Through Asian Eyes: The (Relative) Rise of Asian Faces on American Big Screens

In August 2018, the theaters across America were flooded with Asians. My mom, my sister, and I—fairly new residents to the United States from Asia (China, by way of Hong Kong and Australia)—were among them. As lights dimmed and the silver screen lit up, I had to try my best to contain my excitement. A rising high school senior at the time, I watched the second scene opened as the protagonist, Rachel Chu, was introduced as an Economics professor at New York University. Despite having branded myself as someone who “doesn’t care about movies,” I felt things when I saw Rachel. Seeing a young woman of Chinese descent on the big screen felt good. It felt affirming––so affirming that Rachel Chu possibly motivated me to apply to NYU and look into majoring in Economics.

I’m sure that I was not the only young Asian deeply impressed by Crazy Rich Asians (Chu, 2018). Based on Kevin Kwan’s book of the same title, Crazy Rich Asians tells the story of a young Asian American woman following her secretly-rich boyfriend to Singapore for his best friend’s wedding. Celebrating the movie’s majority-Asian cast, the Asian American community came together to support. Shooting their shot at a “Gold Open” for the movie, many individuals bought a number of tickets, and some even bought out theaters to let the general public go see the movie for free. A tweeted poster promoting the Gold Open movement for Crazy Rich Asians claims that “representation means business,” written in bolded golden capital letters. The movie became the hot topic of pot-luck gatherings and WeChat banters. Constance Wu, the lead actress who already won the support of the Asian American community with her TV show Fresh Off the Boat, gained even more adoration from the people who look up to her as representation. I remember even taking personal offense when a white friend of mine dismissed the movie as an “Asian Mean Girls, nothing too special.”

As time passed, I began to realize that my friend’s criticism wasn’t without validity—while it might be difficult for some non-Asian people to understand the cultural significance of Crazy Rich Asians, the movie’s plot does resemble common tropes of the drama and romantic comedy genre. Like Mean Girls, Crazy Rich Asians also had the naive young woman lead, the dream boy, and the antagonistic woman who rivals the protagonist. The similarity comes down even to the protagonist’s side-kicks: a best friend-who-knows-better and a stereotypical gay man, as for the less-progressive of the representations.

In general, the film also drew criticism for classist, white-appealing, and ethnically-homogenous ideologies. For one, Mark Tseng-Putterman, a Ph.D. scholar in American Studies at Brown University, wrote that “it’s ironic but not particularly surprising that Crazy Rich Asians at times embraces a message of white-Asian equivalence by distancing itself from the ‘wrong’ kind of Asians.” It doesn’t even take a professional to notice that most of the characters—let alone protagonists—are light-skinned and of East Asian heritage.

All these problems I gradually find with Crazy Rich Asians, a film I once took pride in and looked up to, inevitably brought in some internal conflicts. However, despite its problems, Crazy Rich Asians was like a drop of blood to my shark sensations—once I tasted representation, I began to want more. That, consequently, led to me opening a can of worms that is Asian representation in American popular media. Growing up in China, I was used to seeing people who look like me on silver screens and listening to music made by people like me. As a Chinese person in China, consuming media made by Chinese people for a Chinese audience was the norm. The concept of “representation” barely existed for me—seeing my image in the media was as normal as breathing air. It wasn’t until I moved to the US did I get asphyxiated from that familiar air and brutally reminded me of my foreignness. With that in mind, I started paying attention to Asian representation in American popular media, seeking to understand how Asians are portrayed and how will those portrayals affect us—not only Asians but also the society at large.

But why does representation matter? Some have argued that identity politics hinder artistic expression. Tests like the Bechdel Test, which has been employed to check female representation in films, are not perfect in determining whether a film is feministic. However, the imperfections in such measurements do not invalidate the necessity for representation and efforts in calling for them. The necessity of representation might not be felt by one who does not lack it but could be important to others. For instance, for children and young adults growing up, seeing people like them can be empowering and inspiring. Diversity in films and other popular media insinuates that minorities and marginalized people have a place in society. As children and young adults grow and learn from what they see on media, seeing themselves in various, positive positions can increase self-confidence and consequently positively impact their lives. The way those media portray minorities, a.k.a representation, can affect how the general public views them too. Someone’s impression of a group of people they do not have real-life contact with could come from the on-screen representation of said group or individuals within the group.

Diversity does not equate good representation, though. Representation in a negative light can penetrate and normalize racist stereotypes. Before movies like the Joy Luck Club or Crazy Rich Asians were made, American cinema has had its problems with racist portrayals of Asians. The 1961 film Breakfast at Tiffany’s, now regarded as a cinematic classic, featured Mr. Yunioshi, a rare Asian character—well, supposedly Asian. Mr. Yunioshi, played by Mickey Rooney, a white actor, is a buck-toothed, myopic Japanese photographer who depicts a very offensive and stereotypical image of Japanese men. Not to mention, Yunioshi’s character was not even played by someone who’s Japanese (although that wouldn’t necessarily make the character any less offensive) but rather a white man in yellowface: the practice of using makeup to portray an East Asian by a non-Asian actor. Using the language and attitude towards East Asians of the time, Rooney’s portrayal of Mr. Yunioshi was “exotic,” perhaps even in a way deemed as tasteful by critics of that era. As awareness regarding yellowfacing increased over the decades, retrospective reviews of the film criticized the stereotypical character. Despite the inclusion of the Japanese character, Breakfast at Tiffany’s shined a negative light on Japanese people by employing racist stereotypes for humor. As those stereotypes are often exaggerated and untrue for many individuals on top of being utterly unflattering, this “representation” is more like misrepresentation.

Stereotyping and exoticizing Asians can lead to serious consequences that burden Asian Americans. With only less than a million Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders (abbreviated as AAPI) in the United States in 1960, interactions between individuals of the non-Asian general public and actual AAPIs imaginably remained limited. Without having real-life interactions or connections with actual Asians, many non-Asian Americans would get their impression of people of Asian heritage from the silver screen. With a movie as influential as Breakfast at Tiffany’s misrepresenting East Asians, the general public undoubtedly will project what they see as East Asians onto real-life people of East Asian heritage. This could have lead to a detrimental impact on East Asian American youths since Mr. Yunioshi would dictate how they see themselves and how their non-Asian peers see them. As harmful as his character was, Mr. Yunioshi was by no means the earliest case of yellowface in the U.S (which can be traced back to the 1767 play Orphan of China), nor would it be the end of Asian misrepresentation.

The Asian figures in Hollywood are not the only Asians disillusioned with the unwelcoming entertainment industry. Those participating in music have also found trouble breaking into the mainstream. While there have been Asian Americans in bands that greatly contributed to rock music, only a very few of them are lead singers—the position that typically carries the image of the band. In fact, it could be difficult to break into the American popular music industry with an Asian face. Far East Movement, a Los Angeles-based electronic and hip-hop group consisting of all Asian Americans, made waves in the American (and global) music scene with their smash hits like “Rocketeer” and “Like a G6.” Their success was monumental to the Asian American community—they were the first Asian American group with a Billboard no.1 hit—yet they were met with racist attacks from online commenters. Eventually, the group, like many other Asian American artists, found a more welcoming market in Asia. Similarly, many Korean American artists used English fluency to their advantage and entered the K-pop industry, which was aiming at the global market. However, not many who stayed fighting for a career in the US has met a high level of success until recently.

Using the power of social media, Asian influencers started becoming household names, especially among younger people. Asian musicians also gained momentum from social media and viral sensationalism. In 2016, 16-year-old Indonesian internet comedian-turned-rapper Rich Brian released “Dat $tick,” which became a viral hit. The song itself (and Brian’s very questionable stage name at the time) wasn’t a proud moment for Asian representation. Rich Brian—who is signed to the Asian artist powerhouse media company, 88rising—later apologized for his past insensitivities and grew a commercially successful career in the American music industry and overseas. Also an ex-comedian, half-Japanese R’n’B artist Joji quit his famous Youtube persona “FilthyFrank” and signed with 88rising to pursue a serious and so-far successful music career. Around the same time that Rich Brian’s emergence, K-pop’s popularity in the U.S. started rapidly increasing. Groups such as (but not limited to) BTS, formally a less recognized boy group that started gaining international attention, and Blackpink, a rookie group from major K-pop label YG with a smash debut, starting attracting new fans to K-pop. The fan power supporting K-pop idols through social media was impeccable and proved to be lastingly impactful: In 2017, BTS won a BBMAs award for Social Artist over big names like Justin Bieber and Ariana Grande. The 7-piece will carry on and, as we know today, become one of the biggest names in today’s pop music anywhere.

But why social media? After decades of discrimination and unwelcomeness from American entertainment industries, how did Asian artists and figures find significant success through social media? I can recall my days as a middle school kid in suburban America. Instead of looking for people I look like and can relate to on the big screen, I turned to YouTube. I could relate to people like Ryan Higa and the Fung Bros even when they aren’t put on a pedestal like the “real” celebrities in pop music and movies. Instead, they built their own audience with just a camera, a sharing platform, and their creativity. The key then would be the self-media character of those content creators. Anyone can upload or post stuff on places like YouTube, Twitter, or Instagram—there are no barriers, no casting directors, no prescribed roles. On your page, it’s all about YOU. Asian panelists at the 2017 LA Film Festival Diversity Speaks event highly endorsed this type of grassroots structure, where “there are no people at the top deciding who’s going to get the views.” Hence, Asian content creators can connect with and market to their audience without having to beg and please the creative decision-makers.

Right now sounds like a good time for Asian representation, right? The problems didn’t just disappear, though. Asian representation still face an array of obstacles both from the outside and from within. As mentioned earlier, some Asian representation are an improvement but not the desired endgame for inclusiveness. I’d like to believe that Asian Americans can agree that Asians are not a monolith—there’s so much diversity in the blanket term “Asian” community that non-Asians, and even some Asians, don’t see. There are still so many untold stories. Some current Asian films have been met with criticism of not being inclusive enough. Crazy Rich Asians, for example, had a gay character (which sounds like representation for queer Asians, right?). However, Oliver the “rainbow sheep of the family” acted as an extremely flamboyant and effeminate GBF (Gay Best Friend) to Rachel. While there’s nothing wrong with being flamboyant and effeminate, Oliver’s character is undeniably stereotypical and tokenized. He represents a gay man who’s entire purpose revolves around being friends with the main girl, which is a trope that has been highly criticized by the LGBTQ+ community for long. His appearance in the movie arguably shortcuts the supposed representation and progressiveness that the film wanted to achieve. Are we really going to let the little Asian girls who look up to Rachel Chu to think that gay men are essentially a decoration for straight girls? Do we want the queer Asians to experience another layer of marginalization from their own racial and cultural community? I hope none of us do.

On top of the lack of good Asian LGBTQ+ representation, other criticisms include the re-marginalization of other Asians and other racial minorities from prominent Asian-centric media and personalities. South Asian representation, for example, are often excluded in conversations about Asian representation even when South Asian roles and media contributed greatly to the Asian representation we have today. There are also quite some controversies on Asian American figures like Awkwafina and Eddie Huang exploiting Black culture to get to the prominent positions they are in. Undoubtedly, as the 5.6% of the population, Asians are still a minority. When we question our identity, we might latch onto other groups and try to “fit in” while (un)consciously harming ourselves and others. That raises a question that should be asked when we judge representation: Are we doing it for ourselves or just for society’s approval? Societal views from non-Asians are indeed important but Asians also need to be checked when we try to pander to white America. Why are we still doing it?