Shaw Brothers

The Singing Killer

What’s strange about The Singing Killer is not the musical numbers, or David Chiang’s laggardly lip-synching. It’s that Chang Cheh took his most dynamic, charming star and turned him into a nearly lifeless lump. For most of the film, Chiang’s gold lamé pants are ten times more exciting than the man wearing them.

Granted, Johnny, the titular singing killer, is supposed to be moody and preoccupied; as his singing career launches him to stardom, Johnny longs for the girl he lost and worries that his criminal past will destroy his life. But Chiang takes this conflicted character and drains him of energy. Even during his upbeat musical numbers, he looks dreary and static.

Without Chiang’s dynamism, there’s very little to prop up the film’s factory-standard plot. Chang Cheh continues the migration from swordplay films to kung fu films with the film’s early action scenes, which feature some nice fisticuffs. But by the film’s end, most of the fighting is done with guns, and is not nearly as interesting.

Even for die-hard fans of David Chiang/Ti Lung pairings, the film has very little to offer. Ti Lung has one line in the film and appears, briefly, in two scenes. Vengeance! this is not.

The Singing Killer
Dir: Chang Cheh
Released: December 22, 1970

The Price of Love

There are few movies that have successfully tackled love amongst the handicapped. Too often these films fall into easy sentimentality, or excessive moral posturing. The films become about handicaps instead of love.

The advantage given The Price of Love is that it comes from a genre known for excessive tragedy, absurdly overblown trauma and hanky-wrenching finales. Compared to these melodramatic gyrations, the stars' physical impairments are almost minor.

After Jui Fang (Chin Ping), a blind woman in an abusive household, meets hunchbacked musician Wu Shang (played by real-life hunchbacked musician Teddy Robin), a fairly standard wenyi weepie unfolds. Love gained, love lost, tragedies, musical numbers, etc.

The Price of Love's biggest surprise is that it offers very few surprises. Instead of bending the rules of romantic melodrama for its handicapped characters, it never waivers from the Show Brothers formula.

Because it’s so faithful to the blueprint, there’s not much to recommend the film. Beyond Teddy Robin’s folky-crooner songs of love lost and found, there’s little in The Price of Love that really stands out.

The Price Of Love
Dir: Wu Chia Hsiang
Released: November 6, 1970

The Fastest Sword

Director Pan Lei came to Shaw Brothers studio after a career in writing. Before joining Shaw in the early 1960s, Pan had started his own literary journal in Taiwan, won awards for his writing and had begun writing and directing movies.

As Shaw Brothers' most literary director, it’s no surprise that Pan Lei’s first wuxia film, The Fastest Sword, spends less time on fighting and more time on talking. Instead of supernatural swords, magical stones and flying heroes, The Fastest Sword delivers a simple story done exceptionally well.

As China’s best swordsman, the arrogant and hot-tempered Ding Menghao (Lu Ping) is under constant attack by fighters lusting after his title. Ding’s speed and brute force always saves his life, but after he loses a bet with a wandering monk, Ding’s forced to spend the next three years learning humility and grace.

Once free, the now humble Ding can’t escape those that want his title. Even when he tries not to fight, his challengers end up dead. Vowing never to draw his sword again, he goes into hiding, but even then he can’t escape his most relentless pursuers.

Based on the US western The Gunfighter, The Fastest Sword deviates strongly from the usual wuxia script. Ding’s sword is a burden, and he looks positively pained whenever he’s forced to draw. The film’s final fight, usually a flashing blur of gleaming blades in typical wuxia, combines long slow-mo shots of fencing with close-ups of Ding’s distraught face. The result is an examination of the beauty and savagery of fighting, instead of a special-effects showcase.

Pan Lei never became a top name director at Shaw Brothers. After making over a dozen films in the late 60s and early 70s, he began producing and writing films with Lo Wei, director of some of Shaw Brothers' worst films. The pair started making films staring newcomer Jackie Chan. Whatever happened to that guy?

The Fastest Sword
Dir: Pan Lei
Released: December 11, 1968

Pink Tears

Chin Chien’s first feature for Shaw Brothers, Pink Tears presaged the work he’d do for the studio over the next five years — small-budget wenyi weepies that exhibit flashes of creativity amidst long dry spells of wrote formula.

Pink Tears also paired Chin Chien with star Julie Yeh Feng for the first time. Like Chin Chien, Yeh Feng had recently moved over to Shaw after a long career in the film industry. Neither stayed with Shaw Brothers for very long — Chin Chien committed suicide in 1969, Yeh Feng retired from film in 1970 — but the pair made two more movies together that continued Chin Chien’s tradition of erratic output — the terrible Unfinished Melody and the creative Farewell, My Love.

In Pink Tears, Julie Yeh Feng plays Bai Lilan, a hooker with the heart of gold. Widowed after giving birth to her first child, she’s sold her looks to pay for her daughter’s care. Although her high-rolling lifestyle has made her dangerously ill, she still pushes herself — spending late nights at parties and the rest of her time with her daughter, Xiaolan (Fung Bo Bo).

When Xiaolan’s music teacher, Zhang Zhi Ping (Ling Yuen), discovers Bai’s dual lives, he’s shocked. How can a courtesan also be a good mother? After Bai’s illness gets worse, he convinces her to give up being a kept woman and marry him. Damn what society thinks, Zhang promises, their love will prevail.

If you’ve ever seen a wenyi film, you can probably guess how well Zhang’s promise holds up.

Other than Julie Yeh Feng’s raucous rendition of the film’s theme song, and a few melodramatic cliff hangers, Pink Tears doesn’t really stand out amongst the wenyi crowd.

Pink Tears
Dir: Chin Chien
Released: May 27, 1965

Sons of Good Earth

Who would expect a rousing, flag waiving pean to patriotism to begin with a 30-minute remake of An American In Paris? Not me, that’s for sure. But that’s exactly what the first third of Sons of Good Earth is, all the way down to the incidental music that sounds straight out of the MGM vault.

Struggling painter Yu Ri narrates the opening, introducing his town and its residents. Unlike Gene Kelly film, Yu Ri’s not worried about being broke, but about the weightier matter of the imminent Japanese invasion of China.

After helping a pretty girl, He Hua (Betty Loh Tih), out of trouble with an abusive mistress, Yu Ri, his sidekick friend Guan Shan Sheng (Lee Kwan) and He Hua all settle into a cosy lighthearted life; at no point to they sing “Good Morning,” but the local kids do entertain them with a patriotic song about crushing the Japanese.

I’ve seen An American in Paris and Singing in the Rain countless times, and it was disconcerting to see them remolded so drastically. Not that King Hu does a bad job, in fact he captures the MGM spirit quite well. But I never expected to see Gene Kelly’s joie de vive mixed with anti-Japanese jingoism.

Eventually the movie has to address the war, and the MGM homage is dropped in favor of a more standard WWII drama plot. Collaborationist conspire against Yu Ri and He Hua; the lecherous Japanese general rapes Chinese women and brave Chinese men form a guerilla army.

Eventually the film devolves into all out warfare, with Yu Ri mounting the barricades and wielding a rifle like a lifelong soldier. Rousing, no doubt. But the best aspects of the film and completely discarded. Betty Loh Tih disappears for the last third of the film and Peter Chen Ho, a gifted comic actor, looks quite out of place gutting a Japanese soldier with a sword.

Sons of Good Earth was King Hu’s solo directorial debut, and it’s most unlike his later films. But its mixture of the genial and the brutal can be seen in his wuxia films like Come Drink With Me and Dragon Inn. But he never made another musical.

Sons of Good Earth
Dir: King Hu
Released: May 6, 1965

The Story of Sue San

As a director, King Hu will be remembered mostly for his swordplay films — Come Drink With Me, Dragon Inn, Touch Of Zen; he did more than make classics of the genre, he helped to define the vocabulary and rules that would be used by hundreds of films.

Bu Hu didn’t start his career with wuxia flicks. His first film for Shaw Brothers was The Story of Sue San, a Haungmei opera that stands out by having very little singing and a wide variety of unlikable characters.

After catching a quick glimpse of Sue San (Betty Loh Tih), the smitten Wang Jin Long (Chao Lei) discovers that his new love is a prostitute in a local brothel. Undaunted by her current job, Wang quickly drains his family fortune just to catch her attention. Once the locals see the money flowing like water, they quickly get in on the action and scam the oblivious Wang out of every last penny.

Unsatisfied with fancy dinners and ruinously expensive dates, Wang decides to 'marry' #8216;marry 'marry' #8217; Sue San. This bit of the movie confused me and is likely to confuse others. Although she’s a paid companion, Sue San is still a virgin. When Wang 'marries' #8216;marries 'marries' #8217; her, all he’s really doing is paying for the right to take her virginity. It’s not a real marriage, more like a long-term lease with crippling payment schedule.

Wang’s expensive fantasy eventually collapses and various tragedies befal the young lovers, as is the tradition of Haungmei films. But, although the plot follows the basic Haungmei structure, it’s filled with a variety of greedy, shortsighted chararcters, which not as traditional.

Only the put-upon Sue San stands out as a pure-hearted victim. She struggles on while the film takes every opportunity to lambast the pampered and naive Wang. This criticism may have been King Hu’s idea, or maybe it came from Haungmei innovator Li Han-siang, credited as a co-director on the film. Li’s touch shows in the movie’s rich design and bright musical numbers. Han-siang was no stranger to critiquing lust-blinded men (see Beyond the Great Wall, for example), so it’s hard to pinpoint the genesis of Sue San's pessimistic moments.

But that distinction is largely unimportant. The film remains entertaining both as a unique haungmei and as an early effort of King Hu. The always entertaining presence of Betty Loh Tih only makes the film that much more pleasurable.

The Story Of Sue San (aka The Story of Su San)
Dir: King Hu, Li Han-siang
Released: October 1, 1964

Note: Other sources place the film’s release in 1962. It’s possible this film was made in 1962, but not released until 1964. That wasn’t uncommon with Shaw Brothers films. But I think it’s more likely that this was a 1964 production, a chance given to King Hu after his work on The Love Eterne.

My Son

In my reviews of Shaw Brothers melodramas, I frequently critique them for their formulaic predictability—a heroine (tragic, of course) finds herself in a situation beyond her control and sacrifices herself for the good of others. Imagine my surprise to find that in 1970, when these wenyi melodramas were being phased out of Shaw studios, screenwriter, poet and director Lo Chen turned out a unique melodrama featuring an unlikely star, Jimmy Wang Yu.

Reminiscent of “social-problem” films like Summer Heat, My Son is the nasty, pessimistic tragedy of Yang Kuo Liang (Wang Yu) and his girlfriend Mui Lin (Margaret Hsing Hui). Angry and rich, Yang argues with his father (Tien Feng) and fights anyone who pisses him off, which is everyone. But when he’s with Mui Lin, Yang’s angry demeanor subsides. He takes her boating, pays for her sister’s medical care and promises to keep her from harm.

Sadly, Yang’s promises last as long as his patience and the couple’s situation declines in a series of painful tragedies, almost all of which are instigated by Yang’s pig-headed anger, fear of responsibility and shirking of responsibility.

Having a film’s star be both unlikable and at fault for the pain of others was a rare step for Shaw. The stars of their other melodramas were praised, and the tragedies that befell them were either unavoidable, or instigated for the good of others.

Yang is a unique anti-hero in Shaw melodramas, and that’s not the kind of role I’d expect Jimmy Wang Yu to play. And as much as I’d like to say that My Son gave Wang the stereotype-busting kind role that allows him to exhibit his real skills, that’s simply untrue—Wang simply wasn’t that good; My Son shows why he was better suited to roles that required less complicated acting.

Wang’s acting is not the film’s only stumbling block; an exploitative scene or two combined with a stupefying Wu Ma as a “hippy” throw the film off its game. However, the hippy’s “crazy freak out” party does lead to the film’s best quote, “We are the mystifying generation!”

Fumbles aside, the film is far better than other contemporary melodramas. After Shaw Brothers had wrung the life out of the wenyi genre, it’s nice to see an attempt, even an uneven one, to resuscitate the genre.

My Son
Dir: Lo Chen
Released: June 25, 1970

The Five Billion Dollar Legacy

Director Inoue Umetsugu, who delivered stylish Shaw Brothers musicals like Hong Kong Nocturne and King Drummer (which hasn’t yet been re-released on DVD, but I’ve seen clips that look fantastic), serves up this not-particularly-stylish, only occasionally interesting and excessively-plotted “horror” movie.

Three women, all living in Hong Kong, receive letters from their heretofore unknown father, a wealthy Chinese businessman who has settled into a spooky bell-tower under the shadow of Mount Fuji. Near death, the repentant Lin wants to meet his daughters and give them a part of his fortune.

The women, the blind-but-strong Peng Jing Xian (Margaret Hsing Hui), the nice girl Situ Pei Fang (Wong Ping) and the slutty con artist Li Rong Rong (Gwok Maan Loh), all head for Japan. And, in one of those only-in-movies moments, meet each other for the first time on the plane, where they are all sitting in the same row. “Oh, you’re going to Japan to meet your wealthy father? What a coincidence, so am I!”

Once in Japan, ugly blotches appear in the women’s rags-to-riches fantasy. Their arrogant half-brother Peter wants them to leave—or that’s what he says when he’s not trying to seduce and/or rape them. (side note: it’s interesting that unlikable characters in Shaw Brothers films frequently sport English names) Even worse, a sudden change in the will leaves all the money to Peter and a ghost begins haunting the isolated home.

After a lengthy plot involving blackmail, nude scenes, jealous boyfriends, murder, attempted murder, vehicular assault, squeaky shoes, sign language, forced marriage and triple-crossing criminals (really, this is far more plot than should be shoe-horned into a 90-minute film) the bad guys are taken care of and the women, who never really wanted the money, just the love of a father, head back to Hong Kong.

Trapped in the drab set of Lin’s countryside manor, Inoue Umetsugu can deploy little of his visual flair or love of colors. And, although parts of the film appear to have been filmed in Japan, most of it is stuck in the studio, bereft of atmosphere, which is the feature necessary to horror films that Five Billion Dollar Legacy most lacks.

The Five Billion Dollar Legacy
Dir: Inoue Umetsugu
Released: March 19, 1970

A Place To Call Home

In these brief reviews I’ve tried to break down not just which Shaw movies are worth watching, but why the studio made the movies they did. Even with both eyes on the bottom line, the studio didn’t make films solely for entertainment value; the tangled politics of the Hong Kong region, the island of Taiwan and the neighboring Communist China always added political meaning to even the most innocuous of films.

In their films set in China’s past, Shaw built a celluloid China that combined the wish fulfillment of a mythic world full of righteous heroes and the cultural critique of a corrupt authoritarian government.

But the social agenda of Shaw’s historical films never fully translated to their modern day films. Instead of being free to build a fantasy world, modern-day films were weighed down by the requirements of reality. The resulting films were frequently heavy, moralistic and as subtle as a sledgehammer.

Take, for example, A Place To Call Home. The opening features several musical numbers hailing the joy of having parents and a loving family. Orphans beg for money and sing of the pain of going parent-less, “Where can I find my roots? One can say we’re like abandoned lambs. We’ve been weeping and sobbing; wailing our plight.” Subtle it is not, and you get no points for guessing where all this foreshadowing leads.

Ivy Jang (Li Ching), the oldest of the three Jang sisters, lives a fulfilled, joyous life thanks to her parents. On a date with her boyfriend Guo Liang (Fong Yue), the two pity their rich friend Lily (Irene Chen I-ling), who lives alone while her parents earn money abroad. Not content with talking behind Lily’s back, Ivy later sings these sensitive and humble lyrics in front of her friend, “We have a good family. Which is full of love…There are some classmates though, who aren’t as lucky. Because they lack a good family.” Why Lily remains friends with Ivy is a mystery for the ages.

Pride, of course, goeth before a fall. And when Ivy discovers that she’s adopted, it’s a long way to the bottom. Ivy leaves home to live with her biological mother, Liou (Kao Pao-shu) who works as a hostess/prostitute at a dive bar that caters to unpleasant tourists. Her mom’s boyfriend/pimp (Yeung Chi Hing) decides that Ivy would make a fine addition to his stable and predictable tragedy erupts. Wrapping the film up with a speech praising the joys and responsibilities of family only drives the point in a little bit deeper, something that I didn’t think was possible.

Stripping back the film’s abundantly obvious intent, an interesting alternative meaning, similar to Shaw’s historical films emerges. For many Shaw audience members, their homes in Hong Kong, Taiwan and Singapore were adopted after the tumult of World War Two and the Communist defeat of the Nationalist army. At the Shaw studio, expatriates were the rule, not the exception. Not only were the Shaw brothers themselves from Shanghai, many of their stars had emigrated from the mainland to Hong Kong.

Released in 1970, the film is set in 1967-1968, dates that carry certain cultural weight in Hong Kong. After the comparatively mild Star Ferry riots of 1966, Hong Kong erupted again in 1967 and a months long series of riots, bombings, strikes and border flare-ups exposed a deep divide between the colonial government and those with sympathies to China, which was just beginning the degradation that was the Cultural Revolution.

Take this into consideration, and A Place To Call Home's unsubtle message of loving your adoptive family reveals a new meaning. When your biological home is a worn-out prostitute being abused by a drunken pimp (which, I guess, is one way of looking at the treatment of China under Mao Zedong and the Gang Of Four), you better be thankful for what you’ve got. But it’s still not polite to sing about your good fortune in front of your friends.

A Place To Call Home
Dir: Wu Chia Hsang
Released: April 11, 1970

Song Of Tomorrow

Ivy Ling Po’s first modern-day film, Song Of Tomorrow takes a while to settle into its groove, filling its first 45 minutes with various half-baked sub-plots, musical numbers and T&A.

There’s bad belly dancing, a jealous lover, a scheming lothario, an obligation to a dead friend, a sick brother, opium and even a few moments of song and dance.

It’s action packed, to say the least. Shame it doesn’t make much damn sense.

Eventually the movie strips most of this fluff away, leaving only musician Songping (Chiao Chuang) and singer Su Ling (Ivy Ling Po), to struggle through the sorts of tragedies that frequently befall newlywed couples in wenyi dramas — drug addiction, unnamed illnesses and frequent costume changes.

With Ling Po’s move into modern-day films, Shaw Brothers had the opportunity to really shake up the starlet’s image. Instead of being trapped in operatic drag, Ling could change hairstyles and outfits with abandon. Ling leapt at the chance, even designing her own wardrobe for the film. Ling Po’s costume and hair change in almost every scene of Tomorrow — an added bonus for Ivy Ling Po fans.

But if your movie’s main claim to fame is that the star designed her own costumes…well, maybe you’ve got a problem. Perhaps Shaw Brothers wasn’t sure they could rely on Ivy Ling Po’s star power outside of the opera genre. They needn’t have worried; Ling Po, once the movie drops the chaff and lets her act, does an admirable job. If only Tomorrow had dropped the kooky junk at the start, it could have been a more memorable modern-day debut for Ivy Ling Po.

Song Of Tomorrow
Dir: Doe Chin
Released: October 12, 1967