Legend of the Fist: Return of Chen Zhen

Legend of the Fist: The Return of Chen Zhen is an outstanding kung fu picture and an outstanding bit of agitprop.

Donnie Yen (the Ip Man films, the Iron Monkey films, Blade II, Hero, Shanghai Knights) follows in the footsteps of Bruce Lee and Jet Li as the titular hero in this third Chen Zhen film (Lee originated the role in Fist of Fury and Li played him in Fist of Legend.).  Yen, gifted with extraordinary speed and agility, is a formidable martial artist and a charismatic performer.  Through a combination of world-class editing, practical stunts, wirework, and seamlessly executed CGI, Legend of the Fist turns him into a just-that-side-of-superhuman hero.  The film puts him into a variety of brilliantly choreographed fights, one of which even includes a “tribute to Bruce Lee” nunchuck bit that brought a huge smile to my face.  Oh, and bonus: Yen can act!  Shu Qi (The Transporter, So Close) plays the love interest and, well, I’d watch her fold laundry for 90 minutes.  Anthony Wong Chau-Sang, (Vengeance, the Infernal Affairs movies), plays a sympathetic nightclub owner, and he’s steadily rising in my estimation.  I’m going to start looking for movies on the strength of his name.  Director Andrew Lau (the really quite good Infernal Affairs movies) knows how to direct action, and he knows how to direct acting.  He’s created a very slick, very good, very professional kung movie.  I loved it on those merits alone.

But Legend of the Fist has a whole other thing going on.  Chen Zhen’s story takes place during the period of Chinese history called the Warlord Era, between World Wars One and Two.  The once-proud nation was divided and weak and easy prey for both Western powers, who sought commercial exploitation, and Japan, who wanted an empire.  Anyone who wants to understand contemporary Chinese political thought and international strategy needs to understand this time -- it has become a touchstone of Chinese identity.  This was the time when the proud kingdom was on its knees, when tiny Japan maligned it as the “weak man of Asia.” When Legend of the Fist begins, Chen Zhen and his comrades are in Europe, fighting WWI with the Allied Powers.  The film tells us they had no military training and were sent as laborers, digging trenches and hauling ammunition.  Of course, they get shot and blown up just easily as the white men carrying the rifles.  When the war concludes, China’s ignored in Versailles and its erstwhile allies look the other way as Japan begins its conquest.  Chen Zhen becomes a resistance leader, fighting the evil Japanese and standing up for Chinese national pride.  He and his allies humiliate the Japanese.  They humiliate the corrupt English police chief who, when humbled, mumbles an American-inflected “whatever.”  Chen Zhen, thus, becomes a symbol of modern Chinese nationalism, of a nation fighting complacent Western and Western-allied powers for respect.  Chen Zhen wins.

I imagine this goes over hugely well with Chinese audiences and, for that matter, with the Chinese government.  But you don’t have to be Chinese to groove on the fantastic action, the very good performances, and the intellectual exercise of analyzing nationalist film’s place in modern China.  I thought Legend of the Fist: The Return of Chen Zhen was fantastic.  If you like this genre, I think you’ll love it, too.

Spring in a Smal Town

SPRING IN A SMALL TOWN is a quiet film, a sad film, a heartbreaking film about missed opportunities, the futility of secrecy, and the compromises of adulthood.

It’s 1948. The Japanese are out of China and the Maoists have yet to consolidate their power. In the ruins of what was once a fine home live Liyan (Shi Yu) and Yuwen (Wei Wei), six years into a marriage marked more by duty and sadness than anything else. Liyan’s teenaged sister, Xiu (Zhang Hongmei) and family servant Huang (Cui Chaoming) round out the household. Liyan’s a broken man, his (mild) tuberculosis serving as a ready excuse to flee the crumbling world around him and take refuge in his garden. But Yuwen is very much alive, though she seeks to bury her vitality in her walks and her chores. Then, Zhichen (Li Wei), Liyan’s boyhood friend, appears after over a decade away. Zhichen and Yuwen grew up together. They are clearly, inescapably, forever in love.

That’s the first fifteen minutes.

But SPRING IN A SMALL TOWN isn’t just about love denied. It’s about the sacrifices, big and small, we make to get through the day, the week, the month, the year. It’s about the hidden gesture, about intuition, about how those who love us know us better than we think they do. It’s about all those little moments that make up a life, and the big ones that shape it. SPRING IN A SMALL TOWN is beautiful, not just in the portraits it creates, but in its compassion and understanding for its subjects. It’s an unforgettable film, one worth watching.

Chungking Express

You know those movies in which everyone in town seems to connect with everyone else? The kind which depict a city as a fabric, with everyone's stories woven together? CHUNGKING EXPRESS (1994) is not one of those movies. CHUNGKING EXPRESS is a movie about disconnectedness, about the isolation we can feel in the unlikeliest of places.

The movie doesn't have a unified narrative, and it isn't all tied together with freak meteorological events. Think of it, instead, as variations on a theme of loneliness. In the first variation, RETURNER's Takeshi Kaneshiro plays Number 223, a not-particularly-effective Hong Kong police officer. He's working through a difficult breakup, and the woman ( Brigitte Lin) he needs may be the worst possible woman for him. In the second, Tony Leung plays Number 633, another officer in similar circumstances. He meets Faye Wong, and I suspect that she's trouble in her own way.

The details of their stories aren't particularly important. What is important is the ways in which they try to order their lives, and how, even though they're sometimes only .01 centimeters apart, they may never connect. I suspect that, somewhere in China, there lives the girl who broke Wong Kar Wai's heart. We need to thank her, because his variations on a theme of loneliness are a beautiful thing, finding connections deeper than those any freak storm can create.

Three Times

THREE TIMES, directed by Hsiao-hsien Hou and starring Qi Shu and Chen Chang, is supposed to be a briliant movie. It won a Golden Horse for Best Taiwanese Film of the Year and was nominated for a Golden Palm, so it has some serious bona fides, but those bona fides didn't translate into a movie I could engage or enjoy. I suspect it's because THREE TIMES is too Chinese - it's so deeply embedded in Chinese themes and concerns that there isn't much there for the Occidental viewer.

THREE TIMES consists of three short stories, each a play on the theme of love missed. The first, set in the mid-'60s, casts Qi as a pool hall attendant and Chen as a soldier who falls in love with her, only to miss the connection in the end. In the second, Qi plays a courtesan and Chen a wealthy patron, one who always speaks of freeing China from foreign domination while blithely allowing the young woman to remain in servitude at the bordello. In the third, the two play a couple in modern Taipei, so thoroughly engrossed in their own personal worlds that they're incapable of reaching out to another human being.

These sound like interesting premises, but they depend upon an understanding of nonverbal communication and social cues that, in turn, require a deep familiarity with the culture on which they're based. The second story, for example, is a silent movie: its dialogue consisting of intertitle cards and the only sounds are that of the of the courtesan's sad songs. The sad songs are Chinese traditionals, done in the scaling, high, nearly nasal tone that was fashionable at that time, and which grates on my ears today. As for the first and third stories, they depend upon an understanding of the culture and history of Taiwan - one which I, as a viewer lacking in that knowledge, couldn't deliver.

If you're Chinese, you may love the heck out of THREE TIMES. For me, it didn't deliver.

New Police Story

NEW POLICE STORY features all the hallmarks of one of Jackie's Hong Kong pictures. It has ridiculously dangerous stunts, ridiculously beautiful women, and ridiculously ridiculous villains. This is stuff is vintage Jackie the Stuntman stuff - Jackie the Joker is nowhere to be found.

Here's the setup: Jackie's the HKPD's hotshot cop, instructing everything from weapons to martial arts. He leads a crack squad into a bloodbath orchestrated by previously mentioned ridiculous villains, then loses his confidence and descends into alcoholism. Of course, the ridiculous villains are still out there, and eventually Jackie's gonna have to get back on the horse.

NPS surprised me with its depiction of alcoholism. Hey, this is the Drunken Master we're talking about, right? Here, Jackie plays his despair and self-loathing absolutely straight, showing that while a young drunk can be cute, an older drunk is just sad. The guy has some moments of real pathos here, and I bought them; much to my own surprise.

OK, so there isn't much doubt that Jackie will pull himself together and take on the ridiculous villains. What about the stunts? Well, stand by to be dazzled. Though he's clearly using wires now, Jackie's fight choreography and execution are dazzling as always. Additionally, look out for a slide down a burning rope and the first time you've probably ever seen stuntmen ride bikes, rollerblade, or run(!) down the side of a skyscraper. This movie had enough "Wow!" moments to merit repeated replays for family members, nearby friends, and stray dogs.

Of course, it wouldn't be Jackie without ridiculously beautiful -and increasingly age-inappropriate- women. Charlie Yeung, twenty years his junior, plays Chan's fiancee without so much as a nod toward the age difference. Her performance is average, at best, but she sure looks nice.

Finally, there are the ridiculous villains. Seriously, what is it with Chan's Hong Kong ouvre? His villains are all either Australian or Chinese guys with dyed hair and seemingly limitless flows of cash. In this iteration, they happen to be a gang of -get this- XTreme Gamers who rob banks and kills cops for fun. I knew Poochy would turn out to be a malevolent force in the minds of the young. These villains have paper-thin motivations, but they're quite good at things like rollerblading and bicycling, which gives Chan and his choreographers some fun stunt-creation options.

And that's what it's all about, really: finding neat stunts and structuring a movie around them. NEW POLICE STORY does just that, and it does it well. I recommend it to any fan of Jackie's work.