This gritty and violent remake of Chan Cheh’s ONE-ARMED SWORDSMAN is a masterwork of martial arts filmmaking and represents the very pinnacle of Tsui Hark’s skill as a director and of the genre itself. For it’s stark imagery and raw intensity, THE BLADE is a personal favorite of mine that slices it’s way into a more ambitious realm of poetic savagery that Hong Kong’s film industry sadly never had a chance to explore any deeper.
Tsui Hark has made many films before and after, but nothing quite compares to THE BLADE. The film came at the end of a cycle of martial arts films that Tsui himself had begun with THE SWORDSMAN in 1990. Most of these films were essentially updates to 1960s and ’70s-era Shaw Brothers classics, but they were infused with advanced wirework techniques and often featured more physically demanding stunts and martial arts proficiency from the likes of Donnie Yen and Jet Li. Dozens of swordplay, fantasy and kung fu films flooded theaters in a rabid burst of energy and creativity from experienced filmmakers who seemed to be racing against time in order to get as much done before the dreaded handover of Hong Kong to Communist China in 1997, where it was thought that heavy government regulation of the film industry would begin.
By 1995, the bubble had all but burst with some of the best filmmakers already jumping ship to work in Hollywood as local movie goers increasingly put their money down to see big budget Hollywood productions instead of homegrown fare. Plus, the martial arts film genre seemed to be bled dry. But on this final point, nothing could have been further from the truth.
In retrospect, THE BLADE is a visionary film that dropkicks the genre into a tactile world of visceral action and vile corruption far removed from the chivalrous knight errantry that populated early classics. Even Tsui’s kung fu epics of a few years prior such as ONCE UPON A TIME IN CHINA seem like idyllic havens of martial frivolity in contrast. What really sets this film apart is a sense of realism and connection with humanity unheard of in most Hong Kong martial arts films, but not unlike a jet propelled version of character driven chambara classics from Japan like THE TALE OF ZATOICHI.
Both the camera techniques and narrative betray a strong influence from Wong Kar-wai’s ASHES OF TIME (1994). This is another, more cerebral swordplay tale infused with Wong’s art house sensibility. But like Steven Spielberg, whom Tsui is often compared with, the filmmaker is out to please a wider audience. Even with edgy direction and an unusually strong and contemplative female presence, THE BLADE still encapsulates the very essence of the most exciting and popular swordplay films. It is this tenuous balance that Tsui sustains flawlessly.
The film is narrated by the lead female character, Ling (Song Lei) who puts a lyrical spin on the typical revenge plot with a subplot of her own that shows how women attempt to find some level of control in a cruel world dominated by male aggression and lust. She is the daughter of a master sword maker who plays with the affections of two workers at the Sharp Foundry, a weapons shop in a frontier town in China’s barren Western territory. One of them is Ting On-man (Vincent Zhao) who is chosen to be the master’s successor and this draws plenty of criticism, especially from his rival Iron Head (Moses Chan).
Larger events draw them into a bloody confrontation with marauding bandits after they attempt to avenge the brutal death of a monk. The monk’s fight with the bandits is the film’s first action sequence and it quickly establishes a darker, more realistic style of combat. There are no gratuitously loud sound effects, excessive wirework or bravado. The massively built monk is easily a match for any number of bandits, but they fight dirty and ambush him with bear traps, a vicious weapon that comes into play again as On-man faces the bandits himself. In a long and wonderfully kinetic scene, On-man finds himself overwhelmed by bandits while attempting to save Ling from their clutches. This is where he loses his right arm after it gets stuck in a bear trap.
It would do well to take a moment to point out Tsui’s brilliant direction. The camera is kept close to the action and is even attached to people and objects as they roll and bounce along. Everything is a whirl of maniacal motion best described as the martial arts equivalent of the opening battle in SAVING PRIVATE RYAN. Tsui balances these scenes with richly detailed and decrepit sets, almost always shot at odd angles or heights to lend a morbid vibrancy to the entire film.
On-man is separated from his friends and nursed back to health by an orphan living in a run down house. Considered dead by the Foundry workers, On-man attempts to find a new life as a cripple, working as a waiter and enduring scorn and even attacks from wandering bandits. He initially buries a broken sword (which the film’s title refers to) left by his long dead father. But upon finding a unique kung fu manual he begins to train in an unusual style of swordplay. This is where Vincent Zhao truly excels and provides us with a magnificently fresh approach to swordplay. With only one arm, On-man perfects a spinning and leaping attack, augmented by a chain which he attaches to the shortened blade to whip it about at enemies. This technique proves to be most effective against attacking bandits on horseback. On-man eventually turns his attention to finding Flying Dragon (Xiong Xinxin), the man who killed his father and now threatens the Sharp Foundry. Their fierce fight at the end of the film is one of the greatest and most brutal sword fights in cinema history.
Notable is the lack of big name actors to this film. The star, Vincent Zhao is a hugely underrated martial arts actor who showed up too late to fully benefit from the New Wave kung fu boom. He has continued to appear in martial roles, but they are generally either inferior films like BODY WEAPON or Chinese television series that may never see the light of day in the West with translated dialogue. (More recently, Tai Seng has been releasing some of the better Chinese martial arts TV series.)
The rest of the cast is young and relatively unknown, but each and every one turn in particularly good performances that are full of energy and passion. Zhao bristles with menace and despair as he copes with the loss of his arm. The orphaned boy he hooks up with perfectly captures the desperation that all of the victims of bandit attacks exhibit. Tsui’s integrated focus on Ling’s attempts to find On-man and the contrasting struggles of a prostitute resigned to her fate and played with zest by Valarie Chow adds dimension to the film. The director is well known for his strong female characters and these women are no different.
One complaint I would lodge against the film is a logistics gaffe. Near the end, the foundry members hesitantly agree to admit bandits disguised as traveling merchants on the basis that they possess no weapons. Once inside, the bandits easily reach dozens upon dozens of newly forged swords lining the interior. Let that be a lesson to weapon smiths and screenwriters everywhere.
It’s nearly impossible not to write at great length about THE BLADE when it comes so close to presenting the perfect marriage of classic martial arts action and a modern, deconstructionist perspective that eschews idealism. The old Shaw Brothers classics, including the original ONE-ARMED SWORDSMAN had begun to break away from the tame Chinese operatic sword duels of old, but this re-imagining proved that there was still plenty of bloodied road not traveled in this genre. More recent swordplay films, including Tsui THE LEGEND OF ZU have returned to more fanciful depictions of dueling inspired by comic books and myths. For the time being, THE BLADE marks the end and also the greatest example of a very short, but sweet period in Hong Kong moviemaking that appeared on the verge of opening the swordplay genre up to the kind of brutally epic and humanist standards it was meant to explore.
by Mark PollardRelated Topics:
The Blade (1995) • Tsui Hark • Vincent Zhao • Wuxia
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