THE kerfuffle surrounding the massively successful film, Mat Kilau, has led to comparisons with the Ip Man films. Some used it to deflect criticisms by saying if the Chinese could have a movie such as Ip Man, why can’t the Malays just enjoy Mat Kilau without fuss?

As someone who hasn’t been back in my homeland since the film’s release, I can’t say much about Mat Kilau. But I think there’s much to be said about the Ip Man films lest they be taken as just nationalist films (honestly, if we are looking for ultranationalist counterparts, the film Wolf Warrior 2 fits the bill more).

There are two caveats. First, there are more Ip Man films than most people know. The best-known ones are the four with Donnie Yen as the titular character.

There’s also Tony Leung’s Ip Man in auteur Wong Kar-Wai’s The Grandmaster, where he’s only one among many other grandmasters (and not necessarily the most interesting one).

There’s also one about young Ip Man (with a cameo by Ip Man’s actual son); one about old Ip Man starring thespian Anthony Wong; and a frankly ridiculous one where Ip Man and several kung fu masters time-travelled to the present.

This essay will only focus on the Ip Mans played by Donnie Yen and Tony Leung.

Second, most of the Ip Man films aren’t really nationalist films. The Grandmaster only showed silhouettes of the Japanese.

Admittedly, the Donnie Yen series did try to pander to that appeal, which is why most of its villains are just one stereotype of an evil foreigner after another, though it is difficult to say a family-friendly film such as Ip Man can ever depict the true brutality of imperial Japanese rule.

But there’s more to the Ip Man films than just provoking nationalist tears.

This is not to defend Ip Man but to explore what martial arts films can bring us, other than this cathartic moment of our “race” beating up some “foreign” baddies so that we can feel good about ourselves.

Even as he’s called a superhero, one defining characteristic of Donnie Yen’s Ip Man is his restraint, even if there are moments where he demonstrates his capacity for extreme violence.

After almost every boss fight, Yen’s Ip Man would immediately retreat from the limelight and not bask in some steroid-filled glory. When he tried to give a speech, he was measured… awkward even.

In the first film, he was shot and had to be ferried to Hong Kong; the second film he rushed back to his wife in labour; the third film his wife’s illness made him almost forgo a match that was worth his reputation (he ultimately fought the guy but without the presence of an audience).

The fourth film was perhaps the most subversive in that Ip Man witnessed racism in America, pondered why he insisted on sending his reluctant son abroad, and returned to Hong Kong with him.

Compared to the many politicians in Malaysia who kept saying the West is evil but still sent their children there, this is true heroism.

Another consistent theme in both Yen’s and Leung’s films is that Ip Man’s unmatched kung fu skills existed uncomfortably with his powerlessness in the face of social or personal turmoil.

Ip Man could not beat back the Japanese invasion, nor could he stop his wife from dying from cancer in Ip Man 3.

This powerlessness is most apparent in one line uttered by Tony Leung in The Grandmaster, “我見過了高山, 才發現最難過的原來是生活 (I have scaled the heights of kung fu, but the hardest thing to overcome is indeed life itself)”.

In the movie, his daughter starved to death during the Japanese occupation. There was only so much Ip Man’s fist could punch through.

Not only that, Leung’s Ip Man was a refugee. He had to leave his wife behind in Foshan to cross over to Hong Kong to find work after losing everything in the war.

But the borders between the two territories were soon closed as the Chinese Communist Party took power. Ip Man never saw his wife Cheung Wing-sing again, which is historically accurate, unlike Yen’s version, where Cheung followed him to Hong Kong.

Wong Kar-Wai’s Ip Man is Chinese, but that never was his defining character.

In fact, that identity was secondary to all the other identities the film explored: a southern martial artist holding his own against northern challengers; a rootless refugee; a somewhat cocky grandmaster; a man with lust; a cosmopolitan who believes kung fu has no boundaries.

The last point is seen in how both Leung’s and Yen’s Ip Man encouraged Bruce Lee to teach Wing Chun to the Westerners, which irked many Chinese martial artists.

I hope I don’t need to say the films are fictionalised accounts of Ip Man’s life. But the finer point to make here is that they serve as good character studies about the juxtaposition of power and powerlessness and the finesse between power and pride.

This is only possible, I suppose, as there are enough renditions to ensure diverse views of the icon.

If we are indeed seeing a wave of anti-colonial hero movies incoming, I genuinely hope what we get is such critical diversity and not a basket of generic one-dimensional superheroes just to prove to the West we can have our own. – September 8, 2022.

* A Forensic Science-Asian Studies hybrid, Nicholas Chan is interested in how authority is shaped, exercised, and more importantly, resisted in Southeast Asia.

* This is the opinion of the writer or publication and does not necessarily represent the views of The Malaysian Insight. Article may be edited for brevity and clarity.