A Touch of Zen (Hsia Nu) 1969 **

The term wuxia is defined by the famous Chinese historian Sima Qian as: “honest in words, effective in action, faithful in keeping promises, fearless in offering one’s own life to free the righteous from bondage.” The wuxia warrior embodies all of these characteristics. It is the code by which they live.  Today, most film critics regard director King Hu as the pioneering figure in the wuxia film genre. While the genre itself predates King Hu’s first film by more than forty years, it was his visionary use of cinematography, choreography, and color that transformed the martial arts film industry. 

Of the seventeen films he directed, the best and most critically acclaimed is A Touch of Zen (Hsia Nu). Originally, the epic 200 minute film was broken into two parts. The first part was filmed in 1969 and released the following year, but eventually both parts of the film were seamlessly put together and released to the world in 1971. For his efforts, King Hu was awarded the Special Technical Award for Superior Technique at the 1975 Cannes Film Festival and the film itself was nominated for the Golden Palm—these honors also made A Touch of Zen the first Chinese film ever recognized by the Festival. 

Set during the early Ming Dynasty, the story’s heroine is Yang Hui Ching (Feng Hsu), the daughter of an official to the Emperor. When her father is murdered for trying to warn the Emperor about a corrupt eunuch named Wei, she must go on the run with General Shi (Pal Ying), a loyal aide of her father. They end up in an abandoned estate in a small town outside Peking.  They meet clumsy scholar Ku Sheng-chai (Shih Chun) and a romantic relationship eventually develops between the scholar and Yang. When her past comes calling, Yang and company must face off with East Chamber guards in the famous bamboo forest battle, the haunted estate sequence and the final showdown between Abbot Hui Yuan (Roy Chiao at his best) and Eunuch Wei’s chief commander Hsu Hsien-Chen(Han Ying-Chieh).

The cinematography of A Touch of Zen is primarily focused on capturing the serenity of nature and comes off as almost metaphysical in character. King Hu had a habit of setting his battle scenes in peaceful, picturesque locations.  The bamboo forest scene (which Ang Lee’s Crouching Tiger and Hidden Dragon borrowed heavily from) is ethereally shot, with mist lofting lazily by and an almost deafening stillness weighing down the swift battle scene.  There’s nothing like watching the fighters bouncing/gliding amongst the towering trees while they fight to the death. Hu also employs mist and eerie imagery when capturing the scenes at the haunted estate.

It is obvious that when Hu choreographed his fight sequences he had in mind what he’d seen at the Peking Opera. Everything is precisely orchestrated and flows seamlessly.  Again, the bamboo forest sequence shows Hu’s artistic vision, with the ensuing chase of the eunuch’s two guards through the forest.  Captured with both long and close shots, as well as with quick cuts, Hu sets a mesmerizing pace.  And, when Yang does her human ladder-climbing move off Ku it is sight to behold.  In addition, the final battle between Abbot Hui and Hsu is almost transcendental to watch—especially with the underlying Buddhist message that true enlightenment transcends even death.

A Touch of Zen is a film that has to be seen to be appreciated. If you are a fan of Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon or The House of Flying Daggers, then you should enjoy this film. Ang Lee has said that his main inspiration for Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon was this King Hu classic. However, be warned, it is long.  You might want to take a break after the bamboo forest sequence and then come back to it.  The first part of the film is much more character driven, while the second half of the film goes along at a much quicker pace and contains most of the fight scenes.  So if you want to call yourself a kung-fu or wuxia fan and still look at yourself in the mirror, then you must watch this film.

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Come Drink with Me (Da Zui Xia) 1966 **

The protagonist of Come Drink With Me (1966) is a petite Chinese woman named Golden Swallow (Cheng Pei-pei…yes, the same lady from Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon). Based on this description, you might assume this is one of those Chinese teahouse stories where the main character is either a peasant or a princess who finds herself caught in a love triangle. You would be wrong, but at least you were right about their being a teahouse.  No, Golden Swallow is a sword-wielding badass who likes to lure her adversaries into a false sense of security by sipping tea before she uses her two daggers to slice them up. 

Director King Hu truly revolutionized the martial arts film genre with this 1966 classic.  The overall production standards and fight sequence designs were a great leap forward for Hong Kong cinema.  Concentrating on the areas of color and movement, King Hu creates a martial arts film full of grace and style. His lead actress’s ballet training no doubt helped with the overall gracefulness of her character’s deft movements. Watching her precise and fluid movements in the fight sequences is something to behold.  It is strange to say, but watching her engage in these acts of violence one is reminded of a beautifully choreographed Chinese opera. And she does all this wearing long gowns and large hats, which I suppose makes her seem even more skilled, as no doubt it was not easy to maneuver in such costumes. King Hu deliberately chose Cheng Pei-pei for Golden Swallow because of her ballet background. An admirer of Peking Opera, King Hu constructed his fight sequences based on the principles of dance.

In addition, King Hu benefits from his other star, Yueh Hua, who plays Drunken Cat, a drunken beggar who assists Golden Swallow in her quest to free her brother, a local government official, from a group of bandits. We first meet Drunken Cat when Golden Swallow meets with the bandits at a teahouse to negotiate the release of her brother. Things escalate when she refuses to trade the bandits’ leader for her brother—enter Drunken Cat as her secret weapon. More than ten years before Jackie Chan played a drunken master, it was Hua Yueh who brought this martial arts technique to the big screen. It is rumored that he consumed two bottles of wine before filming his fight sequences. It is quite comical to listen to him sing songs from famous Peking Opera’s to help Golden Swallow. 

Though they have completely different personalities, Drunken Cat and Golden Swallow work well together.  He serves as a wise advisor and capable accomplice. She’s a hothead who often acts before she thinks. It is through one of Drunken Cat’s opera songs that Golden Swallow finds the bandits’ hideout—a spectacularly designed Buddhist temple. The realistic-looking temple was entirely constructed on the Shaw Brothers’ lot. When Golden Swallow is injured there by a poisoned dart, it is Drunken Cat who nurses her back to health and helps her plan her assault on the temple.  Of course, Drunken Cat has his own debt to settle with his brother (Chan Hung Lit), who is both a criminal and an abbot at the temple.  As such, there is eventually a  showdown between the two brothers…and Golden Swallow has her own showdown with the bandits—but in an interesting twist she has a mini-army of female warriors who help her defeat them. 

Come Drink With Me might not be the best martial arts film of all time, but it certainly is one of the most important. King Hu truly changed the Wuxi genre by creating fight sequences that could be viewed as both artistic and powerful. A sequel, Golden Swallow, followed two years later, but it was not as good as the original and there is no Drunken Cat.  However, King Hu would score another hit in 1971, with his best film A Touch of Zen.

 

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Song at Midnight (Ye Ban Ge Sheng) 1937 **

To say Song at Midnight (Ye Ban Ge Sheng) is completely unknown to contemporary film audiences would be an understatement. Yet, it is considered by many film historians to be one of the best Chinese films of the early sound era. There are many things to admire about this 1937 picture, but I would like to focus on its unusual take on a classic tale and its outstanding set design.

There have been many film adaptations of Gaston Leroux’s novel The Phantom of the Opera (most notably the 1925 classic starring Lon Chaney), but Song at Midnight is perhaps the most unusual. Director and screenwriter Ma-Xu Weibang took a chance when he took liberties with Leroux’s original story, but his gamble paid off in the end. Instead of making the protégé a female opera singer, Ma-Xu decided that the story would work better if the singer were a male.  This really changes the story’s dynamics and it also ends up making the Phantom a more sympathetic character.

The story takes place at a run-down theater, where 10 years earlier the great opera singer Song Danping (Jin Shan) died.  Well, he didn’t really die, but everybody thinks he did. Evidently he has been skulking about making the locals believe the place is haunted, while waiting for someone with a voice as gifted as his own to make into the greatest opera singer in China.  You see, Song was once a great singer, as well as a  revolutionary himself, but then he went and fell in love with Li Xiaoxia (Woo Ping), the daughter of a vindictive feudal lord and the would-be girlfriend of Tang Jun. This is also an important element of Ma-Xu adaptation, because in the 1930s China was in the midst of political turmoil. In the end, Tang throws nitric acid in Song’s face and he is horribly disfigured. He decides to let the world (besides a few friends), and Li, think he’s dead. And, so when Song hears the voice of Sun Xiao-au he has the “voice” and face he needs to make a comeback—and to bring love back to Li.  This is what makes the adaptation so unusual, Song and Sun are more like Cyrano and Christian from Cyrano de Bergerac than the original story of the Phantom and his case of unrequited love with Christine. Of course, things turn a bit nasty when Song learns that Sun has his own fiancee, but in the end, the Phantom of this story ends up being a hero, even though he doesn’t have a happy ending.  Quite simply, it is wonderfully woven story and such a great spin on the traditional Phantom tale.

Besides having a great story, Song at Midnight is also a visual treat. Ma-Xu was a not only a fan of Tod Browning’s Universal monster films, he was also an admirer of German expressionism, most notably the works of Fritz Lang and Robert Wiene. Ma-Xu put together a film heavy with gothic atmosphere and haunting images. Ma-Xu sets the mood from the very beginning, by introducing the audience to the cobweb infested theater at night, and having a mysterious man lurking in the shadows. From that point on the scene is set and what follows truly comes from an artistic mind.

One of the most notable images is when we first see the Phantom’s face. Via flashback and with a handheld camera, we watch over Song’s shoulder as he slowly unrolls his bandages in front of a mirror.  Not only his reaction is captured in a pristine moment, but the framing of the reactions of those around him are superbly done as well. You can almost feel the recoil of those looking at his disfigured face. When he smashes the mirror it means so much more than just shattered glass all over the floor.

Overall, this is an interesting film to watch.  I’m always curious to see how certain genres took form in different countries.  Ma-Xu borrows heavily from the Universal monster films, especially the opening sequence and the finale with the torch wielding crowd. Of course, it is the reinterpretation of Gaston Leroux’s story that I find the most intriguing.  Sometimes when screenwriters make changes to original stories things don’t work out well, but in this case it was a refreshing retelling of a classic tale.

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