Donny Yen is his own biggest fan, and rightly so. The dude is ripped and moves like lightening, and at 44-years old he is more fit than most men half his age; he just keeps getting faster and more powerful. If this trend continues, I can't wait to see him fight God - Slammin' at the Gates of Heaven, 2047. If there was ever a showpiece for Yen's mixed martial arts skills, Flash Point is it. As a kind-of-kind-of-not sequel/prequel to S.P.L. (or Killzone if you live in R1 territory - Donny really needs to take care of the jackass who picked this atrocious title - and by “take care of” I mean punch in the throat), Flash Point follows the same kind of set up, but goes for a more balls-out action approach. While S.P.L may have disappointed those expecting a non-stop action fest (it is a surprisingly effective drama, punctuated with action), Flash Point may slightly disappoint those looking for a deeper narrative (and be prepared to have Donny waste your face for being less than thrilled).

Sorry Donny, but the first half of the film is not so great, I mean, only when compared to the totally amazing, awesome, jaw-droppingly badass second half. You know, anything compared to a diamond is sure to appear flawed. The problem is that the film tries to be more complex and aloof than the story calls for. It tries to be a mini-Infernal Affairs, but lacks that film's wonderful characterizations (although Donny Yen could totally own Andy Lau and Tony Leung in the ring). Infernal Affairs this is not, and why it tries to be is a bit puzzling. With S.P.L., the same filmmaking team proved that they could craft a highly effective, character-driven drama, but with Flash Point they missed the mark. But what's worse is that the narrative is far too convoluted for its own good, and the absurd amounts of HK-gangland cliche rubs thin, fast.

However, once the fists and knees start flying, the “flash point” if you will, the film brings the goods with an almost non-stop slamdance of bone-crushing, flesh-pummeling action which culminates in one of the greatest final showdowns I've ever seen. Actually, each of the fight scenes in this film feel dangerous and powerful. There are no throwaway conflicts here, but each subsequent bout of flying fists, wicked kicks, back-breaking reversals, and knees to the head escalates the dramatic-drive and tension. Donny Yen actually has to fight for his life in this film because the thugs he faces are almost as dangerous as he is. The final fight between Donny and Collin Chou is something straight out of an action fan's most wonderful dream. It actually reminds me of the part in It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World when Jonathan Winters tears apart the gas station. Yen and Chou totally beat the living tar out of one another, expertly, and painfully, using the environment to get the upper hand. This is a true, three-dimensional fight, one in which the use of setting greatly enhances the final product.

Wilson Yip, the film's director, has fostered a style that depicts things in a hyper-realistic fashion. I wouldn't call his visual flair unique, or particularly interesting, but it is definitely exciting and effective. I don't know how much of the film was actually directed by Yip, and I would bet Donny took control a lot of the time. I don't say this to disparage Yip, I think he is a fine director, but instead I say this to point out that Yip and Yen are actually a team. These two filmmakers have something incredibly fortunate going on right now. Where at one time I thought that Johnny To was the only one who could keep Hong Kong genre films alive and vital, I am now ready to add the Yip-Yen team, I mean the Yen-Yip team (sorry Donny) to this embarrassingly short roster of important contemporary Hong Kong filmmakers. It's nice to be excited about an HK flick again, and I don't think it is any wonder that I said the same thing last year after viewing S.P.L. Flash Point rocks, and rocks hard. Just make sure to stick through the less than stellar first half because the pay off is more than worthy of your time and money.

*Number 36 on my Top 100!

Versus is a very special film to me, because it kicks freaking ass (that's all I really need to say about this film, the rest is just filler), and even though it is flawed, I still find myself praising its audacity, its action, its low-budget DIY-aesthetics, and the filmmakers' passion. Yes it is far too long (although the new cut remedies a lot of the pacing problems) and there is virtually no character development or narrative to speak of; I understand that the film is not an example of powerful storytelling and characterization. Put simply, Versus is an action-gore-horror-porn, and in this regard it is a masterpiece; it is pure, unapologetic trash that delivers in spades.

I first saw Versus on a really crappy VHS cassette. At the time of its initial bootleg-release in the US (a phenomenon that Kitamura is thankful for, and attributes the film's success to), I was ordering a bunch of stuff from Blackest Heart Media, an online resource for tape-traders and mondomovie fans. Of course BHM pulled the “Braindead-card,” in their description of Versus, and I, of course, fell for the comparison. Braindead, forever being the measuring stick of outlandish gore, is a film often conjured by me and other like-minded film fans. We are always on the look out for the “next Braindead,” and are usually left disappointed by empty promises and films that fail to deliver upon their on-the-box quotes and user-generated hype. And so it was with great trepidation, and reserved excitement, that I ordered Versus, and I anticipated greatly the day it would arrive in my mailbox.

Needless to say I was not disappointed, far from it. Versus grabbed my attention from the first scene (a deliciously brutal action sequence depicting some badass samurai and some very dead-again zombies), and I was captivated by Kitamura's stylish, comic-book like staging, violence, and action. While the quality of the print I was watching left a lot to be desired, and lacked English subtitles, these qualities added an illicit element to the experience. It was clear that I was watching a bootleg, a film I wasn't supposed to be seeing, and this air of unlawfulness added to the excitement of the viewing experience. It really felt as if I was one of the first people to be granted access to a film that would surely become a cult-classic. I felt privileged, as if it were duty to proselytize for the film - and so I did, I am.

What I admire most about Versus is its simplicity; the film never even pretends to be something more than it is. All too often, genre films with similar budgets fall prey to over-reaching ambition - they try to mimic their bid-budget brethren and end up falling short on all fronts. Rather than working within the means of their budgets, these kinds of films often rely on terrible special effects and cheap sets and costumes to appear more expensive. However, this ploy only betrays these films, and renders them unintentionally hilarious, at best. With Versus, there is no false pretense. Versus does not fall prey to any of these shortcomings. The filmmakers know they have a small budget, and so they craft a film to work within their means.

The entire film takes place out doors, in the middle of a forest, and in many ways it resembles the great independent martial arts films that came out of Taiwan during the 1970s and '80s. The film's story is crafted to take advantage of the paltry budget, and the budget is spent on things that are important to the film - action and gore, and there is a ton of both. Simply put, Versus is nothing but a series of outrageous action set-pieces strung together by scenes of extreme posing and metaphysical flim-flam. There is talk about some portals to hell that connect the world like wormholes, reincarnated warriors representing the eternal struggle of good and evil, and some nonsense about a girl, the “one,” who must be sacrificed to unleash the apocalypse. Or something like this - to tell you the truth I simply don't care enough about the plot of this film to let the lack of a substantial one bug me.

What I do care about are the fights and the gore, both of which the film totally delivers. Tak Sakaguchi (a bona fide street fighter) plays the unnamed prisoner, and he is a total badass. Throughout the commentary on the DVD, director Kitamura constantly berates Sakaguchi's acting chops, as they were, and it is true - he's no thespian. However, Sakaguchi acts with his fists and body, and his boxing stance and powerful bouts of fisticuffs are the stuff of an action-fan's dreams. His nearly constant, violent, and sometimes comical, confrontations with a group of yakuza (led by the incredible Kenji matsuda), and the yukuza's victims-cum-zombie hellions creates for a series of wonderful three-way gun and fist fights. Everyone, and everything, in this forest-of-hell is packing extreme heat, and bullets by the bucket loads are unloaded, heads are decapitated, hearts are ripped out, and limbs are broken. It's all choreographed with great skill, and the filmmakers make wonderful use of the talented stunt team. The action-highlight is the end fight scene between Sakaguchi and Hideo Sakaki (playing, The Man) and features some wonderful wire-work and some truly stunning photography.

Versus is the opposite of high-concept. It is low-brow, populist entertainment of the most excellent kind. It's stylish, cool, gory, and full of machismo posing and bravado. In an interview for Fangoria, Kitamura thanked his American audience for “getting it,” and making Versus such a big hit. He has said before that he does not make his films for a Japanese audience, simply because he doesn't get a lot of Japanese genre films. He feels as if many Japanese genre flicks hold back far too much, and the filmmakers are afraid to really let the shit fly. Versus lets everything fly, and it benefits from its unconventional approach to action cinema. It is a film to take at face value, while it punches its fist through the roof of your mouth, rips out your eyeballs, and eats them, all while laughing it up.

For those of you unfamiliar with the popular narrative, allow me a chance to recap: On the cusp of losing his land and power, lord Daigo Kagemitsu makes a desperate bargain with the forty-eight major demons. He promises the demons his first-born son, to be rationed among them, and in return the demons grant Daigo the power he needs to become an unbeatable force. Daigo's son is eventually born as a featureless head and stumpy body - but somehow, it is still alive.

Daigo puts the baby-thing in a basket, and sends it afloat down a river where it is discovered by Jukai, a traveling alchemist/wizard. Jukai adopts the child as his own, and through his power he crafts the necessary body parts and internal organs the baby-thing needs to be more human. He also attaches two magical blades to the boy's elbows, blades that can be covered by removable sheath-like forearms; one of the blades is called Hyakkimaru, a name also given to the boy. Hyakkimaru then embarks on a quest to kill the forty-eight demons and regain control of his stolen flesh, and while on his journey he strikes up a lasting friendship with a female-thief named Dororo.

Rest assured, the film is not a series of forty-eight sequential duels. As cool as this might have been, it also would have been ridiculous, over-long, and lacking in dramatic tension and characterization. The film's main narrative drive begins with Hyakkimaru having already vanquished some of his foes, and ends with him still needing to battle twenty-four of the demons (hence, at least one killer sequel, already in the works). The majority of the film focuses on the hero's journey of self-discovery. He learns about his birth-father's pact with the demons, and copes with being sold out by his very own flesh and blood.

Although the film does fall prey to some cliche typical to its feudal-Japanese setting (talks of family and honor run rampant), it is executed in a way that remains engaging. It was with great discretion that the screenwriter, Masa Nakamura (Dead or Alive 2, The Bird People of China), chose to focus on the parts of the original story that would make the most powerful and interesting stand-alone movie. Even if a sequel were never made, the film would still come highly recommended because its story is well-told and self-contained.

But now let's talk about the action. Interestingly enough, this is where the film's main problems become apparent. It's not that the action is bad per se, but some of the special effects are less than convincing. There are more than a handful of standout action sequences, and most of these rely too heavily on sub-par CGI. While some of the demons look fantastic and gruesome (the huge flower-demon especially), they mostly lack weight and feel disconnected from their environments.

However, a few of the demons are straight up old-school - that's right, full on rubber-suited cheese in the best possible sense. The best of these is when Hyakkimaru fights a giant, armless, gila monster-looking demon; this entire sequence reeks of old-school Godzilla and Power Rangers. I applaud the use of the rubber-suits, they add a great deal of character and charm to the film and exemplify a signature Japanese style. And even though much of the CGI is only serviceable, the actual action choreography is highly entertaining, and contains more than a few moments worthy of a pause-rewind, especially when the demons' bodies erupt into fountains of exploding gore.

Sometimes the call for a well-made, high-concept, fantasy-tinged, action adventure, one without elves, dwarves, and hobbits, needs answering, and Dororo answers this call with confidence. It contains an effective and engaging narrative, memorable characters, and enough dazzling moments to satisfy a jaded genre fan. I went in expecting some decent action, and left feeling thoroughly fulfilled with the entire thing. I was actually taken aback by a few of the dramatic moments because they are so effectively executed. The film is awash in skillful writing, beautiful cinematography, endearing characterizations, and substantial drama. I wish there were more films like Dororo, and I am greatly anticipating the promised follow-up.

Even though The Butterfly Murders is a martial arts film, or wuxia pian, it is drastically different from those made earlier by Chang Cheh, or by King Hu, one of Tsui's biggest influences. First of all, the film contains within it a kind of meta-narrative, one that portrays the common themes and tropes of the genre while also commenting on its conventions. The story is mainly shown from the POV of a reporter, or novelist, called Fong. Fong is a famous writer, one that travels the land chronicling the lives and times of the people; he is both a bard and an early journalist.

With characters aware of the martial world, and aware of the myth and legend surrounding it, Tsui's film offers a post-modern take on a genre mired in strict traditional themes. Through voice over, we hear Fong declare that, “It is the beginning of a new era of martial arts.” It is with these words that we know something different is underway, in both the film's world and in ours. Being a writer, and not a martial artist, Fong is an outsider to the jiang hu, and it is through his eyes that we are drawn into the underworld of martial heroes, criminal masterminds, strange, almost supernatural technology, and superstition. Fong's character mirrors that of Tsui Hark's own “outsider's” perspective, and is used to craft a personal meta-narrative within a somewhat typical wuxia story.

The narrative is not the only thing that separates The Butterfly Murders from the earlier films in the genre. From the first frame of the film, it is clear that we are no longer being lead by the Shaw Brothers, or the old guard, through the world of martial arts. By breaking free of the familiar sound stages and cliche settings typical to the genre, Tsui's film feels more open, more fantastic, more alien. Gone are the typical tea houses, inns, and decrepit shacks inhabited by old kung fu masters. Also missing are the streets, crowded with merchants, beggars, and street performers. The film's setting feels otherworldly, and yet it still maintains a distinct Chinese atmosphere. Like Patrick Tam's The Sword, another New Wave wuxia pian, The Butterfly Murders is set in a phantasmal limbo, its world is one breaking free of the old, on the cusp of something new.

Another new twist on the genre is how Tsui explains away the seemingly supernatural powers of the martial arts masters. Powers such as iron skin, exploding palm technique, and the power of flight, are often found in other wuxia films, and these powers are typically generated through the focus of one's inner spirit, or “chi,” or through extensive physical and mental training. In Tsui's film, these “powers” are birthed from technology, and from gadgetry. The power of iron skin is nothing more than a special kind of man-made armor; the exploding palm technique is made with gun powder and chemical explosions; the power of flight is granted through the crafty use of a mechanized grappling hook. In many ways, Tsui strips away the mystic element of the genre and infuses it with ideas more similar to science-fiction.

With new ways of explaining the combatants' powers came new ways of filming the action. While directors like Lau Kar Leung and Chang Cheh were perfecting precise, detailed fight instruction that relied more and more on the actual skills of the performers, Tsui took his action choreography in an entirely different direction. While the old school was more interested in crafting fights that featured long, unedited, uninterrupted exchanges between the combatants, Tsui's way was more comic-book in nature. Each precise move was executed and filmed on its own, in its own “panel” if you will, and then edited together to form a sequence of fluid movement. While Tsui was not the first to use such a technique, he did elevate it to an almost absurd level. By using meticulously edited montage, Tsui's action suggests the movement rather than showing it out right. The action set pieces in The Butterfly Murders feel chaotic and dangerous, a trait that would continue throughout his career.

Although The Butterfly Murders failed to gain recognition at the box office, in hindsight, it is considered an important film, and an interesting piece of a genre-puzzle. If anything, I think the film was too ambitious for its time, and I think Tsui Hark wanted to include too many changes for one film to hold. This is often a problem with Tsui's films - they are simply stuffed beyond capacity with creativity and inventive direction, often in exchange for cohesive narratives not dependent on the audience's ability to make massive leaps in logic. In this regard, the film's foundation, upon which Tsui would build his career, possesses both positive and negative aspects. By tracing the genre back, it is quite easy to see the impact Tsui's film had on its themes, its characters, and its cinematic techniques, and while not all of the influence helped to make films better, the good is just too good to dismiss.

I often have a hard time deciding which of Tsui Hark's films I like the best, but The Blade is one that is always under consideration. Like Dangerous Encounters, it is violent, dark, and angry, and like We're Going To Eat You, it is tense and perfectly paced. It is inventive with its action choreography like Once Upon a Time in China, and it is simply a gorgeous film, a treat for the eyes and ears, like Peking Opera Blues. However, even though it shares the qualities of Tsui Hark's best directorial work, it is also unique and more mature than anything he had done before, or has done since.

Like The One-Armed Swordsman, The Blade is a multi-layered study of martial arts, manhood, and brotherhood. The term “homoerotic” is often thrown about in discussions because of how it fetishizes the male body and the psychosexual symbolism of the sword. I think this is a lazy categorization of the themes on display because it is often done at the expense of the jiang hu: the world of the insider, the milieu of the martial artists, and everything important to their existence. It is easy to write off the bare-chested, heroic bloodshed of martial heroes as displays of homoeroticism because we are outsiders, we are not part of their jiang hu, and so we do not understand their intense feelings of brotherhood and camaraderie; it is easy to misinterpret intense feelings of brotherhood for sexual attraction. I am not saying that the homoeroticism isn't there, I just wish it was wasn't among the first “serious” topics of discussion critics and scholars often turn to.

The two “brothers” in The Blade are Ding On and To Tao, two young men who work at a sword factory where the best swords in the land are made. The two are more than friends, they are like brothers, and share the same qualities as siblings, even the rivalry. They both see themselves as protectors of one girl, their master's daughter, and as would-be lovers for another, an attractive prostitute. They also see each other has “martial heroes,” and act accordingly when a monk is brutally murdered by a local gang of thugs. When their master retires, he passes control of the sword factory onto Ding On, much to the chagrin of To Tao and the other brothers. This causes a rift in Ding On's and To Tao's brotherhood, and is one catalyst for a series of life changing events, including a severed sword-arm and the nearly complete destruction of the sword factory.

Because the narrative is full of such strong archetypes and recognizable themes, Tsui is able to craft a film that rewards emotion and flows with ease. Even I, a huge admirer of the director, will admit that Tsui's narratives are often times hard to follow. He often works in montage, and only shows the briefest of plot snippets and characterization needed to register in the minds of the audience. The Blade is not such a film, and this is why I consider it one of his best; it is a film that could even win over those who may not like similar films in the genre. It is more traditionally paced and plotted, and therefore, it is one of his most accessible films in terms of narrative and execution.

The film is also teeming with patented Tsui Hark style, it is a premier example of the director's auteurism. The best of his work simply overflows with infectious, kinetic energy, and The Blade practically explodes from the cinematic depth-charge. The camera is constantly moving and creating tension during the action sequences, as it is used to heighten the disorientation felt by the combatants. The action in the film is not traditional kung fu, nor is it the typical wire-fu more common in the Hong Kong fantasy-action films of the 1990s.

The action in The Blade is fast and furious, and looks dangerous. There are more than a few times where I grit my teeth in preparation for a wound, and wince when the wound is inflicted; it is far more “slam dance” than “ballet”. Tsui Hark pushes the camera in with absurd close-ups during many of the violent exchanges, during which only the combatants' gnashing jowls and the flashes of cold steal are revealed. However, this is not done out of incompetence, or Tsui's inability to frame a shot properly, it is done on purpose, and done to create a new kind of action spectacle. The focus of the action in The Blade is not on the fluid movement of the participants or their weapons, but it is instead on the intense feelings of anger and emotion tangled up in the conflict.

Like many great films, The Blade only gets better with each passing year and with each subsequent release in the genre. It is a landmark film, although one that is often overlooked by both martial arts film fans and critics of world cinema. It may be a bit too dark for some, and I have a hard time seeing the casual fans of films like Hero or Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon really embracing Tsui Hark's violent vision. Not that there is anything wrong with these more casual martial arts films, God knows I am in love with both mentioned, but there is a quality about The Blade that cuts deep into the heart of the thematic elements associated with martial arts cinema, a quality that some may be put off by. However there is also a quality that represents near cinematic perfection, a rare quality that Tsui Hark has managed to hit a few brilliant times.

Dangerous Encounters is punk-rock cinema to through and through. Now when I say "punk-rock," I don't mean the trendy fashion; you won't find any lose hanging suspenders, towering mohawks, Doc Martins, or spiked bracelets here. When I say "punk-rock," I am talking about the bona fide ethos, the "I don't give a damn about anything or anyone" attitude embraced by the film's narrative and director. Dangerous Encounters is one of Hong Kong's most infamous films. It was the victim of government censorship, both at home and abroad, and is considered by many admirers to be one of the most nihilistic films ever made. Even though I was armed with this knowledge before watching the film, I was still shocked by how angry and nasty it was. I don't know what kind of demons haunted Tsui while making this film, but it is apparent that the film was cathartic, because he didn't tackle another as socially angst-charged until the mid '90s with The Blade.

The narrative is quite simple, and, even though the tone is vastly different from the majority of his work, it is undeniably Tsui Hark. Many of his films find a group of stranger-protagonists unwillingly caught in the middle of a life and death struggle - they become accidental pawns in the throngs of chaos. His heroes are rarely the kind that ride into town prepared to save the day, but instead they frequently find themselves having to fight just to stay alive. And while this narrative does contain these elements, it is different still because there are no heroes to be found at all. All of the main characters in the film are living on various levels of immorality and selfishness. The shit hits the pavement when three juvenile males steal a car for a joyride, and, through sheer stupidity, end up hitting and killing a pedestrian. They then try to flee the scene, but soon find themselves at the mercy of a lone witness, a deranged young woman who blackmails them into servitude and terrorism.

Pearl (a name drenched in irony), the female lead, is one of the most cold-hearted, angry, and manipulative characters I have ever seen. I can't even call her an anti-hero because there is nothing even remotely heroic about her; in any other film she would be the A-number-one villain, she is evil to the core, and a product of both nature and nurture. However, Pearl is not the only immoral and misanthropic character in the film; it wallows in such devious characterizations. From the three bi-speckled weakling-nerds cum reluctant urban-terrorists, to the arms-dealing Vietnam War vets, Dangerous Encounters is a study of the foul inhabitants living in a nasty concrete jungle polluted with feelings of alienation, xenophobia, anger, and nihilism.

However, as bleak the film may be, it still exemplifies the director's unique aesthetic vision. Tsui's films are indeed full of motion and movement, and here there are two key sequences that illustrate his amazing ability to harness and capture cinematic energy. The first of these is when Pearl decides that she would like to set her boy-toys on fire. While walking home from school one day, the three boys are surprised when Pearl shows up. In one flame-proof gloved-hand, she is holding a fire ball, and, in the other, a bucket of gasoline. She douses the boys with the explosive-liquid and then chases them around, desperately trying to cook them alive. The other such sequence is the film's blood-drenched showdown, which is symbolically staged in a huge cemetery - where else would damned and unwanted degenerates go to stage their finale? The cemetery chase/action sequence is gorgeously filmed and represents an antithesis of action “choreography;” this is not the bullet-ballet typically associated with HK action cinema. No, this is closer to Sam Peckinpah, and Tsui uses the violence to show the depths people can sink to when they see no other choice - fatalistic to be sure.

While I whole heartedly recommend this extreme film, my recommendation comes with a caveat: this film is not for everyone, and some will be disgusted by a number of sequences. A word of caution must be raised about one sequence in particular, one that will forever haunt my mind. When we first meet Pearl, in one of the most clear-cut and defining character introductions ever filmed, we learn that her anger and hatred does not discriminate against God's furry little creatures. I don't want to go into the details, but there is a scene of real animal (a mouse) cruelty, and while it clearly and expertly establishes her character, there is still no way I can come close to justifying this appalling act. I sat wide eyed and disturbed, and a little sick to my stomach while watching it.

Even beyond the scenes of cruelty and violence, there is no way a film like Dangerous Encounters would be made today - it is far too subversive; this film took balls to make. Even the bleakness and violence in films like The Proposition and Pan's Labyrinth can't compete with what is on display in Tsui's film, because as nasty as it all is, he injects a twisted sense of fun about the whole thing. I started to believe that his characters were getting a kick out of all the decadence, that even while they lay dying in their own blood and vomit, somewhere, deep inside their decrepit souls, they were laughing and enjoying the death and destruction in the name of absolutely nothing. But this is more shocking still: I started to believe that Tsui Hark himself was enjoying the carnage, like only a cinematic-punk and angry-visionary drunk with creativity could.

What's that, you want some more? Well you see, it's like this: Sammo Hung plays the King of Swords, and Lau Kar Wing, his on-screen rival, is the King of Spears. I'll let you figure out which weapons each of them specializes in. Once every year, these two masters meet for a duel to test which of their techniques is the best - needless to say, every single one of these duels ends in a draw. They are just too perfectly matched, and, of course, utterly stubborn - they will not rest until a victor is determined. Unfortunately, no matter how good their kung fu is, and it is remarkable, the King of Swords and the King of Spears must succumb to the ultimate of all rivals - old age.

To remedy the threat of old age, the two masters devise a great plan: they decide to each get and train a student to continue their martial arts tradition - and here is where the genius of the narrative kicks you upside the face. Sammo Hung and Lau Kar Wing also play the students, only their roles are reversed. So, we get to see Sammo Hung train Lau Kar Wing in the sword technique, and Lau Kar Wing train Sammo Hung in the spear technique. How freaking cool is that? Even if the entire narrative focused solely on the training of the two students and their ultimate clash, the film would have been an A-class example of the genre. However, in typical mid-school fashion, the filmmakers throw in a bevy of slapstick humor, wild shenanigans, and a ton of prime examples of what I like to call, kungfoolery.

The filmmakers from the mid-school era of Hong Kong cinema had their thumbs on the very pulse of pure entertainment. With The Odd Couple, it's as if Hung and Wing scientifically extracted the very essence of every moment that defines an awesome genre flick. There are enough action set pieces to satisfy the most jaded kung fu fan, and the martial arts on display during the many kung fu sequences is astonishing - jaw dropping even. What's more, the film also contains enough quirky moments and characters, and bizarre situations, to entertain those who may not be enamored with the physicality of the genre. The humor in The Odd Couple is broad, and yet still dang funny, and the dramatic tension is tangible. The narrative is paced to perfection, rarely does a dull moment go by, and even while the film shovels on a ton of crazy stuff at the screen, it is still a cohesive experience.

There is no question as to why the films from this era are often the launching point for many a Hong Kong film fan's adoration - and The Odd Couple is at the apex of this era. It doesn't happen very often, but when all of the elements involved in crafting a genre film come together in perfect unison, it is a very special thing to witness. All too often, we are left saying, “If only that was left out!” or, “If only they had done that!” Well, such is not the case with The Odd Couple - everything rings true, and every moment hits the mark like an expertly thrown shuriken. I am so thankful to have finally seen this film, and now I can join in with the masses who have already declared it a martial arts masterpiece.

Like Once Upon a Time in the West, Exiled has a mystical quality to its narrative. One can tell that there is a powerful force working behind the scenes of the narrative - a force that is guiding, protecting, and driving the main characters. But this is not to say that the characters are merely puppets, strung along by the gods of some Greek tragedy - they are not automatons. A small handful of key decisions made by the characters are left to a simple toss of a coin (fate), and along their journey they do in fact meet a few characters who are there just to help them - like they had been awaiting their arrival (coincidence). Left in the hands of a less capable director, this kind of narrative could come off as being contrived, filled with too much convenience - but such is not the case here. To blends mild spirituality and myth with his gangster opera, and details how even with the best laid plans and intentions, the lives of his characters are governed by chance. However, this chance is balanced by their own die-hard personalities and tenacious skill; his characters play the odds, and they don't always win.

Exiled feels as if it is a closing chapter of sorts for To, much like Beat Takeshi's latest film. By bringing back most of the cast from The Mission, Exiled plays out as a reunion, perhaps a farewell to an era. The four main characters in Exiled share many of the same qualities as those in The Mission, but they are all older, somewhat wiser, and definitely more confident. Anthony Wong again plays the spiritual leader, the man who the others look up to, even if he doesn't always have the answers. Lam Suet once again plays the quiet tough-guy - I don't know if a more cool and collected, and strange looking, actor exists. Rounding up the foursome is Roy Cheung as the likable everyman, and Francis Ng as the twitchy-eyed loose cannon. These actors know these roles, and yes they have all played them many times before - it is as if these actors are the very physical manifestations of their on-screen archetypes. They also do a marvelous job of creating a strong bond, the deep rooted friendship can be felt, without the need of pointless flashbacks and needless exposition - everything is shown in the present context.

Johnny To's direction of the film is also masterful - this could very well be the crowning achievement of his career. The camera moves with confidence, as it weaves in and out of the beautifully lit sets and expertly choreographed gun fights. To has always excelled at two things: creating tangible energy, and building tension, and in Exiled, he does both better than he ever has. While most directors create energy with rapid cuts and hand held shaky-cam To does so with languid angles, perfectly timed edits, and fluid motion. Exiled feels like water - it effortlessly glides from one moment to the next with artistic fervor. It is also To's most beautiful looking film. Shot on location in Macau, the setting alone changes the entire atmosphere. By taking his hardboiled killers out of the streets of Hong Kong, and putting them in a more European looking environment, To's usual visual style is able to flourish and bask in the excitement of a new location.

I don't know if Exiled represents a turning point for To as a filmmaker. It could easily be the end of one era, or it could be just another example of what he does best - Hong Kong cri-fi. If it is a closing of sorts, it is a damn fine one - a wonderful swan song for a group of filmmakers who have honed this kind of genre film making to its most pure and perfect form. Although, Exiled could also represent a new beginning - the start of something new - because even though it is full of homage and familiar archetypes, tropes and scenarios, it is executed with such visual flare and skill that it all feels fresh and vital; the film represents a huge evolutionary jump for To as a director. One thing is for certain though - Johnny To is on a role, his career has never looked better: he has owned the last five years of HK genre cinema. Beginning with PTU, and continuing through Running on Karma, Throwdown, Breaking News, Election 1 and 2, and now Exiled, Johnny To has proven himself to be the most vital and important filmmaker working in Hong Kong.

The narrative takes the traditional kung fu revenge motif, and substitutes the choreographed fighting sequences for duels of wizardry and sorcery, it is also a bit more complex than what I had been led to believe. The film opens with two sequences that focus on the eventual spiritual connection between the two main characters. The first sequence showcases a Thai boxing match between the barrel chested Bolo Yueng and his poor victim, err, I mean opponent. Yueng's victim gets pummeled in the ring, and is painfully paralyzed; he then asks his Thai-boxing brother, Kao, to revenge him. Kao begins having strange visions, and is soon drawn to a Buddhist temple in Thailand.

The sequence that runs parallel to this focuses on a Buddhist monk on the cusp of reaching enlightenment. While in a state of deep meditation, the monk is attacked by a black-magic wizard, and is brought to the brink death. In order to save himself, he puts his body in a kind of cocoon, and sits and waits for someone who can help him. We soon find that Kao and the monk have shared past lives, and their present lives are entangled, and in danger - they have been cursed! For both to live, and for Kao to revenge his brother and for the monk to reach enlightenment, they must join forces and kill a trio of evil black-magic wizards.

Boxer's Omen is constructed around four or five key sequences - legendary sequences that almost defy description. Within these incredibly messed up “action” sequences are a number of moments that are so totally bizarre, it is hard to believe that what you are seeing actually exists. Here is just a short list of the sights that'll assault your retinas: a hot naked zombie chick is born from the real corpse of an alligator; three black-magic wizards take turns eating chicken anus, throwing it up, and then eating it again; a man is choked by veins from the neck-stub of a flying decapitated head; a re-animated bat-skeleton embarks on an incredible journey; a man is attacked by an army of animated alligator skulls, and a strange sick little E.T.-like being is born from a steaming pile of, what looks like, green poop.

If, and this is a big if, if only the rest of the film was nearly as entertaining as these key sequences. I was tempted a few times to pick up the controller and hit the fast-forward button, because frankly, some of the film is pretty slow. However, I fought against any such temptation and stuck it out, and I now I actually find myself thinking fondly about the entire experience. Sure, some parts of the film don't quite work, but only when viewed as parts, and only when I was merely anticipating the next gross-out moment of outrageous horror or unintentional comedy.

Upon more careful consideration, I think the main problem I had with the film was due to my own expectations. I had heard so much about Boxer's Omen, and how utterly insane it was, that I was expecting a two-hour gore-fest of ass kicking proportions, and although there is quite a bit of ass kicking gore, and many WTF-inducing moments, the film actually has something else going for it. I have often seen this film compared to Jodorowsky's El Topo, and, while I was watching it, I didn't really understand why, but now that it is all over, I can clearly see it. Like El Topo, Boxer's Omen is a film that might never live up to its own legendary status, but this should not be held against it. As it stands, Boxer's Omen offers something so original, and so vastly different from anything else I have ever seen, that I simply must appreciate it and respect it even if I didn't love every single minute of it.

Mad Monkey Kung Fu is a simple morality tale teaching one of the most valuable lessons in the entire martial world - don't be a cocky ass, or you might get your hands busted and your kung fu prowess will waver, and then you will spend the rest of your life training a monkey and paying the local thugs to stay off your back. In the film, Lau Kar Leung plays Master Chan, a traveling Peking Opera performer, who gets into some trouble with a gang boss, Duan (Lo Lieh - in typical villain form).

One night after a performance, Chan gets completely plastered on wine, shows off his masterful kung fu skills, insults Duan, and gets framed for rape. Chan's sister takes most of the punishment (she promises herself to Duan), and Chan's hands get smashed into bloody pulps - this being one of the most violent scenes ever filmed by the director. His life then spirals downwards; he becomes a poor street performer down on his luck, and is left barely able to scrape by. He soon befriends a young and hotheaded thief, Little Monkey (Hsiao Ho), and together they embark on a journey to recovery, self-improvement and revenge.

The traditionally structured narrative never veers into the "inventive" territory, nor do any of the characters shine as much as Gordon Liu's portrayal of the monk San Te in the 36th Chamber films. However, Mad Monkey Kung Fu is a shining example of a "pure" kung fu film - and by this I mean that the narrative is mostly concerned with showcasing a certain style of kung fu: the Monkey Fist style. Lau Kar Leung is known for his attention to detail, and for his passion and skill at presenting authentic martial arts in his films. In Mad Monkey Kung Fu, Ho's and Leung's own physical abilities are put to the ultimate test: by mimicking the actual movements of monkeys, the two performers unleash an amazing amount of skillful balance, acrobatic brilliance, and powerful hand-to-hand combat techniques.

Although Hsiao Ho never became a huge movie star, as Lau Kar Leung's real life student, his martial arts skills were indeed second to none. Like Gordon Liu, Ho trained as a real martial artist with the director as his teacher, and this fact shines through with every palm strike, dodge, parry and attack. There are two standout kung fu moments in Mad Monkey; the first takes place after Little Monkey experiences a beat down from Duan and his men, and returns to Master Chan with his head hung in shame. Here, Little Monkey completes his training, and watching the two performers on screen is as meta-fictional as it gets, as they go through a training sequence in tandem that must have mimicked their off screen student-teacher relationship.

The second sequence is of course the final showdown, and like the name of the film suggests, madness doth ensue. Typical to Lau Kar Leung fashion, the final sequence in Mad Monkey does not disappoint, but once again reaches for kung fu grandness on an epic scale. By playing up the comedic fierceness of the Monkey Fist style, Master Chan and Little Monkey roll and jump around like angry simians, as they strike with the 4-thrust palm technique, and grapple their opponents with arm and leg locks. The style of kung fu in the film lends itself to a more comedic tone, and while watching Little Monkey act totally monkey-like in poise and personality, one cannot help but to grin and enjoy the acrobatic and hard-hitting antics.

Through all of the action, humor, acrobatics and display of martial arts techniques, Lau Kar Leung and Hsaio Ho create a shining example of the medium. Although the narrative and characterization may be a bit shallow, it would be nearly impossible to find a better on screen duo than these two in regards to sheer physical prowess. Jackie Chan and Sammo Hung may have been more popular, but in all reality, watching the master and student team in Mad Monkey Kung Fu is like peering through a window in time at the real, and bona fide deal. When Lau Kar Leung is involved, you know the focus will be on authentic kung fu and groundbreaking choreography, all topped off with a bit of martial chivalry. Just add a bit of Hsaio Ho to the mix, and you have the recipe for a true winner.

In 1997 Yu came state side with an odd choice: a children's fantasy entitled The Warriors of Virtue which features kangaroo-type creatures performing wuxia martial arts and saving the world - a underrated gem of childhood fantasy. After this was Yu's strangest period yet. Following Warriors came The Bride of Chucky, the fourth installment of the not-so-good Child's Play franchise. Here Yu injected his wacky sense of humor and his impeccable eye for beautifully shot action and sets, and crafted one of the craziest and most endearing horror-comedies ever made. He followed this with the European gangster film Formula 51 starring Samuel L. Jackson and Meat Loaf, and then went on to inject new life into two dying franchises with Freddy vs. Jason. F v. J is pure brilliance and is not just the best looking Freddy or Jason film, but it is also the best film in both of these franchises.

In 2005, Ronny Yu returned to Hong Kong, and the announcement of his next film set the cinematic world on fire. Not only would Yu be returning to the martial arts genre, but he would also be working with none other than Jet Li, who told the press that the project would be his last martial arts film. The name of this historic film is Fearless, and the film does both its star and its director justice, as it is a finely crafted motion picture on par with any that have come before it. Fearless is a martial arts biopic of Huo Yaun Jia, a famous Chinese kung fu master during the early 1900's. China during this time was in a state of constant turmoil as the Europeans were trying to indoctrinate the Chinese culture with Christianity and imperialistic views often turning into cruel and ugly racism. Yuan Jia, played by Jet Li, was seen as a national hero of sorts, although his early days as a fighter were full of angst, death, and loss.

Jet Li is no stranger to playing real life martial arts heroes. He made Wong Fei Hong into a semi-common household name (at least amongst genre loving households) with his portrayal of the hero in Tsui Hark's Once Upon a Time in China series. However, in Fearless, Li's portrayal feels more three-dimensional as he turns in a performance of a lifetime. Unlike Fei Hong, Yuan Jia did not start off as a virtuous and upright man. Yaun Jia was a man full of rage onset by his father, who was the inventor of the Wu Fist, refusing to teach him martial arts and his constant bullying as a child. Once his father dies, Yuan Jia returns to his old home town to become the number one fighter in a series of to-the-death tournament style fights that set up a chain of events leading to the eventual death of Yuan Jia's family, his exile, and his inner discovery of morality and humbleness.

Fearless is a very angry and violent film offset by moments of extreme beauty and quietness: a trait typical in Yu's work. During the first half of the film, Yu showcases many brutal and surprisingly violent fights with enough bone-breaking and blood-spurting connections to make even Tony Jaa jealous. Here, Li is playing a man consumed by rage and vengeance and his fighting style exemplifies these traits, while his pompous attitude almost makes his character unlikable. Li's acting abilities shine here, as this character is the natural conclusion for a path begun in Hero and leading through Unleashed. The second half of the film finds Yuan Jia on a sojourn from violence as he tries to escape his tumultuous past and devotes his life to peace and tranquility in a small farming village. Here, his spirit is taken by the wind, as he learns quietness and patience. Here we see another side of Jet Li's persona, the quiet and contemplative qualities of a man totally at peace with his life. Soon, Yuan Jia feels the call to return to his life as a martial artist, but this time with a newly found sensation of righteousness and maturity.

Jet Li's acting is not the only thing about Fearless that stands out; Yuen Wo Ping's action choreography is also in top form, as he crafts some very violent, yet beautifully shot action set pieces. The best of these scenarios takes place in an upscale, multi-storied Chinese restaurant between Yuan Jia and Master Qin, as they fight to the death using swords, tables, pots, stair rails and anything and everything else not nailed to the floor. During this sequence, the filmmakers attain martial arts cinema perfection. The two combatants are in top form as the blows feel heavy and full of power, while Wo Ping's creative mind works overtime in ways to add to the feeling of chaos. Stairs are broken, the floor is destroyed, walls smashed, furniture mangled, and flesh is cut during this fight for the ages. It is also here that Ronny Yu injects his own sense of cinematic style and energy as he uses extreme lighting and skewed camera angles to add a sense of the fantastic to the reality-bound fisticuffs.

Ronny Yu is not only capable of capturing kinetic and chaotic energy in his films; he is also a master at crafting quiet moments full of introspection. After the blood-soaked showdown in the restaurant, Yuan Jia's life completely falls apart and the film switches tones in drastic, but not jarring fashion, again exemplifying Yu's skill behind the camera. Once the film moves into more dramatic territory, the filmmakers can no longer rely on the martial arts to carry the film. Many martial arts films fall apart in this scenario, as the absence of action coupled with poorly executed narratives and pacing bring these films to a grinding halt. However, like Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon before it, Fearless excels during these sequences to such an extent that one does not miss the action and revels in the feelings of tranquility that radiates from the screen. It is in these quiet moments of contemplation that we see a real change in Yuan Ji's character; a change that feels neither forced nor contrived, but comes across as a natural evolution.

Fearless is epic in scope and economic in running time, as I was amazed at how much Yu crammed in during the film's 100 minutes. Not only does Yu tell an epic story with brevity, but he also does so in a way that never feels convoluted or makes the viewer question whether or not something was cut - a fault that hinders films like Tsui Hark's Seven Swords. Every moment of Fearless is needed, it is as trim as can be, and every moment is crafted to near perfection. While watching Fearless, one gets the feeling that every single person involved in the making of the film gave one hundred percent of his or her skill and talent. Fearless comes highly recommended and is a film that will not soon be forgotten. As a martial arts film it excels in delivering hard-hitting and finely crafted action, seeped in angst and violence, and as a dramatic film it offers believable and three-dimensional characters with moments of heartbreaking beauty and tranquility. Fearless is a film for the ages, and I hope a film that sees Ronny Yu gain the critical admiration he so rightfully deserves. We may be saying good-bye to Jet Li as an onscreen martial artist, but what a send off it is: he could not have asked for a more perfect swan song for a career that defined a genre.

Ching Siu Tung is a master fight choreographer - my personal favorite. He kicked off his amazing directorial career with Duel to the Death, continued through the 1990's with The Chinese Ghost Story trilogy and the Swordsman films (he co-directed these), and took his career to the ultimate pinnacle when he choreographed the amazing action sequences in Zhang Yimou's Hero - what I consider to be the pinnacle of action choreography. While working closely with Tsui Hark and John Woo, Siu Tung honed his skills and perfected the art of wire fu, turning martial arts and action films into high flying, jumping, diving, spinning, falling, slashing, and visually stunning displays of ballet-like violence where swordsmen, gunmen, demon and human alike could take to the air at the drop of a bullet casing.

Monkey Kung Fu is one of Siu Tung's earliest films both as action director and in a rare on screen starring role. The pleasure of seeing the man himself perform on camera is a real treasure for any fan of old school martial arts action. Combining the comedic impact of Jackie Chan, the prop-assisted antics of Yuen Wo Ping, and the precision timing of Lau Kar Leung, Siu Tung proved in Monkey Kung Fu that he was a force to be reckoned with. Although the narrative is practically non-existent, as it serves only to string together the frenetic action sequences, the film is highly entertaining.

Like so many other kung fu films before it, Monkey Kung Fu's narrative chronicles the search for an all powerful kung fu manuscript. Legend goes that the Gibbon Fist, or Monkey Fist style, is based off of the movements performed by monkeys witnessed by an old kung fu master while imprisoned. While locked away in his cell, the master observed through his barred-window the monkeys living in a tree in near proximity. The master mimicked the moves of the monkeys and developed the monkey style of kung fu. While in prison with the Gibbon Fist master, Wei Chun is given half of a map-like talisman detailing where to find the lost Gibbon Fist manuscript.

Wei Chun discovers that another prisoner, played by Hou Chao-Sheng, possesses the second half of the talisman and so together they escape capture, set out to find the Gibbon Fist manuscript, and with each other's help they each learn a set of moves from the manual during a brief but highly entertaining training sequence. Perhaps the most famous of all the Gibbon Fist styles is the Drunken Monkey style. I mean come on, who doesn't like to see a kung fu master getting drunk off his ass while at the same time kicking ass? Well, in Monkey Kung Fu there are plenty of examples of this awesome style as Hou Chao-Sheng performs some of the coolest drunken moves this side of Jackie Chan in Drunken Master.

My only complaint with Monkey Kung Fu may seem like a sacrilegious one to kung fu films, but here it is: there is too much action. Yeah, that's right, you heard me - there are too many fight scenes. By the end of the last fight I was actually ready for it to be over, as my brain had experienced a massive overload of awesome kung fu choreography. There were times when I thought the film seemed more like a calling card for Siu Tung's skill as an action director/performer than an actual film with a concrete narrative. But, as it stands, Monkey Kung Fu still comes highly recommended even if it is only viewed in short bursts to quench your thirst for amazing action.

The really great thing about all of these classic Shaw Brothers films being released and remastered by Celestial is the amount of history contained within. Film fans like you and me love to learn more about our favorite filmmakers and see more of their work. For many years, these older kung fu classics were not available and we fans had only the newer films to devour and love. As much as I love Ching Siu Tung's modern masterpieces, I often wondered just how he became such a great choreographer and I often wondered if he himself possessed any real skill as a performer. After watching Monkey Kung Fu, I now understand why he is such a skilled action director - like Yuen Wo Ping, and the entire Yuen clan, Ching Siu Tung possesses real talent in front of the camera, talent that translates into amazingly creative choreography. He moves with the grace and fluidity of a real master and thus he lends a sense of authenticity to his work behind the camera.

Monkey Kung Fu is a dang fun film, but more importantly while watching it we get to witness the start of a genre-defining career. Although he may not be as well known as Yuen Wo Ping, Ching Siu Tung has had just as much of an impact on genre cinema. Without him we would not have The Killer, The Swordsman II, A Chinese Ghost Story or Hero. Every single one of these films added to the action-film canon and helped to shape the genre films that came after. Monkey Kung Fu is not only a film that is highly entertaining, but it also sheds light on a young performer set to take the action genre by storm and continuously raise the bar for years to come.

We're Going to Eat You is the finest kung fu-cannibal-comedy you will ever see – perhaps it is the only film in this rarest of sub-genres: the kung-can-com. The film perfectly strikes a balance between the outrageously funny, gory, scary, and action packed sequences with a skill not often seen. The way Hark and the actors expertly straddle and execute the shifting tones and styles is masterful, and offers a scrumptious treat for the senses. The film stars Norman Chu as Agent 999, a man sent on a mission to investigate some strange occurrences in a remote village deep in the heart of an Asian jungle. Upon arriving at the village, Agent 999 soon discovers an entire gang made up of Leatherface wannabes, that kidnap unsuspecting victims to be killed, carved, and eaten by the village's bizarre inhabitants.

Tsui Hark and action-choreographer Corey Yuen create some truly memorable set pieces. While the action isn't quite up to snuff, or comparable to best from time period, 1980, it makes up for the lack of martial-skill with style and frenetic pacing to spare. Norman Chu moves quite well, and keeps his cool, while dispatching cannibal after cannibal in a variety of wacky showdowns. One moment that will surely leave jaws on the floor, and fans scrambling for a pause-rewind-slow-mo-retake, is when Agent 999 takes a brief break in the middle of a chaotic bout of fisticuffs to roll a cigarette on a goon's face. He then lights it, and continues to fight while smoking his face-rolled ciggy – perhaps the only time this feat has ever been attempted on screen! And oh yeah, make sure you're prepared for some roller skating antics.

There are a ton of little moments like this peppered throughout, moments that demand strict attention – blink and you might miss something awesome. There is almost always something cool happening on screen, and Hark captures it all with the grace of a camera-equipped ninja. Whether laughs, gasps, groans, or cheers are elicited, one thing is certain: the pacing never lets up – the film is full of Hark-patented kinetic energy. The entire thing is framed like some kind of live-action comic book, and I mean this as the best of possible compliments. Each shot looks like an expertly laid-out comic book panel, as the utmost attention to detail, lighting and composition is used for every frame of film. Just as there are moments of physical action, and comedy, that will be remembered far after the film is over, so too are there shots that will continue to haunt the mind's eye after the end credits roll.

We're Going To Eat You just oozes with style. It is a grotesque, bizarre and gonzo journey into the heart and mind of a filmmaker that loves to let it rip. It has the action martial-arts fans demand, the comedy to shake things up, and the gore and scares to quench the horror fan's thirst. However, under Hark's watchful gaze, all of these elements fit together like a well designed puzzle – nothing feels forced or out of place. The quickly-written and balls-out style of the narrative is perfectly complemented by the zig-zagging work of the camera, and it all comes together due to the wonderful cast and crew. It truly is a rare film – a film that is fun, exciting, and nearly perfect, and a film that lives up to its legendary status.

Well, now imagine my shock, and dismay, when I loaded up the DVD and saw tha