There’s been so much discourse over Marvel’s Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, especially since the film’s release two weeks ago. Even I wrote about my issues with its lead star Simu Liu, mostly about how he keeps hyping his film up as a “watershed” moment. It’s interesting how this film is considered a cultural celebration, a movement. Yet, we’ve had a surprisingly frequent amount of mainstream films directed by and/or starring Asian actors in the weeks leading up to Shang-Chi’s release as well as after—yet absolutely NONE of these other films have received the same attention or milestone marker as Shang-Chi. There was Snake Eyes (July 23rd), starring Henry Golding; The Green Knight (July 30th), starring Dev Patel; The Protégé (August 20th), starring Maggie Q; Malignant (September 10th), written/directed by James Wan and co-starring George Young; and this weekend’s Blue Bayou, written/directed by and starring Justin Chon.
I received some pushback on what I wrote from a follower on Facebook. While I originally intended to respond to the critique on Facebook, I realized I should write my rebuttal via this newsletter, instead, because I prefer my writing, my actual blog and newsletter posts, to do the talking for me, instead of waging in a never-ending back-and-forth with social media followers.
I spent a lot of time crafting thoughtful and respectful responses to each point of critique. But then I came across this wonderfully-written post from Kyle Turner, which encompasses so much of what I was thinking, but in a vastly better-written package. Turner’s story put into words what I couldn’t. Here’s a snippet from his piece, Seduced and Abandoned: “Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings”:
“It is difficult to admit out loud to an audience of more than a couple of friends that I care more about good filmmaking and good art than I do about “Representation”, especially as a discursive enterprise. I understand its function and purpose and the way it satiates, but a skepticism still hovers in my mind. Will this movie really change the systematic inequality within the industry? Will it make material change in the world, beyond the (kind of solipsistic) satisfaction of seeing oneself (in the least specific of ways) reflected on screen? Will it encourage more artists to tell interesting stories with their unique points of view? I don’t think any of these questions is an unblemished yes or no answer, and it’s foolhardy to approach them as such, as opposed to ever expanding and extrapolating goals. But frankly, I do care more about good filmmaking than the pride of postured politics from people and institutions who have takens decades, if not longer, to, if not secure or ensure rights and safety to marginalized communities, then the bare bones of a wider array of stories told on screen. But, as we’ve seen with other communities, visibility is not something that exists as a zero-sum winning game.
Hating this film as much as I did has caused me a little bit of mental and emotional anguish. There was something uniquely depressing, following Crazy Rich Asians (which I liked, for the record, and has a bit more personality than Shang-Chi), about resting one’s quasi-political energy on a franchise movie that is crafted to basically blend in with the rest of them. That this was supposed to be super meaningful in a life changing way. I recognize that this kind of reaction or sentiment is not made for just me or me in mind, that others can benefit from this kind of recognition in mainstream media. That a history of erasure has done significant damage to communities, even when “Asian” itself is a politically loaded term with sketchy, unsatisfying histories of attempts at solidarity. Nor would I ever argue for less representation. But it’s hard for me not to question what the goal of “mainstream representation” exactly is, especially when people seem so hesitant to build other, fringe, smaller examples of representation or art made by marginalized communities into that same conversation, as if a franchise film is the be all, end all for a particular group of people.
. . . This gets me into trouble; the night I saw Shang-Chi, I got into an argument with someone in a group chat because I didn’t like it (I called it “garbage” and “empty filmmaking”), to which he sent me a picture of Anton Ego from Ratatouille and a screenshot from Adam Ellis’ well worn comic of one character telling another, whilst closing that character’s lips, “Let people enjoy things.”
It’s interesting that an implicit political impetus is built into the DNA of Shang-Chi, the promise and presentation of a piece of history as the first Asian-American superhero movie. Yet, all around us, the cultural memory for texts that are somehow representationally innovative, or sold to us as such, appears to be shrinking. Not that Shang-Chi isn’t that, and not that that is not significant in some way, but its presence and buying power acts like a bizarre bristle, scrubbing the past of films that deal with Asian-Americanness into a weird “obscurity”, like Chan is Missing, Spa Night, and Mississippi Masala. That these movies are somehow less interesting to viewers because they’re not adorned with the same kind of billion dollar mythos and firecrackers. I didn’t feel represented in the exciting way (which is fine), but I felt invested in watching these stories and experiences unfold, in questions about identity being posed as an ongoing discussion rather than a mirror.
. . . I guess I’m arguing for a distasteful exceptionalism if the thing in question is going to be presented as if it is supposed to be exceptional, even as an action movie, as a superhero movie, as an MCU movie. I don’t want lip service, I want greatness from cinema, which is not the same thing as the kind of high falutin art house stuff that people assume “greatness” is attached to. I want the stakes to entice me, the worlds to consume me, the action to drag me by the collar. I want there to be a point of view about that world and that action and those bodies, not only in the lip service “we’re telling a diasporic story” way, but in a way that accentuates the actual electricity between people as they move between life and death at a moment’s notice.
. . . Yet, if we’re thirsting for meaningful representation, doesn’t that also include a more thorough investigation and consideration of that representation, of what representation and visibility mean in less comforting ways? Shouldn’t we encourage and be encouraged to challenge these artifacts, express doubt, and take them seriously enough to question them, rather than end with uncritical embracement?”
Here are some additional great reads concerning Shang-Chi and Asian American representation:
Vice | The Complicated Relationship Between Hollywood, Asian Representation, and Marvel’s ‘Shang-Chi’:
“When we're thinking about cinematic representations like Shang-Chi or Mulan, invoking martial arts and the exotic East is still in there, even as I think Destin Daniel Cretton has done a great job of incorporating Asian American culture within the film,” says Dr. Yuen. “But the entire film still draws upon and invokes the East as this ‘other’, [exotic] world—even I think in Asia, it would be considered exotic, because it's magical; [it’s fantasy]. Like, we wouldn't ever think that Lord of the Rings is how all Europeans are, right?”
The Washington Post | ‘Shang-Chi’ doesn’t resist racist tropes. It just repackages them.”:
“The movie follows a typical superhero arc: Shaun, a San Francisco valet, journeys to his childhood home to claim his birthright of quaint gobbledygook and his identity as Shang-Chi. That homeland fits neatly into Hollywood’s standard portrayal of Asia as static, unchanging and inflexible in contrast to the West’s movement, progressiveness and dynamism. No matter its hyper-modern metropoli or flourishing, border-crossing media cultures, it’s considered a place apart, removed from our moment. Asia is the home of backward mystics or obscure organized crime triads; Asians are thus equally patronized and feared. These two tropes form the plot of “Shang-Chi”: Shaun’s father, played by Hong Kong legend Tony Leung, is no longer named Fu Manchu — but he’s both an immortal being and the head of a mysterious, violent organization and plans to go to war against the inhabitants of a Brigadoon-like ancient village in China.”
#StopAsianHate | Not All Our Art Is #AsianExcellence. I Can Say That and Still Be an Ally.:
“When I scroll through Twitter and see familiar eruptions of excitement from the Asian American community over every new win for Asian representation, I wonder how much of this is performed in the name of solidarity, and how much of it is genuine regard for the Work? The well-oiled hype machine around #GoldOpen and #AsianExcellence feels lopsided in its emphatic identity focus, leaving little room for constructive criticism, the kind that is vital for creators to grow.”
What shows I’ve been watching (and whether or not you should too)
Behind the Attraction (Disney+) - Watch
Big Little Lies (HBO Max) - Watch Season 1, Skip Season 2
Grown-ish (Season 4, Freeform/Hulu) - Watch
Hacks (HBO Max) - Watch
High School Musical: The Musical: The Series (Season 2, Disney+) - Skip
The Imagineering Story (Disney+) - Watch
Kim’s Convenience (Season 5, Netflix) - Watch
Only Murders in the Building (Hulu) - Watch
Mare of Easttown (HBO Max) - Watch
Never Have I Ever (Season 2, Netflix) - Watch
Nine Perfect Strangers (Hulu) - Skip
The Circle (Season 3, Netflix) - Watch
Ted Lasso (Season 2, Apple TV+) - Watch
What If…? (Disney+) - Watch
The White Lotus (HBO Max) - Watch