By Jeremy Carr.

An excellent primer for those new to the genre and a satisfyingly novel entry for its more seasoned fans.”

To anyone even somewhat familiar with the martial arts films that came out of Hong Kong prior to and following 1980, critic Andrew Heskins’ observation that The Sword is a “reset” for the genre (as opposed to being singularly “revolutionary”) is, as evinced throughout the picture, spot on. Recently released on Blu-ray by Eureka Entertainment, this feature film debut from director Patrick Tam is both an exemplary assembly of wuxia standards to that point in its history, and an innovative, roundly entertaining portent of things to come.

From Golden Harvest Productions, which was riding high on the fame of Bruce Lee and was by 1980 largely surpassing the Shaw Brothers as the primary purveyor of Hong Kong cinema, The Sword is a compact, composite tale of vengeance and ambition, with swordsman Lee Mak-yin (Adam Cheung) at the core of a love triangle and a dual (and dueling) pursuit of martial arts mastery. Before his introduction, however, a pre-credit prologue presents what will, in part, drive Mak-yin: the so-called Harmonious Sword, which, as a swordsmith tells the legendary Fa Chin-shu (Tien Feng), is “strange” and “extremely evil,” bringing calamity to whoever retains it. Burdened by this ill-fated omen, Chin-shu retreats to a life of seclusion, lest his peculiar possession live up its reputation.

Enter Mak-yin, who seeks out the great Chin-shu so that he can challenge the master and prove his comparative worth. Along the way, he encounters and rescues a young woman named Fa Ying-chi (played by Jade Hsu and later revealed to be Fa Chin-shu’s daughter), then reunites with Yin Siu-yu (Chi-Chi Chan), a childhood sweetheart now married to the cruel Lin Wan (Norman Chui), who harbors his own dubious motivations. Bringing into the picture the final key player, Mak-yin is later nursed back to health, following a bout with one of Lin Wan’s bodyguards, by Yuen Gei (Bonnie Ngai), who, as it turns out, is also acquainted with Chin-shu and his infamous blade. Coincidences, conflicting desires, and misunderstandings dramatically entwine all involved, with tragic, indeed fatal, results that seem to validate the myth that surrounds the cursed sword.

The opening warning about the Harmonious Sword’s “ominous” quality imbues The Sword with a correspondingly portentous tenor that is reinforced by the mysterious interactions of those encountered early on and heightened by the synthesizer score of Joseph Koo, which gives the picture a borderline horror tinge. Likewise, the cinematography by Bill Wong, rich and radiant in its day-time colors, is laden with shades of dread when night falls and the imagery takes a more menacing hue. The Sword thus embraces and augments the supernatural qualities that frequently defined the wuxia genre and, as noted by martial arts cinema expert Wayne Wong (interviewed for the Eureka disc), would for an early period in its history cause the genre to be banned by authorities.  

All this is juxtaposed with customarily broad wuxia humor, as well as the initially lighthearted, even flirtatious banter between Mak-yin and Fa Ying-chi (a relationship that also takes a dark turn). There is also the heartbreaking relationship between the lovelorn Mak-yin and Yin Siu-yu, and the disturbing domestic condition of Yin Siu-yu and Lin Wan. And, of course, there’s the action. Tam and fight choreographers Tang Tak-cheung and Ching Siu-tung bring to The Sword skirmishes that are remarkably sudden, fast and furiously enacted, well-staged, and amplified by gloriously implausible aerial acrobatics, many times coalescing in voluminous bloodshed (the final fight concludes with an exceptionally exaggerated and amusing dispatch). Tam may have been making his film debut with The Sword, but in nearly every respect he instantly asserts his flair for wuxia hallmarks while also establishing his own unique aesthetic and penchant for existential dilemma.  

In two commentaries on the Eureka disc, East Asian film expert Frank Djeng and action cinema experts Mike Leeder and Arne Venema explore the assorted virtues of The Sword and, like Leung Wing-Fai, who pens an informative essay on the picture, provide an illuminating backstory of the film with significant details concerning its gifted, and likely familiar, cast and crew. The consensus, as Wong also observes, is that The Sword is a fascinating turning point in the trajectory of the wuxia genre. Wong notes its various callbacks while also pointing out the original vision that broadcast the rise of the Hong Kong New Wave and previewed Tam’s contributions as not only director but as editor of such films as Wong Kar-wai’s Days of Being Wild and Ashes of Time.

The Sword revels in the visual and aural promises of its ilk in a way that is both agreeably customary and refreshingly advanced. Writes Leung Wing-Fai: Tam “creates an uncanny deja-vu by taking the by-then hackneyed swordsman martial arts film and turning it into a modernist exercise in an experimental visual language, in which every scene is exquisitely constructed as a painterly tableau.” That last part may be stretching the praise, but there is no denying The Sword does contain its fair share of scenes that are simply better composed and executed than many of its predecessors: from its fight sequences to its scenic interludes to its comparatively poignant dramatic passages. In this latter regard, the film is also rather progressive in its treatment of more complex characterizations and a profounder narrative force, particularly the abusive nature of Yin Siu-yu and Lin Wan’s marriage and Mak-yin’s transition from a confident, determined idealist to a disillusioned, broken man (hints of what arose with the Hong Kong New Wave outside of martial arts).

On its oftentimes striking surface and deep underneath, and rightly regarded as an “unseen gem” by Heskins, who is also interviewed for the Eureka disc, The Sword is both an excellent primer for those new to the genre and a satisfyingly novel entry for its more seasoned fans. It’s also swift, stylish, and expressive entertainment for anyone in between.

Jeremy Carr is a Contributing Editor at Film International and teaches film studies at Arizona State University. He writes for the publications Cineaste, Senses of Cinema, MUBI/Notebook, Cinema Retro, Vague Visages, The Retro Set, The Moving Image, Diabolique Magazine and Fandor. He is the author of Repulsion (1965) from Auteur Publishing and Kubrick and Control from Liverpool University Press a contributor to the collections ReFocus: The Films of Elaine May, from Edinburgh University Press, and David Fincher’s Zodiac: Cinema of Investigation and (Mis)Interpretationfrom Fairleigh Dickinson University Press.

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