​I have mentioned elsewhere that old Kung-Fu movies will have their plots butchered quite spectacularly by a blind man with a hatchet in an editing room. Fortunately, 10 Brothers of Shaolin doesn’t suffer from this. Oh, no no no no no.​

Instead, its plot is butchered by whoever decided that the subtitles needed to be in white, with zero fucking outline, meaning that whenever they touch a surface that is even slightly brighter than a black hole, they become unreadable, thus leaving you with less clue as to what the fuck is going on than a midget at an orgy.

​However, when the action is as kick ass as this, from start to finish, then who the fuck needs plot?

​Welcome back, you masochistic beautiful bastards. Today we are looking at a 1977 piece of madness that proves you don’t need a coherent narrative if you have enough human beings capable of doing 720-degree spins in mid-air. 10 Brothers of Shaolin is a film that demands your absolute attention while simultaneously doing everything in its power to make sure you have no idea what anyone is saying. It is a cinematic riddle wrapped in an enigma, wrapped in a white subtitle that has vanished into a character’s beige trousers.

​PLEASE NOTE: Hardly any decent pictures exist of this film, and I’ll be buggered if I’m going to give myself a migrane capturing screenshots.

The Subtitle Situation: A War Against Legibility​

Watching this movie is like trying to read a ghost’s diary in a snowstorm. The designers of these subtitles clearly had a vendetta against the concept of communication. Every time a character opens their mouth to explain a crucial bit of why we are punching each other, they happen to be standing in front of a white wall, a bright sky, or a particularly shiny bowl of rice.​The result is a viewing experience that feels like a game of Pictionary where the artist is using invisible ink.

You catch fragments of sentences like ‘…must go to the…’ or ‘…the secret of the…’ followed by a blinding flash of overexposed sunlight that swallows the rest of the dialogue whole. You end up leaning into the TV, squinting like a confused owl, trying to discern the faint grey shadow of a letter ‘T’ against a limestone cliff. It’s a sensory assault that makes you realize just how much we rely on words to understand stories.

10 Brothers of Shaolin laughs at your reliance on language. It wants you to feel the story through the medium of the roundhouse kick.​

The Math of the Massacre: Why Ten?​

The title suggests a very specific number of siblings. Ten. That is a lot of laundry for one Shaolin mother. In reality, keeping track of ten distinct protagonists in a 90-minute film is a logistical nightmare that would give Christopher Nolan a stroke.

​Instead of deep character development, the movie treats the brothers like a Swiss Army knife. Each one has a thing. You don’t need to know their names, their hopes, or their dreams. You just need to know which one is the ‘Strong One’, which one is the ‘Acrobatic One,’ and which one is the ‘One Who Looks Like He Borrowed His Hair From a Lego Minifigure’.

​They function as a collective organism of violence. When they enter a room or a scene, it’s not a conversation; it’s a localized weather event made of limbs. The choreography isn’t just good, it’s relentless.

The Narrative Void: The Who-Cares Factor​

From what I could glean between the disappearing subtitles, the plot involves the Ming patriots (standard) fighting the Qing oppressors (standard) and someone trying to protect a secret messanger, or the Chinese Jesus, or perhaps a very important recipe for turnip cakes. Honestly? It doesn’t matter.​

In most films, the plot is the bridge that carries you from one action scene to the next. In 10 Brothers of Shaolin, the plot is a series of inconvenient interruptions that prevent people from backflipping. Every time the movie tries to slow down to explain the political stakes of the whatever century this is set in, the subtitles vanish into a character’s silk robe, and the audience collectively sighs, “Just hit him with the bench, already.”​

And hit him they do. This movie features some of the most creative use of weaponry I’ve seen in a long time. Benches, poles, bowls, fishing rods, everything is a weapon if you have enough Shaolin training.

​The Villainy: High Collars and Low Morals​

You can always tell a villain in this era by the quality of their facial hair and the height of their collars. Our antagonists here are the kind of guys who laugh in “Mwah-ha-ha” and spend their time sitting in ornate chairs while plotting the downfall of the Ming Dynasty.

​The main bad guy, I think his name was General White-Subtitles-Over-White-Clouds, is a powerhouse. He has that classic invincible aura where he can stand perfectly still while three brothers try to punch him, and they just bounce off like tennis balls hitting a brick wall. This is the Final Boss that makes the eventual showdown so satisfying. It’s not a fair fight, but when the bad guy can catch a sword with his eyelids, you’re allowed to bring some friends to the brawl.​

The Choreography: The Art of the Spin​

This is why we are here. If you’re watching a movie called 10 Brothers of Shaolin, you aren’t looking for a nuanced exploration of the human condition. You’re looking for arses to be kicked, and kicked they are.

​The action is directed with a frantic, zooming energy. The camera operators in these films must have had forearms like Popeye from all the snap-zooms. Every time a foot connects with a face, the camera zooms in so fast you feel like you’ve been poked in the eye.

​There’s a sequence involving a multi-man fight in a courtyard that is so well-drilled it looks like a murderous ballet. The always amazing and beautiful Chia Ling single-handedly takes out half a dozen men with a big pole and the grace of a gazelle. The fluidity with which she moves is the living embodiment of ‘Be like water’, the timing isn’t tight, it’s predatory.

Claustrophobic Combat​

Like many of the gems in The Cult Archives, we’re dealing with a cramped aspect ratio, mainly due to the fact this version was from an old VHS. However, in a movie with this many protagonists, this is occasionally a problem. The screen is can become overflowing with people, and then it gets a little difficult to gigure out whonis kicking who in the happy sacks. You’ll have a beautifully executed high kick happening on the left, while on the right, two guys are doing a complex grappling move, and in the center, someone is just doing a celebratory backflip for no apparent reason.​

It’s like watching a riot inside a shoebox. But that claustrophobia adds to the Kick Ass factor. There is no room to run, no room to hide. There is only the next strike. The lack of widescreen means you are right there in the dirt with them, snd ypu better be able to duck.

The Logic of the Shaolin Brother

​There is a specific brand of logic in this film that defies explanation. For instance, if you are one of the ten brothers, your primary solution to any problem (be it a locked door, a moral dilemma, or an invading army) is to jump really high.​

Need to get over a wall? Jump high.

​Need to prove you’re the real Ming patriot? Jump high and kick a guy.

Need to express your profound grief over a fallen comrade? Do a somersault and then punch a tree.​

It’s a physical language. They don’t need the subtitles to tell you how they feel. They just need to communicate via the medium of booting someone in the face.

​The Soundtrack: The Stock-Audio Symphony​

In these independent productions, the sound effects library consisted of approximately four noises:​

The Whoosh: Played every time a limb moves more than three inches.

​The Clack: Used for all weapon impacts, whether it’s a wooden staff or a silk fan.​

The Thwack: The sound of a hand hitting meat.​

The Aiyee!: The universal sound of a henchman realizing his life insurance policy is about to pay out.​

Combined with a soundtrack that was almost certainly *cough* borrowed from a Western or a Japanese spy thriller, the auditory experience is just as disjointed as the visual one. But it works. It creates a Pavlovian response. You hear that Whoosh-Thwack, and your brain releases the happy chemicals.

Why I Love It

So, why do I love 10 Brothers of Shaolin? Why does it get a Gold Star in The Cult Archives when I can’t even read the character names?​

Because it is pure. It is a movie that knows its job is to provide ninety minutes of jaw-dropping physical performance, and it does that job with the intensity of a heart attack. It doesn’t get bogged down in feelings or subtext. The text is literally invisible, so why worry about the subtext?​It’s a celebration of human potential.

​When the final battle arrives the movie reaches a state of martial arts nirvana. The remiani g three brothers form various formations, which involve them standing on each other’s shoulders or spinning in circles like a human lawnmower. It is ridiculous. It is over-the-top. It is the reason I keep these old tapes in the first place.

10 Brothers of Shaolin is a work of accidental abstraction. Between the white-on-white subtitles and the breakneck editing, it ceases to be a story and becomes a sensation. It is an experience of pure movement, a fever dream of 1970s bravado.​

If you can find a copy, don’t worry about the plot. Don’t worry about the Ming or the Qing or who’s mad at who and for what reasons. Just watch the feet. Watch the fists. Watch the way these men and one woman move through space as a single, violent unit.​

Yes, it’s rough, it’s illegible, and it makes absolutely zero sense if you’re looking for a script, but if you’re looking for Kick Ass in its most concentrated, 1970s form, then 10 Brothers of Shaolin is just the fix you need.