The Blade

Criterion Challenge 2026 Challenge #9: 1990s Tsui Hark is another filmmaker added to my ever-growing list of people I’m surprised I hadn’t heard about earlier. Some of his films have crossed my path in name only, like Peking Opera Blues or the Hong Kong epic series of films Once Upon A Time in China. But the name Tsui Hark seems to be one that carries a legendary status that may have tapered off in the 21st century. Going through his filmography is fascinating because he seemed to be a renaissance man of a filmmaker, dabbling in just about every genre, with a strong emphasis on action and martial arts. You’ve got romance films like The Lovers in 1994, crime films like Time and Tide, an action/comedy film where Jackie Chan plays twins, two films with Jean Claude Van Damme, romance-sci-fi, time-travel hybrids like Love in the Time of Twilight, and fantasy action adventure films like Zu: Warriors from the Magic Mountain (a film that apparently inspired Big Trouble In Little China), the list goes on and on. Point being that this is a Hong Kong cinema legend who completely breezed by me and since watching The Blade, I have to say my interest has been piqued. Based on Chang Cheh’s 1967 classic One-Armed Swordsman, The Blade has the feeling of a classic Hollywood Western revenge tale. It’s told from the perspective of Sui Ling as she narrates on her desire to be loved, specifically by a man named Ding On, a worker at the sword foundry that her father owns. She also talks about something called Jianghu, which means the philosophy of honorable warriors standing up against the malicious and powerful. The film depicts this in the opening minutes of the film when some hunters stroll into town, looking to stir up trouble and attack a woman, when a monk, trained in Kung Fu steps in to save the day. Ding On and his best friend and coworker Iron Head get inspired by this act of bravery and wish to follow his lead when the monk is ultimately killed in the street. Now, this isn’t a revenge story for the monk, but in fact Ding On wishes to get revenge on the men who killed his father when he was a baby. He learns from Sui Ling that his father was killed by someone by the name of Flying Dragon. Intent on tracking down Flying Dragon, Ding On steals his father’s broken blade and leaves the foundry. During a fight with those same hunters who killed the monk, Ding On has his arm chopped off and he tumbles down a cliff, presumed to be dead by Ling and Iron Head and the rest of the foundry. But he’s not dead. He’s nursed back to health by a young girl named Black Head, who eventually presents him with a book on mastering kung fu. Ding On teaches himself how to fight with the one arm he is left with and becomes somewhat of a folk hero in the region and a threat to the bad guys who are rampaging through the towns and villages. Eventually Ding On finds Flying Dragon, and you can probably guess the rest. There’s obviously so much left out there, but I want to get to my thoughts. Initially, my thoughts are that this kicks way more ass than I was expecting, with a crucial caveat. I love watching martial arts films, especially when they are rooted in themes so universal and have the feeling of a Hollywood western. I love a revenge tale. I love a film that isn’t afraid to get nihilistic and bloody and mean. This film is mean from the very beginning when we see the hunters laughing maniacally as a stray dog steps into a bear trap that they’ve laid out on the street. And I guess maybe it’s time for a brief history lesson (for you and me), on the wuxia style of filmmaking. Because I think it’ll be helpful to see how Tsui Hark actually subverts the genre in interesting and clearly inspirational ways. At its core, Wuxia means "martial hero." Unlike grounded gongfu movies focused on realistic hand-to-hand fighting, Wuxia films take place in the Jianghu—a lawless, mythic underworld ruled by wandering swordsmen, clan feuds, and a strict code of honor. Popularized in the late 1960s by Shaw Brothers classics like The One-Armed Swordsman, the genre is famous for its poetic swordplay, tragic revenge stories, and gravity-defying wirework. The central drive of a Wuxia hero isn't self-defense or sport; it is actually righteousness, loyalty, and personal duty. Now, when King Hu and Chang Cheh (the director of The One-Armed Swordsman) revolutionized the genre at Shaw Brothers in the late 60s, they shifted Wuxia away from opera-style stage craft into operatic violence, visceral editing, and tragic romance. What Tsui Hark did was take the same general principles and apply a sweaty, muddy, bloody, kinetic, cinema verite tone that was unlike anything martial arts filmmakers at the time were doing. And the fighting is the main talking point with this film really. It is equal parts a daring formal choice and experiment from Hark, but also can leave much to be desired, depending on what type of movie watcher you are. I found myself dizzyingly enamored with the way the fight scenes seem to consist of flashes of imagery and shaky camera movements, like something out of a Paul Greengrass film. I don’t think there’s a moment in this film where the frame isn’t obscured by some object in the foreground or someone walking by. It results in you feeling like you’re peeking around corners to watch the action, constantly dodging something getting in the way. And mixed in there you have frenetic editing that cuts to flashes of bold colored lights illuminating the scenes, or characters spinning around in vicious circles. It was stylistic in a way that was almost equal parts disorienting and brilliantly admirable. At times, the fighting and camerawork following it feel improvisational, like the cameraman had no idea where the actors or stunt performers were going to go next. And apparently, that’s actually the case. In the special features of the Criterion disc of The Blade, there is a documentary on the making of the film in which they talk about the verite-style of shooting that made this film look the way it looks. “It is not meant to be seen clearly,” Tsui said of the action in The Blade. “The fighting is but fleeting impressions.” They began shooting without a proper script--meaning the script had no dialogue, just the vague action of “so-and-so tells Ding On about his father” and shit like that. You can pretty clearly see that in the final product. I’m still wrestling with my general thoughts on it, setting aside the fighting and stylistic approach to the film. What you get is what feels like the start of classic folk hero legend stories like Zorro or Robin Hood, where the One Armed Swordsman goes on to fight more battles and save villages from evildoers in the name of chivalry. These types of mythological stories always hold a special place in my heart, as they do transcend the formal choices and even the nitty gritty details of the plot to get at something more universal and aspirational. The One Armed Swordsman (the character) and the film The Blade is a representation not only of Hong Kong political history (the impending 1997 handover, when Hong Kong would relinquish its status as a British colony and become China’s HKSAR), but also the more baseline structure of good vs. evil storytelling, the belief that honor is what should drive a man or woman to act according to a code or protect the innocent. So, while the film didn’t always work for me, there was so much to chew on and so much spectacle that it was hard not to be swept away for the ride. Did the cinematography and verite camerawork get in the way a little bit? Sure. But it didn’t detract from my overall enjoyment of the story being told and the fact that Tsui Hark might just be one of those filmmakers that I will have to dive deeper into in the future. 7.4/10