The Lo Pan Dilemma: Why I Will Never See Another Big Trouble In Little China

"My problem is this place. It is my tomb. I'm buried here. A young man, a king, a warrior, is entombed within this.. old man's crippled body. And all I need is a woman, Mr. Burton. A special kind of woman with dragon green eyes to make me whole again. Young again. So that I may rule the universe from beyond this grave."


While it has been nearly a week since word came out that Dwayne Johnson was excited to star in a remake of one of my all-time favorites, the reactions, while to be expected, needed a little extra time to ferment. And while this feels like yet another case of Hollywood simply gambling on reliable IP to stay afloat, this attempt to make eyebrows perk up left me with an even more troubled mind. Especially in lieu of 2011's lukewarm pre-boot of John Carpenter's other less than financially stellar studio offering, The Thing(1982). Both being massive personal favorites despite their initial performances, I'm far more understanding of the former's existence. Over the last several years, remakes have grown to become a de-facto response to diminishing box office returns, often ironically to the tune of even greater losses. And many of the largest, most important cult film properties of the 1980s, have already seen themselves reconstituted and sold as hollow, zombified versions of themselves, so perhaps it was only a matter of time before the spotty hands of Hollywood would reach for the hidden gem bag yet again. But perhaps this time, they have reached the nadir of confusion. Desperation and disconnect so grand, that the end product could only reveal greater problems within an antiquated business model.

There are a myriad of reasons beyond mere love for the Carpenter film on a surface level that inform this bushel of feelings. Many of them stemming from just how unusual Big Trouble In Little China was on the film landscape at the time. In an era where just about any manner of pop culture mashup can be realized to the cheers of many, it simply was unthinkable in 1986. An era just awash in Vietnam revisionism, macho fantasy, and a longing for a 1950s simplicity of life. Hybrid culture had yet to gestate, and for the average moviegoer, the very idea that one film would be willing to embrace everything from kung-fu cinema, hard action, manga, video game silly, screwball comedy, and ensemble acting was simply too hard to accept. And then, there was a strange willingness on the part of the film to treat chinese characters as just characters, with the lesser known co-star being the film's stealth hero.

That's right. Big Trouble In Little China is special in that it subverts everything about the era in which it was made. It exists as both a marker of 1980s still brewing american xenophobia, and a growing movement toward seeing a more inclusive and understanding national identity. It utilizes the ideal of the individualistic proto-action icon in the All-American blowhard, Jack Burton. We are whisked alongside him in a vision of our own cultural glaucoma as it runs head on with the baggage of those tasked with making an american ideal possible. Burton's hapless buddy, Wang Chi(Dennis Dun) represents the then next generation's consciousness, tackling both tradition and burgeoning community sensibilities as his bride-to-be is kidnapped by street toughs, only to have her handed off to a centuries old evil sorcerer bent on becoming immortal through the use of her own unique physical qualities. He has no intention to marry Miao Yin for love, but rather for her green eyes. Not unlike Jack's need for his stolen truck to get by, the villainous Lo Pan is hellbent on this dehumanizing task to help enable his need to keep matters the same as so long ago.

In a very clever way, Lo Pan, while he has found himself to be a very saavy and occasionally witty businessman, running San Francisco Chinatown's underworld with a tightened claw, he seems more than happy to maintain the universe as it had long before the advent of the american ideal.

Burton, for all his friendliness toward people of all stripes, seems like a John Wayne gone Hanna-Barbera cartoon. A flag-waving tough guy with a head full of rocks. And as he voyages through the mounting weirdness that is this tale, his understanding of the world is endlessly rocked, leading to personal revelations about not only his own masculine prowess, but his own part in a larger community. And while he doesn't fully learn his lesson by the finale, there is indeed a hint that he knows himself far better now that he had at the beginning of the adventure. It's an endearing trick that Carpenter and Kurt Russell pulled off with the character, as all of Hollywood was basking in the instant gratification machinations of the Stallones, and now Schwarzeneggers of the world. It takes a great deal of self-effacement, and lack of seriousness to pull such a thing off, which only makes the character that much more charming.

On the side of good, there is also a cast of side characters who seem more than up to the task in changing perceptions in a film landscape that was still far too comfortable in treating certain characters without the respect they deserved. Just take Victor Wong's Egg Shen as a prime example. A local tour bus driver/local businessman/secret sorcery expert and wizard, with a smart mouth the likes few had seen in a major motion picture at that point. He's not only a man of numerous talents and abilities, he's also well-connected, and a natural wit who knows his ancient and San Francisco lore. And what of Uncle Chu, Eddie, The Chang Sing? Just treating characters as people goes such a long way, and BTLC never stoops low to sell us stale archetypes or ideas. In a film that so easily could have gone this way, every move seems calculated to avoid such turns, and remains perpetually ahead of the cultural curve. It knows we can be better, and drives for it every time, even as we are besieged by monsters, magic, kung-fu battles, and ghosts.

Big Trouble In Little China, is a perpetual cornerstone of popular culture that defies even the simplest of description, and as thus is without easy import. It's not a simple chassis with which to play with in some form of hyper-simplistic retooling. So if they truly wish to take us headlong into another go-round with Jack, Wang, and pals, the impetus is on today's filmmakers to delve deep into the murk of now, see exactly where we are as filmgoers, as well as social beings. It's not in Big Trouble's nature to retread what has been traveled before. It embraces the unexpected. And for befuddled studios to finally see this as a last ditch chip to cash in, seems not unlike a wily old sorcerer longing for the glory days. Partaking in the packaging, without a single inkling of the soul that lies beneath.

But much like his own undoing, it's all in the reflexes.

The Ending Of Fight Club & The Science Of The Exploding Shark

Spoilers lie for Fight Club & Jaws. You Have Been Warned!

Imagine if you will; your nth draft of your proposed film project has finally been green lit, and with a respected name director attached to helm it. The production process works like a dream. It all seems to be going beautifully, despite the fact that we're months off from final edit, and its pretty foggy at this point as to whether or not we know that the vision of the film works as a potent, cohesive whole. Millions of dollars spent on what can fairly be called something of a massive gamble. From the signs of all involved, all seems well.

But then a creeping worry arrives.

Your finale leaves the reader/potential viewer in a bit of a quandary. The hero needs that one last push. That final bit of oomph that can take the project into a potentially crowd-pleasing stratosphere. Problem is, that up until shooting, the film was hewing pretty close to some manner of reality. And the only logical thing to do with a story that has done so well until now, is to take a risk, and do the possibly unthinkable.

That's right....We pull an exploding shark.

Now what prompted all this was an old discussion regarding the Jeff Uhls penned, David Fincher directed subversive cult classic, Fight Club, when many have complained regarding the final denoument. As our narrator (namelessly played by Edward Norton) has finally revealed to us, not only his long-in-denial alternate personality in hunky mangod revolutionary, Tyler Durden (an unforgettable Brad Pitt), but their mad plan for destroying several blocks of credit card company buildings as part of their now nearly out of control, Project Mayhem moves into legend territory. The "hapless" captive in "narrator" soon realizes that in order to defeat Tyler from his mind, there is only one logical conclusion seeing as how the gun in Tyler's hand moments before, is really in his. The ensuing gunshot into his mouth, is seen coming out of the back of his cheek which soon is clocked by Tyler who smells smoke, and then succumbs to what looks like a perfect bullet wound out of the back of his head. While much of this is close in many ways to the Chuck Palahniuk novel of the same name, the big change comes when the thought captured Marla Singer comes back into the picture to find our narrator with the bullet wound, and very much alive as the bombs go off, setting everything back to (possibly) zero.

Mixing this with the giddy/creepy strands of the Pixies classic, "Where Is My Mind?, we are given the Tyler Durden special before credits roll. Now the complaints come as this in many ways seems unjustifiably bizarre, and not to mention screwy as the novel ends with narrator in hospital, tended to by nurses who seem to know that certain plans are still in motion. Now as much as I love that book's ending, it is by no means cinema-worthy. Especially in a film so rife with some of the most uncompromising notions, and actions ever captured in a mainstream release. The explaination I often offer is that in 1999, there was a great anxiety regarding the coming milennium that had been building up over the years prior, and perhaps that was in perfect alignment to even allow Palahniuk's novel to be opted into a large-scale production complete with name stars, some astounding CG-animation, special effects, and product placement so brilliant, it could only be IN a novel. Fight Club is simply a film that has NO place in a multiplex, and yet there it is...for all to see..Black blood & all.

Which leads me to something I mentioned via Twitter earlier today. Perhaps a means must be shared to help explaina way the difference between mediums. Especially the difference between independent, and large scale films. As well as films versus literature. And since film is cemented in the language of the immediate, there are varying ways to play with source material that doesn't stray too terribly far, and yet seems..well..out of this world.

So in the spirit of Jumping The Shark, or Deus Ex Machina, and for internet's sake, let's just call this phenomenon #explodingshark.

This is when a film is working on a multitude of levels, and by some minute decision, a change is made to the main character's final actions that border on straining whatever credulity that the preceding two-hours had established. Or maybe not straining so much as takes liberties with them in a final wild push.

The name, naturally comes from the story of possibly the ultimate surprise success story, the production of JAWS when the then still up-and-coming Steven Spielberg, beset by a number of production problems, came up with a peculiar new death for the film's titular Great White menace. Upon bringing this up to original novelist, Peter Benchley, a fairly knowledgable name regarding maritime life, and oceanic survival protested that for Brody in the now nearly completely sunken Orca, to in fact shoot the aqualung recently shoved in the shark's maw, the ensuing reaction would be nothing as aqualungs do not explode when shot.

Spielberg's response is nothing if not iconic, and telling:

"I have the audience in the palm of my hand by this point. They will believe anything I tell them!"

And how much was that decision worth? Oh, well over $260,000,000 in its initial run, the birth of the summer blockbuster, and a firm place in Hollywood history.

What Benchley eventually granted to Spielberg, was that film language by its very nature is very different. The emotional release from that film's wild assortment of tension, and memorable characters hit home in all the best populist forms. But this is far from a fix when regarding films made years after. We've seen time and again that it takes a certain alchemy of stoytelling, editing, performance, and energy to captivate an audience and suspend disbelief with such efficiency. And as audiences have grown to become more discerning by the year, the challenge becomes even greater when considering this rarely used narrative trump card.

Now again, only certain films with a certain propulsive quality that seem to be working on multiple levels can earn an #explodingshark card. These things are not cheap by any means, and can only be used once per film. Overplay these, and the audience can turn on you. (see M.Night Shymalan) The operative idea is for filmmakers to pick their shots, and only use them when instincts seem in alignment with the planets. Films need to earn moments like these, and often they don't, and just come out of the blue. (strangely enough, the last Gamera film I reviewed does have this problem at the very end, but the film is so lightweight in many ways that it hardly bears mentioning.)

So an #exploding shark is something that can be considered anathema by most major studios, particlarly in a time most desperate for a definitive financial success. The race has become even more intense due to changes in moviegoer habits, and has many studios running scared of taking even the most innocuous of risks, which is a shame. So in looking back at the mentioned Fight Club change, it seems more than understandable for a near 50 million dollar production to go in what can still be considered a (literally) ballsy fashion. Laughing mockingly at a coming decade of eschewed risk, and diminished returns. More and more, it seems like a perfect choice. And if not perfect, fitting (which is still great considering that this is a film that with it's rampant anti-consumerism, and near -again, mockingly- fascist bent, in no way could ever be green lit by a studio now. It remains a monumental rarity in the landscape of Hollywood.).


So naturally, a caveat had to be made. Especially a caveat in spirit of the often incredibly dark and freewheeling humor the film heaped upon its audience. To perhaps view the finale as a sort of surreal, alternate reality in the narrator's mind seems very much in keeping with the established themes, and in many ways, doesn't step beyond the bounds of what the film had established. It's catharsis by anarchy. (Catharsis being the operative word in the reason, even if it doesn't fit within common logic's rhyme. )

Have you ever found yourself at the mercy of an #explodingshark? Was there a final movie moment that seemed particularly created just to amp up the vibes coming off the screen? Let us know!

Some Words Regarding Battle Royale 3D & Anchor Bay's News

Oh boy. It was only a matter of time before I had a chance to share feelings on this. Seeing as how Toei wasn't going to skimp out on making even more money off of one of their biggest releases. And they have an all-too-willing Kenta Fukasaku at the ready to shill his father's (the late, great Kinji Fukasaku) final completed work for a tenth anniversary. We just knew that something like a Japanese equivalent to the US 3D upconversion boom that came about in the wake of AVATAR was bound to happen if they couldn't muster up the will to create a wholly new film in 3D themselves. Harsh words, I agree. But the fact remains that the original Battle Royale film, while awash in arterial spray & hyperviolence (between kids, no less) was filmed in a most old-school Panavision style that only feels fit on a 2D plane.

The very idea of it being retouched without his father present is the first of what I suppose troubles this writer. Had Kinji lived to see this day, and had gone along with it, I would have gone ahead and allowed him his Jorge moment. But as it stands, I suppose this makes perfect sense as Kenta (who penned BR's screenplay, based on Takami Koshun's surprise hit novel) has shown himself to be nothing less than a schlockmeister with only name recognition, and access to slightly higher budgets than say, Noboru Iguchi, who's films are done with near nothing, and are infinitely more effectively entertaining. (personal note: My breaking point with young Fukasaku was his version of Sukeban Deka, featuring idol, Aya Matsuura. Submitted my papers promptly after.) So at least Kenta knows where he is coming from.

But for such an immense experience as BR still is, this is still nothing less than naked opportunism. Far more exploitative than many may accuse the film of actually being, and well below the film's ability to shock, even today.

And as for Nippon Cinema's post regarding the long-delayed acquisition of the Battle Royale films (1 & Kenta's ill-fated 2) via legendary horror-friendly company, Anchor Bay, I still feel as if this is another major case of too-little-too-late. All release controversy aside, the original BR has had an entire ten years to flourish as an import (and likely notoriously popular download), even going so far as to being a staple of Hot Topic for nearly five years now. So a release like this, while welcome, feels a lot less a reason to celebrate, so much as a reason for most western BR fans to merely shrug at it. Truth is, that multiple companies have been selling English-Subtitled versions of these films for years (including the Battle Royale SE releases, with additional scenes, and behind the camera footage.).

So yes, Toei found another way to round up the cash cow for another ride (I'm sure the bidding numbers were absurd.), but seeing as how BR has possibly become the first true internet cult phenomenon of the 2000s, I'm not sure why it's any real shakes.