FUNNY IS AS FUNNY DOES [214 - 217]

Pag. 214

FUNNY IS AS FUNNY DOES 

I don’t know what it was that Willie told Lo, but it must have worked. Lo announced the next day that my next film would be directed by my friend Chen Chi-hwa, and that—unlike the pictures I’d completed for Lo so far—it would be a comedy. The title, he announced, would be Half a Loaf of Kung Fu. 

“You think you’re so clever, boy, we might as well try to use your mouth for something other than just talking back,” he grumped. “So laugh all you want. I have more important things to do.” 

The wheels were already turning in my head. Half a loaf was my big chance to show Lo—and the rest of the world—that kung fu didn’t have to be an agonizing journey of revenge. The theaters were more packed with stone-faced warriors than the ancient battlefields of China ever were. It was time to try something different. 

And so, Chen and I made Half a Loaf into a piece of wild slapstick—turning the martial arts revenge film upside down and inside out. During the opening credit sequences, instead of showing the standard grim kung fu posturing, the camera cuts back and forth between my furious kicks and punches and a wooden practice dummy, the target of my blows. As the credits end, the camera pulls back into a wide shot—showing that the practice dummy I’m attacking is only one foot tall! 

I guess the jokes in Half a Loaf are pretty broad, like the scene in which I use a villain’s toupee as a weapon, twirling it and slapping my opponent with it as if it were one of Bruce’s infamous nunchakus. But we had a great time making it, and we were looking forward to the audience’s reaction to our ninety-minute-long practical joke. 

We didn’t get the chance. 

According to Willie, when Lo finally got a chance to screen it, he was livid. 

“What the hell is this?” he’d shouted. “Is this supposed to be funny?” 

Lo never cursed. For all of his faults, he hated profanity. This was a sign that he was very, very angry.

Willie, screening the film with him, replied that yes, indeed it was. 

“If he wants funny, I’ll show him funny,” said Lo. “Put this piece of crap in the vault.”

Pag.215

And so our movie ended up on a shelf in the office’s back closet, unwatched by anyone except for us, Lo, and Willie. 

Until 1980, that is. 

By that time, I’d gotten to be successful, and Lo decided to release some of my “private” work to the public. And, as usual, Lo’s instincts proved to be wrong. When it finally hit the screen, Half a Loaf was a hit—among fans who realized that what we were trying to make was the first real martial arts parody. 

Meanwhile, Lo immediately put me to work on a new project, Magnificent Bodyguards, whose only original aspect was that it was shot in 3-D—not that the technology added anything to the movie. (In order to show off the effects, we were instructed to kick and punch toward the cameras. As you might guess, this made my role as stunt coordinator very difficult; usually in a fight, the two combatants are concentrating on trying to hit each other.)

Lo refused to talk to me throughout the shoot, directing me by proxy through the D.P. I’m not sure exactly why he was so angry; looking back, I think now that maybe he was offended that Chen Chi-hwa and I hadn’t followed in his footsteps, “learning from the master.” He was a proud man, and despite all of his bluster, he saw himself as a kind of father figure to me, Chen, and the other young, underpaid people who toiled for his company. And to tell the truth, I did learn a lot from him—a little about what to do, and a lot about what to avoid. 

It was only when Bodyguard wrapped that Lo finally approached me, a triumphant expression on his face. He announced that he’d commissioned a script for a comedy vehicle of his own, which would show me—and audiences everywhere—what martial arts humor was really about. 

“It’s called Spiritual Kung Fu,” said Lo. “I got some great ideas for it already. Just walking up the stairs to get here, I was laughing.” 

I’d unconsciously edged over to where Willie was sitting, looking in vain for some moral support. Willie had his head buried in some papers, and was trying to appear as busy as possible. It was clear he didn’t want to get involved. Lo rolled over to where I was standing and put his arm around my shoulders. 

“Now, Jackie, I’m not necessarily saying you aren’t funny,” he said in a fatherly tone. “See, when you get a little more experience, you’ll get an idea what the audience is looking for. This film is going to have ’em rolling in the aisles. This is the film that’s going to break you into the big time.” 

I flinched. I had a hint of the kind of stuff Lo thought was funny, and frankly, the whole project sounded to me like a disaster waiting to happen. 

Sometimes I’m smarter than I look. 

Pag.216

Spiritual Kung Fu was a disjointed mess of bathroom humor and clumsy slapstick, with me stuck right in the middle. Lo’s idea of thigh-slapping comic sequences included one scene in which I stuffed a number of small animals into my pants, and another in which I urinated on a midget ghost. 

The film was a stinker. Everyone knew it. Even Lo, though he would never admit it. Unable to convince distributors to cough up the funds to get the film released, Lo shelved it and quietly put me into a new film called Dragon Fist, which actually had the potential to be a good movie. It had a solid script, with well-written scenes—a rarity for a Hong Kong film. It had nice action. It even had decent characters. As usual, however, none of the characters were suited to me. 

If Bruce Lee had still been alive, he would have turned the movie into a huge success—burning up the screen with his portrayal of the lead character, a student avenging the death of his master. I did my best, but my best was unconvincing. 

Distributors weren’t any more interested in Dragon Fist than they were in Spiritual Kung Fu. Willie’s warning, that distributors would begin shutting the door on my movies, was coming true. And without the ability to put films into distribution, Lo Wei Productions was rapidly running out of money. 

Somehow, Lo found a way to blame Willie—and me. 

After a meeting with his backers, Lo stormed into our office and kicked everyone out, telling us that he wanted a private discussion with Willie. We were hardly out the door when we heard the muffled shouting that was Lo’s idea of conversation. 

Suspecting that the conversation would have a great deal to do with me, I loitered around the front entrance of the building, waiting for Willie to come out. 

The private discussion took several hours. Lo left the building first, chomping on one of his signature cigars, his hat jammed down tight over his head. I ducked around a corner, but Lo would hardly have noticed the queen of England in the state he was in. Then Willie came down, a scarf casually thrown around his neck and a tired expression on his face. 

“I know you’re waiting for me, Jackie,” he called out. I guiltily came around the corner. “Let’s go get a drink.” 

“So what did he say?” I blurted, as Willie downed his vodka tonic in a gulp. 

“Well, of course, he reminded me that I’d told him that you would be a star,” he said. “I believe he called me a moron and several other unkind words.” 

I slumped in my seat. 

Pag.217

“I told him that you needed more time,” he said, tinkling the ice in his glass. “What I didn’t tell Lo was that what you really need is a different director.” 

“Now that’s news,” I said, rolling my eyes. 

“Don’t you play Mr. Sarcastic with me, boy,” sniped Willie. “I wouldn’t be saying this to you if I didn’t have a solution, would I?” 

That got my attention. “What do you mean?” 

“Uncle Willie is always looking out for you, don’t you know?” He smiled, flicking an imaginary piece of lint from his jacket lapel. “I got a call earlier this week from Mr. Ng See-yuen of Seasonal Films. They’re a competitor of ours, small-time, but Mr. Ng is a smart cookie. He’s asked us to loan you to them for a few films. They’ll pay us sixty thousand Hong Kong dollars for three months, and of course they’ll pay you as well.” 

“What did Lo say?” I asked. 

Willie patted himself down, found his cigarettes, and lit a smoke before answering. “He said he’d be willing to pay Ng money to get you out of his hair for a few months. You’re off the hook, my dear boy. Now you just go make Uncle Willie proud.” 

My heart skipped a beat. In a life full of second chances, I was getting yet another. And something told me that this might finally be the one I was waiting for.