Some of the lesser martial arts conjure up images of sterile white suits; of politeness and Zen garden sensibility.
The world of kung-fu is about Buddha figurines with red lips, licentious villains, Bruce Lee’s abs and crimes of passion. Who doesn’t remember nagging their parents for white towelling socks and black slippers with the elasticated sides after one too many Saturday afternoons marvelling as Jackie Chan executed yet another perfect 90 degree vertical leap to thwart his foes?
Even the terminology is superior. Whereas karate has words such as kumite (sparring) and yori ashi (sliding the feet), in kung-fu you get to do the Seven Star Praying Mantis and the Single Tiger Emerging from Cave. Quentin Tarentino’s Kill Bill films have made kung-fu even cooler.
But whereas cinema buffs and trendy types are reaching for their elasticated black slippers, there are real, dedicated kung-fu disciples in the world — including South Africa. These enthusiasts resent the spin the movies have put on their sport and do kung-fu not for the sake of dinner party table bravado but for the love of it. There’s lots of sweat involved as they do endless press-ups, get graded, take part in international competitions and hopefully achieve the Holy Grail itself — a trip to China.
To separate any kung-fu outside China from cheesiness would be hard. Even though nearly all local kung-fu schools are described as one or another ”Shaolin temple”, there are no serene monks or beautifully arched wooden buildings involved — only dodgy second-floor rooms bathed in fluorescent light, with dragon motifs on the walls. The Buddha figurines and satin pyjamas are from Asia City in Bruma, the incense from Fordsburg.
The head teacher is called Grand Master, but one should not look out for a wizened Chinese elder: rather expect a muscular blond called Van Tonder. This changing face of kung-fu means the whiff of irony is not far off when hearing of the pièce de rÃ