Beyond Kung Fu Guy: An Essay on the Legibility of Asians in Film
This past weekend, I was pleasantly surprised by a few trailers preceding a recent screening of Cruella. Like many Asian American movie fans, I look forward to the opening of Marvel’s Shang Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings and was delighted to see Disney’s cinematic pyrotechnics applied to a live action Asian American story. I was also pleased, though less enthusiastic, about the Snake Eyes trailer featuring Henry Golding as — you guessed it, Snake Eyes — the G.I. Joe fan favorite. But it was Sung Kang’s split-second appearance at the end of the Fast and Furious trailer that prompted the most joy. As the Fast and Furious franchise is prone to the ludicrous, there can be any number of rationales as to how Han survived what seems like certain death at the hands of Deckard Shaw. While I was obviously excited to see a relative wealth of Asian and Asian American stars in upcoming films, the cynic in me remained wary. While pondering these three films and recent Asian American successes like Crazy Rich Asians and The Farewell, I’m left wondering if we’re seeing a segregation of Asian American protagonists. Now that Hollywood sees that it is possible for films starring Asian Americans to make money, are we primarily going to see Asian American actors star in films with casts consisting largely of other Asian Americans? After thinking this through, my conclusion is that it’s complicated (no surprise there).
In thinking about the potential breadth, or lack thereof, of Asian and Asian American roles in Hollywood, let’s begin with Shang Chi. For fans of Kim’s Convenience, which I am one, the chance to see Simu Liu putting those muscles to use as a superhero is most welcome — for a comedic take on the shirtless Liu, see season 1, episode 8 of Awkwafina Is Nora from the Bronx. The reality of an Asian Marvel hero alone was enough for me to overlook the fact that Liu is literally cast in the tired, stereotypical role of Kung Fu guy. Now that there’s going to be another action movie this summer, Snake Eyes, featuring a hunky Asian actor as Kung Fu guy…or perhaps more accurately Ninjitsu guy…I can’t ignore the elephant in the room. As Charles Yu points out in his award winning novel Interior Chinatown, Kung Fu guy is indeed a step up from many roles offered to Asian American actors (e.g., Chinese restaurant waiter), but limiting nonetheless as there are so many more roles to which Asian Americans can aspire. That said, I am curious to see how the trans-Pacific rift plays out in Shang Chi and his master, who appears to be the movie’s villain. On one hand, this tension may provide a poignant parable for the struggle many Asian Americans feel when asked to choose between “being Asian” and “being American.” On the other, why can’t the story be more like Black Panther where a mythical country in Asia serves as a cradle for all Asian peoples?
Prior to the production of Shang Chi and Snake Eyes, a handful of movies like Minari, Crazy Rich Asians, and The Farewell have delved into different dimensions Asian American experience with largely Asian casts. Such movies, even the moderately maligned Crazy Rich Asians, are necessary as they carve out a space for exploration of what it means to be Asian American in the same way that Boyz ‘N the Hood, Waiting to Exhale, and Black Panther help define a cinematic space for Black expression over the past few decades. While these spaces will continue to exist for Asian Americans in one form or another — as they have on a smaller scale since Chan Is Missing release in 1982 — what is less clear is the extent to which Asian American leads will share the screen with non-Asian counterparts. As a child of the 1980s, my mind wanders to Eddie Murphy in Trading Places and Beverly Hills Cop as examples of a Black lead amongst a primarily non-Black cast. In terms of exposure, the casting of Dan Aykroyd as Murphy’s counterpart in Trading Places along with a cast of notable supporting actors likely increased the box office for a movie that made several timely points about race, social status, and the illusion of meritocracy.
In the past few years, there have been a handful of Hollywood movies that have featured Asian and Asian American leads within a cast of largely non-Asian characters including Hustlers (starring Constance Wu) and Last Christmas (starring Henry Golding). Sadly, Hollywood’s casting of Asian leads in movies that are not based in Kung Fu, geishas, or some other exotic oriental trope are still few and far in between, particularly for those not featured in Crazy Rich Asians. This only emphasizes the chicken and egg theory that vexes Asian American film fans. It goes something like this: if Hollywood won’t take risks on unproven talent and Asian American actors are not typically cast for substantive roles in Hollywood films, then in what world do Asian American actors have the opportunity to star in a wide range of roles? If Crazy Rich Asians proves to be a fluke rather than a trend, the advances of Asian American actors in Hollywood may hit a wall.
Perhaps at the heart of the problem is one of legibility. In response to shows like The Mindy Project and Fresh Off the Boat, Peter X. Feng argues that filmic content created for mainstream audiences tend to adhere to certain familiar conventions. In the examples mentioned, problems raised at the beginning of an episode are brought to closure by the show’s end. Similarly, Asians as martial artists and exotic other are legible tropes within the American imagination. If one considers the Cosby Show as an attempt to make a Black upper middle class legible to mainstream America by placing a Black family within the familiar context of a family sitcom, then one could imagine how the show helps pave the way for other shows and movies about Black upper middle class families.
Prior to Wu and Golding, there was another cinematic couple who broke through to mainstream American audiences. Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle features two characters that counter the image of Asian Americans as hyper-obedient, hyper-successful cogs in the American society (i.e., model minority). While the movie led to other roles for its stars, Kal Penn and John Cho, including The Namesake for Penn and Cho’s recurring role as Sulu in the J.J. Abrams rendition of Star Trek, it was only as Harold and Kumar that both actors were cast as leads in a major Hollywood production in Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay, produced by New Line Cinema in 2008. At this point, I’m not quite sure what to make of the fact that opportunities for Wu and Golding appear to be greater than those available to Penn and Cho following White Castle. What is clear is that opportunities for Asian American representation to mainstream audiences depends upon a broadening of the American imagination. With a rich literary landscape including works like The Sympathizer, American Born Chinese, and America Is Not the Heart, there are plenty of stories to be rendered on the big screen. As challenging as it is to get any work not authored by J.K. Rowling greenlit by a major Hollywood studio, what is perhaps more challenging is the casting of an Asian actor in a role not specifically written as Asian or Asian American. Until both conditions are true, I’m afraid that Asian American representation will remain in a state of segregation.
