Movie Review: The Lost Bladesman/關雲長

Last Sunday at 8:00AM, I found myself wandering around Causeway Bay. Which is not in and of itself unusual.

What was odd about it was the timing; for the first time, I was in that place at that hour at the beginning of my day rather than at the end of it.

And yes, Causeway Bay at 8:00AM on a Sunday is as interesting and exciting as you might think.

But I had the antidote.

I am, after all, a doctor.

I met up with Kevin ‘The Golden Rock’ Ma, who for some insane reason had wanted to see The Lost Bladesman/關雲長 at 9:00AM on Sunday.

We ate breakfast at Tsui Wah and headed over to the MCL JP theatre, the same one I watched Thorin.

While taking our seats, I shot a jealous glance at the seat Gloriana Wong had used at theThor  screening. That little pile of foam and upholstery has no idea how lucky it was.

The Lost Bladesman/關雲長 is based on the legend of Guan Yu, one of China’s biggest cultural heroes. He’s the guy with the red face keeping watch over policemen, triads, and every Chinese restaurant on earth (and elsewhere).

I’ve never read The Three Kingdoms. I tired once, but without a scorecard to keep the names straight, it just confused me so badly I had to stop.

I never watched any of the TVB adaptations. I don’t watch TV; what do you want from me?

I enjoyed John Woo’s Red Cliffat least partially because I had no preconceptions or understandings about the story.

So it would seem rational that I would enjoy The Lost Bladesman/關雲長.

Mehhh.

One of the interesting things about Chinese culture in general and Chinese cinema in particular is the concept of ‘low context.’ In a low context culture, people learn by observation and immersion. By contrast, in a high context culture, people learn by telling and being told.

It’s easy to become an American because we’ll tell you how, since telling is part of being an American.

Chinese culture is different. Everyone in HK knows that you’re supposed to fight over the bill at a restaurant, and everyone knows how. But no one has ever been able to tell me how. I’m expected to just know, or to learn by watching.

Usually I talk to the waiter away from the table and (in Cantonese) tell him that if he doesn’t give me the bill when we call for it I will kill him and his whole family. It works!

Movies are the same way. In every American cop film, some nameless bit actor presents Will Smith or Bruce Willis with a nice convenient Power Point about the bad guy, explaining everything so that we’ve all got the background. This is why no one ever gets lost in a Hollywood film.

On the other hand, we see Guan Yu all the time in gangster films (and others), usually as a statue someone is burning incense to. But no one ever stops and tells you who this guy is. Because everyone in the original, intended audience already knows who he is, so why bother, right?

The same concept is at work in The Lost Bladesman/關雲長. Everyone knows this story, so there’s no need to make it plain or cohesive.

Besides, Donnie Yen films are not about narrative.

They’re all about Flexing Yen 3D: Donnie, Donnie, and DONNIE.

The horse is weeping tears of jealousy.

Donnie Yen makes movies that don’t have characters as much as they have Donnie Yen.

They tried to market a Donnie Yen condom, but everyone knows there’s no such things as protection from Donnie Yen.

So what happens when one of the most recognizable actors in Chinese film essays one of the most recognizable characters in Chinese culture?

Most men wish they were Fabio. Fabio wishes he were Donnie Yen.

Ideally, we’d get an unforgettable film.

What we get instead is a mish-mash of fight scenes, brooding, and (self-) righteousness.

Should have called it Irish Catholic Marriage.

There’s no real story here, as far as I can tell. I am sure it follows the basic outline of Guan Yu’s tale, but the film itself is so disjointed that there was little point in trying to follow it.

Well, if the story is Donnie kicks a lot of ass, then the story makes sense.

And I am sure that for a lot of fanboys, that’s all they wanted and needed. Twitchy little fruits.

On that level, the film works. There is plenty of fighting.

And the acting isn’t bad (mostly).

Jiang Wen plays Cao Cao, and does so with no small amount of relish, at times bordering on smugness. I don’t mean the character, I mean the actor. I love watching an actor in a role they enjoy. At the same time, it is possible, I think, to enjoy yourself a bit too much, and while that’s the actor’s right, that doesn’t mean I have to like watching it.

Jiang Wen looks more and more like Eric Tsang Chi-Wai, doesn’t he?

Sun Li was interesting and believable, though she wasn’t really given much to work with. Still, she’s nice to look at, and at least she wasn’t a whining, materialistic shrew like so many other recent characters.

Mmmmm… Lucky Bread!

I felt that the romantic sub-plot wasn’t handled very well, but that’s probably because there were no fight scenes in it.

If she and Donnie had just kicked the sh*t out of each other every time they ran into one another, I am sure the sub-plot would have received much more attention, care and energy.

“I tell you one motherf@#$in’ thing… The next motherf@#$in’ time I see that motherf@#$er… and he ain’t got my $35 motherf@$#in’ dollars… I’m ‘a kick his motherf@#$in’ @ss…”

It was also nice to see Andy On Chi Kit in a small role. He acquits himself well against Donnie Yen, and it occurred to me while watching that Andy has achieved the logical step forwards that all action-minded actors work for: he’s now fighting against the biggest martial arts star of his generation.

“ Put the donut down…”

I am happy for him, and as has been the norm for me these last few years (and injuries), I now wince as much as cheer during these fight scenes. It is obvious that Andy and Donnie worked hard, and we are the beneficiaries. Movie martial arts are like professional wrestling. It’s fake, but its still a very physically demanding job.

Donnie Yen is, after all, the king of movie martial artists. Or so the HK media tells me, and they never lie, right?

他的理髮師和他的裁縫交配.

But martial arts aren’t really enough to build a movie around unless it is a shameless excuse for a string of fight scenes, like Iron Monkey. Don’t get me wrong, I love Iron Monkey, but there’s not enough story (and hence not enough need for dramatic capacity) to fill up a single page.

If you want a film that is (ostensibly) about more than fights, it helps if your lead actor/martial artist has some kind of non-martial charisma.

Just look at Bruce Lee.

People often overlook Lee’s electrifying stage presence and his ability to convince the audience of his attachment to or embodiment of the characters he played.

A martial artist incapable of dramatic acting is of little or no use to anyone.

Just look at Jackie Chan.

Jackie Chan is a very funny comic actor. Drama, however, has eluded him.

It has run screaming down the street naked and in flames.

Jet Li has even found his dramatic stride in recent years, growing and maturing into a dramatic force.

So any time Donnie Yen wants to start making that transition, I’ll be happy.

At times I thought it would have been better and more believable to have used a Guan Yu statue to play Guan Yu than the Donnie-nator.

Like Chrissie Chau, Donnie Yen’s physical attributes simply cannot cover his acting shortfalls.

One of the funniest moments of the film is its climax, when Donnie makes his (contractually stipulated) Face of Rage.

For whatever reason, it is accompanied by this… sound… and Donnie comes off looking and sounding like a combative Special Ed student who dropped his French Fries. It was hilarious, albeit unintentionally so.

It was the thing Kevin and I talked about the most after the film, and a rendition of it will no doubt become part of our in-person interaction.

So I can’t say I got nothing from  The Lost Bladesman/關雲長.