When discussions arise about the most abysmal video game-to-film adaptations, the 1994 Street Fighter movie often surfaces as a prime contender for the title of “worst ever.” And frankly, its reputation is well-earned. Revisiting it recently only solidified its place in cinematic infamy; even with lowered expectations and a generous mindset, finding any redeeming qualities proved to be a Herculean task. However, amidst the cinematic wasteland of video game adaptations, a new contender emerged, making the already maligned 1994 film look almost competent by comparison: Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li.
One would reasonably expect that Capcom, after witnessing the critical and commercial failure of the first Street Fighter film adaptation, would meticulously analyze its shortcomings and strive to avoid repeating past mistakes when embarking on another cinematic venture for their flagship fighting franchise. In some superficial aspects, they appeared to have learned a lesson. The Legend of Chun-Li adopted a more contained narrative, featuring a less sprawling cast than its predecessor. Yet, in all the critical areas that truly define a film’s quality and faithfulness to its source material, this 2009 attempt managed to sink to even greater depths. This film is not just bad; it fundamentally misunderstands the essence of Street Fighter, delivering a dumb, disjointed narrative that drastically alters beloved characters and presents action sequences that are, at times, genuinely unwatchable. It’s a film so misguided that it seemingly misses the entire point of the Street Fighter universe.
The movie unfolds the origin story of Chun-Li (portrayed by Kristin Kreuk as an adult and Katherine Pemberton as a child), depicting her idyllic upbringing in California alongside her parents. While her father imparts martial arts knowledge, she also cultivates a talent for classical piano, becoming a concert pianist. This peaceful existence shatters when the nefarious M. Bison (Neal McDonough) and his hulking henchman Balrog (Michael Clarke Duncan) abduct her father. Years later, as an adult, Chun-Li embarks on a perilous journey to confront Bison and rescue her father.
Her unwavering determination and inherent goodness attract the attention of a reclusive and enigmatic martial artist, Gen (Robin Shou). Under Gen’s tutelage, Chun-Li hones her fighting skills, realizing her destiny as a formidable warrior. Gen, bearing a past connection to Bison, seeks to dismantle the crime lord’s empire and restore peace to the world. United by a common goal, Chun-Li and Gen prepare to confront Bison, but the film raises the question: can even these skilled warriors hope to defeat Bison, or is Chun-Li facing a battle she is destined to lose?
While numerous aspects of Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li warrant critical dissection, the casting choices serve as a particularly egregious starting point. Although a few actors seemed somewhat appropriate for their roles – Michael Clarke Duncan’s imposing physicality made him a believable Balrog – the overall casting strategy appears to have prioritized budget constraints and American actors over suitability and source material fidelity. The film is heavily imbued with a sense of “whitewashing,” most notably embodied by the casting of Kristin Kreuk, who is one-quarter Chinese, in the lead role of Chun-Li, a character explicitly and iconically Chinese in the games. While the film attempts to justify this by making Chun-Li half-Chinese, this alteration hardly mitigates the issue. Furthermore, the casting of Neal McDonough, an actor of Irish descent, as the Thai villain M. Bison, and Moon Bloodgood, of half Native American and half Korean heritage, as a Thai police inspector, further compounds the film’s problematic approach to representation.
Beyond the racial and ethnic miscasting, the acting performances themselves are largely underwhelming. While Moon Bloodgood has demonstrated competence in other roles, she consistently finds herself miscast in action-oriented parts where her lack of “toughness” hinders her performance. McDonough, typically a reliable actor, appears utterly lost as Bison. He underplays a character that demands imposing presence and delivers a jarringly inconsistent Irish accent. This accent is particularly perplexing given McDonough’s Irish parentage, yet it fluctuates erratically and never sounds authentic or menacing.
However, the casting of Chris Klein as Interpol agent Charlie Nash arguably represents an even more baffling decision. While changing Charlie Nash from an American military operative to an Interpol agent is a minor deviation, Klein’s portrayal is simply atrocious. He overacts in moments requiring subtlety, fails to convey conviction when intensity is needed, and utterly fails to embody the persona of a seasoned Interpol agent leading a complex investigation. Yet, even Klein’s performance pales in comparison to the catastrophic miscasting of Kristin Kreuk as Chun-Li.
To be unequivocally clear, Kristin Kreuk was arguably the worst possible choice for the role of Chun-Li. While avoiding body-shaming, it is undeniable that Kreuk’s physique is fundamentally incompatible with the character. Chun-Li, as depicted in the games and as fans expect, is a fighter who weaponizes her legs. She is characterized by powerful, muscular legs capable of delivering devastating kicks. Kreuk, in stark contrast, possesses a slender, petite frame. While she reportedly attempted to perform her own stunts (undoubtedly aided by wirework and green screen technology), she lacks both the body type to convincingly resemble Chun-Li and the requisite flexibility to execute even rudimentary versions of the fighter’s signature moves. Her fight sequences primarily consist of basic punches, and her attempt at Chun-Li’s iconic Spinning Bird Kick is laughably unconvincing.
Adding insult to injury, Kreuk’s acting performance is equally dismal. She fails to project any sense of toughness or determination, rendering her portrayal of Chun-Li, a character driven by vengeance for her father, as perpetually lost and listless. Her demeanor is excessively gentle and meek, utterly failing to capture the strength, resilience, and fighting spirit that define Chun-Li. The assertive, powerful Chun-Li that fans know and love is nowhere to be found; instead, Kreuk delivers a vacant, lifeless performance at the heart of her own movie, despite being the protagonist and appearing in virtually every scene. It is an astoundingly poor performance that fundamentally undermines the entire film.
One cannot help but question the rationale behind the extensive alterations to Chun-Li’s established backstory. Why introduce the superfluous detail of her being a concert pianist, a plot point that becomes largely irrelevant once her quest for revenge commences? Why create a new police inspector character, Sunee, when Chun-Li is canonically a detective? Shouldn’t Chun-Li, a skilled investigator in the games, be capable of conducting her own investigation? Why introduce Charlie and Sunee into a narrative specifically designed to showcase Chun-Li’s capabilities? In essence, why diminish Chun-Li’s agency and competence in a movie ostensibly centered around her?
The most plausible explanation for these drastic changes – to both the setting and character – is the casting of Kreuk. It appears the filmmakers were compelled to fundamentally restructure the movie to accommodate her limitations. Kreuk’s youthful appearance likely precluded portraying her as a seasoned police officer, hence the pianist backstory. The investigative aspects of the plot, which should have been integral to Chun-Li’s role, were then delegated to the newly created, and ultimately inconsequential, character of Sunee. A Chinese actress with genuine martial arts skills and the physical attributes to convincingly portray Chun-Li was clearly needed, not an actress primarily known for her role in Smallville. This single, misguided casting decision casts a long, dark shadow over the entire film.
Kreuk’s demonstrable inability to convincingly fight also cripples the action sequences. The stunt coordinator faced an uphill battle attempting to make her appear even remotely competent in fight scenes, barely managing to achieve passable punches that are conspicuously slow and telegraphed. Any semblance of dynamic or engaging action is achieved through rapid editing and camera cuts, desperately attempting to conceal Kreuk’s (and most of the other actors’) lack of fighting prowess. Robin Shou, a veteran of video game movie adaptations, is the sole exception, displaying genuine martial arts ability. However, his presence only serves to highlight the deficiencies of the rest of the cast. The fight choreography, overall, is lackluster and uninspired.
It is genuinely baffling to comprehend the filmmaking logic at play in Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li. The universally negative reception of the 1994 Street Fighter film should have served as a cautionary tale, prompting a diametrically opposite approach. Instead of learning from the mistakes of the past – the poor acting, subpar fight choreography, and nonsensical plot – the filmmakers seemingly doubled down on these very flaws. While the 1994 movie possessed a certain campy charm and unintentional humor, particularly in its early acts, The Legend of Chun-Li offers no such redeeming qualities. It is a protracted, tedious, and utterly joyless cinematic slog, devoid of entertainment value. Perhaps Mystery Science Theater 3000 could unearth some comedic gold from this cinematic disaster, but for the vast majority of viewers, Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun-Li is a film best avoided at all costs.
