Chang Cheh at the Quad: The Water Margin

Like Journey to the West, it is not practical to adapt all of Shi Nai’an’s classic 14^th Century novel in one shot. Filmmakers usually just cherry-pick certain chapters. Chang Cheh and co-screenwriter Ni Kuang chose chapters 64-68, out of an even 100. It was a logical decision, because there is a big Kung Fu battle at the end of Cheh’s Shaw Brothers production, The Water Margin which screens as part of the Quad’s current retrospective, Vengeance is His: Chang Cheh’s Martial Lore, co-presented by the New York Asian Film Festival.

At this point, most of the colorful heroes of Liangshan Marsh have already assembled, Avengers-style. The only ones left to join are Lu Junyi and his ward-protégé, Yan Qing—sort of like Batman and Robin, to mix the superhero metaphor. Lu is a minor lord with unimpeachable integrity and killer Kung Fu skills, but he wants no truck with outlaws. Unfortunately, Lu still winds up arrested by the local military governor, for allowing Liangshan emissaries free passage after they unsuccessfully try to recruit him. Instead, the militia does the Liangshans’ recruiting for them.

A good portion of Water Margin is devoted to Yan Qing efforts to save his master, teaming up with various Liangshan heroes. Eventually, they will face the forces of Shi Wengong, a warlord loyal to the oppressive government. It will be a real grudge match, because Shi set off the entire narrative arc, by killing the officially recognized leader of the Liangshan heroes. Of course, Lu will face off against him, but four of Shi’s best students will also square-off solo against four top heroes, including Lady “Green Snake” Hu.

Even at its time and even more so in retrospect, Water Margin just overflows with well-known HK actors (and a few from Japan), like a Shaw Brothers Expendables. It is really impossible to keep everyone straight after only one viewing, even though Chang’s super-scripts helpfully identify each character and actor playing him during their initial entrance, even well into the third act.

It hardly matters, because Water Margin is such high-spirited fun. The film starts with a nearly ten-minute drunken bacchanal back at Liangshan Marsh, which really sets the tone for the rest of the film. The groovy Hammond organ-sounding soundtrack also keeps the film bopping along at a healthy trot.

As Yan Qing, David Chiang’s laidback presence and on-screen athleticism wear well over the course of film and nicely compliment the righteous Lu. Tetsuro Tamba (best known as Tiger Tanaka in You Only Live Twice) is terrifically steely and commanding as the strictly-business Lu. Half a dozen Shaw regulars make the most of their moments as heroes, but Lily Ho Lili definitely stands out as Lady Hu, for obvious reasons (especially since this is a Chang film).

Water Margin is definitely a Shaw Brothers movie. It isn’t afraid of getting its hands during in a throw-down. Yet, it also can be considered a forerunner to big budget, epic-scale martial arts spectacles, like Crouching Tiger and Red Cliff. It is all kinds of rousing (even though the narrative is largely structured around a series of Liangshan foul-ups). Highly recommended for martial arts fans, Water Margin screens this Saturday night (5/26), as part of Chang Cheh’s Martial Lore at the Quad.

Old School Kung Fu ’17: Intimate Confessions of a Chinese Courtesan

It’s time for 50 shades of the Shaw Brothers. It might seem pretty tame to us now, but in its day, this 1972 film was billed as the first Shaw sex movie. When a resilient peasant girl is abducted and sold into a brothel, she quickly becomes the star attraction. Bare breasts, floggings, and lesbian make-out sessions soon follow. She can fight too, but so can her mistress in Chor Yuen’s Intimate Confessions of a Chinese Courtesan, which screens during this year’s Old School Kung Fu Fest at the Metrograph.

Maybe you could argue Madam Madame Chun Yi is so adept at catering to her pervy old clients, because she shares their tastes. That is particularly true of her latest acquisition, Ai Nu, but the trafficked woman is having none of it. She even tries to commit suicide, but she is saved by “the Mute,” a former bandit now forced by injuries to toil as a lowly servant. When he is killed during their escape attempt, she swears to avenge him (and get some payback for herself), but in the meantime, she pretends to make nice with Madame Chun.

In fact, she up-manages Chun so well, the Madam will even run interference for her when she starts killing her creepy regulars. Of course, none of that sits well with Chun’s partner, who has long carried a torch for her—obviously to no avail. The honest new sheriff in town also feels duty bound to prevent murders, but he does not yet understand the full context of her vendetta.

Even without the steaminess, Intimate Confessions is a bit of a mind blower. Frankly, it is about as risqué as Ingrid Pitt’s lesbian-themed Hammer vampire films from the same period, but Hong Kong was a much different market in 1972 than America or the UK. This is truly feminism at its most lurid: men are dogs, who deserve to die—and to prove the point, here’s some skin to ogle. Plus, it has to be conceded: the big climatic fight sequence is a barn-burner.

Regular Shaw Brothers leading lady Lily Ho took her career to the next level portraying Ai Nu a stone-cold force to be reckoned with. However, Betty Pei Ti steals the show outright as the flamboyantly villainous and recklessly lusty Madame Chun. She clearly evokes a sense of classical tragedy, but she could also hold her own against Sybil Danning’s prison wardens.

Intimate Confessions definitely stands apart in the Shaw Brothers filmography, but the wuxia production elements are all first-class. Fu Liang Chou’s score also has some funky seasonings that might be anachronistic, but work well in context. Its excesses are rather stylistically distinctive as well as indulgent. Highly recommended for all Shaw Brothers fans, Intimate Confessions of a Chinese Courtesan screens this Saturday (8/19), as part of Old School Kung Fu 2017 at the Metrograph.