Everybody Was Kung Fu Fighting

Long before the inkling of pursuing a film major entered my mind, I fell in love with movies, but not in the pouring rain, dramatic lifts and heartfelt stares kind of way. Instead, I would liken it to Dorothy’s pure, “There’s no place like home,” rather than Rose’s declaration, “I’ll never let go, Jack!”

Whether screened from the comfort of a couch or projected in a shabby room with floors sticky to the sole, films are one of my ultimate comforts. Simply put, I find them mesmerizing. I settle into my seat, eyes locked on the screen. Whatever story is told whisks me away for the runtime, and then some. Though some experiences are better than others — “Drive My Car” at the historic Tampa Theater was unparalleled whereas streaming “Don’t Look Up” at 2 a.m. left much to be desired — my film critique stops there. I’m easily entertained, to say the least, and ordering a large popcorn with free refills is just a bonus.

However, as I have grown older, the power of film as an agent for change has become more apparent. Though not every movie is beholden to this responsibility, it is impossible to ignore the power of film, whether the production is cognizant of it or not. My own relationship with movies perfectly exemplifies this. I am enthralled, even obsessive sometimes, and the filmmaker is my enchantress.

One of the very first movies that I can recall having such a hold on me is “Kung Fu Panda.” My best friend had it on DVD; in fact, she had both Kung Fu Panda films, which sat on a gorgeous wooden shelf adjacent to her collection of Disney movies. A few years later, the third installment would join its predecessors to be similarly well-loved and today, Dragon Warrior Po and Master Oogway hold a very fond place in my heart.

Barring the original “Mulan,” these movies were my first exposure to East Asian culture on the big screen and were certainly my introduction to kung fu. I didn’t learn who Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan were until middle school, at least five years after my first “Kung Fu Panda” watch. It would take even longer for me to know of the “kung fu craze” and connect the dots between how franchises like “Karate Kid” contributed to my classmates throwing a kick in a supposed imitation of “Chinese people.”

The portrayal of Asians in American cinema has a long history of persisting offenses, from whitewashing, to yellow and brownface, to the hypersexualization of Asian women. Though the influx of kung fu films in Hollywood gave Asians a footing in the Western film industry unlike any other genre before, it has not been without its consequences. The association of Asians and martial arts was brought into the mainstream where it has remained, with a recent example being the reference to the COVID-19 pandemic as the “kung flu.”

Furthermore, stereotypes based on the East Asian men who fronted the kung fu blockbusters during the height of the craze continue to stifle the breadth of roles these kinds of actors are offered today and more largely, the perception of East Asian men by Westerners.

To understand the depth of these limitations, we must examine the history of martial arts in Western film, beginning with its origins. Kung fu cinema was born in Hong Kong during the mid-1900s and expanded in tandem with Hong Kong’s growing economy. Notable films credited with bolstering the genre include “The Chinese Boxer” and “Vengeance,” both released in 1970.

The “kung fu craze” describes the success of these Hong Kong-produced films in America during the 1970s and 1980s, which were so popular that they even received their own name: chopsocky. This is a portmanteau of the dish chop suey and the term sock, as in a punch. First coined in 1973 by Variety reviewing “Five Fingers of Death” (1972), it quickly became a part of the general media’s vernacular and further reinforced the image of Asians in Western culture.

It was the West’s captivation with the kung fu genre that enabled the success of Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan. They would become household names with their debut films, “The Big Boss” (1971) and “Drunken Master” (1978), respectively, and were instrumental in the continued popularity of martial arts in American cinema. Lee and Chan portrayed a new kind of hero, with their influence differing from that of Sessue Hayakawa, the first Asian celebrity actor in Hollywood. Hayakawa was restricted to roles where he played forbidden, often vengeful lovers, and his high-profile contributed directly to the negative messaging about interracial relationships during the 1900s. As the Center for Asian American Media’s executive director Stephen Gong puts it, “[Hayakawa’s] transgressive stardom . . . elicited a ‘forbidden’ fan response . . . The industry was quietly but completely determined not to allow Asians or nonwhites to become ‘stars.’”

In contrast, Lee and Chan headed storylines that Western audiences had rarely seen before. The unfamiliarity of the kung fu craze went beyond the newness of the genre; it was more remarkable that Asians were leading protagonists.

From Lee sparring in “Fist of Fury” (1972) to Chan outmaneuvering his opponent in “The Big Brawl” (1980), they were skilled, likable and most of all, victorious. The international box office success that these films garnered led major Hong Kong studios to market movies specifically for Western audiences.

With Bruce Lee’s death in 1973, a phenomenon known as Bruceploitation arose. Hong Kong studios feared that without the face of kung fu cinema in Hollywood, profits would suffer. Actors began to appear on the bills of martial arts films with names like Bruce Li, Bruce Lai and Brute Lee. This pattern, though humorous, speaks to the importance of Bruce Lee in revolutionizing the kung fu genre. Though he only starred in five films, as Nicholas Raymond explains for Screen Rant, Lee “made studios realize that trained martial artists were essential to kung fu movies.” This can be reflected in Hollywood’s continued absorption of the genre, such as by the extensive training that Keanu Reeves received for “The Matrix” (1999) and Uma Thurman underwent for “Kill Bill” (2003).

Following Lee, Jackie Chan was the next major Asian actor to find critical success in Hollywood. He similarly began his career in Hong Kong but transitioned after being catapulted into the international limelight. Though Chan returned to Hong Kong during the late 1980s, he found renewed success in the West with “Rumble in the Bronx'' (1995) and the “Police Story” franchise. He is still active in the filmmaking industry, despite moving away from stunt work during the early 2010s. Chan may have been dependent on the legacy of Bruce Lee, but he is a critical contributor to the martial arts genre in his own right, particularly for his work with action comedies.

As a side effect of furthering the chopsocky genre, Lee and Chan unwittingly cemented the synonymity of the Asian actor and the martial arts role.

How do we reconcile the irrefutable importance of martial arts cinema in bringing Asian actors into the mainstream with the limitations it has posed on the exact kind of actors it gave opportunities to?

This “all Asians know kung fu” trope is discussed in an article by Diep Tran for NBC News. Tran acknowledges that “because Hollywood tends to replicate things that sold well before, playing a kung fu fighter soon became one of the only ways that Asian actors could get work in Hollywood.” For example, much of Lee’s personal philosophies about openness, expression, and personal growth that informed his training in martial arts have been forgotten. Instead, he is largely remembered for his physicality alone. His daughter Shannon Lee points to him as “the origin of the kung fu master stereotype” because he “[made] such a huge splash in Hollywood,” but argues that “there was not enough of that continued impact from other [Asian Americans] . . . just due to the systems in place.”

Kung fu is traditionally a symbol of nationalism and virtue for Chinese citizens, but much of this cultural significance was lost on American audiences during the kung fu craze.

Furthermore, the production and distribution of martial arts films that were produced in America, inspired by the original Hong Kong films, was controlled by white executives. This only reinforced the systems and stereotypes that Shannon Lee speaks of.

Martial arts cinema has remained an active industry, though to a lesser extent than it was in the 1970s and 1980s. However, a number of opportunities for Asians to make their mark on Hollywood have arisen over the years.

Television shows like The CW’s martial arts action-adventure drama “Kung Fu,” which began airing in 2021, wish to redefine the genre by exploring American identity and politics through the lens of a complex, majority Asian cast. The series’ director, Bao Tran, explains that “Asian American kung fu narratives are using the genre to explore contemporary issues of identity” in contrast to the genre’s focus on fantasy and crime-fighting elements during the kung fu craze. This helps break away from the original martial arts films that shaped the stereotypes Asian American men have been subjected to for decades.

“Kung Fu” showrunner Christina M. Kim has discussed how her decision to make her lead character female pushes the boundaries of the martial arts genre. Though there are several well-respected female martial artists in the industry, they have often been overshadowed by their male counterparts, especially in the West where they were not featured to the same degree as in Hong Kong.

As the creative team behind “Kung Fu” represents, one of the biggest differences between martial arts films coming out of Hollywood during the kung fu craze and today is who the filmmakers are.

The boundaries of the genre are changing and stereotypical roles are being challenged because its creators are Asian American.

As Diep Tran writes, “Bruce Lee wasn’t able to get complete creative control over his work until he made films in Hong Kong. These newer properties [in Hollywood] are headed by Asian American creators, who have control over their vision.” Relevant to this conversation is the lack of non-East Asian actors in the West. There has been no such “craze,” or importation of regional cinema into Hollywood from other parts of Asia. While Bollywood thrives and has its share of interest in the West, Hollywood remains the largest film industry with the most international influence and it is decidedly absent of diverse representation for Asians. Though East Asian actors are making waves, there remain many hurdles in the way of securing proper representation. Non-East Asian actors are hardly present at all.

The role that martial arts cinema has played in the multi-faceted issue of proper representation is only one factor of many, though analyzing its history reveals an indisputable conclusion: Without the kung fu craze, Asians would not have the presence in the industry that they do today. The work of icons like Bruce Lee and Jackie Chan introduced American audiences to the possibility of Asian heroes, and while Asians face stereotypes borne from the popularity of martial arts cinema, the precedents are being rewritten by a new generation of filmmakers.

Like the Soothsayer says in “Kung Fu Panda 2,” “Your story may not have such a happy beginning, but that doesn’t make you who you are. It is the rest of your story, who you choose to be.”