Beautiful Blood on Your
Lip
Successors to GWG
Reviews
“Intruder” (1997)
In a bold characterization that diverges from
typical leading roles, Wu Chien-lien plays “Yan”, a relentless killer from
the Mainland whose single shred of remaining compassion is enough to thwart
her larger purpose but is insufficient to save her victims. Most
of the action takes place in isolated, poorly illuminated residences that
turn into death traps for their marginal, reclusive occupants. “Yan”
preys on the vulnerable for their identity papers, ruthlessly ingratiating
herself in order to confirm the absence of relatives who might interfere.
After killing a sex worker in Shenzhen, “Yan”
assumes her identity to enter Hong Kong. There she targets “Chen
Chi-min” (Lai Yiu-Cheung), a cab driver who lives alone. After running
him down with a car in order to break his legs and cripple him, “Yan” mounts
a home invasion and physically immobilizes “Chen” with cling film and packing
tape – turning him into a human cocoon whose ghastly purpose is ultimately
to use his finger prints for official documents. “Yan” kills “Chen’s”
dog and mother, then dismembers the bodies, stuffs them in garbage bags
and burns them. She then contacts her husband – another murderer
– so that he, a double amputee, can use “Chen’s” body parts to obtain a
valid identity card. The execution of this ghoulish act is both creative
and unsparing.
Wu delivers a powerful performance of near-sociopathic
indifference to the fate of others, snapping her gum as she calmly contrives
a house of horror. As in “Beyond Hypothermia,” her character intrudes
on personal space with disturbing suddenness – an enigma whose sardonic
contemplation of her victims conceals both implacable purpose and a desperate
bid to stay one step ahead of what she has committed. Wu’s subtle
performance and Tsang Kan-Cheung’s writing and direction craft a low-key
monster in “Yan” who occupies a frighteningly empty moral space.
The narrative’s dismal mood is strengthened by extensive filming at night
and pervasive rainfall.
As an unregenerate criminal, “Yan” is clearly
a subversive figure. Beyond the implications of “Yan’s” role, “Intruder”
also destabilizes notions of male power, the security of home and family,
and predictability of social behavior. Perhaps most disturbing of
all, “Yan” survives to renew her quest for official documentation that
will allow her to disappear into the host community. The lack of
a recuperative resolution marks “Intruder” as a troubling narrative in
which even the sympathy attached to justifiable vengeance is withheld from
the viewer.
“Enter the Eagles” (1998)
From “Yes, Madam” (1985) to “So Close” (2002),
the female protagonists of Corey Yuen’s GWG action films have transformed
rivalry to unexpected common cause in the face of shared adversity.
“Enter the Eagles” adds elements of the women’s friendship film to an otherwise
attractive but formulaic actioner. Tension between the brittle “Mandy”
(Shannon Lee) and Anita Yuen’s abrasive “Lucy” establishes the context
in which caring gestures and eventual partnership emerge as a natural resolution.
As was the case with Joyce Godenzi’s casting in
a previous Corey Yuen title “She Shoots Straight” (1990), Eurasians (Shannon
Lee and Michael Wong) are foregrounded in “Enter the Eagles.” Set
in the Czech Republic, the film offers a cheerful mélange of cultures
and languages. “Marty” (Michael Wong) organizes a jewel heist in
the face of competition – and comic relief – from “Tommy” (Jordan Chan)
and his partner “Lucy,” as well as threats by rival gang leader “Karloff”
(Benny “The Jet” Urquidez).
Urquidez and his real-life student Shannon Lee
shine in the martial arts finale, which is performed with bone-jarring
intensity and real conviction. “Enter the Eagles” may be one of the
final HK contemporary action films to foreground the performance skill
of martial artists without elaborate fight special effects. This
yields performances reminiscent of the best traditions of martial arts
films. Urquidez is older but dangerously lithe and aggressive, while
Lee obliges with an occasional glimpse of the fire and arrogance of her
father.
When “Lucy” is taken hostage by “Marty’s” gang
as insurance for return of a stolen gem, “Mandy” emerges as her unlikely
protector. This is grounded on “Lucy’s” inability to walk away from
“woman abuse” of “Mandy” at the hands of one of “Karloff’s” European henchmen.
The posturing and gunplay evolve into a full-fledged assault on a Prague
police station. After her partner “Tommy” is killed while acting
as a human shield, the stage is set for “Lucy” to join forces with “Mandy”
in a classic guns-and-fists finale that takes the battle to “Karloff” and
his gang.
The lighter-than-air premise of much of the narrative
– another Corey Yuen trademark – finds metaphoric expression in absurd
scenes during a helicopter rescue and climactic combat aboard a dirigible
in flight. However, the film hits all the required genre notes in
satisfactory fashion, while all weaknesses are excused by excellent, back-to-basics
fight choreography and crisp action direction.
“Nude Fear” (1998)
“Nude Fear,” directed by Mak Siu Fai, bears
narrative resemblance to Kathryn Bigelow’s police drama “Blue Steel.”
Both films position competent female law enforcement officers at their
central narrative axis. Both films make them the focus of their colleagues’
resentment and desire, and both achieve dramatic tension via the stalking
and assault of vicious serial killers. Feminist analysis of Bigelow’s
film has made ambivalent note of the fetishistic prominence of weapon symbolism,
the collateral sexual liaison and sexual assault of the central character,
prominent role-defining references to personal relationship status, and
“Final Girl” connotations associated with Jamie Lee Curtis’ casting.
Although Kathy Chow has certainly appeared in roles akin to Clover’s prototypic
Final Girl (e.g., “Insanity,” 1993), there are key differences in how her
character “Joyce” is portrayed that mark “Nude Fear” as a work that rises
above the limiting, patriarchal conventions of typical police dramas.
The murder of “Joyce’s” mother is a backstory,
but it ties the killer – rather than “Joyce” – to the patriarchal order.
“Joyce” is also a college-educated professional who clearly wields considerable
authority. Furthermore, two of her male superiors are involved in
serious sexual crimes against women – and it is her investigation that
uncovers them. Placement of these sexual criminals at the heart of
the police power structure undermines patriarchal authority, as does “Joyce’s”
numerous assertive responses to the gratuitous insults to which she is
exposed. Another critical difference concerns the nature of the central
character’s sexual liaison. Whereas “Blue Steel” positioned Curtis’
police officer as a desirable figure to be courted, seduced or assaulted,
Chow’s character in “Nude Fear” actively selects her partner. That
her choice is deeply flawed only enriches her character. It is nevertheless
her choice to make. The final violent denouement of “Nude Fear” does
not recuperate familiar conventions of retaliation. Its low-speed,
chaotic resolution is all-too human. When “Joyce” at last takes a
shot – the pistol’s not cocked!
The film opens with a defining event in “Joyce’s”
life, the discovery of her mother’s body during her early childhood.
After fast-forwarding 20 years, “Joyce” is now a police homicide investigator.
While investigating a crime scene almost identical to the murder of her
own mother, “Joyce” slowly becomes aware that she is, in fact, the hunted
as well as the hunter in a deadly game of deceit and cunning. The
film leads the viewer astray as the actual killer (played by Tse Kwan-Ho)
gives up an accomplice (Sam Lee) and a female slave abducted as a child.
As “Joyce” attempts to rehabilitate her and track down her parents she
recognizes too late that the young woman has been brainwashed and remains
under the control of the killer. The unseen killer cuts down “Joyce’s”
police team, and eventually captures her. She awakes from being drugged,
bound to a chair in the very apartment where her mother was murdered.
Tse Kwan-Ho’s performance as the killer is especially
chilling. He manages to convey both warmth and menace within a single scene.
His soliloquy on the evils of choice and his corresponding attempt to engineer
robotic obedience in his female abductees is an intelligent exposition
of utterly sadistic disregard for anyone’s needs but his own. As
he begins to kill his female captives while forcing “Joyce” to watch, she
screams defiant invective (“I want to whip your corpse”), and proceeds
to create the necessary opportunity. The finale is Chow at her sweaty,
wild-eyed best – a desperately grim avenger far removed from the cool business-suited
professional who had been the object of so many fantasies.
