More martial, less art
Somehow, movie based on real event makes Bruce Lee seem smaller than life
In 1964, kung fu master and budding movie star Bruce Lee fought another great martial arts teacher, Wong Jack Man. This was no pay-per-view or rumble in the jungle: Only a handful of people witnessed the battle, and no single narrative exists as to who won. Some say Lee beat Wong decisively after only three minutes, others say Lee lasted 25 minutes before folding, exhausted.
“This film was inspired by that fight,” breathe the opening credits of Birth of the Dragon. And yet rather than side decisively with either of the combatants, the screenplay by Stephen J. Rivele and Christopher Wilkinson (Ali, Nixon) takes an unnecessary third path, inventing a fictional student named Steve (Billy Magnussen, far too bland in this role) and having him watch as Lee and Wong trade blows.
Steve isn’t just a bystander, however. He meets Wong at the port of San Francisco and squires him around town, learning much wisdom from the visiting master.
(My favourite line: “If you know your opponent and you know yourself, you need not fear the outcome of a thousand battles.”) Steve also falls for a Chinese waitress (Jingjing Qu) and makes a bargain for her freedom from the local triad, contingent on the outcome of the fight.
Steve’s busy subplot has the effect of making Lee seem smaller than life — no small feat
when you consider the man’s ego and knack for self-promotion.
But it’s a shame, because the rivalry between the two master martial artists, with their differing philosophies and fighting styles, makes for great drama all on its own.
The match itself is the highlight of the film, shot in a mix of slow and fast motion that basically ends up taking place in real time. Philip Ng nails the look and swagger of Lee, while Yu Xia brings a sense of quiet atonement to Wong.
Director George Nolfi (The Adjustment Bureau) also deserves a shout-out for the film’s production design, re-creating the look and feel of 1960s San Francisco so perfectly that I half expected Steve McQueen’s Ford Mustang to come tearing down the street.
Yet here the accolades must screech to a halt.
Never mind the superfluous and made-up romantic subplot, the movie’s screenplay is so stilted and laden with exposition, it’s as if the dialogue had been written down on planks of wood, and them summarily broken in half before each take. The movie promises the birth of a dragon, but delivers only a fictional midwife instead.