The Sword (1980) Review

“The Sword” Theatrical Poster

Director: Patrick Tam Kar-Ming
Cast: Adam Cheng Siu Chow, Norman Chui Siu-keung, Jade Hsu, Tien Feng, JoJo Chan Kei-Kei, Bonnie Ngai, Eddy Ko Hung, Lau Siu-Ming, Lee Hoi-Sang
Running Time: 86 min.

By Paul Bramhall

In the early 80’s Hong Kong cinema was experiencing what’s come to be labelled the new wave, as a fresh generation of young directors came to the fore. Movies like Tsui Hark’s Dangerous Encounter of the First Kind (1980), Alex Cheung’s Man on the Brink (1981), and Kirk Wong’s The Club (1981) presented a more realistic, gritty approach to the kind of stories they wanted to tell, usually grounded in the day-to-day reality of Hong Kong. Another new wave director who would debut in 1980 was Patrick Tam, and while The Sword eschews the contemporary streets of Hong Kong for a period wuxia setting, the spirit of the new wave is one that can be felt throughout, making for a unique entry in the genre.

Much like Tsui Hark would come to deconstruct the wuxia genre 15 years later with The Blade, in The Sword Tam takes a well-worn story, but frames it through a distinctly different lens than what we’d see had it been produced by the Shaw Brothers studio. Indeed in many ways The Sword feels like a more modernised version of Hua Shan’s Soul of the Sword from a couple of years prior, which was from the Shaw Brothers studio, and featured Ti Lung as a nameless swordsman obsessed with becoming the best regardless of the cost. Here Tam shows he’s unafraid to lean back on the previous decade by casting Adam Cheng as a roving swordsman with similar ambitions, however the tone feels a world apart from the stoic demeanour of Soul of the Sword.

Cheng was already a veteran of almost 40 productions when he took the lead in Tam’s debut, having been acting since the mid-60’s, however it was his roles in TV productions like 1976’s Book and Sword and 1979’s Heavenly Sword and Dragon Sabre that popularised his image as a romantic swordsman. While Cheng gives a suitably confident performance as the self-assured swordsman who we initially meet, the focus on the relationships with the characters around him gives The Sword a distinctly more humanistic and intimate feel than most wuxia’s of the era. Tam puts the characters at the heart of the story over the familiar plot and the expected action, and it’s this aspect which gives the narrative a revisionist slant, not so much creating something new, but rather looking at something familiar from a previously unseen angle.

The futility of being obsessed with being number one is felt throughout, and from the opening scene there’s an air of impending doom that never feels far away. Cheng is on a mission to seek out another famous swordsman who hasn’t been seen for years to ask for a duel, and in one particularly memorable scene receives a tipoff that the man he seeks may be residing in a remote dwelling up in the mountains. However when Cheng gets there he’s greeted by a dishevelled caretaker (played by Lau Siu-Ming), who explains he’s been waiting 12 years expecting the famous swordsman Cheng also seeks to return, quickly convincing himself that Cheng is the one he’s been waiting for all this time. Forced to fight out of disillusionment, the pointless death that the scene ends in sets the tone for what’s to come, as the tropes of fate and coincidence push Cheng further towards his goal.

After rescuing a feisty and seemingly carefree lady (Jade Hsu – Once Upon a Rainbow) from an assassin (a brief but entertaining role for Lee Hoi-Sang, who’d show up in The Young Master and Tower of Death during the same year), she and Cheng stop at an inn for the night to recover. It’s while there that Cheng’s long-lost love also turns up (played by JoJo Chan – Magnificent Butcher), who’s accompanied by her sword collecting husband (Norman Tsui – Sword Master) and his mute bodyguard (Eddy Ko Hung – The Postman Strikes Back). The intertwining relationships between the characters hint at a love triangle forming between Cheng, Hsu, and Chan, who’s marriage to Tsui appears to be one under duress, and matters are complicated further when it’s revealed that Hsu is the daughter of the famous swordsman that Cheng is seeking.

Overlapping desires, an unwillingness to put aside one’s pride, and growing jealousy all culminate in a number of violent confrontations, helmed by fight choreographers Tang Tak-Cheung and Tony Ching Siu-Tung. Both respected directors in their own right, while Tak-Cheung would helm a pair of the best latter day Shaw Brothers entries in the form of Demon of the Lute (1983) and Long Road to Gallantry (1984), it would be Siu-Tung who’d leave an indelible stamp on Hong Kong action cinema with his elaborate wirework fuelled wuxia’s. Making his directorial debut in 1983 with Duel to the Death, Siu-Tung would later direct the likes of the A Chinese Ghost Story trilogy, the Swordsman trilogy, and Wonder Seven, each time also having a hand in the action.

The Sword would be the only time for Tak-Cheung and Siu-Tung to collaborate together on action duty, and director Tam utilises each fight to propel the narrative forward, with violence often breaking out suddenly. A unique blend of old school meets new school, while the sword action itself may not be as intricately staged as we’d see a decade later, there’s a dynamism to the editing and camera angles used which makes them feel fresh. There are elements on display that feel like a precursor to what Siu-Tung would further develop in his own Duel to the Death, the first production to begin embracing the bombastic action that wirework could create. While here wirework is present it feels minimal, opting for quality over quantity that gives it added impact when used, that is until Tak-Cheung and Siu Tung’s creativity is fully unleashed in the final fight, ending on a finishing move special effect that would surely make Chang Cheh proud.

However Tam’s auteur touch is never far away, meaning the action never overshadows his input, with the most shocking moment of violence actually being a single slap that Norman Tsui delivers to JoJo Chan, filmed in such a way that the audience fully feel the pain that comes as a result of it. Somewhat regrettably Tam would only direct another 6 movies in the 1980’s, concluding with the classic My Heart is that Eternal Rose in 1989, before he’d stick with being an editor for most of the 90’s and 2000’s. His directorial comeback in 2006 with After This Our Exile proved he hadn’t missed a beat not sitting in the director’s chair for 17 years, and most recently he contributed to the Hong Kong omnibus production Septet – The Story of Hong Kong.

The occasionally pulsating synthesiser soundtrack by Joseph Koo further adds to the feel of The Sword being a production that has one foot in the past, but the other more firmly planted in the future, and one thing that can’t be argued is that it’s never felt so lonely to be a swordsman as it does here. Tam imbues practically every frame with a sense of longing, one that could so easily be satisfied if the characters were willing to free themselves from the codes they believe they have to live by. While the narrative presents the titular sword as being responsible for the tragedy and violence that follow its owner around, there’s a distinct feeling that Tam is presenting it as a metaphor for human ambition, and the consequences that can stem from it when it goes unchecked.

It’s no secret that I’m a big fan of when a director not usually known for helming martial arts themed movies decides to tackle the genre, as the results are almost always compelling (just don’t mention Fruit Chan’s Invincible Dragon), and Tam here has created a wuxia that feels ahead of its time by at least a decade. Equal parts darkly pessimistic and hopelessly romantic, The Sword saw the wuxia genre at the top of its game as a new decade and era of filmmaking for Hong Kong cinema was ushered in.

Paul Bramhall’s Rating: 9/10