Empty Hands, The (2017) Review

“The Empty Hands” Theatrical Poster

Director: Chapman To
Cast: Chapman To, Stephy Tang, Yasuaki Kurata, Stephen Au, Dada Chan, Ryan Lau, Michelle Loo, Juju Chan, Roy Szeto, Tanya Chan, Wiyona Yeung
Running Time: 87 min.

By Paul Bramhall

While many may claim that Hong Kong cinema is dead, a case that’s hard to argue when compared to its unmatchable heyday of the 80’s, it’s unfair to completely write off the territory as being a lifeless corpse. Movies like The Midnight After, The Brink, and Chasing the Dragon have all proved that there’s life in the old dog yet, and I for one say long may the trend continue. Perhaps one of the most unexpected voices to champion Hong Kong cinema though, is that of Chapman To. Known for his raucous roles in the likes of Vulgaria and SDU: Sex Duties Unit in recent years, it’s important to remember he also has another side, one which has seen him strongly advocating the need for Hong Kong to remain a democracy.

His pro-democracy stance hasn’t sat well with the Mainland, and after he found himself arguing with Mainland netizens during 2014’s Occupy Central Movement, he soon found himself unofficially blacklisted from the Mainland film industry. Movies scheduled to be released in which he had a role were cancelled from being screened, and his scenes from the 2015 fantasy flick Impossible were completely removed, with the director re-filming them with Mainland actor Da Peng (Jian Bing Man). As a result, when To turned his focus to directing for his 2016 debut Let’s Eat, it took the form of a Singapore-Malaysian co-production. While the culinary themed comedy was met with a lacklustre reception, in 2017 To returned with his sophomore feature The Empty Hands, this time on his familiar home soil of Hong Kong.

While To’s debut in the director’s chair was indicative that he planned to stay within the comfort zone of the genre he’d become associated with, his follow-up couldn’t be more different. Eschewing the frivolous antics one has come to expect, instead it arrives as a quietly contemplative love letter to karate, one that, perhaps even more surprisingly, is effectively anchored by Canto-pop star Stephy Tang. Like many Canto-pop stars, Tang has also had a successful film career, becoming hugely popular for her roles in romantic comedies (although to be fair, she was last seen in the ultra-dark Paradox). Her slender frame, not to mention image, may not make her the most likely choice to be the lead in a karate drama, so her performance in The Empty Hands will most likely come as a revelation to those both familiar and unfamiliar with her work.

Tang plays a half Chinese half Japanese 30-something Hong Konger. Growing up under the tutelage of her karate sensei father, played by Yasuaki Kurata, she had a natural talent for it, however after losing in a competition she felt forced to take part in, never practiced again. Several years later, after her father’s passing she almost feels a sense of relief, knowing she can finally convert the dojo into multiple living spaces to rent out. A spanner is thrown in the works though when it’s revealed she’s only been left 49% of the ownership, with the other 51% going to To, who plays a former student and low level triad member just released from prison.

To, along with another long-time student, played as a mute by Stephen Au Kam-Tong (Vampire Cleanup Department), intend to return the dojo to its former glory, derailing Tang’s plans and adding to her already numerous woes. Sensing that Tang has been coasting through life in neutral for who knows how long, To puts forward a proposition which would see him handover his share of the dojo. The challenge is for her to resume the karate training she’s cast out of her life, and enter into an upcoming amateur competition. If she’s still on her feet after one round, regardless of the overall outcome, she’ll be given the full ownership she’d taken for granted.

The charm of The Empty Hands lays in its subtleties. While the plot description may sound straight forward, it plays out as more of a framework, one in which we witness Tang come to minor but meaningful realizations about her life. In many ways the tone and feel of To’s sophomore feature reminded me of a strange hybrid of Throw Down and Full Strike. All three movies deal with a character that used to be a master of whatever martial art or sports it is they used to practice, only to have reached a point in their life when those former glories feel like they no longer matter. The Empty Hands isn’t as in-your-face as Full Strike, nor as visceral as Throw Down, but the message of acknowledging the past in order to move on to the future remains the same.

Tang’s character may not be the most likeable protagonist, but she’s frequently relatable. Even when her decisions are frustrating ones, there’s a sense of understanding behind why she chooses the paths that she does. This is likely down to the dialogue by frequent Herman Yau collaborator, Erica Li Man, who co-wrote the script with To. Just like her work on fellow female-centric productions such as The Woman Knight of Mirror Lake and Sara (which To also produced), here the female touch helps to add a level of realism to proceedings, and it’s all the more affecting for it. 

Of course any movie about karate should, at some point, show some of it. Tang trained in the art for several months prior to filming, and To himself has been practicing for several years now, earning a black belt along the way. Both get to show their stuff, although those coming in expecting a fight fest will be left sourly disappointed. More so than the physical confrontations, The Empty Hands is more about the rituals of karate – its katas, the training, and the philosophies that underpin it all. There are a handful of fight scenes, in particular To’s throw down against his associates, which includes the movie debut of Charlene Houghton, daughter of legendary gweilo Mark Houghton, and Tang’s eventual match against real life fighter Michelle Lo. The latter is refreshingly realistic in its approach, with none of the style or grandeur usually associated with a Hong Kong movie fight scene.

The realism of the fights is likely down to the whopping six credited action directors, of which To is listed as one of them. Of the other five, it’s Jack Wong Wai-Leung (Wolf Warrior 2) who has the most experience, with Leung Bok-Yan, Bill Lui Tak-Wai, Ryouichi Ishijima, and Stephan Au Kam-Tong (who plays the mute student) also contributing their ideas and expertise. It’s a bold move by To to frame the action the way he has, in a story which essentially sets itself up to be sold on the promise of some. On paper many may be expecting a build up to a finale that resembles something like Best of the Best, or even (dare I say it) The Next Karate Kid, but The Empty Hands instead feels like something different all together. The composition of many of the shots, including the action, have an ethereal, almost surreal like feel to them, indicating the arrival of a voice in Hong Kong cinema that’s very much worth paying attention to. 

It would be a crime not to mention the presence of Yasuaki Kurata as Tang’s father. Clocking in his fourth appearance of 2017, after supporting turns in God of War, Manhunt, and The Brink, there’s no doubt that The Empty Hands gives him his most poignant and meaningful role. Be it watching him perform a kata in an open field in black and white, set to a classical overture, to silently eating a bowl of ramen by himself in the dojo, his role carries with it a weight of respect that few have granted him. Despite his presence flitting in and out, even when he’s off-screen his character can be felt, the burden of being the daughter of a Japanese karate master flowing down to the next generation. Put simply, having Kurata in the role adds a level of nuance, one that wouldn’t have been there had it gone to anyone else.

With its fractured time structure, down to earth storytelling, and Japanese filmmaking influence, The Empty Hands can be a hard movie to define. It would be easy to argue that it’s not really about karate, but then again, it would be just as easy to argue that it’s a story that wouldn’t exist without it. It could well be that both points of view are just as valid as the other. Despite the cultural ties to Japan that any movie featuring karate will have, the feeling that most resonated with me as the end credits began to roll, was that I’d just watched the most authentic piece of Hong Kong cinema I’d seen for a long time. For that, both Chapman To and Stephy Tang are to be applauded, or in this case, perhaps an “OSU!” would be more appropriate.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 7.5/10