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Richard James Havis

The late Ringo Lam Ling-tung’s City on Fire was such a big hit that the Hong Kong director decided to follow up with another gritty crime drama, Prison on Fire.
But that film and its sequel were quite different to City on Fire. Here’s how.
Prison on Fire (1987)
While the name of this local classic saw Lam leaning on the title of City on Fire, the film itself differs considerably in style.
City on Fire is far from realistic – though it is justifiably considered less stylised than John Woo Yu-sum’s classic crime films. By contrast, Prison on Fire dispenses with artifice to provide a down-to-earth look at the brutality of prison life, where even the fight scenes are choreographed not as kung fu acrobatics but as extended, realistic brawls.


The story, written by Lam’s elder brother Nam Yin, who reportedly based some of it on his own experiences, works as a social comment on the harshness of prison life without hammering the point home.
Tony Leung Ka-fai plays advertising executive Lo Ka-yiu, who is sent to prison for accidentally killing the triad thug who attacked his father. As he is clueless about the niceties of prison life, the triads pick on him, and he becomes the scapegoat for their activities.
But kindly “Mad Dog” Chung Tin-ching (Chow Yun-fat), an inmate who “accidentally” killed his wife when he discovered she was a prostitute, takes him under his wing and a brotherly bond is formed.
The two are menaced by the sadistic security boss Scarface (Roy Cheung Yiu-yeung). In a final showdown, Chung finally defeats his nemesis Scarface by biting his ear off.

As a slice of social commentary, the film does not push the envelope, simply showing that prisons accentuate society’s faults and amplify cruelty.
Indeed, Lam himself later admitted that he did not know enough about the world back then to say much more. He simply viewed prison as a self-contained society where the weak were bullied and justice was absent, and that was what he tried to show.
Rather than dealing in action histrionics, Prison on Fire is a well-managed depiction of masculine drama that has a skilful plot and some convincing characters.
The inmates are certainly vicious and vindictive, but there is nothing on the screen that could not conceivably exist in real life.

Nam’s script, which was originally 200 pages long, provides a faultless foundation for Lam’s direction.
Chow Yun-fat’s line, “I may speak loudly, but that does not mean that I’m impolite, officer!” – which he shouts at the cruel security boss – became an iconic part of Hong Kong pop culture.
Prison on Fire II (1991)
This sequel followed Lam’s School on Fire (1988), which took the ideas of Prison on Fire and set them in a school. That movie details the battles that take place when triads manipulate the pupils in a typical secondary school.


School on Fire is a bleak and unforgiving film that, arriving just before the Category III adults-only rating was introduced, was heavily censored. Cuts were ordered for 36 scenes due to the violence, including a final sequence in which a gang leader is impaled on an iron railing.
Lam reportedly arranged a meeting with the authorities and got down on his knees to beg them to be more lenient. It worked, and the authorities allowed him to restore half of the cuts.
Prison on Fire II saw Lam move the series back to the more manageable crime genre, where depictions of extreme violence were considered acceptable.
It is a direct sequel to part one and contains more of the same, but in a much diminished form.

The interest of the original derived from Leung’s naive advertising executive character, who acted as a window on prison life – he gave the viewer someone to relate to, and provided a counterpoint to the toughs who made up the rest of the convicts.
With Leung now out of the story, the sequel quickly becomes a typical prison thriller, fuelled by testosterone and macho characters who seek to outdo each other with gory acts of violence.
“The film contains some incredible action sequences, especially the finale of nail-biting, emotionally draining heroic bloodshed,” note critics Rick Baker and Toby Russell.
The direction is flawless, as would be expected from a director of Lam’s stature, and it is an above-average action film. But it does lack the humanity and social insights of the dramatic original.

The story finds Chow’s Chung Tin-ching wanting compassionate leave from prison to see his young son, who has been sent to an orphanage.
Chung’s request for leave is refused by the cruel new security head “Ghost” (Elvis Tsui Kam-kong), so he escapes. But he is caught and returned to prison, where he becomes involved in a gang war between local inmates and mainland Chinese criminals.
This results in a bloody showdown with the leader of the mainland gang, which takes place in a locked room. When Ghost intervenes and assaults Chung, Chung stabs him in the eye with a sharpened toothbrush, in a reference to the classic ear-biting scene in part one.
Part two is more about action than the characters. While the fights maintain the original’s street-brawl aesthetic over stylised martial arts, they feel less credible this time, adhering more to the conventions of Hong Kong action cinema than to real life.

The big first escape scene is similarly incredible – a brilliantly exciting chase over some rickety rooftops that sees Chung defying impossible odds.
In this regular feature series on the best of Hong Kong cinema, we examine the legacy of classic films, re-evaluate the careers of its greatest stars, and revisit some of the lesser-known aspects of the beloved industry.
Want more articles like this? Follow SCMP Film on Facebook


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Chow Yun-fat (centre) and Roy Cheung Yiu-yeung (right) in a still from Prison on Fire (1987)

(From left) Tony Leung Ka-fai, Chow Yun-fat and Roy Cheung in a still from Prison on Fire (1987), directed by Ringo Lam Ling-tung.

Tony Leung (second left) and Chow Yun-fat (second right) in a still from Prison on Fire (1987).

Chow Yun-fat (centre) and Roy Cheung (right) in a still from Prison on Fire.

Chow Yun-fat (left) and Chen Sung-young in a still from Prison on Fire II (1991).

Filmmaker Ringo Lam at an interview with the Post in 1990. Photo: SCMP

Chow Yun-fat in a still from Prison on Fire II.

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Gigi Leung Wing-kei (left) and Lau in a still from La Brassiere (2001).

Lau and Felix Wong in a still from Looking Back in Anger (1989). Photo: TVB

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Rain Lau (centre) makes an impressive debut in Queen of Temple Street.

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A still from Gangs, Lawrence Lau’s 1988 film.

Lo Lieh (left) and Sylvia Chang in a still from Queen of Temple Street.

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Sun Honglei (left) and Louis Koo (right) in a still from Drug War (2012). Photo: Media Asia Distribution

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(From left:) Lau Ching-wan, Louis Koo and Nick Cheung in a still from The White Storm (2013). Photo: SCMP

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Lam’s Prison on Fire (1987) focuses on the harshness of prison life, while Prison on Fire II (1991) goes all out on the violence


Lam’s Prison on Fire (1987) focuses on the harshness of prison life, while Prison on Fire II (1991) goes all out on the violence.


How Ringo Lam’s Prison on Fire films, starring Chow Yun-fat, mix action and social comment

.css-1c6uqr6{color:inherit;font-weight:inherit;font-size:inherit;font-family:inherit;line-height:inherit;overflow-wrap:break-word;}Lam’s Prison on Fire (1987) focuses on the harshness of prison life, while Prison on Fire II (1991) goes all out on the violence

Prison on Fire (1987)

Lam’s Prison on Fire (1987) focuses on the harshness of prison life, while Prison on Fire II (1991) goes all out on the violence