I’m so ambivalent about Crazy Rich Asians. On one hand, it definitely didn’t make me cringe as much as I expected to. Awkwafina and Constance Wu had heartwarming chemistry, and Michelle Yeoh played the role of fearsome mother perfectly. Some parts were heavy-hitting; in particular, when Constance Wu’s character first introduces herself to Yeoh as an economics professor, Yeoh comments that it was so very American that she pursued her passion. That was such a succinct way to distinguish the mindset between Asians and Americans (and the Asian-Americans caught in-between) that aren’t immediately obvious, especially to non-Asians. Overall, it hit a lot of places emotionally that I didn’t expect it to hit.
But I want to get straight to it. Frustratingly, Crazy Rich Asians struggles with the same afflictions that plague so much of Asian-American media: an over-dependence on superficial, generalized representation of Asian-American identity. I see it in Fung Bros videos, I see it in Wong Fu’s new series Yappie, and I saw it constantly in Crazy Rich Asians.
Let me say it right now: pandering to cultural identity does not substitute for strong, meaningful narrative.
When it comes to Asian-American narratives, why is it that everything cultural becomes so heavy-handed, so on the nose, so awkwardly blatant? During the dumpling making scene, Aunt Eleanor says, “Grandmother says if we don’t pass down our traditions, they disappear,” to which Astrid comments on “the Chinese tradition of guilting your children.” Yes, it was a good burn, and yes, it was kind of funny, but what baffles me is why these lines were even in the movie. It’s not being used to advance Nick’s character (who was completely two-dimensional), and it’s not helping us understand Aunt Eleanor and Astrid in ways that we didn’t already know. We get it, Aunt Eleanor is traditional and Astrid is open-minded. The lines fed us a connection that we could have made on our own and affirmed what we already knew about our experiences as Asian-Americans, but did nothing for the movie itself.
Another scene is when Rachel’s mother flies to Singapore to console her. There’s a scene where she urges Rachel to eat, and says “Drink this chicken soup, it will give you energy.” Why was this line even given screen time? What substantial information about the character did we receive, other than a cheap attempt at establishing connection with the audience about traditional Chinese beliefs in food? When will we be done shoving these simplistic cultural fun facts into audiences’ faces?
I’m so tired of the “haha look at this thing we can all relate to, we’re so Asian aren’t we” type of content. I’m not going to defend the movie or give it extra points just because it went for such low-hanging fruit to make me feel like I belong. How many cultural references a film can make in two hours is not worthy criteria to judge a film on, because that doesn’t make its glaring artistic flaws magically go away.
These scenes are ultimately a failure of storytelling’s most crucial mantra: show, don’t tell. I want to see Eleanor guilt Nick in front of the family without Rachel there, and watch Nick’s face contort in both anger and acknowledgement of his not taking responsibility as the family heir; I want to see Rachel struggle to hold her tears in at the sight of her mother bringing her chicken soup, as so many Chinese mothers do. To relegate these complex emotions into mere lines of dialogue is failure to genuinely engage the viewer. Such superficial cultural representation doesn’t substitute for multidimensional characters and well thought-out narratives. I want to see the Asian-American experience drive the film forward, not have it be the main attraction. We already know it’s something worth seeing.
Not only were these scenes a failure in storytelling, but it speaks to a wider issue of content creation in the Asian-American community. Why are we so desperate to explain our culture, and a watered-down version at that? Why are we so willing to play the racial and ethnic role expected of us, even to our community? In 2018, why do we still make this type of content for Asian-Americans? Maybe ten or fifteen years ago, when understanding of Asians was still based in samurai and chop suey, this variety of storytelling would be appropriate. But the longer Asian-Americans continue making this kind of uninspired content, the longer Asian-Americans will be invisible in America, and if the goal is representation then I don’t think these contrived, sanitized narratives are doing us any favors.
I respect what the Fung Brothers and Wong Fu and Kevin Kwan are doing, despite my criticisms. They’ve shown that its possible for Asian-American creatives and storytellers to, at the very least, put their foot in the door. But selling Crazy Rich Asians as a movie with an all-Asian cast, rather than a narrative about reconciling and managing cultural expectations, tells me that we’re still depending on a call to identity for its success instead of making an actually good film. This process just isn’t sustainable; the emotion of our current societal climate will eventually dissipate, and we’ll be left with a lackluster movie that’ll have future viewers confused about why it had a 92% on Rotten Tomatoes. Rather than demanding recognition of our identity in a white-led cultural hierarchy (that should be dismantled in the first place), we should be focused on making good things, pushing different understandings of our culture, and experimenting with and executing new ways of storytelling. When your work is good on a fundamental level, recognition and representation will follow naturally.
That’s why I’m looking forward to the day that, in the words of Justin Lin, we can stop making Asian-American movies, and make movies about Asian-American characters. I’m looking forward to the story of the brilliant computer science kid who overdoses on molly at Hard Summer because he’s reacting against an abusive and traditional upbringing, or the Chinese immigrant mother with OCD who slowly estranges her kids because she refuses to recognize the psychological damage she’s doing, or the self-hating Asian frat star who only sleeps with non-Asians because he needs his toxic masculinity to be validated by his “sexual success” compared to the other Asians around him. Give me these emotionally layered and authentically complex narratives. Show me these narratives through better camera movement, more subtle dialogue, and better establishing shots (we get it already, we’re in Singapore). Move away from vanilla representations and dig deeper into the current culture for inspiration.
Because right now, there are so many untold Asian-American stories waiting for the chance to be shown, and so many artistic opportunities to be tapped in to. I just know we can do better.
