Films of Fury: The Kung Fu Movie Book (24 page)

Moon Lee Choi-fong (named for her cute, expressive round face) went right from graduating school to appearing on Hong Kong television. Coming to the attention of Sammo Hung, he featured her in
Winners and Sinners
, his kung fu soccer film
The Champions
(1983, years before
Shaolin Soccer
),
Twinkle Twinkle Lucky Stars
,
Mr. Vampire
, and
Mr. Vampire 2
. Many of Sammo’s peers liked what they saw, so Tsui Hark cast her opposite Yuen Baio and Mang Hoi in
Zu Warriors of the Magic Mountain
(1983) while Jackie Chan used her in his version of
The Protector
.

Then she made the mistake of appearing as the heroine in
Angel
, and her fate was sealed. Gone were the roles in major studio movies, and in flooded offers to be in
Angels 2
(1989),
Angel 3
(1989),
Killer
Angels
(1989), and
The Revenge of Angel
(1990). Delightful in demeanor, demonic in her fighting, she impressed fans across the world, but her fame in English-speaking territories did nothing to endear her to home-grown producers. She made it into the Sammo-produced
Bury Me High
(1991) and the Jackie-produced
The Inspector Wears Skirts
4
(1992), but otherwise it was one nasty, cheap, sizzling little film (like 1990s
Fatal Termination
, 1991’s
Angel Force
, and 1993’s
Angel Terminators 2
) after another.

Although Moon was always a joy to behold, she deserved better, and wisely walked away in the late 1990s. In the meantime, Cynthia Rothrock fought on, finding that getting good parts in decent movies was almost as difficult as it was to defeat her on-screen foes.
Magic Crystal
(1988) was up next — an enjoyable kung fu/sci-fi hybrid dreamed up by the extravagant schlockmeister Wong Jing. It had a strong supporting cast, which included Richard Norton and Andy Lau, and some great action (as well as some truly silly slapstick). Rothrock is back in Interpol, trying to save a kid from an alien assassin out to claim the title rock: a big magical gem that turns out to be a sentient being.

Then came
Blonde Fury
(aka
Lady Reporter,
1989), the last time Rothrock took center stage in Hong Kong. At first, it was directed by her friend Mang Hoi, but when rumors of a Rothrock film with Sylvester Stallone reached the producers (a movie that never materialized), Corey Yuen Kwai was brought in to upgrade the effort. Kwai, in turn, brought in sixth-degree black sash Vincent Lyn.

“That was a tough shoot, but Cynthia was a real trooper,” Lyn told me. “She did everything they asked with no fuss. I was the problem on that set. I couldn’t get the timing right! Corey Yuen got so fed up that he bounced a peanut shell off my head in frustration. Eventually, however, it all came together for a pretty exciting fight scene.”

But it seemed to be enough for Cynthia. Hong Kong was hurtful to say the least, and, no matter how low the budget got on American films, she would still be paid more and be better protected from injury. Rothrock hopped back and forth from Asia to America for awhile, showing up in stuff like
Angel
the Kickboxer
(1993) until she stayed stateside for good.

Her timing was excellent, because Asian producers were soon asking actresses to thrust more than their arms and legs at the camera. With the release of
Robotrix
(1991), Hong Kong action cinema had unleashed its libido. “Now that was one wild shoot,” co-star Vincent Lyn
told me. “The cast and crew were all over the place, and you were lucky to find out what you were doing before the cameras rolled. I spent more time laughing on the set than anything else.”

With the ample assistance of voluptuous Amy Yip and the kung fu prowess of Billy Chow, this tale of sex machines fighting a raping robot was laughed off the screen … by millions of fans who paid again and again to keep laughing. In America, these movies are known as erotic R-rated thrillers. In Hong Kong, they are called Category 3 films, and the floodgate was now officially open. Thankfully (or unfortunately, depending upon your point of view) martial arts and mammaries rarely mixed, but there were a few that snuck through.
Black Cat
(1991) was actually the Asian version of
La Femme Nikita
(1990)
,
the French film that begat
Point of No
Return
(1993) and two TV series.

The pouty Jade Leung starred as the street slime recruited as a top secret killer, and while she was able, she was far from experienced. The real star, aside from Leung’s looks, was director Stephen Shin, whose stylish action made
Point of No
Return
seem truly pointless. Unfortunately, he was not so lucky with the 1992 sequel, subtitled
The Assassination of President Yeltsin.
Since there wasn’t a
Femme Nikita
sequel to rip-off, this edition relied heavily on unbelievable intrigue and espionage nonsense. Jade, too, ran into some bad luck herself — literally — in the form of an on-set fire accident that left her permanently marked. Even so, she’s still working in both Chinese film and television.

Wong Jing was fiddling while the
Black Cat
set burned. Seeing the audience grow slavish for exploitation, the producer-writer’s fervid mind was more than up to the task.
Naked Killer
exploded into theaters in 1992, making jaded viewers’ jaws drop heavily onto sticky cinema floors. The sexy, seemingly lascivious Chingmy Yau opened everyone’s eyes to pure screen perversion.

Okay now, pay attention: Chingmy kills her father’s killer, which brings her to the attention of a nun/hit-woman who throws her into her basement with a rapist. Passing that test with flying internal organs, Chingmy then runs afoul of her new teacher’s former student, a lesbian assassin who has stopped trying to kill rapists and started trying to kill her mentor, while Chingmy is protected by a traumatized cop who vomits every time he holds a gun. Got that? Who cares.
Naked Killer
was stylishly directed by Clarence Ford, cleverly written by Wong Jing, and nicely choreographed by Lau Shing-fung. It was the first major movie for feminists
and
perverts, and, although many slick, sick films would follow (led by a kung fu-less sequel, memorably titled
Raped by an Angel
in 1993),
Naked Killer
was the best of its kind.

The same year
Naked Killer
appeared, someone else reappeared. Her marriage over, the once Michelle Khan returned to acting — only this time proudly bearing her own name: Michelle Yeoh
. Poon, in the meantime, passed a pseudonym onto a personable, but limited, Taiwanese actress named Yang Li-tsing
, by mixing parts of Michelle and Rothrock’s names to create “Cynthia Khan” — the newly anointed star of D&B’s
In the Line of Duty
series (the sequels to
Yes Madam
). While no Michelle nor Rothrock, the new Khan was cute and capable enough, especially during
In the Line of Duty 4
and
In the Line of Duty 5
:
Middle Man —
the best of the lot because they were directed by a somewhat down-on-his-luck Yuen Wo-ping
(and featured both Donnie Yen
and Vincent Lyn
).

Li-tsing did nine films in 1992 alone, but once Michelle returned, the fabricated Khan kept sinking in cheaper and cheaper flicks while her namesake kept rising.
Police Story
3: Supercop
was Yeoh’s comeback film, and, not for the last time, she was rescued by filmmakers hitherto fore-not-known for their kindnesses toward actresses. It was a mark of Yeoh’s talent and personality that such world-class superstars were willing to take a step aside to make room for her — not as pretty window dressing or a damsel-in-distress, but as a full-fledged co-star of equal rank. And once Jackie Chan
gave his approval, the line grew outside her offices.

Yeoh followed
Supercop
with the greatest superheroine movie Marvel Comics
never
made:
The Heroic Trio
(1992).
Co-directed by the great Johnny To
and actor/choreographer turned director Tony Ching Siu-tung
, this was the movie that comic book fans had been waiting for. Three of the world’s most beautiful actresses slipping into second-skin spandex to take on a superpowered eunuch who wants to plunge an alternate universe film noir world back to the dynasty system. His method: kidnap babies until he finds the reincarnation of the emperor.

The only thing between him and total domination is “Wonder Woman” (no, not
that
Wonder Woman) — a deeply maternal acrobat who can hurl kung fu darts faster than bullets and runs across telephone wires — Thief Catcher — a money-grubbing mercenary in leather short-shorts who packs a mean sawed-off shotgun — and, eventually, Invisible Girl (no,
not
the one from the
Fantastic Four),
who starts the film working with the bad guys because they are holding her dying scientist boyfriend hostage. The movie’s very absurdity works in its favor, as the rarely invisible Michelle, amazing Anita Mui
, and magnificent Maggie Cheung
leap all over the screen, supported by splendid visuals and an Oscar-worthy silent supporting performance by Anthony Wong
as a monstrous henchman not averse to eating his own hacked-off fingers.

The ending borrows heavily from the original
Terminator
(1984), but, as usual, who cares? The movie is so shamelessly entertaining, it more than makes up for its inspirations with original, uniquely Chinese action. The pure exhilaration of
The Heroic Trio
raised expectations for the sequel, but no one expected the bleak, brutal, post-apocalyptic world of
Executioners
(1993), wherein the trio returned, but now deeply changed and essentially suicidal. In their attempt to find unpolluted water and survive a clash between a religious deity and power-mad politicians, much blood is spilled and much audience goodwill is squandered.

Happily, Yeoh didn’t make it a point to trade in misery. Her happiness to be back in movies permeated her performances.
Butterfly Sword
(aka
Butterfly and Sword
aka
Comet, Butterfly, and Sword,
1993), is a far more enjoyable costume epic, with Michelle flying around with Donnie Yen
, among others. By this time, however, honest kung fu had given way to wire-enhanced fantasy. While Chinese “swordplay” fiction had always had flying blade-masters, the line between these wuxia
films and kung fu movies had become increasingly blurred as more Westerners discovered them.

Much more recognizable was
Project S
(aka
Once a Cop,
1993), the semi-sequel to
Supercop
, directed and choreographed by Stanley Tong
.
In it, Michelle plays the same mainland police officer, but Jackie Chan
only appears in a jarringly silly cameo scene in which he has gone undercover, disguised as a woman, to crack a jewelry store robbery ring — complete with a snub-nosed revolver between his pantyhosed legs. Once that out-of-place sequence is over, the story remains serious as Michelle tracks a corrupt cop who leads high-tech bank robbers all over, and under, Hong Kong.

With that out of her system, Michelle returned to mainland China for a pair of pure kung fu productions directed by the venerable Yuen Wo-ping
. Both announced to the industry the director’s intent to continue moving away from action cinema’s hung gar
roots. First was
The Tai Chi Master
(1993)
starring Jet Li
, which we will get to in good time. But next was a title role of her very own:
Wing Chun
(1994), in which she plays the woman who shared, and developed the kung fu style of, the same name. Although reportedly inspired by the Haka (wanderers) style of ling gar
kung fu, wing chun had a long and storied history of trial and triumph — none of which this light-headed romantic action comedy really touched upon.

“Although the film had many light moments and was even silly sometimes,” Michelle admitted to me, “Yuen Wo-ping
was very particular about the martial arts. Since I was playing Wing Chun
and the movie was called
Wing
Chun,
the movements had to be wing chun
.” All involved managed to make it so, despite obvious wire-enhanced leaping and spinning. Serious kung fu fans wished for a less loopy story, and were aghast that the powerful Donnie Yen
was reduced to a comic supporting role, but even they enjoyed Michelle’s repeated, climatic confrontations with a sexist bandit lord (played by
Bastard Swordsman
Norman Chu
Siu-keung).