What
makes a man masculine? A barely contained rage, unleashed upon provocation?
Being humiliated, but then having the ability to dust oneself off and better
oneself in order to conquer obstacles? Perhaps it lies in fighting for
brothers, both literal and adopted. Or perhaps it lies in knowing one’s desires
and the way they want to go through life. But what other questions lie within
these? What is the role of women? Of guns? Of power? The films we’ve seen in
class all have a different approach to explaining masculinity, from Chow Yun
Fat’s intense Mark to the quiet, yet somewhat self assured killer of Fallen Angels.
Bruce
Lee in The Big Boss is perhaps one of
the more outwardly masculine characters of those we have seen. From the opening
scenes in which his uncle must continually remind him of his promise to his
mother, the audience is told not that he cannot intervene in the initial fight,
but instead that he chooses not to. Though several fights occur during this
time, there is not one in which Lee’s face doesn’t reflect the desire to fight,
nor is there any hint that if he did, he wouldn’t triumph. Sure enough, once
provoked into action at the mill, he easily tears through the Boss’s
mercenaries despite their weapons, then later faces more heavily armed men,
Hisao Chiun, and the Boss all. His powerful cries, tendency to show his chiseled, shirtless body, and tendency to strike his foes down with emasculating strikes to the groin all add to his masculinity. Lee’s overwhelming confidence, overwhelming
martial ability, and overall invincibility make him into a very masculine
character. Or do they?
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| Intensity, power, and invincibility: Bruce Lee's masculinity |
The
Boss is perhaps the most interesting counterpoint to Lee’s masculinity. The
Boss himself, despite his age, is a skilled fighter in his own right, able to
at least match Lee for much of the final fight of the film. However, beyond his
prowess in martial arts is the pure power he harnesses. He is in many shots
surrounded by or attended to by one or more women, all of whom fawn over him,
either as a result of his power or his status. He lusts after Chao Mei and her
youth, wishing to add her to his collection of young women. He holds no
reservations about asserting his power, leaving a mark on the prostitute Lee
later meets, wounding a servant girl who makes the simple mistake of dropping a
cup, and killing many of the workers for its convenience. Despite his foreign
nature, he wields power over native mercenaries, the workers who he can use and
dispose of without consequence, and perhaps even the police. He regularly
exudes pure confidence, and has the power to remove any obstacle in his way.
Lee,
when introduced to the Boss’s version of masculinity, doesn’t stand up too
well. Instead of being fawned over by women, he instead spends much of his
night chasing around a prostitute. He doesn’t hold his alcohol particularly
well, drinking too much too fast, and quickly losing control. Though he ends up
sleeping with that prostitute, upon his awakening it’s apparent that this was
not a situation he wished for, nor one he was in control of. Gaining the Boss’s
brand of power gets him nothing but ridicule from his fellow workers, and only
serves to alienate him from the woman he actually desires, Chao Mei. Thus, the
film presents two parallel versions of masculinity: one that exudes power over
others, and another that shows mastery over the self. As Lee kills the Boss at
the film’s conclusion, it can be assumed that Lee’s mastery of himself and his
use of power is the superior of the two, though his arrest leaves that up to
debate.
Jackie
Chan in Drunken Master offers a
slightly warped version of Bruce Lee’s masculinity. Like Lee, Chan is a skilled
fighter right from the film’s onset, embarrassing one of his teachers and a
young man making trouble in the market. However, the audience quickly learns
that he is not invincible, like Lee, when he is handily defeated by an older
woman, his aunt. In Chan’s kung fu there is none of the overpowering attacks
that Lee used, nor any of the emasculating strikes to the groin that Lee uses
so liberally. Instead, Chan’s character is a jovial one, one that uses tactics
to humiliate his opponent to prove his masculinity, letting his style of
fighting speak for him as much as the battered state of his opponents. He is
confident and self assured, and shows that he’s a lady’s man by tricking a
beautiful girl into kissing him (never mind that it was his cousin). His
friends all seem to look to him and follow his plans, which sets him up as the
alpha male of the group.
Opposite
him is a different sort of masculinity in Thunderleg. The primary villain of
the film oozes confidence to the point of pure arrogance, and showcases his
prowess even in the face of skilled opponents, as seen when he kills off his
first target of the film. Unlike Chan, his personality fits more into Lee’s
stereotype, as he allows no nonsense in his personality nor fighting style, and
brutally lays into his opponent regardless of their strength. Thunderleg wields
power like no other in the film, showcased best when he effortlessly defeats
Chan at the temple. Chan, holding dearly to his pride, is continually beaten
down while Thunderleg taunts him, clearly enjoying the experience from his
superior position. He uses harsh language to put Chan beneath him, and when the
fight is over, he forces Chan to humiliatingly crawl under him, kicks him
again, and then burns his very clothes as he offers them to the younger
fighter. Like the Boss, Thunderleg’s is a power that relies on the conquering
of others and the constant exhibition of this power.
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| Thunderleg with Chan at his mercy. Here we see the domination and power necessary for Thunderleg's mascuilinty, as well as the emasculation that Chan rises up from. Lee could never be in such a position of weakness. |
Chan’s
greatest masculinity, is shown after his lowest moment. Upon his utter defeat
at Thunderleg’s hands (or feet), Chan essentially dusts himself off and gets
himself back up. The scene immediately following the fight reflects his
humiliation, which leads to the scenes following, in which he finally takes his
training seriously in order to become a stronger fighter, retake his
masculinity, and protect the masculinity of his father and family, threatened
by Thunderleg’s beating. This single minded determination, showcased perhaps
best when he goes through the different forms of his drunken kung fu, shows his
masculinity in his ability to be defeated, but rise up again. When he fights
Thunderleg, the assassin’s masculinity has no effect or influence on him, as
despite his own newfound masculinity, he never reverts to any tactic or action
Thunderleg would take, instead retaining his trickster style of fighting. Chan’s
masculinity, then, lies in both self confidence and growth, an inner strength
somewhat akin to Lee’s, while Thunderleg’s resides in his power over others,
like his fellow villain.
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| Falling in defeat and rising again from the ashes is what makes Chan's masculinity unique. |
A Better Tomorrow relies on a far
different sort of masculinity. The masculinity here is not a single entity, but
instead relies on brotherly bonds, namely those between Ho and Mark. One of the
first scenes with Mark and Ho together shows their relationship; after several
scenes of them outwardly looking very powerful and masculine, including the
scene in which they make the deal with the counterfeit money, they playfully
have a shoving match into the elevator. Contrasted by the overwhelming
masculinity that these men have in these opening scenes, their bond here
creates a different sort of masculinity. Traditional machismo, akin to Lee’s,
is certainly here; Ho, upon being betrayed by Shing, takes a shotgun shell
point blank, but manages to fight his way out regardless with a blare of his
pistol, then even manages to retain his total composure when surrendering to
the police. Mark effortlessly guns down the men who carried out this double
cross, and even when crippled by shots to his knee, he retains his composure,
riddling the attacker with bullets before storming over to deliver coup de
grace shots to his head, execution style. In these opening scenes before their
bond is more clearly developed, their masculinity lies in a power akin to that
of the Boss or Thunderleg. Both men are in control; Mark cohorts with a woman
on his way to shoot up the double crossers, both flaunt the counterfeit money
they have, burning it as a show of power, and spending time in a bar and
smoking, all signs of power, ease, and masculinity.
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| Power and disregard that oozes "cool". Mark's overt massculinity. |
The
bond that is developed throughout the film showcases the masculinity through
the effect it has on each other. Stringer states in his essay that their
relationship, in its own way, paves the way for their actions: “The emotionally
intense suffering the individual undergoes because of his attachment to a
friend, brother, father, wife, or employer is there in order to provide the
strength needed for the superhuman acts of heroism and violence” (Stringer 6).
This core of masculinity can be said to account for many of the superhuman acts
of the film, even if said acts are not necessarily one of these characters doing
it for the other. For example, Ho’s heroic actions in the shootout following
his betrayal, and his sacrifice in surrendering can be said to have come from a
loyalty and duty to Shing as a brother in arms. Mark’s rampage in revenge
involves impeccable aim and eventually a superhuman tolerance to pain as he
stumbles forward on his now lame leg. Perhaps it becomes most obvious in the
closing shootout of the film, wherein Mark, though out of the fight, selflessly
brings himself in to help his brother in arms, Ho. Interestingly, though his
lame leg is often very noticeable, in this fight his mobility is hampered only
slightly as he darts to and from cover, dives away from explosions, and
generally becomes an invincible gunman, shooting down anyone threatening his
brother. Masculinity, for these two, lies in performing the superhuman, not for
oneself, but for one’s brother. The brotherly bonds push them to do the
impossible, and in doing so, they achieve a masculinity apart from any of the
others we have seen.
Last,
and perhaps least clear on its ideas and perceptions of masculinity is the
Killer of Fallen Angels. The Killer,
described as lazy and nearly emotionless throughout the film, has a sort of
masculinity similar to that of Bruce Lee’s- a mastery of the self. His
character often remarks that he enjoys his job, not for its benefits, actions,
or violence, but instead for its simplicity. The Killer generally finds himself
totally self assured in any situation he finds himself in the film, and the few
times he wants something, such as female company, he has no problem attaining
it. In a film filled with characters constantly searching for something, such
as his partner masturbating to the idea
of him, the self assuredness he carries himself with is jarring. In his first assassination,
he is entirely in control, picking his targets off with efficiency without ever
so much as breaking into a run. Upon meeting his partner, an act long in
coming, he is entirely composed as she struggles to keep a steady hand as she
smokes. Unlike Lee, he is not invincible, as his death shows, but even in this,
there is no voiceover of his regrets and other dying thoughts, but instead, he
simply falls dead among the foes he already struck down. He has no power over
others to call his own, being pushed to place to place by his employers and
partner, so his masculinity is all internal- in his ability to carry himself
without want in a movie in which that is unheard of.
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| Perhaps the best example of confidence, the killer is totally in control despite his partner's sadness over the same issue. |
The
films we’re seen thus far on Hong Kong presents us with several different versions
of masculinity, from invincible strength, to power over others, to brotherly
bonds that provide the power to do the impossible. These conflicting versions
of masculinity may simply be a result of story or director, but the conflict
may go deeper, into the sort of fractured identity Hong Kong holds as a cross between
the East and the West. These masculinities have affected audiences, from making
Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan symbols for the people, to having a generation toting
around dusters and sunglasses to imitate Mark’s style. Hong Kong is a place neither
here nor there, so it’s only natural that there is no true version of
masculinity, only several different suggestions of what it could be perceived
as.
