment he is left with no other choice (see also, Way Of The Dragon and Enter The Dragon); he fights on behalf of his persecuted countryman, in the name of family and revenge (see, Fist Of Fury and Way Of The Dragon); his skill-level is - perhaps inexplicably - preternatural (see, every subsequent Bruce Lee movie). A passionate, driven character off the cinema screen, there is no doubt that Lee was in complete control of how he appeared on it.

It is not just his star persona that makes The Big Boss a significant, landmark work in Hong Kong cinema. The fight choreography was also something the like of which had never been seen previously. Today, Bruce Lee’s fight scenes may seem lacking in comparison to the overly dexterous and imaginative work by such later revolutionaries as Sammo Hung, Jackie Chan, Yuen Woo-ping and Lau Gar Leung, among others, who would take Hong Kong cinema to new heights in the years after Lee’s untimely passing in 1973. But The Big Boss offers something of a history lesson, clarifying the giant leap forward Lee made with his method of fight staging, which thrillingly merges a more practical form of combat with a shooting style that more than tips its hat to Sergio Leone and the Spaghetti Western genre, which were hugely popular in the US in the mid-to-late 1960s, when Lee would have been living and working in Hollywood. If one compares the movement of the leading man to supporting player James Tien and the others around him (all coordinated by credited fight choreographer Han Ying-chieh), one can see that Bruce Lee was not simply making a splash on the Hong Kong box-office - he was grabbing an entire cinema by the scruff of the neck and taking it forward with him. Elements of Lee’s work has dated since their early 1970s release dates - but the combat sequences still stand up as visceral slices of cinematic brilliance.

Given how beautifully destined all of this seems, an analysis of the film’s one true narrative masterstroke - the delaying Cheng Chao-an’s exploding-into-action for a tantalising forty-one minutes - would suggest that the filmmakers had every intention of The Big Boss being the signature, watershed movie that it became. After forty-one minutes of stylised kung-fu, filmed in the familiar static camera angles of an era on which Bruce Lee was about to close the book, the moment that a foolish Thai goon rips off Cheng’s treasured locket, bringing forth the furious vengeance of the previously mild-mannered expat, the film seems to take on an almost mythic significance.

Sadly, the reality is that the production of The Big Boss was a greatly troubled one, rendering any grander reading of the film’s intentions as something of a happy accident. In his biography of Bruce Lee, writer Bruce Thomas states that the original director Wu Chai-wsaing was fired in the early stages of production, to be replaced by Lo Wei (who would go on to helm Lee’s next, and best, film Fist Of Fury), and that production began with not a script, but a list of ideas scribbled on paper. Furthermore, Lee suffered from chronic back trouble, and lost weight from bouts of food poisoning. Thomas also claims that supporting actor James Tien was the original star of the movie until the producers saw that they had a more charismatic leading man in the cast. This latter point, knowing Lee’s charisma, personality - as well as the evident control he exerted over the production - is debateable; and it is worth noting that in his audio commentary on the original 2000 Hong Kong Legends DVD release, Asian cinema expert Bey Logan claims Tien was cast in a supporting role as a back-up in the (unlikely) event that Lee proved unable to carry the picture himself.

And what of the picture as a cinematic work? With every Bruce Lee vehicle, the reviewer must divorce themselves from appreciation of the leading man’s charisma and physical brilliance to view objectively the script and production. Of all his completed works as an adult actor, it is The Big Boss that perhaps falls the shortest when taken on its own merits. Though much of the production signified advancement and updating of Hong Kong cinema, it abides by the then-tradition of script-structure, whereby the plot serves only to set up the fight sequences, and the most done to ensure that the audience is on the hero’s side is to make the villains foreign (although the Thais of The Big Boss perhaps get off lightly compared to the portrayals of Japanese in Fist Of Fury, and Europeans in Way Of The Dragon). The characters are generally archetypes, which frustratingly limits the narrative options in the second half. As Cheng’s investigation into the disappearances of his Chinese friends places him in deadly corners that he has to fight his way out of, he emerges from one particularly desperate battle near-traumatised at the experience of killing an opponent with his own fist. Cheng’s trauma lasts but a minute before any of the psychological effects are swiftly forgotten as the film pushes into its finale with the discovery of a brutal massacre, but not before the viewer is left wondering why Cheng was left traumatised by that particular, empty handed, killing and not the variety of stabbings he inflicted earlier in the same fight. Certainly, these types of questions will always arise when, as noted, a production begins without a finished script, and this rushed, slam-bang approach is reflected in both the generally static cinematography and rickety sets - The Big Boss lacking some of the production value that Lee would insist upon later in his career.

That said, director Lo Wei - as he did in Fist Of Fury - shows a certain flair for the macabre. Scenes of unfortunate Chinese workers being first murdered and then placed into large blocks of ice are genuinely eerie, and really stand out among the otherwise uninspired level of craft on show in terms of script and direction.

But, the truth is, nobody revisits Bruce Lee’s movies for the script, direction or acting. The movies’ re-watch value is always high, because the pleasure of seeing Bruce Lee on screen remains a thrilling example of a man punching and kicking at the walls of a movie screen, threatening to burst free at any moment. Even today, nearly forty years after The Big Boss’s premiere, the walls of cinema can only just about contain the ferocious power of the Little Dragon.


Bruce Lee elevates an otherwise rote and overly-familiar screen story to a level above ‘guilty pleasure’. For its historical and cultural significance, The Big Boss is an essential work - a genuine time-capsule, capturing the moment Hong Kong cinema changed forever. JN

REVIEW: DVD Release: Way Of The Dragon

Film: Way Of The Dragon
Release date: 11th June 2001
Certificate: 18
Running time: 88 mins
Director: Bruce Lee
Starring: Bruce Lee, Nora Miao, Chuck Norris, Unicorn Chan, Bob Wall
Genre: Action/Comedy/Crime/Drama/Martial Arts/Thriller
Studio: Contender
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong

In late 1971, now comfortably the biggest star in Hong Kong, Bruce Lee consolidated his influence in the local film industry by forming his own production company, under which banner he would produce and direct his own starring vehicles. Way Of The Dragon was the first - and, sadly, only completed - film that he directed, in addition to writing the script, co-producing, acting and staging the fight sequences. It contains perhaps his most iconic on-screen battle, and unquestionably his most curious leading role.

Tang Lung (Lee), an uncomplicated young man from Hong Kong’s New Territories, is sent to Rome, Italy, to help some members of his extended family whose Chinese restaurant is the target of Mafia extortion.

Struggling to adapt to western customs, Tang bumbles around, proving generally useless in the dispute, alienating the very people he has come to support with his profound lack of sophistication and street-wisdom. However, when the local Mafia goons push him too far, the hitherto shy country boy proves that he is a fierce and deadly fighter. He drives the hoodlums away, earning the respect and adulation of his compatriots - and the attentions of the Mafia kingpin (Benn).

After failing to bribe him to leave Italy, the Mafia send in every thug they have in an effort to overpower Tang. And when that doesn’t work, they put in a call to their secret weapons - elite karate experts from Europe, Japan and America…


Way Of The Dragon is the true oddity of the sadly small body of work Bruce Lee produced in the early 1970s. In his previous two movies, Lee had maintained a consistent level of intensity as he burned up the screen and decimated his opponents. Here, for the most part, that intensity is replaced with a characterisation that is significantly lighter, almost to the point of self-deprecation. Lee has been labelled by some commentators as a narcissistic screen presence, a charge that is occasionally difficult to refute; but Way Of the Dragon showcases an actor and director willing to, if not outright send up, then at least have a little fun with his screen persona. Imagine Steve McQueen or Clint Eastwood so wilfully indulging in (literal) toilet humour with the apparent glee shown by Bruce here.

Frankly, the humour is of the kind that most audiences would label unsophisticated, even juvenile. A running gag of Tang Lung repeatedly asking for directions to the toilet after eating Italian soup quickly gets old, and the use of slapstick in the mid-film fight sequences are somewhat obvious, if guiltily enjoyable. Though humour was never going to be Lee’s forte, it helps to acknowledge that the physical and visual gags (Tang Lung’s misunderstanding of western toilet facilities, his unwitting solicitation of a prostitute) are rooted primarily in culture clash humour, the like of which would play extremely well for local Hong Kong audiences who would identify with Tang’s predicaments. Indeed, it is worth pointing out that, at this point in his career, the international playability of his Hong Kong movies was never at the forefront of Lee’s mind (in his DVD commentary track for the 2001 UK release of the film, Asian film expert Bey Logan notes Lee’s intention to remake Way Of The Dragon in English, set in San Francisco, sometime after Enter The Dragon - a fascinating proposition unfortunately never realised). As a film made for Asian audiences, the box-office receipts - Way Of The Dragon was Lee’s third straight movie to break all Hong Kong records - indicate that Lee’s directorial debut was an unqualified success.

And it is easy to see why the Hong Kong audiences so eagerly took to the film. Lee maintains the Lone Righteous Chinese vs. Mostly Foreign Villains set-up of his previous two movies, broadening the scope with the exotic European setting (though the exotic nature is undermined by Tang Lung in the wittiest moment of the film when, on a tour of historical landmarks, he dismisses one by suggesting it should be flattened for a commercial building). Exterior shots of genuine Italian streets and locations add true production value, making Way Of The Dragon feel like Lee’s “biggest” Hong Kong movie.

But while the relocation may feel brand new, the story is comfortably familiar, following a somewhat similar template to Lee’s action debut, The Big Boss, in that the protagonist’s flying into action is delayed (here, for thirty-two minutes), the difference being that the script draws humour from the audience’s anticipation of Tang Lung’s martial prowess, even while he is being derided by his Chinese associates. Once pushed too far, there is no stopping the hero as he meets all comers head on, and sends them packing - often with their ears ringing from a nunchuku strike. The script offers little in the way of surprise beyond the revelation that Tang Lung is actually an accomplished fighter, serving only to find scenarios for him to fight his way out of. Indeed, Lee’s screen persona in his Hong Kong movies is among the most proactive in all of cinema - the villains do not chase him, but rather experience the force of his wrath once crossed. As in The Big Boss and Fist Of Fury, Lee single-mindedly and methodically moves through the story on something of a quest towards the principal villain - the audience’s pleasure derived from watching him at work, and the vicarious thrills of the near superhuman talent on display.

However, this simple approach to the scriptwriting process does create something of a structural imbalance to the film. Whatever one’s comedic tastes, there’s no denying that the humour in the first act is arresting purely because it is so unexpected. However, after Tang Lung reveals himself to be the skilled fighter his compatriots need, the humour quickly falls away. In addition, the protagonist undergoes a (narratively un-charted and unexplained) transition from naïve and unsophisticated to the kind of straight-faced, semi-mythical hero that Bruce had perfected in The Big Boss (with just a touch of the Clint Eastwood, Man With No Name persona in the closing shot). It would have been interesting how the film would have played with Lee the filmmaker sustaining the light tone to forge perhaps the first true cinematic deconstruction of the Hong Kong martial arts genre.

As part of that wonderful genre, Way Of The Dragon remains exemplary for the same reasons as Bruce’s other Hong Kong work - Lee’s breathtaking physicality and innate skill as a fight choreographer. Here, with complete control of the production, Lee is working at the height of his powers, understanding how to tease the audience with action scenes aborted just before they start, until finally unleashing the power of Tang Lung in the briefest of skirmishes with four thugs. Each successive fight sequence gets a little bigger, a little more complex, until the climax, which is one of the high points of not only Lee’s career, but action cinema as a whole: Bruce Lee vs. Chuck Norris…in the Roman Colosseum! Since it was Norris’s first major film role (which he would parlay into a long, successful career as an action movie star in America), it is not quite a Fantasy Fight Scene to rival aficionados’ pondering of how, for example, a Bruce vs. Jackie Chan match-up might go, but even today there remains a consistent thrill to seeing these two genuine martial arts experts trade punches and kicks in such an appropriate setting (even if, for the most part, they are actually fighting on a soundstage in Hong Kong). As with the best of Lee’s work as an action director, what makes this fight truly unique is in how it examines, with brilliant simplicity, the director’s martial arts philosophy: after utilising traditional kung-fu techniques to no effect against a stronger, more powerful opponent, Tang Lung switches to a less inhibited, freer-form style to turn the tables and give himself a chance at victory - perhaps the neatest possible way for Lee to state his belief that a martial artist should always be adaptable. Even today, almost forty years later, Lee remains unmatched in his ability to weave martial teachings into a perfectly paced, enthralling duel with an intellectual and spiritual clarity.

As with the remainder of Lee’s Hong Kong works, Way Of The Dragon is - taken on its own merits, notwithstanding the charismatic leading man at its centre - little more than a straightforward exploitation movie, but one with flashes of a potentially unique filmmaker learning his craft. In his understanding of his audience, his (abortive) experimentation with the boundaries of his screen persona, and his knack for providing vicarious thrills, Bruce Lee shows all the intuition of a major Hong Kong director in the making. Unfortunately, he would never get to realise this potential, but his mark on the cinema he would leave behind in 1973 is clear and, while not having the surprise factor of The Big Boss or the sheer intensity of Fist Of Fury, the impact of Way Of The Dragon is undeniable. In fact, it is arguable that, without this film, world audiences may never have become fully acquainted with actors like Jackie Chan or Tony Jaa. Jaa’s persona in his international break-out Ong-Bak is an updated Bruce Lee - an asexual, mild-mannered and righteous hero who fights only when pushed over the edge. And before he joined the Hollywood A-list with Rush Hour, Chan made a smaller - but crucial - commercial splash in English-speaking territories with the international co-production Rumble In The Bronx, whose premise - Hong Kong native visits New York and is dragged into aiding his old uncle, whose Bronx supermarket is targeted by criminals - and narrative is effectively a beat-for-beat remake of Bruce’s directorial debut.


A tantalising glimpse at what might have been had Bruce Lee not passed away. Not the best film he made, but the combination of stunning action with the almost disarmingly light-hearted tone of the first act make Way Of The Dragon a fascinating film to revisit. JN

REVIEW: DVD Release: Seven Swords

Film: Seven Swords
Release date: 22nd January 2007
Certificate: 15
Running time: 135 mins
Director: Tsui Hark
Starring: Donnie Yen, Leon Lai, Charlie Yeung, Liwu Dai, Liu Chia-Liang
Genre: Action/Drama/Martial Arts
Studio: Contender
Format: DVD
Country: South Korea/Hong Kong/China

Given Tsui Hark’s lengthy CV, expectations are understandably high for any of his films, and Seven Swords is no exception. An explosion of unlikely influences, a celebration of genre, a clash of cultures, it should be a multifaceted film wrapped up in layers of meaning. But whether Hark satisfies the challenge that he has set himself remains debatable.

In true Oriental blockbuster style, Asia’s astounding natural beauty is showcased in mountainous snow scenes that awe and amaze. Like a local tradesman in a tourist hotspot, little effort is made to conceal the stitches that tailor this opening to impress naïve Western viewers, but visual magnificence redeems that.

Obligatory sweeping camera angles out of the way, Hark’s priorities are instantly revealed. As if to cover up his initial indulgent imagery, he guiltily rushes straight into the plot.

Seven Swords recounts the age-old story of gentle village folk struggling against the hedonistic powers that be. In this case, ruler Wind Fire has imposed a ban on martial arts, with a punishment of death for those who defy him: or, it predictably turns out, for those that simply don’t fulfil his glamorous urban ideal. With a weighty cash prize on each of their heads, the people of imaginatively named Martial Village are driven to moral and righteous action...


The rather stilted plot is presented to viewers in a brief flashback that proves more dedicated to special effects, stunning cinematography and slick editing than basic storytelling. It even crams in the stereotypical martial arts fight to fulfil those Eastern cravings of Western newcomers to the genre. Although flimsy, this crude approach does maintain value through its refreshingly direct approach. Audiences at least know exactly what is driving the dreary journey ahead. For added comfort and accessibility, English names and unfussy script replace traditional Mandarin names and audiences are spared dialogue that resembles a string of riddles more than a film.

In its consistently disjointed fashion Seven Swords sees West destructively crash into East by way of the bad guys. Dusty rags of the poor protagonists collide with funky and futuristic hairstyles, war paint, weapons and tattoos. With the addition of ‘fire-stars’ and a dodgy attempt at an over-budget 33MM ‘handheld tremor’, a misplaced parallel to Star Wars is completed by contrived Yoda-esque words of wisdom that could have been written by an imaginative 12-year-old - an American twelve year-old. Momentarily stepping well and truly into the script of a teen comedy, it doesn’t come much more Americanised than “such a cute chick in this shabby village.” There are certainly plenty of cringe worthy moments to entertain: regrettably, they wear a little thin after an hour or so and become tiresome after two. Ruthlessly combined with bland plot and a repetitive overall structure, most viewers are likely to lose interest long before the film’s conclusion.

A single point of interest may lie in the bizarre combination of genres. Seven Swords is not simply an overdone martial arts film. It is a fantasy, a period piece, science fiction and, most prevalently, a Western. In terms of genre as well as culture, all of John Ford’s criteria are met. From the very first stand-off, the enemies are even physically positioned ala cowboy caravan meets Indian tribe. To reveal that the last shot involves heroes on horseback gives nothing away. Yet Hark courageously flashes shiny space swords, silken pantaloons and a few mentions of a Dynasty, as if to complicate genre where script and story fall short.

So extreme is this massive broth of genre, culture, frankly awful style and awesome imagery, it remains a mystery as to whether Seven Swords is one big parody or one big accident. Is there some sort of juxtaposition-based joke that the viewer is meant to be in on, or was the budget bigger than Hark could handle? With titles like the Once Upon A Time In China series under his belt, Hark should be the last person to be overwhelmed by sky high funding, yet this effort comes across as utterly amateurish. Nothing flows and nothing is seamless. Cumbersome blocks of film with a single rudimentary purpose stack upon each other in a Great Wall of Clichés. Subtext and meaning are nonentities. Without a doubt, visual quality is impressive, but this makes the lumbering construction of the overall effort all the more frustrating.


Seven Swords is an admirably accessible beginner’s guide to Eastern cinema, but for most, it has opened the doors far too wide and the substance has fallen out. Perhaps original and bold for fearless genre experimentation, and certainly striking for its imagery, it offers nothing to challenge the viewer or even engage them. Placing audiences in an ambiguous position, it makes for uncomfortable viewing - is Hark sharing a story with them, or just patronising them? In either case, more fool him: boredom is inevitable in this painful and over budgeted mess. RS

REVIEW: DVD Release: Fist Of Fury

Film: Fist Of Fury
Release date: 23rd January 2006
Certificate: 18
Running time: 102 mins
Director: Lo Wei
Starring: Bruce Lee, Nora Miao, James Tien, Maria Yi, Robert Baker
Genre: Action/Drama/Martial Arts/Romance
Studio: Contender
Format: DVD
Country: Hong Kong

Unquestionably the defining role of Bruce Lee’s short career as a leading man, and the beginning of a sub-genre within Hong Kong cinema, how does Fist Of Fury stand up thirty-eight years later?

Returning from his studies to his kung-fu school in occupied Shanghai, Chen Zhen (Lee) discovers that his master, Huo Yuan-jia, has died. Not believing that his unbeatable master could succumb to either a challenge or illness, the grief-stricken and increasingly deranged Chen Zhen seeks out the truth.

After the local Japanese martial artists show up at Huo’s funeral to humiliate the native Chinese, Chen seeks revenge by challenging the whole Japanese dojo to a duel, from which he emerges victorious. But when the Japanese trash his school in revenge, Chen is convinced that he must leave Shanghai to spare his already downtrodden compatriots any more grief from their oppressors.

But when he discovers that his master was poisoned on the orders of the Japanese, Chen goes on a vengeful rampage, in the process becoming a wanted serial killer. Will the police, headed up by a conflicted Chinese detective (Lo), find him before Chen can find the real killers and avenge his master’s death?


Having already laid the groundwork for his on-screen persona in his 1971 debut, The Big Boss, Bruce Lee made himself a true Hong Kong icon with Fist Of Fury. Everything that is today considered synonymous with ‘The Little Dragon’ began in this film - the cat-like battle cries, fight scenes infused with practical martial arts application and philosophy, and the nunchuku as his signature weapon. And Lee was never a more dynamic or potent force than he was in the role of Chen Zhen.

This is not to suggest that Lee is in his comfort zone in this film. Like with his relentless pursuit of off-screen martial arts excellence, a closer examination of his work reveals that Lee was constantly trying new things as an actor. His Chen Zhen is a world apart from his The Big Boss role, Cheng Chao-an. Where Cheng was more of an everyman, reluctant hero, mired deeper and deeper in a violent situation, Chen Zhen is an emotionally unhinged protagonist - the closest Lee came to playing an anti-hero. Unlike his roles either side of Fist Of Fury - in The Big Boss and Way Of The Dragon - Lee shows neither a reluctance to engage in combat, nor any kind of quiet indomitable spirit. Chen Zhen begins the film unhinged, unable to deal with his master’s death, and sees only one way to process his emotions - violence. In previous and subsequent films, Lee’s hero would kill only when he had no other option; in Fist Of Fury, he not only kills, but strings up his victims - publicly humiliating them for their treachery. Interestingly, his antics pre-date the classic ‘slasher movie’ template that would become a popular American horror genre by a good six years.

While Lee’s acting style - very expressive, not very subtle - was never going to win him awards, there’s no denying that his intense, pseudo-crazed turn in Fist Of Fury shows a fascinating lack of vanity that directly clashes with the near-narcissistic control of his screen image evidenced elsewhere in the film. Strides are taken to ensure he always stands apart from the rest of the cast - at a memorial service for the deceased master; Lee is the only mourner to wear an all-white suit, everyone else in black or blue (a visual choice that, given the actor’s preternatural charisma, is almost completely redundant). As is par for the course in a Bruce Lee vehicle, when it comes to fighting, he is practically untouchable - never in real danger, even when outnumbered twenty-to-one.

Lee’s control extends to the rest of the movie. Legend has it that Lo Wei was a particularly ‘hands-off’ director, preferring to listen to the horse-racing on the radio than oversee the production. Though Lo has a myriad of credits - director, writer, even production designer - there is no escaping the fact that the leading man is all over this production. One need only compare the fights that feature Lee (choreographed by the man himself) and the fights that don’t (choreographed by veteran Han Ying-chieh - who also played the eponymous villain in The Big Boss, as well as a treacherous Chinese servant in this film). The protagonist fights with a fluid, practical style, freely mixing traditional techniques with street-fighting tactics, while those around him move in the overly-stylised, unrealistic sequences of the Shaw Brothers era. It’s no surprise at all that, following this film, Lee went on to write, direct, and co-produce his next vehicle, Way Of The Dragon.

Among the elements of his on-screen persona that is consistent with Lee’s other two completed Hong Kong pictures is his keen awareness of Hong Kong/Chinese national identity. In each of these three films, Lee is a lone Chinese hero, standing up to non-Chinese oppressors (corrupt Thai drug barons in The Big Boss, the Italian mafia in Way Of The Dragon, and Japanese imperialists in Fist Of Fury). In 1972, with occupation and oppression, rebellion and revolution still fresh in their memory, it would seem that Chinese viewers may have had a willingness to live vicariously through their new No. 1 star. Indeed, Hong Kong cinematic lore tells the story of Fist Of Fury’s premiere audience greeting the moment that Chen Zhen literally makes the Japanese villains eat their racist words and proclaim that the Chinese are not the “sick men of Asia” by rising to their feet and cheering wildly.

Fist Of Fury is also a landmark film for the ‘next generation’ talent involved in various roles. Bruce himself would not live long enough to see the true Golden Age of Hong Kong martial arts movies (considered by many fans to be the years 1978-1982), but his legacy is never plainer than in the credits for this film. A teenage Jackie Chan is visible as an extra early on, and also doubles for the Japanese villain, Susuki, in the film’s climactic stunt (in his autobiography, Chan described the experience of being kicked by Bruce Lee as like being hit by a car). After Bruce’s passing, Jackie would be signed up by this film’s director, Lo Wei, as his leading man in a succession of mostly forgettable period actioners, among them New Fist Of Fury - a direct sequel to this film, in which Nora Miao and Lo Wei reprise their roles. Though none of the films he made for Lo would make him a star, it was his frustration with being saddled with Bruce Lee imitation vehicles that would eventually inspire the young Jackie Chan to develop his own equally unique on-screen persona, a direct antithesis of Bruce, in his 1978 breakout hits - Snake In The Eagle’s Shadow and Drunken Master.

Also among the crew was the up-and-coming stuntman/coordinator and actor Sammo Hung, working behind the scenes on the action sequences. Hung would not only go on to fight Lee on-screen in the opening scene of Lee’s Hollywood breakout Enter The Dragon, but would eventually replace Lee as studio Golden Harvest’s ‘go-to guy’, both as an actor and director. When, several years after Bruce’s death, the studio wanted to salvage his incomplete footage for Game Of Death, it was to Hung that they turned to construct new fight scenes for a brand new movie. Beyond this, Hung would also become the lynchpin of the most talented and prolific generation of Hong Kong screen fighters, many of whom are visible in Fist Of Fury: Yuen Wah (seen on-screen as the obnoxious Japanese who suggest Chen pretend to be his dog; the Kung-fu Hustle star was also Lee’s acrobatic double on this film), Lam Ching-ying (the future Mr Vampire, following up a bit-part in The Big Boss with a walk-on as a disposable Japanese fighter), Corey Yuen Kwai (who would go onto a distinguished career as a director and fight choreographer, also among the Japanese henchmen). Within a decade, Hung would be directing his old Peking Opera School classmate Jackie Chan in what many aficionados consider to be his very best work (Wheels On Meals, Dragons Forever, among others). Without Bruce Lee’s influence, his choreographic breakthroughs with more practical, realistic fight sequences than had been seen previously, it is questionable whether these youngsters would have had the platform to take Hong Kong cinema to the still-unmatched heights that they did during the aforementioned Golden Age.

But what of the film on its own merits? Put bluntly, Fist Of Fury is an overly straightforward kung-fu actioner that would perhaps have disappeared from memory had any other actor filled the leading role. Lo Wei’s directorial style is very basic and functional, the production obviously moving as quickly as possible (note the blocking of group-exposition scenes, the lined-up cast looking like bit-part players in a traditional stage play). The script is efficient in that it sets up the fight scenes adequately enough, but with little doubt over the eventual success of Chen Zhen’s violent mission, it lacks both tension and surprise. Where the film always remains interesting, even on repeat viewings, is the aforementioned ‘slasher movie’ styling, and the anti-heroics of Bruce Lee’s character. Sadly, he would not live long enough to play another anti-heroic martial artist in a bigger-budget film.

But despite all the quibbles one might have with it on a technical level, there is simply no denying the legacy of the film. Sequels - official and otherwise - abounded in the years after Bruce’s death. In addition to the Lo Wei-directed continuation of the story starring Jackie Chan, Fist Of Fury II was released starring the most prominent ‘Bruceploitation’ imitator, Bruce Li. Subsequent generations of actors have tried their hand at playing Chen Zhen - most notably Jet Li in 1994’s Fist Of Legend, and Donnie Yen in a mid-1990s TV adaptation. Yen’s series spawned a 2010 cinematic sequel, Legend Of The Fist: The Return Of Chen Zhen. As well as the sequels, remakes and re-imaginings, the life and times of the real Huo Yuan-jia was essayed (again by Jet Li) in 2004’s Fearless. And beyond the direct references and tributes, the influence of Fist Of Fury is plainly evident in Wilson Yip’s fictionalised biopic of Bruce’s own Wing Chun master, Ip Man, when the protagonist (Donnie Yen) single-handedly takes down ten Japanese black belts in a sequence highly reminiscent of Bruce’s opening twenty-to-one showdown. Given that the action is choreographed by Fist Of Fury alum Sammo Hung (whose own work, as well as his uncanny ability to mimic him - see Enter The Fat Dragon - shows a great deference to Bruce Lee), one has to assume the homage is deliberate.

Bruce Lee may have died in 1973, but his spirit lives on in the cinema he helped transform. And in no other film does that spirit punch and kick with more ferocity than in Fist Of Fury.


On its own merits, Fist Of Fury is perhaps little more than a straightforward martial arts action flick, with flashes of dark thriller element not common to Hong Kong films of this era. When its leading man is on-screen, however, Fist Of Fury delivers a 5-star experience, and for the bringing together of so many future stars, not to mention a stylistic influence that has endured for 38 years with no sign of abating, it is unquestionably a landmark Hong Kong film. Absolutely essential. JN

REVIEW: DVD Release: Buddha Collapsed Out Of Shame

Film: Buddha Collapsed Out Of Shame
Release date: 10th November 2008
Certificate: PG
Running time: 73 mins
Director: Hana Makhmalbaf
Starring: Abbas Alijome, Abdolali Hoseinali, Nikbakht Noruz
Genre: Drama
Studio: Contender
Format: DVD
Country: Iran

Buddha Collapsed Out Of Shame is the first feature length film by Hana Makmalbaf, daughter of director Mohsen Makmalbaf, and the youngest member of his illustrious film dynasty. While themes such as children and education is not a first for those already familiar with Iranian cinema (for example, 1997’s The Apple by Samira Makmalbaf, Hana’s older sister), Buddha Collapsed Out Of Shame is still an impressive debut for the then 19 year-old filmmaker.

The film is set post-9/11 in Bamyam, a mountainous and remote area of central Afghanistan. It is also the site of the ancient Buddha statues, carved into the mountain cliffs, which the Taliban destroyed in March 2001.

News footage of the statues being blown up is shown at the beginning and end of the film, and the looming backdrop of the empty Buddha-shaped holes act as a constant reminder of the regime and its influence in this region.

The protagonist is a young girl named Baktay, and the film follows her as she tries to go to school, so that she too can learn the “funny stories” her friends are always reciting.

Baktay’s journey appears simple enough at first; her neighbour, a boy named Abbas, tells her that all she needs is a notebook and a pencil to attend school. Armed with four eggs, she heads off to the market to sell them for money. However, in the busy square no one wants to buy her eggs, and some of them get broken along the way. Eventually, having earned only 10 rupees, she settles for just a notebook and takes her mother’s lipstick to use as a pencil. The child’s quest for knowledge and education appears futile in an environment so poor that even the simplest items such as pen and paper become prized possessions…


One of the most disturbing and symbolic sequences of the film occurs when Baktay is on her way to the girl’s school, and encounters a group of boys ‘playing’ at being Taliban. The boys bully her using machine-guns fashioned out of sticks, and in a sinister twist, decide to play a ‘stoning’ game, punishing her for being sinful. They force her into a hole in the ground, and surround her with rocks poised in their hands. As Baktay begins to cry, protesting that she doesn’t want to play anymore, the boys grow more menacing, humiliating and taunting her. An innocent child’s game soon turns into a chilling depiction of female victimisation, and a brutal critique of the Taliban regime. In addition, it also shows how easily such violent practises are passed down and ingrained into the language and mind-set of the next generation. What other games can children play if all that surrounds them is war and conflict?

The choice to use child actors is as much an artistic decision as it is out of necessity. For Iranian filmmakers, censorship boards are so tight that it is difficult to film anything, especially if it involves women, without having the film banned altogether. One way for filmmakers to circumvent these restrictions is to use child actors (see 1995’s The White Balloon or 1997’s The Mirror), so that it is difficult to accuse the films of being decadent or promiscuous. Thus, the films automatically take on a more allegorical tone, forced to conceal their messages in the subtext.

The film’s pace maybe slow for some viewers, as it only spans across the events of a single day. But what the film lacks in action and pace, it makes up for by providing a fascinating glimpse into a way of life completely alien to most Western audiences. The image of a little girl in a yellow headscarf and bright green salwar kameez, scrambling across the top of a dusty, perilous mountain ledge just to reach her home is extremely striking. Moreover, the scenes of everyday life in rural Afghanistan are also absorbing to watch, such as making bread in a tandoor oven and threshing hay by hand. The fact that all the child actors were cast from local schools around Bamyam adds to the air of authenticity. In this sense, the film speaks more as a work of documentary than fiction. The fact that a film could even be made in a country where only years before all cinemas, television and other forms of entertainment had been banned is a testament itself.


Buddha Collapsed Out Of Shame is an accomplished debut from a young filmmaker that addresses many problems surrounding the rebuilding of Afghanistan. While some might say it lacks the bravery to tackle these problems head on by using veiled allegories and metaphors, the force of its unflinching message cannot be questioned. KW

REVIEW: DVD Release: Wheels On Meals

Film: Wheels On Meals
Release date: 7th April 2008

Certificate: 15

Running time: 104 mins

Director: Sammo Hung

Starring: Jackie Chan, Sammo Hung, Yuen Biao

Genre: Martial Arts/Action/Comedy

Studio: Contender

Format: DVD

Country: Hong Kong

Wheels On Meals was one of just three movies which bought together the ‘3 Brothers’ - action superstar Jackie Chan, exceptional physical performer Yuen Biao and the venerated Big Brother, Sammo Hung (a trio much-loved in HK, and subsequently worldwide). Sprinkle in the inspired European setting of Barcelona, add a Caucasian former beauty queen with actual acting ability in Lola Forner, and the unbeaten fight legend Benny ‘The Jet’ Urquidez, and we’ve a practically unmatched example of cross-cultural cinematic harmony.

Cousins Thomas and David (Chan and Biao) are good-hearted Chinese immigrants attempting to carve a business in the mobile food business. They practice martial arts - Chan reluctantly - and have another Chinese friend, the blundering, if not charming ‘Moby’ (Hung).

Moby gains promotion to head a faltering detective agency, which is high in debt and low on cases. A break for the broke, Moby comes in contact with a gentleman wanting a missing person traced - the illegitimate daughter of a former maid once in the service of a rich and respected household. If she is found before another party led by ‘The Count’, a man with designs on the fortune himself, she in line for a mighty inheritance, and Moby an enormous salary.

As Moby makes enquiries of the whereabouts of Sylvia in smoky speakeasies, and the alleys and seedier regions of Barcelona, David and Thomas find themselves accidentally acquainted with Moby’s target. Her mother, the former maid, is a resident at the mental hospital, and romancing a fellow patient in David’s father. Cue cameos from other eccentric but playful patients in the shape of Richard Ng (now Woo) and John Shum, and the unique family-feel experience of a Sammo Hung movie starts to simmer.

Sylvia, obviously lovely and bedazzling to the cousins, is however an accomplished thief and a professional seductress who robs them, steals their Spanish gigolo of a neighbour’s car and crashes into Moby. She purloins his wallet, but the bumbling detective manages to trace her as she’s about to be kidnapped by The Counts henchmen. She manages to escape, and disappears until Moby works out her link to his friends. Moby enlists the help of his two Chinese brothers in tracing the beautiful inheritress…


Fully utilising the beauty of Spain’s capital, we’re treated to striking shots of a shimmering Barcelona, and vast pans of the sun-dappled cathedral and market square. These contrast capably with scenes set in Spain’s sewers and sparse countryside. Hung took a gamble taking the movie overseas, and he makes quite wonderful use of the sweeping roads for his staple car-cum-food-van-chase, as well as giving equal screen time to his Caucasian counterparts - although they are expectedly at odds with the Chinese characters who’re shown as fastidious and much more resourceful.

Inspired fight scenes pepper the movie. Hung makes great use of a vast market square to engineer an opening fight between Chan, Biao and a gang of petty motorcycle thugs whose anti-social revving is damaging their business. A huge crowd watches on as two thugs travelling at speed are drop-kicked from their bikes.

A high speed food van chase adds the expected dash of comedic velocity that is the trademark of ‘3 Brothers’ movies, as well as those aforementioned cameos from stalwarts of HK cinema.

The finale is set in a grand castle where the lovely Sylvia, since rediscovered and employed by the cousins as a waitress at the food van, and her quite mad mother are being held by The Count. At times, it resembles a Super Mario-style storyline, with each ‘brother’ trying different routes into the castle to save the ornately costumed ‘Princess’. Chan climbs a wall with sticks, while Biao abseils into trouble with some American baseball playing henchmen.

Our final fight reel sees Chan take on Urquidez in a dazzling display of skills that is seen by some fanatics as the greatest end fight scene in ‘80s cinema. His reluctance in training makes Chan sloppy and lacking in stamina, so he treats the bout as a training session to unsettle his bigger and stronger opponent. Hung chips in with some cumbersome weapon-wielding set to Chinese opera beats, while Biao does some playful but effective table acrobatics to take on Vitali.

Hung gives perhaps too much time over to the car chase, as well forcing in too many comedy set-pieces set in the hospital grounds and wine bar - Hung answers a phone, giving the lady lots of kisses and promises to see her later before passing it on to the bartender who’d been ribbing him earlier on and saying “your wife.”

These small deviances are tempered by the proficient fight editing and runaway enjoyment of the movie. This style of HK comedy is sadly wanting today.


One of the biggest martial arts movies to be produced outside of HK, Meals On Wheels pledges snappy laughs, polished fight scenes and, of course, fun. JM

REVIEW: DVD Release: The Warrior

Film: The Warrior
Release date: 25th September 2006
Certificate: 18
Running time: 127 mins
Director: Kim Sung-Su
Starring: Jung Woo-Sung, Joo Jin-mo, Sung-Ki Ahn, Ziyi Zhang
Genre: Action
Studio: Contender
Format: DVD
Country: South Korea/China

Following the significant success with Western audiences enjoyed by the likes of Crouch Tiger Hidden Dragon and Hero, the bar for Eastern period epics has been raised, but increased expectancy tends to lead to disappointment, as is the case with the much-hyped Musa (retitled The Warrior).

In 1375, the recently formed Ming Dynasty drove the Yuan Dynasty north of the Great Wall in China. Korea was eager to align itself with this new Chinese government, and in the first year of King Woo’s Dynasty, Coryo (an ancient kingdom of Korea) sent a number of envoys – one of which was trapped, arrested and exiled to the desert without water.

Ambushed here by a Yuan troop of Mongols and with their head diplomatic killed, the group’s General, undemocratically assumes control, seeing the opportunity to free and return the captured Ming princess as a chance to win favour with the Chinese, and return home with pride intact.

But his decision only increases the danger for his delegation of diplomats and soldiers, who must run for their lives as the Yuan army closes in…


The major issue with this film is its titling. “The Warrior” of the title and cover, giving the impression of a Conan-like central character, is essentially tagged on – used when they need to make swift work of enemies, or surprise viewers with an impressive decapitation (in one scene, the slave, and initial mute, shows his mastery of a spear by swiftly dealing with an innocent, if annoying bystander who dared to vocalise his disgust at finding the rotting, dead body of his master – taking a stranger’s life is nothing, but he cares enough about the man who enslaved him to carry his dead body across the desert to ensure a proper burial).

By all accounts, there are several decent fight sequences (the way his clothes flail as he battles numerous foes is stylish – even if it’s nonsensical he can take out a group of highly skilled fighters in one scene, and then be captured with relatively ease in the next – but Jung Woo-sung doesn’t have the charisma in the leading role, and the opportunities to develop his character (a threatened love triangle between the General, the princess, and himself never materialises) or test his loyalties (at one stage he is taken by the Yuan army but when offered the chance to switch allegiance he quickly leaves to rejoin the Koreans, despite his continued mistreatment) are never explored – in fact, the film would have been more coherent without his inclusion.

The real star here is Jin-mo Ju, who plays General Choi Jung – resolute, he shows no compassion for the men he leads – we later learn this is because he’s concerned he won’t live up to his father’s reputation – willing to kill anyone that falls asleep, and unwilling to release the slave whose interjections assist his cause. You never once doubt his character’s lack of humanity – though the lack of softening during the film makes his sudden and dramatic change of stance before the end implausible.

With Ziyi Zhang playing her usual and perfected spoilt and petulant princess character – she insists on being carried even when the Yuan army are closing in and she knows they are moving too slow – and two male leads (although there’s another, just to convolute matters further) you have little understanding or empathy for, in many ways you are left rooting for the Mongols on their tails. Although set-up as the enemies of the story, they at least show capability of compassion by stopping to hold a memorial for the passing of a companion (even if they will torch a village), where the General shows no remorse in sending people under his control to their demise, and unmoved by the passing of his comrades.

The production is somewhat dated. Whether it be down to budget constraints or an intention to give an old-time quality, the film is grainy and washed out, the action scenes unspectacular – little blood or detail for the most part, bar a surprise spear though the neck or a lost limb – and some potentially explosive set pieces (including one where our Warrior battles enemies on horseback from a moving carriage) are spoiled by unstable camera work, which misses most of the contact.

It’s certainly fast-paced and unrelenting, so the two hours pass quickly enough, and with a quality of yore it’s somewhat charming, but given the story’s potential, and what we’ve been treated to with films of this ilk, it does fall short.


An enjoyable romp, if never threatening to reach the epic heights we’ve become accustomed, or able to fully affect viewers with its human drama aspects. DH