The next Sister Street Fighter film off the Toei production line is Sister Street Fighter: Hanging By a Thread (a title that doesn’t seem to have any real relevance, incidentally).  Already, you can see the formula: beloved relation/friend of Koryu kidnapped or working against their will, heinously evil crime lord with crazy henchmen, fights galore and sexploitation.  What sets Koryu off this time is the murder of a police detective in Hong Kong, who kept evidence in a role of microfilm in his false eye (no, seriously!).

The villain in this instalment is a diamond smuggler, who uses young ladies to hide diamonds in their…well, let’s just say these ladies are sitting on a lot of money.  He collects martial artists to do his dirty work, and employs them to eliminate Koryu when she starts to get too close to his operation.  And if the bad guys weren’t weird enough in the original, the ante has been upped in this episode with the inclusion of an alcoholic parrot-wearing freak of a doctor who I couldn’t tell was wearing blackface or not.

Toei certainly liked to recycle their actors a lot, and a staple of this series seems to be recurring performers returning to play different roles.  Masashi Ishibashi returns as lead thug in a role almost identical to the last movie.  A real shot in the arm, though, is the inclusion of Yasuaki Kurata as a kind of rock star-styled thug for hire.

You are probably thinking it all sounds a little too similar to Sister Street Fighter, and you’d be absolutely right – and it suffers from much the same problems.  The script is unengaging and derivative of its predecessor (most of the time, this feels like nothing more than a remake of the first film) and the same shaky camerawork gets in the way of the fight scenes.  However, I enjoyed this sequel slightly more than the original and this is mainly down to Yasuaki Kurata’s involvement.  His character is the only one to have any kind of depth (although I’m using the word “depth” very loosely) and his abilities are astounding.  I’d go as far as to say he’s never looked better.

Etsuko Shihomi also has some great fight scenes, and again handles the nunchaku like a demon.  Plus there’s more sleazy 70s sexploitation in this as well as some nasty gore and torture scenes.  That, coupled with the bizarre plot of the film and the freaky characters makes me doubt the sanity of the makers of these films.  But that’s always the appeal of these crazy 70s actioners.

I’ve been quite looking forward to seeing this series of films since seeing Etsuko Shihomi in action in the relatively weak final entry of the Street Fighter series.  She was, for me, easily the best thing in that film, and I was wondering how she’d fare given top billing.

The usual problem of poor scriptwriting get things off to an inauspicious start when we see a stock shot of Hong Kong followed by a cop telling Koryu Lee (Shihomi) that her brother has gone missing in action while investigating a drug lord’s island fortress.  I really find these films that don’t have plotting “foreplay” a real grind.  There’s no introduction of character, no preamble, and basically no way for the viewer to engage in the film.  The first part of the film is a collection of scenes and fights without much cohesion or meaning. 

This is more or less countered, however, by the craziness of events later on.  It’s evident the scriptwriters were more than a little familiar with Enter the Dragon, and Sister Street Fighter is a wacked-out version of the Bruce Lee film with a plethora of screen crazies.  It’s hard to decide to whom the title of weirdest character should go, but I’d have to settle for a whole team – the Quentin Tarantino-sounding Amazon 7, who wear leopard skins, boxing boots, fishnets and white masks (well, presumably if you go out dressed like that you’re not going to want people to know who you are).  There must be something weird in the air at the moment throwing all these Amazon women at me (see Fantasy Mission Force), but I’ll tell you one thing for sure – one of this gang is definitely not a woman!

Street Fighter stalwart Masashi Ishibashi appears as does Sonny Chiba himself, although neither in their previous roles.  Sonny Chiba’s appearance here seems mainly to endorse the new franchise, but his scenes are some of the best of the film.  That’s not to say Shihomi can’t handle herself well, it’s just that some of the fight scenes are so badly shot it draws the attention away from the action.  When the camera’s wobbling around so much, it’s hard to focus on what’s going on.  However, there are some gems here, including a blistering nunchaku duel that ups the adrenaline level nicely.  But this doesn’t seem to quite resolve itself as the scene ends rather abruptly and her foe doesn’t show up again.

When Koryu discovers her brother’s being used as a pharmaceutical guinea pig, along with the plan to smuggle drugs in wigs (and the less said about that the better), she decides to storm the drug lord’s fortress and this starts the big climax.  Again, while competent (if a little bizarre and fragmented), the culmination isn’t quite as exciting as I’d hoped, with a very strange wirework finale.  What I really loved though was the brilliant show-stopping back-to-front man (fans will know what I mean) that was hilariously sick. 

It definitely gets more fun as it goes on, and the menagerie of weirdoes on display will ensure it will get an occasional viewing, but Sister Street Fighter is all surface and no depth, and feels every inch the speedy production it was.

If Pedicab Driver is one of the finer examples of Hong Kong action cinema in the 80s, then Angel is probably just as far in the other direction. 

The script-by-numbers is the main problem, along with indifferent direction.  Gangsters want to produce enough drugs to sell to the world; a small bunch of heroes wants to stop them.  Throw in some high-ranking police officers that have been kidnapped by the gang and you have the whole plot in a nutshell.  The “Angels” of the title are an obvious reference to Charlie’s Angels, only this time you have a visible boss (in the form of Shaw Brothers veteran David Chiang) and a male Angel (Saijo Hideki). 

The ladies come in the form of Moon Lee and Elaine Liu.  It has to be said that the latter does not look as if she wants to be there at all, and seems particularly uncomfortable with the action scenes.  Moon Lee has the moves but is just too cute to cut it as an action star.  She tries to convey intensity and fury, but only ends up looking cuter the angrier she gets.  Watching a pissed-off Moon Lee is like watching an enraged kitten – it’s not scary and you end up just wanting to pet it until it’s in a more temperate mood.

Not all the women are Angels – Japanese bad girl Oshima Yukari plays the lead muscle of the crime syndicate and gets to show off her moves as well.  But it’s her partner in crime Hwang Jang-Lee that steals the show.  He has a couple of great scenes, and is easily the best thing in the film.  Why he wasn’t given a bigger part is beyond me. 

Apart from Hwang Jang-Lee, the only other highlights are a couple of decent stunts, one involving climbing up the outside of a skyscraper.  The rest left me feeling extremely unsatisfied.  There’s also a sense of the film being steered in different directions (well, it had no fewer than three directors, so maybe that’s not surprising).  For example, it seems to me that clues are planted that the American DEA Officer is a turncoat working with the drug ring, but confusingly this never actually happens and it turns out he’s on the level after all. 

All-too-brief highlights aside, Angel can’t really be recommended to the casual fan.  But if you’re really into the girls-with-guns sub genre of Hong Kong action cinema, you may want to have a look.  And yes, Moon Lee really is that cute.

Pedicab Driver marks the end of Sammo Hung’s greatest period as both star and director with a mighty bang.  Although it seems at times to be a little over-ambitious in its storytelling, with several seemingly unrelated threads working parallel with each other, it does actually work most of the time.

The movie’s opening is definitely one of the finest pieces of Hong Kong cinema, and I defy anyone to disagree.  The setting is Macau in the 1930s; two rival gangs of pedicab (passenger-carrying tricycles similar to rickshaws) drivers meet in a teahouse for negotiations, divvying up passengers.  The discussion is bitter and hostile, but the two parties eventually reach a cordial agreement.  Just as they are able to shake hands on their new deal, the teashop owner, chasing a cat not visible to the gangs, leaps into view brandishing a deadly meat cleaver.  Both gangs mistake this for an ambush and a fight ensues.  The clash is reminiscent of the barroom brawl from Jackie Chan’s Project A, and features breathtaking action and fantastic inventiveness (there’s even a “lightsaber” duel with two fluorescent lighting strips!).  This scene, as well as being incredibly exciting, also underlines Sammo’s generosity behind the camera – instead of hogging the limelight, he lets the others take the lion’s share of screen time for the duration. 

After such an adrenaline rush, what follows immediately after could seem a huge let-down: baker Fong (Suen Yuet) tries to court his employee Ah Bing (Nina Li Chi) even though he’s old enough to be her father, while Tung (Sammo Hung) has much the same intention.  Well, it’s Nina Li Chi - that’s pretty much every man’s intention. 

Anyway, there’s also Master Ng (John Shum playing very much against type), a man so thoroughly evil he would make Hitler look reasonable.  Seriously, he’s the most snarlingly evil pantomime villain in Hong Kong cinema, and there have been quite a few over the years.  He is a pimp, and in one scene one of his workers is giving birth.  He and his men kill the girl’s father (Dick Wei – so you know there are going to be a few fireworks before the end) in front of her as the baby’s being born, then tells them to throw the offspring in the river if it’s a boy and to take it back to the brothel if it’s a girl.  He then tells the woman to get back to work. 

Last but not least, we have fellow pedicab driver Malted Candy (Max Mok) and his romance with Hsiu Tsui (Fennie Yuen).  It’s a somewhat melodramatic affair, this relationship, and is your typical Chinese tragic love story, complete with Cantopop song sung over a montage of the couple falling in love.  I don’t know what Malted Candy was expecting of the poor girl.  After all, he was initially attracted to her because she reminded him of a character from a pornographic novel he was reading. 

While these story threads are certainly only diversions from the main spectacle (the fights), they do seem to enhance the film, and I hold this opinion despite my cynical and jaded nature.  Actually, the love story between the star-crossed lovers only seems bearable while you’re watching the film – when you think about it before and after viewing the film it all seems so tackily contrived.

The action scenes are scattered sparingly throughout the film, but the one that stands out has no relevance to the plot whatsoever.  Sammo crashes a gambling den and is challenged to fight the boss.  Big deal, you might think, except the boss turns out to be Lau Kar-Leung and the fight is stunning.  The time that passed between this and his Shaw Brothers heyday seems to have been kind to Lau, and no doubt out of respect for the elder, Hung lets Lau’s character win the bout.

The dramatic events that unfold near the end of the film pay off when Sammo and Rice Pudding (Mang Hoi) take revenge on Master Ng.  I argue that the reliance on melodrama gives the film the right tone for this climax as Sammo goes apeshit at Ng’s mansion, taking on pretty much his entire gang (including Billy Chow – always worth watching in a Hung directed film) in a way that only Sammo knows how.

Pedicab Driver is one of the finest examples of 80s action in a Hong Kong film, and as many people cite that decade as the most impressive in turns of action choreography, that’s quite a recommendation.  It’s frustrating that the movie isn’t out on DVD yet (legitimately, anyway) as it deserves a much higher profile.  No doubt it’ll turn up one day, and those action scenes will blow away a whole new generation of fans.

It’s been a long time since I’ve done a Sonny Chiba film on here.  Although it seems like I’ve not been watching them, I have in fact been on a steady diet of Chiba since watching The Street Fighter way back on my first post for this blog.  I’ve bought so many boxed sets of Chiba’s films that I now have no less than three copies of Killing Machine, two copies of Bullet Train, and two versions of Virus (which isn’t really a Sonny Chiba film but that doesn’t stop companies including it).   

No, the reason I’ve not been writing about them is because so many of them (apart from the Street Fighter films) leave me completely cold.  I think it’s something to do with the storylines and the scripts – something always feels a little “off” to me.  Chokugeki!  Jigoku-ken is no different – a disgraced police officer recruits a bunch of criminals to break up a drug ring – but at least it does have a certain flair. 

Chiba is Ryuichi Koga, a trained ninja – although his “backstory” consists of a few short generic training sequences before we see him as a man, leaving his master.  Along for the ride is a ruthless assassin (Makoto Satô), an overly horny murderer awaiting execution on death row (Eiji Go) and, to provide eye-candy, Street Fighter co-star Yutaka Nakajima. 

The first indication that something’s slightly amiss is the introduction of Makoto’s character, which is borrowed almost directly from the introduction of Lee Van Cleef’s character in The Good the Bad and the Ugly.  Well, if you’re going to borrow, I suppose you borrow from the best.  However, Ryuichi then springs Eiji Go out of prison with the exact same chewing-gum-in-a-lock gag from obscure Hong Kong movie Interpol 009, which I just happened to have watched a few weeks ago.  Odd. 

Although the characters are strange (the horny ex-prisoner is particularly annoying and I’m still not sure why Yutaka Nakajima was in the film other than for her considerable beauty) and the story a little dull, it is a cut above a lot of similar fare as it doesn’t take itself too seriously.  The comedy, although lowbrow, is actually pretty funny most of the time. 

And then you’ve got the action sequences, which Chiba handles as well as you’d expect.  They’re the highlight of the film, of course, and in that respect Chokugeki!  Jigoku-ken is a winner, with fights breaking out on a regular basis.  One pleasant surprise is the inclusion of Kurata Yasuaki, who will be instantly recognisable to every Hong Kong action film fan on the planet.  Mr Kurata was the go-to guy for decades when Hong Kong filmmakers wanted a Japanese martial artist, and he even got to play non-villains once or twice.  His place in Hong Kong cinematic history is secured with appearances in films such as Heroes of the East, Millionaire’s Express and Fist of Legend, and apparently he’s a really nice bloke too.  I don’t know why, but I was actually surprised to see him in a Japanese film!  

If you take away the fights, though, you can’t help but think this is all routine stuff.  I know great scriptwriting isn’t the thing most people associate with action movies (especially from this part of the world) but it would have been nice to have something interesting to hang the fight sequences on other than some (admittedly funny) comic moments and quite a lot of gratuitous nudity.   

This is definitely another example of a great film if you’re in a very undemanding mood.  Just don’t expect cinematic gold.  Oh, and by the way, does anyone want to buy a couple of copies of Killing Machine?

Asian action cinema tends to get a raw deal when it comes to serious critical analysis, so it is initially refreshing that Stephen Teo approaches the subject of King Hu’s magnum opus A Touch of Zen with a scholarly eye.  The movie is, as far as I’m concerned, the greatest achievement of the wuxia genre – an opinion that is reinforced by the fact that its influence is still obvious in films lauded as masterpieces by western audiences ignorant of the source material. 

Previous works by the author made me a little wary of this book.  Teo tends to overanalyse things in my opinion and his writing can be very “dry” and dispassionate.  The book (119 pages in an approximately A5 sized book, with a further 50 or so pages of appendices and an index) is split into several chapters dealing with different segments of the film running roughly parallel with the film’s narrative. 

By far the most interesting sections are the introduction and conclusion, where Teo sheds light on the film’s background with information I’ve not read anywhere else.  We learn how the fantastically dilapidated Ching Lu Fort set was constructed and aged (with a flame-thrower, apparently!) and how the film’s failure at the box office (it only became successful after a screening at Cannes some years after release) led to the production company’s slow demise.

 After reading the introduction, we are instructed to skip to the first appendix which gives a plot synopsis for the 17th century short story Xia Nü by Pu Songling, upon which certain elements of A Touch of Zen are based.  After we return to the text, Teo begins psychoanalysing the work in earnest.  He comes up with some great theories and discusses the symbolism on display in the film, even approaching the spider motif that crops up continuously throughout the film from different angles.  Several times, he spots things that I’d completely missed or he points out cultural or linguistic subtleties that had completely gone over my head – especially on the subject of Zen itself and the character Hui Yuan’s rebirth, which was a complete revelation to me.  Certain of his arguments do strike me as quite subjective, however, and Teo has a tendency to state his opinions as fact – a practice that can become frustrating to the reader. 

Nowhere is this more in evidence than in Teo’s repeated claims regarding the homosexuality (or bisexuality – Teo tends to use the terms interchangeably) of the lead male character Ku Shen-Chai (written as Gu Shengzhai in the text).  In the short story, his bisexuality isn’t in question (he and the Ouyang Nian character become lovers), but Teo keeps insisting that this is also the case in the film adaptation, even going as far as to claim that A Touch of Zen is “a film of repressed bisexuality” – a claim I can see no evidence of whatsoever.  Teo writes that Ku considers marriage “despite his homosexuality (which we perceive in the film but know to be a fact from the original story)”.  However, my own reading of Ku’s reaction is that he seems keen on the idea of marrying Yang and is visibly disappointed when his mother tells him she doesn’t want to marry him.  Teo argues that Hu “played down” the homosexual elements for political and cultural reasons but I feel that Hu simply did not include that element of the story at all.  It seems more likely to me that the character Ku is an under confident, somewhat unambitious man (as seen by his constant rejection of the idea of applying for the governmental exam to become an officer) whose bumbling oafishness slowly dissolves after his first sexual encounter with Yang awakens the confident, scheming strategist that he would become.  However, only once does Teo ponder the possibility that Hu may have written Ku as heterosexual and does not offer a single shred of evidence in support of his theory.  We are also told of Ku’s supposed scopophilic tendencies and that “the spider denotes…a repressed scopophilic instinct”, but again there seems little hard evidence of this.

The theming of each chapter to a specific set piece of the film does occasionally feel as if you’re reading a hasty novelisation of the film, but Teo interjects his own thoughts and quotations from other critics and reviewers into the text along the way.  Teo’s writing hasn’t become any more accessible, I’m sorry to say, and you may want to keep a dictionary handy for when he really start to let fly with his vocabulary.  He breaks up the text with some very grainy monochrome screenshots from the movie (I’m betting he took the shots from the Tai Seng DVD) to help explain visually some of his points, and the aforementioned appendices offer a little more background (although feel more like padding) as well as copious notes at the end of the book.

I would have preferred more background on the film and less psychoanalysis.  If you don’t believe wholly in what Teo tells us, you will have a hard time accepting some of his conclusions.  However, the fact that the book exists at all is something of a minor victory as the film itself seems totally ignored today, and the book does rekindle the urge to go and revisit wuxia’s finest three hours.

Published by Hong Kong University Press - 2007.

Fatal Move is the latest Hong Kong action/triad movie (though with more “triad” than “action”) focussing on the relationships between gangsters, and one particular cell’s dealings with the law and other rival gangs.  Veteran action star Sammo Hung comes off an acting career highlight with SPL to play the Big Brother alongside Simon Yam’s deeply flawed Lin Ho Tung and young contender Lok Tin Hung (Wu Jing).

Yes, all three were involved in SPL, and this movie was originally conceived as a prequel to that film.  When this became unfeasible, a whole new story was written, but hoping for similar success.   Well, there’s one thing that will be making the US distributors rub their hands with glee – this movie already has its dumb two-word US title.  No high-falutin’ philosophical gobbledegook about heavenly bodies interacting with each other requiring a tricky 30 second explanation that would make your average action film fan reach for the eject button and his Van Damme collection.  That’s unless they decide to call it Kill Zone 2, that is.

The early word on this film was that it was mediocre.  Well, let me say categorically that it isn’t – Fatal Move is, in fact, bloody awful.  The central core, acting-wise, isn’t too bad.  Simon Yam plays a gangster prone to sentimentality and has a pretty sizeable gambling problem, Sammo Hung is getting good at his new lease of life as a Triad boss, and Wu Jing still flips about like a young Yuen Biao with a Manga hairstyle. 

The troubles quickly become apparent when Wu Jing starts hacking away at his foes with a sword.  It promises to be another great Wu Jing action showcase, but for some reason these huge gouts of CGI blood start pumping out all over the screen.  It’s true what they say: if you can tell it’s a CGI shot, then it’s not a good CGI shot - and frankly, these are terrible CGI shots.  Worse, it continues this style all of the way through the movie.  It’s strange, Hong Kong mastered the blood squib back in the late 60’s (see Chang Cheh’s Have Sword Will Travel for how cinematic sword wounds should look) but these pathetic efforts wouldn’t fool a seven-year-old child.  Undaunted, I continued, only to find the plot convoluted, contrived and, worst of all, extremely dull.  I’d lost all interest by the hour mark (barely halfway through the movie, I might add) and the film just gets increasingly irritating after that.  It’s all about double-crossings, betrayal etc, but not done with an ounce of flair, and the plot lapses into incoherence on a number of occasions.

It’s a mark of desperation when, near the end, two characters duel seemingly just for the sake of it.  Certainly there was no brooding antagonism or sign of unrest among the couple that I could see (although I was nodding off at this point) – one just says to the other that he didn’t see the other as the leader and they’re off.  It’s like a tacked-on scene that movie executives add on when a production runs into trouble.  It is, however, a great addition (CGI blood aside), and if more of these fight scenes were included it might have made the film half entertaining.

Don’t rush into Fatal Move expecting the new SPL.  In fact, don’t rush into it at all.  Don’t walk, either.  Give it a wide birth and pretend it never happened.  You’ll only be disappointed if you don’t.

Lam Suet-o-meter: Low.  He plays an assistant to Inspector Liu (Danny Lee – who I had actually forgot was in the film, that’s how much of an impression he made).  He’s about to be redeployed in the force.  Think of him counting down the days to his retirement and you’ll understand where the character’s heading.

When Sergeant Lo (Lam Suet) loses his police pistol after a scuffle with a bunch of TsimShaTsui hoodlums one night, Sergeant Ho (Simon Yam) puts a self-imposed deadline on finding the weapon.  Fearing its use in gang warfare, Ho’s team scramble to recover the weapon before dawn, or they will be forced to report the loss to their superiors.  When the main suspect turns up murdered, escalating violence between rival gangs becomes inevitable.

Set over one night in TsimShaTsui, PTU (it stands for Police Tactical Unit, by the way) is one of those films that is irresistible to fans of ticking-clock thrillers that feel they’re moving in real time (even though they’re not). 

The film is imbued with some very black comedy, sometimes making it feel like a Hong Kong version of After Hours, what with the urban night-time setting, bizarre events and all.  One scene at the start perfectly sets up the tone and establishes the pecking order in the film’s society: lead thug Ponytail (Frank Liu) and his gang enter a cafe and sit at their preferred table, displacing a lone eater who was already there.  In comes the hated sergeant Lo and chooses the same table, displacing Ponytail and his gang and making them sit elsewhere.

However, at heart PTU is a cop procedure thriller more in line with other Milky Way films such as Eye in the Sky and To’s own Breaking News.  Where this film differs, though, is in the intricate plotting – sometimes making the film extremely hard to follow.  There are several threads to the story, and if you’re not paying attention, you’re going to get lost – and that’s guaranteed.  Several times, something happens or is discussed and seems inconsequential – only to end up being crucial to the film’s outcome. 

Even though this film runs below 90 minutes, there does seem some flabbiness in the middle section, and one scene, where Ho’s unit progress stealthily up a staircase, is excruciatingly slow.  PTU’s film score consists entirely of what sounds like 80’s guitar power-rock solos – and not very good ones at that.  Given To’s previous works, where the music is entirely fitting and tasteful, this seems an entirely bizarre choice.  Nevertheless, the urban locations are atmospheric and TsimShaTsui becomes a character in itself, with its strangely deserted streets and shuttered businesses.  I’ve no idea what the district is like these days, but it was always said that it was not the kind of area tourists were recommended to be in after darkness, and this comes across very well in the film, and looks akin to the seedier, grittier areas of New York as shown in US productions.

PTU is clever, but I feel it’s perhaps too clever for its own good.  There are some characters that seem superfluous, such as Maggie Shaw’s Sergeant Kat, and the pace is at times too slow.  But if you’re prepared to concentrate hard there’s certainly a very intelligent film in here.

Lam Suet-o-meter: High.  He’s second lead, slightly behind Simon Yam.  In fact, he probably grabs more screen time in this than anything else I’ve seen him in.  And that’s a lot of films…

There’s an international money counterfeiting gang in town, and Interpol agent 009, Chen Tianhong (Tang Ching) is sent to investigate.

Like Lo Wei’s Golden Buddha from 1966, Interpol 009 attempts to bring a Chinese James Bond to the screen, although the two films are otherwise unrelated.

Agent 009 has much in common with his more famous counterpart – he’s a suave womaniser, heavy drinker (although he prefers brandy to a vodka martini) and is deadly with any form of weapon you can to give him.  He’s also got an arsenal of gadgets to get him out of scrapes, such as a watch with several uses (including a listening device), a lighter that can turn into a smoke bomb and chewing gum that can open locked doors.  However, that’s pretty much where the similarities end, as Chen Tianhong has the charisma of a housebrick.  Perhaps sensing this, he is given a sidekick in the shape of Huang Mao (Lee Kwan – best known for his appearance as Ah Kun in Bruce Lee’s The Big Boss) who runs around Hong Kong in a Beatle suit and provides comic relief.

Chen Tianhong (who proclaims, and I swear to God this is true: “Danger?  That’s my middle name”) woos the ladies despite some stinky chat up lines (he even comes out with “do you come here often?” to one lady).  This is perhaps the sauciest Chinese film from the 60’s I’ve seen as Agent 009 canoodles with just about every lady he comes into contact with and there’s even a bare bottom at one point.  This is a far cry from the previous year’s Golden Buddha, which is extremely coy in comparison. 

The story concerns a money counterfeiting gang headed by a beautiful mysterious lady (the tragic Margaret Tu Chuan, who would commit suicide before the decade came to an end at the age of 27) and it’s here that another problem becomes apparent – the villains are all a bit pedestrian and the locations are very domestic, with the action all taking place in Hong Kong.  Part of the appeal of the Bond movies is the exotic locations and the overblown villains, and this film is a letdown on both points. 

There is some enjoyment to be had from the film, despite its drawbacks.  However, I’m not sure all the fun is intentional.  There’s a scene where the bad guys are beating up some guy, who manages to get away in an unguarded car.  He gets away and then drives his car straight off the nearest quay and into the water.  One of the perusing villains just mutters “silly man” and shakes his head – which I found hilariously funny.  The final reel mercifully turns up the action a couple of notches, and another Bond device comes into play – the age-old ploy of the bad guys tying up the hero (with sidekick in this case), planning a grisly fate for them and then scooting off and assuming the hero gets splattered across a large area.  In this case, the villains leave 009 to stew until the bomb they’ve planted goes off and turns Chen Tianhong into a disgusting red mess. 

So how long do the villains give Chen Tianhong to ponder his fate while they make a speedy getaway?  Two minutes?  Five minutes?  Surely no more than ten minutes?  Actually, they give him two hours.  In that time, Bond would have got out, killed an army of henchmen, downed a couple of vodka martinis, shagged the villainess, killed her and quipped about it to his leading lady while making a witty quip over the radio to an exasperated M.  Chen Tianhong barely gets out with his skin intact, and this sums up the film in a nutshell.

Interpol 009 is just too dull most of the time to be enjoyable and suffers from some illogical plot problems to boot.  It’s not a complete write-off, and the 60’s fashions and sensibilities are always fun to watch, but this is not even on par with the more cringeworthy Roger Moore-era Bonds.