A silent, hairless man made of muscle. A mysterious text, filled with ancient ancestral ass-kicking knowledge. An animal-based fighting style. A possible identical twin. A revenge-tinged showdown. These are the throwback components making up the neo-classical Chilean martial arts movie Fist of the Condor. Marko Zaror, who’s come stateside before as a villain squaring off against Keanu Reeves and Scott Adkins, reunites with filmmaker Ernesto Díaz Espinoza for a transcendently simple standalone feature. If you’re not familiar with Zaror (I was not), Fist of the Condor is the perfect introduction to the secret weapon best known by direct-to-video action enthusiasts and Robert Rodriguez completionists. He’s jacked, he’s stoic, he can pull off all sorts of silly stuff with a straight face and, most importantly, he’s a great fighter. If you’re looking for 85 minutes of old-school action and the best pure martial arts movie of the year, look no further.
Filled with contemplative voiceover, Fist of the Condor begins by explaining that, in a colonial conflict centuries ago, a sacred Incan manual to whipping ass was hidden from invaders.
The opening credits reveals pages from this book, including images of:
- A guy doing push-ups on a cactus.
- A guy kicking another guy in half.
- A guy punching a leg in half.
- Death, munching on a human heart.
- A man, flying in from directly above, punching a man’s head off.
This naturally sets expectations high, possibly for a film with the same charming disdain for reality as Riki-Oh: The Story of Ricky. But Fist of the Condor, though not without its moments of wry humor and gory excess, is a much quieter experience. Think ‘70s kung fu, with its casual lore, minimal characters and mythic tone. Fist of the Condor isn’t non-stop brawls, but something that could inspire the next Wu-Tang Clan. It’s no coincidence that Zaror is an inductee to RZA’s martial arts museum.
Zaror plays both Guerrero and his twin Gemelo. One is bald, and dresses like a monk. One had a flowing mane and goth style straight out of The Crow. Chromedome is the strong, silent, honorable hero. His evil twin is just that. There are rumors, perpetuated even by the evil twin’s henchman Kalari (an incredible, sneering, whirlwind performance by Eyal Meyer), that the brothers are one and the same.
Much of the movie’s thematic thrust, about dark reflections and the destruction of the ego, bolsters this reading; even if the brothers are two separate entities, they compose one full person. One has a wife and daughter, one is a loner with only a disciple to his name. One was accepted as a student by the keeper of the Condor technique (Gina Aguad, the first Chilean woman to ever earn a karate black belt and, as it happens, Zaror’s mother). The other, forced to watch from a distance, acquired the same skills alongside a heart-darkening resentment.
It’s an endearing gimmick, especially when really thought through: Do people in this area think that there’s a nutjob running around, swapping on and off a hair-metal wig, fighting his inner demons by playing dress-up? But don’t worry, the psychology is intentionally broad. Fist of the Condor isn’t trying to compete with Ingmar Bergman. Instead, the self-serious narration and over-the-top plotting are there to enhance the nostalgic, found-this-at-the-video-store tone, just like the contemplative music, the crashing waves of the coastal setting, and the whip zooms zeroing in on its combatants. This is a movie aiming for the past, and it throws back with pinpoint precision.
But it’s not all about looking back. Training montages alternate between the meat-munching devotion of a modern macro-tracker (when Zaror isn’t throwing down, he is constantly cooking a dead animal) and the ridiculous feats of a fantastical kung fu tale—things like stepping along the rim of an empty wicker basket or vaulting over a higher and higher bar…while walking on your hands, with your legs tightly bound. These are winningly silly but grown from very personal places despite their obvious exaggeration.
“This film represents my own journey as a martial artist to a great extent, particularly the winding but necessary path to overcoming my own perceived limits through the process of trial and error—and a great deal of introspection and perseverance,” said Zaror in a statement. “The story itself arose from delving into diverse approaches to nutrition, personal philosophy and training, as well as a personal desire to create a well-executed kung fu movie that also reverently portrays Latin American culture and values on-screen.”
Incorporating both Zaror’s intended introspections and the magical abilities martial arts movies love to unlock through those limit-pushing actions, the training montages do what they’re meant to do: They train us. We learn to love this disciplined dork, and anticipate him putting his education to use in actual fights. Espinoza (who wrote, directed and edited the film) builds this tension perfectly, then reminds us in the moment, quickly cutting between Zaror’s rapid pummeling of a wooden Wing Chun dummy and him putting those same flying fists to work on some poor biker’s face in a barroom confrontation. It’s amazing to watch the human body move so fast, and more amazing to watch it exactingly execute the same sequence of moves again and again.
The combat, mostly between our wandering lead and various assassins after the Condor tome (he says they’ve all got the wrong guy, exacerbating the twin confusion), is sparse yet extremely effective. Zaror is a phenomenal talent, displaying the kind of precision and awareness that lets Espinoza shoot wide and long. There’s not much cheating here. Espinoza can experiment with camera placement without worrying about ruining a particular strike or dodge, simply because his stars are such beef machines. He makes it all simple, which gives the indie film room to breathe.
Zaror’s foes either take their beatings with comic ease, or put up a hell of a fight. Meyer is nearly as impressive as Zaror, casually swirling around the ground and popping splits like they’re nothing as he shows off his flexible use of Kalaripayattu. The competing styles—Zaror more bulky, Meyer flowing from the dirt to the air, Man Soo Yoon more focused on body positioning with his Hapkido—recall the diverse, stage-based, iterative fights that have been hallmarks of martial arts movies since before Enter the Dragon. And each is set up well, a necessity that keeps us from feeling overwhelmed by ever-blurring battles—something other movies of similar length and budget don’t always incorporate. A preluding calm before the final bout’s storm is so meditative that it starts off as a punchline until relaxing us into excitement, sort of like all those episodes of quiet build-up before an anime’s showdown with the season’s big baddie. It’s immensely satisfying, perfectly cast, and ends with a lightning strike.
Other action movies from 2023 may have bigger setpieces, crazier stunts, more scenes of Tom Cruise trying to kill himself. But none are as ambitious and successful in their pure dedication to good ol’ fashioned hand-to-hand fighting as Fist of the Condor. I’m glad it tries to be mysterious. I’m glad it’s getting a little high on its own supply. The result is a movie reverent of its genre yet unique by virtue of its inspired creators’ personal connections, both to martial arts and to their homeland. It’s action filmmaking down to the essentials, and in a different direction than that taken by the bare-bones American direct-to-video market. That alone is worth embracing, in all its serene, classic, ass-beating simplicity.
Jacob Oller is Movies Editor at Paste Magazine. You can follow him on Twitter at @jacoboller.
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