Consider the same of Ip Man’s undeniable lack of gender egalitarianism and cinematic confidence, the likes of which made Zhang Yimou’s Hero anomalously incisive. Then the Japanese invade, and Ip Man’s experience in the Second Sino-Japanese War is shamelessly if viscerally revised to that of a fallen star, conflicted insurgent, and, eventually, national symbol.Ĭonsider, then, the inaccuracies to be deliberate distractions from the sparring-subtle obstacles placed by the production team in a moment of witty martial arts inspiration that we can either succumb to or merely acknowledge, knowing that the reward is likely some degree of kinesthetic satisfaction. Instead, writer Edmond Wong and director Wilson Yip establish their hallowed figure as an elusive local hero in the fortified martial arts center of Foshan in a departure from the typical humility of wu xia exposition we see him quietly enjoying his reputation and wealth with wife and child, as well as defending the honor of the southern Wing Chun discipline with Quiet Man-like reluctance when pressed by nomadic upstarts.
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Hopelessly heavied by an easily mocked, canonizing grandeur, the movie elides any and all real life details that might humanize its larger-than-life kung fu master protagonist (played by the contemplative Donnie Yen) as such, we have to suppose that Ip Man’s unflappable calm and reserve is the result of tireless block training rather than daily, hearty gong-kicking.
Just as historically erroneous, morally reductive, and narratively clumsy as we’d wish of a film about Bruce Lee’s mentor, Ip Man is nonetheless an explosive exercise in bare-knuckled myth-biography.