New York Ninja: The Best 1984 Film Released in 2021

In 1984, when 21st Century Distribution Corporation shelved New York Ninja, I doubt John Liu thought twice about trying to save his fourth and final directorial feature. I doubt his special effects artist was heartbroken knowing the feature’s plutonium-powered super villain and his $100 budget prosthetics would never make the silver screen. I doubt anyone even batted an eye when the theatrical ads faded from trade magazines without a premiere. Yet here I am praising its 37-year journey from rediscovery to restoration and release—all while asking myself why. Why do I love it so much? Is it the scrappy ninja-sploitation, the uncommon production lore, the rocking Voyag3r score, or all of that and more?

I’ll start by acknowledging that it can’t just be ninja-sploitation. New York Ninja is a played out story—you've probably heard it told a thousand times a thousand different ways. An everyman witnesses his wife's murder, breaks a birthday table in two, swears revenge on cartoonishly malevolent street punks, and dons an affordably conspicuous ninja outfit to exact said revenge. Along the way, he garners the attention of the local news, admiration of youngsters, and the ire of one very melty man. Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. 

The familiar tropes, low-budget gimmicks, and shoddy choreography point to a paint-by-numbers Death Wish done ninja-style. But the inclusion of characters wearing Spaceballs-esque merch, community theater thugs, and self-aware takes to camera add an extra layer of fun to the experience. Couple that with the “then and now” production limitations of the almost four decades leading up to its release and you have a film that has fermented into a charming oddity. We have one man to thank for kicking it back into production: Kurtis Spieler.

When 21st Century Distribution Corporation stowed the raw footage of New York Ninja in 1984, they did so without audio elements. In 2019, Vinegar Syndrome employee Kurtis Spieler discovered those silent reels in the Vinegar Syndrome vault. After getting a greenlight for revival, Spieler played the reels over and over, read the lips, reconstructed the script, and wove his own narrative interpretation through gaps of missing scenes. 

Spieler did his damnedest to preserve the integrity of the original vision. Like finding a Cannon film fan-fiction splayed out across the floor Zodiac-style, and trying to imagine what the hell it all means, he effectively stapled the right sheets back together in a "good enough" order and released it to public forums. In doing so, he smudged every frame with his fingerprint. Now there are two production stories and two creative signatures, separated by 37 years, contained in one piece of cinema.

Without knowing that, it’s easy to let Spieler’s efforts spoil on sight if you take New York Ninja at face value. The dubbing is uncannily offset, the drama hinges on too many distressing damsels, and the heroics fall flatter than our protagonist after being shot mid-backflip. None of those elements take into account the herculean amount of work put in to propping them up. Kurtis Spieler didn’t just sit down one day, run seven reels through a splicer, then dust his hands off and call it a restoration. 

After the initial assessment and story restructuring, classic ‘80s genre actors were hired to dub the feature, a conscious injection of era-appropriate nostalgia. The band Voyag3r was brought in to underscore the 1980s action. Their film-influenced synth chord progressions, ambient guitar riffs, and generous bell tolls elevate the sloppiest choreography to a heart-pumping tensity. 

In 2021, amid the high stress of the pandemic, I began finding new comforts in the Vinegar Syndrome vault and ended up contracting Ninja Fever shortly thereafter. I don’t remember what pushed me to purchase a copy of the movie without seeing it, but I never looked back. As soon as I hit play, I saw it for everything its hero was meant to be: an inspiring figure for the community, a symbol of hope for low-budget filmmakers, and a love letter to its peers. New York Ninja’s production history and Kurtis Spieler’s personal touches unlock a split-brain viewing experience that allows you to ask, "What the hell was this originally supposed to be?" and in the same breath say, "Damn, there’s a ton of effort that went into assembling what it is."

Overall, New York Ninja is a befuddling, yet delightful, blend of campy kick fights, oddball character relationships, tonal whiplash, and a concerning amount of cocaine-filled eggs being hucked at bad guys. Even if you find the original vision to be yawn-inducing and trite, you can easily sink a layer deeper into the meta of how it came together from 1984 to 2021. That bridge between story and backstory is something I don't find often in other films, and I think it opens up so many opportunities for conscious appreciation throughout the runtime. Then again, maybe I'm too buzzed on the 37 year fermentation of what was an attempted breakout vehicle for John Liu. Regardless, the purest love of film is exemplified in Kurtis Spieler’s efforts, and I’m thankful there was enough love to shepherd John Liu’s lost directorial feature to premiere and into my heart.