Lauren Yee on writing plays about basketball, communism, and Asian Americans

This interview was originally published in the June 1, 2018 issue of The Slant. Want Asian American news, media and culture in your inbox every week? Subscribe for free.

It’s hard to forget a play by Lauren Yee. Provocative, dynamic, and just plain funny, Yee’s plays grapple with family histories and cultural contrasts — and though they all have weight, they’ve got comedy in spades. From her first published play, Ching Chong Chinaman, to this year’s critically acclaimed Cambodian Rock Band, Yee has turned the heads of everyone from David Henry Hwang to the Los Angeles Times. And after it closed in Denver, another new play, The Great Leap, is now playing at the Atlantic Theater Company.

In a freewheeling phone conversation, Yee talked about writing about Asian Americans, her father’s short-lived basketball career, and hiring lots of Asian American artists.

(Disclosure: Lauren Yee was the interviewer’s playwriting instructor at UC San Diego.)

Andrew Hsieh: You started out writing about the hyphenate, and specifically Asian Americans, with Ching Chong Chinaman being your first published play. I remember joking to you when you wrote King of the Yees, like, “you’re going back to the Asian American thing!”, after a string of plays that might have dealt with immigrant themes, but didn’t explicitly refer to Asian America. And now you have plays like The Great Leap, or Cambodian Rock Band, which are “Asian American plays.” What changed?

Lauren Yee: I got out of grad school! I think when you write your first big play, it inevitably ends up as some sort of very close reflection of your own personal experiences and identity. And you kind of stray from that for a while to see what else there is and develop your voice. And then you kind of come back to it later on.

Also in grad school, there are practical considerations. You know, you’re casting from the actors that form the MFA acting class of your program. And for instance, at UCSD, while it can be incredibly diverse, there’s eight actors a class. So there are very few to no Asian American actors. And I’m always someone who’s very pragmatic and can work within the guidelines, so I was like, “this is not the time to write a play like King of the Yees.” ‘cause in addition to them being non-Asian, they’re probably all roughly in their 20s or early 30s, so.

I got out of grad school and I was kind of freed from the limitations of having a specific pool of actors, like “you can do anything you want.” And I think it was also — the last couple of years have been, for me, writing in this cycle of Asian American family stories that are, kind of subject matter wise, very, very different. But at the heart of it, they’re all about one generation trying to communicate with the next generation about the truth being revealed.

And also a little bit about communism. At least two plays have been a little bit about communism in Asia in the 20th century.

AH: Tell me a little about that.

LY: I find communism’s relationship towards Western culture or contemporary culture really interesting. ‘cause on one hand you have emblems like basketball, which are seen very much as like — you know, in America at least, it’s like “ah, it’s a very western sport.” But at the same time, if you ask Mao Zedong, he’s like, “I love basketball! I would never ban basketball. Basketball’s very communist.” And to see how different people view these things that Americans are like “oh, but it’s our culture” about, can be very interesting.

On the other hand, in Cambodian Rock Band that like contemporary Western-sounding music was such a threat for the Khmer Rouge regime that they kind of sought to eliminate it at all costs. And as an artist living in America, there are few times in which I feel art — especially my own art — is dangerous. Or is something that one would risk their life for. But these musicians living in Cambodia in the 70’s suddenly found themselves at risk because of their music and their identities as musicians. And I think that’s just kind of a very sobering reminder that art has power.

AH: Can you tell me a little bit about The Great Leap for people who aren’t familiar with it?

LY: The Great Leap is inspired by the fact that when my father was growing up in San Francisco, the only thing he was good at was playing basketball. He’s 6’1”. He was kind of this scrappy kid from Chinatown who was pretty dominant in a neighborhood pickup game. For me growing up, Asian American basketball players were the most common thing in the world. I probably knew more Asian American basketball players than kind of any other category of basketball player.

And so I was really inspired by the fact that not only did my dad play this sport, but he was good enough that he got to take trips to play exhibition games. And one of the trips he took in 1981 was playing this series of exhibition games against Chinese teams. So he spent two weeks just traveling through China, just getting demolished by China’s best basketball players. Like in Beijing, there was literally this 7’6” 350-pound center who my dad was supposed to be guarding, who was also China’s best basketball player, versus my dad who’s like a kid from the neighborhood who’s kind of good, but is a foot and a half shorter than this guy.

And so I was kind of interested in what sport represents to people, and what happens when your citizenship is pitted against what you look like. That my father went as a representative of America even though DNA-wise, he shared a lot more in common with these Chinese basketball players than most Americans.

The play is about a young man like my father who travels to China for a friendship game in 1989. And he runs up against real-life events in world history. It’s this collision of fact and fiction that is an imagining of what would have happened if someone like my father had traveled to China in a slightly different time under slightly different circumstances, and what he might have found there.

AH: And that coincides with Tiananmen Square, right?

LY: Yup. And not everyone knows that. You can literally say “June 1989” in Beijing, and a lot of people won’t know what that is.

AH: That’s not necessarily their fault, though, right?

LY: Yeah.

AH: I’m curious — what’s the spark there? How does one get to “let me write about basketball in China”?

LY: It was a footnote that I always wondered about in my father’s history. I was also commissioned by Denver Center and I know Denver Center loves their sports, so I said, “I’ll write them a basketball play.” And basketball is something people are obsessed over that I never really understood. So I said, “oh, let me learn a little bit more.” ‘cause I could tell you about baseball or football, but before I wrote this play I couldn’t tell you what was going on in a basketball game.

And I think also, basketball is just an incredibly apt metaphor for I think both politics and diplomacy and also the personal struggles of these characters. Somebody described the philosophy of basketball to me as people trying to create enough personal space around them for them to make the shot. That everyone on the court — every pass, every shot, every everything, is in service of you trying to lose your defender long enough to make the shot. And that feels like it has something in common with the struggles of real life.

I think every day, everyone is hustling to carve out a little world for themselves — like a space in which they can succeed and feel comfortable and thrive.

AH: That reminds me of Virginia Woolf — you need a room of one’s own.

LY: Yeah, you need some room of one’s own.

AH: So in other interviews, like the one you did with “They Call Us Bruce,” you’ve mentioned your experiences with writing Cambodian Rock Band as a non-Cambodian American. Recently, I rewatched a speech cartoonist Gene Luen Yang gave at the 2014 National Book Award gala — and by the way, Gene happens to be writing a graphic novel about basketball, too.

LY: Oh!

AH: Yeah, you should connect with him and be like, “from one Asian American writer to another, we should talk basketball!” But anyway — he gave a speech at this gala, and said that writers are often “afraid of writing characters different from ourselves because we’re afraid of getting it wrong. We’re afraid of what the Internet might say.” Did you feel that fear when writing Cambodian Rock Band, or any other play?

LY: I think when I’m in the process of writing it, it’s less of a fear than a strong discomfort. And I think in The Great Leap for instance, it is a play about a Chinese American kid, much like my father. Half of it is set in China. And so one would be like, “this is like your background and your family’s story.”

But at the same time there’s a character in the play who is a Chinese coach, who is not American, who speaks English as a second language. And even though you’d be like, “oh well, he’s Chinese, you’re Chinese,” I think in the beginning as I was figuring the character out, there was some discomfort in writing this character. Because how do I make this character feel three-dimensional and worthwhile and interesting, even when there — this is someone who grew up during the Cultural Revolution, whose experiences are so different from mine that I have not lived in.

And I think it took — I think for me, it always takes some amount of research, some amount of finding a way into the character, where they feel alive and funny and distinctive. And you hope you find that. But it’s tough.

AH: What about when it came to Cambodian Rock Band?

I think for Cambodian Rock Band, it was about finding something of my relationship to my own father in these characters, in these father-daughter characters in Cambodian Rock Band. That even though my father is not an immigrant and he is not of a survivor of a genocide, I think that I was able to identify a sense of humor and joy in this character, a distinctive perspective that made him lift off the page for me. And I think that felt important.

And there’s all the research you do on the side, where you’re like, “who could this character actually be like? What might have he have gone through?” But I think it’s about finding something personal. And I think moreso than being able to feel like you could represent this character or not, is imbuing them with something that will make audiences love this person and make them three-dimensional. Usually, if I’m able to do that, that gives me comfort.

AH: In your interview with “They Call Us Bruce,” you mentioned the production of Cambodian Rock Band had received some criticism for casting non-Cambodian Americans in Cambodian American roles. And we’ve also seen responses to Cambodian Rock Band and other media, like Crazy Rich Asians, as potentially contributing to South and Southeast Asian erasure. I’m curious what your feelings are on that — do you think you have a responsibility to be more deliberate?

LY: I have complicated feelings, because I think on one hand, if I only wrote about worlds in which I had very firsthand knowledge, I don’t even think I would be able to write King of the Yees, which is an autobiographical play about me and my father. I can only give you — I don’t even think I can give you my dad in that. If I am only going to write about, you know, like third or fourth generation Chinese American women who live in San Francisco. And so that world feels very narrow to me.

And at the same time, I hear people who are like, I would love to tell my own story. Or I would love to see a Vietnamese American story told by a Vietnamese American writer. I totally hear and respect that. But I think I feel comfortable in that I think I tell Asian American stories. I think I tell stories that have to do with that communication gap between generations — that distance from one’s culture whether you’re a recent immigrant or your family has been here for 150 years. And I think that kind of narrative is a story that I’ve lived and kind of am always trying to think of different ways in which that story can be acted.

But at the same time it’s not the only story that I’m interested in. I’m also interested in basketball. I’m also interested in worlds that are very different from my own. I’m interested in parent-child relationships where race, or culture maybe, isn’t the primary subject.

I mean, I think in terms of narratives that are outside of my own particular narrative, I think more research is involved. I think being able to talk to people who do share that narrative is important. And I think it is also perfectly reasonable for someone to see Cambodian Rock Band and say, “okay, I’ve seen it, I think that there should be more support for Cambodian American artists.”

But at the same time, I think I have a lot to offer in terms of telling that story because I think there is something personal and heartfelt in what I am trying to achieve with that particular narrative that I deeply identify with, even as someone not coming from that background.

I don’t have a great answer for it.

AH: [laughs] I mean, this is not just you, either. Just thinking about the history of — and I was actually speaking to not you as a writer necessarily, but regarding casting as a concern.

LY: That’s interesting, because — one thing that I found interesting too, was that [Chinese Cambodian actor] Joe [Ngo] is someone who — I think for a lot of his life, he identified as chuchao Chinese, but I think that this play has allowed him to really get in touch with his Cambodian roots. Like there are a lot of Chinese Cambodian Americans who may not read as Southeast Asian. But I think this play has helped him to embrace the country where his parents come from and their stories.

AH: There’s an evolution of the conversation, I think, that wasn’t quite as cogent before. If you think about movies from even the early 90’s, it was a big deal just to have Asians playing Asians in the movies.

LY: I am still happy when I see Asians playing Asians in the movies.

AH: Yeah! And if you think about [the 1993 film] Joy Luck Club, it’s about Chinese families but doesn’t have all Chinese actors. And yet, people were quite happy, because it wasn’t Mickey Rooney. But with Crazy Rich Asians, which is an all-Asian cast, but mostly East Asian, there’s a greater conversation and debate about how authentically Crazy Rich Asians represents Singapore if it features only the upper class of East Asians.

LY: Like the wealthy Chinese Singaporeans.

AH: Exactly. Has that changed your perspective about incorporating more non-mainstream Asian American stories?

LY: Like casting?

AH: Or anything to do with that.

LY: I mean, I largely work in theatre, in which I think there is just more leeway in terms of many things, like in terms of the actual age of characters or the actual identification of ethnicity, within, obviously, the umbrella of “Asian Americans.” Just because in plays, especially in King of the Yees, characters can play seven different roles, so there has to be that flexibility in terms of identity. Like in Cambodian Rock Band, you’re not looking for just someone who is an actor. You’re looking for someone who can act and portray this particular age, this particular type, and play a very specific instrument at a very high level. And so it’s just a smaller pool.

I think for me, I think of two things first. I think of storytelling and, honestly, the employment first. Am I hiring Asian American actors? And then, do these particular bodies on stage with all their idiosyncrasies and abilities help me to tell the story best? I think there are some times where cultural familiarity, like, “oh, this character needs to speak fluent Cantonese” or “this character has some sort of background or knowledge that helps them understand the character more” can be really helpful. And sometimes it’s about trying to find this person who fulfills that role best.

AH: You’ve talked a little about hiring in your writing process. Do you feel a responsibility to cast more Asian Americans in your plays?

LY: Do you mean where it’s not called for?

AH: Just in terms of what you’ve been saying, where you say you think of storytelling and employment first. Is that a consideration when you’re writing characters?

LY: I think not so much when I’m writing characters, but when you get into production, I think it’s something that’s just very good to think about in the back of your mind. Who am I hiring? Who am I giving work to? Am I helping the cause of diversity in the way that I think I am? I think I’m always in favor of the project happening. I think for me, in general, where my line falls is, if for instance it’s a role for an Asian American character, well, are they Asian American? And if they are, okay, good, they are. That is someone who should be considered for this particular role. I think you try to evaluate who the best person would be and try to make the best choice based on a number of factors.

I hesitate to get into — I think the conundrum that Hollywood falls into is they’re like, “this person must be the exact representation of who this character is for, or we gotta hire a white person, and we gotta change the character.” ‘cause it’s like, “oh, we looked for x person exactly, and they don’t exist, so we’re just gonna cast Jared Leto.” Actually, I don’t know if that character [in The Outsider] was written as a white person, but they’ll do something like that.

AH: What makes a play interesting to you?

LY: I think if you show me something new or even something familiar in a way that I’ve never thought of it before. I would rather take something ambitious and surprising and unexpected over a really well done piece that I know exactly what’s going to happen.

AH: What if you’re the one writing it?

LY: I think it’s the same. I think if it’s also something funny, some voices that are distinctive. And I think if there’s a space for an ensemble to shine. I really love ensemble piece. I love it when people create something together, and everyone gets used to the best of their abilities.

AH: What have you been working on lately?

LY: Great Leap and Cambodian Rock Band are the two most recent projects, and now I’ve got to back to the salt mines and figure out what’s next. Because the last three plays have been these incredible, big, ambitious rides, and the question is “what’s next? What will live up to that?” I don’t know.

AH: Where’s Great Leap being produced right now?

LY: So it is in tech at the Atlantic in New York, and it’ll start performances on Wednesday.

AH: Is there still work that needs to be done with producing Cambodian Rock Band elsewhere?

LY: There’s not. They don’t need me anymore. But I like to hang on a little bit.

AH: Our last question comes from [The Slant’s last guest] William Hung, who asks, “What’s your biggest failure, and how did you overcome it?”

LY: I saw this in his interview, and thought, “man, I hope that one’s not coming to me,” because that one’s really hard. I mean, in a way, I’ll look at this from the macro level. I feel like for artists, sometimes this sense of failure is not necessarily in the minutiae or the day to day, like “well, today was a big failure” or “that show was a big failure.”

But I think it’s about when you step back and look at your career as a whole. And there’s always this looming dread of, “am I doing this properly? should I be doing something else that I don’t even know about?” And it’s this kind of existential dread of “am I making the best use of my time as I can?”

And that I think is a daunting question. Because it’s just like, there is no roadmap. And I think it’s in the nature of artists to be a little unhappy all the time. And the good version of that is like, oh, it compels you to be a little more ambitious. Or you know, try harder or get to the next thing. But I think every so often, as an artist, we all feel this sense of — you step back and think — ”what if I’m doing this wrong?” Or even when you’re doing well, you think, “I’m not doing enough,” or “I’m not doing this in quite the right way.”

And I think that’s something that’s a lifelong struggle of like, what is success and what is the right path?

AH: I like that the question was, “what is your biggest failure?” And your answer was, “well, your whole life is a lifelong struggle, and the whole existential dread could be your biggest failure.”

LY: [laughs] Yeah.

AH: What do you want to ask the next guest?

LY: Well, I’m always very interested in process ‘cause you never get to see anyone else’s process. Especially for writers. I’m interested in what your process is whenever you’re working. In kind of like the most boring nuts-and-bolts way.

Lauren Yee is a playwright based in New York. Her plays include Ching Chong Chinaman, Hookman, Samsara, Cambodian Rock Band and more. She is the winner of the Kesselring Prize and the Francesca Primus Prize. Her play, The Great Leap, is now playing at the Atlantic Theater in New York City through June 24. Tickets are on sale.