Alright, pull up a beanbag chair, maybe crack open a Tab if you can find one, because we're diving headfirst into a glorious slice of mid-90s Hong Kong action-comedy lunacy. Forget your sophisticated Martinis and laser watches; tonight's feature on VHS Heaven is 1994's From Beijing with Love (國產凌凌漆), a film that takes the James Bond formula, dunks it in soy sauce, throws it against the wall, and somehow comes up with pure gold. If you only knew Stephen Chow from Shaolin Soccer or Kung Fu Hustle decades later, tracking down this earlier gem on a possibly dodgy import tape was a revelation.
### Not Your Average Secret Agent
Let's be clear: Ling Ling Chat (007, naturally), played with masterful deadpan absurdity by co-director and co-writer Stephen Chow, is not James Bond. He's a pork butcher. A retired pork butcher, ostensibly recalled to service because, well, all the good agents are busy. His mission: recover a stolen dinosaur skull (yes, really) from a mysterious, seemingly invincible villain known only as Golden Gun. From the moment he appears, martini glass permanently attached to his hand even while cleaving meat, you know you're in for something special. This isn't just parody; it's a loving deconstruction served with a side of pure, unadulterated silliness. A fun fact for you – Chow originally wanted to use the number 007, but copyright concerns reportedly led to the Cantonese title character name "Ling Ling Chat," which sounds very close to "zero zero seven."
### Gadgets by Da Vinci (No, Really)
Forget Q Branch. Ling Ling Chat gets his gear from Da Vinci (a scene-stealing Law Kar-ying), an inventor whose creations range from the utterly useless (a solar-powered flashlight that only works in direct sunlight) to the deceptively simple (a stack of newspapers hiding... more newspapers). The sheer commitment to these anti-gadgets is hilarious. Law Kar-ying, a Cantonese opera veteran, apparently improvised much of his dialogue, including the ridiculously catchy song about his tragic past, which became an instant hit in Hong Kong. His performance is a masterclass in comedic timing, delivering lines about lethal contraptions with the earnestness of a man describing his breakfast. Remember how genuinely funny it was seeing Bond tropes turned completely on their heads like this?
### When Slapstick Gets Serious
What truly elevates From Beijing with Love beyond simple spoof territory is its willingness to blend broad, almost cartoonish comedy with moments of startlingly brutal violence. One minute Chow is fumbling with a ridiculous gadget, the next he’s caught in a genuinely tense shootout where the squibs feel raw and the impacts look painful. Co-directed by Lee Lik-chi, a frequent Chow collaborator, the film manages these tonal shifts with surprising grace. We laugh at the absurdity, but the stakes often feel real. This was the era of practical effects, remember? When bullets hit walls, plaster exploded for real. When someone got shot, the blood packs often looked messy and visceral, a far cry from today's cleaner digital blood spray. The film’s relatively modest budget (compared to a Bond film, anyway) likely necessitated this practical approach, adding a layer of gritty realism that ironically makes the parody sharper.
Anita Yuen, fresh off winning Best Actress at the Hong Kong Film Awards for C'est la vie, mon chéri (1993), plays Lee Heung-kam, the local contact who is secretly assigned to assassinate 007. She plays the straight woman to Chow’s antics, but with her own deadly competence and a simmering resentment that fuels much of the plot. Their evolving relationship, shifting from assassination target to unlikely romantic interest, forms the surprisingly effective emotional core of the film. It’s a testament to both actors that they sell this bizarre dynamic amidst exploding chickens and shootouts in hotel lobbies.
### Chow's Signature Touch
This film is pure Stephen Chow "mo lei tau" (nonsensical) comedy, a style that relies heavily on wordplay (some inevitably lost in translation), visual gags, and surreal situations. But even within the silliness, there's a sharp satirical edge, gently poking fun at mainland Chinese bureaucracy and the very concept of espionage thrillers. The film was a massive hit in Hong Kong, further cementing Chow as the reigning king of comedy, even if its specific cultural references and humour style kept it more of a cult favourite internationally back in the VHS days. Finding a subtitled copy felt like uncovering a secret handshake into a wilder world of cinema. Remember the villain, Golden Gun? His signature weapon and invulnerability were direct lifts from The Man with the Golden Gun (1974), just one of many nods Bond fans would catch.
### Still Licensed to Thrill (and Chuckle)
Watching From Beijing with Love today is like opening a time capsule. The fashion screams 90s, the pacing is occasionally frantic, and some jokes might feel a bit dated. But the core appeal – Stephen Chow’s unique comedic genius, the clever subversion of spy tropes, the surprisingly effective action, and Law Kar-ying's unforgettable turn as Da Vinci – remains absolutely intact. It’s a reminder of a time when action-comedies could be genuinely weird, unpredictable, and packed with practical stunts that felt tangible.
Rating: 9/10
This score reflects the film's near-perfect execution of its specific goals: brilliant comedic timing, genuinely inventive parody, standout performances (especially Chow and Law), and surprisingly impactful action sequences that hold up thanks to their practical nature. It’s a high point in Chow’s filmography and a landmark of 90s Hong Kong cinema, losing only a single point perhaps for humour that occasionally relies heavily on Cantonese wordplay less impactful in translation.
Final Take: Forget the sleek Aston Martins; sometimes the most memorable agent arrives via pedal power with a meat cleaver strapped to his leg. From Beijing with Love is pure, unadulterated VHS-era joy – brilliantly stupid, surprisingly sharp, and utterly unforgettable. Essential viewing for Chow fans and anyone who likes their espionage served with a hefty dose of inspired madness.