Reviews

Outstanding jidai-geki, first of Kudo's trilogy which reflects its time of production while elaborating and exceeding the genre tropes. The characters, protagonist and antagonist alike, are typically shown to be motivated by bushido. However the late Tokugawa setting establishes these not as typical giri/ninjo conflicts of the genre, but as largely outdated ethics that turn their proponents into victims of historical and social forces beyond their control or full comprehension.

Often overlooked abroad, 13 Assassins is clearly on the same level of excellence as Masaki Kobayashi's Seppuku or Hiroshi Inagaki's Chushingura/Loyal 47 Ronin of the year before. It shares the revolutionary spirit and critical sensibility of Hideo Gosha, Kihachi Okamoto and Kenji Misumi. And the climactic village death trap might even be interestingly contrasted to the finale of Seven Samurai.

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This sentiment is even voiced more explicitly by the assassins leader, played by Chiezo Kataoka during his final duel with the villain's otherwise noble chamberlain, Ryuhei Uchida. They are not killing one another out of personal malice, but necessity, and it is the anti-climactic fashion of Kataoka's end that defies the cliché of genre expectations.

So too does the subsequent death of his loyal vassal, played by Ko Nishimura. The dying Kataoka tells his men to call a halt to the now even more senseless killing, as their historic objective has been reached. However, word does not reach the desperate and unarmed Nishimura in time. Instead of the noble death we might expect for a character of his type, he is brutally killed after a series of dodges and attempts to escape.

Much of the dialogue throughout makes a point of how many koku of land/rice each main character's title encompasses. This serves to drive home the point of human life's precise monetary value, even more so does the film's final shot.

I was a little disappointed after having seen Tetsuro Tanba and Junko Fuji in the opening credits to find that they are not featured that prominently. However, the film certainly does not suffer as a result. Akira Ifukube's score is typically great, and the art direction of Tokumichi Igawa, (Makai tensho, Iga ninpocho) is spectacular. The 13 assassins' conversion of the village into a series of death traps provides an excellent backdrop which supports the theme by providing countless opportunities for strategic retreat and indirect combat.

Like the original, Miike's remake reflects its time of production while elaborating and exceeding the genre tropes. However, it varies the direction of this deviation in interesting ways compared to the original and to such an extent as to stand on its own. Kudo's film had characters, protagonist and antagonist alike, motivated by bushido. And the late Tokugawa setting established these not as typical giri/ninjo conflicts of the genre, but as largely outdated ethics that turn their proponents into victims of historical and social forces outside of their control.

Miike brings in more of a gender component early on, with Goro Inagaki's Lord Naritsugu engaging in not only rape and child murder, but sexual mutilation and slaughter. This allows Miike to draw in contemporary audiences expecting such spectacle from him instead of talky, jidai-geki set-up. But it also explicitly gives the villain dialogue elaborating his view of bushido - that it is the way of samurai to die for their master, as it is for women to die for their men. This slight element of feminism is largely original to this remake, although it is more present in the second film of Kudo's trilogy - The Great Duel.

Through such explicit violence Miike also establishes more clearly delineated good/bad roles than the original film, to a different end. An innkeeper makes an aside to the effect that in these times, katana are only good for cutting daikon, and he has dozens piled up from losing ronin gamblers to prove it. It is the setting in which ethics have to be codified due to their irrelevance to daily life, as bushido has become a rationale for the sadism for the elite.

The original 13 Assassins by Eiichi Kudo was a reaction to genre convention, like Masaki Kobayashi's Seppuku or Hiroshi Inagaki's Chushingura/Loyal 47 Ronin of the year before. It shares the revolutionary spirit and critical sensibility of Hideo Gosha, Kihachi Okamoto and Kenji Misumi. In Miike's iteration, differing concepts of bushido are more explicitly stated as a means to update and simplify the material for contemporary audiences. Our heroes more explicitly shed their identities as the travel towards the final clash, encountering a country bandit played by Yusuke Iseya. He is suspended from a tree as punishment for philandering, and is jokingly referred to as a tanuki. But the character provides meaning through contrast, as Mifune's Kikuchiyo did in 7 Samurai.

Genre convention is played with, but more as a means to provide spectacle, a degree of feminist edge, and an updated film that casts the heroes as on a more current search for identity. Certainly less of a critique and deconstruction of those genre norms so prevalent and still popular at the time of the original film.

The climactic village death trap could also be interestingly contrasted to the finale of Seven Samurai. Director Kudo had Chiezo Kataoka lead the 13 assassins into executing an elaborate series of traps, leading up to his final duel with the villain's equally noble chamberlain played by Ryuhei Uchida. This film has Koji Yakusho doing the same, with the addition of some flaming CGI buffalo.

But whereas in the original, they are not killing one another out of personal malice but necessity, here the lines are clearly drawn and characters are assigned more or less noble deaths according to their virtue. The heroes attack and retreat in guerrilla fashion, but they do not die in quite as desperate and pointless a manner that the ending of the original film drove home. I won't spoil that ending here, I already did that in my spoiler-laden review of that movie.

It is the anti-climactic fashion of key characters' ends that defied cliché genre expectations in the original, and this is largely lost. Although the melee is equally frantic, and arguably even more well choreographed and excitingly shot by modern standards - it serves different and perhaps less pointed ends. By making the killing serve a dramatic point, it loses much of what set the original apart. That sense that hero and villain alike were bought and paid for, a product of their time and made to serve the ends of others.

Fukusaku fans have a lot to enjoy here, as there are strong elements of jitsuroku yakuza eiga despite the v-cinema production values. No real surprise, given the lineup, and both lead stars were even in Miike's Graveyard of Honor semi-remake. In this case, however, it is the police who are held under the greatest scrutiny and shown to be worse criminals in a sense.

Shun Sugata has a powerfully engaging screen presence, and the 3+ hour running time was not felt as a burden at all. There are many small side stories, but these were all interesting as well. Such as a reporter who photographs Sugata's Takeda in his first major police action when dealing with what appears to simply be a homicidal addict. The reporter's evidence spurs conversations with a yakuza that in turn serve an expository function while providing some non-cloying comic relief. They also get into terms such as "bokutaku" which prove significant, but in a natural way that avoids forced symbolism.

Similarly, several key scenes centered around shared meals give a sense of social ritual and systems of patronage while also feeding into Takeda's final speech. Some secondary characters have no arc for good reason, since they serve as cautionary figures for what others may become. Police involvement in drug abuse, and the casual corruption displayed by Takeda's boss provide models for the behavioral role we see him take on, in small mannerisms at first.

There are also references made to the sort of game or play that goes on between yakuza, police and reporters. The patronage ties being so close that careers are directly interdependent and moral behavior unethical. A press conference late in the film provides English-friendly explanation of the film title, but again does not get too heavy-handed. Sugata's final speech, on the other hand, is overtly dramaturgical in a way that pays off the previous canine, food, and theater motifs. It worked quite well upon first viewing, and I'm sure to revisit this.

The DV transfer has serious limitations, but does not look much worse than v-cinema blown up from 16mm to 35 for cursory theatrical runs. I had read that the English subtitles are superimposed over Japanese subs when characters are speaking Korean, but it was not a problem as the former are bordered and the scenes dark.

Given the 18 certificate and obvious premise, you should pretty much know what you're in for here. Like Hammer films of not-so-old, there are sequences depicting death, birth, copious afterbirth, life... and then more death. This director loves his montage, and the large animal husbandry goings-on present a grisly opportunity to foreshadow Tim Spall getting his pagan country squire on later in. Fans of The Wicker Man should enjoy all of the various references about, as well as some Hitchcock, Don't Look Now and a little Nothing But the Night.

Gillen's really in his element, given fans of Carcetti in The Wire do not go in typecasting him and miss the couple chemistry on screen with the excellent Eva Birthistle. The plot is nothing too unusual in terms of genre, but of course it is the small variations and execution that draw interest. And in those terms, this has several fun moments where expectations are declined or exceeded in a fun manner. As a Hammer film, it is very promising - especially after Let Me In and The Resident. The cinematography is not quite as good as the latter and it is only a step or two more original. The score sounds a bit too inspired by Tubular Bells, just like that of The Resident - despite these being different composers. But the direction is much more reliable, the editing more in rhythm with horrific reveals, and the writing much better in comparison.

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Overall, moving in the right direction, although still not hitting in all departments. The effects are fairly modest but generously sanguine and over-miked in the boneyard, although there is some less than fortunate CGI when graphic violence involves the child actor - understandably so, for the most part. After an '09 premiere, this has gone straight from cinemas to DVD in the UK and I would hope that it does as well as it deserves. It's not a trip back in time for Hammer fans, a wholly original reinvention or a pandering homage - but a solid effort where it counts the most.

If unfamiliar with Corneau, do not be fooled by the title into thinking that this is some watered-down Dirty Harry imitation. It is an excellent Policier which owes more to Film Noir than '70s action, despite the title and bullet-strewn finale. Montand plays an older police inspector as a creature of habit, and the opening bullet fabrication montage is one of the best of that period.

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Alarm clocks and phones are used as both transitional and foreshadowing devices to demonstrate his obsessive character and trained response in contrast to that of his chief and enemy. But it is Montand's wife Simone Signoret who is the real intellectual rival, and her reaction after her husband confesses to the murder of his lover is remarkably telling but human. So, we have a wrongfully accused Montand being framed by his superior for the murder of the lover they unknowingly shared - while Montand's real-life wife Signoret plays the wife of the rival engineering his demise.

But it is a solid third of the way into the film before any killing occurs, and it is the attention to pace, character, and setting that establishes this as more than a typical genre entry. The odd locations were Corneau's hometown, so we get a nice mix of old homes and gorgeous canals, but also modern office buildings - and a pedestrian grocery store featured to excellent contrasting effect. Like in Corneau's Jim Thompson adaptation, Series Noire, pop culture and consumerism provide an inelegant backdrop to violence. There is an excellent PAL DVD from the Netherlands, with English subs.

Guillermo Navarro's cinematography and a struggling cast cannot compensate for the weak script in this predictable thriller. I do not hold it against the picture that they went through other leads, although it is obvious that the role was not written for Swank specifically. She makes a solid effort at vulnerability, as per the part, despite the copiously fogged nude scenes making it clear that this ex-Karate Kid and $M Baby could put most guys through a wall. And Christopher Lee is used well, if sparingly, though fans should not come in expecting a huge role for him. I did not, and was not disappointed.

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But the film is packed with the kind of dialog in which characters literally declare their emotional state to the audience, "I am ___ , because ___." This picks up a little with the intrusion of a he said/she said on screen rewind of the events just seen, which are then replayed in montage so as to reveal the antagonist's back-story and motives in a manner more ham fisted even than the dialog. The rewind flashback is exceeded even by a facile, inverse, parallel use of guns near the open and ending shots. The score is adequate if derivative, with some droning bells and manipulated strings that match well with the early use of environmental sounds in the cityscape.

Despite these many overplayed elements, Navarro's cinematography is pleasingly smart. A white on black color motif that shifts to red for effective foreshadowing, it helps relieve the series of lame jump-scares. Institutional colors at her work alternate with warm flesh tones for intimate interiors, and smooth use of the established apartment space with more interesting camera movement than your typical voyeur thriller.

Morgan is also good, and it is promising to see him cast in Bornedal's upcoming film for Raimi's uneven Ghost House Pictures. But overall, this is a disappointing but not terrible film. Maybe hard for Hammer fans to take, as they seem to be harking back to earlier thriller/noir territory rather than more horrific or explicit films. The casting seems problematic here, and the use of Radcliffe in the upcoming Lady in Black remake is worrisome as a similar strategy. That film should at least have a better script, adapted by Jane Goldman, than this did.

Hammer has a history of re-adapting classics, featuring actors for their name, and doling out the nudity - so it is pleasing to see this film as part of a move in that direction after the unambitious Let Me In. They do seem to be playing it overly safe with some casting choices, although perhaps these upcoming projects will push further against type. Hopefully, they can retain this level of technical gloss and apply it to more original or at least cleverly realized work.

Fascinating both in terms of its structural approach to genre, subversive political themes, and how it obliquely reflects the intensely personal lives of the director/writer and star. Seberg's still then-husband directs her in some tightly scripted and intimate scenes regarding themes of infidelity. And this while such issues and an unplanned pregnancy by another man became public thanks to politically motivated interference by the FBI.

There are clear influences from Jean-Pierre Melville and Godard, with a pop art approach to American gangster iconography. The Brad KILLian anti-hero being reminiscent of Lemmy Caution, or even Caine's Carter in a manner. The heroin-busting plot is cursory, but Gary's slyly scripted dialogue contains radical subtext and some hilariously overt depictions of native insurgency, with Afghani Sufis and a kid nicknamed Che Guevara.

Gary shoots some early night scenes with Seberg in dark clothing, accentuating her beautiful profile and bright hair as if floating in space. Chiaroscuro lighting returns later in the film, but there are also interesting sequences of filmed executions being repeated for thematic emphasis. Aldo Sambrell's familiar genre presence is also used to great effect, despite it being not much more than an extended cameo and glorious execution.

There is also an insane pop art musical interlude that cuts between the heroin dealers discussing canine-human pornography and dealing to children with scenes of Seberg and Boyd engaging in a strangely negotiated coupling of their own. All of which is scored by none other than Memphis Slim on piano, giving a bluesy vocal rendition of the theme song that contrasts well with Edda Dell'Orso and Doris Troy's.

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It isn't until the likes of Johnnie To, John Woo, Tarantino and of course Scorsese that we would see genre played with in quite the same masterful manner and with such witty layers. One need only watch James Mason's dying visions of machine-gunned, undead gangsters, Sufi-leaping heavenward to understand that what they are watching is not a typical formulaic genre entry.

Crafted, period specific and localized horror with nicely stylistic elements of homage to Psycho and fairly strong cat. III edge and humor. After some semi-derivative vertical montage shots to make the visual metaphors explicit, we go into an initial kill with some similar shots driving the point home. Time is then spent developing Josie Ho's character well enough for her to convince pretty well in the more strenuous, later knock down drag outs. There's a shot referring to Love in a Puff here, just one of many little in-jokes throughout for the fans.

Her background and psychological setup for present circumstances are explored effectively in some sequences that jump around a bit. Tsui is great here, and it feels much better than one monolithic block of back-story or a single expository character might. Eason Chan is also quite good as her jackass cad of a boyfriend, not playing his cretinism up too hard but also not going for fan sympathy in any way.

The Michelle Ye kill has some slightly unfortunate prosthetics and CGI, but they are not dwelt upon and are perfectly acceptable for the budget and time involved. Had it been featured or repeated, this might have detracted from the overall use of practical fx and realistic fight choreography, but that is largely not the case.

The drug den fight brings back this strong violence, but with a lot of humorous sexuality reminiscent of AV and weaponized paraphenalia. This goes quite OTT, with jokes for 24Herbs enthusiasts and some creative violence that fans of Her Vengeance might enjoy.

In all, this is ambitious and smart in ways that I would certainly like to see more of. It harks back to cat. III classics while referencing the director's previous work and some of the less often considered aspects of Psycho. The humor is largely integrated with the horror rather than as dismissive punchlines, and it utilizes the urban environment excellently. By not pandering to international audiences, I would hope for a change this film might garner more notice and perhaps be seen firsthand rather than as an English language remake.

Fantastic use of double exposure and multiple flashbacks right from the gate in this exceptional Silent. The director himself plays the role of the wastrel David Holm, who recounts in flashback his friend Georges telling him of how the last person to die on New Year's Eve is compelled to take their place as driver of the phantom carriage and carry on Death's work of collecting souls.

Not one to heed his own lesson, David gets into a drunken graveyard brawl immediately before the strike of midnight and finds that the driver who has come to collect him is Georges himself! What follows is a morality play with clear influences on Bergman in it's at times blackly comic tone, moral irony and mysterious imagery.

One sequence in particular has the phantom carriage passing among the churning waves and debris of the seaside only to stop at the wreck of a boat. The driver then descends to find what at first appears to be a man sleeping peaceably on the ocean floor.

There is also a flashback of a TB-ridden Holm brazenly coughing in the face of his sleeping infant as his wife looks on in dread. This is followed spectacularly by an axe sequence that Kubrick must have seen. Apparently, Sjostrom's early childhood was spent in turn of the century Brooklyn up until the death of his mother.

The Dickensian moralistic elements of the story dominate the final chapter, predictably. Georges dutifully binds his old friend's discorporate soul with invisible chains and shows him the aftermath of his ways. But the technique and storytelling themselves are so powerful that this is not to be missed.

Rural neo-noir with a gender reversal but no real homme fatale, and some potentially problematic depiction of male legal and military authority. Institutions are not depicted in a classic noir style of course, but their opposite female network of informal "soft" power is portrayed as incredibly brutal of necessity/in result. This is troubling, in the sense that it could be interpreted as supportive of a victim-blaming or culture of poverty model for understanding the local dynamics on screen. The ending suggests a fragile shell of more traditional culture surviving in the old and very young, but this remainder is barely hinted at.

As neo-noir it is excellent with superb direction and performances all around, but the implications of some other artistic choices were troubling. I'm curious as to what they reflect more - period genre style or a particular regional view. It is personal, which makes it moving, and the strong female lead and director build on that. But I think it reflects that experience in a depiction of informal social networks, (female power behind the throne) as cruel and backwards while institutional male authority is rigid but rational.

I'd be curious to know how much of that is from the novel vs. screenplay or any improv. There's a mix of neo-noir elements with the rural coming-of-age ordeal - the latter tying into a literature and film subgenre that has been wrapped up in stereotypes, victim-blaming and a model of rural development that goes far back.

But the feminist elements complicate interpretation, as female power is behind the informal power structure that is set up opposite the male-dominated military/legal authorities. Of course, the females inflict a rite of passage which is portrayed as highly ruthless and almost animalistic - which again ties into stereotypes of rural poverty as the self-inflicted product of backwards culture.

The alternative to this dichotomy between informal female/formal male powers is, I think, the really interesting character of Teardrop. Of course, he stands up to both of them - but it's also partly a byproduct of him being a borderline psycho, drug-addicted 'Nam vet. It reflects many of America's social problems that make it a highly significant film. But I think it also does so in some troubling ways, characterizing these issues in ways that twist - but ultimately rely upon stereotypes and simplistic ways of blaming poverty's victims for their own lot. Survival is possible, but only through submission to primitive forms of justice - with a small hope for progress in the next generation.

An outstanding documentary feature which combines brief interviews with now-aged subjects who were often direct or secondary observers of key historic events in Shanghai history. But it is not the factual evidence alone which is fascinating, rather the personal significance and sociocultural context which is provided by montage sequences mixing archival footage with contrasting long pans of contemporary and period architecture. The subjects comment freely on the character of their past relatives, and speculate upon their intent and aims within the context of the time.

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This often involves ironic, unintentional consequences such as interviewees reflecting on not minding a spartan life under communism as they had lived it up frequenting the opera beforehand. One older man now frequenting a senior dance club speaks freely of the practical necessities overriding ideological concerns in people attending political events for the free MSG and mosquito repellent coils. Ironic, given his relative's instrumental involvement in making MSG production independent of Japan's Aji-no-Moto. Or those once youthfully involved with propaganda film now walking through an abandoned factory floor.

There is also a subtext paralleling Shanghainese history with that of the nation. One instance subtly draws a historical comparison between the Warring States period and the alley gang structure of power in early Shanghai, this is followed by a comic interlude panning by a child bragging for a fight. The KMT, political assassination in Shanghai, Chiang Kai-shek's retreat to Taiwan, and the impact of the Cultural Revolution are all key - but it is also a history of cinema and theatrical art in the city.

Hou Hsiao-Hsien talks about his impressions of the city while making Flowers of Shanghai, and how the novel reflects the changing idea of romantic love there. There is also 1972 footage of Michelangelo Antonioni having tea after coming to Shanghai by Zhou Enlai's invitation to make a film,(Chung Kuo - Cina) about the Chinese people. An interviewee assigned to Antonioni talks about his protest of the way China was being characterized as backwards. As it turns out, he says, the film was being used by the Gang of Four as a pretext to attack Zhou Enlai - a film he has to this day still never really seen. In another vignette, the director's daughter reflects upon the reaction to the now classic Spring in a Small Town, (1948) and her family's move to H.K. to let the dust settle over what may now seem a stylized romantic film. Wong Kar-Wai's Days of Being Wild is touched on in an unexpectedly refreshing and sad manner, and later segments reflecting entrepreneurial capitalism and contemporary youth culture are equally unpredictable.

There are expected elements in a documentary of this type, with family members discussing migration and fragmented lives. But there are also the recurring architectural extended metaphors typical of Jia Zhangke's work. These are multiple and constant, less literal and perhaps more open here. Director Jia has his muse Zhao Tao in key bridging scenes, using her dance background to reflect the sentiments of the first interview subject from the senior dance club who sings the titular song. This delves below the surface sentiments of romantic nostalgia to reflect uncertainty, disparity, and ironic consequences that shaped the city and its filmic representation.

Does an unusually good job of not just retaining but enhancing period and place-specific pop culture references in adaptation to film. Wright's work has always shown such sensibilities, from TimeSplitters in SOTD to an entire episode of Spaced that references Resident Evil. But here it is enhanced visually by the pixel-jamming cinematography of Bill Pope and Brad Allan's martial choreography into something unique.

It is easily the most accurate "comic book movie" to date, but not in the sense of being slavishly faithful to its source. It does so in expressing stylistically the ability of sequential art to collapse time and space, forcing the viewer to make inferences beyond those implied by jump cuts. At the same time, the film captures the sense of immediacy and complete immersion into the dream logic of video games.

The references are extremely well integrated into the plot, with many foreshadowed by games characters play before they themselves act them out. From a ninja arcade cabinet game to Nintendo, Sega and Dreamcast home console titles. There are dance moves from Space Channel 5 in the Matthew Patel faceoff, opponents exploding into coins from countless brawlers, Ramona travelling through a Sub-space shortcut like in Mario, references to Zelda, Street Fighter, Double Dragon and Mortal Kombat franchises.

It also draws upon anime, with the art style from the comic appearing directly on screen at key moments, and an emphasis on establishing shots familiar to manga fans. At a key moment, the ability to manifest and draw a katana from one's chest appears, just like in Revolutionary Girl Utena.

Brad Allan from Jackie Chan's Sing Ga Ban brings a strong sense of video game rhythm to the fight scenes. They are tightly choreographed to often diegetic music by on stage band battles. Allan has Matthew Patel do a quick flash of Ken Lo's footwork snap from Drunken Master II, in a fun nod. And Wright casts the Miyoshi Brothers from Battle League Horumo as twins who synth-duel with Sex Bob-Omb.

****************SPOILER****ALERT********************* The films changes the ending and sequence of events from the comic, but in a manner I found more dramatic and fitting to the medium. Knives fights Flowers in Schwartzman's Chaos Club instead of the library, and the appearance of Nega Scott is resolved almost as soon as it happens. But it is all of the fine touches that Wright puts in that most accurately reflect those in the comic, while being done in a cinematic way more reminiscent of European art house film than Hollywood product.

Numerical, heart and "x" motifs run through the film, and Evans' Lucas Lee is used to more directly mock Hollywood action film conventions. Brad Allan, no stranger to stunt doubling, has the movie star Lee character's doppelgangers take on Pilgrim for him. This scene simultaneously mocks the substitution of Toronto for NYC in American productions, having them tear through a matte painting on a scrim.

By mocking the clichés of multiple forms of media and maintaining a specificity in terms of time, place and tone, this movie distinguishes itself clearly from not just other comic book adaptations - but the majority of literary ones as well. Of course, these same merits are likely to have it be dismissed from critical consideration. At least until those elements become nostalgic enough to be taken seriously, at which time younger audiences will have moved on.

As a radical détournement of bourgeois cultural hegemony, this largely fails to effectively apply dialectical materialism to its subject. Instead, the viewer is subjected to boorish name-dropping, misogynist jokes parading as sexually revolutionary wit, and lame plugs for Champ libre publications.

It is not a Japanese karate film being détourned, as many critics and the film itself claim at times, but a Hong Kong film shot in South Korea. The protagonists are unarmed Taekwondo practitioners resisting armed Japanese oppression. Nothing is made of even this in the Situationist commentary, which instead promotes armed violence in revolt.

In general, the elements most obviously suited to being repurposed are ignored in favor of simply putting slogans in the characters' mouths. Presumably, with the intent of eliciting a knowing chuckle from those in on the agenda. Surprising that a sinologist such as Viénet would not draw upon Eastern traditions of cinematic narration to make a more informed critique.

In general, the radical potential of the film and its context are ignored, and a strictly one-sided technique is employed to layer on dogma. A few of the post-Marxist jokes and historical references work, but most of them do not.

Misleadingly titled, but enjoyable kung fu comedy most notable for the only screen appearance of Liu Jui Yi. Elder sister of Liu Chi Liang, their father Liu Zhan was himself a martial disciple of Lam Sai-wing. Historically, Lam Sai-wing's sifu was none other than the legendary Huang Fei Hong.

So, in essence you have in this family a group of martial descendants portraying the same arts and moral philosophy on film that their forebears became historically famous for embodying themselves in regards to the real historical events of previous decades. A set of circumstances completely unprecedented in global cinema, and never repeated.

This instance, however, is a minor film without Liu Chia Liang as director or choreographer. Instead, you do get Liu Jui Yi putting son Liu Chia Yung through his paces alongside Liu clan protégé Kara Hui Ying Hung. Despite the title, the female leads are not the major focus of the film, however.

Instead, we get choreographer Chan Dik Hak in granny glasses and a hippie headband wielding an iron comb alongside a group of crooked Tibetan doctors. They take in a naive Liu Chia Yung, but find him out when he fails to aid their scheme of creating their own patients by beating up crowds of strangers in the market and then handing out discount healthcare coupons.

Yung is saved by Kara Hui Ying Hung, who lives with choreographer Huang Ha, (doing his best Yuen Siu Tien impression) and the aforementioned Liu Jui Yi. Yung's mother is an exponent of the Leper's Fist, a style which not surprisingly resembles the leopard fist style of Hung Gar.

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So, following the usual market and tea house bouts, we get a big weapons fight with Chan Dik Hak's iron comb, Yung wielding twin dao and staves, Tibetans with fans and various less exotic weapons. Finally, Yung by accident incorporates jiang shi (hopping vampire) movements into the Leper style, which proves to be the key to victory.

I'd possibly fault director Law Chi for not letting the ladies shine, and the film suffers as a result. Hui Ying Hung would soon go on to spectacular comedic turns in Liu Chia Liang's My Young Auntie and Lady Is The Boss. It's just a shame that such comedic and martial timing is not given more free rein here.