Title: Lam Ching-ying in The Millionaires’ Express: A Time Capsule of Hong Kong Cinema’s Golden Era
For global cinephiles seeking a riotous blend of martial arts, slapstick comedy, and star-studded spectacle, The Millionaires’ Express (1986) stands as a quintessential gem from Hong Kong’s cinematic golden age. Directed by and starring Sammo Hung, this film is often overshadowed by his more famous works like Eastern Condors or Wheels on Meals. Yet, its chaotic energy, cultural subtext, and the presence of the legendary Lam Ching-ying (known globally as the “Master of Taoist Zombie Films”) make it a fascinating bridge between Hong Kong’s genre traditions and its socio-political anxieties. Here’s why this film deserves a spotlight in the pantheon of 1980s classics.
- A Carnival of Chaos: Plot and Historical Context
Set in 1913, during the fragile infancy of China’s Republican era, The Millionaires’ Express revolves around the inaugural journey of a luxury train traveling from Shanghai to Chengdu. The titular train becomes a magnet for greed: bandits, corrupt officials, and even small-time crooks like Cheng (Sammo Hung) conspire to loot its wealthy passengers. Cheng’s plan to bomb a section of railway in his hometown, Han Shui Village, inadvertently unleashes a siege by mountain bandits, forcing him to team up with the town’s righteous security chief, Tsao (Yuen Biao), to defend their community.
This premise—a microcosm of societal collapse and redemption—mirrors Hong Kong’s own identity crisis in the mid-1980s, as the looming 1997 handover to China stirred anxieties about governance and cultural erosion. The film’s absurdity—corrupt bankers, bumbling authorities, and opportunistic outsiders—serves as a darkly comic allegory for a society teetering between chaos and cohesion.
- Lam Ching-ying: Subverting the Stoic Hero
While Lam Ching-ying is best remembered for his stern, yellow-robed Taoist priest in Mr. Vampire (1985), The Millionaires’ Express showcases his versatility in a rare comedic role. Here, he plays a minor but memorable character: a corrupt security guard who schemes to steal the villagers’ savings before the bandits arrive. Lam’s performance is a masterclass in deadpan humor—his character’s exaggerated cowardice and ineptitude contrast sharply with the stoic heroes he typically embodies.
This role is a deliberate subversion of his on-screen persona. In one scene, Lam’s character attempts to flee with stolen money, only to trip over his own greed—a physical gag that underscores the film’s critique of moral decay. For international audiences, this offers a refreshing glimpse into Lam’s range beyond the supernatural genre.
- A Star-Studded Symphony: Celebrating Hong Kong’s Cinematic Brotherhood
-The Millionaires’ Express* is a who’s who of 1980s Hong Kong cinema. The cast includes over 40 notable actors: from action stalwarts like Yuen Biao and Richard Norton to comedians like Eric Tsang and Wu Ma, and even screen icons like Cynthia Rothrock and Jimmy Wang Yu. The film’s chaotic charm lies in its willingness to let every star shine, however briefly. For instance:
- Eric Tsang delivers a hilariously cringe-inducing subplot as a man caught mid-affair on the train, his face suctioned to a window by a vacuum cleaner—a gag later echoed in Stephen Chow’s From Beijing with Love (1994).
- Cynthia Rothrock, the American martial artist, engages in a brutal showdown with Sammo Hung, blending Eastern and Western fight styles.
This ensemble approach reflects the collaborative spirit of Hong Kong’s film industry at its peak, where rival studios and actors often united for ambitious projects.
- Genre Hybridity: Westerns, Kung Fu, and Slapstick
Sammo Hung’s direction pays homage to Hollywood Westerns while injecting Hong Kong’s signature kineticism. The opening sequence—a snowbound chase between Cheng and a bounty hunter (played by Jimmy Wang Yu)—evokes Sergio Leone’s The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, complete with Ennio Morricone-esque whistling. Yet, the film quickly pivots to martial arts spectacle: rooftop duels, improvised weaponry (e.g., a flaming bench), and acrobatic stunts performed without CGI or wires.
The comedy, meanwhile, is unapologetically anarchic. In one scene, villagers fend off bandits using farm tools and chili powder, transforming violence into slapstick poetry. This tonal balancing act—swinging between brutality and buffoonery—captures the essence of 1980s Hong Kong cinema, where genres collided with joyous abandon.
- Cultural Legacy: A Blueprint for Modern Blockbusters
-The Millionaires’ Express* was a commercial triumph, earning over HK$28 million and ranking as 1986’s second-highest-grossing film. Its influence reverberates in later works:
- Stephen Chow’s Absurdism: The film’s absurd gags (e.g., the “Yangtze River 14th” spy numbering system) prefigure Chow’s mo lei tau (“nonsense”) humor in Kung Fu Hustle (2004).
- Global Action Cinema: The climactic village siege, with its intricate choreography and multi-level set pieces, inspired the Ip Man series’ emphasis on communal resistance.
Moreover, the film’s critique of corruption and greed remains eerily relevant in today’s era of economic disparity—a testament to its enduring social resonance.
- Why International Audiences Should Watch
- Historical Insight: The film mirrors Hong Kong’s pre-1997 tensions, offering a coded critique of colonialism and capitalism.
- Action Innovation: Sammo Hung’s choreography—raw, inventive, and devoid of modern特效—showcases the physical genius of Hong Kong’s stunt performers.
- Lam Ching-ying’s Range: A rare chance to see the “Zombie Master” in a role that defies typecasting.
- Nostalgic Spectacle: For fans of The Expendables or Ocean’s Eleven, this is a precursor to the all-star blockbuster—but with more heart and fewer green screens.
Conclusion: More Than a “Fever Dream”
-The Millionaires’ Express* is often dismissed as a chaotic relic, but its madness is meticulously crafted. Every gag, punch, and betrayal serves a larger thesis: survival in a world of moral ambiguity requires both fists and farce. Lam Ching-ying’s cameo, though brief, epitomizes this duality—a man torn between greed and redemption, stumbling toward grace.
For Western viewers, the film is not just entertainment but a portal to an era when Hong Kong cinema ruled with audacity, ambition, and unbridled creativity. As Sammo Hung’s Cheng declares while defending his village: “Even a rotten tree has its uses.” In this case, the “rotten tree” is a flawed yet vital artifact of a bygone golden age—one that still bears fruit for those willing to look.