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+ another review by Cynthia Fuchs

Warrior Monk

Kiss of the Dragon belongs to that rare breed of Hollywood film that does some justice to the talents of Hong Kong crossover stars -- in this case, Jet Li and martial arts choreographer Cory Yuen. While the Jetman's first U.S.-made starring vehicle, Romeo Must Die (which Yuen also choreographed) was reasonably entertaining, it lacked the furious kineticism of either Yuen or Li's best work. Yuen, who has become the "it"-talent ever since his work in the The Matrix wowed American audiences, again lends his expertise here, as does French filmmaker Luc Besson in the role of co-producer and co-screenwriter.

Part of the reason why Kiss of the Dragon works as well as it does is that it doesn't exploit Li's preexisting cinematic persona (which other films hoping to capitalize on the popularity of Hong Kong stars have done unabashedly). While most of Li's Hong Kong-made hits are set in China's romanticized past, in which he invariably plays some legendary folk hero, Kiss of the Dragon takes place in contemporary France, affording him the opportunity to play a modern badass. His Liu Jiuan is a Chinese government-issued special agent who arrives in Paris to assist French police inspector Richard (Tcheky Karyo) and his team carry out an assignment, monitoring Chinese diplomats. When a diplomat is assassinated and Liu suddenly finds himself to be a hit target in the middle of some kind of murky conspiracy, he relies on his training and expertise to avoid getting killed.

Bridget Fonda plays the arch-villain's whore-cum-mistress, Jessica, who seems to have been thrown into the plot as an afterthought, to provide motivation for Liu. Normally a likable actress, here she stumbles around in stiletto heels, squawking complaints like, "My life is not a fairy tale! My life is hell!" Such shrillness aside, Jessica's presence also creates something of a sexual quandary. Asian Hero assists White Damsel in distress. Said Damsel, out of gratitude, offers Asian Hero a compensation lay. Does Asian Hero accept? Suffice it to say that the answer is reassuring to many and surprising to none. White chicks represent untouchable goods to imported male Asian action heroes -- be they Li, Chan or Fat -- who are welcomed and rewarded so long as they graciously cartwheel for Western audiences and not threaten the latter's sexual supremacy by appearing as sexual beings.

As Kiss of the Dragon demonstrates through one if its minor characters, when we do see the rare Asian man harbor sexual feelings for a white woman, he's a ridiculous, lecherous buffoon -- a caricature designed for laughs -- capable only of getting it on with prostitutes, in which case he poses no threat and is therefore tolerated. Come to think of it, it's not just white chicks who are untouchable. Take the modern day Romeo and Juliet pretension in Romeo Must Die. Li could barely lay his hand on Aaliyah in that film. That doesn't seem very Romeo-like to me. And why is this a beef? Because there's this glass door in Hollywood that doesn't swing both ways. On one side, you've got Hollywood's various leading men strafing their dicks across the globe; on the other side, you've got these Asian heroes checking their libidos at the entrance. Am I to believe that an old fart like James Bond can fuck his way around the world in nineteen features (with no signs of retiring or needing Viagra anytime soon), but that a virile, young warrior like Liu Jiuan chooses to be a chaste monk? This dichotomy betrays unspoken racial boundaries that America is not ready to see transgressed, at least not indiscriminately. Wesley Snipes may be allowed free reign, but my goodness, that's going far enough.

But I digress -- back to the film at hand. Co-writers Besson and Robert Mark Kamen have worked the script, based on a concept by Li, only as hard as they've needed to in order to find pretexts for Li to clobber somebody. The dialogue is of the generic cut and paste variety, sounding vaguely familiar, as though we've heard it all before. "There's a time for diplomacy and a time for action," barks the villain at one point. "Diplomacy's dead!" Maybe all the characters in this movie should follow the example of Liu's reticence and focus more on ass-whooping, less on trap-clapping.

The various elements have been capably orchestrated by Chris Nahon (yet another former commercial director) in his feature debut. But the polished final product doesn't tell us anything about what to expect from Nahon in the future because it's got Yuen and Besson's handprints all over it. In this case, that's a good thing. In so many action movies of late, the melee combat is sloppily staged in shadows and darkness, with so much haphazard camera movement, tight framing and choppy editing that you can't even see what's going on. Kiss of the Dragon could serve as a classroom example of how to do it right, with fluid camera work and economic editing that allow one to clearly view and marvel at the ingenuity of Cory Yuen's choreography. The fight sequences, devoid of fancy-pantsy wirework, are grounded and intense without being inordinately brutal, and calculably acrobatic without resembling a circus act. The one annoying factor -- which does recall the slighter action flicks -- is the insertion of loud, distracting music tracks into a couple of the fights, probably in an attempt to inject some urban hipness. In one setup, a throbbing hip-hop bass line cues the arrival of the big, bad black dude who is going to give Jet Li a real challenge. This awkward attempt to intersect image with sound is corny and perhaps mildly offensive to certain sensibilities. Why not go further and have a pipa or samisen play when an Asian character enters the frame?

Fortunately, Kiss of the Dragon doesn't quite go that far, but since its hero is Asian, it would disappoint if it didn't have him checking off an inventory of oriental trickery: he uses acupuncture needles both to heal and disable instantly; performs a traditional funereal rite for a fallen comrade with incense and the whole deal; and even finds a particularly innovative use for a pair of wooden chopsticks. All superfluous if you ask me, but perhaps the filmmakers felt that such trappings would secure Liu's cultural authenticity in the minds of the audience.

When Richard complains that Liu's name is too hard to pronounce and dubs him "Johnny," it's like a metaphor for what has happened to peers of Li like Jackie Chan and Chow Yun Fat. They've been constrained to fit the model of what Hollywood -- and, by extension, America -- thinks they are supposed to be. The result is crap like Rush Hour and The Replacement Killers, in which Chan and Fat are inflated mockeries of their former, glorious selves. It's a fate that would've befallen Li (need I mention Lethal Weapon IV?), had he not played his cards right. In Kiss of the Dragon, he resonates a feral intensity that's been hitherto latent in the topknot-wearing folk heroes that he's been known for playing, and, for once, we witness a crossover star's evolution, not stagnation.

And yet, what with this film's dragon allusions and the way the media's been publicizing Li, it's quite conceivable that America is looking for Jet Li to become a latter day Bruce Lee. ("Who do you think would win in a fight?" goes the oft-asked question. "Jet Li or Bruce Lee?") Indeed, one of the deftly staged fight scenes in Kiss of the Dragon is derivative of Bruce's one man-versus-a whole karate class sequence in Fists of Fury (a.k.a. The Chinese Connection). This forced comparison between the two men (which has little basis other than the fact that both are martial artists/actors with like-sounding last names) is unfair because Jet won't be able to live up to it. He just doesn't have Bruce's sly charisma or electrifying corporeal presence. If Hollywood is smart, it won't pressure Jet to be who he wasn't meant to be, and instead focus on merits that are entirely his own (like his unassuming affability, for one, or his gymnastic ability to drop kick a billiard ball in mid air).