FIRST STRIKE [163 a 164]

Pag. 163

FIRST STRIKE

The months continued to pass, and we somehow managed to survive and thrive. With the help of Samo, Yuen Biao got his foot in the door as a junior stuntman and began developing a good reputation. Samo himself moved up from senior stuntman to stunt coordinator, signing on with an upstart studio called Golden Harvest. 

As for me, I’d risen to the top of the stunt profession, becoming the highest of high-class stuntmen—someone the coordinators asked for by name when a hard or dangerous scene needed to be shot.

Then, one day, I got a call that I thought would change my life. 

“Is this Yuen Lo” said the voice on the phone. It was a voice I knew well—sweet, feminine, and kind, a voice out of my youth. 

“Biggest Sister!” I shouted, drawing a state from the building manager, who had let me use his telephone. I hadn’t talked to her since she’d left the school, years before. It turned out that she, too, had gone into the film business, working as an assistant for a big-time producer.

“I’ve heard so many good things about you, Yuen Lo,” she said. 

“You’ve made a real name for yourself.”

I guess I couldn’t help bragging about myself after a comment like that, so I told Biggest Sister about how I’d risen like a rocket through the ranks of stuntmen. “I can jump higher, kick faster, and hit harder than anyone,” I told her. “And I’m not afraid of anything. I just wish I had a chance to show what I can really do.”

There was a chuckle from the other end of the line. “Maybe I can help you get that chance, Little Brother,” she said. “A producer just contacted our office looking for a good fighter for a new picture he’s doing; I don’t think it’ll pay much, but it’s better than taking punches while someone else gets the glory….”

I almost dropped the phone. Me, a martial arts star? All of us had talked about it, even dreamed about it secretly—but we also dreamed about growing wings and learning how to fly, and that wasn’t likely to happen either. 

“I’ll do it,” I said. 

“Like I said, I’m not sure how much they’ll pay you—”

“I don’t care if I have to pay them,” I said. 

Pag.164

She laughed at that, and promised to recommend me for the film. And I got the role!

I’d like to think it was because of my skill or reputation, but the truth is, Biggest Sister got me the part; even after all these years, she was still looking out for me. 

As I said before, sometimes I think I’ve been pretty lucky in my life. 

Then again, sometimes I think life stinks. As soon as I got on the set, I knew something was wrong. The film was a cheap kung fu story called The Little Tiger of Canton. I was supposed to be the Little Tiger, I guess, but with the budget they were using, I’m not sure if they could have afforded a kitten, much less a tiger. The whole thing was even less professional than the cheap “seven-day” movies we used to act in while we were still kids at the school. (We called them “seven-day” films because that’s how long they took to shoot!)

The whole experience was so embarrassing that, when they asked me what name I wanted to put on the credits, I told them to call me Chan Yuen Lung—Biggest Brother’s school name. I figured he wasn’t using it anymore, so what did it matter?

While I was working on Little Tiger, my respect for directors sank to a new low. There wasn’t much of script, and even less direction. Usually, I was just told to stand in front of the camera and do whatever seemed to make sense—which was nothing, as far as I was concerned. The other actors talked constantly about quitting; the crew complained about the rotten conditions, the long hours, and the outdated and broken equipment. Of course, no one was getting paid. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise that the whole thing ended up falling apart. One night, the director and producer quietly disappeared, taking with them any hope that the film would be finished. Or that we’d get our wages. So weeks of work were just wasted, and my hopes of becoming a big-screen idol were smashed for the first time. 

I was depressed and angry after that failure, but I knew there was always stunt work to be done. And even if that wouldn’t make me famous, it would keep me well fed. 

If there was one thing that growing up in the school drummed into me, it’s that nothing is quite as important as a full belly.