In The Way of the Dragon, Bruce Lee fights in an alley behind a restaurant, in the restaurant itself, on a rooftop, in a park and at a World Heritage Site. The film exists so that we might have the pleasure of watching its hero dispatch thugs in increasingly imaginative ways. When the hero is Bruce Lee, that’s reason enough.
The plot is as flimsy as a plywood board. Chen Ching Hua (Nora Miao) runs a restaurant in Rome with the help of her uncle, Wang (Wang Chung Hsin). The local crime syndicate wants her land and have come so close to running her out of business that Chen appeals to her relatives in Hong Kong for help. They send her Tang Lung (Bruce Lee), whom she dismisses as a country bumpkin who can’t even speak English. Why this is a problem in Rome is left unsaid. Despite the setting, hardly any Italian is spoken and the city is largely incidental to proceedings.
But back to the plot. Hoodlums who seem to have wandered in from a blaxploitation flick arrive to terrorise Chen’s waiters, only to be beaten back by Tang, who to everyone’s astonishment is an outstanding martial artist. The syndicate’s boss is nothing if not persistent and keeps sending men to attack Tang and company—with predictable and highly satisfying results.
The Way of the Dragon is Bruce Lee’s film through and through. He directed it, starred in and choreographed it, produced it through his own production company and played percussion on its score. Lee also wrote the screenplay, making him entirely responsible for the formulaic storyline. The script is furnished with stock characters: the aloof love interest; the big boss; the conciliatory authority figure; the disposable henchman; and the comic relief. None of this really matters because Lee gives the audience what it wants: Bruce Lee.
Even 40 years after his death, Lee remains one of cinema’s definitive martial arts heroes. Part of his appeal lies in his physical presence; his physique was astonishing. Early in the film, Tang does his morning workout and Lee’s joints crack as he flexes his abs, biceps, triceps and a whole mass of muscles I don’t even have names for. I wept at the paltriness of my own exercise routine. Even the villains are amazed. Ho, the boss’ effete second in command (an amusingly outsized Paul Wei Ping-Ao), brushes his fingers over Tang’s chest and exclaims, “What rippling muscles!”
Unsurprisingly, the fight scenes are a delight. Lee frames his shots to show as much of the performers’ bodies as possible, showcasing their stunt work. In the first alley fight his opponents obligingly attack one at a time, out of cowardice. Later they decide there’s strength in numbers and attack en masse, much good that it does them. Lee bobs constantly on the balls of his feet, active and restless but not without purpose. He kicks and punches his adversaries, pummels them with a stick and nunchaku (either one or two, according to his mood) and slices them with hand-made darts which can disable a gunman at 20 paces. If Tang’s skills (especially his dart throwing) seem improbable, that’s part of the fun. The gangsters are initially contemptuous of martial arts, which makes watching them sail through the air after brief contact with Tang’s foot that much more entertaining.
In between the fights The Way of the Dragon is, surprisingly, a comedy. Tang arrives in Rome the model of a clueless tourist and through a series of contrivances, ends up mistakenly ordering five bowls of soup at a restaurant, which he then tries to finish. The scene quickly wears out its welcome, but there’s more comedy to come. I craved fisticuffs.
At last Lee treats the audience to a grand showdown between Tang and the boss’ champion, Colt (Chuck Norris, making his screen debut), in the Colosseum. For where else would two modern gladiators fight in Rome than in the Colosseum? Tang is characterised by movement; Colt by his lack of it. The confrontation is almost a film within a film, complete with an overture of stretching and crunching.
The Way of the Dragon was Lee’s directorial debut and the only film he completed as a director before his death at the age of 32. While the comedy soon grates, the action scenes more than make up for it, displaying Lee’s prodigious skill and flair for choreography. The film is far from perfect, but it’s enough to leave you wanting more.
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