Heinous eunuch Zhao is the Machiavellian power behind the Chinese throne, ruling the land through fear and intimidation. The one threat to his position, royal executioner Yu, is executed after being convicted on trumped up charges and his family are exiled to the farthest reaches of China. Paranoid Zhao still fears the influence that Yu's family could have with the rebel cell within the government and decides to slaughter them before they reach their destination. A small troop of soldiers is sent to the isolated 'Dragon Inn' - located in the most inhabitable reaches of the wilderness - to intercept the remaining Yus and they take over the location in preparation. Despite attempts to secure the inn and stop any casual visitors entering, no-one is able to prevent phlegmatic swordsman Xiao from waiting for his friend, the inn keeper Wu, from making the place his temporary abode. The loyalist warriors try to flex their muscles in front of Xiao to scare him off, but when this fails they dedicate their efforts to finding out what his real motives are. Tensions are heightened when a brother and sister also lodge at the inn and seek to ask awkward questions about the delicate situation around them. As events move to a frenzied conclusion, Zhao elects to journey to the distant outpost in an attempt to cement his evil plan.

The action may have dated, but King Hu's renown will only increase after one of his most noted works is finally given the treatment it deserves. Full of his trademark directorial parsimony and concentration on utilising the environment as if it were a major character in the film, 'Dragon Inn' retains much of the presence it exuded on its initial release. King Hu's regard for the atmospherics of chanbara cinema is noticeable throughout this production and the director proudly shows how the skills left by the great Japanese film-makers can be given a Hong Kong identity.

As with his later 'Fate Of Lee Khan', Hu builds the story up layer by layer and allows that subtle sense of disquiet to seep into the frame. This is particularly striking when the battle is fought with words rather than the somewhat antiquated swordplay that slightly undermines the story's conclusion. The dialogue between Xiao and the general Pi adds a frisson to the proceedings that makes their climatic duel far more exciting than the choreography allows; the deceitful 'friendship' the two act out throughout the first hour of the film is an intelligent way to lay the ground work for later conflict and help make this much more than just a standard swordplay flick. That, essentially, is what separates King Hu from so many other directors who have attempted a work in this genre: Hu takes the actual crafting of the story and the characters as seriously as any other element of the production. Hu's performers are not just there to replicate the actions set out by an unseen action choreography, they are to act and give the well written characters he screen life they deserve.

The environment is always vital to Hu's work and the use of a claustrophobic setting ensures that 'Dragon Inn' retains that quality. What is ingenious about the location here is that it is essentially an insular, taut set - complete with requisite cabin fever setting in - placed within a vast inhospitable hinterland. Such an extreme contrast lends itself well to Hu's aims with the film and his intention to let the mood of the picture be as important as the other components. The cinematography enforces this juxtaposition and serves as the perfect framework for the drama to unfold.

'Dragon Inn' doesn't quite compete with 'A Touch Of Zen' and 'Come Drink With Me', but anything to be criticised here is a mere niggle rather than a detrimental flaw. It stands the test of time and is further evidence of a director who deserves a worldwide re-appraisal, hopefully one that would note what a significant artist he was. Until that day comes, Hong Kong film buffs can finally appreciate the work of King Hu for all its manifold qualities.

The story (as you might guess) centers around an inn located in one of the most desolate parts of China. It is a time of turmoil, with the evil eunuch Zhao (Pai Ying) looking to increase his standing with the emperor by getting rid of his enemies. Zhao has recently executed one of the members of the royal court, and sends his family into exile. Not wanting to create any more ammunition for the growing rebellion, Zhao sends a group of mercenaries led by the great warrior Shao Tung (Miu Tin) to the Dragon Inn to lay an ambush and kill off the remaining family members. The mercenaries quickly dispatch all the troops in the area and take over the inn. The plan seems to be well on its' way to fruition until various people come to the inn. After learing about the planned assassinations, the inn's guests come together to drive out the mercenaries, but then the inn becomes like a prison as the villains return to lay siege to it.

Most Hong Kong movie fans out there have probably seen the 1992 remake, New Dragon Inn, which was a great movie in its' own right, but quite over-the-top in terms of its' wire-fu action and gory violence. So those who have been weaned on films like that might be initially put off by the slower pacing and relatively bloodless action of the original version. But if you're a viewer with a bit of patience and give Dragon Inn a chance, you'll see why many consider the "old school" of kung fu movies the real "golden age" of Chinese film-making.

For starters, the movie is wonderfully shot and edited. In this day and age, when most action sequences consist of close-up two-second shots, it was great seeing wide shots where you can actually see what the performers are doing. Granted, the stuff here isn't up to the manic level of a Jackie Chan or Jet Li picture, but there's a lot of fights, and they get quite intricate -- especially towards the end, which culminates in a breathtakingly-shot five-on-one brawl near the top of a mountain.

I also really enjoyed the way King Hu kept things simple in terms of story-telling; he doesn't depend on any twists or double-crosses to keep things interesting. And some note should also be made of the actors, all of which -- especially the legendary Polly Shang Kwan -- do an outstanding job. Overall, Dragon Inn is an outstanding film, and deserves a viewing by anyone and everyone that considers themselves a fan of martial arts movies. When put up against most of the weak efforts put out in recent years on both sides of the ocean, there really is no comparison. This is one of those films that can truly be considered a "classic", and hopefully, it will continue to do so for years to come.

First to arrive is Xiao Shao-Zi (Shih Chun), a heroic figure in white carrying a dangerous umbrella. A friend of innkeeper Wu (Cho Kin), Shoa-Zi is suspicious of so many government men without uniforms, especially when they try to kill him with poison. But seeing that Xiao is a very skilled warrior, officer in charge Pi Shao-Tung (Miu Tin) instead feigns friendship. Next to arrive are a brother and sister, petite Chu Hei (Polly Shang Kwan, the traditional woman “disguised” in man’s clothes of Chinese cinema) and rotund Chu Chi (Sit Hon), who despite appearances are also skilled fighters, and are obviously relatives come to meet the refugees and escort them across the border. Everyone’s stay at the inn becomes a series of intrigues, with characters all suspecting each other, trying to maneuver each other into traps and form alliances. Eventually, the heroes come together and discover the murder plot, which forces them to come up with a plot of their own to save the Yu family.

When the family arrives, the heroes manage to route Pi and his men to save their lives. However, the formidable Zhao is on his way with an army of men to finish the job, and our heroes – along with a few loyal border guards that join him – get ready to defend the inn from enemy assault.

Until the 1960s, action stars in Chinese films had always been women (with the notable exception of the Wong Fei-hung movie series), a tradition that started in the early days when many male actors refused to appear in films. Director Cheng Cheh broke with this tradition to create more macho martial arts heroes, adopting much of the style of Japanese samurai pictures, as well as American and Italian westerns. King Hu combined these styles in a string of epics now considered movie classics that have much of the spirit of John Ford productions, but deeply flavored with indigenous Chinese culture. Polly Shang Kwan, in her first film role here, easily wrests center stage from her more seasoned comrades, and King gives her several gutsy action sequences to take advantage of her natural charisma. But the men all get a chance to shine, too. Shih Chun, the swordsman with an umbrella, has a mysterious aura about him, while Sit Hon gets most of the comedy relief. However, the show-stopping performance comes in the final act when Pai Ying (who would survive being typecast as evil eunuchs to get more heroic roles in the 1970s) makes his debut as the oddly blonde villain, his performance enhanced somewhat by strange electronic music on the soundtrack.