Unarmed Fighting Styles
Most real fights occur between people who have reached a point of rage in which they no longer are acting rationally, so any training they may have had goes out the window. I’ve seen this happen to otherwise skilled fighters who get caught up in either fear or anger. For these combatants, the moves tend to be circular, wild, uncontrolled both in execution and in balance, the tendency being to throw the combatant off-balance whether or not he actually makes contact. There is very little effective defense, and what little there is is simply the instinctive curling up of the body as both forearms come up to protect the face. Untrained fighters also tend to use the same one or two moves over and over again regardless of effectiveness. The person who falls down first invariably ends up as the loser.
Among trained fighters who are able to keep their wits about them, there is a greater variation of moves both offensive and defensive, with an attempt to bring into play combination moves designed to establish distinct lines of attack and take advantage of perceived weaknesses. However, what the audience will notice most of all is the “on-guard” position which trained fighters will drop into when a threat is identified. Invariably the dominant foot and hand step back, providing a slightly reduced target to the opponent. The elbows both tuck in slightly to be ready to protect the stomach and flanks. The dominant (right) hand goes to shoulder level and stays fairly close to the body, while the left fist rides higher, just under eye level, and extends further towards the opponent. This allows both hands to protect the face. The ribs are protected by the elbows.
We know from art on excavated pottery that boxing goes back at least to the ancient Greeks, and it seems that the stances and guard positions would be instantly recognizable at any gym today. There is, however, a very distinct boxing style that developed during the mid-nineteenth century and flourished though to the 1930’s. You have probably seen photographs of prize fighters with handlebar mustaches, with the fists tightly curled in and the head held stiffly back. The opponent would see the back of the fighter’s hands instead of the little finger side of the fist. This is the era of bareknuckle prize fighting, the Marquise of Queensbury rules, the birth of the “sweet science”. The seemingly unnatural stance is actually quite practical for the style of fighting performed. No grabbing or kicking was allowed, winner was declared by knockout only, and up through the turn of the century a round was counted not by the clock but with each instance that someone was knocked down. This was brutal exhibition fighting, and with no timed rounds or points given, the only strategy was to survive the punishment and inflict as much damage as possible.
In this style of fisticuffs, some moves needed to be modified. Punches that land with the flat face of the fist can deliver great force, but the delicate bones of the fingers can easily break, so constant jabs with the left can quickly ruin the hand. A better jab for bareknuckle fighting is to turn the fists in so that the back of the hand faces the opponent, the knuckles all pointing toward the opponent’s face and the hand held directly above the elbow. From this position the fist can be quickly snapped out and down onto the bridge of the nose of the opponent. The knuckles might fracture but the hand was still capable of attacking. Either hand could jab, and to hide the attack the hands could roll in a vertical circle, providing an ever shifting presentation of fists. Alternately, the lower fist could quickly rise up, thrusting in for an upper cut to the chin or to the stomach. A fist could always attempt a quick looping roundhouse to break the cartilage of the ear, a hook punch to the ribs, and if the opportunity finally arose, go for the straight right cross for a knock-out punch to the chin or nose. My point here is that just because something looks funny to our modern eyes doesn’t mean that it wasn’t extremely effective.
The defense matched the offense. The forearms could slightly extend to either side to deflect the attacks to the face, but it was more important to keep the head leaning back and away from the extension of the attacking fists. The stomach and ribs were protected by the elbows. Because the punches had to cause damage in order to win the fight, dancing around in the modern boxing style was unknown and the feet were more firmly planted on the floor, always providing a solid foundation for the knock-out punch. Throw a punch while you’re on your toes and you’ve dissipated all of its power.
As you know, boxers no longer fight that way. Why? Modern boxing is a much more controlled sport than it was a hundred years ago, and in order to try to reduce the damage to the fighters three changes in the sport changed every technique: 1] Winner by knockout was replaced with a point system. 2] rest periods only after knock-downs were replaced by timed rounds 3] and bareknuckle was replaced by padded gloves. Since modern boxers no longer need to knockout the opponent but rather can win by points scored, the number of jabs as opposed to solid punches has gone up dramatically. The moves are lighter and faster, with more emphasis in landing a greater number of points and a greater willingness to stay close in, since receiving the jab from a padded glove, though painful, usually cannot end the fight. Now the head can drop in closer to the hands, the center of balance shifts higher up into the torso instead of the hips, the weight shifts from the heels to the ball of the foot, and the fist strikes with the metatarsals rather than from the knuckles.
All of this means that the look of a stage fight will be very different if set in 1895 compared to 1995, but what never changes is the way that a stage combat technique is performed. A jab is a jab, a stomach punch is a stomach punch. The set-up and the picture might change due to the period specifics and the character choices, but the careful calculation of the action must conform to the safety needs of each simulation.
This is especially true for staged martial arts. Since many of your actors may have had some training in one style or another, each will have a certain preference on how a punch or block should be performed. Some will be adamant that their way is the correct way (often because they have never been taught another way), and certainly you may wish to incorporate interesting variations that actors may bring, or those from visiting martial artists, or even from the latest movie. Just remember that these variations can be incorporated into the look of the set-up and picture, but must never interfere with the mechanics of the action. Have doubts? Look at how each technique is performed and imagine the worst thing that can go wrong. It will happen. Not might; will. It’s merely a matter of time. Are you comfortable with that risk? Are your actors informed about those risks? As long as everyone is ok with the occasional broken nose or cracked vertebrae, than who am I to stop you? But if that gives anyone pause, cut the fight. Want a happy middle-ground? Re-block the moves so that energy is never directed towards another human being.
Putting together the moves.
No reason to go into choreography here (I’ll get to some basics at the very end of the chapter), but there is a certain natural progression in the types of moves that might be developed in a fight that shouldn’t be ignored. Mainly it comes down to damage sustained and adrenaline produced. A fight progresses only so long as the combatants can continue to sustain damage. When someone connects with a strong punch, it’s usually a fight ender. A connected punch to the stomach at best will knock the wind out of you, at worst will cause broken ribs and a ruptured spleen. A punch to the face will leave you at best with a runny nose and inflamed eyes, at worst with broken bones, a concussion, shattered eye, even death. To extend a fight into a barroom brawl where every punch continues to connect but doesn’t break a bone insults the audience. They will go along with a longer fight so long as the consequence of each action is not forgotten. Which in turn means that many strikes and kicks are going to have to miss or be effectively evaded or blocked on a longer fist fight.
As the movements are memorized, the actors must also add the character’s intention and reaction to each of the moves. Any fight scene is also an acting scene, so just as one can only say the lines as fast as the audience can understand them, the fight moves can be only as fast as the audience can follow the story that goes along with the moves. And just as we also nuance the delivery of our lines so as to add layers of interest in our characters, so must we go far beyond the mere performance of the fight in technical terms. So forget the idea of too fast or too slow. Think instead in terms of clarity, believability of intent, and emotional connection.
There are many instances in which your show will be better off by hiring someone as fight instructor rather than as choreographer. I mentioned before that the fights should be rehearsed as early as possible, but for many shows we have to amend that slightly to make sure that they are rehearsing the right thing.
For many modern shows, I don’t like to stick my nose in too early. I’ve found that as soon as I mention anything to the actors in terms of specific moves, even if only as a suggestion, they immediately latch onto it as though it were scripture. If on the other hand, the actors work their way into the scene and find out where their own impulses take them, the “fights” become more organically tied to the story that they are presenting.
I usually like to step in after the director and actors feel good about the nature of the emotional responses that are drawn out in their playing of the scene. That way I can take their impulses (“now I want to throw him to the ground”), and show them how to do it safely. But if I tell them that someone should be tossed to the ground before they themselves come up with that idea, that moment becomes a technical one for the actors instead of part of their creation. So for at least the first blocking, I prefer to let the actors rush to each other and even gently lay hands on each other, and then grunt or squeal or yell what they want to do. If nothing comes up on the first rehearsal, then maybe they’ll need more time to understand their characters. But I don’t like to have them or the director feel that we need to rush to get the fight blocking down too early. Better to have a brief fight and fully realized characters than a longer fight that is only an interruption of an exciting story.