There’s a tendency among the media to speak earnestly about the importance of representation, particularly when it comes to superhero IP. And it‘s true that the latest Marvel Studios release, Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, is significant for telling an Asian and Asian-American story with cultural integrity and a great cast of actors from the diaspora. The eponymous lead is Chinese-Canadian actor Simu Liu; the villain legendary Hong Kong actor Tony Leung; and Shang-Chi’s BFF Katy is Chinese-Korean-American actress by way of Queens Awkwafina.
Destin Daniel Cretton, an ambitious director with indie bonafides including Short Term 12 and Just Mercy, was born and raised in Hawaii to a Japanese American mother and white father. His Asian-American take on the Asian martial arts film updates the original comic from its overtly racist stereotyping, incorporating fantasy and lore rooted in actual Chinese traditions and legends. (It also includes several scenes of subtitled Chinese dialogue—it’s unusually long before we hear English spoken in Shang-Chi.)
Still, watching *Shang-Chi—*and witnessing all its representative and entertaining efforts—it’s hard not to compare the movie to the bevy of commercial films made in Asia by Asian directors that are largely ignored in the U.S. because of, well, xenophobia, racism, and greed.
That context is embedded within Shang-Chi itself. The film also features Michelle Yeoh as a sage warrior from a far-off land who mentors Shang-Chi and his sister Leiko Wu (Fala Chen), who have to reunite to stop their thousands-year-old father from doing something really stupid. Yeoh is eternally recognizable: Her film Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon made a huge mark in the early aughts, and was an international success—at the time an unlikely outcome for a movie made in Mandarin and with an entirely ethnically Chinese cast. But Taiwanese director Ang Lee was already well on his way to crossover stardom before he directed Crouching Tiger. Several years earlier, he had helmed Emma Thompson’s adaptation of Sense and Sensibility, which earned seven Oscar nominations; Crouching Tiger would go on to win the Academy Award for best foreign language film.
Pre-Parasite, that level of success in the U.S. for an Asian movie was somewhat of an aberration. American studios prefer to remake successful Asian films. There’s The Ring, The Grudge, and Oldboy; The Departed is an adaptation of a Hong Kong film called Internal Affairs, and The Lake House is a white Western reimagining of the Korean film Il Mare. This happens with other regions’ output as well, of course—American television execs seem to be big fans of Israeli series (Euphoria, In Treatment, Homeland)—and adaptations can also move the other way. Korean director Park Chan-wook, for instance, adapted the British novel Fingersmith for his own Korean/Japanese tale The Handmaiden, though his film wasn’t really a translation designed for Asian audiences; it added layers of historical depth to the source material that any curious viewer could appreciate.
The lazy thinking is that “gettable” American audiences, those who will cough up the cash to see big budget movies in theaters, don't want to read subtitles or twist their brains to make sense of different cultures. The major issue with many of these American adaptations isn’t that they exist; it’s that they’re unambitious. It’s taken far too long for U.S. execs, and consequently audiences, to open their eyes to the real thing—represented here not only by Yeoh, but by Tony Leung in what is arguably the film’s central role.
Leung’s talent and charisma is megawatt, and Americans who aren’t already familiar with him—because they’re not cinephiles who adore Wong Kar-wai—will feel cheated that they weren’t introduced much earlier. The veteran actor makes this film, imbuing dutiful Marvel rhythms with moments of mystery and intensity. But outside of his performance, Shang-Chi is your typical superhero fare with some exciting moments.
The fight scenes are tightly choreographed, melding brutal punchiness with more graceful martial arts. The dialogue mixes grave seriousness with on-trend quips. Shang-Chi and Katy are charming adult fuck-ups running from their impressive potential. There's a pretty CGI dragon and a demon that looks like Venom (another Marvel property, though he‘s currently owned by Sony). It's hard to ignore the film's bizarre failure to make its love stories feel real, a problem endemic to the Marvel universe; instead, destined pairs are pushed into prudish unions forged by unbreakable bonds, but rarely genuine desire.
You get the feeling that there’s a better movie in here somewhere, one that takes you on a wilder, more mind-bending journey. To find it, you may have to look further than the multiplex.
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September 03, 2021 at 08:04PM
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