Made In China

Did you know that Bill Clinton’s secret nickname is “Big Watermelon”? I was enlightened by the official Chinese version of Clinton’s autobiography, which also informs us that one of his early pastimes was to sit with his family, conversing about their awe at Chinese civilization, which had produced the Four Great Inventions and “left [America] in the dust.”

The politically correct version of Clinton’s autobiography is only the latest in a long tradition of making cheap Asian knockoffs of Western products, from Gucci bags to Harry Potter to Microsoft. Businesses are furious about a practice they say costs $200-250 billion a year in lost revenue and have made it a priority to pressure foreign governments to crack down. But if Americans are really serious about stopping cross-Pacific piracy, we might want to start with our own movie industry.

Remember The Ring? It was originally a Japanese horror film. Since its phenomenal success, movie remakes have become the hottest Asian import since Hello Kitty. This year’s The Grudge will soon be followed by American versions of blockbusters like My Sassy Girl and Infernal Affairs. The man who singlehandedly started this trend, film producer Roy Lee, explained to The Guardian how The Ring’s success led him to an epiphany: “I thought, ‘That was too easy—I should check the other movies made there.’”

Is this plagiarism? A Western invasion? Harvard Assistant Professor of Chinese Literary and Cultural Studies Eileen C. Chow doesn’t think so. She explains, “I don’t think it’s an Asian phenomenon, it’s just what Hollywood does…It’s all about the bottom line.” It’s hard to argue with the invisible hand of market demand. Why shouldn’t audiences be given what they want? If some (misguided) moviegoers prefer Brad Pitt over Takeshi Kaneshiro, that’s their loss.

But business decisions inevitably have societal consequences. Film producers don’t want to use foreign faces because they aren’t famous enough to bring in U.S. box office dollars. So they exclude actors from other countries, ensuring that they never will be famous enough to meet those standards. In this circular reasoning, there’s also the implicit assumption that Americans just aren’t capable of identifying with anyone that doesn’t walk, talk or look like us.

In this context, remaking Asian films is nothing more than cultural imperialism, an effort to insulate America from representations of Asia. In a 1997 article in Slate, Eric Liu writes optimistically about the “Asianization of American culture,” the possibility for merging East and West. Today’s bubble tea-drinking, karaoke-singing hipster could be tomorrow’s cultural acceptance and integration. But how much effect can Asian culture have in America if its Asian origins are denied? Apparently, pop culture has since figured out the solution to the Yellow Peril: Just whitewash it.

In fact, the current American exposure to Asian actors consists of Lucy Liu, Jackie Chan and maybe Zhang Ziyi. In the 21st century, the face of modern Asia is the Exotic Trophy Girlfriend, the China Doll and Funny Asian Dude With Bad English Who Does Kung Fu. We’ve sure come a long way from the days of Fu Manchu and Suzie Wong.

What about Tony Leung and Wong Kar-Wai, the powerhouse art-film duo who between them have won eight Oscar equivalents in Hong Kong and two Cannes Film Festival awards? There’s also Jeon Ji-hyun, whose romantic comedies have set her up to be Korea’s next leading female actress. And Stephen Chow, Hong Kong’s answer to Ben Stiller, who writes unconventional and intelligent comedies. Apparently, we just aren’t ready to see Asian people in everyday life, when they’re not in period films depicting them recklessly hacking off each other’s heads or sleeping with the emperor.

Still, Chow remains optimistic. “I think it’s actually synergistic,” she says, when I ask her if American remakes will eventually take over the original Asian films. “You have that ricochet effect of the originals geting rediscovered because people like [the] remakes.” But a look at the box office numbers on IMDbpro.com shows that the U.S. version of The Ring was released for $128 million in the U.S. and $230 million worldwide. The original Japanese version went straight to DVD. While the availability of any foreign films is an improvement over the former embargo, it’s doubtful whether mainstream American viewers will ever see them as more than just an art-house oddity.

In fact, Hamish McAlpine, head of a U.K. film distributor, told The Guardian that although remake deals include distribution rights, many of the originals never make it into stores. “It’s an insurance policy,” he explained, that allows studios to avoid comparison with the originals. While American businesses condemn their Asian imitators for costing them lost revenue, they’re slamming the door in the face of the original filmmakers.

Stephen Chow’s critically-acclaimed hit Shaolin Soccer is about six brothers who use their Shaolin martial arts skills to revolutionize soccer and compete against the subtly named Evil Team. Along the way, there’s gratuitous violence involving soccer balls, trees and bread buns; spontaneous, off-key singing and dancing; and homoerotic consumption of raw eggs, all part of the offbeat Hong Kong style of humor. But there’s also the brilliantly choreographed mix of martial arts and soccer and a universal yet original message about the hope for integrating a modern world with the past. Could such a film ever appeal to American audiences? Perhaps not. But why don’t you go see for yourself.

Sanby Lee ’08, a Crimson editorial comper, lives in Thayer Hall.