Mr. Vampire (1985) the audacity of hop (Review)

Your correspondent first heard of the Chinese legend of the jiangshi as a child, and found it the most frightening thing he had ever heard in his young life. As an adult, I’m not sure why. Yes, the jianghsi is a reanimated corpse that drains the life of the living, and yes, they have long, talon-like fingernails. They also move by hopping with their arms outstretched, which you’d have to say diminishes the fear factor a bit. Think of a movie vampire who’s really chilled you – Max Schreck in Nosferatu, say, or Kirsten Dunst’s eerie undead child in Interview With the Vampire. Now imagine them on a pogo stick.

The bounce factor is one reason why the jiangshi‘s cinematic legacy skews towards comedy. Another reason is that the comedies they’ve appeared in are so incredibly memorable, which is where Mr. Vampire, out this week from Eureka Classics, comes in. Perhaps the most exuberantly entertaining film ever made, Mr. Vampire wasn’t the first film to blend martial arts, comedy and jiangshi mythology – producer Sammo Hung had made Encounters of the Spooky Kind five years earlier. That has a sizeable fanbase too, but Mr. Vampire still feels like the defining jiangshi comedy, the one which sums up the whole appeal of this cheerfully weird subgenre.

Indeed, it’s so proficient that it was falsely rumoured Hung directed it, rather than Ricky Lau, who at that point had only two director’s credits to his name. Lau had been keeping busy as a cinematographer, though, and it’s possible to see a cinematographer’s eye in Mr. Vampire. Visually, it excels at every tone it aims for; the stunt-work is cleanly and clearly captured, the montages have the kind of forcefulness and precision that makes you suspect Edgar Wright is a fan, the night-time sequences are atmospheric enough to put many serious horror movies to shame. It’s full of wonderful directorial grace notes: the switch to hand-held at the end of the scene where the jiangshi is bound in its coffin is worth writing essays about.

Apart from Hung, the rest of the cast and crew are an interesting mix of old and new talent. Lam Ching-Ying had been working steadily since 1969 (including an uncredited part in Enter the Dragon), but his impeccably deadpan, authoritative performance as Master Kau made him a star. Ricky Hui already had a well-established career as a comedy lead, not least in several of John Woo’s early films, but he throws himself into the part of Kau’s witless apprentice Man-choi with the fresh energy of a newcomer. Moon Lee, who plays Man-choi’s love interest Ting, was first spotted by Lau at a dance performance, leading to some claims that she was a non-actress he had discovered. In fact, she’d had plenty of small roles in films – including Tsui Hark’s Zu: Warriors from the Magic Mountain, which starred Sammo Hung – but Mr. Vampire gave her a career boost that saw her become a reliable presence in action movies throughout the 1980s and 90s.

One quirk of Hong Kong action comedies is their frequent use of period settings. Action comedies in the wider world tend to be a more contemporary genre, the odd Western or pirate spoof aside, but films like Project A, Kung Fu Hustle and The Eagle Shooting Heroes are all set in specific periods of history whose relevance to the story may not be clear to foreign audiences. Mr. Vampire is set in the Republic of China, placing it some time between 1912 and 1949. This allows it to lampoon the authorities – particularly Billy Lau’s inept, corrupt police officer Wei – and indulge in moments of cultural satire such as Man-choi’s doomed attempt to drink tea like an Englishman. It also gives it a romantic fairy-tale edge which is not inappropriate for a movie where the second female lead is a ghost bride.

Said bride is played by Siu-fung Wong, whose mix of campy artificiality and gleeful menace means she embodies the spirit of the film in toto. There is very little blood in Mr. Vampire but there’s an awful lot of danger, which Lau uses skilfully to make each laugh a release as well as an amusement. Of particular note here is Wei’s branding iron, which Lau somehow sells as both a terrifying threat and a tool of slapstick comedy without muddling the film’s tone at all. There are plenty of extras, including a full-length commentary from Frank Djeng and archive interviews with Siu-Hou, Lee and Lau.

Thanks for reading our review of Mr. Vampire

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