Herman Yau's Lethal Ninja (2006)

The ninja. In terms of Western culture, there was an era when the legendary stealthy assassins were quite popular. This era being the 1980s during the Ronald Regan empire. Especially popular with young boys of whom I was one, the concept of the ninja borne dangerous gear, such as ninja outfits, throwing stars, nunchucks, and swords (substituting for toys); magazines on newsstands which catered to this niche culture; a short-lived television show entitled "The Master" (1984), starring Lee Van Cleef and Timothy Van Patten; and of course, movies starring super-cool Sho Kosugi, such as Enter the Ninja (1981), Revenge of the Ninja (1983), and Ninja III: The Domination (1984), for example. (Apparently Kosugi also makes an appearance in the recent Ninja Assassin (2009). Who knows if the ninja will rise again in popular culture?) As the 80s ended, so did the ninja trend in cinema--not really ending but returning appropriately to the shadows to resurface from time to time. To make a ninja film in this era is fairly bold, and to modify the term ninja with the adjective "lethal" in the film's title potentially sparks wonder, nostalgia, and enthusiasm. Lethal Ninja (2006) from one of Hong Kong's best directors, Herman Yau, is promising.

Dr. Kikuchi is in the back of his car and is being chased by ninjas. He holds a crimson box which he is guarding with his life. These ninjas are led by Tora Daisuke (Masato) under the employ of evil Brian (Waise Lee). Kikuchi is killed, and Daisuke delivers the box to Brian. Unfortunately, the box cannot be opened. Only one person holds the key (and not a literal one). This dude is named Copy (Chi Wah Wong) and he is a subway musician. His axe is a flute. He doesn't make a dime with his tunes with the passersby and has no friends. Copy prefers to be alone, anyway: he's a drunk who doesn't think that anyone understands his music. Here come the ninjas.

Conceptually, Lethal Ninja has a lot to offer: a hidden village populated by ninjas who wish to be free of the violence of warring factions; a super-cute ninja donning red in black spandex named Hibiki (Hisako Shirata); the wonderful Eddy Ko as the wise master Basho; fantastic Waise Lee as the evil villain (who gives a performance which always looks as if he is about to cry); and a confrontational finale where ninjas go full force with many a frisson delivered as they fight on the side of a high-rise building.

In execution, Lethal Ninja is not that great. The biggest problem being the keystone character, Copy (rimshot). Immediate sympathy is drawn to him for being reluctantly drawn into the drama. However, as his character begins to interact with others, it is hard to watch him. Like most drunks, Copy is self-absorbed and obnoxious. The proverbial hole into which he has crawled , most would prefer to leave him there. If his character were somewhat witty or engaging, then some fun could be had. Copy prefers to whine; and despite the fact that the other super-cute ninja, Xiao Ling (Eva Huang) is assigned to protect him and is growing quite fond of him, Copy just wants to hit the bottle and wallow in self-pity. Loosening this character up just a little would have cast a whole other complexion over the film.

Beyond the weak main character, Lethal Ninja is extremely mechanical and categorized. Hibiki and Daisuke are from rival clans and share a forbidden secret. The secret ninja village is like something sweet which should be filled with hobbits and elves, as Xiao Ling jumps from limb to limb of trees collecting leaves for Master Basho's potions. Waise Lee's Brian has a hideout equal to all super-villains, surrounded by machine-gun-toting henchman and ninjas, high-tech gear, and mad-scientist lab equipment. A little romance, intrigue, light humor, adventure, and action. These ingredients might provide a successful film; however with Lethal Ninja, it is not it. Yau's films are always the best when less thought goes into structure and more energy goes into execution. His visual style becomes the film's creative highlight while the themes move seamlessly in and out. Yau also has a flair for darker material and intensity. When these are absent, the films, like Lethal Ninja, are average and mediocre.To the film's credit, the ninja action in the final act is nostalgic. The ninjas execute ninja magic, super stealth moves, and bring a lot of fun weapons along. Herman Yau has action-scene directing embedded in his DNA, so even average sequences, as most are in Lethal Ninja, are exciting. Lethal Ninja is ultimately too formal to be successful. Like a ninja, there is a great film hidden somewhere underneath it all.

Taylor Wong & Herman Yau's No More Love No More Death (1993)

Love: Tai Zi (Jacky Cheung) is driving in his convertible sportscar at night while the sweetly innocuous score plays over. He's dressed slickly and with his sunglasses on at night. His eyes are taken with a poster of a model/dancer, Chen (Rosamund Kwan), inside of a storefront display. Tai Zi stops abruptly and gazes obsessively at the photo. He pulls his scoped magnum revolver from the inside of his jacket and fires a platinum bullet at the glass. It breaks, and he removes the poster to take it home.

Love?: Tai Zi is raised by Bai Hu (Chan Yuen), a crime boss. Bai Hu has a poor heart and is a paraplegic yet is full of emotion. He puts young Tai Zi on his knee to tell him the story of his mother who is no longer around--Quing Lung (Wai-man Chan) took care of her. Bai Hu cages a mouse and forces his son to pour boiling water upon it. Later, Tai Zi, now a young man, walks in upon his father who is being pleasured by a kneeling woman. Bai Hu tells Tai Zi to take the woman's body yet never take anything else from her. In La Femme Nikita fashion, Bai Hu after a fancy dinner meal tells Tai Zi to kill one of the patrons (a henchman of his rival). Reluctantly, Tai Zi complies and is haunted by the incident in his dreams. Bai Hu rolls into his bedroom with a final birthday gift--a cake which opens to reveal Jing Jing (Carina Lau) who becomes Tai Zi's literal gift. Jing Jing becomes Tai Zi's devoted lover and accomplice: Tai Zi's the top killer and Quing Long is back in town. Long is Tai Zi's next target, yet beautiful Chen becomes Tai Zi's biggest obsession.John Woo left an indelible mark on Hong Kong cinema with A Better Tomorrow (1986) up to his Hard Boiled (1992) before leaving for Hollywood. Not only did Woo's cinema create a legacy but it also created a market where Taylor Wong and Herman Yau's No More Love No More Death (1993) is undeniably spawned. No More Love No More Death is a sociopath of a film: utterly charming, mimicking Woo's soft light with occasionally slow-motion shots, stickily-sweet music score, and lots of sunglasses, raincoats, big guns, and languid posing; yet there is a complete undercurrent of sick and twisted behavior and happenings. Woo's "balletic operatic gunplay" films were certainly romantic: lots of bullets spent and lots of blood spilled while characters frequently fell in love and poured over in emotion. Woo never reached the heights of schism: his HK gunplay films were always sentimental. Wong and Yau's film goes for Woo romanticism in execution (by adopting many a motif from all of his films), yet the end result of No More Love No More Death is a Woo-inspired film, unchecked and unhinged.Lau's Jing Jing, objectively, should be resentful: people should not be given as "gifts" to others, and her character would be quite justified if she began to show some rebellion. This is not the case, however, as No More Love wants to keep its Woo romanticism at all costs. Jing Jing does become resentful, but her resentment stems from Tai Zi's love for Chen and Tai Zi's total absence of romantic love towards her. Her unrequited love fuels her loyalty towards Tai Zi towards the film's violent and would-be tragic ending. Kwan's Miss Chen is free to fall in love with whomever she desires; however, when a scoped magnum with platinum bullets is pointed in her face, one would intuitively think that its holder is probably not a suitable candidate for a relationship. Miss Chen is willing to look past this behavior with Tai Zi and uncover the real person deep down inside of him. Finally, this jewel of a character, Tai Zi, has a fondness for a "lonely heart" radio program where lovers write into the show. Their letters are read aloud by the DJ and their stories are heartbreaking about lost love. Tai Zi actually writes a letter to this show, and its substance is jaw-dropping. No More Love No More Death is filled with characters with some serious personality disorders. The overwhelming desire by Wong and Yau to inject the film with romanticism to cash in on the immediate market made by John Woo's cinema failed to capture the sentimentalism of his successes. It is almost as if the more romantic Wong and Yau attempted to make the film, then the more disturbing it became. It is doubtful that this was intentional, but No More Love is undeniably compelling. There is such a grandeur to its excesses and incredulous beauty. Cheung, Kwan, and especially Lau (three of Hong Kong's biggest actors) deserve a lot of praise: like their characters, these actors believe in their performances and execute accordingly. The effective performances only enhance the disturbing nature of the film: like sociopaths, truly believing in their delusional behavior gives the film an energy and a resonance yet reinforcing how dysfunctional the whole proceedings are. Not to forget to mention that the majority of No More Love's characters are violent people: the only irony, here, is in watching it and being grateful these folks only exist in cinema. What a phenomenal train wreck. God bless Wong and Yau.

Herman Yau's Taxi Hunter (1993)

Kin (Anthony Wong), despite his nerdish attire, which includes glasses and short-sleeves and a tie, is a highly-resourceful and successful insurance salesman. The very definition of mild-mannered, he's also very kind; and his wife (Perrie Lai) is expecting their first child. Kin's future bodes well. Chung (Rongguang Yu) is a stellar, superhero cop, very good-looking and also resourceful. Chung is very much happy for his friend Kin and his wife. On the way home from the office after learning that he is due for a promotion, Kin gets into a minor car accident with a taxi cab. Obviously a scheme, the taxi driver calls two of his friends and forces Kin to pay up a sum of money immediately to settle the claim. With his car damaged, Kin and his wife become dependent on the taxis in and around Hong Kong, and taxi drivers are not nice folks: they demand higher fares for particular destinations, refuse to go to particular destinations completely, and are generally distasteful and grumpy people. One evening during a rainstorm, Kin's wife begins to bleed and immediately grasps her abdomen. Kin summons a cab via phone, and his good fortune runs cold: the initial cab driver sneaks another fare for a higher sum and leaves Kin and his wife stranded...A second cab comes along and refuses to take Kin's wife to the hospital, because "she'll bleed all over the taxi." Adding fatal injury to insult, the cab driver in a mad dash to leave, accidentally drags Kin's wife several feet, killing her and her unborn child. Wong's Kin begins to see the world a little differently after that evening, and within his sights, he takes on the city's taxi drivers in Herman Yau's Taxi Hunter (1993). Chung's assigned to the case and is determined to find who's targeting the taxi drivers. From the opening frame, it is quite obvious that Taxi Hunter is a playful take on Martin Scorsese's Taxi Driver (1976) and much purer in its exploitation elements. Like Taxi Driver, Taxi Hunter is buttressed by a stellar performance by its leading man, Anthony Wong, whose character takes a very sharp turn into psychosis and doesn't look back. Wong's Kin is initially a sympathetic character but when he becomes the taxi hunter, Kin's intense and brutal. "What is your main reason for taking a certain role?" asks an interviewer (from Cine East by Miles Wood, FAB Press, 1998). Anthony Wong responds, "Money. Most are just for money." The interviewer follows up this question with another to Wong: "Are there any you've done for other less mercenary reasons?" Wong responds, "Some. Taxi Hunter. I think that's an interesting film. It's by the same director as The Untold Story, Herman Yau. We changed the script, and worked on the dialogue every night to make it more interesting." Herman Yau has this to say about his leading man (from an interview with Yau included in Asian Cult Cinema, No. 35, Vital Books, 2002): "Anthony Wong is a good friend of mine. We've been friends for nearly 18 years. He acted in my film when I was a film student. I think he is a very talented actor, and maybe the best contemporary actor of our time. He's very creative and has his own characteristics."
Wong gives a fantastic performance, and he and Yau really take the time during the exposition of Taxi Hunter to make his character, Kin, innocuous, sympathetic, and timid. In fact, Wong's character and how he performs his job (cutting breaks on premium payments to customers, for example) make him the very personification of not tough. The stereotypical nerdish outfit, glasses and short-sleeves and tie, only reinforces this notion, as he looks like someone who could be pushed around at will. It's a clever set-up for Wong's transformation, and in a pivotal scene, Wong's Kin is sitting alone on some outside steps, eating lunch from a styrofoam container. He looks sad and dejected as his wife has just died. Kin watches as a woman is being berated by a taxi driver. Kin doesn't drop his lunch or even finish chewing the mouthful that he has but confidently strides across moving traffic and slaps the taxi driver forcefully across the face. As the title suggests, the taxi drivers become Kin's prey. Kin's "hunting" scenes are brilliant sequences of exploitation: Yau and Wong craft one that's particularly impulsive and kinetic; another which is quite humorous and a play on a famous scene in Taxi Driver; and one that is ice cold and brutal.
As Wong noted from the excerpt from his interview above, he found Kin's character interesting. The interviewer from Asian Cult Cinema remarks to Yau during his interview corroborating Wong's statement and asks Yau: "What motivated you to make that film [Taxi Hunter]?" Yau responds, "It is not based on a true story, but, besides the killing revenge of Anthony, characters and some of the incidents are based on real persons that I know and incidents that I have experienced. You know why I made up my mind to have a driving license? It was because I didn't want to get into a taxi anymore. I've had very bad experiences taking taxis and the bad experiences were put into the movie." No doubt that Yau wasn't alone in bad experiences with taxi drivers, and Taxi Hunter appears to take a perverse thrill in enacting its revenge upon those characters with a sympathetic public. In one scene, Wong pulls off a brutal murder in front of a very elderly would-be taxi passenger. Her reaction to Wong's murder and the statement that she gives to the police are reflections of the public sympathy that Yau is attempting to elicit.
As Wong's character, Kin, makes a fascinating character study, Yau remembers that Taxi Hunter is also an entertaining exploitation film. Yu's Chung is the vehicle for the dramatic action as he and his partner, a bumbling homeboy, Gao (Ng Man Tat), begin investigating the taxi driver killings. Yau even drops a would-be romance between Gao's daugter, Mak (Athena Chu), and Yu. Not only do these scenes drive the dramatic action with the investigation but they also serve as a foil to Wong's intense performance: Yu is the good-looking, righteous cop; Gao provides the slapstick humor; and Mak is the sassy, sweet, and beautiful lady who rounds out and spices up the cast. I have never found fault in Yau's direction of action sequences or how his films appear visually: Taxi Hunter is another example of his creative talent in both of these facets. As the film has a hodgepodge of motifs, focused primarily upon Wong's intense character, Yau changes his visual style to match each: the night scenes with Wong are very dark and brooding, while, for example, the scenes with Yu's Chung are shot primarily in the day (Chung's signature white t-shirt and Adonis-like physique not only counterbalance Wong's appearance but make him much more an "angelic" hero.)The recent DVD release by Discotek Media of Taxi Hunter looks terrific in anamorphic widescreen. The only fault of the release is the lack of supplements (which I always love, like interviews and commentaries). A collection of cool trailers is included along with English subtitles for the feature (and chapter stops). All quotes from Wong and Yau are from their interviews, respectively, from their sources as quoted from within.

Herman Yau's Nighmares in Precinct 7 (2001)

Jing (Andy Hui) is a good-looking, young, and arrogant cop. As he is being toasted at a party for one of his recent successes, he gives a false speech about how grateful he is for the help of his team and his superiors. With voice-over narration, Jing reveals that he really thinks everyone around him is an idiot and only wants to stay close to him to reap the benefits of his successes. He has little time for his cute girlfriend or for his mother and could care less about impressing any of the top brass. The following day Jing and his crew of three are performing a stakeout of a group of violent criminals. One of his crew Jap (Simon Lui, also co-writer) tells Jing that the criminals are about to exit and that they should wait for backup before advancing upon them. Jing dispenses with the backup and orders his crew to take the criminals down. Two of the officers are killed, Jap is injured, and Jing takes a bullet into the back of his skull inducing a coma.

Two years later and pretty nurse Miss Oscar (Loletta Lee) is attending to bed-ridden Jing whose eyes finally open. In the interim of his sleep, Jing learns that his mother has died, his girlfriend has moved on with her life, and that he has a new ability: a sixth sense, the ability to see ghosts around him and interact with them. Jing kindles a friendship with ghost Kit (Tat-Ming Cheung) who teaches him about the supernatural world. Jing's first assignment upon return to the police force is to arrest a serial rapist and killer who targets young nurses. Pretty Miss Oscar, who has fallen in love with her patient, Jing, according to Kit, has a shortened life line; and Jing thinks that she is the next victim...

Despite its English-language title that suggests a singular location with perhaps some spooky, paranormal events going on, Herman Yau's Nightmares in Precinct 7 (2001) is, by all appearances, a star vehicle for its leading man Andy Hui. Hui's character, Jing, is the focus, and Hui gets the opportunity with Yau and Lui's screenplay to work the dramatic range. Hui plays a hero who learns a little humility along the way and the value of help from others. Nightmares has action, comedy, drama, romance, mystery, and just a smidgen of horror. Very broad in its approach, Yau's film is unfortunately very average.

Lee's Miss Oscar is super cute and super sweet and watching her have a blossoming, shy romance with Hui's Jing was endearing at times. However, as Hui's character grows during the film, Lee's character doesn't change focus and grow at all, a true wasted opportunity. Miss Oscar is such a likable character and the potential to engage the viewer's interest could have been heightened, as it's almost telegraphed that she is the killer's next victim. Instead, Lee's character pops up in the final two-thirds of the film, as needed, for either a romantic scene with Hui or, in one of the rare scenes where Hui is absent from the screen, a target for the killer. The mystery behind the identity of the killer is fairly mediocre: the rapist/killer has eluded the police for two years (while Jing was sleeping), and soon after Hui takes over the case, he makes an associational link with the killer's patterns which seems quite obvious and that the police would have to be fairly careless not to notice. Hui's scenes with Cheung's Kit are somewhat humorous, yet Hui can't really pull off any comedy. In fact, Jing's supernatural ability is essential to the storyline but it feels like a gimmick that could be done without. The only aspect of the film which truly stands out are Yau's action scenes, which I'm convinced that Yau could direct while sleeping. During the opening action sequence and in a chase scene involving the always welcomed Suet Lam, Yau delivers his kinetic and exciting camera work and some nifty touches, as when the criminals discover the police's identity during the stakeout. Too little action, however, to recommend the film for these scenes. As for horror, the viewer can blink and miss all of those.

Finally, the ending was going for the exact opposite of comedy yet it had me laughing quite hard for its ridiculousness. An extremely average Herman Yau film, Nightmares in Precinct 7 is only for his extremely die hard fans.

Herman Yau's Rebellion (2009)

A select few of likewise unhappy people can relate to being alone and drunk on their birthday like Po (Shawn Yue), the bodyguard for recently-shot and critically-injured crime boss, Jimmy (Yuen-Leung Poon). Jimmy is one of five bosses in a closely-knit district which has, up until his shooting, been functioning peacefully and successfully in the underground. Jimmy's lady, Wah (Ada Choi) is vacationing in Taiwan and as soon as she hears of the shooting, Wah makes plans to come home. Until her arrival, she appoints Po as temporary head of the crime family, much to the dismay of the family's second-in-command, Blackie (Chapman To). Blackie is more than happy to take over the operation: in fact, he's willing to go to war with the four other bosses, despite having no evidence linking any of them to Jimmy's hit. Poor Po has to sober up quickly, find Jimmy's shooters, and keep the status quo until Wah gets back into town. The last thing reluctant Po wants is to be a crime boss; and just about everybody in the district is going to take the opportunity this night to shake him down.

Written and directed by Herman Yau, Rebellion (2009) is another successful and exciting film delivered from him (from this year alone). Veteran Yau crafts a character-driven drama, brimming with local color, an attentive eye to detail, about a local and insular crime syndicate, which is really a big dysfunctional family about to have all its closet skeletons exposed (in one night, no less). Shawn Yue turns in one of his best performances of his young career as Po and contributes to nearly all of the excellent and tension-filled action sequences.

A short exposition begins Rebellion, letting the viewer know who's who in the syndicate and how the power dynamics work in their relationships. Beyond that, Yau lets his characters do all their own exposition through their actions. There is very little that one can say about one who chooses to be drunk and alone on his birthday: either that character really wants to be alone and drunk or either that character is unhappy. Yue's Po is in the latter camp. He doesn't have any ambition or desire to be the top man in his organization. His current job, as Jimmy's bodyguard, he stepped into reluctantly. Po's an orphan, and like many, he's been dependent solely upon himself for care. Pretty Ling (Elanne Kwong) works at a local restaurant, where over the years the bosses meet for Mah-jong and business, and has watched Po over those years. Ling was present at Jimmy's shooting but didn't see anything. When she sees Po struggling to stay focused and taking a turn or two to gag and vomit, as he tries to gather information and keep people in line until Wah arrives, Ling offers to help Po and accompany him. Of all the people that Po encounters that evening, Ling becomes the most important. Their relationship feels genuine, and while watching, it was Po and Ling on whom I wanted Yau to focus. Yau didn't disappoint me. The other characters, especially the other crime bosses, are also well-drawn. Each has his own quirk and habits, which makes each instantly identifiable, and how each interacts with Po over the evening, speaks about his inner character and his own personality. Choi's Wah is a standout character with a standout performance. Choi is such a fun and charismatic actress that she's easy to watch do anything (she's also a favorite of mine).

The characters of Rebellion speak loudly with their words and actions but visually, Yau puts such an attentive eye to detail, these characters speak with their image. Yue's Po literally looks defeated with tired eyes and his sloppily opened dress shirt and sneakers. His attire says a lot about his character. Mr. Tai (Austin Wai) is the syndicate's head and dresses the part as dapper as any fancy gangster. Blackie's attire is as wild as his character. The true hustlers of the street are dressed appropriately for hustling, and the world of the small district within Rebellion really comes to life.

Yau adopts a low-key, smoky visual style with little overt flare, save the fantastic action sequences. Yau owns and commands action cinema, and in an especially well-executed scene, Po fortuitously rescues Blackie from a group of armed thugs on the street. Po and Blackie flee on foot while the group gives chase, and they hide in a store behind the after-hours, steel shutter. Po and Blackie have enough time to smoke a cigarette and collect their thoughts, until with a nifty audio cue, tires are heard screeching. A split second before a car comes crashing through the store's shutters to dispatch a crew to kill Po and Blackie, Po pulls him away. Beyond the excellent, overt action sequences, Yau continues to show his command of creating a heavy atmosphere of tension. Any director can shoot explosions, but only a creative few, like Yau, can create the perfect set-up for them: when two characters confront each other in Rebellion, it's felt by the viewer.

Herman Yau, I will continue repeating this over and over, is making some of the most exciting cinema coming out of Hong Kong (or really anywhere). His cinema is always unexpected, irreverent, playful, creative, and rewarding. He does it so often, and again with Rebellion, that I'm at risk of being spoiled.

Herman Yau's Laughing Gor-Turning Point (2009)

Hong Kong cinema has forever changed its image of the undercover cop. John Woo's Hard Boiled (1992) is my earliest memory: Woo's phenomenal action sequences accompanied by excellent performances by Yun-fat Chow and especially Tony Leung Chiu Wai, as the undercover cop. Leung's representative performance is a man torn: a cop so deep into Triad life that he assumes the lifestyle completely, and his police identity known only by one within the force. His actions do not conform to a righteous police officer or a wholly nasty gangster. His loyalties are always divided as with the two worlds in which he lives, he has made oaths and allegiances to both. Spiritually, it is too much for the character, and his internal conflict becomes his undoing. In 2002, Andrew Lau directed the massively popular Infernal Affairs, which starred Hong Kong's biggest names and was remade by Martin Scorsese in 2006 as The Departed, which garnered him an Academy Award and also starred some of America's biggest actors. Watching both in close proximity, either film reveals the strengths and weaknesses of the other. Neither Infernal Affairs nor The Departed is particularly compelling. There were more interesting films to come with this new archetype, deeper and more complex situations into which the undercover cop is truly torn.

While Andrew Lau would direct two more Infernal Affairs sequels and produce cash-ins made in their wake, such as Billy Chung Siu-Hung's Undercover (2007), it would be Herman Yau who would make a truly notable contribution to the genre with his On the Edge (2006). The film took as its premise the cop previously in deep cover now exposed: how would his life turn out, if he donned the police uniform again and played just the one side? Nick Cheung gives a memorable performance as the officer, supported by equally strong performances by Anthony Wong Chau-Sang and Francis Ng (with a smart script and assured direction from Yau). Yau's back at it again with Laughing Gor-Turning Point (2009), taking the undercover cop theme as deep as it gets.

With few frames, Yau sets his exposition. Lit behind a sliding window, a silhouette makes a call to the police, speaking of an "operation" and begging for, this time, a "signal." The police rush out of the station in two units, one being led by Officer Xian (Yuen Biao). Cut to the club, and amidst the flashing lights, sits flamboyant, mohawked Brother One (Anthony Wong), who gets a nudge from one of his numerous ladies and then hits the streets. The police are trailing Wong's Brother One, who constantly changes his final destination, sending his driver erratically all over Hong Kong to allude the police. In the confusion, the police vehicles get into an accident. Officer Xian is seriously injured and his unit out. The second unit heads to intercept Wong's operation. At a local dock, the Triads are unloading drugs, cigarettes, and other contraband. Brother Laughing (Michael Tse), accompanies Wong at the crime scene, and the police arrive. Tse's Laughing attempts to flee but injures his leg. The police nab him, and as he is violently being interrogated by the cops, Brother One, Master Ford (Eric Tsang), and Zatoi (Francis Ng), the three Triad heads, are meeting to discuss Laughing's fate.

A complex web of relationships is weaved. It is not a spoiler to reveal that Tse's Laughing is the mole. It would be a spoiler, however, to reveal which side, Triad or cop, as to where his allegiance lies (if either). It is not a spoiler to reveal that Wong's Brother One and Ng's Zatoi do not like each other, as Yau's initial scene with the two reveals, cleverly. With one frame, Yau creates the power relationship as the three are sitting at a table with Master Ford at the head, and Wong and Ng sitting across from each other. During this same scene, Master Ford reveals that Wong's Brother One was once a cop now completely a Triad (and accepted fully by the organization). It is also revealed during this same scene that it was Wong who brought Tse's Laughing into the organization. Brother One and Laughing have an interesting history which is shown in flashbacks throughout Turning Point. Michael Tse's character as the undercover cop and his development as a Triad/cop is the focus, buttressed strongly by an external struggle involving Brother One and Zatoi with the police having a strong influence. The story is extremely well-written as each subsequent scene plays out unexpectedly. There are a few overly-melodramatic scenes which are now staples of this genre, such as Tse pouring his heart out more than once that this "life" is killing him.

Yau continues his impressive visuals and action sequences. In one particular scene, very early, Tse's Laughing is discovered at a hideout. As he makes his escape, Yau virtually forgoes any showing of combat. Through a rising tension, such as Laughing picking up a cleaver before opening an unknown door, and some clever edits, such as Laughing calmly encountering a patrolling policeman, Tse makes his escape. Michael Tse gives an excellent performance, yet it's the veteran actors, Wong and Ng, who are the highlight. Outwardly, Wong plays one of his most outrageous and flamboyant characters yet, with a mohawk, sometimes wearing a shawl or boa or even lipstick. Inwardly, however, his character is extremely complex whose intensity is only revealed in his quiet moments. In a seemingly innocuous scene, Brother One details the evening plans to his ladies while riding in the car. With a veteran actor's timing, Wong's delivery of his lines creates a powerful tension and revelation. Ng's Zatoi is initially a mysterious character but as the film plays out, he also hides a strong internal conflict with very strong conflicting loves (from which a brilliant scene comes from Ng.)

The cultural genesis and some facts about the production are included here which also serves as a link for purchase.

Herman Yau's Walk In (1997)

Wai (Chien-lien Wu) is atop a large building and poised to jump. Police officer, Tommy (Chi Wah Wong) and his colleague and fiance, Laura (Li Yu) arrive to talk her down; yet Wai is adamant, because she has a plan: after her death, another spirit will "walk in" to her body, and Wai is very cool with that idea. Wai takes the plunge and smacks the concrete. To everyone's surprise, she eventually stands right back up. Meanwhile, Lo Bill (Yeung Ming Wan) and his cronies are waiting for Chicken (Danny Lee), who's going to be the wheelman for their next robbery. Chicken is an excellent driver but a stuttering buffoon with whom Lo Bill and his stooges are reluctantly working. The next morning, Lo Bill and his buttheads raid a crime syndicate's office and nab the loot. A bloody shootout ensues during the course of the robbery, and outside, officer Tommy is ticketing cowering Chicken. Lo Bill blasts a few cops on the way out of the crime scene and jumps in the getaway car. He pumps some bullets in Chicken's chest, since, hey you're kind of worthless, anyway, and violently hits Tommy with his car as he speeds off. Chicken and Tommy survive: Chicken's in a coma and a vegetative state, while Tommy's now a paraplegic. Perhaps another "walk-in" is in order?

Despite the seriousness of tone and bloody violence of the initial exposition of Herman Yau's Walk In (1997), this film is very much a comedy. Since Walk In is also helmed by Herman Yau, it is also irreverent, unique, and a little dark. Pretty jumper Wai, possessed by her new "walk in" spirit, is now a local self-help guru. Her advice is often obvious and direct, such as "you're fat, eat less." Laura comes to Wai to help Tommy, who feels life is not worth living anymore since he's lost the use of his body below the waist. Wai tells him to accept the situation and move on but perhaps feeling a kinship because of the rooftop incident, she tells Tommy about how to "walk in" to another body. Tommy approaches comatose Chicken and promises for use of his body, he will avenge Chicken against the people who harmed him. Tommy also promises not to touch any of Chicken's women, and if he does, he hopes to prematurely ejaculate at the first naughty thought. Chicken agrees, and Tommy with help from Laura, drives a car off of a cliff and dies. Let the shenanigans ensue.

Immediately, at Tommy's funeral and in his new body, Tommy wants to have sex with Laura. In the most romantic place, the bathroom at the mortuary, Laura cannot get into the mood: Chicken's face is a little much for Laura, and she needs some time to get used to it. Tommy is also learning that Chicken was pretty low for a human being: he's racked up debts all over his small village outside Hong Kong and has two mistresses, one pregnant. In addition, Chicken has treated his very plain-looking wife poorly, both financially and emotionally, and has an estranged relationship with his very beautiful sister, May (Ada Choi). The new Chicken is now forthright and righteous: he lines up everyone and starts paying his debts off; Chicken gathers his mother, his wife, two mistresses, and May for many a sit-down to adequately sort out their relationships; and virtually starting from scratch, he begins to gather clues about Chicken's attacker. However, Tommy's relationship with Laura is seriously suffering.

Some best scenes in Walk In involve Lee's Chicken and Choi's May. Of the six women who occupy both Tommy's and Chicken's "dual" life, May is the most enamored with the hybrid man. She learns of Tommy's body/soul switching with Chicken and becomes quite attracted to the new man. It doesn't help that May is also affectionate: more than once, she hops on to Chicken for a tight hug or a cat-like brushing up against his body. Danny Lee's character gives a ridiculously orgasmic face only to have to take a quick trip to the bathroom to clean up. "May, we can't have an affair," says Chicken/Tommy. "That's all right," says May. "Although it's my brother's body, I'm in love with the man inside." Despite his oath of premature ejaculation to Chicken, Tommy puts his foot in his mouth later when he promises to Chicken to be more diligent in his pursuit of his attacker: Tommy promises that if Laura touches him, he will prematurely ejaculate, as well. Soon after that promise, Laura warms up to Tommy's new body to Tommy's discontent. The low-brow sexual humor and the usually taboo theme of incest is creatively rendered, due in part to the performances by all of the participants and a well-timed and unique script. I love how Yau and company emphasize seemingly the most unsettling themes of the story by injecting them with the most ridiculous humor.

Tommy does find out the identity of Chicken's assailant, and Yau bookends Walk In with two fantastic action sequences. Herman Yau must have been born with low-budget exploitation in his DNA, because he executes it very well. The shootout at the beginning and the confrontation at the end is rendered with a lot more detail and nuance than expected. The editing is tight; the camerawork is tops; and the on-screen action is amazingly exciting. The final confrontation also involves a very dangerous-looking chase: two double-decker buses through the streets, colliding at times and going against traffic. The stunts are expertly executed, and I wouldn't be surprised if any of the stunt people injured themselves more than once. Often a ninety-minute or so low-budget exploitation movie offers little, yet Yau often offers packed ones. Rarely conservative, Yau goes where his contemporaries do not, and quite often, I'm the one who is rewarded. With Walk In, Yau impresses me again.

Herman Yau's The Untold Story III (1999)

Herman Yau's The Untold Story III (1999) is the third in a series, no doubt cashing in on its infamous original and Category III classic, Yau's The Untold Story (1993). Although the original's director, producer, Danny Lee (who also stars in both as Inspector Lee), and writer (Kam Fai Law) return, there is little linking The Untold Story III to its previous films. The title card of The Untold Story III reveals the film is allegedly based upon an actual event: a murder committed by four young men, who were later convicted in Hong Kong for the crime despite the absence of any physical evidence or witnesses. The only police proof offered into evidence were the young men's confessions.
At the local police station, a young woman (Emily Kwan) enters, where two smiling idiot cops sit behind the counter. She complains that her brother, Ma (Ken Lo) has been missing for four weeks. She returns to the police station three days later after having a nightmare where the ghostly visage of her brother appeared and told her to go looking for Man. The sister reports her nightmare to the police (who think the woman is a little crazy by now). A few days later after consulting her father, Lo Lieh in one of his final performances, the sister believes her brother must have been kidnapped. During her final complaint at the police station, the cops listen to her story. Inspector Lee (Danny Lee) is assigned to the case. After a botched ransom sting, the police visit Ma's home where they discover a ledger, revealing a list of names and money lent and owed. So Ma was a loan shark. The police begin questioning the names in the ledger about the debts. One young man, looking tired and defeated, Man (Sam Lee), admits to owing money to Ma and also admits to killing him with three accomplices, Lui (Alex Lam), Hau (Samuel Leung), and Cheng. The police nab Lui and Hau and begin to piece together their case by collecting evidence; however, there is none to be found...On paper, The Untold Story III reads as a compelling police procedural, including the recreation of the crime leading to the trial. However viewer, that ain't what you're going to get. The film's irreverent director is one of Hong Kong's most creative and interesting working, while its producer, Lee, and writer, Law, bring back the disturbing and bizarre hybrid tone of the horrific and the humorous of the original Untold Story. The end result is The Untold Story III being compellingly watchable and intriguing, if just alone for its imaginative execution. The sequences vary in the extreme in tone: from slapstick comedic to very dark and intense, sometimes very close in proximity. One of the most disturbing aspects of the original Untold Story was the juxtaposition of ridiculous and nonsensical comical scenes (often with Danny Lee) with scenes of dark and sinister violence (with Anthony Wong). Like Wes Craven's The Last House on the Left (1972), the comedic scenes don't balance the film's horrific scenes, creating a more easy-going experience for the viewer; rather, the inclusion of the sometimes very light comedy made The Untold Story even more disturbing with its drastic shift in tone during scenes. The Untold Story III doesn't match its original in terms of violence (it's Category II, like a "hard" R-rating), but there are multiple shifts in tone to accompany its multiplicity of treatments: the scenes go from slapstick comedic, to dramatic, to horrific (both supernatural and real-life), often changing tones within the scenes. The first time the viewer sees the four young men, they are wandering the streets in a daze, almost zombie-like. They are looking for a new apartment or looking to buy paper offerings to burn for Ma. Apparently after the murder, none could sleep or eat. Yau doesn't show many supernatural scenes but just their effects on the alleged perpetrators: the viewer can't tell if its paranoia or guilt or Ma's ghost which is plaguing them. Sleep deprivation and hunger leads the four into psychosis, so as their fear builds they actually start believing in the hallucinations that they start seeing. The four spent the money that they borrowed from Ma on partying, and these scenes are laughably bad and fun. They look like bad pop-music videos or teenage clothes commercials, accompanied by the most vapid imagery in dance clubs and in the street. The even weirder sequences follow in the events of the evening after the murder, as the four go to play Mah-jong or shoot pool ("We needed to relax," says Hau). When one of the four has a perfect hand in Mah-jong, they take it as a bad omen and split. Danny Lee's Inspector Lee was a ladies' man in the original Untold Story, and his scenes often involved him sashaying into the police station with a lady under each arm. In this film, Lee's character is dressed like a Japanese high-school student with a jarring affectation, a Sherlock Holmes-ish pipe. In one scene, during the police confessions, Lee is summoned from a party and he arrives wearing a ship captain's outfit, as if he just disembarked The Love Boat. It's completely nonsensical, and perhaps the humor is an intentional commentary on the crime: it's almost mind-boggling that four could be convicted of a crime absent any direct evidence, let alone proof of the corpse. The police are often depicted as inept and misguided, as in the opening scene with Ma's sister, and even their investigation is far-fetched and ridiculous. For example, the four admit to dismembering the body and dumping it in the trash. The police can only speculate that the body is in a local landfill; and their solution is to spend millions of taxpayer dollars to comb the landfill, perhaps for months, to find the body. Of course, in a unintentionally humorous sequence with Lee, the prosecutor finds this idea, and the whole "case," ludicrous. Danny Lee is perhaps best known to Western Asian cult film fans for his role as the police officer who becomes Yun-fat Chow's reluctant ally in John Woo's The Killer (1989). In the 1990s, Lee produced (and often starred as a police officer) in some truly nasty Category III productions, such as Billy Tang's Dr. Lamb (1992) with Simon Yam, The Untold Story, Parkman Wong's Portrait of a Serial Rapist (1994) and Shoot to Kill (1994). Lee is just as infamous as Yau and Billy Tang in the 90s HK Category III scene as anyone else. His performance in the film is just bizarre: there is no adequate way to describe it, as if Inspector Lee doesn't seem to flow from logic and deduction, but....somewhere else. Sam Lee is a great actor and has appeared in numerous films. He can perform comedy as well as any other young actor and can play intense just as well (see Wilson Yip's Bio-Zombie (1998) and Pou-Soi Cheang's Dog Bite Dog (2006), respectively). Sam Lee is called upon by Yau to perform at both ends of the spectrum here and he succeeds very well. This is one of the last performances by the Shaw Brothers' greatest cinematic villian, the charismatic Lo Lieh, and he shines in his few scenes. Herman Yau, as I've stated on this blog before, makes exciting cinema, period. When Yau is nontraditional, which is often, he is without equal. The scene in The Untold Story III where the four plan and practice the murder of Ma is brilliant. I could watch it over and over. Yau owns low-budget cinema, primarily because of his imagination and his innovative visual style and risk-taking. The Untold Story III is so bizarre and unusual that it feels original and unexpected. When film makers can accomplish this feeling, they have earned a fan, here, for life.

Herman Yau's Gong Tau (2007)

Four different opening visual sequences at the beginning:

1. Black and white credit sequences intercut between:

2. A sexy nude woman doing a seductive dance for an unknown onlooker.

3. An intruder in a home, shot partially from the intruder's p.o.v., who disturbingly looks in upon a sleeping baby and then upon a sleeping adult.

4. The beautiful and ominous image of rain at night with a police officer descending the stairs with a title card which reads "Seven Days Later."

These are:

1. Eerie foreshadowing of the visceral and atmospheric horror to come, both disturbing and compelling;

2. A primer of the themes of HK Category III films;

3. The beginning of Gong Tau (2007) by Herman Yau, one of HK's most exciting film makers; and

4. All of the above.

Gong Tau is Chinese black magic. Here we go:

At the police station, Fat Wah is being interrogated by officer Rockman Cheung (Mark Cheng) about a criminal from Malaysia named Lam Chiu (Tak-bun Wong), who thirteen years previously, Cheung shot and arrested for bank robbery. Lam Chiu was released a year ago after a twelve-year sentence, and the police think that Lam Chiu is currently up to no good. Lam Chiu could be pissed about Cheung's shooting him: Lam Chiu's injury left him without the ability to feel physical pain. Cheung gets a cell-phone call from his frantic wife, while Cheung's superior, Sum (Suet Lam) is about to spring Fat Wah for lack of evidence. Cheung's wife is afraid of being alone in the rain, while their newborn baby sleeps in his crib. Cheung should go home, but Sum says that it's Uncle Bill's last night on the job. He's currently standing in the rain, on patrol, at a call box, while Sum and the fellas at the police station have him on speaker phone. Quick cuts show disturbing imagery of chanting and altar-worshipping. Cheung's wife becomes overcome by pain; his baby dies; and Uncle Bill meets an hooded stranger in the rain. Sum and company hear gunshots from Uncle Bill's end of the cell phone. Bill's found strung up in a tree, and Cheung goes home to find his wife in hysterics and an extreme amount of pain and his child dead. Cheung thinks the cop-killing is the work of Lam Chiu, and while Sum doesn't disagree with him, Sum also believes the child murder is the work of black magic. Cheung's wife, Karpi (Maggie Siu) is hexed, and Lam Chiu is targeting Cheung in an act of revenge.This is the initial set up for Gong Tau, and for the viewer who is willing to go further, an exciting thriller plays out with truly horrific and unexpected elements. Be forewarned: the act of infanticide is truly disturbing and is not hidden away from the camera. About every bodily fluid produced by the human body is released, spilled, and cooked and rendered in Gong Tau, and at times, the imagery is truly repellent. However, Gong Tau is an amazingly well-scripted thriller also which is as compelling to watch as it is, at times, disturbingly repellent. The visuals are often brilliant, as well as the pacing and performances. Cheung is a character torn: his wife needs him both emotionally and physically but his anger is propelling him towards finding the killer. Sum puts his hand on his shoulder at the window in a fraternal quiet scene at the police station. Sum begins to tell Cheung about the Gong Tau, and then BAM! a cop comes from atop the stairs and says Lam Chiu is on the phone asking for Cheung. With a nifty audio cue and quick camera follow up the stairs, within seconds Yau changes the tone and ups the excitement. Not only is Cheung's character torn emotionally, it is later revealed that he has quite the interesting recent past. This revelation moves the film in an entirely different direction and was unexpected and quite welcomed.Yau's talent visually is apparent. Still in demand as a cinematographer for others' productions (for example, Dennis Law's Fatal Contact (2006) and Fatal Move (2008), who also executive-produced, here), Yau demonstrates with Gong Tau his mastery of the use of light and dark, effectively at the foreshadowing at the beginning and in the very intense final act. The lighting is so well-done in Gong Tau that it looks as if Yau pointed at the shadows and said, "You sit there," and to the light, "You stay there." His camera movement appropriately captures the emotion of a scene: true visual storytelling. When the goings on in Gong Tau are quiet, I was never prepared for any of the shifts in tone and was literally at the edge of my seat. Finally, there are some scenes that I can't describe why they are so effective. One scene stands out: a drug deal of two men both in hoodies. What the two are dealing ain't the typical street ones (at least not on my block). The hoodies are common attire, but the overwhelming feeling of the exchange is extremely creepy. Superficially, it's just two guys talking in a dark alley in a static shot: I don't know, but maybe, Yau's got his own visual mojo working.Maggie Siu is really vulnerable as Cheung's wife, Karpi: her character has to experience the majority of the terror and also bear the strongest pain and emotions. In a fantastic scene with Cheng, the two parents let their emotions out about the death of their child. It's raw and genuine and it's a scene which takes Gong Tau completely out of the sensational and exploitative arena. Johnnie To-regular, Suet Lam is one of the best actors working in Hong Kong today: Lam has a true command of the entire dramatic range of emotions and is entirely charismatic on screen. He's phenomenal. Tak-bun Wong's performance as Lam Chiu deserves praise as well: his character is appropriately sleazy but has some real depth as well.Once again, with Gong Tau, Herman Yau proves he's one of the most talented working in Hong Kong today. No matter what the subject matter or the budget, Yau cannot hide his talent, and I'll be damned if his films aren't exciting.

Herman Yau's The First Seventh Night (2009)

Herman Yau is best known to Westerners for his Category III (restricted rating in Hong Kong) classics, The Untold Story (1993) and The Ebola Syndrome (1996). Both star one of Hong Kong's best actors, Anthony Wong, who won a Hong Kong Film Award for his role in the former; and also both were extremely horrific and sick and compellingly watchable. Subsequent to Ebola, Yau would turn from the visceral to the supernatural and deliver his anthology ghost film, starring a young Louis Koo, Troublesome Night (1997). He would helm the series' next five sequels over a period of a couple of years (the Troublesome Night series would reach nearly twenty sequels). In 2006, Yau made Cocktail, a love story set in a bar, populated by semi-tragic, love-worn-and-torn characters, and highly-influenced by Wong Kar-wai. Wong Kar-wai might have influenced Yau, thematically, but WKW really woke up Yau creatively and created a film maker just as important to current Hong Kong cinema, as WKW, Edmond Pang, Johnnie To, or Tsui Hark, for example. Lethal Ninja (2006) followed Cocktail and it is a coup d'etat of B-cinema, for its boldness of ninja hijinx, ridiculously wonderful characters and plot, and ninety minutes or so of pure movie-going bliss. Yau's darker On the Edge (2006) follows, and his streak continues, as it is the best of the post-Infernal Affairs (2002) wannabes, even surpassing the original in creativity and intensity, with stellar performances by Nick Cheung and Anthony Wong. A Mob Story (2007) would come and become a Yau favorite of mine, as a surreal love triangle combined with hatchets to the face and the introduction of a character named "Goblin." This is just a sampling of Yau's diverse filmography and while his output is inconsistent both thematically and qualitatively, Herman Yau is a major talent. I've never held consistency as shining attribute of an artist, as I believe the artist should take risks: stand or fall on his/her own two feet.

Yau's latest, The First Seventh Night(2009) is about a taxi driver, whose nickname is "Mapking," who is world-worn and traveled (knows the streets better than anyone). He lives out of his taxi, as the opening shots of the film quietly show Mapking (Gordon Lam) changing clothes from the trunk of his taxi, bathing, and cooking dinner at the front of the grill of his car. He's hanging out with the rest of the cabbies on a late-night shift waiting for fares. Over the radio, another cabbie calls in. He needs a taker for a fare: a trucker must be led into the Sun and Moon village. Double the fare plus a few thousand over. None of the cabbies know the location but Mapking. He offers to give directions but with an upped sum for a fare and some badgering, Mapking reluctantly agrees to escort the truck into the village. The trucker and Mapking begin talking on the CB to pass the time. Mapking tells a story that happened at a hotel in the village, run by pretty young Fong (Michelle Ye) and her child Long. Fong is raising her boy all by herself and running the inn and she's tired and down. The hotel doesn't get many visitors, but during the evening, a group of thugs arrive, fresh from a heist. They decide to stay for the evening, and ask Fong to go and cook for them. Fong puts up with their shenanigans--their drinking, loud mouths, and constant demanding. She takes her son upstairs and attempts to rest. One of the thugs steals away from the group and rapes her. The thug comes downstairs and plays cards with the group, saying nothing. Fong and Long quietly later come downstairs and begin to light candles in the shape of a trail. Seven days ago, Fong's husband died, and on the seventh night, his ghost returns. Don't look, says one scared thug, just let them have their greetings, share some hugs, and go away. None of you offended the lady or her husband, did you? The violence comes fast and furious in the form of supernatural gun play, and it's quite bloody, enough to earn its Category III rating. The story of the incident at the inn is pivotal to the film, and what follows after Mapking's telling of the tale is the remaining two-thirds of the film. After Yau's Chaos (2008), I was curious to see Yau's return to the genre at a very low-budget. He succeeds. The First Seventh Night hangs on the nighttime: the scenes with Mapking and the trucker are extremely intriguing, as both characters (with equally strong performances) are hiding something deep within them (of course, later revealed). The use of nighttime scenes only darkens the secrets, ups the tension, and links the present narrative with the story at the inn from the past. The inn sequences are well-done. The inn looks extremely genuine and authentic, from Fong's cooking area to the broken telephone to the candlelight reflected from Fong's vanity mirror. The tension is inherent in the dark atmosphere and it flows fluidly through the story of Fong's visit from the thugs. A low-budget has never been a deterrent for Yau: his visuals are often creative; however, Yau's screenplays, when they are lacking, are often the low point of his work. Not this time. Yau co-scripts a tight thriller with some horrific violence. The dialogue is rich and charged, also terse and focused. All of the performances are tops, not least of all Lam and Ye. The First Seventh Night is creative low-budget filmmaking from a real artist and craftsman. Everyone should be watching what Yau does. It's often exciting.