When Paul Chan started working in the world of Hong Kong kung fu films, he starved.
Entire rooms full of extras showing up each to take a punch or a kick from the star, then diving offscreen into oblivion.
Even though the hero beat dozens of toughs up in a matter of minutes, there were always more doubles and stuntmen willing to take a beating than there were goons in the script.
Paul graduated from a renowned theater school in the Peking Opera tradition, where he learned the tumbles and acrobatics that those not trained in his kung fu were muddling through. Still, they had a connection, or seniority, or knew the director, or any of a dozen easy reasons to give for why they got to do the stunt even though Paul could do it way better. All the reasons except merit. So even though Paul tried to show he had the goods, he ended up making less than $1 US a day, and that was if he was lucky enough to get hired.
Sometimes, he’d wait an entire day on set and not get called to perform. Too poor to afford breakfast, he’d join the stunt team at the restaurant just as they were settling the bill. Then he’d stuff whatever leftovers were still on the table into his mouth as they headed out of the restaurant.
Then one day, he heard the head of the stunt team arguing with the film’s director, who wanted someone to leap from a balcony and execute and impossible somersault which, if not landed with extreme precision, could result in serious bodily harm.
“What you’re asking for is impossible,” said the stunt coordinator. “I can’t put my men through such danger.” He threatened to take the team and walk.
The director threatened to find another team.
Then Paul stepped in. After explaining to his boss that he needed to show what he could do, he begged to be allowed to attempt the impossible, saying “I have to try.”
The stunt lead agreed. Paul got up on the balcony and could see the entire crew watching him. As soon as he heard the words “rolling” he took the running leap and arced through the air, and landed hard on his back.
“Cut” and the room erupted into cheers. He had done it!
Paul got up. Barely able to believe he’d survived the leap himself, he managed to get out six words between winded breaths:
“Not good enough. Let’s go again.”
They would film the stunt at least twice more before Paul was satisfied. He wasn’t trying to show off, and he didn’t want to do the stunt any more than the other stuntmen. But Paul understood three things which the others did not about what it takes to really stand out in the field:
You have to do what others will not.
The harder it is to break through, the bigger the risks required to do it.
Hold yourself to a higher standard.
Paul didn’t get promoted that day, nor did he become a martial arts phenom off of that one scene where the audience never got to see his face. But it’s the application of these principles, along with a host of others the he learned training martial arts at his stunt school, that eventually transformed him into the most recognizable action movie star in the world.
That, and the fact that he officially changed his name from Paul to Jackie Chan.
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People like to measure themselves against the fighters they see onscreen. For some reason, we like to believe that just because the combat is scripted or the blows aren’t landing full impact, that whoever is doing the amazing stunts onscreen aren’t “real fighters” and consequently wouldn’t stand a chance against real pros. So what? You wouldn’t stand a chance against a “real pro” either. But if it’s you vs the guy who regularly takes a beating while conquering his inner demons to slide 20 stories down a skyscraper or jump onto a burning pole wrapped in electric lights, I’m betting on the fake cop from Police Story.
After last week’s post, a friend asked me about books to help one “know kung fu”. He wasn’t looking for some secret manual that contained the Big Mak technique, but helpful theory and philosophy. Jackie Chan’s autobiography, Never Grow Up, was one of them for me. It’s hard for most of us today who talk about “engagements” and “brand equity” to understand words like “loyalty”, “discipline”, and “honor” as anything more than tattoo art. But Jackie really lived the martial virtues he picked up from his training and his death defying peers.
In the following weeks, I hope to share some more stories about the martial arts that that stuck with me. Ideas that I carry with me into my fights on the mat and my contests in the arena of life.
I hope you find some of them useful.
"You have to do what others will not." That's really the way to become extraordinary. What isn't emphasized much in this post is the sheer desperation in the minds of so many of us. We have nothing. We're poor. No one supports us or cares about us. And so we HAVE to "do what others will not." The Hong Kong stuntmen did scenes that should probably be outlawed. Now CGI is becoming more common in Chinese films, so those actors will become a thing of the past. And yet, every day, people will still have to make the decision to take risks others won't.