Directed by: Sammo Hung. My brief fascination with the geri-action genre seems to have fizzled out, as soon as I caught up with the filmography of Liam Neeson, the genre’s champion. But I had totally forgotten about the joy of the abundant, indeed overflowing, genre of the martial arts film until I got a little taste with The Transporter. I fear diving too deep into it, because it is such an overwhelmingly deep cinematic rabbit hole, but it remains a shamefully large gap in my viewing. Suffice to say, as soon as I scanned over the Netflix titles and grazed past the image of Sammo Hung, it brought a flood of memories back—I remember Sammo Hung! I believe he had a prime-time network cop show when I was a kid, and it was on right after Nash Bridges. At the time, the gimmick was an overweight martial arts star kicking ass and taking names. Now, 20 years later, it’s an older, fatter, martial arts star kicking ass and taking names. And he has a sick moustache. How could anyone on this great earth resist that? Literally nothing else about the movie matters, I was all over it. As it turned out, this a pretty standard, unremarkable movie—except for all the great scenes where Sammo is single-handedly taking on a room full of Hong Kong gangsters with knives, and then immediately afterward taking on a room full of Russian gangsters with guns. I won’t go into a big personal back story about growing up as a fat kid and how satisfying it is to see a fat action star, but the short version is: Sammo is my shit right now.