The East, the West, and the Stories Hollywood Gets Wrong
Like many other kids at SAS, I grew up as the Wasian poster child you see in the advertisements of international schools in Singapore. I was raised between two continents, two cultures, and two very distant sets of values. While games I played with my sister, like "keep up” using a Japanese paper ball, taught me the importance of dependence, dinner table poker games were all about the thrill of taking individual risks to collect the highest bounty of chips. My Grandmother’s collection of Menadonese folktales warned me of the repercussions of leaving where you came from, while books like The Magic Treehouse championed adventure and exploration. The anime characters shown at my local bookshop in Tokyo, like Naruto, taught me about individual sacrifice for the greater good, while my childhood idol, Moana, taught me to follow my dreams.
When I was younger, I often felt at a crossroads between these values. I recalled muffled arguments between Mom and Dad— should I be going to soccer practice or Kumon? Could I skip family dinner to play in the Sunday league? At times, these values clashed. But, as I grew older, I began to see things differently. I realized that these cultural values are not contradictions but are rather unique strengths that shape who I am in their own ways. Sometimes, I chose to embody the lone-savior superhero in my favorite Marvel movies, and other times, I leaned into the sacrificial love modeled by my grandmother’s folktales. These choices were complimentary. Yet, when I look at how culture is portrayed in mainstream Western Media, particularly in Hollywood, I see these values pitted against each other.
It is human nature to stick to what you know. It is more comfortable to choose to tell the same tired narratives that are compatible with what you believe in. But, in a global landscape where media narratives are profoundly influential, Hollywood holds a crucial responsibility. Each choice in every movie contributes to how people perceive others– and when these choices are misinformed or biased, they can perpetuate harmful perceptions and misconceptions. Specifically, Hollywood films often depict Asian cultures in a negative light, reinforcing cultural divisions and prompting superficial diversity.
When Crazy Rich Asians, directed by John M. Chu, first came out, I was eager to watch a film set in the city I grew up in. The colorful hawker stalls and satisfying mahjong montages beautifully depicted the vibrant and rich culture Singapore has to offer. But something about the plot unsettled me. Eleanor Huang, Nick's mother, reminded me of my own—soft-spoken but firm, devoted to her family, and a strong believer in family loyalty. However, Eleanor is framed as an obstacle to the happiness of Rachel, the independent, self-made American protagonist. She believes that Rachel's American upbringing and individualistic values make her unsuitable to marry into the Young family. Her concerns about Rachel are steeped in traditional Asian values, where preserving family legacy, protecting intergenerational bonds, and collective well-being are emphasized. But instead of explaining these motivations, Eleanor is depicted as an over-controlling matriarch clinging to outdated norms. Meanwhile, Rachel’s individualism and pursuit of happiness are celebrated as the singular path forward.
Similarly, Pixar’s Turning Red also presents a clash between East Asian and Western cultures but falls into the same reductive patterns. The film follows Mei, a Chinese-Canadian teen who desires to embrace her own interests and identity but is held back by her family’s expectations. Mei’s mother, Ming, is again portrayed as overbearing and rigid, pressuring Mei to suppress her individuality for the sake of her family’s honor. Like Crazy Rich Asians, Turning Red beautifully captures many elements of Asian culture. But again, the film’s resolution comes through Mei prioritizing her desires over her mother’s. Like Eleanor in Crazy Rich Asians, Ming is painted as an antagonist whose traditional values get in the way of her daughter's happiness.
While both films vividly showcase Asian culture through vibrant images, their narratives only reinforce stereotypes and “repressive” traditions. Notably, there seems to be a stereotype that all mothers from the East fall into the classic “evil Asian tiger mom” trope. Yes, at times, what is said about Asian parents is true. They generally have high expectations when it comes to academic achievement and life goals. But this trope oversimplifies the motivations behind such expectations. My mom, like Eleanor Huang and Ming, emphasizes education, family, and success—not to control me but to ensure I have the opportunities she could only dream of having growing up. She expects the most, but she also celebrates my triumphs the hardest. Because, in many ways, they are her own. Yet, when Hollywood tells stories like this, it strips away that nuance. By feeding into these stereotypes and framing Asian culture as repressive, these movies contribute to forming harmful perceptions.
Yes, Hollywood has made tremendous progress in becoming more diverse. Settings, skin colors, and faces seem more varied than ever. Crazy Rich Asians and Turning Red are praised for such diversity and representation of East Asian culture— and that is the issue with Hollywood’s approach to representation. While visually diverse, the underlying narratives often undermine the core values of the cultures they claim to celebrate. Countless Hollywood films – Mulan, Joy Luck Club,– that have been lauded for their diversity all consistently portray the pressures of traditional Asian cultures as hurdles to overcome.
Real diversity requires so much more than just surface-level representation. It is not just showing an Asian character eating dumplings while studying with an “evil mom” in the background. It is not just picking and choosing the aesthetically pleasing, DEI-requirement-fulfilling part of a culture you want to showcase. True diversity requires a deep, respectful, and balanced engagement with the cultures being portrayed, not merely showcasing them while undermining their core values.
The Farewell, directed by Lulu Wang, does just that. The film follows Billi, a Chinese-American, as she grapples with her family’s decision to withhold her grandmother’s terminal diagnosis. This decision is heavily grounded in Chinese values, where the family chooses to bear the emotional burden themselves rather than burden their Nai Nai with the truth. Unlike most Western narratives that position individual aspirations against family obligations, The Farewell does not champion one set of values over the other. Instead, the film presents Billi’s internal cultural conflict with nuance. Initially, she feels that it is simply unethical to withhold the truth from Nai Nai. But, as the film progresses, Billi observes the joy and normalcy that came with this decision in her Grandmother’s final days. The heartfelt conversations with her relatives and constant smile across her beloved Grandmother’s face widen her perspective. By the end of the film, while she may not fully agree with this decision, she respects it and participates in her family’s collective efforts to keep Nai Nai happy in her final days. Billi’s individualistic Western values turned out to be not the singular path forward. The Farewell shows the strengths and nuances in both cultures– setting a benchmark for how Asian narratives can be crafted with authenticity and care.
Movies shape our perceptions of values, cultures, and people. And with that responsibility, conscious choices about the way Asian cultures are being represented must be made. Movies also have the power to be transformative. Just as I’ve learned to embody the best of both my Asian and American cultures, Hollywood can tell stories that bridge divides rather than reinforce them. Movies– like The Farewell— foster understanding and empathy. The world needs more narratives that celebrate the richness of diverse cultures in all their forms.