Shaw Brothers

The Sword and the Lute

In 1965, director Hsu Tseng-Hung helped to reintroduce the swordplay genre with his film Temple Of The Red Lotus and its quickly made sequel Twin Swords (which is not yet out on DVD, sadly). In 1966 and 67, sword-fighting films began to take off, thanks to films from Chang Cheh and King Hu. While the genre was evolving beyond its Saturday-matinee-style roots, Hsu seemed perfectly content to continue to make foam-light adventures.

Although Sword and the Lute is a sequel to Temple and Twin Swords, the main characters from those films barely appear in this third, and final, film in the series. After losing the deadly Phoenix Lute, the Yin Yang Swordsmen (Jimmy Wang Yu and Chin Ping) mostly fade into the background while another group of heroes gets to do all the adventuring.

Led by the unlikely pair of Fung Bo Bo (a pre-teen girl) and Pang Pang (a comic actor, perhaps best known for playing Piggie in the Monkey Goes West films), the chivalrous knights of the film battle the lute stealing bandits, who also have their thieving eyes on the appropriately named Invincible Sword and the magical Seven Star Stone.

It’s not a movie to take too seriously, obviously. The plot moves quickly, the fighting is well choreographed, the bandits are evil and the heroes are good. That’s really all I can ask, and I expect that’s all Hsu Tseng-Hung was aiming for.

The Sword and the Lute
Dir: Hsu Tseng-hung
Released: April 21, 1967

That Man In Chang-an

Terrible. What else can I say? From beginning to end this film is non-stop awfulness. The plot changes every 5 minutes, characters appear and disappear for no reason, the acting is no better than at my local high school and the huge final battle looks like Keystone Kops.

Like The King With My Face, That Man in Chang An was an attempt to capture the Korean market. Featuring a number of Korean actors, parts of the That Man appear to have been shot in Korea, and the film may have been a co-production between Shaw and a Korean studio.

But unlike The King With My Face, That Man is a massive waste of time.

The plot’s not coherent enough to retell. But there’s an evil Empress (who we never see), the maniacal general Lu Kun (Korean actor Park No Sik), a trapped princess (Fang Ying), a heroic maid (Alison Chang Yen, the film’s highlight) and a mysterious masked man (Kim Jin Kyu). There’s also something about trying to overthrow a kingdom and usurp the emperor, and a lot of talk about the town of Chang An (which we also never see, I think). But since the film never invests any time in making the plot make any sense, I don’t see why I should.

Judging by the non-stop maniacal laughter of Lu Kun, and the film’s endless cliff-hangers, director Yen Chun may have been trying to make an old-style serial adventure film. While that can work, That Man forgets to include any adventure.

One of the film’s biggest stumbling blocks is its hero; As the masked avenger, Kim Jin Kyu is the exact opposite of the leading men usually cast in these roles. Too old and completely lacking the necessary physique, he’s utterly unbelievable as a wuxia knight. When he’s masked, the film can avoid the problem by using a stunt double. But in the film’s final battle, he fights without a mask. So Yen Chun resorts to speeding the film up to ludicrous speed just to make the fight look exciting. It doesn’t work.

That Man In Chang-an
Dir: Yen Chun
Released: February 18, 1967

The Wandering Swordsman

The Wandering Swordsman is a prime example that Chang Cheh’s movies didn’t succeed because of their originality but because of their stars.

In my review of Chang’s 1969 film The Flying Dagger I talked a bit about the repetitious nature of Chang Cheh’s films. Unsurprisingly The Wandering Swordsman, Chang’s first film of 1970 looks an awful lot like his movies from 1969. Except for one major difference – Wandering Swordsman is a ton of fun to watch.

Swordsman's energy comes solely from its star, David Chiang who paints the directionless hero with a combination of indolence, arrogance and charm. After stumbling into a robbery, he robs the robbers only to give the loot to a group of destitute farmers. From there he lopes from crisis to crisis, relying on his quick wits and a sheepish, wolf-hiding grin to keep him out of trouble.

This laid-back approach works pretty well until he crosses “Fail-Safe” Kung (Chang Pei Shan) and his band of wonderfully gimmicky criminals (which include Wu Ma in a ridiculous beard and some guy wearing gigantic gold hands) who are plotting to steal treasure form under the nose of security expert Chief Jiang (Cheng Lei) and his sister Siao Jiang Ning (Lily Li).

If you’ve seen any Chang Cheh film, the rest of the plot is obvious. But, even with the film’s ending a foregone conclusion, David Chiang keeps the movie bopping along with a maniacal grin. Performances like this are what give me hope for all the Chang Cheh movies I have yet to watch.

The Wandering Swordsman
Dir: Chang Cheh
Released: February 4, 1970

The Flying Dagger

Chang Cheh was a director with a handful of themes that fascinated him throughout his career — loner heroes, honorable deaths and male bonding. His intense focus makes his movies ripe for auteur analysis, but it also means that, after a while, all of his films start to look the same.

Chang could break out of his rut when he wanted to; among the 6 films he released in 1969 were unique, if not always good, features like The Singing Thief and Dead End.

Yes, 6 films in 1969. Could anyone be so endlessly creative that they could write and direct a distinctive movie every 2 months? When you’re the most popular director at a studio that prides itself on its efficient, factory-like production methods, your films are going to start looking like factory products.

So if The Flying Dagger looks like a lifeless, paint-by-numbers rehash of better Chang Cheh films it’s certainly understandable.

The plot is cookie cutter Chang — Lo Lieh stars as the morally ambiguous, antisocial swordsman Yang Qing who assists (reluctantly) Yu Ying (Chang Pei Pei) and her wounded father (Ching Miao) in their battle with Jiao Lei and the Green Dragon Clan (Yang Chi-ching).

There are moments when the film looks like it’s going to break free of its formula. Yang Qing is more dislikable than any Chang hero since Silver Roc in Golden Swallow; at times, he’s downright evil. But by the time the credits roll, his harsh corners have been softened by a tale of childhood woe and the movie’s edge has dissipated.

What’s left is a standard Chang film that’s never bad but also never memorable. But, hey, when you make films non-stop, not every one of them is going to stand out.

The Flying Dagger
Dir: Chang Cheh
Released: June 18, 1969

The Golden Sword

I was hesitant when I put this film in my DVD player. After all, it was directed by Lo Wei, a man best described as the Roger Corman of Hong Kong. But even Corman was tied to his material. Maybe instead of blaming Lo Wei, I should be looking farther up the filmmaking food chain.

Many of Shaw’s wuxia films were based on serial novels that stretched a story over thousands of pages, dozens of characters, numerous plots and sub-plots. Adapting these novels for film is obviously a challenge. A script writer can either focus on one small story to the exclusion of all others, or try to squeeze 5 films worth of plot into 90 minutes.

Golden Sword mistakenly tries both of these approaches. The first half of the film focuses on a very narrow story, while the last half tries to explain 30 years of sub plots. So which screenwriter deserves the blame for ill considered mix? Uh, Lo Wei, who wrote the scripts for nearly all of his films.

Well, at least I tried to cut Lo Wei a break.

In the first half, Ngai Jin Fung (Cheng Pei Pei) and Bai Yu Lung (Kao Yuan) search for the missing Chief Bai, trekking throughout the Chinese frontier as they fall in love. Much of this plays like a role-reversed Come Drink With Me, with Pei Pei taking on the part of the begging Drunken Cat.

This part of the film is quite enjoyable, mostly because of the fight sequences, which feature long shots of Cheng Pei Pei beating the snot out of all challengers. Excellent fight choreography combined with long shots that show the fights to their fullest? That doesn’t sound like Lo Wei. What’s going on?

Sammo Hung Kam Bo, that’s what’s going on. Although he is credited as an action director on Come Drink With Me, Golden Sword is the first film to show Hung’s remarkable abilities. He did only a handful of Shaw Brothers films before moving to Golden Harvest in 1971, and those films were only benefitted by his presence.

In the film’s second half, the fights are hurt by the absence of Cheng Pei Pei, and the plot is bogged down by trying to explain a bunch of new characters and their attending backstories. My favorite scene is when a background character removes his mask and reveals that he is, in fact, some superfluous guy we’ve never seen before. Um, hooray?

Thanks to Sammo Hung and Cheng Pei Pei, the first half of Golden Sword is well worth watching. But I can’t recommend sticking around until the end.

The Golden Sword
Dir: Lo Wei
Released: October 15, 1969

The Silver Fox

The formula for Shaw’s revenge films was pretty simple — take one revenger, usually the child of a wronged martial arts master, and one revengee, an evil martial arts master, and add in a love interest and let the sparks fly.

Silver Fox starts off typically enough when evil Sima Chau (Huang Chung-hsin) kills his own father and cripples Wu (Tien Feng), his foster brother. Wu escapes with his infant daughter, setting the stage for bloodthirsty revenge.

But Wu only got hurt because he planned to steal from his foster father and enlisted Chau’s help. He’s far from a blameless victim; for the most part, he’s as cruel and unloving as Chau. When Wu’s daughter grows up, she takes revenge on Chau not out of a sense of love for her father, but out of duty and responsibility.

This is a pretty interesting set up, and could lead to interesting new ground as Wu’s daughter, Ching Ching (Lily Ho) and her love interest, Hsu Chun Wu (Chang Yi) try to fulfill their obligations and avenge a wrong where both parties were at fault.

Sadly, the movie never delivers; instead, one man is quickly redeemed for a touching conclusion and the complex struggle between Wu and Chau is dropped for the sake of simplicity. Disappointing.

But, if you’re willing to accept the film as a straightforward revenger instead of a failed attempt to break new ground, the result is quite satisfying. Lily Ho, who was usually cast in more modern roles, entertains as the petulant, arrogant Ching Ching. And the fights, choreographed by Liu Chia Liang and Tang Chia, live up to the pair’s reputation.

The Silver Fox
Dir: Hsu Tseng-hung
Released: March 13, 1968

King Cat

On the whole, wuxia adventure flicks like King Cat are all very similar — honorable, super-powered knights errant roam the countryside destroying corrupt officials and upholding the integrity of the martial arts underground.

But, yet, some of these films are a joy to watch while others are pure tedium. With all their similarities, why is King Cat ridiculous fun but others, like Death Valley, are immediately forgettable?

King Cat, I think, succeeds because of its endless creativity; without worrying too much about logic or plausibility, director Hsu Tseng-hung keeps the film moving at a blinding pace, regularly introducing new characters, schemes and reasons to fight.

The result is a fun Saturday morning adventure, in the vein of the Sinbad films that I’ve harbored an unending fondness for since my youth. And how could I hate a film filled with character names like The Variegated Butterfly and The Brocaded Mouse?

After saving the lives of judge Bao and princess Yongan (Ching Li), hero Zhan Zhao (Chang Yi), is dubbed “King Cat” by the Emperor (Chin Feng). But his new nickname offends Bai Yutang (Chiao Chuang), the youngest member of The Five Mice (for the record, the five mice are nicknamed Skyward Mouse, Underground Mouse, Mountain Mouse, Underwater Mouse and Brocaded Mouse).

To avenge this perceived slight, Bai tries to embarrass Zhan by stealing a royal treasure and then mocking the hero while he searches for the jade knicknack. But Bai’s plan goes awry when another fighter, The Variegated Butterfly (Lo Lieh) frames him for rape and murder.

There are some other plots, including a an attempt to overthrow the Emperor and two pairs of mismatched lovers, but they’re all just window dressing for the film’s endless parade of fights and martial arts powers. Hsu is willing to try almost any weird effect, no matter how bizarre it looks on screen. My favorite is when Zhan drinks wine from a cup three feet from his mouth. Yes, it looks like he’s drooling on himself; but I appreciate the attempt.

Ridiculous but fun — those three words sum up King Cat perfectly. By keeping the movie light, Hsu overcomes its many weaknesses. Not every film is so lucky.

King Cat
Dir: Hsu Tseng-hung
Released: December 5, 1967

Raw Courage

Not all Lo Wei films are bad. In March of 1968, Shaw Brothers released Dragon Swamp, a fun Lo Wei film full of insane super-powers and adventure. But, by August of that same year, Lo had reverted to form with Raw Courage, a mix of bland characters and a plot that’s too busy twisting to ever come to any resolution. Instead of a fun brain-bender, Courage is another Lo Wei time-waister that, even by the incredibly lax standards I use when watching Lo’s films, fails to be of much interest or make any sense.

As the Emperor of China faces imminent death at the hand of rebels, he entrusts his infant son to the hero Shangguan (Lo Wei, again casting himself as the kindly old teacher). When the rebels kill Shangguan (Lo almost always dies heroically within 15 minutes), the infant is taken up by his daughter, Xiu Yi (Chang Pei Pei), her suitor, Jin (Wu Fung), and their bodyguard, Zhou Feiyun (Yueh Hua).

The quartet roam the countryside, falling into one random scrape after another, fleeing the rebel assassins, who are led by a man with blue skin. Why is his skin blue? I have no idea. Either Lo figured that the audience would know why the villain was blue, and thus skipped the explanation, or he didn’t know himself.

The blue skin, and a set of almost cuddly-looking animal skins, are about the most interesting parts of Raw Courage, which fills the rest of its running time with one uninspired battle after another. Completely lacking in suspense or inventive choreography, the fights are little more than clanging wastes of time.

And when all those fights are done, the prince is still in danger, the evil rebels are still in charge and the heroes are still on the run. But, hey, Lo’s 90 minutes are up, time to cut to the end credits.

Raw Courage
Dir: Lo Wei
Released: August 14, 1968

Killers Five

Parts of Killers Five want to be a study on the struggle between filial piety and patriotism. Other parts want to be a straight-forward adventure film. When the film focuses on the swinging swords it can be a lot of fun. But when it tries to make its point, watch out.

After the daughter of Duke Pingxi is kidnapped by Lin Tianlong and his gang, the Duke (Yang Chih Ching) calls in Yue Zhenbei (Tang Ching), a righteous and filial swordfighter, to defeat the bandits and rescue his daughter.

So far, so good. Then Yue decides he must visit his mother (Ouyang Shafei) and apologize for putting his fealty to the duke over his family duties. “Filial piety and loyalty can’t go hand in hand,” says Yue. But his mom counters that patriotism is what makes a son great.

An interesting conflict, and one that occurs frequently in Shaw Brothers movies; But Killers Five introduces it in a blatant, ham-fisted manner and then promptly forgets the whole idea for the next hour. Back to the adventure!

As Yue gathers his team of killers, director Cheng Kang tries to soften the normally stoic image of the wuxia hero. Momma’s boy Yue says he “feels bad” after killing someone (although he abandons these regrets as the film builds towards its bloody climax). Water Rat Li Xiaoqi (Ku Feng) longs for his wife and daughter, while his love of gambling leads to several scenes of comic relief. Niu (Ching Miao), an expert mountain climber, is also an expert drunkard who acts as Li’s comic foil. Ma Jin Ling, the team’s female archer, has moments of doe-eyed romantic longing. Even the stone-faced “King Of Burglary” Liang Shengfei harbors a sentimental soul.

As the film throws those characters into one sword fight after another, everything rolls merrily along. Then the film’s twist ending resumes that painful conversation between Yue and his mother. Thankfully, another bit of clever swordfighting saves the day.

Few wuxia films take the time to evolve their characters beyond stock stereotypes; the effort that Killers Five expends on turning its killers into people more than makes up for the occasional wince induced by its efforts to make a point.

Killers Five
Dir: Cheng Kang
Released: February 14, 1969

Summons To Death

One look at the costumes reveals everything you need to know about this film. See-through harem outfits, gold lamé capes and tuxedos galore. The trappings of the stylish spy film are obvious from the first frame.

But Summons To Death's hero, Tang Lui “The Owl” (Tang Ching), isn’t a spy. He’s a crook. And, judging by his super-deluxe bachelor pad, complete with circular bed and a robot to massage him during his steam baths, he’s successful at his job.

Set in the modern day, Summons To Death nonetheless springs from the same story used by a majority of historical wuxia novels and movies—A mostly honorable criminal becomes embroiled in and defeats a illicit scheme that offends the rules of the villainous underground. Summons To Death simply takes the stock plot, sets it in the present and mixes in the swank accouterments of a James Bond film.

The unsavory conspiracy that Tang must stop features pirates (real pirates, wearing jaunty headbands and flying a yellow Jolly Rodger while sailing and plundering the Hong Kong bay), a hidden treasure and the parts of a treasure map that change hands innumerable times.

Tang, who is entangled in the plot by accident, comes to the aid of Gin Mei Li (Tina Chin Fei), long-lost sister of the head pirate, to protect her from the unscrupulous Ying Nian (Fanny Fan) and her assistant Kwok (Wang Hsieh). No one ever asks why pirates are sailing around Hong Kong or why they couldn’t just store their treasure in a safety deposit box like everyone else.

Obviously, those expecting any logic in Summons will be disappointed quickly. The story exists only to move its characters from one dangerous situation, and one bizarre outfit, to another. The sartorial excesses of Summons To Death quickly assume center stage, and must be seen to be believed.

Here’s Fanny Fan modeling the latest in I Dream Of Jeannie fashion, complete with a head turban that ties into a tube top.

And here’s Fanny Fan’s first boyfriend, fresh from plundering the gold lamé store.

When Gin Mei Li needs to go on a night time raid, she picks the latest ninja apparel, perfect for camouflaging yourself as a burnt christmas tree. This furred hood/cape/hoop skirt combo easily wins the weirdest outfit award. Also note her high-heeled boots. Gin Mei Li is never without her heels, even when she goes spelunking in the film’s finale.

While I’m sure that, forty years from now, critics will mock the costumes chosen for today’s movies, I doubt that any of them will find apparel as strange as the Gin Mei Li’s christmas tree hood.

The key for enjoying Summons To Death is the same as it is for any Bond film, turn off your brain and enjoy the scenery. Summons never makes any sense, but its constant inventiveness at least keeps it fun.

Summons To Death
Dir: Lo Wei
Released: November 23, 1967