Following in the footsteps of his father is the only way this discussion could begin. It’s the only way any discussion could, as Lee, son of celebrated martial artist Bruce Lee, was funneled—locked to the legacy of his father. The world’s greatest, after all, forever enshrined by his mysterious, premature death in 1973, there would be no end to the expectations, the comparisons, and the air of nostalgia linked between the two. Even in death—Brandon passed away on March 31st, 1993 under similarly-enigmatic circumstances—the legacy held true. Like his father, the seemingly amiable Lee came to Hollywood with a chip on his shoulder, with something to prove… And he left with a cinematic legacy that transcended life itself.
Like his father, Brandon's ticket into Hollywood turned out to be television. While Bruce travailed alongside The Green Hornet, Brandon landed a role in the TV-movie adaptation of Kung Fu, the popular, '70s serial headlined by David Carradine. Both famous and infamous for its explicit cornball spirit, Brandon brought (finally) some martial arts credibility to the series, even if limited, and gave the otherwise listless vehicle a visceral spark. He was essentially playing a villain, a sidekick (like his father) to the evil Manchu (Mako), but as with Bruce, Brandon overshadowed and ultimately commandeered the spotlight... You could already see the seeds; that fire that Brandon brought to the screen. Kung Fu: The Movie may have been a dud, but Brandon wasn't. He was just getting started.
But Carradine was only the first vet to train him in (Carradine also paired with Sly Stallone and Chuck Norris). Bolo Yeung (who would go on to induct Van Damme two years later) had a hand in Brandon's first theatrical release, Legacy of Rage, a '80s Hong Kong actioner directed by Ronny Yu and co-starring Michael Wong. Competing with the up-and-coming John Woo's, Tsui Hark's, and Ringo Lam's, not to mention Jackie Chan's kinetic Police Story series, Legacy of Rage felt more like standard fare, but was a solid effort nonetheless. Brandon Ma (Lee), a simple waiter, is framed for murder by none other than his best friend (Wong), severing the relationship with his fiancé and ultimately sending him to prison for eight full years. Revenge is in order, of course, cumulating in an epic, shoot 'em up finale on the baddie's estate. But it is earlier when the most interesting scenes take place. Brandon is slapped and mocked by a smalltime gangster (Yeung) at the restaurant where he works. After a drink is thrown in his face, he unexpectedly strikes back—a daring move on many levels. They take it outside, and Bolo, posturing, threatens to knock him out in three seconds (which, given Bolo, is quite believable). A SMACK, WHACK, and a WHAM later, and Brandon snap-points to the next oncoming thug, "How many seconds do you want?" To put it simply, it's an introduction worthy of his father, setting a tone few action heroes can. While the persona echoed Bruce's, it was markedly different; there was a younger intensity to him—still restrained—more harnessed anger than martial arts wisdom. The film, 30% martial arts, 70% gunplay, maybe wasn't the best showcase for the son of Bruce Lee, but it was a start. And, as we will see, the balance may have hindered him in his venture to the Hollywood action scene.
Brandon's next film, Laser Mission, was a lowly, very-B espionage-actioner featuring Ernest Borgnine in a small role. More than a joke, Mission is the stuff of K-Mart bargain bins and action four-packs, and is only made available due to the legacy of Lee himself. That said, it's worth a laugh. "Ha-ha, they're going to cut off your head, mañana," has made the rounds amongst lovers of bad movies everywhere, as has the nonsensical action and a slow car chase, and hopefully, it will continue to. Snowballing, badness led to more badness but on a bigger scale, with Mark L. Lester's Showdown in Little Tokyo (not to be confused with Big Trouble in Little China). Continuing in the collaborative spirit, Dolph Lundgren took Lee under his arm for the buddy-cop vehicle set in Los Angeles, involving a local wave of incoming Yakuza. Both young in their careers, Lundgren and Lee's chemistry wasn't always on, but the martial arts combo more than made up for it: the brute force of Lundgren teamed with the scrappy Lee made for some genuinely inventive sequences, especially in an early scene where they take on some henchmen at a club. Clocking in at 77 minutes, it's actually a lot of fun, rounded out with a great action cast in Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa, Tia Carrere, and Philip Tan. But the son of Bruce Lee would only be a sidekick so long. With Rapid Fire, Brandon got his first legitimate release (and first true lead since Legacy of Rage), as well as the martial arts showcase we'd all been waiting for.
With an obscure comic-book source at their disposal, a first-time Hollywood director, two lowly screenwriters, and the son of Bruce Lee came together for a movie, and the result was, of course, The Crow. Hitting the zeitgeist of the early '90s, the dark, comic-book blockbuster—the first real successor to Tim Burton's Batman—came into being with an aura of death; Brandon Lee was killed in an on-set accident involving a weapon malfunction, for lack of a better phrase. Premature and every way unfortunate, all eyes turned to The Crow. With blessings from Lee's family, the already troubled production forged ahead, and it was released wide on May 11th, 1994. This was the stage that Lee had yearned for, that he had earned—not just for martial arts, but one for legitimate performance. And a performance he gave. From the pre-transformation rock star, to the gnarly manifestation itself, Lee was on fire—that electric allure young stars possess at that one special point in their career—the material matching his energy. A story of vengeance, we follow Eric Draven (Lee) as he loses his love and his life and then resurrects, hunting down each and every one involved and without mercy. More avenger than superhero, Draven prowls the night streets, without the public trust of a Batman, or the noble cause of Blade. A fitting icon for Detroit Rock City, he is the darkest of dark knights, but perhaps with more humanity. Death is everywhere in The Crow: Poe, German expressionism , those soulless, wisecracking, fashionable villains straight outta the '90s, thugs quoting Milton for Christ sake... you could almost say the film is a brief resurrection of Lee himself, a last-gasp look into a wealth of artistic talent. But there is also plenty of life in Draven's relationships with a young goth teenager (Rochelle Davis), a common patrolman (Ernie Hudson), and, of course, his love and partner, Shelly (Sofia Shinas). Most of all, it's Lee himself, simply—a shining star in the dark night. Brandon Lee's swan song both helped him break away from the legacy of his father, and join the ranks. His father would've been proud.
In the end, Brandon Lee's is a legacy cut short. Like his father, the potential was heaped high—more than any given action or kung-fu star of the time. More importantly, at age 27, he was a young man coming into himself, his marriage, his ideology, his career... Whenever I think of either father or son, I then think of their wife and mother, Linda Lee, who, quite sincerely, must be the saddest women in the world. Not to mention Brandon's to-be wife, Eliza Hutton...I simply can't imagine. To close, I leave you with a quote from Paul Bowles's The Sheltering Sky, which Lee had planned to include in his wedding invitations and ultimately became his epitaph:
"Because we do not know when we will die, we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. And yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number really. How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, an afternoon that is so deeply a part of your being that you cannot conceive of your life without it? Perhaps four, or five times more? Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps twenty. And yet it all seems limitless..."
~ Patrick D. Fryberger
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