Chanbara Beauty

(2008, Japan, JollyRoger)

Dir. Yôhei Fukuda; Pro. Masanori Kawashima, Ryô Murata, Hideyuki Sakurai, Kyôsuke Ueno; Scr. Yôhei Fukuda, Yasutoshi Murakawa; Action Dir. Gô Ohara; Cast Eri Otoguro, Tomohiro Waki, Tarô Suwa, Manami Hashimoto, Chise Nakamura.

86 min.

Based on the hack and slash OneChanbara video game – the fan boy premise of which revolves almost entirely around partial nudity and a gory zombie invasion – this live-action version dares to add depth and character to a gratuitous franchise which, on the face of it, may seem like a wistful waste of time.

The film feels more like a gaming experience than a movie. The computer generated effects feature such high levels of bloodletting that most of the red stuff ends up splattered on the lens. Then there are the formulaic zombie set pieces which place central characters in a warehouse, then in an abandoned hospital, then in the villain’s lair, like different levels on a video game.

The fantasy figure of Aya – a bikini clad zombie-slashing anti-hero in a Stetson, part Buffy part Girl with No Name – is a purely fetishised gaming creation, sporting nothing but a red bikini and optional poncho with barely enough space to carry her swords. She even possesses supernatural special moves, like the ability to dodge bullets, teleport, and do a back-flip without losing her hat. Her sword embodies a purple lightsabre glow and causes mini nuclear explosions.

These fantasy elements make the film more Resident Evil than Dawn of the Dead, yet stylistically it has an interesting hybrid of fashions; a future vision of Japan resembling the old American west combined with the traditions of Samurai chanbara films.

The post-zombie-apocalypse theme seemed more existential in the great 2000 slasher film Versus. Here, there is no context to help explain the hoards of walking dead other than the kooky experimentations of mad scientist Sugita (conveniently, he’s the one who always appears in a lab coat). He spends his days with a Messiah complex surrounded by body parts, injecting life serum into the resurrected.

How he could possibly have orchestrated the end of the world is left unclear, as Aya and her wandering, nomadic cohorts have personal scores to settle. Reiko wears biking leathers and carries a sawn-off shotgun, nursing the psychological defects of having to kill her own zombie daughter. Then there is burly comic relief Katsuji who reunites with his long-lost sister only to discover she is now a kung fu zombie schoolgirl spinning a lethal ball and chain.

This is textbook geeky fantasy nonsense, mostly innocuous despite the film’s rampant blood lust. The film culminates in a sibling showdown which completely loses its mind, as Aya confronts her wayward sister in a barren, spaghetti western stand-off.

AKA: OneChanbara: The Movie; OneChanbara: Zombie Bikini Squad; Zombie Killer

Shogun Assassin

(1980, Japan/US, Katsu Production/Toho Film Co.)

Dir. Kenji Misumi, Robert Houston; Pro. Shintaro Katsu, Hisaharu Matsubara, Robert Houston, David Weisman; Scr. Kazuo Koike, Goseki Kojima, Robert Houston, David Weisman; Action Dir. Eiichi Kusumoto; Cast Tomisaburo Wakayama, Kayo Matsuo, Minoru Ohki, Akiji Kobayashi, Shin Kishida.

86 min.

A slice ‘n’ dice treatment on the first two Lone Wolf & Cub movies from the early 1970s, this is a commercially aesthetic international re-edit and, therefore, the most widely viewed instalment. You’ve probably seen this movie without even knowing.

The narrative is messy but as a spectacle it works just fine. The film centres on the iconic cinematic image of Lone Wolf, a lethal Samurai assassin, who roams ninja-infested terrain with Cub, his three year old son who is cased inside a lethal push chair rigged to the hilt with booby traps. The premise is both savage and heartfelt. Lone Wolf’s unbridled affection for his son forms a great contrast with the way he violently dismembers hoards of blade wielding baddies.

Lone Wolf mainly focuses his decapitation skills on a sprightly bunch of deadly lady ninjas and the superbly titled Masters of Death, resulting in blood, gore, and much of the same. The deaths are extravagant but stylish. It’s Kurosawa on a serial rampage, but with a kid in a pram, obviously.

King Boxer

(1972, HK, Shaw Brothers)

Dir. Jeong Chang-hwa; Pro. Run Run Shaw; Scr. Kong Yeung; Action Dir. Lau Kar-wing, Chan Chuan; Cast Lo Lieh, Tung Lam, James Nam Gung-fan, Fang Mien, Wong Ching-feng, Wong Ping, Tien Feng, Chiu Hung, Chan Shen, Bolo Yeung.

104 min.

One of the most enjoyable martial arts movies ever made, this relentless, unapologetic head kicker completed the Shaw conversion from swashbuckling 1960s hits by directors like King Hu and Chang Cheh to full-bodied, empty hand fight movies. Picked up by Warner Brothers and released in the US in 1973 several months before Enter the Dragon, it was King Boxer (under the superb title Five Fingers of Death) that would become the leading example of Hong Kong kung fu cinema in the west and instrumental in introducing chopsocky to a whole new audience.

With exaggerated zooms, maniacal villains and martial superpowers, this film – more than any other – set the groundwork for what viewers would come to expect from Hong Kong martial arts cinema. The film’s influence can still be felt today. Quentin Tarantino would steal the recognisable Ironside motif for his epic homage Kill Bill, a film dedicated to the memory of late Shaw Brothers icons Chang Cheh and Lo Lieh.

Interesting also is the fact the film is directed by a Korean, Jeong Chang-hwa, still heavily influenced by the supernatural structure of Shaw’s earlier swordplay pictures, but with an added emphasis on delicate, well-paced storytelling. Subsequent chopsockies would ultimately do away with the storytelling altogether, but here we get a rather detailed, character-driven drama about the quest for martial supremacy between two rival schools.

Lo Lieh is sent packing by his father and girlfriend to train under the auspices of Master Suen, who teaches him the Iron Palm technique (in which his hands embody a devilish red glow) in a quest to defeat teacher Meng and his evil class of bastards at an upcoming kung fu tournament. Meng sends his cohorts to kill anyone who stands in his way, teaming up with the Japanese to hire a trio of Samurai assassins to take care of Suen and the boys.

As for the film’s leading man, it was Lo Lieh – not Bruce Lee – who would provide the west with their first kung fu hero. Lo Lieh’s body of work is vast but he was never more iconic than in this trailblazing movie.

AKA: Five Fingers of Death; Invincible Boxer

Master of the Flying Guillotine

(1975, HK, First Films)

Dir. Jimmy Wang Yu; Pro. Wong Cheuk-hon; Scr. Jimmy Wang Yu; Action Dir. Lau Kar-wing, Lau Kar-leung; Cast Jimmy Wang Yu, Kam Kong, Doris Lung Chung-erh, Sham Chin-bo, Lung Fei, Wong Wing-sang, Sit Hon, Lau Kar-wing.

90 min.

Seminal schlock favourite among fu followers, Wang Yu’s sequel is a zany triumph – the follow up to his handicapped heroics in 1971’s One Armed Boxer.

As well as revising his favourite Ming revolutionary, Jimmy Wang Yu borrows the star of the 1974 Shaw Brothers adventure The Flying Guillotine, namely the guillotine itself: an ancient serrated frisbee on a chain which, when aimed accurately, lassos around an opponent’s neck to deliver freshly severed heads in its own carry bag.

Kam Kong plays a blind, imperial assassin parading as a monk who learns of the One Armed Boxer’s triumph against his two Tibetan disciples from the first film. All within the same opening sequence, he rushes inside his home to retrieve his trusty flying guillotine, decapitates some passing birdlife, and then sets fire to his own house.

His skills as an assassin are noticeably rusty as the blind monk initially struggles to identify his man. “I don’t care who he was,” he says after killing the wrong person, “I intend to kill every one-armed man that I come across here!”

Meanwhile, rebel Wang Yu and his new antigovernment students avoid participating in the upcoming Eagle Claw tournament for fear of subterfuge, yet he still decides to turn up to watch the brutal, gladiatorial proceedings.

The famed Lau brothers – borrowed from the Shaw studios to work as choreographers – use the tournament to showcase styles from around the globe, albeit mockingly, with the inclusion of an arrogant Muay Thai fighter (Sham Chin-bo), a Japanese kobojutsu master (Lung Fei) and an Indian yoga mystic (Wong Wing-sang). The latter seems to have mastered a neat extendable arm technique which allegedly inspired the Dhalsim character in Capcom’s Street Fighter II video game.

The blind monk enlists their opportunistic help in pummelling the disabled boxer, which will certainly take some effort considering that at one point he punches a man through the roof.

It’s obviously completely crazy, but Wang Yu’s sincere approach – suggesting a serious attempt to make sense of the madness – only helps to make the whole thing even funnier.

AKA: One Armed Boxer 2; One Armed Boxer vs. the Flying Guillotine

Mr. Vampire

(1985, HK, Bo Ho Films/Golden Harvest)

Dir. Ricky Lau Jun-wei; Pro. Sammo Hung Kam-bo; Scr. Barry Wong Ping-yiu, Roy Szeto Wai-cheuk; Action Dir. Lam Ching-ying, Yuen Wah; Cast Lam Ching-ying, Chin Siu-ho, Moon Lee Choi-fong, Pauline Wong Siu-fung, Ricky Hui Kun-ying, Billy Lau Nam-kwong, Wu Ma.

93 min.

A smash hit movie, Mr. Vampire has developed a cult following over the years. The unique blend of supernatural horror, comedy and kung fu – the first success of its kind – created a new subgenre of its own, and the cash-ins and sequels quickly followed. But this is the original, and still the best.

Lam Ching-ying plays a Taoist priest and master of young disciples Chin Siu-ho and Ricky Hui, whose decision to harbour a wealthy man’s deceased father overnight quickly turns into a nightmare. Over the years the decaying corpse turns into a nasty Chinese vampire, now resurrected and hopping about the streets in Ming Dynasty costume. The priest has enough magic to keep the fiend at bay, but soon the vampire’s son is infected, and then his pupil Ricky Hui starts turning pale and growing his fingernails.

The most interesting subplot involves Chin Siu-ho’s relationship with a female ghost (Pauline Wong) who casts him under her spell, gives him creepy love bites and takes him back to her place. The priest is quick to work his skills, exploding the ghost’s flying head with a glow-in-the-dark dagger.

There is a great balance between the suspense of the horror scenes and the film’s spirited humour, best demonstrated in a scene where the leads evade capture by holding their breath, with a member of the walking dead sniffing furiously inches from their face.

Fun all the way, this one is difficult not to like.

The Prodigal Son

(1981, HK, Golden Harvest)

Dir. Sammo Hung Kam-bo; Pro. Raymond Chow Man-wai; Scr. Barry Wong Ping-yiu; Action Dir. Sammo Hung Kam-bo; Cast Yuen Biao, Lam Ching-ying, Frankie Chan Fan-kei, Sammo Hung Kam-bo, Peter Chan Lung, Chung Fat, Dick Wei, Wu Ma, Lee Hoi-san, Chien Yuet-san.

101 min.

A rip-roaring classic of a kung fu movie, this is undoubtedly one of the greatest martial arts films ever made and arguably Sammo’s crowning achievement.

By the time this mature fight fest landed in 1981, Sammo’s uneven trait of mixing sincerity with absurdity was a distant memory, even if it would take Sammo a while to entirely grow out of his penchant for slapstick extremities. The semi-autobiographical story recalls a boyhood spent behind the scenes and on the stage as part of a travelling Peking Opera group. Alongside a cast featuring his former Opera friends and performers, the film feels both heartfelt and strongly authentic.

Everyone plays to the top of their game, particularly during the sizzling fight sequences which display Sammo’s intricate mastery of motion, honed from a breadth of martial knowledge and filming experience. Few kung fu films have managed to top The Prodigal Son in its innovative choreography, with particular attention paid to editing, timing, camera movement, narrative structure and fluidity.

As Sammo’s second Wing Chun film, this acts as an indirect prequel to Hung’s earlier Warriors Two, detailing the early years of martial maestro Leung Jan, here depicted as a spoilt youth played excellently by Yuen Biao. Believing himself to be the kung fu king of Foshan, Leung’s fights are being fixed by his parents who fear for the boy’s safety. It takes a single beating from Wing Chun master and Opera performer Leung Yee-tai (Lam Ching-ying) before the truth comes out.

Despite persistent calls for Yee-tai to become Leung Jan’s sifu, he only reluctantly decides to teach the boy when his entire Opera group are killed and their building torched following a destructive order from the Duke, if only for the benefit of adding a revenge angle to the story.

Sammo appears as the burly Wong Wai-bo, brother of Yee-tai, secluded in a country hideout suffering delusions of grandeur. Frankie Chan plays the warm-hearted villain, but he is only a villain by proxy. He is a privileged, oppositional construct of Leung Jan’s character, possessing the kindest of intentions and only indirectly linked to the Opera murders. The balance of power between Lam Ching-ying’s authority and Yuen Biao’s youthful naivety adds to most of the film’s splendour, with both actors delivering career defining performances. Particularly Lam Ching-ying, even if he does spend large sections of the film singing in drag.

The movie concludes in a bloodbath, with Yuen Biao grappling prodigal rival Frankie Chan toe to toe in an astonishing final reel which never fails to amaze.

AKA: Pull No Punches

Butterfly and Sword

(1993, HK, Mei Ah Film Production)

Dir. Michael Mak Tong-kit; Pro. Chu Yen-ping; Scr. Jong Jing; Action Dir. Tony Ching Siu-tung; Cast Tony Leung Chiu-wai, Michelle Yeoh Chu-kheng, Joey Wang Cho-yin, Jimmy Lin Chi-ying, Donnie Yen Chi-tan, Yip Chuen-chan, Elvis Tsui Kam-kong.

88 min.

Crazy wuxia wire fu from Michael Mak, loosely based on a Gu Long novel and featuring exploding bodies, flying sword fights and sickly keyboard music. Butterfly (Joey Wang) is the doting wife of Sword (Tony Leung) who are planning a life of domestic bliss among the tree-tops of the Happy Forest clan – a cult of martial warriors led by the stoic Sister Ko (Michelle Yeoh). At the dying wish of her sifu, Ko is told to track down the evil Master Suen (Elvis Tsui), who is masterminding a rebellion alongside His Excellency to kill off all of their rival warriors making them king of the martial world. Sword and Ko grew up together at the same orphanage, and unbeknownst to Butterfly, Sword embarks on a mission to infiltrate Suen’s Elite Villa and bring down the baddies from the inside. But that’s not quite everything.

Donnie Yen is Happy Forest’s drunken sword ace with an unquenchable crush on Sister Ko who may or may not have a thing for Sword. During one brutal attack, Donnie is snagged by the Evil Claw – a detachable hand on a chain which can “kill in a thousand seconds”. Sword’s special trick involves running at pace through the bodies of his opponents and then, just for good measure, he might kick their heads off. This level of fantastical violence is then abruptly replaced by whimsical comedy which carries a tenderness completely at odds with the majority of the film.

To be frank, it’s a complete mess. But insane action scenes from Tony Ching and a strong central cast help to improve matters. Tony Leung and Michelle Yeoh are uniformly watchable, while Joey Wang shows once again why she is one of Hong Kong’s best comedic actresses.

AKA: Comet, Butterfly and Sword

The Bride with White Hair

(1993, HK, Mandarin Films)

Dir. Ronny Yu Yan-tai; Pro. Ronny Yu Yan-tai, Raymond Wong Bak-ming, Michael Wong; Scr. Ronny Yu Yan-tai, Lam Kei-to, David Wu Tai-wai; Action Dir. Phillip Kwok Tsui; Cast Brigitte Lin Ching-hsia, Leslie Cheung Kwok-wing, Elaine Lui Siu-ling, Francis Ng Chun-yu, Yammie Nam Kit-ying, Eddy Ko Hung.

90 min.

Eclectic, dazzling and mystifying, the fantasy eroticism of The Bride with White Hair is enough to send even the harshest critic into a tailspin. Effortlessly cool and with spellbinding visuals, Peter Pao’s cinematography coupled with Ronny Yu’s fast-paced direction is guaranteed to make your eyes burst, and the sensitive story of love and loyalty, rivalry and trust, will make your heart bleed for our protagonists. All of which is played out in a demonic fury of electrifying gimmickry and martial arts action.

A Romeo and Juliet romance, Leslie Cheung plays Yi-hang, a reclusive warrior who resides atop a mountain and dictates our story through flashback. He talks of being a young boy, learning the swordsman’s craft, preparing to fulfil his rightful position at the head of the Chung Yuan group of eight leading clans. Age brings wisdom and Yi-hang decides to turn his back on his martial ways and live out the rest of his days in a secluded paradise with his new nameless love (Brigitte Lin).

As his childhood sweetheart, Lin plays a beautiful warrior with razor-sharp kung fu and a whip that can chop a man to pieces. The two become lovers, spinning slow-mo in an underground whirlpool, where Yi-hang christens her with the name Lien Ni-chang. They belong to different sects, of course, so a proverbial spanner is thrown in the works.

Ni-chang was raised by wolves (no, really), looked upon as a witch, belonging to a strange evil cult masterminded by Chiu Wu-shuang – a back-to-back Siamese twin whose sexual longings for Ni-chang are sneered upon by his conjoined sister. The bizarre double act cause an inevitable rift between the lovers. Vengeful toward Yi-hang for loving Ni-chang, Chiu launches an all out massacre on the masters of Chang Yuan, killing Yi-hang’s sifu in the process. When Ni-chang sacrifices herself for the common cause, she turns into a symbolic ghost of her former self, with extendable white hair to grapple with her victims.

It sounds mad, but Brigitte Lin somehow makes it believable; her enchanting performance drives the movie, looking truly special in her ghostly white robe and grey locks. The fantasy elements (particularly in the finale) seem reminiscent of A Chinese Ghost Story (to draw an obvious comparison), but this is a much darker and powerful fable, and certainly one of the best films to come out of Hong Kong.

The Kentucky Fried Movie

(1977, US, KFM Films)

Dir. John Landis; Pro. Robert K. Weiss; Scr. Jim Abrahams, David Zucker, Jerry Zucker; Action Dir. Patrick Strong, Russ Dodson; Cast Evan Kim, Bong Soo-han, David Zucker, Jerry Zucker, Bill Bixby, Tony Dow, Boni Enten, George Lazenby, Donald Sutherland, Henry Gibson.

90 min.

The first meeting of minds between the Airplane! and Naked Gun team, this rapid fire spoof is 90 minutes of pure parody with the American media the target. The news becomes a laughing stock, sexploitation is made to look silly and commercials are rioted – one about a charity helpline for the dead, another about the importance of zinc oxide. It’s a sequence of skits, hilarious in places, with a glorious centrepiece: a half-hour spoof of Enter the Dragon, titled ‘A Fistful of Yen’. Obviously a labour of love, the parody is simply glorious. The evil ‘Klhan’ uses his disposable hand as a toothbrush and a hairdryer; Evan Kim bumps into American tourists when investigating Klhan’s lair; the film’s script is comically plundered and rewritten, until the routine somehow ends up in The Wizard of Oz. It’s the best thing in a very funny movie.

Ninja Wars

(1982, Japan, Toei Company)

Dir. Mitsumasa Saito; Pro. Masao Sato, Izumi Toyoshima; Scr. Ei Ogawa; Action Dir. Sonny Chiba; Cast Hiroyuki Sanada, Noriko Watanabe, Jun Miho, Miho Kazamatsuri, Kongo Kobayashi, Akira Nakao, Sonny Chiba.

100 min.

Mad jidaigeki from the Sonny Chiba school of crazy. Evil Lord Donjo (Akira Nakao) is visited by a creepy floating soothsayer and told he will control the world if he wins the heart of the Shogun’s daughter. He enlists the help of five ‘devil monks’, each possessing bizarre supernatural skills, to kidnap the girl from the loving arms of young ninja Jotaro (Sanada).

The assassination squad use slightly unorthodox combating techniques, like the mastery of a boomerang sithe and a gross projectile vomiting trick which douses unsuspecting adversaries in a highly corrosive yellow gunge.

Just when you think the film couldn’t possibly get any weirder, the princess chops her own head off when in his lordship’s custody, only for the monks to swap her head with one of their courtesans. The girls’ tears are said to possess an aphrodisiac quality causing those who drink them to fall in love with the first person they see, and thus supposedly securing Donjo’s status as the king of the world.

Perhaps all of this is a lot clearer in Hutaro Yamada’s novel, because this convoluted film adaptation barrels along at a reckless, incoherent pace. The fact the majority of the female cast have seemingly swapped heads really doesn’t help. But all this makes it one of Chiba’s most delirious exploitation films, even if he only makes an all-too-brief guest appearance at the start and the end.

AKA: Death of a Ninja