Genre films from Hong Kong are truly something else; they seem to have less restraint than what comes out of the western hemisphere nowadays. From the heart-driven action of
Fist of Fury (1973) to the goop and black magic of
The Boxer’s Omen (1983) to the slapstick gore of
Riki-Oh: The Story of Ricky (1991), there is something for everyone. If you know me, you know I like to be put in mental anguish while watching anything. I also have a small bias against “true crime” films, so it makes perfect sense I've become slightly obsessed with one.
In order to talk about this film, context is needed. In 1973, a man named Huang ZiHueng murdered a man who owed him gambling debt in Hong Kong, and fled to Guangzhou for a few years, before ending up in Macau. He continued his illegal gambling habit and eventually became involved with Zheng Lin, whose family owned and operated the Eight Immortals Restaurant. Sometime in 1984, after a series of particularly high stakes bets, Zheng’s family owed Huang around 180,000 patacas (US$20,000). In order to make sure the family was able to pay the debt, they verbally agreed to hand over the restaurant mortgage to Huang if the debt wasn’t paid within the next year. However, at some point they stopped paying, and due to interest, the amount owed ballooned to 600,000 patacas (US$75,047).
On August 4th, 1985, the Eight Immortals Restaurant closed for the night like normal. As the family was cleaning up, Huang entered the establishment and demanded 30,000 patacas of the debt he was owed, or else the business was his. Zheng refused, and Huang took one of the children hostage with a broken bottle, forcing the other members to bind and gag each other. He killed all nine family members either by strangulation or by stabbing, before luring one of Zheng’s sisters over to cover his tracks, only to kill her. He dismembered the bodies, and they were disposed of in black garbage bags dumped in the sea. The bags were eventually discovered by a swimmer on the beach, sparking an investigation, tracing back to Huang, who operated the restaurant after the murders. After his arrest, an urban legend spread that he baked the family into the restaurant’s famous pork buns, an idea popularized by the media coverage of the event.
This is the plot of
The Untold Story, released only 8 years after the original crimes. It is a film that has become notorious for how it portrays these real life events, particularly in emphasizing the potential cannibalism. The first half of the film follows the bumbling cops on the killer's trail, while the second half focuses on the sensationalism and brutalization of their suspect, eventually getting him to confess. There is plenty of screen time devoted to law enforcement figuring out this mystery, however the most memorable sequences are scenes where our suspect is front and center, as he kills anyone that snitches or calls him a fraud, which peaks police suspicion.
Like many of my favorite films, this was a shocking first watch. There are multiple instances of extreme violence and sexual assault that will take even the most experienced viewers aback. Some notable scenes include the near onscreen butcherings of a few humans, children discovering rotting body parts, death via chopstick violation, several gags involving piss, gross shots of people eating, and the murder of a family of 7, including killing multiple children on screen. Even for the most hardened stomachs, there is something that will disgust you.
What sets
The Untold Story apart from more mean spirited Category III titles (notably
Men Behind The Sun (1988)) is the added humor. This isn’t a comedy, but there are several lighter scenes and even a couple of running gags involving the Scooby Doo-esque police crew. The editing style and generally exaggerated characters also play a hand in this, softening the blow to the more disgusting sequences. Some comedic tone is lost in the second half, but the over the top performances from the supporting actors remain.
This genre mash-up initially seems odd; such an offset can put a foul taste in viewers’ mouths if unprepared. Thankfully, the directing duo of Herman Yau and Danny Lee are able to balance these seemingly mismatched tones. Yau did not have many credits to his name, however Untold Story would be the first of several cult classics he would direct, and the first film of his to become notorious for its violence. What Franco and D’Amato are to Eurocult, Yau is to Hong Kong cinema; he is known for his vast output and boundary pushing content, and would later direct the even more shocking Ebola Syndrome (1996). To balance out the utter chaos, Lee was brought in to co-direct. Lee’s directing expertise lies mostly within crime films, the most well known of which being Dr. Lamb (1992), which he co-directed alongside Billy Tang. It bears several similarities to Untold Story in plot, but stands on its own as a more straightforward crime drama. Here, Yau and Lee perfectly mesh their styles in order to craft this bonkers satire that can best be described as having an edge.
Another major factor in creating such a juxtaposition is the on screen performances, and this film delivers. The aforementioned Danny Lee is more prolific in his acting than his directing, and here he portrays what he does best: a cop. He also plays one in his own
Dr. Lamb (coincidentally both named Lee), and the risk of going into autopilot is seemingly imminent; this is offset by his surrounding cast, particularly the killer he is trying to catch. While in
Dr. Lamb Simon Yam portrays a seemingly quiet psychopath who is eventually uncovered to be a maniac, Anthony Wong gives a landmark performance as the uncompromising Wong Chi-Hang. He is wonderfully deranged every frame he is on screen, leering and unpredictable. He has enough energy and glares to scare a small child behind those thick framed glasses. This performance led Wong to win his first acting award at the Hong Kong Film Awards, giving him a career boost (perfectly timing with portraying a much more reserved villain in
Hard Boiled (1992)) and cementing
The Untold Story’s status as a cult classic.
The mix of brutality and humor is typically jarring to genre fans; many feel that the addition of humorous scenes is unnecessary, and that the film should be completely serious. I disagree, and think that these goofy sequences mesh well with the perversions taking place. They allow the audience to breathe, and drive home the satirical elements of the dynamic between the criminal, the justice system, and the press. Wong should be impossible to find sympathetic, particularly in the first half of the film. However, once arrested, the viewers begin to feel sorry for him; the “bumbling” cops suddenly turn violent and refuse to extradite him for previous crimes to save face. When jailed, he is beaten by Cheung Lam’s brother and resorts to primitive survival methods. After a nasty scuffle, he is hospitalized and held hostage by the police as they induce him to confess via several days of drugs and forced sleep deprivation. Everything takes place under the press’s watchful eye, taking every chance they get to scrutinize the police. They may be the “good guys” in this situation, but does that justify their actions? And does that justify the press’s obsession with glorifying this serial killer? Under the humor, there lies a reality that all parties are rotten. Somehow, that isn’t the tragedy of the situation; it’s the self-centered attitude of the police, and how they aren’t in the least bit concerned about seeking justice for the Lam family.
Despite it’s extreme content and harsh rating, the film was a success in Hong Kong, earning a sizable HK$15,763,018. Between the film’s popularity and the public knowledge of the real life events, sequels and unrelated adaptations have been produced. Are they any good? Maybe as standalones, but most are far cries from the film that started it all. While I found out about it due to a book about child death in film, I came to love it for the absurdity and message it carries. The unfortunate part is I may never eat pork buns again.
Parker S.
This article first appeared in Tri-Star Trash Cinema, Issue #11
