Orienting to the East End

Press, 1 July 1983, Page 11

Orienting to the East End

Review

Ken Strongman

Since the Western world discovered the martial arts some time in the last decade or two, secrets of the mysterious orient have been revelled increasingly on film and television. For a while the common denominator was Fu. Manchu was dropped and Kung was added. The world of slowmotion leaping about, unaided by bionics, was a far cry from the yellow peril. The droopy moustaches of evil were replaced by the bald pates of good. It can’t have been an easy task, marrying the philosphies of East and West in such a way that the ratings were not overwhelmed by a host of moral platitudes. So far it has been achieved by Eastern mysticism passing the ball in graceful running plays whilst ignoring the ignoble ruck and maul of Western pragmatism.

What is he on about? you might well ask. Well, there are a lot of Chinese people in the world and although most of them are in China, there are quite a few expatriats. They had to start appearing on television, as did programmes designed to appeal to their sensibilities as well as those of the remaining viewers.

It began with “Kung Fu” which was a complete copout. David Carradine was as American as they come, from a family of American actors. He just had the right sort of inscrutability. They could not stray too far from the racial stereotypes. Now, to get to the point at last, it is David Yip as John Ho, "The Chinese Detective.” Yip strikes one as a very unChinese name, in fact a name which brings no obvious nationality to mind. But Ho is fair enough. And

David is there to bridge the cultures. So far, “The Chinese Detective” has been an enjoyable series, although it is a pity that some episodes are not complete in themselves. Ho is an unusual character and one of the most unlikely detective sergeants ever to walk the mean London streets. His boss treats him like a schoolboy who has been caught doing something unspeakable in the back row. And he does so with that misplaced, goodnatured racial superiority that follows a lifetime spent in London as one who be-

lieves himself to be indigenous.

Ho handles this aggravation with a detached aplomb and vaguely philosophical air. In fact, it is the same air that he seems to breathe when he ambles quietly through London’s East End in pursuit of crime and has hopelessly cryptic conversations with his father. The father is a Chinese with a rather more traditional turn of mind than his son. One suspects that filial piety is high on his list of priorities and that being a detective sergeant poking about in Chinatown is not.

Poor John Ho is caught very awkwardly between the two philosophies and much more realistically than was the hero in “Kung Fu.” He is a Londoner all right. He can banter with the best of them and swap

repartee with Jew and black alike. He knows the price of jellied eels. But he is troubled by his Chinese roots, or blood, or maybe just his father. So he is nicely enigmatic but with shades of the London wideboy about him. Meanwhile, crimes are being committed, as is their wont in the East End. It is here that what is otherwise an interesting series slips back into cliche and stereotype. It is set in dockland, there is the possibility of drugs (the dreaded opium no doubt) and somehow one has the feeling of possible triad involvement. What could be closer to the bigoted view of the yellow peril than that? Perhaps the day will come when television is mature, confident and brave enough to stop pandering to the unthinking and leave out the stereotypes. Still, the series is not over yet.