With an almost mathematical precision to its pulpiness, The Prosecutor, the latest action-thriller from Hong Kong superstar Donnie Yen, doles out a brutal fight scene every 25 to 30 minutes. Across two brisk hours, violence shifts proportionately between bouts of athletic knuckling, street brawls, shoot-outs, car chases, foot chases, impalings, and pummelingsâall spaced out evenly, each a deeply satisfying slice of modern Cantonese-language martial pop art.
At 61 years old and four decades into his filmmaking career, Donnie Yen isnât pushing cinema into undiscovered territory or pursuing long-held passion projects. Instead, he's holding the line for earnest, stunt-filled flicks where good guys (e.g., impossibly noble public servants, romantic gang leaders reformed by love, cops, doctors, lawyers, cop-lawyers, etc.) beat bad guys into bone meal.Â
And so, Donnie Yen is the titular prosecutor, Fok Chi-ho, a former Hong Kong cop who, after injuring himself in a blistering opening sequence (that features a massacre shot by cinematographer Noah Wong in first person), becomes a lawyer working for Hong Kongâs Department of Justice.Â
âLaw enforcement is just the beginning of the legal process. When there are small cracks, justice will pass us by,â Prosecutor Fok explains in voice over, detailing why he left the force. Being a cop was fine, but real justice-heads go to law school.
Fokâs first real case at the DOJ involves a young guy, Ma Ka-kit (Mason Fung), accused of drug smuggling. Caught red-handed receiving a sealed package of cocaine in the mail, Ma Ka-kit claims he only rented out his address to local drug dealer Chan Kwok-king (Locker Lam), and had no idea what was in the box.Â
The case seems open and shutâbut then Ma Ka-kit changes his testimony to plead guilty, all based on the advice of his lawyers (Julian Cheung and Shirley Chan) peddling fantasies about reduced sentences. Of course, Fok smells corruption coming from the defendantâs bench. Even though he works for the prosecution, and he could score an easy win, Fokâs loyalty is not to the court but to justice above all.
The further Fok uncovers the conspiracy around Ma Ka-kit, the more he finds himself regularly accosted by various thugs, henchmen, and tattooed transients brandishing brass knuckles and superhuman pain tolerances.
On a rooftop club, down a spiraling parking structure, and in one climactic sequence throughout a subway train, Yen sets up fight scenes that simultaneously snap and hum, bristling with ruthless efficiency but bursting with life and, most especially, pain. More than one flesh wound presents a serious opportunity to openly and loudly wince in the theater; bone-splitting sound design renders every punch, kick, and throwdown like a damp sonic boom.
Between these exquisitely vicious melees, The Prosecutorâs legal thriller proceeds in varying degrees of dull, obvious, dopey, warmly sincere, and disarmingly bleak, depending on your knowledge of Hong Kong law, which is definitely not required to watch The Prosecutor.
As Ma Ka-kitâs case proceeds, title cards appear at each stage of the trial, describing in plain terms whatâs about to happen. âReturn Dayâ is when âprosecution will publicly read the defendant's charges and ask the defendant whether he understands the charges,â or âTrialâ is when âprosecution and defense present evidence and cross-examine witnesses.â Obviousness abounds as every effort is made to cater to Western markets (who may know Yen most recently from John Wick: Chapter 4, where he was Caine, a blind warrior with a cane).
Equally obvious is the Christ-like nature of Prosecutor Fok. In one non-action scene, when the judge for Ma Ka-kitâs trial (Michael Hui Koon-Man) shares an expensive bottle of wine with the staff of the Department of Justice, he describes the wine as containing the tears of the poor woman who stomped on the grapes, wondering if everyone can âtaste the sorrow.â Fok points out that the bottle costs as much as the monthly income of a working Hong Kong family. He sniffs the red liquid in the glass. âIndeed, thatâs quite sorrowful,â he says, putting down the glass without taking a sip, righteousness glowing from his digitally airbrushed cheeks.
Too late in the film, Fok finally unleashes a few courtroom puns. âI object!â he responds to a baddie whoâs about to get the upper hand. âYour appeal is rejected,â he quips when the man passes out. Thus, Fok uses both his fists and his sharp lawyerâs mind to fight for the status quo. He tells us in another voice over, â...no judicial system is perfect, and loopholes can arise. These loopholes are often exploited by individuals with malicious intent.â Itâs not the system thatâs flawed, you see, but the people who are supposed to protect it.Â
Much of this is pretty blatant emotional manipulation, setting up clear stakes and dramatic beats to keep us engaged until the next multi-body slaughter. But if The Prosecutor is designed to appeal to a broad swathe of international audiences, then itâs a remarkably effective example of formulaic blockbuster filmmaking.
Because whether or not Yenâs sincerity about the plight of the working class is convincing, he keeps us rapt, committed to the fates of characters who may only end up as fight scene fodder while saturating our senses with carefully calibrated mayhem.Â
Even as genre cliches build and the legal thriller reaches a predictable fever pitch, every successive action scene gains more and more promise of relief. Yes, dear viewer, you are acquitted of your bloodlust. The bad people who you want to see beaten to shit? They will be beaten to shitâevery half hour or so. It will be cathartic; you can count on it.
The Prosecutor opens at Hollywood Theatre, 4122 NE Sandy, Fri Jan 31.