Hollywood

You know why I got that Green Hornet job? I’ll tell you why I got that Green Hornet job. Because the hero’s name was “Britt Reid,” and I was the only Chinese in all of California who could pronounce “Britt Reid,” that’s why!

In 1964, just about the time I discovered that I really didn’t want to teach self-defense for the rest of my life, I went to the Long Beach International Karate Tournament [where] I gave a demonstration. A Hollywood producer, William Dozier, just happened to be in the audience. That night I received a phone call at my hotel for a tryout. Early next morning, I stopped by 20^th Century Fox and was hired to be Charlie Chan’s “Number One Son.” They were going to make it into a new “Chinese James Bond” type of a thing. Now that, you know, the old man, Chan, is dead, Charlie is dead, and his son is carrying on.

Anyway, the Charlie Chan movie never got made because, while I was attending a one-month private crash course on acting, Batman came along and everything started to be going into that kind of a thing [so] the producer changed his mind and decided that I would be Kato instead. It sounded at first like typical houseboy stuff. A producer said he wanted me to play “a Chinese.” You know, I mean, here I am a Chinese—and, not being prejudiced or anything but thinking realistically, how many times in film is a Chinese required? And when he is required, I immediately could see the part—pigtails, chopsticks and “ah-sos,” shuffling obediently behind the master who has saved my life.

I wanted to make sure before I signed that there wouldn’t be any “ah-sos” and “chop-chops” in the dialogue and that I would not be required to go bouncing around with a pigtail. I told Dozier, “Look if you sign me up with all that pigtail and hopping around jazz, forget it.” In the past, the typical casting has been that kind of stereotype. Like with the Indians. You never see a human-being Indian on television. But it turned out to be better. So, you know, he signed me up and I did The Green Hornet.

Perhaps when I was hired to play Kato in The Green Hornet it was an accident.

I had acted in Chinese films since I was a child but had not in U.S. films. I had no contacts in Hollywood.

Anyway, it was fun. I was even approached by several businessmen to open a franchise of “Kato’s Self-Defense Schools” throughout the U.S., but I refused. I think I could have made a fortune if money was what I wanted then. I felt then and still feel today that I’m not going to prostitute my art for the sake of money.

The Green Hornet lasted for one season. [A network producer] wrote to say that although the show had not been renewed, this did not mean it was going off the air. Then he added that he “had enjoyed working with” me. A little later, I got a note from the executive producer, Bill Dozier, that said: “Confucius say, Green Hornet to buzz no more.”

In the first place it was not far enough out, not Batman-ish enough to please the viewers. Second, it should have been an hour-length show. Besides, the scripts were lousy and I did a really terrible job in it, I must say.

[But] in a way, it established me in Hong Kong and it put my foot in a lot of important doorways in Hollywood. When the series ended I asked myself, “What the hell do I do now?”

[One of William Dozier’s] assistants [called one day and] wanted to know what I was doing. I told the guy I was teaching again and he asked me what I was charging. Man, when I told him he said I was crazy. He said I should be charging $50 an hour. I thought about it and decided, why not $50 an hour? And then eventually I started teaching actors. I used to make very good bread doing that. I started charging US $500 for a 10-hour course and wound up doubling it. Steve McQueen was one of my students. So was James Coburn.

Later, the producers in Hollywood, thinking that my martial art could be an attraction, invited me to play a role in their films [a villian in Marlowe, which starred James Garner. And then later I went on and did this really beautiful television thing for a series called Longstreet. James Franciscus played a blind dude who was out for revenge, and I played a guy who was getting him ready for a fight. Stirling Silliphant—one of my students—and I sat down and we wrote that episode together. That was the premiere episode.

The title of that particular episode of Longstreet is The Way of the Intercepting Fist and I think the successful ingredient in it was because I was being myself—Bruce Lee. And in doing that part I was able to just express myself. Like I say, I “honestly expressed myself” at that time. And, because of that, I received favorable mention in The New York Times, which said something like: “Bruce Lee, a Chinaman, who, incidentally, came off quite convincingly enough to earn himself a television series” and so on and so forth. [It was the] first time in my life that I had any kind of review for my acting. I’m glad they were favorable.

The people at Paramount asked me to go back and do a television series. And Warner Bros. was committed to working out a TV series for me as well. I mean they were offering me 25 grand—simply to hold me to do a television series, called Kung Fu, which is a really freaky adventure series. It’s about a Chinese guy who has to leave China because he managed to kill the wrong person, and winds up in the American West in 1860. Can you dig that? All these cowboys on horses with guns and me with a long, green hunk of bamboo, right? Far out.

I was supposed to do it—but the network decided against it. They think that business-wise it’s a risk. And I don’t blame them. I don’t blame them. It’s the same way in Hong Kong: if a foreigner came and became a star, if I were the man with the money, I probably would have my own worry of whether or not the acceptance would be there. I’m glad they decided against it, you know? Look at all of the television series—I mean all of them are gimmicks; shallowly treated; it’s all “fast money,” you know what I mean? Unlike a film where you can put a few months in it and work on it. But not television. Man, you’ve got to finish an episode in one week. And how can you keep up the quality every week?

Bruce Lee with Sharon Tate and Nancy Kwan on the set of The Wrecking Crew, which also featured Dean Martin.

When you get into a fight, everybody reacts differently.

When I decided to come back to Hong Kong and do the film for Raymond Chow, I prepared by going to see a whole bunch of Mandarin movies. They were awful. For one thing, everybody fights all the time, and what really bothered me was that they all fought exactly the same way. Wow, nobody’s really like that! When you get into a fight, everybody reacts differently. And it is possible to act and fight at the same time. I began to get calls from producers in Hong Kong and Taiwan. Offers to do a movie varied from $2,000 to $10,000.

Afterwards, a contract was made between a representative of Golden Harvest Films and me. I agreed to act in two films, the one being The Big Boss and the other being Fist of Fury. Mr. Raymond Chow appeared to me a man of insight and his Golden Harvest Ltd. a promising enterprise. They were, as a company, utilizing practical and efficient methods to promote the ideal of a better film industry: like encouraging independent productions, giving freedom to directors and actors to explore and manifest their talents.

I do not believe in playing up violence in films. I think it is unhealthy to play up violence.

But it should be remembered that violence and aggression is part of everyday life now. You see it over the TV and in Vietnam. You cant just pretend that it does not exist.

On the other hand, I don’t think one should use violence and aggression as themes of movies.

I don’t call the fighting in my films “violent,” I call it “action.” An action film borders between reality and fantasy. If I were to be completely realistic in my films, you would call me a violent, bloody man. I would simply destroy my opponent by tearing his guts out. I wouldn’t do it so artistically.

I have always been a martial artist by  choice, an actor by profession, but above all, am actualizing myself to be an artist of life.

My more than twenty years experience as an actor have caused me to look at it thusly: an actor is a dedicated being who works very hard—so damn hard—that his level of understanding makes him a qualified artist in self-expression, physically, psychologically, as well as spiritually. Depending on one’s level of understanding, the movie industry nowadays is basically a co-existence of practical business sense and creative talent, each being the cause and the effect of the other.

To the administrators up in their administrative offices, an actor is a “commodity,” a product—a matter of money, money, money. “Whether or not it sells” is their chief concern. The important thing is the box-office appeal. Though cinema is in fact a marriage of practical business and creative talent, to regard an actor—a human being—as a product, is somewhat emotionally aggravating to me.

An actor, a good actor, not the cliche type, is in reality a “competent deliverer,” one who is not just ready but artistically harmonizes this invisible duality of business and art into a successful appropriate unity. Mediocre actors, or cliche actors, are plentiful, but to settle down to train a “competent” actor mentally and physically is definitely not an easy task. Just as no two human beings are alike, so, too, with actors.

A really trained, good actor is a rarity nowadays—that demands the actor to be real, to be himself. The audiences are not dumb today, an actor is not simply demonstrating what one wants others to believe he is expressing. That is mere imitation or illustration—but it is not creating—even though this superficial demonstration can be “performed” with remarkable expertise.

Some martial artists are now going to Hong Kong to be in movies, they think they can be lucky, too. Well, I don’t believe in pure luck. You have to create your own luck. You have to aware of the opportunities around you and take advantage of them. Some guys may not believe it, but I spent hours perfecting whatever I did. [Bruce Lee in action from The Way of the Dragon.]

Just what then is an actor of quality? To begin with, he is no “movie star,” which is nothing but an abstract word given by the people and a symbol. There are more people who want to become “movie stars” than actors. To me, an actor is the sum total of all that he is—his high level of understanding of life, his appropriate good taste, his experience of happiness and adversity, his intensity, his educational background and much, much more—like I said, the sum total of all that he is.

One more ingredient is that an actor has to be real in expressing himself as he would honestly in a given situation. An actor’s problem, though, is not to be egotistical and to keep his cool and to learn more through discoveries and much deep soul-searching.

Dedication, absolute dedication is what keeps one ahead.

Believe me that in every big thing or achievement there are always obstacles—big or small—and the reaction one shows to such obstacles is what counts, not the obstacle itself. [Bruce Lee takes on Kareem Abdul-Jabbar during the climactic battle scene in The Game of Death.]

Yes, there is a difference between self-actualization and self-image actualization.

I know we all admit that we are intelligent beings; yet, I wonder how many of us have gone through some sort of self-inquiries and/or self-examining of all these ready-made facts or truths that are crammed down our throats ever since we acquired the capacity and the sensibility to learn?

Though we possess a pair of eyes, most of us do not really “see” in the true sense of the word.

True seeing, in the sense of choiceless awareness, leads to new discovery, and discovery is one of the means to uncovering our potentiality.

However, when these same eyes are used in observing or discovering other people’s faults, we are quick with readily-equipped condemnation.

For it is easy to criticize and break down the spirit of others, but to know yourself takes a lifetime.

Most people only live for their image, that is why where some have a self, a starting point, most people have a void, because they are so busy projecting themselves as this or that. Wasting, dissipating all their energy in projection and conjuring up of facade, rather than centering our energy on expanding and broadening their potential or expressing and relaying this unified energy for efficient communication, etc. When another human being sees a self-actualizing person walk past, he cannot help but say, “hey, now there is someone real!”

In Enter the Dragon, I tried to present a sort of spiritual and physical expression of a dedicated artistic athlete, who in this case, [happens to be] a Chinese martial artist, as set apart from the ordinary, because he can “deliver” and communicates with the audience and is capable to get across to the audience that which is considered the ultimate value of a martial artist (which I will apply with a total sum of my level of understanding and experience).

The important thing is that I am personally satisfied with my work. If it is a piece of junk, I will only regret it.

I would like to evolve into different roles, but I cannot do so in Southeast Asia. I am already typecast. I am supposed to be the good guy. I can’t even be a bit gray, because no producer would let me. Besides, I can’t even express myself fully on film here, or the audience wouldn’t understand what I am talking about half the time. That’s why I can’t stay in Southeast Asia all the time. I plan to stay half a year here and half a year in Hollywood.

I also want to direct more films. Directing, I feel, is more creative. You really get a chance to produce the result you want. An actor is restricted. He can only do as the director instructs. I will be doing different types of films in the future: some serious, some philosophical, and some pure entertainment. But I will never prostitute myself in any way that I do what I don’t believe in. I am confident that my talent will expand internationally. I am improving and making new discoveries every day. If you don’t you are already crystallized and that’s it.

The past is history and only the future can give you happiness. So, everybody must prepare for their future and create their own future.

[Some Bruce Lee philosophy from Warner Bros.’ Enter The Dragon:] “It is like a finger...”

“pointing a way to the moon.”

“Don’t concentrate on the finger, or you will miss all that heavenly glory. ”

Success [only] means doing something sincerely and wholeheartedly. I think life is a process. Through the ages, the end of heroes is the same as ordinary men. They all died and gradually faded away in the memory of man. But when we are still alive, we have to understand ourselves, discover ourselves and express ourselves. In this way, we can progress, but we may not be successful.

A learned man once went to a Zen master to inquire about Zen. As the Zen master talked, the learned man would frequently interrupt with remarks like, “Oh yes, we have that, too,” and so forth. Finally the Zen master stopped talking and began to serve tea to the learned man; however, he kept on pouring and the tea cup overflowed. “Enough! No more can go into the cup!” the learned man interrupted. “Indeed, I see,” answered the Zen master. “If you do not first empty your cup, how can you taste my cup of tea?”

When my tutor assisted me in choosing my courses, he advised me to take up philosophy because of my inquisitiveness. He said, “philosophy will tell you what man lives for.” When I told my friends and relatives that I had picked up philosophy, they were all amazed.

My majoring in philosophy was closely related to the pugnacity of my childhood. I often ask myself these questions: What comes after victory? Why do people value victory so much? What is “glory”? What kind of victory is “glorious”?

Everybody thought I had better go into physical education, since the only extracurricular activity that I was interested in, from my childhood until I graduated from my secondary school, was Chinese martial arts.

However, I began to lose faith in the Chinese classical arts because, basically, all styles are products of dry-land swimming, so my line of training [moved] more toward efficient street fighting with everything goes; wearing headgear, gloves, chest guard, shin/knee guards, etc. I changed the name of the gist of my study to Jeet Kune Do—“the way of the intercepting fist.”

Random Notes on Character Lee: The “cool” (because it is real) and “hip” way of showing the charisma of what exactly is a “quality” martial artist as well as a human being, like you and me. [A note Bruce Lee wrote within his personal copy of the script for Warner Bros.’ Enter the Dragon.]

What more can I say but that I am ready for action and hopefully let the outside world in on some of our Chinese culture. I have a hell of a responsibility because Americans really do not have first-hand information on the Chinese. Enter the Dragon should make it—this is the movie that I’m proud of because it has been made for the U.S. audience as well as for the European and the Oriental. But I am happy to say that, unlike the past, the deal was made on a fair and square basis; truly a co-production.

I hope that the character of “Lee” in Warner Bros.’ Enter the Dragon comes across as one who is endowed with the capacity of generating such intensified enthusiastic popular support in the leadership or symbolic unification or direction of human affairs, or what is so elusively called “this ingredient.” In short, baby, he is what constitutes a “quality” and “cool” martial artist. This man knows and, most important of all, this audience knows as well!

I am responsible for a good part of the script, in collaboration with the director, Bob Clouse. The script has turned out to be a beauty, and artistic, too.

This is definitely the biggest movie I ever made. I’m excited to see what will happen.

To bring the mind into sharp focus and to make it alert so that it can immediately intuit truth, which is everywhere, the mind must be emancipated from old habits, prejudices, restrictive thought process, and even ordinary thought itself.

[On Jeet Kune Do:] Anytime other writers write about Jeet Kune Do, they write it according to their knowledge. One cannot see a fight “as is,” say from the point of view of a boxer, a wrestler, or anyone who is trained in a particular method, because he will see the fight according to the limits of his particular conditioning.

One cannot “express” fully—the important word here is fully—when one is imposed by a partial structure or style. For how can one be truly aware when there is a screen of one’s set pattern as opposed to “what is.” What is is total (including what is and what is not), without boundaries, etc., etc. From drilling on such organized “land swimming” pattern, the practitioner’s margin of freedom of expression grows narrower and narrower. He becomes paralyzed within the framework of the pattern and accepts the pattern as the real thing. He no longer “listens” to circumstances, he “recites” his circumstances. He is merely performing his methodical routine as [a] response rather than responding to what is. He is an insensitized patternized robot, listening to his own screams and yells. He is those classical blocks; he is those organized forms; in short, he is the result of thousands of years of conditioning.

Fighting is not something dictated by your conditioning as a Chinese martial artist, a Japanese martial artist, etc., etc.

Take for instance the boxer: he will probably criticize the fact the two fighters are too close to allow crispy punching room. On the other hand, the wrestler will complain that one of the fighters should crowd and smother the other’s “crispiness,” and thus be close enough to apply grappling tactics. So a split second between the above two statements, the boxer could have switched into grappling tactics when there is no crispy punching room. The wrestler, when out of distance, could have kicked or punched as a means to bridge the gap for his specialty.

True observation begins when devoid of set patterns, and freedom of expression occurs when one is beyond systems.

As I’ve mentioned, styles “set” and “trap” reality into a choice mold. Freedom just cannot be preconceived, and where there is freedom, there is neither good nor its reaction, bad. My only concerns are for those who are conditioned and solidified by a partialized structure, with only routine efficiency, rather than freedom of individual expression.

To set the record straight, I have not invented a new style, that is, set within distinct form as apart from “this” style or “that” style. On the contrary, I hope to free my followers from styles.

Jeet Kune Do (JKD) does not look at combat from a certain angle but from all possible angles. It utilizes all ways and means to serve its end, but, and that is a very important “but,” it is bound by none; in other words, JKD, though possessed of all angles, is itself not possessed. This is because of the fact that any structure, however intelligently designed, becomes a cage if the practitioner is obsessed with it. This is where the value lies: the freedom both to use technique and to dispense with it.

Therefore, to define JKD as a particular system (gung fu, karate, etc.) is to miss it completely. It is outside of all particular structures and distinct forms. However, do not mistake JKD as a composite style or being neutral or indifference; for it is both at once “this” and “not this.” It is neither opposed to styles nor not opposed to them. To understand one must transcend the duality of “for” and “against” into one organic whole. A good JKD man rests in direct intuition.

Truth is a pathless road. It is total expression that has no before or after. Similarly, JKD is not an organized institution that one can be a member of. Either you understand or you don’t, and that is that. (There was a Jun Fan Gung Fu Institute, there was a method of wing chun, but there is no such organization or method existing now.)

In most cases, a practitioner of the martial art is what I term a second-hand artist, a conformer. To be sure, he seldom learns to depend upon himself for expression; rather, he faithfully follows a pattern. As time passes, he will probably understand some dead routines, and be good according to his particularly set pattern, but he has not come to understand himself.

Drilling on routines and set patterns will eventually make a person be good according to the routines and set pattern, but only self-awareness and self-expression can lead to the truth. A live person is not a dead product of “this” style or “that” style, he is an individual, and the individual is always more important than the system.

In martial art, many instructors derive their techniques and principles from intellectual theories and not from application.

He can talk about combat, and there are some master talkers, but he cannot really teach it.

He might create this first law and that kicking principle, but the student will merely be conditioned and controlled rather than freeing himself to blossom into a better martial artist.

Indeed, it has been the “mold” and “system” that limits and interferes with reality.

Just as one cannot get a piece of paper to wrap and shape up water, fighting can never be made to conform to any one system, especially forcing it into a highly classical frame. Such a frame only kills and limits the life of the individual as well as the situation. The professed cure of such a frame is itself a disease. In the practice of JKD, there is no set or form, for JKD is not a method of classified techniques, laws, etc., which constitute a system of fighting. It does employ a systematic approach to training but never a method of fighting. To go further, JKD is a process, not a goal; a means but not an end, a constant movement rather than an established static pattern.

The final aim of JKD is toward personal liberation. It points the way to individual freedom and maturity. Mechanical efficiency or manipulatory skill is never as important as inward awareness gained, for to learn a movement without inward awareness results in imitative repetitiousness, a mere product. A true fighter “listens” to circumstances, while a classical man “recites” his circumstances. Remember that a martial art man is not merely a physical exponent of some prowess he may have been gifted with in the first place. As he matures, he will realize that his side kick is really not so much a tool to conquer his opponent, but a tool to explode through his ego and follies. All that training is to round him up to be a complete man.

Of this I am certain: superior performances in martial art will rest in the future development and not on many of the obsolete and outmoded training methods existing.

An excellent instructor is an excellent athlete. True, I am sure as one advances in age he will be at a disadvantage with a good young man, but he has no excuse not to be a first-rate man among his contemporaries, physically, as well as mentally.

A pliable, choiceless observation without exclusion is the foundation of a JKD man. An “altogether alert awareness” without a center or its circumference; to be in it, but not of it.

In essence, JKD seeks to restore the pupil to his primordial state so that he can “freely” express his own potential. The training consists of minimum of form in the natural development of his tools towards the formless. In short, to be able to enter a mold yet not being caged in it, or to obey the principles without being bound by them.

A JKD member who says JKD is exclusively JKD is simply not in with it. He is still hung up in his self-closing resistance; in this case, anchored down to a reactionary pattern and naturally is still bound by another modified pattern and can move only within its limits. He has not digested the simple fact that truth exists outside of all molds and patterns, and awareness is never exclusive. Jeet Kune Do is merely a name used, a boat to get one across the river, and once across, is to be discarded, and not to be carried on one’s back.

Really, there is no rigid form in Jeet Kune Do. All that there is is this understanding: If the enemy is cool, stay cooler than him. If the enemy moves, move faster than him.

Jeet Kune Do rejects all restrictions imposed by forms and formality and emphasizes the clever use of mind and body to defend and attack.

Be concerned with the ends, not the means. Master your own manipulation of force.

Don’t be restricted by your form.

While being trained in Jeet Kune Do, the student is to be active and dynamic in every way. But in actual combat, his mind must be calm and not at all disturbed. He must feel as if nothing critical is happening. When he advances, his steps are light and secure, and his eyes are not glaringly fixed on the enemy as those of an insane man might be. His behavior is not in any way different from his everyday behavior. No change is taking place in his expression. Nothing betrays the fact that he is now engaged in a mortal fight.

The fighter is to be always single-minded with one object in view; to fight, looking neither backward nor sidewise. Rid obstructions to one’s onward movement—emotionally, physically, or intellectually.

A way of life, a system to will power and control, though it ought to be enlightened by intuition.

To approach Jeet Kune Do with the idea of mastering the will.

Forget about winning and losing, forget about pride and pain: let your opponent graze your skin and you smash into his flesh; let him smash into your flesh and you fracture his bones; let him fracture your bones and you take his life! Do not be concerned with your escaping safely—lay down your life before him!

The tools (your natural weapons) have a double purpose:

a) To destroy the opponent in front of you—annihilation of things that stand in the way of peace, justice, and humanity.

b) To destroy your own impulses from the instinct of self-preservation (anything that is bothering your mind)—not to hurt or maim anyone but one’s own greed, anger, and folly. In this respect, Jeet Kune Do is directed toward oneself.

Learning gained is learning lost.

The knowledge and skill you have achieved are after all meant to be “forgotten” so you can float in emptiness without obstruction and comfortably. Learning is important but do not become its slave. Above all, do not harbor anything external and superfluous, the mind is the primary. One can never be the master of his technical knowledge unless all his psychic hindrances are removed and he can keep the mind in the state of emptiness (fluidity), even purged of whatever technique he has obtained—with no conscious effort.

With all the training thrown to the wind, with a mind perfectly unaware of its own workings, with the self vanishing nowhere anybody knows, the art of Jeet Kune Do attains perfection. Learning of the techniques corresponds to an intellectual apprehension in Zen of its philosophy, and in both Zen and Jeet Kune Do a proficiency in this does not cover the whole ground of the discipline. Both require us to come to the attainment of ultimate reality, which is the emptiness or the absolute. The latter transcends all modes of relativity.

In Jeet Kune Do, all the technique is to be forgotten and the unconscious is to be left alone to handle the situation, when the technique will assure its wonders automatically or spontaneously—to float in totality, to have no technique is to have all technique.

I do not believe in styles anymore. I mean, I do not believe that there is such a thing as, like, “the Chinese way of fighting” or “the Japanese way of fighting,” or any other “way” of fighting, because unless human beings have three arms and four legs, we will not have a different form of fighting.

I mean it is easy for me to put on a show and be cocky and be flooded with a cocky feeling and then feel pretty cool and all that. Or I can make all kinds of phony things—you see what I mean?—and be blinded [to the truth of combat] by it. Or I can show you some really fancy movement. But to express oneself honestly, not lying to oneself, and to express myself honestly, now that, my friend, is very hard to do.

And you have to train. You have to keep your reflexes, so that when you want it, it’s there! When you want to move, you are moving. And when you move, you are determined to move.

Not taking one inch—not anything less than that! If I want to punch, I’m going to do it, man, and I’m going to do it, you see? So that is the type of thing you have to train yourself into: to become one with the punch—whether it travels in a straight line, curved line, upwards, downwards, etc. That might be slow but, depending on the circumstances, sometimes that might not be slow. And, in terms of legs you can kick up, straight—same thing, right? And, after all that, then you ask yourself, how can you honestly express yourself—at that moment?

To me, ultimately, martial art means honestly expressing yourself.

A good martial artist does not become tense—but ready. Not thinking, yet not dreaming. Ready for whatever may come.

Because of styles, people are separated. They are not united together because styles became laws. But the original founder of the style started out with hypothesis. But now it has become the gospel truth. And people that go into it, man, become the product of it. It doesn’t matter how you are, who you are, how you are structured, how you are built, how you are made—it doesn’t matter. You just go in there and be that product. And that—to me—is not right.

But, if you do not have styles; if you just say: “Here I am as a human being, how can I express myself totally and completely?” Now that way, you won’t create a style because style is a crystallization, this way is a process of continuing growth.

Jeet Kune Do’s aggressive mental training is not a mere philosophical contemplation on the effervescence of life or a frozen type of mold, but an entrance into the realm of nonrelativity—and it is real.

The point is to utilize the art as a means to advance in the study of the Way. To be on the alert means to be deadly serious, to be deadly serious means to be sincere to oneself, and it is sincerity that finally leads to the Way.

The undifferentiated center of a circle that has no circumference: The Jeet Kune Do man should be on the alert to meet the interchangeability of the opposites. But as soon as his mind “stops” with either of them, it loses its own fluidity. A

Jeet Kune Do man should keep his mind always in the state of emptiness so that his freedom in action will never be obstructed.

When there is no obstruction of whatever kind, the Jeet Kune Do man’s movements are like flashed lightning or like the mirror reflecting images.

The spirit is no doubt the controlling agent of our existence (as to its whereabouts we can never tell), though altogether beyond the realm of corporeality. This invisible seat controls every movement in whatever external situation it may happen to find itself. It is thus to be extremely mobile, no “stopping” in any place at any moment.

Martial art is ultimately an athletic expression of the dynamic human body. More important yet is the person who is there expressing his own soul.

Martial art, then, like any art, is an expression of the human being. Some expressions have taste, some are logical (maybe under certain required situations), but most are mere performing, sort of a mechanical repetition of a fixed pattern.

This is most unhealthy because to live is to express and to express you have to create. Creation is never something old and definitely not merely repetition. Remember well my friend that all styles are man-made and the man is always more important than any style. Style concludes. Man grows.

Yes, martial art is an unfolding of what one is; his anger, his fears, and yet under all these natural human tendencies, which we all experience, after all, a “quality” martial artist can—in the midst of all these commotions—still be himself.

And it is not a question of winning or losing but it is a question of being what is at that moment and being wholeheartedly involved with that particular moment and doing one’s best. The consequence is left to whatever will happen.

Therefore to be a martial artist also means to be an artist of life. Since life is an ever-going process, one should flow in this process and discover how to actualize and expand oneself.

In case you have missed the recent news, Bruce Lee’s Jeet Kune Do—of which he is the founder—has been elected and accepted into the “Black Belt Hall of Fame” in America. This marks the first time a recently developed form of martial art is nationally accepted. No, Jeet Kune Do is not thousands, or even hundreds of years old. It was started in around 1965 by a dedicated and intensified man called Bruce Lee. And his martial art is something that no serious martial artist can ignore.

Lee, from Enter the Dragon: “When the opponent expands, I contract. And when he contracts, I expands”.

And when there is an opportunity, “I” do not hit; “it” hits—all by itself.

Ever since The Big Boss there seems to have been a wave, a hot wave in fact, of finding “another Bruce Lee” among all types of people, particularly martial artists. Ranging from karate men, hapkido men, judo men, etc. Forgetting about whether or not they possess the ability to act, just so long as they can kick or punch halfway decent and know a few tricks or gimmicks, the producers, hopefully, will make them a “star.”

Is it that simple to become a star? Well, I can assure you it’s not that simple. Also, I can tell you that as more “Bruce Lee films” are shown, the audience will soon see and realize the difference—not only in acting ability, but in physical skill as well.

The word “superstar” really turns me off, and I’ll tell you why, because the word “star,” is an illusion, it is something—what the public calls you. You should look upon [yourself] as an actor. I mean you would be very pleased if somebody said, “Hey man, you’re a super actor!” It is much better than “superstar.”

When I make Chinese films, I try my best not to be as “American” as I have been adjusted to for the last twelve years in the States. But when I go back to the States, it seems to be the other way around. I mean it’s always that pigtail and bouncing around, “chop-chop,” you know, with the eyes slanted and all that. I have already made up my mind that in the United States, I think something about the Oriental—mean the true Oriental—should be shown.

Before I made my first Chinese film, Chinese flicks were considered kind of unrealistic. I mean there was a lot of over-acting and a lot of jumping around and, anyway, all in all, it didn’t look real, you know what I mean?

So, anyway, I came back and I introduced some new elements into it, like when I hit, I really hit.

When I signed to do The Big Boss I had a voice in it. Fortunately, I had some background in U.S. filming techniques and with my experience, I was able to help them—especially choreographing the fight scenes.

With any luck, I hope to make multi-level films here—the kind of movies where you can just watch the surface story if you want, or you can look deeper into it if you feel like it.

I tried to do that in The Big Boss. The character I played was a very simple, straightforward guy. Like, if you told this guy something, he’d believe you. Then, when he finally figures out he’s been had, he goes animal.

This isn’t a bad character, but I don’t want to play him all the time. I’d prefer somebody with a little more depth.

The Big Boss was an important movie for me because I had a starring role for the first time. I felt that I could do a better acting job than in The Green Hornet and had more confidence since I just did Paramount’s Longstreet episode entitled The Way of the Intercepting Fist.