Although I’d chiefly label The Silent Swordsman as a historical wuxia pian, it is really a curious and sometimes confused blend of genres that incorporates song and dance, political intrigue, romance, and heroic daring do. Though seemingly lacking in a clear direction at times, the film’s jumbled offerings are not without merit.

The film’s crisis of identity amid a field of more routine wuxia films coming out of Shaw Brothers in the mid-1960s might be attributed to its director and former screenwriter Kao Li. The Silent Swordsman was the first of only two wuxia films he directed, although Kao did write The Invincible Sword in 1963. In tackling the swordplay genre, Kao brought with him the experience of having directing several period operas. Kao attempts to bridge these two genres by incorporating a few songs and one choreographed dance number in between sword fights. This wasn’t unheard of at the time, but the musical elements of Chinese opera influence on martial arts cinema was definitely waning with the emergence of Chang Cheh’s more violent brand of heroic storytelling.

Kao delivers songs tritely celebrating matchmaking as noble swordsman Shen Bingyi (Chang Yi) gets sidelined in his mission to save the country by two tribal beauties. This may have been a mere diversion, but later Shen melodically muses on a topic more pertinent to the plot and the film’s intended audiences when he boldly sings, “The nation’s rise and fall is responsibility of all men. I wish we could claim back our lands soon” (Celestial Pictures translation). In this impassioned statement, Shen not only establishes his nationalist view, but whether intended by the director or not, also speaks for the many Chinese exiles living in Hong Kong at the time of the film’s release.

The story, though rich in complexities by genre standards, is nearly as rambling as any low budget kung fu flick bereft of script. Things start out clear enough. Faced with mounting invasions by Manchu forces, famed Ming general Yuan Chonghuan sends for reinforcements under the command of General Lu Qiang (Goo Man-chung). But as happened in real Chinese history, Yuan is betrayed by the very people he is trying to protect. General Lu has sided with a corrupt official and chooses to withhold aid. Enter the Sun Moon Club, a leading martial arts sect led by Yuan’s friend Chief Hong Zhong (Yeung Chi-hing). After Yuan requests their aid, Hong investigates and discovers General Lu’s plot. Before it can be dealt with, the villains behead Hong and capture his top lieutenant for painful interrogation.

Hong’s martial brother, the young and noble Shen Bingyi arrives on the scene after being dismissed by his reclusive martial arts master to assume control of the Sun Moon Club and complete the mission that Hung had started. This is where things start to get a little fuzzy. Shen sets out with Daiyun (Lisa Chiao), daughter of the captured lieutenant to rescue the captured clansman and also complete the mission Hung began by trying to convince the official to order Lu’s troops to the front in support of General Yuan.

But somewhere along the way Daiyun, the likely romantic match for Shen is replaced by two sisters belonging to a small Mongol tribe. Despite a single-mindedness to help Yuan at any cost, Shen finds himself in the otherwise enviable position of having his attentions competed for by these two lovely ladies, who are both hopelessly love struck. At this point, the film is driven off course by this sibling rivalry and its subsequent melodrama as the martial arts action and poor General Yuan are practically forgotten.

Shen and his clan cohorts eventually gets back to the task at hand of getting those troops to the front just in time to nearly fall into a painfully obvious trap, if not for the selfless intervention of one of the Mongol sisters. A big fight ensues with none other than Hong Kong legend and non-credited action director Lau Kar-leung briefly leading the charge in an attempt to wipe out the heroes.

With Lau Kar-leung and presumably Tang Chia orchestrating the action, fight scenes are as good as one can expect from this era. Chang Li effortlessly unleashes stylish sword moves with one hand, while shooting darts hidden in a fan with the other. In true wuxia fashion, one of the elder clan leaders harnesses his chi or “Jedi” power if you like, to compel fleeing enemies to close within striking distance. Despite a fair amount of these displays, Kao Li is hardly obsessed with them or the exploration of martial heroism as emerging genre filmmakers like Chan Cheh and Chor Yuan were. Battles are short and far between. Chang Li’s character, though unrivaled in his physical abilities, is naïve in his dealings with the world. There is no sense that his martial skills have in any way made him a shrewd player in the game of life. Nor does he go through any sort of development or fundamental change, physically or emotionally. He doesn’t even have a foe of remotely commensurate skill to fight with.

The Silent Swordsman runs in too many directions to be thoroughly enjoyable, even though the places Kao Li goes are often entertaining on their own. What could have been worse though, were to see Kao completely lose track, which he doesn’t. Chang Yi’s character says a few things before getting back to the business of beating the bad guys that I wish more protagonists in recent mainland Chinese wuxia melodramas like House of Flying Daggers would say, “I don’t have time for romance….I’ll make it up to you in my next life.”

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