Imagining Chinatown
Local filmmaker takes ambitious look at contested traditions
By Hua Hsu

Imitation is usually the sincerest form of flattery, but for local filmmaker Eric Lin the choice of naming his feature film debut Chinatown was a calculated political decision. Though he shares the name with Roman Polanski’s 1974 film noir classic, Lin’s Chinatown is no homage. With just a sly reference to the nefarious way Chinatown is portrayed in Polanski’s film and beyond, Chinatown is a beautiful, meticulous, and challenging drama about a young woman’s struggles in the midst of a fierce community controversy. As part of PBS’ ongoing Independent View series, Chinatown airs on KQED and selected PBS affiliates May 12 at 11 p.m.

Shot on 16 mm film in March 1999, the film’s cinematography and storytelling bring to mind the works of everyone from Spike Lee and Jim Jarmusch to Wong Kar-Wai and Martin Scorcese. Coupling innovative camera technique with a dazzling use of light and darkness, the film broods and simmers from scene-to-scene with an ambitious brilliance. The opening scene—executed in one continuous shot—is an especially beautiful sequence, and the camera work in general greatly complements the film’s occasional fairytale motif.

Lin uses the live food ban controversy as a backdrop to mix and match crises of identity, community politics, tradition and history—and both overt and covert racism.

While the characters and situations aren’t “real” per se, they are embodiments of attitudes and perspectives Lin has witnessed and been affected by throughout his adult life. As well, massive hours of research suggest that the portrayal of Chinatown as an occasional portal of intercultural tension doesn’t fall far from the truth.

“I don’t see the ban as a one-sided thing, like ‘us’ against ‘the man,’” Lin explained shortly before the film’s completion. “The attempt to control food practices in Chinatown was more of a symptom of representations of Chinatown, so as a result I looked at the deeper level. The decision to go against Chinatown rather than, say Fisherman’s Wharf is a symptom of other issues, and if you look at the history of American cinema, Asian Americans are an easy default villain.”

The story revolves around Jen (Christine Uemura) and Ender (Clarence Lin), two young Chinatown lifers whose conversations and thoughts comprise much of the film’s substance. In Jen the audience sees a work in-progress, a young woman carefully crafting her conviction between her own cautious skepticism and the passions of those around her.

“I want to do the right thing,” she thinks to herself shortly before violence hits Chinatown, “but I don’t know what that means.” Jen is perpetually in a hazy state of half-consciousness as she grasps for a metaphor or reason for the events around her.

Though Ender is portrayed with less depth on-screen, his presence supplies the weighty counter to Jen’s wavering take on the animal rights fight. Ender is so in love with the fight that he is nearly blind to the consequences that it may have on those around him. To him, “turtle shells and frog legs” are a matter of principle and cultural dominance; Ender’s Chinatown is romantic, insular and noble, a place that deserves to be defended until bloody oblivion.

For Lin, the forces which converge in Chinatown point to a fundamental conflict of power and survival. While the land was sculpted by Western architects according to an imagined, “Orientalist” notion of China, the tourist industry has always provided opportunities and means of subsistence for the local Chinese populations as well.

“When Chinatown burned down the first time in 1906, the guy rebuilt it in his own vision of what he thought China would look like,” Lin recounts. “This fundamental power relationship is what I wanted the film to get at ... if tourism sculpted the imagery of Chinatown—and you see that in all films—then Chinatown can be seen as symbolic of a Chinese presence in America. I saw Chinatown as a subordinate presence, so they could be sculpted in a certain way.”

Polanski’s Chinatown has long been regarded as a visionary work, a classic volume of film noir and an indicting peek into the darkness which froths behind the plastic, sunny smiles of the Los Angeles dream machine. Ostensibly a film about water and politics, Polanski uses Chinatown as the backdrop to cast eternal questions of corruptive evil, as though the place itself is a darkness to be overcome. As a frustrated Jack Nicholson wonders aloud why the madness of Chinatown persists, a sympathetic cop buddy closes the film by cryptically sighing, “What are you gonna do about it, Jack? It’s Chinatown.”

Though it is partly posed as a response to such exploitative depictions of Chinatown, Lin’s Chinatown shows there are no easy answers. And he prefers it that way. Along with “Asian-only” in-jokes poking fun at the Western infatuation with fortune cookies and Kung Pao chicken, and digs at the latent racism of liberal America, Lin reminds us that individual passion is often driven by utilitarianism.

With all the accolades and his 1998 award-winning short The Fairy Tale, Lin still retains a low-key if not painfully modest approach to his artistry. He credits those around him for breathing much of the life into Chinatown. “The crew especially put forward an effort that was as awe-inspiring as it was inspiring,” he beams. “My producer Johnny Ping is the man, and Louis Lee gave the film a beautiful light.”

Currently studying in New York University’s elite film school, Lin plays off the successes of Chinatown and instead directs his focus to the future. “If you don’t make yourself leave the project alone, you can edit a film into eternity. I’m still struggling to master the craft of film-making and Chinatown was an important and, in many ways, cumulative step for me. I’m still learning.”