Kung fu brawler Sifu is said to be inspired by the legacies of Asian martial arts films, so it makes sense for developer Sloclap to also release a short, live-action film as a teaser for the game. Featuring a broody, young martial artist hell-bent on revenge for his father’s death, the more thanꦚ just highlights the game’s features and your protagonist’s motivations; it also spins a remarkable tale centred around his conquest, concluding with the strange, but compelling temporality of his revenge—an aspect of the short film that has somehow escaped the game itself.
Aptly titled ‘At The Cost of Time’, the film follows the young martial artist as he storms a warehouse—incidentally, Sifu’s first level—to hunt down Fajar, one of the assassins behind his father’s death, laying waste to several goons who unwisely try to stop him along the way. Rather than the game’s largely hollow scenes of violence, the film is rife with per𝔉sonality and character, every jab from the protagonist more impactful than the game’s comparatively empty fisticuffs. In one short scene, the hero looks past the two goons threatening to rip him to shreds, their presence abruptly disappearing as he stares at the door that will only temporarily keep Fajar out of sight—followed by a gratifying sequence of furious pummelling against the two ill-fated henchmen.
I’m not, of course, referring to the raw physical prowess of the film’s hero versus that of the same character in the game. Nor am I proclaiming that the cinematic sheen is superior to the interactivity of video games. But it’s the pure emotions at play in the short film: the deliberate panning of the camera, the faces of the ca🔴st mired with anger and confusion, and the final reveal of the game’s magnum opus: its ꦗageing mechanic. In an unexpected twist, the young hero was viciously slashed by a tenacious and skilled henchman who’s armed with a sword, eventually crumbling to the ground in defeat. He didn’t survive, but was somehow brought to life upon reimagining a flurry of counter attacks against his assailant—while ageing significantly by several years, his body newly reanimated as if by brutal vengeance. The henchman, cleaning the fresh blood off his weapon, looked back at the indomitable figure in shock. Suddenly the pain and agony of the protagonist begin to make sense to the audience, the tension of the scene rising to a crescendo as he dexterously took down his opponent in several quick movements.
But the game never really builds or ratchets up to the same intensity of the film. A more charitable read, perhaps, is that the game is keeping this tension accessible only to the most hardened of players. Instead of a smooth choreography of punches and roundhouse kicks, you’ll most likely punch limply and die repeatedly, seemingly a victim of your own inhumane ability to resurrect yourself. You may get up once more and be bludgeoned senseless, only to suffer defeat within seconds. Or you may enjoy the numerous losses, and look foꦓrward to besting your personal high score in a masochistic rage🃏. But with little reason or motivation tethered to your eternal quest for retribution, Sifu leaves little room for rumination, becoming devoid of any humanity—merely a game that lets you smash your fingers repeatedly into your controller.
