MCLC: Jackie Chan profile

[Denton, Kirk]

MCLC LIST
From: pjmooney <pjmooney at me.com>
Subject: Jackie Chan profile
***********************************************************

An interesting and objective profile of Jackie Chan.

Paul

===========================================================

Source: The Atlantic (6/29/13):
http://www.theatlantic.com/china/archive/2013/06/jackie-chan-is-still-fight
ing/277366/

Jackie Chan Is Still Fighting
By Jaime Wolf

Once in a while, if you're lucky, and paying the right kind of attention,
events align to give you a clear view of the future. In 1995, I was in Los
Angeles staying with a friend who produced independent films and had the
trade magazines Variety and The Hollywood Reporter delivered to his door
early each morning. One day, the front page headlines trumpeted New Line
Cinema's plan to distribute Jackie Chan's latest film, Rumble in the
Bronx, in the U.S. I'd recently begun contributing to The New York Times
Magazine, and so I called my editor. "There's a guy in Hong Kong," I told
him. "You've probably never heard of him, but he's going to be huge. I
think you should send me there to write about him."

I'd guessed correctly -- the editor, who was knowledgeable on a wide range
of subjects, had never heard of Jackie Chan. Despite Chan's ubiquity
across Asia and the real pandemonium that resulted anytime he made public
appearances in Hong Kong, Taiwan, and Japan, there was no World Wide Web
yet in 1995, no Wikipedia, and no YouTube where one could easily call up
scenes from films or appearances on talk shows. So it took some convincing
-- VHS tapes of Chan's movies and copies of articles that had appeared
about him in the cinephile press -- but I got the assignment and went to
Hong Kong that summer to accompany him for three weeks during the shooting
ofThunderbolt, a street-racing action thriller whose $HKD 200 million
budget made it the most expensive Hong Kong film had ever produced. My
piece -- a profile 
<http://www.chinafile.com/jackie-chan-american-action-hero-0>, attempting
to encapsulate Chan's extraordinary story, his unique talents as a
performer and filmmaker, his popularity across Asia, and the perils he
faced in trying to win acceptance among moviegoers in the West -- appeared
in the magazine in January of 1996, and helped introduce Chan to the U.S.

In the the late '80s and early '90s, cities like New York, Los Angeles,
Chicago, and San Francisco were fantastic places to experience the golden
age of Jackie Chan, John Woo, Tsui Hark, and the overall florescence of
populist Hong Kong cinema. In New York, where I lived, you could see films
both at Chinatown cinemas and revival houses, and the video emporia of
Chinatown would sell you cheap VHS copies dubbed from the laserdisc
releases of all the latest films.

I had come to Chan not because I was a kung fu geek, but because from
childhood I'd loved Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and the clowns of
silent cinema. The so-called "New Vaudevillian" performers of the '80s --
Bill Irwin, The Flying Karamazov Brothers, Blue Man Group -- and modern
dance troupes like MOMIX, ISO, and Martha Clarke, who did pieces oriented
toward pop spectacle, had gotten me excited about new ways to continue
this tradition. When the New York Film Festival saw fit to include Chan's
Police Story <http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vc8ks75Tido> in its 1987
program, I'd seen in Chan's exuberant physical virtuosity a thoroughly
modern, unaffected, and mainstream way to blend comedy, acrobatics, and
dance to amazing and uproarious result.

Hollywood too had fallen in love with Hong Kong action and style,
shamelessly plundering daredevil stunts, gags, even entire action
sequences from Hong Kong films. The producer Barry Josephson, who started
out in the '80s working for the action/thriller impresario Joel Silver
(Lethal Weapon, Die Hard, The Matrix) once told me that Silver tasked a
small crew of people to go through Chan's and other Hong Kong filmmakers'
work on laserdiscs and create "greatest hits" reels of action and fight
sequences for his directors and writers to study and crib from. (In some
sense this was returning a favor: Hong Kong stuntmen took inspiration from
Hollywood practices they observed during the 1966 location shooting of
Robert Wise's Boxer Rebellion drama The Sand Pebbles; Hong Kong makers of
gangster movies had also studied carefully and then extravagantly sampled
the innovative shootout sequences in Brian De Palma's Scarface and Michael
Cimino's Year of the Dragon; and even Jackie Chan had remade the Frank
Capra chestnut Pocketful of Miracles.)

Still, it's hard to imagine Chan's ever becoming entirely a Communist
Party tool: he will always be a symbol of Hong Kong spirit and D.I.Y
ingenuity, and his life's work celebrates the triumph of the little guy,
the indomitability of the plucky individual.

My weeks in Hong Kong afforded me an intimate glimpse of Chan's life and
working methods. It was a momentous time to be observing and talking to
him: he had the deal with New Line, the William Morris Agency (now known
as WME), signed him and this meant he had a real shot at becoming a global
superstar. Chan is not normally inclined to reflection. But on a couple of
occasions after the day's shooting had ended, he spoke late into the night
with me about what it all meant and what he hoped for his career.

Last week, when Chan came to the U.S. on a promotional tour that included
a stop at Asia Society, it was as someone for whom the intervening 18
years had pretty much fulfilled the promise of that moment. Chan has
become a global icon,
a figure of incontestable international bonhomie, and a funnyman and
action maestro whose art transcends language and culture. The U.S. Success
of Rumble, and, subsequently, that of the Rush Hour franchise (its three
films have grossed over $1 billion in ticket sales around the world)
established him as a star in the Hollywood pantheon, a true successor to
Bruce Lee in the U.S. as well as at home, the only Chinese figure in
popular culture who's not regarded as some sort of imported novelty.

The '90s saw Chan publish his autobiography and make a feature-length
documentary, both making the details of his extraordinary rags-to-riches
story well-known in the West. He became a regular on Letterman, Leno, and
Jimmy Kimmel; a sought-after advertising pitchman; and the star of his own
kids' cartoon show. And he did so without leaving Asia behind. Parallel to
his Hollywood output, Chan kept up producing, starring in, and sometimes
directing Hong Kong films. He stretched out into drama, romance, and
comedy, and oversaw an even more widespread branding empire and a
charitable foundation that gives to children's causes, medical services,
and disaster relief efforts. He remains now, as he was when I met him, an
absurdly busy human <http://jackiechan.com/blog>, ever in motion, a jolly
goodwill ambassador for both Hong Kong and the mainland who seems never to
sit down to a dinner that isn't some sort of ceremonial banquet.

Which is not to say there has not been an embarrassing outtakes reel.
While Chan devotes himself to the charity foundation that bears his name,
and gives his time and face to humanitarian aid and public cleanliness
campaigns, fans have been chagrined to see the Chinese tabloid press --
who, as a rule, make Rupert Murdoch's infamous "Page Six" seem as decorous
as The New York Review of Books -- revel in Chan's episodes of public
drunkenness 
<http://blogs.villagevoice.com/statusainthood/2006/07/jackie_chan_dru.php>,
 the "Dragon Seed" scandal in which actress Elaine Ng Yi-Lei gave birth to
Chan's extramarital daughter
<http://entertainment.xin.msn.com/en/celebrity/buzz/asia/article.aspx?cp-do
cumentid=4519787>, derogatory comments about Chan's son Jaycee's show
business career 
<http://www.chinadaily.com.cn/english/doc/2004-09/22/content_376875.htm>,
and the time paparazzi thought they'd caught him in a make-out session
with mainland superstar actress, director, and blogger Xu Jinglei
<http://entertainment.xin.msn.com/en/celebrity/buzz/asia/article.aspx?cp-do
cumentid=4662970>.

Of even greater interest and occasional cause for concern has been the
mainland's deployment of Chan to advance Chinese soft power. The Communist
annexation of Chan may turn out to be one of the greatest benefits arising
from the Hong Kong reunification 16 years ago this week. Since before any
of his films were officially shown on the mainland, pirated VHS tapes had
made Chan a star there; he has toured the country regularly, he promoted
and sang at the 2008 Olympics (and subsequently in a solo concert at the
Bird's Nest stadium); and is a member of the Chinese People's Political
Consultative Conference -- a Communist Party advisory organization that
recruits high-profile civilians, including other celebrities such as
Stephen Chow, Zhang Ziyi, and Yao Ming. His latest Hong Kong movie, CZ12,
reprising his earlier, Indiana Jones-esque Armour of God films, is
premised on the repatriation to China of ancient artifacts seized by
foreign powers during the Opium War, and spotlights some superfluous
nationalist posturing. Additionally, Chan has relocated his office from
Hong Kong to Beijing, and announced the construction of a Jackie Chan
Museum in Shanghai. At last week's Shanghai International Film Festival,
the powerhouse Beijing film studio Huayi Brothers announced a partnership
with Chan on his next two films. Cultural promotion is one thing, but more
problematic for some of his fans are his occasional pronouncements
criticizing the Taiwanese government
<http://www.taipeitimes.com/News/front/archives/2009/04/21/2003441616>,
derogating Hong Kong
<http://www.scmp.com/news/hong-kong/article/1103899/jackie-chan-criticises-
hong-kong-city-protest> for its internal disorder, or expressing the
necessity for authoritarian rule
<http://shanghaiist.com/2012/12/13/someone_tell_jackie_chan_to_stop_ta.php>
. This may be one reason for CZ12's disappointing showing in Hong Kong,
where it grossed HKD $11.5 million (US $1.5 million) at the box office,
compared to the nearly 140 million RMB (US $22.7 million) it earned on the
mainland, making it the second most popular Chinese film of 2012, behind
the comedy Lost in Thailand
<http://www.chinafile.com/why-mediocre-low-budget-comedy-taking-china-box-o
ffice-storm>.

The Communist annexation of Chan may turn out to be one of the greatest
benefits arising from the Hong Kong reunification 16 years ago this week.

Still, it's hard to imagine Chan's ever becoming entirely a Communist
Party tool: he will always be a symbol of Hong Kong spirit and D.I.Y
ingenuity, and his life's work celebrates the triumph of the little guy,
the indomitability of the plucky individual. As a member of the Hong Kong
Film Director's Guild, Performing Artistes Guild, and Stuntman
Association, Chan has done important work on their behalf, and has led
organized show business protests against triad interference. A coherent
political stance will never be his strong suit, and while I would pay
eager attention to anything he had to say about comedy, timing, physical
conditioning, martial arts choreography, or filmmaking, I tend to think
that anyone looking for political wisdom or guidance from Chan (who has
repeatedly voiced regret at his lack of education and historical knowledge
and context) pretty much deserves what they get.

China's embrace of Chan as a cultural ambassador points to another
domestic shortcoming: there was no homegrown pop superstar capable of
fulfilling this function, no one possessing both extraordinary talent and
the bountiful good will and expressivity to crystallize China's image
abroad.

At the Film Society of Lincoln Center and Asia Society, Chan straddled
past and future, presiding over screenings, respectively, of CZ12, which
opens in U.S. theaters later this summer, and of Drunken Master II, his
1994 masterpiece. In a pre-screening Q&A with Asia Society Film Curator La
Frances Hui, he was in top form, as supremely entertaining as he is in
front of large gatherings and small, regaling the audience with
behind-the-scenes stories of his famous stunts -- explaining, for
instance, that he pumps up his own adrenaline beforehand by yelling
"aaahhhhhhh!" at the top of his lungs, or that the secret to the scene in
Drunken Master II in which he slides across a pit of burning coals
<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jXA-4rN9-ds> was accomplished by packing
his butt in ice cubes. Most revealingly, he spoke of his admiration for
Hollywood technology, admitting to a prejudice in favor of Western
storytelling modes. According to Chan, Chinese filmmakers are less capable
of telling their own stories than we are. "Use Western eyes to introduce
China [to the world]," he said, "Better than Chinese eyes introduce China
... We make so many [versions of] Mulan. But Disney makes Mulan, then
everyone knows it!" (And, for what it's worth, The Forbidden Kingdom,
Chan's 2008 collaboration with Lion King Director Rob Minkoff and
Screenwriter John Fusco, contains one of the more credible and compelling
renditions of fantastic Chinese mythology thus far realized on screen).

The pioneering, freewheeling hybrid of martial arts, action, and comedy
epitomized by Drunken Master II was on ample display this week in a
retrospective running through today at the  Film Society of Lincoln
Center's Walter Reade Theater
<http://www.filmlinc.com/films/series/the-jackie-chan-experience>. Part of
Subway Cinema's 12th annual New York Asian Film Festival
<http://subwaycinema.com/nyaff13/>, the retrospective accompanies a
Lifetime Achievement Award for Chan, and is designed to remind local
audiences of the unique talents, and thoroughly crowd-pleasing Hong Kong
films that brought Chan to global attention in the first place. "We want
to position these not just as Black Belt Theater," says Subway Cinema
co-founder Grady Hendrix, "but as works of cinema worthy of being
celebrated."
Being able to see a 35mm widescreen print of The Young Master
<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AgwVsGl5l_c>, Chan's first film, made when
he was twenty-six and visibly burning with desire to show off his speed,
agility, precision, and (even then highly developed) comedy chops to the
world is an opportunity that comes too rarely these days; ditto the titles
from his amazing run extending from the mid-80s through 1994, encompassing
the Police Story parts I & II, and the original pair of Armour of God
films. They are a special treat and nothing short of electrifying in a
crowded auditorium. On top of everything else, Chan is a director with a
voluptuous camera sense, and the mise-en-scène and cutting in Operation
Condor, Miracles, and Drunken Master II are a joy in themselves.

And yet, even the highpoints of these films underscore the only real way
in which Chan's career from Rush Hour forward has failed to realize its
potential. Regardless of who is in the director's chair, all of Chan's
Hong Kong films are credited as "A Jackie Chan Film," and his signature is
unmistakable; they were made with his complete control. During our time in
Hong Kong in 1996, just as he was poised to begin his Hollywood rise, Chan
told me that in Hollywood his dream was to work with people at his level,
A-list co-stars and directors. If Steven Spielberg or James Cameron or
Francis Coppola had wanted to do something with him, he said he would be
willing to do it for free; if a comic actor he admired like Danny DeVito
would have considered co-starring with him, Chan would have leapt at the
chance. Instead, the Rush Hour movies are entertaining, but require
relatively little from Chan; the films Shanghai Noon and Shanghai Knights
make him straight man to Owen Wilson; and the less said about The Tuxedo
and The Spy Next Door the better. In Hollywood, it was not until Shanghai
Knights in 2003 that Chan was even asked to choreograph the action scenes
himself. Meanwhile, his Hong Kong productions, even as they explore a
variety of genres, have lacked the drive and coherence that mark his
earlier work. He has seemed tired, lacking in spark, going through the
motions. Late one night in 1995, while talking to me about his life, Chan
said to me:

Nothing more important than movies. Marry always tomorrow, day after
tomorrow. Girl, always some other girl, prettier than some other girl. The
movie you cannot make mistakes. Because you finish today, when you say,
"Yes!" -- after editing, the movie, it keeps long time. It keeps 1995 for
a long time. Whatever you see is 1995. You get the girl, 1995, after five
years, there's different. The twentieth century already, it get old. The
movie, it never get old.

And while I can't say I want to advocate emulating this approach to one's
personal life, that degree of dedication is what seems to have gone
missing. Now, of course, what does he have to prove? And he also deserves
some slack: Rush Hour was made when he was 43, and this past spring he
turned 59 -- during those years there was bound to be a slowdown. But with
someone as brilliantly inventive as Chan, there remains the hope that he
is still capable of new surprises and delights.

Luckily, that turns out to be the case: as his age catches up to him and
his ability to be an action hero starts to wane, Chan has begun to turn
his attention to his acting. In The Karate Kid, he has tremendous
chemistry with his co-star Jaden Smith, and despite the schtick of ancient
jokes and textbook tugging-at-the-heartstrings, he executes his role
impeccably. Additionally, the Hong Kong production Shinjuku Incident, from
2009, is a compellingly gritty drama about Chinese lowlifes in Tokyo and a
real departure for Chan because for the first time he plays a bad guy, a
low-level gangster. And in Little Big Soldier, his second most recent
film, in which Chan has to transport Wang Leehom back home to collect a
reward, he marries character drama to extended martial arts set-pieces,
all of which he choreographed himself, and each so elegantly virtuosic as
to recall Fred Astaire, chock-full of tiny grace-notes and drive-by comic
bits. For his fans, this side of Chan, like his greatest films, will never
get old.