| Posted 10:12pm, Saturday, September 14, 2002 A few months ago, everyone was going on and on about Halle Berry and Denzel Washington’s duel Oscar wins. “What a huge step forward for African-Americans” and so on and so forth. Yeah, yeah. What about my people? What about the Chinese? Look at “The Last Emperor.” That thing got nominated for eleven Academy Awards. It won nine, including Best Picture, but not a single nod to the fucking lead, John Lone, a Chinese man. Not even a fucking Golden Globe nomination. Peter O'Toole is in, like, five minutes of that fucker and he got an Oscar nod! Tell me how that happens! Meanwhile, every white guy and his brother is getting the Asian girl in Hollywood. Ralph
Macchio in “The Karate Kid 2.” Meanwhile, a Chionese guy getting a Cuacasian girl is strictly taboo. Where is the love for a Chinese brother? Ever see Jet Li do a screen kiss? Jackie Chan can’t get no love. The closest Jackie came to getting laid is getting it on with an Indian girl. Chow Yun Fat is one suave motherfucker, but he doesn't even get to hold a woman’s hand in an American movie. If Bruce Lee can’t get laid in his American flicks, what chance do the rest of us Chinese men have? He was the coolest mother on the planet in 1973, and he never got no love. The last time I saw John Lone in a movie, he was playing a villain, falling through the hood of a cab. I never thought I’d be labeled as the racially sensitive Chinese guy. After all, I was the kid in the sixth grade that did the comic strip named, “Ching-Chong, the Chinese Detective.” Maybe it was mySpring trip to South Africa, but I find myself pointing out a lot of racist activity in my workplace. Exhibit A: The (Client name) teriyaki commercial While editing a commercial for (Client name) in South Africa, we engaged a composer in Los Angeles to do the music. Before we left for the shoot, we had all pretty much agreed on a completed percussive demo track. Fast Taiko drums to drive along the humorous martial arts action in the spot. When we laid music back to picture, the group in South Africa was pretty happy. This includes myself (the art director), the agency producer, the director, the effects supervisor and the editor. We posted the Quicktime for the gang in San Francisco to review. Next day came their verdict from up North. They hated it. “It doesn’t work” seemed to be the consensus from the writer, the creative director and the executive creative director. The comments…. “Not Asian enough.” “Maybe more magical. More E.T.” And the dreaded: “We’ll know it when we hear it.” Okaaaay. We didn’t agree, but we dutifully called the composer and had him try a couple other things. Still not happy, it was decided we’d go to another music house. The
new composers sent four demo tracks two days later. In my opinion,
none were as good as the original demo. One track was downright
offensive. I had decided; any track but number three. I went ballistic. They had chosen the most racially offensive track on the CD. It was “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” all the way. Coke-bottle glasses, slanted eyes and bucked-teeth offensive. This was talk-to-personnel-go-to-the-press offensive. “What’s wrong with number three? Why is it offensive?” “I can’t explain it to you… why is ‘Swing low Sweet Chariot’ offensive to African-Americans? It just is!” I receive an e-mail from the account executive: “Ron, why do you find track number three so offensive? The old music was much more ORIENTAL.” “Oriental”!?! (Cartoon steam spewing from my ears.) We talked to the music guys and I explained my problems with track three. They got it right away. Two days later, we got a track that was still very Asian (Hell, almost Oriental), without being overtly offensive. We presented to our Japanese clients and they approved everything. Make dubs, go to air. Or so we thought. Later that afternoon, they called back to say they found the music to be racially offensive. See, these clients were not only Japanese; they were very traditional Japanese. They did not want us to lose face, so they didn’t want to criticize the music to our faces. The music was rearranged again with different instrumentation and the spot remixed, to the relief of our clients. In a meeting after the initial client call, my boss looks at me and laughs. “What?” I ask. “You’re sitting there, thinking I told you so.” I
didn’t say a Goddamned thing. I just sat there, silently
vindicated.
While sitting in a brainstorming session for (Mexican restaurant client), one of the senior creatives blurts out a concept which involves a character meeting colorful people on his lunch break. “Maybe our hero can meet a woman… someone Mexican… Juanita or Carmelito.” I had to say something, “Oh, that’s not too racist.” My writer responds, “Well, look at Ron… suddenly he’s got the pulse of everything racist.” Sadly, I appear to be the only one in my office. (A
note from the author: Names have been omitted to protect the
guilty.)
The villain is called Chen Lo and he's the head of a Chinese crime syndicate. (STEAM POURS FROM RON'S EARS) You think Chen Lo is going to get any love from Ms. Jolie?
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