Ferguson has appeared as an actor in television and on Broadway. While on the faculty at UCLA, he met and formed a company, Bandwagon, with Bellwood in 1974. Since then, they have written three feature films, the most recent of which, The Snow Tiger, is the subject of this article.

In the office of Master Bong Soo Han, in his dojang in Santa Monica, California, there is a glass-framed etching high on the wall behind the desk. The picture is of a tiger, whose serene, noble face stares down at the viewer, filling precisely one-half of the frame. The rest of the picture is blank, a mysterious white emptiness, as disconcerting and frightening as a Himalayan mountain-side hidden by a blanket of snow. A single, blood-red dot in the dead center of the frame is the only color against the baffling white void. The effect of the etching is compelling, embodying chilling grace, tension, fluid movement caught in a single frozen white moment, hypnotic yet serene unknowable.

We first saw this etching in the Spring of 1977, when we met Master Han, a man whom we had watched being introduced at an international Martial Arts Tournament in Los Angeles as the world's most renowned practitioner of hapkido. At that time, we knew next to nothing about the world of martial arts. We had seen Billy Jack, of course, and had been overwhelmed by the sheer power of the fight sequences, but neither of us was aware that it was Bong Soo Han who had staged and executed them.

The three of us took an instant liking to each other, and began meeting two or three times a week. Talk naturally turned to movies. We had been working in the medium for some years, and Han was well on the way to becoming a star in his own right. We began serious discussions about the possibility of creating a martial arts film in which Master Han would play the starring role. We formed a company, Soobellar Productions, and commenced the painstaking process; we started with an image before we had anything even resembling a carefully constructed story line. The image was of a woman crouched in the dirt in the charred skeleton of a burned-out farmhouse in the desert. It is dusk, the sky still ablaze with the last rays of the setting sun. The woman, her beautiful, tear-streaked face a terrible mask of helpless anguish, desperately tries to quiet a howling baby boy.

Suddenly, a shadow falls across the ground at her feet. The woman turns abruptly towards the rubble-strewn doorway, seeing the silhouette of the man staring down at her, his face concealed by the blinding sunset behind him. This masked, impenetrable, shadowy figure, an angel of mercy and destruction, has appeared almost from the earth itself, in the middle of nowhere, in answer to her prayers.

We were intrigued by the power of this image. Master Han was enthusiastic. He thought it was a great "picture", and had many questions. Who were they, this man and woman? What were they doing there? Was the child the woman's? Why the burned-out farmhouse? Who was the mysterious shadowy figure, and how was he going to answer her prayers? How could he help her?

We had no immediate response to his questions, but were not dismayed. Research, patience and further discussion would ultimately tell us everything we wanted to know about the man, the woman and the baby boy. In the meantime, we further explored the genre in which we planned to work.

We began by seeing martial arts movies. Almost without exception, the fight sequences in these movies were spectacular, breathtaking in their deadliness and wholly original. These sequences did, however, tend to be unsupported by a strong, compelling story involving memorable, motivated characters. It was the creation of such a story which interested Master Han the most, one in which he could be a real character, defined strongly by those forces ranged in opposition to him, the working out and resolution of which would hold an audience spellbound as much by the story as the fight sequences.

We talked to a number of people affiliated with the martial arts, friends and acquaintances that had studied at various schools, teachers of different martial arts disciplines. We started learning about Master Han himself, of his considerable reputation, his mastery of fighting techniques never before seen outside the monastery walls; of his training of American Military forces in these deadly techniques, among them the famous U.S. Army Green Berets. It was Bong Soo Han who introduced hapkido into the United States, a totally new form of karate. We learned that hapkido is a specialized art of self defense, which uses the entire body as a weapon, and that it differs from other styles of martial arts in the sheer multiplicity and savage practicality of its techniques. Hapkido utilizes a principle called "deflection" in blocking an opponent's blows. This redirects the force of an opponent's attack back into him, which produces a state of imbalance by which the opponent defeats himself.

At the core of hapkido is a principle of circular motion, Which enables those who practice it to develop smooth and continuous movements. To the hapkido artist, the force to be employed, the power to be applied is always defined by what the opponent does. It is this force which is redirected.

Yet this principle of redirection does not exist only on a physical level. Like other forms of martial arts, there is a complex philosophy and life-style, which is attendant to the practice of the art. In reality, the physical techniques are only manifestations of metaphysical principles whose origin is untraceable. Most of these principles are extensions of the Yin-Yang concept, and can be found in the Tao Te Ching.

Fascinated by our discoveries, we wanted to supplement our research with some hapkido training. We spoke to Master Han, who smiled and agreed to teach us. We wondered why he smiled we did not have to wait too long to find out. We met at his dojang several times a week, and truthfully say we had no idea what we were letting ourselves in for.

One of the primary theories of hapkido is that the legs are the natural weapons of the body, being longer and stronger than the arms. Because of the nature of the art, a great deal of time is spent on stretching the leg and back muscles, in ways that appear to defy all reasonable principles of movement. The mind refuses to accept what the eyes see. It seems impossible for the human body to stretch into those positions. But through repetition and patience - and cold showers! - our bodies gradually began to loosen up.

According to Master Han, the extraordinary stretching was necessary to develop the kind of flexibility required to practice hapkido, at the same time greatly reducing the ever-present threat of injury. Increased flexibility enables the hapkidoist to attack in virtually any direction swift, unpredictable blows.

Flexibility is not the only value Master Han emphasizes in his teaching. One of his primary objectives is for the student to develop endurance, the most fundamental form of strength. Endurance is taught in a maddeningly simple way by increasing the degree of difficulty, as the student becomes more proficient. The better one gets, the harder it becomes, and the only way the student can triumph over this frustrating process is through applied discipline. By disciplining oneself, one starts to become a winner in the process, each consecutive victory generating a little more self-confidence. All the while, Master Han is there, smiling, a commanding edge to his voice, urging you to do one more sit-up, one more stretch, just a little bit farther, and somehow you manage. The beauty of the process is that, when he is no linger present, when you're working out on your own, and have reach a peak of exhaustion, you find yourself doing just one more sit-up, one more push-up, trying to stretch out just a little farther.

The more we studied the art itself, the more impressed we became with Master Han, not only as a master teacher, but also as a human being. He is the personification of the ultimate paradox - at least to most Western minds - of the mysterious East. He is at once a paragon of physical performance, with an effortless ability to fell an opponent with a single, barely visible blow, yet at the same time has made it his business to introduce people, through their own efforts, to a life of improved self-worth and spiritual well being. He appears able enough to confront and eliminate an army of knife wielding enemies, yet is devoted to a life of harmony and tranquillity.

It did not take long to conclude that, even if we tried to create a more compelling hero than Master Han himself. Incorporating his qualities and power, we began building the story around him as the central character, a story which by now was beginning clearly to reveal itself: A Cchinese martial arts master., played by Han, comes to the Arizona Territory in 1873, searching for this son, who had left China some years earlier, and from whom the Master has heard nothing in six years. He discovers that his son has been murdered that he was married to an American woman and had a son by her. With his newly found daughter-in-law and grandson in tow, he sets out to avenge his son's murder. Along the way, he is befriended by a group of Indians indigenous to Arizona, the Aravaipa Apaches.

The woman in the rubble of the farmhouse had now become real. Her name was Cassandra. She had been married to a young Chinese, who had been brutally murdered. The baby in her arms was their son. . . . . But we still needed to know more about the mysterious figure of the man silhouetted in the farmhouse doorway. We knew that he was a martial arts master, and that Master Han would be playing him, but we still did not know his name.

Everything else was falling into place. We were excited by some of the strong parallels between the philosophical principles of hapkido and the beliefs of the Araviapa Apaches. This similarity provides us with a natural bridge for Master Hans character to communicate with the Apaches, and an unusual opportunity for us as writers to explore the area which we felt had tended to be over-looked by martial arts films - namely, the metaphysical principles upon which the art is based.

Like hapkidoists, the Apaches believed that a man's power could be used as a weapon against him. They believed that all energy was contained in a circle, and that to yield is the strongest of actions. As warriors, they strove to perfect curvilinear movements, and taught their children the ultimate virtue of endurance. They worshipped the earth, and believed similar to the Tao Te Ching, that the physical manifestations of the universe are clear examples of what man's behavior ought to be. To the Apache, as to the followers of the Tao, the entire cosmos is reflected in a single drop of water.In the final analysis, therefore, we had an action-adventure story of excitement and intensity, and a martial arts hero possessed of those same qualities of power, passion, dignity and respect which set Master Han's office, struggling over the identity of our hero, we suddenly noticed the picture on the wall high above his desk. We stared at the implacable noble face of the crouching tiger alongside that sea of impenetrable whiteness. It came to us like a bolt from the blue. There was no doubt about it. This was the face of our here, the grand and mysterious face of Lin Shay Hoo, The Snow Tiger.

From that moment, through to the completion of the script, everything seemed to accelerate. The Snow Tiger started to reveal himself to us, as he had actually been doing all along, without our knowing it, as a truly remarkable man of almost mystical qualities.

It is our privilege to be working alongside Bong Soo Han, who is already in preparation for the shooting of the film, exploring and re-examing his art with a view to revealing some physical techniques never before seen in the western world. His influence and example has affected us deeply. Not only do we expect The Snow Tiger to professional association; we also believe it to be the start of a nourishing and rewarding friendship which will benefit us all for a long time to come.