Drunken Master

Wang Yang was already sixty-three years old.

His eyesight had long since grown farsighted, and his temples were streaked with gray. Wearing reading glasses, he sat in his office in the Beijing Film Studio's main building, reading the freshly published New Film Works and Film Works.

One was a Shanghai Film Studio publication, the other was from the Emei Film Studio. Both served the same purpose as the Beijing Film Studio's Film Creation: accepting screenplay submissions. The studios had an unspoken understanding, but they also competed behind the scenes. If you made a groundbreaking masterpiece, I had to make one that broke even more ground.

"Not a single one worth reading!"

"Not worth mentioning!"

Wang Yang skimmed through them, then gave a rather haughty snort. He rose, clasped his hands behind his back, and sauntered downstairs toward the cafeteria. Everyone he passed greeted him with a respectful "Director Wang!"

The Beijing Film Studio's first director had been Tian Fang, Tian Zhuangzhuang's father.

Wang Yang was the second. He held the post for thirty-five years and didn't retire until 1986. Under his stewardship, the studio reached its peak. He was particularly good at cultivating talent; the four great directors, four great cinematographers, and three golden flowers all came from under his hand.

Liu Xiaoqing was one of the three golden flowers. They had all originally belonged to other work units, but Wang Yang had poached them.

He also had quite a few ideas about management. Back in the sixties, he had recognized the drawbacks of the large-studio system and wanted to introduce a "contract system." It was essentially a Hollywood producer's studio, but the concept did not yet exist in China.

It was far ahead of its time, and he never got it off the ground.

"Director Wang!"

"Director Wang!"

"Old Wang, what took you so long?"

Wang Yang entered the cafeteria and sat in his usual spot. Looking around, he said, "I was scouting out what our fellow studios are up to. All right, let's begin!"

The lights went out with a snap, plunging the room into darkness.

Then light shone from the big screen, and the dream-making machine, running at twenty-four frames per second, illuminated face after face alight with eager anticipation.

Television dramas were only just beginning to emerge. Literature fever was on the rise, poets were rubbing their fists and palms in anticipation, and pop music surged in hidden currents. Film was the undisputed foremost art, a position it held until its decline began in the late eighties. It slowly revived after the new century began.

Today's screening was a Hong Kong film.

A big-nosed fellow appeared, looking carefree and unruly. His name was Jackie Chan, and the film was called Drunken Master.

Early the previous year, Jackie Chan had shot to fame with Snake in the Eagle's Shadow. He had struck while the iron was hot, releasing Drunken Master that same year. It had grossed 6.76 million at the box office, placing second for the year behind Michael Hui's The Contract.

It marked the point when Hong Kong cinema was about to enter its golden age.

Although it arrived a year late, the quality of Drunken Master was beyond dispute, and it still made a tremendous impact on the audience.

Yuen Woo-ping directed it, and Jackie Chan played Wong Fei-hung, an idle troublemaker. His father enlisted his good friend Su Huazi to teach him. Su Huazi taught him the Drunken Eight Immortals, and in the end he defeated his enemy...

Su Huazi was played by Yuen Siu-tien, Yuen Woo-ping's father. His image as a beggar carrying a wine gourd on his back later became Chin Gentsai in The King of Fighters.

"That's incredible!"

"The fighting is wonderful to watch!"

"What's that fellow's name? Jackie Chan?"

"Hahaha, he's killing me dressed as a woman!"

Everyone felt as if they had entered a new world. They didn't have to think about work or the meaning of film; they could truly appreciate a work as audience members. Of course, they still didn't dare make a loud racket, and laughed quietly.

"..."

Wang Yang was enjoying himself too, but he had more on his mind. He asked the person beside him, "Are Fu Qi and the others still in the capital?"

"They've gone back to Hong Kong."

"Is the Shaolin Temple project settled?"

"Yes. The Japanese want to buy it and paid some money up front. Fu Qi found someone to finish the script, then went back to prepare for production. They can start shooting in the second half of the year. I hear they want to find actors at the Henan Peking Opera Troupe."

"The opera troupe?"

Wang Yang shook his head and pointed at the screen. "Look at their moves: flashy and good-looking, smooth and entertaining. The martial performers in the opera troupe have a solid foundation, but every move is too rigid. The Hong Kong market is developing quickly. If they make the film according to their old way of thinking, I personally don't have much hope for it."

"There's nothing to be done. Things are hard for them too."

"Yes, life isn't easy for our fellow work unit in Hong Kong either. Liao Gong (Chengzhi) specifically named this film for them to make. It isn't easy. I hope everything goes smoothly for them."

Wang Yang sighed and added, "Martial arts films are so popular. Should we consider broadening our range of genres? We can't keep making nothing but films steeped in bitterness and hatred, can we?"

"Well... wouldn't that be risky?"

"If we're afraid of risks, how can we get anything done? We need serious films, but we need entertainment films too. We should work on both fronts. Keep an eye out for scripts from now on. If anything happens, I'll take responsibility."

The leaders were yapping in the front, while a very select few were yapping in the back.

The people from the literature department had unknowingly gathered around a certain fellow. As he watched, he supplied everyone with a stream of bullet comments, teaching through entertainment.

"This Wong Fei-hung really existed in history. He lived from the late Qing into the Republican era, started learning martial arts at three, and roamed the jianghu with his father from the age of seven. Later, he opened a martial arts school in Guangzhou and practiced medicine and sold medicine on the side. He set up a clinic called Po Chi Lam and served as a martial arts instructor for the Guangzhou naval forces.

"His father was Wong Kei-ying. Wong Kei-ying's master was Luk Ah Choi, and Luk Ah Choi's master was Master Zhishan. Master Zhishan, Abbess Ng Mui, Taoist Master Bak Mei, Feng Daode, and Miao Xian were known together as the Five Elders of Shaolin!"

"I can tell you're making it up just by listening. Why would there be a Taoist master in a Buddhist temple?" Jiang Shan pouted.

"Oh? You know there can't be a Taoist master in a Buddhist temple?"

"Do you think I'm stupid? I'm in elementary school!"

"Shanshan, speak properly. Don't be rude!"

Jiang Huaiyan scolded her, but Jiang Shan paid it no mind. Chen Qi laughed and said, "Bak Mei came from Shaolin, then joined Wudang. Wudang is Taoist. But this Shaolin wasn't the one in Henan. It was Southern Shaolin, in Fujian."

"That Miao Xian was no ordinary man either. He had a daughter named Miao Cuihua, and Miao Cuihua had a son named Fang Shiyu. Good heavens, this Fang Shiyu stood eight chi tall, and his waist was eight chi around too. With a silver spear washed in crimson blood in hand, he fought his way in and out of the Qing army's main camp seven times..."

"Wasn't that Zhao Zilong?" Ge You exclaimed.

"Heroes under heaven are all alike! Zhao Zilong could fight his way in and out seven times, but my Fang Shiyu couldn't? Even that Granny Liu was no lamp that ran on little oil!"

He started out fairly seriously, but later he went completely off the rails.

Even so, everyone liked listening, especially Ge You. His little eyes blinked and shone. He thought this fellow was amazing: three years younger than he was, yet he knew so much, and his hair was thick too.

Watching internal-reference films was one of the few times they could let themselves go.

But happy times never lasted long. When Jackie Chan defeated the enemy and the film ended, everyone was delighted to have seen such a good show, yet sorry it had been so short. Once they passed through the door and went outside, it was back to days of being united, tense, serious, and lively.

The crowd filed out quietly and dispersed in twos and threes, discussing the highlights of Drunken Master in low voices.

Under the dim lights, Wang Yang strolled along with his hands behind his back. A voice drifted in and out on the night breeze...

"Why do you think we don't have films this entertaining?"

"They're different genres. They're good at making entertainment films, and we have our own strengths. Military films, rural films, works on realistic subjects-they're all very good to watch."

"Then can't we make an entertainment film too?"

"You think it's that easy? When you watched Drunken Master just now, which parts were best? The training and fighting, right? Why? Because it got hold of what the audience was thinking. Take you, for example. Suppose one day you suddenly met a master who taught you peerless martial arts, and you fought everyone under heaven without finding a match. Wouldn't you be excited?"

"I'd be thrilled!"

Ge You slapped his thigh.

"So the more common ground a film can find in people's emotions, the better it is to watch."

"..."

Wang Yang followed them for a while, glanced at the young man doing the yapping, and strolled away.

Jiang Shan was also taken home by her father.

Ge You walked with Chen Qi all the way to the guesthouse entrance, still seemingly hungry for more. But he was shy and found it hard to take the initiative. Luckily, Chen Qi said, "I usually revise manuscripts, so I have plenty of free time. If you've got nothing to do, you can drop by."

"Hey, sure, sure! See you another day, then."

Only then did Ge You head back.

(End of chapter)