Asian American Film Festivals: Frames, Locations, and Performances of Memory 9783110696530, 9783110693546

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Erin Franziska Högerle Asian American Film Festivals

Media and Cultural Memory / Medien und kulturelle Erinnerung

Edited by Astrid Erll · Ansgar Nünning Editorial Board Aleida Assmann · Mieke Bal · Vita Fortunati · Richard Grusin · Udo Hebel Andrew Hoskins · Wulf Kansteiner · Alison Landsberg · Claus Leggewie Jeffrey Olick · Susannah Radstone · Ann Rigney · Michael Rothberg Werner Sollors · Frederik Tygstrup · Harald Welzer

Volume 28

Erin Franziska Högerle

Asian American Film Festivals Frames, Locations, and Performances of Memory

ISBN 978-3-11-069354-6 e-ISBN (PDF) 978-3-11-069653-0 e-ISBN (EPUB) 978-3-11-069665-3 ISSN 1613-8961 Library of Congress Control Number: 2020945449 Bibliographic information published by the Deutsche Nationalbibliothek The Deutsche Nationalbibliothek lists this publication in the Deutsche Nationalbibliografie; detailed bibliographic data are available on the Internet at http://dnb.dnb.de. © 2021 Walter de Gruyter GmbH, Berlin/Boston Typesetting: Eberhard Högerle Cover image: LeMusique / iStock / Getty Images Plus Printing and binding: CPI books GmbH, Leck. www.degruyter.com

Acknowledgements As this book emerged from the DFG-funded project “Migration and Transcultural Memory: Literature, Film, and the ‘Social Life’ of Memory Media” (2015–2018, GZ: ER 339/3-1), I would first like to thank the Deutsche Forschungsgemeinschaft (DFG) for their generous funding, allowing me to take part in international conferences, visit archives, and complete my field work at CAAMFest in 2017. I would further like to thank the Deutscher Akademischer Austauschdienst (DAAD), without whose generous support via a “DAAD-Doktorandenstipendium” I would not have been able to conduct my research at San Diego Asian Film Festival, CAAM’s film archive, and UC Berkeley in 2016. Foremost, my heartfelt gratitude and thanks go to my doctoral advisor, Astrid Erll, who not only set up and headed the research project, but also so generously shared her knowledge, offered guidance, and gave me confidence whenever I doubted my project. I am also particularly grateful to my second doctoral advisor, Vinzenz Hediger, for sparking my interest in transnational and, particularly, Asian cinemas during my graduate studies and pointing me to film festival research that significantly shaped my work. For valuable feedback at conferences, comments on earlier drafts, reading suggestions, and participation in my dissertation committee, I would like to thank to Kalani Michell, Dagmar Brunow, Jarula Wegner, Maria Dorr, Sophie Opitz, Paul Vickers, Christina Jordan, Yingjie Zhang, Sébastien Fevry, Paul Bijl, Michael Rothberg, Rembert Hüser, Marc Siegel, Susanne Scholz, and Johannes Völz. Thanks also go to the members of the Frankfurt Memory Studies Platform (FMSP) and the research network Mnemonics for hosting stimulating events and summer schools, creating a cohort of PhD students, and fostering exchange between memory scholars as well as dedicating a tremendous amount of time and energy to the support of early-career researchers. Thanks to the festival directors and programmers who offered insights into their work – especially to the staff of Pac Arts/SDAFF and CAAM/CAAMFest who welcomed me into their offices. I am particularly grateful to Brian Hu, Masashi Niwano, and Stephen Gong, all of whom took time out of their busy schedules in order to give expert interviews and patiently answer my many questions. Thanks to the filmmakers who shared their beautiful works with me and opened up about their experiences as Asian American filmmakers: Andrew Ahn, Quyen Nguyen-Le, Robin Takao D’Oench, Adinah Dancyger, and Eui Yong Zong. I am especially grateful to my friends (some of them having shared the rocky road of pursuing a PhD) for joining me in film festival visits and writing sessions at Berlin’s many libraries, providing me with nurturing conversations and comfort food, and supporting me throughout the entire process: Sanna https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-202

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 Acknowledgements

Stegmaier, Carolin Anda, Dominik Hilfenhaus, Laura Hollingshaus, Niklas Hütter, Martin Reisenweber, Marie Wolters, Christine Maul-Pfeifer, and Christoph Kaufmann. Many thanks to my family, particularly to Eberhard Högerle, for giving me so much emotional support and tirelessly preparing this book’s wonderful layout; Jill McCreadie, for taking me in during my research trips to California; and Sven Schaub, for (ever so patiently and lovingly) accompanying me through my ups and downs and listening to my ideas at every possible hour of the day. Finally, I would like to dedicate this book to Deborah Griggs, who proofread almost every page of my dissertation and passed away before being able to see me reach the top of my personal Mount Everest. Without her wisdom, kindness, creativity, and guidance, even during her final months, I would never have finished this work – I wish she could have seen it in print. The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, And I must follow, if I can, Pursuing it with eager feet, Until it joins some larger way Where many paths and errands meet. And whither then? I cannot say. (Tolkien 2004, 46–47)

Parts of this work were presented at conferences or published in earlier versions: Excerpts of chapters 3, 4, 5, and 7 appeared in the article “Networks, Locations and Frames of Memory in Asian American Film Festivals” (2019) in Between Travel and Locatedness: New Horizons in Cultural and Media Memory Studies, a special issue of Journal of Aesthetics & Culture. Material from chapters 3, 4, and 5 was presented at the NITMES conference “Provincializing European Memory,” Goethe University Frankfurt (2015); the workshop “Travels: Media, Memories, Identities,” Université Catholique de Louvain, Louvain-la-Neuve (2015); the symposium “New Directions and Challenges in Cultural Memory Studies: Past, Present, Future,” Justus Liebig University, Gießen (2016); the Mnemonics Summer School, University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign (2016); and events of the Frankfurt Memory Studies Platform, Goethe University Frankfurt (2017 and 2018).

Contents Acknowledgements  List of Figures  List of Tables 

 V

 IX  XI

List of Abbreviations 

 XIII

1 Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory?  1.1 Premises   4 1.2 Materials, Methods, and Aims   11 1.3 Structure   18

 1

2 2.1 2.2 2.3 2.4 2.5

Memory in Asian American Cinema 22 Asian American Cinema and Memories of Migration   22 Becoming Asian American: History and Identity   29 History and Conceptualizations of Asian American Cinema  Forms of Asian American Memory Films   56 From Asian American Film to Asian American Film Festivals 

3 3.1 3.2 3.3 3.4 3.5 3.6

The Film Festival as Memory Network   83 Film Festivals and Memory Production   83 Beyond the Film: The Film Festival   85 Beyond the Film Festival: Circuits and Networks   96 Film Festivals Between the Local, National, and Global   105 Asian American Film Festivals: Characteristics, History, Memory Work   110 Asian American Film Festivals as Mediators of the Past   127

4 4.1 4.2 4.3 4.4 4.5

Framing Memory: Festival Narratives   128 Frames, Festivals, and Memory   128 Framing the Festival: Mission Statements   131 Framing the Program: Structuring Elements   142 Framing Individual Films   168 Film Festivals as Producers of Asian American Cinema 

 180

 46  82

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 Contents

5 The Mise-en-Scène of Memory: Film Festivals’ Curation of Space   182 5.1 Location: The Ground for Memory   182 5.2 Locations and Memories of Moviegoing   184 5.3 Festival Contexts: Layers of Location and Networks of Programming   188 5.4 Case Studies: CAAMFest and SDAFF’s Arenas of Memory   198 5.5 Film Festival Locations as Affective and Participative Spaces   224 6 6.1 6.2 6.3 6.4 6.5 7

Performing Memory: Film Festival Actors and Communities   226 Performativity of Film Festivals   226 Discourses and Agendas: Influences on Festival Performance   230 Actors in the Performance: Roles and Interests   242 Creating Community, Producing Memory: Strategies and Programs   254 Specificity of Asian American Film Festival Performances   269 Conclusion: The Present and Future of Asian American Film Festivals   271

8 Appendix   277 8.1 Overview of Asian American Film Festivals   277 8.2 Locations of CAAMFest and SDAFF (2010–2019)   279 8.3 Sponsors of CAAMFest 2017 and SDAFF 2016   281 8.4 Asian and Asian American Films Screened in San Francisco and San Diego (November 1, 2016 – November 1, 2017)   286 Bibliography 

 295

Filmography 

 325

Index of Terms 

 329

Index of Film Festivals  Index of Locations 

 333

 335

Index of Organizations 

 337

List of Figures Fig. 1: Photo collage in the festival catalog for SDAFF’s 10-year anniversary. Source: 10th San Diego 2009, 26.   138 Fig. 2: Timeline in the festival catalog for SDAFF’s 10-year anniversary. Source: 10th San Diego 2009, 27–28.   139 Fig. 3: Hierarchies within CAAMFest’s program: Gala Presentations. Source: CAAMFest 2017, 16–17.   143 Fig. 4: Hierarchies within CAAMFest’s program: Documentary section. Source: CAAMFest 2017, 46–47.   143 Fig. 5: Single film stills as introductions to sections and matching sidebars in SDAFF’s 2016 catalog. Source: 17th Annual 2016, 45.   144 Fig. 6: Color-coded sidebars and hierarchies within SDAFF’s program: Special Presentations. Source: 15 San Diego 2014, 42.   144 Fig. 7: Hierarchies within SDAFF’s program: Shorts programs. Source: 15 San Diego 2014, 76.   145 Fig. 8: Use of photographs and film stills for CAAMFest’s 2014 “Out of the Vaults” program. Source: CAAMFest 2014, 20.   147 Fig. 9: Use of photographs and film stills for CAAMFest’s Special Presentations. Source: CAAMFest 2017, 26–27.   148 Fig. 10: Use of personal photographs in CAAMFest’s 2014 welcome letters. Source: CAAMFest 2013, 4–5.   148 Fig. 11: SFIAAFF’s 2008 catalog cover. Source: 26th San Francisco 2008.   150 Fig. 12: CAAMFest’s 2013 and 2014 catalog covers. Source: CAAMFest 2013; CAAMFest 2014.   151 Fig. 13: SDAFF’s 2016 catalog cover. Source: 17th Annual 2016.   152 Fig. 14: SDAFF’s 2011 catalog cover. Source: Twelfth Annual 2011.   154 Fig. 15: CAAMFest’s 2015 catalog cover. Source: Destination 2015.   154 Fig. 16: SDAFF’s 2013 catalog cover. Source: 14th San Diego 2013.   155 Fig. 17: SDAFF’s 2014 catalog cover. Source: 15 San Diego 2014.   156 Fig. 18: SFIAAFF’s 2011 and 2012 mini-guide and catalog covers. Source: Mini-Guide 2011; SFIAAFF 30 2012.   157 Fig. 19: SFIAAFF’s 2012 mini-guide cover. Source: Mini-Guide 2012.   157 Fig. 20: Xfinity and AT&T advertisements in CAAMFest’s 2017 catalog. Source: CAAMFest 2017.   159 Fig. 21: Rémy Martin advertisement in CAAMFest’s 2017 catalog. Source: CAAMFest 2017, 42.   160 Fig. 22: Distances between festival locations at CAAMFest 2017 (San Francisco) and SDAFF 2016 (San Diego). Source: Google Maps, 2017.   195 Fig. 23: The Castro Theatre’s exterior and its position on Castro Street. Source: Erin Högerle, 2017; Erin Högerle, 2016.   199 Fig. 24: The Castro Theatre’s interior during CAAMFest’s 2017 opening ceremony. Source: Erin Högerle, 2017.   202 Fig. 25: Chinatown gallery 41 Ross during CAAMFest 2017. Source: Erin Högerle, 2017.   208

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X 

 List of Figures

Fig. 26: Photos of the New Lung Ting Cafe as part of the exhibition Eat Chinatown. Source: Erin Högerle, 2017.   209 Fig. 27: The oral history section of the exhibition Eat Chinatown. Source: Erin Högerle, 2017.   210 Fig. 28: Sarah Wong’s memories of the New Hollywood Cafe. Source: Erin Högerle, 2017.   210 Fig. 29: UltraStar Mission Valley’s lobby and movie theater during SDAFF 2016. Source: Erin Högerle, 2016.   214 Fig. 30: The exterior of Chinatown’s Great Star Theater. Source: Erin Högerle, 2016. 

 219

List of Tables Tab. 1: Overview of laws targeting Asian immigration to the United States.  Tab. 2: Synopses of Asian American memory films.   57 Tab. 3: Timelines of the founding of Asian American film festivals and media organizations.   113 Tab. 4: Timelines of CAAM/CAAMFest and Pac Arts/SDAFF.   115

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 34

List of Abbreviations AAFFs AAIFF AAPA AAPI ACV ANT APA Berlinale CAAM Cannes Castro CCDC CHSA CPB CSR FBI FIAPF LAAPFF LGBTQ MCASD MOPA NAATA NEA NECS Pac Arts PBS PFA PIC SCMS SDAFF SFIAAFF SIFF SJISFF STEM TIFF UCLA UCSD USD USF VC VOD Venice WWII

Asian American film festivals Asian American International Film Festival, New York City Asian American Political Alliance Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders Asian CineVision Actor-Network Theory Asian Pacific American Berlin International Film Festival Center for Asian American Media Cannes Film Festival Castro Theatre Chinatown Community Development Center Chinese Historical Society of America, San Francisco Corporation for Public Broadcasting Corporate social responsibility Federal Bureau of Investigation International Federation of Film Producers Associations Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender, and questioning (or queer) Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego Museum of Photographic Arts, San Diego National Asian American Telecommunications Association National Endowment for the Arts European Network for Cinema and Media Studies Pacific Arts Movement Public Broadcasting Service Pacific Film Archive Pacific Islanders in Communications Society for Cinema and Media Studies San Diego Asian Film Festival San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival Seattle International Film Festival San Jose International Short Film Festival Science, technology, engineering, and mathematics Toronto International Film Festival University of California Los Angeles University of California San Diego University of San Diego University of San Francisco Visual Communications Video-on-Demand Venice International Film Festival World War II

https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-206

1 I ntroduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory? Migration is an experience central to our time.1 In the past few years, many Western countries have closed their borders to stop the flow of immigrants and refugees from entering both the European Union and the United States, so that questions of identity, difference, and belonging have once again become pressing and are constantly brought to attention by the media. In their reporting on these events, the media shape our understanding of our own and others’ identities, histories, and cultures. Drawing on Arjun Appadurai’s study of globalization and its influence on modern societies,2 Vijay Agnew asserts that these mass-mediated images transcending national and cultural borders also greatly influence the experience of migration (2005c, 31). Russell King and Nancy Wood concur in stating that the media not only fuel, but also shape migration in their transmission of images that perpetuate ideas of wealth and freedom in connection to host countries or portray migrants as “others” and consequently impact their integration into the host society (2001, 1–2). Because the current waves of migration have encouraged divides within and among the host countries, splitting both political parties and the public, and given right-wing movements the opportunity to gain ground, the factor of memory is brought into sharp focus as narratives of past and present are continuously renegotiated by communities. Memories of past situations of migration, war, and exile are summoned as Western societies question their values and duties. What is more, memories of experiences by the immigrant community are brought to the fore, shaping ideas about the culture left behind, the identity of the new, hybrid micro-culture, and the conception of the host culture. Existing memories are shared, lost memories recovered, new memories created or renegotiated, always mediated, usually in narrative form. Through the migration and travels of people,

1 This statement should not imply that large-scale migration has not taken place in the past or that migration has gone through a substantial increase. However, as Murat Aydemir and Alex Rotas state, the word does seem to “characterize our time qualitatively […] because it presently resonates with larger concerns, developments, and happenings” (2008, 8). 2 In his seminal work Modernity at Large: Cultural Dimensions of Globalization, Arjun Appadurai demonstrates how our everyday lives – our identities, localities, and communities – are informed by travel and media representation: “The story of mass migration (voluntary and forced) is hardly a new feature of human history. But when it is juxtaposed with the rapid flow of mass-mediated images, scripts and sensations, we have a new order of instability in the production of modern subjectivities” (1996, 4). https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-001

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 Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory?

media, and objects across national and cultural borders, new memories emerge, old memories change, and new memory communities take shape.3 As film festivals that are dedicated to the media output of Asian immigrant and diasporic communities in the United States, Asian American film festivals4 constitute a platform through which memories of migration are mediated, transported, and shaped. This mediation and staging of memories takes place in the festivals’ presentation of both fiction and documentary films that center on migration and life in the diaspora; in their framing of these films through festival publications, websites, and mission statements; in their choices of festival locations, which through their atmosphere, history, and perceived identity shape the moviegoing experience; and in their performances during the screenings that add another narrative layer to these films. This is particularly visible in the opening night events of the 2016 edition of San Diego Asian Film Festival (SDAFF)5 and the 2017 edition of San Francisco-based CAAMFest, during which the two Asian American film festivals screened the feature film The Tiger Hunter (2016): set in 1979, the comedy tells the lighthearted fictional story of Sami Malik, an Indian engineer, who decides to leave his village behind and migrate to the United States in the hope of achieving economic success and winning over his childhood crush, Ruby. On November 3, 2016, SDAFF’s artistic director, Brian Hu, introduced the festival’s opening night film as a story about the “community and resilience

3 Here, Astrid Erll’s concept of “travelling memory” comes into play, drawing on James Clifford’s (1992) term “travelling culture.” In her essay, Erll asserts that memories “do not hold still,” but instead are “constituted first of all through movement” (2011b, 11). 4 In their self-promotion as Asian American film festivals, these festivals touch upon Asian American identity politics and U.S. racial and ethnic relations, creating the image that – among the numerous Asian diasporic communities in the U.S. – there is a unified Asian American identity. Moreover, their label leads to the assumption that a genre of Asian American cinema exists. The constructedness of the term “Asian American” as well as the potential of constructing such a hybrid identity are discussed in detail in chapter 2. 5 Although San Diego Asian Film Festival calls itself an “Asian” rather than “Asian American” film festival, Pacific Arts Movement, the nonprofit organization hosting the festival, emphasizes its focus on both “Asian American and Asian international cinema” in its self-description and mission statement (“About Pacific Arts” 2019). What is more, the festival program dedicates one of its five sections exclusively to Asian American cinema, while additionally screening Asian American works in its Special Presentations section, thus taking part in constructing and defining the genre. The organization is also closely connected to San Diego’s Asian diasporic community with regard to its origins, development, and current programs, as examined in chapters 3.5 and 4.2. This study therefore considers SDAFF as belonging to the category of Asian American film festivals.

Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory? 

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of immigrants to the United States.”6 In the Q&A that followed the screening, B. Hu took up the point of migration once more, expressing his ability to relate to the film on a personal level because his parents had emigrated from Taiwan in the same year as the fictional story took place and opening up about his family’s experiences as immigrants in the United States. The film’s main actress, Karen David, similarly drew on her personal experiences in reference to the film, stating that she had remembered her parents’ migration from India to the U.K. as well as the hardships and sacrifices they had endured in the past as she was reading the script. On March 9, 2017, CAAMFest’s film festival director, Masashi Niwano, similarly introduced The Tiger Hunter as a “powerful” story of immigration and the American Dream, depicting an immigrant community fighting for its place in the United States. In the subsequent Q&A, director Lena Khan explained that the film was partially based on the true immigration stories of her parents and her friends’ families. A friend, for example, had told her about his father’s experience of coming to the U.S. and sharing a single suit for interviews with his multiple roommates – a story that was integrated into the film and constituted a particularly comical and memorable scene. In turn, the film’s main actor, Danny Pudi, recalled how his parents had migrated to Chicago in the 1970s, asserting that The Tiger Hunter was “truly my family’s story.” As the Q&A was opened to the audience, a guest further expressed how much the story had “resonated” with him, based on his own father’s immigration to the United States and search for work as an engineer. These two scenes from SDAFF and CAAMFest are exemplary of how Asian American film festivals transform events into spaces of shared remembering, staging a film as a trigger for memory and serving as ground for the activation of its memory potential. What is more, they show how films projected onto the screen may be framed and therefore experienced as ‘authentic’ and ‘true’ in their portrayals of stories and histories of migration as well as how certain motifs – in the case of The Tiger Hunter, the themes of the hardworking, yet disadvantaged immigrant; his exposure to the dog-eat-dog world of business; and the strength of community and friendship – may be reinforced through pre- and post-screening events. Thus, the festivals shape audience memories of the film, the moviegoing experience, and the festival event, drawing our attention to certain narratives or

6 The following observations and statements stem from my fieldwork, during which I visited the 2016 edition of San Diego Asian Film Festival and the 2017 edition of CAAMFest and observed selected festival events as a participant.

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 Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory?

perspectives and encouraging us to connect the story to our own histories and biographies. SDAFF and CAAMFest’s opening night events further constituted instances in which analogies were drawn between past events and present experiences, as the festivals made use of a story of migration in order to address the political climate following President Trump’s election and inauguration, acknowledge the struggles faced by minorities in the United States, and create solidarity and feelings of community among audience members: At CAAMFest, actor Rizwan Manji compared the experiences of screening The Tiger Hunter prior to and after the presidential election of 2016, stating that the film – in its portrayal of the hardships faced by immigrants and their fight for a place in society – had acquired a “deeper meaning” in 2017 and that its screenings had become “more emotional.” At SDAFF, Lena Khan and actor Parvesh Cheena added to this point, emphasizing that community was not only an important theme in the film, but also an important topic in the present, particularly with regard to the discrimination faced by Asian Americans within the U.S. entertainment industry. In their statements, Khan and Cheena thus picked up the theme of community previously addressed by B. Hu in his introduction to the film, where he commented on the festival’s stand against all kinds of discrimination currently taking place in the U.S. and referred to the need for community among immigrants. What these two scenes hint at is that festivals such as CAAMFest and SDAFF produce a multitude of narrative contexts for their films, some carefully staged in festival texts or scripted speeches, others spontaneously and unintentionally produced during live interviews or Q&As with guests on stage. These narrative contexts influence the way we remember both the films and the film festival events and encourage community building. Through their publications, choice of locations, and live performances, film festivals create a framework in which audience expectations are set and, in the case of minority festivals such as CAAMFest and SDAFF, a specific environment for the construction of minority identity and collective memory is nurtured.

1.1 Premises In its discussion of Asian American film and film festivals, this book asserts that film is a central medium used to store and represent memory, greatly influencing the way we imagine the past and therefore understand the present. Starting out from the idea that migration or travel is the “condition” for memory (Creet

Premises 

 5

2011, 9; see also Erll 2011b),7 it is interested in how memory travels, emphasizing the media-specific form of memory, but also in where and to whom it travels, underlining the widespread dissemination of cinematic memory as well as its transculturality. Finally, it is interested in how cinematic memory is framed and performed, pointing to the significance of social contexts in which memory is produced and accessed as well as examining the specific situation of reception at film festivals. Three premises together form the foundation of this research: the mediality of cultural memory, its transculturality, and the conviction that the ‘social life’ surrounding cultural practices of memory is worth studying.

Premise 1: The Mediality of Memory This study assumes that cultural memory is always mediated. In order for cultural memory to come into being, it needs to be stored in and accessed through a medium.8 Jan Assmann has pointed out that “[e]xternal objects as carriers of memory play a role already on the level of personal memory” (2010, 111). He states that our memory is “in constant interaction not only with other human memories but also with ‘things,’” declaring that “the term ‘memory’ is not a metaphor but a metonym based on material contact between a remembering mind and a reminding object” (111). As the memory capacity of our minds is limited, external storage devices are needed. However, media technologies and material objects do not only function as personal archives, but also serve as an “interface […] between the individual and the collective dimension of remembering,” enabling memories to move outside the human body and cover great distances, to cross both space and time (Erll 2011a, 113). Moreover, the media-specific form

7 In the introduction to Memory and Migration: Multidisciplinary Approaches to Memory Studies, Julia Creet claims that “[b]etween times, places, generations, and media, from individuals to communities and vice versa, movement is what produces memory” and criticizes that scholarly work tends to “assume an origin moment for memory,” focusing on its “motion away from the point of origin”: “Movement always attends memory, yet we tend to take stasis as its measure” (2011, 9). 8 Although largely focusing on media technologies and material objects such as print, film, and photography, this project considers the term “medium” in the widest sense as an “intermediary, a tool of transmission and expression” (Marchiori 2013, 85), consisting of a “holistic mix of techniques, technologies and practices through which social and cultural life is mediated, as well as including the more traditionally and stubbornly conceived ‘mass media’” (Hoskins 2011, 20). Thus, not only films function as intermediaries of memory, but also the film festival actors, texts, practices, performances, and locations that surround the screenings of films.

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 Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory?

shapes the memory: as Astrid Erll and Ann Rigney assert, “there is no cultural memory prior to mediation”; in fact, “there is no mediation without remediation: all representations of the past draw on available media technologies, on existent media products, on patterns of representation and medial aesthetics” (2009, 4). Joanne Garde-Hansen further emphasizes that we not only make sense of the past “through media discourses, forms, technologies and practices,” but that the multitude of mediated narratives and images present in our minds interact with each other, forming new connections and memories (2011, 6). The mediality of memory9 is an important premise for the conception of film as a memory medium. Making use of a spectrum of narrative and aesthetic tools, film is able to store, stage, and circulate memory as well as trigger existing memories in audiences. Within both film studies and memory studies, the intimate ties between film and memory have been widely discussed. Amresh Sinha and Terence McSweeney argue that the invention of film has made it possible to “effectively capture and [through projection] replicate time,” as the medium has the ability to “create a replica of a moment from the past and store it for later ‘use’” (2011b, 3). In Sculpting in Time: Reflections on the Cinema, Andrei Tarkovsky similarly considers film as the “means to take an impression of time” and repeat it through projection onto the screen, maintaining that, through its invention of cinema, humanity obtained a “matrix for actual time” (1989, 62). Laura Mulvey further asserts that “[o]n celluloid, personal and collective memories are prolonged and preserved, extending and expanding the ‘twilight zone,’10 merging individual memory with recorded history” (2005, 25). Film thus allows the spectator to “dip almost at will into moments of cinematic time, both within a given film and in the mass of films that make up cinema’s history” (McNeill 2010, 3). In contrast to photography, film has been largely theorized as showing rather than stopping time. As Russell J.A. Kilbourn points out: Whereas the (analog) photograph is always a representation of something past, over and done, film, in its iconicity, is ‘life’; photography, in its indexicality, is ‘death’ […] film in a fundamental sense is always ‘animation’: whether in terms of the apparent mobility of the object onscreen or of the camera or frame itself. (2010, 29)

Next to these observations on the media specificity of film and its connections to time, past, and memory, several scholars have also pointed to the significance of

9 For a detailed discussion of media and memory, see van Dijck (2007); Erll and Rigney (2009); Garde-Hansen (2011); and Neiger et al. (2011). 10 Mulvey references historian Eric Hobsbawm (1987) in her mention of a “twilight zone” between personal memory and recorded history (2005, 25).

Premises 

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film for cultural memory. In their introduction to Film und kulturelle Erinnerung: Plurimediale Konstellationen, Astrid Erll and Stephanie Wodianka state that cultural memory is a “leading theme” of film and that film is a “leading medium” for memory culture (2008, 1; own translation). Paul Grainge concurs in pointing out that “cinema has become central to the mediation of memory in modern cultural life” (2003b, 1). Kilbourn further claims that film is so fundamental to memory that we tend to forget “what it was like to remember in a world before cinema” (2010, 9). There are various ways in which films may engage with memory. Kilbourn conceives of memory films as a genre of films that “do not simply represent memory but […] employ memory as the basis of a cinematic aesthetic” (2010, 6). Anders Bergstrom establishes that memory films “dramatize” cinema’s role in the formation of memories, “visualiz[ing] philosophical concepts of temporality and identity” (2013, 210). They thus “‘show how we inhabit time, how we move in it, in this form which carries us away, picks us up and enlarges us’” (Gilles Deleuze qtd. in Bergstrom 2013, 209). Whereas Erll and Wodianka equally point to the diversity of films that center on memory, they believe that memory films do not constitute a film genre, but rather a social and cultural phenomenon that emerges from an individual film’s reception contexts (2008, 7). In Memory in Culture, Erll adds to this definition of the memory film, differentiating between memoryreflexive films, which center on “concepts of memory,” and which visualize and critically reflect acts of remembering, and memory-productive films, which lead to the “powerful global dissemination of images of the past” (2011a, 137). Discussing the manner in which films may engage with memory, Erll emphasizes that such films carry in them only a “potential for mnemonic effects” – a potential that “has to be realized within situative, social and institutional frameworks” (2011a, 137–138). A diverse range of films may then be identified as memory films, from historical films that capture a moment of the past to romances, westerns, and science fiction films that represent a national or cultural community’s identity and expose its values and to nostalgia films that cite the mode, aesthetics, or conventions of a film period or genre (Erll and Wodianka 2008, 7–8). These films may not only present very different approaches to the topic of memory, but also show great variation in their ability to have an impact on cultural memory.

Premise 2: The Transculturality of Memory Recent attempts to describe the movement and travels of memory have brought forth a variety of terms, such as global, cosmopolitan, transnational, transcultural,

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 Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory?

and travelling memory.11 This focus on the dynamics, movement, and “unbound” nature of memory constitutes what Astrid Erll describes as the “third phase” of memory studies, moving on from and “alter[ing] some of the fundamental conceptions of the field” (2016).12 According to Chiara de Cesari and Ann Rigney, both transcultural and transnational approaches to memory can be characterized by a “desire to move beyond traditional configurations of the field of research along the lines of discrete, nationally-defined ‘container cultures’” (2014, 3). Erll’s concept of travelling memory further emphasizes memory’s movement “across and beyond cultures” (2011b, 8). This movement across and beyond national and cultural borders becomes especially important when discussing memory production and film. Film has been a transnational medium from its inception, marked by transnational modes of funding, production, distribution, and consumption; its transnationality, however, has received attention only in more recent years.13 In their introduction to Transnational Cinema: The Film Reader, Elizabeth Ezra and Terry Rowden point to a shift in perspective within film studies, leading scholars to focus on the transnational dimensions of film culture and history and recognize the “complex constructions of identity, citizenship, and ethics both represented on screen and created in the film industry’s transnational networks of production, distribution and reception” (2006b, 13). Although the concept of national cinema is “deeply ingrained” in film criticism and central to the development and institutionalization of film studies (Higson 2006, 23), scholars have increasingly turned to the problematization of the concept of national cinema,14 stressing the “permeability

11 See Levy and Sznaider (2006); Huyssen (2003); A. Assmann and Conrad (2010); De Cesari and Rigney (2014); Crownshaw (2011); Bond and Rapson (2014); and Erll (2011b). 12 According to Erll, this turn happened “in or around” 2010 and constitutes a third phase of multidisciplinary memory studies: whereas the first phase of memory studies (1920s–1930s) laid the foundation of the field, the second phase (from 1980s onward) “reinvigorated” it, emerging in tandem with (and attempting to theorize) the nation-focussed “memory boom” of the late twentieth century. In the early 2000s, new transnational and transcultural approaches became available to a field in which “everything [seemed to have] already been said” (2016). 13 For a detailed discussion of film’s relationship to the national and transnational, see Higson (1989); Hjort and Mackenzie (2000); Crofts (1993); Durovicova and Newman (2010); and Shohat and Stam (2003). 14 Following Benedict Anderson, Andrew Higson defines the nation as a “mapping of an imagined community with a secure and shared identity and sense of belonging, on to a carefully demarcated geo-political space”: while the nation is “first forged and then maintained as a bounded public sphere,” its inhabitants are “encouraged to imagine themselves as members of a coherent, organic community, rooted in the geographical space, with well-established indigenous traditions” (2006, 16). National identity can consequently be construed as considering

Premises 

 9

of national borders,” “global flows of capital,” and today’s “shifting geopolitical climate” (Ezra and Rowden 2006b, 1). What is more, the importance of new media technologies in facilitating the circulation and accessibility of film has been emphasized. As Aida A. Hozic points out, the medium of film is one of the “most widely diffused and genuinely transnational cultural products,” enabling the movement of cultures, values, and identities across national borders (2014, 229). Its travels are shaped by global, national, and regional markets, the international film festival circuit and its various sub-circuits, and “less visible,” partially illicit routes as well as by technological development (231).15 According to Ezra and Rowden, the transnational also informs the content of films: particularly processes of globalization have produced specific aesthetics, narrative structures, and “modes of emotional identification [… that] reflect the impact of advanced capitalism and new media technologies as components of an increasingly interconnected world-system” (2006b, 1). Although the concept of the transnational has gained in visibility and significance, national identities still play a crucial role. Ezra and Rodwen argue that nationalism remains powerful as an “emotionally charged component of the construction of the narratives of cultural identity that people at all levels of society use to maintain a stable sense of self” (2006b, 4). As Andrew Higson demonstrates, the relevance of the concept of national cinema becomes particularly visible with regard to government policy and promotion: by making use of “defensive strategies” to protect their cultural output and promoting “coherent images of the nation,” national governments not only work toward a nation’s ideological “sustainability” by celebrating what they conceive of as the “indigenous” culture, but also fuel tourism and media industries (2006, 20). Categories of national cinemas additionally inform distribution and exhibition practices as well as canon-building: marketing strategies, for instance, strongly depend on national categories, as such labels provide films with brand identities (20). Janet Harbord therefore rightfully declares that film “attains part of its value and meaning from its perceived origin and the paths of its circulation,” shaped by the tension between the two “force-fields” of the national and transnational (2002, 73).

oneself part of such a community, along with its traditions, rituals, and discourses. This sense of belonging is not bound to living within the designated space of the nation, but can exist from a distance, as is the case with immigrant and diasporic communities (16). 15 Although cinema is marked by mobility, the majority of films do not cross their own national borders: As Ezra and Rowden point out, “cinematic mobility, like human mobility, is determined by both geopolitical factors and financial pedigree,” so that films with better funding move more easily across national borders (2006b, 5).

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 Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory?

Due to these modes of production, circulation, and reception, films are one of the central producers and transmitters of transnational and transcultural memory. The transculturality of memory comes even more into focus within the genres of the migration or diasporic film such as Asian American cinema. When we are exposed to narratives of migration, we readjust our conceptions of migration, our own and foreign cultures, and national and cultural stereotypes. We renegotiate our reality that is defined by national and cultural borders as well as categories of belonging. As we receive new data, shaped by its media form, we reframe our perspectives and, thus, our memories. Premise 3: The Social Life of Memory The field of memory studies has long asserted that memories emerge within ‘social frameworks.’ The forerunner of such thought is Maurice Halbwachs’ concept of cadres sociaux de la mémoire, pointing to the influence of social environments – our position within and interactions with these environments – on how we individually produce narratives of memory (1994 [1925]). The social dimension of memory culture, however, extends far beyond the ‘birth’ of memories within social frameworks. As Astrid Erll, Erin Högerle, and Jarula Wegner argue, in order for memories to have an impact on culture, they must “lead a vibrant ‘social life,’” including exposure to mediation and remediation, travels across time and space, and reception and reviewing (2017).16 For instance, films about the past must be distributed, exhibited, viewed, and critiqued in order to leave their marks on memory culture. According to Erll, Högerle, and Wegner, “[m]emory ‘lives’ only insofar as it is continually shared among people,” activated and brought to life by its movements and remediations and by continuous acts of performance and reception. In their function as memory objects, films do not contain or activate stable and fixed meanings; instead, they “unfold their mnemonic significance only within dynamic and transitory social processes” (2017). Though not yet a fully developed concept, the metaphor of the ‘social life of memory’ connects to existing ideas and concepts, resonating with Mikhail Bakhtin’s “social life of discourse” (1981), which reflects the influences of social discourse on language and writing, informing content and form. The metaphor also resonates with Arjun Appadurai’s “social life of things” (1986), which argues that, in order to understand the meaning and significance of things, we need to

16 This quote is taken from a call for papers for the 2017 edition of the Mnemonics Summer School, which was dedicated to the social life of memory.

Materials, Methods, and Aims 

 11

consider their use and circulation in society. Finally, it resonates with more recent research, such as Alondra Nelson’s “social life of DNA” (2016), which applies Appadurai’s social-life approach to genetics and considers how DNA analysis may be used to further processes of remembering and reconciliation. In spite of originating from very different academic fields, all of these approaches emphasize the importance of social contexts for meaning and memory production. Within memory studies, the metaphor connects to the idea of “afterlives” of artworks, a diachronic perspective on art and writing explored by Aby Warburg and Walter Benjamin: in attempting to map the “afterlife of antiquity,” Warburg examines how symbolic images of Western antiquity travel across time and space and traces their reactivation or reanimation within new contexts (1999), while Benjamin, in his discussion of literary translations, reflects how the lives of artworks are continued through transformation and remediation (1968 [1923]).17 The idea of memory’s social life further connects to Astrid Erll and Stephanie Wodianka’s discussion of “memory-making” films, examining from a synchronic perspective the films’ embeddedness in “plurimedial constellations” that activate their memory potential and allow them to shape cultural memory (2008). As Erll points out: “A tight network of different media representations prepares the ground for memory films, leads reception along certain paths, opens up and channels public discussion, and thus endows movies with their mnemonic meaning” (2011a, 138). The metaphor therefore also places emphasis on the dynamic and performative nature of remembrance, acknowledging that memory objects are “constantly being reinvested with new meaning” (Rigney 2008, 346).

1.2 Materials, Methods, and Aims Demonstrating that film festivals are crucial to the production of cultural memory, this monograph explores different parameters through which these events shape our reception of films. In its focus on the Asian American film festivals CAAMFest and SDAFF, the study reveals that festivals are part of a complex memory network of actors — that is, individuals, collectives, and organizations — whose different agendas influence the narratives produced around the film, direct its role as memory object, and encourage memories to travel. It further establishes that festivals create frames for their films, constructed through and circulated by the various festival media and live performances at the festival events. What is more, it shows that festival locations, from the city in which a festival takes

17 See also Rigney’s exploration of the “afterlives” of writer Walter Scott (2012).

12 

 Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory?

place to the concrete venue in which a film is screened, play a significant role in shaping our experience and understanding of films. Finally, it examines festival performances, identifying the many actors and agendas at work in minority festivals such as CAAMFest and SDAFF and considering the types of performances these festivals produce with regard to activism and community building. Understanding the film festival as a “collective performance” of various individuals (Dayan 2000, 44), this book argues that the way festivals frame their films, where screenings are held, and how films are performed all work to construct and affirm a collective Asian American identity and memory. The large part of the study is therefore dedicated to CAAMFest and SDAFF’s “memory work,” shining a light on the festivals’ various practices that work to “secure a presence for the past” and that, in their combined production of an “‘infrastructure’ of collective memory,” allow us to engage with and make sense of the past (Irwin-Zarecka 2009 [1994], 13). At times, these two festivals also take on the role of memory activists, mobilizing their communities’ memories of the past “not for the aim of gaining power and status, but for advancing their moral and ideological visions” (Gutman 2016, 19) – namely the empowerment of Asian American communities through media representation18 and the public recognition of Asian Americans’ crucial role in building the United States as well as the injustices and acts of discrimination committed against these communities in the past. In analyzing CAAMFest and SDAFF’s involvement in memory production, the contexts of the international film festival circuit and the sub-circuit of Asian American film festivals (AAFFs) need to be considered. As Marijke de Valck states, film festival history can be broken down into three phases: The first phase is marked by an understanding of the festival as showcase for national cinemas, while the second phase reflects the festival’s move toward independence and specialization. During this time, festivals strive for independence and begin to move away from nationalist agendas, taking on the role of “protectors” of film

18 The political fight for visibility and visual representation of minorities has been scrutinized, among others, by Peggy Phelan, who problematizes notions about the “political efficacy of visible representation” (2005 [1993], 2) and directs our attention to the falsifying “binary between the power of visibility and the impotency of invisibility” that underlies these assumptions (6). Calling for a “more nuanced relationship to the power of visibility,” Phelan states: “Visibility is a trap […] it summons surveillance and the law; it provokes voyeurism, fetishism, the colonialist/imperial appetite for possession. Yet it retains a certain political appeal […] While there is a deeply ethical appeal in the desire for a more inclusive representational landscape and certainly under-represented communities can be empowered by an enhanced visibility, the terms of this visibility often enervate the putative power of these identities” (2005 [1993], 6–7). See also Schaffer (2008).

Materials, Methods, and Aims 

 13

art and curating films according to categories such as theme, form, or genre (2007, 19). The third phase is characterized by a period of festival expansion and the emergence of an international festival circuit. During this time, the festival emerges as an increasingly professionalized institution, receives recognition for its influence on and structuring of film culture, and transforms into a global player of the film industry (20; 211). This history influences memory production in that it situates festivals between national narratives, discourses of film art, and business agendas, shaping their programming and presentation of films. Embedded in these developments and influenced by these two key shifts in film festival history, the sub-circuit of AAFFs comes together in two waves: while the first editions of AAFFs are hosted by community organizations and film collectives born from the civil rights movements of the 1960s and 1970s, the second wave begins in the late 1990s, by which time the earlier festivals have become established events and the genre of Asian American cinema has begun to enter the mainstream. The development of AAFFs can thus be tied to several factors, from the context of activist movements, to academic debates and a worldwide boom of the festival industry. Again, this history shapes the festivals, influencing their status as nonprofit organizations, their missions, and their narratives according to which they are representatives of a diverse, yet unified Asian American community.19 As Erll, Högerle, and Wegner argue, the insights into the dynamics and movements of memory and the embeddedness of memory production in social structures create the need for more complex research designs in order to “do justice to the moving constellations we study” (2017). Situated at the intersection of memory studies and film festival studies, this study attempts to create and test such a design by making use of an interdisciplinary approach with which to explore the film festival phenomenon, thus shedding light on the complex dynamics and acts of framing that shape the festival’s memory production. This research design also seems best suited for the study of transcultural memory, examining a process that is constantly in motion and shaped by diverse actors (producers, intermediaries, recipients), networks, media (films, festival media, festival locations), and performances. Although film festival studies has become an established subset of film studies and produced a rich collection of research, the field is still relatively young and in need of further methodological approaches and new research designs. As

19 These observations about the Asian American film festival circuit are based on my own research. For an overview of AAFFs and a detailed discussion of the sub-circuit’s history, see chapter 3.5.

14 

 Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory?

Dina Iordanova states, a range of approaches and methods has been tried, covering diverse disciplines such as sociology, ethnology, business, media, or museum studies (2013b, 11). The crux of the matter, however, seems to be that “no single approach […] can possibly hope to untangle the many different sides of this particular phenomenon” (Stringer 2013 [2003], 65). As Julian Stringer points out in the same passage, it is necessary to develop a “multidimensional approach” in order to grasp the complexity of the film festival and better understand its role in producing and shaping cultural memory (2013 [2003], 64). While the film festival phenomenon is too unwieldy for any analysis of it to be ‘complete,’ this project emphasizes the importance of multiperspectivity and mixed methods – of studying and bringing together different parameters that shape a festival’s self-presentation and influence our reception of films. In particular, it highlights and untangles the different types of frames the festival produces for its films. Tightly connected to the individual festival’s identity and agenda, these frames can take various shapes, from mission statements, program sections, and film synopses appearing as texts in festival media, to locations in which the events take place, to live performances during the screening. What is more, the study helps gain an understanding of how festivals, particularly from a perspective of memory, are defined by both locatedness and movement, showing that film festivals are spaces in which diverse memories – local, national, transnational – intersect. In its choice of case studies, the book further draws attention to the understudied phenomenon of AAFFs, which so far have received little to no attention within film festival studies – also in comparison to other identitybased film festivals such as queer film festivals, Jewish film festivals, or women’s film festivals.20 Focusing on CAAMFest and SDAFF, it shows how such festivals may actively engage in constructing and performing a minority group’s collective identity and memory. In its outlining of histories of migration from Asia to the United States, this monograph makes use of the research conducted within the fields of migration and diaspora studies as well as Asian American studies. In its discussion of Asian American cinema and analysis of selected films that center on Asian migration to and diasporic experience in the U.S., the study connects to film history, genre theory, and classical film analysis. In its examination of AAFFs, it draws on and contributes to the burgeoning field of film festival studies, combining film analyses with textual and discourse analyses of festival publications and investigations of the festival’s reception contexts.

20 For an excellent overview of research on these specific types of identity-based film festivals, see Loist and De Valck (2017b).

Materials, Methods, and Aims 

 15

My research on film festival frames, locations, and performances is largely based on analyses of festival media and texts, such as catalogs, mission statements, website articles, and blog entries, taking into consideration language and rhetorics, cover design and logos, program organization and structure. The two organizations’ annual reports, financial statements, sponsorship packets and other promotional materials provided further insights into the actors involved in the festivals and agendas behind festival programming. With regard to festival locations, press clippings and other non-academic sources such as non-fiction books, magazines, and blogs were additionally consulted, allowing me to delve into the histories of San Francisco and San Diego’s infrastructures and neighborhoods in order to construct the scarcely-documented histories of movie theaters and festival venues. As the goal is to explore how festivals such as CAAMFest and SDAFF stage their agendas and thus frame their films, this investigation is limited to the study of texts that are produced by the festivals and their organizations; it does not take into consideration the mediatization of the festival through the press, a topic large enough to produce another monograph. My research is further based on the fieldwork conducted at the 2016 edition of SDAFF and the 2017 edition of CAAMFest, during which I was able to observe as a participant a total of 15 film screenings, including opening night, centerpiece, and closing night events, and conduct expert interviews with SDAFF’s artistic director Brian Hu and CAAMFest’s festival director Masashi Niwano in order to gain insights into the respective festival’s mission, organization, and programming. The following nine festival screenings find mention throughout the book and are the particular focus of sections 4.4 on CAAMFest and SDAFF’s framings of individual films during screenings, 5.4 on these two festivals’ locations of memory production, and 6.4. on the types of performances that the festivals produce: SDAFF Screenings: November 3–12, 2016 – Opening night film The Tiger Hunter (2016) November 3, 2016, Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego – Eat a Bowl of Tea (1989) November 5, 2016, UltraStar Mission Valley – Spa Night (2016) November 6, 2016, UltraStar Mission Valley – Short film program “Boats on Fire,” featuring Nuoc (2016) November 10, 2016, UltraStar Mission Valley – Centerpiece presentation AKA Seoul (2016) November 6, 2016, UltraStar Mission Valley

16 

 Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory?

CAAMFest Screenings: March 9–19, 2017 – Opening night film The Tiger Hunter (2016) March 9, 2017, Castro Theatre – Short film program “Eat Chinatown” March 11, 2017, 41 Ross – Who Killed Vincent Chin? (1987) March 11, 2017, Gray Area Foundation – The People’s Hospital (2017) March 12, 2017, Great Star Theater Next to the research it presents within the fields of film festival studies and memory studies, this project also connects to new cinema history, a niche within film studies that shifts the attention to histories of film circulation and consumption and examines the cinema “as site of social and cultural exchange” (Maltby 2011, 3).21 As Richard Maltby points out, new cinema history complements and is informed by many aspects of film history, particularly by investigations of global conditions of production, of technical innovation and craft and of the multiple and interconnected organisational cultures that characterise the film production industry. (2011, 9)

Although my research does not make use of quantitative methods, it shares new cinema history’s interest in contexts of film experience and histories of moviegoing, consideration of film production, distribution, and exhibition practices of diasporic communities, and focus on the connections between film festivals, national film industries, and regional and local infrastructures that influence the “flow of cinema product” (Maltby 2011, 9). This study particularly connects to the work of Annette Kuhn, who has continuously emphasized the centrality of the activity of moviegoing to memory. As Kuhn shows in her research on “cinema memory,” our memories of films can be divided into three “modes”: While the first category describes an individual’s memory of a film’s content (remembered images or scenes), the second identifies the memory of one’s personal situation surrounding the event of reception. The third category incorporates memories of the “social act” of moviegoing, encompassing the routes that are traveled, the location in which film reception takes place, one’s companions and fellow

21 In its focus on audience and exhibition histories, new cinema history follows in the footsteps of theorists such as Jean Mitry and Michèle Lagny, who propose that film history should be seen as “‘part of a larger ensemble’” and that films should thus be considered within the contexts of their production, circulation, and reception (Michèle Lagny qtd. in Maltby 2011, 8).

Materials, Methods, and Aims 

 17

audience members (2011, 87). Kuhn’s research reveals the complexity of memory production, drawing attention to the numerous factors that influence our memories of films. It additionally highlights the significance of the “essentially social act of ‘going to the pictures’” to memory (2011, 93), confirming that the particular circumstances of festival reception and the festival’s staging of its events play a crucial role in shaping memory. Next to the scarcity of research on film’s social life as memory medium as well as on the reception contexts in which films activate and/or produce transcultural memories, the significance of festivals for memory production is only slowly taking hold in film festival studies. With regard to festivals’ involvement in memory practices, most of the available studies focus on the work of archival festivals, as does, for instance, Alex Marlow-Mann’s edited collection Film Festival Yearbook 5: Archival Film Festivals (2013a).22 Ana Grgic’s article in this volume asserts that archival film festivals in particular are a “material, symbolic, and functional manifestation” of Pierre Nora’s lieux de mémoire (2013, 55). Film festival studies further lacks coverage of specialized festivals: Many investigations have turned to A-list festivals such as Cannes Film Festival or the Berlin International Film Festival (Berlinale), along with prestigious B-list festivals such as Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF).23 Sundance Film Festival has also been covered in great detail, for example, by Kenneth Turan (2002), Daniel Dayan (2000), John Anderson (2000), and John Berra (2008). Numerous specialized festivals, however, are still unexplored, as is the case with AAFFs such as CAAMFest or SDAFF. The festival’s role in constructing and maintaining ideas of national cinemas has been addressed by numerous scholars,24 particularly with regard to programming. Little research, however, has been conducted on the rhetoric of festivals, analyzing the “language through which they speak to the outside world” (Stringer 2003a, 7). As one of the first scholars to consider the significance of print media to the “social construction” of the festival, Daniel Dayan asserts that film festivals “live by the printed word” and constitute “verbal

22 In recent years, international film and media studies conferences have also organized panels that center on film festivals and memory. For instance, in 2016, the SCMS conference hosted a panel titled “Film Festivals, Cultural Memory, and Politics of the (In)visible”; in 2017, the NECS conference held two panels titled “Film Festivals and History/ies: Archives, Memory, and Traces” and “Resonance, Memory, and Solidarity: Queer Film Festivals and Audience Engagement.” 23 For studies on Cannes, see Latil (2005); Mazdon (2007); and Lecler (2015). For discussions of the Berlinale, see Fehrenbach (1995); Haase (2010); and Cowie (2010). For research on TIFF, see Porton (2010); Kredell (2012); and Mitchell (2017). 24 See Czach (2004); Ruoff (2012); F. Chan (2011); and Vick (2011).

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 Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory?

architectures” (2000, 48). Bill Nichols explores the discourse of festival catalogs in their construction of new cinemas and auteurs, arguing that the festival’s narratives produce a “framework of assumptions and expectations” for audiences (1994, 17). Julian Stringer’s work consistently focuses on the festival’s speech acts and use of rhetorical tropes in publications such as catalogs, program guides, and pamphlets that perpetuate ideas of national cinemas and genres or construct a festival community.25 In examining the programming, exhibition, and reception practices of queer film festivals, Skadi Loist (2014), Joshua Gamson (1996), and Diane Burgess (2008) also discuss festival publications, scrutinizing mission statements and other documents that aim to establish the festival’s identity and basing parts of their research on textual analyses of festival catalogs. However, few works have delved into a comprehensive analysis of a festival’s self-presentation, taking into consideration the multiple texts, media, and performances that shape its narratives and activities and discussing how these narratives may change over time – and if so, they have covered A-list festivals, whose work and histories are well-documented and who, in part, have turned into publishers of their own histories.26

1.3 Structure One of the main incentives of this study is to bring theory and practice closer together, exploring how films may be examined with regard to the situations in which they are produced, screened, and distributed, and from the perspective of memory. While chapter 2 dedicates itself to the medium that is presented by the film festivals, investigating the memories that Asian American films produce on the levels of content, film language, and narrative structure, chapter 3 gives an overview of film festival history and identifies possible approaches to the study of film festivals and memory, before turning to this project’s case studies, CAAMFest and SDAFF, in order to consider their respective histories, embeddedness in festival circuits, and memory work. Chapter 4 points to CAAMFest and SDAFF’s involvement in acts of framing, asserting that festivals create and circulate different types of frames that guide us in our reception of films and influence both individual memories of the event and collective memories of

25 See Stringer (2013 [2003], 2008, 2003b) and N. Lee and Stringer (2012). 26 The Deutsche Kinemathek, for instance, has published extensively on the Berlinale, producing work that covers the festival’s programming or complements specific retrospectives (C. Wong 2011, 124). See Deutsche Kinemathek and Internationale Filmfestspiele Berlin (2010).

Structure 

 19

genres, filmmakers, and works. Chapter 5 reveals that festival locations play an equally significant role in shaping our experiences of films and therefore also engage in memory production. Chapter 6 focuses on festival performances, shedding light on a complex network of actors participating in the events and analyzing selected performances with regard to memory activism and community building. Finally, the conclusion examines the current boom of Asian American cinema and proclaimed advancements of minority productions in the U.S. film industry, which stand in stark contrast to the country’s political climate, racial divide, and increased acts of violence and aggression on the basis of ethnicity and race. It thus aims to create an outlook as to what the future of Asian American film festivals might look like and identify the need for further research on these festivals. In unraveling the connections between Asian American history and the emergence of both Asian American cinema and Asian American film festivals, chapter 2 shows that the latter two phenomena are entrenched in the civil rights movements, minority struggles for recognition, and film movements of the 1960s and 1970s and the subsequent institutionalization of an Asian American identity.27 Before turning to an analysis of selected Asian American films, the chapter sketches out the lengthy history of Asian migration to the United States in order to identify the specific circumstances that led to the community’s political, social, and cultural exclusion and its construction of a collective Asian American identity in order to form coalitions and increase its visibility as a minority. The chapter then argues that this complex, multifaceted history is crucial to understanding the dynamics of Asian American cinema and the missions and identities of AAFFs. What follows is an exploration of Asian American cinema that questions the existence of such a genre, while at the same time acknowledging the potential productivity of such labeling. In bringing together the histories of the Asian American activist movement and Asian American film and media production, the political motivations of Asian American film, particularly in its beginnings, are taken into consideration, along with its development into a commercially viable genre. Finally, selected Asian American films are analyzed

27 In my discussion of Asian American films and film festivals, I have decided against a hyphenation of the term “Asian American,” thus rejecting the idea of the hyphen as a “bridge” or “link” between the two terms “Asian” and “American” and the “possibility of successfully bridging the gap” (Feng 1996, 93). As Peter X. Feng states: “The hyphen preserves the notion of a duality, of a binary opposition […] if I refuse to inscribe the hyphen myself, it is to emphasize the unbridgeability of the interval” (1996, 93). What is more, the festivals discussed in this book have chosen to omit the hyphen in their self-designations and their constructions of Asian American cinema – an important indicator of how they conceive of their minority’s collective identity.

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 Introduction: Why Asian America, Film Festivals, and Memory?

with regard to how they portray and produce memory; all of these films have been screened by AAFFs and are discussed in later chapters with regard to their framing and/or performance by the festivals. In order to examine the ways in which AAFFs engage with memory, chapter 3 zooms in on the complex phenomenon of the film festival and explores its central characteristics and functions. It then considers its relationship to local, national, and global structures; its connections to culture, industry, and politics; and its embeddedness in networks and circuits, so that we may gain insight into the obscure web of actors, stakeholders, texts, media, and institutions that constitute the festival and take part in shaping memory. By discussing two case studies, the chapter investigates the nonprofit organizations behind CAAMFest and SDAFF, gives an overview of the festivals’ programming and memory work, and sketches out their histories in connection to the Asian American movement and emergence of an Asian American film festival circuit. Dedicated to the film festivals’ acts of framing, chapter 4 examines the narratives surrounding the films screened at CAAMFest and SDAFF and thereby reveals the festivals’ strategic use of language and rhetoric, cover design and logos, program organization and structure, in order to create community during and influence impressions, opinions, and memories of the event. Providing detailed analyses of mission statements and festival catalogs and shedding light on the festivals’ live performances of films during the screening, the chapter explores the various festival frames for films as well as the different scales of framing. In studying the framing of the festival, the framing of a section and/ or program, and the framing of the individual film, the chapter zooms in on the films that are at the center of festival framing. In discussing the festival’s acts of framing, it is important to keep in mind that these frames are flexible, porous, and interchangeable; they should be understood as offerings, laying out different angles from which to experience a film rather than implementing fixed readings and guaranteeing certain outcomes. In order to grasp how locations impact audience experiences and memories of festival events, chapter 5 investigates the significance of location in memories of moviegoing. It establishes that festival locations participate in the mise-en-scène of memory, highlighting that the locations themselves add to the staging and construction of memories and function as arenas in which memories are produced, negotiated, and contested. Turning once again to the case studies introduced in the previous chapters, the contexts for CAAMFest and SDAFF move to the center, from San Francisco and San Diego’s (inherently different) demographics and infrastructures to the two cities’ networks of programming that influence festival programs and structures. Finally, the analysis of concrete exhibition sites shows that CAAMFest and SDAFF’s locations not only create

Structure 

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different viewing experiences, but also correlate with different screening practices, memories, and histories. In its focus on festival actors, agendas, and communities, chapter 6 investigates the field of discourse and body of norms out of which the festival’s performance and its memory production emerge. In showing the film festival’s interactions with the fields of activism, academia, art, and the nonprofit sector, the chapter identifies the actors in CAAMFest and SDAFF’s performances. It further breaks down the types of performances the festival produces, considering how these may activate and shape memories. This final chapter builds on the previous chapters and stresses that discussions of framing and location unmistakably lead to the question of actors – of who it is that narrates, frames, and performs, and on the basis of which agenda. It therefore maps the festival’s position in a complex network of actors and explores how the festival sets the stage for the construction, negotiation, and reaffirmation of an Asian American identity and collective memory.

2 Memory in Asian American Cinema 2.1 Asian American Cinema and Memories of Migration In a central scene of the coming-of-age drama Spa Night (2016), protagonist David, the teenage son of Korean immigrants, takes a walk with his mother. As they pass the parents’ first rental apartment and home in the United States, his mother suddenly comes to a halt. Staring at the house, she crosses the street, as if pulled by an invisible force. An extreme long shot captures David and his mother in front of the building, looking up at their former family home, their backs turned to the camera. The grounds in front of the run-down and vacant-looking house are littered with garbage. Profile close-ups show the mother as she shares her memories of her arrival in Los Angeles with David. Sounds of birds chirping, wind rustling through the trees, and cars rushing by form a repetitive, calming soundscape reminiscent of waves hitting the shore and give the impression that memories are washing over her. She remembers that her husband met her at the airport in a Cadillac and told her that he had rented the “perfect place,” promising that the building housed several Korean families: “I was so impressed […] We were so excited to be here.” As the camera captures her gaze, tears well up in her eyes. Switching between the extreme long shot and close-ups of both narrator and listener, the camera takes in the scenery provoking memories of the young couple’s migration and observes the act of storytelling. The scene takes place toward the end of the film, at which point the precariousness of the family situation has already been established: the parents have been forced to close their Korean restaurant and are now working long hours in strenuous, low-paying jobs. In its discussion of memories of migration and hardships of life in the diaspora, the scene is exemplary of what has been conceived of as Asian American cinema – addressing themes that have weaved their way through the entire history of the genre.1 The scene creates connections between the characters’ past and present situations – from the hopes for a better life, to the hardships and isolation experienced in the new country, to the difficulties faced by the second generation in its different position between two cultures. Due to their strong ties to the themes of migrant experience, diasporic identity, and memory, Asian American films show similarity to the genres of the

1 The constructedness of genre in general and the specific problems of defining the genre of Asian American cinema are discussed in chapter 2.3. Like all genres, Asian American film is constantly being negotiated and redefined, shaped by debates about whether an Asian American subject matter or the status of being an Asian American filmmaker constitute essential criteria. https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-002

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migration or diasporic film. Considering the centrality of migration and diaspora to this chapter, it is necessary to examine the concepts behind these two terms and establish the circumstances that transform a migrant community into a diaspora. Defined as the movement and relocation of people who “do not immediately, or ever, return to the place where they previously lived, whether because they choose not to, because they are prevented or unable to do so, or because of complex mixtures of both,” migration may be set in motion by various circumstances and occur for various reasons, thus taking the shape of voluntary or forced migration, political, economic, or environmental migration, family reunification, and short- or long-term migration (Aydemir and Rotas 2008, 7). Independent of these contexts, migrant communities may eventually transform into diasporic communities: originally describing the forced and traumatic dispersal of a people from its original homeland as well as the “salience” of this homeland in the displaced group’s collective memory,2 diaspora is always preceded by migration and emerges out of the “passage of time” (Cohen 2008, 4). According to Vijay Agnew, memory plays a central role in both migrant and diasporic communities, informing identities “fragmented” by displacement (2005b, 19). Julia Creet similarly points to memory’s “crucial role” within these communities, providing “continuity to the dislocations of individual and social identity” (2011, 3). James Clifford establishes the main characteristics of a diaspora as the incorporation of a “history of dispersal, myths/memories of the homeland, and alienation in the host (bad host?) country, desire for eventual return, ongoing support of the homeland, and a collective identity importantly defined by this relationship” (1994, 305). The term diaspora therefore implies “networks of real or imagined relationships among scattered peoples whose sense of community is sustained by various communications and contacts” and whose relations to the old country are kept alive through modern transportation and communication technologies (Hua 2005, 192). It is important to note that diasporic identities are neither fixed, nor homogeneous: Anh Hua therefore cautions against diasporic discourses that perpetuate an idea of diaspora in which all its members are conceived of as bound by their heritage, ancestry, and history (2005, 194).

2 As Jana Evans Braziel and Anita Mannur point out, the term “diaspora” is derived from the Greek term diasperien (dia-, “across” and -sperien, “to sow or scatter seeds”): originally used to describe the Jewish exile from the homeland of Palestine, the term “suggests a dislocation from the nation-state or geographical location of origin and a relocation in one or more nation-states, territories, or countries” (2003, 1). For a discussion of ideal types of diasporic communities and an identification of different stages of the concept, see Cohen (2008, 1–20).

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Films revolving around migrant and diasporic experience have been given a variety of names, ranging from migration film, to diasporic film, to accented cinema, to intercultural cinema, to cinema of the borders, to transnational cinema.3 Most of these terms refer to the narrative content of the films rather than the migrant background of their makers, though very often, films about migration are also produced by filmmakers who have experienced migration themselves, either directly or through their families’ narratives and memories.4 This personal connection creates a particularly strong argument for additionally conceiving of these films as memory films. Each term provides a slightly different perspective on migration and makes adjustments to what is included and excluded from the corpus. Thus, the term “migration film” may be limited to narratives that focus on the experience of migration or exile, movement across borders, departure and arrival, and feelings of foreignness and dislocation in a new environment. The term “diasporic film” may shift the attention to experiences within a diasporic community: generational conflict between first-, second-, and third-generation immigrants, the retrieval of lost memories, imaginations of the homeland, and stories of return. Often, however, these terms are used synonymously. Asian American films also connect to the larger framework of the transnational film, characterized by themes of mobility, displacement, migration, and diasporic experience as well as ideas of home and cultural identity within a globalized society and world (Ezra and Rowden 2006b, 7–8). Proposing two central distinctions, Daniela Berghahn and Claudia Sternberg first differentiate between migrant and diasporic filmmakers, establishing that migrant filmmakers have belonged to a migratory movement and experienced the departure from the homeland, while diasporic filmmakers belong to a later generation, “born or raised in a diasporic setting” and linked to their family’s migration “through kinship networks, family narratives, cultural practice,” and memory objects (2010b, 16). In making this first distinction, the authors propose that the divergent experiences of filmmakers have “a bearing on their [cinematic] approaches,” leading to very different representations of migration and diasporic experience (16). Separate from migrant and diasporic filmmakers is migrant and diasporic cinema, a category that includes the work of non-migrant and nondiasporic filmmakers that is “centrally concerned with questions of migratory

3 Central studies on migration and diaspora in film include Naficy (2001); Berghahn (2013); Berghahn and Sternberg (2010a); L. Marks (2003); Grossman and O’Brien (2007); Bennett and Tyler (2007); Ballesteros (2015); Bayraktar (2015); and Rings (2016). 4 For a discussion of representations of immigrants and diasporic subjects as strangers and ‘others,’ see Loshitzky (2010).

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and diasporic existence” (16–17). Berghahn and Sternberg thus clarify that it is not solely the filmmaker’s national or ethnic background that leads to a classification of a work as migrant or diasporic (2010b 17), instead pointing to the potential of “cross-pollination occurring in the diaspora space” (41). “Accented cinema,” a term coined by Hamid Naficy, groups together products of deterritorialized filmmakers on the basis of the films’ distinctive “accented style” and interstitiality (2001, 22–23).5 Mirroring the diversity of experiences of migration, exile, and diaspora, films by migrants, exiles, and diasporic subjects show great variation in terms of genre, form, and structure; they do, however, often share certain stylistic, narrative, and thematic features (3). Naficy distinguishes between three types of accented cinema, basing his categories of exilic, diasporic, and ethnic films on the filmmakers’ (and subsequently, films’) relationships to an existing or imagined homeland. Since these categories are fluid, films often display characteristics of all three categories (2001, 11). It is important to note that there is no such thing as a coherent, homogeneous accented cinema. Pointing to the unique “situatedness” of each displaced individual and community, Naficy warns against the reduction of accented filmmakers and films to an “all-encompassing grand Exile or great Diaspora” (2001, 9). Showing particular interest in the conditions of production, exhibition, and distribution, Naficy asserts that the similarities between accented films emerge from the filmmakers’ shared experiences of “liminal subjectivity and interstitial location in society and the film industry” (2001, 10). Positioned at the “interstices” of both society and the industry – that is, “operat[ing] both within and astride the cracks of the system at the margins” (46) – accented filmmakers make use of alternative modes of production, coming together in film collectives and media arts centers based on race and ethnicity (63–64). What is more, they are dependent on alternative modes of funding and distribution, relying on the support of nonprofit and community organizations, cultural and public media institutions (43–44). Accented cinema is thus mostly made outside of and in opposition to mainstream film and media industries. With regard to their subject matter, accented films tend to focus on protagonists who are ambiguous, hybrid, or lost and explore themes of “journeying, historicity, identity, and displacement,” inscribing the filmmakers’ personal experiences of dislocation (Naficy 2001, 4). Narratives also often take place

5 Naficy makes use of the term “accent,” as it constitutes “one of the most intimate and powerful markers of group identity and solidarity, as well as of individual difference and personality.” In contrast to mainstream films and dominant cinemas, accented films openly display their “accents” in their themes, styles, and structures (2001, 23).

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within “transitional and transnational” spaces, such as borders, airports, and hotels, in order to depict “processes of de- and reterritorialization” (5). In telling such journeys of home-seeking, home-founding, and home-coming, they jump between multiple sites, cultures, and time zones (28). With regard to their style, accented films are often marked by fragmentation, multilinguality, and juxtaposition (4). Making use of binary structures in order to compare and create a dialog between the homeland and host country, the films tend to look upon the homeland with “fetishization and nostalgic longing,” while life in the host country is portrayed as confined and claustrophobic (5–6). Moreover, they place emphasis on difference and belonging, exploring the themes both visually and acoustically and paying particular attention to the accents, intonations, voices, and music that characterize migration and exile (25). Accented films may also focus on other bodily senses through which feelings of displacement are experienced or memories are retrieved, resorting to an aesthetic of “tactile optics” (28–29). Daniela Berghahn establishes similar characteristics for the diasporic film: dedicated to themes of belonging, memories of migration, experiences of difference, and the diasporic subject’s relationship to and longing for the original homeland, the genre explores and constructs a “diasporic consciousness” (2013, 1). Challenging borders and critically discussing integration through its portrayal of protagonists who attempt to “assert their place” in the host society, diasporic cinema functions as a “cinema of identity politics” (8). According to Berghahn, diasporic cinema is marked by a “distinctive diasporic aesthetic that juxtaposes and fuses stylistic templates, generic conventions, narrative and musical traditions, languages and performance styles from more than one culture” (2013, 32). In its exploration of tensions between homeland and host country as well as present and past, the genre is driven by the themes of memory and displacement, providing the “most important creative impetus” (64). The family plot is equally central to diasporic cinema, with films employing the domestic space as “symbolic stage” for social conflicts (11). Plots may revolve around the themes of family honor and tradition, upheaval and disorientation caused by migration, and the destabilization of traditional family structures (26). With regard to aesthetics, a frequent focus on the presentation of senses other than visuality as well as the fetishization of family rituals may be identified, particularly in connection to cooking and eating (141–142). Unlike Naficy, Berghahn does not exclude films by non-diasporic filmmakers, suggesting that diasporic cinema emerges from a “cross-pollination between the artistic sensibilities of the ‘native’ and the diasporian” and is not necessarily linked to authorship, given that the diasporic subject remains the central focus of the film (2013, 9). Mainstream productions are also included in this definition of

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the genre, therefore arguing against an exclusive tie to specific modes of funding, production, and distribution (5). In contrast, Laura Marks’ term “intercultural cinema” explicitly refers to the filmmaker’s bi- or multi-cultural background and minority status. The concept describes a specific form of experimental filmmaking that is dedicated to the filmmaker’s position between multiple “cultural regimes of knowledge” and marked by the movement between cultures (2003, 1). “Suspend[ing] the representational conventions” of narrative films, intercultural cinema questions cinema’s capacity to represent reality (1). Formal experimentation as well as dedication to non-visual knowledge and sensual experience are essential characteristics of the genre, most visible in its use of haptic images (2).6 Like Naficy, L. Marks states that the genre’s form is intimately tied to the “political conditions” that shape its alternative production, distribution, and exhibition practices (2003, 10). What is more, the viewing experience “expands” the meaning of intercultural cinema, as its “discursive context” inscribes itself into the filmic material and becomes part of our experience of this work (20).7 Specific to intercultural cinema is the filmmaker’s interest in creating an alternative history that lays bare the “erasures, silences, and lies” of official accounts and counters the lack of documentation experienced by minority communities (24). The genre is therefore marked by a particular focus on gaps, absent or illegible images, and indistinguishable sounds (31). Each of these approaches to the migration or diasporic film shows commonalities with Asian American cinema, drawing on specific qualities, phases, or trends of the genre. Though not limited to these subjects, many Asian American filmmakers have turned to the exploration of identity, community, and history in their films, discussing what it means to be caught between multiple ethnicities, cultures, and identities. In their focus on memories of migration and diasporic experience, Asian American films express such themes through aesthetics, narrative structure, settings and locations, filmic mode, and use of archival material. In its discussion of Asian American history, conceptualization of Asian American cinema, and analysis of selected Asian American films that center on memory, this chapter reveals the connections between the history of Asian migration to and diasporic experience in the United States and the emergence

6 According to L. Marks, haptic images “invite the viewer to respond to the image in an intimate, embodied way, and thus facilitate the experience of other sensory impressions as well” (2003, 2). 7 L. Marks claims that screenings leave behind “traces,” which “adhere to the skin” of intercultural films: rather than move from one screening context to another, these works “multiply their contexts” (2003, 20–21).

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of both Asian American cinema and Asian American film festivals, showing that the latter two phenomena are deeply embedded in U.S.-American conceptions of race,8 the minority movements of the 1960s and 1970s, and the subsequent institutionalization of an Asian American identity. Before zooming in on selected Asian American films, the chapter sketches out the lengthy history of Asian migration to the United States in order to show how the specific circumstances of Asian migration and life in the diaspora led to the conscious construction of a collective Asian American identity. As Lisa Lowe asserts, the political, social, and cultural exclusion of Asians in the U.S. has been central to the emergence of an Asian American culture, one which functions as an “alternative cultural site and the place where the contradictions of immigrant history are read, performed, and critiqued” (1996, ix–x). While acknowledging the constructedness and limitations of the term “Asian American” in its “yok[ing] together [of] groups of diverse ethnic, cultural, and national origins,” Peter X. Feng points out that this panethnic identification originates exactly from a “discursive history that aligns interpretations of ethnic experiences,” encouraging Asian Americans to “identify across the discontinuity of ethnic differences” (2002a, 5). This complex, multifaceted history is crucial to understanding the dynamics of Asian American cinema and Asian American film festivals as well as the trajectories of memories of Asian migrations to the United States. What therefore follows is an investigation of Asian American cinema, calling into question the existence of such a genre, while also acknowledging and exploring the potential productivity of such identification and labeling. In bringing together the histories of the Asian American activist movement and Asian American film and media production, the political motivations of Asian American film – particularly in its beginnings – are investigated, along with its development into a commercially viable genre. Primarily aimed at self-representation, the genre contests stereotypical and racist portrayals of Asians and Asian Americans in U.S.-American film and media and thus complicates and diversifies their representations.

8 Although emphasizing that the concept of race is a “social construction,” Kathleen J. Fitzgerald states that race “remains a central organizing principle of our [U.S.-American] society, a key arena of inequality, and the subject of ongoing conflict and debate” (2017, 21; 5). Ronald H. Bayor concurs that American society is strongly defined by its ethnic and racial relations, going so far as to call the “predominance of race […] a national obsession” (1999, xii). Daniel Martinez HoSang and Oneka LaBennett similarly point to the “centrality of race to all social and political structures in the United States,” pervading identities, social relations, politics, and belief systems (2012, 1).

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2.2 B  ecoming Asian American: Asian American History and Identity The history of Asian migration to the United States is complex, multifaceted, and unwieldy. Consisting of multiple waves of migration from different countries and regions throughout Asia, these migrations are marked by a broad variety of circumstances. This subchapter gives a broad overview of this history, sketching out the largest waves of immigration, the era of exclusion laws and discrimination against Asian immigrants, the significance of wartime alliances and subsequent changes in attitudes toward the Asian diasporic community, and the opening of U.S. borders in the mid-1960s. Primary focus is the history of Chinese and Japanese migration and diasporic experience, since these national-origin groups constituted the largest immigrant communities until the mid-twentieth century and were the main target of U.S. exclusion laws and discriminatory policies. Korean, Filipino, and South Asian migrations are also referenced, highlighting both the cultural specificity and universality of individual experiences within the Asian diaspora. This examination aims to provide an understanding of the circumstances surrounding and political motivations behind Asian minorities’ strategic construction of a collective identity. First Waves of Migration Large-scale Asian migration to the United States started as early as the midnineteenth century.9 As Roger Daniels points out in his book Asian America: Chinese and Japanese in the United States Since 1850, the majority of early immigrants came from China and Japan, arriving during the era of “great industrial and agricultural expansion” (2011, 6). Against the backdrop of U.S. trading relations with China, the first wave of Chinese immigrants came from the province of Guangdong, central to trades between the West and China (wall text for Port of Canton).10 Drawn by the California gold rush of 1849, most immigrants

9 Roger Daniels establishes that individual Chinese immigrants were reported in Pennsylvania as early as 1785; significant migration, however, did not begin until the California gold rush of 1849 (2011, 9). 10 Trading began as early as 1784, when the first American trading ship reached China (wall text for Empress of China). It increased after the United Kingdom, later joined by France and the United States, waged two successful Opium Wars between 1839 and 1860 in order to force China into the opium trade. The imposition of trade policies greatly benefited the West, establishing, for instance, that Westerners were exempted from Chinese law (wall text for Global Trade).

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who left China to make their fortune in the United States were poor, uneducated peasants. Having neither the financial means to set up a business nor the skills to enter a professional trade, they primarily worked in mining and agriculture (Daniels 2011, 6–7). Daniels estimates that as many as 300,000 Chinese entered the United States between 1848 and 1882, of which over 90 percent were male (2011, 9). The push conditions11 encouraging migration were multifold: Suffering from the economic control of Western imperialists, China was proceeding toward its “final collapse.” By the early twentieth century, an “ever-increasing population, a crumbling internal administration [… and] the deterioration of the standard of living” combined to motivate migration (12). The pull effect of the United States or, rather, California was the promise of wealth: as Daniels points out, California was experiencing accelerated economic growth based on the discovery of gold, thereby creating great labor shortages and extraordinarily high wage levels (2011, 12). In California, Chinese immigrants emerged as an essential part of the workforce, making significant contributions to the state’s economic growth, not only in mining and railroad construction, but also in the areas of agriculture and manufacturing (15). In contrast to Chinese immigration, large-scale immigration from Japan did not set in until the 1880s. In fact, by the late nineteenth century, very few Japanese had traveled outside of the Japanese islands. Hired and brought to Hawaii by white plantation owners to work in agriculture, the first wave of immigrants consisted of contract laborers who reached the islands in 1884. Within the next decade, about 30,000 Japanese had settled on Hawaii (Daniels 2011, 100). As Daniels asserts, the Japanese were hired not only to add to the work force, but also to create a “counterweight” to the Chinese community. Amounting to more than one-fifth of the overall island population, white plantation owners had come to regard Chinese workers as “troublesome elements in a multiracial plantation society” (2011, 101). Compared to disunified, conflicted China, the living and working conditions in Japan were radically different: in the late nineteenth century, Japan was undergoing “one of the most remarkable [technological] modernizations known to history,” transporting Japan “from the later middle ages to the industrial era in decades rather than centuries”; this rapid modernization caused “great social dislocations,” of which rural Japanese were the main victims, encouraging them to seek their fortune elsewhere (102). While the majority of Japanese immigrants

11 The terms “push,” “pull,” and “means” describe the “prevailing forces” and conditions in both the countries of origin and destination that lead to and shape patterns of migration (Daniels 2011, 9).

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settled on Hawaii, Japanese communities also began to take root along the West Coast in the 1890s (103). As the mainland entry point for the majority of Japanese, San Francisco became home to the largest Japantown and housed the consul general (109). At the turn of the century, three other Asian groups began to make their way into the United States, though not yet producing numbers of immigrants as significant as those from China and Japan. As Erika Lee states, both the circumstances of Filipino, Korean, and South Asian migration (i.e., the historical, political, and social contexts that propelled immigrants to leave) and the respective country’s relationship to the United States varied greatly (2015, ch. 6–8). Following the Spanish-American War and the beginning of the United States’ colonial rule in the Philippines in 1898, Filipino migration set in as early as 1903. Legally classified as “U.S. Nationals” – according to E. Lee, an unequal status, as Filipinos were merely considered “wards” and denied citizenship rights – Filipinos were exempt from immigration laws (2015, 176). In the following decades, many were recruited as laborers and brought to Hawaii in order to now create a counterbalance to the Japanese, who were leading successful protests and raising demands for better wages and working conditions (177). Communities in the continental United States, however, grew slowly and did not develop until the 1920s (179). Counting 56,000 immigrants in 1930, Filipinos were largely employed in agriculture and eventually became, alongside Mexicans, the industry’s “dominant workforce” (179–180). Similarly, the first wave of Korean migration took place between 1902 and 1905, when 7,400 laborers were recruited to work on Hawaiian plantations (E. Lee 2015, 137). Representing a “site of international rivalry” for European, U.S.-American, Chinese, and Japanese colonizers, Korea became a protectorate of Japan in 1905, following the empire’s victories in both the Sino-Japanese War and the Russo-Japanese War. In 1910, Japan officially annexed Korea and created “harsh policies” in order to control the population (138). Faced with heavy taxation and unemployment, many Koreans wanted to better their living conditions and escape their colonizers, thus leaving behind and later fleeing from their occupied homeland by migrating to the United States. Following the Japanese-controlled government’s ban on emigration in 1905, new immigrants largely consisted of political refugees and picture brides (137–140).12 The arrival of Korean women produced the first American-born generation of Korean

12 According to E. Lee, the Japanese “banned emigration in order to prevent Koreans from competing with Japanese laborers [abroad …] and to keep an ample supply of Koreans at home to support Japanese expansionist projects” (2015, 138).

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Americans. In California, Korean immigrants – like Filipinos – largely found work as farm laborers, helping to build up and strengthen the state’s agrarian economy (144). Marked by a “fierce nationalism” that centered on Korean independence, Korean communities in the United States “retained strong ties to their homeland” (145). Various organizations sprung up, aiming to provide assistance for their community members, host religious, educational, and cultural events, and advocate for Korean independence (146). While the first South Asian immigrants also arrived around the turn of the century, their number remained small compared to those of other Asian countries. Migration was largely directed at British colonies, with as few as about 8,000 immigrants entering the United States by 1932 (E. Lee 2015, 151–152). As a result, the immigrant community lacked ethnic neighborhoods as well as the diasporic infrastructure that characterized the experiences of Chinese, Japanese, Korean, and Filipino communities (159–160). Although the push and pull factors varied, many Asian immigrants shared the same experiences. As E. Lee shows, they had often been lured away from their homelands by labor recruiters’ promises of fair wages and free housing and faced the same hardships upon arrival. The majority of immigrants came from poor families, taking on loans in order to make the trip to the United States and subsequently working tirelessly to pay off debts. What is more, few migrants had the intention of permanent emigration. Instead, they planned to send money home for an extended period of time, before eventually returning to their homes and families (2015, ch. 3–8).13 Asian immigrant communities were additionally marked by similar characteristics: First, most of them were defined by unbalanced sex ratios, largely comprising male immigrants – a condition worsened by the passage of exclusion laws. At different points throughout the twentieth century, however, these ratios evened out, allowing for family formation in the host country. Second, immigrants were forbidden from moving into white neighborhoods and relegated to cheap living quarters in undesirable locations. This circumstance resulted in the emergence of ethnic enclaves14 such as China-, Japan-, and Koreatowns and Little Manilas (ch. 3–8).

13 As Daniels points out, a large part of early Chinese immigrants did eventually return to China (2011, 16). According to Gloria Heyung Chun, the era of exclusion further fueled this development, as Chinese companies and embassies lured American-trained workers back to their homeland and both the outlook of better employment and an escape from racial discrimination proved successful pull and push factors (2000, 26–31). 14 Daniels defines ethnic enclaves as “distinct districts or neighborhoods in which members of one or several ethnic groups predominate to the virtual exclusion of all others” (2011, 17–18).

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Era of Exclusion Soon after Asian immigrants arrived in the United States, anti-Asian sentiments began to take root. Set in a period of industrialization marked by social conflicts and economic depressions, the influx of migrant workers fueled feelings of fear and resentment toward the industrious Chinese and, in later decades, other Asian communities (wall text for Chinese Exclusion Act). Anxious to put a stop to labor competition and protect themselves from unemployment and lowered wages, all of which were understood as a direct consequence of Asian immigration, white workers proclaimed Asian immigrants cheap “coolie” labor. These widespread sentiments went so far as to encourage political parties to strategically use the “Chinese Question” to gain support and come into power (wall text for Chinese in the US). It further led to the signing of the Anti-Coolie Act of 1862: as the first federal law to regulate immigration, the act prohibited the import of indentured Asian laborers and demanded “certification of voluntary emigration” for all Chinese citizens entering the country (wall text for Chinese in the US). Numerous exclusion acts followed in the next eight decades, including the Page Act of 1875, which not only strengthened the 1862 ban on coolie labor, but also required Chinese women to verify that they did not engage in prostitution, thus “slash[ing] immigration rates for women for decades to come” (wall text for 1875). In 1882, the most crucial piece of legislation was passed: as the first law to restrict immigration on the basis of race and class, the Chinese Exclusion Act prohibited Chinese laborers from entering the United States, while at the same time creating the necessary exemptions (allowing, for instance, the entry of merchants and diplomats) to protect U.S. trade interests. It also prohibited Chinese from naturalizing as citizens, closing the previous laws’ “loopholes” (wall text for Chinese Exclusion Act). As the Chinese Historical Society of America’s exhibition Inclusion/Exclusion shows, the Chinese community immediately showed resistance to this law, launching civil disobedience campaigns and civil rights lawsuits. Congress, however, managed to renew the law in 1892 and make it permanent in 1904 (wall text for Chinese Exclusion Act). Later laws further restricted immigration and expanded the exclusion to other Asian countries (tab. 1). While the Immigration Act of 1917 introduced a so-called “barred zone” that covered large parts of South Asia and thus supplemented the previous bans on East Asian immigration, the Immigration Act of 1924 introduced a quota system based on nationality and race. Assigning numerical quotas to each nation, the U.S. government was able to contain overall immigration and specifically reduce the number of unwanted Asian immigrants (E. Lee 2015, 134–135).

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Tab. 1: Overview of laws targeting Asian immigration to the United States Year

Law

1862 Anti-Coolie Act: Ban on immigration of indentured Asian laborers 1875 Page Act: Extension of the ban on coolie labor 1882 Passing of the Chinese Exclusion Act 1892 Geary Act: Renewal of Chinese exclusion; additional restrictions 1904 Extension of Chinese exclusion 1907 Gentlemen’s Agreement between the United States and Japan: Prohibition of labor immigration from Japan 1917 Immigration Act of 1917: Ban on immigration from the Asiatic barred zone, particularly targeting South Asian immigrants 1924 Johnson-Reed Act: Prohibition of the immigration of aliens ineligible for citizenship, effectively excluding all Asians except for Filipinos 1934 Tydings-McDuffie Act: Reclassification of Filipinos from nationals to aliens; establishment of an annual immigration quota 1943 Magnuson Act: Abolishment of Chinese exclusion; establishment of Chinese naturalization rights and increase of the immigration quota 1945 War Brides Act: Possibility of entry of Asian women as the spouses of U.S.-American soldiers 1946 Luce-Celler Act: Lift of Filipino and Indian exclusion by granting naturalization rights and expanding an annual immigration quota 1952 McCarran-Walter Act: Lift of the ban on Korean and Japanese immigration; establishment of naturalization rights 1965 Hart-Celler Act: Abolishment of the national origins quota system; enforcement of a new preference system that prioritizes family reunification and professional migration

During the era of exclusion, Chinese Americans had a second-class status. According to Gloria Heyung Chun, Chinese Americans were prohibited from attending white schools and marrying into the white community. Next to their exclusion from citizenship, Chinese Americans were also unable to own property. Racially segregated into Chinatowns and excluded from the mainstream job market, Chinese Americans were “rendered politically invisible” (2000, 16). As a result, Chinatowns became home to Chinese schools, cultural institutions, and even hospitals. The benefits of such neighborhoods included the possibilities of creating social infrastructures similar to those of the homeland and being surrounded by kinspeople who spoke the same language (Daniels 2011, 18). Prohibited from experiencing and participating in U.S.-American culture, the majority of American-born Chinese considered themselves Chinese rather than U.S.-American, as Chun asserts. Their ethnic identification, however, was not a free choice; instead, it was the result of a “lack of choices, due to the “social and

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economic isolation” inflicted on them by mainstream society (2000, 38). One of the main issues arising from Chinese exclusion was an aging “bachelor society”: Due to the restrictions of Chinese immigration in general and of women in particular, Chinese demographics were marked by a steady decline. The dominance of an aging, China-born generation further led to cultural conservatism, slowing down processes of assimilation and acculturation (17). Although not yet at the center of anti-Asian sentiment, the Japanese diaspora became another target for discrimination by the end of the nineteenth century. Originating in San Francisco’s Japantown, the first acts of violence against the Japanese were recorded as early as 1890, while racist statements targeting new labor immigrants from Japan began to appear in the local press in 1891 (Daniels 2011, 109–112). Discussing the delay in the rise of a “Japanophobia,” Daniels considers the comparatively small size of the Japanese community in the U.S. as well as Japan’s relative insignificance on a global scale as central factors (2011, 112). Only when Japan rose to power and U.S.-Americans became aware that Japan might threaten U.S. interests, did the anti-Japanese movement truly establish itself (E. Lee 2015, 122). Another wave of discrimination began in 1905, motivated by the RussoJapanese War and the subsequent increase in Japanese immigration. Daniels identifies a campaign by the San Francisco newspaper Chronicle as the cause for anti-Japanese activity, proclaiming the threat of a “‘Japanese invasion’” and foreseeing the arrival of a “‘raging torrent’” of immigrants (qtd. in Daniels 2011, 116). Echoed by newspapers throughout the state, these sentiments developed into a full-fledged movement, producing the Asiatic Exclusion League as the first “anti-Japanese pressure group” as well as several branches in other cities along the West Coast (118–119). Another turning point was the San Francisco School Board crisis of 1906, during which the local board demanded that Japanese students attend so-called “Oriental” schools. Via the press, the affair quickly gained international prominence, reaching both Tokyo and Washington. Aware of Japan’s changing position in international politics and intent on appeasing its government, President Roosevelt publicly opposed the actions taken against the Japanese, thereby giving way to conflicts on both a national and state level (119–121). Although the public increased its demands for Japanese exclusion, the government was cautious not to slight Japan by enforcing such a law. In consequence, tensions between exclusionists and government officials grew and exploded into surges of racial violence (E. Lee 2015, 125). The conflicts ended in the Gentlemen’s Agreement, a “settlement” striving to reduce Japanese immigration and, thus, political tensions in California, while at the same time ensuring that Japan could save face and show that the restriction was “self-imposed” (Daniels 2011, 122). Ironically, the Gentlemen’s Agreement did

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little to reduce the Japanese American population, since it still allowed for the immigration of spouses, children, and parents. As a result, the settlement created a more balanced sex ratio and led to the birth of the nisei generation, secondgeneration immigrants, more than doubling the Japanese American population within the course of 20 years (126). By 1920, the Japanese community had not only grown, but also achieved a great amount of success in agriculture, owning or leasing a significant portion of farmland in California (E. Lee 2015, 132). Their success once again fueled fears of economic competition and feelings of resentment toward the Japanese, leading to the creation of two California state laws that restricted land ownership for “aliens ineligible of citizenship” (132–133). While the Alien Land Laws damaged the community, “disaster” did not strike until 1924, when another immigration law caused many issei, first-generation immigrants, to return to their homeland and the Japanese American community to shrink (Daniels 2011, 151). Putting a stop to Asian and, in particular, Japanese immigration by excluding all aliens ineligible for citizenship, the Johnson-Reed Act of 1924 marked the height of activism against “undesirable foreigners” (E. Lee 2015, 134–135). What the beginnings of Asian migration and the subsequent era of exclusion show is that Asian-origin groups were forced into a contradictory position: included in building the nation, but excluded from citizenship, Asians were placed “‘within’ the U.S. nation-state, its workplaces, and its markets, yet linguistically, culturally, and racially marked […] as ‘foreign’ and ‘outside’ the national polity,” as Lisa Lowe states (1996, 8). From its beginnings, the relationship between white U.S.-Americans and Asian immigrants was marked by dependence and fear. A quickly-developing economy produced the need for Asian laborers; at the same time, these laborers were seen as an economic and cultural threat. Influenced by dominant ideas of the ‘Oriental’15 and the inferiority of the Asiatic race, white U.S.-Americans’ attitudes toward Asian immigrants were ambivalent at best and quickly transformed into full-fledged hostility. As Asian communities grew in size and power, white U.S.-Americans grew ever more fearful, creating new laws to keep the community in check and bar Asians from white neighborhoods, schools, and public spaces, while continuing to exploit them through unfair wages and

15 In his seminal book Orientalism: Western Conceptions of the Orient, Edward Said discusses “Orientalism” as Western society’s “style of thought,” which differentiates between East (“the Orient”) and West (“the Occident”) (1979, 2). This distinction, Said argues, is the “starting point for elaborate theories […] and political accounts concerning the Orient, its people, customs, ‘mind,’ [and] destiny” (1979, 2–3) and plays into the “relationship of power, of domination” established by the West (5).

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precarious working conditions. As the first Asians to arrive and produce a significant immigrant community, anti-Asian sentiment and discriminatory laws were originally directed at the Chinese. Once others arrived in greater numbers and/or dared to become vocal in the public sphere, new exclusion laws were passed to sanction these national-origin groups. Although waves of discrimination toward one specific group were often motivated by concrete interactions with this group – for instance, Japanese or Filipino labor activism – they also all fueled each other, based as they were on the same fears of cultural dominance and feelings of resentment. Anti-Asian legislation, however, produced problems for the white community as well: Chinese exclusion, for instance, created a labor shortage that needed to be filled by another group of foreigners, leading to the recruitment of Japanese and Korean workers. Putting a cap on overall immigration and extending exclusion to almost all Asian groups, the state produced yet another labor shortage that now only Filipinos were able to fill (E. Lee 2015, 119–120). Once this group of immigrants began to establish itself as a community, organize collectively, and demand that an end be put to the “‘pit of economic slavery’” (Manuel Buaken qtd. in E. Lee 2015, 182), the U.S.-American public was quick to declare their “little brown brothers” as yet another “Asiatic invasion” (184).

Wartime Alliances World War II (WWII) brought forth various changes for Asian American communities: Described as a “turning point” by Shelley Sang-Hee Lee, the “war against fascism, the loyal service of minorities, and the imperative of strong international alliances had undercut the ideological and moral justifications for racism in American life,” leading to the abolishment of discriminatory laws and bringing an end to the era of exclusion (2014, 208). What is more, as China became an ally during the war, mainstream perceptions of the immigrant community changed, now considered “assimilable” (Chun 2000, 9–10) and “good” (E. Lee 2015, 252). As Chun asserts, American-born Chinese made strategic use of the change in climate, taking on the role of “ambassadors to both their parental and the dominant culture” and becoming a link of cultural understanding between both sides (2000, 9–10). Wartime also provided Chinese Americans with economic opportunities: next to employment in the war industry, the “liberal racial climate” of the WWII era provided Chinese Americans with the opportunity to transform their ethnicity into a “desirable cultural commodity,” most visible in the emergence of Chinese nightclubs and Chinese performers

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(47; 157).16 After the Exclusion Act of 1882 was repealed in 1943, other legislation during and after the war led to the admission of Chinese women and the abolishment of housing restrictions (45–46). Next to the repeal of Chinese exclusion, the Luce-Celler Act of 1946 introduced immigration and naturalization rights for Filipinos and Indians, further dismantling the United States’ complex system of exclusion (S. Lee 2014, 238). Due to their connection to the country with which the United States were at war, the Japanese had a drastically different experience during this era. Having previously been lumped together with other Asian groups and collectively labeled “inassimilable cheap laborers” and “threats to white workers,” the Japanese were suddenly isolated and confronted with an explosion of hostility and discrimination (E. Lee 2015, 124). Climaxing in the internment of 120,000 Japanese Americans, these events constitute, as E. Lee claims, one of the “greatest human rights atrocities” of WWII (2015, 216). In the years leading up to WWII, Japanese Americans were subjected to an increase in government surveillance: next to the annual registration of Japanese Americans, the Federal Bureau of Investigation (F.B.I.) began to create lists of “enemy alien ‘suspects,’” recording any type of contact between Japanese Americans and the Japanese government (212). Despite government reports that pointed to the immigrant community’s loyalty to the United States, the military continued with plans for the containment of Japanese Americans in case of war (213). Following the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor and the United States’ declaration of war against Japan on December 8, 1941, new national security measures were introduced: within hours, Japanese, German, and Italian nationals were declared “enemy aliens” and arrests based on the government’s lists of suspects began (E. Lee 2015, 215). What is more, President Roosevelt’s Executive Order 9066 allowed for the uprooting and internment of roughly 120,000 Japanese Americans from 1942 to 1945. After having been notified of their removal and given one week’s notice to assemble, Japanese Americans were transferred to one of ten “War Relocation Authority camps,” aimed at selfsufficiency, rehabilitation, and participation in the war effort (230–237). The community thus received a group sentence, imprisoned “without due process or proof of wrongdoing” on the basis of its ethnicity (222). Following the War Department’s withdrawal of the exclusion orders in 1945, only a small part of Japanese Americans returned to their original communities, encouraged by the government to “disperse” and “assimilate” (246–247). In returning home, Japanese Americans generally encountered harassment, vandalism, and theft

16 For a history of the Chinese American nightclub scene, see Dong (2014) and T. Robbins (2009).

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and were faced with poverty and unemployment (247–248). Accounts such as Yoshida Uchida’s Desert Exile: The Uprooting of a Japanese American Family further document the “awesome burden” of having to prove loyalty and successful integration in the years to come (1982, 149). Despite this atrocity and act of regression, a central shift in the perception of Asians in U.S.-American culture had taken place during WWII: as S. Lee maintains, the legal, ideological, and cultural landscape of America was dramatically transformed. Before, the notion of Asians assimilating, achieving mainstream acceptance, and being an integral part of the fabric of American society was nearly inconceivable. (2014, 236)

Obstacles nonetheless persisted, as is most visible in the reemergence of hostility and suspicion toward the Chinese community when China turned communist in 1949 (Chun 2000, 10). As the U.S. government increased its surveillance and control of the Chinese American community in order to prohibit “communist infiltration” (S. Lee 2014, 256–257), many Chinese Americans renounced their Chinese citizenship, hoping to thereby demonstrate their loyalty to the United States (Chun 2000, 10). Like the Japanese, the Chinese chose to blend in rather than rebel against discrimination: according to Chun, the community largely kept quiet about their exposure to racial injustices and segregation. Moreover, more than two-thirds of Chinese Americans abandoned their ethnic neighborhoods and moved to the suburbs in order to take focus away from their ethnicity and heritage (2000, 96). Thus, the post-war period is marked by “high acculturation,” repositioning Asians as model minorities (10).17 Opening of U.S. Borders As the public perception of Asian Americans slowly transformed from a “yellow peril” to a model minority, policy changes mirrored these developments (Zhou and Gatewood 2007c, 116). In 1952, the McCarran-Walter Act proclaimed “all national-origin groups eligible for naturalization,” thereby introducing reforms for the previously excluded Japanese. However, the law still upheld the quota

17 Introduced by sociologist William Petersen in 1966, the widely criticized model minority concept “selectively and inaccurately invok[es] the economic and educational achievements of middle-class Asian Americans as supposed proof that minorities can overcome racial barriers without federal assistance or legal responses to discrimination” (Mimura 2009, 3). See also R. Lee (2007).

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system that limited the number of specific national-origin groups from entering the country. This system was finally abolished with the passage of the HartCeller Act of 1965, which went into effect in 1968 (116). With the establishment of the Immigration Act of 1965, large-scale immigration from Asia was able to take place.18 What is more, the number of Asian immigrants in proportion to total admissions into the U.S. grew, developing from five to 33 percent between the 1950s and 1970s and remaining at around 25 percent from the 1980s onward (115). As the Hart-Celler Act prioritizes family reunification, while also responding to national demands for skilled labor, the majority of the 8.7 million Asians entering the country between 1971 and 2005 were either family-sponsored migrants or employer-sponsored workers (116). The Immigration Act of 1965 led to dramatic changes within the Asian diasporic community. First, the law resulted in a greater ethnic diversity of Asian Americans, whose community had until then largely consisted of Chinese, Japanese, and Filipino immigrants. Not only did entirely new communities from Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos enter the country, but the immigration rates of the original groups also increased (Chun 2000, 125). Second, the law created greater “economic variance” among Asian Americans, who were now no longer reduced to the working class (126). As Min Zhou and J. V. Gatewood point out, Southeast Asian refugees make up a “significant” part of contemporary Asian immigration: attributing this development to the “failed U.S. intervention” in countries such as Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia, the scholars pinpoint the height of Southeast Asian migration between 1975 and the early 1980s (2007c, 117–118). While the first wave of (almost exclusively Vietnamese) refugees came to the United States as part of the military’s evacuation of U.S.-Americans and South Asian allies at the end of the Vietnam War, the second wave began to arrive in the late 1970s. This “refugee exodus” comprised immigrants not only from Vietnam, but also from Cambodia and Laos, and lasted until the early 1980s (118). During this time, about 433,000 refugees entered the country (E. Lee 2015, 325). With regard to geographic distribution of Asian Americans, Wei Li and Emily Skop point out that Asian Americans continue to settle in urban areas and “cluster in traditional immigrant gateways” such as San Francisco, Los Angeles, and New York City (2007, 226). However, other metropolitan areas such as Las Vegas or

18 There are numerous factors that drive Asian immigration: next to changes in U.S. immigration policy, the economic development and restructuring of Asia as well as U.S. political and military interventions have greatly influenced Asian migration to the United States (Zhou and Gatewood 2007c, 116). Moreover, the growth of high-technology industries has led to the demand for and import of skilled labor from Asia (117).

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Orlando have emerged as areas with significant Asian populations in recent years (227). Interesting to note is that the geographical distribution varies by subgroup: for instance, New York City is dominated by Chinese and South Indians, while Koreans and Filipinos constitute the largest Asian groups in Los Angeles (228). This development shows that the U.S.-American society’s inconsistent and often divisive treatment of different Asian origin groups hindered Asian populations from different countries from growing together. Emergence of an Asian American Movement With the opening of U.S. borders, Asian America became increasingly diverse, growing to encompass about “thirty major ethnic groups, each with a distinct culture” (Omatsu 2007, 76). But how did a sense of collective identity emerge, even though the Asian American community was marked by growing ethnic and economic diversity?19 How did a collective consciousness develop that helped members of various groups identify as both American and Asian, even though the number of foreign-born immigrants was on the rise? Why were cultural and ethnic barriers between Asian-origin groups consciously put aside? Several developments are central to the emergence of a political, social, and cultural Asian American movement and strategic construction of a collective identity. First, after decades of slow growth due to exclusionary laws, the Asian American population finally produced a native-born “youth cohort” that was the product of relaxed immigration laws and a postwar baby boom. This group, consisting mainly of Japanese and Chinese Americans, formed the “core force” of the Asian American movement in the late 1960s (Zhou and Gatewood 2007c, 120). Pointing to the formation of a “unified coalition” between American-born Asians, Chun maintains that a panethnic Asian American identity was made possible by the abandonment of “old national rivalries” and “traditional cultural and linguistic barriers”: “Far removed from their ancestral ties, second, third, and fourth generations of Chinese and Japanese Americans felt more allied with each other than with immigrant generations” (2000, 98). Second, the politically-charged era of 1960s U.S.-America and rise of civil rights movements created an awareness among minority groups that “their interests could be better advanced by forming coalitions” (Espiritu 1992, 12). Creating interethnic and interracial coalitions, Asian American activists united

19 Glenn Omatsu argues that, between the late 1960s and 1990s, the wealth gap between Asian Americans increased, creating a “sharp class polarization in our community” (2007, 76).

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to fight for visibility, equality, and political empowerment (E. Lee 2015, 300). As Yen Le Espiritu asserts, the Black Power movement particularly “sensitized” other minorities to the issue of race, producing the Yellow Power, Red Power, and Brown Power movements. What is more, international struggles such as anticolonial movements influenced “panethnic mobilization” (1992, 12). It is important to note that Asian Americans were already involved in political activism and resistance prior to the 1960s and 1970s. Next to the lengthy history of Japanese and Filipino labor activism and Chinese resistance to exclusion, another wave of activism followed WWII: taking the shape of “interethnic alliances” between Japanese and African Americans in Los Angeles, these activists laid the “political foundations for interracial activism in later years” (E. Lee 2015, 300–301). The Asian American movement, however, distinguished itself from these previous acts of resistance in its “dynamism and visibility of political action, as well as its militancy and confrontational tactics”; moreover, it produced and consolidated a panethnic identity – its “most profound and lasting legacies” (S. Lee 2014, 292). In the 1960s and 1970s, a new generation of activists emerged as part of a wave of civil rights and social justice movements (E. Lee 2015, 301). These activists strove for unity among the Asian American community in order to seek economic justice, build up community services, and become vocal in the education and art sectors. Moreover, they “proclaimed themselves Asian Americans,” giving rise to a panethnic identity that drew attention to the “commonalities” between Asian-origin groups and rejecting derogatory labels and stereotypes created by the dominant culture. Finally, they formed various institutions and organizations that gave Asian Americans a “place and voice in American politics” (304). According to E. Lee, college campuses transformed into one of the first sites of activism. In 1968, the Asian American Political Alliance (AAPA) was established at UC Berkeley, constituting the first organization to specifically represent Asian American interests (2015, 304). While the AAPA was short-lived and dispersed in 1969, it formulated three goals that would come to define the Asian American civil rights movement: 1) the mobilization and unification of Asians regardless of ethnic or cultural differences; 2) the critique of the United States as a “racist, imperialistic, and exploitative society” (304); and 3) the declaration of “interracial solidarity with other ‘Third World people’” as well as support of their national and international struggles for liberation (304–305). The AAPA was thus instrumental to the forging of an Asian American consciousness and gave rise to various institutions that made the community heard and recognized its “distinct needs” (305). As Zhou and Gatewood point out, the birth of the Asian American movement is tied to the “largest student strike” in U.S. history (2007b, 2). Led by members of

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the Third World Liberation Front – a coalition between African American, Latino American, Native American, and Asian American students of San Francisco State College – the strike was held in 1968 and centered on the demand for curricular reform. Key points included the institutionalization of ethnic studies, the representation of minority histories, experiences, and interests in curriculum, and the implementation of an admissions policy that would guarantee equal access to higher education. Within the same year of the end of the strike, San Francisco State College established the first ethnic studies program; by 1978, more than fourteen Asian American studies programs alone had been established throughout the country (2–3).20 The panethnic movement therefore emerged from the context of higher education and was the product of college-educated, middle class Asian Americans (Chun 2000, 98). These events further marked a “radical shift in consciousness from the integrationist logic of the [1940s and 1950s],” as Asian Americans united to claim a “distinct” Asian American identity (97–98). As E. Lee demonstrates, these university-based struggles coincided with community activism directed at creating housing programs, social services, and civil rights advocacy for Asian Americans (2015, 307). One of the earliest “radical” organizations to emerge from this activism, San Francisco’s Chinese American organization Red Guard Party dismissed “dominant white norms” and worked against the poor living conditions and disfranchisement of local Asian Americans by providing community services, launching employment initiatives, and fighting for medical services for Chinatown residents (S. Lee 2014, 293–294). In 1971, the organization merged with New York City’s group I Wor Kuen, thus becoming the largest “revolutionary” organization among Asian American institutions (294). Discussing the dynamics and institutionalization of an Asian American consciousness, Espiritu asserts that the panethnic movement was not only “reflected,” but also “generated” by such panethnic organizations (1992, 16). Next to fighting for the rights and needs of their local communities, activists identified themselves as belonging to a “global struggle against capitalism and imperialism.” This is most visible in their declarations of solidarity with oppressed Asian peoples as well as in their aggressive opposition of the Vietnam War (E. Lee 2015, 308). Another important part of Asian American activism was the investigation of past injustices, at the center of which stood Japanese American internment. As E. Lee points out, the 1970s were marked by Japanese Americans’ efforts to come to terms with their past, leading to a campaign that sought a formal apology and

20 For a detailed discussion of the development of Asian American studies and its selfconceptualization as an “offspring of the social movement,” see Zhou and Gatewood (2007b, 5).

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financial restitution from the U.S. government (2015, 311). After several years of advocacy, the movement achieved its first success: in 1976, President Gerald Ford publicly proclaimed these wartime crimes a “‘tragedy’” (qtd. in E. Lee 2015, 311). In 1980, the U.S. Commission on Wartime Relocation and Internment of Civilians was created and congressional hearings began. Finally, in 1982, the commission published a report in which it admitted to the severe injustices done to Japanese Americans (311–312). The development of an Asian American identity is directly tied to the historical conditions of Asian immigrant and diasporic experience in the United States. It is also a consequence of a public shift in consciousness, in which the U.S.-American nation no longer identified itself as a “melting pot” of cultures, but as a diverse and “multicultural” society (Lowe 1996, 29–30). As part of this shift, hyphenate identities were claimed and constructed, functioning as symbols of resistance to the “homogenizing and hegemonizing power of the American melting pot ideology” (Naficy 2001, 15). Since then, the hyphen has become a key marker of ethnic identity in the United States, simultaneously affirming and contesting ideas of “roots, depth, inheritance, continuity, homogeneity, and stability” (16). The term exposes ethnic identity as constructed, “divided,” and hybrid, pointing to its position between cultures and its status as a product of “‘cultural synthesis’” (Manning Marable qtd. in Feng 1996, 88–89).21 What is more, in its “strains to hold the terms together and apart, it denies the creation of a stable third term in the space between the two” (Feng 1996, 93). At the same time, the hyphen presents problems,22 producing a “symbolic alliance between disparate members of a group” and thereby wiping out their “diversity and specificity” (Naficy 2001, 17). With regard to Asian American identity, the problems behind the term have been widely discussed, with scholars and

21 Important to note is that ethnic identities are generally unstable. Discussing the argument against a collective Asian American identity that claims that Asian Americans “do not share a common culture,” Espiritu points out that this perspective wrongfully assumes that ethnic boundaries are “unproblematic” (1992, 16; 17). Peter X. Feng similarly notes that “ethnicallyspecific terms like Korean American are not necessarily more valid” and claims that greater differences may be felt between generations of immigrants (1995, 32). 22 Belinda Kong (2010) gives a detailed overview of the history of the hyphen with regard to Asian America and looks into alternative models for conceiving of hybrid identities, underlining these theories’ embeddedness in historical, political, and institutional discourses. Suggesting that the hyphen has now entered its “afterlife” (138), Kong points out that “no single punctuation mark can be made to bear the burden of a complex theoretical position” (2010, 143). However, the recent “resurgence of efforts” to produce alternative concepts or argue for the removal of the hyphen reveals a “renewed critical awareness of the problem of relationality in the context of globalization” (141).

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activists highlighting that the label “yokes together a continent and a nation” and draws on essentialist notions of “America” and “Asia” (Feng 1996, 90).23 The theoretical model has also been criticized with regard to the kind of relationship this particular punctuation mark evokes, so that alternatives such as the solidus (Palumbo-Liu 1999) or slash (Kang 2002) have sprung up. These new models attempt to take into consideration processes of transnationalization as well as Asian Americans’ preoccupation with globalization rather than cultural hybridity (Kong 2010, 142–143). However, the term has been strategically used as a political designation by Asian American activists in their articulation of both the community’s diversity and its members’ shared experiences of oppression. Constituting a self-designated term, it is aware of the “contradictions that it contains” (Feng 1996, 90). As Lisa Lowe points out: [T]he articulation of an ‘Asian American identity’ as an organizing tool has provided a concept of political unity that enables diverse Asian groups to understand our unequal circumstances and histories as being related; likewise, the building of ‘Asian American culture’ is crucial, for it articulates and empowers our multicultural, multilingual Asianorigin community vis-à-vis the institutions and apparatuses that exclude and marginalize us. (2007, 511)

While acknowledging the political significance of an Asian American coalition, Lowe emphasizes that Asian American collectivity is neither homogeneous nor stable, marked by the diverse circumstances and histories of migration and diasporic experience.24 What is more, it is “complicated by intergenerationality, by various degrees of identification and relation to a ‘homeland,’ and by different extents of assimilation to and distinction from ‘majority culture’ in the United States” (2007, 508). Originally self-imposed terms, Asian American identity and culture have become institutionalized by external forces. It is now used in various settings and shaped by forces such as electoral politics and census classification25 (Espiritu 1992, 18). Thus, Asian American identity and culture are

23 Feng additionally points to the cultural specificity of such notions, explaining that U.S.Americans will usually associate the term “Asia” with East Asia, whereas the British will use the term in reference to South Asians. Arab regions may or may not be included, while “white” Asian nations such as Russia are almost never linked to Asian culture (1996, 89–90). 24 In her article, Lowe further points to the dangers of “essentializing Asian American identity”: the glossing over of differences and heterogeneities “inadvertently supports the racist discourse that constructs Asians as a homogeneous group” and reinforces the “binary schema of ‘the one’ and ‘the other’” (2007, 511). 25 Aimed at providing a “demographic snapshot of the United States,” the U.S. census collects data on the population’s age, race, gender, education, and socioeconomic status (Fitzgerald

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constantly being molded and negotiated by actors both inside and outside the Asian American community (Lowe 2007, 509).

2.3 History and Conceptualizations of Asian American Cinema Based on a constructed and contested panethnic identity, there has been much debate about the construct of Asian American cinema. Regularly described as either a genre, cultural movement, political practice, mode of production, or ethnic identity, Jun Okada notes the difficulty of providing a definition for Asian American media products and asserts that “there is no such thing as an authentic, organic, or autonomous ‘Asian American film and video’” (2015, 3; 5). Pointing to the ethnic diversity among Asian Americans, the wide range of themes, styles, and aesthetics among Asian American films, and the various shifts in modes of production throughout the genre’s history, Peter X. Feng similarly asks whether it is “at all possible to speak of a coherent Asian American Cinema” (1995, 35). There is common agreement, however, that the emergence of Asian American film is tied to the Asian American movement of the late 1960s and 1970s and subsequent establishment of Asian American film collectives such as Visual Communications (VC) and Asian CineVision (ACV). As part of a larger 1960s tradition of film collectives, these institutions were created to serve as an alternative to the mainstream film industry (Naficy 2001, 63). During this first phase, Asian American film can be most unequivocally labeled as a movement, brought to life by activist filmmakers who wanted to take control of their community’s film and media representation (Okada 2015, 3). Constituting an “urgent, idealistic brand of filmmaking” (Tajima 1991, 14), the movement was linked to specific modes of production and exhibition and shared similarities with the Third Cinema movement (Feng 1995, 34). A second phase, in which Asian American film is institutionalized and officially recognized as a genre, is commonly conceived of as taking place in the early 1980s. This institutionalization is largely brought into connection with the development of a distribution and exhibition infrastructure for these minority films, resulting from the birth of the National Asian American Telecommunications Association (NAATA) as a distributor of Asian American programs for public television as well as from the emergence of Asian American

2017, 21). While the census creates the image that it contains “objective and nonbiased information,” it is important to keep in mind that the census’ categories consistently change, therefore confirming the “social construction of race as a reflection of sociohistorical eras” (21).

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film festivals. According to Okada, the “institutional history of Asian American film and video […] is crucial to understanding its historical trajectory and multifaceted identity,” as public media institutions and media arts centers enabled minority films to attain commercial value (2015, 3). Asian American film and video is by definition “interwoven with the rise of public broadcasting” and “intimately and inextricably [… tied to] institutional parameters” (3). Renee Tajima marks this period as one of “pragmatism, and skills attainment,” arguing that the market, particularly public television, gained influence on Asian American filmmakers’ “tenor of work.” During this time, Asian American filmmakers ventured into both feature and fiction films (1991, 14). While a third phase has not yet been officially named or widely recognized, several scholars point to shifts taking place in the late 1990s and early 2000s, linking them to independent feature films produced by the “GenerAsian X” and the genre’s entry into the mainstream (Okada 2015, 105–108). Others point to a recent “crisis” of Asian American cinema in terms of content, aesthetics, and intent, criticizing the lack of (political) identity (B. Hu 2017a, 63).

Origins: Asian American Cinema as Movement Although the emergence of Asian American cinema is usually linked to the Asian American movement of the 1960s and 1970s, Asian American films have a much longer history. Criticizing the “‘recent arrival’ myth” of Asian American cinema, Glen M. Mimura asserts that Asian American media in fact “haunt the entire history of cinema” (2009, 26). Early Hollywood productions reveal a “significant presence” of Asian Americans; what is more, the first half of the twentieth century is marked by the “marginal, discontinuous, yet important activity” of Asian Americans in all branches of the film industry (26). According to Mimura, one representative of early Asian American cinema is Sessue Hayakawa, an actor, producer, and director who created an oeuvre of at least 23 feature films, part of which were produced by his own production company Haworth Studios (2009, 33). Gina Marchetti similarly traces Asian American cinema back to the silent era, drawing attention to the works of director and actress Marion Wong, director Esther Eng, and performer Anna May Wong (2012, 5–6). C. Yang further points to the work of producer Joseph Sunn Jue, whose Grandview Film Company in San Francisco realized hundreds of diasporic films until its demise in the 1970s (2010, 66). These examples document that Asian Americans not only participated in the U.S.-American film industry, but also enjoyed (albeit limited) successes during the first part of the twentieth century. While he originally continued the Asian American tradition of self-

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producing films in order to counter the racism of the Hollywood industry, Bruce Lee eventually acted as the first Asian American to direct a major film: in writing, directing, and starring in Way of the Dragon (1972), Bruce Lee succeeded in breaking into the mainstream market (Mimura 2009, 36). He further established himself as both an “icon of ethnic Chinese pride” and an “emblem of diasporic consciousness” (Marchetti 2012, 7). Important to note is that all of these films were not yet perceived as Asian American works.26 Only in the post-1970s era did an “Asian American cinematic discourse become[ ] politically, aesthetically, and institutionally self-aware as Asian American” (Mimura 2009, 26). Central to the emergence of a selfconsciously labeled Asian American cinema was the establishment of ethnic film collectives such as Visual Communications in Los Angeles and Asian CineVision in New York City. Arising from a “political necessity to fight institutional racism and invisibility” within mainstream film and media, these Asian American film collectives sought to succeed outside of the Hollywood industry (Okada 2015, 7). The film collective Visual Communications (VC) was established in 1970 by Asian American student activists at UCLA. As Mimura notes, the founders were connected to EthnoCommunications, a self-organized affirmative action program dedicated to the training of filmmakers of color (2009, 37). In order to empower its students, the program introduced film as an implement of social justice and change. It also included “intellectual” training, bringing students into contact with the work of and ideas behind the Third Cinema movement27 (37–38). As the program began to dissolve in 1973, graduates Duane Kubo, Steve Tatsukawa, and Eddie Wong, along with their instructor Robert Nakamura, set out to develop VC as an independent, community-based media arts center. Seeking to “democratize” media production and take hold of the media representation of Asian Americans, VC experimented with collective and participatory filmmaking and actively engaged the Asian American community in its projects (38). As part of its work, the film and video collective produced a number of social change documentaries

26 Feng further argues that these early films’ dealings with “Asian subject matter” exclude them from the genre of Asian American cinema, which is “centrally concerned with recovering Asian American history and articulating Asian American experiences” (2002b, 4). 27 According to Mimura, Third Cinema is an “international, revolutionary movement” that emerged from or in solidarity with anti-colonial movements in the late 1960s (2009, 28–29). Comprising a wide variety of media practices, Third Cinema “defines itself fundamentally as a political project – as a democratic, participatory, socialist cinema that seeks to challenge and provoke the collective consciousness of its viewers toward the revolutionary transformation of society” (29–30). Mimura believes Third Cinema to have constituted a “generative force” in the establishment of Asian American film (2009, xviii).

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such as Manzanar (1971) and Wataridori: Birds of Passage (1974), held workshops, and provided the resources necessary for the development of an Asian American film and media community (39). Having originally shown its work at community centers and schools, the organization expanded to include exhibition, hosting the first edition of what is now known as the Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival (LAAPFF) in 1983 (“About Visual Communications” 2020). Dedicated to social change and aimed at opposing the Hollywood industry, VC’s work almost exclusively consisted of low-budget documentaries that focused on issues faced by or relevant to the Asian American community (Okada 2015, 15–16). VC was thus following in the footsteps of an “ideological, anticapitalist, populist worker’s cinema” (16). In its focus on collective authorship, VC developed a “model of communal filmmaking,” which abandoned the practice of crediting an individual director or producer and ensured that everyone who worked on the project received equal credit (22–23). As Okada states, the phase of institutional authorship ended with the production of VC’s first feature-length film Hito Hata: Raise the Banner (1979), an attempt that almost brought the organization to ruins and exposed the difficulties of producing narrative feature films as “social change enterprise” (2015, 26; 32). Soon after the founding of VC, Asian CineVision (ACV) emerged as a New York-based counterpart, similarly aiming to take control of Asian Americans’ media representation and facilitate the community’s access to media production. Established in 1976, ACV developed out of Basement Workshop, a collective of Asian American artists and activists that offered a wide range of educational, social, and cultural services to the local diasporic community. Producing the first Chinese-language news programs for U.S.-American cable access television, ACV provided film and video services for the Asian American community. It also took part in art criticism through its publications Bridge and CineVue as well as helped shape Asian American film culture through its launch of the first Asian American International Film Festival (AAIFF) in 1978 (Okada 2015, 26–27). While sharing VC’s values, ACV distinguished itself from its West Coastcounterpart in its dedication to aesthetics and form. Declaring that early Asian American films were “‘noble and uplifting and boring as hell,’” film critic and AAIFF programmer Daryl Chin pled to “push the aesthetic boundaries of film” and proclaimed that “social change filmmaking was a kind of death to the creative enterprise” (qtd. in Okada 2015, 27). Thus, D. Chin challenged the Asian American film movement to depart from becoming a solely “ideological exercise” (27). According to Okada, these proclamations show that different approaches to Asian American film and media existed from the beginning, thereby contradicting the popular notion that the movement was united by its dedication to social change films (2015, 28). In fact, D. Chin’s approach stood in stark contrast

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to VC’s view of art production as a “‘system of elitism’” that must be opposed by Asian American film (Robert Nakamura qtd. in Okada 2015, 28).

Institutionalization: Asian American Cinema as Genre The second phase of institutionalization coincides with the creation of the National Asian American Telecommunications Association (NAATA) as a minority consortium. The organization emerged on the heels of a 1967 report entitled Public Television: A Program for Action, published by the Carnegie Commission on Educational Television. The report acknowledged a “troubling lack of multicultural diversity on commercial television” and the necessity to give “voice” to communities that might otherwise be “unheard” (Okada 2015, 1). Set in a period of social unrest and activist movements, the Carnegie Commission’s proclamation coincided with the student protests at San Francisco State College, UC Berkeley, and UCLA, addressing issues related to minority rights and visibility. A few years later, the Public Broadcasting Service (PBS) emerged to counter these silences and “‘help us see America whole, in all its diversity’” (Carnegie Commission qtd. in Okada 2015, 1). The wave of minority activism further led to the establishment of five minority consortia – organizations dedicated to the development of ethnic media and financed by the government-funded Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB). One of the minority consortia was NAATA, later renamed Center for Asian American Media (CAAM) in 2005 (Okada 2015, 2). Originally conceived as a distribution service, CAAM later developed into a media arts organization that was equally dedicated to production and exhibition services (Okada 2015, 41). With the establishment of its Media Fund in 1990, the organization increased its influence over Asian American film production and exhibition and received “leverage” to secure broadcast rights. Providing funds and visibility, CAAM’s services create significant opportunities for Asian American filmmakers. At the same time, it limits filmmakers in their distribution of films, forcing them to give up broadcast rights. Moreover, such a contract frames the individual film within “institutional definitions of ‘Asian American film and video,’” thereby taking “representational power” away from the filmmaker (42). According to Okada, the establishment of CAAM helped shape Asian American cinema in “profound” ways: by deciding which films – that is, which genres, themes, and styles – are aired nationally on PBS, CAAM functions as a “gatekeeper,” perpetuates ideas about Asian American identity, and contributes to Asian American cinema being defined by institutional frameworks (2015, 41). As a result, Asian American film has been dominated by the two genres of the “social-political documentary” and “historical trauma film” (47).

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Significantly, Okada distinguishes between the work of the overall organization CAAM and its film festival CAAMFest, asserting that CAAMFest is able to function as a “counterpublic sphere” and provide an “alternative to the ‘dominant social order’ that is presented by the uniform public sphere of PBS” (2015, 52). In contrast to CAAM’s PBS programming, CAAMFest programs a “larger and more diverse” set of Asian American films, allowing for the exhibition of formats, modes, themes, and points of view excluded from PBS programs. It encourages a “wide understanding” of the genre through its programming, broadening the range of Asian diasporic works seen by the public (53). Asian American scholars also regularly establish that different phases of Asian American cinema are initiated and defined by the successes and critical reception of individual films. For instance, Wayne Wang’s Chan is Missing (1982) is constantly referred to as a turning point for Asian American film, leading to its official recognition as a minority genre and to its shift from social change documentaries to independent feature films (Okada 2015, 32). Situated in San Francisco’s Chinatown, Chan is Missing follows two Chinese American taxi drivers in their search for the elusive “Chan.”28 Pointing to the film’s function as a “bridge” between Asian American media and popular U.S.-American cinema, Okada observes that the film helped give the “institutional impulse” to move toward “more conventional narrative films” (2015, 30–31). As discourse tends to center on Asian American film’s beginnings as an ideological cinema and its development into independent film, Okada emphasizes that prior to its institutionalization, Asian American film and video displayed “much greater formal diversity” (2015, 13). The existence of a thriving community of Asian American video artists and experimental filmmakers negates the notion of a “monolithic” Asian American film and media culture and shows that the genre was, from its beginnings, more diverse than often portrayed. However, minority cultural production tends to shun experimental art in order to “grow out of the margins” and move into the mainstream (38). Justin Lin’s Better Luck Tomorrow (2002) is largely recognized as another turning point, its box office success attributed to the film’s unique ability to serve as entertainment without undermining its “political credibility” (Okada 2015, 98).

28 Mimura describes Chan is Missing as an “innovative parody” of the 1930s and 1940s Charlie Chan movies, making use of “classical narrative conventions to tell a story about Chinese American identity that subtly yet ingeniously undermines Hollywood’s historical repertoire of Chinese stereotypes” (2009, xv). Chan is Missing has been viewed as groundbreaking with regard to its portrayal of Asian American identity, foregrounding its “heterogeneity,” “fluidity,” and “contingency” (Feng 1996, 91).

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Paying homage to popular Hollywood genres and Hong Kong action films, Better Luck Tomorrow tells the story of privileged Asian Americans drifting into juvenile delinquency out of boredom. As a “postracial” Asian American film, in which race is no longer the “‘point [of the story] but simply the given,’” the film follows a strategy that seemed to constitute the genre’s way to success (Roger Ebert qtd. in Okada 2015, 98). According to Okada, Better Luck Tomorrow marks a “historical trajectory” of Asian American independent cinema, leading up to an erasure of the “boundary between Asian and Asian American in an outward awareness of the changing global cinema market” (2015, 100). Margaret Hillenbrand similarly observes that the film’s success lies in its “proficiency” in Hollywood genres, plot structures, and characters, leading to it being labeled as the “first example of a real ‘mainstream Asian American cinema’” (2008, 51). Leading up to Better Luck Tomorrow’s success are the feature films of the “GenerAsian X.”29 Though not as financially successful, the four debut films Sunsets (1997), Yellow (1997), Shopping for Fangs (1997), and Strawberry Fields (1997) secured the attention of the mainstream press when they premiered at San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival (SFIAAFF) in 1997 and traveled the film festival circuit. What is more, they put Asian American narrative feature films on the map, although several others had actually followed Wang’s arthouse success (Okada 2015, 105). Significantly, all four films managed to receive theatrical distribution – a rarity among Asian American films (Feng 1999, 20). As Feng asserts, the group of films is “emblematic” of 1990s Asian American cinema, each film offering a different perspective on Asian American identity and putting forth a different interpretation of Asian American cinema (1999, 20–21). Okada further states that these Asian American independent feature films reveal a new “struggle” within the genre between the two “aesthetic strategies [… of] countermemory and the transnational” (2015, 107). In assigning Better Luck Tomorrow the status of “historic marker” for Asian American cinema, it becomes clear that the “aesthetic of the transnational has had the commercial edge over those films that are overtly of Asian American ‘roots’” (107). While Better Luck Tomorrow’s success as well as Asian American film’s “hard-won” recognition as a genre have led to its formal and generic diversification (Okada 2015, 125), Asian American cinema still faces a “continuing relative

29 According to Okada, the term “GenerAsian X” was coined by journalists and critics in order to describe a new generation of Asian and Asian American filmmakers entering the market in the 1990s. The concept provided “both opportunity and instability for Asian American filmmakers,” as it created “fluidities” and exposed the “increasing collapse” of borders between Asian and Asian American identities (2015, 106).

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invisibility” among mainstream audiences (Mimura 2009, xiv). With the exception of a few mainstream successes that diversify the images of Asian Americans, most films continue to portray Asian subjects as “exotic background or as obstacles to be overcome,” thus perpetuating and reproducing the stereotypes that have haunted American films since the beginnings (xiv). Diversification, Transnationalization, Crisis: The Current State of Asian American Cinema Following the critical success of independent feature films, three observations have come to dominate current debates about the state of Asian American cinema. First, Asian American film has been portrayed as becoming increasingly more diverse, due to the influences of digital culture and the emergence of new media channels such as YouTube.30 In its current phase, the genre not only houses a variety of practices and formats, but also includes both mainstream and independent products. Despite this diversity, Asian American films are still perceived as bound together by their collective, panethnic identity (Mimura 2009, xiii). Second, Asian American film has been discussed within the context of a changing media environment and global film culture. Okada argues that Better Luck Tomorrow is exemplary of this shift, revealing the genre’s “ambivalent path” and oscillation between traditional social change films and younger, more transnational films that are headed for mainstream exposure (2015, 100). Third, the genre has been viewed by some as in a state of crisis, no longer fulfilling what the Asian American film movement set out to accomplish, while others primarily see it as in a state of redefinition. Mimura notes that there is common agreement that “Asian American cinema’s ‘angry,’ ‘political’ moment appears to have waned” (2009, 56).31 Feng comes to a similar conclusion, leading him to differentiate between the genre of Asian American cinema and an “Asian American Cinema Movement,” the latter describing the “community orientation” and innovation underlying early Asian American films (1995, 35). Brian Hu goes further, maintaining that the recent output “suggests a kind of crisis on the scene.” Lacking films that explore and articulate what it means to be Asian American, Asian American cinema has largely been superseded by the three categories of American film (films by, but no longer about Asian Americans),

30 See, for instance, Snickars and Vonderau (2009). 31 According to Mimura, there is disagreement over whether this development should be considered a failure or a “‘natural progression’” of the genre (Jun Xing qtd. in Mimura 2009, 56).

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Asian diasporic film (films by Asian Americans, but made in Asia), and Asian American media (media products by Asian American artists, but primarily comprising internet formats) (2017a, 63). While Asian American films are still being made, B. Hu claims that the “critical category of ‘Asian American film’ becom[es] drowned out by these three potentially more ‘mainstream’ phenomena” (2017a, 63–64). What is more, postraciality has moved to the center of Asian American filmmaking, leaving behind the “race-conscious discourses” that had previously defined the genre and resorting to an “assimilationist discourse that deemphasizes race and prioritizes conversations about financial success and interfacing with Hollywood” (64). In establishing itself as a genre, Asian American film has moved away from its exclusive identity as a political, activist movement and become a much more complex and diverse construct. Hillenbrand links this development to generational differences, pointing to the “gulf that is beginning to open up between ‘Asian American’ as an angry immigrant subjectivity and the newer, younger notion of being an ‘American of Asian descent.’” While minority activism is still present among younger generations of Asian Americans, it is now positioned against aspirations to enter the mainstream and reach bigger audiences (2008, 56). Asian American Cinema: Problems with Genre One of the main problems underlying attempts to define Asian American cinema is the concept of genre.32 Describing a “recurring type or category of text, as defined by structural, thematic and/or functional criteria,” genre is essentially a controversial, if not impossible objective (Duff 2000b, xiii). It relies on “distinctions derived from a wide variety of differences among texts” and is based on parameters such as style, content, and form (Altman 1999, 11). Thus, Martina Allen argues, genre is not primarily located inside a text, but imposed on it (2013, 6). Based on the selection of textual signals that are considered generic indicators, a text can always be attributed to several different genres (6–7). Moreover, genres are flexible and dynamic constructs, not only lacking fixed borders, but also changing over time. The meaning of generic terms strongly depends on the context (time, location, setting) in which they are used, so that such terms are often imposed retrospectively onto texts (Geraghty and Jancovich 2008, 2–3).

32 For critical discussions of the concept of and politics behind (film) genre, see Altman (1999); Geraghty and Jancovich (2008); Duff (2000a); and Allen (2013).

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Despite their instability and flexibility, genres have a strong hold on processes of production, distribution, and consumption, providing formulas that inform the creative process and influence audience expectations and interpretations. Genres therefore function as a “blueprint,” “structure,” “label,” and “contract” (Altman 1999, 14). What is more, they are inherently political as well as “deeply entrenched in social contexts and institutions” (Allen 2013, 55). This is particularly visible with regard to the genre of Asian American cinema. Emerging within the social movements of the 1960s and 1970s, the term has been strategically used by the Asian American community – by its political leaders, activists, academics, and cultural producers. As its history reveals, Asian American film and video has been a “deeply political practice” since its inception, informed by the idea that media can “promote social justice and impact communities” (Lopez and Pham 2017, 4). Although there are many drawbacks of working as a minority artist – from lack of access to lack of exposure – there are also advantages in identifying and positioning oneself as an Asian American filmmaker. For instance, filmmakers may become eligible for specific scholarships, fellowships, and funds, providing them with the “‘tools – the actual apparatus’” to make and screen their films (Hyun Mi Oh qtd. in Feng 1995, 33). Moreover, such a label may provide visibility on platforms that specialize on ethnic programming, such as film festivals, television programs, or Video-on-Demand (VOD) channels. Here, the genre functions as an “efficacious organizational strategy” that increases Asian Americans’ visibility as a group and their competitiveness for certain resources (Espiritu 1992, 92).33 In turn, it might become necessary to create distance between one’s oeuvre and such labels. Wayne Wang, for instance, famously moved away from Asian American narratives, as he felt he was being pigeonholed and reduced to this subject matter (Feng 1996, 99). The label of Asian American cinema may thus be either limiting or productive, restricting or launching a filmmaker’s career. While the label has “currency” in the marketplace, Feng also acknowledges that Asian American films tend to get “lumped together” with Asian films. The classification often becomes “all that a media critic can see,” limiting the discussion of a film, for example, to its content or filmmaker’s background (1995, 33). Like all genres, Asian American film is constantly being negotiated and redefined. Two of the central debates underlying these processes is whether

33 Discussing the construction and institutionalization of panethnic identities, Espiritu asserts that “Asian Americans also come together because the funding structure encourages – and even demands – that they act on a pan-Asian basis,” with certain funding agencies specifically preferring proposals for multiethnic projects (1992, 92).

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to include 1) films that are about Asian American subject matter, but that are not made by Asian American filmmakers, and 2) films that are made by Asian American filmmakers, but that are not about Asian American subject matter. For instance, Wayne Wang has been labeled as a pioneer of Asian American film, yet large parts of his oeuvre avoid themes of Asian American identity, history, or community (Feng 1996, 88–101). It is therefore legitimate to ask whether independent films such as Smoke (1995) or even Hollywood blockbusters such as Maid in Manhattan (2002) can still be considered Asian American cinema. Gregg Araki sparks similar controversy: steering away from Asian American subject matter, but actively supporting the Asian American media community, Araki constitutes a “meaningfully ambivalent figure standing both inside and outside of the institution” (Okada 2015, 9). Depending on its use, the term “Asian American cinema” may either define the filmic content or identify its maker’s ethnicity; either way, it refers to the racial and ethnic identities of U.S.-American culture, commenting on the complex histories and processes through which U.S.-identities are constructed and perpetuated. Public media institutions, media arts centers, and film festivals continue to change its meaning, expanding it at convenience to incorporate Asian diasporas in other American territories (e.g., Asian Canadian), broaden the understanding of Asian diaspora (e.g., Arabic immigrants), and include films by non-Asian filmmakers or without any connection to Asian American content. It is therefore a complex, multilayered term, open to several definitions.

2.4 Forms of Asian American Memory Films While no adequate definition exists for Asian American films, it remains certain that numerous films associated with this category explore Asian American identity and negotiate Asian American history and memory. These Asian American memory films34 may remediate a specific historical event or period, thus shaping our understanding of this minority history, or refer to the past through objects, locations, stories, and ritual practice. They may also question the truth behind official accounts, offering an alternative history, or question

34 As mentioned in the introduction, there have been very different approaches to the memory film: While most studies consider it a genre that centers on the theme of memory and/or visualizes processes of remembering (cf. Kilbourn 2010; McNeill 2010; Sinha and McSweeney 2011a; and Seamon 2015), some definitions center on individual films’ potential to shape cultural memory (cf. Erll and Wodianka 2008).

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processes of remembering, particularly in connection to the trauma of exile and flight. While the characteristics highlighted in this section can be found in other Asian American films, there are no claims being made about the overall genre of Asian American cinema, nor is it this study’s intent to create an overview or a typology. Instead, these analyses aim to show how films may be viewed and interpreted from both a film and memory studies perspective, in order to subsequently discuss how they are framed by festival media, locations, and performances, influencing our experience and readings of the festival’s films. This subchapter focuses on scene analyses from the films Eat a Bowl of Tea (1989), The Joy Luck Club (1993), Strawberry Fields (1997), American Pastime (2007), Leftover (2014), Chopping Onions (2015), Seoul Searching (2015), Tadaima (2015), Spa Night (2016), Nuoc (2016), and The Tiger Hunter (2016), all of which were screened at CAAMFest or SDAFF and find mention in the following chapters (tab. 2). The films are scrutinized with regard to various analytic categories, such as genre, themes, motifs, aesthetics, and narrative structure, thus providing examples of how these films may be read and experienced. Tab. 2: Synopses of Asian American memory films Title

Synopsis

Eat a Bowl of Tea (1989), dir. by Wayne Wang

In the late 1940s, a Chinese American man leaves for his parents’ ancestral village to bring home a wife and subsequently crumbles under the pressures of New York Chinatown’s aging bachelor society to produce a son. In San Francisco, four Chinese mothers and their Chinese American daughters reflect their parent-child relationships and individual pasts, from the mothers’ experiences in China and migration to the United States to the daughters’ childhoods and feelings of inadequacy with regard to their mothers’ high expectations. In 1971, a Japanese American teenager embarks on a road trip to a former internment camp in order to piece together her family’s history of internment and confront its traumatic past. In 1941, a Japanese American family is interned in Topaz Relocation Camp. The film follows their everyday lives during three years of internment and tells the story of the father’s establishment of an in-camp baseball league. A family of North Korean refugees struggles to make a living, build a home, and overcome the trauma of exile. While her mother is out of town, six-year-old Soli stays with her Korean grandmother. When Soli is teased about her exotic lunch at summer camp, she rebels against her grandmother and Korean heritage.

The Joy Luck Club (1993), dir. by Wayne Wang

Strawberry Fields (1997), dir. by Rea Tajiri American Pastime (2007), dir. by Desmond Nakano

Leftover (2014), dir. by Eui Yong Zong Chopping Onions (2015), dir. by Adinah Dancyger

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Title

Synopsis

Seoul Searching (2015), dir. by Benson Lee

In 1986, a group of rebellious Korean teenagers visit a government-sponsored summer camp in Seoul, aimed at bringing them closer to their Korean heritage. A Japanese American family returns home after internment, only to find their house and property vandalized. They begin to rebuild their home and process the trauma of discrimination and racism. In Los Angeles, a Korean American teenager struggles with his closeted homosexuality, his parents’ financial troubles, and their expectations for him, pressuring him to get into a good college and build a career. Developing photos in a dark-room, a queer Vietnamese American teenager reflects her mother’s past as a Vietnam War refugee as well as her own ethnic identity, which, in the host country, is defined by and reduced to collective memories of the Vietnam War. In 1979, an Indian engineer leaves his village behind and emigrates to Chicago in order to find work, become successful, woe his childhood friend, and live up to his deceased father’s image.

Tadaima (2015), dir. by Robin Takao D’Oench

Spa Night (2016), dir. by Andrew Ahn

Nuoc (2016), dir. by Quyen Nguyen-Le

The Tiger Hunter (2016), dir. by Lena Khan

Themes and Motifs: Stories of Journeys, Race, and Generations With regard to memory, certain themes and motifs have received attention throughout the different phases of Asian American cinema. One such theme is the fixation on customs and value systems imported from the ‘old,’ that is, ‘home’ culture. Second- or third-generation filmmakers often address transgenerational relationships, exploring conflicts between American-born children and their Asian-born parents or grandparents. The latter often cling to conservative or even ‘backward’ values, showing little tolerance for homosexuality or childlessness and lacking understanding when family formation is not prioritized, such as in Spa Night and Eat a Bowl of Tea. In these narratives, value is placed on the group (the community or family) rather than the individual, a theme that is common among migration or diasporic films (Berghahn 2013, 26). Next to the theme of family dynamics, several films focus on the point of view of immigrant children: Chopping Onions, for instance, explores the child protagonist’s everyday experiences of foreignness, prejudice, and biculturality. Asian American films often also make the preservation of rituals and traditions from the homeland their topic, as is visible in the presence of Chinese mahjong and traditional Korean cooking in The Joy Luck Club and Chopping

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Onions. In order to cope with the loss, disorientation, and fragmentation involved in migration, immigrants and diasporic communities tend to find stability and continuity in tradition and collectivism. The repetition of rituals preserves their ethnic and cultural identity, ties to the homeland, and memories of the past, thus providing a structure for their lives in the host country (Berghahn 2013, 27). In their portrayal of the homeland, rituals, and objects tied to the home culture, these films are often nostalgic, idealizing or even fetishizing the homeland as well as the objects that serve as material proof of this former life. Other Asian American films serve to remember historical events tied to a specific migrant or diasporic community’s realm of experience and collective memory, ranging from war or political crisis in the homeland to racism or segregation in the host country, therefore following the genre’s tradition of exploring histories of social change and discrimination (Okada 2015, 5). For example, Strawberry Fields, American Pastime, and Tadaima revolve around Japanese internment during WWII, while Eat a Bowl of Tea thematizes the bachelor communities of U.S.-American Chinatowns in the 1940s, documenting the everyday life in segregated ethnic enclaves. While it does not refer to a concrete event of South Asian immigration, The Tiger Hunter also serves as a historical document and shapes our collective memory of these migrations. Set in 1971, the film takes place in the period of mass migration to the United States, following the signing of the Hart-Celler Act and subsequent opening of U.S. borders in 1968. What is more, it tells the story of upward mobility and focuses on the American Dream, essential to U.S.-American memory.³⁵ Finally, it portrays 1970s U.S.-America, paying homage to the period’s fashion, design, and innovation; the film is thus marked by nostalgia, a trait of both migration and memory films.³⁶ Themes further include the event of migration, with films depicting the departure from the homeland, arrival in the host country, or experiences of foreignness faced by immigrants. The Tiger Hunter, for instance, focuses on an Indian immigrant’s status as a foreigner and his exposure to racism and poverty in connection to dislocation. Other films revolve around a return journey or a (re-) claiming of the old culture that is not part of the younger generation’s personal experience. In The Joy Luck Club, protagonist June prepares for her departure to China in order to see her mother’s homeland and meet two sisters whom she has

35 For a history and critical examination of the American Dream, see Cullen (2004); Gabaccia (2006); Hanson and White (2011); and Hauhart (2016). 36 Svetlana Boym defines nostalgia as a “longing for a home that no longer exists or has never existed” (2001, xiii). However, while nostalgia might seem as a longing for place, it “actually […] is a yearning for a different time” (xv).

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never known. The preparations for the journey structure the entire film, culminating in the family reunion at the port of Shanghai. The Tiger Hunter also encompasses a return, albeit a metaphorical one: Here, protagonist Sami migrates to the United States in order to live up to his father’s image as a “great” and wellrespected protector of his village by achieving economic success as an engineer. After several hurdles, Sami comes to realize that goodness instead of wealth or status constitutes true greatness. His journey ends not with a physical return to his homeland, but with a metaphorical return to his roots, embodied by his pursuit of his childhood friend and fellow villager, Ruby. Seoul Searching proves a different case, exploring the journey of Korean teenagers who grew up outside of Korea to their homeland in order to take part in a government-sponsored camp. The trip eventually turns into a journey of self-discovery and coming-of-age experience for the film’s protagonists, thus constituting a physical and psychological journey – a trait that also belongs to accented films (Naficy 2001, 6). Most films additionally explore tensions between past, present, and future. In Spa Night, all of the adult characters surrounding David are strongly oriented toward the future, based on their past experiences of hardship and present struggles as immigrants. For example, when David neglects his studies and expresses his desire to forego college, his mother asks him to consider whether he wants his future to be limited to working as a dish-washer. At the same time, David’s parents constantly look into the past, contemplating their former hopes and dreams, as they fail to make ends meet in the present. In turn, Leftover focuses on the bodily trauma of exile, showing the effects of traumatic experiences in the past on the North-Korean protagonists’ present-day situation as refugees and the difficulties faced by attempting to build a new life in a foreign environment. In attending to these themes and motifs, the films analyzed in this section cover a great variety of genres. In several instances, American Pastime, Eat a Bowl of Tea, Tadaima, and The Joy Luck Club follow narrative conventions of the historical film, while Seoul Searching and The Tiger Hunter make use of generic markers attributed to the comedy. Strawberry Fields and Spa Night, on the other hand, visibly relate to the genre of the coming-of-age film. Some films also take the shape of experimental films, such as Nuoc, integrating archival material into a fictional narrative and following associative, non-linear patterns of narration. However, since genres are fluid and culturally specific and generic markers may be attributed to several categories, these films never are representative of or belong to only one genre.

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Moving through Time: Narrative Structure Asian American memory films show a great variety of narrative structures and strategies through which to enter the past. While films such as The Tiger Hunter and Eat a Bowl of Tea unfold chronologically and are entirely set in the past, The Joy Luck Club is characterized by continued jumps through time and space as well as shifts in focus. Revolving around the past and present relationships of four Chinese American daughters and their immigrant mothers as well as the long history of miscommunications between each other, the film places particular significance on acts of storytelling and subsequent flashbacks. Opening with a lively farewell party in a Chinese American home, The Joy Luck Club begins in the present, in which protagonist June is about to embark on a trip to her recently deceased mother’s homeland, China. Upon her arrival at the house, June greets her Chinese “aunties” Lindo, An Mei, and Ying Ying and their American-born daughters Waverly, Rose, and Lena, all of whom June has known since birth. As June’s voice-over informs us of her mother Suyuan’s death, her mother’s three closest friends settle down at the mahjong table, expecting June to take her mother’s place and complete the party. Telling us about her mother’s formation of the social club that regularly brought together the four immigrant women, June’s voice-over weaves in and out of the lively dialog, commenting on the “hopes and dreams” the four women had brought to the United States.37 As June leaves the table to get a cup of tea, she stops at the piano and presses down a key. Watching June, Lindo suggests that she should take the piano home with her, pointing out that she is the only one who knows how to play. The touch of the object along with Lindo’s remark brings back memories: As June becomes lost in thought, the film cuts to a scene from her childhood, in which nine-yearold June stumbles through a song during a piano lesson. While the adult June remarks in her voice-over that her mother expected her to be a musical prodigy, another flashback shows June at a talent show, failing at her piano recital. A fight between mother and daughter ensues, leading a tearful June to yell that she wished herself dead, like the babies her mother had “killed” in China. As a wistful, melancholy tune sets in and a close-up captures Suyuan’s hurt expression, adult June tells the story of her mother’s first marriage in China and loss of her twin daughters. A flashback within a flashback sets in, showing

37 In its focus on feminine subjectivity and discussion of eight women’s life stories and relationships amongst each other, The Joy Luck Club responds to the genre of the woman’s film. See Kaplan (1983); Altman (1998); Greven (2011); and Hollinger (2012).

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Suyuan’s flight from the Japanese invasion and exile to Chungking.38 Illustrating June’s narrative, the flashback scene portrays Suyuan among a trek of exiles, dragging herself along a winding road headed toward the mountains. As June remarks that she has tried to “picture […] what really happened,” we see Suyuan abandon her crying babies by the side of the road. The sound of the crying continues as a hard cut transports viewers to another, more recent past.39 At a church picnic, Lindo tells June that her three aunties have discovered that Suyuan’s “babies” are still alive, therefore urging June to travel to China and share her memories of Suyuan with her two older sisters. As June announces her decision to meet her long-lost family, we cut to the present. At the farewell party in the present, Lindo calls out to June, interrupting her thoughts. The mahjong scene continues, with June remarking that it must have been difficult for Lindo to write the twins that Suyuan is dead. As June leaves the room, the other two aunts reprimand Lindo for hiding from June that her siblings do not know of their mother’s death and are expecting Suyuan instead of June. As Lindo considers telling June the truth, the camera slowly zooms in on her face. Pained, she reflects Suyuan’s past actions and remembers her own history of abandonment. Thus, the narrative focus and voice-over shift to Lindo and her life story: The film cuts to a flashback in which four-year-old Lindo stumbles upon her mother’s meeting with the village matchmaker. The following scenes compress her youth and early adulthood, showing teenage Lindo’s separation from her parents, her arranged marriage and wedding night, her unhappy life as a wife, and the act of deception that allowed her to escape her destiny. The flashback sequence transitions into the mahjong scene via an eyeline match, creating the impression that the teenage Lindo in the past and the elderly Lindo in the present are making contact. As the story continues in the present, Lindo’s relationship with her daughter comes into focus: the attention now shifts to Waverly, allowing her to look into and comment on her past. This pattern is repeated for every mother and daughter, revealing the connections between past and present, parallels between the experiences of parent and child, and reasons for conflict and miscommunication

38 While the Sino-Japanese War is not explicitly mentioned in the film, June’s reference of Chungking serves as an indicator of time and place. Since Chungking was the city to which the government of the Republic of China was evacuated, Suyuan must be traveling inward from the coast, the point from which the Japanese began their invasion. 39 These scenes are repeated and augmented with details of Suyuan’s necessary abandonment of her babies toward the end of the film, thus changing and completing Suyuan’s story. The repetition calls attention to the different versions of the past that acts of remembering produce and thereby questions the authenticity of and truth behind memory.

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between them. The entries into and exits out of the flashbacks always follow the same pattern, beginning and ending at the scene of June’s farewell party. The flashbacks are triggered by conversations, Suyuan’s absence, and the encounters between the respective mothers and daughters. What is more, they are visually connected to the person remembering, marked by gazes between the character in the memory and the character in the present or introduced through contact with memory objects. A traditional means of representing the past and entering memory in film, the flashback is “an image or a filmic segment that is understood as representing temporal occurrences anterior to those in the images that preceded it” (Turim 1989, 1). Interrupting the narrative present of June’s farewell party and progression of events leading up to June’s departure for Shanghai, the flashbacks take us back to the mothers’ childhoods and early adulthoods and create an anachronous narrative that constantly shifts between the present and various moments in the past. Marked by several jumps through time, the flashbacks condense the characters’ life stories and invite us to observe crucial scenes. Voice-overs “smooth the time travel” (4), narrativize the characters’ memories, and establish connections between the remembered past and the present in which the remembering takes place.40 Along with overt gaps in each story, the voice-overs further emphasize that the characters’ stories constitute subjective views of the past. The mothers link their own pasts with their daughters’ pasts, as fates are determined, mistakes are repeated, and sorrow is passed on. In the end, they use their personal histories of tragedy to give advice, urging their daughters to take charge of their lives and seize the opportunities with which their mothers have provided them through their hardships and migrations. In contrast to this intricate, yet conventional, fictional narrative, Nuoc presents a more experimental approach, connecting the present to several, singular moments in the past through its montage sequences. Fulfilling the same function as the farewell party in The Joy Luck Club, a darkroom sets the scene of the film and holds the narrative together. In the company of her white girlfriend, an unnamed Vietnamese American protagonist develops photos and hangs a black-and-white portrait of her immigrant mother up to dry. Both figures are bathed in red light as they flirt and converse. In response to her girlfriend’s questions, the protagonist explains that her mother came to the U.S. as a Vietnam War refugee. As the scene shifts to the mother’s workplace, a beauty parlor, the

40 According to Maureen Turim, this is a traditional pattern: in the flashback’s “classic form,” elements such as voice-overs or intertitles “often reinforce the visual cues representing a return to the past” (1989, 1).

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protagonist’s monolog takes on the shape of a voice-over. We see the mother’s reflection in a basin, an image that is shattered by the customer’s feet plunging into the water. While the protagonist remarks on her inability to ask her mother about her traumatic experiences in Vietnam, we cut to another scene, showing mother and daughter eating Vietnamese rice porridge (cháo) in silence. Here, her daughter tentatively asks: “Do you ever miss Vietnam?” Back in the darkroom, the girlfriend remarks that Vietnam “was such a mistake.” The camera focuses one of the most iconic photos of the Vietnam War, Eddie Adams’ Saigon Execution (1968), in which a South Vietnamese officer shoots a prisoner in the head. Turning away from her girlfriend, the protagonist angrily responds that “Vietnam’s a country, not a war.” A heated discussion follows, leading the protagonist to question who has the authority to speak about the war: “We weren’t there. It was a real thing that happened to real people like my mom.” With her comment, she remarks on how collective and individual memories collide, how historical events are internalized as if they were our own experiences – how a national, collective identity no longer differs from our own individual identities. After her girlfriend has left, the protagonist stares at her own reflection in the chemical bath beneath her. Looking up, her gaze lingers on an almost exact replica of Marc Riboud’s iconic photograph The Ultimate Confrontation (1967), with the only difference being that it shows her girlfriend as the hippie placing the flower in a military police officer’s gun barrel. As she stares at it, sounds of a protest fade in and increase. The film cuts to a close-up of the photo, followed by the sound of a camera shutter and the light of a flashbulb that together transform the photo into a live-action scene. Finding herself in the living memory of the photo, the protagonist is now part of the anti-war protest and looks down the barrel of the gun as the shot is fired. The scene suddenly changes, transporting her into the jungle. As she fires off a gun, an unknown figure falls to the ground. The scene changes once more: surrounded by the rising dust of a grenade explosion, the protagonist snaps photos with a disposable camera, looking directly at the audience. Nuoc cuts to yet another scene, in which the protagonist hovers in the air in a fetal position, clutching an oversized umbilical cord leading off-screen; behind her, viewers see a red stage curtain. Sounds of an unknown recording set in, while her naked body turns into a projection space and the image of an ID card covers her chest. Clutching the umbilical cord too tightly, she rips it apart. The protagonist falls into darkness and plunges into water. A point-of-view shot captures the mother hovering above her naked daughter. Waking up in a boat in the desert, the protagonist is wrapped in a blanket by her mother. As it suddenly begins to rain, the film jumps back to the scene at the kitchen table, with the mother encouraging her daughter to invite her girlfriend to their next cháo meal.

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On the one hand, Nuoc’s fragmentary and nonlinear structure critically engages with processes of remembering, representing and finding symbolic expressions for the experience of trauma, the loss and recovery of memory, in which individual memories are missing and others are retrieved through triggers or cues. On the other hand, the narrative’s structure comments on our construction of memories, showing and scrutinizing how we enter and appropriate memories that are not our own. In its portrayal of two characters who have very different relationships to the Vietnam War – the protagonist’s adoption of her mother’s traumatic memories versus the girlfriend’s adoption of mediated memories – the film demonstrates the processes that underlie concepts of postmemory41 (Hirsch 1997) and prosthetic memory42 (Landsberg 2004). While the girlfriend has taken on memories of the Vietnam War that are “not naturally – ethnically, racially, or biologically – one’s intended inheritance” (Landsberg 2004, 26), an act made possible through the “engaged and experientially-oriented encounters with the mass media’s various technologies of memory” (148–49), the protagonist carries her mother’s memories of her homeland and the imprint of her war trauma, not “through recollection but through an imaginative investment and creation” (Hirsch 1997, 22). At the same time, she is not free from the influence of massmediated images, so that the two forms of memory – represented by the personal and public photographs in the darkroom – become tangled and difficult to separate. This conflict becomes particularly visible in the act of imagining herself in the Vietnam War as well as in the final scenes, when the protagonist rips the umbilical chord, the lifeline between mother and child, by holding on to it too tightly. Desperate to get a hold of and make sense of these traumatic,

41 According to Marianne Hirsch, postmemory “characterises the experience of those who grow up dominated by narratives that preceded their birth, whose own belated stories are evacuated by the stories of the previous generation shaped by traumatic events that can be neither understood nor recreated”; it is therefore marked by both “generational distance” and “deep personal connection,” an entity separate from memory and history (1997, 22). For Hirsch, photography in particular offers a means for the transgenerational transmission of memory, “perched at the edge between memory and postmemory” (1997, 22), appearing as a “ghostly revenant” of the past, while also foregrounding “its immutable and irreversible pastness and irretrievability” (20). 42 Although prosthetic memories are “not strictly derived from a person’s lived experience,” they are, Alison Landsberg argues, “experienced with a person’s body [… and] thus become part of one’s personal archive of experience” (2004, 25–26). While the girlfriend is criticized for her act of appropriation, Landsberg emphasizes the potential of taking on prosthetic memories: made available to those who have not experienced the event directly, this particular type of artificial memory may create the grounds for “empathy and social responsibility as well as political alliances that transcend race, class, and gender” as well as the “basis for mediated collective identification and the production of potentially counter-hegemonic public spheres’” (2004, 21).

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incommunicable memories, she fails; at the same time, her attempt leads her to her mother and the boat as symbol of her refugee past and identity. In its use of photographic material, the film also calls into question the photograph’s documentary status and its relationship to reality as an imprint, a material trace of the past.43 Making use of iconic images connected to the Vietnam War and showing the protagonist reenact and imagine herself in these historical scenes, the film further comments on the power of “concrete images […] to ‘condense’ historical events,” giving them “‘mythological’” qualities (Vivian Sobchack qtd. in Stubbs 2013, 40),44 while at the same time “ritually renew[ing] the bonds with an original event” and “creat[ing] a form of embodied memorial” (Margulies 2019, 5).45 Entering Memory: Objects, Stories, and Ghosts One of the most traditional ways in which narratives of migration and diasporic experience enter memory is through a character’s interaction with a memory object. More than simple plot devices or expressions of character, the material objects explored in Asian American films such as American Pastime or Tadaima serve not only as storage media and memory cues that trigger acts of storytelling, but also as transmitters of cultural heritage, “gaining a biography” through their cross-cultural travels (L. Marks 2003, 95). Through physical contact with family heirlooms, for instance, meanings and memories may be extracted that lie in the realm of the sensible (31), encoding experiences that elude verbal or visual registers (130). What is more, in these films, ordinary objects suddenly attain special (personal and cultural) value and meaning for their owners, based on a

43 For an excellent overview of different theories of photography, which locate photography within the semiological categories of either icon, symbol, or index, see Dubois (1983). For a critical discussion of the photograph as trace, see Geimer (2007). 44 Films on Japanese internment in particular tend to cite, stage, or reenact iconic images of internment. In Tadaima, for instance, the Japanese American father figure pauses in front of the vandalized family barn on which the slogan “Japs go home” is smeared, creating the image of a still life. The static shot clearly resembles well-known photographs of anti-Japanese sentiment following the bombing of Pearl Harbor and thus draws on the cultural memory of Japanese internment (cf. Lange 1942). 45 According to Ivone Margulies, the reenactment’s “replay always introduces a differential, a disturbance.” Reenactment in film “push[es] us to ask how the gap between past and present is configured within the work, what the force of the citation is in the political present, and how reenactment contributes, through embodied experience, to a future archive” (2019, 5).

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“disruption” of their relationship with each other (Habermas 2012 [1996], 17; own translation). In American Pastime, the game of baseball and the object of the ball itself take on a crucial role as transmitters of memory and embodiments of cultural knowledge in the diaspora. Telling the story of a Japanese American family’s internment during WWII, the film reveals the significance of baseball to the history of Japanese communities in the United States and to the construction of a Japanese American identity. In a central scene in which he shares his plan to form a baseball league in Topaz War Relocation Center with his son, the father of the Namura family stands in front of the barracks and shifts a baseball in his hands. He looks out at a father and son playing ball, the perimeter fence and surrounding desert behind them in the background. As his son Lyle comes up to him, Mr. Namura looks down at the ball and describes how his success at baseball made his integration into U.S.-American culture possible: unable to speak English, baseball became the language in which he could communicate, granting him acceptance among U.S.-American children. During his monolog, the camera jumps from Mr. Namura and Lyle to the parent and child playing ball in the background. Close-ups show the ball being passed back and forth – the connecting link between two generations of Japanese Americans. As Mr. Namura hands the baseball over to his son, Lyle studies it and remembers aloud the first time his father had given him a baseball, telling him about the legendary major league players Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, and Lefty Grove. Expressing his loss of faith in being able to pursue a career as a professional baseball player, Lyle hands the ball back to his father.46 In this scene, the baseball serves as representation of individual, familial, and cultural memory. The object is meaningful to both father and son, carrying the father’s past experiences of foreignness and exclusion and acting as his entry point into U.S.-American society. For Lyle, it holds memories of his childhood and moments of bonding with his father, while at the same time representing the hope of being fully accepted as an ‘American’ and able to pursue the American Dream. A symbol of U.S.-American popular culture, the baseball also carries with it a part of Japanese diasporic history that, according to Samuel O. Regalado, has largely “remained in the shadows” (2013, 3). American Pastime in general and this scene in particular highlight that baseball constituted an activity through which to demonstrate “Americanism” and that served as a link between different generations of immigrants (6). Immensely popular among Japanese Americans,

46 Prior to the bombing of Pearl Harbor and the Namura family’s subsequent internment, Lyle had received an acceptance letter for a baseball scholarship at San Francisco State University.

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the United States’ national pastime was central to the formation of a Japanese American identity. Its history within the diasporic community goes back to the formation of the first Japanese American baseball club in 1903 and continues throughout the period of internment during WWII, in which baseball leagues emerged as a means with which to bear the “intolerable and bleak” conditions of incarceration (4). Objects are equally central to the plot of Tadaima, a historical drama about a Japanese American family returning to its vandalized home after internment. In the film, the two children exit the family home and run off into the surrounding forest in order to dig up a wooden box containing several treasures that the family had hidden prior to its deportation. The camera slowly pans across black-andwhite family photos, a geisha doll, an ornamental hair comb, a U.S. tax return document, and letters in Japanese. As the children take in this curious collection of memory objects, the mother prepares the first meal after their return. In the kitchen, the daughter gently turns the handle of an old-fashioned butter churn. On entering the room and seeing the kitchen utensil, the father’s face lights up and he takes his turn at churning the butter. Placing the comb in her daughter’s hair, the mother remarks on its status as a family heirloom that was passed on to her by her mother. As she remembers her mother and the ancestral home in Japan, the camera cuts to and lingers on the two portraits of the grandparents. Serving as container for the family’s most precious memory objects, the wooden box constitutes what Aleida Assmann terms “memory box,” its content highly valuable due to the limited space and careful selection process that governed what was placed inside (2011, 101). Here, the small objects become a “synecdoche for house, home, or even the homeland,” particularly precious because the diasporic family has so few of them (Naficy 2001, 169). The family’s material contact with the butter churn or comb triggers memories, as these reminding objects “carry memories […] invested into them” (J. Assmann 2010, 111). For the Japanese American family in Taidama, the collection of memorabilia not only preserves memories of their lives prior to the trauma of internment, but also protects their cultural identity in a foreign environment, as culture is encapsulated in and becomes mobile via these traveling objects. The family’s photographs, souvenirs, and letters thus create “imaginary cohesion” within an environment marked by displacement and separation from other family members and social groups who would normally stabilize the family’s identity (Hirsch 1997, 7). Through the acts of preserving and passing on photos and other material items, the family’s bicultural history and identity live on, securing the transgenerational transmission of memory.

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Another way for characters to enter memory is through the interaction with ghosts. This is particularly visible in Strawberry Fields: blurring fact and fiction, the film tells the story of Irene, a Japanese American teenager haunted by her family’s personal history – her mother’s past as an internee during WWII and the recent death of her younger sister, Terri – as well as by the collective history of Japanese internment. The film begins with the ghostly sounds of a child’s gentle humming and rustling, while white credits appear on a black screen. It is as if a long-lost memory is waiting to rise to the surface; the lingering of a presence is expressed through sound. As the humming continues, we hear the scratching sound of a match being lit, followed by a close-up of a coat sleeve catching on fire.47 Irene’s voice-over sets in, telling us that, in 1942, her grandfather burned all of his family’s possessions in their strawberry fields and that, the next day, the family was deported and interned. Set in Chicago in 1971, the next scene takes place in Irene and Terri’s family home. Panning across a living room, the camera comes to a halt in front of Terri at the piano. Irene’s voice-over continues, telling the audience that Terri had discovered photos that their mother had rescued from the fire and hidden away, and that she had consequently learned of their mother’s traumatic past. On entering the bathroom in which her big sister is taking a bath, Terri casually drops a photo of their grandfather inside of Poston Internment Camp. Irene questions her about how she came into possession of the photo, but Terri remains silent and finally leaves the room. In the next scene, Irene’s parents discover Terri’s lifeless body in her bed. Throughout the rest of the film, Irene is visited by the ghost of her dead sister, who continues to confront her big sister with their family’s history of internment.48 In one scene, Terri steals a suitcase in which their mother has carefully hidden family photos of and prior to internment, thereby revealing a history unknown to Irene and leading her to both confront their mother about the family’s past and embark on a road trip to the location of the former internment camp. Only in the end does Terri disappear – when Irene is able to let go of her anger, sadness, and confusion, having traced her roots and faced her family’s traumatic past. In turn, Leftover explores body memory, thus returning to the original meaning of trauma as an injury to the body that has been produced by an exter-

47 The opening scene is repeated later on in the film; here, it becomes clear that the scene shows Irene as a child, setting fire to her mother’s closet. Fire and matches remain powerful motifs throughout the film, commenting on the repression of memory as well as the destruction of property, culture, and memory faced by Japanese Americans during internment. 48 Through the choice of shots and succession of cuts, the ghost is told to appear before Irene. Close-ups of Irene’s face are succeeded by point-of-view shots of Terri, leading us to believe that we are seeing Terri through Irene’s eyes.

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nal force or agent.49 Telling the story of North Korean refugees, the film focuses on the repression of trauma and storage of such memories within the body. While the title appears on a black screen, the ominous humming and whirring of a big machine can be heard in the background. X-rays of a spine appear, showing close-ups of vertebrae. In a voice-over, a Korean-speaking doctor points to the herniation between two disks and recommends that the patient should avoid heavy lifting and bending. Pausing, the doctor asks his patient: “Could you tell me what happened over there?” In the following scenes, protagonist Chul ignores the doctor’s advice and continues with the physical labor needed at his job as a construction worker. Accompanied by the deafening sounds of jackhammers, Chul goes about his work routine, digging holes and carrying heavy bags across the snow-covered construction site. Supporting the skeleton, the spine is vital for the human body to move and function. Since damage to the spine is precarious, Chul’s injury expresses the fragility of his own and his family’s emotional states as well as their vulnerability as refugees in a foreign country. It also conveys the depth and inescapability of his trauma, most visibly in a scene in which Chul loses control over his bladder due to his injury: surrendering to his body, he kneels on the snowy ground, watching the urine spread across his pants. A metaphor for fear and flight, the uncontrolled emptying of the bladder forces Chul to confront that he cannot escape his past without addressing it and giving his body time to heal. Chul’s spine injury is the bodily imprint of the memory of torture and flight; it haunts the protagonist, hindering him from forgetting or moving on. Finally, the act of storytelling is often used to enter memory in Asian American films.50 In Eat a Bowl of Tea, protagonist Wah Gay’s voice-over accompanies the film’s opening scene, transporting viewers to New York’s Chinatown in 1949. As the camera captures him exiting a grimy bar, Wah Gay begins to tell

49 According to Cathy Caruth, the Greek term trauma means “wound” and refers to a physical wound of the body. Only later, particularly in the fields of medicine and psychiatry, is the term conceived of as a “wound inflicted not upon the body but upon the mind” (1996, 3). In reference to Sigmund Freud, Caruth points out that the “wound of the mind – the breach in the mind’s experience of tie, self, and the world – is not, like the wound of the body, a simple and healable event, but rather an event that […] is experienced too soon, too unexpectedly, to be fully known, and is therefore not available to consciousness until it imposes itself again, repeatedly, in the nightmares and repetitive actions of the survivor” (1996, 3–4). See also Bond and Craps (2020). 50 As Annette Kuhn states: “It is impossible to overstate the significance of narrative in cultural memory – in the sense not just of the (continuously negotiated) contents of shared/collective memory-stories, but also of the activity of recounting or telling memory-stories, in both private and public contexts” (2010, 1).

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his audience about the history of Chinese migration to the U.S., the enforcement of exclusionary immigration laws, and the issues of an aging, almost exclusively male immigrant society in U.S. Chinatowns. As he talks about the lack of women and families, the camera pans across a table, showing a collection of black-andwhite photos that feature a mother with her son and a little boy on his own, along with a cigar box filled with little trinkets and pieces of memorabilia such as a pocket watch and a passport photo of a younger Wah Gay. The camera moves on to capture more photographs, finally lingering on a framed portrait of Wah Gay and his son in uniform. In the meantime, Wah Gay comments on the younger generation’s return to China to find a wife, thus foreshadowing the plot of the film and raising memories of Chinese diasporic life in the first half of the twentieth century: the dynamics of a bachelor society, with its clubs and brothels, the letter communication with wives and family members left behind in China, and the community’s arrangement of marriages between its children. One of the oldest forms of memory transmission, the protagonist’s act of oral storytelling narrativizes and performs aspects of the Chinese American community’s past, while also helping viewers unfamiliar with this minority history to immerse themselves in the historical setting of the film. Visualizing Memory: Aesthetics In their focus on sensory experiences, Asian American films may further make use of what Laura Marks calls haptic images, which “invite a look that moves on the surface plane of the screen for some time before the viewer realizes what she or he is beholding” (2003, 162–163). As affection-images, haptic images offer a “sensuous engagement with a tactile or, for example, olfactory image” and are “pure affection, prior to any extension into movement” (163).51 One such example is the title sequence of The Joy Luck Club52: Accompanied by a flute’s delicate

51 Here, L. Marks draws on Gilles Deleuze’s concept of the affection-image, which he defines as one of four types of movement-images (1986 [1983]). 52 In her discussion of intercultural cinema and haptic images, Laura Marks explores a corpus of experimental films and videos that are produced outside of the mainstream. While The Joy Luck Club does not fit into L. Marks’ idea of intercultural cinema, its title sequence shares qualities such as formal experimentation or exploration of sensory experiences, which are essential to L. Marks’ corpus of films. This formal experimentation is typical for the title sequence, a filmic paratext that will often function as a freestanding, experimental film. As Deborah Allison suggests: “That which seems too risky – whether too far ahead of its time or too old-fashioned – for ready-made or mainstream movies is reserved for their title sequences” (2001, 50–51). See also Böhnke et al. (2006); Böhnke (2007); and Stanitzek (2009).

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and wistful melody, the first credits emerge as red letters on a black screen. Protagonist June’s voice-over sets in, recounting the legend-like story of a woman who buys a swan in Shanghai and takes it with her on her journey to the United States. The swan had previously been a duck, but had stretched its neck and transformed into a swan. When the woman arrives in the U.S., immigration officials take the animal from her, leaving her with a single swan feather, encapsulating the memory of her homeland, migration, and hopes for a better life. As further credits are superimposed, grainy images appear on screen. Reminiscent of calligraphy, a delicate brushstroke ‘unfolds’ on screen. Moving from left to right, the horizontal movement mimics the woman’s crossing of the Pacific and migration from China to the United States. Further brushstrokes move across the screen and run together, now coming from both directions. Here, the story touches upon the woman’s plan to have a daughter in the new country, her birth constituting the point at which the two cultures in the shape of the two brushstrokes converge and evolve into a new form. As June talks of the woman’s wish to “become more than was hoped for,” just like her swan, the camera follows the trail of paint, mirroring her ‘flight.’ Finally, a single, delicate stroke widens to transform into a swan feather, before it gently falls downward and fades. The title sequence ends with the director’s credit and the conclusion to June’s story. In The Joy Luck Club, the feather represents June’s attempt to connect to her mother and her mythical past. It also symbolizes the hopes of all four mothers, having left their homeland to start families and provide their children with a better life. Throughout the title sequence, we observe the process of its cominginto-being, developing from an abstract shape into a recognizable feather. Representing the woman’s memories that are passed on to her daughter, the brushstrokes’ airy, almost translucent texture emphasizes memory’s fragility, easily lost or made illegible. The sequence thus mirrors the development of the film, leading June to piece together the truth about her mother’s past, receive the legendary swan feather that she did not believe to be real from her father, and journey across the Pacific to meet her long-lost siblings.53 Other sensory experiences center on the rituals of food preparation: In Chopping Onions, Soli repeatedly watches her grandmother prepare traditional Korean meals for her. Close-ups capture Grandma as she chops onions and fries

53 In one of the final scenes, June’s father discloses the complete story of Suyuan’s exile to Chungking. Revealing the extreme circumstances in which June’s mother was forced to abandon her babies and presenting his daughter with her mother’s swan feather, he readjusts June’s image of Suyuan and motivates her to pass on the family’s history – and with it, the memory of her mother – to her siblings.

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delicate slices of bacon in the pan, turning them with a pair of chopsticks. At the dinner table, the two of them dip into plates of bacon, fish, spinach, and dried seaweed. In a later scene, Grandma kneels on the floor, newspapers spread out in front of her, carefully removing the intestines of a fish with a knife. Having just thrown away her exotic lunch in order to fit in with the other children at her summer camp, Soli watches her, bemused. At the dinner table, Soli does not touch the now fried, battered fish. When Grandma confronts her, Soli sulkily replies that the fish “smells gross” and that she would rather eat French fries, leading to the first conflict between the two family members. A scenario often portrayed in Asian American cinema, this film explores a family dynamic in which a nurturing grandparent attempts to provide for her grandchild and the child refuses and does not value her food. As Soli goes through her first experiences of racism, she is led to associate her grandmother’s traditional cooking with feelings of difference and isolation and reject the rituals and memories connected to it. According to Berghahn, the focus on ethnic food and its preparation is common among diasporic films, the representation of these rituals functioning as “repositories” of memory (2013, 141).54 What is more, food preparation and consumption are regularly fetishized, serving as both memory objects and “marker[s] of ethnic identity and difference” (142). Chopping Onions explores both of these aspects, showing that food may not only function as a “source of performative, shared cultural memory,” but also constitute a divide between generations, cultures, and languages (L. Marks 2003, 237). The film particularly thematizes the exoticism and foreignness of ethnic food, culminating in Soli throwing away her “smelly” lunch and refusing to eat her grandmother’s cooking. Finally, the two films highlight the significance of the dinner table as a space that is defined by cultural and familial rituals and in which tensions and generational conflicts erupt. Some Asian American memory films further pay special attention to sound and “acousticity” (Naficy 2001, 24–25). This is particularly visible in Tadaima, in which a Japanese American family returns to its boarded-up, vandalized home after having been interned during WWII. Finding racial slurs painted onto their kitchen walls, the son begins to violently rip off the wallpaper. As he breaks down, his mother puts her arm around him and begins to sing a Japanese song, her voice shaky and weak. Her song continues as a voice-over, as the camera captures the family’s rebuilding of its home. Close-ups show the floors being

54 Food as representation of culture and ethnicity in film is explored in Ferry (2003); Balthrope (2004); Keller (2006); Lindenfeld and Parasecoli (2017); and C. Baron et al. (2014). Mehta (2011) and Durmelat (2015) pay particular attention to the depiction of food in diasporic cinema.

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swept and the walls being scrubbed with a wet cloth, while the sounds of cleaning mix with the mother’s singing. As the son removes the boards from the windows and begins to wash off the smears, the mother’s song comes to an end. Reminiscent of a folk song, the song seems like a memory of a time before internment, in which the family could openly embrace and live out its diasporic identity. Repeated like a mantra, it is sung as an antidote for the trauma experienced during internment, signaling the family’s return to and rebuilding of its home. Other Asian American memory films rely on binary structures to emphasize the difference between past and present, homeland and host country, thus making use of what Naficy titles an “aesthetics of juxtaposition” (2001, 6). This juxtaposition may take on many forms: In Eat a Bowl of Tea, differences between the East and West are explored and expressed via cinematography, music, and set design. While New York’s Chinatown is marked by narrow alleys, dingy bars, and towering tenement houses that, according to Caryn James, comment on protagonist Ben Loy’s “claustrophobic sense of the community,” his parents’ ancestral village in China is situated in a lush green valley and surrounded by hills and mountains (1989). The rural setting in the homeland stands in stark contrast to New York’s Chinatown, which is confined, crowded, and dirty. Life in the village is shown as simple and old-fashioned, as villagers live without electricity or the common luxuries of U.S.-American households. What is more, the villagers still adhere to match-making traditions, even though they playfully comment on its outdatedness in other parts of the country and world. The nostalgic tone of the scenes in the village is further enforced by music: A Chinese violin’s sweet and wistful melody accompanies the establishing shots that capture the wideness of the landscape and picturesque setting of the village. In the background, the sounds of chirping birds and crickets can be heard. Scenes in New York, on the other hand, are dominated by fast-paced jazz and pop music; music is thus used to comment on and dramatize the film’s culture clashes (Benshoff and Griffin 2009, 141). Finally, Leftover draws on documentary aesthetics in recreating an interview scene: A long shot captures Chul in between lighting equipment and crew members. His son is positioned on the edge of the frame, observing the scene from the couch. As the crew sets up its equipment, a handheld camera focuses on Chul. During the interview, Chul and his wife relive their experiences leading up to their exile – from the famine in North Korea, to the smuggling of food across the Chinese-North Korean border, from Chul’s time in a labor concentration camp, to the parents’ exposure to torture, to the birth of their “miracle” child, Michael, having survived his mother’s torture. The close-ups are mostly long and static, interfering as little as possible. Citing the documentary mode’s “aesthetic of objectivity” (Minh-ha 1993, 94), this scene openly exposes technicians and

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recording devices and creates a sense of immediateness through its setting, pace, and camera movements. It not only gives viewers the feeling that they are witnessing the protagonists’ reliving of traumatic events, but it is also selfreflexive in several ways, commenting on the film’s coming-into-being, as the director developed the story out of the real-life experiences of the nonprofessional actors and actresses on screen (Nayman 2015).

Situating Memory: Locations Memory may also be transported via film locations, which serve as containers for memory and triggers for personal acts of remembering. Commenting on the significance of location to memory, Pierre Nora asserts that “[m]emory attaches itself to sites” (1989, 22). Giving insight into the microcosm of Korean diasporic life and discussing hardships of migration and immigrants’ want of a better life for their children, Spa Night pays particular attention to this potential of location: for instance, protagonist David’s mother remembers her emigration from Korea when she is physically close to the building of her first home in the United States. Other examples include scenes in Los Angeles’ Koreatown, a former ethnic enclave in which rituals from the homeland are performed and upheld. Central to the community’s history and diasporic imagination, neighborhood settings include places of community, work, and leisure, from the local Korean Christian church, to the family’s Korean restaurant, to the Korean spa. Spa Night begins with a close-up of an old-fashioned industrial wall light, as if to illuminate the story it is about to tell. The next shot captures the two naked, male bodies of protagonist David and his father, Mr. Cho, as they take a steam, accompanied by the sounds of their labored breathing. Emerging from underneath a towel, David comments that he “can’t breathe,” thereby foreshadowing the film’s theme of suffocation by the values and expectations of his immigrant parents and his closeted identity. The following close-ups depict the cleansing practices inherent to the Korean spa as well as the ritual of male bonding, showing father and son scrub their own bodies and each other. In the background, announcements in Korean are heard through the hallway speakers. The scene ends in the common room, in which both genders come together and the two men meet Mrs. Cho to share their meal. Surrounded by tree logs, Asian room dividers, and signs in both Korean and English, the family lounges on one of the carpets spread out across the floor. While the Korean spa also draws tourists and displays an exoticism that encourages a tourist gaze, the film explores and portrays this location as a diasporic space, thus acknowledging its

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historic and current relevance for diasporic communities.55 Regularly visited by diasporic subjects who navigate the spa with ease and familiarity, it constitutes a space in which traditions and rituals from the homeland may be upheld and diasporic community members can be among themselves. Furthermore, Asian American memory films make use of non-places. Coined by Marc Augé, non-places describe “banal everyday environments deemed bereft of meaning and memories,” such as airports, waiting areas, and hotel rooms. They constitute spaces “we swiftly pass through, are made to endure on occasions, but seldom remember” (Gilloch 2013, 211–12). Migrants and foreigners, however, spend exceeding amounts of time in these transitory and anonymous spaces; what is more, they experience places in the host country as such, which, for others, are familiar, meaningful, and identity-forming.56 Set in an unknown city during winter, Leftover makes use of such generic environments. The urban landscape is covered in snow, erasing noise and making the city less identifiable. The family’s apartment looks equally generic, with no visible traces of memorabilia in it. Thus, the film comments on the loss of personal belongings and memory objects with which migrants and particularly exiles are faced, while also finding visual expression for the experience of foreignness and lack of recognizable culture. Marked by barren landscapes and empty, urban environments, the film further stages the construction site as a metaphor for the family’s attempt to rebuild their lives. In Strawberry Fields, Irene is faced with the loss, destruction, and repression of family memory. This is visible in several instances throughout the film, from the sudden flashes of memory that show original footage of an internment camp and interrupt the narrative, to the motif of fire and its power to destroy and erase, to the apparition of Irene’s dead sister Terri. This loss of memory is additionally explored with regard to place: Toward the end of their road trip, Irene and her Japanese American friend Aura stop over at a family friend’s home close to the former internment camp Poston. Takayo tells the two young women of life in

55 Spa Night also depicts the Korean spa as a space for queer culture. For David, it is a place for self-discovery – a place in which he can observe and experience homosexual pleasure as well as freely look at and desire male bodies. This aspect is equally emphasized throughout the film; in the opening scene, for instance, the dim lighting and presence of sweaty, naked bodies, along with the sounds of trickling water and the sauna visitors’ heavy breathing, emphasize the spa’s sexually charged atmosphere, making it seem strange and exotic. 56 This subjective perception is a central aspect of Augé’s concept of non-places. According to Augé, neither place nor non-place “exists in pure form […] the first is never completely erased, the second never totally completed; they are like palimpsests on which the scrambled game of identity and relations is ceaselessly rewritten” (1995, 78–79).

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the camps, recounting that the Japanese American community had burned its Japanese possessions after the bombing of Pearl Harbor, aware that the FBI would search for these items and declare them proof of loyalty to Japan. When Irene shows her the photo of her grandfather in front of the barracks in Poston, Takayo recognizes him. She subsequently pulls out a framed photograph of a group of women in the camp, one of whom she identifies as Irene’s mother. In contrast to Irene’s parents, Takayo openly displays her past, including her personal experiences of internment: while Irene’s mother has carefully hidden her family photographs and memories of internment, Takayo has placed pictures of internment in opulent frames. When Takayo, Irene, and Aura arrive at the location of the former internment camp, there are no visible traces left of the place. Taking in the barren desert landscape, Irene holds out the photo of her grandfather, comparing its setting to the scenery in front of her – the buildings, however, are no longer there and the dust and wind have erased all traces of her family’s traumatic past. In this shot, Irene’s hand becomes an extension of our own hand: having shared her journey of discovery, we join her in her search for clues and answers. Making use of road movie themes such as journeying, travels along the interstate highway and across expansive landscapes, and restless protagonists attempting to rebel against and escape from circumstances that they perceive as oppressive (Laderman 2002, 2–14), Strawberry Fields follows the tradition of depicting the road and the infrastructure surrounding it as a place of freedom for its travelers. Here, Irene is able to express her anger and sadness and openly talk about the history of internment, a topic her mother would like to bury.57 In turning to Japanese internment, however, the film chooses to depict vast, open spaces that are desolate and harsh, wiping out identities and memories, thereby destabilizing ideas about the “mythic” American West (Okada 2015, 111). Recognizing Irene’s search and need for memories, Takayo decides to function as a surrogate: with a stick, she draws a map of the camp in the sand, explaining the function of each building, and points out the location of the barrack in which Irene’s family housed. Imagining herself inside the no longer existent camp, she sings Watanabe Hamako’s popular “Shina No Ru” and remembers performing the song on the night of the Poston Strike in front of a big crowd.58 As Takayo continues to talk about the camp experience and make

57 Central studies on the genre of the road movie include Cohan and Hark (1997); Laderman (2002); Orgeron (2008); and Duarte and Corrigan (2018). 58 The Poston Strike took place in November 1942 and lasted roughly a week. Sparked by the beating and arrest of two internees who were suspected of attacking a War Relocation Authority

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mention of Irene’s grandparents, Irene can no longer deal with the sudden flood of memories and Takayo’s nostalgia. Taking the stick away from her, she violently destroys the memorized map of the camp. At the end of the film, however, she is able to confront and let go of her family’s trauma, thus going through the traditional phases of the road movie of leaving behind the familiar and experiencing personal transformation in isolation from family and society (Cohan and Hark 1997, 1–5). Authenticity of Memory In their exploration of memory, Asian American films may also address and question the authenticity of memory as well as the truth behind official accounts. In order to claim authority over their portrayal of an Asian American history, fiction films will often integrate archival material as documents of the past. This material allows viewers to enter into a historical setting, receiving cues as to what to expect from and how to interpret the narrative with regard to authenticity and accuracy.59 In bringing together fact and fiction, these films suggest that, even though their narratives may be fictional, the stories are representative of the Asian American experience and encourage viewers to read ‘truth’ into the scenes.60 Seoul Searching, for instance, opens with a montage sequence featuring archival footage of the Korean War. As the first images of soldiers in combat appear on screen, an unnamed narrator’s voice-over sets in. Pointing to his parents’ first-hand experience of the Korean War, the narrator recounts the history of this

informant, the strike gave rise to growing tensions over living and working conditions in the camps (“Poston” 2015–2017). 59 According to Jonathan Stubbs, this “interplay of fact and fiction” is a central characteristic of the historical film, a generic category that includes films “which engage with history or which in some way construct a relationship to the past […] regardless of whether they purport to deal with ‘real’ people and events” and to which the examples in this subchapter can be attributed (2013, 19–20). 60 Despite what they claim to be, documentary images are, of course, never merely ‘visible evidence.’ While they imply “fullness and completion, knowledge and fact, explanations of the social world and its motivating mechanisms” (Nichols 1993, 174), documentary images are actually “constructs which are the result of entangled discourses, of iconographic traditions, narrative formula and specific media technologies and their dispositifs” (Brunow 2015, 6). As Trinh T. Minh-ha states: “Truth, even when ‘caught on the run,’ does not yield itself either in names or in (filmic) frames; and meaning should be prevented from coming to closure at what is said and what is shown […] what is put forth as truth [in documentary] is often nothing more than a meaning” (1993, 92).

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particular war, describing its casualties and destruction, the country’s division into North and South Korea, and the subsequent “exodus” of Korean citizens to different parts of the world. Meanwhile, short clips show various scenarios of war, accompanied by an unobtrusive, extradiegetic score. Melancholy piano chords grow louder and more hopeful as the clips of falling bombs, fires, and evacuations are replaced by scenes of migration. Showing passport controls, the boarding of planes and ships, emotional farewells, and arrivals in the host country, the scenes illustrate the narrator’s description of the immigrants’ “dreams” of a better life as well as an “unforeseen problem” of Korean migration. Explaining that the foreign-born or -raised generation could no longer identify with its Korean heritage and that parents were estranged from their children, he establishes that the Korean government reacted to this “cultural travesty” by creating a summer school for Korean teenagers in the early 1980s. Black-andwhite photographs document the existence of such summer camps, aimed at familiarizing foreign-born youths with their Korean heritage. As images of martial arts classes, folk dance performances, and various classes of camp groups fade in and out, the narrator asserts that the government was forced to shut down the program because of its inability to “control these kids.” With the final camp photo of Korean teenagers fading to black, the narrator establishes that the film is “based on a true story about one of those summers.” Accompanied by the characteristic guitar chords of The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go,” the title “1986” is superimposed on a bright-blue sky and fills the screen. As an airplane crosses the screen, the fictional story begins. The opening sequence’s use of archival footage in connection with a narrator fulfills several functions with regard to memory. First, the film is able to suggest that it is rooted in historical fact. Second, it creates a personal dimension, as the first-person narrator begins his monolog by referring to his parents. As the child of war sufferers, he establishes himself as an authoritative voice in the history and memory of the Korean War. As the child of Korean immigrants, he further establishes himself as an insider with regard to generational conflict, the loss of cultural identity, and the history of Korean summer camps. In its use of a narrator during the opening sequence, framing as a “true story,” and transition from archival footage to fictional narrative, the film merges “two levels of remembering the past, giving large-scale social and political history the subjective mode of a single, fictional individual’s remembered experience” (Turim 1989, 2). American Pastime similarly frames its fictional story through the addition of historical documents. The film’s title sequence consists of a montage of

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archival photographs and home movie clips,61 establishing the film’s pre-war U.S.-American setting and weaving the fictional Namura family’s story into the history of Japanese American communities and their relationship to U.S.-American culture. According to Jaimie Baron, home movies are generally perceived as a “particularly ‘authentic’” type of found document, holding the “promise of an ‘uncorrupted’ view of the past.” Home movies’ alignment with the realms of the “private” and “found” and subsequent endowment with an “added aura of unmediated ‘truth’” thus gives films such as American Pastime a certain historical credibility (2014, 81). What is more, the incorporation of home movie excerpts play a political role, displaying representations of a minority whose everyday life and realities have been scarcely documented. They are therefore conceivable as “evidence,” as “vectors into the processes of racialization, race relations, and the imaging of racial difference” (Zimmerman 2008, 4). As a means of transition between documentary material and fictional narrative, the title sequence ends with a snapshot photo of a group of teenagers lounging in a bedroom: as the camera zooms out, a flash appears on screen, turning the black-and-white picture into color film and transforming the static past into the moving present of the narrative. Next to its use of historical footage in its title sequence, the film continues to use archival material throughout the film. Depicting a cheerful party in the Namura family home, the film’s opening scene is suddenly interrupted by combat footage of falling bombs.62 On the soundtrack, lively jazz music is replaced by President Franklin D. Roosevelt’s famous Pearl Harbor address, stating that the date of the attack “will live in infamy.” As President Roosevelt’s speech continues, the film cuts to a close-up of an old-fashioned radio speaker. The camera zooms out to reveal the entire party perched in front of the radio, listening apprehensively. An archival photograph of the flyer “Instructions to All Persons of Japanese Ancestry” (1942) fades in, setting in motion a slide show. A happy portrait of the Namura family is succeeded by images and newspaper excerpts recording the events that followed the attack and address. As the montage

61 Patricia Zimmerman defines home movies as a “subset of the amateur film movement located within individual and/or familial practices of visual recording of intimate events and rituals and intended for private usage and exhibition” (2008, 8). For a discussion of how minority and, in particular, migrant filmmakers incorporate archival photographs and home movies into their work, see Brunow (2012, 2015). Through this act, filmmakers not only make use of an archive, but also “create a new (visual) archive of memory which foregrounds the politics of exclusion” (2015, 16). 62 Since there is no original footage of the bombing, this material is most likely taken from a reenactment of the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

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sequence ends with Dorothea Lange’s infamous photograph of an “I am an American” sign in a shop window (1942), Lyle’s voice-over states that they were given “ten days’ notice.” As the film cuts back to the Namuras’ cheerful living room, filled with colorful furniture and a multitude of memorabilia, the image fades into an empty and desolate version of the family home. Lyle’s voice-over continues, describing the ten days in which the family was forced to close its business, shed its belongings, and leave behind its home. A close-up captures family photos on the chimney board; once again, the image fades, and the board is shown empty. Accompanied by the melancholy tune of a flute and the slow, ominous beat of drums, archival footage documents the history of Japanese American relocation, from the surfacing of racist banners and signs to the actual travel to the internment camps. With the arrival at Topaz Relocation Camp, the sequence turns to color and the narrative continues. In its shifts between documentary and fiction, the film creates the impression that the fictional story of the Namura family reflects the reality of Japanese Americans before and during WWII. Fictional photos of the Namura family are made to resemble original documents and fit seamlessly into the montage of archival photos; the film thus uses styles and techniques that we associate with the realm of the documentary and take as “guarantee [for] the authenticity of what we see,” even though these documents have been fabricated for the film (Nichols 2010, xii). Since the film’s credits do not cite the use of archival material, it leaves the task of identifying and distinguishing fact from fiction up to the viewer. Finally, Tajiri’s Strawberry Fields also explores the past through archival materials, bringing together Irene’s fictional family history of internment and authentic documents from the archive. Filmed by former internee David Tatsuno, original Super 8 film footage of the camp in Topaz, Utah continuously interrupts the narrative, taking the shape of flashes of memory, dreams, and visions (Feng 1999, 22). Marked by scratches, the clips document the ride through the countryside to and everyday life in the internment camp. Tatsuno’s records of internment are combined with staged, fictional footage of the family’s burning of belongings in the strawberry fields, marked by the same grainy quality and wear as the original footage. Weaving in and out of the narrative, both materials function as “literal embodiments of countermemory” (Okada 2015, 114). In contrast to films that attempt to hide the constructedness and subjectivity of the history they present, Strawberry Fields openly addresses these attributes. In its presentation of accounts of internment, the film questions both memory and history, encouraging multiple perspectives instead of claiming to present a singular truth. It not only comments on the fragmented nature of memory, the gaps in history,

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but actively mirrors the processes through which counterhistories are written. It also acknowledges that, as J. Baron states, “‘the real’ is never accessible as such” (2014, 3), leaving viewers without contextualization and putting them in the place of Irene in her attempt to put together the fragments of history and memory, fraught with both success and failure.

2.5 From Asian American Film to Asian American Film Festivals Shaped by the specific circumstances of Asian migration to the United States and the Asian subject’s exposure to exclusion and discrimination, Asian American cinema is a product of Asian American history. Th de birth of the genre is closely connected to the history of activist and ethnic movements of the 1960s and 1970s and the emergence of an Asian American identity. Originating from the traditions of social change cinema, Asian American cinema is marked by a preoccupation with themes of identity, community, history, and memory, exploring what it means to be Asian American. Many of these films thus function as memory objects, documenting, commenting on, and preserving a minority culture and history that has largely been ignored by the U.S.-American mainstream. As Hillenbrand asserts, the dominance of this “‘educative’ representational mode” has resulted in a critical reception of the genre that has mostly been limited to the “politics of content,” neglecting questions of genre, style, and “specific signature” (2008, 53–54). Dedicated to the exhibition of Asian American film and media, Asian American film festivals play a crucial role in shaping the meanings and reception of the genre, discussing content, but also drawing attention to the films’ form, style, and aesthetics, creating connections between individual works or auteurs, and establishing turning points of the genre. Originating from ethnic film collectives and media organizations, Asian American film festivals are similarly bound to Asian American history and embedded in histories and processes of identity formation. They aim to represent the diverse, creative output of the Asian American community and bring Asian American perspectives, stories, and histories to the fore. As one of the central exhibition spaces for Asian American film, Asian American film festivals function as gatekeepers and have an impact on memory culture. Not only are they dedicated to one of the central media technologies for the transmission of memories, but they also actively interfere with the process as well as produce their own memories. Shifting the focus from text to context, the following chapters thus turn to the workings and dynamics of film festivals with regard to memory production and explore how these complex phenomena shape our reception of films through frames, locations, and performances of memory.

3 The Film Festival as Memory Network 3.1 Film Festivals and Memory Production Through their staging of representations of the past, film festivals play an important role in the production of cultural memory and in the shaping of historical understanding. Along with other cultural institutions such as museums or cinematheques, film festivals select and retrieve (sometimes long-forgotten) memory objects, framing, performing, and commenting on them. In this respect, they are part of John Storey’s “memory industries,”1 producing “representations (‘cultural memorials’), with which we are invited to think, feel and recognize the past” (2003, 104). They further play a role in the process of canonization, not only attributing value to films, but also recovering films from the archive and bringing them into circulation. As Aleida Assmann asserts, active memory is “destined to be repeatedly reread, appreciated, staged, performed, and commented” (2010, 99). The status of becoming “active” is highly sought after, as cultural memory is defined by a “notorious shortage of space” (100). One of the film industry’s central exhibition spaces, festivals function as cultural ‘enablers’ and offer a platform to films that would otherwise find no or only little distribution, allowing for niche films to become memory objects. However, because memories need to be activated by human interaction with the carrier or storage medium, it is vital to consider the film festival’s role in shaping the encounters of audiences with such films. As Astrid Erll points out: “Without such actualizations, monuments, rituals, and books are nothing but dead material, failing to have any impact in societies” (2010, 5). Film festivals provide an opportunity for activation through their programming and exhibition of films, allowing for audiences – cinephiles, tourists, critics, scholars, and industry members – to activate the films’ “memory potential” (5). Henri Langlois, film archivist and co-founder of the Cinématheque Française, similarly believes that “preserving is good, but screening is essential,” setting a guiding principle for both film archives and film festivals (“Langlois”; own translation). Moreover, the

1 According to Storey, the “memory industries” constitute a niche within the culture industries that is “concerned with articulating the past” (2003, 104). Heritage sites and museums are examples of this practice, along with media such as film. Storey’s definition, on which I base my use of the term, is therefore separate from and should not be confused with definitions that describe a “scholarly industry,” that is, the interest in memory within academia (Rosenfeld 2009), or that critically examine the commodification of, for instance, Holocaust memory (Finkelstein 2000). https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-003

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experience, understanding, and memory of the film is influenced by the live performance that the festival screening offers. As Daniel Dayan claims, the festival’s unique atmosphere “transforms forms of viewing” (2000, 47). Moreover, festivals create movements of memory, encouraging films to move across national and cultural borders as they travel the festival circuit. In light of Erll’s assertions that memories come into being through and are dependent on their “travels,” film festivals constitute a significant way in which cinematic representations of memory travel (2011b, 11). Employing programming to create coherent narratives, festivals play a central role not only in remembering, but also in forgetting. While emphasizing their role in “uncovering,” “rediscovering,” “revealing,” and “honoring the past,”2 they participate in what A. Assmann terms “selective forgetting” by means of selecting, neglecting, overlooking, and ignoring (2014). Although forgetting is generally considered a “failure” to remember (Connerton 2008, 59), the field of the forgotten is as “actively produced” as memory (Plate 2016, 144). In emphasizing their role in commemoration, festivals generally overlook their own forgetting and selectivity in remembering, in which they highlight and attribute value to selected anniversaries, biographies, achievements, and moments in history. In order to reveal the way that festivals interact with memory, this chapter takes a closer look at the complex phenomenon that is the film festival, beginning with an understanding of what defines a festival and exploring its central characteristics and functions. It then examines the relationship to local, national, and global structures; its connections to culture, industry, and politics; and its embeddedness in networks and circuits, so that we may grasp and untangle the complex web of actors, stakeholders, texts, media, and institutions that constitute the festival and take part in shaping memory. Finally, this investigation turns to its case studies, revealing the nonprofit organizations behind CAAMFest and San Diego Asian Film Festival (SDAFF), providing insight into the festivals’ programming, and exploring their histories in relation to the Asian American movement of the 1960s and 1970s and emergence of an Asian American film festival circuit.

2 See, for example, CAAMFest (2017, 3, 29, and 47–49); CAAMFest (2016, 3 and 44); and Destination (2015, 3, 17, 31, and 35).

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3.2 Beyond the Film: The Film Festival What is the Film Festival? With their world-wide proliferation, film festivals have taken on many different shapes, formats, and sizes, making it continuously more difficult to pinpoint what the film festival is. Nowadays, the term is being used to describe the most diverse phenomena, from one-day mini-events to two-week marathons, from online film festivals to events that equally cover music and food. Thus, festivals are elusive entities that avoid easy categorization. Scholarly work on film festivals is just as diverse: emphasizing different aspects of the film festival phenomenon, academia has conceived of the film festival as media event,3 alternative distribution network,4 counterpublicsphere,5 or transnational space,6 choosing to explore the event from such diverse angles as temporality, spatiality, performance, flow, industry, actors, audiences, communities, structure, and programming. At their most basic level, film festivals can be described as recurring, periodical events that are dedicated to the celebration and exhibition of films. They therefore share traits with other types of festivals, generally defined by the Oxford English Dictionary as “a time of festive celebration” or “a musical performance or series of performances at recurring periods,” placing emphasis on festivity, repetition, the concrete, limited time-span of the event, and the presence of multiple performances or programs (“Festival” 2017). Thomas Elsaesser makes mention of another key characteristic, which is implicit in the dictionary entry, namely that festivals constitute a community’s “moments of self-celebration” (2005, 94). Festivals are therefore not only about what is being celebrated, but who comes together to celebrate. Moreover, festivals are about memory: asserting that they bring communities together “for the purpose of reflection and renewal,” Elsaesser points to the similarity between festivals and commemorative events (2005, 94). They have ritualistic qualities in terms of their “iterative aspect, their many covert and overt hierarchies and special codes,” their exclusivity and engagement with performative acts, such as red carpet walks and awards ceremonies. The occasional excess and unruliness, however, as well as the active, participatory role of the audience seems more in line with a carnival (94).

3 See Harbord (2002); Dayan (2000); De Valck (2007); and Mazdon (2013). 4 See Peranson (2013 [2009]); Iordanova and Rhyne (2009); Iordanova (2015); and Loist (2016). 5 See C. Wong (2016); Richards (2016); and Loist (2014). 6 See Iordanova and Cheung (2010); F. Chan (2011); Stringer (2001); and Iordanova (2016).

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At first glance, film festivals are for pleasure; they are celebrations of art, brought forth by and directed at fellow cinephiles, gathering crowds of people who have dedicated themselves to the medium of film. However, while the festivals’ glitz and glamour dominate media coverage and inform the narratives that reach the broader public, festivals are also marketplaces that facilitate processes of networking, marketing, buying, and selling – spaces of transaction in which producers, filmmakers, sales agents, lawyers, distributors, and investors come together and haggle.7 Thus, film festivals resemble fairs, as pointed out by Brian Moeran and Jesper Strandgaard Pedersen in Negotiating Values in the Creative Industries: Fairs, Festivals and Competitive Events. Here, the authors state that fairs have long been central to international trade, complementing the regular markets in that they enabled “periodic forms of exchange” and focused on large-scale, long-distance commerce (2011, 4). Responding to the merchants’ movements, fairs would form networks or “cyclical clusters” (5). In relation to space, fairs usually take the shape of “temporary townships or cities,” taking over or functioning as “extension” of the city (4).8 Next to these business-related characteristics, fairs also often constitute “centres of popular entertainment,” producing noisy and lively activities, drawing in artists, and interrupting quotidian practices and behaviors. Unruly and unforeseeable, an event such as a fair is difficult to contain and control (5). According to Moeran and Strandgaard Pedersen, festivals and fairs share four central features. They are 1) spatially bounded, that is, set in and contained by a concrete location; 2) temporally bounded in their “duration and regularity”; 3) socially bounded, bringing together a diverse crowd of participants who are closely connected to the work processes surrounding the products and services on display, ranging from producers to distributors, wholesalers, and retailers;9

7 This characteristic is especially visible in the industry events accompanying and complementing the Cannes Film Festival and Berlinale. In 2019, 12,527 registered participants frequented Cannes’ Marché du Film, including a total of 1,687 buyers (“Marché du Film”), while Berlinale’s European Film Market hosted 11,423 participants and 1,649 buyers in 2020 (“Facts & Figures”). These markets are closed to the public and require proof of professional activity; badge prices for industry members range from 250–350 Euro (Berlinale) and 290–400 Euro (Cannes). 8 For example, while the Documenta takes over and “becomes” Kassel for the time-being, the Frankfurt Book Fair functions as an “extension” of the city, contained by the limits of Frankfurt’s fairgrounds (Moeran and Strandgaard Pedersen 2011, 4). 9 Fairs and festivals also draw in media representatives, curious onlookers, and guests. Distinguishing between insiders and outsiders – often with the help of color-coded badges and tickets – fairs and festivals create hierarchies between their participants. This hierarchy determines (and limits) the accessibility of fair or festival spaces, events, and products, making them exclusive or rare and increasing the demand for access (Moeran and Strandgaard Pedersen 2011, 6).

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and 4) functionally unbounded, in that they can fulfill multiple functions, based on the needs and interests of their participants – these may range from trade, to fundraising, to networking, to promotion (2011, 7–8). Both phenomena are therefore highly flexible in terms of function and character, often moving seamlessly between carnivalesque celebration and industry event, thus revealing the underlying complexity of their identities. The main difference, however, is that fairs necessitate a marketplace and industry presence, while this trait is optional for festivals and true to varying degrees. Whether the film festival first and foremost functions as a festive celebration or an industry event, it is also an arena of performances and a carefully constructed event. In his analysis of the social construction of the Sundance Film Festival, Daniel Dayan describes the festival as a “fragile equilibrium” that is constituted by the “collective performance” – the “ensemble of behaviours” – of its attendants (2000, 44). At the center of “divergent and sometimes competing scripts” by organizers, filmmakers, distributors, audiences, critics, and films, the festival comes together in a “moment of unison,” as designated performances exclusively work to “harmonize” the multitude of voices and create a festival community (45). According to André Bazin, all of these performances are built on a strict adherence to ritual: at the festival, attendants “join in holy worship of a common transcendent reality” and follow closely regulated routines throughout the day (2009 [1955], 15), guided by the festival’s “dramatic displays and gilded liturgy” (17). Thus, the festival is comparable to a “religious order” (15). Since most of these performances are carefully planned and staged, captured and transmitted to a global audience by multiple media outlets, and embedded in ceremonies and rituals, and because they oscillate between strict protocols and unpredictability, the film festival can also be construed as media event10 (Dayan and Katz 1994, 4–9). As Lucy Mazdon argues, the festival is “constructed and articulated across a range of media platforms,” positioned against everyday experiences. It is a special event that “punctuate[s] the cinematic and cultural year” (2013, 117). According to Marijke de Valck, media exposure is essential to the festival’s sustainability and success, allowing the festival to acquire “global value” as festival moments are documented and relaid to a global audience (2007, 118). As a media event, the festival is both constructed by others and actively

10 While Daniel Dayan and Elihu Katz’ term originally describes a television genre in which “historic occasions […] are televised as they take place and transfix a nation or a world” (1994, 4), several scholars have expanded the term to include the film festival’s mediatization (De Valck 2007), its temporal structure (Harbord 2002), its role in the construction of history, and role as archive (Mazdon 2013).

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constructs itself through media texts, producing digital and print materials that serve the “double function of performative self-confirmation and reflexive self-definition, creating ‘verbal architectures’ that mold the event’s sense of its own significance and sustain its self-importance” (Elsaesser 2005, 94–95). Daniel Dayan expresses the significance of media texts for the festival’s social construction in his term “double festival,” which differentiates between the physical and the “written” event, underlining that the festival is “made of different versions, relaying different voices” and is shaped before, during, and after the event (2000, 52). What is more, liveness and “contingency” are central to the festival’s staging of events (Harbord 2009, 42). While the film screening is in itself repeatable and reproducible, the festival screening is tied up in immediate and irreproducible performances that leave their mark on the spectators, impacting their impressions and memories of the screening, and live on in the individuals who have participated in the event. Thriving on the “thrill” of the unexpected as their events unfold, festivals emphasize the significance of the cinematic viewing experience, proclaiming that “to see a film here and now will be unlike any other time of viewing” (43–44). The festival premiere constitutes the height of such an experience: as a first viewing, it presents an exclusive and original moment to be witnessed and remembered (68). Through their extensive use of social media such as Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram, festivals allow audiences to participate in the events at all times, adding to a sense of liveness and immediacy through a constant stream of updates and impressions (Mazdon 2013, 117). What all of these aspects point to is that festivals are hybrid spaces, situated between diverse polarities: art versus industry and commerce; strict procedures, rituals, and performances versus liveness and unpredictability; constant media documentation versus ephemerality of the live event; stability versus expansion. As celebration, marketplace, ritual, performance, and media event, the festival brings together diverse groups of people witnessing and participating in a communal activity that serves to assert their cultural belonging as well as produce, affirm, or modify elements of group identity, historical understanding, or cultural attitudes, values, and beliefs.

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Film Festival Structure and Programming Most film festivals make use of a similar format and “architecture” of programming (Elsaesser 2005, 96).11 This format tends to revolve around a main competition that is accompanied by sidebars and special presentations, integrated into an awards system, and complemented by events such as parties, press conferences, and photo calls. Programs are put together based on an intricate selection process, in which films are entered into a database, screened, given a general rating, and pre-selected; reevaluated with regard to a specific section and/or program; and then curated, that is, grouped in a program. The corpus of films being viewed by the festival staff largely consists of films submitted by filmmakers, producers, or production companies, but often also includes films that were scouted at other festivals and requested by festival staff as well as work that was funded or produced with the festival’s support.12 As stated by De Valck, programs are curated according to the festival’s image and agenda so that they may ensure, for instance, a certain number of established auteurs, premieres, and commercial or domestic films and respond to a festival’s “more elusive identity markers such as political awareness (Berlin) [or …] groundbreaking quality (Cannes)” (2007, 157–158). As recurring events, festivals may also choose to curate their program according to recent issues or popular themes and direct their audiences’ attention toward a certain topic, region, or nation. Though inherent in the process of programming, “[m]atters of taste” as well as the presence of agendas are usually “downplayed” or denied by the festival (Czach 2004, 85). They are swept under the table, evoking the impression that curation is solely determined by the “magical and utterly unsubstantiated notion of ‘quality’”

11 Mark Cousins goes so far as to say that festivals are “undergoing formal torpor,” expressing the need to “shake” festivals out of these rigid structures (2012). 12 Here, my own experiences as festival programmer correspond to what scholars have described as festival entry processes; see, for instance, Marijke de Valck and Mimi Soeteman’s (2010) analysis of selection and evaluation processes at the International Documentary Film Festival Amsterdam. Although general tendencies and structures can be identified, every festival has its unique rules and regulations that determine how films are viewed and power over selection is distributed among the staff. According to the festival’s internal structure, different actors may be involved in the selection process; also, the influence they hold may not necessarily be divided equally (2010, 297). At some festivals, the director has the final say over the entire program, while at others, the power is divided among the section heads. Also, some festivals require filmmakers to submit their films to a single section or competition, so that a film will be pre-selected with this section in mind.

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(Rich 2003). Only few programs openly present an agenda, even though all programming decisions are inherently political, as Liz Czach asserts (2004, 85). Through its program structure, the festival enforces hierarchies between its films. Thus, the program’s division into competitive and non-competitive programs, main competitions and sidebars, reveals the “power-structures” and processes of inclusion and exclusion within which the festival operates (Elsaesser 2005, 96). Certain sections, programs, and time slots are more sought after than others, as the festival’s placement of a film dictates how many people will visit the screening and how much media coverage the work will receive: for example, while a debut film of an unknown director may be programmed for a Tuesday morning, the premiere of an established auteur’s newest film may be programmed as the festival’s opening night event on a Friday night. Based on the various agendas determining these hierarchies, domestic films may also be given increased attention and priority, even though they do not meet certain standards, stemming from an “ambassadorial” mission to showcase the host country’s work before an international audience and press (Elsaesser 2005, 98). Historical Development of the Film Festival: From Affairs of State to Industry Nodes How did film festivals become such arenas of ritual, performance, and economic exchange? An exploration of film festival history reveals that the founding of these events connects to overt political purpose, during which festivals primarily function as instruments of political self-representation, while later stages are characterized by their establishment as cultural institutions and increasingly important role in the film industry. As Marijke de Valck demonstrates, festival history can be broken down into three phases, separated by two key shifts: The first phase is characterized by a conception of the festival as showcase for national cinemas, while the second phase – set in motion by protests in Cannes, which then resulted in official policy changes and power shifts within the festival – is characterized by the festival’s move toward independence. Here, festivals are not only independently run, but they also move away from nationalist agendas and toward discourses of art and auteurs, promoting their role as “protectors” of film art and framing films in specialized program sections (2007, 19). The third phase is marked by a period of film festival expansion and the emergence of an international film festival circuit. During this time, the festival institution becomes increasingly professionalized, receives recognition as an institution that influences and structures film culture, and positions itself as a player in the film industry (20; 211).

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Created in 1932 as a propaganda event staged by Benito Mussolini, the Venice Film Festival was the first festival to take place on a regular basis and one that constituted a highly political affair.13 According to De Valck, the event was both national and international, as nations were invited to take part in an “international showcase where they could present a selection of their own finest films of that year” (2007, 24). What is more, it functioned as a “powerful international instrument” for Mussolini, legitimizing and facilitating the rise of fascism in Italy (47). Fascist influence became especially present in 1938, when both Leni Riefenstahl’s Olympia (1938) and Vittorio Mussolini’s Luciano Serra, Pilota (1938) were awarded the great prize, thwarting Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), the first-ever feature animation film. Following the scandalous turn of events, Cannes was created as a counter-festival by France, the U.S., and the U.K. (47–48). While it was scheduled to take place in 1939, the outbreak of WWII resulted in the festival’s postponement until 1946. The postwar era in Europe provided an ideal breeding ground for festivals, spawning now-prestigious festivals in Locarno and Edinburgh in 1946, Berlin in 1951, and Oberhausen in 1954 (De Valck 2007, 49). Significantly, even though fascism had been defeated and the war had ended, festivals did not become less political or nationalistic. The Berlin International Film Festival (Berlinale), for instance, was initiated to mark off West Berlin as Western territory by bringing Western cultural products close to the borders of communist territory and function as a counter-event for the World Festival for Youth and Students in East Berlin (Harbord 2002, 62). As Elsaesser asserts, the festival was “a creation of the Cold War, […] meant to provoke East Berlin and to needle the Soviet Union,” leading the G.D.R. to respond with the creation of its own (documentary) film festival, now known as DOK Leipzig (2005, 84).14 Until the early 1970s, the film festival scene resembled “a kind of parliament of national cinemas” (Elsaesser 1996, 16). National selection committees determined the selection of films that would represent their countries at festivals and, upon festival invitation, a nation would showcase and compete with this work (De Valck 2007, 53). During this time, however, festivals were not entirely powerless: as De Valck points out, they were able to still “exercise some influence” by introducing quotas that limited the number of entries and excluded certain nations from participating (2007, 53).

13 Until 1934, the film festival took place biannually, as part of the Venice Arts Biennale. Afterward, it turned into an annual event. 14 For a more detailed account of the early history of film festivals, see Harbord (2002); Elsaesser (2005); and De Valck (2007).

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As we look at the evolution of the film festival, it is important to also keep in mind the historical context of the medium itself, not only with regard to its invention, evolution, and exhibition practices, but in terms of discourses investigating the limits and potentials of film, its status as mass medium and/or art form, and its role as sociopolitical instrument of power (C. Wong 2011, 29–37). Both the establishment of alternative exhibition spaces by film societies and cine clubs and the emergence of film criticism in newspapers and art magazines encouraging their readers to familiarize themselves and critically engage with the new medium served as breeding ground for “communities of cinephiles” in the 1920s (33–34). Moreover, these institutions and publications led to the recognition of film as art form and the legitimization of cinema as a “serious” medium – premises for the medium’s institutionalization. Soon, universities began offering film classes; furthermore, an interest in film preservation developed, laying the groundwork for the emergence of cinematheques in the 1930s (36). As succinctly summed up by Cindy Hing-Yuk Wong: Emergent film festivals, then, would fit within the network of these various institutions and discourses, constituted by and for an educated high-brow audience who demanded a more artistic and serious cinema in conjunction with smaller scale, grassroots institutions formed by these audiences. (2011, 36)

In 1972, a change in policy gave Cannes’ festival director the control over the entry selection, leading to a significant shift that took power away from the national committees. This development was preceded by an upheaval in Cannes in 1968, in which prestigious directors of the Nouvelle Vague occupied the Festival Palace in order to protest the commercialization of film and the festival’s neglect of the medium as art (De Valck 2007, 61–62). As a result of the protests, the section Quinzaine des Réalisateurs was established the following year, providing a space for films that were considered “too radical, marginal or young for the official selection” (63). Shifting the focus in programming from national representation to art exhibition, Cannes began to take on the role of a platform for auteur voices and was soon followed by other festivals (62–63). Though gaining independence from national governments, film festivals did not become less political. Instead, they opened up to new agendas, forming the ground on which cultural politics were fought out and developing into platforms for the era’s social, political, and cultural movements. New festival sections centering on specialized or thematic programming began to sprout, responding to the heightened visibility of minority groups and independent voices, the recognition of avant-garde and new wave movements, and the subsequent emergence of niche audiences (De Valck 2007, 178). This move toward specialized programming

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gave festivals unique profiles and made them competitive in a growing festival landscape (179). The national, however, did not disappear from view: although film was increasingly perceived as a transnational phenomenon, resulting from a rise in transnational modes of funding, production, and distribution in a globalized world, national categories soon returned to dominate festival narratives (Stringer 2001, 136). Reacting to a heightened demand for niche films, festivals began to market foreign films as “discoveries” and introductions to emerging film nations (De Valck 2007, 71). Making strategic use of the concept of national cinema, festivals promised “varieties of ‘otherness’” that would set the works apart from both Hollywood and familiar national output (Stephen Crofts qtd. in De Valck 2007, 59). Having established themselves as cultural institutions, film festivals began to have a strong impact on canon formation. In their selection and evaluation of films, festivals have taken part in practices of inclusion and exclusion and engaged in discourses of value and art, shaping, confirming, and contesting canons (Czach 2004, 78).15 As a result, they have intervened in memory culture, regulating what is remembered and what is forgotten with regard to cultural production. Festivals also construct canons themselves, formulating ideas about auteurs, national cinemas, and categories such as independent film through their programming (Elsaesser 2005, 83).16 In putting together such a body of work, festivals compress a nation’s output, proclaim to capture a genre’s essence (Czach 2004, 84), and “cover over fissures” in their search for “commonality” among films (Nichols 2013 [1994], 30). According to C. Wong, this process of canonization is set in motion through the introduction of a body of work as “discovery,” advanced by a phase of continued exhibition and “validation,” and finalized through the films’ placement in retrospectives – the ultimate act of legitimization (2011, 123). With the continued growth and global spread of the festival sector in the 1980s, an international film festival circuit emerged, marked by an “interrelational dependency” among festivals (De Valck 2007, 68). Festivals could no longer exist or function outside of the circuit, competing with other festivals for their status and position and influenced by their formats and programs. Thus, the emergence of the circuit increased the pressure on festivals to host world

15 Here, Czach draws on Janet Staiger, who, in her seminal essay “The Politics of Film Canons,” points to the politics that inform a film’s inclusion in and exclusion from canons (1994). 16 C. Wong notes that this process of construction, definition, and evaluation is often furthered by special festival publications on auteurs, film movements, and national cinemas that then accompany the festival’s programs (2011, 124).

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premieres, award prizes, and present innovative programming in order to survive as businesses and organizations (68). In this changing festival landscape, festivals from Asia, Australia, and North America gained recognition and began to take over as trendsetters, shaking the “traditional centers of gravity” and jeopardizing the monopoly of European events (Elsaesser 2005, 91). Although the power of this circuit is undeniable, Dina Iordanova claims that whether a festival positions itself in relation to the circuit is a matter of choice: “Evidently, it comes down to the way the festival itself sees its mission and defines its identity,” that is, the festival’s “interest in establishing itself as a network hub” (2013c [2009], 115).17 All in all, by the mid-1990s, film festivals had established themselves as cultural “gatekeepers” (De Valck 2016b, 109). Films outside of mainstream distribution became utterly dependent on festival awards and “extensive exposure” within the circuit in order to secure any type of theatrical release (Elsaesser 2005, 91). Collectively functioning as a global distribution system, festivals began to govern the exhibition practices of arthouse theaters and, to the extent that they programmed independent or foreign films, of multiplexes (91). Leading studios and distributors to recognize that “‘art cinema’ could be economically viable,” festivals also entered the film industry on another level: nowadays, films are specifically produced for festivals, financed on the basis of their travels along the festival circuit (De Valck 2007, 209). The dynamics behind the “festival film” are similar to those of Hollywood’s studio system, in which vertical integration meant that films were produced exclusively for their run in studio-owned and -controlled movie theaters (Elsaesser 2005, 87). Pointing to the power and authority festivals yield, Elsaesser claims: “No poster of an independent film can do without the logo of one of the world’s prime festivals, as prominently displayed as Hollywood productions carry their studio logo” (2005, 87). Additionally, festivals began to award development and production prizes and host “talent campi,” therefore not only influencing the distribution and exhibition of films, but also actively regulating film production (88). With film festivals’ entry into the industry, the question of whether festivals enable or limit film distribution has come into focus. In a much-quoted interview, Venice’s former director Marco Müller argues that “film festivals should ‘reveal what the markets hide’” (qtd. in Cousins 2012). Similarly, Piers Handling,

17 In order to prove her point, Iordanova refers to an interview with Kay Armatage, who, in her research of women’s film festivals, discovered that the dates of several festivals were not set to abide by an international festival calendar, but by “domestic considerations of convenience and coordination,” factors that were deemed more relevant for this type of festival (2013c [2009], 114).

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director of the Toronto International Film Festival, describes the festival circuit as an “‘alternative distribution network’” (qtd. in Cousins 2012) – a perspective that has come to dominate discussions about the festival’s relationship to and involvement in the industry. Dina Iordanova, however, paints a more ambivalent picture: paraphrasing Paul Willemen, the film scholar claims that festivals “may appear to open up pathways to a global exposure, but, in fact, they only produce a ‘bottleneck effect’” (2013b, 1). While festivals may grant films exposure, they also interfere with and “disrupt the distribution process” (2). Harbord further underlines that these disruptions are both spatial and temporal, as festivals “effectively enclave a film, seal it off from general release and, further, restrict its circulation among and between festivals” (2002, 68). Thus, although they may provide the means for producing another film, either through prize money, box office revenue, or the attraction of investors, festivals may equally “close off the chances for a film’s real circulation in their effort to position themselves as a possible alternative and complementary distribution network” (Iordanova 2013b, 1). Festival participation in the film industry is often portrayed as opposing mainstream production, exhibition, and distribution practices. De Valck, however, states that although the film festival resulted in part from Europe’s fight for the protection of its film industries and struggle for autonomy against Hollywood’s global “domination,” it is not and has never been an opposition to Hollywood (2007, 58). While European nations strategically used festivals to exhibit their “oppressed national cinemas,” they could not market their events without the “glamour and presence of American (studio system) stars.”18 Thus, the relationship between the film festival and Hollywood should be considered ambiguous from the beginning, both countering and reproducing its practices (58). What are we able to discern from film festival history from a memory studies perspective? Spanning almost a century, festivals have been influenced by a multitude of factors and are rooted not only in culture and industry, but also in sociopolitical developments. They have gained power and influence, developed self-imposed identities through programs, competitions, and themes, and responded to diverse needs, issues, and histories, continuing to reinvent their formats and programming in order to respond to changes in film exhibition, new viewing experiences, and the rise of the digital age. Festivals’ memory production has thus been exposed to various agendas and power plays

18 According to Stephen Crofts, concepts of national cinemas have “long informed the promotion of non-Hollywood cinemas,” influencing processes of distribution and reviewing. In their function as a “‘marketing strategy,” such labels promise “varieties of ‘otherness’ – of what is culturally different from both Hollywood and the films of other importing countries” (1999, 385).

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throughout their development, shaped by national politics, discourses of art and culture, and industry dynamics, and instrumentalized by states, organizations, and individuals.

3.3 Beyond the Film Festival: Circuits and Networks In order to understand how the film festival interacts with memory, one has to break down and make sense of this complex phenomenon. On the one hand, we have the components that constitute the festival itself: its structure, media forms, and players. On the other hand, the festival is embedded in a complex system of institutions, actors, and agendas that affect the festival’s content, reception, and memory production. Although the festival’s individual components alone comprise a rich object of investigation, it is essential to look beyond the festival event. As Marijke de Valck writes: film festivals are not “unified, closed phenomena, but, in fact, open up to an assemblage of performances and agendas,” which are not only constituted during the festival, but “in relation to year-round presences” (2007, 33). With regard to the entities surrounding the festival, the two terms of circuit and network have come to dominate film festival studies, with scholars offering different definitions and exploring the concepts’ characteristics and internal dynamics.

The International Film Festival Circuit By definition, a circuit constitutes a “line, real or imaginary, described in going round any area,” evoking movement along a route or course that encloses and contains an area. A circuit may also describe a regularly traveled route, a “sphere of action,” or a “group or chain” of businesses as well as the course of an “electric current between the two poles of a battery” (“Circuit” 2017). With regard to the organization of film festivals, the productivity of the term lies in its implication of spatiotemporal movement, travels, and journeys; repetition and flow of such movement; connection between different points; generation and/or release of “output” (i.e., energy or electricity); and the idea that something is fed into the system, which then begins to work on its own. Thus, the term describes the trade routes and constant flow of films as they move from festival to festival; the circulation of money and people; and the generation of texts, narratives, gossip, memories, communities, and value. It further refers to the cyclical processes that shape the film industry and of which the film festival is part, as films move through the different stages of development, production, exhibition, and distribution.

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Coming into use as early as the late 1950s (Nornes 2014, 258), the term of the international film festival circuit is first and foremost used by the industry (Loist 2016, 60). As Skadi Loist points out, the term has produced a wide variety of definitions, referring to, for instance, both the entire festival landscape and a select few “top-tier” events. The term may also describe a film’s “trajectory […] through a global network of festivals” (2016, 49). For Thomas Elsaesser, the festival circuit consists of a “cluster” of events that draw in filmmakers, distributors, sales agents, and journalists, “migrating” from festival to festival. These events have special meaning for independent and arthouse cinema, as the festival circuit constitutes the exhibition dates of most independent films in the first-run venues of the world market, where they can gather the cultural capital and critical prowess necessary to subsequently enter the national or local exhibition markets on the strength of their accumulated festival successes (2005, 87).

With regard to its function as a distribution and exhibition system, Elsaesser tentatively suggests that the festival circuit may be conceived of as a “global network possibly paralleling Hollywood,” remarking that there are “points of contact” between the festival circuit and Hollywood’s distribution system; the two differ, however, in both “economic scale and media visibility” as well as in their secondary markets (2005, 93). The latter aspect emphasizes the circuit’s function as a distribution and exhibition system for independent and arthouse cinema, creating platforms through which such films may accumulate “symbolic capital” and “cultural legitimization,” most visibly through prizes and awards, but also through the attraction of critics and the possibility of a theatrical release (De Valck 2016b, 105–106). According to Julian Stringer, there are several ways to interpret the term: For one, the festival circuit can be described as a “closely linked network of interrelated, interdependent events” (2001, 137). Equally, it can be conceived of as a “closed system,” in which an automatic evaluation and hierarchization of festivals is enforced, as festivalgoers decide which festivals are worth attending. Finally, the term can be seen as a “metaphor for the geographically uneven development that characterizes the world of international film culture” (137). Here, Stringer refers to the emergence of “new core-periphery relations,” with big festivals located at the center and little festivals at “subordinate or dependent peripheries,” as festivals encourage trade across regional and national borders (2001, 138). Stringer’s own definition views the circuit as a socially produced space unto itself, a unique cultural arena that acts as a contact zone for the working-through of unevenly differentiated power relationships – not so much a parliament of national film industries as a series of diverse, sometimes competing,

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sometimes cooperating, public spheres [… in which cities] now act as the nodal points on this circuit, not national film industries. (2001, 138)

Within this two-tiered circuit, different types of festivals exist. De Valck asserts that big festivals “generate an abundance of media coverage” and create the dominant images of glamour, red carpets, and stars; however, they comprise merely a “fraction” of film festival events world-wide (2016a, 1). Alongside these mega-events, a multitude of smaller events take place, catering to specialized audiences and specific communities (2–4). Varying in their size, power, and visibility, festivals are exposed to fierce competition and marked by “hierarchical stratification” within the circuit (Loist 2016, 49–50). Mark Peranson similarly claims that the circuit consists of different festival types and differentiates between the two models of the business festival and the audience festival, each of which are marked by different characteristics and fulfill different functions in the circuit. Thus, the business festival is a bigbudget event that has obtained “[m]ajor corporate sponsorship” and is defined by a strong market presence (2013 [2009], 194). It secures numerous or even limits itself to premieres, holds a major competition as well as retrospectives, invests in films, and is characterized by constant expansion. In contrast, the audience festival is defined by a low budget, limited corporate sponsorship, and little business presence. Often having to resort to the “solicitation” of films, it holds a “minor” competition, cannot afford to invest in films, and is primarily concerned with its appeal to audiences, since attendance makes up a large part of the festival’s revenue (194). Emphasizing that these are ideal models, Peranson observes that “most festivals fit somewhere in the middle,” integrating elements of both business and audience festivals (2013 [2009], 194). Despite the existence of hierarchies within the festival circuit, the system remains dynamic. Competitive and non-competitive, fiction, documentary, and short film festivals interact with each other, imitating or positioning themselves against others’ structures and programming. Based on their connections, placement, and overall success in the circuit, festivals either expand or stagnate, suddenly disappearing from view. Next to its interest in the circulation of films, the festival circuit also encourages the movement of people – audiences, press and industry members, filmmakers, and programmers. For example, large parts of festival staff migrate from festival to festival or to other parts of the cultural sector, with festival employment often limited to a few months’ work.19 Thus, festivals ‘timeshare’

19 The precariousness of cultural work and, more specifically, film festival employment has sparked serious discussion in recent years, most notably by Hesmondhalgh and Baker (2011);

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communities, as their staff rotate between different events, journalists move along the circuit, and programmers visit other festivals in order to network and scout films. In hosting diverse crowds, festivals bring together a variety of intents, interests, and expectations. Filmmakers, for instance, may visit festivals to market their films and network with agents, distributors, and other filmmakers, but also to connect with their audiences, sharing personal stories of production, conducting audience research, and gaining valuable insights into how to “adapt” marketing strategies accordingly (Schwarz 2013). The value of participating in festivals is expressed in the multitude of articles and panels aimed at teaching filmmakers how to ‘survive’ the festival circuit, which essentially feed into and enforce the circuit’s internal hierarchies. Here, experts encourage filmmakers to research festival profiles, prioritize A-list festivals that include a film market, and target festivals in global cities with a strong media presence and links to the film industry, in order to make sure that their film receives the best marketing, maximum exposure, and prestige (cf. Schwarz 2013; B. Brooks 2009; Sollosi 2014).20 A consequence of the continuous growth of the festival industry is the rise in competition within the circuit. According to Elsaesser, competition has led to two seemingly opposing trends: “Competition invites comparison, with the result that festivals resemble each other more and more in their internal organization, while seeking to differentiate themselves in their external self-presentation” (2005, 86). On the one hand, the rise in competition has forced festivals to continuously reinvent themselves through innovative programming, presenting new trends and developing new formats, which will then be imitated by other festivals. On the other hand, they must retain a stable brand image, that is, show consistency in their image and mission, in order to remain recognizable (86–87). Thus, festivals are situated between celebrating the new and honoring the old – digging up gems from the past, but also exhibiting emerging filmmakers, drawing in new audiences, but also pleasing regulars. One of the central institutions governing the international film festival circuit and distributing power among festivals is the International Federation of Film Producers Associations (FIAPF), founded in 1933 and comprising representatives of different film producers’ organizations. While the federation set out to “protect producers on issues ranging from copyrights and technology standardization to

Deuze (2007); Loist (2011); and Czach (2016). 20 Both Justin Schwarz (2013) and Mary Sollosi (2014) emphasize the need for selectivity in responding to festival invitations: as film festivals function as gatekeepers for certain markets, filmmakers should strategically place and carefully consider where to premiere their films.

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media regulations,” it turned to the regulation of festivals in later years (C. Wong 2011, 36). As a reaction to the post-war festival boom, the federation decided to regulate the growth of this new industry in order to stave off “festival (award) inflation” (De Valck 2007, 41). Originally planning to create an annual “Olympics of Film,” that is, replace the growing number of festivals with a single, “global” competition, FIAPF was encouraged by officials from Cannes and Venice to alternatively instate a hierarchical system of classification. Within this system, an “A” classification allowed festivals to put forth an international jury to judge their prestigious competitions. Hosting a general assembly at Venice Film Festival in 1951, FIAPF rallied its members to “join forces” in policing the film festival scene and thus prevent newly established festivals from hosting international film competitions. Cannes and Venice received immediate accreditation as so-called “A-list” festivals, while the Berlinale was not approved until 1956. Until then, the Berlinale’s prizes were limited to audience awards (54).21 The federation’s current ranking system distinguishes between the categories of “competitive feature film festivals,” “competitive specialized feature film festivals,” “non-competitive feature film festivals,” and “documentary and short film festivals.” As the first category to be enforced by FIAPF, the section “competitive feature film festivals” comprises A-list festivals such as Cannes, Venice, Berlin, Karlovy Vary, and Locarno. As of 2020, 45 festivals have been accredited by FIAPF, signing a “mutual trust contract” upon admission, aimed at “implement[ing] quality and reliability standards that meet industry expectations” (“International Film Festivals”). While institutions such as FIAPF provide visibility for film festivals and function as a navigation guide for audiences in a growing and unwieldy festival landscape, they promote only a small number of events. By putting certain festivals on the map and granting them an “official status,” FIAPF facilitates their access to funding, sponsorship, and branding opportunities as well as to “symbolic values” (Stringer 2016, 40). Through their ranking, they create an elite; through their categorization and labeling of festivals, they attribute specific functions to the individual event, evaluate the festival scene, and distribute power and prestige. The festival circuit greatly influences the life span and success of a film as a product, informing a film’s circulation and reception. For one, festivals

21 As C. Wong points out, while the Berlinale continued to pursue a FIAPF accreditation in order to become a global player, it recognized the potential behind the federation’s restrictions, creating a narrative in which the festival’s use of audience awards demonstrated its “democratic credentials” (2011, 43–44).

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function as “precursors to audience reception,” as judgments are created and circulated before the films have had a theatrical release (Mezias et al. 2011, 170). They subsequently play a crucial role in the construction of “film product identities,” shaping audiences’ expectations of a film before they have actually seen it (Hsu 2006, 426). At festivals, films are able to garner what Czach, with reference to Pierre Bourdieu (1987), terms critical capital – the value a film accumulates through its travels along the festival circuit. According to Czach, critical capital depends on the prestige and status of the festival, the film’s placement within the festival program, press reviews, and audience responses (2004, 82). The amount of critical capital a film receives may strongly determine its fate, from the possibility of a theatrical release, to box office successes, to its entry into a canon. Thus, festivals can be conceived of as sites for the “translation of symbolic value into economic value” (De Valck 2007, 38). Through its travels along the circuit, De Valck asserts, a film increases its value “via the snowball effect. The more praise, prizes and buzz a film attracts, the more attention it is likely to receive at other festivals” (2007, 35). Filmmakers may also accumulate value for their films through a festival’s “pre-programming activities”: by tapping into a festival’s film fund, filmmakers may receive both financial aid and cultural capital, “giving them a head start in the festival circuit” even before the film has been completed (211). It is important to note that while the festival circuit may provide global exposure and, to a certain extent, economic success, it does not create a stable or financially autonomous industry for the films that pass through its channels; as De Valck remarks, the success filmmakers are able to garner “remains somewhat artificial,” and their future “highly uncertain” (2007, 207). Although productive in many ways, the term and concept of the festival circuit has also sparked criticism. Implying that festivals are part of an “orchestrated network” (De Valck 2016a, 7) and form an “open system of film prints moving effortlessly around the earth,” the term creates the impression that “free circulation” takes place in the circuit (Nornes 2014, 259). Moreover, the term does not cover the “broad landscape of film festivals […] each of which are increasingly networked and interconnected, marked both by competition and collaboration,” but instead becomes a synonym for the elite circle of A-list festivals, encouraging a “hierarchical view” of the festival landscape (Loist 2016, 60). Several terms have been suggested as alternatives in order to account for the “diversity, tensions, ruptures, and inequalities” that spread through the circuit, one of which is the festival network (P. Robbins and Saglier 2015, 4).22 Another

22 For a succinct overview of alternative concepts such as “network,” “archipelago,” or “rhizome,” see Loist (2016, 51–52).

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strategy has been to acknowledge the existence of parallel or sub-circuits as separate, self-sufficient entities. Festivals often participate in several circuits, each of which develop around “specific agendas that focus on fostering and showcasing […] a certain type of cinematic product” (Iordanova 2013c [2009], 119). While Dina Iordanova emphasizes that there is a “clear division” between parallel circuits (2013c [2009], 119), Skadi Loist and Ger Zielinski point to their connection, though at the same time acknowledging that their contact is regulated by the hierarchies present in the festival landscape (2012, 53). Equally rejecting the idea of the circuit as a “cohesive whole” or “single entity,” Ragan Rhyne alternatively suggests that the circuit must be viewed as “being materially and discursively constituted through the negotiation of varied, and sometimes conflicting, motivations of stakeholders” (2013 [2009], 135; 148)

Festival Networks In contrast to the circuit, a network is marked by “threads, wires [… that] are crossed or interlaced in the fashion of a net”; it constitutes “an arrangement or structure with intersecting lines and interstices.” As a pattern that is commonly found in nature, such as in “animal or plant tissue” or the arrangement of atoms, the network carries with it the connotation of an organic system (“Network” 2017). However, like the circuit, it is simultaneously anchored in other fields, its uses including technology and business. While the circuit emphasizes the paths for circulation (the travels and routes central to film exhibition and distribution), the network brings attention to the points of contact and links that exist between festivals, including those that would otherwise be considered outside of the circuit. It therefore highlights the complex and intricate system of actors at work, shaping the institution of the festival as well as its output. The film festival network can be seen as an alternative to the concept of the film festival circuit; even so, the terms are often used synonymously or in combination, with scholars describing the circuit as network or asserting that the network consists of several circuits. Both Thomas Elsaesser (2005) and Marijke de Valck (2007) have pointed to the usefulness of network theory as a tool for analyzing festivals, encouraging a multidisciplinary approach in which the festival is explored from a variety of different angles.23 According to Dina Iordanova, network theory may be especially productive in the analysis of specialized (and, in particular, activist) film festivals

23 Conceptualized by Elsaesser and De Valck, the concept of film festivals as networks has been further explored by Hagener (2014); P. Robbins and Saglier (2015); and Robinson (2016).

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since these festivals tend to come together to form coalitions (2012, 16). What is more, network theory is helpful to the understanding of the festival from the perspective of memory, taking into consideration both human and nonhuman actors shaping memory production. Next to various human actors such as programmers, moderators, sponsors, and patrons, festivals make use of paratexts24 or “pluri-media networks” (Erll 2011a, 138) to shape the audience’s viewing experience of a film, thereby transmitting, reworking, and creating memory. Supporting the festivals’ attempts to create coherent narratives, paratexts such as the catalog or program guide help frame this narrative, as do festival trailers, advertisements, live performances, and the venues in which the events take place. In light of these narrative attributes, it is easy to construe festivals as consisting of, but also belonging to a network of texts, media, and institutions. According to De Valck, network theory investigates the “interrelationship” of societies, subjects, and objects and places them in circuits, networks, and systems (2007, 29). Emerging as part of the “post-structuralist paradigm shift,” network theory rejects human agency and dissolves distinctions between human and nonhuman actors, focusing instead on “flows of exchange” and “processes of transformation and translation” between interdependent subjects and objects (29–30). In applying “Latourian thinking” to film festivals, a “non-hierarchical study of the various agendas that are pursued, acted out, and undermined by film festival events” becomes possible (30). Detecting a shift away from national politics toward a global economy, De Valck employs network analysis to explore film festivals’ success and position in such a global economy, analyzing how the system is “preserved” (2007, 30; 31). Moreover, Actor-Network Theory (ANT) is used to construe the relations between different festivals in the network as “task division”: the major events function as central nodes in the festival network, while the smaller festivals perform specific functions, for instance, by supporting new talented directors, paying attention to specific genres or serving as a cultural-political platform for (ethnic) minority groups. Together, the festivals offer a heterogeneous, spatially-dispersed system in which every film can find an event somewhere that suits its interests best and filmmakers, in addition, can grow within the system to different levels of establishment. (214)

24 While the concept of the paratext originates with literary theorist Gérard Genette (1991), more recent scholarship has applied the term to other fields, exploring, for example, paratexts in media and film. See Stanitzek (2005); Gwóźdź (2009); and Böhnke (2007). The concept can equally be extended to describe festival films as texts and festival media, materials, and performances as paratexts.

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In reference to the ANT concept of “obligatory points of passage” – a network’s “most powerful” actors – festivals can be seen as such nodes within the larger film industry network, since they have become indispensable to film production, distribution, and consumption (36). The main limitation of applying ANT to film festivals is that the theory does not differentiate between scales (De Valck 2007, 35). Thus, it cannot account for the festival circuit’s central characteristic of value accumulation and “offers few critical tools for assessing power relations” and inequalities within and between festivals (214). Here, Manuel Castells’ concept of “space of flows” or “space of place” is more appropriate. Moreover, Bruno Latour’s focus on the “instability of actor networks” is problematic as it is “essentially anti-systemic and resists conceptualizations,” following the idea that “every movement may result in changes to the connected networks” (35). De Valck, however, sees the film festival circuit as a “successful network […] because it shows systemic tendencies and offers continuity,” working toward its own self-preservation and adapting to changing environments (2007, 35–36). The self-sustainability of the festival is dependent on its performance of several roles, from tourist attraction, to trade fair, to city marketing strategy, to its role in cultural value addition, functioning as “gateway[ ] to cultural legitimization” (38). As De Valck points out, ANT does not differentiate between actor and network or a “micro and macro level,” focusing instead on “processes as circulating entities, on movements and interactions between various entities that are produced within these relations”; thus, understanding film festivals as a Latourian network [… allows for] a radically different view in which, for example, the sales representatives, film critics and filmmakers meeting at film festivals are not considered separate from the event, but whose congregations, performances, and products are understood as necessary links that make up the event. (2007, 34)

In order to understand how festivals produce and shape memory, festivals should be conceived of as living, breathing entities that grow, change, and are integrated into a complex, dynamic system – a memory network with nodes, flows, and exchanges. This view lets us look beyond the memory object, incorporating the actors, performances, and movements surrounding the memory object and influencing its reception and travels.

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3.4 Film Festivals Between the Local, National, and Global Though occurring at a concrete time in a single locale, film festivals are actually embedded in complex frameworks of location, situated between the local, regional, national, transnational, and global.25 The local or national aspects may be most easily identified, for instance, as festivals serve to strengthen national identity and political ideology or represent a city’s subcultures. In mission statements and programming, festivals make extensive use of national categories, constructing and enforcing national identities, while marketing their locale in establishing their connections to the city. However, as parts of an international film festival circuit and a global network of film production, exhibition, and distribution, festivals also become transnational spaces, thereby encouraging the flow of cultural products, people, capital, and investment across borders and blurring the boundaries of such categories. As complex, dynamic spaces, they bring the local and global together, promoting the cities and regions in which they are located and branding themselves with local identities, while at the same time consolidating a city’s identity as global player. Thus, a festival’s value stems from the seemingly paradoxical combination of a recognizable local, regional, and/or national identity and a global appeal. These frameworks influence a festival’s memory production, which equally takes the shape of different scales26: while local memories are embodied by festival locations and activated in the festival’s celebration of place, national memories are constructed and negotiated in national showcases and transnational memories emerge from the movements of films, people, and cultures inherent in the festival.

25 These observations do not necessarily work for the virtual festivals that have become part of the festival landscape, introducing, according to Stringer, “new notions of spectacle and wholly new (electronic) space economies” (2001, 142). Since this study focuses on live events that show strong connections to place and local culture, an investigation of virtual festivals is not included. 26 In Transnational Memory: Circulation, Articulation, Scales, Chiara de Cesari and Ann Rigney address the “multi-scalarity of socio-cultural processes,” asserting that, in today’s globalized society, the categories of the local, national, and global mutually construct each other (2014, 5). The two authors thus argue that “cultural remembrance involves the continual production, remediation, and sharing of stories about a past that changes in relation to the new possibilities for interpreting it within shifting social frames operating at different scales and across different territories” (8).

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Crossing Borders: Festivals as Transnational Spaces Film festivals have always enforced national categories, from their original function as stages for national showcases within Europe to their involvement in the establishment of new genres or waves based on a nation’s output. Making strategic use of a film’s embeddedness in national culture (as cultural expression or sociopolitical instrument), festivals frame films as part of a national oeuvre. Julian Stringer provides such an example in his dissertation, highlighting how Japanese cinema traveled the festival circuit from 1951 to 1970 and analyzing how the body of work was introduced, framed, and reframed. First represented by Akira Kurosawa’s film Rashomon (1950) and initially discovered by Venice, ideas of Japanese cinema (and thus, of Japan itself) were based on the small range of films programmed by festivals and subsequently discussed by the press (2003a, 69–93). Similarly, Locarno’s screening of Chen Kaige’s Yellow Earth (1984) and Hou Hsiao-hsien’s Summer at Grandpa’s (1984) influenced Western conceptions of and drew other festivals’ attention to Chinese cinema, helping to establish the waves of Fifth Generation films and New Taiwanese Cinema (C. Wong 2011, 48). By means of national labels, festivals create a “prominent collective profile” and “distinctive brand name” for such films, increasing their exposure, marketability, and value in both domestic and international markets (Higson 2006, 20). However, film festivals are without doubt also transnational spaces, enabling all kinds of movements across borders. They even market themselves as such, emphasizing their internationality and global reach. While Stringer acknowledges the importance of festivals on a local and national level, fueling both local tourism and national film industries, he further identifies them as having pannational identities, transporting “national film cultures into the world cinema system” (2001, 134). The Berlinale, for instance, emphasizes its connection to both city and nation in several ways, visible in its sections Berlinale Goes Kiez or Perspektive Deutsches Kino, while also hosting international competitions, a film market, and the Berlinale Talents summit, a platform that encourages networking and the exchange of knowledge and expertise between and across national industries.27 It therefore promotes national film cultures, while at the

27 In contrast to a large part of the Berlinale program that is screened at multiplex theaters such as CinemaxX and CineStar, the section Berlinale Goes Kiez exclusively takes place in Berlin’s neighborhood theaters. Transforming into festival venues, these theaters offer alternative settings in which to view films from the Berlinale program. Each screening is presented by a “patron of the cinema” – a “prominent film personality […] supporting the cultural work of his or her favourite theatre” (“Berlinale Goes Kiez”). While Berlinale Goes Kiez connects an international program with local film culture, the section Perspektive Deutsches Kino aims to

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same time strengthening the idea of a global film industry, in which films from all over the world may come together and compete with each other. Both Rhyne and Elsasser make this point, Rhyne focusing on issues of funding, branding, and promotion (2013 [2009], 139–140) and Elsaesser discussing the mechanisms through which festivals simultaneously transcend and reinstate the national (2005, 83). Iordanova takes the matter a step further by claiming that the film festival “best reveals film culture’s transnational essence,” exposing the transnational dynamics of film funding, production, exhibition, and distribution (2016, xii). As transnational channels, festivals allow films to reach international audiences and encourage distribution of works that would otherwise have limited chances of international travel. However, as Aida A. Hozic describes in her article “Between ‘National’ and ‘Transnational’: Film Diffusion as World Politics,” every form of distribution also includes “firewalls” (2014, 229). The forces that control or halt the flow of films in the circuit may take the shape of state regulations aimed at protecting domestic markets or simply come in the form of feedback from journalists, juries, and the public, who in their voicing of criticism or praise “determine a possible global trajectory for smaller, ‘minor,’ national cinemas.” Since festivals are not positioned outside of the mainstream, they tend to reflect and defer to recognized conceptions of art and quality, narrative and aesthetic conventions as well as international attitudes and values regarding race, ethnicity, or gender (235).28 How does the entrenchment of film festivals in this complex web of national agendas and transnational networks together with the festival’s specific setting influence a film’s reception? As Hozic claims, the mode of diffusion not only shapes reception, but also offers specific frameworks for interpretation. Moreover, it influences value attribution and canonization, as not all exhibition sites and practices are considered equal (2014, 231). With regard to the reception of national culture, Bill Nichols points out that the global circulation of films can produce new meanings and insights into cultures, but that this process may at the same time “obscure or distort the culture it ostensibly reveals” (2013 [1994], 29). Festivals provide spaces in which we may encounter other cultures through film, functioning as mediators to our experiences of these films and cultures. Like tourists, audiences are invited to immerse themselves in a discovery of

showcase the new generation of German filmmakers and explore the “future” of German cinema (“Perspektive Deutsches Kino”). 28 As Hozic puts it: “For all their diversity, film festivals too rely on sets of aesthetic conventions – but also reputational markers – which tend to replicate the political, racial, and gendered hierarchies of the international system” (2014, 235).

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“difference” and familiarize themselves with the unknown (Nichols 1994, 17). Festivals “orchestrate” this encounter, providing us with a framework or context through which we may leave behind our “(inescapable) status as outsiders […] to attain a more intimate, more authentic form of experience” (19–20). Through their commentary, festivals therefore guide us through the process of meaning-making (16–17); as a result, local, regional, or national identities can be constructed, contained, rewritten, and circulated. Like Nichols, who concludes that audiences become “citizens of a global but still far from homogenous culture” through these guided travels and encounters in a transnational space (1994, 17), Iordanova asserts that film festivals promote overarching, transnational identities. With reference to Benedict Anderson’s concept of imagined communities,29 Iordanova discusses festivals’ involvement in identity construction and community building, working through the specific processes that mark the live event (2010, 13). As Iordanova points out: In the ‘live’ space of the festival, organisers and audiences form a community, an actual one, that congregates face-to-face for the purpose of fostering an ‘imagined community’ that comes live in the act of watching a film and imagining distant human beings becoming part of one’s own experiences. (2010, 13)

The festival framework therefore “extends an invitation to engage in what is essentially a political act of imagined belonging” and enforces a “pre-supposed” process of nation-building (13). Global and Local: Festival Identities and City Tourism Apart from their national and transnational identities, film festivals are also firmly rooted in the cities and regions in which they take place. Festivals interact with their locales in various ways, responding to local interests and tastes and thriving on local funding (C. Wong 2011, 56). Moreover, cities and festivals

29 According to B. Anderson, a nation is an “imagined political community”: “It is imagined, because the members of even the smallest nation will never know most of their fellow-members, yet in the minds of each lives the image of their communion […] It is imagined as a community, because regardless of the actual inequality and exploitation that may prevail in each, the nation is always conceived as a deep, horizontal comradeship” (1991, 6–7). Central to this concept of imagined communities and the rise of the modern nation are print media. In referencing B. Anderson’s argument that, through their address and rhetoric, newspapers regularly encourage readers to imagine themselves as “part of a single entity,” Iordanova extends the practice of community-making to the live space of the festival (2010, 13).

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mutually inform their brand identities, working together to promote tourism, draw in visitors, and strengthen local industries and benefitting from the other’s unique characteristics. With regard to the attractiveness of festival locations, Venice and Cannes in part depended on the cities’ status as beach and tourist destinations, while the Berlinale, who had nothing such to offer, chose to market its unique position in post-war Germany by foregrounding its “political and ideological” mission (De Valck 2007, 53). Along with other cultural events and institutions, film festivals are central to city development and branding. Dependent on providing culturally “rich” environments in order to attract industry and investment, cities are in constant competition with each other for cultural tourism (Elsaesser 2005, 84–85).30 Thus, local governments fight to establish their cities as “site[s] of permanent, ongoing events,” with attractions including art exhibitions, theater performances, concerts, and film festivals (86). Moreover, in order to compete in a global sphere, cities are forced to construct a unique and recognizable profile for themselves (De Valck 2007, 75). One such marketing strategy is the establishment of the city as a cultural center, so that festivals are advertised as part of a rich, cultural landscape. Whereas festivals may come to dominate a smaller city’s identity, as is the case with Cannes or Park City, festivals in global cities are merely an addition to the multitude of events that shape the city’s “cultural mosaic” (C. Wong 2011, 56–57). In turn, film festivals are dependent on local funding, from governmental support to business sponsorship, putting them in a position to demonstrate their relevance to a city or region’s development and their attractiveness to both locals and tourists in order to remain sustainable (C. Wong 2011, 61–62). Moreover, festivals depend on the marketability of a city’s or region’s identity, therefore linking their own “cultural agendas with tourism and city marketing” (De Valck 2007, 41). Using their geographical locations as markers of “cultural difference,” festivals exploit the local and particular as a selling point. The creation of a unique brand image makes them competitive for funding and other vital resources (Stringer 2001, 139). Through the promotion of city landmarks, festivals may emphasize the particularity and uniqueness of the event (122). They may also promote the

30 Here, Elsaesser refers to Jane Jacobs and Sharon Zukin’s concept of cultural clustering, which describes the interaction between culture, commerce, and city development: based on the premises that companies seek “‘culture-rich environments’” in order to attract employees and that cities in turn seek to attract and keep such companies, Jacobs and Zukin assert that cities will market “perceived location advantages […] by extending them into a total city-concept, in which locality and neighborhood play a special role” (qtd. in Elsaesser 2005, 85).

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city’s inhabitants, forging relationships with local governments, businesses, or communities. Thus, festivals help increase the value of urban space and foster a local identity (141–142). Profiting significantly from their function as a city’s cultural attraction, festivals have fully embraced “cultural entrepreneurship” in order to flourish and expand, no longer shying away from and viewing commerce as the “evil other” (De Valck 2013 [2007], 104). Thus, a mutually beneficial relationship emerges, in which film festivals bring tourists into the city and promote the local industries, while cities provide festivals with an infrastructure of funding and support, ranging from government institutions, to local businesses, to museums and archives, to educational institutions (Harbord 2002, 73). This close relationship is visible in several instances of the festival’s outward presentation: for instance, greetings by mayors often start off the festival catalog. What is more, government officials may be present at or even incorporated into a festival’s opening or closing ceremonies. While the festival creates a spotlight for city representatives, they in turn give the festival a city’s official recognition or “stamp of approval” (C. Wong 2011, 57). Finally, in circulating films that carry local meanings (in terms of both modes of production and filmic content), film festivals allow the “local to circulate globally,” providing a “form and context that simultaneously alter its [a film’s] local meanings and confer new, global ones” (Nichols 2013 [1994], 29). Thus, festival films move along the festival circuit with a “cachet of locally inscribed difference and globally ascribed commonality” (29). For example, local specificities of Asian American film production in San Francisco or local meanings of the Chinese American experience in San Francisco’s Chinatown may be placed within the broader context of a nation-wide Asian American experience or a global diasporic experience. From a perspective of memory, we can conclude that festivals are spaces in which diverse memories – local, national, transnational – intersect, but also change and merge.

3.5 A  sian American Film Festivals: Characteristics, History, Memory Work A closer look at case studies reveals that Asian American film festivals (AAFFs) share many characteristics with other types of festivals, from their connections to culture, industry, and politics, to their hybrid identities that place them between local, national, and transnational cultures, to their embeddedness in a dynamic system of networks and circuits that stretch beyond the film festival sphere and include government institutions, local businesses, grassroots movements, and community organizations. They also partake in memory work, that is, practices

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that seek an active engagement with the past and take an “inquiring attitude towards the past and the activity of its (re)construction through memory” (Kuhn 2010, 6). Functioning as sites of construction of Asian American collective memory that offer different types of resources, from films to witnesses on stage, the festivals help to produce an “‘infrastructure’ of collective memory,” allowing us to make sense of the diasporic community’s history and identity (Irwin-Zarecka 2009 [1994], 13). Revealing political and cultural agendas, their history parallels the evolution of many other festivals over time.31 The term “Asian American film festival” describes a variety of events that differ in their program structure, integration into the industry, and significance as exhibitors and distributors, but share the central characteristic of screening what they perceive to be Asian American works. Most of these festivals also program Asian films, though some – as the Asian American Showcase in Chicago – make it a point to solely focus on local diasporic cultures, asserting that these artists are in greater need of exposure and that their lack of visibility “prevents a fuller expression of the American story” (“About Us” FAAIM). Showing great diversity in terms of size and reach, AAFFs may screen a handful of films before an audience of a few hundred people or put together a sizable program of over 100 films, reaching between 20,000 and 30,000 visitors over the course of one or two weeks. In order to draw in new audiences and keep regulars interested, AAFFs will often make significant changes to their program structure every few years, introducing new competitions or sidebars and experimenting with new media and event formats. In contrast to the smaller events that are first and foremost audience festivals, the more established AAFFs display some characteristics of business festivals, serving as meeting points for industry professionals and hosting industry-centered panels on the future of Asian American film and festival production. In terms of location, the majority of AAFFs take place in cities with a significant Asian American immigrant population and are firmly rooted in their local Asian American communities, cooperating with diasporic institutions, community centers, and historical societies. Festivals within the sub-circuit are well-connected: festival directors and programmers not only visit other AAFFs in order to scout films, but also come together at annual summits during CAAMFest to discuss their programming, organization, and schedules (Niwano 2016). Since the annual output of Asian American films is limited, the programs of AAFFs show much overlap. For instance, SDAFF 2016 and CAAMFest 2017’s opening night film The Tiger Hunter (2016) additionally opened AAFFs in Los Angeles, Philadelphia, and Chicago.

31 A list of AAFFs containing key information on each festival can be found in appendix 8.1.

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What is more, CAAMFest 2016’s opening night film Tyrus (2015) was screened at no less than 13 AAFFs across the country, traveling almost the entire Asian American film festival circuit. Certain themes have continued to dominate AAFFs, most visibly Japanese American internment.32 In recent years, Korean trans-racial adoption has also received heightened attention.33 Furthermore, film programs regularly commemorate wars that have resulted in migration or exile from Asia to the United States, exploring such events as the Armistice of the Korean War or the Fall of Saigon.34 In terms of national cinemas and the representation of specific diasporic communities, AAFF programming may respond to festival trends, genre hypes, or the canonization of filmmakers. It may also react to sociopolitical developments, from waves of migration, to the settlement of new communities, to issues of integration and visibility among the Asian American community. Thus, AAFFs form an important ground on which conflicts relating to identity politics are played out. As pointed out by B. Ruby Rich, one such conflict was the fight of Pacific Island peoples to be included and recognized as Asian American communities (2013 [2003–2004], 161), leading festivals to position themselves through the installment of Pacific Islander programs.35 Within this process of programming, constant recycling and reactivation of archived

32 See the program “Nisei Spirit: Reflections and Legacies of the Japanese American Experience” (5th San Diego 2004, 43), in which two of four films discuss Japanese internment; the retrospective screening of Manzanar (1971) for NAATA’s 25th anniversary, the first documentary on internment (23 San Francisco 2005, 28); the special event “A View from Topaz: An Undercover Look at an American Concentration Camp,” including a Q&A with a former internee (24th San Francisco 2006, 41); and the “Spotlight” programs on internment at CAAMFest 2017 (CAAMFest 2017, 27) and SDAFF’s Spring Showcase 2017 (7th Annual 2017, 6). Moreover, there are few festival editions that do not at least feature one film on internment. 33 Examples include the screening of the biopic My Father (2007), complemented by a printed interview on the experiences of trans-racial adoption (9th Annual 2008, 57); SDAFF’s “Spotlight on Adoption” (11th Annual 2010, 37); the panel discussion “Separated at Birth” (14th San Diego 2013, 50); and the centerpiece screening of AKA Seoul (2016) (17th Annual 2016, 13). The special program for NAATA’s 25th anniversary also featured several films on Korean adoption (23 San Francisco 2005, 29). 34 See SFIAAFF’s closing night films Green Dragon (2001) and Journey from the Fall (2005), both dramatizing the events and aftermath of the Vietnam War (20th San Francisco 2002; 24th San Francisco 2006, 27); CAAMFest’s “Beyond Boundaries: On the Anniversary of the Armistice,” a program dedicated to the memory of the Korean War (CAAMFest 2013, 15); and the program “Spotlight: Cinema Little Saigon” at SDAFF’s Spring Showcase 2015 (5th Annual 2015, 6). 35 CAAMFest has regularly hosted a “Pacific Showcase” since 2013, with Pacific Islanders in Communications (PIC) functioning as the program’s sponsor (cf. CAAMFest catalogs from 2013– 2017). SDAFF’s films on Hawaiian or Maori indigenous cultures have similarly been sponsored and co-presented by PIC since 2013 (cf. SDAFF catalogs from 2013–2016).

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material takes place, as festivals dig out a filmmaker’s early work and set it against a current film or recycle a previous format or program in light of an anniversary or commemorative event. Through the overlaps in programming and the constant interaction between festivals, AAFFs should not solely be analyzed as individual events. Moreover, they should be considered not only in relation to the international film festival circuit and its power relations, but also with respect to their own sub-circuit. Mirroring the dynamics of other specialized film festival circuits, the circuit of AAFFs has its own pool of auteurs, themes, contexts, archives, and memories to feed on. History of the Asian American Film Festival Circuit Following the establishment of the first Asian American film festival in 1978, the sub-circuit of AAFFs came together in two waves: while the first festival editions were hosted by community organizations and film collectives born from the movements of the 1960s and 1970s, the second wave began in the late 1990s (tab. 3). By that time, festivals born in the first wave had become established events and the genre of Asian American cinema had begun to enter the mainstream. The development of AAFFs can thus be tied to several factors, from the context of activist movements, to academic debates, to a worldwide boom of the festival industry.36 Tab. 3: Timelines of the founding of Asian American film festivals and media organizations Founding of Asian American media organizations that are still active today 1970 1975 1980 1995 2002

Visual Communications in Los Angeles Asian CineVision in New York City National Asian American Television Association (now CAAM) in San Francisco Foundation for Asian American Independent Media in Chicago San Diego Asian Film Foundation (now Pac Arts) in San Diego

36 The first wave of AAFFs overlaps with the emergence of other minority film festivals, revealing a general move toward specialized programming within the festival sector and the increased visibility of minority organizations. For instance, the beginnings of the Asian American film festival circuit parallel the queer film festival circuit: preceding the creation of NAATA and its first SFIAAFF by only a few years, the first Gay Film Festival of Super-8 Films (now San Francisco International LGBTQ Film Festival) was hosted in San Francisco in 1977, its mother organization Frameline founded in 1981. In the following years, more queer film festivals emerged, such as the Gay Film Festival (now NewFest) in New York City (1979), Outfest in Los Angeles (1982), and the New York Queer Experimental Film Festival (1987) (cf. Loist 2014, 281–282).

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Founding of Asian American film festivals that are still active today 1978 1982 1983 1996 2000 2001 2002 2001 2003 2005 2005 2006 2008 2008 2008 2015 2015

AAIFF in New York City SFIAAFF (now CAAMFest) in San Francisco VC Festival (now LAAPFF) in Los Angeles Asian American Showcase in Chicago SDAFF in San Diego DC Asian Pacific American Film Festival in Washington D.C. New York Asian Film Festival Asian Film Festival Dallas Northwest Asian American Film Festival (now Seattle Asian American Film Festival) in Seattle Silk Screen Film Festival Pittsburgh Houston Asian American & Pacific Islander Film Festival DisOrient Film Festival in Eugene Philadelphia Asian American Film Festival Boston Asian American Film Festival Austin Asian American Film Festival Sacramento Asian Pacific Film Festival Ithaca Pan Asian American Film Festival

The first wave of AAFFs was set in motion as early as 1970 with the establishment of Visual Communications (VC) in Los Angeles. Brought to life by Asian American student activists and artists, the community-based organization and film collective set out to document and collect stories of Asian Americans and provide media access and education for their communities (“About Visual Communications” 2020).37 In experimenting with participatory filmmaking and creating resources such as media centers and workshops, VC actively nurtured the Asian American independent film movement. Soon after the founding of VC, Asian CineVision (ACV) emerged as a New York-based counterpart, similarly aimed at taking control of Asian Americans’ media representation and facilitating the community’s access to media production. Starting out with the production of Chinese-language television programs, the organization grew to include the exhibition of films and launching of educational programs, organizing the first AAFF in New York in 1978 and hosting seminars and workshops (“History” ACV). Similarly, VC developed from a film collective to a multimedia arts center and

37 In an interview, founder Robert Nakamura points to the importance of VC’s status as a community-based organization, asserting that VC has always made an effort to screen its work in the “community context” of churches or schools and cater to Asian Americans who were “starved to see part of their own story up on the screen” (“1970” 2016).

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hosted the first edition of its Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival (LAAPFF) in 1983 (“About Visual Communications” 2020). While CAAM sought after similar goals, its origins were “intimately tied into federal policies and politics” (O. Wang “History” 2018). The organization was founded in consequence of a 1967 report entitled Public Television: A Program for Action, published by the Carnegie Commission on Educational Television. The report pointed to a “troubling lack” of diversity on television and expressed the necessity of giving “voice” to communities who might otherwise be “unheard” (Okada 2015, 1). A few years later, the Public Broadcasting Service (PBS) emerged to counter these silences and “‘help us see America whole, in all its diversity’” (Carnegie Commission qtd. in Okada 2015, 1). Set in a period of social unrest and activist movements, the Carnegie Commission’s proclamation coincided with student protests in the Bay Area and Los Angeles, all of which addressed issues related to minority rights and visibility and demanded changes to admission policies and university curricula. The protests led to the establishment of such programs as UCLA’s EthnoCommunications, the first film program to train minority filmmakers, from which arose the film collective VC. The wave of activism also resulted in the development of five minority consortia – organizations dedicated to the development of ethnic media and financed by the governmentfunded Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB). One of the minority consortia was National Asian American Telecommunications Association (NAATA), later renamed CAAM in 2005 (Okada 2015, 2; tab. 4). According to Okada, the establishment of such institutions was crucial in order for Asian American filmmakers to “achieve commercial, mainstream legitimacy” (2015, 3). Tab. 4: Timelines of CAAM/CAAMFest and Pac Arts/SDAFF Center for Asian American Media (CAAM)/CAAMFest 1980 1982 2005 2013

founding of NAATA first SFIAAFF in San Francisco NAATA becomes CAAM SFIAAFF becomes CAAMFest

Pacific Arts Movement (Pac Arts)/San Diego Asian Film Festival (SDAFF) 2000 first SDAFF in San Diego 2002 founding of San Diego Asian Film Foundation 2012 San Diego Asian Film Foundation becomes Pacific Arts Movement

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The minority consortium NAATA was formed after a three-day conference at UC Berkeley in 1980, in which Asian American activists discussed the formation of an organization or institution that could benefit from CPB’s aroused interest and financial investment in ethnic media (O. Wang “History” 2018). Headed by Jim Yee, a Chinatown community member and activist, the organization pursued “social advocacy to confront and challenge negative images of Asians within mainstream media” and sought to provide the resources for community-based film projects. NAATA entered public television programming in 1982, bringing forth Asian American stories through its co-production of PBS’ educational Silk Screen series and its development of both narrative and documentary programs for Asian American Heritage Month in May – a practice CAAM still continues today. In 1990, the organization succeeded in establishing its Media Fund, a production fund that provides grants for filmmakers working on Asian American projects. Until this day, the Media Fund is complemented by CAAM’s distribution work, securing (largely educational) distribution for its films (O. Wang “History” 2018). NAATA’s film festival developed out of ACV’s Asian American International Film Festival (AAIFF), when a “traveling version” of the New York-based festival began to tour the United States in the early 1980s (O. Wang “History” 2018). In 1981, NAATA first collaborated with ACV by hosting this annual traveling festival in San Francisco. Though immediately adding films by local filmmakers to ACV’s program, NAATA did not take over the programming and management of the traveling festival and found its San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival (SFIAAFF) until 1982. Having started out as a non-competitive festival showcasing solely Asian American works, SFIAAFF expanded to include Asian narratives in the 1990s, created narrative and documentary competitions in 2005 in order to establish another means of support for emerging filmmakers, and rebranded itself as CAAMFest in 2013 (O. Wang “History” 2018). After the establishment of AAIFF, SFIAAFF, and LAAPFF in the 1970s and 1980s, a second wave of Asian American film festivals emerged in the late 1990s and 2000s. Headed off by the Asian American Showcase Chicago (1996) and SDAFF (2000), the circuit grew to include, among others, DC Asian Pacific American Film Festival (2001), Northwest Asian American Film Festival (2003), Silk Screen Film Festival Pittsburgh (2005), DisOrient Film Festival (2006), Philadelphia Asian American Film Festival (2008), Boston Asian American Film Festival (2008), and Austin Asian American Film Festival (2008) (see tab. 3; see also appendix 8.1). In contrast to the first wave of AAFFs, which was born out of the Asian American movement, the foundational context for second-wave festivals varies: SDAFF, for instance, emerged from a collaboration between Asian American journalists and academics and was first organized at the University of

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San Diego (5th San Diego 2004, 7), while the Asian American Showcase in Chicago was brought to life by Asian American musicians who wanted to create an Asian American media platform (“About Us” FAAIM). Though still tied to political agendas of self-representation and minority rights, this second wave of AAFFs showed less desire to openly stress such matters. They thus benefitted from changing perceptions regarding Asian American art and the achievements of the Asian American movement in earlier decades, which included the establishment of Asian American studies departments, recognition of Asian American genres in literature and film, and increased visibility of Asian American communities. The first-wave festivals are symbols of the Asian American movement, intimately tied to the movement’s key figures and school of thought, which are reflected in their mission statements, programming, and projects. First-wave festivals created an archive for Asian American film and media products, which the second wave has helped expand. Building on this history, the second wave has helped spread images of Asian American culture and history and increase the output of Asian American mediamakers, securing new resources and creating new networks for the exhibition and distribution of Asian American films. As specialized film festivals, AAFFs work together in their transmission of images of Asian Americans, “reinforcing” a unified community of Asian Americans (C. Wong 2011, 183). Both of these two waves are embedded in larger developments found in film festival history: The first wave reflects the emergence of specialized festivals, from ethnic to thematic festivals (C. Wong 2011, 52). It also mirrors a phase in which festivals begin to move away from nationalist agendas and toward the curation of film as art, influenced instead by categories such as theme, form, or genre (De Valck 2007, 19). The second wave coincides with the rapid expansion of the film festival sector and emergence of an international film festival circuit. Here, film festivals have spread across the globe, established themselves as cultural institutions, and undergone a process of professionalization (20). The circuit of AAFFs interacts with several other circuits, influenced by the identities, promotional strategies, structures, and programming of both international and specialized film festivals. Thus, programmers of AAFFs may travel to the “central hubs” for Asian programming, such as Hawaii International Film Festival or Busan International Film Festival (Nornes 2013 [2011], 152) or collaborate with queer film festivals in putting together queer shorts programs.

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Introduction to Case Studies: CAAMFest and SDAFF Run by the nonprofit organization Center for Asian American Media (CAAM), CAAMFest is an annual Asian American film festival in San Francisco and constitutes one of the organization’s central activities, feeding into its mission of producing, distributing, and exhibiting media products integral to the “Asian American experience” (“About CAAM” 2018). As the largest and one of the longest-running AAFFs in North America, CAAMFest shows about 140 films and averages 28,000 visitors per year.38 Divided into nine sections, its program consists of documentary and narrative competitions featuring films either produced or situated in the U.S., a section dedicated to the international Asian film scene, and shorts programs, special presentations, and retrospectives (Center for Asian American Media 2017). To this day, CAAM and CAAMFest are funded by the Corporation for Public Broadcasting, while also receiving support from various national, local, government, nonprofit, and corporate sponsors, such as the National Endowment for the Arts (NEA), the organizations AARP and Asian Art Museum, and the companies Comcast and 96.5 KOIT. With its “strategic” event dates in mid-March,39 CAAMFest is the first Asian American festival of the calendar year, securing the majority of world premieres (Guillén 2010, 159; Niwano 2016).40 According to festival director Masashi Niwano, CAAMFest starts off the festival season by hosting an annual summit, during which Asian American film festival organizers and programmers come together to discuss the festival landscape, issues faced specifically by AAFFs, and

38 As Marijke de Valck points out, attendance numbers released by the festival are not necessarily representative of the “actual” number of visitors. In order to secure funding and attract sponsors, these figures are “artificially boosted” (2007, 163). However, as all festivals resort to “similar methods to calculate attendance, the lie is sustained and these figures retain their usefulness for comparing festivals” (164). 39 Next to factors such as program size and audience numbers, a festival’s prestige may also be measured by its position in the festival calendar. According to De Valck, the festival calendar “is of decisive importance for a festival’s success, ranking, and profile” (2007, 54). Moreover, it impacts both a festival’s program and marketing strategies, constituting a part of a “yearly film cycle [that] is structured around festivals and markets, awards such as the Oscars, and prominent dates for theatrical releases” (Loist 2016, 57). 40 In 2018, CAAM moved its festival from March to May, thus integrating CAAMFest in the discourses and events of Asian Pacific American Heritage Month, which was created by Congress in the late 1970s (“About Asian/Pacific Heritage Month”). It now coincides with several AAFFs taking place during APA Heritage Month (e.g., LAAPFF, DC Asian Pacific American Film Festival, and Sacramento Asian Pacific Film Festival) and is preceded by Seattle Asian American Film Festival, Asian American Showcase, and DisOrient Film Festival (cf. appendix 8.1).

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possibilities for collaboration. During the meeting, speakers may address current issues: in 2016, for instance, a representative of API Vote joined the summit to advise festival organizers about their involvement in voter registration for the upcoming national election (2016). Niwano further asserts that there is a “balance of territory” and “curatorial competition” between AAFFs. However, as most of them are volunteer-run festivals, they first and foremost perceive their work as a community service (2016). The San Diego Asian Film Festival (SDAFF) is hosted annually by the nonprofit organization Pacific Arts Movement (Pac Arts) and takes place in November. Established in 2000, the festival shows more than 110 films and averages 15,000 visitors a year, focusing on the promotion of both Asian American and Asian international cinema (Pacific Arts Movement 2019b). Consisting of five sections, the festival program includes feature and short films and consists of Asian American films, Asian imports, and special presentations, the latter also including tribute screenings and retrospectives. In its presentation of Asian films, SDAFF differentiates between established auteurs, emerging filmmakers, innovative films, and “international” works (17th Annual 2016). Unlike CAAM, Pac Arts does not produce or distribute Asian American films; instead, it dedicates itself solely to exhibition and education, regularly hosting community outreach programs and youth projects. Pac Arts’ main festival is complemented by a (notably smaller) SDAFF Spring Showcase, taking place annually in April. SDAFF is funded through a mixture of national and local, government and corporate institutions, from the NEA and the City of San Diego’s Commission for Arts and Culture, to AARP, to companies such as Barona Resort & Casino and Sharp Health Plan. CAAMFest and SDAFF: Memory Work In creating awareness for an Asian American heritage and history, CAAMFest and SDAFF – along with other of CAAM and Pac Arts’ initiatives – continuously make an effort to recall and come to terms with silenced and forgotten political events. While neither remembering nor forgetting is “inherently good or bad” and forgetting can even be considered necessary for some migrant communities in order to integrate into their new culture and take on a new identity,41 the “disappear-

41 While the first generation may cling to the past and its cultural identity, the second or third generation may choose to forget. As Paul Connerton points out, the discarding of family memories and a cultural heritage is “constitutive of a new identity,” of becoming ‘American.’ Forgetting thus may at times function as a “gain” rather than a loss (2008, 62).

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ance” of the past becomes problematic when it is connected to trauma, violence, and suffering or when the voices of certain groups are excluded from memory (A. Assmann 2014). Asian-origin groups were exposed to hostility, suspicion, and racism in various periods of U.S. history, resulting in acts of self-protection such as the renouncement of Chinese citizenship and the abandonment of ethnic enclaves. These and other similar actions were undertaken by immigrants in order to blend in and demonstrate loyalty to the United States (Chun 2000, 10). In screening and, at times, even producing films such as Resistance at Tule Lake (2017) or The Chinese Exclusion Act (2017), CAAM challenges the self-imposed silences that followed experiences of racism, segregation, and internment. Here, the mutually beneficial work of CAAM as a non-governmental organization and CAAMFest as a film festival are most apparent, augmenting each other in their purpose of encouraging purposeful circulation, creation, and transformation of memory. Moreover, CAAMFest and SDAFF programming proudly acknowledges rituals and traditions surviving or emerging from these hardships, ranging from the art of harana, a Filipino serenade, to 9-Man, a Chinese-only streetball game born in Chinatowns of the 1930s.42 Similarly, CAAMFest retrieves Asian American films that have been out of circulation and brings them into the present. In 2014, the “Out of the Vaults” retrospective presented two films by Chinese American filmmaker Joseph Sunn Jue that had not been screened in 67 years. As they become actively circulated memory, such films may open up to new meanings and interpretations. In the context of the “Out of the Vaults” program, the two films were discussed as products of a “legendary” film producer (CAAMFest 2014, 20). The festival emphasized Sunn Jue’s crucial role in producing films for the Chinese community in the U.S., representing “a unique era in diasporic cinema.” What is thus actualized is the memory of a “new generation” of Chinese Americans, as in Black Market Couple (1947), or of cultural life in U.S.-American Chinatowns, as in White Powder and Neon Lights (1947) (20). In 2008, SFIAAFF showed Whispering Sidewalks (1936), a Japanese jazz musical that features Japanese American performer Betty Inada and had recently been restored by the Pacific Film Archive and the National Film Center in Tokyo. According to SFIAAFF, the film had long been considered lost; its significance lies in its documentation of Japanese American jazz singers who found success in 1930s Japan and whose stories had, until recently, been lost to memory (26th San

42 While the documentary Harana (2012) was shown at CAAMFest (CAAMFest 2013, 52) and SDAFF’s Spring Showcase (3rd Annual 2013, 4) in 2013, 9-Man (2014) was screened at SDAFF in 2014 (15 San Diego 2014, 54) and at CAAMFest in 2015 (Destination 2015, 36).

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Francisco 2008, 37). SDAFF’s 2017 Spring Showcase featured a retrospective titled “Right to Resist: From 9066 to 2017,” unearthing films by Asian Americans that chronicle their communities’ past resistances. While the majority of films remember Japanese internment, documenting individual fights against the civil rights violations committed by the state, some critically engage with the injustices faced by Muslim Asians after the September 11 attacks as well (7th Annual 2017, 6). Here, we see objects shift between the archive and the canon, opening up to new meanings as they are grouped together and arranged so as to produce a coherent narrative of minority resistance. Importing films from the Asian ‘homelands,’ CAAMFest and SDAFF also make sure that Asian diasporic communities are able to consume films that not only relate to their own experiences of migration, settlement in a foreign environment, and hybrid identities, but also shape their images of the homeland. Generations who have never experienced the homeland themselves conceive of it through narratives – through family stories, but also in the form of films, television programs, and literature. Cultural or historical explorations of Asia fulfill a double role, supplying diasporic communities with images of their various homelands, while additionally transporting festival audiences to other countries, offering foreign or exotic images, and serving both touristic and educational purposes.43 According to Okada, AAFF programming of Asian films constitutes a development that serves as “compensation” for the scarcity of Asian American films (2015, 9). What is more, it is a direct result of the Asian American film festival circuit’s “transnational turn” of the 1990s – a strategy to make AAFFs competitive with international festivals (9). Ethnic or minority film festivals may further give culture groups ignored by history-writing a place in history and memory through programming. In 2014, CAAMFest dedicated itself (via co-production and programming) to two such figures: farm labor organizer Larry Itliong, featured in the documentary Delano Manongs: Forgotten Heroes of the United Farm Workers (2014), and activist, author, and philosopher Grace Lee Boggs, featured in American Revolutionary: The Evolution of Grace Lee Boggs (2013). Both Boggs’ involvement in the African American movement and Itliong’s central role in the Delano Grape Strike of 1965 and the creation of the United Farm Workers Union hardly find any mentioning

43 See, for instance, Ninoy Aquino and the Rise of People Power (2009), a documentary on a Filipino activist’s non-violent fight against Ferdinand Marcos’ dictatorship, or Tibet in Song (2009), a portrayal of Tibetans’ struggles to preserve their cultural heritage. Both films were shown at SDAFF in 2010 and at SFIAAFF in 2010 and 2012 (cf. 11th Annual 2010; “Where” 2011; San Francisco 2012).

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in official accounts. SDAFF equally programmed both films, showing Delano Manongs as part of a shorts program on Asian American films thematizing voice, agency, and rebelliousness (15 San Diego 2014, 78) and American Revolutionary as part of the Asian American Panorama (14th San Diego 2013, 54). In screening of such films, CAAMFest and SDAFF explicitly express their involvement in grassroots movements as well as their role in filling historical gaps created by mainstream media. A large number of Asian American films that CAAMFest has screened have also received CAAM funding. While CAAMFest’s programming may be diverse in its themes and at times include films that are not necessarily recognizable as Asian American works, CAAM’s production, funding, and distribution policies follow clearly visible patterns and interests. One of its earliest (and most successful) projects is the documentary Who Killed Vincent Chin? (1987), the theme of current and past experiences of racism and racial injustice continuing to mark CAAM-funded films. Other themes include inquiries into everyday life of U.S.-America’s Chinatowns, Little Tokyos, or Little Manilas; explorations of Asian American identities; depictions of Asian American biographies; or histories of migration and exile (“CAAM Funded Projects” 2018).44 While many of these films have traveled on to other Asian American film festivals, CAAM’s role in funding secures the festival’s rights to their premieres and explains why the films may receive more prominent roles at CAAMFest than at other AAFFs. As Okada has pointed out, a “persistent” problem of Asian American media production has been the funding and distribution of feature films. Except for the occasional cult film, such as Chan Is Missing (1982), Asian American films have been “relegated” to documentary films on PBS (2015, 9). Strategies to counter such developments have been the “transnationalization” of Asian American films in terms of content and aesthetics as well as the “piggy-backing on [popular] Chinese-language cinema” (9–10). Another aspect of CAAMFest and SDAFF’s activism is the occasional screening of films that have been censored or banned in their home countries, fighting against repressive erasure (Connerton 2008, 60) or repressive forgetting, that is, the political control of archives through deletion, rewriting, and exclusion

44 Examples of CAAM-funded films that explore such themes are Resistance at Tule Lake (2017) (experiences of racism and racial injustice); A Moment in Time (2010) and Little Manila: Filipinos in California’s Heartland (2008) (historical explorations of Asian American neighborhoods and communities); The Grace Lee Project (2005) (Asian American identities); The Cats of Mirikitani (2006) and American Revolutionary (2013) (Asian American biographies); and Out of the Poison Tree (2008) (stories of migration and exile).

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(A. Assmann 2014). One such example is Ying Liang’s controversial fiction film When Night Falls (2012), screened at CAAMFest in 2013. The film portrays a true case of police abuse in Shanghai, in which 28-year-old Yang Jia was jailed for riding an unregistered bicycle and beaten during interrogation, resulting – after several unsuccessful attempts to press charges for police brutality – in his stabbing six police officers to death. One year later, he was executed, while his mother was held in a mental hospital against her will. After the film’s premiere at Jeongju Film Festival, the Chinese government attempted to purchase it and restrict its exhibition, continuing with threats directed at filmmaker Ying Liang and his family (Brody 2012). The film, however, managed to travel the international film festival circuit, winning two Golden Leopard awards for Best Director and Best Actress at Locarno Film Festival and stopping at other prestigious festivals such as TIFF and Warsaw International Film Festival (Brody 2017). Similarly, SDAFF has screened the two banned films Closed Curtain (2013) and Taxi (2015) by Iranian auteur Jafar Panahi, who in his home country has been banned from making films and placed under house arrest. Interesting to note is that SDAFF does not emphasize its own role in programming these films, but rather acknowledges its alliance with and place among international film festivals such as Berlinale, united in their function as “accomplices” to Panahi’s filmmaking (16th Annual 2015, 51). While the screening of banned films can be considered activist, it does not necessarily set CAAMFest and SDAFF apart from other film festivals. As previously noted, film festivals have continuously used programming and awarding of prizes to demonstrate political allegiances or support ideologies. Moreover, themes of taboo, censorship, or deviance may draw in crowds, create gossip, and increase media attention so that the festival can feed on the controversy. Considering that neither CAAMFest nor SDAFF premiered When Night Falls, Closed Curtain, and Taxi, but followed in the footsteps of international festivals, and that the films were written and/or directed by established auteurs, the risk of programming such works is very low. At a maximum, these inclusions may strain the festivals’ relationships with embassies or national archives. In their exhibition of films, CAAMFest and SDAFF enter discourses of Asian American history, heritage, and activism, providing new angles from which audiences may relate to a film. Through narratives and labels, the festivals find audiences for their films and influence viewer expectations, creating an intricate network of films, whose body is diverse, yet coherent in that it revolves around these fixed sets of meanings. CAAMFest and SDAFF are both oriented toward the past as well as the future. They not only commemorate events, exhibit seldomseen versions of U.S.-America’s past, and celebrate Asian American heritage, but also seek to encourage Asian Americans to become more vocal and visible

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in the media sphere. Both festivals place additional emphasis on present-day stories, exploring what it means to be Asian American and/or Asian today. Thus, films like Documented (2013), which explores the hardships of life as an undocumented immigrant, shed light onto a specific part of the Asian American experience. Even explorations of the past are often consciously linked to the present, aimed at remembering and also learning from the past in order to create a better understanding of the present. Sociopolitical Context of Festival Editions In discussing SDAFF 2016 and CAAMFest 2017 it is important to consider that these particular festival editions stood in the unique context of the 2016 U.S. presidential election and its controversies. While SDAFF took place from November 3–12, 2016, and coincided with Election Day, CAAMFest took place from March 9–19, 2017, two months after the presidential inauguration. During this first quarter of 2017, President Trump fought to reinstate and signed an executive order to stop refugee arrivals and ban travel to the United States from several Muslimmajority countries (Siddiqui et al. 2017). Because of their timing in relationship to the election, both SDAFF and CAAMFest had to position themselves and speak up as minority festivals, addressing the rise of right-wing movements and discrimination against ethnic and religious minorities. Both festival editions are therefore exemplary in showing how sociopolitical contexts may influence festival narratives, programming, acts of framing, and memory production, forging new connections between past and present events, and different cultures and communities. In his speech at SDAFF’s opening ceremony45 on November 3, 2016, artistic director Brian Hu explicitly referred to the election, asserting that this year’s festival edition would not provide an “escape from reality,” but instead challenge the presence of racism and fear in the country, from a general xenophobia to the more concrete islamophobia.46 Drawing attention to the diversity and provocativeness of Asian American films presented this year, B. Hu led over to the opening night film The Tiger Hunter (2016) and stated that the film “perfectly cap-

45 Opening night ceremonies are especially indicative of festival agendas, since festivals introduce their missions, point to highlights, and establish central themes that are weaved into the program. 46 Unless otherwise noted, all descriptions and analyses of SDAFF 2016 and CAAMFest 2017 events (ceremonies, screenings, locations, audiences) as well as quotes from speeches and Q&As are based on my own observations as participant in the festival events.

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tures the spirit of this year’s festival. It’s a film that shows the community and resilience of immigrants to the United States, and does so with joy and love.”47 The comedy focuses on the American Dream, telling the fictional migration story of an Indian engineer to 1970s Chicago. As a success story riddled with obstacles, The Tiger Hunter points to the need for hope, courage, and honesty. Following the screening, the topic of immigration was addressed once more during a Q&A session with director Lena Khan, actor Parvesh Cheena, and actress Karen David. While Q&A sessions often aim at entertainment, offering behind-the-scenes glimpses to an audience unfamiliar with the experience of film production, Brian Hu as moderator quickly connected the topic of the fiction film with the reality of Asian migration, conjuring up personal and transgenerational memories. In reference to his own family’s history of migration – B. Hu is a second-generation immigrant whose parents moved from Taiwan to the U.S. before his birth and never talked much about their experience – he pointed to the experiences of farewell, loss, and new opportunity with which migrants were undoubtedly faced. Actress Karen David similarly drew from personal experience, describing her parents’ migration from India to the U.K. and mentioning that the hardships and sacrifices her family had endured were in the back of her mind as she read the script and prepared for her role. Moreover, Kahn and Cheena tied the production process to the sense of community that is inherent in Asian American experiences in the Hollywood entertainment industry, as roles are scarce and actors are often type-cast. When the Q&A was opened to the audience, a question about the reality of arranged marriages in India came to the fore, with the director, actor, and actress, all of whose family roots lie in India, answering as experts on the foreign culture. Here, the festival functions as a room for exchange – a casual, relaxed setting, in which cultural understanding is encouraged. Finally, asserting that festivals served as launching points for small films, Khan pointed to the importance of word-of-mouth advertising and encouraged the audience to recommend the film and visit its social media pages.48 During CAAMFest’s opening night event on March 9, 2017, similar themes were addressed. Opening the event, an investigative reporter from NBC Bay Area, Bigad Shaban, established his bicultural heritage as “proud son” of Egyptian

47 Opening and closing night films at SDAFF and CAAMFest are generally uplifting, entertaining Asian American films that can be considered crowdpleasers. In its lighthearted portrayal of Asian migration to the U.S. and upward mobility, The Tiger Hunter (2016) is therefore an exemplary opening night film. 48 For a discussion of the importance of word-of-mouth in marketing independent and non-blockbuster films, see Iversen (2005).

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immigrants and recalled memories of growing up in the U.S. as an immigrant child.49 Describing his role as mediator between his parents and the host culture, he pointed to the “obstacles” immigrants had to “overcome” and argued that the exposure to other cultures was especially important today, emphasizing the media industry’s significance in promoting cultural understanding. In keeping with CAAM’s mission, executive director Stephen Gong pointed out that it was more important than ever for Asian American media to bridge difference and divide. Referring to the current political climate in the United States, Gong “urged” visitors to continue or even increase support for community-based organizations and programs in order to “fight for the values that have made this country great,” that is, equality, freedom, and opportunity. With his statement, Gong called on memories of the nation’s foundation as a country of immigrants in order to point to the acute endangerment of U.S.-American ideals, while also bringing to mind President Trump’s campaign slogan, “Make America great again,” and offering an alternative view on the values the country’s greatness is based on. The speakers that followed similarly expressed worry about the country’s volatile political climate and growing racism. Declaring that CAAMFest’s “work is not done,” politician David Chiu made mention of the racial inequalities in the U.S.-American film industry and lack of visibility of Asian Americans in Hollywood. He further pointed to the dangers of the current government, asserting that “immigrants are being rounded up as we speak” and drawing parallels between President Trump’s travel ban and the passing of Executive Order 9066 that led to Japanese American internment. As the final speaker, Masashi Niwano also pointed to the festival’s mission to bridge diversity. Claiming that the festival “shines a light on issues we want to fight,” Niwano created a transition to the opening night film The Tiger Hunter, a “powerful” story of immigration and the American Dream. As this event shows, the sociopolitical context of a film festival may have a significant impact on its visitors. Here, the different speeches worked together to put out a warning with regard to the political climate and openly criticize the current U.S. government, calling upon the cultural memory of the nation’s core ideals that are shaped by the history of its origins. As a consequence, they charged the opening night film with notions of political struggle and resilience by immigrants, encouraging the audience to view The Tiger Hunter as a historical document with a particular relevance in the present.

49 Second-generation memories have been explored in much detail in memory studies, from Marianne Hirsch’s groundbreaking concept of postmemory (1997) to Corinna Assmann’s more recent examination of British migration literature (2018). See also Hirsch (2012); Fischer (2015); Maguire (2017); and Malek (2019).

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3.6 Asian American Film Festivals as Mediators of the Past Film festivals point to both the present and the past. In their role as recurring events, they push toward continuous reinvention, responding to current issues, interests, and trends. In their role as celebrations of film, they highlight past achievements, commemorate central moments of film history, and position the current state of film against the medium’s past. Reflecting the history of cinema and regularly staging representations of the past, festivals are actively involved in producing cultural memory. Moreover, they inform our reception of films, constructing narratives that encourage certain readings of films and consciously choosing specific positions from which to look onto the object. As identity-based film festivals and part of Asian American community organizations, CAAMFest and SDAFF have a particular interest in mediating memory production, making it their goal to exhibit seldom-seen versions of U.S.-America’s past, celebrate Asian American heritage, and strengthen their communities. Part of an intricate network of actors, media, and texts, the two festivals focus on the representation of Asian American minorities by Asian American minorities, connecting their work with the diasporic community’s history and heritage. These missions frame the festivals’ programming and come to the surface through media texts and live performances. Through them, festivals construct and reflect their identities, activities, and pasts. Moreover, they influence audience reception of films and reveal the discourses that operate within the festival (Harbord 2002, 60). Bringing attention to the contexts in which Asian American films are screened at CAAMFest and SDAFF, the following chapters take into consideration the festival media in which the films are discussed and framed, festival locations in which the films are exhibited, and festival performances in which the films are embedded, thereby focusing on the following questions: What narratives and frames does the festival produce in order to influence our readings and experiences of films? How do locations enter into the festival performance and affect memory production? Which actors participate in the festival performance and how do they create community? Guided by the concepts of frames, locations, and performances, the following chapters thus explore the unique dynamics of the festival sphere for memory production.

4 Framing Memory: Festival Narratives 4.1 Frames, Festivals, and Memory In creating frames for their films, film festivals influence audience reception and memory production. Tied to the festival identity, mission, and programming, frames often take the shape of narratives and media texts. Bringing to mind structures and borders, frames may support, give shape, surround, and contain. With regard to frames as well as framing, Judith Butler points to the multilayeredness and complexity of the terms, establishing that a picture may be framed, but that the term can also refer to the state of being framed or set up. What both meanings have in common is that they refer to a frame that is constructed around the object or deed, determining its organization and presentation. Thus, it “implicitly guides the interpretation” of that which is being framed, producing and encouraging certain readings of the scene (2009, 8). Frames guide us in our perception, leading us to behold of a situation, narrative, subject, or object in a certain way. They may further influence processes of remembering. Within memory studies, frames are constantly brought to attention, highlighting the specific contexts in which memories emerge as well as pointing to new perspectives on processes of remembering and forgetting. Central to these discussions is the idea that memory is embedded in social groups, that is, that memory emerges through – and therefore cannot be separated from – social contexts, and that context also embodies a frame. The forerunner of such thought is Maurice Halbwachs’ concept of cadres sociaux de la mémoire (1994 [1925]). As Astrid Erll asserts, Halbwachs’ social frameworks of memory reveal that “even the most personal memory [is …] a mémoire collective, a collective phenomenon,” shaped by our social environment and the “thought patterns, cognitive schemata, that guide our perception and memory in particular directions” (2011a, 14–15). Iwona Irwin-Zarecka similarly turns to the concept of framing in examining the dynamics and construction of collective memory: [Q]uestions about framing direct our attention to the powers inherent in public articulation of collective memory to influence the private makings of sense. Questions about framing are essentially about limits to the scope of possible interpretations. Their aim is not to freeze one particular ‘reading’ as the correct one, rather, it is to establish the likely range of meanings. (2009 [1994], 4)

https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-004

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According to Irwin-Zarecka, frames can be either explicit or implicit, from the introduction of a story as a joke to the newspaper’s reliance on the reader’s ability to recognize an editorial as an expression of opinion.1 What is more, they may fulfill various purposes: declaring the truthfulness and accuracy of history books or the entertainment value of docudramas, they may, for instance, define the “status of a particular ‘text’”; in doing so, they may further put forth a claim to listen, reflect, or remember (2009 [1994], 5). It is important to note that the process of framing is neither “static” nor solely defined by the interaction between text and reader. Instead, it is characterized by the involvement of intermediaries who open up “multiple possibilities of reinterpretation.” As a result, collective memory is susceptible to an “overlaying of different frames” and marked by “shifts in meaning” (7). Paul Bijl points to additional implications of the concept of the frame with regard to memory production, asserting that meanings – and thus, memories – are the result of a specific context, that is, that memories are framed by the contexts in which they are produced. Drawing on the work of Jacques Derrida and Mieke Bal, Bijl emphasizes that the frame and the framed (that which is being framed) are not separate entities; instead, they “produce each other” (2015, 30).2 Jeffrey Olick adds to this thought in stating that “the meaning of any particular image of the past or mnemonic practice is not available outside of its contemporary moment” (2016, 61). Pointing to the ephemerality of memory production and the loss of meaning outside of the moment of its creation, Olick states that the “very act of remembering is thus as unique as the situation in which it is taking place, and the images or objects produced by it not only are impossible to interpret outside of this present context, but are part of the context’s definition” (2016, 61). Within film theory, the concept of the frame has a similarly long history. Here, the first point to be made is that the medium itself is essentially tied to the frame. From the fundamental technology of the camera to the artist’s intervention in and manipulation of the shot, film production revolves around acts of framing – in terms of what the camera is able to record (both spatially and temporally) and what the filmmaker chooses to include in the frame. With regard to the latter,

1 Here, Irwin-Zarecka draws on Erving Goffman’s frame analysis (1986 [1974]). 2 According to Paul Bijl, Jacques Derrida considers the frame as a “parergon (literally in Greek: ‘by the side of the work’), which is ‘neither work (ergon) nor outside the work [hors d’oeuvre], neither inside nor outside, neither above nor below, [and] disconcerts any opposition but does not remain indeterminate and […] gives rise to the work’” (qtd. in Bijl 2015, 29–30). Mieke Bal similarly points out that “framing ‘produces an event’” (qtd. in Bijl 2015, 30).

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the filmmaker is guided by various values and norms, influencing the manner in which the subject or object is framed in front of the camera. Film exhibition is equally about framing, as the context in which the film is shown provides an institutional and discursive frame. In Film Theory: An Introduction Through the Senses, Thomas Elsaesser and Malte Hagener discuss the concept of the frame together with that of the window, asserting that the two were long considered opposite poles from which to view the medium of film.3 One of the central differences between the two metaphors is that a frame is looked at, rather than through. Drawing attention to its own presence, the frame creates an awareness in the spectator that it is constructing a scene and influencing our perception of that which it frames, thus “effectively implying composition and artificiality” (2015, 15–16). The two metaphors, however, also share similarities: bearing resemblance to a window, the cinematic frame offers a “special, ocular access to an event.” As the spectator engages in the act of looking, the screen “transforms […] into an (imaginary) three-dimensional space which seems to open up beyond the screen.” During this experience, the spectator remains at a safe distance and is “sheltered” from the events depicted on screen (15). Like the film, the film festival is equally tied to processes of framing. Situated within a complex network of institutions, actors, and discourses, the festival produces various frames through which to see and read films. Like the filmmaker who – in Sergej Eisenstein’s words – “‘cut[s] out a piece of reality’” by selecting a frame and choosing a “detail from a totality” (qtd. in Elsaesser and Hagener 2015, 24; 23), the festival actively chooses to draw attention to certain (narrative, aesthetic, generic) elements of the films it programs. In its acts of framing, the festival may draw out latent meanings that are not the focus or even an overt part of the film narrative. What is more, it may make new connections and bring forth meanings that can only emerge in retrospect, providing a new context through which the film is framed. The festival’s highlighting and framing of such elements constitute acts of interpretation and meaning construction.

3 As Elsaesser and Hagener state, the frame connects to formalist or constructivist film theories, while the window holds influence in realist film theories. The differences between these theories were long believed to be “fundamental” (2015, 16). While theorists such as Béla Balázs and Rudolf Arnheim focused on the “alteration and manipulation of filmic perception, distinct from everyday perception by means such as montage, framing, or the absence of colour and language,” André Bazin and Siegfried Kracauer viewed the “essence of cinema in terms of its ability to record and reproduce reality and its phenomena, including aspects which are invisible to the naked human eye” (16).

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As Elsaesser and Hagener argue, the concept of the frame emphasizes such construction – the creation rather than discovery of a world and reality (2015, 17–18). Next to the highly ritualistic live performances of film festival screenings and events, festival media such as catalogs, trailers, websites, and blogs establish and circulate the narratives that envelop the films and guide audiences, thus acting as frames. Building on previous work on festival rhetorics by Julian Stringer and Bill Nichols,4 which point to the general power and the festival’s strategic use of language to create community during and shape perceptions of the event, this chapter explores the narratives surrounding the films screened at CAAMFest and SDAFF, providing detailed analyses of mission statements and festival catalogs and giving first insights into the live performances of films during the screening. Considering language and rhetoric, cover design and logos, program organization and structure, the chapter analyzes the various festival frames for films as well as the different scales of framing. In discussing the framing of the festival, the framing of a section and/or program, and the framing of the individual film, the chapter slowly zooms in on the object that is the center of festival framing. It is important to note that these frames are flexible, porous, and interchangeable; they are offerings, providing different angles from which audiences may relate to a film rather than enforcing fixed readings. Through their media and performances, festivals create various frames, which mostly work together to create a master narrative, but at times also interfere with or even contradict each other.

4.2 Framing the Festival: Mission Statements Analyses of film festival mission statements and self-descriptions reveal a variety of generic traits with regard to their language and use of rhetorical tropes.5 Generally emphasizing their ‘leading’ qualities by highlighting numbers and hard facts or underlining that which makes them stand out, festivals establish their uniqueness and dominance in an overflowing festival landscape. Festival locations and the festival’s role in an urban cultural scene or the international film industry may also become key elements of such texts, as is the case of the Berlin International Film Festival (Berlinale). On its website, the Berlinale refers to Berlin as an “exciting, cosmopolitan cultural hub” with a “diverse cultural

4 See Stringer (2003a, 2003b, 2008) and Nichols (1994, 2013 [1994]). 5 Most festivals are tied to nonprofit organizations; in these cases, festival rhetoric is the direct result of the organization’s nonprofit status, driving the festival to link its statements and actions to its proclaimed mission. See also chapter 6.2.

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scene, a critical public and an audience of film-lovers” (“Berlinale Festival”). The festival itself is described as a “great cultural event and one of the most important dates for the international film industry,” diverse in its programming and studded with stars and world premieres. Finally, the numbers say it all: “More than 334,000 sold tickets, more than 21,000 professional visitors from 127 countries, including more than 3,700 journalists: art, glamour, parties and business are all inseparably linked at the Berlinale” (“Berlinale Festival”). While niche festivals such as CAAMFest and SDAFF cannot compete with the internationality, prestige, size, or diversity of Berlinale, they make use of similar strategies to make themselves known within their respective fields and scenes. Numbers are central to every statement and welcome letter – from the number of films, premieres, and represented countries, to the length of the festival and sizes of audiences and film crews present at the festival. Superlatives are used whenever possible to describe the “broadest” audience or “largest” showcase (cf. Destination 2015, 2–3). Since not every Asian American film festival can fulfill the role of being the largest of its kind, festivals such as CAAMFest and SDAFF have focused on emphasizing the niche in which they are pioneers or leaders. Defining itself as a “nonprofit organization dedicated to presenting stories that convey the richness and diversity of Asian American experiences to the broadest audience possible,” CAAM highlights its interest in exposing audiences to “new voices and communities” and increasing engagement with both Asian American communities and the general public. Considering itself the seminal showcase for Asian American film and culture, the organization “celebrates the vitality and creativity of Asian American cultures” and serves as a “launching point” for emerging filmmakers from both Asian America and Asia (“About CAAM” 2018). Like CAAM, Pac Arts identifies itself as “one of the largest media arts organizations in North America that focuses on Asian American and Asian international cinema” (“About Pacific Arts” 2019). It further declares its festival the largest program of Asian cinema on the West Coast (Mini-Guide 2016, 2). Placing emphasis on its rootedness in both San Diego and Pacific Rim cultures, the organization boldly establishes itself as a “movement for positive social change by transforming hearts and minds […] and making visible new stories and traditions.” In its showcasing of Asian American and Asian media art, Pac Arts aims to promote community engagement, tolerance, and compassion (“About Pacific Arts” 2019). Thus, like CAAMFest, SDAFF claims social purpose by bringing to light the “diversity and breadth of Asian Pacific Islander and Asian international images” (“San Diego Asian Film Festival” 2019). In his discussion of the Shots in the Dark Film Festival in Nottingham, Julian Stringer asserts that festival catalogs “constitute a kind of ongoing and annually

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updated mission statement on how and why the festival was established, what its remit was, how it grew and developed across time, and how it imagined and spoke to its public,” continuously presenting it as an “internationally prestigious” event (2008, 54). This is certainly true for both CAAMFest and SDAFF, whose printed materials usually not only dedicate an entire page to their respective organizations and missions, but also connect to their missions in welcome letters, essays, and event, section, and film descriptions, actively citing core foci and repeating their rhetorical tropes.6 In their publications, the festivals thus continuously conjure up their origins and reflect their pasts, while at the same time reaffirming their status as identity-based festivals and as being part of this festival genre’s history and development. Festival Genre: Identity-Based Film Festivals In their annotated bibliography for the Film Festival Research Network, Skadi Loist and Marijke de Valck offer a loose categorization for specialized film festivals, based on a classification of film according to length, format, style, theme, or context (2017a). Influenced by festival case studies available in a burgeoning field, Loist and De Valck differentiate between identity-based film festivals, genrebased film festivals, national and regional showcases, and film festivals dedicated to new media platforms (2017a). Based on these categories, Asian American film festivals (AAFFs) can be classified as genre-based festivals, identity-based festivals, or national and regional showcases, depending on whether the festival is identified as a showcase for 1) the genre of Asian American film, 2) social concern and/or activist films, 3) the representation of Asian American communities, or 4) Asian cinemas and Asian diasporic films. AAFFs embody characteristics of all categories, displaying an interest in activism and social justice,7 making

6 The terms “catalog,” “program guide,” and “program booklet” are often used synonymously. However, some festivals produce several print media, offering a comprehensive catalog to accredited guests and a compact program guide or “mini-guide” as overview to the general public. Some festivals also sell their catalogs, while mini-guides are complimentary. As CAAMFest and SDAFF have at times produced both catalogs and mini-guides, this study will differentiate between these two terms. 7 While sharing interests and agendas, there are central differences between Asian American and activist film festivals: for instance, the Human Rights Watch Film Festival aims to “bear witness,” “empower audiences,” and secure “personal commitment,” demanding that justice should be accessible to all people. Contrary to CAAMFest and SDAFF, it places its political nature at the center, describing itself as dedicated exclusively to the protection of human rights: “We work tenaciously to lay the legal and moral groundwork for deep rooted change and fight

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visible aesthetic, stylistic, and thematic trends in Asian American cinema, and defining Asian national cinemas. However, they share the most similarities with identity-based festivals, whose primary concern is community outreach and self-representation. Going beyond Loist and De Valck’s connection to social movements in general (2019), Roya Rastegar points to the spaces that identity-based film festivals offer “disenfranchised” culture groups for mobilization and strategizing, asserting that they are formative for minority identities (2012, 312). Similarly, Cindy Hing-Yuk Wong notes that identity-based festivals produce alternative or “counterpublic” spheres: receiving less publicity and attention than international festivals, their goal is to represent the “diversity of voices created by the festival world that push the boundaries of cinema” (2011, 160).8 According to Loist, identity-based festivals most often start out on a voluntary basis, only in later years recognized and funded by state institutions and private sponsors. Missing the support offered to international festivals, identity-based festivals often establish “different organizational structures” (2011, 268).9 All of these characteristics point to an ongoing interaction with the community, with festivals reaching out to equally receive and give support, expressing their intent to take control of their community’s media representation through programming, but also through their involvement in funding, producing, and distributing educational content. As identity-based film festivals, CAAMFest and SDAFF’s agendas are similar to those of queer film festivals, such as Frameline’s San Francisco International LGBTQ Film Festival and Outfest Los Angeles. Moreover, they employ a similar rhetoric: in their current mission statements, Outfest and Frameline highlight their fight for LGBTQ equality through their creation and screening of LGBTQ stories (“About Outfest” 2017; Frameline 2016). Following its bold claim to “change the world through the power of queer cinema,” Frameline further describes the importance of giving testimony and acknowledging previously silenced queer histories, in order to build a “bright” future for younger generations of the LGBTQ community (Frameline 2016, 5). Moreover, both festivals continuously emphasize

to bring greater justice and security to people around the world”(“About” Human Rights 2018). 8 It is important to note that while issue-oriented film festivals may create “counterpublic” spheres and constitute “sites of leftist or liberal practices,” they nevertheless “clearly construct their own myths [that is, hegemonic ideas] of film knowledge, modernity, and diversity” (C. Wong 2011, 161). Within this sub-circuit, the leading festivals can thus be viewed as “analogous to the idealized liberal bourgeoisie public sphere that limits voices of women and the lower classes or less powerful regions” (161). 9 For a discussion of queer film festivals’ funding practices and administrative structures, see Rhyne (2006, 2007).

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their origins, placing them within the context of activist movements – Outfest, for instance, was founded as part of a student movement at UCLA in 1982, while  Frameline’s festival emerged from the gay liberation movement in San Francisco and was established in 1977. Another important theme for identity-based film festivals is that of community outreach. Outfest refers to its efforts to “build” community (Outfest 2016, 32), while Frameline’s festival identifies itself as a “community event” (“About” Frameline 2017). Both festivals highlight that they connect different communities, both on a local and global scale. Outfest also points to its vital function within the LGBTQ community, taking on the role of educator and mentor for emerging filmmakers (“About Outfest” 2017), while simultaneously reaching out to non-LGBTQ audiences, urging these visitors to “explore and to discover stories that might not, at first, seem to be about your own experience” (Outfest 2016, 3). All of these aspects are visible in the two case studies’ mission statements. Strongly focused on community building, CAAM highlights its mission to “engage” its communities as well as to “expose” and represent (“About CAAM” 2018), while Pac Arts aims to “make visible” and achieve “positive social change” (“About Pacific Arts” 2019). Moreover, both organizations extensively mention the diversity of Asian and Asian American cultures and voices, priding themselves in their roots and heritage. As one of the earliest AAFFs, CAAMFest additionally notes the temporal span of its work, referencing its point of origin in 1982 and coverage of Asian American cinema for 35 years. By drawing from a collection of keywords and tropes shared by identity-based film festivals and activist movements, the festivals thus frame their identity, activating collective memories of social movements as well as emphasizing their goal to unearth minority histories and make visible their heritage.

The Festival Reflects its Past Faced with the need for renewed annual funding, film festivals undergo constant internal reflection on the state and identity of the event and its programming. Sections are changed or renamed, new formats added, old programs revived, and the mission statement modified. Special anniversaries provide additional occasions for open reflection on the festival’s identity, vocation, and goals, as it looks back at its origins, past highlights, and struggles and shares them with an audience. Here, the festival engages in conscious acts of storytelling, encouraging readers of the festival catalog to “grab some coffee or tea, [and] sit in your favorite comfy chair” (CAAMFest 2014, 3). Indeed, SDAFF’s reference to “one fateful winter night,” during which the idea for the film festival was born, is

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reminiscent of a fairytale beginning (5th San Diego 2004, 7). Taking on a casual, intimate tone, CAAMFest and SDAFF routinely address their readers directly, including them in their narrative of past, present, and future. As part of the younger generation of AAFFs, SDAFF’s beginnings and anniversaries are well-documented. In her first welcome letter, festival founder Lee Ann Kim places herself in the role of advocate for the Asian American community, explicitly claiming her organization’s intent to promote cultural enrichment and “ensure the fair and accurate coverage of ethnic communities” (San Diego 2000).10 Referring to the power of media and, more specifically, film, she emphasizes the importance of Asian American media makers in giving their communities agency, reflecting their past and “creating a new, unlimited future.” Asserting the need for an Asian American platform in the local community, she describes the San Diego Asian Film Festival as a space for not only the pan-Asian community, but for “all communities to come celebrate” (San Diego 2000). Seeing the festival from a more global perspective, co-founder Mark Arbitrario portrays it as a vehicle for cultural, political, and historical “truths,” writing the festival into the history of Asian American media production and the U.S. civil rights movement. He goes on to emphasize the necessity to “dispel negative images” and stereotypes, finally “taking control” of Asian American representation in the media (San Diego 2000). Both the 5th and 10th anniversaries continued this narrative and received special attention in their respective catalogs of 2004 and 2009, with several pages dedicated to commemoration. In her statement “Live @ 5, A Look Back,” Lee Ann Kim reminisces about the beginnings of SDAFF, identifying the need for “dialogue about Asian American issues” (5th San Diego 2004, 7). Drawn to the inclusivity and entertainment value a film festival offered, Kim steered away from the exclusivity of an academic context and identified film as a medium that could “transcend cultural and social barriers.”11 In collaboration with UCSD

10 As texts in festival catalogs and mini-guides are often listed without an individual author or page number and sometimes do not even carry a title, they are not listed as individual bibliographical references. Texts such as welcome letters, section descriptions, and film synopses are instead cited with reference to the catalog edition and, if available, page number. If individual authors are credited, they are named in the text. 11 Although Kim describes her conscious decision against an academic format, the festival has had close ties to academia from its beginnings. Indeed, the first festival took place on a university campus and came into being with the help of students and scholars (5th San Diego 2004, 7). To this day, selected programs are hosted at USD and UCSD, large parts of the festival staff have an academic background, and university institutes and programs continue to function as copresenters and sponsors.

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graduate students Mark Arbitrario and James Cho and the help of USD professor Leeva Chung, Kim was able to found the San Diego Asian Film Festival, thereby entering the Asian American festival scene. Drawing on the nostalgic memories of building a projection booth “from scratch,” she recounts its modest beginnings. Despite these modest claims, the festival quickly secured the attendance of filmmakers such as Justin Lin, whose oeuvre would, in later years, “make history” and come to define Asian American cinema. In this way, a “legacy” was established, followed by the founding of San Diego Asian Film Foundation (now Pac Arts) and the launch of community outreach programs (5th San Diego 2004, 7). Kim’s statement is accompanied by a collage of festival impressions, depicting stars, award winners, and panelists, crowded movie theaters, and clapping attendees. The photos emphasize a balance between lighthearted celebration and serious discussion, bringing forth memories that establish the festival’s past five years as a conglomeration of thought-provoking debates, elegant awards galas, and lively screenings, while also confirming the festival’s embeddedness in the Asian American scene through the sheer number of Asian faces presented on the page. Individual portraits are complemented by group shots, portraying the festival as both a personal and collective communal experience (6). Five years later, “10 Years of Film and Serving San Diego” features another photo collage, remembering film festival highlights such as speeches and panels and documenting festival staff, guests, and award winners (10th San Diego 2009, 26; fig. 1). A timeline sketches out the festival’s evolution, from its “birth” at the University of San Diego in 2000; to its function as a “catalyst for healing” during a time of upheaval and rising xenophobia in 2001; to its expansion from four to eight days in 2005, breaking previous attendance records; to its launch of the “Reel in the Vote” campaign, encouraging voter registration in 2008 (10th San Diego 2009, 27–28; fig. 2). The ten years are thereby presented as a continuum, the festival moving through different stages of development, documented by the collage. Moreover, the festival’s political and social relevance on both a local and national level are noted. CAAMFest chooses a strikingly similar tone in portraying its own history, describing its development from a “small traveling road show” to the “premiere event” for Asian American media (SFIAAFF 30 2012, 5). Founded by a dedicated group of activists, CAAM (formerly NAATA) has become an established, internationally renowned organization. In contrast to SDAFF, however, the beginnings of CAAMFest were not narrativized in such detail, the event taking place toward the end of Asian American activism in the 1970s, when there was not yet an official history of this movement. Thus, the festival was introduced through a small pamphlet, merely listing the festival’s program and providing short synopses for the films (Momo 2015).

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Fig. 1: Photo collage in the festival catalog for SDAFF’s 10-year anniversary

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Fig. 2: Timeline in the festival catalog for SDAFF’s 10-year anniversary

For NAATA’s 25th anniversary, the film festival catalog included an essay written by Renee Tajima-Peña, in which the filmmaker and activist describes the beginnings of Asian American cinema and the foundation of NAATA as a result of the charged atmosphere of the late 1960s and 1970s. According to the author, Asian American filmmaking emerged as a “political act,” led by “core principles of social justice and self-determination” (23 San Francisco 2005, 16). Guided by memories of a historical movement toward empowerment, Tajima-Peña asserts that the “essential character” of Asian American filmmaking has scarcely changed, concluding that although filmmakers may not make overt, political statements or consciously document the Asian American experience, they nevertheless implicitly contribute to the field (16). Complementing the essay are congratulations and well-wishes from NAATA’s “friends”: for instance, filmmaker and former board member Lise Yasui thanks the organization for allowing Asian American children to “see their history and faces reflected back from the screen” and showing them that “their ancestors have been a vital part of the American fabric, but also that they themselves have essential roles to play in defining its future” (17). Comments further refer to the organization’s vital work for the Asian American community, empowering future generations and offering different perspectives on what it means to be ‘American’ (17).

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Further commemoration took place in a special program titled “NAATA: 25 Years and 1000 Films Strong,” in which guest programmers curated films from the festival’s past with an aim to “embody the spirit, history and diversity of its work” (23 San Francisco 2005, 28). Here, Tajima-Peña presents three Asian American documentaries that were revolutionary at the time of their emergence, as, for example, Robert Nakamura’s Manzanar (1971) – the first film to document Japanese American internment. In her commentary, Tajima-Peña recollects her first encounters with these films, describing the empowerment that she as an “angry teenager” felt during her first screening of Manzanar at a community center: “I never imagined we could make our own films about our own history” (28). Co-programmers Justin Lin, Gurinder Chadha, and Paul Mayeda Berges equally focus on experiences of migration, assimilation, and cultural difference, selecting documentaries about Cambodian refugees who fled the Khmer Rouge and Korean adoption following the Korean War (29). Strikingly, this festival history-centered retrospective consists only of documentaries, emphasizing the authenticity of narratives presented by the festival as well as its embeddedness in Asian American history. Finally, the anniversary program was rounded off by the panel “In Living Color: The State of Minority Voices Above and Below the Line,” examining the U.S.-American media landscape in terms of “diversity” and “access” (33). The panel can be seen as part of an ongoing series of industrycentered events, reflecting the past, present, and future of Asian American cinema. With its rebranding from NAATA to CAAM, the film festival once again used the opportunity to look back and create links between the present and past. In his 2006 welcome letter, festival director Chi-hui Yang argues that SFIAAFF “made history” in 1997 by presenting a “then-record” of four Asian American narrative features – at the time, an almost exclusively documentary cinema (24th San Francisco 2006, 21). According to C. Yang, the “GenerAsian X” films Sunsets (1997), Yellow (1997), Shopping for Fangs (1997), and Strawberry Fields (1997) contributed to the emergence of a “new wave” of U.S.-American independent cinema. Reflecting the evolution of Asian American cinema in connection to the festival’s history, C. Yang brings the festival’s influential role in shaping the genre to the fore.12 Bridging over to the present, C. Yang comments on the current state of Asian American cinema, asserting that with the “explosion” of Asian American

12 In highlighting its own influence on the genre of Asian American film, CAAMFest is part of a long-standing tradition in which film festivals frame films according to “notions of auteur and new waves” and strategically make use of such categories in order to “distinguish themselves as institutions of discovery” (De Valck 2007, 175).

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independent film, “history is again being made” (21). Here, C. Yang also gazes into the future, pointing to the festival’s strength in talent-scouting and trendsetting, discovering and recognizing new developments within the genre. For its 35th anniversary in 2017, CAAMFest put on a special program, “revisit[ing] three powerful films from the CAAMFests of yesterday” (CAAMFest 2017, 23). These included The Fall of the I-Hotel (1983), a documentary on the forced evictions of the Filipino community living at the International Hotel, a residential hotel on Kearny Street in San Francisco – an event that, according to CAAM, marked the final destruction of Manilatown. Also included were Who Killed Vincent Chin? (1987), a documentary on the racially motivated killing of Vincent Chin in the early 1980s, and Yellow (1997), a narrative feature and coming-of-age film focusing on a group of Asian American high school kids, now considered a classic of Asian American cinema (23). While the retrospective screening of Yellow perpetuates a canon of Asian American cinema that was first and foremost established by festivals such as CAAMFest, the other two films commemorate events that are unknown to younger generations of the Asian American community. For instance, after the screening of Who Killed Vincent Chin? at the Gray Area Foundation on March 11, 2017, teenagers came onto the stage and expressed their first contact with this particular case of Asian American history, describing shock and rage. What followed was an open reflection about the productivity of bringing past stories into the present. Moreover, CAAMFest curated a special program for Comcast’s “Cinema Asian America,” making selected films from past festival editions available on the cable channel’s VOD program throughout the month of March 2017, around and during the festival (CAAMFest 2017, 23). In putting together this Comcast program, CAAMFest emphasizes its interest in using multiple platforms to reach audiences on different devices and outside of the movie theater. Next to these central anniversaries, CAAMFest reflected its past in 2013 with the film festival’s rebranding from SFIAAFF to CAAMFest. Along with its new name, CAAMFest established itself as a festival covering not only Asian American film, but also music and digital arts. Consequently, it introduced a section titled New Directions, dedicated to other media formats (CAAMFest 2013, 4). Nevertheless, the festival still emphasized its continuing connections to the past, hosting retrospectives to honor artists, activists, and central figures of the Asian American community; acknowledging anniversaries of historical events, such as the armistice of the Korean War; and continuing its archival program “Out of the Vaults.” Finally, CAAMFest made use of this rebranding and the resulting heightened media attention to launch another project dedicated to the Asian American past, namely “Memories to Light” – an initiative to “collect, preserve and share unique family records that together represent our collective

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experiences of growing up Asian in America” (4). Central to all of these selfidentifying texts is a foregrounding of tradition, thereby giving the festivals a history in the earliest of stages and promoting an Asian American community.

4.3 Framing the Program: Structuring Elements While mission statements and festival descriptions give the film festival an overall identity and theme, the catalog and mini-guide provide a frame for the respective festival edition. First of all, these two print media divide the program into sections and create a hierarchy based on the placement of and amount of space dedicated to an individual program or film. Moreover, they make use of layout and design to 1) connect to the organization’s corporate identity and design, playing with logos, colors, and central motifs; 2) visually enforce the program structure and guide the reader through the program; and 3) express mottos and slogans through iconic imagery. Finally, they encompass structuring texts such as welcome letters and essays as well as introduce means of navigating the program. By 2017, CAAMFest has developed a rather convoluted structure, dividing its program into as many as nine sections: Narrative and Documentary Competitions (Asian American productions), CinemAsia (international showcase), Shorts programs, Gala Presentations (opening and closing night films, centerpieces), Special Presentations (“Spotlight” programs, programmatic highlights, “Pacific Showcase,” “Memories to Light,” community screenings), Interactive programs (other media formats), Directions in Sound (music events), and CAAMFeast (food films and events) (cf. CAAMFest 2017). A memory-centered theme can usually be found in the section Special Presentations, as it includes retrospectives, programs commemorating historical events, and foci on specific Asian American communities. Often, there are also Shorts programs dedicated to the themes of memory, history, and identity. While earlier catalog designs included sections separated by headers or colored cover pages, the latter standing out in an otherwise black-and-white catalog, CAAMFest now marks off its sections more subtly (cf. catalogs 2015–2017). To save space, sections are introduced with the first page of film listings, creating a fluid transition between the different categories. Making use of the corporate colors pink, turquoise, and green-yellow, color-coded section titles are integrated into the left corner of the page and overlap with images and text. Although this method may help destabilize hierarchies within the program, hierarchies are reinforced via designated space. For instance, while the catalog dedicates each of its Gala Presentations up to two pages (fig. 3), Competition and CinemAsia films are grouped in sixes and eights onto a double page (fig. 4).

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Fig. 3: Hierarchies within CAAMFest’s program: Gala Presentations

Fig. 4: Hierarchies within CAAMFest’s program: Documentary section

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Fig. 5: Single film stills as introductions to sections and matching sidebars in SDAFF’s 2016 catalog

Fig. 6: Color-coded sidebars and hierarchies within SDAFF’s program: Special Presentations

More importantly, Gala Presentations are accompanied by large-scale film stills, taking up half a page, while other sections are ‘summed up’ by photo collages that depict the group of films as a whole. Short film programs are at the lowest hierarchy level, a single image from one of the program’s films representing each collection, synopses omitted completely.13 While SDAFF’s first catalogs presented the festival’s programs as a coherent whole, offering no divisions into sections, the festival currently divides its program into five sections: Special Presentations (opening night, centerpiece, and closing night films, tribute screenings, retrospectives), Asian American Panorama, Asia Pop! (international showcase), Masters (established

13 It is important to mention that catalog designs and layouts change regularly and are dependent on various factors. With its change to a smaller format, CAAMFest significantly reduced the size and length of its catalog, while also switching to color print (in earlier years, only selected pages were printed in color). Such decisions are, like so many others, connected to festival ‘sustainability,’ cost efficiency, design trends, marketability, and innovation. They further express the increasing importance of digital media, as program details are often accessed via websites, social media, and apps.

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auteurs), and Discoveries (emerging filmmakers and “innovative” works from Asia) (cf. 17th Annual 2016). Sections are separated by color-coded sidebars that allow for a quick search as well as cover pages that feature a single film still representative of the section, such as a promotional picture of Sion Sono’s Anti-Porno (2016) for the Masters section (45). In order to link to the overall design of the catalog, section titles employ the cover font. Moreover, in 2016, each section’s cover page presented a sidebar that matched the colorful, geometrical pattern of the catalog cover’s motif (fig. 5). Like CAAMFest, SDAFF establishes a hierarchy in its program, dedicating an entire page to each of the festival’s Special Presentations, while all of the other films share a page (fig. 6). In contrast to CAAMFest, however, SDAFF’s catalog features an individual, spatially separated still for every film, independent of the section the film belongs to. Until 2015, even short film programs displayed separate stills and synopses for each individual film (fig. 7).

Fig. 7: Color-coded sidebars and hierarchies within SDAFF’s program: Shorts programs

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Layout: The Catalog as Photo Album Through narratives and labels, film festivals find audiences for their films and set the viewer’s expectations. Thus, it makes sense to refer to the film festival directors and programmers as storytellers, as Mark Cousins does in his “Film Festival Manifesto,” asserting that festivals include narrative structures that are “authored” (2012). One of the most interesting media shaping the reception of film is the festival catalog. Much like a photo album, the catalog structures memories and creates a narrative through gaps, selecting highlights and leaving out ruptures and discontinuities. The introductory text frames the narrative, while the individual films’ synopses, log lines, and chosen film stills add to the foundation of the introduction. CAAMFest’s 2014 Documentary Competition, for instance, described its aim to capture the “lives of people […] in their boundless search for home, identity, [and] human connection” (CAAMFest 2014, 31). In 2017, it emphasized the observation of “outsiders working for visibility, success and even survival,” reflecting past and present realities of the Asian diaspora (CAAMFest 2017, 46). Highlighting the search for home and self or the hardships and struggles faced by diasporic subjects, CAAMFest thereby frames the documentaries in the program and connects each synopsis to this interpretation. If a moderator accompanies the screening, additional narrative text is supplied, possibly with the assistance of the filmmakers themselves in Q&As. With regard to their aesthetics, film festival catalogs strongly depend on visual language, making extensive use of and bringing together all sorts of photographic documents, from film stills, to portraits of filmmakers and jury members, to festival impressions, to archival photographs from retrospectives and tribute screenings. For its announcement of the “Out of the Vaults” program and its focus on the production company Grandview Films, CAAMFest presented three archival photographs that included a set photo of producer Joseph Sunn Jue in conversation with a cameraman, a film still of a Grandview production, and a snapshot of the Grandview Theater in Chinatown, thus narrating the different stages of film production and including a private moment behind the scenes (CAAMFest 2014, 20; fig. 8). The program “Japanese American Community & the Legacy of Internment” was introduced through film stills of its three documentaries: including an intimate 1940s photograph of a smiling Japanese American family and a portrait of filmmaker Matthew Hashiguchi’s relative with whom he conducted interviews in Good Luck Soup (2016), these images are not merely representations of the films, but personal, familial memories that are reproduced in the catalog (CAAMFest 2017, 26; fig. 9). Similarly, with reference to the launch of “Memories to Light,” a project dedicated to the collection and digitization of Asian American home movies,

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the 2013 catalog’s welcome letters were headed by three black-and-white photographs of Stephen Gong, Masashi Niwano, and Christine Kwon as children. In these depictions of “growing up Asian in America,” Stephen Gong poses for the camera on horseback, dressed as a cowboy and holding a revolver. The boy smiles mischievously at us, while Masashi Niwano is captured in a suit and bowtie, his expression ambivalent, and Christine Kwon clutches an unhappy cat to her chest (CAAMFest 2013, 4–5; fig. 10). Familiar family memories depicting everyday life are captured here, from dressing up in costume to lugging around the family pet. Given that photographs receive the same amount of space as texts and that they ‘open’ festival sections and programs, CAAMFest and SDAFF catalogs foreground their images, allowing them to take centerstage and, at times, take over the narrative, as in a photo album. Including the images and implicit narratives circulated within the festival in the analysis therefore serves as a vital step in constructing the festival as a space for memory production. The festival selects and curates films, working toward a coherent narrative and frame, and hands out the equivalent of a photo album as a reading manual, which later, when the festival has come to an end, turns into a piece of memorabilia.

Fig. 8: Use of photographs and film stills for CAAMFest’s 2014 “Out of the Vaults” program

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Fig. 9: Use of photographs and film stills for CAAMFest’s Special Presentations

Fig. 10: Use of personal photographs in CAAMFest’s 2013 welcome letters

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Logos and Cover Design In the past 15 years, certain themes have guided the cover designs of CAAMFest and SDAFF’s catalogs, referring either to the organizations’ defining characteristics by making use of imagery representative of film as medium (celluloid strips, pinhole images), Asia (cherry blossoms, manga drawings), and festival locale (the Golden Gate Bridge, San Diego surfer culture), or to abstract concepts such as movement and connectedness across cultures and identities.14 Stylistically, the catalogs have gone through a variety of changes, adapting to different trends in design and maturing along with the festivals and their organizations. Themes expressed via the festivals’ cover designs are at times enforced by slogans or mottos. Thus, SDAFF slogans have ranged from “Infinite Power of Cinema” (2007), to “Catch Them All!” (2008), to “Where Great Film Comes to Life” (2009) – referring to the power of film as a medium, playfully appealing to audiences to watch as many films as possible in their quotation of the Pokémon catch-phrase, or emphasizing the festival’s high quality. CAAMFest’s slogans, on the other hand, have attempted to create temporal or spatial connections, linking the present with past and future (“Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow” in 2017) or bringing different places and destinations into contact (“Destination: CAAMFest” in 2015). Representative of SFIAAFF catalogs from the mid- to late 2000s, the 2008 festival edition features a playful, colorful design that brings attention to the festival locale of San Francisco (fig. 11).15 The cover displays naive drawings of San Francisco citizens, positioned on a grid plan of San Francisco’s downtown area and therefore ‘rooted’ in the city. Situated next to them on the outskirts of Chinatown is the city’s iconic Transamerica Pyramid. As with other catalog editions, elements from the cover appear throughout the catalog: popping up from the pages, the figures ‘speak’ to us through speech bubbles and function as

14 Compare, for instance, SDAFF catalog covers from 2004, 2012, and 2015, featuring a bare-chested Asian man who is holding a piece of over-sized celluloid as if it were a surfboard (5th San Diego 2004); a raster of circular images, imitating a pinhole aesthetic and capturing a scene on a film set (Thirteenth Annual 2012); and a colorful, furry manga character (16th Annual 2015). Compare also SFIAAFF’s cover of 2009, featuring faded photographs of dried cherry blossom branches and thereby playing with imagery that is associated with Asian cultures and the aesthetics of experimental film techniques (27th San Francisco 2009). 15 CAAMFest and SDAFF’s integration of local imagery in their covers plays into what Stringer has identified as a central marketing strategy for festivals. Bringing the “spectacle of city landmarks and milestones” to the fore, festivals are able to promote their particularity and uniqueness (2003a, 122).

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mouthpieces for SFIAAFF supporters and fans, voicing words of encouragement (26th San Francisco 2008).

Fig. 11: SFIAAFF’s 2008 catalog cover

Likewise, the festival catalogs of 2013 and 2014 refer to the festival locale through their depiction of Bay Area bridges, while also illustrating themes of connection, diversity, and transculturality (fig. 12). However, their designs and styles are strikingly different. As part of a new corporate design, CAAMFest catalogs in the 2010s are sleeker and more elegant, integrating photographs rather than drawings and limiting their color schemes to blues, greens, and complementary pinks. In 2013, CAAM’s new logo took centerstage in the cover design, accompanying the festival’s rebranding as CAAMFest. Consisting of various overlapping circles and rings in different sizes and shades of blue-green, CAAM’s logo is placed in the center of the cover and serves as a window to the Golden Gate Bridge, a structure representative of San Francisco and the Bay Area. The

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Fig. 12: CAAMFest’s 2013 and 2014 catalog covers

logo’s circles frame and highlight certain features of the image. Thus, the smaller left circle creates the illusion of a zoom, while the color changes from circle to circle highlight one of two tower bridges. The logo’s center, however, is left blank, exposing the white background of the cover and cutting out a sizable piece of the bridge (CAAMFest 2013). With regard to this particular cover design, two central themes come to mind: First, the image of the bridge emphasizes connection. Spanning the Golden Gate strait, the bridge allows for a crossing between San Francisco and Marin County. Moreover, as it links the San Francisco Bay with the Pacific Ocean, the bridge serves as an entry point into California and the United States and marks one of the central points of immigration from Asia. Second, the logo plays with the concept of center and periphery. As the outer circles mark off a white circle in the logo’s center, the attention shifts away from the center and toward the periphery. However, before we can focus on the contents of the outer circle, we are forced to look at and acknowledge the empty space at the center. The overlapping circles mimic the overlapping or mixing of cultures in Asian America as well as the interaction of Asian and U.S.-American cultures. What is more, the imagery is reminiscent of a planetary constellation, in which several worlds or planets exist next to each other, moving around each other and creating a new whole.

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CAAMFest’s 2014 cover also depicts a bridge in order to link to the Bay Area. The black-and-white photograph features a lonely female figure, sitting on a modern metal bench and looking out at the San Francisco-Oakland Bay Bridge. Photographed from behind, we can only make out the contours of the woman’s figure, who is holding up a dark umbrella on this rainy, foggy day. The city’s skyscrapers are blurry shapes in the background. Above, the photograph fades out to make room for the festival title and two big splashes of watercolor, reminiscent of East Asian brush painting and calligraphy. Picking up the green and blue colors of CAAM’s corporate design, the watercolor splashes surround CAAM’s logo, creating the impression that the color is emanating from the logo (CAAMFest 2014). Thus, the festival emphasizes that it brings color and diversity to foggy San Francisco, while at the same time creating visual links to Asia through its reference of East Asian art traditions. Similarly, SDAFF’s 2016 catalog plays with color in order to illustrate diversity (fig. 13). The cover features a drawing of a Muslim woman, clad in a colorful hijab and hippie sunglasses. Lightning bolts reflect in her shades. Her pose is that of a fashion model or red carpet star, coyly turning and tilting her head toward us, oversized hoops dangling from her ears. The remainder of the cover is broken down into triangles in various gray-scales, resembling a mosaic of broken glass,

Fig. 13: SDAFF’s 2016 catalog cover

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its harsh geometrical pattern standing in stark contrast to the soft contours of the girl’s face. The hijab also consists of such triangles, with the exception that these are brightly-colored fragments (17th Annual 2016). While the hijab in itself references Islamic traditions of modesty and may be perceived as a symbol of female oppression, its multicolored pattern makes it a bold fashion statement and symbolizes an attempt at escape from such rules. According to SDAFF, the edition’s “title hero” is inspired by Sonita Alizadeh, protagonist of the documentary Sonita (2015), screened in the Asia Pop! section (Mini-Guide 2016, 2). The film centers on a feisty teenager whose family has fled from Afghanistan to Iran. While her mother expects to follow Afghan tradition and sell her daughter into marriage, Sonita imagines her future differently, dreaming of becoming a rapper and fighting for women’s rights in her defiance of Iranian law (17th Annual 2016, 40). With its decision to make Sonita the festival’s central motif, the festival emphasizes the diversity, multifacetedness, and complexity of Asian and Asian American cultures, of which Muslim cultures are a part, as well as the need to speak up and be open-minded. Referring to the festival’s placement during the 2016 election in his welcome letter, Brian Hu asserts that the festival will not “provide jaded Americans with an escape from politics” and thus strengthens the message of the catalog cover: This year, the San Diego Asian Film Festival is more committed to its convictions than ever, namely that art expands our perspectives on society and civic action, that storytelling brings us in touch with our neighbors, that film arouses our senses and our sensitivities, and that festivals like ours highlight the fact that America is profoundly diverse and part of a larger, dynamic, and interconnected world. We don’t shy away from controversies: we re-center them to include the voices of Asians and Asian Americans […] Films like Daze of Justice remind us that if [we] don’t speak up, we are choosing to forget and accept the misfortune we’ve been dealt. (4)

In turn, SDAFF’s 2011 catalog depicts the world in silhouette, curious little items clinging to its surface, the festival title at its center (fig. 14). The miniature objects are icons that relate to a wide range of categories such as culture, food, technology, and architecture and cover both abstract concepts and concrete objects (Twelfth Annual 2011). Not only are they evocative of an eclectic collection of memorabilia from travels around the world, but they also emphasize interconnectedness in a world that has shrunk to fit the cover – a world that the festival portrays (albeit selectively) through its films and makes available to its audiences. As one of the catalogs that emphasizes movement, CAAMFest’s 2015 catalog centers on the motto “Destination: CAAMFest,” picturing stamps, arrows, and luggage tags, the latter listing “countries visited” by the festival, from Bengal,

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to Singapore, to Vietnam, as well as the festival’s key facts, covering time frame, festival venues, and its website’s URL (fig. 15). Here, the motifs of movement and direction come to the fore, as the festival leads its audiences around the world, letting them travel and guiding them to concrete locations. In its display of the slogan “See You at CAAMFest,” the festival places the tag featuring “You” in the center, so as to emphasize the address of the audience (Destination 2015).

Fig. 14: SDAFF’s 2011 catalog cover

Fig. 15: CAAMFest’s 2015 catalog cover

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Offering a different perspective on the same motif, SDAFF’s 2013 cover positions its title amidst fluffy, white clouds, hovering above the silhouette of San Diego’s skyline (fig. 16). The title is written in a 1950s-style handwriting font, following a recent revival of these fonts in logo and cover design (e.g., Instagram, Vimeo), its retro aesthetic intensified by the speckled, washed-out background. A hot-air balloon sails below the clouds, one of its passengers excitedly pointing up at the title. The balloon consists of the Pac Arts logo – a dynamic infinity loop, whose right end branches out and multiplies into several loops. In its reference of icons for waves and strong winds, the loop imitates the movement mentioned in Pac Arts’ slogan “Moving Images, Moving Minds” (14th San Diego 2013).

Fig. 16: SDAFF’s 2013 catalog cover

Focusing on the power of film to cross borders, explore fantastic worlds, and portray the unimaginable, SDAFF’s 2014 cover features the slogan “See No Limits” and presents a group of Asian children pretending to be airplanes, zooming around with their arms outstretched (fig. 17). An Asian woman is in their midst and succumbs to their play, guided by the children’s imagination and uninhibitedness. The black-and-white photo is set against a bright-blue background, showing that the sky is the limit. While the slogan refers to what film allows us to see, the playful picture encourages us to dream and reach for the stars. Complementing the themes of limitlessness and openness, the number of the festival edition is set in a geometrical typeface, whose white, airy numerals are reduced to their basic contours and are reminiscent of skywriting (15 San Diego 2014).

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Fig. 17: SDAFF’s 2014 catalog cover

Several of CAAMFest’s catalogs further illustrate the theme of discovery and unearthing the past (fig. 18). SFIAAFF’s 2011 mini-guide, for example, depicts an Asian woman holding a bright white cube that radiates light, while another woman in the background is carrying a book titled “Stories to Light” and a blurry figure to the left is moving out of the frame (Mini-Guide 2011). The background consists of metal shelves, filled with plastic bowls, baskets, and flower pots. While the glowing cube functions as container for the stories that need to be brought to light, it also references film projection, imitating a screen on which the stories may appear. Staged in an indoor market or thrift shop, possibly even in Chinatown, the cover image suggests that significant stories are to be found in ordinary, quotidian spaces. Considering that the cube is placed at the center of the cover, it additionally proposes that everyday stories may move from the periphery to the center. Similarly, the 2012 catalog cover features a film still from the historical drama Eve and the Fire Horse (2013), taken from a dream sequence in which protagonist Eve dives under water in an attempt to reach the mystical fire horse (SFIAAFF 30 2012). Fighting her way through the watery depths, the scene represents the girl’s search for connection to her Chinese heritage. In this context, the image conveys CAAMFest’s goal of discovery, playing with concepts of seeing, finding, and unveiling something that is hidden away. SFIAAFF’s 2012 mini-guide serves as a final example, unearthing an archival image of the Filipino labor leader Claro Candelario and his supporters and

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Fig. 18: SFIAAFF’s 2011 and 2012 mini-guide and catalog covers

Fig. 19: SFIAAFF’s 2012 mini-guide cover

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commemorating an underrepresented community activist (fig. 19).16 The photo shows a group of young women surrounding Candelario on his campaign, holding up signs with slogans such as “Candelario for President” and “For Your Labor Problems, You Can’t Lose with Claro.” One of the signs covers part of the title, dissolving the borders between diegetic and extradiegetic space. What is more, the photo has no visual borders, its sky extending to incorporate CAAM’s logo. Due to its shape and yellow-green color, the logo resembles the sun, bringing light to the historical scene (Mini-Guide 2012).17 Embedded in the diegetic world of the photograph and, thus, this particular bit of history, the logo promotes an interaction between the festival brand and the photograph’s content. By integrating the logo into the diegesis, CAAM as an organization expresses its attachment to the story the photograph tells, softening the borders that separate history and present, a cooperate sphere and a political movement.

Advertisements Advertisements by sponsors in the catalog may also strengthen film festival narratives and help foster an Asian American identity. Created or modified to cater to an Asian American community, the 2017 advertisement of CAAMFest’s Presenting Sponsor Xfinity features the slogan “Access your favorite Asian American content on Xfinity X1” and promotes Xfinity’s VOD platforms and “International” programs (fig. 20). Underneath the slogan, a television screen illustrates the service provider’s broad selection of specialty films, from “Best of Bollywood,” to LGBTQ programming, to “Cinema Asian America,” featuring film stills from Asian American classics such as The Wedding Banquet (1993) and pictures of Asian American icons such as Jackie Chan (CAAMFest 2017). Grand Sponsor AT&T similarly caters to Asian American audiences in its recognition of the Chinese New Year and creation of a culture-specific advertisement (fig. 20). Featuring the number “2017” in a calligraphic font, in which the first

16 Candelario was known for his dedication to the fight for Filipino citizenship (Mabalon et al. 2008, 18) and his founding of the organization Committee for the Protection of Filipino Rights (Varzally 2008, 268). See also Mabalon (2003). 17 CAAM and Pac Arts’ playful uses of their logos in cover designs relate to a trend in graphic design that began to establish itself in the late 1980s. In order to “ensure their compatibility with a variety of media, dynamic logos slowly took charge of the market, their appearance [e.g., color, texture, and background] changing according to each channel and medium. Since 2000, dynamic logos have not only superseded static logos […] but have also turned more radical in order to serve the aesthetics of print, television and smartphones alike” (Högerle 2013, 50).

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Fig. 20: Xfinity and AT&T advertisements in CAAMFest’s 2017 catalog

two numbers create the outlines of a rooster, the slogan below reads: “AT&T wishes you more joy, more fortune and more ways to enjoy unlimited entertainment.” The dominance of the color red not only represents luck, but also refers to the Chinese New Year customs of exchanging red paper envelopes (hong bao) and hanging red paper decorations that revolve around themes such as luck, wealth, or happiness. A smartphone display depicts another rooster, thereby strengthening the connections to Chinese astrology and honoring 2017 as the Year of the Rooster (CAAMFest 2017). Thus, CAAMFest’s catalog features ads that partially require culture-specific knowledge in order to fully grasp the visual codes or symbols. Some ads even require proficiency in Chinese or Korean, as is the case with Premier Sponsor Rémy Martin (fig. 21). The French cognac producer’s advertisement features an elegantly dressed Asian man, holding a glass of the auburn-colored drink and gazing seductively into the camera. With the exception of the brand name and logo, the advertisement text is presented in Chinese and Korean (CAAMFest 2017, 42). Others make use of Asian American models, such as the nonprofit organization AARP, its 2016 ad depicting an elderly Asian man on a hike through the woods. The ad reads: “For many years, I proudly served my country. Today, I’m proud to say I’m not slowing down. Gary Locke,

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Fig. 21: Rémy Martin advertisement in CAAMFest’s 2017 catalog

AARP Member.” Below the picture, AARP provides insights into Gary Locke’s life story, establishing him as the “first Chinese American U.S. Secretary of Commerce and the first Chinese American U.S. Ambassador in China” (CAAMFest 2016, 13). In creating Asian American protagonists for the advertisement’s stories, the companies employ differentiated marketing strategies to connect to their target groups, while also making visible how seldom these minorities are portrayed and targeted in mainstream culture. In contrast, few ads in SDAFF’s catalog of 2016 are overtly directed at an Asian or Asian American community. Ads by sponsors such as Barona Resort & Casino and Southwest Airlines are aimed at a general market rather than a market segment, neither referencing nor depicting a specific target group based on race or ethnicity. Instead, some emphasize their ties and dedication to the local community (Mini-Guide 2016, 21; 29). SHARP Health Plan’s advertisement is one of the few exceptions, depicting an Asian man whose daughter’s arms are wrapped around his shoulders. Asserting that they not only “serve,” but “are the people of San Diego County,” SHARP Health Plan emphasizes its unique role in the local community and presents an Asian American family as exemplary citizens of San Diego ( 9).

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Introducing the Edition: Welcome Letters Much like photo albums are framed by persons showing them to us, the film festival catalogs offer the director or programmer as a framing agent. Welcome letters generally quote the festival and organization’s mission and core focus, while also making mention of new initiatives, sections, or directions in the festival or organization. What is more, they often use the opportunity to reflect the festival’s past, as is visible in SFIAAFF’s welcome letter of 2012, in which a festival evolution is proclaimed, developing from a “small traveling road show” to the “nation’s premiere event dedicated to Asian American media” (SFIAAFF 30 2012, 5). CAAMFest’s letters further highlight the organization’s production support, naming the films that received CAAM funding and are now being screened at the festival. In recent years, CAAMFest has additionally emphasized its interest in digital technologies, new media formats, interactivity, and immersive events that move beyond a traditional festival experience (Mini-Guide 2012, 4). In the same way, SDAFF’s welcome letters continuously refer to new developments, from the festival’s expansion to feature a Spring Showcase to the launch of DigiFest, and advertise festival highlights such as galas, “Spotlight” presentations, and awards ceremonies. Moreover, they quote the festival’s mission, functioning as an “agent of civic and cultural change,” and emphasize its role as community event (Twelfth Annual 2011, 6). Strikingly, while Lee Ann Kim’s early welcome letters explicitly mention the Asian diaspora – SDAFF’s 5th anniversary, for instance, was portrayed as a “celebration” of Asian diasporic communities and part of the festival’s educational mission of offering new perspectives so that audiences may leave their “culturally homogenous comfort zones” and take part in a “meaningful dialogue” (5th San Diego 2004, 5) – recent letters emphasize a broader focus on U.S.-American culture, referring to a “human” versus an “Asian American” experience (10th San Diego 2009, 5). Instead, SDAFF has shifted the task of engaging in a minority discourse to the artistic director, so that opening letters by the executive director may steer away from politics and focus on celebration, adopting a more lighthearted tone. Thus, in 2013, Brian Hu refers to the theme of “border-crossing,” pointing to films in the program that force audiences, “sometimes uncomfortably, to think more expansively about mobility, legality, and the American dream” (14th San Diego 2013, 25). In 2016, B. Hu similarly declares that SDAFF will not provide an “escape from politics” during the presidential election, but instead take civic action in its “re-centering” of controversies, inclusion of Asian American voices, and proclamation of U.S.-America’s diversity (17th Annual 2016, 4). CAAM has also distanced itself from a political and issue-oriented discourse in its welcome letters. Earlier SFIAAFF editions featured extensive welcome

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letters by festival directors and the organization’s executive directors, going into detail about the festival’s programming and connecting it to political, social, and cultural developments of the past year. In their welcome letter of 1997, festival co-directors Corey Tong and Paul Yi assert that the programming reflects “an Asian Pacific diaspora in tremendous transition,” exploring themes of migration and border-crossing, documenting current issues, and unearthing past struggles in order to understand the present (15th Annual 1997, 4). In 2005, Chi-hui Yang places the festival program within the context of recent influences on Asian American filmmaking, referring to the impact of digital technologies and the continued rise of Asian cinema (23 San Francisco 2005, 7), while, in 2006, the festival director connects a diverse body of films through the theme of Asian American masculinity (24th San Francisco 2006, 21). In 2011, C. Yang discusses a scene from Diamond Head (1962) and calls the film a “compelling artifact for its historical significance”: in its focus on interracial marriage and mixed-race children, the film relates to the “current national moment” of 2011, in reference to the legalization of same-sex marriage in New York and President Obama’s efforts to repeal the Defense of Marriage Act on a national level (27th San Francisco 2009, 5). While these letters varied greatly from year to year in terms of content, CAAMFest now presents short, interchangeable welcome letters in an overall much more compact catalog, reducing comments to topics such as festival growth, innovation, and novelty. Welcome letters further offer a space to commemorate: in their comments on programming, letters may include explanatory notes and historical context, highlight a film or program’s dedication to the past or interest in providing counternarratives. Referring to its closing night film, SFIAAFF describes The Gate of Heavenly Peace (1995) as an examination of the events that acted as a catalyst for the student protests in Tiananmen Square, Beijing (15th Annual 1997, 4). Ancestors in the Americas (1997) by Loni Ding, on the other hand, is portrayed as developing a counter-history of Asian migration to the U.S., while A Forgotten People: The Sakhalin Koreans (1995) documents a forgotten, “painful history of forced movement” during WWII, involving Korean laborers who were taken from their homes and shipped to Sakhalin Island, unable to return home (5). In its screening of the “rediscovered classic” Love and Duty (1931), one of the few prints that, according to SFIAAFF, have survived from the 1920s and 1930s, the festival “traces” the roots of Asian American film back to early Chinese cinema (4). Similarly, B. Hu establishes that the SDAFF retrospective “Remembering Queer Korea” exposes queer images throughout the history of Korean cinema, unearthing a “counter-history of modern Korea” (15 San Diego 2014, 23). In 2014, the festival’s 15-year anniversary is seen as a “convenient moment to reflect back” on both Asian and Asian American cinema as well on historical and political

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developments. Stirring up memories of Japanese internment (Bella Vista [2014]) and fights for marriage equality within the Asian American community (Limited Partnership [2014]), SDAFF’s films show “what we’ve endured and how we can reinvent ourselves to stay active and relevant” (23).

Structuring Texts: Essays In its first few years, SDAFF provided a running commentary throughout the catalog, supplementing the program announcements with short essays and filmmaker interviews. Here, interviews highlight a filmmaker’s intent and encourage author-centered readings of films, presenting questions aimed at a film’s concept and ‘message.’ Director Ann Marie Fleming, for instance, asserts that her film The Magical Life of Long Tack Sam (2003) explores how our personal understanding of history is shaped by our families (5th San Diego 2004, 21). Essays further classify films according to genre, situating them within a particular genre’s history and relating them to its style and motifs. Thus, programmer Chris Paffendorf draws attention to the festival’s first-time horror screening, elaborating on the genre’s history within Asia and establishing its foundation in “traditional folklore” as well as its focus on ghosts and spirits (32). In turn, CAAMFest has a long tradition of including essays that reflect the state of Asian America in its catalogs, from industry standpoints to observations of everyday life. In “Has it Become an Advantage to Be an Asian American Artist?,” for example, assistant festival director Taro Goto observes a shift in the perception of Asian Americans in the film industry: originally at a disadvantage since “being Asian American meant being neither Asian nor American,” both U.S.-American and Asian industries are now showing interest in this unique “cross-cultural perspective,” recognizing the commercial value of catering to multiple communities (26th San Francisco 2008, 45). As a result, Asian American artists are repositioned as “intermediaries” of culture. Linking these observations to the festival’s programming, the essay shifts to a discussion of concrete screenings, from Whispering Sidewalks (1936) – featuring Betty Inada, one of the first Asian American artists to cross over into the Japanese film industry – to more recent productions by Daniel Wu, Maggie Q, and Gina Kim, all of whom have successfully launched careers in Asia and are slowly entering into the Hollywood market (45). Most of the essays presented in CAAMFest’s catalogs are deeply personal narratives: festival staff and filmmakers refer to their own experiences as Asian Americans, offer perspectives on the state of Asian American cinema, and recall festival and moviegoing memories. Thus, filmmaker Eric Byler opens with

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memories of his first visit to SFIAAFF in 1997 and encounter with the (now cult) film Yellow (1997) (SFIAAFF 29 2011, 28), while Lisa Tsering remembers her first Bollywood screening at a “run-down movie palace in North Hollywood,” describing the smells of incense and the sound of the film’s “cheesy synthesizer soundtrack” (46). Starting out from their personal narratives, the authors move on to Asian American history and politics, exploring what it has meant and now means to be Asian American. In “New Kid on the Block,” assistant festival director Vicci Ho shares her observations as an industry expert about Asian cinemas, bringing them together with her first impressions of Asian American cinema as an Asian Australian outsider (27th San Francisco 2009, 47). With reference to the festival’s programming, she emphasizes its value in uncovering Asian American history and enforces CAAM’s mission: I was unaware that the first woman of color elected to the U.S. Congress was a Japanese American until I saw Bassford’s documentary on the history-making Congresswoman Patsy Mink […] And it was not until I watched A Song for Ourselves […] that I learned about the birth of the Asian American political movement. (47)

In her essay, Ho refers to concrete people and events documented by the medium of film, which has the power to create dialog and community. She places herself in the positions of audience member and educator, learning from CAAM’s programming and passing on her newly acquired knowledge: “From being the first Asian American to run for President to being the co-author of […] the landmark bill that banned sex discrimination in schools, Mink was an extraordinary woman who made a lasting impact in American politics” (47). Moreover, she takes on the dual perspective of someone who is both an insider – an Asian who can relate to the Asian diasporic experience in the U.S. – and an outsider, unfamiliar with the specificities of the Asian American context. Ho is therefore equally able to speak for Asian Americans and draw in audiences outside of the Asian American community, assuring the latter that Asian American cinema is neither too “specific” nor too “alien” to relate to. Summing up, she condemns the “collective indifference” that “buries” Asian American stories and portrays CAAM as an extension of the Asian American movement, fighting to bring these narratives to light (47). In contrast, Eric Byler’s essay “The Lie That Compelled Me to Speak the Truth” provides an insider perspective. As an Asian American filmmaker and selftitled “netroots activist,” Byler rejects the idea that Asian Americans are not truly U.S.-American, an idea that is “perpetuated by misrepresentations and omissions in popular media formats” (SFIAAFF 29 2011, 28). As a political artist and person of color, Byler sees it as his duty to pursue truth, describing racist acts of the

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recent past that were committed against Asian Americans and led to his formulation of “counter-narratives” in the shape of video essays and web documentaries. As an artist who has continuously screened his work at SFIAAFF, he asserts that the festival is a place for “truth,” recalling the impact the festival had on him as a political and activist space, inspiring him to find his purpose (28). In “India Gets the Indie Spirit,” Lisa Tsering similarly points to SFIAAFF’s importance, claiming that such festivals are true “homes” for independent films and movements that are “[b]ubbling underneath the radar,” discovering and exhibiting works that otherwise would not be seen (47–48). CAAMFest provides additional essays for its “Spotlight” and “Tribute” programs. The “Spotlight on James Shigeta,” for instance, was accompanied by biographical notes, his filmography, and a sketch of the actor’s influential role in complicating the representation of Asian Americans in Hollywood films, most visible in the three films screened at the festival (24th San Francisco 2006, 32). The essay highlights his career (from his family background as a Nisei son, to his involvement in the Korean War, to early roles in Hollywood), and emphasizes the significance of the films selected for CAAMFest’s retrospective, in which Shigeta plays complex, dynamic characters and romantic leads – a rarity for Asian American actors, even in later decades. Describing the characters’ “stoic heroism” and “considerable romantic appeal,” the festival underlines the extent to which Shigeta’s performances differed from the emasculating and static Asian stereotypes perpetuated by Hollywood (32). According to CAAMFest, Shigeta managed to portray the transculturality and complexity of Asian American identities, pushing aside the “collective humiliation of decades of Asian emasculation in Hollywood” and restoring dignity to the community. Not only is Shigeta placed in the role of a pioneer, but his films have “made celluloid history,” contributing to the canon of Asian American cinema (33). Dedicated to Asian American filmmakers, actors, and actresses who have recently passed, “Tribute” screenings honor an artist’s oeuvre and legacy. Festival essays in this category emphasize the “indelible mark [made] on the history of Asian Americans in cinema,” as is the case with Pat Morita, the first Asian American to be nominated for an acting Oscar (24th San Francisco 2006, 35). Edward Yang, on the other hand, is compared to “two titans of world cinema,” Ingmar Bergman and Michelangelo Antonioni. In its comparison to other established auteurs, CAAMFest makes the filmmaker’s work a part of an arthouse canon, calling his film The Terrorizer (1986) an “Asian extension of […] European modernist works” (35). What is more, it establishes him as one of the founders of the Taiwanese New Wave, labeling him the “chief chronicler of his home city of Taipei” and describing his “distinctive aesthetic and masterful style.” Having

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only recently received critical recognition in Cannes, the festival remembers and honors Edward Yang with screenings of his most significant films (34). To sum up, “Tribute” and “Spotlight” essays place filmmakers and their films in a historical context, establish them as masters or pioneers in their respective fields, and strengthen their position through the mention of nominations and awards. They create a coherency within a body of work, positioning it within a genre or cinematic movement with regard to the films’ thematic focus, style, and tone, and thus offer readings to festival audiences. In terms of an Asian American heritage, the essays often point to a filmmaker’s interest in memory work, unearthing suffering and making the forgotten unforgettable.

The Guided Tour: Navigating the Festival Program Comparable to Paul Connerton’s modern art gallery, film festivals present their audiences with a “master historical narrative” (2008, 60). Like the museum, they openly celebrate remembrance and simultaneously cover their “acts of editing out and erasure,” smoothing over ruptures and discontinuities (61). Festivals frame their films in their mission statements and festival images, in sections and programs, in moderation, Q&A sessions, and performances, each of these paratexts highlighting different aspects of the master narrative. Festivals may provide yet another element of navigation in their presentation of staff picks, ticket theme packs, and overview sections, allowing them to take on the role of tour guides for their audiences and establish new levels of connection between programs and films. In 2013, CAAMFest introduced CAAM Tides as a new strategy for making sense of its program and strengthening its master narrative, claiming that CAAM Tides identifies “key themes” in the program, guiding the festivalgoer toward the “new waves of culture that are hitting shores both in the Bay and beyond” (CAAMFest 2013, 14). The rich metaphor of the shoreline and tide in relation to memory and forgetting has been explored by Marc Augé in Les Formes de l’Oubli (1998) as well as by Jay Winter in “Thinking About Silence” (2010). Winter asserts that, in order to move away from the binary approach distinguishing between memory and forgetting, we need to think of the dynamic “creation and erosion of the shoreline” (2010, 3). He compares the “deposits below the surface of the water which emerge with the tides” as silences that are “part of the cartography of recollection and remembrance,” shifting between concealment and exposure (3). The image of the tide points to a powerful movement pushing new images, narratives, and representations to the shore, washing away the old. In 2013, two such Tides were “Agent/Advocate: Brave Creators” and “Beyond Boundaries: On the Anniversary of the Armistice.” While the theme “Agent/Advocate” puts a

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more general emphasis on provocative “visionaries” confronting audiences with controversial topics and “troubling realities” (CAAMFest 2013, 14), the theme “Beyond Boundaries” specifically brings memories of the Korean War to the front (15) – a carefully undeclared and neglected war that resulted in a significant wave of Korean migration to the United States. Challenging the “historical amnesia” surrounding the Korean War, this CAAM Tide “serves as a cogent reminder that for survivors and their families, it has remained anything but forgotten“ (37). An example of Henry Jenkins’ (2008) convergence culture, this configuration of programs encourages the flow of memories across the multiple media platforms offered by the festival, allowing audience members to interact with them in different ways. SFIAAFF’s Festival at a Glance section constitutes another example, grouping together films according to themes such as “Histories and Homelands,” “Labor and Activism,” and “Asian American Revivals.” Through the establishment of an alternative organizing principle for the program, the festival is able to highlight themes in films of which viewers would otherwise not take note. To illustrate, Festival at a Glance offers audiences a program specifically designed to accommodate genre preferences, such as romances or musicals, or interests in specific cultures and regions, from “Latin American Stories” to “Korean Japanese Stories.” It also groups together films produced by local filmmakers, emphasizing the festival’s embeddedness in Bay Area culture, as well as by established “master” directors such as Hou Hsiao-hsien and Deepa Mehta (24th San Francisco 2006, 22–23). Similarly, SDAFF presented Festival Voucher Theme Packs in 2014, which comprised a grouping together of films according to theme or mode, in order to present “a menu of film suggestions” for a set of four ticket vouchers. Such theme packs included “Revolution” (films centered on power struggles and challenges to the status quo), “The Road Less Travelled” (experimental films), and “The Real World” (documentaries, docudramas, and biopics offering a “slice of life”) (15 San Diego 2014, 15). The section Staff Picks constituted an earlier attempt by SDAFF to guide audiences through the program, featuring personal recommendations by the festival’s staff and volunteers, who labeled films according to genre (“modern-day homage to film noir”), tone (“stylish, sexy, and suspenseful”), or particular talent (“innovative camerawork”) (5th San Diego 2004, 17). By incorporating texts and images that present political and cultural history from records of the individuals who experienced it, whether in the form of photographic camera-memory or narratives of personal experience, festival publications reinterpret the past and forge new connections between past and present – thereby creating, modifying, and deleting cultural memory. This activity occurs in the explicit and implicit framing created by the festival in its publications.

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4.4 Framing Individual Films A final aspect to consider is how film festivals frame individual films. Like programs, individual films are introduced and framed by the festival catalog. Since catalogs sell a festival’s films, their synopses and descriptions are aimed at drawing readers in, giving them insights into the specific film’s format, genre, tone, and overall ‘selling points’ such as cast and crew. Again, adjectives and superlatives find excessive use, along with an emphasis on the story’s uniqueness and universality. Opening night film at CAAMFest in 2017 and SDAFF in 2016, The Tiger Hunter (2016) is presented as a “remarkable achievement,” featuring a “fearless” director and “lovable and hilarious” characters, who are “perfectly played by some of the best South Asian and South Asian American actors today.” The main actor is praised for his portrayal of Sami with the “perfect mixture of sweetness, optimism and determination,” bringing to life the character’s “grandest adventure yet” (CAAMFest 2017, 17). SDAFF further describes the film as “rich and diverse in its comedy,” “remarkable” for a director’s feature debut, and “boast[ing] a cast of South Asian and South Asian American all-stars” (17th Annual 2016, 12). Moreover, films are performed at the festival, framed by the time and space in which they are screened. Both CAAMFest and SDAFF follow fixed procedures in their screening of films. While guests enter the movie theater, a slide show of sponsorship advertisements and festival announcements is displayed on screen. Most of the advertisements represent Asian American businesses and interest groups or belong to media- and film-centered companies. The festival announcements provide information on special presentations and centerpiece films, pay tribute to sponsors, and include open calls for production funding and outreach programs. At CAAMFest 2017, the slide show was interspersed by quotes from filmmakers screening their films at this year’s festival, addressing their status as minority filmmakers, their position in the film industry, or the relevance of their film’s topic in relation to the Asian American experience. Thus, Robin Lung, director of Finding Kukan (2016), stated: “Li Ling-Ai is sort of emblematic of many women and people of color who did incredible things but have been forgotten by history. Her story is one of many.” The quote was accompanied by a black-andwhite archival photo of actress and writer Li Ling-Ai, the protagonist of Lung’s documentary. Once the guests are seated and the lights are dimmed, a festival staff member welcomes the audience, introduces the festival, and concludes with a short introduction to the film about to be screened, sometimes followed by a welcome by the filmmaker. With the exception of opening and closing nights, which feature lengthy speeches prior to the screening, the introductions usually do not exceed

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five minutes. Attention is drawn to the festival’s status and mission, followed by mention of the specific film’s sponsors and co-presenters and a list of thanks, covering the festival staff, volunteers, and sponsors. Introductions may at times include a filmmaker’s biography, provide information about the film’s beginnings and previous festival successes, and/or establish themes or motifs. During CAAMFest’s retrospective screening of Who Killed Vincent Chin? (1987) on March 11, 2017, Vincent Pan took time to commemorate the 35th anniversary of the racially motivated murder of Vincent Chin in Detroit, while Brian Hu introduced SDAFF’s short film program “Boats on Fire” on November 10, 2016, as a “look into the past […] that may not be accessible anymore” and an interrogation of “how we remember.” After the screening, the moderator welcomes guests to the stage. Warming up the conversation and setting the tone for the Q&A, the moderator opens with two or three questions. Afterward, the audience is invited to join in and ask questions. Giving the illusion that they are spontaneous, intimate conversations, Q&A sessions are very much framed by the festival. Often, moderators and filmmakers meet before the screening to discuss possible questions; filmmakers may also express wishes to circumvent certain topics. Merely the final part of the Q&A is difficult for the festival to control, integrating the audience in the act of framing rather than presenting it with a fixed frame. In the following section, the catalog introductions to different features and short films are explored, each framed in a different way – either standing alone as a special presentation or belonging to a competition, retrospective, or short film program. Comparing the descriptions of several festivals, from international to specialized film festivals, from Asian American to LGBTQ film festivals, this section highlights the different ways festivals may narrate a film. Finally, Spa Night (2016) and Nuoc (2016) provide examples of how films may be performed, based on field notes taken at SDAFF in 2016. Framing Features When submitting their films, filmmakers are usually expected to hand in synopses and loglines, the latter a one- or two-sentence description of the most essential narrative core.18 After selecting a film, festivals either adopt the

18 Nowadays, the standard procedure for film submission is via online platforms such as Reelport, Withoutabox, ShortFilmDepot, or FilmFreeway. These platforms make use of standardized forms that allow the filmmakers to categorize their own work according to genre or theme, provide detailed information on the film’s content, and, depending on the festival, choose the

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synopsis provided by the filmmaker or create a new text, modifying or rejecting the original synopsis altogether. The factors that guide a programmer or editor in creating this text may include 1) accuracy; 2) connection of the synopsis to the emphasis of the program and/or section in which it is presented; 3) appropriateness or effectiveness of language and tone, along with the quality of writing; and 4) length and style of the text. In contrast to short films, feature films always incorporate a synopsis and most often feature a minimum of one film still in CAAMFest and SDAFF catalogs. Shown at SFIAAFF and SDAFF in 2007, American Pastime (2007), for instance, is framed in the catalogs as a feature about Japanese internment during WWII. While both festivals’ synopses emphasize the historical context of the film, SFIAAFF particularly highlights its basis on “true events” and dedicates large parts of its text to historical facts about internment, while keeping details about the plot to a minimum (Fong 2007). In contrast, SDAFF provides a traditional summary, describing the major conflicts and love story of the film, while also pointing to the film’s aesthetic value and “inspirational” qualities (8th Annual 2007, 29). Depending on their placement within the program, feature film descriptions may be accompanied by filmographies, essays, and interviews, all of which help set viewer expectations. For example, SFIAAFF discusses Strawberry Fields (1997) within the context of a “new wave” of Asian American films, grouping the film together with the independent features Sunsets (1997), Shopping for Fangs (1997), and Yellow (1997) (15th Annual 1997, 4). An additional essay by Paul Yi establishes that all four films are “strongly Asian American” and introduces Strawberry Fields in particular as a “psychological portrait of a young Japanese American teenager […] haunted by her parents’ denial of their experience in the internment camps” (6). The screening of these films is accompanied by a panel discussion titled “New Asian American Feature Films,” aimed at acknowledging and reviewing the significance of these four feature films’ theatrical releases for Asian American film history (6). Hosting a 30th-anniversary screening of the film in 2017, AAIFF has not altered this narrative, continuing SFIAAFF’s portrayal of Strawberry Fields as a story about hauntings as well as identity politics (Asian CineVision 2017, 78). Accompanied by a panel that casts a retrospective look at the “class of 97,” an essay on the state of Asian American cinema by Peter X. Feng, and an interview with director Rea Tajiri, Strawberry Fields is framed by the festival as “emblematic” with regard to Asian American cinema in the late 1990s (101).

competition in which they wish to enter. Options may be based on form (e.g., narrative or documentary), location (e.g., city, region, or country), or other criteria such as emerging filmmaker or debut film.

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Finally, AAIFF establishes the film’s relevance with regard to the current political climate and rise of xenophobia (37), thus connecting the content of the film to viewers’ present realities and legitimizing its choice in retrospective.

The Joy Luck Club For the film’s 15th anniversary, the 2008 edition of SFIAAFF hosted a retrospective screening of Wayne Wang’s The Joy Luck Club (1993) in order to “take a look back at the film that first brought him national attention” and “relive this powerful viewing experience” (26th San Francisco 2008, 32). Centering on the lives of four Chinese American women and their immigrant mothers, the film is not only a classic of Asian American cinema, but also a crucial film experience for the minority community, the festival declares, stating its intent to “invite a new generation of festivalgoers to participate in what has become an Asian American rite of passage.” Throughout the film description, SFIAAFF emphasizes the The Joy Luck Club’s status as a representative of Asian American film, highlighting the film’s “all-star Asian American cast” and asserting that, even after all of this time, the “poignant performances from this homegrown classic continue to impact discussions on identity politics, filial sacrifice and familial love” (32). Ending with an appeal to “let this tender film continue to bridge generational divides,” the commentary identifies central topoi of the narrative, covering themes that are both specific to the Asian American community and universal in their address of family dynamics and generational conflicts. What is more, the festival description places equal emphasis on the drama’s “critical” and “commercial” success, expressing that one of the film’s strongpoints is its ability to make the “complicated histories” of Asian American women accessible to mainstream audiences (32). Part of the festival’s retrospective program on Wayne Wang, titled “The Insider Outside,” the film shares the stage with two others of Wang’s works, namely Life is Cheap… But Toilet Paper is Expensive (1989) and The Princess of Nebraska (2007). It is further complemented by a screening of Wang’s most recent film and “return” to Asian American family dramas, A Thousand Years of Good Prayers (2007), as well as by a conversation between the filmmaker and The New York Times film critic Dennis Lim (26th San Francisco 2008, 32–33). On the one hand, the selection of films strengthens the perception of Wang as an essentially Asian American director, uniting his films and omitting thematic diversions such as Smoke (1995) and Maid in Manhattan (2002); on the other hand, it functions as a sample of an oeuvre that is diverse in terms of genre and tone. Furthermore, the films presented by the festival span the large part of his career, representing the

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filmmaker’s beginnings in the 1980s, his move to bigger budgets and Hollywood studios in the 1990s, of which The Joy Luck Club is exemplary, and his return to independent filmmaking in the mid-2000s. Next to film descriptions and a listing of Wang’s complete filmography, the announcement for the “Spotlight” program includes a two-page essay by SFIAAFF programmer, lecturer, and journalist Frako Loden (26th San Francisco 2008, 30–31). In her commentary, Loden describes Wang’s road to success, encompassing “immigrant beginnings, rapid education and acculturation, immersion in ethnic politics, pioneering of the low-budget DIY ethic, Hollywood success and now a renewed return to roots” (30). With reference to Wang’s low-budget feature Chan is Missing (1982) – a “landmark” of U.S.-American independent cinema – Loden remarks on the interactions between Wang’s career and the organization’s history. By referring to the festival’s screening of Wang’s early work, SFIAAFF’s influence on filmmakers’ careers is established, having “discovered” Wang’s voice and nurtured his career from the beginning: shown at the festival’s inauguration in 1982, Loden recalls SFIAAFF’s screening of the film, remembering her astonishment at Wang’s portrayal of an authentic Asian American character who spoke English without rather than with a “stilted foreign” accent. Describing the viewing experience as “unfamiliar” and “disorienting,” Loden claims that the “character seemed contradictory, or even schizoid. I recognized him from my own Asian American heritage, but I’d never seen him on film before.” Moreover, the film distanced itself from clichéd Chinatown depictions as “signifier for ‘the mysterious Orient’ or existential doom”; instead, it attempted to paint an authentic picture. Sketching out his movements between Hong Kong and California, Wang is established as an “insider-outsider” to both spheres, resulting in the unique perspective and aesthetics inherent in his work as well as in his interest in marginalized characters and questions of belonging (31). Thus, the author places Wang within several discourses, namely of auteurs, the U.S.-American independent film scene, the ethnic filmmakers’ movement of the 1960s and 1970s, and a broader Asian American movement. In 2018, Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) also hosted an anniversary screening of The Joy Luck Club: 25 years after the film’s world premiere at TIFF, the festival claims that it had “no way of knowing just how historic the world premiere of The Joy Luck Club would become,” declaring it a “groundbreaking” Asian American film that brought together a “terrific” Asian American female cast – a rarity among Hollywood films (“The Joy Luck Club” 2019). The original introduction of the film in the 1993 TIFF catalog describes The Joy Luck Club as a “kind of sweeping emotional epic many people associate with classic Hollywood films,” stating that protagonist June’s “bon voyage party […] unleash[es] the complex flow of memories that become the real voyage of the film.” In its comparison of

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the film to the “great cycle of studio women’s pictures of the 1930s and 40s,” the festival places the film within a canon of classic Hollywood films, celebrating its “sentiment and style in the service of a story that unabashedly celebrates [both] the struggles and triumphs of its heroines” (“The Joy Luck Club” 2019). In contrast to SFIAAFF, TIFF does not emphasize Wang’s auteur qualities or position the film within his oeuvre of arthouse films. Instead, it chooses to emphasize its status as a Hollywood classic, fitting into the traditional genres of the melodrama and woman’s film, and evoking memories of a very different canon of films.

Seoul Searching Seoul Searching (2015) revolves around a group of Korean teenagers growing up abroad who arrive in Seoul to take part in a government-funded summer camp, aimed at helping them explore and relate to their Korean heritage. Premiering at Sundance in 2015, the festival describes Seoul Searching as an “extended remix of heartfelt nostalgia, hilarity, and fun,” asserting that the film’s strengths lie in its entertainment value and homage to John Hughes movies of the 1980s, while also incorporating “its own flair of Korean drama to create a fresh, original film” (K. Y. 2020). Introductions by CAAMFest, SDAFF, and Seattle International Film Festival (SIFF) adopt a similar tone, emphasizing the film’s lightheartedness, quirky characters, and memorable 1980s soundtrack, which leaves audiences “crooning Erasure for days” (16th Annual 2015, 13). Moreover, they draw attention to the film’s autobiographical references, based on filmmaker Benson Lee’s teenage experiences in Korea. All of these descriptions are headed by colorful, stylized film stills that capture the diverse group of teenagers in 1980s outfits and popular poses derived from music videos and fashion magazines. In its description of the 2015 opening night film, CAAMFest labels Seoul Searching as an “attitude-infused crowd pleaser” and “pitch-perfect tale of teenage angst, modernized with a stellar Asian and Asian American cast” (Destination 2015, 17). Making it a point to highlight not only the film’s portrayal of rowdy, hormone-driven youths, but also its significance as an Asian American narrative, “masterfully captur[ing] the many collective stories of the Asian diaspora” (17), CAAMFest strengthens its choice for the opening night film. SDAFF equally emphasizes that the film is “utterly Asian American” (16th Annual 2015, 13). While “heritage politics” are moved to the background, the film’s significance as an Asian American narrative lies in its open dismissal of Asian stereotypes, portraying instead a range of youths who comfortably navigate and identify with U.S.-American culture. SDAFF’s language is laden with nostalgic references to popular culture, introducing the film with the exclamation “holy hair gel,”

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reminiscent of the playful, camp tone of the 1960s Batman series, and describing its “smells of kyopo teen spirit,” a transcultural play at 1990s grunge culture (13). With reference to the characters’ maturation, SIFF labels the film as a “love letter to the John Hughes high school flicks” and a “clever comedy about cultural identity” (“Seoul Searching” 2017). Part of the FutureWave Competition, the festival’s youth section, SIFF places emphasis on the themes of forming friendships, finding romance, and learning about one’s heritage, establishing the film as a coming-of-age film and authentic portrait of teenage life. In contrast to the Asian American festivals, SIFF refers to the film’s “universal” appeal, nevertheless acknowledging its uniqueness in “put[ting] Asian youth front and center” (“Seoul Searching” 2017). Except for such nuances, the festivals’ framings and interpretations of Seoul Searching are very similar: In referring to John Hughes movies, the festivals target potential viewers based on their tastes and memories, comparing the film to established films of the teen genre. By emphasizing its Americanness and proficiency in U.S.-American pop culture, they steer away from an interpretation of the film as a solely Asian or Asian diasporic narrative.

Spa Night Screened as opening night film (AAIFF), centerpiece presentation (Outfest), and as part of the sections Asian American Panorama (SDAFF), Showcase (Frameline), and New American Cinema (SIFF), Spa Night (2016) centers on a Korean American teenager whose family is struggling to keep its restaurant in Los Angeles’ Koreatown. Preoccupied with his parents’ financial troubles, David decides to work in an all-male Korean spa and thereby discovers his homosexual desires. In his description of Spa Night for the SDAFF catalog, Brian Hu begins by establishing the Korean spa as a culturally specific space, where Korean families engage in cleansing rituals in order to bond with each other and clear their minds. At the same time, the film introduces the spa as a gay cruising spot, leading protagonist David to explore his “burgeoning desires,” while also escaping family pressures (17th Annual 2016, 31). The spa functions as a place for David’s maturation into adulthood and his coming-out, initiating his search for self and encouraging an open exploration of his sexual identity. In his examination of the film’s themes, B. Hu defines Spa Night as a family drama and coming-of-age film. Moreover, he emphasizes the film’s slow pace and use of silence, unfolding like the “quiet, gradual awakening of sexual identity itself,” locating its aesthetics in the genre of U.S.-American independent film (31). SIFF and AAIFF equally foreground the film’s setting, but turn to a broader discussion of Los Angeles’ Koreatown: emphasis placed on its uniqueness and

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cultural specificity, Koreatown is described as a “tightly knit trilingual community and the city’s most densely populated district,” located between the “bustling” centers of Hollywood and Downtown. Like B. Hu, SIFF and AAIFF define the film as a coming-of-age story and family drama, pointing to the film’s conflicts of the parents’ impending financial ruin, their pressures on David to enter a good college, and David’s sexual confusion. In conclusion, they both refer to the film as a “deeply moving bildungsroman of discovery” (“Spa Night” 2017; “Opening Night” 2016). Alternatively, the film’s production company Strand Releasing emphasizes the film’s sexiness, asserting that it portrays a “forbidden sexual awakening set in the nocturnal world of spas and karaoke bars in Los Angeles’ Koreatown.” Highlighting the film’s “atmospheric” quality, Strand Releasing summarizes the protagonist’s discovery of a gay cruising spot and acknowledgment of his “hidden” desires, posing a threat to his filial duties (“Spa Night” 2014). The production company mentions the protagonist’s cultural background only in passing, choosing instead to focus on the tension that arises from secrecy, repression, and deviance. Similarly, Frameline picks up on the film’s atmosphere, pointing to scenes in a “steam-veiled LA bathhouse […] thick with frustrated yearning and sublimated desire” (2016, 42). Spa Night is thus established as an erotic film, “alluringly mysterious” and “illicit.” Representative of both comingof-age and coming-out experiences, Frameline illustrates how the protagonist suffers under his parents’ expectations and “wrestles with the initial stirrings of gay identity,” pointing out that sex serves as a “source of confusing and conflicting emotions.” David’s parents’ immigrant status and his Korean heritage are only mentioned implicitly, as the festival remarks on David’s upbringing in a culture that “papers over” negative emotions (42). In contrast, Outfest introduces Spa Night as an authentic and intimate portrayal of the Korean American experience, remarkable for its “keen observation and cultural accuracy” (2016, 6). In its role as LGBTQ festival, it emphasizes the protagonist’s path to sexual discovery and his exploration of Los Angeles’ “underground gay hook-up culture”; at the same time, it portrays the film as a study on Korean American culture (6). All of the descriptions are headed by the same film still, showing protagonist David stare at his image in a steamed-up mirror. Pressing his hand against the wall, David touches the image of his face with his thumb, his features slightly distorted by the specks of water and steam. A metaphor for David’s search for self, the image is given special emphasis by Frameline, where the film is given an entire page and the still takes up almost half of the page (2016, 42). In contrast, Outfest introduces the film on a double page with its three other centerpiece presentations, the image blending in with the surrounding film stills. Below

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the description, Andrew Ahn’s biography is included, accompanied by a portrait of the filmmaker (2016, 6). SDAFF’s screening of Spa Night on November 6, 2016, offered yet another kind of frame, as the festival’s artistic director, a UCSD professor as expert on Korean history, and the filmmaker took the stage and offered contexts to the audience.19 In his introduction to Spa Night, Brian Hu welcomed the film’s copresenters, namely the LGBTQ organizations FilmOut San Diego and North County LGBTQ Resource Center20 as well as the Korean Studies program at UCSD, eliciting applause and cheers from the audience and establishing its relevance as a queer and Korean narrative. Subsequently, UCSD professor Todd Henry defined the term “diaspora,” pointing to the importance of diaspora for an understanding of Korean culture and the division between North and South Korea, and referred to a year-long film festival on Korean diaspora taking place on the UCSD campus. Finally, director Andrew Ahn emerged on stage, who, as B. Hu announced, had just won the Emerging Filmmaker Award at the SDAFF awards gala. Promising to return after the screening, Ahn drew attention to SDAFF’s support of films that would otherwise not be seen and asserted that the festival – in its support of films made by the Asian American community – had “special meaning for him.” After the screening, Brian Hu initiated a discussion with Andrew Ahn and his lead actor Joe Seo. During the Q&A, Ahn argued that the film’s strength lies in its authentic portrayal of the Korean American community, describing the unusual casting process for the film and his resort to street-castings in Los Angeles’ Korean scene. Following an informal conversation about scene rehearsals, the atmosphere and dynamics on the set, and the chemistry between actors in the film’s lengthy scenes without dialog, B. Hu asked Ahn to discuss his extensive use of close-ups in the film. Describing the “visual yearning,” which imitates the

19 In a personal interview, Andrew Ahn describes the framing of his film within the context of both Asian American and queer film festivals, pointing out that both types of festivals tend to frame him based on his otherness, that is, as a queer Asian American in the Asian American sphere and an Asian American queer in the LGBTQ milieu. Ahn’s film is therefore always framed by festival texts as niche. According to Ahn, this framing extends to the festivals’ Q&As: at AAFFs, for example, Ahn tends to encounter questions about queer rather than Korean culture (2017). 20 FilmOut San Diego describes its mission to “enlighten, educate, and entertain […] through the exhibition of LGBT-themed films” and “celebrate and support the important diverse artistic contributions” of LGBT filmmakers (“About Us” 2019); the North County LGBTQ Resource Center “serves the [regional] lesbian, gay, transgender, bisexual, and questioning (LGBTQ) community” through support groups, classes, counseling, HIV testing and prevention, and civil rights advocacy (“About” 2019).

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protagonist’s yearnings and is triggered in the viewer, Ahn made the audience aware of the importance of visual style to the narrative, thus adding another element to the festival’s framing of the film.

Framing Shorts Short films are usually framed in a very different manner from features, considering that they are grouped together and shown in programs of about six or seven shorts in order to fill a feature-length slot in the festival schedule. How film festivals curate, name, and place their shorts programs varies greatly. For instance, the Berlinale has several shorts programs that are screened within an autonomous Shorts section, but also shows shorts programs within its childrenand youth-oriented section Generation. Except for the queer shorts program “Teddyrolle,” programs are assigned numbers, instead of being labeled according to theme, format, or genre (Berlinale 2016). In contrast, SDAFF subordinates all of its shorts programs to the festival’s main sections, assigning them according to theme and individualizing them through playful, catchy titles. With regard to synopses, festivals may omit synopses for short films entirely. While CAAMFest makes use of program loglines in its catalog, adding individual synopses merely to its website, SDAFF includes synopses in its catalog, but reduces shorts programs to a single logline in the festival’s significantly smaller mini-guide. In turn, Berlinale provides lengthy synopses for all of its short films in separate section guides.21 As the following examples make clear, there are central differences in how festivals handle framing information for short films, depending on the festival context. Centered on the non-professional actors’ real-life experiences of exile from North Korea, the hybrid short Leftover (2014) was screened primarily at AAFFs such as CAAMFest and LAAPFF and human rights festivals such as JAYU, allowing for a framing according to content, theme, or mode, that is, according to its value as story of ‘truth.’ Mixing documentary and fictional elements, the film follows a family’s experiences of alienation in North America as well as traces their traumas of torture and exile. While CAAMFest and LAAPFF grouped the film together with both narrative and documentary shorts, based on their shared dedication to “fierce truths and nostalgia” (Destination 2015, 43) or “silence”

21 Berlinale publishes several print media, from a catalog providing a complete overview of and detailed timetable for its ca. 400 films to “section guides” limited to the discussion of a single section.

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and “trauma” (Los Angeles 2015, 142), JAYU showed the film together with the documentary Nowhere Home (2012), based on their common theme of asylumseeking protagonists and child refugees (Jayu’s 3rd Annual 2014). Chopping Onions (2015) provides another interesting example, observing a young girl’s ambivalent relationship with her Korean grandmother. Screened at international festivals, AAFFs, and children’s festivals, the film was curated to target either child or adult audiences. While Berlinale programmed the film in a “Kplus” shorts program, aimed at children aged 4 and older, and incorporated a live dubbing for children who were not yet able to read subtitles (Berlinale 2016), SDAFF screened the subtitled version of the film as part of the adult shorts program “Talking Back,” in which directors turn to their families to “incite conversation” and uncover memories (16th Annual 2015, 32). In turn, Santa Fe International Film Festival screened the short film as part of a program revolving around the topics of popularity, ambition, and contests (“Popularity Contest” 2017). Depending on the festival’s specialization and the program’s focus, emphasis shifted from culture and heritage, to language and articulation, to family relationships and children’s narratives.

Nuoc On her website, filmmaker Quyen Nguyen-Le gives a detailed description of her short film Nuoc (2016), describing its experimental mode, the theme of a daughter’s exploration of her mother’s past as a Vietnam War refugee, and its examination of the transmission of familial, generational, and collective memory: Set in the California Drought,  Nuoc (Water/Homeland)  is an experimental narrative short film about a queer Vietnamese American teen who attempts to piece together and understand their mom’s experience as a Vietnam War refugee. The journey pulls us into a fantastical series of iconic historical photographs, ultimately highlighting the complexity of understanding another’s experiences completely and instead opening up possibilities for building relationships based on presence and co-existence. (“The Story”)

Shown at CAAMFest, SDAFF, Outfest, and NewFest, the film is framed within different programs, highlighting different aspects of the narrative. While CAAMFest, for instance, placed Nuoc in its LGBTQ program “Out/Here,” capturing queer protagonists’ breaks from tradition and “quests for acceptance” (CAAMFest 2017, 54), SDAFF makes no mention of Nuoc’s queer protagonist, choosing to instead focus on the search for identity in a coming-of-age context, the fragmented nature of the film, and the themes of exile and war: “Through shards of war and protest images, this short takes us in the mind of a teenager

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seeking clarity about her identity as the daughter of a Vietnam War refugee” (17th Annual 2016, 29). The film’s description complements the program “Boats on Fire,” thematizing “memories blurred by migration, national calamity, and the passions of youth” (29). Screened at the two LGBTQ festivals Outfest and NewFest, Nuoc was categorized according to genre and gender. As part of Outfest’s only genre-centered shorts program “Scared Stiff,” Nuoc is framed as a horror film. Standing out in a section otherwise divided into gender-themed programs (e.g., “Boy Shorts” or “Trans Now!”), the shorts program does not include individual synopses, so that the program description moves into the foreground. Unlike its counter-parts, the program emphasizes that it caters to entertainment and shock value and names the “horror of war” as one among many thrills: “If you’re hungry for thrills and chills, let us feed your monster […] this collection of horror-themed shorts is not for the faint of heart” (Outfest 2016, 23). Alternatively, NewFest placed Nuoc in its program “Girl Shorts,” revolving around women who “dare to speak up” and “challenge adversity.” Accordingly, the description of Nuoc focuses on the film’s portrayal of a queer Vietnamese American teenager’s relationship with their mother, emphasizing the female roles in the film. The filmmaker’s “historical insights into the Vietnam War” are mentioned only in passing (NewFest 2016, 37).

Tadaima Most of the descriptions of Tadaima (2015), featured in the catalogs of CAAMFest, Social Justice Film Festival, San Jose International Short Film Festival (SJISFF), and SDAFF, draw on the synopsis provided by the filmmaker, pointing to the context of Japanese internment during WWII and the film’s focus on a traumatized family’s return to their demolished home: After the closure of the US Internment Camps at the end of World War II, a Japanese American family returns home and must find the strength to rebuild both their house and their family amidst the emotional and physical destruction caused by the war. (“Screenings”)

Merely CAAMFest added to the filmmaker’s synopsis by emphasizing the film’s connection to the Bay Area, as filming took place in Santa Cruz (“Tadaima” 2015).22

22 LAAPFF does not include individual film descriptions for its shorts programs and is therefore not listed here.

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The programming contexts, however, vary. The Social Justice Film Festival in Seattle screened Tadaima prior to the feature-length documentary In Our Son’s Name (2015), following a couple’s “journey of reconciliation” after their son’s death in the September 11 attacks (Social Justice 2016, 5). The screening also featured the documentary short Voices from Kaw Thoo Lei (2016), which reflects the hardships faced by the Karen people in Burma, thus bringing together different scenarios of injustice and war-related suffering (17). As a fictional narrative, Tadaima is brought into contact with two documentaries, strengthening its claim for authenticity in representing the Japanese American people’s hardships and struggles. Alternatively, CAAMFest, LAAPFF, SDAFF, and SJISFF screened the film as part of a shorts program dedicated to a specific theme. Thematizing displacement, immigration, homelessness, and returns to the homeland, CAAMFest’s “The Home Promised” brings together both documentary and fiction films in their “search for home” (Destination 2015, 43). SDAFF’s “Dearly Departing” similarly discusses movement, from concrete road trips and return journeys to more abstract “paths for self-discovery” (16th Annual 2015, 30). In turn, LAAPFF’s “The Heart of Darkness (and Light)” is much more diverse, featuring six short films that offer tales of “revenge, reclamation, [and] compassion” and broadly labeled as a “pungent cinematic bouillabaisse” (Los Angeles 2015, 16). In its description, the festival points to emotion and surprise, therefore engaging audiences outside of a specific thematic interest. Unlike the other three festivals, whose shorts programs equally incorporate documentary and fiction films, SJISFF separates these two categories. Consequently, Tadaima was screened in a fiction-only program titled “Embattled: The Other Side of War,” critically observing experiences of war, from a Holocaust survivor’s story, to a historical scene set in Dunkirk during WWII, to a mother in Harlem who learns of her son’s death in the army (SJISFF 2015, 8).

4.5 Film Festivals as Producers of Asian American Cinema Through narratives, film festivals inform our reception of films and provide specific angles from which to look at them. Participating in the “ritual of creating reputations,” festivals are curators of film who produce context and offer “structures of reflection” with which to interpret, judge, and make connections between films (Bosma 2015, 42). In their programming of retrospectives, festivals

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are further able to recontextualize films from the archive, creating new labels for the films and producing meanings that can only emerge in retrospect.23 One of the central frames that CAAMFest and SDAFF produce is that the festival films belong to the categories or genres of Asian or Asian American films, representing the diverse, creative output of Asian and Asian American communities and bringing Asian American perspectives, stories, and histories to the fore. Both festivals regularly proclaim the innovation and courage of these films and emphasize their potential to complicate U.S.-American identity and encourage social change. In placing them within sections and programs, the festivals moreover label films as the works of newcomers or masters, documentaries or works of fiction, or according to themes or genres. The film descriptions add yet another layer of framing and point audiences toward specific meanings, highlighting a film’s value as representation of the queer Asian American community or documentation of a forgotten piece of Asian American history in need of being brought to attention. Nevertheless, the presence of such frames does not prevent the possibility of multiple readings. The narratives constructed around films should therefore be considered as ‘offerings’ by the festival – as meanings that the festival audience can choose to accept and activate. The interactive dynamic of meaning-making is particularly visible in the live festival event: as an active participant, the audience can interfere in the festival performance, challenge the festival’s framing of its films, and change the outcome of what is remembered of the event. Here, other contexts such as the festival setting and social environment may also influence meaning production, creating a dynamic framework in which narratives and memories are shaped by multiple actors.

23 In her description of the Swedish online platform and film archive filmarkivet.se, Dagmar Brunow asserts that the archive’s “curatorial impact” – next to selection and subsequent publication – lies in the “paratextual information provided through metadata and the contextualisation of the film clip on the website through descriptive texts or suggestions of related videos” (2017, 100). In their programming of archival films, film festivals operate in similar ways.

5 T  he Mise-en-Scène of Memory: Film Festivals’ Curation of Space 5.1 Location: The Ground for Memory Motivating both personal and collective acts of remembering, locations function as the territory or ground from which memory emerges and link to both memory production and the study of memory. As Astrid Erll asserts, locations may act as storage spaces for memory, serve as external “cues” for the retrieval of memory, and constitute cultural symbols (2011a, 128–129). Locations are also central to techniques, theories, and concepts of memory, from the ancient ars memoriae,1 to Pierre Nora’s work on lieux de mémoire,2 to Jan and Aleida Assmann’s theory of cultural memory.3 As Marc Treib maintains, architecture and landscape are externalizations of memory, serving as “grand mnemonic devices that record and transmit vital aspects of culture and history” (2009, xii). Juhani Pallasmaa further elaborates on the significance of location, suggesting that our built environment not only “contains” and “stimulates” memory, but that it also “preserves” time in that “landscapes and buildings articulate our experiences of duration and time

1 Ars memoriae describes a “spatially oriented memory” – an ancient technique that brings together loci and imagines: “To a series of real or imagined places (loci) in one’s imagination, one adds images, ideally very vivid pictures (imagines agentes), which refer to the things to be remembered. One can later travers this path in one’s mind and ‘collect’ the images and thereby that which one wanted to recall” (Erll 2011a, 68). 2 According to Erll, Nora’s “sites of memory” describe “loci in the broadest sense of the term” (2011a, 23). They include both material and immaterial phenomena that a society “associates with its past and with national identity” (25). Location is central to this concept, as lieux de mémoire often describe concrete places or objects (memorial grounds, monuments, art works), to which memory “attaches itself” (Nora 1989, 22). It is important to note that lieux de mémoire do not produce fixed meanings, but describe a “mnemonic process” (Erll 2011a, 27). 3 Jan and Aleida Assmann distinguish between the two frameworks of “communicative” and “cultural” memory. While communicative memory “lives in everyday interaction and communication” and covers a limited time frame, reaching back to about 80 years, cultural memory is “exteriorized, objectified, and stored away in symbolic forms that […] are stable and situation-transcendent” and refers to a distant past (J. Assmann 2010, 110–111). Transmitted over multiple generations, the latter is strongly tied to (though not solely dependent on) media technologies (Erll 2011a, 30). https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-005

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between the polarities of past and future.” Thus, “[w]e understand and remember who we are through our constructions” (2009, 17). Different layers of location may trigger memories or shape memory production, from concrete sites (buildings, monuments, memorials) to larger urban environments (neighborhoods, cities) through which we move. As David Duindam points out, the relationship between urban space and memory has been conceptualized in various ways, conceiving of the city “as a (collective) image or cityscape that can be read or interpreted by the individual” or focusing on the “dialectical” relationship between the city and the individual (2011, 2). While the former describes a city that is made “legible” and “communicable” through patterns of “recognizable symbols” (3–4), the latter foregrounds the individual’s “experience of being in the city” (5). Here, Duindam refers to Walter Benjamin’s (2002 [1982]) flâneur, who during his walks “remember[s] the city through his soles” (2011, 5). While Benjamin’s flâneur experiences the city as a “stimulus for memory,” composed of an environment “saturated with earlier associations,” Siegfried Kracauer (2009 [1932]) asserts that the erasure of memory is a distinctive feature of the ever-changing modern city, in which “the new eradicates the old seemingly without residue” (Gilloch and Kilby 2005, 5–6). Benjamin therefore implies that the location of the city functions as an object into which memory is inscribed and that is then activated by the flâneur; in turn, Kracauer concludes that the memory is only present in the mind of the wanderer (6). Both, however, agree that physical spaces trigger memories. It is important to emphasize that locations neither produce “fixed” meanings nor have stable identities; instead, they constitute “auratic contact zones that enable a production of meaning” (Duindam 2011, 2).4 Andreas Huyssen also dedicates himself to the study of urban space as medium of memory, establishing cities, buildings, and monuments as “palimpsests of space,” in which “strong marks of present space merge in the [collective] imaginary with traces of the past, erasures, losses, and heterotopias” (2003, 7). In recent years, location has gained ground as an area of interest in memory studies. Unlike previous explorations of places as “sites of memory”’ current examinations consider new angles and perspectives on the “location” and “locatedness” of memory. These discussions can be seen as responses to what Erll describes as the third phase of memory studies, in which memory has been conceived of as “dynamic,” “unbound,” “travelling,” and “transcultural” (2016). Scholars such as Susannah Radstone, Paul Basu, and Annette Kuhn have broached the subject, calling for an inter- and multidisciplinary approach

4 Duindam borrows the term “auratic contact zones” from A. Assmann (1999, 337).

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to memory, in which other variables next to the specific text or site of memory are considered. In her essay “What Place is This? Transcultural Memory and the Locations of Memory Studies,” Radstone explores the multidimensional “locatedness” of memory – the relevance of place and time in “instances of transmission [of memory]” (2011, 117). Here, the contexts of where and how we encounter or produce memories come into focus, from concrete, physical space to the situatedness in history, culture, and discourse that influences the “processes of encountering, negotiation, reading, viewing and spectatorship through which memories are, if you like, brought down to earth” (110–111). Another instance addressing the need to study context is Basu’s essay “Memoryscapes and Multi-Sited Methods.” Searching for appropriate methods and frameworks to explore memory, Basu asserts that memory is never “neatly bounded” and urges us to look beyond individual sites of memory in order to consider their relationships and connections to other forms of remembering (2013, 116; 118). Through these connections, multiple sites of memory may come together to form what Basu terms “memoryscape” (2013, 116). Moreover, their interaction may produce “new creolised forms” or take the shape of “palimpsest-like accretions” (116). In order to understand how locations exert influence on a film festival’s memory production, the following chapter first establishes the locatedness of cinema memory, that is, the significance of location in memories of moviegoing. It examines festival locations as the mise-en-scène of memory, emphasizing that both the festival and the locations themselves add to the staging and construction of memories. The focus then turns to festival locations as arenas for memory production, in which memories are produced, negotiated, and contested. With regard to this book’s case studies, the contexts for CAAMFest and SDAFF move to the fore, taking into account the (inherently different) demographics and infrastructures of San Francisco and San Diego as well as the networks of programming that exist in the two cities and influence the festivals’ programs and structures. Finally, the analysis of four of CAAMFest and SDAFF’s exhibition sites shows that these locations not only produce different viewing experiences, but also relate to different screening practices, memories, and histories.

5.2 Locations and Memories of Moviegoing Locatedness of Cinema Memory In Dreaming of Fred and Ginger: Cinema and Cultural Memory, Annette Kuhn declares that places are “extraordinarily insistent” in memories, both functioning as “containers of memory” and informing processes of memory (2002, 16–17).

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This “investment in place” is especially visible in memories of moviegoing (2011, 93). Based on her ethnohistorical study of 1930s film culture in Britain, during which moviegoing was a national pastime and a central part of everyday life, Kuhn describes how interviewees structured their memories of moviegoing topographically, anchoring their stories in remembered places and setting the scene for their narratives (2002, 1; 17). During their storytelling, interviewees created “memory maps,” guiding their listeners through the streets and into the theaters (20–21). According to Kuhn, the most prevalent form of what she calls “cinema memory”5 centers on the “social act of cinemagoing,” encompassing the journeys and routes traveled as well as the location, decor, companions, and audience members. Here, “the essentially social act of ‘going to the pictures’ is of far greater consequence than the cultural activity of seeing films,” and place functions as both the “prompt and mise en scène of memory” (2011, 93).6 Filmmaker Tsai Ming-liang similarly emphasizes that the space of the movie theater activates memories, from past moviegoing experiences to culturally specific practices or site-specific rituals, such as eating watermelon seeds in Chinese movie theaters (qtd. in K. Chan 2007, 91–92). Philippe Meers, Daniel Biltereyst, and Lies Van de Vijver make a similar point by drawing on their own research on cinema history, which focuses on moviegoing experiences in Flanders from 1925 to 1975. In their study, interviewees’ memories prioritized the “social act of cinemagoing” over particular films (2010, 274). Associating them with “different types of entertainment, genres, class distinction and particular social routines,” interviewees considered the individual spaces of movie theaters more relevant than the filmic content (274–75). Thus, Meers et al. argue, film exhibition as well as memories of these events show strong connections to the “unique (cultural) geography of the city” (2010, 275). The significance of location in cinema memory also becomes visible in other instances, influencing and changing audience perceptions (and therefore, memories) of films. Lesley Ann Dickson, for instance, states that experiential accounts of moviegoing point to a link between cinematic text and exhibition site, revealing that the space may function as an “extended narrative surround” (2015, 714). In their study of New York City’s former Rialto Theatre and its

5 In her essay, Kuhn establishes three forms of cinema memory, from 1) “remembered scenes or images from films (Type A memories),” to 2) “situated memories of films (Type B memories),” to 3) “memories of cinemagoing (Type C memories)” (2011, 87). While the borders of such categories are fluid, Type C memories are far more frequent than the other two categories (93). 6 Kuhn borrows the phrase “mise-en-scène of memory” from Edward Casey’s Remembering: A Phenomenological Study, in which the author points out that places “situate one’s memorial life” (1987, 184) and provide a “mise en scene for remembered events” (189).

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distinctive identity as a horror cinema, Tim Snelson and Mark Jancovich further assert that cinemas may develop identities that move beyond their function as exhibition sites, thereby setting audience expectations and modifying the meanings of films shown within these spaces (2011, 200). In the prolog to Ticket to Paradise: American Movie Theaters and How We Had Fun, film director and actor Harold Ramis shares his personal memories of moviegoing, constituting a child’s Saturday afternoon ritual in the 1950s, a teenage couple’s getaway in the early 1960s, and a space for revolutionary thought in the late 1960s (1991, 6–7). Covering and standing in for different stages of his life, Ramis’ memories imply how central the moviegoing experience was to earlier generations, both spectacular in its capacity to portray the exotic and foreign and quotidian in its embeddedness in everyday life. To this day, Ramis describes the experience of viewing a film in the movie theater as a “magical” experience (1991, 7). John Margolies and Emily Gwathmey expand on this magical quality of the U.S.-American moviegoing experience, establishing it as “transcendent and total.” However, by stating that during the “heyday of Hollywood,” the ritual of moviegoing was “among the wonders of the world,” they specifically locate it in the past (1991, 9).

Locations as the Mise-en-Scène of Memory Originally a theater term, mise-en-scène refers to the process of staging or “putting into the scene” (Bordwell and Thompson 1990, 156). Covering such parameters as setting, lighting, costume, and movement and behavior of figures, the mise-en-scène in film describes what we can see on the screen. According to Anette Kuhn and Guy Westwell, mise-en-scène always “produces meaning,” presenting us with visual information through which we can make sense of the film (2012, 268). This information is not unorganized: pointing to another central characteristic, Mary-Ann Doane asserts that mise-en-scène arranges the medium’s “disparate elements” (images, sounds, text) and through a process of “transcription” creates the sensory impressions that we experience as audiences. Put simply, mise-en-scène makes the “spectacle” of film accessible and has a unifying effect (1985, 172). The concept of mise-en-scène can also be transferred to film festivals. As Mark Cousins points out, festivals should be construed as staged events that have a “narrative structure” and mise-en-scène (2012). Like films, festivals consist of several disparate elements that work together to activate specific meanings and encourage certain readings, including programs and films, media and texts, performances and ceremonies. Following strict protocols and performances,

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festivals are carefully constructed and take place in locations that set the scene and atmosphere for their events. With regard to memory, the concept of mise-en-scène is equally productive. First, memories are always constructed and staged. Second, like memory, miseen-scène has both temporal and spatial dimensions, organized around places, objects, images, and movements. Finally, mise-en-scène places emphasis on materiality – an aspect that is just as important to memory. Discussing the need for “material contact between a remembering mind and a reminding object,” Jan Assmann underlines that memory “exists only in constant interaction not only with other human memories but also with ‘things,’ outward symbols” (2010, 111). Thus, it makes sense that Bordwell and Thompson maintain that “many of our most sharply etched memories of the cinema turn out to center on miseen-scene” (1990, 156). The festival experience is similarly set up to dominate audience memories. Tied into live performances, speeches, star interviews, and red carpet walks, the film screening may become less memorable than the exclusive setting in which it is staged and the activities that take place around it.

Festival Locations as Arenas of Memory In assessing the film festival’s impact on memory, festival location as the arena for memory production needs to move into the foreground. By definition, arenas describe both actual, physical spaces – “enclosed area[s] used for public entertainment” – and abstract “spheres of interest, activity, or competition” or “places […] for controversy” (“Arena” 2020). Julian Stringer has made continuous use of the term in his investigation of film festivals, pointing to the festival sphere as a territory of cultural activity, in which cultural identities are produced, performed, negotiated, and contained (2003a, 59). Cindy Hing-Yuk Wong has come to similar conclusions about festivals, describing them as alternative “public spheres,” which are open to discussion and debate (2011, 160). Here, C. Wong cites Nancy Fraser, who defines public spheres as “arenas of citizen discourse and association” (1990, 56). The term also finds continuous employment in memory studies, describing the frameworks and spaces in which memory is produced, negotiated, and contested. From local, national, or transnational arenas to political, cultural, and social arenas, the concept may refer to scales of memory (De Cesari and Rigney 2014, 3–4), point to places where struggles over memory occur (Rothberg 2009, 4), or connect to social practices of remembrance (Erll and Rigney 2009, 2–3). What these uses have in common is that they point to processes of emergence, negotiation, and renewal, examining the spaces and places in which discourses

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or memories ‘bubble up.’ Festival locations relate to all of these aspects, constituting both concrete, physical places in which festivals stage their events and discussions take place and socially produced spaces in which ideas of art, culture, and nation as well as cultural and social identities are formed.7 Moreover, they are arenas in which different memories intersect, bringing memories specific to the venue and neighborhood to the fore and merging them with broader memories of U.S.-American moviegoing experiences of the twentieth century; these then interact with the memories shown on screen and experienced in the movie theater.

5.3 F estival Contexts: Layers of Location and Networks of Programming Layers of Location: City, Neighborhood, Venue On the one hand, film festivals are transnational and transcultural events, encouraging the movement of films, people, and national, regional, and local cultures. On the other hand, they are firmly grounded in their urban locales, interacting with city profiles, tourism, and venue neighborhoods. CAAMFest and SDAFF should therefore always be seen in the urban contexts of San Francisco and San Diego, as they significantly shape festival audiences and bring forth multiple histories that the festivals may put to use and integrate into the screening experience. As Michael Guillén points out, San Francisco and the Bay Area have a long-standing film festival culture: not only is the San Francisco International Film Festival the longest-running festival in North America, having been founded in 1957, but the San Francisco Jewish Film Festival and San Francisco International LGBTQ Film Festival are also “pioneers” of festival specialization (2010, 151). San Francisco’s festival culture connects to the city’s profile, which stands in stark contrast to other U.S.-American cities. According to Rebecca Solnit, the city’s density creates the “possibility of a public life, a pedestrian life,” while U.S.-American culture has generally moved toward “privatization,” withdrawing from the public sphere (2010, 19).8 San Francisco has one of the most

7 For a definition of “place” and “space” as well as an in-depth analysis of the differences between the two terms, see Oakes and Price (2008); Norton (2006); and Hubbard (2005). 8 Mark Jancovich and Lucy Faire argue against this position, suggesting that “there is not a process of [surburban] privatisation in which people retreat from public life and become increasingly isolated from one another, but rather a process in which people’s perceptions of space

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extensive public transportation networks in the country, consisting of subways, streetcars, buses, and cable cars and making it possible to connect to all citywide locations. What is more, the individual neighborhoods have highly developed, walkable infrastructures that are specific to the dominant neighborhood culture. San Francisco is also unique in that it has persistently displayed a high density of movie theaters and retains a multitude of historic theaters such as the Balboa Theatre, Clay Theatre, and Presidio Theatre, exemplary of the “evolving style and scale of film venues” in the early twentieth century (Petrin 2010, 35).9 Guillén further notes that the city’s ethnic diversity is mirrored by the multitude of community-based film festivals (2010, 151). Keeping in mind San Francisco’s diverse, demographic profile and large Asian community, it makes sense that San Francisco is in a “key position” to respond to the broad interest in Asian cinema and “assist its distribution through the diasporic channels of community-based ‘identity’ film festivals” (153).10 CAAMFest’s choice of venue often reflects the location of its target communities: festival venues in proximity to Chinatown target the neighborhood’s considerable Asian American population, along with the Asian American communities in the neighboring districts of Nob Hill and South of Market. Having served as CAAMFest’s festival center for 25 years, Japantown was an equally strategic choice, situated between these downtown neighborhoods and the Richmond District, another area known for its high density of Asian American communities.11 In contrast, the city of San Diego largely consists of low-density urbanized areas or urban sprawl.12 Lacking a fully developed public transportation system

change.” In post-war years, “[h]ome ownership and new systems of transport meant that many people were spending more leisure time at home and travelling further for their leisure. As a result, the definition of what constituted one’s local environment was changing” (2003, 31). 9 Katherine Petrin states that San Francisco reached an “all-time high” of 79 movie theaters in 1940. With an estimated population of 635,000, the city subsequently featured one theater per 8,000 residents (2010, 38). 10 According to the statistics of the United States Census Bureau, the population of San Francisco City was estimated at 805,195 in 2010. 33.3 percent identified as Asian alone, and 4.7 percent identified as of two or more races (“San Francisco City”). 11 These observations are drawn from Matthew Bloch, Amanda Cox, and Tom Giratikanon’s project “Mapping Segregation” (2015), presenting a collection of U.S. city maps that display the lines of racial segregation. The project was published in The New York Times and is based on data from the U.S. census of 2010. 12 According to Jeffrey L. Kidder, San Diego “epitomizes post-WWII urban sprawl and car dependency” (2011, 125). Covering more land than New York City and “crisscrossed by giant freeways,” San Diego houses numerous neighborhoods that, because of their distance from the center, people mistake for independent cities (125).

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and the walkability of San Francisco, the city is almost exclusively navigated by car, reducing the public spaces in which people travel by foot and mingle to small areas such as the Gaslamp Quarter, the Marina, North Park, or Little Italy. In turn, because of the city’s car culture, distances are easily covered. Movie theaters and film festivals may therefore primarily target groups outside of a venue’s direct surroundings, as is visible in SDAFF’s choice of festival center. Brian Hu asserts that the UltraStar Mission Valley at Hazard Center offers a convenient location, although it is situated several miles outside of the city’s downtown area – for San Diego standards, it is considered close to all of the central neighborhoods and easily accessible by car because of its position between two major freeways (2018). Like the majority of U.S.-American cities, San Diego housed a multitude of picture palaces and neighborhood theaters in the past, emerging from the city’s expansion and the film industry’s growth (Geary 1977). Today, however, San Diego retains only very few historic theaters, as for instance, the Balboa Theatre, a picture palace from 1924 that became a city landmark in 1972 (Geary 1977), or Vintage Cinemas Village Theatre #1, Coronado’s former Village Theatre from the post-war years that was saved and restored in 2011 (S. Marks 2012). In total, San Diego holds far fewer neighborhood and independent theaters than San Francisco and hosts only about a third of the number of film festivals (“Lights, Camera” 2020; C. Hu 2018). As a southern Californian city that extends to the Mexican border, San Diego is known for its large Hispanic community rather than for its Asian American population.13 While the area became home to a small settlement of Chinese fishermen as early as the late 1860s, the community’s growth was soon stunted by the Chinese Exclusion Act. As a result, Chinatown was never “solidified” as a neighborhood, and today, the former ethnic enclave has been reduced to a few remnant buildings on the outskirts of the Gaslamp Quarter, one of them holding the San Diego Chinese Historical Museum (Zeng 2002, 436). Except for Filipino migration, which because of the United States’ annexation of the Philippines in 1899 remained untouched by anti-immigration laws and continued throughout the early twentieth century (Guevarra 2012, 5–10), there was no significant influx

13 According to the United States Census Bureau, the population of San Diego City was estimated at 1,307,402 in 2010. 15.9 percent identified as Asian alone, while 28.8 percent identified as Hispanic or Latino alone. 5.1 percent identified as of two or more races (“San Diego City”). Statistics for San Diego County show a slightly smaller Asian and slightly larger Hispanic population: based on a population of 3,095,313, 12.2 percent identified as Asian, while 33.5 percent identified as Hispanic or Latino. 4.4 percent identified as of two or more races (“San Diego County”).

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of Asian migration to the San Diego area until the late 1970s, by which time the city had expanded and developed (Zeng 2002, 436). In contrast, San Francisco constituted the main port of entry for Asian immigrants and was exposed to several phases of wide-scale immigration. Beginning as early as 1848, the first significant phase of immigration brought tens of thousands of Chinese laborers to San Francisco, primarily to join the gold rush or work on the construction of the transcontinental railroad. After the passing of the Chinese Exclusion Act, possibilities for immigration from Asia were severely limited until the mid-twentieth century (Chinese American). With the establishment of the Immigration Act of 1965, the percentage of Asian Americans in San Francisco increased to such an extent that they became the second-largest ethnic group after non-Hispanic whites (“San Francisco City”). Generally more dispersed than in the Bay Area, larger settlements of Asians and Asian Americans in San Diego County can be found in the bordering cities of National City and Chula Vista as well as in the San Diego neighborhood of Mira Mesa. Moreover, the central neighborhoods of City Heights and Linda Vista hold a large Vietnamese population, while Convoy Street in Kearny Mesa is known for its high density of Asian American businesses (B. Hu 2018). Matthew Bloch et al.’s maps further point to a relatively large Asian population between La Jolla Village and University City. It is important to keep in mind, however, that the density of Asian Americans in any given San Diego neighborhood peaks at around 50 percent, while a “high” density in San Francisco translates to about 80–90 percent (Bloch et al. 2015). In its choice of festival center, SDAFF responds to these demographics: the UltraStar Mission Valley is not only easily accessible, but also located between City Heights and Kearny Mesa. Moreover, festival locations in La Jolla and Del Mar are close to La Jolla Village and University City as well as in driving distance of Mira Mesa, revealing the city infrastructure’s strong hold on the festival’s choice of venues.

CAAMFest and SDAFF: Infrastructure Next to the city and neighborhood in which the film festival takes place, the concrete venue and its immediate surroundings provide another layer of location, informing festival programming and audience reception through their unique histories and atmospheres. There are a variety of cultural, political, economic, and technical reasons for placing a festival within a specific site. Requirements for equipment such as 3D digital cinema or 35mm film projectors, seating capacities, rental prices, or proximity to other festival venues may all play into the decision-making process. The Berlinale’s relocation to Potsdamer Platz in 2000,

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for example, was a decision influenced by technological and logistical demands – modern theaters, small distances between the festival center and cultural landmarks, museums, and other festival venues as well as nearby entertainment and dining facilities (Harbord 2002, 65). Other choices relate to the festival image, respond to local history, or connect to audience reception, targeting certain milieus and communities residing in the area and influencing who is at the receiving end of memory production. In recent years, CAAMFest has hosted the majority of its screenings at six festival locations, each offering a different viewing experience: the Castro Theatre on Castro Street; the Roxie Theater, Gray Area Foundation, and Alamo Drafthouse Cinema in the Mission District; the New People Cinema in Japantown; and the Great Star Theater in Chinatown.14 Next to the Great Star Theater, screenings in Chinatown have also taken place at the Chinese Historical Society of America, the Chinatown campus of City College of San Francisco, and the art gallery 41 Ross (cf. appendix 8.2). Prior to 2016, CAAMFest had screened a large part of its program at the Sundance Kabuki Cinemas in Japantown – a historical neighborhood that comprised one of the biggest Japanese enclaves outside of Japan before WWII. While its demographics have changed due to Japanese internment and the city’s post-war redevelopment efforts (Jofuku 2005), the neighborhood is still home to several family-owned businesses, serving traditional Japanese food and selling imported goods; a Japanese American community center; modern Japanese entertainment, covering karaoke and video games; and traditional Japanese architecture, from pagoda-style roofs, to cobbled streets, to plum and cherry trees – all of which embody different aspects of Japanese culture (“SF Japantown” 2019). Constituting one of three remaining Japantowns in the United States, its cultural and historical significance was recognized by California State Legislature in 2001 (“Cultural Preservation” 2020). However, due to the theater’s acquisition of a liquor license and the subsequent enforcement of an age policy that banned minors under 21 from the premises after 4:30 pm, the Sundance Kabuki was abandoned as festival center after almost 25 years: according to CAAMFest director Masashi Niwano, the festival staff had been forced to “formally apologize” to filmmakers, visitors, and sponsors who had brought their children and could not take them into the movie theater. Seeing that a large part of CAAMFest’s programs target teenagers and/or families, screenings at Sundance Kabuki “damaged” the

14 Except for the Great Star Theater, all of these venues also host other local festivals, such as San Francisco International Film Festival, San Francisco International LGBTQ Film Festival, and Green Film Festival.

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festival’s relationship with its audiences (2016). As a result, CAAMFest has shifted most of its events to the Mission District, leaving New People Cinema to represent CAAMFest in Japantown and reducing the festival screenings in this neighborhood to a maximum of two days. Built in 2009, the New People Cinema is part of a modern entertainment complex promoting Japanese popular culture (“About” New People 2018). In its sleek and futuristic theater, New People offers both HD digital and 35mm projection (“New People” 2018). In contrast, all of CAAMFest’s other venues were established between 1909 and 1940 and built as single-screen theaters – including the new festival locations in the Mission District (Roxie Theater, Gray Area Foundation, and Alamo Drafthouse at the New Mission), which took over the majority of screenings. According to Niwano, analyses of audience profiles showed that a large part of the festival’s audiences are connected to the Mission, further encouraging the festival to relocate (2016). As center of San Francisco’s music scene, the Mission District offers appropriate venues for CAAMFest’s Directions in Sound section, a showcase for emerging Asian American musicians. Moreover, it creates the opportunity to connect to new audiences outside of the Asian American community (Niwano 2016). As Niwano claims, festivals “curate the venue” (2016). One of CAAMFest’s goals is to become an integral part of different Asian American communities, making venues in Japantown and Chinatown logical choices. Also, films thematizing the Chinese diasporic experience or Chinatown residents’ biographies may have what Niwano terms a “natural audience” in a Chinatown setting (2016).15 Thus, the context of each location may actively influence the placement of a specific program within a certain venue, such as an activist documentary screened in the Castro or a live performance of a Japanese-Filipino filmmaker’s home movies in Japantown. Surrounded by the various histories of the city, neighborhood, community, and specific site, movie theaters are, according to Daphne Pi-Wei Lei, “like writings on a palimpsest. The current meaning cannot be achieved without

15 While it also draws in typical film festival audiences, CAAMFest is largely visited by members of the local Asian American community. According to Niwano, CAAMFest has always focused on its appeal and outreach to what it conceives of as an actual, targetable Asian American community. Its audiences are on average about 50 percent Asian American, while the other 50 percent comprise a mix of Hispanic and non-Hispanic whites and other communities of color (2016). Niwano asserts that, more recently, CAAMFest has made additional efforts to reach out to other people of color in order to form a “coalition” (2016). This effort is visible in CAAMFest’s recent expansion to Oakland, a city in which African American communities are by far the largest minority group (“Oakland City”).

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some erasure of previous memories, but since erasing is never complete, the current cultural memory is always multilayered” (2006, 184). In response to the city and region’s infrastructure, SDAFF is topographically much more dispersed, venturing out as far as Encinitas and Del Mar in order to cover San Diego County’s northern territories.16 In recent years, SDAFF has regularly returned to five or six venues, including UltraStar Cinemas Mission Valley, the Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego (MCASD) in La Jolla, the Museum of Photographic Arts (MOPA) in Balboa Park, Digital Gym Cinema in North Park, La Paloma Theatre in Encinitas, and a UCSD venue (cf. appendix 8.2).17 In contrast to CAAMFest, none of SDAFF’s locations are in walking distance of one another; what is more, most of them are difficult to reach via public transportation, requiring travel by car (fig. 22). For almost all of the film festival’s editions, the multiplex theater UltraStar has served as the festival center, accommodating the lion’s share of SDAFF’s programs.18 Both museums are booked for special events, MCASD hosting the festival’s opening and closing night events and MOPA screening “Spotlight” and “Tribute” films. Next to hosting selected screenings and panels, UCSD forms the site of the “Taiwan Showcase” – a program that is not only sponsored by UCSD’s Taiwan Studies Department, but also presented as part of the department’s lecture series. Digital Gym Cinema, a nonprofit theater dedicated to foreign and independent film and integrated into the Media Arts Center San Diego, usually screens a handful of the festival’s films, serving as SDAFF’s location in the young and hip neighborhood of North Park (“About Us” Digital Gym 2015). Established in 1928, La Paloma Theatre is the only historic venue used by SDAFF, booked for encore screenings on the last day of the festival.

16 While CAAMFest has experimented with geographical expansion, moving programs to the neighboring city of Berkeley or organizing a weekend of CAAMFest screenings in San Jose, most of the festival locations are in walking distance of one another. In recent years, the New Parkway Theater, the Oakland Asian Cultural Center, and the Oakland Museum of California have constituted the only locations outside of San Francisco; both are only a few metro stops away from San Francisco’s downtown area (cf. appendix 8.2). 17 Brian Hu (2020) states that SDAFF no longer takes place at MCASD, since the museum has demolished its theater, and instead hosts events at the San Diego Natural History Museum. Also, it no longer screens films at the La Paloma Theatre, but has incorporated the Edwards Mira Mesa Stadium 18 in Mira Mesa as a new venue. 18 The term “multiplex” refers to a movie theater with multiple screens. It is often associated with movie theater chains and mainstream programming, thus forming oppositions to independently run single-screen theaters and arthouse programming. Peter Bosma offers a more detailed distinction, differentiating between the “megaplex” (more than 16 screens), “multiplex” (8 to 15 screens), “miniplex” (2 to 7 screens), and single-screen theater (2015, 56).

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New Parkway Theater Great Star Theater 41 Ross New People

Castro Theatre

Oakland Museum of California

Asian Art Museum

Roxie

Alamo Drafthouse Gray Area

Distances between festival locations at CAAMFest 2017 within San Francisco: max. 5 km Oakland and San Francisco: ca. 15 km Kartendaten © 2020 Google Deutschland

La Paloma Theatre

Distances between festival locations at SDAFF 2016 Encinitas and San Diego: ca. 40 km La Jolla and San Diego: ca. 21 km Mission Valley and San Diego: ca. 8 km

UCSD Atkinson Hall Museum of Contemporary Art

UltraStar Mission Valley Digital Gym Cinema Museum of Photographic Art

Kartendaten © 2020 INEGI Deutschland

Fig. 22: Distances between festival locations at CAAMFest 2017 (San Francisco) and SDAFF 2016 (San Diego)

With regard to moviegoing experiences and audience reception, all of these venues create different environments for the viewing of films. As one of the few remaining movie palaces of the 1920s,19 the Castro Theatre is striking because

19 The term “movie palace” describes a trend in which movie theaters take on the grandeur of classic theaters. Built in 1913, the Regent in New York is considered the prototype for the movie palace. It was designed by architect Thomas Lamb and modeled after the Doge’s Palace in Venice (Valentine 1996, 35).

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of its opulence and grandeur, featuring an art deco lounge, red velvet curtains, and crystal chandeliers; in contrast, the Roxie Theater derives its charm from its intimate home-theater vibe, dodgy history, and self-proclaimed distinctiveness in programming.20 With its 1920s structure and stage still intact and the original decor and projectors lining the gritty hallway, the Great Star Theater commemorates its century-long tradition of hosting Chinese opera performances and screening original-language films. In San Diego, the multiplex chain UltraStar Mission Valley offers a traditional black-box experience and is integrated into a suburban mall, while MCASD screens films in its elegant auditorium, presenting wood-paneled walls, a sloped seating area with wood chairs, and a proscenium with an integrated screen. Situated on a cliff overlooking the Pacific, with its sculpture garden fitted onto the slope below the main building, the museum is part of La Jolla, an affluent seaside community known for its picturesque setting. In their curation of locations, CAAMFest and SDAFF may make use of various contexts, taking into consideration not only the cinema’s technological equipment, but also the venue’s institutional context and exhibition history as well as the neighborhood’s history, demographics, and atmosphere.

Networks of Programming A film festival’s program is part of a larger network of film programming within a city or region. CAAMFest and SDAFF were created in order to respond to a lack of Asian and Asian American film screenings in their respective urban environments, both in terms of missing cultural representation and a gap in the market. Reacting to local demand, the two festivals determine which films to screen according to what is otherwise being shown in San Francisco and San Diego, augmenting the programming of other local film festivals and movie theaters that regularly screen Asian imports and/or Asian American films. While CAAMFest may compete with other festivals as well as with San Francisco’s film society SFFILM in screening Asian and independent films,21 SDAFF takes place in a city

20 Starting out as a neighborhood theater that showed second- and third-run films, the Roxie began exhibiting German-language films in the late 1950s and switched to pornographic films a decade later. In the mid-1970s, its Russian American owners showed Russian-language movies for a few months, before another change in ownership transformed it into a repertory cinema in 1976. As a nonprofit theater, the Roxie claims that it shows the “coolest/weirdest/most thought-provoking films of the past, present and future” (“History” Roxie 2018). 21 San Francisco International Film Festival, San Francisco Independent Film Festival, San Francisco Documentary Film Festival, and California Independent Film Festival are annual

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with few festivals and therefore has the monopoly over Asian programming.22 Next to movie theater screenings, Asian film culture can also be accessed in other ways. For instance, multiple locations throughout San Francisco sell Asian films, especially in neighborhoods with large Asian American communities. Moreover, original language programming can be found on streaming websites and national television, as channels such as PBS and Comcast offer Asian or Asian American sub-channels. Emerging from a one-year documentation of Asian and Asian American film screenings in San Francisco and San Diego from 2015 to 2016, a weekly analysis of movie schedules in these two cities led to interesting discoveries with regard to the regularity of and the locations for such screenings (cf. appendix 8.4).23 In San Francisco, Asian imports and/or Asian American films were regularly screened at various locations: The multiplexes AMC Metreon 16 – offering by far the highest number of screenings over 45 weeks of the year – and AMC Van Ness 14 are both situated in close proximity to Chinatown. While the two-screen 4-Star Theatre serves the Richmond District, the single-screen Roxie Theater caters to the Mission District. The multiplex Century 20 Daly City and XD in the neighboring Daly City serves the southern regions of San Francisco, which, according to Bloch et al., also show a high percentage of Asian communities (2015). Opera Plaza Cinemas, Century San Francisco Centre, Alamo Drafthouse Cinema, Clay Theatre, and Embarcadero Center Cinema sporadically programmed screenings

showcases for independent productions and show overlap with CAAMFest’s programming of Asian or Asian American films. What is more, 3rd i Film Festival screens South Asian films, while SFFILM presents an annual showcase for Hong Kong cinema (“Hong Kong” 2018). With regard to LGBTQ stories by Asians or Asian Americans, Frameline and CAAMFest’s programming will often intersect. 22 According to my research, there are no other annual showcases for Asian or Asian American films in San Diego. Merely SDAFF’s programming of independent or LGBTQ films may intersect with San Diego International Film Festival and FilmOut San Diego. 23 These weekly analyses are based on movie schedules provided by Google Movies between November 2015 and November 2016. Drawn from this one-year documentation of Asian and Asian American film screenings in San Francisco and San Diego, statistics describe the regularity of and the locations for these screenings as well as the dominance of specific national cinemas. Regular screenings were defined as more than ten weeks of screenings within a year, while sporadic screenings consisted of five to ten weeks of screenings. Asian American films were defined as either revolving around Asian American content and/or featuring a largely Asian American cast and crew. Blockbusters such as Star Trek Beyond (2016) and Ice Age: Collision Course (2016) as well as independent films such as Swiss Army Man (2016), which featured an Asian American director but otherwise did not fit the profile of an Asian American film production, were not included in the sampling (cf. appendix 8.4).

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of Asian imports, but did not show any Asian American films during the 12 months of statistical sampling. Most of the Asian screenings featured Chinese blockbusters from Taiwan, Hong Kong, and Mainland China, with occasional screenings of Korean and Japanese imports. Four movie theaters in San Francisco screened selected Asian American films, namely Ktown Cowboys (2015), Mad Tiger (2015), Front Cover (2015), and Spa Night (2016). According to Niwano, CAAMFest avoids big blockbusters, precisely because these are already supplied by AMC Metreon throughout the year, allowing the festival to go after smaller productions or independent films (2016). In turn, San Diego hosts significantly fewer Asian film screenings throughout the year: regular screenings of Asian imports took place at the multiplexes AMC Mission Valley, AMC Fashion Valley, AMC Plaza Bonita in the neighboring National City, and Edwards Mira Mesa Stadium 18 in Mira Mesa. The latter two almost exclusively focused on Filipino imports, while the others mostly showed a mix of Chinese, Japanese, and Korean blockbusters. Sporadic screenings took place at Digital Gym Cinema in North Park and Landmark Ken Cinema close to City Heights. Within the course of the year, only two Asian American films were screened in San Diego, namely the fiction film Songs My Brothers Taught Me (2015) at Digital Gym Cinema and the documentary 77 Minutes (2016) at UltraStar Mission Valley. Since Chinese blockbusters are hardly screened at all, SDAFF makes an effort to include popular Chinese hits such as The Mermaid (2016) in its programming.24

5.4 Case Studies: CAAMFest and SDAFF’s Arenas of Memory Production The Castro Theatre: Memories of U.S.-American Moviegoing Built in 1922, the Castro Theatre is a registered San Francisco landmark and one of the few remaining movie palaces from the 1920s. It was constructed by the Nasser Brothers, local entrepreneurs who owned and operated several other theaters

24 B. Hu asserts that there has been an increase in screenings of Chinese blockbusters in San Diego in recent years, attributing this development to the emergence and growth of distributors such as Chinalion Film Distribution. Since the multiplexes cater to different audiences than the festival, this development has not stopped SDAFF from programming Chinese blockbusters; it has, however, led the festival to become more selective about its choices in films and to “reconsider our policy of requiring San Diego premieres” (2020).

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in the Bay Area, and designed by Timothy L. Pflueger, a Bay Area architect who would create several prolific San Francisco movie theaters in the following years. While the cream-colored, ornate facade and tall arch window evoke a Mexican cathedral, the 1,400-seat auditorium is influenced by several styles, referencing Moorish tents, Roman amphitheaters, and Classical columns that together “convey the feeling of watching an outdoor performance” (Petrin 2010, 47; fig. 23). Highly modern in its use of art deco elements, the Castro boasts of grandeur and opulence (“History” Castro 2005–2019).25

Fig. 23: The Castro Theatre’s exterior and its position on Castro Street

Like many movie theaters of its time, the Castro’s architecture strengthens the cinematic illusion of travels to ‘exotic’ and foreign lands (Petrin 2010, 35). Mirroring the fantastic settings that dominated the period’s film production, the

25 Art deco would become the “predominant style” for theater design by the late 1920s, with S. Charles Lee and Timothy L. Pflueger as its leaders (Petrin 2010, 42).

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auditorium’s architecture brings attention to the film industry’s intent to make theaters – and thus, the viewing experience – a part of their product: Movie palaces became as exotic and romantic as the films on the screen, typically ornate period revival extravaganzas […] Interiors feature grand lobbies, one or more balconies, a screen framed by an elaborate proscenium and recessed alcoves, fanciful murals, and colored light for visual effect. (42)

In its development from a nickelodeon to a single-screen theater, the Castro’s history is representative of the evolution of U.S.-American neighborhood theaters in the early twentieth century (Petrin 2010, 46). Having immigrated from Lebanon in 1900, Abraham Nasser started the Nasser Brothers’ Nickelodeon business in 1908 and projected films onto a wall in his grocery store (Hamlin 2012). Nickelodeons had only begun to spring up a few years earlier: As pointed out by Margolies and Gwathmey, “immigrant entrepreneurs” like Nasser functioned as the central force behind the developing theater industry, constructing the majority of these makeshift theaters in their shops and restaurants (1991, 12). At an admission price of 5 cents, the format instantly boomed with the working class, counting about 8,000 theaters in the United States by 1908 (Petrin 2010, 38). As owner of a thriving business, Nasser upgraded his nickelodeon to a 600-seat theater two years later, expanding once more to the 1,400-seat “New” Castro Theatre in 1922 (Bevk 2017). Thus, Nasser’s nickelodeon business slowly developed into a “local movie-palace empire,” with the family owning multiple neighborhood theaters such as the Alhambra, New Mission, and Castro in San Francisco and the Paramount in Oakland (Hamlin 2012). From its immigrant owner’s success story to its evolution from nickelodeon to neighborhood picture palace, the Castro Theatre is exemplary of a central development of early twentieth century U.S.-America, influencing both industry and entertainment, professional and private life. By the Castro’s new opening in 1922, San Francisco counted dozens of movie houses (Petrin 2010, 42). While the first-run theaters were located in the downtown area and housed up to 4,650 guests, including theater, big band, and vaudeville shows in their program, the neighborhood theaters were smaller and less expensive, showing films on their second runs.26 Although the Castro

26 While most Hollywood films are nowadays made available via a “general release,” receiving immediate and maximum exposure, the industry’s release policies formerly revolved around a “‘zonerun-clearance’ system,” in which cities were divided into zones and films moved from downtown areas to the suburbs (Verhoeven 2011, 244). Within each zone, theaters received a “‘run’ status,” according to parameters such as size, location, and “perceived quality”: while

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categorized as a second-run venue, it was one of four neighborhood theaters that also hosted live performances (38–43). With the development of proper movie theaters, the moviegoing experience went through drastic changes: While nickelodeons remained noisy, unruly, and “rowdy,” the cinemas of the 1910s and 1920s followed the “decorum” of traditional theaters (Petrin 2010, 39). Offering “opulence at modest prices,” the experience in movie palaces turned luxurious, as venues now featured ushers, attendants, and in-house orchestras (42). According to Margolies and Gwathmey, ushers led guests to their comfortable, cushioned seats, while attendants provided heated towels in elegant powder rooms (1991, 11). In booking the Castro Theatre for special events such as opening or closing night galas and centerpiece presentations, San Francisco’s film festivals replicate the former festivities of the moviegoing experience.27 CAAMFest’s opening night event, which has taken place at the Castro for several years, is marked by elegantly dressed crowds, an increase of service, and live music on stage. Festival staff members hand out badges and tickets at the box office, organize the lines, greet guests, and usher them into the auditorium. As the largely Asian American audience bustles into the theater, an organist plays lively show tunes, commemorating the Castro’s tradition of organ performances due to its former ownership of a Wurlitzer pipe organ (“History” Castro 2005–2019; Suskind 2016). Lively chatter mixes with the My Fair Lady soundtrack, which echoes through the theater and recreates the atmosphere of a carnival or street fair. While a slideshow of advertisements is displayed on screen, guests choose seats, mingle, and greet each other. Following a final performance of “The Lady is a Tramp,” the velvet red curtain closes and the CAAMFest logo appears on its surface (fig. 24). Various speakers enter the stage amidst cheers and applause, welcoming the audience and adding to the festive atmosphere.28 Another significant aspect of the Castro Theatre’s identity is its location in the Castro District, known for its role as center of the gay liberation movement in the 1960s and 1970s.29 According to Alex Suskind, the district functioned as a

first-run theaters would receive “exclusive rights” to screen new films, second-run theaters would be allowed to reopen the films only after a “short period of ‘clearance,’” during which films were removed from the exhibition circuit (244). 27 In recent years, the Castro has been booked by CAAMFest for a maximum of two days. Next to its opening night event, the festival may host centerpiece presentations or selected LGBTQthemed screenings at the venue or return to the Castro for its closing night event. 28 This particular description refers to my observations of CAAMFest’s 2017 opening night event. 29 Previously known as Eureka Valley, the Castro neighborhood’s development was furthered by the Castro Theatre’s opening, causing “real estate values to skyrocket” (Bevk 2017). According

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Fig. 24: The Castro Theatre’s interior during CAAMFest’s 2017 opening ceremony

“political, cultural, and economic hub of queer life” during this time (2016). While neighborhoods such as North Beach or the Tenderloin were also home to gay communities, the Castro neighborhood and the gay liberation movement “gained speed together,” Ryan Levi asserts (2017). Thus, the Castro District grew into a fully developed neighborhood, in which entertainment offers and gay bars flourished, nonprofit organizations prospered, and gay professionals could openly go about their work. Situated in the heart of this neighborhood, the theater building’s facade and marquee constitute a central part of the iconic Castro Street, along with the street’s hilly decline and lines of rainbow flags. Described as a “community center” (Bevk 2017), “place of refuge” (Lindow 2010, 8), space for “counterculture,” and “crucial component of modern gay life” (Morris 1996), the Castro Theatre is integral to the local LGBTQ community’s collective memory, having in the past functioned as a place for activism, solidarity, and selfrepresentation. Its history further mirrors the shifts within and the gay community’s influence on the development of the Castro District. Along with the renovation of old Victorian homes, the revival of the movie palace and the protection of such historical buildings fueled the Castro District’s gentrification, transforming it from a working-class area into an upscale neighborhood and tourist center (Levi 2017).

to the San Francisco Chronicle, the Castro showed “‘indication of great progress’ for the budding Eureka Valley neighborhood,” turning it into a “‘choice home area’” (qtd. in Bevk 2017).

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Until the mid-1970s, the Castro continued to function as a second-run movie house, surviving the first wave of declining cinema attendance and theater closures, though becoming increasingly run-down. Due to the Castro community’s efforts to preserve historic buildings, it became a city landmark in 1976. Moreover, its status and value as an old movie palace was reinstated, as film exhibitor Mel Novikoff took over the theater’s ownership and changed its programming to include first-run arthouse and foreign films, Hollywood classics, and film festival presentations (Bevk 2017). In order to set the Castro apart from other arthouse or repertory theaters in San Francisco, Novikoff launched “commercial retrospectives” on Hollywood stars and studios, “persuading studios to strike new prints of old movies long since abandoned as unprofitable.” In the following years, the theater began to include LGBTQ films in its program and host Frameline’s festival, responding to the Castro District’s transformation from a working-class Irish neighborhood to a center for the gay community (Morris 1996). As Suskind states, the theater changed with the neighborhood, serving as “both witness to and participant in the burgeoning gay rights movement” (2016). The Castro Theatre’s new identity also led to new moviegoing traditions. Establishing it as the “church of camp,” Gary Morris describes the Castro’s transition into a “cozy homo haven,” in which audiences would openly express their reactions to a film, from floor dancing to “screams of approval, boos, and catcalls” – a tradition that still exists today and is enforced by events such as sing-along screenings: “If straight society forbade authentic gay selfexpression, the Castro – both theatre and neighborhood – encouraged it” (1996). Here, parallels can be drawn between the specific history of gay audience participation in the Castro and general observations about the festival atmosphere and its rituals, which equally encourage lively, active, and vocal audiences, as festival staff reach out to their audiences during welcomes, introductions, and Q&As and integrate live performances into their events.30 Influenced by these narratives and histories that surround the space, CAAMFest’s programming at the Castro Theatre has largely consisted of Special Presentations and gala events, international showcases, retrospectives such as “Out of the Vaults” screenings, and films that center on LGBTQ stories or community activism. Most of these films tend to draw larger audiences – an important factor for curation, as the Castro’s single-screen theater houses up to 1,400 guests and an empty theater may not only represent a financial liability, but also negatively influence the film experience, its memorability for audiences, and

30 For a discussion of the “carnevalesque” in the context of queer film exhibition and film festivals, see Richards (2016).

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the festival image. Several films respond to the theater’s programming history and reputation as arthouse and repertory theater, with CAAMFest selecting 1) new releases by Asian auteurs such as Hou Hsiao-hsien or Deepa Mehta; 2) retrospectives on Kiyoshi Kurosawa and Royston Tan; and 3) Hollywood classics with an Asian American cast for screenings at the Castro. Moreover, the size, architecture, and atmosphere of the Castro complement the ceremonial nature of opening and closing night galas and make the venue a natural choice for these events. CAAMFest commemorates the Castro’s identity as a center for the LGBTQ community through its tradition of hosting queer shorts programs at the theater, which often incorporate local stories and perspectives. It has further screened several feature films on queer identities at the Castro, such as the Thai gay romance and coming-of-age drama The Love of Siam (2007) in 2009, the Indian drama Margarita, with a Straw (2014) in 2015, portraying lesbian identity and struggles with disability, and My Fair Wedding (2015) in 2015, a documentary on marriage equality in South Korea. In acknowledgment of the neighborhood’s history of activism, the festival has further placed a documentary on Chinese American activist Grace Lee Boggs and films providing insights into racial and gender stereotypes in the Castro. For example, in 2006, CAAMFest screened The Crimson Kimono (1959) and Bridge to the Sun (1961), discussing them as films that defied Hollywood perspectives on the effeminate Asian male (24th San Francisco 2006, 32–33). Thus, while theater size, rental prices, and proximity to other festival locations are important factors in CAAMFest’s choice of venue, the theater’s various histories – as historic movie palace, center for the LGBTQ community, and repertory theater – greatly influence CAAMFest’s curation of space.31 It is further important to note that the Castro Theatre is ingrained in the community’s collective memory as an icon for queer life. In his collection of interviews, Suskind provides examples that demonstrate this significance: For instance, Frameline’s executive director Frances Wallace claims that the Castro constitutes a “‘magical’” place. Stating that the magic is “‘in the walls,’” Wallace implies that the act of walking into the theater and being in the space activates or ‘summons’ the Castro’s histories (qtd. in Suskind 2016). A space in which queer films are consciously premiered and staged, director Rob Epstein describes the

31 In The Queer Film Festival: Popcorn and Politics, Stuart James Richards provides a detailed analysis of festival space in the context of queer film festivals and discusses the Castro neighborhood and Frameline’s film festival as one of two case studies. Here, the author includes a nuanced perspective of the Castro District’s role within the LGBTQ community and points to the differences in screening certain types of queer films (especially those that focus on minority identities and “oppose” hegemonies of power within the queer community) in a maledominated, traditionally gay neighborhood (2016, 218).

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unique atmosphere the Castro provided for the premier of his documentary film The Times of Harvey Milk (1984): “‘People were pounding the floor, crying, it was a catharsis for everyone there to see the experience we all lived through and knew in our hearts’” (qtd. in Suskind 2016). Both interviewees thus describe bodily sensations and emotional states that the Castro has either evoked or participated in. Marc Huestis, Castro programmer and co-founder of Frameline’s film festival, asserts that he came out to his father “‘directly because of the Castro Theatre,’” remembering the visit to the theater that motivated him to openly live as a gay man (qtd. in Suskind 2016). According to Suskind, these accounts form the tip of the iceberg, having heard “dozens of emotional tales” during his research, all of which took place at “this big, bright totem.” What is more, the walls hold some of the ashes of Vito Russo, LGBTQ activist and author of the seminal book The Celluloid Closet: Homosexuality in the Movies (1981) – another, material manifestation of the theater’s embodiment of LGBTQ memory (2016). The Castro, however, is not the only film festival venue that has been primed to evoke a moviegoing past: One of CAAMFest’s new additions, the Alamo Drafthouse at the New Mission is located on Mission Street between 21st and 22nd Streets, the very heart of the Mission District.32 Opened in 1916 as a single-screen theater, the New Mission Theater was built by famous theater architects James and Merrit Reid and expanded and remodeled by Timothy Pflueger in the 1930s. The original building had a seating capacity of 1,800, split between a ground floor and balcony, and featured a 110-foot long lobby made of marble and tile. The theater’s interior was accentuated by decorative Corinthian columns, a proscenium and orchestra pit, and the “largest and finest orchestral pipe organ on the Pacific Coast,” as advertised by The Moving Picture World in 1916 (“New Mission Theater” 1916). Finally shutting its doors in 1993, the New Mission became a furniture store and did not reopen its doors until the Alamo Drafthouse chain33

32 The Mission District surrounds the Mission San Francisco de Assisi, built by Spanish missionaries in 1776. According to Sergio de la Mora, the area constituted a “quiet outpost” until the building of streetcar lines in 1870 (2010, 131). Following the forced relocation of residents and businesses after the 1906 earthquake, Mission Street transformed into a “vibrant commercial and entertainment strip rivaling downtown.” Originally home to European immigrant communities, the neighborhood’s demographics began to change in the 1940s with the arrival of Mexican immigrants (131). 33 The Alamo Drafthouse chain markets itself as a film exhibitor providing a complete evening experience (dinner, drinks, and movies) and offering meticulously curated programs by cinephiles for cinephiles. It emphasizes its status as “second home to movie fans,” based on its eclectic cult programming, ad-free screenings, and “zero tolerance” attitude toward cell phone use and other disturbances of the theater experience (“About” Alamo).

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decided to “resurrect” the old movie palace (McBride 2010, 14; Keegan 2015a). According to the New Mission’s manager Mike Keegan, Alamo Drafthouse’s $10 million restoration has created a “movie mecca as original 1920’s decor fuses with state of the art technology” (2015c). Blog posts opened the process of reconstruction to the public, as Keegan shared both new and archival photographs of the theater so that readers could compare the 1943 pictures to the 2015 “rehabilitation” efforts, which transformed the single-screen into a five-screen theater, ranging from intimate 34-seat theaters to a 320-seat main hall (2015b). In terms of memory production, the New Mission provides an interesting example on several levels. First, it encapsulates the history and fate of the majority of neighborhood theaters, from early success to slow demise, resulting in the repurposing or teardown of such buildings.34 Second, it has gone through a revival, having been saved and landmarked by the San Francisco Neighborhood Theater Foundation. Alamo Drafthouse has attempted to recapture the former magic of the New Mission Theater, while at the same time updating the old picture palace’s concept and technology in order to meet present demands (Whiting 2015). Third, the renovated theater features a small exhibition of its history in the lobby, presenting framed photographs of both the running theater in 1943 and the vandalized, demolished venue prior to its renovation in 2015, a yellowed opening announcement from The Moving Picture World, and vintage posters of cult classics, and thereby establishing a narrative in which a cherished past (of U.S.-American film culture, downtowns, and urban life) along with the theater’s former glory have been restored. What is more, the photos trace the different pasts of the theater building: while one image shows the remaining art deco details of the ceilings and banisters, others document the remnants of a sign for bunk beds and futons below the mezzanine’s balustrade or the graffiti on the lobby walls.35 Through these historical documents, Alamo Drafthouse enforces the theater’s at times forgotten identity as ancient picture palace – an identity that the Castro, having remained in business throughout the twentieth century, has successfully kept and that has been carefully nurtured by the local community. Finally, Alamo Drafthouse’s partnership with producer Megan Ellison from Annapurna Pictures to save the film archive of a well-known neighborhood video store, Le Video, after its closing in November 2015 provides another instance in which memories of city, neighborhood, and venue intersect (J. Brooks 2015). In the

34 According to Sam Whiting, other San Francisco movie theaters have suffered the fate of being transformed into fitness clubs, clothing stores, and batting cages (2015). 35 These photos were also published on the Alamo Drafthouse blog (Keegan 2015a; Keegan 2015b).

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Alamo Drafthouse blog, Randal White declares the archive an “important and exhaustive cinephile curation” that would have otherwise been lost (2015). Now, on entering the majestic lobby of the New Mission, visitors can sift through parts of Le Video’s archive that are on display, increasing the theater’s retro vibe and its rootedness in San Francisco history. As movie palaces of the early twentieth century, theaters like the Castro and the New Mission activate nostalgia and function as a “memory trace” (K. Chan 2007, 91). Film festivals make use of the locations’ history and aura as well as of their capability of recalling the past (De Valck 2007, 138). In connecting a festival tradition (e.g., a specific program or event) to the site, the location may come to trigger memories not only of its own past, but of the festival’s history, taking on an iconic role for the festival and participating in its annual rituals.

41 Ross: Exhibition Sites and Film Experience In 2017, CAAMFest hosted its first event at 41 Ross, a Chinatown gallery that was initiated by the organizations Chinatown Community Development Center (CCDC) and Chinese Culture Center of San Francisco. Describing itself as an “active community space,” 41 Ross emphasizes that it is “more” than just an art gallery, promoting “dialogue, appreciation, and creative engagement” around the cultural practices of Chinatown locals and bringing the general public into contact with the diasporic community (“About” 41 Ross 2017). Consisting of a narrow room with white walls and neutral lighting, the hole-in-the-wall gallery is located between Jackson and Washington Streets, in a secluded alleyway that tourists do not often cross and that is home to San Francisco’s Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory. For CAAMFest’s screening of the short film program “Eat Chinatown” on March 11, 2017, a projector, a mobile screen, and speakers were set up in the small space of the gallery (fig. 25). At the time of the event, the gallery was showing a photo exhibition of the same name, translated into both English and Chinese. Exploring the history of selected Chinatown restaurants, all of which are still in business today, and presenting personal memories of Chinatown residents in these spaces, the exhibition reveals the multiple meanings these places have had for different generations and frames them in the context of Chinese migration to San Francisco (Lo and Luu 2017). In his introduction to the screening, festival director Masashi Niwano commented on CAAMFest’s cooperation with the gallery in order to create a “pop-up cinema,” stemming from CAAM’s interest in exploring new formats to experience films. Moving away from the dark, immersive space of the movie theater, the screening situation differed strongly from others at the festival, as

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about 70 visitors crowded the small room and huddled before the screen. Two films were shown, namely The Last Tip (2016), commemorating New York City Chinatown’s Bayard restaurant prior to its closing, and Sunday Dinner (2016), following a Chinese American protagonist, Wiley, as he prepares a traditional family meal. The Q&A after the screening consisted of a lighthearted dialog between Niwano, the filmmakers, and the audience, set in a lively and intimate atmosphere. In response to Niwano’s remark that his film The Last Tip captured “nostalgia” and “memories,” filmmaker Patrick Chen recounted how his work was influenced by Hong Kong cinema – films his parents had imported from China and that the family had watched as he was growing up. An audience member subsequently opened up a discussion about the relevance of Chinatown today, to which producer Kerry Chan-Laddaran responded with personal memories of regular family visits to San Francisco’s Chinatown, expressing the entwinement of her own biography with the diasporic neighborhood. Arguing for its significance, she further asserted that the neighborhood constituted “one of the most authentic Chinatowns,” as residents and the local government “do the best they can to honor the culture.” Patrick Chen joined in, observing that gentrification was much less present in San Francisco than in New York City, where Asian residents were forced to move out of the neighborhood and the original Chinatown was “fading.”

Fig. 25: Chinatown gallery 41 Ross during CAAMFest 2017

Before and after the screening, visitors had the opportunity to explore the exhibition. In Andria Lo and Valerie Luu’s Eat Chinatown, photographs are accompanied by exhibition and section labels, providing background information on the different restaurants (2017). The introduction establishes the exhibition’s

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aim to commemorate long-standing Chinatown restaurants, which continue to serve a unique blend of U.S.-American and Chinese cuisines. Referring to the history of Chinese migration to San Francisco, it explains how these “mom-andpop shops” provided a “sense of community and shield from discrimination” for their guests, while at the same time allowing their owners to obtain a “merchant status” needed for family sponsorship and reunification. It also refers to the present, pointing to the “financial pressures” Chinatown residents face and that influence the neighborhood’s demographics (Lo and Luu 2017). In its focus on four restaurants – New Lun Ting Cafe or “Pork Chop House,” Capital Restaurant, Hon’s Wun-Tun House, and Eastern Bakery – the exhibition captures everyday life experiences and memories of the diasporic community (fig. 26). Section labels sketch out the locations’ history and establish their transculturality. Thus, the New Lun Ting Cafe’s past is explored as a gathering place for single men during the first half of the twentieth century when Chinatown largely consisted of a bachelor society. During a period in which immigration laws prohibited Chinese migrants from sponsoring their families, one of the places that offered food and community was the New Lun Ting Cafe: Because Chinese food is largely served family-style, Pork Chop House became a popular spot for singles because one could get a complete meal of pork chop, rice or spaghetti, a side soup and tea at [a] very affordable price […] It was also a haven for American-born Chinese who grew up during the 1940s–1960s who wanted to eat American food without having to leave Chinatown to face the glare of non-Chinese people. (wall text for New Lun)

Fig. 26: Photos of the New Lung Ting Cafe as part of the exhibition Eat Chinatown

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Fig. 27: The oral history section of the exhibition Eat Chinatown

Fig. 28: Sarah Wong’s memories of the New Hollywood Cafe

A separate section, “The Communal Table: Stories about Chinatown Restaurants, Past and Present,” complements the exhibition, presenting fragments from Chinatown’s oral history (fig. 27). One of the exhibition pieces documents 62-year-old Frank Jang’s memories of his visits to Fong Fong Bakery & Soda Fountain as a child, spending his “red envelope money” from Lunar New Year on French fries (wall text for Fong Fong). 30-year-old Sarah Wong recalls outings to the New Hollywood Cafe with her father, where tables were shared with other guests and allowed for conversations between strangers (fig. 28). In meeting an elderly couple, S. Wong learned of the “racial tensions” Chinese immigrants were exposed to in leaving Chinatown and that Broadway served as the dividing line between Chinatown and other neighborhoods (wall text for New Hollywood). Between these moments of storytelling, pieces of memorabilia (restaurant business cards, takeout menus, yellowed newspaper articles, and restaurant signs) are exhibited and framed, adding a material layer to the memory narratives of Chinatown residents. In placing its short film program in a Chinatown gallery, CAAMFest informs our reception of festival films. In her seminal book Film Cultures, Janet Harbord discusses different types of exhibition sites, covering multiplexes, independent arthouse theaters, and art galleries, and asserts that the locations not only offer different viewing experiences, but also locate films “within diverse histories and socio-cultural networks” (2002, 39). Harbord further establishes that the exhibition context adds to the “social value of film cultures,” either placing films within discourses of art and culture or equating them with capitalist structures and consumerism (2002, 39). In reference to Anne Friedberg’s Window Shopping: Cinema and the Postmodern (1993), Harbord considers how the multiplex “displays” films as commodities and merges the cultural practice of movie-

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going with consumer-oriented activities such as shopping and dining so that “film viewing is but one option among many” (2002, 45; 48). In contrast, the “institutional contexts” of independent theaters and art galleries locate films within the spheres of the avant-garde or arthouse, shaping audience expectations with regard to the films’ content and evoking ideas about specific modes of production, distribution, and exhibition (42). While the arthouse theater identifies itself through its (political, economic, and artistic/aesthetic) independence from a “homogeneous” and “coherent” mainstream (43), the art gallery locates film within a “history of art” (42). Here, the context provides the intertextual references of a filmic practice concerned with traditions of formal representation both in terms of the relationship to other artifacts within the immediate surroundings, and by the descriptive frameworks of catalogues and themed exhibitions. Here, film acquires the status of the collectible, limited in transmission (unlike film which moves to video and broadcast), and ascribed an exchange value (the gallery buys the work or offers it for sale at a fixed price). (42)

While a film festival’s use of a gallery setting for the screening of its programs is different from what Harbord refers to – that is, the traditional context of a gallery space in which films become art works to be sold – the location will still activate our knowledge of such practices, thereby changing our relationship to and perspective of the films. This assumption is supported by multiple studies on cinema exhibition and film reception, which have formulated that exhibition sites greatly influence audience perceptions of films and the process of meaningmaking.36 Different venues may create different viewing experiences, enforcing specific practices and producing different communities (Dickson 2015, 710). In “Spilling Out Onto Castro Street,” Marc Siegel provides an excellent example of how the status of a venue may influence both programming and reception (1997). According to Siegel, the first two editions of San Francisco’s International LGBTQ Film Festival had taken place at the Roxie, a single-screen theater in the Mission District. In shifting most of its programs to the much larger and more prestigious Castro Theatre, the festival was able to expand in length and size. From 1981 onward, films were divided between the two theaters, based on their length, format, presumed audiences, and gay or lesbian themes. Lesbian films were subsequently screened in the both smaller and “less fashionable” Roxie, creating the impression that the festival was establishing hierarchies

36 See, for instance, Jancovich and Faire (2003); Kuhn (2002); Meers et al. (2010); Meers and Biltereyst (2013); Dickson (2015); and Jones (2001).

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between gay and lesbian films and attributing value based on the films’ placement in specific locations (1997).37 Meers et al. further argue that exhibition spaces are closely tied to class identity and social status. According to their research, audiences in Antwerp and Ghent made clear distinctions between different movie theaters based on space (architecture, design, and equipment) and location (neighborhood and city), remembering downtown movie palaces as “luxurious” venues that catered to “upper-class tastes.” In contrast, neighborhood theaters offered entertainment for the working class in a casual and familiar environment (2010, 275). Considering that audiences do not “simply shrug off their previous identities,” the choice of theater may therefore involve a “choice about social status, class identity, and audience segmentation” (276). Dickson comes to similar conclusions in her work, stating that audience segmentation does not necessarily result from cinema programming, but that it is the space itself – judgments that are formed about the space and its visitors or ‘inhabitants’ – that produces segmentation (2015, 709). Considering that exhibition spaces produce their own meanings, what, then, are the meanings that are constructed at 41 Ross and staged by CAAMFest? And what are the location’s functions? By placing its programs in a context of local and diasporic art, CAAMFest creates value for its films and festival programming. Since its launch in 2014, 41 Ross has established itself as a gallery for participatory art projects (directed at Chinatown residents and led by either local or international artists), children’s and youth workshops, and exhibitions by local artists that document Chinatown’s past or explore its present (“Exhibitions” 2017). Its interests lie in the support of Asian American art production and community building as well as in the documentation of Chinatown’s history and present. Unlike the internationally renowned Asian Art Museum, which CAAMFest uses for its opening night gala and which, in its position as acclaimed museum and specialist for Asian art, can give CAAMFest credibility in its exhibition of Asian and Asian American film as art, 41 Ross is a neighborhood gallery with no international significance. As a gallery that is specifically interested in interstitial, diasporic art emerging from the Asian American community, it produces local and diasporic meanings. As both gallery and community space, 41 Ross adheres to the aesthetics and exhibition practices

37 According to Siegel, several factors led to the placement of lesbian films in the Roxie, from the venue’s proximity to women’s institutions to its status as home to experimental, “less technicallyfinished” programs. Along with the “screening committee’s reluctance to program the few available lesbian features, these factors combined to create the impression that lesbians were of secondary importance to the festival” (1997).

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of a traditional gallery, while also existing to present the creative output, personal narratives, and histories of a minority community. In the case of CAAMFest, the gallery’s location in the heart of Chinatown and its connection to the CCDC and Chinese Culture Center come together with exhibition content documenting the history of Chinatown restaurants and experiences of those frequenting them. In terms of the presentation of films in the space, CAAMFest’s short films are physically integrated into the exhibition, the screen being positioned in front of the participatory section and underneath its title “The Communal Table.” Next to the framed photographs of Chinatown restaurants, narrative fragments, and personal mementos, the films become both community art works and memorabilia, documenting the everyday lives of Chinatown residents and serving as historical proof. Designed to become part of the exhibition, as is visible in the shared title of exhibition and short film program, the films are captured in the frame of the mobile screen, presented as part of the collective memory of the local Asian American community, and embedded into the history of San Francisco’s Chinatown. While the exhibition commemorates the places that have survived, CAAMFest’s film The Last Tip acknowledges the restaurants that have disappeared. Sunday Dinner, on the other hand, focuses on the significance of preparing and serving food within the context of homecooking and the family dinner table, thus expanding the exhibition’s focus on restaurants as spaces for communal gatherings. Additionally, CAAMFest has an educational interest in hosting events at 41 Ross: as Dickson points out, festivals may move into an exhibition space in order to familiarize audiences with and increase attendance at the site, making it “accessible” through the festival event (2015, 705–706). In booking 41 Ross as a festival venue, CAAMFest shows its support for Chinatown institutions and creates a casual environment in which guests who might otherwise not visit places of ‘high’ culture can come into contact with art. Finally, as an event that merges the domains of art exposition and cinema exhibition, the screening at 41 Ross further expresses CAAMFest’s interest in new formats and platforms for its media events.

UltraStar Mission Valley: Specificity of Festivalgoing Experiences SDAFF’s festival center is the multiplex UltraStar Mission Valley, located in the San Diego district of Mission Valley, a central shopping and entertainment area featuring several large malls and the local stadium. Specialized in digital projection, UltraStar is part of Hazard Center, a small mall that is a short drive away from Downtown San Diego and is connected to freeways and the local trolley

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system. The venue is a typical multiplex, consisting of an exterior box office, a carpeted foyer with a concession stand, and a seating area. Pole barriers are set up in front of the box office and snack bar, while several screens display the daily movie schedule. In the back of the building, different-size theaters are equipped with comfy, black faux-leather chairs, creating the typical black-box environment and generic multiplex experience (fig. 29).

Fig. 29: UltraStar Mission Valley’s lobby and one of its movie theaters during SDAFF 2016

While outings to independent or arthouse theaters have been compared to “going to church” and being “in public with your community” (Solnit 2010, 30), multiplexes have been associated with anonymity and commodification (Harbord 2002, 47). Often part of large theater chains, multiplexes “do not contribute to the specific and local culture,” as Rebecca Solnit asserts; they are ahistorical and placeless, lacking the “sense of community” and “sense of continuity” local theaters provide (2010, 26). Harbord makes a similar observation, pointing out that the multiplex connects “the individual and the global, bypassing local and national particularity” through its Hollywood-dominated program and location on the outskirts of the city (2002, 55). In fact, the multiplex is even criticized for its role in and influence on the development of the post-modern city, associated with processes of suburbanization and the abandonment of downtown areas (Jancovich and Faire 2003, 198). In contrast, arthouse theaters are typically positioned in the city and considered worth protecting. In an environment that is undergoing constant renewal, they are understood as markers of local history, place identity, and “authenticity” and often become linked to feelings of nostalgia (Harbord 2002, 56).

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However, the identity of the multiplex is more complex than some of these conclusions indicate. For example, the multiplex is not ahistorical, as claimed by Solnit: while independent theaters embody the early stages of film exhibition, having survived the various waves of theater expansion and decline (Margolies and Gwathmey 1991, 11), multiplexes connect to a later stage, recounting the demise of urban centers, the rise of television, and the emergence of home entertainment technologies (22). What is more, their development resulted from an effort to reinvigorate moviegoing and counter the decline in cinema attendance: emerging in the 1970s and 1980s, the multiplex was designed to compete with home entertainment technologies and outdo the former theater experience by augmenting cinema’s “corporal, sensory affect” (Harbord 2002, 52). Alex MarlowMann maintains that the expansion of multiplexes paralleled a consistent decline in independent theaters as well as an “inevitable decrease in the range and variety of films on offer” (2013b, 6). However, the emergence of the multiplex also led to the diversification of moviegoing experiences, so that cinemas have “become associated with, and come to represent, specific forms of consumption that are hierarchically ranked and valued” (Jancovich and Faire 2003, 197). As Janna Jones shows in her audience research, the multiplex is primarily defined by and perceived through its other – the arthouse or independent theater. Drawing her conclusions from interviews with members of the Tampa Theater Film Society, Jones demonstrates that spectators make “clear distinctions” between the two spaces of the multiplex and the arthouse theater. While interviewees bemoaned the “ordinary and vapid spaces” of malls and multiplexes, they praised the “challenges” of visits to the local arthouse theater (2001, 130).38 Moreover, they distinguished themselves from multiplex spectators, identifying themselves and the others through classifications and evaluations of milieu, space, and cultural products (127). With reference to Pierre Bourdieu, Jones asserts that cinemas can only become associated with “highbrow” culture if there are others than take on the role of “low-” or “middlebrow” spaces, their identities founded on “distinction” (2001, 126).39 This distinction is mirrored by reports on audience demographics: while the arthouse theater draws in predominantly “white and higher social grade audiences,” the multiplex functions as a

38 The “challenges” faced by Jones’ interviewees primarily referred to access and content, that is, the theater’s location in Tampa’s “less accessible” downtown area (2001, 124) and the complexity of foreign, arthouse, or experimental films that are programmed by the theater (130). 39 According to Bourdieu, “[d]istinction and pretension, high culture and middlebrow culture […] only exist through each other and it is the relation, or rather, the objective collaboration of respective production apparatuses and clients which produces the value of culture and the need to possess it” (1987, 250).

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“mixed social space in terms of ethnicity and class” and mostly caters to lower- or middle-class audiences (Harbord 2002, 53–54). However, no place can be reduced to a single or fixed meaning. Instead, place identities are “both mobile and multiple,” as Jancovich and Faire rightfully point out (2003, 16). Moreover, they are inevitably composed of internal conflicts and contradictions, and hence there are competing meanings and definitions of any place as different social groups struggle over it. In other words, any place will be experienced differently by different social groups and will inevitably change over time. (16–17)

Drawing on an example provided by media scholar David Morley, Jancovich and Faire demonstrate that the domestic sphere can either be understood as a place of leisure or work, depending on the family member’s relationship to and role within the space (2003, 20). Multiplexes and the activities taking place within them equally produce different meanings for different social groups. As Harbord asserts, the multiplex’ location at the outskirts of the city produces a “cinema culture that is removed from the historical centre, which is possibly part of its appeal for groups marginalized by ethnicity, excluded from the narratives of a national past” (2002, 55). In their analysis of diasporic film cultures in Antwerp, Kevin Smets et al. show that the local multiplex – in connection to the commercialization of diasporic films – has developed into an “active player” in catering to diasporic communities and become a central institution of diasporic moviegoing (2013, 266). This process is mirrored by developments in San Francisco: as Asian films became commercially successful and diasporic communities emerged as an economic power, multiplex chains such as AMC began to adopt Asian programming and target Asian American communities.40 Lacking a fixed identity with regard to social class or education, multiplexes therefore offer a home to diasporic film cultures. Although multiplexes are typically associated with anonymity and capitalist consumerism and regarded as oppositions to art, culture, and community, such perceptions change within a film festival context. For instance, Dickson establishes that guests of the Glasgow Film Festival commented on their enjoyment of screenings at Cineworld, although they generally did not like the experience provided by the multiplex and tended to avoid the venue (2015, 710). Thus,

40 Individual multiplexes often target a specific ethnic or language community that is physically close to the multiplex. In San Francisco, Filipino films are regularly screened in Daly City, a suburb with a significant Filipino population, while Chinese films are screened at the AMC Metreon, a theater within walking distance of Chinatown (cf. appendix 8.4).

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Dickson claims, audience perceptions of and judgments about an exhibition space depend on the specific screening context. Evoking a feeling of community in audiences, a festival context may “reconfigure” perceived oppositions between multiplexes and independent or arthouse theaters (2015, 711). Moreover, audiences may suddenly associate a different type of moviegoing experience with the same venue, praising the intimacy that the movie theater had previously lacked and appreciating the collective experience as well as the proximity to “likeminded people” or “devotees” (716). These sentiments are fueled by the “festival practitioner rhetoric,” in which audiences are addressed as a “unitary being” and part of the festival family (717). The festival thus ‘takes over’ this anonymous space, giving it a sense of place and identity to which festivalgoers can connect. Several instances in which the film festival creates an intimate space and activates a sense of community are visible in SDAFF screenings at the UltraStar, beginning with the presentation of commercials and ending with the Q&A. Within this context, the screening of the new director’s cut of Eat a Bowl of Tea (1989) on November 5, 2016, turned into an intimate community event, sponsored and co-presented by two community organizations, namely the San Diego Chinese Historical Museum and Chinese Women’s Association of San Diego, and thriving off the presence of and interaction between community members. Prior to the festival screening, commercials specifically targeted Asian American communities, featuring Asian American protagonists and incorporating identity markers (traditional folk dances, costumes, and performances) of specific cultural groups. Moreover, they were aimed at establishing a ‘we’: for instance, the APIA Vote commercial featured Asian American celebrities who addressed the audience as part of a shared community and encouraged them to “power up” and “use your voice,” so that the issues affecting minorities may be heard. In its display of the diversity of Asian cultures and their unified representation at SDAFF, the festival trailer also sought to create feelings of inclusion, community, and solidarity. During the introduction to the screening, the festival staff once again addressed the audience, pointing out that their support and commitment made the festival possible and making use of a similar rhetoric. What is more, director Wayne Wang entered into a dialog with his audience during the Q&A, emphasizing the extent to which Asian American filmmakers were dependent on the festival community in their ability to produce films. In discussing his historical comedy about Chinatown’s bachelor society, the filmmaker particularly spoke to and for the Chinese American community in stating that the beginnings for Chinese

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Americans were “bittersweet” and that “we [as Chinese Americans] had to take a lot of bitter teas” to arrive in the present.41 Further intimate stories and emotional moments were shared in the festival space during the screenings of the short fiction film Nuoc (2016) on November 10, 2016, and the documentary feature AKA Seoul (2016) on November 6, 2016. Filmmaker Quyên Nguyen-Le shared with the audience that Nuoc was her coming-out film to her parents, while Dan Matthews, Korean adoptee and protagonist of AKA Seoul, ended the screening’s Q&A with an emotional “thank you.” Centering on a group of adoptees’ journey to Seoul to search for and meet their birth parents, AKA Seoul is a sequel to the documentary short AKA Dan (2013), which focused exclusively on Matthews’ story of adoption, and was made possible through the support of AAFFs such as SDAFF. Since the production of the two films was entwined with Matthews’ discovery of and reunion with his birth parents and therefore constituted a deeply personal experience, Matthews not only expressed how significant the production of these films and the festival’s support were to him, but also broke into tears in front of the audience, receiving an immediate and encouraging applause. In their incorporation of elements that break with traditional movie theater etiquette,42 such festival screenings turn seemingly ‘memory-empty’ spaces into participative, performative, and memory-productive places, capturing emotional moments and stories that stay with audiences and attach themselves to memories of the filmic content.

Great Star Theater: Moviegoing and Diasporic Communities Built in 1925, the Great Star Theater stands in a long tradition of screening Chinese-language films and hosting Chinese opera performances. It is situated in San Francisco’s Chinatown, one of the oldest in the country, emerging in the mid-nineteenth century with the beginnings of Chinese migration to the United States. The venue was originally named the Great China Theatre and posed as one

41 Wang makes use of the metaphor of drinking bitter tea to express the hardships faced by Chinese immigrants. Remembering that his parents told him to drink bitter tea as a child in order to “get to where you want to be,” he asserts that bitter tea is a part of growing up and evolving in Chinese culture. 42  Festival audiences also tend to break with movie theater etiquette: as my personal experiences at film festivals have shown, guests will openly bring food and drinks from outside into the venue, take off their shoes in the theater, and chat with strangers in line. Social boundaries and rules enforced by the theater may thus be breached during festival time.

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Fig. 30: The exterior of Chinatown’s Great Star Theater

of six Chinatown movie theaters.43 Originally opera houses, their sizes ranged from 300 to 1,400 seats. When San Francisco’s great 1906 earthquake and fire destroyed almost all of Chinatown,44 the opera houses were rebuilt, but – due to the popularity of the new medium of film – soon refashioned into movie theaters (fig. 30), though still occasionally hosting traveling Cantonese opera

43 Chinatown’s movie theaters counted the Pagoda Palace Theatre on Powell Street, the Grandview and Great Star Theaters on Jackson Street, the Sun Sing on Grant Avenue, the World Theatre on Broadway Street, and the Bella Union on Kearny Street (C. Yang 2010, 61). According to C. Yang, the Pagoda Palace and the World originally served Italian American audiences of the adjoining North Beach neighborhood and only later switched to Chinese-language programs (2010, 64). 44 According to the Chinese Historical Society of America, the earthquake that hit San Francisco on April 18, 1906, did not seriously damage Chinatown. However, the subsequent four-day fires, along with the explosives used to stop the spread of the fires, reduced Chinatown to a “heap of ashes.” Bay Area governments and businesses saw the destruction of Chinatown as an opportunity to relocate the Chinese and force them out of the downtown area, as a 1906 newspaper article in the Oakland Enquirer shows: “‘The cities […] never in the past had such opportunity as now to forever do away with the huddling together of Chinese in districts where it is undesirable, from the standpoint of civilization to permit the lower and vicious classes of Orientals to congregate’” (qtd. in Chinese Historical Society 2006).

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troupes: “Part community gathering spots, and part entertainment parlors, the theatres historically were important public spaces, providing both opportunities to connect with neighbors and to revisit homelands via the flickering screen” (C. Yang 2010, 64). Moreover, they provided spaces in which Asian Americans could escape the ubiquitous racism experienced outside of their own communities, avoid segregated seating areas, celebrate their own cultures, and counter their “racially imposed second-class status” (Mimura 2009, 35). Considering that Chinatown history has hardly been officially recorded by the city, it mostly lives on as oral history. In her attempt to uncover the history of the Great Star Theater and its surroundings on Jackson Street – Chinatown’s theater district prior to the San Francisco earthquake, the street alone housing as many as four theaters – Daphne Pi-Wei Lei discovered the unreliability of public records documenting Chinatown: establishing that the Great Star Theater was “‘approximately’” built on the site of the Royal Chinese Theatre, a building from the 1860s that was destroyed by the earthquake, Lei notes that unfortunately, the documents of contemporary local history, the city directories, prove untrustworthy. Claiming originality in the reconstructed Chinatown amounts to superficially inventing an originality, establishing a virtuality that transcends time, natural disasters, and racial discrimination. Rather than ‘uncovering’ or ‘unearthing’ an erased memory, finding the original is indeed covering the existing site, inventing a memory. The ‘original’ Royal Chinese Theatre is like a floating ghost, revealing itself as cultural memories call. (2006, 184)

In her documentary feature A Moment in Time (2009), director Ruby Yang explores the significance of Chinatown theaters for San Francisco’s diasporic residents. In one of R. Yang’s interviews, retired teacher Jimmie Lee points out that movie theaters provided a space in which children learned Chinese, while activist Philip Choy discusses the value of seeing affirming role models in Asian heroic figures on screen. Much as in other communities, moviegoing in Chinatown was a ritual for all ages, interviewee Irene Dea Collier explains; theater programs were highly diverse, ranging from traditional Chinese animation films to Chinese opera recordings. However, several sources point to the specificity and uniqueness of attending a movie screening in Chinatown: Indeed, one interviewee recounts that audiences ate chicken wings during the show, while another refers to the presence of “sobbing” audiences. Similarly, C. Yang describes the “constant chatter during the films, cigarette smoke spiraling up through the projector’s beam, and watermelon seeds loudly being snacked on,” referring to moviegoing in Chinatown as a “free-for-all, raucous experience” (2010, 64).

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For decades, San Francisco’s Chinatown was at the center of a nation-wide production, exhibition, and distribution circuit for Chinese-language films and part of a network of Chinese movie theaters that spanned more than fifty cities in the United States. Securing distribution rights for Chinese films, film producers and theater operators screened movies such as Come Drink with Me (1966) and The Killer (1989) before they became popular with U.S.-American mainstream audiences.45 As owner of the 4-Star Theatre in the Richmond District and the Bella Union in Chinatown, the Lee family served as the exclusive distributor of Shaw Brothers films for several years, while Lambert Yam, who operated the World Theatre and created the distribution company World Entertainment, was the first to import the Hong Kong New Wave into the U.S. (C. Yang 2010, 66–67). Such histories and memories become apparent in a screening at the Great Star Theater, which was bought by Run Run Shaw in the 1960s and transformed into a showroom for Hong Kong kung-fu movies (Lei 2006, 181). As pointed out by C. Yang, Chinatown’s exhibition and distribution circuit “was hurt by their own success in marketing Chinese films to wider audiences” (2010, 66). As Chinese films became increasingly popular among non-Asian audiences from the 1970s onward, Chinatown was suddenly hailed as the place for innovative niche films. By the 1990s, however, arthouse cinemas began to include Chinese films in their programs, leading to the demise of Chinatown theaters (66). All of the six theaters closed down in the 1980s and 1990s, most of them permanently, with the exception of the Great Star Theater, which sporadically opens its doors for Chinese opera performances and special events, regularly changing ownership and shutting down for several years at a time. These histories and narratives interact with CAAMFest’s programming in several ways. In order to create meaningful connections between memories of moviegoing, memories of the Great Star Theater in the context of Chinatown theaters, and its carefully curated program, CAAMFest has largely programmed

45 In their analysis of Antwerp’s diasporic film cultures, Kevin Smets et al. establish that diasporic film cultures are “crucially influenced by local actors,” pointing to a “tension between local environment, its [the diasporic film culture’s] position within transnational networks, and homeland industries” (2013, 257). Their findings resonate with developments in San Francisco, where Chinese films were first shown by “small-scale local initiatives” such as Chinatown movie theaters or community centers, and then “appropriated and commercialized” by arthouse theaters and multiplexes (267). Diasporic film cultures rely on a circuit that consists of three levels, namely the 1) homeland, which constitutes “both a center of production and the main source of diasporic media flows” (262); 2) urban space or “local environment, in which these films circulate, characterized by a particular demography, cultural topography, and cinema infrastructure”; and 3) “transnational routes of media, connecting homelands and diasporas” (263).

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CinemAsia screenings, that is, newly released imports from Asia in their original versions; “Out of the Vaults” programs and retrospectives; “Community Screenings,” sold at a reduced price or free of charge; and selected Special Presentations at the Great Star Theater. Here, the festival’s curation of a program according to a specific location is most visible, responding to different needs and interests within the Chinatown community. CinemAsia screenings, for instance, encourage immigrant communities to reconnect with their homeland and keep in touch with current events, popular themes in the arts, and aesthetic trends in filmmaking. Retrospectives are visited for reasons of nostalgia, reviving moviegoing memories of older generations who had visited earlier screenings of the films and recalling historical events, movie stars of the past, long-forgotten genres, or themes now out of fashion. In turn, younger generations discover a part of their cultural heritage that they had previously been unfamiliar with. In 2014, CAAMFest hosted a tribute to producer Run Run Shaw, famous for his wuxia46 films: works such as Come Drink With Me (1966) and King Boxer (Five Fingers of Death) (1972) were screened in their original languages of Mandarin and Cantonese with English subtitles (CAAMFest 2014, 21). Next to their status as canonical Chinese films, these films play a specific role within the history of Chinatown movie theaters – meanings that are activated in a Chinatown setting. The 2014 “Out of the Vaults” retrospectives White Powder and Neon Lights (1947) and Black Market Couple (1947) were produced by Chinese American and San Francisco movie mogul Joseph Sunn Jue, who, with his Grandview Film Company and Grandview Theater in Chinatown, played a vital role in the creation of Chinese-language production, distribution, and exhibition circuits in the United States (CAAMFest 2014, 20). Producing Chinese-language films for both Chinese markets and diasporic communities, Jue continuously shifted between San Francisco and Hong Kong and gave rise to hundreds of films until the end of his career (C. Yang 2010, 64). Screened at the Great Star Theater in 2014 and 2015, the documentaries Golden Gate Girls (2013) and A Moment in Time (2009) offer historical perspectives on Chinatown through their discussion of female diasporic filmmakers and Chinatown movie theaters in San Francisco (CAAMFest 2014, 35; Destination 2015, 27). Both films make use of archival material, showing rare clips of public life in San Francisco and faded snapshots of diasporic subjects, documenting everyday experiences in Chinatown, and bringing untold stories of individuals who contributed to the arts or shaped the film industry to the fore. Golden Gate

46 Wuxia is a genre of Chinese fiction and martial arts cinema, characterized by its focus on warriors of ancient China, who are portrayed as “capable of superhuman feats” (“Wuxia” 2017).

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Girls integrates rare clips from the few surviving films of Esther Eng’s oeuvre47 and combines archival photos, journal excerpts, and letters of Eng’s with expert interviews in order to shed light on the filmmaker who constituted a minority in every possible way – as a Chinese American, a female director during the Golden Age of Hollywood, and an openly homosexual woman. Hardly any visual records of Eng have survived, except for a few photo albums that were discovered prior to and during director Louisa Wei’s shoot and are now stored in the Hong Kong Film Archive (Elley 2013). Beginning with the early stages of Eng’s life in San Francisco and tracing her travels to Hollywood and Hong Kong, Wei sketches out the little-documented life of the unconventional filmmaker, weaving in interviews with Eng’s peers as well as material supplied by magazines, film critics, and biographers (Kerr 2013). In an attempt to capture the history of movie theaters in San Francisco’s Chinatown, A Moment in Time focuses on oral history, building on multigenerational interviews with former and current Chinatown residents, Asian American artists and activists, all of whose lives have been touched by these places. Director Ruby Yang further adds clips from early Chinese American works, covering excerpts of Jue’s diasporic work, the Hollywoodproduced musical Flower Drum Song (1961), and Bruce Lee’s Hong Kong films, thereby creating a more complete picture of what may be understood as Asian American film production and representation. What does it mean to experience films such as Golden Gate Girls, A Moment in Time, or Black Market Couple in a Chinatown theater within a film festival context? First, if festival paratexts work toward creating a coherent narrative, the CAAMFest narrative can be viewed as promoting a representation of Asian American minorities by Asian American minorities. Such films are exemplary of this goal, making visible and celebrating past efforts of Asian American representation and encouraging the community to continue to take charge of the images that portray it. Second, being firmly rooted in Asian American history, locations such as the Great Star Theater have emerged from diasporic life in Chinatown, embodying memories of authentic everyday life within the Chinese community. The Great Star Theater therefore interacts with and complements CAAMFest’s programming, adding another layer or sediment to memory. The spectral

47 Reports vary on which films (if any, except for some scenes) have survived. Law Kar, Frank Bren, and Sam Ho, for instance, claim that “all that survive are some New York location scenes, which she [Eng] directed for Woo Peng’s film Murder in New York Chinatown” (2004, 91–93). The documentary, however, shows some faded clips, one of which is labeled Golden Gate Girl, that indicate that they were taken from Eng’s feature film.

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presence of local history lingers in the space, recalled or felt by a Chinatown audience that has experienced or emerged from this past.

5.5 F ilm Festival Locations as Affective and Participative Spaces Influencing the reception and memory of films, movie theaters can function as intimate places for their audiences and encourage community- and identitybuilding. Independent of the program or event, each exhibition site has its own “story” to tell, functioning as a “nodal point where trajectories cross and re-cross, operating as an affective space not only of cinema, but also of encounter, history, and memory” (F. Chan 2014, 11).48 Film festivals are equally affective spaces, offering specific modes of engaging with films that are “reliant on impression, memory, and personal notes” (7–8). Describing festival screenings at a historic Chinatown theater and former Cantonese opera house in Singapore, Felicia Chan asserts that, in this space, a “desire for discovery” merges with the “nostalgia for an older mode of viewing and thus a different time.” Struggling to survive as historic movie theaters, this nostalgia is especially present in the Castro Theatre, the Alamo Drafthouse at the New Mission, and the Great Star Theater – places that are endangered by urban renewal and whose “‘place identity’ for individuals and communities is under severe strain” (2014, 10). As a remnant of Chinatown’s movie theater history and document of diasporic life in an ethnic enclave that did not receive any city protection until it gained touristic value, the Great Star Theater holds special meaning for an Asian American film festival such as CAAMFest. Though its structure is still intact, the building has not received the care or restoration that the Castro and former New Mission have experienced. Here, a sense of loss and sadness emanating from the neglected structure and its embodiment of missing histories are transformed into a romantic longing by CAAMFest, recreating a past experience of moviegoing through the festival’s staging of the event. Recognizing the power of exhibition sites, film festivals may integrate the space of the festival location into their programming, narratives, and performances, giving it room to speak. During its opening night event on March 9, 2017, CAAMFest paid homage to location-specific practices of the Castro Theatre,

48 F. Chan bases her observations on Ian Breakwell and Paul Hammond’s edited collection Seeing in the Dark (1990), in which the authors present memories of “affective encounters” in the cinema, ranging from tales of shock and pleasure to sights and smells (2014, 7).

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following the theater’s tradition of hosting live performances and pre-show organ concerts. At 41 Ross, the festival brought its films into contact with the gallery’s current exhibition, emphasizing its connections to Asian American art production, grassroots and community projects, and memories of Chinatown. Next to the festival itself, audiences participate in stabilizing these identities and practices, even if they are unaware of their role. Moreover, festivals often draw audiences into unfamiliar spaces, thereby familiarizing audiences with spaces that they might otherwise not attend. In the contexts of CAAMFest and SDAFF, social groups, classes, or milieus outside of the venues’ target groups may visit the multiplex UltraStar or art gallery 41 Ross, experiencing feelings of community in a foreign or seemingly exclusive and inaccessible environment. Thus, the multiplex can free itself of its ‘lowbrow’ identity, while the art gallery strengthens its identity as community space or opens itself to meanings outside of an art context. The specific circumstances of reception are central to the study of memory, since, as Susannah Radstone points out, memory is always “instantiated locally, in a specific place and at a particular time” (2011, 117). Dedicated to the “precise ‘event’ of memory’s instantiation” (118), explorations of particular moments of CAAMFest and SDAFF’s festival performances point to the specific locations’ influence on and interaction with these performances, showing that they complicate matters of reception and memory production.

6 P  erforming Memory: Film Festival Actors and Communities 6.1 Performativity of Film Festivals During their live events, film festivals produce a variety of performances from which communities, identities, and memories may emerge. Shaped by multiple actors and pre-existing norms, scripts, and rituals, these performances are then embedded in continuing discourses and communities. The role of festivals in community building and the performative processes during which communities are produced at festivals have been explored in several instances. Daniel Dayan, for example, investigates the construction and dynamics of festival audiences and asserts that the festival comes together in the “collective performance” of its attendants (2000, 44). Moreover, several scholars have discussed the performative role of identity-based festivals in producing and shaping minority group identities.1 Here, festivals are conceived as “sites for community debate” in which identity struggles are fought out (Siegel 1997). With regard to diasporic festivals, Dina Iordanova argues that the “live” space of the festival produces both actual and imagined communities, the latter coming into being through the “act of watching a film and imagining distant human beings becoming part of one’s own experiences” (2010, 13). Thus, Iordanova contends, the festival framework “extends an invitation to engage in what is essentially a political act of imagined belonging and to continue the nation-building process that is pre-supposed by extending it to the diaspora and beyond” (2010, 13). In her dissertation “Queer Film Culture: Performative Aspects of LGBT/Q Film Festivals,” Skadi Loist establishes the connection between performance and film festivals by developing a concise overview of the origins, histories, and turns of the performative, performativity, and performance in academia and introducing two main schools of thought that shape conceptions of these terms (2014, 34–38). While the first strand explores the “authority of language and discourse,” the second centers on “culture as performance in the form of cultural acts, rituals, and events” (38). Both are central to the investigation of film festivals and, more specifically, identity-based festivals such as CAAMFest and SDAFF.

1 The most extensive body of work has been written on the subject of queer film festivals. See Loist (2014); Richards (2016); Richards (2017); P. White (1999); Rich (1993); Rich (1999); Gamson (1996); and S. Schulman (1994). https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-006

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As Loist suggests, the three terms are rooted in philosopher J. L. Austin’s concept of “performative utterances,” which proclaims that utterances do not merely describe, but also perform and constitute reality, thus pointing to the power of speech as action and its significance in world-making.2 Set in motion by Austin’s ideas and the subsequent development of speech act theory, discussions of the performative have remained present in both linguistics and philosophy, while at the same time moving beyond these fields to incorporate cultural studies, gender and queer studies, ethnography, and performance studies (2014, 34). According to Loist, one of the most significant examinations of Austin’s concept of performative utterances is conducted by Jacques Derrida, who points to an utterance’s iterability and citationality (2014, 34–35). In “Signature Event Context,” Derrida argues that a performative utterance’s “success” or legibility is dependent on its repetition of a “‘coded’ or iterable statement” and its identity as “citation” (1984, 384).3 It is important to note that, although performativity is ingrained in processes of repetition and citation, performative theory essentially works from the idea that “no a priori original exists as an essence that will then be expressed. Instead, the performative always refers back to prior norms and rules” (Loist 2014, 193–194). According to Loist, Judith Butler expands on the idea of the “world-making quality” of speech and language in her seminal book Gender Trouble (1990) (2014, 35). Connecting to Derrida’s concept of citationality, Butler asserts that gender is constructed and performed through “repeated acts, which like performative utterances, depend on social conventions.” Pointing to the power of language and speech, Butler maintains that authority in speaking is achieved through the “repeated citation of norms” (Loist 2014, 35). While performative processes open up the possibility for “agency and political change” – Loist gives the example of the reappropriation of the term “queer” by LGBT activists and the subsequent changes in meaning from shaming to displaying pride – Butler also warns that the act of adopting a name does not necessarily lead to autonomy, as “names and terms always carry historical weight” (Loist 2014, 37).

2 In How to Do Things with Words, J. L. Austin differentiates between “‘performatives’” (“utterances which change the reality in the act of uttering”) and “‘constatives’” (“statements that describe reality or state facts and are thus true or false”) (qtd. in Loist 2014, 35). 3 According to J.A. Cuddon, Derrida establishes iterability as the “condition of writing, language, and oral communication. For Derrida, iterability does not simply signify repetition as in ‘reiteration’; rather, every iteration is an alteration, or a modification of the same. At the same time, iteration depends on a minimal remainder and illusion of an identity of the same so that repetition can be recognized in the first place. Iteration introduces new contexts and variety into the constitution of the same” (2013, 373).

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Discussing how performativity enters film festivals, Loist points out that the term’s foregrounding of the elements of repetition,4 external expectation or norms, the marking of a subject’s becoming as a discursive effect rather than being the result of a conscious acting out of intentionality [are …] useful configurations to think through performative processes of audience constitution and festival organizations. (2014, 38)

Film festivals produce a variety of performative acts, in their roles as participants in the festival circuit, cultural institutions, and exhibitors and through their activities of programming, screening, and staging (2014, 42). With regard to Erika Fischer-Lichte’s performance analysis, Loist shows that the festival fulfills all of the criteria to classify as a performance, from the “‘bodily co-presence’” of both actors and spectators, to the liveness, contingency, ephemerality, and mediation of the event, to the production of meaning that takes place during the unfolding of the event (qtd. in Loist 2014, 39).5 It also qualifies as a performance from an anthropological standpoint, marked by rituals and both implicit and explicit scripts. Finally, it responds to Derrida and Butler’s understanding of performances, as each festival and festival edition is marked by repetition and, in its performative acts, “refers back to previous festivals, to norms and regulations, [and] to the ‘festival model’” (Loist 2014, 40). Concepts of performance and performativity connect to the study of Asian American film festivals (AAFFs) and memory production in several ways. First, Asian American identity is constructed, negotiated, and shaped through performative acts. In her discussion of gender constitution, Butler maintains that performative acts actively construct identity and that these identities do not exist until a “stylized repetition of acts” takes place (1988, 519). The Asian American subject and community have similarly emerged from and are continuously reproduced, modified, and transformed by performative acts. As community

4 According to Loist, the festival displays two modes of repetition: while the “formal repetition” – the repetition of structure – ensures a stable identity and profile and allows the festival to remain recognizable, the “performative repetition” always encompasses an “element of contingency,” thus making room for the festival to change and evolve (2014, 193–194). 5 Discussing the production of meaning, Fischer-Lichte asserts that the performance is an event that only exists while it takes place and is witnessed. As actors and spectators come together, “[t]heir encounter – interactive and confrontational – produces the event of the performance” (2008, 38). The performance is not only shaped by the individuals present, but also perceived differently by every participant. Establishing that both spectators and actors “perceive and, in turn, respond to these reactions,” Fischer-Lichte emphasizes the agency and active roles of both parties in shaping the performance and producing meaning (2008, 38).

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organizations and spaces, AAFFs such as CAAMFest and SDAFF participate in this identity construction; in their various roles and through their numerous activities, they constantly produce performative acts that seek to stabilize, reaffirm, and/or contest Asian American identity and memory. In their performances, the festivals both implicitly and explicitly refer back to existing conceptions of Asian American identity, be it in the shape of scholarly discourse, narrative, or art. Moreover, they are particularly aware of their own performances, as they aim to create agency and stabilize feelings of community and solidarity. Since discussions of collective memory work from the premise that there is a collective and community among which knowledge and versions of a past are shared, the spaces in which collective identity is produced, contested, reaffirmed, and transformed becomes central. Festivals constitute such spaces, producing performances that become instances of identity formation and memory transmission. Second, memory and performance are bound together in several ways. Memory culture is entrenched in performative practices, from family rituals, to national commemoration, to our everyday interaction with and activation of mnemonic artifacts.6 Performative acts are equally tied to memory7: drawing on Derrida, Fischer-Lichte claims that performative utterances always refer to an earlier situation or context and contends that they are “mnemonic acts of a now past mimetic action” (2012, 40; own translation). Film festivals reveal and display these connections in their repetitive, ritualistic structures and reliance on scripts, nostalgia and retrospection, and celebration and commemoration of a cinematic past, honoring eras, figures, oeuvres, and works. Third, as they focus on minority and diasporic communities, identity-based film festivals’ performances of memory are particularly relevant. Considering that minority histories, traditions, and memories frequently lack official documentation and depend to a large extent on oral history, AAFFs may gain significance as places of memory transmission and knowledge production, especially for younger generations of Asian Americans to whom these memories need to be passed on.8

6 See Astrid Erll’s discussion of the three dimensions of memory culture (2011a, 103–104). 7 For an exploration of performances of memory in artistic and cultural practices, see Plate and Smelik (2013). 8 AAFFs and their organizations seek to work against this fragility and ephemerality of Asian American collective memory, aiming to produce, document, and archive. This is especially visible in their community outreach programs, which are discussed in chapter 6.4.

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Finally, the concept of performativity emphasizes the equal importance of actors and spectators and points to the fluidity of these two roles – aspects that are central to the study of memory and film festivals, since festivals depend on the presence of both performers and audiences and actively engage their guests in their performances. What is more, minority organizations and festivals specifically draw attention to the questions of agency, representation, and voice – focusing on who speaks – and emphasize their embeddedness in the minority community. As representatives of this community, they create community spaces and encourage participation, blurring the lines between consumer and producer, performer and participant. In its foregrounding of film festival actors, agendas, and communities, this chapter sheds light on the following questions: What is the field of discourse and body of norms out of which the festival performance emerges? How do CAAMFest and SDAFF interact with the fields of activism, academia, art, and the nonprofit sector? Who are the actors in the performance and what are their agendas? What types of performances do the festivals create, and how do these relate to memory? Building on the previous chapters, this chapter shows that analyses of narrative, framing, and location unquestionably lead to the considerations of actors and spectators, examining who it is that performs and at whom these performances are aimed. It therefore locates the festivals’ position in a complex network of actors, revealing the diverse agendas that shape the event and its memory production, and shows how the festival sets the stage for the construction, negotiation, and reaffirmation of an Asian American identity and collective memory.

6.2 D  iscourses and Agendas: Influences on Festival Performance Performing Agendas: The Various Interests Behind the Festival As Thomas Elsaesser points out, film festivals are not “neutral mapping[s],” but implicated in diverse political agendas (2005, 100). These agendas may connect to political strategy or social movements: while the Venice Film Festival was created as a fascist propaganda event, the Berlinale served as a stronghold of Western ideals close to the borders of communist territory. CAAM’s origins, on the other hand, can be traced back to the social movements of the 1960s and 1970s, a politically charged era that led to the state’s recognition of the need for minority representation in the media. Agendas may additionally be directed at the film industry, aimed at either opposing or complementing mainstream production, distribution, and exhibition practices.

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What is more, film festivals may be entrenched in agendas of cultural preservation, organized by or closely tied to archives and museums. The organizations behind AAFFs participate in various archival practices, from Visual Communications’ collection of Asian American media, constituting the largest archive of its kind in the United States, to CAAM’s restoration of Asian American home movies.9 They may further be governed by a desire to promote access to and participation in culture, offering free community screenings or hosting media workshops for underprivileged youths. Influenced by economic factors, festivals are also driven by agendas to establish themselves as commercial enterprises, succeed, and expand. Often caught between diverse agendas and dependent on various actors, film festivals will strive for “compromise” in order to remain successful and sustainable, as Marijke de Valck points out (2007, 207). All of these agendas enter the festival’s performances, shaping or even producing them. They guide selection processes and screening practices, creating narratives, connections, and meanings that surround the objects on display. Thus, they provide the set of norms out of which the festival performance – a performative act, iteration, and modification – emerges. Following a Mission: The Festival as Nonprofit Organization Many film festivals have assumed the form of nonprofit organizations, a status which influences their profiles and missions. According to Ragan Rhyne, nonprofits are structures offering services that originally were the “exclusive domain” of governments (2013 [2009], 136). Part of the “third sector” in the United States,10 nonprofits have been central to the establishment of cultural policy, strengthening and regulating collaborations between government institutions, private companies, and private wealth (136–37). As pointed out by Mary Tschirhart and Wolfgang Bielefeld, the nonprofit sector covers a broad spectrum of public and private organizations, including churches, hospitals, schools, museums,

9 According to Dagmar Brunow, archival practices include “preservation, restoration, collection, and creating access” (2017, 99). Film festivals are mostly involved in this last aspect of archival practice, creating access to films that lie dormant in the archive. If a festival is embedded in a larger organization such as CAAM or Visual Communications, it may additionally be involved in preservation, restoration, and collection. 10 Existing next to the sectors of state and market, the third sector consists of “private organisations and the corresponding systems of private financial support for them” and underwent a phase of professionalization in the 1960s (Rhyne 2013 [2009], 136–137).

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festivals, labor unions, and recreational clubs (2012, 7). Created to “provide services that neither government nor businesses would or could effectively provide” (8), these various organizations respond to a lack in U.S.-American society and are central to the “social fabric of American life” (9). Albeit diverse in their focus, activities, and reach, nonprofits are united by their status as tax-exempt organizations, relieved from paying federal, state, county, or municipal taxes (Tschirhart and Bielefeld 2012, 7). Nonprofits may take on the legal forms of “unincorporated associations,” “charitable trusts,” and “nonprofit corporations” (50). Each legal form has its own set of advantages and disadvantages, its status determining the organization’s terms of operation, structure, taxation, management, and liability, and imposing reporting requirements, potential fees, and rules for the election of boards and committees (Hopkins 2012, 7–10). According to Tschirhart and Bielefeld, the unincorporated association is the “simplest” form, allowing for “minimal record-keeping requirements,” but producing few other benefits; in turn, the charitable trust is primarily tied to the purpose of making grants. Nonprofit corporations are the most common form and can be further divided into “public benefit” organizations that serve the public and “mutual benefit” organizations that serve their members (2012, 50). Within the Internal Revenue Service classification system for tax-exempt organizations, 501(c)(3) organizations are one of the most prevalent forms of nonprofits. As educational and charitable institutions, both CAAM and Pac Arts belong to this category, benefiting, amongst other things, from an “increased receptivity to appeals for support, tax deductibility for donors, […] eligibility for government and foundation contracts and grants, and discounts from some businesses” (Tschirhart and Bielefeld 2012, 50). Again, the category entails certain limitations: for instance, (c)(3) organizations are prohibited from engaging in political campaigning, lobbying, and “unrelated business activity,” having to ensure that their activities are related to their missions or can otherwise be deemed “insubstantial” (50). Although easily dismissed as a marketing strategy or advertisement that seeks to appeal to potential financiers and consumers, the mission statement is central to the nonprofit’s identity, performance, and success. As Tschirhart and Bielefeld assert, the establishment of a mission is a central requirement for nonprofit organizations, which have a distinct mandate to be good stewards of the resources they receive towards the pursuit of their mission, whether those resources come in as philanthropic dollars, government contracts and grants, membership dues, or earned income through revenue-generating activities. (2012, 3)

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The organization’s mission is essential to its legal status as nonprofit, cited and highlighted in its articles of incorporation, bylaws, and tax filings.11 It also impacts a festival’s competitiveness, as nonprofits vie for funding by showing that their mission should be prioritized and that their activities support their educational, philanthropic, or activist goals (Rhyne 2013 [2009], 146). CAAM and Pac Arts’ status as nonprofit corporations, public benefit and 501(c)(3) organizations influences their operations in several ways. Pac Arts’ bylaws, for instance, place the organization under the control of a board of directors that has the final say over management, business affairs, and activities, while at the same time prohibiting any engagement in private inurement.12 Moreover, projects and programs must be designed so that they fulfill the organization’s stated purposes. Here, Pac Arts vows to “nurture and support Asian Pacific Islander American artists working in film,” showcase their works, and “provide encouragement, information, advice, networking opportunities, mentorship, and when possible, financial assistance, to young Asian Pacific American artists who aspire to professional media and media arts careers.” It further vows to strengthen the community by presenting diverse, “culturally sensitive” educational programs (San Diego Asian Film Foundation 2004). The film festival’s status as nonprofit organization therefore has implications that go beyond economic benefits. It positions the festival as a moral instance, bringing forth specific performative acts – from the continuous citation of mission statements and open display of finances to their program and project development13 – and shaping its identity as a cultural institution driven to benefit a society and/or social group. As is the case with CAAM and Pac Arts, this status may also affect memory production, pushing the institutions toward content that revolves around Asian American history and collective memory and encouraging performative acts that center on remembering.

11 See, for example, Pac Arts’ filings and financials (Kim 2002; San Diego Asian Film Foundation 2004; Pacific Arts Movement 2019a), in all of which the organization’s mission is quoted. For more information on articles of incorporation and bylaws, see Hopkins (2012, 8–9). 12 As Bruce R. Hopkins points out, private inurement is the transfer of a for-profit organization’s profits to its owners (2012, 5). In contrast to for-profit organizations, which exist to economically benefit their owners, nonprofit organizations are forbidden to distribute profits among their directors and officers (5–6). Instead, any earnings must flow back into and benefit the organization (6). 13 Concrete examples of projects (e.g., Pac Arts’ “Reel Voices” and “Youth Day” programs; CAAM’s “Memories to Light” and “Who is American?” projects) that are designed to fulfill the organizations’ missions and constitute performative acts are given in chapter 6.4.

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Creating Change: The Festival as Activist Organization A question that inevitably arises when considering actors and agendas of Asian American film festivals is whether such festivals may be labeled as activist festivals and to what extent CAAMFest and SDAFF’s activities can be considered activist. A central characteristic of activist festivals is that they, like the activist films themselves, exist to “fulfill a particular contract, one that centres on the broad aim of social change” (Tascón 2017, 23). Both activist festivals and activist films are driven to reveal the “state of the real world,” search for “truth,” and encourage social change (Torchin 2012, 2). Thus, they build on the premise that the medium of film has the power to “increase awareness, to expose, to warn, to prevent and sometimes change the course of events” (Iordanova 2012, 13). According to De Valck, activist festivals frequently orient themselves toward stakeholders who are in support of their causes, from social justice organizations to judicial institutions (2017). Moreover, they seek out educational institutions such as high schools and universities in order to plant awareness, “nurture committed cultural citizens,” and organize conferences, panels, and debates, thereby merging pedagogy and activism (Iordanova 2012, 14–15). In order to reach new audiences, build communities, and expand the festival network, activist festivals further commit to community outreach programs. Such projects allow them to mobilize citizens, foster awareness, and build up trust toward their organizations (15). According to these criteria, CAAM and Pac Arts are activist in that they address both a lack of diversity in U.S.-American media production and a scarcity of Asian American media representations and attempt to change the status quo through their multifaceted production, exhibition, and distribution practices. They work to bring change to the film industry in paving the way for Asian American careers, but also aim to influence U.S.-American perceptions of minorities by diversifying their representations on screen. Addressing issues of agency and voice, CAAM and Pac Arts’ film festivals encourage Asian Americans to take control of their own representations. In their collaboration with cultural institutions, minority organizations, and, at times, social justice leagues and civil rights organizations, CAAM and Pac Arts form alliances with stakeholders that are invested in their causes. They are further in close contact with educational institutions, from minority and ethnic studies departments to local high schools, and place strong emphasis on their involvement in community outreach programs. However, CAAMFest and SDAFF do not fulfill the central criterium of exclusively programming activist films. Instead, their support of the production, exhibition, and distribution of Asian American films in general – be it a human rights documentary or a romantic comedy – along with the portrayal of a wide

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spectrum of Asian American characters constitute the organizations’ activism. While the festival programs regularly include films that address diversity and social injustice, they equally showcase films that are mainstream in their portrayal of a U.S.-American society and do nothing to criticize the status quo by means of their content. What is more, festival panels and discussions are usually designed to entertain, inform, and (albeit critically) engage with Asian Americans’ work and roles in Hollywood rather than foster activism, so that the screening of original footage from a Japanese American internment camp in connection with a discussion with the filmmaker and internee’s family members is rather an exception than the norm.14 According to Leshu Torchin, another central trait of activist film festivals is that the screening context provides a “testimonial encounter” and functions as a “field of witnessing” (2012, 2–3).15 As activist festivals must create connections between their audiences and causes in order to have any kind of impact, they attach great importance to pre- and post-screening events such as introductions, Q&As, and panel discussions. Constituting “integral parts” of the festival programs, such activities provide contexts for the films and bring audiences into contact with activist organizations and programs (De Valck 2017). In this setting, pre- and post-screening events aim to “go beyond the film” and actively interfere with audience perceptions and opinions (Iordanova 2012, 16). In openly framing films and laying out their intent, activist festivals are able to create what Sonia Tascón terms a “disruptive discursive framework” (2017, 29), from which an “engaged and questioning spectator” may emerge (32). Activist festivals therefore produce a specific kind of spectatorship in that they work to “close the distance” between spectators and film subjects and create “a more equal relationship” to those facing tragedy and suffering (23). Although CAAMFest and SDAFF adopt such practices for specific screenings, both film festivals mostly follow traditional approaches to pre- and postscreening events: introductions and Q&As set a festive atmosphere, offer insights into the filmmaking process, and allow the audience to interact with the stars on stage. Moreover, since the festivals primarily address and serve the community that is being portrayed on screen, it is debatable to what extent their screening practices can “function as spaces that redesign alignments and power structures” (Torchin 2012, 8) or “correct the record on a certain issue” (Iordanova 2012, 13).

14 Cf. CAAMFest’s 2006 event “A View from Topaz: An Undercover Look at an American Concentration Camp” (24th San Francisco 2006, 41). 15  For discussions of activist film festivals’ staging of such “off-screen” events, see Tascón (2017); Davies (2017); Davies (2016); and Torchin (2012).

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However, screenings of documentaries such as Who Killed Vincent Chin? (1987) or The People’s Hospital (2017) are framed by off-screen events that do provide crucial background information or enforce activist readings of the films, inviting community activists and filmmakers onto the stage and bringing audiences into contact with political agendas. Here, the festivals’ involvement in memory activism, that is, in activities that aim at a “strategic commemoration of a contested past outside state channels to influence public debate and policy,” is most visible (Gutman 2016, 1–2).16 With regard to stakeholders, activist film festivals often separate themselves from government or industry influence. In avoiding “direct interference,” activist festivals forgo the financial support of government or industry institutions (Iordanova 2012, 13). Instead, they are often supported by and closely tied to non-government organizations, civil society groups, and cause agencies, which benefit from the “narrative background” that film screenings can provide, making their activist work accessible to a broad public (13–14). Moreover, they rely on the network of activist festivals: while operating independently from “mainstream counterparts,” these festivals will often come together to form coalitions (16). Receiving substantial financial backing through government grants, AAFFs such as CAAMFest and SDAFF differ from activist film festivals in their relationship with and dependency on government institutions. However, they are rooted in community activism and grassroots movements and to this day nurture their relationships to community and activist organizations. Moreover, CAAMFest and SDAFF often move beyond the traditional festival setting, organizing educational screenings at schools, traveling across the region, and publishing films online (De Valck 2017). Encouraging their communities to participate and make their voices heard in the media sphere and engaging younger generations in Asian and Asian American culture, CAAM/CAAMFest and Pac Arts/SDAFF’s performances regularly display characteristics of activist events and memory activism. Selling a Product: The Festival as Commercial Enterprise Seeking to secure funding, create revenue, and expand, film festivals are also commercial enterprises. As Ruby Cheung shows with the example of the Hong Kong International Film Festival, festivals often go through a corporatization,

16 According to Yifat Gutman, memory activists make use of “memory practices and cultural repertoires as means for political ends, often (but not always) in the service of reconciliation and democratic politics” (2016, 2). For further reading on memory activism, see Reading and Katriel (2015); Rigney (2018); and Chidgey (2018).

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which entails an “influx of commercial sponsorships” as replacement for public funding. This process may challenge the festival’s “high-art aspirations,” transforming it into a “more populist, film industry-driven, market-oriented event” (2009, 99). Festivals further make use of corporate marketing strategies in marketing their events to both potential festivalgoers and sponsors. Following “customer-oriented approaches,” the festival as marketer pitches and sells its events to private companies (Kotler et al. 2012, 239–240). Matching their ‘products’ with corporations, festivals introduce sponsors to concrete projects or programs in need of support and respond to the potential financier’s mission, products, services, customer base, and business needs (241–246). Like most film festivals, CAAMFest and SDAFF are dependent on multiple sources of income and financed through a combination of government funding, corporate sponsorship, earned income, private contributions, grants, and donations. As of 2015, CAAM derives the largest part of its funding from the Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB) (42%), followed by in-kind contributions (15%), foundation grants (14%), production revenue (9%),17 government awards (6%), corporate support (5%), festival ticket sales (4%), private contributions and memberships (3%), and film distribution (2%) (“Impact” 2018).18 Thus, the organization is largely dependent on its ongoing partnership with the CPB. As of 2014, Pac Arts’ net assets stem from film festival revenue (63%), government and other grants (12%), memberships (11%), donations (9%), galas and silent auctions (4%), and investment income (less than 1%) (“Pacific Arts Movement” 2014). This funding structure is also typical for nonprofit organizations, as Rhyne asserts (2013 [2009], 136). According to Cheung, a film festival’s identity may “predetermine” its funding structure and sources (2010, 94). In turn, funding structures may reveal a festival’s origins, interests, and ties to national or local governments and the corporate or nonprofit sector (74).19 In her discussion of diaspora-linked festivals,20 Iordanova

17 According to Masashi Niwano, production revenue relates to CAAM’s own productions that are largely broadcasted on PBS (2019). 18 Percentages are rounded up and off. 19 Cheung, however, also points out that lack of funding may lead festivals to accept sponsorship or funding from organizations “not directly related to their themes” (2010, 90). 20 Establishing three types of diaspora-linked festivals, Iordanova asserts that the first type is organized and supported by governmental and public institutions of an affluent nation and exists to showcase the nation’s cinematic output outside of its borders (2010, 17), while the second type engages in “identity building,” promoting cultural identities across national borders and/or aiming to unite dispersed populations (22). The third type of festival represents diasporic interests in the host country and receives support from diasporic or local businesses (25–26).

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similarly links festival identities to funding sources: depending on whether they function as “tools of cultural diplomacy,” center on identity politics, or exist to promote diasporic interests, festivals will receive support from governmental and public institutions, non-governmental organizations, or diasporic and local businesses (2010, 17–26). With regard to agendas, sponsorship, funding, and collaborations, CAAMFest and SDAFF respond to all of Iordanova’s categories, displaying characteristics of national showcases, identity-forming events, and diasporic enterprises. Both festivals receive support from national and local government institutions, foreign governments, and non-governmental organizations as well as local and diasporic businesses. Both are firmly grounded in their local cultures, but also engage in what Iordanova terms “supranational” identity agendas, discussing the current state of Asian, Asian diasporic, and Asian American identities and expanding the definitions of these categories and concepts (2010, 22). Although much of what CAAM and Pac Arts as organizations offer can be considered free community services, select services are aimed at creating revenue. For instance, via its distribution arm, CAAM rents and sells film copies to educational institutions such as universities and colleges (“Films for Educators” 2018). Both organizations further offer membership services, entry level memberships beginning at 50 and 60 dollars per year (“Become a Member” 2018; “Membership” 2016). For Pac Arts, its two festivals (SDAFF and Spring Showcase) constitute the most significant source of income, generating almost two thirds of the organization’s revenue (“Pacific Arts Movement” 2014). Through their work, the festivals tap into a thriving niche market and respond to local demands. In San Francisco, CAAMFest augments the programming of other local film festivals and movie theaters by regularly screening Asian and Asian American films; in San Diego, SDAFF fills a gap in the market, since few Asian and Asian American films are screened in the region on a regular basis. To sum up, the film festivals’ need to ensure their financial sustainability creates specific performative acts, from thanking their members and advertising for their sponsors in speeches, to hosting special member receptions and sponsor galas, to making visible their collaborations with national institutions. In turn, these performative acts help cement their commercial identity as producers and exhibitors of Asian American film, positioning them within a niche of the film industry and as experts of the genre. The festivals thus become not only advocates for the Asian American community, but important influences with regard to memory work through their careful selection and promotion of Asian American memory films.

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Evaluating Art and Bestowing Prestige: The Festival as Art Market As art markets, film festivals participate in performative acts that define and evaluate art. Programs are assembled and prizes awarded according to notions of quality and innovation, identifying and honoring films on the basis of their artistic qualities. Different actors take part in these processes of selection and evaluation, including festival staff, juries, industry members, and the press. Each type of actor produces different performative acts, taking the shape of curatorial practice, media texts, awards ceremonies, or speeches. As pointed out in chapter 3.3, film festivals function as sites of both symbolic and economic value accumulation (De Valck 2007, 38). In their role as cultural gatekeepers, festivals determine a film’s fate, such as the possibility of a theatrical release, a box office success, or its entry into a canon. Thus, the praise, awards, and attention a film receives at festivals can be of value outside of the festival sphere (161). According to De Valck, prizes and awards are the most visible form of symbolic value accumulation, drawing the attention of both critics and moviegoers to a film (2016b, 106). By installing a jury comprised of industry experts and scholars, festivals establish and legitimize an award’s value and create the illusion that awards are given independently and objectively, solely on the basis of professional opinion.21 CAAMFest and SDAFF secure their juries’ expert status in several ways: while it is usual for a jury to feature representatives of both theory and practice, so that its work may be informed by a practical understanding of the industry as well as a theoretical knowledge of film, identity-based film festivals specifically include community leaders and experts on minority discourse and representation. CAAMFest’s 2017 and SDAFF’s 2016 juries comprise a mix of Asian American film industry professionals, artists, scholars, and journalists, often including filmmakers, festival staff, lecturers or professors of Asian American studies or film studies, or writers for established blogs and magazines on Asian American culture.22 They also integrate activists, cultural workers, or community leaders.

21 As De Valck states, several factors influence juries in their decision-making process. For instance, since the festival director oversees the competition selections, appointment of jury members, and evaluation process, the festival image becomes a “major influence on the jury’s criteria” (2016b, 158). 22 In 2017, CAAMFest’s jury for narrative films consisted of Abby Chen (curator and artistic director of San Francisco’s Chinese Culture Foundation), Ivan Jaigirdar (co-founder of 3rd i South Asian Film and artistic director of 3rd i International South Asian Film Festival), and Marc Mayer (senior educator at the Asian Art Museum and curator for local Asian American art) (CAAMFest “2017 CAAMFest” 2017). In 2016, SDAFF’s festival jury for both narrative and documentary films

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What is more, the majority of jury members are based in San Francisco or San Diego: next to the financial benefits of recruiting local experts, such choices stabilize the festival’s ties to the local film and art industry. CAAMFest gives away a range of awards, each of which follow different selection procedures. While the winners of the Comcast Narrative Competition and Documentary Competition Awards are determined by two separate juries, the Audience Award actively involves the audience in the evaluation process. The AT&T Student Film Award, aimed at honoring Asian and Asian American student filmmakers who represent the “voice of a new generation” (CAAMFest 2017, 43), is selected by four or five local AT&T employees (Niwano 2019). The Loni Ding Award for Social Justice Documentary is selected by both CAAM staff members and former students of the late Asian American activist and producer,23 honoring and continuing the work of Ding who “devoted her life to advocacy” and helped shape the landscape of public media organizations (“Loni Ding Award” 2017). Finally, the SF Film Critics Award is given away by members of the San Francisco Film Critics Circle, a nonprofit organization consisting of local film critics and writers (CAAMFest 2017, 43). SDAFF’s awards equally comprise programmer, jury, and audience awards. While an expert jury selects the festival’s best narrative and documentary features, along with the best narrative, documentary, and animated shorts, audiences select the winner of the Audience Award among all new feature films. As of 2016, the winners of the George C. Lin Emerging Filmmaker Award and the Lifetime Achievement Award are selected by festival programmers (17th Annual 2016, 10). Dedicated to the festival’s late program director, the George C. Lin Emerging Filmmaker Award honors a first-time feature filmmaker who “embodies the independent sprit that George [Lin] represented” and “expands the horizons” of Asian American filmmaking. Here, SDAFF seeks to commemorate

consisted of Jacqueline Kim (actress and writer, producer, and director of fiction films), Yazdi K. Pithavala (film reviewer, podcaster, and secretary of the San Diego Film Critics Society), Valerie Soe (artist and associate professor of Asian American Studies at San Francisco State University), and So Yun Um (film critic and filmmaker) (17th Annual 2016, 10). Interesting to note is that both CAAMFest and SDAFF juries tend to either be composed of Asian Americans in their entirety or consist of an Asian American majority, thus constituting one more instance in which the organizations’ missions of giving Asian Americans agency and control over their own representations are fulfilled. 23 Niwano states that the committee for the Loni Ding Award usually includes CAAM’s executive director, program director, and media fund manager, all of whom worked with Ding. The former student is a filmmaker or industry member who usually works within the genre of social justice documentaries (2019).

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Lin’s devotion to independent film and significance for the Asian American community in promoting Asian American film (Thirteenth Annual 2012, 40). In contrast, the Lifetime Achievement Award is dedicated to veterans of Asian American film, honoring the legacy and perseverance of prominent figures such as Wayne Wang or Tyrus Wong. In 2016, Wang was honored for his influential role in Asian American cinema, with the festival claiming that Wang “revolutionized” Asian American cinema with his film Chan is Missing (1982) and found “unprecedented success” in mainstream and independent film production, national and international sectors, continuously “expanding the terrain of Asian American cinema” (17th Annual 2016, 15). Although all film festivals participate in evaluation practices and numerous festivals hand out awards, their influence and reach varies drastically. Within a two-tiered festival system, only very few festivals have the power to “bestow globally recognized prestige” (De Valck 2016b, 107). CAAMFest and SDAFF can in no way compete with international festivals in granting films exposure and recognition; instead, they make strategic use of the prestige bestowed by festivals such as Cannes, Venice, or TIFF and reproduce their acts of value attribution. This is particularly visible in SDAFF’s program, in which an entire section is dedicated to films “[f]resh from Toronto, Locarno, and other prestigious international film festivals” (15 San Diego 2014, 101). Its catalogs also specifically credit that films have been shown at Locarno, Cannes, or Venice.24 In its 2017 catalog, CAAMFest similarly marks Who Killed Vincent Chin? (1987) as an “Academy Award-nominated documentary” and emphasizes that its CinemAsia section includes the “2016 Taipei Film Festival Grand Prize Winner” (CAAMFest 2017, 23; 49). Another example is SDAFF’s honoring of Wayne Wang with the Lifetime Achievement Award, thereby celebrating a filmmaker who has received international recognition and premiered much of his work at prestigious international festivals (17th Annual 2016, 15). CAAMFest and SDAFF are, however, in positions of influence within the Asian American film festival circuit, affecting the selection practices of other AAFFs and setting forth a “snowball effect” of value accumulation (De Valck 2007, 35). Both festivals secure a significant amount of Asian American film premieres, with the films subsequently moving on to smaller AAFFs. The documentary AKA Seoul (2016), for instance, had its world premiere at SDAFF 2016 and screened at

24 See, for example, SDAFF’s entries on After the Storm (2016) and Afternoon (2015): the introduction to Hirokazu Kore-eda’s film is headed by the mention of its status as part of the 2016 Official Selections of Cannes and TIFF, while Tsai Ming-liang’s film is introduced as part of the 2015 Official Selections of Venice and TIFF (17th Annual 2016, 46).

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CAAMFest, Boston Asian American Film Festival, and Houston Asian American Pacific Islander Film Festival in the following year. Their position as gatekeepers of Asian American film culture and memory production is legitimized through a network of organizations, from the National Endowment for the Arts to the CPB, recognizing the value of CAAM and Pac Arts’ work and reinforcing their expert status as judges of Asian and Asian American cinematic art.

6.3 Actors in the Performance: Roles and Interests Festival Actors as Memory Agents When looking at film festivals from a memory perspective, it is important to perceive festivals as belonging to a network of texts, media, and institutions and to take into consideration both human and nonhuman actors shaping memory production. CAAMFest and SDAFF’s most visible mnemonic actors or memory agents25 are the festival directors, programmers, and the various cultural, political, educational, and corporate institutions engaging with the festivals as sponsors and co-presenters – all of whom create, transmit, and rework memory.26 While festival directors and/or artistic directors oversee programming, developing the theme and focal points of a specific edition, and function as the festival’s main representatives, programmers develop individual sections or programs, contribute to the festival’s publications, and interact with audiences as moderators during a screening. In turn, sponsors help fund the festival, either through general promotion or through sponsorship of a specific event, program, or film. Co-presenters often function as mediators, providing access to the

25 Michael Bernard and Jan Kubic define mnemonic actors as “political forces” invested in a specific interpretation or “vision of the past,” believing it will produce the “most effective legitimation for their efforts to gain and hold power” (2014, 4). I consider the majority of CAAMFest and SDAFF’s actors as mnemonic actors or memory agents since they are integrated into the Asian American community, personally connected to both current and historical events represented by the festivals, and thus invested in the public commemoration and official recognition of Asian American experiences (cf. Gutman 2016, 18). 26 My discussion of the terms “director,” “programmer,” “sponsor,” and “co-presenter” is based on CAAM and Pac Arts’ specific use of these terms in the festival catalogs. As Loist points out, most identity-based festivals have the same rudimentary organizational structure (2011, 268). While some positions can be found at almost every festival, others are specific to certain types of festivals. Also, festivals may make use of the same positions, but label them differently; thus, the terms “sponsors,” “partners,” and “patrons” are often used synonymously.

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festival’s target groups. It is important to note that behind these institutions are also other entities that tug and pull at them, influencing their decisions to sponsor or promote a festival or festival program. Nonprofits, for instance, will often depend on government funding as well as on the financial support of various foundations, consulates, and societies, expanding and complicating the agendas that shape cultural events such as CAAMFest or SDAFF. In the following section, the roles of selected actors – sponsors, co-presenters, and guests (filmmakers, community organizers, activists) – are explored. Each of these actors or stakeholders is led by different interests and motivations; what is more, they conceive of the film festival institution, its identity, and mission in different ways, interested, for example, in its independence from either governmental interests or mainstream markets (Rhyne 2013 [2009], 146). While the list of festival actors is considerably longer – scholars such as Mark Peranson and Janet Harbord have rightfully pointed to the significance of industry members such as producers, distributors, and sales agents27 as well as the press in mediating and shaping the festival experience28 – this section limits itself to the above-mentioned actors for several reasons: Directors and programmers have been extensively discussed in chapter 4 with regard to the narratives they produce, aimed at fostering festival identities, creating links between their activities and missions, and emphasizing the quality, innovativeness, and social and artistic value of their programs. In AAFFs, neither industry members nor the press take on the central role they play at international film festivals. For one, these festivals do not have markets attached to them, so that the negotiation of industry deals does not constitute a central activity. What is more, they do not compete over arthouse films to the extent that international film festivals do; instead, they largely program films that are in need of exhibition and distribution.29 Finally, unlike Cannes, Berlin, or Venice, whose authority and glamour

27 Discussing the power of industry members, Peranson asserts that sales agents “control the art film market” and hold power over a film’s exhibition at film festivals. Not only do they determine the festivals in which a film may participate, but they will also “often demand fees from festivals to cover ‘their costs,’ costs that include participation at business festivals who generally aren’t required to pay these screening fees” (2013 [2009], 197). 28 According to Harbord, journalists are a central instance through which the festival is mediated to the public: “The accounts represent first-hand experience, instilling a type of authenticity to the event, a personalized diary of the experience” that is “both spatially and temporally removed from everyday life” (2002, 68). 29 With regard to SDAFF’s programming of Asian arthouse films, Brian Hu states that the festival has no competition in the San Diego region. While AMC movie theaters are increasing their programming of Asian blockbusters, there are no other film festivals or movie theaters that regularly

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are “sustained by the press,” AAFFs depend much more strongly on their ties to the local communities – that is, partnerships with community organizations and word-of-mouth advertising – than on the press in order to remain sustainable and expand (B. Hu 2018). Following the discussion of these actors’ roles and interests, this section turns to concrete scenarios in which such actors become active, shaping the festival performance and its outcomes. Sponsors perform agendas of community outreach in their interference with the screening, showing a short film that they themselves have produced, while co-presenters openly enter into a discussion with filmmakers and audiences and present their cause. Considerations of home movie projects, outreach campaigns, and youth projects further demonstrate that these projects involve multiple actors who function as memory agents – encouraging remembering within the Asian American community and shaping the memories that are produced within the festival sphere – and work toward community building. In all of these examples, Asian American collective memories come to the fore; not only do they rise to the surface, bringing the past into the present, but they are also negotiated and set against the present and future. Remembrance of the past is thus considered as crucial to the survival of an Asian American collective identity, helping these minority communities make sense of the present and shape their future. Sponsors Sponsors influence film festival performances in several ways, both explicitly and implicitly. At times, sponsors overtly participate in the festival event, hosting parties and promotional events. They sometimes additionally intervene in film screenings, sharing the spotlight on stage and functioning as moderators or presenters, thereby shaping audience reception and processes of community building. The presence of sponsors is further felt through staff acknowledgments (e.g., in speeches and introductions) and advertisements, the latter of which are shown on the festival website, printed in the catalog, and integrated into the live events in that they are shown on screen while guests enter the theater and take their seats. Although their influence on performance and reception might easily be dismissed, advertisements reveal much about the festival’s target groups.

program Asian arthouse films, so that, for distributors, SDAFF is the “only game in town” (2018). In contrast, CAAMFest competes with local institutions such as the San Francisco International Film Festival and SFFILM, leading the organization to focus more on Asian American films.

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Through them, sponsors will subtly enforce a shared sense of community and identity among festival audiences (cf. chapter 4.3). The extent to which sponsors influence the festival content or programming depends on the relationship between sponsor and festival. In some cases, the festival may need to modify programming or content to attract sponsors and remain sustainable. In other cases – as with CAAMFest and SDAFF – the festival may seek sponsors that match its predetermined curatorial vision and guarantee creative freedom. Both CAAMFest and SDAFF are sponsored by a broad spectrum of entities, ranging from local, regional, national, and international organizations to government, nonprofit, and commercial institutions.30 Numerous sponsors belong to the education, arts, and/or media sectors or have strong ties to local ethnic and diasporic communities. Connected to the organization’s status and profile, the reasons for and agendas behind festival support and sponsorship are both multifaceted and complex. Two types of sponsors are particularly relevant for CAAMFest and SDAFF, as private corporations and nonprofit organizations make up a large part of their sponsorships. As is the case with most festivals, corporate sponsorship constitutes a substantial part of both CAAMFest and SDAFF’s budgets. In order to sell its event to sponsors, CAAM presents CAAMFest as a “unique” opportunity to “co-brand a variety of memorable events and programs” and reach an Asian American audience that is “extremely educated, affluent, technologically savvy and community minded.” Companies will profit from CAAM’s access to a “thriving Asian American market,” its multimedia output, and its social media reach, while also fulfilling their philanthropic goals (“Become a Sponsor” 2017). As of 2019, CAAM and Pac Arts establish different categories of corporate sponsorship for their respective festivals, ranging from Partner ($100,000) to Supporting ($2,500) at CAAMFest and Title Sponsor ($75,000) to Youth Day Sponsor ($2,500) at SDAFF. In return, CAAM offers logo exposure on sponsored pages or programs, in-theater slide shows, festival guide, in-theater, and public transit advertisements, posters, and branded venue spaces, depending on the level of sponsorship (Center for Asian American Media 2017). Pac Arts’ offers include venue naming rights, web and on site banners, on-screen digital ads, booth spaces, and social media promotion (Pacific Arts Movement 2019b). According to the category, sponsors may present a special event, full program, or individual screening. With regard to sponsors’ motivations for funding such events, corporate sponsors are interested in benefitting from an event’s “media exposure and connection with potential consumers” (Cheung 2010, 90). The sponsors for CAAMFest’s

30 CAAMFest 2017 and SDAFF 2016’s sponsors are listed and categorized in appendix 8.3.

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2017 opening night gala, for instance, included the festival’s Presenting Sponsor (Xfinity) and Grand Sponsors (96.5 KOIT, AARP, AT&T DirecTV, Buick, and the Asian Art Museum), aware that the opening night secures one of the largest audiences and reaches the highest number of potential customers within the festival. As festivals are often registered as charities, tax relief may serve as another motivation for sponsorship (Cheung 2010, 90). Moreover, corporate sponsorship is often given in order to fulfill a company’s pledge to “corporate social responsibility” (CSR), which describes a voluntary “commitment to improve community well-being through discretionary business practices and contributions of corporate resources” (Kotler et al. 2012, 5). Corporate social responsibility can take the shape of various social initiatives, including “cause promotion,” “corporate philanthropy,” and “socially responsible business practices,” all of which aim to support social causes and strengthen the corporation’s business (21–23). According to Philip Kotler et al., corporate social responsibility was originally viewed as an obligation (donating to a good cause as a necessary step of image-building), and only became a business strategy in the early 1990s (2012, 8–9). This shift in perception resulted in the turn to a “new model for corporate giving, a strategic approach that ultimately impacted what issues corporations supported, how they designed and implemented their programs, and how they were evaluated” (10). In consequence, corporations now increasingly choose a few key areas that fit with corporate values; selecting initiatives that support business goals; choosing issues related to core products and core markets; supporting issues that provide opportunities to meet marketing objectives such as increased market share, market penetration, or building a desired brand identity […] and taking on issues the community and customers and employees care most about. (10)

Despite these trends, going so far as to develop a single “corporate theme for social responsibility” is not yet the norm; instead, corporations tend to support several areas such as health care or education, each of which is represented by a select few cause initiatives (44). Moreover, it is now customary to offer long-term support and “form strategic alliances” with their partners (10–11). These developments find representation in both CAAMFest and SDAFF’s sponsorships, as both festivals have received long-standing support from corporate sponsors such as Comcast and General Motors (CAAMFest) or Barona Resort & Casino, Sharp Health Plan, and Wells Fargo (SDAFF).31 For larger corporations such as Comcast,

31 These corporations have served as the festivals’ largest sponsors for at least five years (cf. CAAMFest catalogs from 2013–2017 and SDAFF catalogs from 2012–2016).

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the sponsorship of CAAMFest is part of a large spectrum of causes and missions receiving Comcast support, covering such diverse topics as accessibility, diversity and inclusion, sustainability, and military engagement (“Values” 2018). Moreover, different types of social initiatives can be discerned from the types of sponsorship CAAM and Pac Arts offer. For instance, San Diego Gas & Electric’s support of Pac Arts’ “Reel Voices” and “Youth Day” projects32 qualifies as cause promotion, a “marketing-driven” initiative in which a corporation “provides funds, in-kind donations or other corporate resources for promotions to increase awareness and concern about a social cause or to support fundraising, participation, or volunteer recruitment for a cause” (Kotler et al. 2012, 22). San Diego Gas & Electric promotes its involvement in these youth projects as part of the company’s “Inspiring Future Leaders” initiative, aimed at supporting local science, technology, engineering, and mathematics (STEM) programs as well as nonprofit organizations that are “dedicated to the development of the next generation of diverse, prepared, and skilled leaders” (“Inspiring Future Leaders” 1998–2016). The corporation thus connects Pac Art’s projects to its other sponsored programs, emphasizing their value as STEM (rather than cultural or art education) programs and strengthening the company image as dedicated to sustainability and clean energy in its fostering of a new generation that is technologically adapt and socially conscious (Coller 2018). Further, two “corporate-driven” initiatives are at work behind sponsorships of CAAMFest and SDAFF: Corporate philanthropy, a corporation’s “direct contribution to a charity or cause, most often in the form of cash grants, donations, and/or in-kind services” (Kotler et al. 2012, 23), can be identified at both festivals, from Wells Fargo’s support of CAAMFest via a corporate grant,33 to the numerous in-kind donations of local businesses such as Ritual Coffee (CAAMFest) or Sandwich Emporium (SDAFF). Socially responsible business practices, in which a “corporation adapts and conducts discretionary business practices and invest-

32 “Reel Voices” is a training program in documentary filmmaking for local high school students, seeking to create “socially-conscious storytellers” (“Reel Voices” 2016), while “Youth Day” constitutes a free day of film screenings, aimed at fostering “film literacy skills” (“School Partnerships” 2019). Both projects are presented in more detail in chapter 6.4. 33 Wells Fargo’s sponsorship of CAAMFest functions as one of the corporation’s many “community giving” initiatives, aimed at “strengthen[ing] the communities in which we operate and grow[ing] local economies around the world” (“Community Giving” 1999–2018). Including donations, grants, sponsorship, in-kind contributions (e.g. business expertise, credit counseling), and volunteering, Wells Fargo contributes to projects that focus on community development and education, two aspects CAAM has continuously emphasized in its mission statement and promotional texts (“California Grant Guidelines” 1999–2018).

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ments that support social causes to improve community well-being and protect the environment,” are one of many visible strategies that determine Comcast’s relationship with and sponsorship of CAAM (23). In sponsoring a communityoriented Asian American organization, Comcast makes good on its philanthropic mission to “giv[e] back to the communities” and pledge to further diversity and inclusion (“Values” 2018). Moreover, the corporation is funding an organization that is a central supplier for its “Cinema Asian America” platform, thereby supporting and enforcing two concrete programs that promote diversity in Comcast’s supplier chains (hiring diverse suppliers, that is, producers) and its programming (creating diverse programs) (Comcast Diversity 2018). With the rise of corporate social initiatives and intensified pressures on firms to demonstrate their CSR, evaluation of such support has become more significant. Corporations are thus pressured to define campaign goals and measure “outcomes for the corporation” and “impact for the cause” (Kotler et al. 2012, 11). In analyzing the (economic and social) value of their initiatives, corporations make strategic use of this feedback for “course correction and credible public reporting” (11). Such pressures take a toll on the organizations receiving corporate support, forcing them to perpetually demonstrate that their product is worth the corporations’ support and that they have increased its impact, reach, and visibility. These tendencies are visible in CAAMFest and SDAFF’s dedication to newness, continuously attempting to reinvent the wheel with new programs and projects, as well as in the organizations’ undertaking of audience surveys, determining the festivals’ target groups for programming and sponsorship, while at the same time letting sponsors gain insight into audience interests and preferences. Texts such as annual impact reports and sponsorship packets also reveal such pressures, as CAAM and Pac Arts explicitly highlight the extent to which their organizations and festivals have succeeded in fulfilling their missions and increasing their impact. Here, they emphasize their continuous expansion (more programs, industry guests, attendees), increased outreach (more projects, cooperations, air time), and acquisition of new grants, awards, and sponsors (more recognition) (cf. “Become a Sponsor” 2017; “Impact” 2018; Pacific Arts Movement 2019b). Since both entities are driven toward sustainability and success through the generation of profit, for-profit businesses and nonprofit organizations show some overlap in their motivations for sponsorship.34 Both seek to advertise their

34 As Hopkins points out, the legal status of nonprofits does not prohibit them from making a profit. Instead, their status “relates to requirements as to what must be done with the profit earned or otherwise received” (2012, 5). While for-profits are “legally able” to generate both

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products or services and reach out to festival audiences, stabilizing relations to existing customers or members, while at the same time securing new target groups. One central difference, however, is that sponsorship by nonprofit organizations requires that the actions of the festival and organization behind it are compatible with the nonprofit’s mission. In other words, a sponsorship of CAAMFest and SDAFF must result in the nonprofit’s execution of the goals established in its vision and mission statement. The realization of such goals is visible in several cases: for example, the nonprofit organization and minority consortium Pacific Islanders in Communications has regularly sponsored “Pacific Showcase” programs at both CAAMFest and SDAFF, thus fulfilling its mission to support and promote films that provide a “deeper understanding of Pacific Island history, culture, and contemporary challenges” through festival sponsorship (“History & Mission” 2018). The correlation between missions and sponsorship also finds expression in Cal Humanities’ funding of CAAM’s “Memories to Light” project. Believing that the humanities are “vital for a healthy society,” Cal Humanities supports humanities-based projects and programs in the hope that, through them, Californians may be inspired to “dig deeper,” recognize their “shared heritage and diverse cultures,” and actively take part in shaping the future – “Memories to Light” is exemplary of such a project in that it ‘digs’ in the past, reveals the diversity of Californian society and heritage, and comes to life through the engagement and participation of community members (“Our Mission” 2016). Through their collaborations and sponsorships, nonprofits aim to create synergistic effects. Supporting CAAMFest as Grand Sponsor from 2013 onward and hosting the festival’s opening night gala at the museum, the Asian Art Museum reaches different market segments and new customers. The offer of discounts when joining an Asian Art Museum membership during CAAMFest’s opening night gala shows similarity to “cause-related marketing,” in which a corporation creates a “mutually beneficial relationship designed to increase product sales and to generate financial support for the charity” (Kotler et al. 2012, 22). In forming an alliance, these two nonprofits both create revenue for themselves and support each other in creating revenue for the other party, thus fulfilling their missions to support minority and foreign art as well as foster education about these cultures (cf. “About CAAM” 2018; “About the Asian Art Museum” 2019).

entity-level (generating profit for the business) and ownership-level (generating profit for the owners) profit, nonprofits are limited to producing entity-level profit (6).

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Co-Presenters Festival programs and films are often promoted and introduced by individual co-presenters on the basis of their interests. For instance, the Hong Kong Film Archive as well as the Hong Kong Economic & Trade Office San Francisco were patrons to CAAMFest’s 2014 edition of “Out of the Vaults,” showing two films by Asian American and Hong Kong resident Joseph Sunn Jue (CAAMFest 2014, 20). By co-presenting such programs, representatives of a national government are able to not only promote their own film heritage, culture, and talent, but also actively control which images of their nation are going out, creating the impression that their nation’s cultural output is coherent and revealing the political agendas behind co-presentation and sponsorship. CAAMFest and SDAFF engage a broad spectrum of co-presenters, ranging from nonprofit organizations and educational and art institutions to embassies and trade offices. Cooperating with local universities, colleges, and museums, the film festivals are able to foster discussions between academics, film critics, and artists, share resources, and secure new audiences. In hosting or co-presenting screenings, institutions may in turn integrate films into their programs or exhibitions. While the festivals benefit from the official recognition of and value bestowed by academic or art institutions, universities and museums profit from the festivals’ expertise in Asian and Asian American film, access to rare film material, and contacts to filmmakers. Pac Arts has cooperated with the Museum of Photographic Arts (MOPA) on several occasions, hosting festival screenings at the museum and co-presenting the annual “Taiwan Cinema Spotlight” since 2014 (J. Wong 2016). CAAMFest occasionally collaborates with the Chinese Historical Society of America (CHSA), which co-presented the 2016 screening of Frank Wong’s Chinatown (2015), a documentary focusing on and drawing visitors to CHSA’s exhibition of the artist Frank Wong’s miniature models of a past Chinatown (CAAMFest 2016, 27). CAAMFest has a lengthy history of collaborating with Bay Area universities such as University of San Francisco (USF), UC Berkeley, UC Berkeley’s Pacific Film Archive (PFA), UC Santa Cruz, and UC Davis. Each year, several screenings are sponsored and/or co-presented by university programs and institutes. In 2013, for example, USF’s Asian Studies Department and Yuchengco Philippine Studies program sponsored the screenings of Harana (2012), a film about a forgotten Filipino tradition, and Marilou Diaz-Abaya: Filmmaker on a Voyage (2012), a documentary about the late Filipino filmmaker (CAAMFest 2013, 52–53). Panels and discussions may further take place in an academic context or setting. Hosted on UC Berkeley’s campus, the screening of Ang Lee’s Lust, Caution (2007) included a conversation between Ang Lee and Linda Williams, professor

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at the university’s Film Studies and Rhetoric Departments. The screening was presented in cooperation with UC Berkeley’s “On the Same Page” program, which in the academic year of 2008/2009 introduced students to Ang Lee and James Schamus (27th San Francisco 2009, 42).35 Moreover, CAAMFest retrospectives are often screened at the PFA and have on several occasions been integrated into the archive’s programs.36 The retrospective on Filipino filmmaker Royston Tan in 2013 was incorporated into the PFA’s series “Afterimage: Filmmakers and Critics in Conversation” and included a conversation between Tan and the critic, academic, and artist Valerie Soe, who teaches at the College of Ethnic Studies at San Francisco State University (CAAMFest 2013, 26). The 2006 retrospective “Heroic Grace: The Chinese Martial Arts Film, Part II” was also presented in partnership with the PFA, continuing the archive’s “Heroic Grace” series of 2003, which explored martial arts cinema of the 1970s and 1980s (24th San Francisco 2006, 37). Rooted in academia, SDAFF has long-standing cooperations with University of San Diego (USD) and UC San Diego (UCSD) with regard to sponsorship and co-presentation. Launched on the USD campus in 2000, SDAFF has continuously returned to USD and also regularly hosted screenings on the UCSD campus. In recent years, all of the festival’s Taiwanese films have been featured as part of the “Taiwan Showcase,” a collaboration between the UCSD Taiwan Studies Lecture Series, the UCSD Chuan Lyu Endowed Chair in Taiwan Studies, and the Taipei Economic and Cultural Office in Los Angeles. Promoting current Taiwanese productions as well as selected retrospective screenings of well-known auteurs such as Tsai Ming-liang or Hou Hsiao-hsien, all screenings take place on campus and are free for UCSD students, faculty, and staff (“Taiwan Showcase” 2019). SDAFF and UCSD additionally collaborated in 2014 in their co-presentation of the “Remembering Queer Korea” program, a retrospective on the history of queer cinema in Korea. Co-presented by the Transnational Korean Studies program, the retrospective consisted of free screenings on the UCSD campus and was part of an international symposium and academic conference (15 San Diego 2014, 48). In the past, screenings have also been co-presented by other USD or UCSD institutes, such as USD’s Center for Inclusion and Diversity, as well as by other

35 Offering students free admission to the events, UC Berkeley’s “On the Same Page” program intends to give students “something to talk about” at the start of the term and present them with an opportunity to network (“On the Same Page”). 36 The PFA’s theater in Berkeley dropped out as a festival venue in 2016, due to the closing and reconstruction of the Bancroft Way building (“BAMPFA Mission” 2020). Previously, CAAMFest had regularly hosted encore screenings at the PFA and used its theater for selected special events, such as an “Out of the Vaults” screening of a Charlie Chan film in 2011 (cf. SFIAAFF 29 2011, 42–43).

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local colleges, such as San Diego State University, Art Institute of California San Diego, SDSU Confucius Institute, Platt College, and Miramar College, based on their thematic interests. CAAMFest further has a long history of cooperating with other local and diasporic film festivals, regularly co-presenting films at 3rd i International South Asian Film Festival and sporadically co-presenting films at the San Francisco Jewish Film Festival. What is more, it has repeatedly invited these organizations and festivals to co-present films at CAAMFest. In turn, SDAFF integrated UCSD’s Taiwan Film Festival into its program in 2012, rebranding the event as the “Taiwan Showcase,” and merged its own efforts to promote and exhibit Asian films with those of UCSD’s Taiwan Studies Department and the Taipei Economic and Cultural Office in Los Angeles. Guests on Stage At CAAMFest and SDAFF’s events, different guests take to the stage and add to the film festival performance. The most common types of guests are filmmakers, producers, actors and actresses, contemporary witnesses, experts, activists, and community representatives, with guests often fulfilling several of these roles. While the festivals rely on guests to heighten the sense of occasion, making the festival screening a unique experience through their presence and interaction with the audience, add glamour to the event, offer background information, and foster community building, guests are able to follow up on their own agendas and actively shape the screening. Filmmakers may present their opinions and perspectives on the films at pre- and post-screening events, influencing how their film is framed.37 Along with press conferences and interviews, the live setting of the screening lets the filmmakers speak, giving them the chance to add their voices to those of programmers and critics and guide their audiences toward a particular perspective (C. Wong 2011, 125). For example, during the screening of Eat a Bowl of Tea (1989) on November 5, 2016, Wayne Wang shared his views on the film’s relevance with the audience, pointing out that it was the first all-Chinese American film to be produced by a Hollywood studio. Placing the film within his own filmography and thus retrospectively creating links between his works, he asserted that his

37 As my experiences as festival programmer have shown, the festival has the final say on how a film is framed in festival texts; however, filmmakers may still exert influence by submitting synopses, director’s statements, and other material that is then used for publication on websites and in catalogs.

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first two films Chan is Missing (1982) and Dim Sum: A Little Bit of Heart (1985) were more experimental and “underground,” while Eat a Bowl of Tea was produced with a particular viewership in mind and aimed at connecting with this audience. A particularly “special” film for Wang, it was the precursor to The Joy Luck Club (1993).38 Finally, filmmakers often participate in industry-centered panel discussions on Asian American identities on screen and the role of Asian Americans in the film and media industries, functioning as experts on the realities faced by minorities working in Hollywood. Other events center on personal experiences and bring forth witnesses to central moments in Asian American history. Two such examples are CAAMFest’s 2006 event “A View from Topaz” and SDAFF’s 2013 panel discussion “Separated by Birth.” The event “A View from Topaz” combined both first- and secondhand accounts of Japanese American internment: showing an internee’s documentations of everyday life in the Utah internment camp, the event further brought audiences into contact with the filmmaker and internee’s family members, thereby pointing to the effects of such traumatic experiences for later generations and establishing the authority of secondhand witnesses (24th San Francisco 2006, 41). In turn, “Separated by Birth” centered on two Korean adoptees who used new media formats to document and share their search for their Korean roots (14th San Diego 2013, 50). Academic experts are also frequently present at screenings or panel discussions. For instance, CAAMFest’s 2006 panel “Abduction: Political Kidnapping, Japan, and the Koreas” and 2008 event “Wings of Defeat” were both co-presented by USF’s Center for the Pacific Rim and moderated by its history professors. The events revolved around two documentaries: Abduction: The Megumi Yokota Story (2006) focuses on the political abduction of Japanese citizens by North Korean agents in the late 1970s and early 1980s (24th San Francisco 2006, 41), while Wings of Defeat (2007) discusses Japanese kamikaze pilots during WWII (26th San Francisco 2008, 39). By bringing together two sets of experts (filmmakers and scholars), CAAMFest can guarantee in-depth discussions as well as historical contextualizations of such films. In turn, academics can bring the festival into the university, integrating such events into the university program, their curricula, and their research.

38 The Joy Luck Club (1993) is considered Wang’s commercial breakthrough, gaining him entry into new Hollywood circles (his next production Smoke (1995) would be a collaboration with Harvey Weinstein) and allowing him to move on to bigger budgets (D. Lim 2008; Plume 2001).

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6.4 C  reating Community, Producing Memory: Strategies and Programs How do film festival actors connect to their audiences, and how are projects and programs performed so that they create community and produce memory? Festival performances vary greatly in terms of mode and format, content and participants; they can, for instance, take the shape of media texts or live events. However, regardless of these differences, all of the performances work to forge a sense of community, inviting audiences to join the festival community, become part of the ‘we’ proclaimed in the festival media, and actively shape the live event. The mode of address may vary from festival to festival – while film festivals at large identify themselves as homes to a community of cinephiles and address their audiences accordingly, identity-based festivals specifically seek to produce another subject position. Here, as Loist asserts, the audience address is “intractably linked” with the festival’s identity as the representative of a subculture (2014, 43). Thus, the festival event is performed as a “community experience of watching a film in one’s subcultural group” (216). While the previous chapters explored film festival framing in media texts as a specific type of performative act and influences of locations on festival performances, this final section dedicates itself to two other types of performances: live events and community projects. In discussing two film screenings from CAAMFest 2017, the section shows how specific performances influence the atmosphere, tone, and meaning of the event and interact with memory in different ways. While some work toward activism – remembering the forgotten, working toward change, and connecting past, present, and future – others center on community building and identity formation, that is, stabilizing community identity and collective memory. Exploring different community projects of CAAM and Pac Arts, the section demonstrates that such performances may move beyond the festival event and enter schools, colleges, community spaces, and digital realms. Regularly launching community outreach programs, both CAAM/CAAMFest and Pac Arts/SDAFF work with community organizations, cultural institutions, and social service providers in order to recognize and respond to the needs of Asian American communities and further their causes. Campaigns address past injustices, document an Asian American past, or serve to empower ethnic communities in the media arts sector through training and funding.

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Activist Settings: Screening Who Killed Vincent Chin? The screening of the documentary Who Killed Vincent Chin? (1987) took place on March 11, 2017, at the Gray Area Foundation, a single-screen neighborhood theater from the 1940s that is now used as both a theater and art space. About 60 guests were present for the screening, the majority of which were of Asian descent and roughly under 30 years of age. Prior to the screening, Vincent Pan, CAAM board member and executive director of the civil rights organization Chinese for Affirmative Action, welcomed the audience, thanked the festival sponsors, volunteers, and staff, and introduced CAAMFest as “one of the most important” festivals in the country. He then welcomed the event’s co-presenter, the Asian Pacific civil rights organization OCA San Francisco,39 and ended with the statement that the “moment we are in” makes the film particularly important today. Next to the 35th anniversary of Chin’s murder, Pan referred to the recent election and inauguration of President Trump, increased presence of xenophobia and discrimination against minorities, and rise of right-wing movements, particularly visible in the president’s efforts to stop refugee arrivals and ban travel to the United States from several Muslim-majority countries (Siddiqui et al. 2017). The film mostly consists of interviews, featuring eyewitnesses, the victim’s mother Lily Chin, the murderers Ronald Ebens and Michael Nitz, along with their lawyer, and Chin’s, Ebens’, and Nitz’ respective families and friends. It also shows television excerpts of testimonies in and outside of the court, news reels reporting on the case, and scenes from a political talk show debating the case and its meaning as a civil rights case. Moreover, the film features archival material of Detroit, connecting the city’s history and deterioration with Chin’s murder – from the fall of the U.S.-American automobile industry and subsequent wave of unemployment hitting Detroit to the anger directed at the Japanese for taking over the market with foreign cars. By the end of the film, Chin’s murder is established as racially motivated, based on an interview with an eyewitness who had overhead Ebens exclaim, “because of you little motherfuckers, we lost our jobs,” before he struck Chin’s head with a baseball bat. During the Q&A, producer Renée Tajima-Peña described the project’s beginnings: working for Third World Newsroom in New York City, Tajima-Peña

39 The community-based organization describes itself as “dedicated to advancing the social, political, and economic well-being of Asian Pacific Americans,” aiming to “advocate for social justice, equal opportunity, and fair treatment; to promote civic participation, education, and leadership; to advance coalitions and community building; and to foster cultural heritage” (“OCA” 2017).

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received a newspaper clipping from Detroit in 1983 about the court case and its devastating ruling, by which Vincent Chin’s murderers were charged with only a 3,000 dollar fine and three-year probation.40 Sent by Asian American activists who were seeking media attention, the clipping caused the filmmaker to take action. Although the original plan was to create a 15-minute advocacy piece in support of the activists, Tajima-Peña ended up spending three months in Detroit, interviewing both sides of the case and exploring the racism that surrounded the murder and court case. In response to Pan’s observation that the film could have been titled “what killed Vincent Chin,” Tajima-Peña told her version of the scenario that may have led to Chin’s murder. Based on her observations as filmmaker during the interviews, she talked about Ebens’ perspective on Asian masculinity which possibly did not match up to Chin’s behavior, claiming that seeing an Asian “kick his ass” could have motivated the rage that led to his beating Chin to death. Inviting OCA members onto the stage, Vincent Pan asked the co-presenters about their reactions to the film. Clifford, a former student activist and student of Tajima-Peña, recalled his feelings of anger in first seeing the film, as well as disbelief and shock at how few people knew of the event. Other OCA members described similar reactions to this particular case of Asian American history, mentioning shock, rage, and being “overcome with emotion” while watching the film. A high school student compared the selectivity of Ebens’ memory to the current government’s “alternative facts.” A second student added to the comparison to the present day, asserting that she saw “parallels to what’s going on right now,” as Asian Americans were being “swept under the rug.” She further pointed to the necessity of engaging in conversations about racial violence and minority rights instead of becoming “numb” to these events. Joining the conversation, Tajima-Peña remarked that the “legacy of Japanese Americans” spoke to the present day with regard to President Trump’s election. Tajima-Peña ended with a reference to her work on a project that produces web videos on current issues of racial justice, emphasizing the potential of this format in that it allowed for a more immediate response than documentary film.

40 According to the film, Asian American community members and civil rights advocates started a national campaign titled “Justice for Vincent Chin,” approached a federal court, and filed for a civil rights violations case in reaction to this first ruling. The jury at the second trial found Ebens guilty, leading to a prison sentence of 25 years. However, a third trial was ordered by Ebens’ defense lawyer on the basis of “trial errors” and ended in Ebens’ acquittal: the federal court in Cincinnati released Ebens from his criminal charges without him having served a day in prison.

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As the Q&A opened to the audience, an open reflection about the effectiveness of bringing past stories into the present followed. Tajima-Peña argued that hate crimes and these particular forms of injustice were not inherent in the Asian American experience. Thus, she explained, it was important to not merely look at “our exceptional history” as Asian Americans, but to also include the larger context of civil rights movements across diasporic and cultural communities. An audience member subsequently expressed her concern about hate crimes and violence against South Asians and Muslim Asians, asking if there were movements or organizations she could become a part of. Tajima-Peña responded with an appeal to “come together” and cross cultural barriers. Calling for a “pan-Asian” movement, she stated that “we have the power to stand for justice” and referred to legal organizations already in place. Pan ended with the statement that “we [Asian Americans] are a stronger community” today, but that there was still work to be done in order to build a more thoughtful and inclusive society. Here, the media presented the community with new possibilities to organize, mobilize, and share information. The screening of Who Killed Vincent Chin? is exemplary in showing how a film functions as a trigger for memory and occasion to reflect the present through the past. During this particular event, the screening of the film as well as the post-screening discussion and Q&A function as memory work. Historical analogies are used in order to not only make sense of, but also shape the present and prevent a particular outcome in the future, connecting to a past event such as Vincent Chin’s murder and the Asian American community’s subsequent fight for justice with the present. What is more, this festival event most clearly articulates the effort to remember a past differently than how it was portrayed by official reports. Through a court ruling, Ronald Ebens and Michael Nitz were freed from a second-degree murder charge and found guilty of manslaughter. Through another ruling, Ebens was acquitted and freed from all criminal charges without having served a prison sentence for his crime. As expressed by the film, these rulings exposed the failure of and racism inherent in the U.S. criminal justice system. Furthermore, they fueled the Asian American movement and furthered a collective identity based on shared experiences of injustice and racism. Like the film itself, this festival screening was intended to keep the memory of Vincent Chin’s murder alive and make visible the circumstances that fueled racist sentiments in the region and city of Detroit. In showing a documentary on a murder committed 35 years ago, the retrospective screening created awareness for the volatility and danger of the current political climate and, by recognizing the ‘symptoms’ (i.e., the political, social, and economic processes that help feed racism) and taking action, aimed at possibly preventing the repetition of such an event in the history of racism against minorities in the United States. Finally, it

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also provided audience members with advice on how to take action, as speakers encouraged their community to enter into dialog and coalitions with other groups and mirror the united efforts of Asian Americans and African Americans, community leaders and civil rights advocates, to bring Ebens and Nitz to trial. Community Events: Screening The People’s Hospital CAAMFest’s 2017 screening of The People’s Hospital (2017), preceded by the short film Caregiving: Circle of Love (2016), reveals a different mechanism through which communities are performed and strengthened. What is more, the screening offers insights into how sponsors actively shape film festival events, since the screening sponsor AARP produced Caregiving: Circle of Love and participated in both pre- and post-screening events. The two documentaries were shown as part of CAAMFest’s program “Chinatown Screenings,” previously titled “Community Screenings.” Usually free of charge or offered at a reduced rate, “Community Screenings” make films accessible to community members who could otherwise not afford to visit these events; they may also direct audiences toward films that would otherwise receive little attention.41 All of the 2017 screenings were held in San Francisco’s Chinatown, taking place in historic buildings and community spaces such as the Great Star Theater and 41 Ross. Here, screenings derive part of their value and meaning from the synergistic effect of stories about the community experienced in the community, from the performance of communal stories and memory at their roots in Chinatown. CAAMFest’s screening of The People’s Hospital took place at the Great Star Theater on March 12, 2017. In the movie theater’s small lobby, a festival booth was set up, displaying catalogs, flyers, and brochures. The Great Star Theater’s sleek interior was decorated with rows of Chinese lanterns hung across the room. The screening drew a largely Asian American audience, about half of which was most likely aged 50 and older, and encouraged lively, almost raucous chatter. Several

41 A popular type of initiative for both festivals, CAAMFest regularly hosts “Community Screenings,” while SDAFF screens multiple free programs, from “Free Films at 4” (free films at 4pm on weekdays), to “Shorts for Shorties” (a child-friendly compilation of international short films), to “Reel Voices” (films produced in Pac Art’s youth project). Next to making films accessible to underprivileged communities and increasing the visibility of certain films, such programs draw audiences to certain sections or formats, introducing them to a new program section or sparking their interest in short films. Programs directed at children foster film and media literacy at an early age, while also ensuring that minority children can see representations of themselves on screen and access narratives that relate to their own realms of experience.

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large groups attended the screening, calling out to each other, looking for group seating, and talking to fellow attendees in front of the theater. In his introduction to the event, CAAM’s director of programs, Don Young, thanked the screening sponsor AARP and the co-presenters APIA Health Forum and Chinatown Community Development Center (CCDC) and announced the two films about to be screened.42 The feature-length documentary The People’s Hospital follows the reopening of San Francisco’s People’s Hospital in 2016, traces the independent institution’s origins and history, and highlights some of the many biographies connected to Chinatown’s medical center. Established in 1899 by the Chinese community, the People’s Hospital provided services for Chinese residents who were denied treatment at other hospitals (“The People’s Hospital” 2017). As the documentary shows, the space is deeply ingrained in the local Chinatown community and culture, kept intact due to continuous community efforts and cherished for its provision of an environment in which immigrants can feel safe and make themselves understood. In turn, Caregiving revolves around the Asian American and Pacific Islander tradition of taking care of elders. Produced by the screening sponsor AARP, the short film is divided into three segments, each of which follow the daily routines of a Chinese American caregiver. Shifting between formal interviews and scenes in the family home that are accompanied by the respective caregiver’s voice-over narration, the documentary explores the Confucian concept of filial piety (according to protagonist Lily Liu, an “innate” part of the Chinese DNA), the unvoiced expectations of AAPI elders that their children will care for them in their home, and the model of “sandwich caregivers,” in which family members grow up to care for both older and younger generations. Referring to the current debate about public health care and its state, Young recounted that his grandmother was born at the People’s Hospital and asserted that the documentary told the story of how “we in the [Asian American] community take care of each other.” Coming onto the stage, the vice president of AARP’s Multicultural Leadership, Daphne Kwok, took over and pointed to the difficulty of providing family members with the right care, emphasizing that such discussions

42 AARP, APIA Health Forum, and CCDC are nonprofit organizations. The nation-wide AARP dedicates itself to the social welfare of U.S. citizens aged 50 and older, launching campaigns on aging and health care and providing resources for caregiving (“Key Dates”). APIA Health Forum refers to itself as a “health advocacy organization,” aiming to impact local, state, and national policy and “achieve health equity” for Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders (“About Us” 2017). CCDC labels itself as a “community development organization,” functioning as “neighborhood advocates, organizers, and planners, and as developers and managers of affordable housing” in the Chinatown neighborhood of San Francisco (“About Chinatown CDC” 1977–2019).

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had to be faced early on. She subsequently called attention to AARP’s “Prepare to Care” booklets, which are part of a community outreach program to help plan caregiving and could be found in the movie theater lobby.43 Greeting her mother who was seated in the theater, Kwok ended her speech by stating that Asian cultures were “all about the family,” earning much applause from the audience. The final speech was given by Yung Su Cho, a former employee of the People’s Hospital. Having witnessed the hospital’s “rich history,” its “important role” within Chinatown, and its presence in oral history among Chinatown residents, Cho reaffirmed that the documentary focused on a “story that needed to be told.” During the first Q&A for Caregiving, filmmaker Tuan Lam told of the sudden experience of becoming a caregiver for his father, stating that Asians did not “talk about anything” and did not make preparations for death or caregiving. Joining the conversation, protagonist Lily Liu claimed that caregiving was culturally specific and pointed to the unique challenges that immigrant families faced, having lost the support of an extended family in the home country. Liu further expressed the need for a glossary to facilitate communication between doctors, caregivers, and patients, since children were often forced into becoming translators and parents lost their autonomy in speaking to doctors. After the screening of The People’s Hospital, several guests came onto the stage for a second Q&A, from Brenda Yee, the CEO of People’s Hospital, to Willie Brown, Mayor of San Francisco. Guests referred to their own experiences of migration and diaspora in explaining their connections to San Francisco’s Chinatown community and the medical center, their personal narratives thus tied into the history of Chinese Americans in San Francisco. Filmmaker Jim Choi, for instance, recounted the “awakening” experience of finding a migrant community in San Francisco, while Kathy Co-Chin declared that her employer AAPI Health Forum was “birthed” at the People’s Hospital, a “unique” place of Chinese diasporic culture. As Brenda Yee pointed to the difficulty of keeping the People’s Hospital “alive” under the new presidency, the Q&A turned to the current political climate and future of health care coverage in the United States. In response to the comments about the recent “attack” on the Affordable Care Act, Mayor Brown called the hospital “exemplary” in its dedication to those in need. He additionally urged audience members to communicate their concerns about current health

43 According to AARP, Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders (AAPIs) are “almost twice as likely to care for their elders than the general population” and live in multigenerational households (“Prepare to Care,” 4). As the culture places a high value on respect toward elders and “family togetherness,” it is common for AAPI elders to have “traditional cultural expectations that can be a challenge to meet by their more Western acculturated children” (5).

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care policies to government representatives and elective officials, asserting that, “otherwise, your silence will be deemed supportive of whatever decision they make.” The AARP official similarly advised the audience to make their voices heard, before the moderator wrapped up the event. Several aspects are striking about this screening and its performances. First, the atmosphere was that of an insider and community event, making visible that CAAMFest’s community screenings do not only address, but also reach the Asian American community. The lively and intimate interactions between audience members revealed that most guests knew each other and felt comfortable in the space of the Great Star Theater. While the topics of caregiving and health care were treated in a serious manner and were oriented toward taking action and offering support to the community, the event remained lighthearted, as guests and audience members shared their personal stories, laughed, and embraced their common culture’s quirks. Filmmaker Tuan Lam, for instance, joked about his parents’ Chineseness and faked a Chinese accent in his impersonations, receiving much laughter from the crowd. Second, the narratives of migration and caregiving that were shared during the event functioned as reference points and common ground, visible in the audience reactions and responses. Also, when Don Young asked how many people in the audience had received medical care at the People’s Hospital in the past, about a third of the attendees raised their hands. Although the influence of such factors as entertainment value on a festival performance should not be overlooked, the screening was clearly directed at community building and constituted an event in which both guests and audience members actively participated in performing and reaffirming an Asian American identity. With regard to memory work, the film festival once again created a bridge between past and present, establishing the People’s Hospital’s significance and worth by unearthing its history as the sole medical institution Asian Americans had access to during the early stages of Asian migration to the United States. In recalling memories of migration and hardships of diasporic life in San Francisco, the festival staff and guests drew on the importance of keeping such institutions alive and highlighted the dangers behind current policy-making for immigrants and minority groups. What is more, by remembering the common cultural ground that numerous Asian societies and, subsequently, Asian American communities share and pointing to the history of caregiving and solidarity among Asian immigrants during times of hardship, the festival encouraged Asian Americans to think of themselves as part of a collective that can influence U.S.-American society and politics.

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Community Outreach Campaigns: “Who is American?” CAAM’s community outreach program “Who is American? Immigration, Exclusion, and the American Dream” constitutes yet another type of performance that is dedicated to Asian American history and heritage and moves beyond the confines of the film festival event. Revolving around the CAAM-produced documentary The Chinese Exclusion Act (2017), the campaign chronicles and explores the “events leading to, causes of, consequences, and continuing impact of the only federal legislation in United States history ever to single out and name a specific race and nationality for exclusion from immigration and citizenship.” The film is described as an “on-camera testimony” from historians, activists, and cultural advocates (“Chinese Exclusion Act Documentary” 2018). Premiering at CAAMFest 2017 and broadcast as part of the renowned PBS series American Experience during the 2018 Asian Pacific American Heritage Month, the documentary The Chinese Exclusion Act follows a traditional approach, drawing on expert interviews that provide a narrative framing for the archival material captured on screen. Established historians such as John Kuo Wei Tchen, K. Scott Wong, and Kevin Starr voice their perspectives on the (largely forgotten) history of racism and discrimination against Asian Americans and reflect its meanings with regard to U.S.-American ideology and identity, the current political climate, and recent debates about immigration. In the meantime, the camera lingers on archival documents that illustrate the points being made in the interviews: close-ups of historical immigration papers; cover pages of political documents, pamphlets, and scholarly texts pointing to the threat of the Chinese “invasion” and proclaiming the necessity for Chinese exclusion;44 caricatures and drawings that feature stereotypical and racist portrayals of the Chinese and document U.S.-American hostility toward the Asian minority; and photographs that remember the daily life of Chinese Americans. Urban scenes that capture the diversity of a contemporary U.S.-American society further illustrate interview passages that review current immigration issues and the state of the nation. In terms of its dramaturgy, the documentary draws heavily on symbolism. For instance, the titles that provide basic information about the Chinese Exclusion

44 Texts include author Alfred Trumble’s The ‘Heathen Chinee’ at Home and Abroad (1882), the American Federation of Labor’s statement “Some Reasons for Chinese Exclusion: Meat vs. Rice: American Manhood against Asiatic Coolieism: Which Shall Survive?” (1902), presented to the United States Congress, and author M.B. Starr’s Coming Struggle: What the People on the Pacific Coast Think of the Coolie Invasion (1873).

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Act are superimposed on a sepia photograph of the Statue of Liberty’s torch, contrasting a retrogressive bill with an international symbol for progress and enlightenment. Moreover, archival documents are captured next to a pair of reading glasses, laying emphasis on the act of seeing, recognizing, and understanding. These meanings are further emphasized by blurry images that slowly come into focus and flickering lights that continue to fall on the documents and shed light on text and image. By showing the film at CAAMFest, broadcasting it on television, and making it available for public screenings, the project becomes part of the film festival event and extends its reach to schools, colleges, homes, and community spaces. Next to its production of the documentary, CAAM’s development and free distribution of educational resources and organization of free community screenings are central to the outreach campaign, the organization vowing to “reach  thousands of students, teachers, and community members in support of the film” (“Educators” 2017). Cooperating with local educators, the project seeks to develop curriculum for primary and secondary schools. In its focus on the Chinese Exclusion Act, the curriculum “Teaching Against Exclusion” provides students with opportunities to detect “connections between historical and contemporary conditions,” taking into consideration “exclusionary immigration policies, disproportionate incarceration rates among people of color, and police violence” (“Educators” 2017).45 To further discussion at community screenings, CAAM additionally offers a “Community Conversation Kit,” consisting of both educational and promotional materials and aimed at guiding community members in their organization and execution of public screenings (Chinese Exclusion Act 2018). The kit includes film descriptions; background information on the film’s production and broadcast as well as the project’s funding; event hosting tips; sample agendas; discussion questions; and templates for event flyers, notices, and introduction and closing scripts, all of which frame the event and shape the performance. While hosting tips and sample agendas facilitate the logistics of putting together a public screening, materials such as film descriptions, scripts, and discussion questions intend to set the tone of the screening and point audiences toward concrete topics for discussion. The film descriptions mainly emphasize the connections between past and present that are explored in the documentary, maintaining that the Chinese Exclusion Act had tremendous impact on the development of today’s society, paving the way for future civil rights, immigration, and labor policies and shaping

45 In writing this chapter, the “Educational Resource and Curriculum Kit” was still in development and could not be accessed.

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“national attitudes towards race, culture, politics, and society.” They also highlight that the documentary “shines a light on the forgotten history of Chinese American resilience and resistance to the exclusionary laws and the affronts to their civil rights” (Chinese Exclusion Act 2018, 3). The introduction script cites these descriptions, while at the same time connecting the themes to CAAM’s campaign. It additionally gives information on the film excerpt selected for public screenings, explaining the historical background of so-called “paper sons,” the excerpt’s central theme (11). Discussion questions center on the topics of “American Identity,” “Democracy and Citizenship,” “Globalization,” and “Historical Memory,” sparking conversations about the United States’ relationship to race and immigration, U.S.American rights and values, and tensions between immigration policy and ideals of liberty and equality. They further address the unlawfulness of exclusionary or discriminatory legislation, the public responsibility to protect citizens’ rights, and economic perspectives on immigration, while also pointing to motivations for migration, memories of migration, the forgetting of historical events, and the power of collective memory to influence today’s perspectives and actions (Chinese Exclusion Act 2018, 5–6). Templates for flyers and notices place at their center the question of how a largely ignored law from 1882 connects to “American identity, democracy, and civil rights today” and offer suggestions for the promotion and structuring of such an event – from the acquisition of experts to lead the conversation on Chinese exclusion to a thematic focus on the bill’s impact on today’s legislation and debates about immigration (Chinese Exclusion Act 2018, 17). Moreover, a selection of high-resolution scans of historical documents that are shown in the documentary as well as a file in which the images are accompanied by explanatory notes are included in the kit (18–21). Offering a detailed contextualization of the immigration documents, interrogation records, and photographs shown in the film, the kit complements the documentary and makes the materials more accessible. Stating the purpose of the documentary and kit, CAAM asserts that these materials are “powerful tools” to provoke “challenging but necessary conversations” in U.S.-American communities. In exploring a “difficult and often overlooked” part of U.S.-American history, the project presents an “opportunity for communities to thoughtfully examine the past and its legacy to create a more equitable future” (2). In its publications, CAAM emphasizes the project’s relevance for both the Asian American community and U.S.-American society at large. Bringing attention to individual biographies and stories that are exemplary of an Asian American collective past, the project announces to both groups the extent to which Asian American history is neglected in schools – a neglect that has left

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Asian Americans to experience marginalization and racism as a “‘personal shortcoming’” rather than understand that they are part of an endemic and longstanding issue (Young Whan Choi qtd. in “Educators” 2017). What is more, CAAM establishes the Chinese Exclusion Act as the root of present-day racial discrimination and anti-immigration laws (“Chinese Exclusion Act Documentary” 2018). The “Who is American?” outreach campaign is also indicative of CAAM’s role in the Bay Area’s Asian American community. Honoring the numerous people who donated to the crowdfunding campaign that helped fund the film and program, a list of campaign supporters exposes the organization’s embeddedness in the Asian American community, seeing as the majority of supporters are of Asian descent (“Chinese Exclusion Act Documentary” 2018). It additionally reveals the multiple parties involved in CAAM’s work, showing that the organization cooperates with local schools and the Chinese Historical Society of America in order to fulfill its educational mission and receives support from local institutions such as Asian Americans for Community Outreach, Angel Island Immigration Station Foundation, API Council, Chinatown YMCA, and OCA SF, all of which were co-presenters of the film’s premiere at CAAMFest 2017 (“Educators” 2017; “Chinese Exclusion Act” 2017). Asian American Home Movies: “Memories to Light” CAAM’s central interest in uncovering past cinematic representations of Asian Americans is most visible in its web-based project “Memories to Light.” The project digitizes and archives Asian American home movies from as early as the 1920s, working with families to create a documentary feature film from their video diaries. On its website, CAAM emphasizes the relevance of home movies in documenting minority histories46: Though generally dismissed for their amateur qualities, home movies provide us with authentic and honest moving images […] Memories to Light is a national participatory arts project that constructs shared social, cultural, and political representations of Asian America directly from the community itself. Since the mainstream media has given us so few images of the Asian American experience, home movies show us the way to see how our grandparents, mothers, fathers, aunts, and uncles lived their lives. (“History & Significance” 2015)

46 CAAM’s statement draws on ideas from cultural studies theorists such as Stuart Hall, discussing the politics of representation with regard to the Black diaspora in Britain in the 1980s, as well as on the previous work of film collectives such as the Black Audio Film Collective, challenging “dominant regimes of representation” (Brunow 2015, 134).

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Generally shot on 8 or 16 mm film, home movies comprise a fragile material vulnerable to decomposition. The digitization and care for the original film reels is therefore of utmost importance, if memories of Asian Americans are to be preserved. The Bohulano Family Collection (2014) explores diasporic life in Stockton, California, from the 1960s to 1970s, at the time housing one of the largest Filipino communities in the United States. By commenting on footage of her childhood in Little Manila, the “colored” neighborhood of South Stockton, and community events and rituals, Dawn Bohulano integrates her family history into the larger context of Filipino migration to the U.S., the exploitation of Filipino field workers, the participation of Filipino migrants in WWII, racial segregation, and the lack of social mobility. The Brian Gee Family Collection (2014) similarly documents an Asian family’s everyday life in the 1970s, covering their home in a diverse Sacramento suburb, their family tradition of serving Turkey and fried rice on Thanksgiving, and their extensive travels within the United States, during which Gee’s parents insisted on staying near Chinatowns and eating exclusively at Chinese restaurants. Here, the details of diasporic life that would otherwise remain hidden from mainstream society and other members of the community are explored, along with processes of becoming ‘American’ and making a home in the new country. Because digitization and remediation of such memory media are expensive and seldom undertaken, CAAMFest’s program hinders cultural forgetting. In The War Inside (2013), the project’s first commissioned film, director Mark Decena points out that the “moving-image archive largely consists of accounts outside of the Asian American community.” “Memories to Light” wants to change the status quo and influence history-writing, providing a “real record of how life was lived, of how we became American.” Reflecting on seeing “celluloid proof” of being and growing up Asian in the United States, Decena describes Asian American home movies as “small morsels of the past” – “crumbs we drop to find our way back.” This sentiment is also captured in the Memories to Light: Trailer (2013), in which we catch snippets of what is missing from official accounts. “Memories to Light” stories are launched via CAAMFest, festival media, guest screenings at museums, community events, and other film festivals. While the screenings are always accompanied by a commentary, the performance varies – from traditional introductions and Q&A sessions to more unconventional live performances by artists, bringing together fragments of film, music, and live narration. During these events, “Memories to Light” is brought into contact with other grassroots movements, storytelling campaigns, and history projects, such as StoryCorps, the California Audiovisual Preservation Project, and the Internet Archive, working to digitize, preserve, and provide access for the general public to historical collections and audiovisual recordings. During the Toronto

Creating Community, Producing Memory: Strategies and Programs 

 267

Reel Asian International Film Festival, the project was presented alongside of Jacqueline Hoang Nguyen’s project The Making of an Archive, in which the artist collects photographs taken by immigrants in order to counter the “lack of representation of the immigrant’s daily life in state narratives,” the loss and forgetting of minority histories (“Making of an Archive” 2014). Such participatory projects invite the community to engage in memory production, creating connections between private and public memories and between familial and historical narratives. Enabling grassroots representations to rise to the surface, they empower the community to take charge of the images that are created of themselves and imprinted onto the audience. In documenting, preserving, and creating access to the community’s past, Asian American film festivals and the organizations behind them may thus renegotiate hegemonic narratives and diversify cultural memory (Brunow 2015, 8).

Shaping the Future: Youth Projects Next to exploring the past and present of Asian Americans, CAAM and Pac Arts strive to shape the future through their engagement with Asian American youths. Two types of youth projects are particularly prominent in CAAM and Pac Arts’ work: while the first fosters media literacy, critical thinking, and cultural awareness, the second nurtures new talent and paves the way for a new generation of Asian American filmmakers. Both types engage in identity construction and community building, educating youths with regard to such topics as minority histories, subcultures, and social justice, bringing them into contact with Asian American communities, and helping them build careers around their minority identities. Over the years, CAAMFest has hosted several educational screenings and student programs, at times also showing films that are made available through CAAM’s distribution so that screenings may serve as advertisement for the center’s work. From 2009 until 2012, SFIAAFF hosted a “Student Delegate Program,” in which undergraduate and graduate students attended the film festival and met with industry professionals, thereby learning about the Asian American community, while at the same time receiving “real-world career tools” (San Francisco 2012, 30). In earlier years, the festival offered a “Schools at the Festival” program: curating programs specifically to “engage, provoke, and inspire” local students, SFIAAFF provided youths with opportunities to learn about Asian American cinema and interact with Asian American communities (24th San Francisco 2006, 41). In 2006, the program presented a broad range of Asian American narratives and cinematic modes, including historical accounts

268 

 Performing Memory: Film Festival Actors and Communities

that focus on Asian American perspectives, present-day experiences of immigration and deportation, and views on adolescence and street culture in Asian American subcultures (41). In turn, Pac Arts offers a day of free, “youth-oriented” film screenings during SDAFF. Partnering with local high schools, Pac Arts’ “Youth Day” events complement school curricula and serve to “educate, enlighten, and enhance students’ film literacy skills” (“School Partnerships” 2019). Providing teachers and students with a study guide prior to the screenings, Pac Arts draws attention to and guides discussions toward topics of identity, multiculturalism, cultural stereotypes, and gender inequality. It introduces students to film analysis, instructing them to discuss film form and key elements such as sound or color and reflect the “power” of the medium of film. In bringing together students and filmmakers, “Youth Day” further offers insights into film production and careers in the media arts sector (San Diego 2008). Both Pac Arts and CAAM also train Asian American youths in film and media production. Pac Arts, for instance, annually hosts “Reel Voices,” a documentary filmmaking camp for local high school students. Selecting students based on their values, reflectiveness, and social commitment,47 the program aims to “empower” its participants, creating “socially-conscious storytellers” who have the technical skills to realize their stories (“Reel Voices” 2016). Pac Arts additionally hosts a “Reel Voices” class at San Diego’s Monarch School, reaching out to the school’s homeless students and helping them create their own digital short films (“School Partnerships” 2019). Although Pac Arts’ “Reel Voices” program does not exclusively cater to the Asian American community, the organization’s dedication to diversity and support of minority filmmaking is a visible influence on the application and selection process, so that the majority of participants belong to an underrepresented, if not Asian American, minority or subculture. CAAM, on the other hand, regularly launches projects that target specific Asian American minorities: while the past “Himalayan Youth Voices” project constituted a media workshop for Bhutanese, Nepalese, and Tibetan teenagers, the current “Muslim Youth Voices” project aims to brings forth Muslim teenagers’ perspectives on their own culture, training its participants to tell their stories and create authentic portrayals of the Muslim community. In offering nation-wide filmmaking workshops that are led by Muslim filmmakers, the program intends

47 The application form for the 2018 “Reel Voices” program included questions about community, diversity, and change, such as “What would you like to see change in your community?”; “Can you name a documentary that inspired you to make change?”; and “Describe the importance of diversity in the classroom” (“Reel Voices 2018 Application” 2018).

Specificity of Asian American Film Festival Performances 

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to create a “safe, sensitive space for self-expression and exploration” (“Muslim Youth Voices” 2018). With these projects, CAAM and Pac Arts school Asian Americans in the “skills and competencies, as well as [provide] the technological access, required for meaningful participation” in the media sphere (Jenkins 2008, 18). As such, these projects follow an activist agenda aimed at changing the status quo, helping underprivileged youths find their voice, strength, and role as members of a minority. Moreover, they encourage a new generation of Asian Americans to engage in performative acts in which they openly question, challenge, and manifest their minority identities, explore their heritage and community’s history.

6.5 Specificity of Asian American Film Festival Performances CAAMFest and SDAFF produce a variety of performative acts, some of which take place outside of the film screening and take on a different form than that of the live event. Film festival programming, for instance, constitutes a performative act that begins long before the festival event. Here, the festival may position itself with regard to the film industry and festival circuit or voice its opinions about what constitutes art and innovation. It may also make political statements and comment on current issues or injustices, particularly by drawing on past events and bringing historical analogies to the fore. Such narratives find further expression in festival media, which guide audiences toward certain readings of films and influence meaning production during the screening. During the festival’s live performances, these narratives are repeated, reaffirmed, or at times contested, coming into contact with the interests and agendas of the festival’s various actors. Finally, the narratives and performances interact with other festival events as well as with the various activities of the organizations behind the festivals, thereby coming into contact with the network of institutions in which the festivals and organizations are embedded. Some performances are typical of film festivals in general, for example, the celebration of film and nurturing of cinephile communities; others are specific to Asian American festivals. Although constructed and shaped by diverse actors and agendas, CAAMFest and SDAFF’s performances work toward festival sustainability, community building, and memory construction. With regard to the latter, the festivals often participate in or develop their own memory projects, making visible the efforts necessary to be remembered as a minority. Delving into and investigating the past “in search of the ‘missing pieces,’” they thus encourage a “restructuring of collective memory” and hegemonic narratives (Irwin-Zarecka 2009 [1994], 136). Through their performances, CAAMFest and SDAFF contribute

270 

 Performing Memory: Film Festival Actors and Communities

to the memory project of documenting, representing, and exhibiting Asian American experiences and histories, adding to the political and cultural work of minority institutions such as museums, historical societies, and cultural centers and individuals such as artists, activists, and community leaders. Becoming part of a complex fabric of memory work and activism, the film festivals create resources that allow us to take on new perspectives in reflecting the past, most visibly in CAAM’s involvement in creating new school curricula and educational resources. In fact, they create and maintain an archive of such resources for their underrepresented communities. Promoting a global appeal of the films programmed and emphasizing the universality of values addressed (justice, truth, civil rights), CAAMFest and SDAFF work to reach the broadest possible audience for their memory projects. Taking on central roles in the construction and maintenance of a collective identity and memory through their performances, the festivals illuminate a previously absent or silenced past and work toward taking charge of their own community’s history. In their role as identity-based film festivals, Asian American film festivals such as CAAMFest and SDAFF function as public spheres that are “essential to the performative formation of community and collective identity” (Loist 2014, 49). Through their performances, these festivals participate in the construction of an Asian American collective identity and shared past. They exist to build community and help define what it means to be Asian American, piecing together and thus constructing the heritage out of which such an identity may arise. They also seek to consolidate this identity and secure the future of an Asian American memory community. In their performances, neither CAAMFest nor SDAFF aims to speak for their communities or function as mouthpieces for the Asian diasporic subject; rather, they create a space for dialog within and between communities, engaging with the multitude of perspectives and memories these communities offer.

7 C  onclusion: The Present and Future of Asian American Film Festivals On May 28, 2019, Marina Fang from HuffPost published an article titled “Asian Creators Are Making Strides in Hollywood, But There’s Still a Long Way to Go” as part of the newspaper’s section Asian Voices. Referring to the summer of 2018’s box office success of the romantic comedy Crazy Rich Asians (2018), Fang claims that 2019 might produce an “Asian Summer at the movies” and points to the kick-off of Ali Wong and Randall Park’s romantic comedy Always Be My Maybe (2019) on Netflix, telling the love story of two Asian American protagonists in San Francisco, along with the theatrical releases of the three feature films Late Night (2019), The Farewell (2019), and Blinded by the Light (2019), all of which were written and directed by Asian women (Fang 2019). Fang’s article quotes Michelle Sugihara, executive director of the organization Coalition of Asian Pacifics in Entertainment, who claims that Asian mediamakers in the United States are “‘definitely on an upward trajectory’” and challenges her community to “‘rise above’” and “‘be heard above the noise of everything else.’” Sugihara further declares that “‘inclusion starts at the gatekeepers,’” pointing to the importance of building an infrastructure that includes Asian and Asian American voices and talent (qtd. in Fang 2019). As the article indicates, the years of 2018 and 2019 have produced a significant amount of successful films and television series by Asian Americans. While Hollywood still is far from inclusive, there seems to be general agreement among activists, industry members, and the press that “progress” has been made with regard to minority and, more specifically, Asian American representation. What has brought about this apparent change? A definite catalyst seems to have been the hashtag #OscarsSoWhite, created by African American activist and former attorney April Reign in answer to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences’ all-white list of acting nominees in 2015. According to Lilly Workneh, Reign’s hashtag triggered an immediate uproar and “flooded timelines, headlines, and stories for weeks” (2016). Michael Schulman concurs in stating that #OscarsSoWhite launched a “movement that laid Hollywood’s diversity problems at the Academy’s feet” (2017). When yet another list of acting nominees failed to show any diversity the following year, the hashtag resurfaced and gained ground among filmmakers, actors and actresses, activists, and the general public (Workneh 2016). Several celebrities expressed their intention to boycott the 2016 ceremony, including Jada Pinkett Smith and Spike Lee, the latter posting on Instagram: “‘40 White Actors in 2 Years and No Flava at All. We Can’t Act?! WTF!!’” (qtd. in M. Schulman 2017).

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 Conclusion: The Present and Future of Asian American Film Festivals

Another incident took place during the awards ceremony, when African American host Chris Rock invited three children of Asian descent onto the stage, posing as Asian and Jewish accountants. As part of a skit centering on the tabulation of Academy Awards votes, Rock asked the audience to applaud Ming Zhu, Bao Ling, and David Moskowitz and exclaimed that here stood the “‘most dedicated, accurate, and hard working representatives’” overseeing the count. Aware that the joke perpetuated stereotypes of industrious and brainy Asians and Jews, Rock further added that anybody “‘upset about that joke, [could] just tweet about it on your phone that was also made by these kids’” (qtd. in Roberts 2016). In response to Rock’s skit, U.S. Congresswoman Judy Chu stated that it was “not right to protest the exclusion of one group by making jokes at the expense of another. I am so disappointed that the Academy and ABC would rely on such offensive characterizations, especially given the controversy over the lack of diversity” (Roberts 2016). Numerous filmmakers, actors, and actresses of Asian descent also condemned the joke with letters and tweets of protest, including Ang Lee, Nancy Kwan, Sandra Oh, George Takei, and Steven Okazaki, expressing their disappointment in the ceremony’s “‘tone-deaf approach to its portrayal of Asians’” (qtd. in Feinberg 2016). In response to these outcries and protests, the Academy’s president Cheryl Boone Isaacs made a public announcement that she would work to “diversify” the Academy’s voting membership by 2020 (Workneh 2016).1 What is more, she apologized for Rock’s skit, promising to call forth a meeting to “‘have dialogue, listen, and just keep fixing’” (qtd. in BBC News 2016). With regard to African American artists, 2017 saw a more diverse list of Academy nominees, Mahershala Ali winning Best Supporting Actor, Viola Davis winning Best Supporting Actress, and the African American drama Moonlight (2016) receiving the Best Picture and Best Adapted Screenplay awards.2 Another catalyst seems to have been the recent whitewashing in Hollywood films such as Aloha (2015), Doctor Strange (2016), and Ghost in the Shell (2017). Casting white actresses Emma Stone, Tilda Swinton, and Scarlett Johansson in

1 According to M. Schulman, the topic of diversity within the Academy “had been feverishly discussed […] since at least 2012, when the Los Angeles Times reported that the nearly sixthousand-person membership was ninety-four per cent white and seventy-seven per cent male, with a median age of sixty-two” (2017). 2 Despite these recent successes, it is important to note that the issue of diversity at the Academy Awards is nowhere near resolved. For a critique of the 2020 Oscars and their failure to honor the works of both filmmakers of color and female filmmakers, see Fang (2020) and Gupta (2020). For a discussion of the Korean film Parasite (2019) as the first foreign-language film to receive the Best Picture award, perceived as a “leap forward” for the Oscars, see Jacobs (2020).

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 273

Asian roles, the theatrical releases of these films produced various outcries and protest movements (Rose 2017). All of these incidents added to the significance of and media hype around the release of Crazy Rich Asians, the first major Hollywood studio film in 25 years to star a predominantly Asian cast and feature “Westernized” Asians as romantic leads (Hung 2018). In the U.S., the film became the highest-grossing romantic comedy in a decade and received numerous accolades, including Golden Globe nominations for Best Motion Picture and Best Actress (Constance Wu) in the category of musical or comedy (Fang 2018). Next to the film, two more Asian American features emerged in theaters that summer: the adaptation of Jenny Han’s novel To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018), featuring Vietnamese American actress Lana Condor, and the thriller Searching (2018), written and directed by Aneesh Chaganty and featuring a largely Asian American cast that included John Cho, Sarah Sohn, Joseph Lee, and Michelle La. According to Sugihara, Searching in particular paved the way for “‘three-dimensional’” and “‘authentic’” Asian American characters (qtd. in Fang 2019). What is more, Sandra Oh “made history” as the first woman of Asian descent to receive two Golden Globe awards and be nominated for an Emmy award for the female lead in the dramatic series Killing Eve (2018–present) (La Force 2018). Despite these successes in diversifying and sparking conversations about minority representation, Hollywood still has a “long way to go,” as Fang rightfully asserts (2019). First, the more recent Oscar nominations and winners may “reflect a changed – but not transformed – Academy”; as M. Schulman contends, the Academy’s voting body is still only 28 percent female and 13 percent nonwhite (2018). Second, there are still numerous underrepresented ethnic groups, among which are Hispanics3 and, with regard to Asian representation, Pacific Islanders (M. Schulman 2018; Fang 2020). Citing the isolated successes of African American films in the 1980s and 1990s, Boone Isaacs further emphasizes that “moments of ‘inclusion’ come and go” and windows of success do not necessarily remain open for minority artists (qtd. in M. Schulman 2017). SDAFF similarly expresses doubt about whether Asian America’s “crazy rich summer” of 2018 will develop into something more: “We can wait for Hollywood to now invest in more Asian American stories, but we’ve seen that enthusiasm fizzle before” (Mini-Guide 2018, 2). What is more, the United States has seen a both political and societal move to the right, paralleling developments in numerous Western countries. Since 2016,

3 For an exploration of efforts by community leaders and minority organizations to change Hispanic representation in Hollywood, see Barnes (2018).

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 Conclusion: The Present and Future of Asian American Film Festivals

there has been a steady rise in hate crimes4 motivated by race and ethnicity, as an FBI report shows (Eligon 2018).5 Many attribute this development to the current political climate and President Trump’s administration: according to Colbert I. King, President Trump’s first two years of office constituted a “shameless and cynical exploitation of fears and anxieties within the ranks of his white base of support” and “have left this country more fractured along racial lines than at any time since the civil rights revolution” (2018). Among others, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People recognizes an increase in violence and hatred directed at ethnic and racial minorities during and since the presidential election in 2016 (Eligon 2018). Next to his role in spurring along the United States’ racial divide, Donald Trump has created policies and campaigns that are driven by a need to “erase the legacy of Barack Obama and his other predecessors” (Borger et al. 2019). From the appointment of conservative judges to supreme, appeal, and district courts, to the ban of travel from Muslim countries, to the forced separation of immigrant children from their families, to the increase in arrests and deportations of undocumented immigrants, the current administration has striven to “safeguard the supremacy of white men,” thus opposing the integration and endangering the welfare of immigrant and diasporic communities (2019). What is more, in dealing with the Covid-19 pandemic, President Trump has once again resorted to racist statements, his declaration that the country was under the attack of a “Chinese virus” spurring a new wave of hate crimes and harassment directed at Asian Americans (Stevens 2020; Jeung et al. 2020). What do all of these developments mean for Asian American film festivals? Will they eventually become obsolete, if Asian American films manage to enter the mainstream and achieve success outside of the festival circuit? What will their role be, particularly with regard to minority representation, identity construction, and memory production? As this study has shown, film festivals are extremely flexible entities, responding and adapting to the political, social, and cultural

4 According to the Hate Crime Statistics Act of 1990, a hate crime is defined as a crime that “‘manifest[s] evidence of prejudice based on race, gender or gender identity, religion, disability, sexual orientation, or ethnicity’” (qtd. in Xu 2019). 5 According to Yangqi Xu, the FBI reported a number of 7,175 hate crimes in 2017, presenting a 17 percent increase from 2016 and a continued rise for three consecutive years (2019). Hate crimes related to race and ethnicity not only generally make up the large part of all incidents, but they are also experiencing the highest growth rate. What is more, the statistics show that the rise in hate crimes “coincides with the drop in overall violent crimes, robbery and property crimes, meaning that the crimes resulted from biases account for a more significant percentage of crimes overall” (2019).

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circumstances surrounding their work — also visible in their current responses to the Covid-19 pandemic and move to the digital sphere. While there might be a natural stop to the growth of the Asian American film festival circuit, its history shows that AAFFs and the organizations behind them have already survived (and partially grown from) various changes within the field of Asian American media production, from the diversification of modes of filmmaking and emergence of Asian American independent films and video art to the proliferation of new media outlets and distribution channels. Creating new festival sections on digital media products, expanding their program to cover music and food, and taking on new roles as archivists, educators, or mentors, festivals such as CAAMFest and SDAFF have remained sustainable and even managed to grow. Moreover, they have survived periods in which the fight for the acknowledgment of an Asian American community, identity, and memory moved in and out of the general public and minority community’s eyes, thereby influencing the presence of the topic among Asian American media output. Such developments have also influenced AAFFs, leading newly emerging festivals to perhaps place a bigger emphasis on Asian rather than Asian American works or steering older festivals to discover new horizons in programming, adding new sections or spotlight programs that focus on an Asian national cinema or the output of a specific ethnic group among the Asian American community. The recognition of a lack in a certain output may further produce new retrospectives or archivist projects, leading festivals to dig up, preserve, and exhibit the past. Thus, the future will likely bring forth both new challenges and opportunities for programming, leading AAFFs to adjust their narratives, frames, and performances to the needs and interests of their communities and the general public. All of these questions call for a comparative study over an extended time span in order to identify and analyze the changes these festivals go through in response to their surroundings. They also call for more extensive comparisons between minority festivals in order to examine if sociopolitical developments such as rises in discrimination of minority groups equally mobilize different types of identity-based festivals and impact how they might collaborate in the future. Functioning as a market, cultural institution, art space, community space, and platform for activism, film festivals such as CAAMFest and SDAFF present a complex weave of private, institutionalized, and commercially produced, fictionalized memories. They blur the lines between producers and consumers, as filmmakers, curators, and audience members interact with the films and create new memories. Whether memories rise to the surface by a generational interest in retracing the past or are forcefully brought to light through the work of activist movements, the extent to which festivals can forge new ground in remembering the forgotten depends on a variety of factors. For one, film festivals interact with

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 Conclusion: The Present and Future of Asian American Film Festivals

other memory industries and respond to current ‘trends’ in remembering, from anniversaries to political events citing the past. They further react to the interests of specific memory communities, be it on a national, regional, or communal level. Finally, caught between diverse interests and struggling to receive funding, film festivals must please and draw in the most diverse crowds. Dependent on funding from governmental and private institutions and sponsorship by for-profit and nonprofit organizations, numerous actors and memory agents influence the direction, overtness, and extent of their activism.

https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-008

Chicago, IL

n/a

Seattle 2003 February Asian American (2020) Film Festival

Seattle, WA

Asian American

Asian

ca. 3,000 (2020)

ca. 3,500 (2017)

2002 July (2020)

Asian Film Festival Dallas

Dallas, TX

2002 June/July New York City, Asian American/ n/a (2019) NY Asian

Asian American/ n/a Asian

Asian American/ ca. 15,000 Asian (n/a)

Asian American

Asian American/ ca. 30,000 Asian (2020)

New York Asian Film Festival

Washington D.C.

2000 November San Diego, (2019) CA

DC Asian Pacific 2001 May American (2020) Film Festival

San Diego Asian Film Festival

Asian American 1996 April Showcase (2019)

Los Angeles, CA

1983 May (2019)

Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival

ca. 64 (2020)

ca. 82 (2019)

ca. 55 (2019)

ca. 52 (2020)

ca. 110 (n/a)

14 (2019)

ca. 180 (2020)

ca. 140 (2017)

ca. 100 (2017)

Admissions Films** **(Edition) (Edition)

San Francisco, Asian American/ ca. 28,000 CA Asian (2017)

Focus*

1982 May (2020)

Location

CAAMFest

Month (Edition)

New York City, Asian American/ ca. 10,000 NY Asian (2017)

Est.

Asian American 1978 July/ International August Film Festival (2020)

Name

Notes

Narrative, documentary, 1) caamfest.com feature, and short films; 2) issuu.com/caamedia/docs/ other events caamstrategicpartnerships (live performances etc.)

1) www.asiancinevision.org/aaiff 2) www.asiancinevision.org/ wp-content/uploads/2015/11/ AAIFF40-Sponsorship-Deck.pdf

Website and Other Sources (Sponsorship Kits; Festival Announcements)

Shunpike

Asian Film Festival Dallas

New York Asian Film Foundation

APA Film, Inc.

Pacific Arts Movement

Foundation for Asian American Independent Media

1) www.faaim.org 2) www.faaim.org/2019showcase

1) www.nyaff.org/about 2) www.nyaff.org/nyaff19films

Narrative, documentary, 1) seattleaaff.org feature, and short films 2) drive.google.com/file/d/1wja L8aC_XS1d6q6Y0klvcBX2AmWoA Rnu/view 3) seattleaaff.org/2020/films

Narrative, documentary, 1) asianfilmdallas.com feature, and short films; 2) static1.squarespace.com/ other information n/a static/557d9b5fe4b038712915 8fa9/t/595143f786e6c006551 7784f/1498498064108/2017_ AFFD_Sponsorship_Packet.pdf 3) www.asianfilmdallas.com/ schedule-2019-1

Narrative and documentary feature films; other information n/a

Feature and short films; 1) dc-apafilmsociety.squarespace.com other information n/a 2) www.apafilm.org/2020

Narrative, documentary, 1) www.pacarts.org/ feature, and short films; 2) pacarts.org/wp-content/uploads/ other events 2019/02/Sponsorship_Deck.pdf (live performances etc.)

Narrative and documentary feature films; exhibition

Visual Narrative, documentary, 1) festival.vconline.org Communications feature, and short films; 2) vcmedia.org/s/LAAPFF2020_ other events PartnershipOpportunities2.pdf (live performances etc.)

Center for Asian American Media

Asian CineVision Narrative, documentary, feature, and short films; other events (live performances etc.)

Organization

8 Appendix

8.1 Overview of Asian American Film Festivals

May (2019)

2015

Sacramento Asian Pacific Film Festival

ca. 2,000 (2017)

Asian American/ ca. 3,000 Asian (2018)

Asian American

Ithaca, NY

Asian American/ n/a Asian

Sacramento, Asian American/ n/a CA Asian

Austin, TX

Boston, MA

Asian American Resource Workshop

Philadelphia Asian American Film & Filmmakers

18 (2018)

ca. 10 (2019)

Ithaca Pan Asian American Film Festival

Sacramento Asian Pacific Cultural Village

28 (2019) Austin Asian American Film Festival

ca. 25 (2017)

ca. 90 (2019)

37 (2019) DisOrient Festival

OCA Greater Houston

Silk Screen

Organization

Asian American/ n/a Asian; social justice

Philadelphia, Asian American/ n/a PA Asian

Eugene, OR

ca. 40 (2017)

Films** (Edition)

ca. 65 (2019)

n/a

Admissions **(Edition)

Asian American/ n/a Asian

Asian

Focus*

1) www.baaff.org 2) www.baaff.org/uploads/7/0/8 /9/7089488/baaff_sponsorship_ packet_2019_final_2.pdf 1) www.aaafilmfest.com 2) www.aaafilmfest.org/wp-content/ uploads/2019/04/AAAFF-2019Sponsorship.pdf 3) www.aaafilmfest.org/ 2019-film-guide www.sapff.org

www.panasianamericanfilm.org

Narrative, documentary, feature, and short films

Narrative, documentary, feature, and short films Narrative, documentary, feature, and short films

1) phillyasianfilmfest.org 2) issuu.com/paaff/docs/ paaff19-program

Narrative, documentary, feature, and short films; other events (live performances etc.) Narrative, documentary, feature, and short films

1) disorientfilm.org 2) disorientfilm.org/ 2019-schedule

1) www.ocahouston.org/ programs/haapifest 2) www.ocahouston.org/ programs/haapifest-2019/ leadership-messages

1) www.silkscreenfestival.org 2) www.silkscreenfestival.org/ 2017-film-festival/

Website and Other Sources (Sponsorship Kits; Festival Announcements)

Narrative, documentary, feature, and short films; other events (live performances etc.)

Narrative, documentary, feature, and short films ; other events (panels etc.)

Narrative, documentary, feature, and short films

Notes

**AAFFs often circumvent concrete numbers in advertisements and sponsorship kits; numbers are based on the data (e.g. “24k+” attendees or “more than 100” films) provided

*AAFFs may use broad definitions of “Asian” and “Asian American,” including films from the Middle East, Canada, or the U.K. in their programming

October (2019)

June (2019)

2008

Austin Asian American Film Festival

Ithaca Pan Asian 2015 American Film Festival

October (2019)

2008

Boston Asian American Film Festival

2008 Philadelphia Asian American Film Festival

November (2019)

March (2019)

2006

DisOrient Film Festival

Houston, TX

June (2019)

Location

Houston Asian 2005 American & Pacific Islander Film Festival

Month (Edition)

September Pittsburgh, (2018) PA

Est.

Silk Screen Film 2005 Festival

Name

278   Appendix

 279

Locations of CAAMFest and SDAFF (2010–2019) 

8.2 Locations of CAAMFest and SDAFF (2010–2019) CAAMFest: Locations*

2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019

San Francisco



111 Minna Gallery

X

41 Ross





X X

Alamo Drafthouse at New Mission





X

AMC Kabuki 8 (previously Sundance X

X

Kabuki Cinemas)

X



X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X



Asian Art Museum

X

Castro Theatre

X X X X X X X X X X

X

X

X

X

Clay Theatre

X

X

Gray Area Foundation





Great Star Theater





Hotel Kabuki



X

X X X X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

Japantown Peace Plaza

X

X

X

New People Cinema (previously

X

X

X

VIZ Cinema)





Roxie Theater





San Francisco Public Library





Slate Bar





Superfrog Gallery

X

X

Walt Disney Museum





Oakland





New Parkway Theater





X

X

X

X

Oakland Museum of California





X

X

X

X X X

Oakland Asian Cultural Center





X X X

X

X

X

X

X

X X X

X X X X X X X

X X

X

Piedmont Theatre





San Jose





Camera 12 Cinemas

X

X

X



Camera 3 Cinemas

X

X

San Jose Museum of Art

X

X

Berkeley



Pacific Film Archive

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

*This list only includes locations that were booked for at least two festival editions

X

280 

 Appendix

SDAFF: Locations*

2010 2011 2012 2013 2014 2015 2016 2017 2018 2019

San Diego



Birch North Park Theatre



X

Digital Gym Cinema





Edwards Mira Mesa Stadium 18





MCASD





Museum of Photographic Arts



San Diego Marriott Mission Valley

X X

X X X X

X

X

X

X

X

X

X X X

X

X

X



X

San Diego Natural History Museum



UCSD, various locations

X

X

X

X

X

X X X X

UltraStar Mission Valley

X

X

X

X

X X X X

USD, various locations



X

X

Encinitas



X

X











Cinepolis Del Mar



X

X

X

X

La Paloma Theatre Del Mar

X

*This list only includes locations that were booked for at least two festival editions

X

Sponsors of CAAMFest 2017 and SDAFF 2016 

 281

media/ media events

nonprofit / education / arts

government

commercial

foreign / diasporic / ethnic

regional / local

CAAMFest 2017: Sponsors

international / national

8.3 Sponsors of CAAMFest 2017 and SDAFF 2016 Website

Presenting ($50,000+): Xfinity

X X X www.xfinity.com

Grand ($25,000+): 96.5 KOIT AARP

X

X

X

X X

Asian Art Museum

X

X**

X

koit.com www.aarp.org www.asianart.org

At&T DirecTV

X X X www.att.com/directv

Buick

X X www.buick.com

Premier ($10,000+): Cooper White & Cooper

X

X

www.cwclaw.com

Fitness SF

X

X

fitnesssf.com

Comcast NBCUniversal X X X corporate.comcast.com/company/ nbcuniversal Pacific Standard Print

X

X

www.printpsp.com

Rémy Martin

X X www.remymartin.com/us

Pacific Islanders in Communications

X

X

X

X

www.piccom.org

San Francisco Symphony X X www.sfsymphony.org Supporting ($2,500+): gala Festival Engine

X

girl friday events Screen Actors Guild - American Federation of Television and Radio Artists

X

X

X

X

X

X

X

gala-engine.com girlfridaysf.com www.sagaftra.org

USF - Asian Pacific American Studies X X** X www.usfca.edu/arts-sciences/ undergraduate-programs/ asian-pacific-american-studies USF - Asian Studies X X** X www.usfca.edu/arts-sciences/ undergraduate-programs/ asian-studies USF - Master of Arts in Asia Pacific Studies X X** X www.usfca.edu/arts-sciences/ graduate-programs/ asia-pacific-studies USF - Yuchengco Philippine X X** X www.usfca.edu/arts-sciences/ Studies Program undergraduate-programs/ philippine-studies Foundations & Public Support: Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences

X

X

www.oscars.org

Art Works

X X www.arts.gov

California Humanities X X calhum.org Consulate General of Japan

X

X

X

Corporation for Public Broadcasting

X

Grants for the Arts

X

X

www.sf.us.emb-japan.go.jp www.cpb.org

X

www.arts.gov

X

www.hketosf.gov.hk/sf/index.htm

Hong Kong Economic & Trade Office San Francisco

X

X

Japan Foundation Los Angeles

X

X

Wells Fargo

X

X

www.jflalc.org

X X www.wellsfargo.com

Hewlett Foundation X X www.hewlett.org

282 

 Appendix

media/ media events

nonprofit / education / arts

government

commercial

foreign / diasporic / ethnic

regional / local

international / national

Website CAAMFest 2017: Sponsors

Hotel: Orchard Hotel

X

X

www.theorchardhotel.com

Orchard Garden Hotel

X

X

www.theorchardgardenhotel.com

Hotel Kabuki X X www.jdvhotels.com/hotels/ california/san-francisco/ hotel-kabuki Venue: Alamo Drafthouse Cinema

X

X

X

drafthouse.com

The Castro Theatre

X

X

X

www.castrotheatre.com

Festa Wine & Cocktail Lounge

X

X

festalounge.com

Gray Area X X X grayarea.org Jewish Community Center SF

X

The New Parkway Theater

X

X

X

X X

www.thenewparkway.com

New People

X

X

X

X

www.newpeopleworld.com

The Oakland Asian Cultural Center

X

X

X

oacc.cc

Oakland Museum of California

X

X

museumca.org

One Kearny Club

X

onekearnyclub.com

Raven Bar & Lounge

X

www.ravenbarsf.com

X

www.jccsf.org

Roxie X X X www.roxie.com Slate X

slate-sf.com

Media: Hyphen

X X* X X

X hyphenmagazine.com

Angry Asian Man

X

X

X

X

www.angryasianman.com

KQED X X X www.kqed.org NBC Bay Area Traktivist

X

X

X

X X

www.nbcbayarea.com

X

www.traktivist.com

X

wild949.iheart.com

X

kmel.iheart.com

WiLD 94.9

X

KMEL-FM

X X

BARTable

X X

bartable.bart.gov

India Currents

X*

X

indiacurrents.com

X

abc7.com

X

abc7 Intersection

X

X

X

X

X X

X X www.intersection.com

SF Station

X

X

X

www.sfstation.com

iHeart 80s

X

X

X

80sradio.iheart.com

Star 101.3

X

X

X

1013.iheart.com

Ritual Coffee

X

X

www.ritualroasters.com

Nute’s Noodle Nights

X

X

X

www.nutesnoodle.com

Magnolia Ice Cream & Treats

X

X

X

www.magnoliaicecream.com

Acutrack

X X

www.acutrack.com

San Francisco Giants

X

www.mlb.com/giants

San Francisco International Film Festival

X

In-Kind:

issuu

X

X X* X

Boba Guys Bruce Cost Ginger Ale

X

X

X

www.sffilm.org

X

issuu.com

X

X

www.bobaguys.com

X

X

www.brucecostgingerale.com

Sponsors of CAAMFest 2017 and SDAFF 2016 

 283

media/ media events

nonprofit / education / arts

government

commercial

foreign / diasporic / ethnic

regional / local

international / national

Website CAAMFest 2017: Sponsors

The Chai Cart

X

X

X

www.thechaicart.com

No. 209 San Francisco

X

X

www.distillery209.com

Dogpatch Wine Works

X

X

dogpatchwineworks.com

enterprise

X X www.enterprise.com

Hodo Soy

X

X

X

Ito En

X

X

X

www.itoen.com

hodosoy.com

Jade Chocolates

X

X

X

www.jadechocolates.com

Kasa Indian Eatery

X

X

X

kasaindian.com

La Mediterranee on Noe

X

X

X

lamednoe.com

Lee’s Deli

X

X

www.leesdeli.com

Luna

n/a n/a n/a

Mission Picnic

X

X

www.missionpicnic.com

Nyum Bai

X

X

X

www.nyumbai.com

The Prop House

X

X

theprophouse.net

Red Cloud Wireless Voice & Data

X

X

www.redcloudinc.com

Reem’s

X

X X

reemscalifornia.com/about

X

sapporobeer.com

Sapporo Premium Beer

X

X

shiftboard

X X www.shiftboard.com

Simple DCP

X X X simpledcp.com

Slice House

X

X

slicehouse.com

Socola

X

X

www.socolachocolates.com

Sol Food

X

X

X

www.solfoodrestaurant.com

Straight Up

X

X

straightupbnb.com

*international and/or national reach, but with headquarters and/or origins in the Bay Area **oriented toward Asian cultures

284 

 Appendix

media/ media events

nonprofit / education / arts

government

commercial

foreign / diasporic / ethnic

regional / local

international / national

Website SDAFF 2016: Sponsors

Major Grants: Commission for Arts and Culture San Diego

X

X

www.sandiego.gov/arts-culture

City of San Diego

X

X

www.sandiego.gov

County of San Diego

X

X

www.sandiegocounty.gov

National Endowment for the Arts

X

X

www.arts.gov

Art Works

X X www.arts.gov

Major Sponsors ($ 25,000): Barona Resort & Casino

X

X

www.barona.com

Sharp Health Plan

X

X

www.sharphealthplan.com

X

X

www.mcgregoreba.com

Sustaining Sponsor: McGregor & Associates Gala Presenter ($ 25,000): Wells Fargo

X X www.wellsfargo.com

Proven

X X

provenrecruiting.com

Premiere Sponsor ($ 10,000–15,000) AARP

X X

www.aarp.org

X X* X

www.qualcomm.com

Opening Night ($ 7,500): Qualcomm Opening Night Party: Union Bank

X X www.unionbank.com

Pacific Showcase: Pacific Islanders in Communications

X

X

X

X

www.piccom.org

Spotlight: AT&T

X X X www.att.com

Cox

X X X www.cox.com

Sycuan Casino Stella Artois

X

X

www.sycuan.com

X X www.stellaartois.com

San Diego Gas & Electric

X

X

www.sdge.com

Official Airlines: Southwest

X X www.southwest.com

Corporate Grants: Bank of America

X

US Bank

X X www.usbank.com

X

www.bankofamerica.com

Wells Fargo

X X www.wellsfargo.com

Major Media Sponsor: The San Diego Union-Tribune

X

X

X

www.sandiegouniontribune.com

KPBS X X X www.kpbs.org NBC7 San Diego

X

X

X

www.nbcsandiego.com

Official Print Sponsor: Repromagic

X X

www.repromagic.com

X

www.focuscominc.com

Public Relations: FOCUSCOM Inc.

X

Reel Voices & Youth Day ($ 2,500): Samuel I. & John Henry Fox Foundation

X

X

–

David C. Copley Foundation

X

X

copleyfoundation.org

Farrell Family Foundation

X

X

www.farrellfamilyfoundation.com

City of San Diego

X

X

www.sandiego.gov

Sponsors of CAAMFest 2017 and SDAFF 2016 

 285

San Diego Gas & Electric

X

California Schools VEBA

X

media/ media events

nonprofit / education / arts

government

commercial

foreign / diasporic / ethnic

regional / local

international / national

Website SDAFF 2016: Sponsors

X X

www.sdge.com www.vebaonline.com

Morrison Foerster Foundation X X www.mofo.com/culture/ mofo-foundation Union Bank

X X www.unionbank.com

Education Partners: UCSD Alumni X X www.alumni.ucsd.edu University of San Diego

X

X

www.sandiego.edu

San Diego State University

X

X

www.sdsu.edu

UCSD - Arts & Humanities

X

X

artsandhumanities.ucsd.edu

Li-Yun Ting Lai & Elvin Lai

X

X

X

–

J.N. Hom Family Foundation

X

X

X

–

Screening Sponsors ($ 2,500):

UCSD - The Chuan Lyu Endowed X X** X artsandhumanities.ucsd.edu/ Chair of Taiwan Studies departments-programs/ endowed-chairs.html UCSD - Taiwan Studies Lecture Series

X

ELT Insurance Services

X

Japan Airlines

X**

X

X

taiwanstudies.ucsd.edu eltinsurance.com

X X www.jal.com

Ministry of Culture Republic of China (Taiwan) Valencia Hotel La Jolla

X

Taiwan Academy Confucius Institute

X

X

X

X

X

X

X**

X

english.moc.gov.tw www.lavalencia.com www.moc.gov.tw/en confucius.sdsu.edu

Media Partners: Pocket San Diego

X

X

X

X

www.pocketsandiego.com

San Diego YuYu

X

X

X

X

www.sandiegoyuyu.com

GB Giving Back

X

X

X

www.gbsan.com

Community Sponsors ($ 2,500–5,000): Japanese American Citizens League Macy’s

X

X

jacl.org

X X www.macys.com

San Diego Foundation

X

Wawanesa Insurance

X

X

X

www.wawanesa.com

Scripps Howard Foundation

X

Mintz Levin

X X www.mintz.com

Seven Mile Casino

X

San Diego Chinese Women’s Association

X

X

www.sdfoundation.org

X

X

X

www.scripps.com/foundation www.sevenmilecasino.com sdcwa.net

In-Kind Donors: Buzzbox Premium Cocktails

X

X

www.buzzbox.com

gala Festival Engine

X

X

gala-engine.com

McDonald’s

X X www.mcdonalds.com

X

Phuong Trang

X

X

Sansei

X

X X

X

Sandwich Emporium

X

Zionmarket

X

X

X X

*international and/or national reach, but with headquarters and/or origins in San Diego **oriented toward Asian cultures

phuongtrangrestaurant.com www.sansaigrill.com www.sandwichemporium.com www.zionmarket.com

286 

 Appendix

8.4 Asian and Asian American Films Screened in San Francisco and San Diego (November 1, 2016 - November 1, 2017) San Francisco Movie Theaters



Numbers of Asian and Asian American films screened*

Numbers of weeks of Asian and Asian American films screened**

4-Star Theatre, 19 41 2200 Clement St, San Francisco Alamo Drafthouse Cinema at New Mission, 2550 Mission St, San Francisco

8

Notes

Primarily Chinese films (9/19); some Korean, Japanese, and Asian American films

12

AMC Metreon 16, 45 46 135 Fourth St Suite 3000, San Francisco

Almost exclusively Chinese films (40/45); some Asian American films

AMC Van Ness 14, 12 20 1000 Van Ness Ave, San Francisco

Primarily Chinese films (7/12); some Korean films

Balboa Theatre, 3630 Balboa St, San Francisco

1

1

Century 20 Daly City and XD, 16 20 1901 Junipero Serra Blvd, Daly City Century San Francisco Centre 9 and XD, 845 Market St, San Francisco

5

8

Clay Theatre, 2261 Fillmore St, San Francisco

5

5

Embarcadero Center Cinema, 1 Embarcadero Center, San Francisco

3

5

Marina Theatre, 2149 Chestnut St, San Francisco

3

6

Opera Plaza Cinemas, 601 Van Ness Ave, San Francisco

6

9

Presidio Theatre, 2340 Chestnut St, San Francisco

2

4

Roxie Theater, 19 16 3117 16th St, San Francisco SFFilm FilmHouse, 644 Broadway #403, San Francisco

4

2

Sundance Kabuki Cinemas, 1881 Post St, San Francisco

2

4

Vogue Theatre, 3290 Sacramento St, San Francisco

1

1

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts, 701 Mission St, San Francisco

1

1

Primarily Chinese (5/16) and Korean (5/16) films; some Filipino, Japanese, and Asian American films

Primarily Japanese films (11/19); some Chinese, Thai, and Asian American films

*The blockbusters Star Trek Beyond (2016), Ice Age: Collision Course (2016), Jem and the Holograms (2015), Kung Fu Panda 3 (2016), and Now You See Me 2 (2016), all of which were directed by Asian Americans, but otherwise did not feature Asian American casts, crews, or content, and which had major theatrical releases, were not considered in this list. ** These statistics are based on the weekly information provided by Google Movies, drawing on Google’s listings of movie theaters in San Francisco. It is important to note that festival screenings were often not listed. This list is therefore not complete; it does, however, give an overview of the accessibility of and demand for Asian and Asian American films within the city of San Francisco and outside of the festival CAAMFest.

Asian and Asian American Films Screened 

San Diego Movie Theaters

Numbers of Asian and Asian American films screened*

Numbers of weeks of Asian and Asian American films screened**

AMC Fashion Valley 18, 12 19 7037 Friars Rd, San Diego AMC La Jolla 12, 8657 Villa La Jolla Dr, La Jolla

3

1

Notes

Primarily Korean films (9/12)

3

AMC Mission Valley 20, 20 23 1640 Camino Del Rio North, San Diego AMC Palm Promenade 24, 770 Dennery Rd, San Diego

 287

Primarily Chinese films (12/20); some Vietnamese, Korean, and Japanese films

1

AMC Plaza Bonita 14, 16 33 3050 Plaza Bonita Rd, National City Angelika Film Center & Cafe, 11620 Carmel Mountain Rd, San Diego

2

3

Digital Gym Cinema, 2921 El Cajon Blvd, Media Arts Center, San Diego

10

10

Edwards Mira Mesa Stadium 18 IMAX & RPX, 10733 Westview Parkway, San Diego

7

10

Landmark Hillcrest, 3965 Fifth Ave #200, San Diego

2

4

Landmark Ken Cinema, 4061 Adams Ave, San Diego

5

5

Reading Cinemas, Town Square 14, San Diego

1

1

UA Horton Plaza 8, 475 Horton Plaza, San Diego

2

2

UltraStar Mission Valley at Hazard Center, 7510 Hazard Center Dr, San Diego

4

5

Almost exclusively Filipino films (15/16)

*The blockbusters Star Trek Beyond (2016), Ice Age: Collision Course (2016), Jem and the Holograms (2015), Kung Fu Panda 3 (2016), and Now You See Me 2 (2016), all of which were directed by Asian Americans, but otherwise did not feature Asian American casts, crews, or content, and which had major theatrical releases, were not considered in this list. ** These statistics are based on the weekly information provided by Google Movies, drawing on Google’s listings of movie theaters in San Diego. It is important to note that festival screenings were often not listed. This list is therefore not complete; it does, however, give an overview of the accessibility of and demand for Asian and Asian American films within the city of San Diego and outside of the festival SDAFF.

288 

 Appendix

Englisch Title/Original Title, Director, and Year

Country and Mode Language

Screened Screened Notes in SF in SD

77 Minutes. Dir. Charlie Minn. 2016.

US; English

Documentary

–

X

A Fool /Yi ge shao zi. Dir. Jianbin Chen. 2014.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

A Journey Through Time with Anthony/ CN; Mandarin Pei an dong ni du guo man chang sui yue. Dir. Janet Chun. 2015.

Fiction X –

A Second Chance. Dir. Cathy Garcia-Molina. 2015.

PH; Tagalog

Fiction

– X

A Touch of Zen/Xia nu. Dir. King Hu. 1971.

HK/TW; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

A Violent Prosecutor/Geom-sa-oe-jeon. Dir. Il-Hyeong Lee. 2016.

KR; Korean

Fiction

X

X

Akira. JP; Japanese Animation X X Dir. Katsuhiro Otomo. 1988. All You Need is Pag-Ibig. Dir. Antoinette Jadaone. 2015.

PH; Tagalog

Already Tomorrow in Hong Kong. Dir. Emily Ting. 2015.

US/HK; English Fiction

X

Always Be My Maybe. Dir. Dan Villegas. 2016.

PH; Tagalog

Fiction

– X

And the Mud Ship Sails Away…/ Soshite dorobune wa yuku. Dir. Hirobumi Watanabe. 2013.

JP; Japanese

Fiction

X

Asura: The City of Madness/Asura. Dir. Sung-su Kim. 2016.

KR; Korean

Fiction

– X

Barcelona: A Love Untold. Dir. Olivia M. Lamasan. 2016.

PH; Tagalog/ Spanish

Fiction

X

X

Beasts of No Nation. Dir. Cary Joji Fukunaga. 2015.

US; English/ Akan

Fiction

X

–

Behemoth/Bei xi mo shou. Dir. Liang Zhao. 2015.

CN/FR; Mandarin

Documentary

X

–

Fiction

Part of SF Film Society event

Part of “The Future Was Here: Sci-Fi in Anime” series at Roxie Theater

– X X

–

Belladonna of Sadness/ JP; Japanese Animation X – Kanashimi no beradona. Dir. Eiichi Yamamoto. 1973. Boruto/Naruto The Movie. Dir. Yamashita Hiroyuki. 2015.

JP; Japanese

Animation

X

Camp Sawi. Dir. Irene Villamor. 2016.

PH; Tagalog

Fiction

– X

Cemetery of Splendor/Rak ti khon kaen. Dir. Apichatpong Weerasethakul. 2015.

TH; Thai

Fiction

X

Part of SF Indiefest 2016

Part of “Fantastic Fest Presents” series at Alamo Drafthouse

X

X

Chinese Couplets. US; English Documentary X – Dir. Felicia Lowe. 2015. Chongqing Hot Pot/Huo guo ying xiong. Dir. Qing Yang. 2016.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

Cock and Bull/Zhui xiong zhe ye. Dir. Baopin Cao. 2016.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

X

Cold War 2/Hon zin 2. CN; Mandarin Dir. Lok Man Leung/Kim-Ching Luk. 2016.

Fiction

X

X

Coming Home/Gua lai. Dir. Yimou Zhang. 2014.

CN/FR; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

Creepy/Kuripi: Itsuwari no rinjin. Dir. Kiyoshi Kurosawa. 2016.

JP; Japanese

Fiction

X

–

Detective Chinatown/Tang ren jie tan an. CN; Mandarin/ Dir. Sicheng Chen. 2015. Thai

Fiction

X

–

Devil and Angel/E gun tian shi. Dir. Baimei Yu/Chao Deng. 2015.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

Dragon Inn/Long men kezhan. Dir. King Hu. 1967.

TW/HK; Mandarin

Fiction

X

X

Single screening for Mother’s Day

Newly restored

Asian and Asian American Films Screened 

Englisch Title/Original Title, Director, and Year

Country and Mode Language

Screened Screened Notes in SF in SD

Eat Drink Man Woman. TW; Mandarin/ Fiction X – Dir. Ang Lee. 1994. French Enter the Dragon. Dir. Robert Clouse. 1973.

US/HK; English/ Fiction Cantonese

X

Every Day I Love You. Dir. Mae Czarina Cruz. 2015.

PH; Tagalog

– X

Fiction

 289

Single screening as part of “Food on Film” event at SF Film Society

–

Everybody’s Fine. CN; Mandarin Fiction X – Dir. Meng Zhang. 2016. Everything About Her. Dir. Joyce Bernal. 2016.

PH; Tagalog

Fiction

– X

Ex Files 2: The Backup Strikes Back/ Qian ren 2: Bei tai fan ji zhan. Dir. Yu-sheng Tian. 2015.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

Fall in Love Like a Star/ Peng ran xing dong. Dir. Tony Chan. 2015.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

Finding Mr Right 2/ Bei jing yu shang xi ya tu 2. Dir. Xiaolu Xue. 2016.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

Foolish Plans/Fa tiao cheng shi. Dir. Tao Jiang. 2016.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

For a Few Bullets/ Kuai shou qiang shou kuai qiang shou. Dir. Anzi Pan. 2016.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

X

From Vegas to Macau 3/ Du cheng feng yun III. Dir. Jing Wong. 2016.

CN/HK; Mandarin/ Cantonese

Fiction

X

–

Fiction

X

–

Front Cover. US; English/ Dir. Ray Yeung. 2015. Mandarin/ Cantonese

Ghost in the Shell/Kokaku kidotai. JP/UK; Animation X – Part of “The Future Was Dir. Mamoru Oshii. 1995. Japanese Here: Sci-Fi in Anime” series at Roxie Theater Goodbye Mr. Loser/Xia Luo Te Fan Nao. CN; Mandarin Fiction X Dir. Fei Yan/Da-Mo Peng. 2015.

–

Grave of the Fireflies/Hotaru no haka. JP; Japanese Animation X – Dir. Isao Takahata. 1988.

Part of “Takahata Studio Ghibli” series at Roxie Theater

House/Hausu. JP; Japanese Fiction X – Dir. Nobuhiko Obayashi. 1977.

Parts of monthly “Nippon Nights” series at Roxie Theater

How to Be Yours. PH; Tagalog Fiction – X Dir. Dan Villegas. 2016. I Belonged to You. Dir. Yibai Zhang. 2016.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

Imagine You & Me. Dir. Michael Tuviera. 2016.

PH; Tagalog

Fiction

– X

Ip Man 3/Yip Man 3. CN/HK; Dir. Wilson Yip. 2015. Cantonese English

Fiction

X

Just the 3 of Us. Dir. Cathy Garcia-Molina. 2016.

PH; Tagalog

Fiction

– X

Kaili Blues/Lu bian ye can. Dir. Gan Bi. 2015.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction X –

Kampai! For the Love of Sake. Dir. Mirai Konishi. 2015.

JP/US; Japanese/ Documentary English

Kiki’s Delivery Service/ JP; Japanese/ Majo no takkyubin. English Dir. Hayao Miyazaki. 1989.

Animation

X

X

X

–

X

–

290 

 Appendix

Englisch Title/Original Title, Director, and Year

Country and Mode Language

Kill Zone 2/Saat po long 2. CN/HK; Dir. Pou-Soi Cheang. 2015. Mandarin/ Cantonese

Fiction

Screened Screened Notes in SF in SD X

–

Kingsglaive: Final Fantasy XV. Dir. Takeshi Nozue. 2016.

JP/US; Japanese/ Fiction X X English

Ktown Cowboys. Dir. Daniel Park. 2015.

US; English

Fiction

X

–

L.O.R.D.: Legend of Ravaging Dynasties/Jue ji. Dir. Jingming Guo. 2016.

CN/KH; Mandarin/ Khmer

Fiction

X

–

League of Gods/Feng shen bang. Dir. Koan Hui. 2016.

HK; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

Leap Year Girl/Urudoshi no shojo. Dir. Hirobumi Watanabe. 2013.

JP; Japanese

Fiction

X

–

Line Walker/Shi tu xing zhe. CN/HK; Dir. Jazz Boon. 2016. Mandarin/ Cantonese/ English

Fiction

X

–

Love is Blind. Dir. Jason Paul Laxamana. 2016.

PH; Tagalog/

Fiction

– X

Love Me Tomorrow. Dir. Gino M. Santos. 2016.

PH; Tagalog/ English

Fiction

– X

Luck-Key/Leokki. Dir. Gye-byeok Lee. 2016.

KR; Korean

Fiction

– X

Mad Tiger. JP/US; English Dir. Michael Haertlein/Jonathan Yi. 2015.

Documentary

X

–

MBA Partners/Meng xiang he huo ren. Dir. Tae-yoo Jang. 2016.

CN; Mandarin/ English

Fiction

X

–

Mekong Hotel. Dir. Apichatpong Weerasethakul. 2012.

TH/UK; Thai

Fiction

X

–

Miss Hokusai/Sarusuberi: Miss Hokusai. Dir. Keiichi Hara. 2015.

JP; Japanese

Animation

X

–

Mojin: The Lost Legend/Xun long jue. Dir. Wuershan. 2015.

CN; Mandarin/ Fiction X X Hindi/English

Monkey King: Hero is Back/ Xi you ji zhi da sheng gui lai. Dir. Tian Xiao Peng. 2015.

CN; Mandarin

Animation

X

X

Monster Hunt/Zhuo yao ji. Dir. Raman Hui. 2015.

CN/HK; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

Mountains May Depart/Shan he gu ren. CN/FR/JP; Dir. Zhang-ke Jia. 2015. Mandarin/ Cantonese/ English

Fiction

X

X

Mr. Donkey/Lu de shui. Dir. Shen Zhou/Lu Liu. 2016.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

X

Mr. Six/Lao pao er. Dir. Guan Hu. 2015.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

X

My Bebe Love: #KiligPaMore. Dir. Jose Javier Reyes. 2015.

PH; Tagalog

Fiction

– X

Part of SF Indiefest 2016

My Best Friend’s Wedding/ CN; Mandarin Fiction X – Wo zui hao peng you de hun li. Dir. Feihong Chen. 2016. My Love, Don’t Cross that River/ KR; Korean Documentary X Nim-a, geu-gang-eul geon-neo-ji ma-o. Dir. Mo-young Jin. 2014.

–

My Neighbor Totoro/Tonari o Totoro. JP; Japanese Animation X – Part of month-long Miyazaki Dir. Hayao Miyazaki. 1988. series at Alamo Drafthouse Cinema My Neighbors the Yamadas/ JP; Japanese Animation X – Hohokekyo tonari no Yamada-kun. Dir. Isao Takahata. 1999.

Part of “Takahata Studio Ghibli” series at Roxie Theater

Asian and Asian American Films Screened 

Englisch Title/Original Title, Director, and Year

Country and Mode Language

Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind/ Kaze no tani no Naushika. Dir. Joyce Bernal. 2016.

JP/US; Animation X – Japanese/ English

So, I Married an Anti-Fan. Dir. Yu-sheng Tian. 2015.

CN; Mandarin/ Korean

Fiction

Screened Screened Notes in SF in SD

X

Single screening of Miyazaki’s debut film at Clay Theatre

X

Only Yesterday/Omohide poro poro. JP; Japanese Animation X X Dir. Isao Takahata. 1991. Operation Chromite/ In-cheon sang-ryuk jak-jeon. Dir. John H. Lee. 2016.

25th-anniversary screening, now released in English

KR; Korean/ English

Fiction

X

X

Operation Mekong. CN/HK; Dir. Dante Lam. 2016. Mandarin/ Cantonese/ English/Thai

Fiction

X

X

Our Little Sister/Umimachi Diary. Dir. Hirokazu Koreeda. 2016.

JP; Japanese

Fiction

X

X

Our Times. Dir. Yu-Shan Chen. 2015.

TW; Mandarin/ Fiction Min Nan

X

–

Pali Road. Dir. Jonathan Hua Lang Lim. 2015.

CN/US; English

X

–

Papa/Luo shan ji dao dan ji hua. Dir. Xiao Zheng. 2016.

CN; Mandarin/ Fiction X – English

Fiction

 291

Paths of the Soul/Kang rinpoche. CN; Tibetan Fiction X Dir. Yang Zhang. 2015.

–

Phantom of the Theatre/Mo gong mei ying. CN; Mandarin Fiction X – Dir. Wai Man Yip. 2016. Pokemon: The First Movie/ JP; Japanese Animation X – Gekijo-ban monsuta. Dir. Kunihiko Yuyama. Pom Poko/ JP; Japanese/ Animation X – Heisei tanuki gassen ponpoko. English Dir. Isao Takahata. 1994.

Part of “Takahata Studio Ghibli” series at Roxie Theater

Ran. JP/FR; Japanese Fiction – X Dir. Akira Kurosawa. 1985.

Release of the 4k restauration

Right Now, Wrong Then/Ji-geum-eun- mat-go-geu-ddae-neun-teul-li-da. Dir. Sang-soo Hong. 2015.

KR; Korean

Fiction

X

–

Rise of the Legend/ HK /CN/ Huang feihong zhi yingxiong you meng. Mandarin/ Dir. Roy Hin Yeung Chow. 2015. Cantonese/ English

Fiction

X

–

Rurouni Kenshin Part 2: Kyoto Inferno/ Ruroni Kenshin: Kyoto taika-hen. Dir. Keishi Ohtomo. 2014.

Fiction

X

–

JP; Japanese

Seoul Searching. US/KR/CN; Fiction X – Dir. Benson Lee. 2015. English/Korean/ German She Remembers, He Forgets/ HK; Cantonese Fiction Na yi tian wo men hui fei. Dir. Adam Wong. 2015.

X

–

Shin Godzilla/Shin Gojira. Dir. Hideaki Anno/Shinji Higuchi. 2016.

Fiction

X

X

Fiction

X

X

JP; Japanese

So Young 2: Never Gone/ CN; Zhi qing chun 2: Yuan lai ni hai zai zhe li. Mandarin Dir. Zhou Tuo Ru. 2016.



Songs from the North. KR/US; Korean Documentary – X Dir. Soon-Mi Yoo. 2014. Songs My Brothers Taught Me. Dir. Chloé Zhao. 2015.

US; English

Fiction

– X

Soulmate/Qi yue yu an sheng. Dir. Kwok Cheung Tsang. 2016.

CN/HK; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

Spa Night. Dir. Andrew Ahn. 2016.

US; Korean/ English

Fiction

X

–

292 

 Appendix

Englisch Title/Original Title, Director, and Year

Country and Mode Language

Spirits’ Homecoming/Gwi-hyang. Dir. Cho Jung-rae. 2016.

KR; Korean/ English

Fiction

– X

Surprise/Wan wan mei xiang dao. Dir. Xiaoxing Yi. 2015.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

Sweet Bean/An. Dir. Naomi Kawase. 2015.

JP/FR/DE; Japanese

Fiction

X

–

Sweet Sixteen/Xia you qiao mu. Dir. Jin-gyu Cho. 2016.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction

X

–

Swiss Army Man. Dir. Dan Kwan/Daniel Scheinert. 2016.

US/SE; English Fiction

X

X

Tharlo/Ta Luo. Dir. Pema Tseden. 2015.

CN; Mandarin/ Fiction Tibetan

X

–

The Achy Breaky Hearts. Dir. Antoinette Jadaone. 2016.

PH; Tagalog

Fiction

– X

The Age of Shadows/Mil-jeong. KR; Korean/ Dir. Jee-woon Kim. 2016. Japanese/ Mandarin/ English

Fiction

X

X

TW/CN/HK/FR; Fiction Mandarin

X

X

The Assassin/Ci ke  nie yin niang. Dir. Hsiao-Hsien Hou. 2015.

Screened Screened Notes in SF in SD

The Boy and the Beast/Bakemono no ko. JP; Japanese Animation X – Dir. Mamoru Hosoda. 2015. The Dragon Lives Again/ HK; Cantonese Fiction X – Li san jiao wei zhen di yu men. Dir. Chi Lo. 1977. The Final Master/Shi fu. Dir. Haofeng Xu. 2015.

CN; Mandarin/ Fiction English

X

–

The Handmaiden/Ah-ga-ssi. Dir. Chan-Wook Park. 2016.

KR; Korean/ Japanese

Fiction

X

X

The Himalayas. Dir. Seok-hoon Lee. 2015.

KR; Korean

Fiction

X

X

The Last Women Standing/ Sheng zhe wei wang Dir. Luo Luo. 2015.

CN; Mandarin

Fiction X –

Part of „Weird Wednesday“ series at Alamo Drafthouse Cinema

The Mermaid/Mei ren yu. CN; Mandarin Fiction X X Dir. Stephen Chow. 2016. The Monkey King 2/Xi you ji zhi: CN/HK; English/ Fiction X Sun wukong san da baigu jing. Mandarin Dir. Pou-soi Cheang. 2016.

–

The Nightingale/ CN/FR; Fiction X X Ye ying - Le promeneur d’oiseau. Mandarine Dir. Philippe Muyl. 2013. The Third Party. PH; Tagalog Fiction X X Dir. Jason Paul Laxamana. 2016. The Tiger: An Old Hunter’s Tale/Daeho. Dir. Hoon-jung Park. 2015.

KR; Korean/ Fiction X – Japanese

The Tunnel/Teo-neol. Dir. Seong-hun Kim. 2016.

KR; Korean

The Wailing/Gok-seong. Dir. Hong-jin Na. 2016.

KR/US; Korean/ Fiction X X Japanese

The Witness/Wo shi zheng ren. Dir. Sang-hoon Ahn. 2015.

CN/KR; Fiction X – Mandarin

Fiction

X

X

The World of Kanako/Kawaki. JP; Japanese Dir. Tetsuya Nakashima. 2014.

Fiction

X

This Time. Dir. Nuel C. Naval. 2016.

Fiction

– X

Fiction

X

PH; Tagalog

Three/Sam yan hang. HK/CN; Dir. Johnnie To. 2016. Mandarin/ English/ Cantonese

X

–



Asian and Asian American Films Screened 

Englisch Title/Original Title, Director, and Year

Country and Mode Language

 293

Screened Screened Notes in SF in SD

Time Raiders. CN; Mandarin Fiction X – Dir. Daniel Lee. 2016. Train to Busan/Busanhaeng. KR; Korean Fiction X Dir. Sang-ho Yeon. 2016.

X

Ugetsu/Ugetsu monogatari. JP; Japanese Fiction X – Dir. Kenji Mizoguchi. 1953.

Part of SF Film Society event

Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives. Dir. Apichatpong Weerasethakul. 2010.

Part of SF Film Society event

TH/UK/FR/DE/ Fiction X – ES/NL; Thai/ French/Lao

#Walang Forever. PH; Tagalog Fiction – X Dir. Dan Villegas. 2015. White Valentine/Ngay tinh yeu. Dir. Davina Hong Ngan. 2016.

VN; Vietnamese Fiction

– X

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Filmography 77 Minutes. Dir. Charlie Minn. 2016. 9-Man. Dir. Ursula Liang. 2014. A Forgotten People: The Sakhalin Koreans. Dir. Dai Sil Kim-Gibson. 1995. Abduction: The Megumi Yokota Story. Dir. Patty Kim and Chris Sheridan. 2006. After the Storm. Dir. Hirokazu Kore-eda. 2016. Afternoon. Dir. Tsai Ming-liang. 2015. AKA Dan. Dir. Jon Maxwell. 2014. AKA Seoul. Dir. Jon Maxwell. 2016. Aloha. Dir. Cameron Crowe. 2015. Always Be My Maybe. Dir. Nahnatchka Khan. 2019. American Revolutionary: The Evolution of Grace Lee Boggs. Dir. Grace Lee. 2013. American Pastime. Dir. Desmond Nakano. 2007. Ancestors in the Americas. Dir. Loni Ding. 1997. Anti-Porno. Dir. Sion Sono. 2016. Bella Vista. Dir. Vera Brunner-Sung. 2014. Better Luck Tomorrow. Dir. Justin Lin. 2002. Black Market Couple. Dir. Chiang Wai-kwong. 1947. Blinded by the Light. Dir. Gurinder Chadha. 2019. The Bohulano Family Collection. Ed. John Liau. 2014. Brian Gee Family Collection. Dir. John C. Liau. 2014. Bridge to the Sun. Dir. Etienne Périer. 1961. Caregiving: Circle of Love. Dir. Toan Lam. 2016. The Cats of Mirikitani. Dir. Linda Hattendorf. 2006. Chan is Missing. Dir. Wayne Wang. 1982. The Chinese Exclusion Act. Dir. Ric Burns and Li-Shin Yu. 2017. Chopping Onions. Dir. Adinah Dancyger. 2015. Closed Curtain. Dir. Jafar Panahi. 2013. Come Drink with Me. Dir. King Hu. 1966. Crazy Rich Asians. Dir. John M. Chu. 2018. The Crimson Kimono. Dir. Samuel Fuller. 1959. Delano Manongs: Forgotten Heroes of the United Farm Workers. Dir. Marissa Aroy. 2014. Diamond Head. Dir. Guy Green. 1962. Dim Sum: A Little Bit of Heart. Dir. Wayne Wang. 1985. Doctor Strange. Dir. Scott Derrickson. 2016. Documented. Dir. Jose Antonio Vargas and Ann Lupo. 2013. Eat a Bowl of Tea. Dir. Wayne Wang. 1989. Eve and the Fire Horse. Dir. Julia Kwan. 2005. The Fall of the I-Hotel. Dir. Curtis Choy. 1983. The Farewell. Dir. Lulu Wang. 2019. Finding Kukan. Dir. Robin Lung. 2016. Flower Drum Song. Dir. Henry Koster. 1961. Frank Wong’s Chinatown. Dir. James Q. Chan. 2015. Front Cover. Dir. Ray Yeung. 2015. The Gate of Heavenly Peace. Dir. Richard Gordon and Carma Hinton. 1995. https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-010

326 

 Filmography

Ghost in the Shell. Dir. Rupert Sanders. 2017. Golden Gate Girls. Dir. S. Louisa Wei. 2013. Good Luck Soup. Dir. Matthew Hashiguchi. 2016. Gook. Dir. Justin Chon. 2017. The Grace Lee Project. Dir. Grace Lee. 2005. Harana. Dir. Benito Bautista. 2012. Hito Hata: Raise the Banner. Dir. John Esaki, Duane Kubo, and Robert Nakamura. 1979. Hollywood Chinese. Dir. Arthur Dong. 2007. Ice Age: Collision Course. Dir. Mike Thurmeier and Galen T. Chu. 2016. In Our Son’s Name. Dir. Gayla Jamison. 2015. The Joy Luck Club. Dir. Wayne Wang. 1993. Ktown Cowboys. Dir. Daniel Park. 2015. The Killer. Dir. John Woo. 1989. Killing Eve. Creator Phoebe Waller-Bridge. 2018–present. King Boxer (Five Fingers of Death). Dir. Chang-hwa Jeong. 1972. The Last Tip. Dir. Patrick Chen. 2016. Late Night. Dir. Nisha Ganatra. 2019. Leftover. Dir. Eui Yong Zong. 2014. Life is Cheap… But Toilet Paper is Expensive. Dir. Wayne Wang. 1989. Limited Partnership. Dir. Thomas G. Miller. 2014. Little Manila: Filipinos in California’s Heartland. Dir. Marissa Aroy. 2008. Love and Duty. Dir. Bu Wancang. 1931. The Love of Siam. Dir. Chookiat Sakveerakuhl. 2007. Luciano Serra, Pilota. Dir. Goffredo Alessandrini. 1938. Lust, Caution. Dir. Ang Lee. 2007. Mad Tiger. Dir. Michael Haertlein and Jonathan Yi. 2015. The Magical Life of Long Tack Sam. Dir. Ann Marie Fleming. 2003. Maid in Manhattan. Dir. Wayne Wang. 2002. Manzanar. Dir. Robert Nakamura. 1971. Margarita, with a Straw. Dir. Shonali Bose and Nilesh Maniyar. 2014. Marilou Diaz-Abaya: Filmmaker on a Voyage. Dir. Lisa Yuchengco. 2012. Memories to Light: Trailer. Prod. Center for Asian American Media, 2013. The Mermaid. Dir. Stephen Chow. 2016. A Moment in Time. Dir. Ruby Yang. 2009. Moonlight. Dir. Barry Jenkins. 2016. My Fair Wedding. Dir. Hee-sun Jang. 2015. My Father. Dir. Dong-hyeok Hwang. 2007. Ninoy Aquino and the Rise of People Power. Dir. Tom Coffman. 2009. Nowhere Home. Dir. Margreth Olin. 2012. Nuoc. Dir. Quyen Nguyen-Le. 2016. Olympia. Dir. Leni Riefenstahl. 1938. Out of the Poison Tree. Dir. Beth Pielert. 2008. The People’s Hospital. Dir. Jim Choi and Chihiro Wimbush. 2017. The Princess of Nebraska. Dir. Wayne Wang. 2007. Rashomon. Dir. Akira Kurosawa. 1950. Resistance at Tule Lake. Dir. Konrad Aderer. 2017. Searching. Dir. Aneesh Chaganty. 2018.

Filmography  Seoul Searching. Dir. Benson Lee. 2015. Shopping for Fangs. Dir. Quentin Lee and Justin Lin. 1997. Smoke. Dir. Wayne Wang. 1995. Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. Supervising Dir. David Hand. 1937. Songs My Brothers Taught Me. Dir. Chloé Zhao. 2015. Sonita. Dir. Rokhsareh Ghaemmaghami. 2015. Spa Night. Dir. Andrew Ahn. 2016. Star Trek Beyond. Dir. Justin Lin. 2016. Strawberry Fields. Dir. Rea Tajiri. 1997. Summer at Grandpa’s. Dir. Hou Hsiao-hsien. 1984. Sunday Dinner. Dir. Casey Beck. 2016. Sunsets. Dir. Michael Aki and Eric Nakamura. 1997. Swiss Army Man. Dir. Dan Kwan and Daniel Scheinert. 2016. Tadaima. Dir. Robin Takao D’Oench. 2015. Taxi. Dir. Jafar Panahi. 2015. The Terrorizer. Dir. Edward Yang. 1986. Tibet in Song. Dir. Ngawang Choephel. 2009. The Tiger Hunter. Dir. Lena Khan. 2016. The Times of Harvey Milk. Dir. Rob Epstein. 1984. A Thousand Years of Good Prayers. Dir. Wayne Wang. 2007. To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before. Dir. Susan Johnson. 2018. Voices from Kaw Thoo Lei. Dir. Martha Gorzycki. 2016. The War Inside. Dir. Marc Decena. 2013. Wataridori: Birds of Passage. Dir. Robert A. Nakamura. 1974. Way of the Dragon. Dir. Bruce Lee. 1972. The Wedding Banquet. Dir. Ang Lee. 1993. When Night Falls. Dir. Liang Ying. 2012. Whispering Sidewalks. Dir. Denmei Suzuki. 1936. White Powder and Neon Lights. Dir. Wong Kam-yan. 1947. Wings of Defeat. Dir. Risa Morimoto. 2007. Who Killed Vincent Chin? Dir. Christine Choy and Renee Tajima-Pena. 1987. Yellow. Dir. Chris Chan Lee. 1997. Yellow Earth. Dir. Chen Kaige. 1984.

 327

Index of Terms accented cinema 24–26, 60 Academy Awards 118, 241, 271–273 activism 12–13, 19, 21, 28, 36–37, 41–43, 45–46, 48–50, 54–55, 82, 102, 113–116, 121–123, 133, 135, 137, 158, 165, 167, 193, 202–204, 227, 230, 233–236, 239–240, 252, 254–256, 262, 269–271, 275–276 activist film festival 102, 133, 234–236 actor 5, 11–13, 15, 19–21, 46, 84–85, 89, 96, 102–104, 127, 130, 181, 221, 226, 228, 230–231, 234, 239, 242–244, 254, 269, 276 advertisement 103, 158–160, 168, 244–245 Actor-Network Theory (ANT) 103–104 agenda 11–15, 21, 89–90, 92, 95–96, 102–103, 107, 109, 111, 117, 124, 133–134, 230–231, 234, 236, 238, 243–245, 250, 252, 269 American Dream 3, 59, 67, 125–126, 161, 262 archival 17, 27, 60, 78–81, 141, 146, 156, 168, 181, 206, 222–223, 231, 255, 262–263 – film festival 17 – footage 27, 60, 78–81, 222–223, 255, 262 – practice 112–113, 181, 231 archive 5, 65–66, 80–81, 83, 87, 110, 112–113, 117, 121–123, 181, 206–207, 229, 231, 265–266, 270 arena 20, 28, 87, 90, 97, 184, 187–188, 198 ars memoriae 182 art gallery 166, 192, 207–213, 225 arthouse theater 94, 194, 203–204, 210–211, 214–215, 217 Asian American – film 2–4, 10, 13–14, 18–20, 22–24, 27–28, 46–82, 110–111, 113–122, 124–127, 132–142, 158, 161–165, 170–173, 180–181, 196–198, 212, 217, 223, 231, 238–242, 250, 271, 273–275 – film festival 2–4, 11–14, 17–20, 28, 46, 49, 55, 82, 84, 110–119, 121–122, 133, 135–136, 176–178, 218, 228–229, 231, 236, 241, 243–244, 275 – film festival circuit 12–13, 20, 111–113, 116–117, 121, 241, 275 https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-011

– identity 12, 19, 21, 28–29, 41–46, 50–53, 56, 82, 111, 158, 228–230, 238, 244, 257, 261, 270, 275 – movement 19–20, 28, 41–50, 53–54, 82, 84, 114, 116–117, 137, 164, 172, 257 Asian migration to the U.S. (see migration to the U.S.) Asian Pacific American Heritage Month 116, 118, 262 audience participation 85, 88, 171, 218, 225, 230, 261 auteur 18, 82, 89–90, 92–93, 113, 119, 123, 140, 145, 165, 172–173, 204, 251 authenticity 3, 62, 78–82, 108, 140, 172, 174–176, 180, 214, 223, 243, 265, 268, 273 awards 85, 89, 94, 97, 100, 118, 123, 137, 161, 166, 176, 239–241, 272–273 cadres sociaux de la mémoire 10, 128 canon 9, 83, 93, 101, 107, 112, 121, 141, 165, 173, 222, 239 catalog 15, 18, 20, 103, 110, 131–133, 135–180, 241–242, 244, 252 – welcome letter 132–133, 136, 140, 142, 147–148, 153, 161–163 – essay 133, 139, 142, 163–166, 170, 172 – cover design 15, 20, 142, 145, 149–158 – film description 14, 133, 136–137, 144–146, 168–181, 263–264 Chinese Exclusion Act 33–35, 38, 190–191, 262–265 cinema memory 16–17, 184–185 circuit 9, 12–13, 18, 20, 52, 84, 90, 93–107, 110–113, 116–117, 121, 123, 134, 201, 221–222, 228, 241, 269, 274–275 civil rights movement 13, 19, 29, 41–43, 50, 55, 82, 136, 257 collective memory 4–6, 12, 14, 18, 21, 23, 58–59, 64–65, 70, 111, 128–129, 135, 178, 182–183, 202, 204, 213, 229–230, 233, 264, 269–270 commemoration 84–85, 112–113, 123, 127, 136, 140–142, 158, 162, 169, 204, 208–209, 213, 229, 236, 240, 242

330 

 Index of Terms

community building 4, 12, 19, 108, 135, 212, 224, 226, 244, 252, 254–255, 261, 267, 269 community outreach 119, 134–135, 137, 168, 193, 229, 234, 244, 248, 254, 260, 262–265 convergence culture 167 counterpublic sphere 51, 85, 134 capital 9, 97, 101, 105 competition within the festival circuit 91, 93, 97–101, 109, 119, 121, 132, 187, 196, 233, 241, 243–244 cultural memory 5–7, 11, 14, 56, 66–67, 70, 73, 83, 126–127, 167, 182, 184, 194, 220, 267 curation 13, 89, 117, 119, 140–141, 147, 177–178, 180–182, 193, 196, 203–204, 207, 221–222, 239, 245, 267, 275 diaspora 2, 9, 14, 16, 22–29, 32, 35, 44–45, 48–49, 56, 59, 66–68, 71, 74–76, 110–112, 121, 127, 146, 161–162, 164, 176, 189, 193, 207–209, 212, 216, 218, 220–224, 226, 229, 237–238, 245, 252, 257, 260–261, 265–266, 270, 274 diasporic film 10, 23–27, 54, 58, 73, 120, 133, 174, 216, 223–223 discrimination 4, 12, 29, 32, 35, 37–39, 58–59, 82, 124, 164, 209, 220, 255, 262, 264–265, 275 documentary aesthetics 66, 74, 78–81 exclusion laws 29, 32–37, 40–41, 71, 190, 264–265 exile 1, 23–26, 57, 60, 62, 72, 74, 76, 112, 122, 177–178 fair 86–87, 104, 201 festival (see film festival) forgetting 70, 84, 119, 122, 128, 153, 166, 264, 266–267 film collective 13, 25, 46, 48–49, 82, 113–115, 265 film distribution 8–10, 16, 18, 25, 27, 46, 50, 52, 55, 83, 85–87, 93–97, 99, 102, 104–105, 107, 111, 116–117, 119, 122, 189, 198, 211, 221–222, 230, 234, 237–238, 243–244, 267, 275

film festival – edition 2–3, 13, 15, 49, 112–113, 115, 124, 141–142, 149, 153, 155, 161, 171, 194, 211, 228, 242, 250 – funding 100, 107–110, 118–119, 134–135, 233, 236–238, 242–243, 245, 247–249, 276 – history 12–13, 18, 91–97, 114–118, 276 – media 11, 13–15, 17–18, 20, 57, 88, 96, 103, 127–128, 131, 142, 144, 146, 167, 177, 186, 239, 242, 254, 266, 269 – publication 2, 4, 14, 18, 93, 133, 167, 242, 252, 264 – screening 2–5, 12, 14–16, 20–21, 84, 88, 90, 106, 111–112, 119, 122–125, 131, 134, 137, 141–142, 144, 146, 162–163, 165–166, 168–172, 176, 180, 184, 187–188, 192–194, 201, 203–204, 207–208, 211, 213, 216–218, 222, 224, 228, 231, 235–236, 238, 242, 244–245, 250–255, 257–261, 263, 267–269 – section 2, 14, 20, 89–90, 92, 106, 118–119, 131, 133, 135–136, 141–145, 147, 153, 161, 166–167, 169–170, 174, 177, 179, 181, 193, 241–242, 258, 275 film funding 8–9, 25, 27, 50, 55, 89, 93, 101, 116, 122, 161, 168, 254, 263, 265 film preservation 83, 92, 231, 266 flashback 61–63 frame 3–6, 11–12, 14–15, 18, 20–21, 57, 82, 103, 105–106, 127–131, 135, 140, 142, 146–147, 151, 161, 166, 168–170, 176–179, 181, 207, 236, 252, 263, 275 genre 2, 7, 10, 13–14, 18–19, 22–28, 46–48, 50–57, 59–61, 77, 82, 87, 93, 103, 106, 112–113, 117, 133–135, 140–141, 163, 166–169, 171, 173–174, 177, 179, 181, 185, 222, 238, 240 GenerAsian X 47, 52, 140 globalization 1, 9, 24, 44–45, 93, 105, 264 Hart-Celler Act of 1965 33, 40, 59, 191 hate crime 257, 274 heritage 25, 39, 57–58, 66, 79, 83, 119, 121, 123, 125, 127, 135, 156, 166, 172–175, 178, 222, 249–250, 255, 262, 269–270 hierarchy 85–86, 90, 97–103, 107, 142–145, 211, 215

Index of Terms  Hollywood 47–49, 51–52, 54, 56, 93–95, 97, 125–126, 163, 165, 172–173, 186, 200, 203–204, 214, 223, 235, 252–253, 271–273 home movie 80, 146, 193, 231, 244, 265–267 human rights film festival 133, 177 hyphenate identity 19, 44 identity-based film festival 14, 127, 133–135, 226, 229, 239, 242, 254, 270, 275 imagined community 8, 23, 108, 226 intercultural cinema 24, 27, 71 international film festival circuit 12–13, 90, 93–102, 106–107, 113, 116, 123 Japanese American internment 38, 43–44, 57–59, 66–69, 74, 76–77, 81, 112, 120–121, 126, 140, 146, 163, 170, 179, 192, 235, 253 jury 100, 107, 146, 239–240 Korean War 78–79, 112, 140–141, 165, 167 LGBTQ film festival (see queer film festival) LGBTQ memory 202–205 lieux de mémoire 17, 75, 182 live event 4, 11, 14, 20, 88, 103, 105, 108, 127, 131, 181, 187, 193, 201, 203, 225–226, 228, 244, 252, 254, 266, 269 locatedness of memory 14, 183–184 location 4–5, 11, 13–16, 19–21, 27, 56–57, 69, 75–78, 82, 86, 105, 109, 111, 124, 127, 131, 154, 182–197, 200–201, 204, 207, 209–216, 222–225, 230, 254 logo 15, 20, 94, 131, 142, 149–158, 201, 245 marketing 9, 86, 93, 95, 99, 104–106, 109, 118, 125, 144, 149, 160, 205, 221, 232, 237, 246–247, 249 media coverage 1, 10, 15, 52, 86–87, 90, 98–99, 101, 106, 123, 243, 245 media event 85, 87–88 mediality of memory 5–7 memory – activism 12, 19, 43, 236, 254, 270, 275 – agent 242, 244, 276 – film 7, 11, 24, 56, 58–59, 61, 73–74, 76, 238 – industries 83, 276 – network 11, 104 – object 5, 10–11, 24, 56, 59, 63, 66–68, 73, 76, 82–83, 104, 182–183, 187

 331

– work 12, 18, 20, 110–111, 119–124, 166, 238, 257, 261, 270 migration film 2–3, 10, 14, 24–25, 28, 58–59 migration to the U.S. 1–4, 14, 19, 22, 28–45, 57, 59, 61, 63, 68, 70–72, 75, 79, 82, 112, 120, 125–126, 151, 162, 167, 171, 190–191, 207, 209–210, 218, 260–264, 266 – Chinese 29–35, 37–42, 57, 61, 71, 171, 190–191, 207, 209–210, 218, 260, 262–264 – Filipino 29, 31–32, 34, 37–38, 40–41, 190, 266 – Japanese 29–32, 34–40, 68 – Korean 22, 29, 31–32, 34, 37, 41, 57, 70, 75, 79, 167 – South Asian 29, 31–34, 59 minority – consortia 50, 115–116, 249 – film 19, 27, 46–47, 51, 80, 82, 115, 168, 223, 268, 271–273 – film festival 4, 12, 113, 121, 124, 135, 230, 275 – representation 12, 46, 80, 82, 103, 115, 117, 127, 134, 160, 213, 223, 230, 234, 239, 258, 265, 267, 271, 273–274 – resistance 19, 42, 121, 256–257, 264 mise-en-scène 20, 184–187 mission statement 2, 14, 15, 18, 20, 105, 117, 131–135, 142, 166, 232–233, 247, 249 movie palace 164, 190, 195, 198, 200–204, 206–207, 212 multiplex 94, 106, 194, 196–198, 210, 213–218, 221, 225 national cinema 8–9, 12, 17–18, 90–93, 95, 97, 106–107, 112, 133–134, 197, 237, 275 national identity 7–9, 64, 105, 108, 182, 262, 264 network 8, 11, 13, 19–21, 23–24, 83–86, 92, 94–97, 101–105, 107, 110, 117, 123, 127, 130, 184, 196, 210, 221, 230, 234, 236, 242, 269 new cinema history 16 nickelodeon 200–201 non-places 76

332 

 Index of Terms

nonprofit organization 2, 13, 20–21, 25, 84, 118, 131–132, 159, 194, 196, 202, 230–233, 237, 240, 243, 245, 247–250, 259, 276 nostalgia 7, 26, 59, 78, 137, 173, 177, 207–208, 214, 222, 224, 229 Oscars (see Academy Awards) opening night event 2–4, 15, 90, 111–112, 124–126, 168, 194, 201, 204, 212, 224–225, 246, 249 panethnicity 28, 41–43, 46, 53, 55 performance 2, 4–5, 10–15, 18–21, 57, 82, 85, 87–88, 90, 96, 103–104, 127, 131, 166, 168–169, 181, 186–187, 193, 201, 203, 218, 225–233, 236, 242, 244, 252, 254, 258, 261–263, 266, 269–270, 275 performative act 226–229, 231, 233, 238–239, 254, 269 performative utterance 227, 229 plurimedial constellation 7, 11, 103 postmemory 65, 126 preservation of the past 6, 59, 68, 82, 121, 141, 182, 203, 231, 266–267, 275 press (see media coverage) program guide (see catalog) programming 13, 15, 17–18, 20, 51, 55, 83–85, 89–90, 92–95, 98–99, 105, 111–113, 116–117, 120–124, 127–128, 134–135, 162–164, 180–181, 184, 188, 191, 194, 196–198, 203–205, 211, 220, 223–224, 228, 234, 238, 242–243, 245, 248, 269, 275 prosthetic memory 65 public sphere 8, 37, 51, 65, 98, 134, 187–188, 270 quality 89, 100, 107, 149, 200, 239, 243 queer film festival 14, 18, 113, 117, 134–135, 169, 175–176, 179, 203–204, 226 racism 28, 35, 37, 42, 45, 48, 58–59, 73, 81, 120, 122, 124, 126, 164, 220, 256–257, 262, 265, 274 reenactment 66, 80 remediation 6, 10–11, 56, 105, 266 rhetorics 15, 17–18, 20, 108, 131, 133–134, 217

ritual 9, 26, 56, 59, 66, 72–73, 75–76, 80, 83, 85, 87–88, 90, 120, 131, 174, 180, 185–186, 203, 207, 220, 226, 228–229, 266 selection procedure 89, 91–93, 231, 239–241 social justice 42, 48, 55, 133, 139, 179–180, 234–235, 240, 255, 257, 267 social life of memory 5, 7, 10–11, 17 sponsorship 15, 98, 100, 103, 109, 112, 118, 134, 136, 158–160, 168–169, 192, 194, 217, 237–238, 242–251, 255, 258–259, 276 – by corporations 98, 109, 118, 237–238, 245–248 – by nonprofit organizations 112, 118, 217, 238, 245, 248–249, 259 Third Cinema 46, 48 tourism 9, 75, 83, 104, 106–110, 121, 188, 202, 224 transcultural memory 5, 7–8, 10, 13, 183–184 transnational cinema 8–10, 24, 52, 93, 107, 122 transnational memory 7–8, 10, 14, 105, 110, 187 trauma 23, 50, 57–58, 60, 64–65, 68–70, 74–75, 77–78, 120, 177–179, 253 travelling memory 2, 8, 183 U.S. Census 45–46, 189–190 value 47, 83–84, 87, 93, 96, 99–101, 104–107, 110, 129, 136, 163–164, 170, 173, 177, 179, 181, 203, 210–212, 215, 220, 224, 239, 241–243, 247–248, 250, 258, 261 visibility of minorities 12, 19, 42, 48, 50, 53, 55, 92, 111–113, 115, 117, 123, 126, 146, 160, 258 Vietnam War 40, 43, 58, 63–66, 112, 178–179 witnessing 75, 88, 111, 133, 203, 228, 235, 252–253, 255, 260 World War II 37–39, 42, 59, 67–69, 73, 81, 91, 162, 170, 179–180, 189, 192, 253, 366 youth project 119, 244, 247, 258, 267–269 2016 U.S. presidential election 4, 119, 124, 153, 161, 255–256, 274

Index of Film Festivals Asian American International Film Festival (AAIFF) 49, 114, 116, 170–171, 174–175 Asian American Showcase 114, 116–118 Austin Asian American Film Festival 114, 116 Berlin International Film Festival (Berlinale)  17–18, 86, 89, 91, 100, 106, 109, 123, 131–132, 177–178, 191–192, 230, 243 Boston Asian American Film Festival 114, 116, 242 Busan International Film Festival 117 CAAMFest 2–4, 11–12, 14–15, 17–18, 20–21, 51, 57, 84, 111–112, 114–116, 118–127, 131–137, 140–154, 156, 158–163, 165–170, 173, 177–181, 184, 188–189, 191–198, 201–205, 207–208, 210, 212–213, 221–226, 229–230, 234–255, 258, 261–263, 265–267, 269–270, 275 California Independent Film Festival 196 Cannes Film Festival (Cannes) 17, 86, 89–92, 100, 109, 166, 241, 243 DC Asian Pacific American Film Festival 114, 116, 118 DisOrient Film Festival 114, 116, 118 DOK Leipzig 91 FilmOut San Diego 176, 197 Glasgow Film Festival 216 Green Film Festival 192 Hawaii International Film Festival 117 Hong Kong International Film Festival  236 Houston Asian American Pacific Islander Film Festival 114, 242 Human Rights Watch Film Festival 133 Ithaca Pan Asian American Film Festival 114 JAYU Human Rights Film Festival 177–178 Jeongju Film Festival 122 Karlovy Vary International Film Festival (Karlovy Vary) 100

https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-012

Los Angeles Asian Pacific Film Festival (LAAPFF) 49, 111, 114–116, 118, 177, 179–180 Locarno Film Festival (Locarno) 91, 100, 106, 123, 241 NewFest 113, 178–179 New York Queer Experimental Film Festival  113 Northwest Asian American Film Festival (see Seattle Asian American Film Festival) Outfest 113, 134–135, 174–175, 178–179 Philadelphia Asian American Film Festival  112, 115, 117 Sacramento Asian Pacific Film Festival 114, 118 San Diego Asian Film Festival (SDAFF) 2–4, 11–12, 14–15, 17–18, 20–21, 57, 84, 111–112, 114–116, 118–125, 127, 131–139, 144–145, 147, 149, 152–156, 160–163, 167–170, 173–174, 176–181, 184, 188, 190–191, 194–198, 213–214, 217–218, 225–226, 229–230, 234–254, 258, 268–270, 273, 275 San Diego International Film Festival 197 San Francisco Documentary Film Festival 196 San Francisco Independent Film Festival 196 San Francisco International Asian American Film Festival (SFIAAFF) 52, 112–116, 120–121, 137, 140–141, 149–150, 156–157, 161–162, 164–165, 167, 170–173, 267 San Francisco International Film Festival 188, 196, 244 San Francisco International LGBTQ Film Festival 113, 134–135, 174–175, 188, 192, 211 San Francisco Jewish Film Festival 188, 252

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 Index of Film Festivals 

San Jose International Short Film Festival (SJISFF) 179–180 Santa Fe International Film Festival 178 SDAFF Spring Showcase 112, 119–121, 161, 238 Seattle Asian American Film Festival 114, 116, 118 Seattle International Film Festival (SIFF)  173–175 Shots in the Dark Film Festival 132–133 Silk Screen Film Festival Pittsburgh 114, 116 Social Justice Film Festival 179–180

Sundance Film Festival 17, 87, 173 Toronto International Film Festival (TIFF) 17, 95, 123, 172–173, 179, 241 Toronto Reel Asian International Film Festival  266–267 VC Festival (see LAAPFF) Venice International Film Festival (Venice) 91, 94, 100, 106, 109, 230, 241, 243 Warsaw International Film Festival 123 3rd i - International South Asian Film Festival  197, 239, 252

Index of Locations Alamo Drafthouse Cinema at the New Mission  192–193, 195, 197, 205–207, 224 Alhambra Theatre 200 AMC Fashion Valley 198 AMC Metreon 16 197–198, 216 AMC Mission Valley 198 AMC Plaza Bonita 198 AMC Van Ness 14 197 Asian Art Museum 118, 195, 212, 239, 246, 249 Balboa Theatre (San Diego) 190 Balboa Theatre (San Francisco) 189 Bella Union 219, 221 Berkeley 194, 251 Castro District 192–193, 199, 201–203 Castro Theatre 16, 192, 195, 198–207, 211, 224 Century San Francisco Centre 197 Century 20 Daly City and XD 197 Chinatown (San Diego) 190 Chinatown (San Francisco) 43, 51, 110, 116, 146, 149, 156, 172, 189, 192–193, 197, 207–210, 212–213, 216, 218–225, 250, 258–260 Chinese Historical Society of America (CHSA)  33, 192, 219, 250, 265 City College of San Francisco 192 City Heights 191, 198 Clay Theatre 189, 197 Chula Vista 191 Del Mar 191, 194 Digital Gym Cinema 194–195, 198 Doge’s Palace 195 Edwards Mira Mesa Stadium 18 194, 198 Embarcadero Center Cinema 197 Encinitas 194–195 Gaslamp Quarter 190 Gray Area Foundation 16, 141, 192–193, 195, 255 Grandview Theater 146, 219, 222

https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-013

Great Star Theater 16, 192, 195–196, 218–224, 258, 261 Japantown 31, 35, 189, 192–193 Kearny Mesa 191 La Jolla 191, 194–196 La Jolla Village 191 La Paloma Theatre 194–195 Landmark Ken Cinema 198 Linda Vista 191 Mira Mesa 191, 194, 198 Mission District 192–193, 197, 205, 211 Mission Valley 195, 213 Museum of Contemporary Art San Diego (MCASD) 15, 194–196 Museum of Photographic Arts (MOPA)  194–195, 250 National City 191, 198 New Mission Theater 200, 205–207, 224 New Parkway Theater 194–195 New People Cinema 192–193, 195 North Beach 202, 219 North Park 190, 194, 198 Oakland 152, 193–195, 200 Oakland Asian Cultural Center 194 Oakland Museum of California 194–195 Opera Plaza Cinemas 197 Pacific Film Archive (PFA) 120, 250–251 Pagoda Palace Theatre 219 Paramount Theatre 200 People’s Hospital 259–261 Presidio Theatre 189 Regent Theatre 195 Rialto Theatre 185 Richmond District 189, 197, 221 Roxie Theater 192–193, 195–197, 211–212 San Diego 15, 20, 113–115, 117, 119, 132, 137, 149, 155, 160, 184, 188–191, 194–198, 213, 238, 240, 243, 268 San Diego Natural History Museum 194

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 Index of Locations

San Francisco 2, 15, 20, 31, 35, 40, 43, 47, 51, 57, 110, 113–116, 118, 135, 141, 149–152, 184, 188–191, 193–201, 203, 206–209, 211, 213, 216, 218–223, 238–240, 258–261, 271 San Jose 194 Sun Sing Theatre 219 Sundance Kabuki Cinemas 192

UltraStar Mission Valley (UltraStar) 15, 190–191, 194–196, 198, 213–214, 217–218, 225 University City 191 Vintage Cinemas Village Theatre #1 190 World Theatre 219 4-Star Theatre 197, 221 41 Ross 16, 192, 195, 207–213, 225, 258

Index of Organizations AARP 118–119, 159–160, 246, 258–261 Angel Island Immigration Station Foundation  265 API Council 265 APIA Health Forum 259 APIA Vote 217 Asian American Political Alliance 42 Asian Americans for Community Outreach  265 Asian Art Museum 118, 195, 212, 239, 246, 249 Asian CineVision 46, 48–49, 113–116 Cal Humanities 249 Center for Asian American Media (CAAM)  50–51, 113, 115–116, 118–120, 122, 126, 132, 135, 137, 140–141, 150, 152, 158, 161, 164, 230–234, 236–238, 240, 242, 245, 247–249, 254–255, 259, 262–265, 267–270 Chinatown Community Development Center (CCDC) 207, 213, 259 Chinatown YMCA 265 Chinese Culture Center of San Francisco 207, 213 Chinese Culture Foundation 239 Chinese for Affirmative Action 255 Chinese Historical Society of America (CHSA)  33, 192, 219, 250, 265 Chinese Women’s Association of San Diego  217 Coalition of Asian Pacifics in Entertainment  271 Committee for the Protection of Filipino Rights  158 Corporation for Public Broadcasting (CPB)  50, 115–116, 118, 237, 242 FilmOut San Diego 176, 197 Foundation for Asian American Independent Media 113

https://doi.org/10.15.15/9783110696530-014

Frameline 113, 134–135, 174–175, 197, 203–205 Hong Kong Film Archive 223, 250 Hong Kong Economic & Trade Office San Francisco 250 I Wor Kuen 43 International Federation of Film Producers Associations (FIAPF) 99–100 National Asian American Telecommunications Association (NAATA) 46, 50, 112–113, 115–116, 137, 139–140 National Endowment for the Arts (NEA)  118–119, 242 North County LGBTQ Resource Center 176 OCA San Francisco 255–256, 266 Pacific Arts Movement (Pac Arts) 2, 113, 115, 119, 132, 135, 137, 155, 158, 232–234, 236–238, 242, 245, 247–248, 250, 254, 267–269 Pacific Islanders in Communications (PIC)  112, 249 Public Broadcasting Service (PBS) 50–51, 115–116, 122, 197, 237, 262 Red Guard Party 43 San Diego Asian Film Foundation 113, 115, 137 San Diego Chinese Historical Museum 190, 217 San Diego Film Critics Society 240 San Francisco Film Critics Circle 240 San Francisco Neighborhood Theater Foundation 206 SFFILM 196–197, 244 Third World Liberation Front 43 Visual Communications (VC) 46, 48–50, 113–115, 231