Film Review: Once Upon a Time in China 黃飛鴻 (Wong Fei Hung) (1991) - Hong Kong
Reviewed by Andrew Chan (Film Critics Circle of Australia)
I rated it 10/10
Rating: ★ ★ ★ ★
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There are films that entertain, films that dazzle, and then there are films that feel like a thunderclap from the past, reminding us why we fell in love with cinema in the first place. Tsui Hark’s Once Upon a Time in China (1991) is one of those. It is not merely a martial arts movie; it is a vibrant, heartfelt epic that captures the soul of a nation in transition, delivered with the swagger and precision of a master storyteller at the peak of his powers. I give it a perfect score and a standing ovation that echoes across the Pearl River.
Set in the waning days of the Qing dynasty in late 19th-century Foshan, the film follows the legendary folk hero Wong Fei-hung (Jet Li), a physician, martial artist, and guardian of tradition. As foreign powers circle like vultures and local opportunists exploit the chaos, Wong stands as a beacon of dignity and quiet strength. When his “13th Aunt” (the luminous Rosamund Kwan) returns from America, beautifully Westernized and stirring emotions he struggles to name, personal duty collides with national turmoil. What unfolds is a tale of resistance, identity, and resilience, wrapped in some of the most exhilarating action sequences ever committed to film.
Tsui Hark directs with the confidence of a conductor leading a full orchestra. He knows exactly when to let the lion dances roar with festive color and when to pull back into intimate moments of cultural friction. The screenplay (co-written with a team including Yuen Kai-chi and others) balances broad spectacle with sly humor and genuine tenderness. Jacky Cheung brings youthful energy as an eager apprentice, Yuen Biao adds his signature athletic grace, and the supporting cast fleshes out a world that feels lived-in and alive. But it is Jet Li who anchors everything. In his late twenties here, he moves with a fluidity and power that makes every kick and staff flourish feel both superhuman and deeply human. His Wong is stoic yet vulnerable, a hero who fights not for glory but for the preservation of something precious.
The action choreography is legendary for a reason. These are not weightless wire-fu spectacles detached from reality; they carry weight, consequence, and geography. Fights spill across rooftops, docks, and crowded streets, blending kung fu precision with improvisational brilliance. Yet the film never loses sight of its deeper themes: the clash between East and West, the pain of modernization, the quiet dignity of holding fast to one’s roots while the world changes around you. James Wong’s soaring theme song, “A Man Should Better Himself” (男兒當自強), swells at the perfect moments, turning personal struggle into something anthemic.
What elevates Once Upon a Time in China beyond even its considerable craft is its emotional honesty. Tsui Hark, working at the height of Hong Kong cinema’s golden era, understands that true heroism often looks like endurance and moral clarity in the face of overwhelming odds. In an age when so many blockbusters chase spectacle at the expense of soul, this film delivers both in abundance. It makes you cheer, laugh, and reflect — sometimes all in the same scene.
If you love Hong Kong cinema, martial arts done right, or stories that weave personal drama into the larger tapestry of history and culture, Once Upon a Time in China is essential viewing. It launched a series, inspired generations, and remains as potent today as it was in 1991. A masterpiece. Go watch it immediately — preferably with the lights low, the volume high, and an open heart. You will emerge feeling taller, prouder, and ready to face whatever “foreign ships” life sends your way. Highly, enthusiastically recommended. (Neo, 2026)