A Chinese Ghost Story (1987)

Sometimes, cinematic style is enough to turn someone to or away from a particular work. A Chinese Ghost Story (1987), the first in a popular series of romantic horror-fantasy films, was hugely popular among several Asian countries upon its release, and grossed over $18 million Hong Kong dollars. And yet, I can imagine many people being turned away, simply because of the hyper-kinetic action scenes and culturally specific sense of humor. Though the film has some flaws, it would be a shame to pass over it because of them, as A Chinese Ghost Story is a fun and imaginative piece of filmmaking.

The story is an instantly recognizable one, and well deserving of its classical yet generic title: in medieval China, a clumsy tax collector named Ning Tsai Chen (Leslie Cheung) stops in a village and has to stay the night. He decides to board at the mysterious Lan Ro temple, a place so forbidden that bustling crowds suddenly fall silent at the mention of its name. The movie has fun with this particular convention by having the crowd fall silent, then start talking, then fall silent again every time Ning turns around to look at them.

At the temple, Ning meets a mysterious Taoist swordfighter named Yen Chi Xia (Wu Ma) and, more importantly, an alluring woman named Ye Xiao Quin (Joey Wong). Ning falls for Ye almost instantly, but soon learns that there are complications, for she is really a ghost, enslaved to an evil tree spirit named Lao Lao (Lau Siu-Ming). Normally, Ye seduces men for the spirit so that it can feed on their life force, but she takes pity on Ning, putting her own soul at risk. When Lao Lao forces Ye to marry another evil spirit, the terrifying Lord Black, it is up to Ning and the spirited Yen to save her. Many scenes follow featuring outlandish special effects that I can barely describe, let alone critique, such as an onslaught of flying heads and a battle with a giant tongue.

Time has not been especially kind to this film. Though many of the set pieces are effectively eerie, some (such as a scene with stop motion zombies creeping through the temple rafters) are unconvincing and flat, as the zombies move like choppy, mush-faced Gumby villains. The editing can be jarring and the film stock generally looks grainy. Worse than all this, however, are the horribly translated subtitles, although this did lend a charm to the film, and might even enhance the entertainment value for some. (“I hide up because I hate to go with those face and mean person,” Yen emotionally intones at one point).

Despite these setbacks, there are original visuals and charming performances, which are enough reason to see the film. The camera is mostly frenetic, but when it slows down, especially at the beginning, we get a strong and appropriate sense of place, of shadowy forest groves and muddy village paths. The settings in general are all nicely done and key into fairy-tale ideas quite well, with the barren and misty underworld a particular highlight.

The film features a great deal of broad comedy, more than you might expect. Practically every major character engages in some sort of slapstick routine, whether it’s Wong attempting to hide Cheung in her bath, overzealous soldiers chasing townspeople, Cheung frantically running from wolves in the forest, or Ma doing a kind of medieval Chinese rap routine as he practices with his swords. Luckily, the film doesn’t lose its footing, and the plot is never lost even with the film’s many distractions. About the only things the movie takes seriously are the tragic aspects of the romance, emphasized by the wistful theme song, and the evil of Lao Lao and Lord Black.

Returning to my original point, there are people who will not be able to get into any of this, and they probably know who they are. This movie wants nothing more than to be grand entertainment, and it largely succeeds. For anyone else willing to sit through the cheesiness, this is a peculiar and interesting slice of Chinese film history, and a significant one, as it has inspired many similar films since.

Review by Andy Hughes