‘Shawscope Volume Three’ (1967-1983)
Before Hong Kong’s mightiest film studio mastered the art of the kung fu film, Shaw Brothers hit box office gold with a very different kind of martial arts cinema.
Before Hong Kong’s mightiest film studio mastered the art of the kung fu film, Shaw Brothers hit box office gold with a very different kind of martial arts cinema.
Those in the market for this impressive 14-film box set probably already have it pre-ordered and won’t be swayed by a review. Most of the titles are presented on Blu-ray for the first time and have been beautifully restored by Arrow Video from the original negatives at 2K, with one exception—the new 4K restoration of One-Armed Swordsman (1967) overseen by Celestial Pictures. However, with the current resurgence of interest in wuxia, some may be ready to take the risk and jump feet first into a curated collection of titles from the Shaw Brothers—the prolific Hong Kong studio that fuelled the ‘New Wuxia’ revival of the mid-20th century. These films laid the foundation for the new wave of wuxia we’re enjoying, propelled by the internationally successful epic series, The Untamed (2019).
A casual search on Netflix UK for “wuxia” will surface more than 20 long-running series and contemporary films, plus another 100+ titles with tenuous connections to the category. This goes to show how popular the genre is right now, despite most of those titles being foreign-language and subtitled.
The word wǔxiá / 武俠—pronounced woo-she-ah—combines the two Chinese words wǔ, meaning ‘martial’ as in military, and xiá, meaning ‘chivalrous hero’. Briefly, wuxia as a genre is defined by stories set in a mythologised feudal past, typically following the quest format and featuring sword-wielders of exceptional, often supernatural skills. A wuxia hero is usually a ‘knight-errant’ who adheres to an unwavering code of Confucian ethics that puts them at odds with unscrupulous villains as champions of the oppressed.
Some classics of the genre are quite realistic with period-correct settings and grounded action, whereas others veer into fantasy where people can leap effortlessly from rooftop to rooftop, fly on their swords, and hurl magical energies around. So, wuxia can be broadly categorised into three styles: those with a character-led narrative, those driven by violent action set-pieces, and fantasy-orientated films. Of course, it’s possible to combine all these traits into one story, and the style can range from visceral to lyrical.
Wuxia has existed in literary form for more than a couple of millennia and has provided the source material for movies as long as Chinese cinema has existed. The 20th-century revival began with King Hu’s Come Drink with Me (1966), a renowned Shaw Brothers Production conspicuously absent from this box set.
The current revival is partly down to the legacy of Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon (2000), the spectacular movie that rekindled interest in the genre in China and Southeast Asia but, more importantly, proved its global appeal. It was part-produced by the immensely powerful China Film Group Corporation (CFGC), who realised that their domestic literary heritage was a wuxia wellspring and that this, along with the resurgence of the genre in so-called ‘light novels’, was a valuable untapped resource.
The country’s many spectacular landscapes and preserved heritage sites, along with newly purpose-built standing sets of entire temples, palaces, and towns, enable film and television production companies to make lavish productions on a relatively low budget. Many are now filmed at the Hengdian World Studios, a sprawling full-size replica of several Early Chinese Dynasty locations reconstructed in a style that can be dressed for the Qin and Han periods. Use of the 130 sets and 30 exterior locations is provided free of charge to production companies.
It may be on a grander scale, but it’s a similar idea to the Hong Kong studio set-up of the mid-1960s and 1970s which utilised ready-made sets and plenty of skilled Peking Opera veterans well-versed in show-fighting, acrobatics, and tumbling. During that same period, the pulp cinema industry of Italy also made use of a permanent Wild West town set where hundreds of spaghetti westerns were shot every year. Both Euro-westerns and Hong Kong martial arts films found international audiences, and these genre movies were churned out at a rate never seen before or since. So many of them were cheap knockoffs made and forgotten quickly, but for every hundred or so, there were a handful of stand-out qualities that garnered devout cult followings and have since become regarded as classics.
Kung Fu films dominated the output of Asian cinema in the 1970s and became a global craze following the success of a trio of breakthrough titles starring Bruce Lee: The Big Boss (1971), Fist of Fury (1972), The Way of the Dragon (1972)—which smashed Hong Kong box office records, and of course, Enter the Dragon (1973), which was an even greater success. These and similar punch-and-kick fighting films with their contemporary settings quickly overshadowed the previously popular period pieces featuring heroic swordsmen. It was two of these, Chang Cheh’s One-Armed Swordsman along with King Hu’s Dragon Inn (1967) that had previously held the Hong Kong box office record and introduced a style that would become known as New Wuxia—defined by audacious, increasingly gory fight choreography and a distinctive visual style blending the magical artifice of beautifully lit sets with naturalistic location scenes.
Appropriately, the first two discs of Shawscope Vol.3 are dedicated to the iconic One-Armed Swordsman trilogy (1967-1971) , directed by wuxia cinema godfather Chang Cheh. They made household names of stars Jimmy Wang Yu and David Chiang, launched the career of Ti Lung, and set the template for many films to come. They added heroic bloodshed to the mix, which one can see then escalate across this box set as blood flows ever more copiously and limbs begin to fly. As this review would become unwieldy should I treat all the titles equally, we’ll spend a little more time with One-Armed Swordsman, which establishes many recurring tropes of the genre and introduces some definitive narrative and stylistic elements.
A young boy witnesses his father’s noble death in defence of Clan Leader Qi Ru Feng (Tien Feng), who then officially adopts him into the clan—so we’re starting with a very familiar premise for sure. Jump forward 13 years, and the boy has grown up as Fang Kang (Jimmy Wang Yu), proving to be the martial arts school’s most gifted student, inevitably resented by the high-born disciples, including Qi Pei Er (Angela Pan), the clan leader’s daughter. The early loss of Fang Kang’s arm is quite an unexpected shock because it’s not at the hands of the main antagonist, who turns out to be Long Armed Devil (Yeung Chi-hing), leader of an outlaw clan who prefers to remain in the shadows, delegating his nefarious duties to his top henchman, Smiling Tiger Cheng Tian Shou (Tang Ti).
The grievously injured, one-armed Fang Kang staggers off through an otherworldly snowfall, just one of several atmospheric sequences captured by the luscious cinematography of Tseng-San Yuan. When Qi Ru Feng follows the blood trail of his beloved disciple to a bridge, it’s assumed that he fell to his death in the icy waters below. However, a mystical force of providence ensures Fang Kang can’t escape his destiny, no matter what. Instead of meeting his demise by drowning, he falls onto a passing boat and is rescued by Xiao Man (Lisa Chiao Chiao), an orphaned young woman who’s trying to build a life for herself, farming her humble plot of land. After his long recovery, he stays on to help with the farm work, first out of a sense of gratitude but, of course, they fall in love. It seems he’d be happy living off the land, but a lone woman and her disabled worker are an easy target for bullies and bandits. After being a top martial arts student, Fang Kang becomes increasingly frustrated that his skills are now so poor and he’s unable to wield a sword to protect Xiao Man and their homestead. Which is where providence steps in once more.
Turns out that she has a similar backstory, witnessing the death of her father in the noble defence of his clan while rescuing its martial arts manual and its closely guarded secrets of their unique technique. That each clan has its own distinctive form of kung fu or style of swordsmanship is a feature of nearly all wuxia movies but, here, it’s an essential narrative device, as is the loss of Fang Kang’s right arm. When Xiao Man’s father died, her mother blamed the martial arts world and tried to burn the manual, only to immediately regret doing so and pull what remains from the flames. The surviving pages are the manual’s lesser-read ‘appendix’, detailing the left-hand technique using a short sword. Exactly what Fang Kang needs!
Meanwhile, Smiling Tiger has identified a fatal flaw in the sword style of Fang Kang’s former clan. Masters of their legendary Golden Blade technique are deemed ‘unbeatable’ but their decisive sword strikes always come from the same angle. Long Armed Devil has forged a new kind of weapon that forms a pincer capable of blocking and locking an opponent’s blade at close quarters, leaving them open for a fatal slash to the guts from a short sword. It only works well against a right-handed swordsman. Luckily, at the risk of losing his idyllic farming lifestyle with the woman he loves, Fang Kang feels compelled to step in and at least try to save his old master and the last few of his former clan. Now his unconventional left-handed sword skills will give him a distinct advantage.
It’s a straightforward plot that some might call contrived, but the vagaries of our protagonist’s destiny cleverly mesh, propelling the narrative toward a satisfying showdown. The protracted sequence in which we witness a succession of Golden Blade masters fall foul of the blade-locking contraption gets a little repetitive but necessary to demonstrate its unerring effectiveness.
As far as wuxia goes, it ticks the right boxes though is somewhat subdued when compared to later examples. Director Chang Cheh spends time building character and creating atmosphere, helped along by the studio-bound artistry of cinematographer Tseng-San Yuan. The snowfall scenes and those set at night often have the lyrical beauty of a vivid dream. These counterpoints the excellent fight choreography for which Chang Cheh introduced the visual language of the hand-held camera to bring the viewer into the action rather than feel like a passive observer keeping a safe distance.
It does have a spectacular showdown at an inn involving weaponised chopsticks, which quickly became a prerequisite after King Hu’s Come Drink with Me. It’s worthy of note that the release of One-Armed Swordsman is sandwiched between that seminal classic and King Hu’s follow-up Dragon Inn, making it an equally important formative influence on the genre and was successful enough to warrant numerous sequels that eventually evolved into a sub-genre of martial arts movies with one-armed protagonists…
The events in Return of the One-Armed Swordsman take place several years later when our hero has been living with his wife Xiao Man (Lisa Chiao Chiao) on their remote farm, but circumstances cause him to come out of retirement and take on The Eight Sword Kings, each warrior with their own unique fighting style and some inventive weaponry design. The battle sequences are audacious and get quite bloody and unbelievable as men fight on after being pretty much eviscerated by big, bladed frisbees, or with swords stuck through their torso. Some viewers will love the novelty blades and contests between different techniques, generally invented for the film. For me, there’s just too much sword and not enough story. Following the success of the first film, Shaw Brothers upped the budget, and this can be seen on the screen in general production values, costumes, sets, and hordes of extras.
One of the innovations of the first film was to have a disabled protagonist, stripped of his skills acquired through years of training, who must first overcome his own adversities before progressing to helping others. Here, that’s already happened but being a one-armed master distinguishes Fang Kang and makes him a must for some sort of martial arts supremacy contest against the Eight Sword Kings. He has left that world of violence behind but is coerced into engaging once again. It’s a familiar formula from many a classic Western—y’know the ones where the retired gunslinger wants to live in peace, but the young guns just have to prove themselves against him… and here we see that same type of reluctant hero, a man of violence who has chosen a peaceful life but cannot escape his past.
The second instalment’s narrative isn’t nearly as rich and is merely a contrivance to facilitate a stunt showcase of fights involving large groups of adversaries as the rival schools battle each other for supremacy in the martial arts world. It’s a precursor to Jimmy Wang Yu’s Beach of the War Gods (1973), which suffers from the same pitfalls. I know this style of martial arts movie has legions of fans who enjoy the inventive weapons and cleverly choreographed action that’s approaching a form of dance, like going to watch a Peking Opera skills showcase. It’s a tried and tested formula that, for me, soon bores. Too many similar movies rely on a plot based around a quest to prove who is the ‘king’ of the martial arts world as if that motivation alone makes for a good story. However, this is a formative example when it was still fresh and will please fans of this subgenre of fanciful fighting and, between bouts of inventive and brutal combat, Jimmy Wang Yu gets a chance to develop the Fang Kang character with more complex conflicted emotions. Plus, it looks just as good with cinematography in the hands of Mu-To Kung, who stays on for the next movie presented here…
Around this time, Jimmy Wang Yu broke his contract with Shaw Brothers to move on to producing and directing his own movies. So, the third film in the franchise, The New One-Armed Swordsman , introduces another swordsman, Lei Li (David Chiang), who is annoyingly cocksure of his superlative skills until he’s manipulated by his own honour code into fighting a decidedly underhand martial arts master. The battle results in a life-changing injury, and this time round there is a darker tone and the violence is notably more visceral. One of the heroes dies a particularly ignoble and shocking death when he’s literally cut in half—the sort of explicit gore that got plenty of Shaw Brothers movies trimmed by the UK censors or outright banned in the 1970s—ensuring they became the stuff of schoolyard legends.
One-Armed Swordsman had two notable female roles: Lisa Chiao Chiao in the lead as a strong and supportive facilitator, and Angela Pan as the opposite, whom some critics have cited as the true antagonist of the narrative. The second two instalments largely subjugated any feminine tendencies to become very masculine experiences. It has been suggested that the loss of the appendage was a symbolic representation of emasculation, and certainly for the swordsmen, losing part of the self does affect their perceptions of masculinity. This was part of Chang Cheh’s stated mission: to reclaim the screen for men as actresses at the time were the A-listers and commanded higher fees than men. The approach certainly worked for Jimmy Wang Yu, who, for a while, was the top Hong Kong action star.
However, wuxia is a genre also known for casting women in strong, pivotal roles, probably due to King Hu’s two hugely popular films that sparked off the New Wuxia revival, both starring women as their leads: Cheng Pei-pei in Come Drink with Me and Polly Ling-Feng Shang-Kuan in Dragon Inn. The next couple of discs are dedicated to three exemplary films with a firm female focus.
Cheng Pei-pei gets to show off her chops again in The Lady Hermit (1971) , which immediately immerses us in a gothic atmosphere with rain-soaked streets, howling dogs, and a sign hanging over a gate that commands, “Be gone, evil spirits.” Director Meng-Hua Ho was known for his versatility and mastery of combining genre elements, and here he successfully welds wuxia with supernatural and gory horror. However, he had just worked with Cheng Pei-pei in Lady of Steel (1970), in which she starred as a similar swordswoman of unwavering virtue, joining the men in defence of the realm.
This time, the story is certainly female-centric, with Shang Yu-ling (Cheng Pei-pei) training the young Chin Tsui-peng (Szu Shih) as an apprentice to defeat the Black Demon (Hsieh Wang), who commands a band of gravity-defying, whip-wielding minions that the two women must fight their way through in pursuit of revenge against the master of the black arts, who may (or may not) be immortal.
There is some welcome respite between the excellent combat sequences, in which we get time to explore the dynamics of the different relationships among the protagonists. The changing gradients of power and respect between master and pupil contrast nicely with a sort of romantic triangle involving Wu Chang-chun (Lieh Lo), a young martial artist who befriends Chin Tsui-peng and desires to hone his skills with Shang Yu-ling. In some ways, he fulfils the role usually taken by the token female, and the masculine master-pupil dynamic is subverted. This character-driven thread has been criticised for slowing down the action but is one of the elements that set Lady Hermit apart at the time. Although its characters and plot beats now seem rather predictable, and the antagonist never develops much beyond comic-book villain, it remains one of the more interesting and satisfying titles in this box set, if only for the Gothic atmosphere.
Depending on one’s attitude while viewing, Chor Yuen’s Intimate Confessions of a Chinese Courtesan is either a Girl Power revenge flick or an exploitation movie serving the male gaze. There’s some nudity and plenty of salacious content, which can’t be dismissed as totally gratuitous given the nature of a story set mainly in a brothel. That story is a straightforward one of revenge that spends the first act punishing and degrading Ai Nu (Lily Ho), a young woman abducted and sold into prostitution who defies Chun Yi (Betty Pei Ti), the brothel madame who’s determined to bend her to her will. The sadomasochistic lesbian scenes between them were probably the most explicit in the mainstream cinema of the day. Although most of the girl-on-girl sex occurs just off-screen, there is one notorious scene in which Chun Yi has Ai Nu whipped and then proceeds to suggestively lick her wounds. Eventually, the madame resorts to narcotics to make her protégé compliant and presents her to a succession of noblemen. Of course, this is all to justify her ensuing quest for vengeance enacted against all the men who raped her.
When the local rich noblemen begin to turn up dead, Chief Constable Chi Ti (Hua Yueh) narrows the suspects down to Ai Nu and tries to intervene to prevent further murders. To begin with, it’s unclear whether he wants to save the men or prevent Ai Nu from being arrested for her righteous revenge. The interplay between Chi Ti, Chun Yi, and Ai Nu drives the narrative to a climax where their allegiances are tested before being tragically revealed. There’s even a not-so-subtle reference to One Armed Swordsman. It was a box office hit in Hong Kong but not in the UK, where censors excised around ten minutes of sex and gore from a badly dubbed print.
Lily Ho’s next appearance was in Cheng Kang’s epic The 14 Amazons , which deliberately showcases the Shaw Brothers’ top female talent of the day. The story begins with the defeat and death of Yang Tsung Pao (Hua Tsung), a much-mythologised historic general who led armies in defence of the Song Dynasty from rival Khitan-Mongol Dynasties during the so-called ‘Five Dynasties and Ten Kingdoms’ period around the turn of the first millennium when Chinese rule was fragmented among various warlords. The first five minutes are thus very masculine, but when news of the army’s slaughter reaches the palace where the wives and daughters of the top generals have been waiting for their return, their collective grief quickly evolves into heroic action. The women of the Yang family take it upon themselves to step into the fray, defend the borders, and avenge the deaths of their menfolk.
At the time The 14 Amazons was released, China was in the midst of its Cultural Revolution, and such historic stories were suppressed in an attempt to cut ties with the past. So, Hong Kong was a bastion of preservation, retelling, and keeping the heroic tales of the past in the contemporary consciousness. However, in this case, the racial stereotyping has not aged well, and the people depicted as villainous foreigners are now considered as Chinese as any of the other 50 or so ethnic minorities that make up the nation’s people. So, the nationalistic rhetoric may not sit well with a modern audience, but if one can get past the revisionist version of the past, there’s some consummate and complex fight choreography and stunt work with assorted weapons involving numerous combatants that builds to a spectacular climax. It also looks great with the now-expected costumes and sets working so well together. Along the way, though, the narrative repeatedly tests credulity with some heroic feats that are clearly impossible and just a little bit silly within the context of a story that purports to be historic. The main attraction here is the star line-up and how they enliven each character even though each actor’s screen time is limited. It may be regarded as one of director Cheng Kang’s most notable works, but 14 Amazons isn’t the best movie here.
The 20th-century wuxia literary revival began in China during the 1920s, gathering momentum around the time of the Communist Revolution, however, it would later be suppressed and eventually face an outright ban in the 1960s and ’70s during the Cultural Revolution led by Chairman Mao Zedong. The genre was then redefined by three authors known as “the legs of the wuxia tripod”. These were Jin Yong—Hong Kong’s most successful author, Liang Yusheng (Chinese-born but living and working in Australia), and Gu Long—who was Hong Kong-born, living and writing in Taiwan. All three were prolific and wrote epic, generation-spanning sagas that presaged the wuxia revival on screen, but Gu Long is credited with several stylistic innovations that modernised the genre and best defined New Wuxia. Around 40 feature films were directly adapted from his novels and just as many for television movies and series.
Of the 126 films directed by Chor Yuen, 17 of his forays into wuxia were based on the writings of Gu Long, and four prime examples are showcased across two discs starring Ti Lung, who’d become a very popular martial arts star since his screen debut in Return of the One-Armed Swordsman.
The Magic Blade is based on Gu Long’s 1974 novel Tianya Mingyue Dao / Horizon, Bright Moon, Saber. The renowned elegance of the author’s prose is evoked by the beautiful stagecraft and costumes throughout, and this is the first film here that truly looks like the wuxia we have come to expect— lots of flowing hair and fabric with the costumes and sets either in harmony or discord to reflect the mood of each scene. The cinematography isn’t just beautiful but serves a narrative purpose too, with lots of night scenes to match the darker aspects of the story and characters.
Chor Yuen makes good use of the control over lighting afforded by the large sets with plenty of night scenes that employ light and dark as structural elements. His stylistic approach has been described as wuxia-noir, becoming darker in tone, both visually and psychologically. The lighting becomes an expressive element that is clearly artificial, such as a red lamp representing the setting sun, creating the impression that we have entered the magical martial arts world.
In many ways, wuxia can be thought of as a type of portal fantasy where this “martial arts world”, or Jianghu, is a separate realm from the “civilised world”. The martial arts world is a place where one’s survival depends upon fighting skills, honed through devout practice, or the cultivation of natural powers into supernatural abilities. In wuxia, it can be a liminal society of outlaws and outcasts, like going “across the border” in a Western, or a place so different from the everyday world that it’s like stepping through a portal into a parallel reality.
It’s Chor Yuen’s stylistic innovations that set The Magic Blade apart because the plot is nothing particularly original, concerning swordsmen vying for supremacy of the martial arts world through taking possession of a mystical MacGuffin known as the Peacock Dart. Fu Hongxue (Ti Lung) is a wandering swordsman who staunchly adheres to his code of honour, using his specially designed double-handled sword and unique technique to uphold his sense of justice and survive. He becomes the reluctant adversary of Yu (Lo Lieh) who doesn’t really have any ethical code and is simply motivated by becoming the master of all in the martial arts world. His desire to seize ultimate power matches Fu Hongxue’s determination to stop him, and both men believe the outcome will be decided by control of the mystical weapon they seek.
Gu Long’s novel Fragrance in the Sea of Blood / Xuehai Piaoxiang was the source material for the outstanding Clans of Intrigue which explores a much more intricate, character-driven plot. Chu Liu-hsiang (Ti Lung) is a skilful thief who happens to be in the wrong place at the wrong time to be scapegoated for assassinating three clan leaders with a rare poison. To prove his innocence, he must now uncover an intricate and far-reaching conspiracy that will shake the martial arts world. Here, it’s not just supremacy of sword-wielding that counts but wits and intelligence, too.
Chor Yuen is credited with revitalising and redefining wuxia. A process he began with the transgressive Intimate Confessions of a Chinese Courtesan. This time he fuses several martial arts genres with a sort of detective story. This is a template that would establish itself as an important part of wuxia DNA, leading to the likes of Tsui Hark’s Detective Dee franchise (2010-2022). Ti Lung rises to the challenge of reimagining the heroic stereotype as more of an anti-hero whose motivations are at times ambiguous. For me, this is certainly one of the stand-out titles in the set.
When Chor Yuen came to the next adaptation of a Gu Long novel, he had to go directly to the source as the author had not yet delivered the completed manuscript for publication. So, the script for Jade Tiger became a “live document” with Gu Long co-writing it with Chor Yuen. Perhaps it was a two-way process and rethinking certain scenes for the screen may have affected how they appear in the novel, which was published just ahead of the film’s release. The movie is a much-simplified version of the narrative and jettisons most of the subplots to maintain focus while retaining the central themes of dualities, mainly the comparative powers of pacifism and violence, wisdom and strength, obligation and freedom, even life and death.
The inciting incident is all too familiar with Zhao Wuji (Ti Lung) setting out to avenge the death of his father who was killed by a traitor during his wedding ceremony. Zhao must postpone his marriage to Chao Chien-chien (Lily Li) immediately bringing the notion of individuality, duality and imbalance. Or as media theorist Tzvetan Todorov would put it, a sudden disequilibrium that initiates a quest to restore a new equilibrium.
Chor Yuen again introduces new accents to the language of wuxia in an exploration of tragedy and regret resulting from an all-consuming desire for vengeance and how vengeance is a different thing from justice. Metaphorically, Zhao Wuji suffers a form of personal death when he postpones his planned life to clear his name and avenge his father. He embarks on the archetypal journey of the Romantic hero through adversity in pursuit of redemption or a metaphorical rebirth. The fight sequences are excellent, directed by Pei-Chi Huang and Chia Tang.
Ti Lung plays his character as a refreshingly complex one who grapples with the moral dilemma of a peaceful man driven to violence. This theme is made explicit when he reaches the “Hate Free Hall” where past martial arts masters atone for the lives they have taken. One of them shares the aphorism that the hatred in a man’s heart will kill him and 100 others…
Chor Yuen’s The Sentimental Swordsman is adapted from Gu Long’s 1968 book Sentimental Swordsman, Ruthless Sword, a volume of the Little Li Flying Dagger / Xiaoli Feidao series. Here, the ever-challenging director continues to contemplate the human condition through the lens of wuxia while delivering a profound yet highly engaging movie. It picks up some common themes of a righteous swordsman trapped by his own sense of honour and justice. Li Xunhuan (Ti Lung)—also known as Little Flying Dagger— is a renowned swordsman who turned to drink to deal with his tragic past – again a trope we’ve seen in several Westerns of the sheriff or gunslinger who must “clean up” and make a comeback. He is called out of “retirement” to help retrieve a fabled “gold armour vest”.
For the most part, the stunning fight choreography strikes a balance between showing off the impressive precision of the practitioners and serving the narrative. Decisions are being made during combat as aspects of each character are revealed. Chor Yuen’s ability to use fights as a form of dialogue is second to none. Though they can also be quite bloody, the gore never feels gratuitous but shows the physical damage as an externalisation of emotional trauma and ethical conflict. The violence is nicely counterpointed by the lyrical beauty of the luscious cinematography, gorgeous costumes, and lavish sets.
In some respects, this is a typical MacGuffin-led quest narrative, but Chor Yuen’s more conflicted versions of the typical wuxia hero presage the direction the genre would take when challenged by the global Kung Fu explosion. For some, the complexity of both narrative and character dynamics slows things down but, for me, it confirms the films of Chor Yuen as the highlights of the entire box set. They should satisfy fans of old-school wuxia and those only recently coming to the genre.
In reaction to the global explosion of kung fu films pushing other martial arts movies aside at the box office with their brutality, wuxia veered away from its traditional chivalrous heroes. A similar development can be seen across other genres too: the Euro-western had become more cynical with anti-heroes moving to the fore after the shock of a failing hero in Sergio Corbucci’s The Great Silence (1968) changed the genre landscape. Likewise, Japan’s yakuza thrillers shifted emphasis from nostalgic chivalry to gritty realism, exemplified by the films of Kinji Fukasaku such as the pivotal Sympathy for the Underdog (1971).
Sun Chung’s The Avenging Eagle is influenced by Euro-westerns in its structure and use of landscape—but that’s fine because the revitalisation of the Western came about through blending it with Asian swordplay genres. This marks the first time the full uncut version has been available since its initial theatrical run in Hong Kong more than 40 years ago and it’s certainly a most welcome inclusion and ripe for reassessment.
Chik Ming-sing (Ti Lung), formerly known as Black Eagle of the ruthless Eagle Clan, is seeking redemption for his past misdeeds. His self-reflective journey is marked by encounters with Cheuk Yi-fan (Alexander Fu Sheng), a fellow swordsman with his vendetta against the Eagle Clan. At times their relationship has a similar dynamic as Clint Eastwood and Eli Wallach in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966) or Charles Bronson with Toshiro Mifune and Charles Bronson in Red Sun (1971). It’s an interesting and engaging narrative thread but also a step backwards in some respects as a return to a domain of masculinity, male bonding and homosocial dynamics.
Sometimes the mix of light-hearted beatings escalating to some vicious and visceral action feels unbalanced. The stunt choreography is in the hands of Pei-Chi Huang and Chia Tang, whose work we enjoyed in Jade Tiger, and there is some great use of low and high angles to show off the action as well as frequent freeze-frames to capture details of the techniques. The serious beatings are quite harsh and there is the archetypal sequence when the hero must take time out to recover and retrain before making his comeback. There’s even a climactic three-way ‘Mexican stand-off’ involving Eagle Clan overlord Yoh Xi-hung (Ku Feng) when the serious beatings transcend into fantasy-level superhuman feats assisted by some wirework and in-camera tricks.
The narrative is evenly paced, though episodic with a succession of encounters with the 14 Eagle assassins on the trail of Chik Ming-sing. The fight scenes are creative and generally well-choreographed with visually striking stylistic flourishes and inventive camera angles. However, the use of the three-jointed staff just looks a bit clumsy at times and certainly lacks the elegant dynamism of the long-bladed sword. It’s good to see some of the more interesting weaponry represented and I know some viewers watch for such moments, but sometimes trying to introduce novelty for the sake of it cheapens the outcome rather than enhancing it. This isn’t the only wuxia to make that mistake.
Kuei Chih-hung is often dismissed as a director of exploitation movies, but with Killer Constable, he’s exploring serious socio-political themes within the wuxia action format. Leng Tian-Ying (Kuan Tai Chen), who has a reputation as the eponymous Killer Constable , is tasked with tracking down thieves and recovering the gold they allegedly stole from the Royal Treasury. But things don’t turn out to be that clear-cut and he slowly uncovers a conspiracy that he’s being manipulated to cover up. The narrative leans on the changing dynamics between several characters. Leng Tian-Ying is brutal and thinks nothing of torturing or executing peasants he suspects of involvement with hiding or transporting the loot. His justice is swift and harsh, yet he acts within the law. However, his own brother Cun Yi (Bai Jing-Xue) who is also a constable, refuses to work with him and his young assistant, Peng Lai (Ai Fei) lingers to share food with the famine-struck peasants—a kindness that ends in tragedy when those he tries to help use him as a proxy for Leng Tian-Ying in their cruel retaliation.
Evil and despair can be found among both the nobility and the poor and Killer Constable ups the ante for heroic bloodshed but tempers it with a dark nihilism where there is no clear boundary between good and bad. The fight scenes are dirty and visceral with a mix of mud and blood. Fang Feng-Jia (Ku Feng) is the ruthless leader of the gang of bandits who is also a loving father who cares for his blind daughter Fang Xiao-Lan (Yau Chui-Ling). In many other films of the era, one would expect a predictable romance to develop between Leng Tian-Ying and Xia-Lan, but Killer Constable is not here merely to appease a passive audience, instead provoking active engagement with the moral and social issues being explored.
The alternative Korean cut of the film, with a reworked narrative and several different scenes, is also presented here, though it has not been restored and is cropped to 4:3 television format. This brings with it a certain nostalgic frisson for those who remember VHS home videos and seeing films like these on the TV screen.
The two films taking us into the 1980s and closing this fantastic collection are fine examples of Hong Kong martial arts mayhem at its best, and though they may be confusing, they certainly cannot be accused of being uninteresting. Those who know the bonkers end of Hong Kong martial arts cinema—exemplified by a rash of crazy movies such as Miracle Fighters (1982) that introduced broad comedy and frenetic spectacle to refresh the genre—may have some idea what’s coming on the final disc of the box set.
Buddha’s Palm is a frenetic explosion of exuberant colour, action, and non-stop VFX which, depending on your point of view, are either terribly or wonderfully dated. It’s a remake of Ling Wan’s Buddhist Spiritual Palm (1964-68), a sequence of films of which there are at least five. So, it’s no wonder there’s so much going on as director Taylor Wong reworks all of them into one movie! They were extremely popular in Hong Kong, and the character and premise would have been familiar to the audience. Perhaps think of the colourful and camp Batman (1966-68) series as an analogous Western equivalent—audiences of the 1980s would still know who Batman and Robin were, along with their iconic adversaries. Also, like Batman, the Buddha’s Palm tales existed in related comic books created by Tony Wong, and cut-outs from these feature in the movie’s opening titles.
Walter Tso Tat-Wah starred in the original series and, by way of homage, appears as an old recluse who is keeper of the Buddha’s Palm technique. Buddha’s Palm is a real kung fu move that can be a block and a strike at the same time. To say that the film does not represent it realistically would be an understatement, and there’s nothing understated about this movie. Here, masters of the technique can transform their hands into giant blue-glowing hands capable of firing pure chi energy in the form of animated shapes. It seems the devastating technique can only be effectively countered by the Heavenly Foot, a technique that expands one of the feet into a house-sized stomper and is mastered by the antagonist ‘Foot Monster’ (Kien Shih).
If you haven’t already guessed, it’s a full-on fantasy version of wuxia and I’m not going to even attempt a synopsis because I don’t know how many viewings it would take to understand what’s going on. However, it’s exuberant and exhausting for the eyes with its 1980s music video aesthetic. The VFX team was ‘secretly’ imported from Japan to mentor Hong Kong technicians and set up a new Shaw Brothers special effects shop which was to become a hard-working department for the next decade or so. The plentiful mechanical effects and imaginative set design are also excellent, adding to what was a new and unique look for the studios.
There’s never a dull moment as protagonist Lung Chien-Fei (Derek Tung-Sing Yee) takes on all manner of marvellous kung fu adversaries that fire different coloured energy shapes, animate foil Buddha figures, and command various elements in chaotic duels. It appears the main motivation for his opponents is either to learn the Buddha’s Palm or show how their powerful kung fu can defeat it.
It’s well worth working your way methodically through this excellent taster menu of Shaw Brothers’ many variations on the wuxia theme. In no way is it comprehensive but represents the very different forms the genre can take, from harsh historical epics to crazy concoctions of kung fu, superlative swordsmanship, bloody body horror, Gothic romance, ghost story, and fantasy. Every film here is a good representative of its kind and all will appeal to enthusiasts of classic Hong Kong cinema and should also be of great interest to those coming at them from the perspective of modern wuxia.
The final film presented here is Lu Chun-ku’s fantastic Bastard Swordsman which progresses through several of those styles, revisiting now-familiar tropes on the way toward an insanely inventive finale. In many ways, we’re back where we started with One-Armed Swordsman—an orphaned boy is adopted into a martial arts school where he’s looked down upon by his peers. The grown-up Yun Fei Yang (Hsu Shao-chiang) turns out to be an apt pupil and soon his skills surpass his rivals, and he finds himself the reluctant champion of his clan. However, this time the romantic subplot involving Lun Wan-erh (Leanne Lau) as the daughter of the school’s master goes a lot better. Certainly among the more rewarding of the titles here, Bastard Swordsman begins on familiar, almost traditional, wuxia ground but is increasingly unpredictable and, incrementally, veers into total fantasy. If you thought the depiction of the Buddha’s Palm was bonkers, then wait till you get a load of the Heavenly Silkworm Stance eventually mastered by Yun Fei Yang and showcased during the insanely inspired final fight.
HONG KONG | 1967 – 1983 | 1,444 MINUTES (APPROX) | 2.35:1 | COLOUR | MANDARIN
I still haven’t had the chance to enjoy all the audio commentaries, but I look forward to doing so because the ones I sampled were excellent. They offered plenty of analysis, valid personal opinions, and lots of information about the productions, their cast, and crew. For aficionados of the genre, they’ll be like watching the films with a knowledgeable kindred spirit. For anyone discovering these titles for the first time, it will be like an intensive short course in the wonderful wuxia of the Shaw Brothers. The same goes for the other bonus material, which offers a good mix of archival and new interviews featuring people involved with making the films, along with some newly recorded academic appreciations. Plus a music sampler from the scores.
directors: Chang Cheh (One-Armed Swordman, Return, New) • Ho Meng-hua (Hermit) • Chor Yuen (Courtesan, Magic Blade, Clans, Tiger, Sentimental) • Kang Cheng & Shao-Yung Tung (Amazons) • Sun Chung (Eagle) • Kuei Chih-hung (Constable) • Taylor Wong (Palm) • Lu Chin-ku (Bastard).
writers: Chang Cheh & Ni Kuang (One-Armed Swordsman) • Chang Cheh (Return) • Ni Kuang (New) • Yip Yat-Fong (Hermit) • Chiu Kang-Chien (Courtesan) • Cheng Kang (Amazons) • Sze-To On & Ni Kuang (Magic Blade) • Ni Kuang (Clans) • Chor Yuen & Gu Long (Tiger) • Chor Yuen (Sentimental) • Ni Kuang (Eagle) • Sze-To On (Constable) • Sze-To On, Manfred Wong Man-Chun, Sui Suet-Fong & Taylor Wong Tai-Loi (Palm) • Tony Lou Chun-Ku (Bastard).
starring: Jimmy Wang Yu, Lisa Chiao Chiao, Tien Feng, Violet Pan Ying-Zi, Yang Chi-Ching, Tang Ti 7 Ku Feng (One-Armed Swordsman) • Jimmy Wang Yu, Lisa Chiao Chiao, Essie Lin Chia, Tien Feng & Ku Feng (Return) • David Chiang Da-Wei, Ti Lung, Li Ching, Ku Feng & Chan Sing (New) • Cheng Pei-Pei, Shih Szu, Lo Lieh, Fang Mian & Wang Hsieh (Lady Hermit) • Lily Ho, Betty Pei Ti, Yueh Hua, Tung Lin & Wan Chung-Shan (Courtesan) • Lisa Lu Yan, Ivy Ling Po, Lily Ho, Yueh Hua, Shu Pei-Pei, Wang Ping, Liu Wu-Chi, Karen Yip Leng-Chi & Li Ching (Amazons) • Ti Lung, Lo Lieh, Ching Li,T ang Ching, Tanny Tien Ni & Lily Li Li-Li (Magic Blade) • Ti Lung, Yueh Hua, Li Ching, Nora Miao Ke-Hsiu, Betty Pei Ti & Ku Feng (Clans) • Ti Lung, Yueh Hua, Ku Feng, Lily Li Li-Li, Fan Mei-Sheng & Lo Lieh (Tiger) • Ti Lung, Ching Li, Derek Yee Tung-Sing, Yueh Hua, Candice Yu On-On, Fan Mei-Sheng & Ku Feng (Sentimental) • Ti Lung, Alexander Fu Sheng, Ku Feng, Johnny Wang Lung-Wei, Eddy Ko Hung & Austin Wai Tin-Chi (Eagle) • Chen Kuan-Tai, Ku Feng, Walter Tso Tat-Wah & Jason Pai Piao (Constable) • Derek Yee Tung-Sing, Alex Man Chi-Leung, Candice Yu On-On, Kara Hui Ying-Hung, Lo Lie & Sek Kin (Palm) • Norman Tsui Siu-Keung, Lau Wing, Wang Yong, Leanne Lau Suet-Wah, Alex Man Chi-Leung & Yeung Ching-Ching (Bastard).