THE SAVAGE FIVE (Shaw Brothers, 1974)

D: Chang Cheh. P: Runme Shaw. Ph: Kung Mu-To. W: Ni Kuang, Chang Cheh. M: Yung-Yu Chen. St: David Chiang (Cheng Deng), Ti Lung (Fang Yi-fei), Chen Kuan Tai (Ma Tao), Danny Lee Sau-Yin (Wei Ming-hui), Yong Chung (Yao Kuang)


I have been around and it’s only here that I meet real heroes.”

The tranquillity of a remote coastal town is rudely disturbed by the arrival of bandits who demand that local silversmith Wei Ming-hui opens a stolen safe. When he refuses, they threaten to kill some of the villagers. Five men – a thief, a drunk, a woodcutter, a kung-fu acrobat and Wei – face a quandary. Should they avoid confrontation or fight to save the village?
 
 
Bruce Lee, the most revered practitioner of cinematic martial arts, once said, “Simplicity is the key to brilliance,” and Chang Cheh’s unembellished approach to this action drama bears testament to such wisdom. Relinquishing the baroque elements often associated with his work – see Five Venoms and the fantastical Five Element Ninjas – the director instead lays bare all too human behaviours – tyranny and cowardice on the one hand, selfless courage on the other – resulting in a more emotive experience. Fans of taut B-westerns will be familiar with the scenario here – the premise is comparative to that of Day of the Outlaw with echoes of The Magnificent Seven – and the use of Morricone musical cues adds further links to the genre.
 
 
The director paints a leisurely scene of a placid, unassuming settlement in which the rule of calm and reason is torn asunder by whip-wielding bandits, led by jut-jawed Liang Shan (Tao Chiang). Weighed against the general boorishness of the bandits are the five who will eventually risk their lives. David Chiang’s is the most charismatic presence as wastrel Cheng. Impish and seemingly a coward, he goads the others into action; later his largely enigmatic nature is revealed to be a cloak hiding his true identity – and deadly nature.
 
 
 
He heads a fine cast of Shaw regulars who downplay their skill and suggest more vulnerability than usual. Chiang’s frequent co-star Ti Lung plays Fang, a ne’er-do-well who would rather drunkenly woo inn-worker San Niang-tzu (Ping Ping Wang) than earn a living alongside the woodcutter Ma Tao. Fang, however, is the first to rise to Cheng’s taunts and determines to save the ailing kung-fu expert Yao Kuang, who has been captured by the bandits. A young Danny Lee – more familiar to western audiences as Chow Yun Fat’s co-star in The Killer and City on Fire – gives a good account of himself as Wei, the defiant silversmith.
 
 
Though the film is not as gory as some of the studio’s output, there are still plenty of sadistic games for the bandits to revel in. Fang and Ma Tao are tethered to a cart like oxen and must pull it while being whipped. Later, villagers are tied to posts and threatened with death when the shadow of the posts moves an inch. It’s the increasing atmosphere of imperilment faced by the villagers that prompts the titular heroes to launch their primary attack. It’s decisive and bloody. Cheng (Chiang demonstrating his considerable dexterity) jumps into the bandits’ headquarters with feline agility while Ma Tao launches a relentless attack with his axe. This assault, and the vigilante retribution that follows, is cut short when the bandits’ mop-topped leader arrives, armed with a pistol, forcing the five to contemplate their next move. The explosive and heroic finale sees the sickly Yao Kuang lead the charge while Cheng’s brutal style contrasts with the elegance of Fang’s.
 
 
The air of chivalry and heroic self-sacrifice is bolstered by an apt use of Morricone soundtracks. Music from The Return of Ringo, while Ma Tao rhythmically chops wood, accents the anguish experienced by the quintet when they gather to wait for sounds of the villagers’ fate. In a particularly bleak interlude, after being raped by the bandits to spare the dignity of younger girls, Niang-Tzu returns to her house. Her solitude is underscored by cues from Death Rides a Horse while the camera focuses on her expression, the trauma she’s endured writ large; it’s her selflessness that inspires the will to fight in her five friends. The same musical cue is repeated, instilling a similar depth of pathos, after the final bloody battle, when the villagers are left to count those that survived and honour those that didn’t.
Clark Hodgkiss


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