Feels like nothing less than the followup to Fudoh: The New Generation, with its grainy straight-to-video image quality and micro budget. Yet Miike’s insane, bottomless resevoir of energy is plumbed time and time again to inject energy into this archetypical tale about a cop stealing money from the Mob. Dead or Alive begins with 10 frenetic, kalaidoscopic minutes taking us through a bizarre, hyperstylized vision of the Tokyo underworld. One boss slurps down a dozen bowls of saimin before his “explosion”; another dude snorts a 20-foot line of cocaine before getting reduced to paste by Riki Takeuchi. Full disclosure: Dead or Alive is ridiculous and unless you’re male and drunk you will probably hate it. I fall into both of those categories so I’m giving it 5 stars. Even if you hate the slow-paced second act, the utterly batshit insane third act would redeem even the most unwatchable drivel. If “Juno” ended with the absolute destruction of Japan, I would have also given it five stars.

Pam Grier’s presence shines through the sleazy, one-dimensional screenplay of “Coffy” and makes the title character iconic. If Superfly exploded out the gate with engine nearly redlining, this awkward feminist parable sputters, backfires, and stalls thanks to Roy Ayers’ atrocious theme song and Coffy’s questionable moral standing. Is she really some junkie willing to sleep with crime bosses for “one more hit”? Is this movie going to be a series of sex scenes with some halfassed “black power” rhetoric tossed in? No, no, and NO. When she whips out a sawed-off shotgun and screams “This is the end of your rotten life, you mutha fuckin drug pusher!”, greatness has been achieved.

After that bit of housecleaning, it’s off to her night shift at the hospital, where she gets The Shakes and explains to her overly nice, patient (and soon to be brain dead) cop boyfriend pretty much everything that happened in a roundabout fashion. It’s justified, you see, as we learn from a trip through the Children’s Detox Unit to visit her mute, smack addicted kid sister. So Coffy’s soon assaulted by goons, nearly beaten senseless, in bed with a politician and a pimp named George (who has the most hilariously on-the-nose theme song ever), and uncovering all the evil honkeys behind the drug trade.

Grier must have at least 20 costume changes throughout her odyssey of shotgun revenge, and tries a few different accents too. There is the most epic “cat fight” ever put on film, the wonderful song “Coffy Baby”, Sid Haig as a Russian, and an ever escalating level of savagery mixed with good old racism. It seems Coffy wouldn’t have gotten to Step 1 of her idiotic scheme if not for the fact that she looks like some Nubian fertility goddess. That alone is enough for both her, me, and you.

With the earnestness, sincerity, and emotional maturity of a teenybopper, Fearless is desperate to create an atmosphere of epic gravitas, but eventually undercuts itself with dimwitted hypernationalism. The film’s heavy-handed obviousness reminded me of the beautifully rendered propaganda posters from the height of the Cultural Revolution. The film is skillful and pleasing to the eye, but has all the political subtly of its counterpart in stupidity, The Patriot.

To the film’s credit…and what was probably its most shocking aspect to the brainwashed masses Fearless so crassly panders to…is the presence of one sympathetic, honorable Japanese character. But hell, for the Mainland, that’s torrid stuff, so I won’t denigrate this bold step in Chinese cinema. The fights are rock-solid and wonderful to behold, and I did enjoy Jet Li’s dramatic turn. There is depth to the character of Huo Yuanji, but his transition from arrogant martial artist to saintlike defender of Chinese honor rings hollow and dishonest.

I knew I was in for The Same Old Shit when the film opens with a tournament specifically held “to destroy China’s self-esteem.” Anyone not familiar with rabid Chinese nationalism would read that as a comical mistranslation, except…yep, they’re not joking. Fearless is yet another salve to the “poor self esteem” of the Chinese Nation. The film does recover and gain a firm footing in its middle section, as Jet’s unbridled ambition to become “the best fighter in Tianjin” leads to a bloody consequences. In its quaint, doleful way, the film leads Li’s character to find enlightenment and inner peace on a Miao farm. (The Miao are one of the minority peoples of China). It reminded me of the cliche of the soul-stricken cowboy finding enlightenment and peace in the ways of the Native Americans. But still, given the general contempt mainstream China holds its minority peoples in, it’s a positive step for Chinese cinema. So kudos for that, too, I guess.

I imagine some of you are rolling your eyes and saying “Dude, it’s a kung fu movie.” I’d thank you for that observation, and merely point to the film’s dozens of attempts at artsy fartsy pretensions, and then direct you to Chinese directors who do pretentiousness right, such as Zhang Yimou and Wong Kar-Wai. The bottom line is that Fearless is anything but.