Bullets and brotherhood: Hong Kong classic ‘The Killer’ turns 35

At the risk of exposing his identity (and those of his underworld comrades), Ah Jong befriends Jennie, who is none the wiser about his role in her injury, or his double life as a hitman. Their dynamic is certainly intimate, albeit within the confines of most romantic melodrama. However, The Killer bursts to life when Ah Jong first crosses paths with Detective Li Ying (Danny Lee), a straight-laced cop dealing with corrupt institutions who soon becomes fascinated by Ah Jong, and his seemingly complex moral dimensions.

A killer or thief with a heart of gold is hardly a novel concept, but through Li Ying's eyes, it's effectively a promise of salvation. On one hand, Li Ying's own boss tells him: "I'm not interested in the rules, I care about the methods," as if to push him towards abandoning any sense of justice if it means obtaining results. On the other hand, seeing Ah Jong risk life and limb to protect an innocent girl from a hail of gunfire (right after committing an assassination a few miles away) is immediately alluring, as though Ah Jong were an answer to a question Li Ying had been asking himself while working as a drone for ruthless and corrupt forces.

The film is, like several of Woo’s works, delightfully and unapologetically queer in its subtext (which becomes all but text in the presence of a visually impaired woman who, quite literally, cannot see the full extent of the two men's dynamic). The camera often catches wry smiles on Li Ying's face as he becomes obsessed with police sketches of Ah Jong, and when the two men eventually find each other, their armed stand-offs in close quarters play out like choreographed ballroom dances.

In pretending (for Jennie) that they're old acquaintances, they even give each other nicknames—subtitled as "kid" and "shrimp head" in direct translations, but "Mickey Mouse" and “Dumbo" or "Butthead" and "Numbnuts" in others—though these boyish, tongue-in-cheek nicknames eventually stick. As the two men are forced onto the same side by encroaching cops and criminals, their camaraderie and care becomes palpable, and is enhanced by Woo's penchant for isolating specific moments with slow-motion, and even freeze frames. Chow and Lee's performances make these moments all the more exciting, as handsome, self-assured actors who know how and when to throw subtle smiles at one another, often with their eyes.

From left, Chow Yun-Fat and Kong Chu in "The Killer."

Still frame from "The Killer"

But Woo's unique stylizations don't end with these giddy flourishes. He is, after all, an action virtuoso too, and so for much of the movie's 110 minutes, the screen is filled with seemingly infinite gunfire (characters rarely stop to reload) and infinite practical explosions, as walls and other set dressing are blown apart, enveloping the frame in smoke and debris. It's chaotic, but beautiful—Woo employs slow-motion during shootouts as well—with tangible bullet squibs releasing not only spurts of blood when people are shot, but plumes of smoke as well, as though the characters themselves were made of fire.

The long shadows of cosmic justice and dramatic irony loom over Ah Jong an Li Ying, as they become increasingly burdened by questions of culpability and the weight of their actions. The more they begin to trust each other and enjoy each other's company, the more tragic the movie becomes, since the promise of a happy ending between the cop and criminal remains sorely out of reach. They're professional adversaries captured through the cinematic lens of star-crossed lovers, fated by forces beyond them to be forever kept apart.

Though inspired by Jean-Pierre Melville's neo-noir Le Samouraï and the hallmarks of mid-century Westerns (Ah Jong can often be heard playing laments on a harmonica), The Killer builds on the energetic extended action sequences of Woo's previous works, like A Better Tomorrow, to create a whole new cinematic language. In Woo's films, the line between violence and romance becomes thoroughly blurred, with the same sparks of heart-stopping visual language—alternating ramp-ups and slow-motion tableaus—applied to both brotherhood and bloodshed. When there's no longer a line between love and violence, cinematic romance becomes cinematic action, rather than being a corollary or afterthought, allowing films like The Killer to become truly euphoric.

The Killer isn't currently available to stream, but DVDs can be purchased on Amazon, and copies of the film can be found on the Internet Archive.