*SPOILERS AHEAD*
Sometime in the early 80s, Hong Kong
producer Ng See-Yuen examined the West Coast Demonstration Team in search of the “new” Bruce Lee. He had set out looking for a male
performer, but ended up signing the group’s lone woman, who ironically hadn’t
even been invited to the tryouts. This was the first step on the road to superstardom
for Cynthia Rothrock, a martial arts master already earning the highest acclaim
on the competitive circuit. It’s apt that See-Yuen’s search was fashioned as a hunt for Bruce Lee’s successor,
as Rothrock’s career would share some significant parallels with Lee’s: both
were groundbreaking martial artists who established themselves as action stars in
Hong Kong before gaining greater fame via an American film directed by Robert
Clouse. Where Lee had Enter the Dragon,
Rothrock has China O’Brien.
Trivia: Rothrock’s claim to fame is
having been world champion in forms & weapons competition for five
consecutive years (1981-85). What’s impressive about this is that Rothrock’s titles do not amount to five
awards from a single organization, but rather reflect her cumulative successes. Rothrock’s
accomplishments were tallied by publications like Inside Kung Fu magazine, and for five years, she
amassed more wins than all other competitors. In other words, Cynthia Rothrock
won more tournaments than anyone else in the world for half a decade.
China O’Brien was produced by the
Golden Harvest Company – technically making it a collaborative project between
the U.S. and Hong Kong – but unlike Rothrock’s other projects of the same
description, China O’Brien has a
distinctly American texture to it. It’s clearly a take on Walking Tall, but more importantly, its story structure and screenplay
are simpler than its star’s previous films. The plot’s cultural norms
are clearly western, and while this may disappoint fans who particularly
enjoyed the extralocal flavor of Rothrock’s earlier fare, China O’Brien feels more accessible and less of an
acquired taste. Newcomers to her movies, especially those who’ve never seen a
Hong Kong movie before, would be wise to choose this for their first
impression.
The film begins with urban police officer China O’Brien (Rothrock) teaching martial
arts to a class of adult students. Rothrock’s a tough instructor in
real life, and hardly seems to be acting as she drills her pupils. One of these
students – the oddly-named Termite (Doug Wright) – doesn’t take well to her
authority, and the two get into a confrontation wherein he disputes her
toughness and successfully challenges her to a nighttime showdown against
“five guys, hand to hand.” Sometime later, Termite is accosted by some thugs of
ambiguous origin, and by the time China shows up, the challenge has become a life-and-death
situation. China so impressively outclasses her attackers that she doesn’t even
realize something’s up until being alerted by her co-instructor (played by the
kenpo-practicing sculptor Nijel Binns). At the fight’s zenith, she saves
Termite’s life by shooting a shadowy figure pointing a gun at his head. To her
horror, the slain gunman is a teenager, and she subsequently quits the police
force out of guilt, turning in her badge and the offending gun.
These opening scenes tell us a few important things about China and the other
characters. Foremost, China is not just a skilled fighter but an
honest-to-goodness master of her craft – so good that she can explain the
techniques she’s using against her attackers even as they’re coming at her.
While she also seems to be a good markswoman, the only time she kills a person
is after drawing a firearm – an act which moves her to declare she’ll never
touch a gun again. In this film, the martial arts symbolize self-mastery while firearms are a symbol of chaotic destruction:
China can determine how thoroughly she’ll incapacitate an opponent, but she can’t
control the gun’s lethality. Most importantly, while China’s cohorts are
convinced of her abilities, her predominantly male opponents underestimate her. It’s an examination of what men expect women to be capable
of in confrontational situations, and as the film progresses, this will be
examined in more than just combat scenarios.
After retiring from the police force, China heads to her small-town home in
pursuit of a simpler life. We see a contemplative scene of her driving through
the country while a song called “Distant Storm” plays, sung by a pre-superstar Tori
Amos, with lyrics foretelling that China’s trials aren’t over yet. She rolls
into the idyllic municipality, looking for her father the sheriff (David
Blackwell), but quickly realizes that things aren’t right. Unsavory folks have flooded
the town, including a creepy deputy manning the sheriff’s office (Patrick
Adamson), the lecherous goons at the Beaver Creek Inn, and a bought judge (Will
C. Hazlett) clearing violent thugs from prison terms. She can’t have been in
town for more than a little while before she has to defend herself against five attackers
at the bar, and then witnesses firsthand how her father and his good deputy (Chad
Walker) are powerless to stem the tide of corruption – they can’t even
fingerprint a suspect before a lawyer shows up to spring him. The source
of this corruption – drug lord Edwin Sommers (Steven Kerby) – calls shots at a
sleazy poker game and gets his thrills by torturing a woman tied to a bed at
his ranch.
After the crooked deputy overhears them planning to bring in the FBI for help,
the sheriff and his trustworthy deputy are killed by car bombs. China is
devastated, but with the town about to be taken over via an emergency
election to replace the sheriff, she channels her fury into running for the
position herself. The town is supportive – amazingly so, with its people
organizing a full parade in support of her. The embracing of China as the town’s
symbol of hope is refreshing and continues the theme of China’s allies being
able to positively gauge her strengths while her opponents underestimate her.
She gives an adrenalizing speech wherein she calls out the corrupt judge to his
face, and later engages in a public brawl against some rally-rushers, but
there’s no scene wherein the townsfolk skeptically demand proof of her ability.
They know her and know that she can do it, while the villains foolishly think
that a few more displays of force will cow her.
Trivia: The abovementioned parade is as
authentic as it gets. It was an actual event taking place close to the filming
location, and the filmmakers incorporated it
into the story by slipping in some of the actors. Rothrock appears in a horse-drawn carriage while supporters
carry signs reading “CHINA O’BRIEN FOR SHERIFF” and “VOTE CHINA.” Apparently
this was so convincing that the local news and radio stations – not having been
alerted to what was going on – reported China’s run for sheriff as fact.
China’s most important supporters end up being a couple of other martial
artists: longtime admirer and ex-Special Forces fellow Matt Conroy, and a
mysterious Native American biker called Dakota. Matt and Dakota are played by Hong Kong veteran Richard Norton and superkicker Keith Cooke; alongside
Rothrock, they compose an excellent trio and create some stellar fight
scenes. Dakota is a drifter whose left hand was disabled by Sommers’ thugs and
whose mother was killed after being pressed into prostitution; I’d argue that
the filmmakers try to make him the more interesting character, but Matt intrigues
me more by being such an anomaly. Matt is an enthusiastic
supporter of China’s, but were this a different movie, his character would probably
be the star. It’s almost weird to think that cool, righteous Matt waited
until China came along to take action against the villains…but then again, films
have conditioned us so that we wouldn’t have questioned it if China were
the one waiting around for Matt to initiate things. The performers play it so
naturally that you don’t even think about it, but this is in fact a blatant
subversion of action movie norms. Cynthia Rothrock’s prowess for playing leaders actually makes movies wherein she plays supporting characters – i.e. Martial Law, Tiger Claws – a little awkward by comparison.
After China and Matt forcefully stop an attempted vote-tampering, China wins the election but must immediately contend with an
assassination attempt. She responds by deputizing her partners and a bunch of
Matt’s high school students, then shutting down Sommers’ operations. This leads to a massive fight at the Beaver Creek Inn wherein Dakota
crushes the keeper with his motorcycle. After confirming that his mother was
killed by Sommers, Dakota rides out to the ranch for vengeance, bringing
along a rifle (thereby indicating his loss of emotional control). China and
Matt follow, fearing that he’s about to commit a murder, but arrive to find
that Dakota has chosen not to kill Sommers. Sommers is handcuffed and Dakota symbolically leaves the rifle behind.
As the trio lead Sommers outside, the woman he had tortured earlier shoots him
from a window – a decision that I consider less satisfying than him standing
trial and seeing his crimes publicly exposed. Nevertheless, the movie then ends
on a positive note, with China and Matt inviting Dakota to remain in town as a
deputy. To my dismay, a riffy guitar tune plays over the end credits and we
don’t get to hear “Distant Storm” a second time.
The release of China O’Brien may have
marked a gradual change in media trends regarding female representation in
action films. While women were starring in action movies every so often, backlash
to progressive strides in the media was in full force during the decade prior
to Rothrock’s vehicle (i.e. the Reagan years), and even before then, America hadn’t
had an actress who regularly headlined fight flicks. While the low-budget realm
isn’t as subject to societal cues as mainstream Hollywood, it does tend to
follow the industry leaders, and in this regard, China O’Brien broke the mold. Much of this may have been possible
thanks to the Hong Kong production company: Hong Kong cinema had been featuring female action stars for decades, and Rothrock was already a proven
performer with Golden Harvest. Credit is also due to Sandra Weintraub, an
award-winning TV writer who put together the story.
Trivia: Rothrock accepted her role in China O’Brien as an alternative to different project. She had
verbally committed to a film that would have required her to rappel down a Hong
Kong skyscraper without the benefit of a safety net. Increasingly concerned about the risks, she opted
for the less stunt-intensive China O’Brien when it was offered
to her.
Of course, the film’s status as a cult favorite is something it had to earn,
and in this regard, credit is due Robert Clouse. Clouse never recaptured
the acclaim he won by working with Bruce Lee, but he maintained penchants for
creating investable characters under limited means. Many of China O’Brien’s locations may as well be
public property, but they feel homey and authentic, and the personalities
inhabiting them are never boring. There are no great
actors in the cast, but Clouse channels his ensemble’s natural gusto into
organic performances. Rothrock would eventually improve her dramatic
output, but even here it’s clear that she has the winning presence of all major
B-movie performers, and the director makes great use of it.
The film addresses misogyny but is careful to do it in an inoffensive way, with
the perpetrators always being the clear-cut villains who are guilty of other crimes as well. There’s a particularly
insightful scene where China is confronted by Patty (Lainie
Watts), a former schoolmate and apparent sex worker. Patty makes a show of accepting
her low status among the villains, laughing along with their sexist jokes and rebuffing China’s compliments about her looks. She accuses China of
snobbery, gets angry, and attempts to humiliate her. This leads to one of the
aforementioned brawls, and it’s a little surprising when the majority of the
bar’s patrons applaud China’s eventual victory, given that they stayed out of
the fight completely. As such, it’s implied that while the townsfolk do not approve
of the villains’ behavior towards women, they are too powerless or apathetic to
stop it. China never directly addresses the sexism or violence towards women,
and while a lack of overt social commentary may have spared Cynthia Rothrock
from antifeminist criticism throughout her career, her character’s lack of
reflection on happenings so relevant to her makes the film feel incomplete.
One thing that I wonder about is the decision to cast the Irish-Japanese Keith
Cooke as a Native American. The character’s ethnicity isn’t made a big deal
of, which makes this an even odder instance racial miscasting. Why didn’t the
filmmakers just make his character Asian? The only reason I can conjure is
that a good deal of Sommers’ henchmen are also Asian, and the filmmakers
may have thought that selecting an ethnicity not represented in the villains’
ranks was necessary to justify the insults they level against him.
Nevertheless, it’s safe to say that China
O’Brien ends up doing more things right than wrong. Its fight
scenes are consistently strong and the story structure is nicely indulgent,
providing ample opportunities to cheer the heroes for both their deeds and
their kicks. The cinematography is bright, colorful, and always fun to look at. Out-of-genre viewers may yet have a
problem with this one, but karate devotees with even a little appreciation for
the genre’s outliers are well-advised to find it on disc.
China
O’Brien (1990)
Directed by Robert Clouse
Written by Robert Clouse (screenplay),
Sandra Weintraub (story)
Starring Cynthia Rothrock, Richard
Norton (Mr. Nice Guy), Keith Cooke (Mortal Kombat)
Cool costars: Nijel Binns (Shadow of the Dragon) as China’s
co-instructor, Toshihiro Obata (Teenage
Mutant Ninja Turtles) as an uncredited thug and possibly the only opponent
who puts up much of a fight against the heroes.
Title refers to: Cynthia Rothrock’s character
Potential triggers: Violence against women, group violence, torture
Copyright Pan-Pacific Productions
Inc.
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