The Fate of Lee Khan
迎春阁之风波
Hong Kong, 1973, colour, 2.35:1, 104 mins.
Director: Hu Jinquan 胡金铨 [King Hu].
Rating: 9/10.
The most accomplished film of director Hu Jinquan [King Hu], uniting his intellectual, physical, sensual and musical sides in perfect harmony.
STORY
Shaanxi province, central China, AD 1366, near the end of the (Mongol) Yuan dynasty. The country is in rebellion and Zhu, a Chinese general, is leading an army of 100,000 soldiers against the Mongols. Li Chahan, aka Lee Khan (Tian Feng), chief executive and intelligence head of Henan, Shaanxi and Shandong provinces, journeys with his younger sister Li Wan’er (Xu Feng) to Spring Inn, in Shaanxi, to collect a map of Chinese revolutionary plans from a traitor, Shen Tiansong (Sun Lan), among Zhu’s commanders. In fact, Zhu knows about the betrayal, and sends a messenger to an innkeeper, Old Liu (Hao Lvren), who then warns Wan Renmi (Li Lihua), the owner of Spring Inn, to expect Lee Khan’s arrival. She brings in four resistance fighters to pose as waitresses: Heimudan (Mao Ying), Shuimitao (Hu Jin), Yelaixiang (Ma Hailun) and Xiaolajiao (Shangguan Yan’er). The area – and the inn – is bristling with Mongol spies and Chinese nationalists, the latter including Wang Shizeng (Bai Ying) and Sha Yunshan (Han Yingjie). After much duplicity and fighting between the two sides, Lee Khan and Wan’er finally arrive, and Lee Khan orders the execution of Old Liu to test the waters. Meanwhile, Lee Khan’s deputy, Cao Yikun (Qiao Hong), secretly reveals to the Chinese nationalists that he is on their side. The next day Lee Khan receives the map from Shen Tiansong. But instead of killing Shen Tiansong afterwards as ordered, Cao Yikun delivers him to Wang Shizeng. Now the Chinese nationalists have to retrieve the map from Lee Khan’s room.
REVIEW
It was in the early part of 1975 that the Electric Cinema Club [a repertory house in north London] first screened The Fate of Lee Khan 迎春阁之风波, and now, almost two years later, we can thank the British Film Institute for putting the film in general distribution. After many viewings I am still inclined to regard it as the most accomplished film of Hu Jinquan 胡金铨 [King Hu]; like all his films, it improves and ripens on further acquaintance, but none of the others quite so perfectly achieves that synthesis of movement and flow which rests at the heart of all his works. Lee Khan unites the intellectual, physical, sensual and musical sides of Hu’s film persona into a heady but utterly enjoyable brew.
The film is set in AD 1366, near the end of the Yuan dynasty (1260-1368), during which China was ruled by the invading Mongol hordes who had overthrown the preceding Song dynasty. It was a period of turmoil and great energy: the Mongols ruled ruthlessly and corruptly, their nomadic instincts unable to cope with many aspects of Chinese society, and when the dominating influence of Kubilai Khan disappeared with his death in 1294 the administration began to fragment, with Chinese resistance groups fighting against local warlords. Hu’s film is set at the very apex of this confused period, as Lee Khan, lord of Henan province and head of a Mongol spy ring, arrives in neighbouring Shaanxi province to collect a map of Chinese revolutionary plans acquired for him by a Chinese traitor. Lee Khan, accompanied by his sister Wan’er, arrives at the Spring Inn, which, unknown to the Mongols at the time, is also a Chinese resistance centre. There then ensues an elaborate game of intellectual hide-and-seek, wits pitted against wits, the final showdown between the two groups (as in A Touch of Zen 侠女, 1970-73) realised through high-level martial arts.
Lee Khan is important for a number of extraneous reasons. First, it is a walking catalogue of some of the finest talent in Hong Kong cinema, with a gallery of faces which will be familiar to western audiences from other Chinese films: Mao Ying 茅瑛 [Angela Mao] from Hap Ki Do 合气道 (1972) downwards, Xu Feng 徐枫 from A Touch of Zen, Bai Ying 白鹰 ditto, Ma Hailun 马海伦 [Helen Ma] from The Deaf and Mute Heroine 聋哑剑 (1971), Han Yingjie 韩英杰, the villain of A Touch of Zen and The Big Boss 唐山大兄 (1971), Qiao Hong 乔宏 [Roy Chiao], the high priest in the former, and Wei Ping’ao 魏平澳, the effete henchman of Hap Ki Do and numerous other films. In addition, the veteran Li Lihua 李丽华 plays the woman boss of Spring Inn, and the charismatic actress Hu Jin 胡锦 one of the waitresses. Secondly, Lee Khan is the culmination of Hu’s “inn trilogy”, which started with Come Drink with Me 大醉侠 (1966) and continued with the phenominally successful Dragon Inn 龙门客栈 (1967), which featured several of the players who later blossomed in Lee Khan. All three films exploit the watering-hole qualities of a Chinese inn by using it as a stage on which to reflect the political and social turmoil of a given period. Hu’s elaborate plots, indebted to Peking opera and dance, fit comfortably within such a location, and it is not surprising to find the inn metaphor informing his other works as well: the fort in A Touch of Zen, which later becomes a glorified booby-trap, is almost a direct thematic copy of the inn in Dragon Inn, which is similarly booby-trapped; and the whole of his Anger 怒 episode in the portmanteau Four Moods 喜怒哀乐 (1970) is set in an inn run by Hu Jin. The Fate of Lee Khan is, then, the most assured statement of this pervading theme, and is in fact acknowledged in the film’s Chinese title, which roughly translates as “Trouble at Spring Inn”.
The picture falls into three distinct sections of quite different moods, and this structure assures it a musical quality that adds substance to the content. After a brief historical introduction over portraits of the real people, and a few scenes of the waitresses (Peony, Peach, Lilac and Chilli) arriving at the inn, the first part settles down into a continuous series of minor incidents amongst the inn’s patrons – a moto perpetuo of intrigue, comedy, everyday bustle and problems which is onl;y ever interrupted by the arrival of new guests. This part of the film is a triumph of direction, with Hu’s camera tracking from table to table, latching on to characters as they move about the floor, and cutting with perfect timing from thread to thread. As in the opening scenes of A Touch of Zen, we are never exactly sure who is who and which side anyone is on; Hu simply assembles his dramatis personae and stirs up the brew to a point where it is ready to accept the vital ingredient. This arrives, after 50 minutes, in the form of Lee Khan, Wan’er, and their retinue, about whom we have heard so much. Here the film changes abruptly from light comedy to serious drama, with everyone on their keenest mettle: Lee Khan and his sister are clearly highly-skilled martial artists (as are the “employees” of the inn) and a confrontation is clearly in the offing. Hu keeps the plot gently simmering for another 40 minutes, until, in the film’s final section, open warfare breaks out and the cards are laid on the table.
I have already mentioned the theatrical roots of Hu’s inspiration but this is further clarified by the setting of most of the action. The large inn set functions as a fixed stage, and arrivals and departures have a rigid, classical quality similar to Greek drama, with events from outside reported rather than seen. It can hardly be a coincidence that this is also a feature of Empress Wu 武则天 (1963), by Li Hanxiang 李翰祥, in which Hu acted; Li has, throughout, been a powerful mentor in Hu’s career. Period detail and costuming, as always, are immaculate and sumptuous (particularly the clothes for Lee Khan and Wan’er), with even the credit titles (as usual) handwritten in red and black ink by Hu himself, an experienced calligrapher and philologist. Lee Khan is so effortlessly smooth to experience; above all, it is a superb ensemble-piece for his players, many of whom were trained by him. There is no point in extolling their individual virtues, for they are self-evident to any student of Hong Kong cinema, but one must draw attention to the superb characterisation by Xu Feng (the lead girl of A Touch of Zen) which is the one of the finest of her illustrious career. If anyone has doubts that suggestion is stronger than display, then this will convince them otherwise. Wan’er is shown as the far more ruthless of the Mongol pair, and there is a sublime scene halfway through which encapuslates the best of the film. To decoy the Mongols’ attention so they can search their luggage for the stolen war-map, the Chinese arrange a musical entertainment, played by Sha Yunshan (Han Yingjie). Wan’er is attracted by this, seemingly her Achilles Heel, and as the music progresses she rolls her head from side to side, closing her eyes in near-sexual ecstasy; upstairs, however, Chilli makes a very slight noise, and in the blinking of an eyelid Wan’er has recovered and reverse-somersaulted on to the first floor, killing Chilli with cold efficiency. Once more, Hu gives us a glimpse of that special universe, a touch of the zen which informs his outwardly deceptive characters.
CREDITS
Presented by Golden Harvest (HK). Produced by King Hu Film Productions (HK).
Script: Wang Chong, Hu Jinquan [King Hu]. Photography: Chen Chaoyong. Editing: Liang Yongcan. Music: Gu Jiahui [Joseph Koo]. Art direction: Hu Jinquan [King Hu]. Costume design: Liu Xianhui. Action: Zhu Yuanlong [Hong Jinbao/Sammo Hung].
Cast: Tian Feng (Li Chahan/Lee Khan), Xu Feng (Li Wan’er, Li Chahan’s younger sister), Li Lihua (Wan Renmi/Wan Xiu//Wendy), Mao Ying [Angela Mao] (Heimudan/Peony), Hu Jin (Shuimitao/Peach), Ma Hailun [Helen Ma] (Yelaixiang/Lilac), Bai Ying (Wang Shizeng), Qiao Hong [Roy Chiao] (Cao Yikun, Li Chahan’s deputy), Shangguan Yan’er (Xiaolajiao/Chilli), Hao Lvren (Old Liu, rival innkeeper), Er Feng (Liu, bandit spy), Jiang Nan (Liu Sanhu), Ren Hao (He Shaoqi), Wu Mingcai (Xiao Shunzi), Wei Ping’ao (Wen Mozhai), Ma Ying (chess-playing guard of Li Chahan), Li Wentai, Yang Wei (imperial guards), Er Qun (trouble-making constable at inn), Du Weihe (guard of Li Chahan), Huang Shunchang, Sun Lan (Shen Tiansong), Wang Chong (gambler at inn), Wang Chen (old gambler), Li Ying, Tao Wei (gamblers at inn), Jiang Hai, Han Yingjie (Sha Yunshan), Cheng Shiying (commander), Feng Jingwen (messenger to Old Liu), Wu Jiaxiang (Ha’ergu, magistrate), Chen Zhe, Huang Shunchang, Jiang Hai.
Release: Hong Kong, 6 Dec 1973.
(Review section originally published in UK monthly films and filming, Apr 1977. Modern annotations in square brackets.)