by Meyers, Ric
“What did I know?” Michelle remembered. “I had dancing training. I just got up there and did it.” And, by so doing, won the admiration of the entire crew. But she wasn’t alone in this admiration society.
“I think the crew was impressed,” blonde American martial artist Cynthia Rothrock told me, “because here I was, a little foreign woman who they thought would be afraid to get hurt. But I did everything they asked” — including such terrific stunts as doing a split on the wall while fighting off thugs with a bamboo pole. It was all in a day’s work for the real-life martial artist, who was the number-one female kung fu stylist in the world two years running.
Corey Yuen put the two through their paces, making the kung fu movie fan yearn for a director’s cut that would include a no-holds-barred battle at a temple and the scene in which the two fight off the ferocious Dick Tei Wei — both of which were left on the cutting room floor. But what remains is the seminal Hong Kong woman-warrior epic.
While Michelle went on to Royal Warriors, Rothrock moved on to an even more impressive follow-up. Righting Wrongs (aka Above the Law, 1986, not to be confused with Steven Seagal’s 1988 film of the same name) is also considered one of Yuen Baio’s best movies — an insane melange of Death Wish (1974) and The Untouchables (1987), produced by Baio and directed by Corey Yuen Kwai. Baio plays a law student whose professor is gunned down in front of him. After annihilating his prof’s killers in a sizzling car chase and fight scene, Baio decides to go outside the law for justice. Rothrock plays the well-meaning Interpol agent who tries to stop him, not realizing how deep police corruption goes.
Briskly brutal, with some amazing moments of kung fu black comedy (as when Cynthia and Yuen do an acrobatic martial arts dance all over a seated murder victim), Righting Wrongs is not a happy movie, but it is consistently exciting with some great kung fu (choreographed by the star, the director, Sammo Hung, Mang Hoi, and even Hsu Hsia). Not only does Rothrock fight Baio, but also fellow Caucasian Karen Sheperd, who played a martial arts hit woman who murdered a teenage witness to the villain’s homicidal politics. In the original version, everybody dies, but when that reality hurt the box office in certain countries, new scenes were shot that allowed either Yuen and Cynthia, or both, to live. There are literally four versions of Righting Wrongs floating around: one in which they both live, one in which they both die, and two in which only one lives.
Meanwhile, Michelle “Khan” was balancing her film work with a budding romance with the powerful Dickson. She completed a nominal follow-up to Royal Warriors called Magnificent Warriors (1988), but it did not premiere until two years afterward. Although entertaining in its own right, it had nothing to do with its predecessor. Taking place during World War II, Michelle makes like a vengeful cross between Bruce Lee and Indiana Jones to save a small town from Japanese invaders. Marred by a tone that fluctuated between honest emotion, insane action, and inopportune slapstick comedy, Magnificent Warriors didn’t slow Khan down, but marriage, by dint of Chinese tradition, did.
Once she became Mrs. Dickson Poon, her movie career was all but over. Cynthia Rothrock, however, carried on. The only thing that slowed her down, ironically enough, was the color of her skin, not to mention hair. Just as American filmmakers had been slow to accept Asian action stars, Hong Kong looked upon the blonde, round-eyed Rothrock with skepticism, curiosity, and, in some rare cases, downright hostility. It wasn’t that the film industry was racist (oh, no!) but the audience … would the audience accept her?! Of course they would, but the game played out in its usual pattern. There was hemming and hawing about what kind of role they could give her. Hong Kong was not exactly a melting pot, and a blonde white woman stood out like a marshmallow in butterscotch pudding.
Sammo Hung, who had given Michelle her first, non-fighting, role in his weak comedy Owl vs. Dumbo (1984) eliminated the problem by making Cynthia just one in a mob of interracial robbers for Millionaire’s Express. But Sammo’s no fool: she got extra attention, because, first, she was the only white woman villain, and second, she was the one who fought director and co-star Sammo. While Yuen Baio fought Dick Tei Wei and Japanese action actress Yukari Oshima beat off a gang of co-stars, Rothrock faced off against Hung in a memorable, nicely structured one-on-one in a hotel lobby. She gives him far worse than she gets until Sammo is forced to take her seriously. He does his patented Bruce Lee impersonation to get in the proper mood, and then makes her spine sorry it was ever thrown onto the marble floor.
Although the film did poorly at the box office, both Rothrock and Oshima were the talk of the industry. Sammo’s friends, Jackie Chan and Frankie Chan (no relation), took advantage of their skills. Although Jackie’s Armour of God injury prevented an on-screen face-to-face with Cynthia, he tried to make it up to her by having her cast in The Inspector Wears Skirts (aka Top Squad, 1988), a slapstick comedy he produced, inspired by the American Police Academy movies. As successful as that was (sprouting a fistful of increasingly inferior sequels sans Cynthia), it was Yukari who was one step away from attaining Angela Mao status when Frankie cast her as his co-star in his clever Outlaw Brothers (1987).
Frankie played one of two sibling, high-end, car thieves who accidentally steals a female drug lord’s latest shipment. Statuesque Michiko Nishiwaki is the villain, while Yukari is the cop assigned to bring down both the thieves and druggies. Frankie, a Southern Shaolin Long Fist fan, cleverly plays out their romantic comedy in both banter and fight scenes (choreographed by Fung Hak-on and Yuen Shun-yi). This is clearly Frankie’s best film, and apex of his directing career, which began promisingly, but faltered shortly after this. Don’t feel sorry for him, though — he was the second unit director for Operation Condor, still reigns as one of Hong Kong’s most prominent and sought-after soundtrack composers, and, twenty-three years later, was chosen by producer Jackie Chan to direct Lady Warriors of the Yang Family (2011).
Still, this movie is enough. It has several excellent kung fu sequences, culminating in a warehouse battle royal filled with snakes, chickens, cigarettes, rice, and gweilo bad guys who wield blade-encrusted fans and ringed swords as well as guns. It would have made a great series except for the sour fadeout, where Oshima reveals that she was playing Frankie for a sucker all along (the film ends on a freeze-frame of a handcuffed Frankie kicking her across the screen). Instead, Oshima guided her unlikely career through a fairly unique set of roadblocks. First, she was a woman in chauvinist Asia. Second, she was Japanese in Nippon-hating Hong Kong. Third, she shifted her skills between Japan, Taiwan, and the Philippines, as well as Hong Kong.
Following Outlaw Brothers, she made a memorable appearance in the Chinese live action adaptation of the hyper-violent Story of Ricky (aka Ricky O, 1991), based on a ridiculously graphic Japanese manga (comic book). But the rest of her career, numbering more than fifty movies, was in cheap exploitation films (save for a glorified cameo at the beginning of Project S, the sequel to Supercop). But for woman wushu warrior fans, these B movies were catnip. In 1992 alone she made fourteen, including Kickboxer’s Tears, Fatal Chase, and Beauty Investigator (many released in America by Tai Seng). She was also a mainstay in the Angel series — a bunch of flicks made by a variety of companies based on the Charlie’s Angels TV show (1976-1981). It all began with Angel (aka Iron Angels) in 1986, which launched the “Girls with Guns” subgenre, and wound its way for years, giving new life to the career of one of the industry’s best-liked ingénues.
Moon Lee Choi-fong (named for her cute, expressive round face) went right from graduating school to appearing on Hong Kong television. Coming to the attention of Sammo Hung, he featured her in Winners and Sinners, his kung fu soccer film The Champions (1983, years before Shaolin Soccer), Twinkle Twinkle Lucky Stars, Mr. Vampire, and Mr. Vampire 2. Many of Sammo’s peers liked what they saw, so Tsui Hark cast her opposite Yuen Baio and Mang Hoi in Zu Warriors of the Magic Mountain (1983) while Jackie Chan used her in his version of The Protector.
Then she made the mistake of appearing as th
e heroine in Angel, and her fate was sealed. Gone were the roles in major studio movies, and in flooded offers to be in Angels 2 (1989), Angel 3 (1989), Killer Angels (1989), and The Revenge of Angel (1990). Delightful in demeanor, demonic in her fighting, she impressed fans across the world, but her fame in English-speaking territories did nothing to endear her to home-grown producers. She made it into the Sammo-produced Bury Me High (1991) and the Jackie-produced The Inspector Wears Skirts 4 (1992), but otherwise it was one nasty, cheap, sizzling little film (like 1990s Fatal Termination, 1991’s Angel Force, and 1993’s Angel Terminators 2) after another.
Although Moon was always a joy to behold, she deserved better, and wisely walked away in the late 1990s. In the meantime, Cynthia Rothrock fought on, finding that getting good parts in decent movies was almost as difficult as it was to defeat her on-screen foes. Magic Crystal (1988) was up next — an enjoyable kung fu/sci-fi hybrid dreamed up by the extravagant schlockmeister Wong Jing. It had a strong supporting cast, which included Richard Norton and Andy Lau, and some great action (as well as some truly silly slapstick). Rothrock is back in Interpol, trying to save a kid from an alien assassin out to claim the title rock: a big magical gem that turns out to be a sentient being.
Then came Blonde Fury (aka Lady Reporter, 1989), the last time Rothrock took center stage in Hong Kong. At first, it was directed by her friend Mang Hoi, but when rumors of a Rothrock film with Sylvester Stallone reached the producers (a movie that never materialized), Corey Yuen Kwai was brought in to upgrade the effort. Kwai, in turn, brought in sixth-degree black sash Vincent Lyn.
“That was a tough shoot, but Cynthia was a real trooper,” Lyn told me. “She did everything they asked with no fuss. I was the problem on that set. I couldn’t get the timing right! Corey Yuen got so fed up that he bounced a peanut shell off my head in frustration. Eventually, however, it all came together for a pretty exciting fight scene.”
But it seemed to be enough for Cynthia. Hong Kong was hurtful to say the least, and, no matter how low the budget got on American films, she would still be paid more and be better protected from injury. Rothrock hopped back and forth from Asia to America for awhile, showing up in stuff like Angel the Kickboxer (1993) until she stayed stateside for good.
Her timing was excellent, because Asian producers were soon asking actresses to thrust more than their arms and legs at the camera. With the release of Robotrix (1991), Hong Kong action cinema had unleashed its libido. “Now that was one wild shoot,” co-star Vincent Lyn told me. “The cast and crew were all over the place, and you were lucky to find out what you were doing before the cameras rolled. I spent more time laughing on the set than anything else.”
With the ample assistance of voluptuous Amy Yip and the kung fu prowess of Billy Chow, this tale of sex machines fighting a raping robot was laughed off the screen … by millions of fans who paid again and again to keep laughing. In America, these movies are known as erotic R-rated thrillers. In Hong Kong, they are called Category 3 films, and the floodgate was now officially open. Thankfully (or unfortunately, depending upon your point of view) martial arts and mammaries rarely mixed, but there were a few that snuck through. Black Cat (1991) was actually the Asian version of La Femme Nikita (1990), the French film that begat Point of No Return (1993) and two TV series.
The pouty Jade Leung starred as the street slime recruited as a top secret killer, and while she was able, she was far from experienced. The real star, aside from Leung’s looks, was director Stephen Shin, whose stylish action made Point of No Return seem truly pointless. Unfortunately, he was not so lucky with the 1992 sequel, subtitled The Assassination of President Yeltsin. Since there wasn’t a Femme Nikita sequel to rip-off, this edition relied heavily on unbelievable intrigue and espionage nonsense. Jade, too, ran into some bad luck herself — literally — in the form of an on-set fire accident that left her permanently marked. Even so, she’s still working in both Chinese film and television.
Wong Jing was fiddling while the Black Cat set burned. Seeing the audience grow slavish for exploitation, the producer-writer’s fervid mind was more than up to the task. Naked Killer exploded into theaters in 1992, making jaded viewers’ jaws drop heavily onto sticky cinema floors. The sexy, seemingly lascivious Chingmy Yau opened everyone’s eyes to pure screen perversion.
Okay now, pay attention: Chingmy kills her father’s killer, which brings her to the attention of a nun/hit-woman who throws her into her basement with a rapist. Passing that test with flying internal organs, Chingmy then runs afoul of her new teacher’s former student, a lesbian assassin who has stopped trying to kill rapists and started trying to kill her mentor, while Chingmy is protected by a traumatized cop who vomits every time he holds a gun. Got that? Who cares. Naked Killer was stylishly directed by Clarence Ford, cleverly written by Wong Jing, and nicely choreographed by Lau Shing-fung. It was the first major movie for feminists and perverts, and, although many slick, sick films would follow (led by a kung fu-less sequel, memorably titled Raped by an Angel in 1993), Naked Killer was the best of its kind.
The same year Naked Killer appeared, someone else reappeared. Her marriage over, the once Michelle Khan returned to acting — only this time proudly bearing her own name: Michelle Yeoh. Poon, in the meantime, passed a pseudonym onto a personable, but limited, Taiwanese actress named Yang Li-tsing, by mixing parts of Michelle and Rothrock’s names to create “Cynthia Khan” — the newly anointed star of D&B’s In the Line of Duty series (the sequels to Yes Madam). While no Michelle nor Rothrock, the new Khan was cute and capable enough, especially during In the Line of Duty 4 and In the Line of Duty 5: Middle Man — the best of the lot because they were directed by a somewhat down-on-his-luck Yuen Wo-ping (and featured both Donnie Yen and Vincent Lyn).
Li-tsing did nine films in 1992 alone, but once Michelle returned, the fabricated Khan kept sinking in cheaper and cheaper flicks while her namesake kept rising. Police Story 3: Supercop was Yeoh’s comeback film, and, not for the last time, she was rescued by filmmakers hitherto fore-not-known for their kindnesses toward actresses. It was a mark of Yeoh’s talent and personality that such world-class superstars were willing to take a step aside to make room for her — not as pretty window dressing or a damsel-in-distress, but as a full-fledged co-star of equal rank. And once Jackie Chan gave his approval, the line grew outside her offices.
Yeoh followed Supercop with the greatest superheroine movie Marvel Comics never made: The Heroic Trio (1992). Co-directed by the great Johnny To and actor/choreographer turned director Tony Ching Siu-tung, this was the movie that comic book fans had been waiting for. Three of the world’s most beautiful actresses slipping into second-skin spandex to take on a superpowered eunuch who wants to plunge an alternate universe film noir world back to the dynasty system. His method: kidnap babies until he finds the reincarnation of the emperor.
The only thing between him and total domination is “Wonder Woman” (no, not that Wonder Woman) — a deeply maternal acrobat who can hurl kung fu darts faster than bullets and runs across telephone wires — Thief Catcher — a money-grubbing mercenary in leather short-shorts who packs a mean sawed-off shotgun — and, eventually, Invisible Girl (no, not the one from the Fantastic Four), who starts the film working with the bad guys because they are holding her dying scientist boyfriend hostage. The movie’s very absurdity works in its favor, as the rarely invisible Michelle, amazing Anita Mui, and magnificent Maggie Cheung leap all over the screen, supported by splendid visuals and an Oscar-worthy silent supporting performance by Anthony Wong as a monstrous henchman not averse to eating his own hacked-off fingers.
The ending borrows heavily from the original Terminator (1984), but, as usual, who cares? The movie is so shamelessly entertaining, it more than makes up for its inspirations with original, uniquely Chinese action. The pure exhilaration of The Heroic Trio raised expectations for the sequel, but no one expected the bleak, brutal, post-apocalyptic world of Executioners (1993), wherein the trio returned, but now
deeply changed and essentially suicidal. In their attempt to find unpolluted water and survive a clash between a religious deity and power-mad politicians, much blood is spilled and much audience goodwill is squandered.
Happily, Yeoh didn’t make it a point to trade in misery. Her happiness to be back in movies permeated her performances. Butterfly Sword (aka Butterfly and Sword aka Comet, Butterfly, and Sword, 1993), is a far more enjoyable costume epic, with Michelle flying around with Donnie Yen, among others. By this time, however, honest kung fu had given way to wire-enhanced fantasy. While Chinese “swordplay” fiction had always had flying blade-masters, the line between these wuxia films and kung fu movies had become increasingly blurred as more Westerners discovered them.
Much more recognizable was Project S (aka Once a Cop, 1993), the semi-sequel to Supercop, directed and choreographed by Stanley Tong. In it, Michelle plays the same mainland police officer, but Jackie Chan only appears in a jarringly silly cameo scene in which he has gone undercover, disguised as a woman, to crack a jewelry store robbery ring — complete with a snub-nosed revolver between his pantyhosed legs. Once that out-of-place sequence is over, the story remains serious as Michelle tracks a corrupt cop who leads high-tech bank robbers all over, and under, Hong Kong.
With that out of her system, Michelle returned to mainland China for a pair of pure kung fu productions directed by the venerable Yuen Wo-ping. Both announced to the industry the director’s intent to continue moving away from action cinema’s hung gar roots. First was The Tai Chi Master (1993) starring Jet Li, which we will get to in good time. But next was a title role of her very own: Wing Chun (1994), in which she plays the woman who shared, and developed the kung fu style of, the same name. Although reportedly inspired by the Haka (wanderers) style of ling gar kung fu, wing chun had a long and storied history of trial and triumph — none of which this light-headed romantic action comedy really touched upon.
