It looks like so much fun for an actor to die in a John Woo movie. Most likely you’re getting shot, which means either a spastic death dance as you’re riddled with bullets from an automatic weapon or, if Chow Yun-Fat blows you away with a pistol, you throw yourself back about ten feet. If there’s a large prop nearby (like a car or a desk), you’re definitely going to crash into it or be thrown over it. If you’re next to a window, you’re going through that sucker, no question. Once you’re down, you might even be able to get in one last little twitch before Woo’s camera moves on.
On the rare occasions when Woo kills you off-screen, he’ll at least cut to a grand burst of blood splatter against a window or plain surface, so it’ll still look very cool.
Every death counts in a Woo film, even when there are 307 of them (yes, people HAVE counted them all!). Each gets to be a neat little moment, even when it’s in the background.
There’s a lot of room for that in this story of Hong Kong cops vs. illegal arms dealers. Both sides have their share of double-cross artists, twisted loyalties, men of honor and men of dishonor, but it’s nothing that several blood baths can’t fix. This movie isn’t perfect. It runs a little long, stumbles when it tries to sell us on the plot and lays on us some real challenges to our suspension of disbelief (I’m thinking mostly about the bullet-stopping lighter in the police informant’s shirt pocket). Woo also has a sentimental streak that probably helped him get scooped up by Hollywood after this. All is mostly forgiven though when we get to the final showdown in a hospital under siege. It’s a frantic and masterful rush of noise, fire, sweat and bullet spray that draws a new line in the sand for shoot-’em-up movie climaxes. It makes most action movies look like they were directed by your grandma.