Just before the weekend, on May 23, Machinima aired a new live-action web-series: Street Fighter: Assassin’s Fist. Director Joey Ansah, fed up with poor videogame-to-film adaptations has put his best foot forward with this live-action origin story for Capcom’s long-running fighting game franchise. It’s a glossy production along the lines of Mortal Kombat: Legacy, but it succeeds in some places where Legacy stumbled.
Although the 13-episode first season of Assassin’s Fist doesn’t do a perfect job of balancing the bombast of an explosive videogame genre with the human drama at its core, it makes such a concerted effort that we expect prospective videogame-to-film makers to be furiously scribbling notes. But why does it work so well where so many other videogame to live-action adaptations have failed?
Despite film having had some degree of success in transitioning into videogames the reverse isn’t always true, leading many people to believe it simply can’t be done; films are about actors taking action (amongst other things) which translates to gameplay, but games - especially fighting games - focus almost entirely on action which makes for, at best, big, dumb action films.
People simply don’t expect a compelling story from a videogame film, even if they might be cultured enough to expect one from a videogame - and that’s in no small part down to most films based on games having an uncanny habit of reducing their characters to what they do, rather than who they are, a relic from when videogame characters were created and written one-dimensionally as conduits for player input.
But this is a stigma that also maligned comic book movies up until Sam Raimi’s 2002 take on Spiderman. In fact, watching Assassin’s Fist we couldn’t help be reminded of another comic-to-film conversion: last week’s X-Men: Days of Future Past.
Days of Future Past was met with a wave of positive critical reception from fans and the general public alike because the struggles depicted were understandable and relatable by both camps, not just those stocked up on comic book factoids. It’s the universally understood character drama that drives the film and engages audiences; the superpower porn and series arcana are just for flavor. Assassin’s Fist follows the same philosophy, remembering to tell a relatable character story that happens to include fireballs and dragon punches rather than an impenetrable, obtuse story about Mega Corporations and Psycho powers.
The story follows Ryu and Ken as they learn the martial art of Ansastuken (Assassin’s Fist style) under the tutelage of Gouken. Mastery in Ansatsuken is achieved through manipulating Ki flow either through Mu no Hadou (the power of nothingness) or Satsui no Hadou (the power of murderous intent). The former requires great discipline and dedication whereas mastery through the latter is easy, but may lead the user down a path of destruction.
Gouken is ever careful to remind his apprentices of the dangers of Satsui no Hadou, something he knows only too well from experience: flashbacks reveal that Gouken trained under his master Goutetsu alongside his friend and rival Gouki. Those well versed in their Street Fighter lore will know that Gouki’s quest for perfection eventually led him to be corrupted by Satsui no Hadou, transforming him into the demonic Akuma.
The story traces the canon established in the animated feature Street Fighter Alpha: Generations, so in all likelihood the second season of Assassin’s Fist will also follow the same story beats, and Akuma will be revealed to be Ryu’s father.
The themes and character motivations at play are easy to understand even for the Street Fighter illiterate. In fact there are numerous similarities between Assassin’s Fist and the universally acclaimed (and understood) Star Wars. For example, Mu no Hadou and Satsui no Hadou parallel the Light and Dark sides of the Force. The same philosophy of balance between light and dark is referenced multiple times throughout Assassin’s Fist. Characters bring up the in-yō (what we would call yin and yang) and are juxtaposed consistently. Gouken occupies the tragic mentor-who-is-destined-to-die archetype that screams Obi-Wan Kenobi. And just as with Star Wars, the sins of the father are the son’s to rectify; Akuma and Ryu’s relationship is fundamentally the same as that of Darth Vadar and Luke Skywalker.
This isn’t intentional, but it is unlikely to be coincidence either. Star Wars was written using the monomyth The Hero’s Journey as a base. Monomyths are story patterns which are commonly found across generations and cultures. There’s a commonality – a universal appeal – about them that speaks to the audience across cultural and generational divides; they appeal on a deeply human level. Assassin’s Fist’s works as a live-action piece because it places these universally captivating narrative elements at its core.
But it also works because that core is focused. You can’t create a compelling character drama with a cast crammed with dozens of flamboyant characters from disparate parts of the world – and that description would sum up most fighting game rosters.
Assassin’s Fist smartly reels focus in on a nucleus of 5 key characters: Ryu, Ken, Gouken, Gouki and Goutetsu. These characters have often been criticized for simply being variations of guys in gis. Sure, next to a bright green, electrified beastman, a luchador cook and whatever the hell Seth is supposed to be, these characters seem bland.
It’s possible that fighting game characters are often so unapologetically garish because they have to impact their personality on the audience against a blinding orgy of violence that sometimes doesn’t even last 99 seconds. But taken as they are, those character designs are too loud and one-dimensional to work in a live-action adaptation. By contrast, the muted designs of Ryu and Co. transition well to live-action – a medium where ordinary-looking characters have the benefit of dedicated screen time to flesh out their motivations and personalities.
By catering to the needs of a general audience who need universally understood narrative devices and relatable, realistic characters to latch onto, Assassin’s Fist does a good job of creating interesting, believable human drama. But a believable take on Street Fighter would mean nothing if it didn’t feel authentic to fans of the game – it would be an entertaining feature film, but not a good videogame adaptation. This balance is where many adaptations fall down (we’re looking at you, Resident Evil).
Balancing in-jokes and fan service with humble, down-to-earth storytelling isn’t easy. Go too far in one direction and you end up with a hokey, pandering mess; go too far in the other, and you have a feature that feels disconnected, and uninspired by the source material. Assassin’s Fist walks this line almost perfectly.
The actors shout out the names of iconic special moves, complete with not 100% convincing special effects. It’s a convention that’s a common part of Japanese media but it feels overly grandiose and out of place here. That aside, Assassin’s Fist’s measured maturity with the source material is laudable.
The cast is limited to the characters that matter, with other characters only mentioned in passing if the script demands it. Music from the videogame source material is used sparingly as necessary; it’s not until 6 or so episodes in that we hear the familiar blaring guitars of Ken’s theme to a well-positioned training montage. In one sequence Ryu and Ken square off, but not before a dramatically apt take on their pre-fight ritual which will be familiar to anyone who has played Street Fighter 3. And those that keep their eyes on fighting games will find amusement in a certain cameo.
Much has been made of the attention to detail that went into making Assassin’s Fist into a believable live-action Street Fighter. And it’s not just talk, though talking is certainly part of it; characters speak in convincing, real Japanese, somewhere Mortal Kombat: Legacy fell down when placed under scrutiny. The countryside setting feels authentically Japanese; the late 1980’s setting (complete with trappings of the time) feels accurate; even the patterns on dojo walls and scrawling on scrolls are accurately produced rather than generic oriental stand-ins. The integrity of it all lends Assassin’s Fist a credibility that isn’t diminished because of some spotty special effects.
And that integrity, and internal consistency, matters. Without it, Ansah wouldn’t have been able to poke and prod at character back stories without things falling apart. For example, how did Ryu learn English? Come to think of it, why do foreigners in these films speak accented English to each other? How does Ken’s background as a foreigner and a city boy shape his experiences of Japan, as opposed to Ryu’s experience as a native, country bumpkin? It’s a side of the characters fans rarely get to see, and because the details feel right the audience buys into Ansah’s answers to those questions.
The first season of Street Fighter: Assassin’s Fist ends as Ryu and Ken leave their master to walk their paths of self-discovery and, perhaps for the reasons above, the audience feels invested in seeing where those paths will take them where other standard videogame adaptations would leave them disinterested or disillusioned. Other film makers should take note: keep it small, keep it human, and most importantly, use that screen time to flesh out the characters in ways which the videogames can’t. With the Steven Spielberg-produced Halo live-action series in the works, and with the Warcraft movie having just wrapped up filming, it will be exciting to see where live-action videogame adaptations go; but for now, Assassin’s Fist is the gold standard.
Shehzaan Abdulla
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Street Fighter: Assassin’s Fist (Ryu Vs. Ken) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-zAH3KdfCHw