Chapter 19: Drunken Fist

Wang Yang was already 63 years old.

His eyes were failing with age, and his temples were streaked with gray. Perched in his office in the main building of the Beijing Film Studio, he wore his reading glasses as he perused the freshly printed copies of *New Film Works* and *Film Creations*.

One was a publication from the Shanghai Film Studio, the other from the Emei Film Studio. They served the same purpose as the Beijing Film Studio’s own *Film Creation*—as platforms for receiving script submissions. The studios shared a tacit understanding, yet they were secretly competing; if one studio released a groundbreaking masterpiece, the others felt compelled to produce something even more revolutionary.

"Not a single one worth watching!"

"Hardly worth mentioning!"

Wang Yang scanned them cursorily, let out a haughty snort, and stood up with his hands clasped behind his back. He sauntered downstairs toward the canteen, and everyone he passed bowed respectfully and greeted him as "Director Wang!"

The first director of the Beijing Film Studio had been Tian Fang, the father of Tian Zhuangzhuang.

Wang Yang was the second. He served for 35 years and did not retire until 1986. Under his helm, the Beijing Film Studio reached its zenith. He was exceptionally skilled at cultivating talent; the "Four Great Directors," "Four Great Cinematographers," and "Three Flowers" all emerged under his guidance.

Liu Xiaoqing was one of those "Three Flowers." Originally from other work units, she had been headhunted by Wang Yang.

He also had forward-thinking ideas about management. As early as the 1960s, he recognized the flaws in the "large-scale factory" system and wanted to implement a "contract system"—essentially the producer-studio model of Hollywood, a concept that did not yet exist domestically.

It was far ahead of its time, and ultimately, it did not come to pass.

"Director Wang!"

"Director Wang!"

"Old Wang, what took you so long?"

Wang Yang entered the canteen and sat in his designated seat. He looked left and right before saying, "I was scouting the dynamics of our fellow studios. Alright, let’s begin!"

The lights in the hall clicked off, plunging the room into darkness.

Moments later, the silver screen flickered to life. The dream-making machine, projecting 24 frames per second, illuminated a room full of expectant, excited faces.

At this time, television series were only just budding, the "literary fever" was rising, poets were warming up their pens, and pop music was an undercurrent beginning to surge. Film was the undisputed premier art form, destined to decline by the late 1980s before slowly reviving in the new century.

Today’s screening was a Hong Kong film.

A big-nosed fellow appeared on screen with a swaggering gait. His name was Jackie Chan, and the film was *Drunken Master*.

Early last year, Jackie Chan had burst onto the scene with *Snake in the Eagle's Shadow*, and striking while the iron was hot, he released *Drunken Master* the same year, grossing 6.76 million at the box office. It was the second-highest-grossing film of the year, surpassed only by Michael Hui’s *The Contract*.

This was a sign that Hong Kong cinema was about to enter its golden age.

Although it arrived a year late, the quality of *Drunken Master* was indisputable, and it still delivered a massive shock to the audience.

The director was Yuen Woo-ping, and Jackie Chan played Wong Fei-hung—an idle, trouble-making youth whose father recruits his old friend, Beggar So, to discipline him. Beggar So teaches him the Eight Drunken Immortals, and in the end, he defeats the enemy.

The actor playing Beggar So was Yuen Siu-tien, Yuen Woo-ping’s father. His image as a beggar carrying a wine gourd would later inspire the character Chin Gentsai in the *King of Fighters* series.

"That’s amazing!"

"The fighting is so good!"

"What’s this guy’s name? Jackie Chan?"

"Hahaha, he’s hilarious when he dresses as a woman!"

Everyone seemed to have entered a new world, setting aside their work and thoughts on the "significance of cinema" to simply enjoy a film as true audience members. Of course, they didn't dare make too much noise, keeping their laughter low.

Wang Yang was also enjoying the film, but his mind was elsewhere. He turned to the person beside him and asked, "Are Fu Qi and his group still in Beijing?"

"They’ve returned to Hong Kong."

"Is the *Shaolin Temple* project settled?"

"Yes. The Japanese want to buy it and provided some upfront money. Fu Qi found someone to write the script and went back to begin preparations. They’ll be filming in the second half of the year. I heard they want to look for actors in the Henan Peking Opera Troupe."

"The Peking Opera Troupe?"

Wang Yang shook his head and pointed at the screen. "Look at their action sequences. They’re flashy, smooth, and entertaining. While Peking Opera performers have the fundamentals, their movements are too rigid. The Hong Kong market develops quickly; if they film with such outdated thinking, I’m not very optimistic."

"There’s no choice; they’re struggling too."

"True. Our brothers in Hong Kong are having a hard time. This was a project personally requested by Liao Chengzhi. It’s not easy. I hope everything goes smoothly for them."

Wang Yang sighed and added, "Martial arts films are so popular. Should we consider broadening our genres? We can’t just keep filming these grim, heavy-handed movies, right?"

"That… might carry some risk, wouldn't it?"

"How can we get anything done if we’re afraid of risk? We need serious films, but we also need entertainment. We must pursue both paths. Keep an eye out for scripts in the future; I’ll take responsibility if anything happens."

While the leaders whispered in the front, a few others whispered in the back.

The group from the literature department was unknowingly gravitating toward a certain fellow, because he was providing a running commentary—educational and entertaining—as they watched.

"This Wong Fei-hung, he was a real person in history, born in the late Qing and early Republic era. He started learning martial arts at three, traveled the world with his father at seven, and later opened a martial arts school in Guangzhou. Along the way, he practiced medicine and sold herbs, opening a clinic called Po Chi Lam. He even served as a martial arts instructor for the Guangzhou naval forces."

"His father was Wong Kei-ying, and Wong Kei-ying’s master was Luk Ah-choi, whose own master was Master Chi Shin. Master Chi Shin, along with Ng Mui, Abbot Pak Mei, Fung Dou-dak, and Miu Hin, were known as the Five Elders of Shaolin!"

"I can tell you’re just making things up. How can a monastery have a Taoist priest?" Jiang Shan pouted.

"Oh? So you know a monastery can’t have a Taoist?"

"Don’t treat me like a fool; I’ve been to primary school!"

"Shanshan, mind your manners!"

Jiang Huaiyan scolded her, but Jiang Shan ignored it. Chen Qi laughed, "Pak Mei was originally from Shaolin, but he later joined Wudang, and Wudang is Taoist. But this Shaolin isn't the one in Henan; it’s the Southern Shaolin in Fujian."

"That Miu Hin fellow wasn't simple either. He had a daughter named Miu Tsui-fa, and she gave birth to a son named Fong Sai-yuk. Let me tell you, this Fong Sai-yuk was eight feet tall with an eight-foot waist, wielding a silver spear stained with blood, charging in and out of the Qing army camp seven times..."

"Isn't that Zhao Zilong?" Ge You exclaimed in amazement.

"All heroes under heaven are much the same! If Zhao Zilong can charge in and out seven times, why can't Fong Sai-yuk? Even Granny Liu wasn't someone to be trifled with!"

He started off quite serious, but soon he was just rambling.

Yet everyone loved listening to him, especially Ge You, whose small eyes were twinkling. He thought this brother was truly impressive—three years younger than him, yet so knowledgeable, and with such a thick head of hair.

Watching internal reference films was one of the rare moments when they could truly let their guard down.

But happy times never last. When Jackie Chan defeated the enemy and the film ended, everyone felt a mix of joy for having seen a great show and regret that it was over. Once they stepped out of those doors, they returned to their lives of solidarity, tension, seriousness, and vitality.

The crowd filed out quietly, dispersing in twos and threes while whispering about the brilliance of *Drunken Master*.

Under the dim streetlights, Wang Yang walked with his hands behind his back, sauntering along. A voice drifted toward him on the night wind...

"Why do you think we don't have movies as good as that?"

"The genres are different. They excel at entertainment films, while we excel at our own things—like war films, rural dramas, and works on realistic themes. They are all very good."

"So, couldn't we make an entertainment film too?"

"You think it's that easy? Think about *Drunken Master*, which part was best? Wasn't it the training and the fighting? Why? Because it grabbed the audience's psychology. Take you, for example: if you suddenly met a master who taught you peerless martial arts, and you became invincible, wouldn't you be thrilled?"

"I'd be thrilled out of my mind!" Ge You slapped his thigh.

"Exactly. The more you can find common emotional ground, the better the film will be."

Wang Yang followed them for a bit, glanced at the young man who was doing all the talking, and then continued his leisurely stroll.

Jiang Shan had already been led home by her father.

Ge You had accompanied the group all the way to the entrance of the guesthouse, seemingly still wanting more, but he was too shy to initiate further conversation. Fortunately, Chen Qi said, "I spend a lot of time editing manuscripts, so I have plenty of free time. You’re welcome to drop by if you’re not busy."

"Oh, alright! See you another day, then."

Only then did Ge You head back.