4-3-09: ME AND WONG FEI-HUNG, part two

Memories of Kwan Tak-hing (continued)

Unique among kung fu movie icons, Master Kwan was actually listed in the prefix = st1 ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags" /Hong Kong ‘phone book. The reason was that, in his semi-retirement, he had opened a Chinese herbal medicine clinic. This was located on Queen’s Road in North Point. On an early visit to Hong Kong, I decided, with my usual youthful impetuousness, to call up and ask for an appointment to see Kwan Tak-hing. I then turned up under false pretences. I wasn’t actually a patient, but, fortunately, Kwan was very patient with me.

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The apothecary was located in a rundown tenement building. When I reached Kwan Tak-hing’s clinic, a woman stared at me through the metal security grill that graces most Hong Kong apartment entrances. She opened the door, and ushered me into the presence of the great man, who eyes me quizzically. I admitted that I was, physically, anyway, in good health, and explained that I had actually come to visit Kwan because I was a fan of his films. The woman seemed slightly taken aback that a wild-eyed white guy had even seen any Wong Fei-hung movies, let alone appreciated them, but Kwan seemed to take it in his stride.

Though an elderly man (he had always seemed somehow patrician; always older than his years), he was upright and very focused. Whenever he sat, his back was always ramrod straight. In Magnificent Butcher, the villain, Lee Hon-san, tries to embarrass Wong Fei-hung by kicking away the chair on which he is sitting. The tactic fails because Wong just remains standing in his horse stance. Not that I would ever consider kicking his chair away, but it did seem that, had I done so, Kwan Tak-hing would have remained in place, bemused but immobile.

He showed me various photographs of himself in his heyday, and the woman, who described herself as his student, translated for him, explaining who was who, and where and when. I told him how much I’d enjoyed The Skyhawk, and he said it was amazing how good the film had turned out. The director, Cheng Chang-ho, was given a very low budget to work with, but had still made such a great movie.

There was a metal pole on the floor, and he gestured for me to try and pick it up. I crouched down and did my best. It was incredibly heavy, and, using just my muscle power (ha!), I could barely move it. Kwan indicated for me to step aside, then, taking a breath that seemed to go down from his chest through his feet and down into the apartment on the floor below, he bent, picked up the heavy iron weapon and moved it through the air as through it was made of balsa wood. Exhaling, he replaced it. He pointed to his abdomen, then to his bicep. Real strength is here, not here, he seemed to be saying. It took me until now to actually understand and (try to!) apply this concept.

I also had Kwan’s disciples take some great photos of me matching claws with the great master, and… none of them came out! Either she pressed the wrong button, or his was too strong for the film to handle.

As I prepared to take my leave, Kwan Sifu produced some calligraphy paper and a pen and began to write. I was kind of hoping that he’d put ‘The Man of Virtue is Invincible’, like he did in Magnificent Butcher, but instead he wrote a poetic dedication saying that he was happy to have met me and wished me well.

As I left, Kwan followed me to the corridor outside, and stood waving good-bye as the old style elevator descended. What a wonderful example of old school grace and patience. He was like a Chinese Henry Fonda or Jimmy Stewart.  

At the time I first met him, in terms of his film career, Kwan was slipping into a graceful retirement. He had made his swansong in the Wong Fei-hung role earlier in that decade when he shot the masterful Dreadnaught for Golden Harvest. Director John Woo, a long-time fan of Kwan’s work, was shooting his film Laughing Times on the back lot. (John was then being billed as Golden Harvest’s ‘New King of Comedy’!) Woo took the opportunity to meet his idol. It’s a shame that they never got to work together.

Kwan did play a modern day Wong-by-any-other-name in a comedic caper oddity called The Family Strikes Back, directed by Dean Shek (AKA that goofy guy with the mole from Drunken Master), choreographed by Yuen Woo-ping and his Clan. He plays a (slightly) exaggerated version of himself.  

That same year, he and his old sparring partner from the black-and-white Wong Fei-hung series, Shek Kin, turned up as the coaches of rival ice hockey(!) teams in Aces Go Places IV.

Kwan made his final film appearance in 1994’s It’s a Wonderful Life, shot just before I relocated to Hong Kong. Though I never got to see him on set, I did have the good fortune of meeting the reel life Wong fei-hung again, and of bidding my idol a fitting good-bye.

(Next: Farewell to a hero.)