The Last Dragon

A wild and wacky dose of neon-shaded night club jams and inner-city kung fu action that snags the spirit of silly 1980s big-box cinema in a quaint, lower-budget bottle. Wearing its Hong Kong inspiration on both sleeves, The Last Dragon tracks a skilled, naïve young martial artist in his quest to walk the honorable path through an increasingly dark, jaded urban streetscape. On an open-ended trek to discover and master an ill-defined mystical power, he dodges challenges and provocations, crosses a corporate bigwig, rescues a sorta-famous singer / late-night TV host and defends the honor of the family pizza parlor. Clunky and awkward, but in precisely the ways that usually work for movies of this vintage, this plucky cult film draws strength from its many holes and missteps. Take the leading man, for example: Taimak (aka Bruce Leeroy) was lifted straight from the local martial arts scene and learned to act on the job. The inexperience shows - really, really shows - but his blunt delivery and vacant expressions jive with the ultra-pure, simplistic character he’s playing. And, when it comes time to put up or shut up in the final battle, his transformation from a vanilla do-gooder to a newly confident, empowered ass-kicker is all the more effective for it. He still can’t act, but that’s not so important when you’re just spitting cool lines and trading lightning-gold wheel kicks with the Shogun of Harlem. In the end, this a decidedly mixed bag. The opening chapter is electric, a joyous helping of pure ‘80s mayhem that’s so deliciously ludicrous, I wanted to share clips with everyone in my address book. It lulls badly in the middle, where we’re assaulted by several atrocious musical numbers and the story does nothing but tread water, but the payoff is worth those labor-heavy scenes. Come to think of it, a more proficient production may have actually spoiled this sauce. Let’s call it enthusiastically flawed.