In the early 1990s, Warner Bros. was quietly assembling what should have been one of the most explosive martial arts films ever made.

The director of The Killer and Hard Boiled.
The writer of Die Hard.
A producer fresh off JFK.
A major studio.
A multi-million-dollar, three-picture deal.

Everything was in place.

And then—nothing.

The film collapsed. The deal vanished. The star walked away from Hollywood for more than a decade. And one of the most promising martial arts careers of its era seemingly disappeared overnight.

This is the story nobody talks about.

The story of Philip Rhee—and what really happened when Hollywood finally opened its doors… and then slammed them shut.

More Than Best of the Best

Most people know Philip Rhee for one film: Best of the Best (1989).

A scrappy martial arts drama that somehow stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Rocky as one of the most inspirational sports movies of its time. But what’s rarely mentioned is that Rhee didn’t just star in it.

He created it.

He wrote the story.
He produced the film.
He fought to get it made when no one believed it would work.

And when it succeeded, Hollywood finally paid attention.

But by then, the damage was already done.

A Fighter Caught Between Two Worlds

Philip Rhee wasn’t a martial artist who learned to fight for movies. He was the opposite.

Born in San Francisco, he began training in Taekwondo and Hapkido at just four years old alongside his brother Simon. By 1980, he had reached an elite level—so elite that he was selected as one of only four athletes to represent the United States in Taekwondo against South Korea at the Asian Games.

For a Korean-American, the symbolism was immense.

He was representing a country that often didn’t fully accept him, competing against the birthplace of the art itself—a country that didn’t see him as fully Korean either.

That internal conflict—identity, belonging, honor—would later become the emotional foundation of Best of the Best. But at the time, Rhee had no idea the experience would change his life twice.

Hollywood’s Invisible Ceiling

After the Asian Games, Rhee pursued acting the traditional way. Headshots. Auditions. Small roles.

His first credited appearance came in The Kentucky Fried Movie. Then came a string of low-budget action films in the early ’80s—Ninja Turf, Silent Assassins. Disposable movies that vanished as quickly as they appeared.

What ate at him wasn’t rejection. It was invisibility.

He had championship credentials. Authentic skill. Discipline most action stars could only pretend to have.

Yet Hollywood treated him as interchangeable—background muscle, stereotypes, villains, never the center of the story.

Eventually, the frustration boiled over.

If Hollywood wouldn’t give him permission, he’d take it.

Creating His Own Door

In the mid-1980s, Rhee did something radical for an unknown actor: he founded his own production company, SVS Entertainment.

No studio.
No safety net.
Just conviction.

At the same time, something deeply personal was driving him. Rhee was teaching martial arts to children, emphasizing discipline, honor, and restraint. One day, he overheard a student say something that haunted him:

“Mr. Rhee teaches us not to hurt people… but he kills everyone in his movies.”

The contradiction became unbearable.

Rhee realized he didn’t just want a career. He wanted meaning.

That’s when he returned to the 1980 competition—and turned it into a story.

Best of the Best Changes Everything

Best of the Best wasn’t another blood-soaked fight movie. It was about honor, redemption, and unity. Rhee cast himself as Tommy Lee, one of five fighters representing the U.S. against Korea.

He insisted on a PG-13 rating.
No gratuitous violence.
No cheap brutality.

The climactic fight—Tommy Lee versus his Korean opponent, played by Rhee’s real-life brother Simon—became legendary. Industry insiders later called it some of the greatest kicking ever captured in American cinema.

When the film hit theaters in 1989, it exploded—not with critics, but with audiences.

Families watched it together. Martial arts schools showed it to students. Sony had a genuine hit.

Sequels followed. A franchise was born.

Philip Rhee had proven himself—not just as a martial artist, but as a writer, producer, and leading man.

Hollywood was finally listening.

The Opportunities That Slipped Away

Then came Mortal Kombat.

Rhee was seriously considered for Liu Kang, the franchise’s central hero. On paper, he was perfect—real martial artist, box-office credibility, authenticity.

The role went to Robin Shou.

Mortal Kombat became a phenomenon, grossing over $122 million. Another door closed.

Still, bigger doors were opening.

The Project That Should Have Changed Everything

After Best of the Best 2, Oliver Stone approached Rhee.

Stone—fresh off Born on the Fourth of July, The Doors, and JFK—had been training martial arts with Rhee. He admired his films, calling them more thoughtful than typical action fare.

Rhee had a script: Ballistic (also known as Kato), a modern kung fu thriller set in South Asia and Los Angeles.

Stone loved it.
Warner Bros. signed a three-picture deal.
Steven E. de Souza (Die Hard) rewrote the script.

Then came the masterstroke: John Woo.

The director of The Killer and Hard Boiled—in what would have been his first American film.

This project should have been historic.

Instead, it became a cautionary tale.

How It All Fell Apart

According to Rhee, Warner Bros. failed to understand what they had. John Woo was underpaid, development stalled, and studio politics dragged the project into limbo.

Then Universal came calling.

Jean-Claude Van Damme needed a director—now. Hard Target was ready to shoot.

Woo had to choose.

He chose the project that was ready.

Ballistic lost its director. Then Oliver Stone left Warner Bros. amid disputes over Heaven & Earth. With no champion left inside the studio, the entire deal died.

Three pictures. Zero films.

Strike Two—and Strike Three

Almost simultaneously, Rhee lost a separate $9 million, three-picture deal with Village Roadshow when new leadership took over.

Two massive opportunities. Gone.

Studios still called—but there was a catch. They wanted him as the villain.

Rhee declined.

He didn’t create Best of the Best to reinforce stereotypes.

Instead, he directed himself.

Walking Away—and Reinventing Everything

After Best of the Best 4 in 1998, Rhee did the unthinkable.

He stepped away from Hollywood to raise his newborn son.

To most, it looked like the end.

It wasn’t.

In 2010, Rhee returned—not as an actor, but as a pioneer. He co-founded Stereo Pictures, a stereoscopic 3D conversion company that became a major industry player.

His credits include:

Titanic 3D
Transformers: Dark of the Moon
John Carter
Chronicles of Narnia
Smurfs
Dawn of the Dead

While others faded, Rhee reinvented himself at the highest level of filmmaking.

Coming Full Circle

In 2015, he returned to storytelling with Underdog Kids. And in August 2025, the announcement fans never stopped hoping for arrived:

Best of the Best 5: Honor the Brave.

At 64, Philip Rhee is returning as Tommy Lee.

And somehow, it feels right.

Because his entire life mirrors that character—the underdog who refuses to stay down.

The Real Victory

Philip Rhee didn’t lose Hollywood.

He outgrew it.

When doors closed, he built his own. When opportunities vanished, he evolved. When rejection tried to define him, he chose persistence.

Best of the Best was never just a movie.

It was a blueprint.

And Philip Rhee has been living it for more than three decades.