Title: Lam Ching-ying’s The Snuggle, the Struggle, and the Salted Fish: Revisiting The Prodigal Son (1980) as a Proto-Meta-Comedy of Hong Kong Cinema
For Western audiences familiar with Lam Ching-ying’s later roles as the stern Daoist priest in Mr. Vampire (1985) or The Legend of Wong Tai Sin (1992), his earlier appearance in The Prodigal Son (咸鱼翻生, 1980) offers a fascinating glimpse into Hong Kong cinema’s golden age of genre-blending. Directed by Karl Maka and starring Sammo Hung, this action-comedy transcends slapstick antics to deliver a sly critique of heroism, class, and existential absurdity. While Lam’s role here is secondary, his presence anchors the film’s tonal balance between chaos and gravitas. Below, we explore why this overlooked gem—often overshadowed by Lam’s supernatural fame—deserves reappraisal as both a cultural artifact and a precursor to postmodern comedy.
- The Salted Fish Metaphor: Absurdity as Social Commentary
The film’s Chinese title, The Prodigal Son (咸鱼翻生), literally translates to “salted fish resurrected”—a Cantonese idiom symbolizing an underdog’s improbable comeback. This metaphor permeates the narrative: the protagonist, a bumbling thief named “Fatty” (Sammo Hung), idolizes the Robin Hood-esque bandit “One Blossom” (Lam Ching-ying), only to discover that heroism is often a performative illusion.
The salted fish motif critiques Hong Kong’s late-1970s societal shifts. As the colony transitioned from manufacturing to financial capitalism, ordinary citizens—like the film’s duo of misfit thieves—grappled with economic precarity. Director Karl Maka frames their misadventures as a darkly comic reflection of survival in a meritocracy that rewards luck over virtue. When Lam’s One Blossom declares, “Heroes are just salted fish who haven’t met their frying pan,” the line subverts wuxia tropes while echoing the disillusionment of Hong Kong’s working class.
- Lam Ching-ying’s Subversive Heroism: From Zombie Slayer to Reluctant Icon
Lam’s casting as One Blossom—a noble thief hunted by both authorities and a vengeful femme fatale—challenges his later typecasting. Unlike his stoic Daoist roles, here he embodies a world-weary antihero. His fight scenes, choreographed by Sammo Hung, blend Peking opera precision with Looney Tunes physicality: in one sequence, he disarms foes using a dried fish as a weapon, parodying the sanctity of martial arts weaponry.
This role foreshadows Lam’s career-long tension between tradition and reinvention. Just as One Blossom resists being idolized, Lam himself resisted the “zombie priest” label, seeking roles that merged physical comedy with moral ambiguity. His performance here—alternately heroic and hilariously inept—mirrors Hong Kong cinema’s struggle to balance commercial formulas with artistic risk.
- Genre Alchemy: Kung Fu, Farce, and Feminist Undertones
-The Prodigal Son* mashes up genres with anarchic glee. Its plot—a cross between Don Quixote and The Pink Panther—follows Fatty and his neurotic partner (Dean Shek) as they bumble through heists, mistaken identities, and a subplot involving a scheming concubine (Huang Paing-yi). The film’s feminist undertones are striking: Huang’s character, far from being a mere villainess, weaponizes patriarchal expectations to manipulate male egos, culminating in a finale where she outwits both the heroes and the system.
The action sequences, meanwhile, deconstruct kung fu spectacle. Sammo Hung’s choreography emphasizes pratfalls over prowess: fighters trip on buckets, get tangled in laundry lines, and accidentally knockout allies. This “anti-martial arts” approach predates Jackie Chan’s Drunken Master (1994) by over a decade, positioning the film as a pioneer of self-aware action comedy.
- Cultural Hybridity: Opera, Absurdism, and Colonial Anxiety
Visually, the film bridges Cantonese opera aesthetics and Western slapstick. Scenes transition via painted scroll backdrops reminiscent of traditional theater, while the score juxtaposes erhu melodies with Benny Hill-esque chase music. This hybridity reflects Hong Kong’s identity crisis during the Sino-British negotiations over its future.
One particularly meta moment sees Lam’s character disguised as a British colonial officer—a nod to local anxieties about handover politics. The disguise fools no one, least of all the audience, lampooning both authority figures and the futility of cultural masquerade.
- Why International Audiences Should Watch
- Proto-Postmodernism: The film’s genre-blending and fourth-wall-breaking gags (e.g., characters debating plot holes) anticipate 21st-century meta-cinema.
- Lam Ching-ying’s Evolution: Witness the actor’s versatility beyond horror—his comedic timing and pathos here rival Chaplin’s tramp.
- Historical Context: A time capsule of pre-handover Hong Kong, blending Cantonese slang with visual satire of British colonialism.
- Feminist Subtext: Huang Paing-yi’s villainess subverts the “dragon lady” stereotype, offering nuanced commentary on gender power dynamics.
Conclusion: The Salted Fish Legacy
-The Prodigal Son* endures not just as comedy but as existential parable. Like its titular salted fish—resurrected yet forever transformed—the film captures Hong Kong’s perpetual reinvention. Lam Ching-ying’s performance, oscillating between heroic resolve and comic despair, mirrors a society navigating the absurdity of progress.
For Western viewers, this is more than a kung fu romp; it’s a masterclass in how populist cinema can critique the very myths it peddles. As Fatty learns by the end: “You don’t choose to be a hero. The wok chooses you.” In an era of algorithmic entertainment, such messy, genre-defying artistry feels radical—and urgently necessary.