Film and Felt

Stephen Chow’s drunken, madcap Kung Fu Hustle is like a smorgasbord of high-pitched artistry and homages, ranging from Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill, to the frenetic Looney Tunes cartoons, to the Westerns of the 60’s (including Kurosawa’s Yojimbo). Even spoofs of The Matrix (“the one”) and Spider-man (“with great power comes great responsibility”) are tossed into the fray. Make no mistake about it, though: Kung Fu Hustle is far from a montage of ripped-off lines and sequences. The free-wheeling, all-over-the-place atmosphere is pure Chow, something we got a whiff of in his entertaining, but inconsistent, Shaolin Soccer of 2001. Chow’s directorial style is simultaneously relaxed and confident: the storyline is secondary to the trippy occurences, but despite its over-the-top visual flair, Kung Fu Hustle maintains a consistent aura—crucial in that it keeps the wild duels & encounters from seeming silly. Instead, they’re just plain exuberant, even when they’re not laugh-out-loud funny (probably the biggest difference between Kung Fu Hustle and Shaolin Soccer). Each character has a sharp, distinct identity—the chain-smoking, lung-powered landlady; the slipper-wearing, Pai Mei-esque Beast; the gay, multiple-bracelet-adorned Tailor; the cowardly Sing (Chow), with his clumsy ineptitude (the knife-throwing scene is among the funniest I’ve seen in a while). Even the supporting players are richly developed, like the barber who runs around with his ass-crack half exposed. With such attention to detail, it’s a wonder Chow is able to make such an insane storyline work (without it seeming like a dopey mix of genres, that is), but he pulls it off with gusto.

Chow wrote, directed, produced, and starred in Kung Fu Hustle, but he never seems overmatched or pretentious—his goofy screen presence (also present in Shaolin Soccer) is hypnotically charming, while his toned, muscular frame (and martial arts gifts) don’t make a real appearance until the final ten minutes. By avoiding hogging the spotlight, Chow allows for everyone to get into the act, and the film is all the better for it—with everyone carving out an individual, frenzied niche, we really have no idea what the hell’s coming next. Using wide, distant shots (much like Leone’s Westerns), Chow captures dusty atmospheres, as well as wild battles (there’s a stretch near the end that’s much like The Bride disposing of the Crazy 88’s in Kill Bill). It’s all pizzazz, really, but the energetic spunk is so contagious, it just doesn’t matter…and it’s clearly the work of someone who understands the art of cinema, but prefers using that art to entertain in adrenaline rush fashion, rather than provoke thought.

Kung Fu Hustle isn’t without its minor problems: those who crave thematic depth in their cinema should look elsewhere (despite the occasional jab at Yakuza absurdity), and there are a few gratuitous moments (a group urination scene in particular is more repulsive than amusing). Also, the ‘love’ subplot, while tongue-in-cheek enough to avoid treacle, doesn’t fit in as well as it could have (though the finale, the ‘heir,’ is a hoot). These are quibbles, though, as Kung Fu Hustle is going to entertain 99% of its audiences, be they fans of nonstop butt-kicking or not. Chow’s clearly having a blast onscreen, yet he doesn’t slack off in his dual (really, quadruple) role: the direction is never lax, as opposed to the one-dimensional Ong-Bak. All-in-all, Kung Fu Hustle is likely to land on many viewers’—and critics’—“most flat-out, unadulterated fun” lists of the year. It’s a definite early contender for mine.