NRPLUS MEMBER ARTICLE ‘W ho knows what delicate wonders have died out of the world for want of the strength to survive?” asks Han (Shih Kien), the Bondesque villain in Enter the Dragon (1973). It’s a throwaway line in a sometimes cheesy movie, intended to reinforce the antagonist’s cruel, quasi-Nietzschean obsession with vitality. But it has still haunted me for years, only more so as I learn more about the vast sweep of history, full of contingencies, accidents, and misfortunes.

One not-so-delicate wonder that has stood the test of time is Enter the Dragon itself. Released 50 years ago this month, the kung fu movie starring Bruce Lee and directed by Robert Clouse retains an immense power to entertain, rising above certain dated elements on the power of, among other things, the charisma and skill of its star Bruce Lee.

Enter the Dragon might seem like it has aged considerably, if one is coming to it only now. But that’s because most modern viewers are, to some extent, living in the world it created. The plot alone has been imitated endlessly: A powerful, reclusive villain holds a martial-arts tournament on a secret island, which disparate forces hope to infiltrate for their own personal gain. (Yes, Mortal Kombat fans, I’m looking at you.) But Enter the Dragon birthed more than this trope. Have you seen a climactic action fight taking place in a hall of mirrors? Have you seen a wise warrior sit down to meditate when trapped in a hallway? Have you seen a display of nunchuck skill so impressive that it frightens those about to fall victim to the weapon? Heck, have you seen a movie with Jackie Chan? Then you have Enter the Dragon to thank. (Chan appears in a minor, uncredited role as one of Han’s many goons Lee fights his way through.)

I’d also give Enter the Dragon credit for the trope of the hero and villain fighting toward each other from opposite sides of a battlefield, if I didn’t know that that one went at least as far back as Paradise Lost (if not earlier). Like William Friedkin’s The Exorcist, also released in 1973, a modern viewer could find Enter the Dragon stale if he has only experienced its legion of imitators, parodies, and tributes. Indeed, Enter the Dragon made Bruce Lee so important to Quentin Tarantino that he has referenced the man and his films constantly in his own work, even (controversially) having Brad Pitt’s masculine archetype in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood beat Lee in a fight as a way to prove how truly virile he was.

That is not to say Enter the Dragon is entirely sui generis. There’s an obvious Bond influence in the villain (who at one point strokes a cat), the island setting (with shades of Dr. No), and the general spy-thriller tenor: Han has Bond-movie-villainish global ambitions in corruption, drugs, and even (in an eerie anticipation of Jeffrey Epstein and his mysterious island) sex trafficking. Bruce Lee’s character (simply called “Lee”) spends much of the movie sneaking about, poking around in the island’s secret lair, and both evading and dispatching henchman. As the charismatic Williams, real-life skilled martial artist Jim Kelly injects some delightful energy from the then-nascent (Shaft had come out in 1971) “blaxploitation” genre, in which he would spend a good portion of his subsequent career.

And of course, Enter the Dragon owes something to the kung fu movies that preceded it, especially those starring Lee himself. At times, it does not fully escape their trademark cheesiness: Yes, there is some bad dubbing (including of Han). Though the fact that all of the movie was filmed without sound, with everything added after the fact, should soften criticism of this fault. Yes, there are certain elements that also scream 1970s to a modern viewer. Most of them are embodied by Roper (John Saxon), a gambler and womanizer I have always struggled to find credible in his fight scenes, even though he actually was a martial artist. But the best way to respond to these attributes, to which one might add its relentlessly funky — and, at key moments, synth-heavy — score by Lalo Schifrin (best known as the composer of the Mission: Impossible theme), is to let them wash over you as an essential part of the aesthetic experience.

You’ll be helped along that journey by Bruce Lee himself, who elevates Enter the Dragon in two essential respects. One was his striving for realism in the action. Lee’s own fighting skill could make him seem almost superhuman, but the physical feats he performs (almost) entirely himself in the movie are at least visceral and intricate enough to remain plausible, albeit still impressive. (Lee’s rapid reflexes, in fact, overcome the common question when it comes to these movies of why the henchmen only come at the hero one at a time. Answer, here: He’s moving too fast!) “Before Lee, kung fu movies — which enjoyed cult popularity in the United States, often playing in grimy double-bill theaters — boasted flashy gymnastics and impossible superhuman abilities,” Eric Francisco recently wrote in Esquire. “Utilizing his discipline and philosophy of Jeet Kune Do, widely considered the forerunner to modern mixed martial arts, Lee strove for on-camera realism while still showing off the elegance of Chinese kung fu.” As a result, “nearly all major action films, from John Wick to Captain America, pride themselves on similarly realistic choreography.”

And then there is Lee’s aura. His cinematic magnetism was on display in prior works but in Enter the Dragon reaches another level. He gets the best scenes, has the best lines (“Boards don’t hit back”), shows raw anger, steely determination — and, in one amusing moment, boredom. One could even detect a small-c conservatism in the familial piety and cultural devotion that set Lee against Han, whose goons killed Lee’s sister, and whose power arises from a selfish abuse of Shaolin techniques. Challenging him, Lee explains his motives directly: “You have offended my family, and you have offended Shaolin temple.” But Lee’s most common mode is a casual stoicism combined with lethal competence. Whatever he’s doing, or saying, or feeling on screen, he sells with absolute confidence, even the birdlike shouts he utters while fighting. If he were already a legend by the time Enter the Dragon came out, the movie itself made him almost a movie god. “This may sound self-serving, but I think it’s because of Bruce Lee the movie is phenomenal,” his daughter Shannon told Esquire. “He still electrifies and jumps off the screen, and is just so badass. It’s a fun movie — and he brings the fun.” There’s no telling what might have been in store for Lee after Enter the Dragon; perhaps a franchise based on his Enter the Dragon character.

Unfortunately, we will never know. Lee died at age 32, shortly before the release of Enter the Dragon. This no doubt adds a tragic element to its durability. We see Lee at the peak of his fame and power, but also know, as he did not, that it would be his denouement. (Game of Death, also in production around the same time, came out five years later.) But Enter the Dragon is no delicate wonder. It will certainly live on, as a kung fu movie par excellence, and as a tribute to the greatness of its star.