INT. CHINATOWN
Woo!! October is here! Since last time on christinaji.com - started up my fall internship, started my senior year (ah!!!), and got accepted into the IIS/CPD undergrad fellows program!! Anyways…
Alongside watching Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (three times in theaters woo!), I thought it was apt to read Interior Chinatown by Charles Yu. Lately, I’ve found myself enjoying these sort of cross-medium story pairings, and this intentional media consumption has allowed me to probe deeper into said narratives. I chose to pair Shang-Chi and Interior Chinatown for how both pieces deal with the Asian-American identity and representation in Hollywood—particularly in Action films. And of course, by critically examining the themes of these works, I’m able to turn that magnifying glass towards my own life—an act that something all good stories should inspire.
Simply put, as an Asian-American passionate about the entertainment industry, I was blown away by Shang-Chi. Its action, relatability, hype from the audience—God, watching the film in Berkeley was an experience—made it an unforgettable , magnetic time. I know the movie has its shortcomings (on par with any usual MCU criticism), and I did find the second half of the movie especially lacking because of the need to tie everything back to the overarching franchise…but so rarely do I feel like a movie was made for me. Between the soundtrack produced by 88rising, the San Francisco setting, familiar veteran actors like Michelle Yeoh and Tony Leung, I felt this sort of rush, this realization that: this could be me. Is the movie sometimes cheesy? Yeah. The usual superhero fodder? Sure. But I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that there’s a reason why this film resonates particularly strongly for ABC’s—it’s seeing our experience as normalized, finally in the same ranks of the other MCU blockbusters. That’s something special. There’s merit and fun in badass popcorn-binge-worthy entertainment that, while not probing too deeply into the human experience, still matters as art. Being a part of popular culture is an initiation into the ironically elusive mainstream.
However—and you knew this ‘however’ was coming—Interior Chinatown critiques how narrow this role of “Kung-Fu Man” really is. Shang-Chi is guilty of this particular pitfall: is Kung-Fu the only action roles available to Asian leading men? That, no matter how far one pushes, is this the bamboo ceiling we can’t kick through? Not to mention, there was already significant controversy concerning the Shang-Chi source material for its inclusion of the Fu Manchu, a symbol and caricature of Yellow Peril. It forces us to ask: how do we escape this feeling of otherness, despite being just as American as anyone else? Charles Yu toys with how these stereotyped roles are simultaneously absurd and limiting; the main character’s father is constantly relegated to the side, background, opposition despite having qualities of a lead or hero. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy, and seeing the narrative ebb and flow between “the set” and the protagonist’s reality shows how pervasive media influences life. There are no easy answers for how Shang-Chi can adapt to these criticisms, but as we see more Asian American-led media, there’s a glimmer of hope.
That being said, I also couldn’t help but think of the Shang-Chi movie when Yu writes:
“Someday you want the light to hit your face like that. To look like the hero. Or for a moment to actually be the hero” (Yu 11).
I’d be lying if I said I’ve never felt the same. In this manner, I find Shang-Chi to be a bridge of sorts. Yes, Shang-Chi is a “Kung-Fu Man” type character, and yes, the movie’s source material contains hallmarks of historical (and current) stereotypes. There’s no denying the existence of these elements because they’re part of the IP’s DNA. That isn’t to say something can’t be built from these pieces. And it sure as hell doesn’t make my own takeaways any less meaningful: that there is a space for Asian creatives in American media, and it can be fun, bold, magical. There’s some criticism that the movie showcases Tony Leung’s character with more nuance than Shang-Chi, but I found these character developments necessary for the central message of the film. While family, duty, honor—typical themes associated with Chinese narratives—are part of their character arcs, what’s central to the film is the need for Shang-Chi to take the legacy of his heritage and turn it into something of his own. Is that not the Asian-American experience? To respect and find pride in one’s culture, but also try to make it fit into a new environment? This focus on family and acceptance is necessary for Shang-Chi to develop his own sense of agency, and I thought Simu Liu captured that part of the character well, with a healthy dose of relatability and humor.
Last week, my best friend interviewed me for a class about Chinatowns—serendipitous, I know. She asked me some questions about the movement internally and externally of these spaces, specifically about our Chinatown in good ol’ Houston, Texas. There’s two things I want to explore here: (1) how architecture and structures can be metaphors for human experiences (2) how the spaces we inhabit contain echoes of our existence. For the sake of maintaining breadth, I won’t go too in depth on these notions, but there are two books I want to mention here that touch on these subjects—In the Dream House by Carmen Maria Machado and The Paper Menagerie by Ken Liu. In the Dream House uses the structure of a haunted home to compartmentalize memories, and The Paper Menagerie is full of short stories that link an Asian immigrant experience with science-fiction and fantasy, melding the mythological with the modern. I want to bring all of these elements together through these quotes from Interior Chinatown:
“But the old parts are always underneath. Layers upon layers, accumulating. Which was the problem. No one in Chinatown was able to separate the past from the present, always seeing in him (and in each other, in yourselves), all of his former incarnations, the characters he’d played in your minds long after the parts had ended” (Yu 20).
“You’re here, supposedly, in a new land full of opportunity, but somehow have gotten trapped in a pretend version of the old country” (Yu 58).
How I contextualize these concepts for myself is by imagining a Chinatown in all its manifestations—past, present, future, literal, figurative—as a way to navigate the Asian-American identity. In the same way that Yu’s characters flicker between different roles, an “interior chinatown” of the mind is represented by an amalgamation of sources: traditions, media, and society. It is simultaneously an act of othering and belonging; it is finding a way to retain cultural specificities but also be distinctly American (not to say Chinatowns are exclusively American!). In a literal sense, it’s seeing street signs in Chinese, shopping in grocery stores filled with both American and Chinese brands, eating at mainstay hole-in-the-wall restaurants with my family (but tripping over my tongue when ordering in Chinese). Even as new places crop up, occupy, or extend the spaces in Chinatown, these new layers only add to its existing appeal and history, and the Asian Diaspora is represented by this continual process. For me, this is an infrastructure to redefine and understand why I resonate so strongly with Own Voices media. Not only because I can recognize myself in these works and spaces, but also because they capture certain nuances that an academic text can’t—through creating kingdoms in our mind and heroes to pour ourselves into. Such is the power of storytelling.
In all, this was a very long-winded, meandering post (as usual) to put Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings and the literature I’ve been reading into some sort of discourse. I find that these interdisciplinary connections always provide fruitful discussion, and that facets that seem to be at odds, can often provide fertile ground to make new conclusions from. I like to think this is applicable to life overall. As I navigate the tumultuous tides of my twenties, filled with the uncertainties of recruiting and expectations and personal fulfillment, I think that stories and critical interpretations of stories keep me grounded.
They’re a way of saying: you belong where you are and wherever you may go. And you can always, always go home, returning to your own interior Chinatown.
Currently enjoying: short stories, horror/thriller movies, Chloé perfume, Kiki instant ramen, Final Fantasy VII soundtrack, Your Name Engraved Herein, journaling, almond-shaped acrylic nails
