Naming any picture Once Upon a Time… already adds a mythic layer to the proceedings. It’s how many fairy tales begin, an indicator that this story will be taking us back to a time and place long ago. Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino understood this notion when naming their Once Upon a Time movies. Sergio Leone wanted to evoke legend so badly that he did it twice, in two very different milieu. It is also a fitting title for a series of films from Hong Kong’s golden age of cinema that made Jet Li an international star and brought martial arts films to a new level of balletic glory for cinema fans.
Born in Saigon in 1950 to a Chinese family, Tsui Hark began making films at a young age, filming a magic show with a borrowed 8mm camera when he was 10. Growing up on a diet of movies and comic books, Tsui and his family moved to Hong Kong when he was 13. After studying film in the United States and working for a spell in New York City, Tsui returned to Hong Kong in the late ‘70s and made a handful of genre films. During this period, the Hong Kong film industry burgeoned and Tsui was grouped into what is known as Hong Kong’s New Wave, along with other exciting young directors such as Ann Hui, Allen Fong and Patrick Tam, who would become a mentor for Wong Kar-wai.
Throughout the ‘80s, Tsui would return to wuxia films, or martial arts movies that take place in ancient China. But Tsui was forward-thinking, importing special effects experts who worked on Star Wars to help him create Zu Warriors from the Magic Mountain (1983). In the following year, Tsui co-founded the production company, Film Workshop, helping give birth to some of the most notable films to come out of Hong Kong in years, including John Woo’s A Better Tomorrow (1986) and Ching Siu-tung’s A Chinese Ghost Story (1987). Tsui would earn the nickname, “Steven Spielberg of Asia” for imbuing the films he directed or produced with the same sort of wunderkind energy his namesake sunk into his projects. The films that Tsui had a hand in performed quite well at the box office in Hong Kong and drew notice from international fans.
Tsui’s most lasting creation is Once Upon a Time in China (1991), the first of six films that chronicle the story of Wong Fei-hung, a 19th century kung fu master who also operated an apothecary. Wong’s story had been filmed multiple times before in a series by Wu Pang that ran for more than 20 years, but Tsui’s updated version hit the box office at just the right time.
Once Upon a Time in China not only birthed modern kung fu but also brought Jet Li to fame. A former wushu champion, Li had left behind a career in professional martial arts while a teenager and decided to act. Unlike the more comedic Jackie Chan, who made a name with his death-defying stunts, Li brought sangfroid and poise to his role as Wong. There is a lot to laugh at in Once Upon a Time in China but not Li, who imbues his character with grace, toughness and poise.
Bringing on Li also completely recast the character of Wong. Previously played more than 80 times by Kwan Tak-hing, Wong had traditionally been an older sage, the type of character given to speechifying just as much as throwing a punch. By making Wong a younger man, Tsui gave the character a modern burnish that cinema fans appreciated, breathing new life into a character done to death in a certain mode.
Once Upon a Time in China also serves as a sly nationalist cry for the Chinese. Set in the late 19th century, Wong and his friends must stave off Western invaders as American and British interests threaten to upend traditional life in China. There is a good deal of commentary about how kung fu is no good against guns. There is also the romantic tension between Wong and his 13th Aunt (Rosamund Kwan), a woman who dresses in Western clothing and enjoys technological marvels such as a camera. Wong finds himself not only fighting off a nefarious plan to whisk women away to serve as comfort slaves to Chinese workers in America, but also to maintain his way of life as his Chinese friends succumb to the lure of Western convenience.
Historical context aside, the true draw here is Li and the endlessly inventive martial arts scenes. Working with the best choreographers, Tsui employed experts from multiple schools of action choreography to craft the numerous set pieces in Once Upon a Time in China. There are street fights, fights under a storm of fiery arrows and one show-stopping sequence that sees Wong fight against master Iron Vest Yim (Yen Shi-kwan) in a warehouse filled with ladders that is breath-taking in scope.
Unlike more modern martial arts films such as the Li-starring Hero or House of the Flying Daggers, Once Upon a Time in China never takes itself too seriously. There are plenty of sophomoric jokes that add a winky piss-take to anything that feels too self-important. This is a movie made with no CGI. It’s pure movie magic. Even 30 years later, Tsui’s Once Upon a Time in China still possesses the power to awe, to make us believe in the power and magic of the movies.
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