To Hong Kong

"Bizarre and fantastical, brimming with wit and wonder—truly one of a kind!" "Compared to Encounter of the Spooky Kind at the end of last year, The Miracle Fighters takes folk sorcery to even wilder flights of fancy! The jar person, shadow-pinning, flying tops releasing swords, paper bridge, and more are dazzling spectacles that leave audiences pounding the table in admiration!" "Combining kung fu with folk magic—if they can keep turning out hits of this caliber, it could pioneer an entirely new school and gift Hong Kong cinema another major genre!" Late last year, Sammo Hung's Encounter of the Spooky Kind hit theaters, grossing over five million dollars at the box office and pioneering the supernatural kung fu film. In early January this year, the Yuen Clan Stunt Team's The Miracle Fighters was released, raking in eight million within twenty-odd days and kicking off the new year with a roaring triumph. Furthermore, word-of-mouth was stellar. Audiences loved it, industry peers raved, and even the press offered a few rare words of praise. The concept of the "supernatural kung fu film" didn't exist yet, but everyone recognized that this path was viable, and a massive wave of copycats was sure to follow. Hong Kong cinema owed its golden age to these filmmakers' agility of mind, opportunistic eye, and talent for churning out novel twists. When kung fu films were a hit, but audiences grew tired of them after a few years, what did they do? Blend kung fu with comedy—and presto, a new genre was born. And when audiences grew bored of that too? Combine kung fu with Maoshan Daoist arts and folklore, and lo and behold, another offshoot emerged. Subjectively, they were eager to rack their brains; objectively, circumstances gave them no choice. Jammed together in this tiny speck of land, locked in cutthroat competition, how could they put food on the table if they didn't offer audiences something new? That was why Hong Kong cinema in the 1980s and '90s became an explosion of kaleidoscopic variety and sheer eccentricity, exhausting virtually every element imaginable; everything that followed was mostly just reheating leftovers. "Cheers!" Inside a banquet restaurant, the Yuen Clan Stunt Team was holding a victory celebration. To borrow the parlance of Hong Kong cinema, the table was loaded with Tianjiu shark's fin, two-head abalones, "super invincible sea-view Buddha Jumps Over the Wall," and a feast of lively seafood. "Boss, we struck it rich this time! Eight million! If this were last year, it would've ranked third!" "Hard to say about this year. Everyone's making movies now, and box office records turn over faster than club hostesses. If you ask me, squeezing into the top ten would already be pretty good." "Top ten is great too! This is only our first film—a flying start!" As the eldest, Yuen Woo-ping grinned as he looked around at his brothers. Even he hadn't expected The Miracle Fighters to perform so well. If they could keep it running a bit longer, reaching nine million—or even breaking ten million—would be even better. Yet he knew that was unlikely, because the Chinese New Year slot was next. Michael Hui, the first King of Comedy, had a new release, Security Unlimited, and Golden Harvest would surely reserve every screen for it. Hong Kong had three mainstream theater circuits: Shaw Brothers with sixteen cinemas, Golden Harvest with nineteen, and Golden Princess with fifteen. Aside from those, there were circuits for Western films (foreign imports), small rural theaters, and eight left-wing cinemas. A brief aside: in later times, a movie would usually get a unified nationwide release across all circuits, but that wasn't how things worked back then. Shaw Brothers operated under the classic studio system, an end-to-end operation producing and exhibiting its own work. Bruce Lee, for instance, belonged to Golden Harvest; at the height of his fame, audiences couldn't dream of catching a Bruce Lee movie in a Shaw Brothers theater. Golden Harvest operated on a satellite company model, creating a slew of companies for the likes of Jackie Chan, Sammo Hung, and Michael Hui, investing capital and sharing profits. Its circuit primarily screened their films, only acquiring outside productions if there was remaining schedule room. Golden Princess backed Cinema City, but Cinema City's production capacity was limited and couldn't support an entire theater circuit on its own. As a result, Golden Princess took in a flood of films from smaller outfits, making it the most accommodating circuit of all. Occasionally, there were exceptions. For instance, when Cinema City was at its peak, Shaw Brothers and Golden Harvest actually screened each other's films, teaming up to fight back. Most of the time, though, they kept behind closed doors and played by themselves. This state of affairs lasted until the late 1990s, when the broader industry went into decline and major companies could no longer afford to invest heavily. As production shrank, they were forced to open up their circuits for unified releases—though that was a story for later. The mainland didn't have unified releases at this time either, but for different reasons. Local movie theaters largely answered to regional film companies. Provincial companies purchased film prints and set their own screening dates. In those years of backward infrastructure and vast regional differences, a synchronized nationwide release was out of the question. ... Yuen Woo-ping turned these thoughts over in his head. A flying start was fine and good, but they needed staying power, and he still had no idea what to make next. Beside him, Yuen Cheung-yan suddenly nudged him and whispered, "Tai Chi is coming to Hong Kong for promotions. Should we meet up with them?" "You want to go show support?" "Of course not in public. Just meet privately." "Then don't bring a crowd. Just invite Ah Qi and Jiezai for a meal, and that'll do." To tell the truth, Yuen Woo-ping didn't care much about the rest, but he couldn't let go of those two. Yuen Cheung-yan nodded. "A smaller group works. It wouldn't look good if the papers snapped photos of us." If they showed up publicly to support a left-wing production, they could be blacklisted in a heartbeat. A private rendezvous was their only option. *** There were no direct flights from Beijing to Hong Kong yet. Travelers had two routes: go to Shanghai first, where direct flights to Hong Kong were available, or go to Guangzhou and cross the border through Shenzhen. They chose the first option. In addition to the ten-person roster, several staff members from the Hong Kong and Macao Affairs Office led the group, and the left-wing faction sent someone along for the entire journey, making over a dozen people in total. At that moment, everyone was aboard the plane bound for Hong Kong. It was Gong Xue's first time flying. Curious, she touched this and inspected that, then saw Chen Qi looking completely unruffled. "Have you flown before?" she asked. "Nope!" "Then why aren't you amazed at all? Look at Ji Chunhua and the rest." "Comparisons only breed heartache, just like comparing goods makes you want to toss them out. Some differences are just born in us. I'm not like them." "What's so different about you? You're just a silly dummy!" "Hey, I understand that one! Don't go cursing at me." "I'm not cursing at all. You're a silly dummy!" Gong Xue pressed her lips together, fighting a laugh. When a man and a woman interacted, having physical intimacy versus not having it made for an entirely different relationship—setting aside simp dogs who spent millions without ever setting foot in bed, who belonged to another species altogether. Now that they had kissed and she had visited his home, Gong Xue was much more affectionate with him, feeling increasingly at ease in his presence and joking around from time to time. Seeing her playfully teasing him, Chen Qi thought, Well, who's afraid of whom? He leaned right toward her with a grin. "Say that again and see how I deal with you!" "Are you crazy?" Frightened, Gong Xue shrank back and gave him a smack with her small hand. "Everyone is watching! What are you doing? Stay back!" "Is that Moutai free too?" "Not only is it free, every passenger receives a complimentary bottle!" "Holy crap... I mean, ah, great, thank you very much!" Leave it to the loyal Ji Chunhua to save the day—his hollering drew everyone's attention away. A flight attendant was pushing a meal cart down the aisle, upon which sat a gleaming bottle of Moutai liquor. Flights to Hong Kong were classified as international routes. In those days, passengers on international flights were each given a bottle of Moutai. Later, the free bottles stopped, replaced by complimentary drinks onboard. Later still, even the complimentary drinks vanished, and Moutai turned into an investment product. "Pour me some! Pour me some!" "Are those Chunghwa cigarettes free too?" "Yes, five cigarettes per passenger." "Here, give me five!" "What else do you have? Bring it all out!" What an embarrassment! Not just Ji Chunhua—Xiong Xinxin and several others weren't doing much better. They were a bunch of uneducated, rough-and-tumble martial artists used to hardship; when had they ever seen luxury like this? Chen Qi spread his hands and shot Gong Xue a look that said: See? Told you we're not the same.