The first global martial arts superstar seemed invincible. So when he was found dead at 32, fans immediately suspected foul play—was he jumped by the triads and murdered? Poisoned? Or was it some supernatural curse or death touch technique?
In an era when most Hollywood leading men smoked over a pack a day, boozed all night, and turned up to set with paunches that showed it, Bruce Lee was a shredded workout fiend.
A student of the martial arts since he was 14 and an actor since before he could toddle, Bruce understood the impact a strong had in combat and on the silver screen.
Constantly searching for ways to improve himself, Bruce Lee was way ahead of his time. He’s the grandfather of modern mixed martial arts because he rejected styles and embraced whatever technique worked. He designed his own workout equipment because none yet existed to suit his needs. Directors had to tell him to slow down because his movements were too fast for their film cameras to capture. Bruce pushed his physical limits so far that he broke his own back, then built himself back into fighting shape after doctors said he’d never run again through calisthenics and sheer willpower. When crew members saw him popping vitamins in Thailand, they mistook them for drugs and told tabloids he was abusing prescription meds.
While the media got the nature of his addiction wrong, Bruce did have a problem: he wanted to be the center of attention in a white man’s world. As much as he loved his culture and longed to share his abilities with the world, most of Hollywood just didn’t believe audiences would pay to see a non-Caucasian star, much less one who didn’t speak perfect English. Even after several international box office successes, Warner Brothers hedged on their first movie with Bruce by adding lesser-known white and black co-stars to Enter the Dragon. Having been rejected from numerous projects for being Chinese before, Bruce knew he couldn’t achieve onscreen success just by being good enough, he had to be better than everybody else.
So when takes were getting ruined because the film’s star was sweating profusely, Bruce underwent surgery to have his sweat glands removed. And while his physique continued to look more and more impressive with each fight fight scene, internally Bruce had set himself up for failure.
Losing his sweat glands meant that Bruce Lee’s body could no longer cool itself down effectively. For a man who acted out entire action movie scripts during pitch meetings and sweated all the time, this would have presented problems anywhere. But during the unbearably hot and largely AC-less 1970s Hong Kong summer, this proved catastrophic.
On one particularly hot workday Bruce, exhausted from acting out the entirety of Game of Death for a script reading, felt a bad headache coming on. He took a painkiller, went to lay down, and never got back up.
Bruce Lee died on August 5, 1973. What got the world’s greatest martial artist wasn’t internal injuries sustained in epic battles with Kung Fu masters, or devious methods of Chinese torture and magic known only to the most orientalist-minded pulp writers, but the same affliction that befalls high school athletes in summer training camps to this day: heatstroke. Symptoms of young men and women who collapse under the hot sun from pushing themselves too hard include nausea and dizziness, fainting, and headaches (revealed later to be the result of brain swelling). While victims may appear to be in peak physical condition, their bodies are burning up just under the surface.
Because we so desperately want to believe our eyes, we continue to believe what we want—that our heroes couldn’t possibly be ripped from us by something so common as an arrow to the ankle, a bump to the head, or heatstroke helped along by an unceasing drive to appear invulnerable. The legend of the Little Dragon would go on to inspire hundreds of thousands of fans to take up martial arts and chase their dreams. As impressive as Bruce’s achievements were, his story also serves as a cautionary tale. Less than five years earlier, Bruce had written his “Definite Chief Aim” down on a notepad:
My Definite Chief Aim
I, Bruce Lee, will be the first highest paid Oriental super star in the United States. In return I will give the most exciting performances and render the best of quality in the capacity of an actor. Starting 1970 I will achieve world fame and from then onward til the end of 1980 I will have in my possession $10,000,000. I will live the way I please and achieve inner harmony and happiness
Bruce Lee
Jan. 1969
In the end, while there’s nothing particularly supernatural about Bruce’s death, it did come with an ironic twist. He’s better-known today than any of the Hollywood and martial arts elite that he taught. His movies were released and re-released along with footage from unfinished films for years afterward so that by the end of 1980 he was worth well over $10,000,000. No longer anathema to Hollywood execs, his very name is enough to greenlight projects, even his failed pitch for a martial arts Western, Warrior, is now in production for a second season. Bruce Lee got everything he wanted, he just wouldn’t be around to enjoy it.
As impressive as his feats and achievements are, Bruce Lee’s legend is also a cautionary tale. One that mirrors another young man whose martial prowess made him seem invincible: the Greek hero Achilles. When he was born, it was prophesied that Achilles would either have everlasting fame and an early death, or a long and unremarkable life. Of course, real life doesn’t have to be so black and white. Nobody’s being forced to pick one or the other, and most of are striving to find some kind of balance that would allow us to achieve some of our dreams while enjoying a number of life’s pleasures. But to ascend to the heights Bruce or Achilles obtained requires unflinching determination and sacrifice. Through their actions, both men made their choice clear.
Was it worth it? Bruce is beyond reach, but the fictional Achilles claims from the afterlife that being alive and a slave to the worst master is preferable to being king of all the dead. While the man who put those words in Achilles’ mouth, Homer, is no longer around to explain why he feels this way, we can probably guess through those that are left behind. Years later, Bruce’s son, Brandon, would die while filming what would have been his breakout success. Once again, suspicions of foul play and rumors of the supernatural swirled. More likely, the death was the result of corners being cut on a movie most execs once again didn’t think had a chance. Considering his familiarity with movie stunts and how much Bruce adored his son while he was alive—plenty of pictures survive showing them joyfully practicing martial arts together—it’s possible that had Bruce lived, Brandon would have too. The tragedy of an early death isn’t really about all the material possessions or experiences that the death miss out on. Those barely bring joy to the people who get to have them for a long time. It’s in all the ways you can’t be there for the ones you care about most.
Note: Not only was Bruce Lee a visionary of martial arts and film, but his approach to both are much-needed in the world of marketing and branding today. Until I can get around to writing about it here’s a great video essay from Accented Cinema on how Bruce Lee created a new film genre, and a much-loved documentary on his cultural impact featuring interviews with everyone from Bruce’s close family to fans like Manny Pacquiao.
While I’ve read many Bruce Lee biographies and some of his own writings throughout my life, Bruce Lee: A Life is by far the best and most recent one that I read. In addition to putting all the rumors around his death to rest in a convincing manner, it also paints a nuanced portrait of a driven and inspiring young man who was at once wise beyond his years and also probably not as wise as he wanted others to believe. Definitely worth a read.