Ong-Bak

(2003, Thailand, Sahamongkol Film Co.)

Dir. Prachya Pinkaew; Pro. Prachya Pinkaew, Sukanya Vongsthapat; Scr. Suphachai Sittiaumponpan; Action Dir. Panna Rittikrai, Tony Jaa; Cast Tony Jaa, Petchtai Wongkamlao, Pumwaree Yodkamol, Suchoa Pongvilai, Wannakit Siriput.

105 min.

The most exciting post-millennial Asian success was, surprisingly, of Thai origin. Not the film as such (it’s a pottering drivel of a story) but rather the movie’s star, Panom Yeerum, or ‘Tony Jaa’ to us Westerners.

Perhaps one of the most remarkable finds in the evolution of martial arts cinema, Jaa resembles Jackie Chan in his stunt work but with enough ferocity to make Steven Seagal look like a ballerina. Ong-Bak is all about full contact Muay Thai kickboxing and Jaa is so remarkable to watch he will literally leave you breathless. A chase scene through a Thai market sees Jaa scaling walls in a single leap, gliding underneath moving trucks and somersaulting his way through bustling traffic with split second accuracy.

If you think that’s something, just wait until he starts beating people up. His knees and elbows break cycle helmets. He can perform wildly acrobatic kicks that defy gravity, even when his legs are on fire. The final brawl sees a succession of stuntmen line up as cannon fodder for an exhilarating exhibition, exploiting the film’s unique selling point to such a degree that it will beat any kind of cynicism clean out of your brain.

The movie’s secret, and Tony Jaa’s, is the impressive lack of wires and gimmicks. A distinct lack of special effects is a rare thing in the modern era of instant kung fu heroes. Ong-Bak reverts the genre to its bare essentials and emphatically embraces talent over trickery.

Jaa also forces us to neglect a rather pitiful story line where he travels into the dark, gambling underworld of Thailand to recover the stolen head of his village’s sacred Buddhist statue. But in a movie this explicitly crowd-pleasing, trivial issues like plot and characterisation are a moot point.

This film kicks ass and should come with a band aid.

AKA: Daredevil; Ong-Bak: The Thai Warrior; Ong-Bak: Muay Thai Warrior; Thai Fist

The Shepherd: Border Patrol

(2008, US, Sony Pictures/Stage 6 Films)

Dir. Isaac Florentine; Pro. Moshe Diamant, Gilbert Dumontet; Scr. Joe Gayton, Cade Courtley; Action Dir. J.J. Perry; Cast Jean-Claude Van Damme, Stephen Lord, Natalie J. Robb, Gary McDonald, Daniel Perrone.

95 min.

Now here’s a pretty terrible title for a Van Damme film. He stalks this one with the resigned look of a guy who has already made this movie a dozen times before. The cheap, straight to video feel makes it seem like the filmmakers haven’t watched a film for at least 15 years. Luckily Van Damme made JCVD after this, causing a career renaissance which would have seemed all but impossible at this stage in his career.

He plays a despondent New Orleans cop who joins the New Mexico border patrol to take on the drug cartels, with a ball-busting sergeant and a pet rabbit for company. The main culprits are a disillusioned troop of army-trained US mercenaries who use their Afghan contacts to control the shipment of heroin into the country. They’re bomb nuts and have experience dealing with jihadists, but you’ll find more political clout on a cereal box than you will here.

Undisputed II director Florentine sparks life into the fight scenes with great attention to stunt work and flashy kicks, particularly from Scott Adkins, whose anticipated fight with Van Damme at the end is the only excitement in a rather tired final act.

The Clones of Bruce Lee

(1977, HK, Spectacular Films/Filmline Enterprises)

Dir. Joseph Kong Hung; Pro. Cheung Chung-lung; Action Dir. Bruce Le; Cast Dragon Lee, Bruce Le, Bruce Lai, John T. Benn, Bruce Thai, Bolo Yeung, Kong Do.

90 min.

Certifiable evidence of a film industry gone mad, this is where the Bruceploitation sub-genre starts to eat itself. Not one, not two, but three Bruce Lee imitators, all in the same movie (four if you count Bruce Thai, who confusingly doesn’t even play one of the clones).

The film starts with panicked doctors trying to resuscitate the real Bruce Lee as his body is rushed to hospital. The actor has barely been dead for 20 minutes before mad professor Benn (the beardy one from The Way of the Dragon) takes a sample of his blood at the behest of some made up foreign bureau. Through the aide of a highly scientific twiddling of bright flashing buttons, he creates three walking, talking, fighting versions of Bruce Lee – complete with black pumps and aviators.

Interestingly, Dragon Lee’s first mission is to find an unscrupulous, grave-robbing movie producer who plans to kill off his main star and cash in on the proceeds of the subsequent spin-offs, which displays quite clever introspection for a film with the IQ of a walnut. Meanwhile, the other two are shipped to Thailand to contain a drugs baron who is turning his guards into bronze. And no, we’re not making this stuff up.

Moments like this (plus a spectacularly impromptu nude scene) add to the complete absurdity of this cult favourite, which sets up a courageously infantile premise and relishes every single second.

Wake of Death

(2004, US/Germany, Bauer Martinez Studios/UKFS/Frame Werk Produktion)

Dir. Philippe Martinez; Pro. Alan Latham, Philippe Martinez, Stéphanie Martinez, Stanley Roup; Scr. Mick Davis, Laurent Fellous, Philippe Martinez; Cast Jean-Claude Van Damme, Simon Yam Tat-wah, Philip Tan, Valerie Tian, Tony Schiena.

90 min.

Discouragingly formulaic action drama directed for the most part like a perfume commercial – all slow motion, detached voiceover and operatic intention. The idea is to add weight to a dud Van Damme vehicle, but it actually sucks the life from it. Van Damme is on autopilot as a doting family man and nightclub owner with a vague heroic or criminal background (it’s never properly explained) who calls on some heavily militarised buddies to help him avenge the death of his wife, killed at the hands of a Hong Kong triad kingpin played by Simon Yam. Yam had been making a lucrative sideline murdering women with a flick knife and smuggling heroin into the US through a Chinese people smuggling operation – cooperated by bent cops in the LA harbour patrol – until his young daughter escapes and boards the next boat to Van Damme’s house. The recycled story and irksome pretentiousness makes the film look and feel like something from another era. Original director Ringo Lam was wise to leave this one very early in development.

Pantyhose Hero

(1990, HK, Bojon Films)

Dir. Sammo Hung Kam-bo; Pro. Sammo Hung Kam-bo; Scr. Roy Szeto Cheuk-hon, Barry Wong Ping-yiu; Action Dir. Sammo Hung Kam-bo; Cast Sammo Hung Kam-bo, Alan Tam Wing-lun, Yam Wai-hung, Billy Ching Sau-yat, Joan Tong Lai-kau, Ridley Tsui Po-wah, Jaclyn Chu Wai-shan, James Tien Chun.

99 min.

The moment Sammo Hung’s career commercially nose-dived can be pinpointed to around the time of this homophobic crime caper. It’s a brash, pernicious film which signals a shift in Sammo’s comedy from a childlike innocence into something altogether quite mean. Perhaps, in the midst of a growing AIDS epidemic, the film is indicative of Hong Kong attitudes towards homosexuality in the 1980s – where sexual activity between same-sex partners was still a criminal offence – but I doubt it. Watching it in the 21st century is like being caught in some kind of grotesque and unsettling time vortex. It is reassuring to know audiences at the time thought the same.

As undercover cops infiltrating Hong Kong’s gay mafia, Sammo and Alan Tam undergo three days of intensive gay training, which involves working out who is the more feminine and practicing their camp walk. “There are three types of gays,” says their mentor Jaclyn Chu quite categorically, as if gay people are clearly defined by their bad habits and devious intentions. They are told to “cultivate the mentality of disliking girls” by way of training their gaydar, hitting the local bars for an uncomfortable series of pick up scenes. With Sammo’s sinister portrayal of what he clearly sees as a strange and seedy subculture, coupled with a few AIDS gags thrown in for good measure (always a great topic for humour), you may have to keep reminding yourself that this is a comedy.

However, Sammo’s action is faultless; sublimely choreographed and brutally performed, particularly a punishing finale with criminal kingpin Yam Wai-hung and his crazy kicks. The action scenes are visceral, edgy and genuinely exciting, but it was Sammo’s crude comedy which was proving to be out of step with the changing attitudes of the time.

AKA: Pantyhose Killer

The King of the Kickboxers

(1991, HK/US, Seasonal Films)

Dir. Lucas Lo; Pro. Keith W. Strandberg, Boonlert Setthamongkol; Scr. Keith W. Strandberg; Action Dir. Tony Leung Siu-hung; Cast Loren Avedon, Billy Blanks, Keith Cooke, Sherry Rose, Jerry Trimble.

92 min.

A skewed retelling of the Kickboxer story, Van Damme‘s seminal hit released two years previously. The irony being it was Seasonal Films that first recognised Van Damme’s high kicking potential in their 1986 film No Retreat, No Surrender. The same team back this spirited if ham-fisted revenge film, offering Loren Avedon a prime spot for his bolshy American routine and great footwork. He plays renegade New York undercover cop Jake who breaks up drug busts with his sharp kickboxing skills and refuses to call for back up. He’s assigned (for completely unfathomable reasons) to a case in Bangkok where big budget snuff movies are luring foreign kickboxers to a sticky end, pulverised by the punishing blows of burly beefcake Kahn (Blanks) who is called upon to lynch and cripple opponents for the final reel. But the preposterous conceit doesn’t end there, because Kahn just happened to kill Jake’s brother 10 years back. His American kickboxing isn’t up to scratch, so Jake descends down the Mekong to meet reclusive master Prang (Cooke) and his pet monkey to undergo a torturous lesson or two in the ways of Muay Thai. The film works despite its ineptness because of some strong fight sequences, particularly the final showdown between Avedon and Blanks in a ceremonial bamboo cage, and some convincing chemistry, mostly in the unorthodox relationship between master and pupil. The slights against violent movies add an acerbic irony to the film, but whether that was actually the intention is anyone’s guess.

AKA: Karate Tiger 4; No Retreat, No Surrender 4

Black Belt Jones

(1974, US, Warner Bros.)

Dir. Robert Clouse; Pro. Peter Heller, Fred Weintraub; Scr. Oscar Williams; Action Dir. Robert Wall; Cast Jim Kelly, Gloria Hendry, Scatman Crothers, Eric Laneuville, Alan Weeks, Andre Phillippe, Mel Novak, Malik Carter.

87 min.

Those who question the cinematic influence of Bruce Lee need only refer to what Messrs Clouse, Weintraub and Heller did after the instant success of Enter the Dragon in 1973. The team turn to Bruce Lee’s well-coiffed co-star Jim Kelly – a karate fighter of some merit – to helm this cheap blaxploitation effort, but the results are quite ghastly.

Kelly’s film career is a particularly unfortunate story. Even here he displays enough commendable chopping and sassy sex appeal to make it as a leading man, but his subsequent films following Enter the Dragon are never more than moronic. And here he really gets off on the wrong foot.

Scatman Crothers is hopelessly miscast as the head of Pop Byrd’s karate school, which he has clearly mistaken for a jazz café. Pop’s dojo lies on a highly lucrative slice of Californian real estate, which soon leads to his death at the collaborative hands of both the Italian mafia and a local drug gang, and pretty soon its brother against brother.

Kelly is Black Belt Jones, a friend of Pop who is hired by detectives to take down the mob, recruiting a team of female trampoline acrobats in swimsuits and the karate kicks of Pop’s estranged daughter (played by later Bond girl Gloria Hendry). The duo battle dubious racial stereotyping before culminating in an impromptu fight fest at a carwash.

No one comes out of this looking good. Apart from maybe guitarist Dennis Coffey, who wrote the film’s damn funky theme tune.

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.

Black Dynamite

(2009, US, Ars Nova/Six Point Harness/Suckapunch Films)

Dir. Scott Sanders; Pro. Jenny Wiener Steingart, Jon Steingart; Scr. Michael Jai White, Byron Minns, Scott Sanders; Action Dir. Roger Yuan, Ron Yuan; Cast Michael Jai White, Obba Babatundé, Kevin Chapman, Tommy Davidson, Richard Edson, Arsenio Hall.

84 min.

Spoof blaxploitation from the brains and brawn of Michael Jai White, who rejoices in the subgenre’s cheap thrills while adding a post-modern logic to the blueprint set out for the seventies African-American action hero. As the sharp suited Black Dynamite, White marries the kung fu chops of Jim Kelly with the moustache of Fred Williamson in a pointedly accurate homage to his boyhood icons.

Any decent spoof should derive from a place of respect rather than ridicule, and Black Dynamite is no exception. Here, the devil lies in the detail. Production values are accurately kept to a minimum with a grainy film stock ensuring ultimate authenticity alongside shaky camerawork and bad editing. Characters are many, some talking in Huggy Bear-style rhyming couplets, immaculately styled in the fashion and language of the age while the soundtrack plays an ironic funk in something similar to Curtis Mayfield.

Only the story diverts from the rulebook, but it’s so damn funny you can’t help but go with it. Black Dynamite is a militant ex-CIA Vietnam veteran on the hunt for his brother’s killers. “I’m blacker than the Ace of Spades,” he yells at a Black Panther group losing credence amongst the black voters in the wake of charismatic Congressman James, who is in cahoots with The Man and helping Italian drug pushers deal smack to orphans.

But wait, it gets better. A shipment of malt liquor endorsed by the Congressman is shrinking the size of male genitalia within the black community, so Black Dynamite departs for Kung Fu Island to fight Fiendish Dr Wu in a nod to both Roger Corman’s Filipino B movies and Enter the Dragon. The film concludes with a trip to the “Honky House” and a nunchaku duel with Richard Nixon.

It is utterly barmy and deserves its place amongst the pantheon of great dooby movies.

The Tongfather

(1974, Taiwan)

Dir. Tien Peng; Pro. Tien Shao-ching; Scr. Tien Peng; Action Dir. Wong Wing-sang, Yu Tien-lung; Cast Tien Peng, Tin Hok, Yee Yuen, Hsieh Hsing, Chen Hung-lieh, Wong Wing-sang, Shut Chung-tin, Sit Hon.

92 min.

Cheap Taiwanese spy fu from Tien Peng who looks rather charming as a chain smoking secret agent, hardly recognisable from his swashbuckling persona in King Hu’s A Touch of Zen. A revolving Chinese cast play Japanese opium dealers in Samurai attire, planning their nasty racket from the confines of a dojo. Tien Peng and partner Tin Hok are recruited by their government to infiltrate the dealers and take it down from the inside, although Peng makes only the smallest of efforts to remain undercover, bragging about his espionage skills before laying waste with his special kung fu chops. The marvelous title refers to Yee Yuen’s kingpin character, although none of the baddies are alive long enough to make any sort of impression. And that funky song playing every five minutes? Papa Was A Rolling Stone by The Temptations. Perhaps the best use of disco in a kung fu picture.

AKA: Hands of Death; The Notorious Bandit