Some of my scripts are stubbornly Asian American. Some people have argued that this stubbornness may have hindered my career (others simply claim that I’m a crappy writer).
Nevertheless, I write the stories and the characters I’d like to see. And yes… many of those characters are Asian American. It is an artistic and political stand that I feel strongly about.
After reading my most recent script, a friend commented, “If I were your agent, I would have told you not to waste your time writing this.” The reasons were that there was a big studio remake of a 1980s cult classic in production that touches on many of the same themes of political paranoia and that my script was completely unmarketable because it had an Asian American lead cast as the hero.
My goal in writing the script was to create an Asian American lead role that a mainstream audience could empathize with. It’s not as daunting a task as it may first appear since audiences flocked en masse to see that animated sci-fi movie about blue aliens.
What does that say about our society when we can relate to fantasy aliens more readily than to the minorities that we live and work with every day?
Several years back, I produced a play in San Francisco. Our publicity photo showed an all Asian American cast. One of my co-workers (white) at the time commented, “I’ll come see it even though the play has nothing to do with me.”
That came as a shock to me. I go see Chekhov plays even though I’m not Russian. I watch Eugene O’Neill plays even though I’m not Irish. Why is it so difficult to watch Asian American plays if you’re not Asian American?
But first, a little background on my views of race and the arts which I’ve also written about here and here.
My epiphany came as an undergraduate drama student at New York University. The opportunities for an actor of color were few but as I continued to audition for films, plays and commercials, I came to realize that the roles I was fighting for were, at best, stereotypes and, at worst, racist cartoons.
The prevailing attitude at the time was that ‘white’ actors were neutral and that casting an actor of color was inherently some kind of political statement. It was inconceivable for an actor of color to play a doctor despite the fact that most hospital emergency rooms are staffed with doctors of many races. Yet if an actor of color were to be cast as a doctor, the production felt compelled to explain why this person of color belongs here. Often, the explanations were awkward or convoluted.
My political sensibilities were forged during a time when it was believed that using an actor of color interfered with the audience’s willingness to suspend disbelief. It raised more questions that the production was willing to tackle artistically: What is an ethnically Chinese person doing in Verona? In the Old West? In Russia? Belief that these artistic choices would alienate the audience made diversity an economic issue.
This inability to deal with diverse characters and diverse stories in an organic and professional way made its failure a self-fulfilling prophecy. What we see instead of diversity is the creation of an artistic ghetto. Asian American stories set in a world that includes only Asian American characters. This doesn’t further the cause of diversity because these stories become cautionary tales for mainstream audiences and honestly, who really enjoys watching descendants of Very Special Episodes?
My goal as a writer has been to create characters and stories rooted and integrated in the world we live in. Despite having many Asian American friends and colleagues, I must interact professionally with people of all races every day. Creating artistic ghettos does not reflect this reality. My goal has been to create characters so compelling that any actor of any color would recognize the character as a role worth playing.
Artistically, when minorities are integrated into a mainstream story, they tend to be portrayed as outsiders: the exception, the anomaly that requires an explanation for their existence. Black characters end up representing all of Black society. A strong female ends up being an über feminist.
The alternative is that the Asian American culture ends up being the background for another story. Come See the Paradise is about Japanese internment during World War II starring Dennis Quaid. Snow Falling on Cedars is about a Japanese American on trial for murder starring Ethan Hawke.
Diversity for diversity’s sake is little more than a hollow gesture. It is not enough to populate a film with minorities merely have the audience feel sympathy for them (or worse, feel sorry for them). How many characters of color undergo the Hero’s Journey where that journey is what carries the story emotionally; where we empathize and ultimately root for them? The audience wants the thrill of walking in that character’s shoes, feeling what they feel, and doing what we can only dream about. How many characters of color fulfill this promise?
In practical terms, lasting change results when there is real money at stake. What needs to be explored are the elements needed to position a minority lead story as a mainstream film rather than as a niche film. Our dependence on the global market for financial success will inevitably lead to our accommodation of that market. Will we be prepared for that day?
I believe that the lack of diversity isn’t a factor of people in power who are hidden racists and want to perpetuate segregation. Lack of diversity stems from the old saw that we should write what we know and if all we know is mainstream culture, we will go to that well often because it’s safe, comfortable and familiar. Lack of diversity stems from the unwillingness to spend energy to explore outside our comfort zones: it stems from laziness.
As minority populations in the United States continue to grow, so too must the offerings of popular media otherwise it will cease to be relevant. Antonin Artaud said, “If the age turns away from the theater, in which it is no longer interested, it is because the theater has ceased to represent it.”
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UPDATE: This post fostered an interesting exchange on my Facebook page. The sad reality is that there is no Asian American Denzel Washington, Will Smith or even an Asian American Paul Walker. The Miss Saigon controversy (which was nearly 20 years ago) was fueled by the assertion that there were no Asian American actors capable of playing the role of the Engineer.
Efforts to widen the talent pool are welcome but often are mischaracterized by the mainstream as a policy of giving unqualified candidates an unfair advantage at the expense of Caucasians.
Through my entire life, from the first time I wanted to be on stage, I was told by many well meaning people (both white and Chinese), “There are no Asian Americans in movies.” As I grew older the most common reason was, “We live in America… we want to see Americans.”
Therefore, the question is: what does it mean to be an American?
In my lifetime, I have seen the Asian stereotype evolve. Once Connie Chung was on the national news, we saw a wealth of Asian American female reporters in popular entertainment. Same with Lance Ito and Asian American judges sitting on the bench. However, Asian Americans remain a subplot in the American narrative despite our contribution to its growth.
Every time we think we have a breakthrough, it ends up being a one-off. For those of you who enjoyed The Joy Luck Club, where were its imitators? As much progress as we have made in the last 20 years, more still needs to be done. The fact that you can have an Asian American character on a TV show without making it a political comment is progress. However, even though there are many Asian American faces in film and television, how many stories are told from our perspective?
Every time I’ve confronted failure, I’ve always tried to evaluate my weaknesses and the areas I need to strengthen. However, even the Holy Grail of becoming too good to ignore may not be enough to overcome the subjective nature of show business. This reality oftentimes is more than enough to discourage minority candidates from applying, hence the need for large scale institutional efforts to seek them out and break the cycle of exclusion.
How will we know when we’ve succeeded? When we’ve finally garnered mainstream acceptance? When our numbers represent a significant percentage of employment? When an Asian American actor is enough to green light a film? When we see Asian American actors playing roles completely independent of race? When an Asian American presence has a positive impact on the box office or ratings?
We are still seeing the very beginnings of this happening today, twenty years after casting director Vincent Liff said:
I can say with the greatest assurance that if there were an Asian actor of 45-50 years, with classical stage background and an international stature and reputation, we would surely have sniffed him out by now. Furthermore, if we hadn’t found him, he certainly would have found us. (NY Times, July 25, 1990)
Is it enough? Should we be satisfied? Would our desire for more seem unrealistic or greedy? As Asian Americans, we can do only the things we can do. Play the roles we are offered (or not) and write the scripts we want to write (or don’t). As Asian Americans, we still have to do our part… dream that we can be a vital integral part of the entertainment business and prepare ourselves as best we can for the opportunities that present themselves and create our own if they don’t.
The industry will never change… until it does.