Summary of this article
Legendary action star Jackie Chan turns 72 on April 7.
He became synonymous with Hong Kong cinema for many global audiences, specifically for many South Asians, even in the remotest regions of Northeast India.
What made Chan so relatable, especially for kids, was his candour both in character and in real life.
I must have been around eight or nine years old when I first came across the name Jackie Chan— the legendary actor and filmmaker from Hong Kong, a name that defined cinema for many global audiences, but also specifically for many South Asians. My introduction to his cinema didn’t occur in a theatre, a living room or a classroom. It took place in a rather unusual setting, especially for a youngster of my age back then—an election camp.
I grew up in a small provincial town Zunheboto in Nagaland, located in the Northeast region of India. During the early 2000s, general and local elections in towns like ours weren’t just about political rallies or campaign speeches. They had their own culture, rhythm and sensibilities; part of that involved setting up election camps. These camps would be housed at the homes of election candidates, where voters and supporters gathered every night leading up to the election. They spent the night drinking, discussing strategy, organising meetings and perhaps most unforgettably, watching movies. A big television set would be placed outdoors, or a large white cloth would be hung like a screen, with VHS players or projectors set up to play films deep into the night. It was, in a way, our story of community theatre.
Chinese and Hong Kong action films, especially those of Chan, Jet Li, Bruce Lee and Michelle Yeoh, were the undisputed favourites for these gatherings. They had all the right elements to captivate an audience: action, supernaturalism, humor, thrill, drama and larger-than-life heroes. And in that space of political fervour and cinematic excitement, I encountered Chan’s cinema for the first time. That particular year, the town was preparing for elections to select new members for the Town Council (TCM), who would supervise development and maintenance in their respective colonies. These were high-stakes elections for our town and candidates would spend enough money campaigning and keeping their supporters entertained and happy. For a small town like ours in the early 2000s, bringing in big television sets, VHS or DVD players and projectors were expensive indulgences; so having them in the election camp was a big economic and cinematic moment.
My father took my siblings and me to one such election camp. I remember walking into the crowd and seeing a large white screen stretched across the front of the candidate’s house. A makeshift tent structure had been set up to shield the viewers from rain. The place was buzzing with people, all seated and watching Mr. Nice Guy. In this 1997 film, Chan plays a television chef who suddenly finds himself entangled in a chaotic state, involving a reporter and a group of criminals. Watching Mr. Nice Guy on the big screen under that tent, I was completely engrossed that night. This hilarious man was on screen, doing comical stunts while showing off incredible martial arts skills. Chan instantly became an interesting actor. His capability to make fighting and scuffling look wholesome, amusing and brilliant was astonishing for the young boy that I was. It was a kind of physical storytelling that was both amusing and brilliant.
One scene from that movie remains imprinted in my memory. It’s the one where Chan is helping a group of women escape to another building while the house they’re in is being attacked. There’s this long steel girder they have to walk across. One of the women is wearing red pants, and Chan, who is clearly exasperated, tries to coax them across as they hesitate and panic. That scene's mix of fear, urgency and slapstick humour was a pure cinematic joy. It was the perfect introduction to Jackie Chan’s signature style: a choreography of chaos that balanced danger with laughter.
That encounter opened up a new cinematic universe: City Hunter (1993), Police Story (1985), Drunken Master (1978), Who Am I (1998) and more, each one revealing more of his genius and solidifying his place in the global entertainment world. For children like me who grew up in a small town in India, Chan was more than just an actor; he was a phenomenon. We imitated his stunts. Every play fight between friends had someone declaring, “I’m Jackie Chan!” or “I’m Jet Li!” There was a sense of invincibility in claiming those names. It made you feel cool, powerful, and oddly safe, knowing the hero never really hurt anyone and yet always won.
The cable connection came very late to us, around 2005. Until then, Chan’s films trickled through DVDs, VCDs or public screenings like those election camps. Even after cable arrived, we followed his cinema eagerly, watching films like Rush Hour (1998), Police Story (2004) and The Forbidden Kingdom (2008). His ability to keep evolving while staying true to his unique style held our interest in his cinema.
What made Chan so relatable, especially for kids, was his candour both in character and in real life. We loved watching the behind-the-scenes footage at the end of his movies (honestly, we would wait for it with equal excitement). Seeing him mess up stunts, laughing at his own mistakes and still trying gave us an insight into the making of films. Because of this, he also felt real to us, and not some distant, untouchable star. In fact, parents who were usually wary about children watching violent or action movies made an exception for him. His films were safe, funny, and oddly comforting. As an actor, he was trustworthy, warm, and entertaining. His films aren’t just entertainment; they are memories of the past spent in a small town’s election camp, experiencing cable connection and our first encounter with East Asian cinema. Watching them now still transports one back to that election camp, memories of the smell of damp earth under a tent, the laughter of the crowd and the thrill of seeing a hero do impossible things with such ease and charm.
On his 72nd birthday, Chan remains not just a star but a deeply esteemed figure for generations of moviegoers. His legacy isn’t just about the movies he made but about the people he made laugh irrespective of the barrier in language. For those of us who grew up with him, watching him leap across rooftops, fall off buildings, make faces at villains and still flash that goofy, lovable grin, he will always be the hero who made fighting funny and fearless. He is the ultimate global action star, whose cinema and legacy played a crucial role in bringing Hong Kong cinema to the most rural and remotest regions of South Asia and beyond.
