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14 Asian Martial-Arts Cinema, Dance, and the Cultural Languages of Gender AARON D. ANDERSON A sian martial-arts films hold many possibilities-and many Euro­ centric traps-for Western film theory. The possibilities lie mostly in the ability to look outside the naturalizing influence of European American culture and thus be able to question otherwise invisible assump­ tions; but conversely, the traps lie mostly in failing to recognize that these same European American cultural assumptions are not necessarily univer­ sal. These traps are compounded by the fact that while film theory's pur­ view is rapidly expanding, the tools used to analyze films are not always reformed as rapidly. Historically, Western film theory investigated only high art, and action film's locus as a body-genre with simplistic narratives excluded it from con­ sideration. More recently, film theory redefined its parameters by analyzing previously excluded low forms such as action films. However, the language used to analyze these films often remains tied to the static language of high art, with its historical emphasis on painting, sculpture, and literature. This incongruence has forced much scholarship on action films to focus on is­ sues related to passive bodies-on-display. Hence, several scholars describe the action that defines action films as merely secondary to a passive display of muscular bodies. For example, Yvonne Tasker follows Richard Dyer in theorizing that "any display of the male body needs to be compensated for From Asian journal of Communication 11.2 (2001), 57-78. Reprinted with permission. Asian Martial-Arts Cinema, Dance, and the Cultural Languages of Gender I 191 by the suggestion of action. Thus sports pin-ups and the portrayal of the feats of near-naked action heroes both offer the body a to-be-looked-at whilst refusing the 'femininity' implied by that very passive position." 1 Unfortunately, this theoretical framework leaves little room for action films to be seen as anything other than thinly veiled excuses for homoerotic displays of the male body, which, in turn, leaves little room for Asian ac­ tion stars to be seen as anything other than a sexualized, and therefore largely fetishized, other. In response, some scholars have conversely noted that the "perpetual motion" of many Asian action stars contradicts the masculine ideal of "male immobility" characteristic of most iconic Western action heroes. 2 Such work points out that similar connotations ·of masculine power in Asian martial-arts films are more often demonstrated through movement ability than through static posture or rigid strength and thus "[challenge] the notion that Western models of masculinity reflect a monolithic global ideal." 3 However, these arguments still use a bifurcated language of univer­ sal gender. According to this language, whenever Western immobility is coded as masculine, the opposite, Asian avoidance, becomes invariably coded as feminine. Thus the very language of the discussion reinforces postcolonial notions about the feminine nature of the Asian male body, while also ironically disallowing strong or authoritative female characters from being seen as anything other than masculine. How then, given these two seemingly contradictory extremes-martial­ arts action as compensation for a passive and therefore feminine body, and this same action as feminizing in and of itself-may one describe anything about Asian martial-arts films without eroticizing the Asian male body when it is immobile on the one hand, or defining it on the other hand as feminine when it is in motion? And where, within the confines of these same contradictions, is any possibility for strong or powerful female char­ acters to be coded as anything other than masculine?

One way to avoid the contradictions of gender construction that so of­ ten leave Asian performers in a perpetual state of erotic otherness is to fol­ low up on the methodological consequences of theorizing movement as a fundamental part of the film medium. In this sense, one way to analyze a martial-arts film is to analyze it in term of its movement, which in turn means using models and methods already developed to accomplish this task, in particular those developed to analyze dance. One of the most basic definitions of dance suggests that there are at least four components that distinguish dance from nondance activities: 1) dances have a purpose; 2) dances have intentional rhythm; 3) dances contain culturally patterned sequences; and 4) dances have extraordinary nonverbal movement that has value in and of itself. 4 Since dance analysis is itself largely concerned with describing attributes of the body that performs the dance, even this basic definition can be used as a model to allow a systematic 192 I Chapter 14 investigation into the ways in which filmed martial-arts movements may reflect or reify cultural ideas about the nature of the body in motion.

Jackie Chan and the Art of the Film Fight Jackie Chan, for example, often describes his fight scenes' choreography and performance not as representations of actual physical violence, but rather as danced spectacles. In a 1998 interview, Chan described his phi­ losophy on the contrast between dance and violence: "It's like tap dance.

Before I choreograph the fighting, I write down all the tempos-because our fighting is so long-then music. When the music comes up, you just keep punching, keep kicking. And then, 'ah, yeah'-it's not violent anymore." 5 In accordance with our definition of dance, Chan's description here gives primacy to elements of intentional rhythm in his choreography. As dance, this choreography may have meaning on several other levels as well, including an "extraordinary" quality to the movement that "has value in and of itself." In this sense, part of the pleasure of viewing is simply the sheer specta­ cle of watching Chan's body move through and interact with space. A large part of his films' appeal has to do not only with Chan's agility, but also with his ability to transform everyday objects into weapons, props, and obstacles around which to fight, defend, and perform. In the same inter­ view, Chan described his use of the environment as a type of art:

I want to show audiences I can grab everything; everything becomes a weapon. And when you choose a weapon, it's not like, "wham, wham." I want fighting to be like dancing. Everything is pretty. It's like dancing. Even fighting somebody, it's all pretty. At the end, you have a pose like a ballet. That's what I want. I want to show audi­ ences fighting is an art. It's not like, "I want to kill you." It's an art. 6 Many of the fight sequences in Chan's films follow this same philoso­ phy. For instance, the set-piece fight sequence from Rumble in the Bronx (dir. Stanley Tong, 1996), 7 the film that successfully broke Chan into the American film market, includes the use of bottles, cue sticks, skis, chande­ liers, chairs, television sets, sliding doors, shopping carts, ottomans, refrig­ erator doors, and even pinball machines as weapons.

Likewise, Chan's choreography often displays an almost uncanny abil­ ity to find and use the empty space around him. Most of Chan's adversaries move through space and attack as one would expect in an actual fight, with strong vertical stances and deliberately direct attacks. Chan, on the other hand, moves and fights along all the planes of movement. When at­ tacked directly, he moves to the oblique. When knocked to the floor, he attacks from the horizontal. When attacked on the ground, he leaps in the Asian Martial-Arts Cinema, Dance, and the Cultural Languages of Gender / 193 air. When his base of support is pushed from beneath him, he rolls with the fall, finding new surfaces on which to move and fight. In this way Chan's use of space becomes almost a partnership with the environment, or, as novelist Donald E. Westlake puts it, "Jackie Chan is Fred Astaire, and the world is Ginger Rogers." 8 Westlake's comment here hints at other connections between the move­ ment sequences in martial-arts films and dance-centered musicals. Both genres incorporate similar sequences in which movement is used as spec­ tacle. In this sense, a martial-arts training sequence in an action film may serve a similar function to a solo dance in a Hollywood musical, a one-to­ one combat sequence creates a spectacle not unlike a duet, and multiple attackers echo the grand spectacle of an ensemble piece. Furthermore, in­ novative use of the environment is characteristic of many forms of dance spectacle, linking Chan's choreography not only to Hollywood musicals but also to other movement innovators such as Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton, and Harold Lloyd (all of whom Chan credits as role models). In part because of Chan's links to these larger traditions of slapstick comedy and dance, few people challenge his assertion that his movement spectacles are forms of art. However, definitions of art are endlessly subjec­ tive and open to interpretation. In The Modern Dance, early dance critic John Martin defines movement art in the following way:

When the word "art" is used it may be taken to mean the process whereby one individual conveys from his consciousness to that of another individual a concept which transcends his powers of ratio­ nal statement. This concept need not be anything profound or eso­ teric, else we would have to exclude the decorative arts. It may be merely that contemplation of abstract perfection which never ceases to titillate the aesthetic sensitivity by exquisite design. The cover of a book, the design of a wall, the border on a dress, may all produce an aesthetic effect through form rather than through content. Form, then, is capable of operating of itself. It may, indeed, be defined as the result of unifying diverse elements whereby they achieve collec­ tively an aesthetic vitality which except by this association they would not possess. The whole thus becomes greater than the sum of all its parts. This unifying process by which form is attained is known as composition. 9 Chan's skilled use of mundane props as weapons clearly falls within the description of unifying diverse elements to achieve collectively an aesthetic vitality that, except by this association, they would not possess, and his cho­ reography clearly includes a large degree of creative form and composition. It follows, then, that at least subjectively the whole of the movement in this example from Rumble in the Bronx may be considered greater than the sum 194 j Chapter 14 of its parts. Ultimately, though, it is the very existence of subjectivity itself that allows for any definition of art. Movement art, in particular, depends on elements of subjectivity as pathways of communication, 1,iovement art implies kinesthesia, which in turn implies a phenomenological-or bodily-involvement in reception. In this way, viewed movement evokes different phenomenological perceptions (percep­ tions felt rather than thought) and bodily memories (sensations remem­ bered as feelings rather than as consciously considered recollections) within each body engaged in interpretation. Movement in and of itself is the me­ dium through which kinesthetic (felt, body-to-body) communication takes place, and so the transference of any movement's "meaning') alw~ys in­ volves a range of nonlinear elements. For example, as already mentioned, choreographic rhythmic patterns within, or accompanying, movement can contribute significantly to the enjoyment and understanding of any move­ ment performance. This may be, in part, because everyone feels the pres­ ence of his or her own internal rhythmk heartbeat and breathing patterns and most people also learn a more esoteric understanding of rhythmic cy­ cles of time (waking into sleeping, day into night, changes in season, and so forth). Possibly because of these phenomenological roots, choreographed rhythmic patterns inherently refer to bodily rhyrhmic patterns, and there­ fore choreographed movement patterns assist in the recall of phenomeno­ logical memory or bodily feelings. Thus rhythmic patterns snch as those found in dance and choreographed fights may increase or decrease aes­ thetic appreciation and understanding of movement, which in turn can af­ fect one's subjective definition of the movement's artistic nature. 10 In any event, whether or not Chan's movement spectacle qualifies as art to all viewers it clearly may qualify as such to some. To these viewers, at least, Chan's :Uovement may be both art and dance. Following our defini­ tion then, this movement has a purpose, which according to Chan is to show audlences that fighting can be an aesthetic (and therefore no longer violent) art like dancing in which everything in the room may become part of the spectacle. Following this same logic, the intentional rhythm of Chan's film fights may also intensify viewers' physical reaction to the movement by act­ ing directly on their phenomenological bodily memories; and further, these same fights have value (and because of their extraordinary nature, possibly art) in and of themselves. The last part of our definition of dance refers to the culturally patterned nature of the movement sequences. To consider at this point these cultural patterns of movement in terms of C~an's international appeal leads ro some illuminating complications for theones of gender. Dancing Across Culture: Gendered Movement In Western culture, hand-to-hand combat is usually considered in terms of a teleology of male aggression, or at the very least as the almost exclusive Asian. Martial-Arts Cinema, Dance, and the Cultural Languages of Gender I 195 purview of masculine movement (as when Western boxing is referred to as rhe "manly" art of self defense). Dancing, in contrast, is often considered a feminine or feminizing activity. Ho-~rever, at odds v,.rith these supposedly natural or universal divisions, Chinese martial-arts movements are not so easily divided into masculine and feminine, fight and dance.

Jackie Chan's martial-arts movements originate from his early child­ hood training in the Beijing Opera. This training combined elements of dance and acrobatics with a variety of ch'uan fa (popularly known as kung-fu) styles. Many styles of Chinese kung fu are, in turn, also derived from or practiced as elen1ents of dance, as in the modern educational and performance syllabus of wushu, often combining stylized dance-like se­ quences modeled on the movements of animals such as the tiger, crane, snake, monkey, or praying mantis, or mimicking human conditions) as in the case of drunken kung fu. In fact, throughout the long history of Chi­ nese movement for1ns, the connections bet\veen kung fu and dance have been particularly strong.

Asian martial arts offer other challenges for Western understanding of movement as well. Many Asian martial-art forms incorporate into rheir practice what might be described as spirirual or philosophical elements, and these are difficult, if not impossible, to separate from other, functional elements in the practice of the forms themselves. In fact, the underlying philosophy of the practitioners is sometimes the primary factor distin­ guishing one form from another. Perhaps the most obvious example of this is the philosophical division that separates external or hard forms of kung fu from internal or soft forms. The weapons used in both of these types of forms are so similar as to be almost indistinguishable: simiiar S\Vords, spears, knives, and other such armed weapons as "\Vell as similar use of unarmed weapons such as the feet, legs, ar1ns) and hands. What distin­ guishes these categories from one another is often not so much \vhat weap­ ons are used, but rather that the divisions themselves derive from philo­ sophical understandings about the methods of their use. For instance, the external or hard martial arts focus primarily on strengthening the muscles and bones involved in the proper execution of technique, whereas the inter­ nal or soft arts focus mainly on the cultivation of Chi (intrinsic power) and the ability ro physically "listen" to an opponent's movement.

In kung fu, these ideas about matters of technique are fundamentally tied to other philosophical ideas about the nature of Chi, which are in turn tied to Buddhist, Confucian, and especially Taoist understandings abour the nature of the universe. Ho"veverr in practice, external styles often in­ corporate 1>vhat \vould otherwise be considered internal techniques into rhe functional execution of certain movements {such as avoiding rather than blockmg an incoming punch), and internal styles often incorporate what would otherwise be considered external techniques into the functional ex­ ecution of their movements (such as blocking and counterpunching rather 196 I Chapter 14 than avoiding an incoming punch). Thus, in practice, any given style is rarely only external or internal in the functional execution of movement. In such cases, what separates external movement from internal n1ovement is often only a matter of the philosophical beliefs of the person executing the movement. For instance, any movements-such as blocking a punch, step­ ping into distance, and throwing the opponent-may be executed in both external and internal styles. FunctionaBy, the movement patterns may ap­ pear exactly the same, yet rhe rwo (hypothetical) people executing the movement may identify the movement in different terms (for example, as either external or internal) depending on their understanding of the style of their performance or training. In this case, ,vhat distinguishes the move­ ment style is not as much a matter of function as it is a matter of the self-identification of the person doing rhe movement. It is sometimes said that "there are not any entirely internal or external martial arts .... there are [only] internal or external martial artists/'1 1 Furthermore, because divisions between external and internal, hard and soft, are not entirely rigid or exclusive, practitioners are always free to n1ove between external and internal, hard and soft techniques or self-identification, as desired or as necessity dictates. One of the ;,vays of understanding the seeming contradictions of this duality lies in the philosophical concept(s) of yin and yang. Yin and yang are familiar in the West mainly as a male-female dichotomy-combination usually represented by two "fish" encircling each other to form a circle, one "fish" black with a white "eye" and the other white with a black "eye." However, the concept of yin includes much more than a simple signifier for fernale, just as yang represents much more than simply male. In Chinese Taoist philosophy, and hence in most Chinese martial arts, )'in and Yang are t\VO movements of the formed universe-one contracting, the other expanding; one cold or hot, male or female, day or night. Although nothing is solely Yin ot Yang, everything has either a Yin or Yang expression. [In martial-arts combat] a force· ful move such as a punch or push is Yang, while yielding is Yin. A foot that is weighted is Yang, while tbe unweighted is Yin. [If at· tacked] one yields to the opponent's Yang and fills in what is Yin.

Yin and Yang are complimentary parts of the whole and harmoni· ous in nature . 12 The result of these philosophical considerations is that Chinese martial-arts movement cannot necessarily be considered or described in terms of a static dichotomy of masculine versus feminine. In contrast to West­ ern conceptions of movement paradigms, in Chinese martial arts to fight is not always to be male, to yield is not always to be female, and attack and defense are not always opposites. Asian Martial~Arts Cinem.:;1, Dance, and the Cultural Languagof!s of Gender I 197 The complex nature of reading movement in terms of culture is particu­ larly evident in Jackie Chan's 1992 film Police Story III: Supercop, 13 which won Chan the Golden Horse Best Actor Award in Taiwan. Chan's costar in rhis film is a former Miss Malaysia, Michelle Yeoh. Her character, Police Director Yang, is shown as a strong leader and proficient martial artist (both trairs contradictory to Western stereotypes for former beauty queens).

Chan's character likewise contradicts Western stereotypes for action heroes, as he is sometimes shown as timid and less proficient than his female coun­ terpart. Similar contradictions are evident throughout much of the film. For instance, the initial meeting between Chan and Yeoh in the film immediately sets up contradictions for Western paradign1s of masculinity and femininity. For instance, )"eoh's character first appears ,vearing a "masculine" military uniform and is briskly efficient in her movements and posture. Her job title, "Chief of Security," likewise evokes traditional Western paradigms of masculine power and protection. Chan's character, in contrast, appears timid and inefficient in his bearing and posture, and during a photo session that refers to his Beijing Opera heritage, he even wears "feminine 1 ' makeup and lipstick. The narrative joke is that his man­ ner belies his nickname, "Supercop Chan of the Royal Hong Kong Police," \vhich itself refers to quintessentially ''masculine" po,ver. The fi)m 1s con­ tradictions in its characterization are not easily reconciled within Western paradigms oi gendered movement. But from the perspective of dance-in which culturally patterned movement sequences play a fundamental role-these seeming contradictions can be understood by analyzing the movement not in terms of a static masculine-feminine dichotomy, but rather as a dynamic interchange benveen the philosophical, and thus cul­ tural, elements of yin and yang. In this manner, Yeoh~s character's name, Comrade Yang, Chief of Secu­ rity for the Chinese Police, makes direct reference to yang, the "masculine" essence of strength; thus the name plays against her actual gender and simultaneously comments on the official gender-blind philosophy of Com­ munist China. Chan's character, on the other hand, draws on the other side of the equation, yin. Thus when Chan appears in "female" Beijing Opera makeup, the makeup both plays against the masculine nature of his "super· cop" status and comments on his well-known early training in tbat perfor· mance form. In fact, throughout the entire film, Yeoh's strength and movement ability are highlighted in terms of yang energy while Chan is shown to have great indirect movement ability and agility in the manner of yin.

Yeoh's character is in almost constant control and power throughout the film. She, not he, uses a rifle {a quintessential Western phallns symboli to shoot Chan's pursuers. Armed and perched like a sniper, she becomes Chan's protector during a staged prison break. In this scene, her "mascu­ line" (yangi role as immobile, strong protector is directly contrasted with the "feminizing" (yini aspect of Chan as the mobile, pursued character. In 198 / Chapter14 addition, throughout this scene, Chan's movement abilities are highlighted not in terms of yang aggression or strength, but in terms of yin avoidance and vulnerability, as when he desperately pants for air while running up a steep hill. Later, when the police again try to capture Chan, Yeoh comes to his rescue, and again she ends up holding the gun. Throughout the film, Yeoh's physical ability to fight is shown to be as good as, if not better than, Chan's. For instance, when Chan is immobi­ lized with a stun gun and she literally leaps to his defense, her movements are strong and fluid, her pose tall and graceful. And when Chan is again stunned, she again physically defends him, this time showing an extreme mastery of kung fu by using thrown chopsticks as weapons. Chan is juxta­ posed as inept at using this particular weapon, so that the juxtaposition clearly shows how the yang in Yeoh's character matches that of any (even "super") man. However, as with all things having to do with yin and yang, neither Yeoh nor Chan is shown as possessing only one or the other characteristic. Al­ though Yeoh's character clearly is predominantly associated with yang en­ ergy, she is also shown in very yin-like, feminine pigtails disguised as Chan's little sister. And she occasionally performs traditional "feminine" roles, as when she helps Chan avoid detection by pretending to massage his back, or as the erotic object of a male gaze when Chan's character accidentally walks in on her undressing. Likewise, although Chan's character throughout the film is predominantly associated with yin energy, many of his martial move­ ments are unmistakably yang in nature. In fact, almost all the stunts for which Chan is famous involve yang-like, expansive energy, as when he leaps from a rooftop onto a suspended rope ladder, or when he desperately clings to this same ladder as it hurtles high in the air beneath a flying helicopter. Because the divisions are not rigid, separations of yin from yang are never entirely clean in actual cultural practice, and clearly there are other kinds of references to yin-yang in the film as well. For example, the macho Communist woman has become a standard comic role in recent Hong Kong films, so that the yang in Comrade Yang can also be seen as a joke referring to the caricature. Also, in the Beijing Opera tradition, a male (usually a young boy) historically would have played the role of heroic or strong woman. Thus we must also acknowledge a distinction between women's actual cultural status and that implied by analyzing the represen­ tations flowing from this performance tradition. In actual cultural prac­ tice, the divisions of yin and yang are often anything but equitable; instead they must vie with strict (some would say oppressive) Confucian notions of gender hierarchy. My point is simply this: movement in this film cannot be fully understood by simply referring to rigid Western categories of masculine and feminine movements. The division of movements seems, rather, aligned in terms of a unification of energy, with both Chan and Yeoh displaying an overall aesthetic of grace and power. In addition, these unified elements of I I .

··•·. ·•· •• ·•· .. .

', ( Asian Martial-Arts Cinema, Dance, and the Cultural Languages of Gender I 1 99 grace and power-yin and yang-take on distinctly political overtones in one of the film's more spectacular fight scenes. Because the interactions between yin and yang in this fight are so fluid, it will be useful to look at this scene in detail. Early in the film, after his photography session in Beijing Opera makeup, Chan's character is led by Yeoh's on a tour of a Communist Chi­ nese martial-arts training facility. The trainees in this facility are all shown wearing various "masculine" uniforms. Chan himself is the only one not wearing a uniform, which visibly distinguishes the individualist nature of his origin in Hong Kong with the uniformity of Communist China. This contrast is then developed in terms of yin and yang in the movements that follow. The Chinese police train in hard-style Qikung-breaking boards and '" bricks against their muscular bodies-and are thus depicted in terms of yang energy. 14 When Chan says that he has "avoided" such training be­ cause he is "too delicate," his comment plays against Chan's star persona and reputation for physical resilience while also referring to elements of yin in his character. Likewise, when Chan and Comrade Wang, the Chinese military police coach, engage in a hand-to-hand martial-arts demonstra­ tion, the entire exchange can be viewed in terms of muscular Chinese yang expansion against reluctant, yet not weak, Hong Kong yin agility.

This fight begins with Comrade Wang wearing a red "muscle" tee-shirt.

He is aggressive, muscular, strong, and proficient in hard-style qikung (as evidenced by the many boards and bricks broken over his uniform-clad body). Chan, in contrast, dresses as an individual in jeans and a white (nonmuscle) tee-shirt and moves with casual ease. The Chinese Communist audience "takes seats" in position around the demonstration area with crisp, military precision and uniformity, whereas Chan engages in the dem­ onstration only indirectly and reluctantly. The demonstration begins as Wang takes a classic hard-style pose with muscles flexed, rigid, and strong. Chan, on the other hand, circles around the perimeter of the fighting area with his body loose and shoulders rounded in classic soft-style man­ ner, relaxed and in constant indirect motion. Chan does not attack but in­ stead gives his opponent an almost "feminine" wink and a smile, which in turn provoke Wang to attack with direct hard-style punches and kicks. Chan thus begins the fight as yin: on the defensive, avoiding and blocking the attacks, counterattacking only by filling in the spaces left by Wang's attacks. The fight's attacks and defenses present a unified whole of yang flowing into yin in a display of both combatants' movement agility. However, when Chan is forcefully struck in the stomach, he returns the attack with a yang kick of his own. Although Chan's kick sends Comrade Wang sliding back across the room, Wang outwardly shows no signs of pain. Chan, on the other hand, visibly displays his pain by doubling over and grabbing his stomach. This is in keeping with many of Chan's movement 200 I Chapter 14 performances, which visibly show the effort of moving while at the same time presenting an amazing degree of movement virtuosity. Although Chan's movements may at times appear to stretch the limits of human po­ tential, his facial expressions and visible shows of effort almost always as­ cribe to his characters a human, everyday normality. In contrast, Wang is presented as almost machinelike in his sing le-minded rele ntlessness and lack of outward signs of pain.

As the fight continues, C han moves back and forth between hard and soft sty les of kung fu, first coming on guard in an angry hard-style stance and then deliberately softening, smi ling, rounding his shoulders, and loos ­ ening his movements. With the opening of the second phrase in the fight, Chan first jabs twice in rapid succession to test Wang's defenses, and then jabs twice more, opening a path through the defenses, but ends up liter ally hurting his hand on Wang's head as Wang blocks the follow-up punch with the hard qikung of his own forehead. Wang then uses the yang strength in his head like a battering ram and pushes Chan backward across the floor.

Chan attempts to push back but is overpowered by the stronger opponent.

W hen Chan tries to grapple with Wa ng, he is again overpowered and put into a head lock. Chan escapes, not through strength but through superior agi lity, first flipping his opponent into a cartwheel and then using the mo­ mentum of this flip to flip himself over Wang's back. Wang turns and at­ tempts a hard kick to Chan's leg, which Chan, yin-like, avoids. After blocking a second kick from Wang, Chan follows up this motion with two rapid hard-style kicks to Wang's chest and face, which themselves are im­ mediately followed by a hard-style jumping knee strike to Wang's head and a spinning back-kick to Wang's chest . This last attack sends Wang flying backward into a concrete pillar, but once again Wang shows no out ward pain. Chan returns to a hard-style guard but then, as before, deliberately softens his posture-ro unding his shoulders and loosening his movements.

In this phrase, Chan's character demonstrates superior martial ability, not through superior strength but through superior mobility coupl ed with the tactical abi lity to shift between both ha rd and soft fighting styles.

In the third phrase of the fight, Chan combats Wang directly, hard style against hard style, using direct blocks and absorbing blows with his body.

Here as before, Chan's facial expressions clearly show the effort of the mo­ tions and the pain of the blows while Wang remains robotlike in his own movements. Chan ends the movement sequence by unexpected ly twisting Wang's nose with his thumb-figuratively tweaking the nose of Commu­ nist China . As Wang begins to advance again, Chan retreats, disarming the s itu ation through the very y in-like movements of retreating and asking for a "time-out." Chan's movements in this sequence, as before, display a supe­ rior martial ability over that of his opponent. Although this sequence shows that Chan's c haracter can move and fight in a yang-like hard style, it a lso demonstrates that he has greater success using yin-like indirect or Asian Martial-Arts Cinema, Dance, and the Cultural Languages of Gender I 201 unorthodox tactics. Chan's movements in this fight therefore cannot be described as either wholly "masculine" or wholly "feminine," but are probably better described in terms of a continua l flow between yin and yang. The dual nature of this movement is further amplified through other e lemen ts in the scene that are codified as Chinese yang aggression against Ho ng Kong yi n agility . Thus, these movements may also be read as trans­ mitting aspects of an underlying anxiety about the then-impending 1997 return of Hong Kong to Communist China. These politica l overtones re­ surface again at the end of the film as Chan and Yeo h quarrel about which government-C hina's or Hong Kong's-should get the recovered money.

Here Chan ends the quarrel by asking, "What difference does it make?

After 1997 we'll be working together, eh?" Conclusion As film theory expands its purview, so too must it expand its tools of ana lyses. Investigating new genres-such as action films-requires the de ­ velopment of new methods of examination. This is especially important when consider ing films that do not conform to Western stereotypes. Fai ling to see the necessity of this risks perpetuating the blindness of colonial ism by relegating a ll non-Western films-and therefore all non-Western performers-to the nebulous realm of exotic "other." Here, I have suggested that an alternative way of analyzing Hong Kong martial-art films is to read them as dance. This approach emphasizes that movement plays a funda­ mental role in any understanding of bodies-and thus gender-in the genre.

This approach a lso emphasizes that kinesthesia-and thus subjectivity­ plays a central ro le in movement's reception: therefore different people may interpret the gender of any given movement in various ways.

Ultimately, there is no single method for understanding movement. I have argued for an interpretation of filmed martial-arts combat as dance in relation to culturally specific concepts of yin and ya ng. According to this model, political overtones in the dance-combat may reflect cultural aspects of the movement in terms of anxiety about Hong Kong's (then) impending return to Communist China-in effect, reifying the cultu re of Hong Kong in comparison to the impending merger with Communist China. By con­ trasting this reading with the otherwise strict dichotomy of Western con­ cepts of masculine versus feminine movement, I hoped to illuminate some of the ways in which understanding martial-arts movement as dance might both create ca tegories of understanding and leave elements of these catego­ ries negotiable within and between cultures. Yet this, of course, is far from the last word.

Alternative interpretations lie within other subjective bodies, the end result being simply that any given movement's "meaning" must be consid­ ered in terms of a dynamic exchange rather than as a static cond ition. Once c ,. r !: • ~ ' > ;· ) ,, " ~ ' ' ' t; ' [ • r ' r I 202 I Chapter 14 we recognize the possibilities opened through this understanding, we might also then begin to avoid the trap of believing that European American divi­ sions of movement, and of gender, are necessarily universal. In turn, per­ haps we Western scholars will also eventually see the contradictions within our own cultural ideas of gender and stop having to define the bodies of others in terms of our own static, and often contradictory, dichotomies. Notes 1. Yvonne Tasker, Spectacular Bodies: Gender, Genre and the Action Cinema (New York: Routledge, 1993), 77. Cf. Richard Dyer, "Don't Look Now," Screen 233-23.4 (1982), 61-73.

2. Mark Gallagher, "Masculinity in Translation: Jackie Chan's Transcultural Star Text," Velvet Light Trap 39 (Spring 1997), 27-29.

3. Ibid., 25.

4. Constance A. Schrader, A Sense of Dance: Exploring Your Movement Poten­ tial (Champaign, IL: Human Kinetics, 1996), 10; based on Judith Lynne Hanna, To Dance Is Human: A Theory of Nonverbal Communication (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987). 5. Jackie Chan (interview), Jackie-Chan-a-Thon (Chicago, IL: Turner Network Television [TNT]) (October 9-11, 1998). 6. Ibid.

7. Jackie Chan (actor) and Stanley Tong (director), Rumble in the Bronx (New Line Cinema, 1996); previously released as Hong Faan Kui (Hong Kong: Golden Har­ vest, 1995). 8. Cited in Richard Corliss, "Go West, Hong Kong (John Woo and Jackie Chan meet Hollywood)," Time Magazine (February 26, 1996): 67.

9. John Martin, The Modern Dance (New York: A.S. Barnes, 1933), 35.

10. For a more detailed description of the process of kinesthesia in film fight se­ quences, see Aaron Anderson, "Kinesthesia in Martial Arts Films: Action in Mo­ tion," Jump Cut: A Review of Contemporary Media 48 (2006), http:/lwww.ejumpcut .org/archive/onlinessays/JC42folder/anderson2/index.html. 11. Ron Seih, Martial Arts for Beginners (New York: Writers and Readers Pub­ lishing, 1995), 66.

12. Ibid., 80.

13. Jackie Chan (actor) and Stanley Tong (director), Supercop (Dimension Films, 1997); Previously released as Police Story III: Supercop (Hong Kong: Golden Har­ vest, 1992). 14. Qikung is both a part of and separate from kung fu. Qikung deals specifically with directing Qi (or Chi) to various parts of the body to promote defense, offense, health, or all three. PART Ill At the Millennium and Beyond