Criminalization/Assimilation: Chinese/Americans and Chinatowns in Classical Hollywood Film 9780813589442

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Criminalization/Assimilation

Criminalization/Assimilation Chinese/Americans and Chinatowns in Classical Hollywood Film

PHILIPPA GATES

Rutgers University Press New Brunswick, Camden, and Newark, New Jersey and London

Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: Gates, Philippa, 1973-­author. Title: Criminalization/assimilation : Chinese/Americans and Chinatowns in classical Hollywood film / Philippa Gates. Description: New Brunswick : Rutgers University Press, [2019] | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Includes filmography. Identifiers: LCCN 2018025645 | ISBN 9780813589428 (cloth) | ISBN 9780813589411 (pbk.) Subjects: LCSH: Chinatowns in motion pictures. | Chinese Americans in motion pictures. | Motion pictures—­United States—­History—20th ­century. | Ste­reo­t ypes (Social psy­chol­ogy) in motion pictures. Classification: LCC PN1995.9.C475 G38 2019 | DDC 791.43/62951073—­dc23 LC rec­ord available at https://­lccn​.­loc​.­gov​/­2018025645 A British Cataloging-­in-­Publication rec­ord for this book is available from the British Library. Copyright © 2019 by Philippa Gates All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. Please contact Rutgers University Press, 106 Somerset Street, New Brunswick, NJ 08901. The only exception to this prohibition is “fair use” as defined by U.S. copyright law. The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Information Sciences—­Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials, ANSI Z39.48-1992. www​.­r utgersuniversitypress​.­org Manufactured in the United States of Amer­i­ca

Contents Part I  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca 1 Introduction

2

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze: Hollywood’s Constructions of Chinese/Americans

3 18

Part II  Chinatown Crime 3

Imperiled Imperialism: Tong Wars, Slave Girls, and Opium

53

4

The Whitening of Chinatown: Action Cops and Upstanding Criminals

80

Part III  Chinatown Melodrama 5

The Perils of Proximity: White Downfall in the Chinatown Melodrama

105

6

Tainted Blood: White Fears of Yellow Miscegenation

128

Part IV  Chinese American Assimilation 7

Assimilation and Tourism: Chinese American Citizens and Chinatown Rebranded

155

8

Assimilating Heroism: The Chinese American as American Action Hero

183

9 Epilogue

212

v

vi  •  Contents

Filmography 215 Acknowl­edgments 231 Notes 233 Index 277

Criminalization/Assimilation

1

Introduction

The misconceptions of Chinatown are t­hose that Hollywood helped to construct—­perhaps most famously in Roman Polanski’s 1974 film Chinatown, in which the hero is advised, “Forget it, Jake! It’s Chinatown!” David Henry Hwang, the Tony award‒winning playwright and screenwriter, explains: “Chi­ natown has always represented something within the country . . . ​which is “other,” which is defined by a dif­fer­ent set of mores, dif­fer­ent ­people, dif­fer­ent foods—­and I think that’s fascinating, it’s seductive, it’s threatening. So the phrase from the movie Chinatown ­really sums up this notion that that’s a dif­ fer­ent kind of place.”1 Hollywood’s Chinatown is a dark, unknowable space where crime and corruption are rife, and since the 1970s, Chinese American filmmakers have sought to redefine this space. As the Chinatown Film Proj­ect, a 2009 exhibition at New York City’s Museum of Chinese in Amer­i­ca, declared, “Chinatown is the ultimate Hollywood meta­phor and a space where families still live.”2 Chinatowns are places that represent both the coming together of Chinese immigrants in a community and their historical segregation as main­ stream society deemed them undesirable aliens. Chinatowns are mainly a North Amer­i­ca phenomenon: some have been destroyed to make way for new devel­ opments (for example, in Edmonton, Alberta); some w ­ ere manufactured for tourists and the film industry (New Chinatown in Los Angeles, California); some are well-­preserved historical neighborhoods that attract tourists (in Hono­ lulu, Hawaii, and Vancouver, British Columbia); some are driven more by local business than tourists (in Toronto, Ontario, and New York City); and some are world famous, both tourist attractions and thriving communities (in 3

4  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

San Francisco, California). In the second half of the nineteenth ­century and the first half of the twentieth, Chinatowns ­were regarded as undesirable places crowded with foreigners and rife with crime; in the second half of the twenti­ eth ­century, Chinatowns came to be appreciated as exotic places to visit. As Rose Hum Lee explains, “Chinatowns go through vari­ous stages of develop­ ment and decline: from an immigrant ghetto to a tourist-­attracting centre, then to a shopping centre for the Chinese.”3 While Chinatowns in North Amer­i­ca are now considered lived-in communities, tourist attractions, and historical gems, for the majority of Hollywood filmmakers and audiences, “Chinatown” has always been, and remains ­today, a site of mystery. In classical Hollywood films, Chinatown was a favorite space used by screenwriters and producers to offer a homegrown exotic world—­one that was physically close but si­mul­ta­neously culturally foreign. As Ruth Mayer argues, Chinatowns are “complex urban phenomena ­shaped by immigration politics, racialized discourses revolving around public health and citizenship, tourism, trade relations, commercial exchanges, missionary ambitions, ­labor exploitation, and cultural self-­fashioning.”4 Chinatowns represent both Chinese culture but also Orientalism, a sphere of protection for Chinese immigrants but also of withdrawal or alienation from mainstream society.5 Amer­i­ca’s Chinatowns became associated with crime for several reasons: first, ­because newspapers tended to publish only stories about crime when writing about Chinatowns; second, ­because newspapers connected e­very Chinatown murder to a tong war or crime racket; third, b­ ecause novels and films set in Chinatown capitalized on such stories to attract readers and view­ ers; and last—­and most impor­tant—­because being Chinese in Amer­i­ca was, in many ways, regarded as being criminal in and of itself.6 To be Chinese in Amer­i­ca was to be alien: Chinese w ­ ere regarded as heathen despite being reli­ gious, ­because they ­were not Christian; feminized despite their hard ­labor on the railroads, ­because the men wore tunics and had long hair, as well as per­ forming “­women’s” work such as cooking and laundry; backward despite their own rich and old culture, ­because many could not speak En­glish; and immoral despite their own social values, b­ ecause they took part in gambling and prostitution. Every­thing about Chinatown evoked the alien (queues, joss ­houses, lotteries, and herbalism) and the morally corrupt (opium smoking, prostitution, purported rat eating, and gambling). The populations of China­ towns ­were predominantly male (notably a result of the 1875 Page Act, which discouraged the immigration of Chinese ­women)—­forming a bachelor soci­ ety that, importantly for Americans, lacked nuclear families. Especially in California, where Chinese p­ eople ­were more vis­i­ble than in other parts of the country, white Americans feared that the members of this alien race would outnumber the established immigrants and that the seemingly criminal culture of the Chinese would come to dominate—in other words,

Introduction  •  5

whites feared the so-­called yellow peril (Figure 1.1). Chinatown life was associ­ ated on the one hand with imperial China (a seemingly traditionalist, outdated, and anti-­A merican culture) and on the other hand with modern crime (opium dens, alien smuggling, prostitution, and gambling). In 1924, the fear of the country’s being flooded with Chinese immigrants began to abate with the pass­ ing of the Immigration Act (also known as the Johnson-­Reed Act), which halted all Chinese immigration. Almost immediately came the creation of benign and heroic Chinese characters—­most famously Charlie Chan, the Chi­ nese detective from Honolulu; however, yellow peril fears did not dissipate completely and many filmmakers continued to depict Chinatown crime rack­ ets or Oriental villains. By the 1930s, the associations of the Chinese with crime remained and “Chinatown” became a signifier detached from its original signification. The idea of Chinatown evoked not an image of a Chinese community but a mysterious, dangerous, and unknowable space. Producers used “Chinatown” in film titles to capitalize on the appeal of the district to audiences—­even when the film’s action did not center ­there, for example A Trip to Chinatown (Kerr 1926), Torchy Blane in Chinatown (Beaudine 1939), and Chinatown (Polanski 1974). In other words, the image of Chinatown con­ structed in American film between the two World Wars became the image of Chinatown—­cemented in the past and recycled in films for de­cades a­ fter. While Chinatown as a city quarter retained its nineteenth-­century associ­ ations for twentieth-­century film audiences, the repre­sen­ta­tion of its residents (Chinese Americans) did evolve. Beginning in the 1930s, in its pursuit of impe­ rialist goals, Japan became increasingly antagonistic t­oward China, and the former’s aggressions culminated in the Second Sino-­Japanese War. As a result, the Chinese w ­ ere recast in Hollywood film as sympathetic allies of the United States. In the 1910s and 1920s, Chinatown had been the subject of serious and star-­driven dramas; in contrast, in the 1930s, it was relegated to the site of low-­ budget crime films. And while in the 1910s and 1920s, Chinatown crime was connected to Chinese tongs and opium, in the 1930s crimes associated with the Chinese ­were ­those related to immigrant smuggling rings that could be run by supposedly upstanding white Americans. The Japa­nese attack on Pearl Har­ bor in 1941 brought the United States into World War II and provided the country with a new Asian ­enemy. Two years ­later, the Magnuson Act repealed Chinese exclusion, allowing the entry of 105 Chinese immigrants a year into the United States. With Chinese immigration once more ­legal (even if limited) and the visibility of a growing population of American-­born Chinese, Holly­ wood film all but abandoned Chinatown crime as a topic and instead offered assimilated Chinese American characters. The role of the Oriental villain was passed to the Japa­nese, and yellow peril fears now focused on war crimes. Criminalization/Assimilation: Chinese/Americans and Chinatowns in Classical Hollywood Film traces the vari­ous ways that Hollywood explored and

FIG. 1.1  ​“A Romantic Drama of Oriental Vengeance”—­Many Chinatown films, including

The Sign of Poppy (1916), used “yellow peril” villains to attract audiences. Advertisement from Moving Picture World (December 1916), courtesy of the Media History Digital Library (http://­mediahistoryproject​.­org).

Introduction  •  7

exploited Chinatown communities and Chinese immigrants in genre films up to 1950. The scope of the book is limited to the period of classical Hollywood ­because of the standardization in terms of film style and content in that era. The choice to single out the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese Americans from the broader group of Asian Americans was based on that fact that American soci­ ety’s conception of other Asian p­ eoples was dependent on its understanding of Chinese ­people, who w ­ ere the most numerous Asian immigrants in the nine­ teenth ­century.7 The study is also restricted to films set in the United States ­because Hollywood drew a distinction between ­those and films set elsewhere (such as China or London’s Lime­house District) in terms of their themes and characterization of Chinese ­people. Films set in London do not engage with questions of Chinese American identity even when Asian American actors are pres­ent, and films set in China valorized Chinese peasants that would be iden­ tified as unwanted coolies in films set in the United States. Class seemed to be a more impor­tant issue than race for American screenwriters and filmmakers, as only Chinese merchants or university students could be significant and pos­ itive characters, seen as middle-­class immigrants who shared the values of Hollywood. This book concludes with films of the 1940s when the Japa­nese replaced the Chinese as Amer­i­ca’s yellow peril, classical Hollywood began its decline, and American race relations began to focus on African American civil rights. Tom Gunning confirms that in terms of race, the films of the 1950s and 1960s have a dif­fer­ent tone, with “the impact of the con­temporary American dilemma of racial equality often seeping in as a subtext.”8 The slash in the book’s title (in Chinese/Americans) indicates the difference between (but also a connection) in American film between Chinese-­born immigrants and American-­born citizens. As David Palumbo-­Liu argues, “ ‘Asian/American’ marks both the distinction installed between ‘Asian’ and ‘American’ and a dynamic, unsettled, and inclusive movement.”9 In this book, I use the terms “Chinese American” and “Asian American” without hyphen­ ation. As Peter Feng explains, “The hyphen implies that Asia and Amer­i­ca are discrete spaces that require bridging, obscuring the discursive construction of bound­aries that defines Asian and American as dif­fer­ent and mutually exclu­ sive.”10 The other slash in the book’s title (in Criminalization/Assimilation) par­ allels that in Chinese/Americans: in other words, Hollywood identified Chinese-­born immigrants with criminal activities while regarding American-­ born Chinese as assimilable citizens. By the 1930s, Hollywood films made an increasingly clear distinction between the two groups, with the latter possess­ ing American values: Chinese Americans w ­ ere presented as exotic but—​ fi ­ ­nally—­not foreign. Scholars have explored how racial identity in the United States is discussed mainly in terms of white versus black. In the 2010 census, African Americans ­were the largest racial minority in the country—­accounting for about 13 ­percent

8  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

of the population, while Asian Americans accounted for 5.6 ­percent.11 How­ ever, as Sucheng Chan argues, “the presence of Asians on American soil high­ lighted some fundamental cleavages in Amer­i­ca society. This fact makes Asian immigration history more impor­tant than the small number of Asians in the United States might other­wise warrant.”12 And K. Scott Wong explains that historical attitudes of white Americans ­toward African Americans and Chi­ nese Americans w ­ ere dif­fer­ent: “On the one hand, Chinese w ­ ere considered as inferior to black Americans, ‘incapable of attaining the state of civilization [as] the Caucasian.’ On the other hand, Chinese ­were regarded as less assimilable than black Americans b­ ecause, it was believed, the Chinese had once had an advanced civilization to which they clung.”13 Dana Y. Takagi argues that even though race relations in the United States are determined through the com­ parison of white and African American experiences, Asian Americans are “central,” not “peripheral,” to debates about race.14 Importantly, while race relations in the United States since the mid-­twentieth c­ entury have been articu­ lated in reference to African Americans, before World War II, films typically explored questions of race through a comparison of white Americans and Chi­ nese immigrants. Relatedly, although African American racialization was cre­ ated mainly through segregation, the racialization of Asians in Amer­i­ca was created mainly through restricting immigration and naturalization.15 It is for this reason among o­ thers that this book focuses on the history of Chinese Americans in mainstream film—to understand how, through film, Amer­i­ca constructed and defined its national identity for itself and the rest of the world. As John Kuo Wei Tchen argues, “The use of Chinese ­things, ideas, and ­people in the United States, in vari­ous ­imagined and real forms, has been instrumental in forming this nation’s cultural identity”—­conceiving of China as “an advanced civilization” to emulate and then, l­ater, as a place to conquer as part of Amer­i­ca’s Manifest Destiny to expand ever westward.16 Criminalization/Assimilation explores the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese immi­ grants through popu­lar film b­ ecause, as Robert G. Lee observes, “The ‘com­ mon’ understanding of the Oriental as a racialized alien . . . ​originates in the realm of popu­lar culture, where strug­gles over who is or who can become a ‘real American’ take place and where the categories, repre­sen­ta­tions, distinctions, and markers of race are defined.”17 Film is a key medium through which to analyze the repre­sen­ta­tions of American Chinese and to understand the sociopo­liti­cal forces determining ­those repre­sen­ta­tions and their shifting meaning in American culture. In Hollywood a few films ­were made by, and often for, American Chinese, including Blossom Time (Sunn 1934) and A Chinese Gains a Fortune in Amer­i­ca (1939),18 both produced by the Grandview Film Com­pany; Sum Hun (Tang 1936), produced by Cathay Pictures; and Golden Gate Girl (Eng 1941), produced by the Golden Gate Film Com­pany. All four films ­were set in San Francisco with dialogue in Cantonese, and all

Introduction  •  9

but one ­were love stories. ­These films, while impor­tant examples of self-­ representation, did not have an impact on mainstream audiences. Criminalization/Assimilation focuses instead on the repre­sen­ta­tions of Chinatown and American Chinese in Hollywood films that reached both national and international audiences and ­shaped Amer­ic­ a’s national identity. Criminalization/Assimilation explores the variety of Hollywood’s responses to social issues (specifically immigration and racism) and social prob­lems (primarily drug trafficking and prostitution), as well as the impact of the Motion Picture Production Code (Hollywood’s system of self-­censorship) and other industry ­factors (including stardom and in­de­pen­dent production) on the treatment of ­those subjects. Hollywood did not invent the ste­reo­types of Chinese p­ eople it presented on the silver screen, but it did perpetuate and reinforce them. As Wong writes, “By placing ­these images in their historical context, it becomes clear that impressions and depictions of ‘Chinatown’ have been used for sociopo­liti­cal purposes that have much more to do with the agendas of the framers of ­these repre­sen­ta­tions than they do with the residents of China­ town.”19 From silent-­era melodramas to classical-­era B films, Criminalization/ Assimilation examines how American filmmakers exploited both yellow peril fears and the American fascination with Chinatowns to attract audiences. Chinese/Americans si­mul­ta­neously provided American filmmakers with box-­ office fodder while their identity was subjected to scrutiny and stereotyping by American racial attitudes. The discussion of Chinese/Americans in American film began in Asian American scholarship in the 1970s, which exposed Amer­i­ca’s systemic racism ­toward Asian immigrants and highlighted the contributions of Asian Ameri­ can artists who challenged mainstream conceptions. Questions of identity politics played a key role not only in assisting the empowerment of ethnic minorities in Amer­i­ca but also in challenging the cultural hegemony of American culture and leading to the racial and po­liti­cal construct of the Asian American. Asian American identity can be defined by ethnicity, ances­ tral descent, and cultural tradition; however, Jun Xing argues that this defi­ nition can be problematic, lumping dif­fer­ent Asian ­peoples together and not taking into consideration an individual’s country of birth or cultural experi­ ences.20 ­Today, Asian American scholars examine and challenge how Asian Americans are regarded and excluded from dominant cultural discourses—­ what Taro Iwata calls “the oppositional agency of a supposedly united Asian Amer­i­ca.”21 Scholars also recognize, however, that an essentialist idea of Asian American identity can be used by mainstream culture to construct ethnic ste­ reo­types or the idea of a cohesive ethnic community as a threat.22 Beginning with scholars like Lisa Lowe in the 1990s, the examination of Asian American experiences has explored their diversity—­specifically, their heterogeneity, hybridity, and multiplicity.23 Kent A. Ono argues that since the early 2000s,

10  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

Asian American studies has moved into its second phase—­which questions, rather than breaks with, the precepts of the first.24 Asian American scholars now avoid narrow definitions of cultural identity and instead, question main­ stream assumptions about racial and ethnic identity. ­A fter all, as Xing explains, identity is not fixed or identical, and “ancestry does not guarantee a common identification.”25 Criminalization/Assimilation focuses primarily on Chinese immigrants to isolate the repre­sen­ta­tion of national identity and citizenship, despite Hollywood’s tendency to conflate dif­fer­ent nationalities. As Karla Rae Fuller argues, for Hollywood the “Oriental exists as an ethnic classification (though loosely based on Asian culture) that supersedes national or racial identity.”26 For this reason, at vari­ous points in the book, I use the term “Asian American” rather than “Chinese American” when appropriate and the term “white” rather than “Caucasian” to avoid the negative associations that come with that term.27 In terms of film, ­there has been a proliferation of scholarship that, since the early 1990s, has explored Asian American racial identity in film28 and, more recently, transnational Asian American identity in a global world.29 ­These stud­ ies have foregrounded Chinese American in­de­pen­dent film,30 postclassical Hollywood film from the 1970s onward,31 higher-­profile classical A films,32 and/ or white per­for­mances in yellowface.33 Criminalization/Assimilation aims to fill gaps in the discussion of Chinese/Americans in mainstream American by examining four de­cades of filmmaking and two dif­fer­ent genres (melodramas and crime films) that ­were the most prolific in terms of depicting Chinatowns and Chinese immigrants. While some scholars focus on the repre­sen­ta­tions of China in Hollywood film,34 this book interrogates not Amer­i­ca’s China but Amer­i­ca’s Chinese Amer­i­ca.35 American ­silent films and sound-­era B films ­were intrigued by Chinese immigrants and their potential effect on mainstream culture. In general, American films moved from denying the subjectivity of Chinese/Americans to providing an identification with the “other” even if that is not the sole focus of the film. As the classical era progressed, Chinese immigrants become Chinese Americans—­that is, American citizens. How­ ever, this progression was not consistent, and while some filmmakers of the early 1930s demonstrated thoughtfulness in the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese Americans and cast Asian American actors in leading roles, o­ thers continued to link Chinatown with crime and cast white actors in yellowface. It would not be ­until the early 1960s, in a reflection of the impact of the civil rights move­ ment, that Asian Americans would appear in an increasing number of leading roles in films such as Walk Like a Dragon (Clavell 1960) and Flower Drum Song (Koster 1961), and not u­ ntil the 1970s that an in­de­pen­dent Chinese Ameri­ can cinema would emerge that allowed Chinese Americans to depict their experience of American life in films, the best known example of which is Wayne Wang’s Chan Is Missing (1982).

Introduction  •  11

Fuller argues that the distinctions between the portrayals of Asian charac­ ters by white actors versus ­those by Asian/American actors are “frequently col­ lapsed by scholars, critics, and viewers in order to create a generalized Asian typology.”36 Criminalization/Assimilation aims to overturn the myth that classical-­era films presented a united front in terms of their repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese/Americans—in other words, to pull at that supposed homogeneity and show how vari­ous strands (yellowface versus Asian/American per­for­mance and Chinese immigrants versus Chinese American citizens) are distinct. For example, many scholars focus on the Oriental villain like Dr. Fu Manchu and the model minority like Charlie Chan as character types. However, ­these two ste­reo­types are, for the most part, aligned with yellowface casting and ignore instances when Asian Americans ­were cast. Instead, Criminalization/Assimilation examines the vari­ous ways that Chinese immigrants, Chinese American citizens, and Chinatown communities are represented in American film and maps the shift from the criminalization of foreign immigrants to the valoriza­ tion of assimilated citizens. Importantly, Criminalization/Assimilation explores how the per­for­mance of Asian/American actors offers moments of re­sis­tance in Orientalist narratives and demonstrates contributions to the film industry. “Eurocentrism” emerged as a rationale for colonialism and was “naturalized as ‘common sense’ ” within Western cultures.37 In other words, a Eurocentric (or, more specifically, an Ori­ entalist) approach to viewing the world is so ingrained in Western culture that it appears to be natu­ral rather than constructed. As Gunning observes, “per­ haps the most impor­tant lesson that studying ethnic identity in the movies can teach us is the constructed nature of all repre­sen­ta­tion.”38 Criminalization/ Assimilation aims to expose the constructedness of Chinese/American repre­ sen­ta­tion and to clarify to what end it served the filmmakers who produced, and the audiences who consumed, films at the time. While some scholars have detailed the ste­reo­types of Chinese American repre­sen­ta­tion, less discussed has been the key part that Asian American actors played in Hollywood films, even if mainly in secondary roles. And while other scholars have recently produced critical biographies of some Asian Americans, t­ hese have focused on Holly­ wood’s best known actors such as Sessue Hayakawa, Anna May Wong, and Philip Ahn.39 This has left the contributions of lesser-­known but prolific actors—­including Yutaka Abe, Benson Fong, Toyo Fujita, Willie Fung, Ches­ ter Gan, Sôjin Kamiyama, Goro Kino, Eddie Lee, Lotus Long, Richard Loo, Toshia Mori, Frank Tokunaga, Tôgô Yamamoto, and Victor Sen Yung—­ underexplored. This book examines a larger group of Asian American actors who may have not been high-­profile stars or cast in leading roles, but whose presence on the screen marked a re­sis­tance against systemic racism, omission, and the practice of yellowface and offered moments of self-­determination in the repre­sen­ta­tion of Asian American l­ abor in the industry and their identity

12  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

on the screen. To that end, a key aim of this book is to participate in what Iwata calls “the recent trend to reject essentialist interpretations of history (i.e., see­ ing whites only as victimizers and groups of color only as victims).”40 ­Today, t­ here is a debate of ­whether being pres­ent on the screen is positive in and of itself, even if cast as a ste­reo­type.41 Repre­sen­ta­tions of Chinese/Ameri­ cans in classical Hollywood film have been underexamined by scholars ­because of the systemic racism they reflect, but such a dismissal can be reductive. As Gunning comments, “simply attacking images as false can create what I feel is a dangerous oversimplification.”42 Robert Stam and Louise Spence argue that scholars need to move beyond talking about positive and negative repre­sen­ta­ tions of race and instead think about cinematic possibilities of otherness.43 Sim­ ilarly, Richard Rushton and Gary Bettinson confirm that “distinguishing between positive and negative images remains an impor­tant, if still overempha­ sized area of debate, even while theoretical approaches have become more subtle.”44 Feng argues that “first, ­there is no such ­thing as a positive or negative repre­sen­ta­tion, rather, t­ here are repre­sen­ta­tions that are mobilized positively or negatively depending on the discursive context; second, repre­sen­ta­tions cre­ ated by non-­Asian American filmmakers are not necessarily racist, nor are the repre­sen­ta­tions created by Asian American filmmakers necessarily progres­ sive. . . . ​Both mainstream and marginal repre­sen­ta­tions of Asian Americans articulate the terms whereby the borders of the American body politic are policed.”45 To reject all films that offer ste­reo­typed or contested repre­sen­ta­tions as racist is not as useful as understanding how and why they are racist. In addi­ tion, to explore classical films allows for the cele­bration of other repre­sen­ta­tions that offer moments of re­sis­tance. Importantly, while yellowface can be seen as a by-­product of industry pressures to cast stars in leading roles, not to interro­ gate its practice is an oversight. While the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese/Americans is determined, in part, by American race relations, it is also dependent on the conventions of film genres, which dictate certain themes, character relations, plot ele­ments, and tones. Certain genres—­mainly, newspaper crime films, mystery films, and social melodramas—­linked Chinese immigrants and Chinatown communities with crime.46 Genre criticism has often attempted only to regulate, classify, and explain film through genre; instead, Nick Browne argues that scholars should consider genres as gravitating ­toward “discreet, heterotopic instances of a com­ plex cultural politics.”47 Rather than regarding a genre as a cohesive body of films with common conventions produced over a long period of time, I argue that genres can be broken down into specific trends or cycles that are the prod­ uct of specific sociohistorical, economic, and industrial moments. In the retrospective analy­sis of classical American film ­today, it is impor­tant not to apply our values and expectations anachronistically to that historical moment. ­These films ­were produced before the civil rights movement, and ­there

Introduction  •  13

was no push at the time from the Chinese immigrant community for equal rights, self-­empowerment, and re­spect. Rather than being critical of the roles that they played, Asian American actors tended to express gratitude for being able to work in the industry and represent their ­people in an era when they gen­ erally lacked visibility. For example, the Chinese American actor Keye Luke, who played Charlie Chan’s Number One Son in ten films, described Chan as “a Chinese hero” for Chinese Americans like himself.48 Furthermore, the pres­ ence of Asian Americans in film offered moments of re­sis­tance against domi­ nant racist repre­sen­ta­tions. For example, in the short film Hollywood Party (Rowland 1937), the white actors Elissa Landi and Charley Chase host an Asian-­ themed garden party, complete with white girls in Chinese dress and Chase in yellowface as “Charley Chan Chase.” Despite the obvious conflation of Japa­ nese and Chinese culture, Chase’s distasteful yellowface per­for­mance, and the comedic approach of the film to Asian cultures, Anna May Wong offers a fash­ ion show in one scene in the film as the “China lady of fashion.” Wong attempts to dispel the notion that China and its ­women are trapped in the past by modeling examples of Chinese “modern dress,” as she calls it—­including an “after­noon dress in the famous Peking blue”; a cheongsam in imperial yellow; and a blue cape with imperial brocade but, importantly, in the latest Western fashion. Wong challenges other assumptions about Chinese culture when she turns to a Chinese assistant and speaks in Mandarin. The girl replies in per­ fect En­glish, “Sorry, but I only understand Cantonese.” Wong replies, “Oh, I thought I could brush up on my Mandarin.” Hollywood Party demonstrates white ignorance and exoticization of Asian cultures while, at the same time, Wong’s re­sis­tance to it. While Asian American actors may have found the majority of Hollywood’s repre­sen­ta­tions of their p­ eople and culture at best inaccurate and at worst offensive, ­there was no tradition or outlet for voicing ­those concerns. Being vis­i­ble in Amer­i­ca’s repre­sen­ta­tion of itself on screen was, in many ways, the first opportunity t­ hese actors had to challenge and change racial stereotyping. Criminalization/Assimilation provides a comprehensive understanding of classical Hollywood’s repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese/Americans by bringing two disparate critical traditions—­Asian American studies and film studies—­into conversation and analyzing the films as situated in their sociopo­liti­cal, histori­ cal, and industrial contexts.49 In other words, this book is not intended to be a contribution to Asian American studies specifically or to film studies only. Rather, it is intended to enhance and expand our understanding of the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese Americans in film and our appreciation of the con­ tribution of Asian American actors to the industry. The discussion of the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese immigrants in this book is historical in approach. As Colleen Lye notes, “A historical approach to racial repre­sen­ta­tion has the advan­ tage of being able to account for the specificities of dif­fer­ent marginalized

14  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

groups, whose ste­reo­typical attributes are located in shifting dynamics of social relations and social conflicts. A historical approach also helps us to maintain a healthy skepticism . . . ​­toward the temptation to think that the articulation of minority subjectivity can be separated from the history of racialization.”50 Criminalization/Assimilation not only analyzes the long and complex history of the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese/Americans in American film in the first half of the twentieth ­century, but it also brings to light lost or forgotten films and per­for­mances. According to a Library of Congress study, at least 75 ­percent of the almost 11,000 ­silent films released by major studios have been lost.51 Even copies of classical-­era sound films can be hard to locate, especially ­those produced by smaller and less-­established studios. In t­ hese cases, our understanding of lost films must be guided by the production materials peripheral to the film—­such as advertisements, reviews, stills, and plot synopses. In Criminalization/Assimilation, the close analyses of specific films and their repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese/ Americans are informed by the materials contemporaneous to the films that illuminate Amer­i­ca’s attitude ­toward the repre­sen­ta­tion of race at dif­fer­ent times and substitute for the film itself when it does not exist. For example, it is only thanks to a detailed plot synopsis for exhibitors and collectors created by Selig Polyscope for The Lights and Shadows of Chinatown (1908) that we know anything about this early film. According to the synopsis, the film included a street scene with vegetable vendors, fish sellers, fortune-­tellers, and merchants selling their wares to locals and tourists alike; a joss ­house scene with hatchet men taking an oath to kill; and an opium den scene.52 Thus, in addition to analyzing the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese/Americans in films that can be viewed, Criminalization/Assimilation also describes the vari­ous types of sto­ ries, characters, and themes in films that no longer exist to illuminate the atti­ tudes of producers and audiences alike ­toward Chinese immigrants. The primary research for this book was conducted at vari­ous archives and libraries. As Charles Merewether states, “one of the defining characteristics of the modern era has been the increasing significance given to the archive as the means by which historical knowledge and forms of remembrance are accumu­ lated, stored and recovered.”53 The UCLA Film and Tele­vi­sion Archive in Los Angeles and the Library of Congress in Washington are vital resources for screening hard-­to-­find films. The Margaret Herrick Library, USC Cinematic Arts Library, and Warner Bros. Archive (all in Los Angeles) have extensive script collections, including early outlines and treatments of films. Analyzing alterations made across scripts is an impor­tant way to trace how producers met the requirements of the Production Code and the demands of the Chinese con­ sul in Los Angeles. The Margaret Herrick Library’s special collections include studio collections (for example, the Paramount Pictures Production Rec­ords Collection) and institution rec­ords (such as ­those of the Motion Picture Asso­

Introduction  •  15

ciation of Amer­i­ca’s Production Code Administration [PCA]). While schol­ ars have documented the impact of the Production Code on the repre­sen­ta­ tion of sex and vio­lence, its regulation of the repre­sen­ta­tion of race has not been explored to the same degree. PCA files on individual films reveal a sensitivity on the part of the PCA to the fact that some depictions and dialogue would be offensive to Chinese audiences, as well as a concern with dialogue that sug­ gested overtly that racism was a prob­lem in American society. The film reviews consulted for this study range from ­those in major newspapers (such as the Los Angeles Times and New York Times) and fan magazines (such as Photoplay) aimed at filmgoers to ­those in film industry trade publications (such as Motion Picture Daily, Moving Picture World, and Variety) aimed at exhibitors.54 In the past, scholars would have had to locate physical copies of t­ hese papers and mag­ azines; ­today, many historical newspapers are searchable online and, thanks to David Pierce and Eric Hoyt, many trade papers and fan magazines are now searchable through the Media History Digital Library.55 While ­these physical and virtual archives provide materials related to texts, which are especially useful in the absence of ­those texts, the materials them­ selves must be analyzed as cultural objects. Th ­ ere is always an inconsistency in the materials available for each film (for example, reviews, stills, and scripts are available for some films but not for ­others), t­ here is often a lack of information to identify the materials (for example, the only script available may be an early draft rather than the final shooting script) and a hierarchy in terms of what materials are preserved (for example, major studios often preserve and donate their materials, whereas many smaller studios dis­appeared along with their materials), and t­ here is the potential to misinterpret the meaning of a film by analyzing other resources in its absence (for example, some reviewers do not clarify if Chinese characters are played by Asian American or white actors). Fur­ thermore, reviews must be read as critically as the film themselves, since they reflect the biases of the time. For example, in reference to An Oriental Romance (Lessey 1915), a reviewer for Moving Picture World commented that “the role of a stolid faced Chinaman is an exceedingly difficult one for an animated American actor to impersonate satisfactorily.”56 ­Here the criticism is not that an American actor cannot play the role of a Chinese man satisfactorily, but that ­there is something about Chinese men—in terms of their physical and behav­ ioral characteristics—­that is unsatisfactory. Nevertheless, without ­these archi­ val materials, t­ hese films might remain lost or forgotten. The research for this book also involved exploring the broader history of Amer­i­ca’s Chinese immigrants and included visits to the Chinatowns of Honolulu, Los Angeles, New York, Portland, San Diego, and San Francisco in the United States and Toronto, Vancouver, and Victoria in Canada. The San Diego Chinese Historical Museum, the Chinese American Museum in Los Angeles, and Chinese Historical Society of Amer­i­ca in San Francisco provide

16  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

informative exhibitions and publications detailing the history of Chinese immigration. The Main Branch of the San Francisco Public Library includes the Chinese Center, the San Francisco History Center, and the San Francisco Historical Photo­graph Collection and contains a full run of the Chinese Digest. The Los Angeles Public Library and San Francisco Public Library w ­ ere the main sources for the West Coast newspapers I researched. As Jan Olsson argues, newspaper discourses in the early twentieth ­century w ­ ere “the ner­vous system of the modern world.”57 Since the majority of Chinatown films are set in San Francisco’s Chinatown, I relied mostly on the San Francisco newspa­ pers, especially the San Francisco Chronicle (the city’s leading daily at the time) to establish a comparison between Hollywood film and print media in terms of their repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese immigrants.58 In addition, as Clare V. McK­ anna,  Jr. suggests, headlines in West Coast newspapers revealed the racial prejudice of the editors and general public.59 What distinguishes Criminalization/Assimilation from other studies of Chinese/Americans in film is its interdisciplinarity (it is informed by Asian American studies, cultural studies, film studies, and film history), which allows it to provide an in-­depth and wide-­ranging examination of the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese/Americans in film by connecting ­those filmic depictions to the sociohistorical moment that conceived of them, as well as the film industry and its practices.60 Criminalization/Assimilation also differs from other studies since it focuses on Chinese immigrants, rather than the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese ­people in China or of other Asian immigrants in the United States. It also illu­ minates the range and number of per­for­mances by Asian American actors rather than only t­ hose by white actors in yellowface and brings to light dozens of films that have been previously ignored or lost. While it would be impossi­ ble to discuss Asian American per­for­mances without addressing t­ hose of stars such as Sessue Hayakawa and Anna May Wong, the book also analyzes the per­ for­mances of many other Asian American actors, including the Japa­nese American actors of the s­ ilent era and the Chinese American actors of the sound era. And rather than dismissing the ste­reo­t ypes of Chinese/Americans as racist, Criminalization/Assimilation asks why they came about and how the presence of Asian American actors onscreen offered moments of re­sis­tance to the mainstream attitudes. Through the critical analy­sis of Chinatown films situated in the social, po­liti­cal, and economic contexts of the first half of the twentieth ­century, and informed by extensive archival research, Criminalization/Assimilation reveals the variety of racial repre­sen­ta­tions within classical-­era film and brings to light not only lost and forgotten films but also the contributions of Asian American actors whose presence onscreen offered impor­tant alternatives to Hollywood’s yellowface fabrications of Chinese identity and a re­sis­tance to Hollywood’s Orientalist narratives.

Introduction  •  17

Criminalization/Assimilation maps how Chinese immigration was pro­ cessed in American film and exposes how entertainment can drive and per­ petuate negative attitudes ­toward, and conceptions of, immigrant groups. ­Every wave of migration brings with it fears of racial, religious, and cultural difference—­from the Chinese railroad builders in the nineteenth ­century to the Hungarian refugees of the 1950s and from the Viet­nam­ese boat ­people of the 1970s to the Syrian, Afghan, and Iraqi refugees of the 2010s. As other refu­ gees seek asylum and the global population becomes increasingly diverse, it is impor­tant not to reduce t­ hose mi­grant cultures to ste­reo­types of ignorance and racism as was done in the past. Th ­ ere must be other ways to understand and represent immigrants and hybrid American identities besides criminalizing them for their differences and praising them only when they assimilate.

2

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze Hollywood’s Constructions of Chinese/Americans The ste­reo­types that appeared in American film in the first half of the twentieth ­century ­were born out of a reaction to the growing Chinese population, start­ ing in the second half of the nineteenth c­ entury. As Roger Garcia explains, “ ‘Asian Americans’ have been part of Amer­i­ca for almost as long as its exis­ tence. They have certainly been intrinsic to the prosperity of the nation. From the Chinese building the railways of the nineteenth ­century, through the gar­ ment and apparel sweatshops of Amer­i­ca’s inner cities, to the many Asians who have helped build Silicon Valley ­today, Asian Americans have contributed to the core industries of Amer­i­ca.”1 However, t­hose contributions have been mostly ignored by mainstream culture. The initial wave of Chinese migration to North Amer­i­ca occurred as conditions in the Guangdong region of China deteriorated due to flood, famine, and po­liti­cal upheavals in the 1840s and 1850s and conditions in Amer­i­ca seemed more attractive, especially with the discovery of gold in 1848 in California (known as Gam Saan [Gold Mountain] in Cantonese). By 1852, 25,000 Chinese immigrants had come to Califor­ nia.2 Importantly, most came as wah gung—­mi­grant laborers and sojourners who hoped to become wealthy and return to China within a few years.3 ­Later, more Chinese ­people followed to build North Amer­i­ca’s transcontinental rail­ roads when white laborers proved reluctant to do the backbreaking and often 18

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  19

dangerous work required. Historians estimate that the number of Chinese working on the railroads between 1864 and 1869 was somewhere between 10,000 and 15,000.4 By the 1870s, Chinese immigrants constituted 10 ­percent of California’s population, and by 1882, 110,000 Chinese immigrants w ­ ere liv­ ing in the United States, mainly in urban centers in California and other West­ ern states.5 Following the completion of the railroads, Chinese immigrants had to look for other work in agriculture in rural areas and in manufacturing, small businesses, and domestic ser­vice in the cities. As Timothy Fong explains, “in short, the Chinese w ­ ere involved in many occupations that w ­ ere crucial to the economic development and domestication of the western region of the United States.”6 Most Chinese laborers who could no longer find employment in the mines or on the railroads went to San Francisco’s Chinatown. While in 1860 almost 90 ­percent of Chinese immigrants lived in mining areas, by 1950 90 ­percent lived in metropolitan areas.7 This vis­i­ble and growing Chinese immigrant population incited a social panic among white Americans in face of the perceived yellow peril. As Gina Marchetti explains, that fear had its roots in medieval Eu­rope’s fear that Geng­ his Khan and his Mongol tribes would invade and that the “irresistible, dark, occult forces of the East” would overpower the West.8 In California, the fear was that Chinese immigrants, regarded originally as only temporary and nec­ essary cheap l­ abor, might ­settle and the once colonized “other” might upset the imperialist hierarchy ­because of sheer numbers. Yellow peril fears manifested themselves through economic discrimination, po­liti­cal disenfranchisement, prejudice, vio­lence, exclusion, segregation, and incarceration.9 The yellow peril fear, however, was not merely that Chinese immigrants would soon outnumber the immigrants from Eu­rope, but also that their culture—­with its perceived evils of heathenism, gambling, and opium—­would replace that of white Amer­i­ca. An 1896 article in the San Francisco Call warned its readers: “­There are not less than 2000 native sons and ­daughters in San Fran­ cisco’s Chinatown, in whose veins Chinese blood flows, and who are lawful heirs of American citizenship. A small army of Mongols is marching leisurely along the dusty highway of time t­ oward the ultimate and sure ballot-­box.”10 ­Children born to Chinese immigrants in the United States ­were entitled to American citizenship and, therefore, the right to vote on a par with white men. The issue became known in the newspapers as “the Chinese question,” based on a cartoon by Thomas Nast in Harper’s Weekly, which depicted Irish labor­ ers protesting the protection Columbia (a Lady Liberty figure) was afford­ ing a Chinese sojourner.11 Nast’s cartoon criticized the fear-­mongering and mob mentality demonstrated by white immigrants t­oward Chinese immigrants.12 In contrast, the term “the Chinese question” was used by the anti-­Chinese movement as indicative of a prob­lem facing not only Cali­ fornia but the East Coast as well. According to a newspaper article from

20  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

1900, “the ‘Chinese Question’ is as perplexing a prob­lem to San Francisco as it is to the powers. What s­ hall be done with Chinatown?”13 One of the mea­sures that had the most impact was the attempt to control Chinese immigration and citizenship rights. In the nineteenth c­ entury, Chi­ nese immigrants w ­ ere prohibited from marrying white Eu­ro­pe­ans and denied American citizenship.14 The signing of the Burlingame Treaty in 1868 between the United States and China allowed the U.S.-­born c­ hildren of Chinese mi­grants to be American citizens, but the mi­grant parents would legally remain foreigners.15 The flow of immigration opened up by the treaty was halted by the Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, which permitted only Chinese merchants, students, teachers, travelers, and diplomats—­notably, not laborers—to apply for admission to the United States. Ten years ­later, the act came up for reau­ thorization, and the 1892 Geary Act added the requirement that Chinese labor­ ers must register to receive certificates of residence.16 However, the most restrictive act was the 1924 Immigration Act or Johnson-­Reed Act, which excluded all classes of Chinese immigrants. As Mae Ngai explains, the 1924 act was “the nation’s first comprehensive restriction law” that established “numerical limits on immigration and a global racial and national hierarchy that favored some immigrants over o­ thers”: in other words, Eu­ro­pe­ans (whites) w ­ ere wel­ comed while non-­Europeans (colored races) w ­ ere rejected.17 The U.S. l­egal system played a major role in constructing racial categories, translating social anx­i­eties about the assimilation of diverse groups of ­peoples into laws that defined ­people’s rights along the lines of racial and ethnic difference.18 Laws restricted where Chinese immigrants could live, go to school, and work, as well as whom they could marry and how many could enter the country. However, importantly, the laws also determined how whites regarded the place of Chinese immigrants in American society. For example, in a 1917 ­legal case, a Los Angeles District Court judge determined the value of Chinese testimony when he refused to consider the evidence of the Chinese witnesses, claiming that “the Chinese as a race w ­ ere unreliable.”19 While the appeals court rebuked the judge for his comments and reversed his ruling, it is apparent that such l­egal decisions affected how mainstream Americans viewed Chinese immigrants. In addition to being unwanted, Chinese immigrants ­were also criticized for not assimilating and instead choosing separation in Chinatown communities. For example, in an 1877 report, the Joint Special Committee of the Senate and House of Representatives concluded “that the Chinese do not desire to become citizens of this country; and have no knowledge of or appreciation for our insti­ tutions.”20 Similarly, in his 1885 book The Chinese at Home and Abroad, which included the “Report of the Special Committee of the Board of Supervisors of San Francisco,” Willard Farwell argues: “If it can be proved, incontrovertibly, that the Chinese at home are a race unfit in ­every aspect of life to mingle with and exist among a Christian community; if it can be proved that their race char­

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  21

acteristics are so utterly at variance with ­those of the Caucasian type that assimilation with that race is impossible; if it can be proved that their presence on our shores results alone in sowing the seeds of immorality, vice and disease among our ­people, and plunges a large mass of the laboring classes into pov­ erty and misery . . . ​what can t­ here be said in f­ avor of the longer toleration of the coming of this race?”21 Of course, what white Americans ignored was the fact that Chinese immigrants ­were not welcomed into mainstream society and as a result sought the comfort of p­ eople who shared their language and tradi­ tions.22 As Krystyn Moon argues, “conceptions of their deviance and inferior­ ity left l­ittle room for their ac­cep­tance into American society and culture.”23 In addition, many immigrants intended their stay in Amer­i­ca to be only a tem­ porary one, just long enough to uncover the riches of Gold Mountain. The majority failed to amass any wealth and, with ­family expectations preventing them from returning home u­ ntil they did, sojourners found themselves unex­ pectedly permanent residents and sought refuge in Chinatowns. White Americans ­were relatively recent immigrants to Amer­i­ca themselves, so why did they rail against the arrival of a similar group of immigrants arriv­ ing from across a dif­fer­ent ocean? As Gary Okihiro argues, we should not regard the yellow peril as “irrational or fantastic” but as “constructed with a purpose in mind and function to sustain social order” in the face of nonwhite p­ eople defying “white supremacy.”24 Western culture had firmly established a racial hierarchy in which whites w ­ ere supreme and “­others” w ­ ere deemed inferior and expected to be servile—as an expression of what Edward Said termed “Orien­ talism.”25 The West constructed a discourse in art, lit­er­a­ture, and politics about the Orient (including the M ­ iddle East, North Africa, and East Asia), defining it in a series of binaries that constructed it in opposition to the Occident (originally Eu­rope and l­ ater the United States)—­exotic versus familiar, dan­ gerous versus safe, savage versus civilized, and feminine versus masculine. As S. R. Moosavinia, N. Niazi, and Ahmad Ghaforian explain, “Orientalism as a Western discourse about the Orient is guilty of legitimizing civilizing mission, essentialism, expansionism and imperialism and on the other hand, convincing natives of their own inferiority.”26 Okihiro explains that the idea of the yellow peril functioned like Orientalism as a discourse “serving to contain the Other” and helping “to define white identity, within both a nationalist and an internationalist frame.”27 Or as Karen Leong argues, specifically “Amer­ ican orientalism” was manifested in images of Chinese ­people as “primitive, slavish, exotic, manipulative, and amoral” in contrast to American national­ ism, which produced images of white Americans as “modern, f­ree, civilized, and trustworthy.”28 The concept of “other,” although related, is broader than that of the “Oriental.” As Michael Richardson explains, the “other” may “be racially and culturally defined, determining the difference between par­tic­u­ lar groups or nations . . . ​, but it may also be defined by gender, religious or

22  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

ideological terms, between capitalism and communism, or between h ­ umans and non-­human forms.”29 In American popu­lar culture in the second half of the nineteenth ­century and the first half of the twentieth, the Chinese ­were both Orientalized and “othered.”

Yellow Peril Ste­reo­t ypes In the late nineteenth ­century and early twentieth, prominent authors and impor­tant newspapers alike criticized China as a country, attacked Chinese morality, and connected physical difference to cultural difference.30 The popu­ lar press and popu­lar culture took both the realities and misinterpretations of Amer­i­ca’s Chinese communities and configured them into a set of ste­reo­types that created an alien world. As Cheng-­Tsu Wu writes, “Besides the po­liti­cal and ­legal discrimination against the Chinese t­ here w ­ ere also per­sis­tent assaults on the Chinese character in motion pictures, newspapers, popu­lar fiction, comic strips, school textbooks, folklore, e­ tc. ­These w ­ ere very successful in creating the ste­reo­type of the Chinese as inscrutable, mysterious, rat-­eating, ‘pidgin’ English-­ speaking, Fu-­Manchu types of the most evil and sinister p­ eople. The ste­reo­ type for Chinatown was a filthy and loathsome ghetto area which was full of vices and crimes, secret trapdoors and underground passageways, e­ tc.”31 The first entertainment mass medium that capitalized on yellow peril fears was the dime novel, which sported lurid illustrated covers with yellow peril titles and portrayed Chinatown as a no-­man’s-­land populated with hatchet men and Chi­ nese vamps—­and, more importantly, as a place where the police lacked power or control. Stories that featured Chinatown opium dens served as a warning to white readers about the dangers of “experimenting” with foreign cultures.32 Chinatowns ­were also popu­lar settings for American stage plays, including Queen of Chinatown (1899), King of the Opium Ring (1899), and A Night in Chinatown (1900), and detective fiction such as Fergus Hume’s The Mystery of the Hansom Cab (1886). American filmmakers soon followed suit. The major film-­producing countries of the s­ ilent era, including Britain, France, Germany, and the United States, w ­ ere also the leading imperialist nations, and they relied on popu­lar fiction that embodied an “imperial imagi­ nary.”33 Imperialist tropes ­were recycled from films about China for ­those set in Chinatowns, depicting the latter as riddled not only with disease (represented by opium dens, slave girls, and tales of rat eating) but also with crime (repre­ sented by tong wars and hatchet men). Thus, Chinatowns—­their crime as well as their ­people and culture—­seemed to require policing by white Americans. The Chinese w ­ ere originally regarded as “other” due to their foreignness; even U.S.-­born assimilated Chinese Americans, however, ­were often “othered” in Hollywood film, as their physical traits trumped their cultural and linguistic Americanness.34 As Diane Negra explains, American films used ethnic char­

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  23

acters to “enact anx­i­eties connected with ‘New Immigration’ and to chart shifts in the white ideal.”35 While Negra is referring to ethnic whites (such as the Irish and Italians), the same holds true for the racial “other,” who embodied fears not just about cultural or religious otherness but also about physical and vis­i­ ble otherness: the former could be altered through assimilation, but the latter could not. And, while ethnic physiognomy could be bred out through inter­ marriage with whites, race could not, as most states had laws prohibiting miscegenation. Deenesh Sohoni argues that the broad impact of Amer­i­ca’s anti-­miscegenation laws was that they privileged the status of racial difference over nativity: in other words, even U.S.-­born Chinese ­were viewed in the eyes of the law as “foreign,” “unassimilable,” and “un-­American”—­unlike immi­ grants from Eu­rope, who could shed their “alien” identity over time.36 Most ethnic and racial minorities ­were subjected to stereotyping in Ameri­ can film, as in American culture, to confirm the bound­aries of American white­ ness. In terms of the repre­sen­ta­tion of African Americans, James Snead argues that mainstream film offers three types of repre­sen­ta­tion: “mythification,” the perpetuating of racial myths; “marking,” the reducing of race to a few physical traits; and “omission,” absence from the story or screen.37 Similar strategies w ­ ere employed in the case of Asian/Americans: the recycling of old ste­reo­types such as the Oriental villain represents mythification; the use of yellowface to show­ case established white actors while avoiding Asian American bodies and l­ abor represents marking; and the absence of Chinese/Americans in stories on the screen represents omission, as does the replacement of Chinese/American ­people by Chinatowns, opium dens, or opium smoking. The ste­reo­type of the Oriental villain, as Marchetti explains, emerged out of colonial expansion and domestic xenophobic exclusion, representing British ambivalence about the consequences of imperial conquest.38 In fiction, the first and still most famous Oriental villain was Dr. Fu Manchu, whom the British author Sax Rohmer described in 1916 in yellow peril terms: “Imagine a person, tall, lean and feline, high-­shouldered, with a brow like Shakespeare and a face like Satan, a close-­shaven skull, and long, magnetic eyes of the true cat-­green. Invest him with all the cruel cunning of an entire Eastern race, accumulated in one g­ iant intellect, with all the resources of science past and pres­ent, and you have a m ­ ental picture of Dr. Fu-­Manchu, the ‘Yellow Peril’ incarnate in one man.”39 Similarly, the American authors Jack London and James Oliver Cur­ wood echoed Amer­i­ca’s colonial discourse of the time with their adventure sto­ ries that w ­ ere full of references to the yellow peril.40 For example, Curwood’s best-­selling 1920 novel The River’s End featured the Chinese villain Shan Tung, described as sophisticated but inhuman: “It was as if a pair of mechanical eyes fixed in the head of an amazingly efficient mechanical monster had focused themselves on him in ­those few instants. It made him think of an X-­ray machine. But Shan Tung was ­human. And he was clever. Given another skin, one would

24  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

not have taken him for what he was. The immaculateness of his speech and manners was more than unusual; it was positively irritating, something which no Chinaman should rightfully possess.”41 Eugene F. Wong argues that the prototype of the cinematic Chinese villain in film was Long Sin (played by M.  W. Rale in yellowface) in the Pearl White serial The Exploits of Elaine (Gasnier, Seitz, Wharton, and Wharton 1914).42 Long Sin’s popularity led to imitators, including the more sinister Wu Fang (Warner Oland in yellowface) in the serial Patria (Wharton, Wharton, and Jaccard 1917), and in the late 1920s, Dr. Fu Manchu would move from the page to the American screen, played by the white actors H. Agar Lyons, Warner Oland, and Boris Karloff. It was not merely the Mephistophelean Oriental villain who reflected yellow peril fears, however, since the majority of Chinese characters w ­ ere presented as lacking morality. As Sue Fawn Chung notes, “Chinese laundrymen, laborers, miners, ­house­boys, opium smokers, idolators, criminals, and tong men w ­ ere portrayed as cruel, cunning, or diabolically ingenious.”43 Relatedly, as Karen Lynch argues, Chinatowns also “raised anx­i­eties about the effectiveness of British imperialism [as the] outward reaching attempts to dominate and convert entire cultures also entailed the inclusion of ­these cultures into the symbolic heart of the empire.”44 By the mid-1920s, yellow peril fears had begun to subside ­because of pas­ sage of the Immigration Act of 1924 and the visibility of a growing native-­born Chinese American population.45 The result was a new stereotype—­the model minority, the immigrant who abandoned their other culture in ­favor of Amer­ i­ca’s. In 1925, the Saturday Eve­ning Post launched a series by Earl Derr Biggers featuring Charlie Chan, the acculturated Chinese detective of the Honolulu Police Department. Chan was intended to be an antidote to the Oriental vil­ lain, an exemplar of the model minority. As John Stone, the producer of the original Charlie Chan films at the Fox studio, explained, Chan was “a refuta­ tion of the unfortunate Fu Manchu characterization of the Chinese.”46 Chan proved popu­lar with mainstream audiences, appearing in forty-­seven Ameri­ can films between 1926 and 1949. Despite the producer’s good intentions and Chan’s depiction as benevolent and heroic, Karla Rae Fuller argues that Hol­ lywood’s Oriental detectives like Chan “served the cultural status quo while appearing to modify it.”47 Marchetti agrees, arguing that Chan was the ideo­ logical continuation of Fu Manchu, especially as both ­were played in yellow­ face by Warner Oland. Similarly, Okihiro explains that “the concepts of the yellow peril and the model minority, although at apparent disjunction, form a seamless continuum,” both supporting white dominance.48 The model minority was nonassertive, the opposite of what was tradition­ ally considered masculine (or American). As Jane Chi Hyun Park argues, “Ori­ entalism is gendered: the East is figured as the eroticized, feminized other that exists to be known, penetrated, and subordinated by the masculinized West.”49 ­Until the 1940s, Chinese American male immigrants occupied a “feminized

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  25

position” in relation to the universalized national white male citizen: they tended to work in occupations associated with ­women (laundries, tailor shops, and restaurants) and ­were denied the opportunity to become American citi­ zens.50 The foreignness of their appearance also led Chinese men to be presented as more feminized in early American film, with their frames slimmer than ­those of white Americans, their long hair braided into a queue, and their traditional Chinese dress that included a long tunic. The idea of the Oriental was estab­ lished in Western culture as the antithesis of masculinity, and the link between sexuality and racialization in regard to Asian Americans has led critics to iden­ tify the Oriental villain as homosexual and the model minority as asexual.51 Chan’s impeccable manners and appearance, deferential be­hav­ior, intellectu­ alism, and lack of sexuality (despite his wife and brood of c­ hildren) marked him as distinctly un-­American. Chinese ­women w ­ ere similarly ste­reo­typed as ­either villainous (the dragon lady) or submissive (the China doll or lotus blossom). Just as the Oriental villain originated in imperialist lit­er­a­ture, Laura Hyun-­Yi Kang traces Hollywood’s repre­sen­ta­tion of Asian female bodies as “aestheti­ cally pleasing, sexually willing, and speechless” to the Orientalism of Eu­ro­pean painting and lit­er­a­ture.52

The Hollywood Industry In the early 1890s, moving pictures ­were short (30–60 seconds long) and shown to individual viewers on viewing machines like Thomas Edison’s Kinetoscope in arcades in New York City. By 1895, t­ hose short films w ­ ere projected for larger audiences with devices like the Lumière ­Brothers’ Cinematograph, and cinema was officially born. Early films ­were what Tom Gunning terms the “cinema of attractions”—­fi lms that fascinated audiences not by storytelling, but through novelty and the pre­sen­ta­tion of new spectacles.53 Chinatown and Chinese immigrants provided images of the foreign and mysterious to filmmakers with­ out the need to travel overseas. As the film historian Stephen Gong explains, filmmakers made films set in China—­the “oldest civilization in the world, and the one prob­ably least known to this new consumer society ­because they live half way across the world”—­while also making films set in Chinatown—­ through which “subjects like the ‘heathen Chinee’ of New York Chinatown could be shared, and its sights and strange scenes could be taken to millions of Americans to small towns across the country.”54 Early motion pictures offered stage-­set enactments featuring white actors playing Chinese p­ eople—­for exam­ ple, Edison’s In a Chinese Laundry (1894) and the American Mutoscope and Biograph Com­pany’s A Chinese Opium Joint (1898), Chinese Rubbernecks (1900), A Raid on a Chinese Opium Joint (1900), Scene in Chinatown (1900), Chinese Laundry at Work (1904), The Heathen Chinese and the Sunday School Teachers (1904), and Rube in an Opium Joint (1905)—but also “actualities”

26  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

featuring slice-­of-­life scenes of Chinese ­people in American Chinatowns, including the Edison Manufacturing Com­pany’s Arrest in Chinatown, San Francisco, Cal. (1897), Parade of Chinese (1898), San Francisco Funeral (1903), and Ruins of Chinatown (1906).55 As Charlie Keil explains, the “attractions” of the late nineteenth ­century with their “brief gags and bursts of action” w ­ ere replaced by longer one-­reel films in the transition era (1907–13), which needed “intelligible and compelling nar­ ratives.”56 One-­reel films (about ten minutes in length) that featured China­ towns included the American Mutoscope and Biograph Com­pany’s Deceived Slumming Party (1908) and Yellow Peril (1908) and Selig Polyscope’s The Lights and Shadows of Chinatown (1908), Chinatown Slavery (1909), and The Smuggler’s Game (1910). Other films, set in mainly New York’s Chinatown, included the Kalem Com­pany’s Chinese Slave Smuggling (1907), the Goodfellow Film Manufacturing Com­pany’s Smuggling Chinese into the U.S.A.  (1907), the Powhattan Film Com­pany’s Lost in Chinatown (1909), the New York Film Com­pany’s Lights and Shadows of Chinatown (1912), and the Essanay Film Manufacturing Com­pany’s From the Submerged (1912). As Gunning explains, ­these longer films gave rise to an increased demand for fictional narratives, and by 1908, films began to draw on the theater more heavi­ly, from its modes (for example, the distance between the performers and the camera) to its the­ atricality (such as its elaborate décor and costumes).57 Similarly, Eileen Bowser argues that by 1908, t­ here was a push for increased narrative clarity for audi­ ences unfamiliar with the film’s story, the use of moralizing themes as part of a broader reform movement, the standardization of film lengths and genres, and attracting experienced directors from the theater.58 Film had been labeled derogatorily as an entertainment and was regarded as a passing novelty rather than art; the push to align film with theater was also an attempt to gain respectability and attract middle-­class audiences.59 By the mid-1910s, many filmmakers had moved the production of their work to California, and the Hollywood film industry began to form. Film lengths increased from one-­and two-­reel films to five-­reel feature-­length films lasting an hour or more, which offered the possibility of greater character development and plot elaboration. By 1914, film had become “the first true mass amusement in American life,” with filmmakers transforming “the once-­crude peep show into a complex art form and a multi-­million dollar business.”60 Lary May argues that film attracted millions of viewers not just ­because it was an amusement but ­because it “dramatized the central theme of the age”—­a rebellion against Victorian style and morals and an embracing of ­those of the modern age.61 As Ruth Mayer explains, the modern age also included Chinatown scenarios, which ­were “hugely fash­ion­able” with film producers in the 1910s and 1920s.62 The term “classical Hollywood” is often used interchangeably with the “stu­ dio era,” delineating a specific period from the 1910s to the 1960s in which the

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  27

industry was u­ nder the control of a handful of power­ful studios and t­ here was a standardization of film language and convention.63 The studio era was domi­ nated by the Majors (Loew’s, Paramount, RKO, Fox, Warner Bros., Colum­ bia, United Artists, and Universal) and provided fewer benefits for the Minors (smaller but respectable studios like Monogram and Republic), so-­called Poverty Row studios (smaller, often short-­lived, B-­fi lm companies such as Chesterfield-­Invincible, Tiffany, and Victory), and in­de­pen­dent filmmakers. Although we often regard classical Hollywood as monolithic in terms of the style of filmmaking, form of storytelling, and mode of production, the many kinds of film companies and kinds of films produced show that ­there was het­ erogeneity. The majority of the industry’s B films (low-­budget films, or t­ hose on the lower half of an eve­ning’s double bill) tended to be produced by the in­de­ pen­dent, Poverty Row, or Minor studios or the B units of the Major studios and did not necessarily espouse the same ideological positions of the films produced by the Majors in terms of class, race, and gender.64 As Brian Taves notes, while studio moguls and censorship boards focused on the content of A films, “many B’s contain surprising deviations from archetypal plots, concen­ trating on unconventional themes and offbeat or bizarre ele­ments that almost certainly would have been shunned in the big-­budget arena.”65 Similarly, Winston Wheeler Dixon argues that “ ‘B’ directors who wished to do so could tackle subjects like , , , social inequities . . . ​long before the majors thought it fash­ion­able.”66 And, as Ruth Vasey states, “low-­budget pictures ­were typically less constrained by foreign considerations than w ­ ere prestige productions,” including playing in the Chinese market.67 While in s­ ilent film Chinatown was the subject of star-­driven A pictures, in the sound era, it was the B film that reg­ ularly explored the anx­i­eties prompted by Chinese immigration.68 And while many film producers, writers, and directors ­were guilty of capitalizing on ste­ reo­types of Chinese immigrants from the earliest days of cinema, ­others offered thoughtful repre­sen­ta­tions of Chinese/Americans as complex individuals. A handful of Chinese American filmmakers worked alongside Hollywood. The first Chinese American film, The Curse of Quon Gwon (Wong 1916), pres­ ents the story of a Westernized Chinese American bride who strug­gles to make herself understood by her more traditional Chinese in-­laws.69 James B. Leong, an actor who appeared in over eighty films and tele­vi­sion shows, also wrote, produced, and codirected the film Lotus Blossom (Grandon and Leong 1921). Joseph Sunn and Moon Kwan formed the Grandview Film Com­pany in San Francisco and produced over eighty Cantonese-­language films, including Blossom Time (Sunn 1934).70 However, as Gong explains, “What we ­didn’t see happen is the development of an alternative cinema such as you have with a race film, with black film, or with Yiddish film.”71 In Hollywood, a handful of Asian Americans found success—­including James Wong Howe, whose ­career as one of Hollywood’s top cinematographers stretched from the 1920s to the 1970s

28  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

and included over 130 films.72 Gong explains that Howe “was one of the great­ est, and acknowledged in his lifetime as one of the greatest, cinematographers in the history of film. His accomplishments ­were the symbol for the Chinese American community.”73 The majority of Asian Americans who did find work in American film ­were actors, and the vast majority of them ­were extras or played secondary characters to white leads. Despite its ste­reo­typical depiction of the Chinese community, The Lights and Shadows of Chinatown (1908) fea­ tured nearly fifty Chinese actors.74 The Chinese Lily (Rice 1914), produced by Rice and Einstein, also featured Chinese actors and positive repre­sen­ta­tions of Chinese immigrants. As a news item in Motion Picture World explains, “the sets, costumes and action portray the everyday life and characteristics of the present-­day Chinese on the Pacific Coast. The cast is all Chinese, carefully selected to fit each part without make-up. An entirely new phase of Chi­ nese life is presented, without the usual odiferous opium and obnoxious white slave scenes.”75 Other film producers also cast Asian American actors in the Chinese roles, including in the films The Flower of Doom (Ingram 1917), The War of the Tongs (Davis 1917), The Midnight Patrol (Willat 1918), and The Tong-­Man (Worthington 1919). Sessue Hayakawa was an anomaly—­a Japa­nese American actor who became a film star in the s­ ilent era. As Leslie Bryers wrote in 1922, “he is distinctive in that his appearance is appealing, apparently, as much to Occidentals as Orien­ tals.”76 Hayakawa was praised by reviewers, who ranked him among Holly­ wood’s best actors. For example, the Wid’s Daily reviewer for The First Born (Campbell 1921) wrote: “He is truly in a class by himself when it comes to melo­ dramatic acting with Oriental atmosphere. . . . ​His ability as a dramatic actor is of no small importance and ranks with some of the best screen characteriza­ tions of the year such as Barrymore’s.”77 With the director William Worthing­ ton, Hayakawa cofounded Haworth Pictures in 1918, producing nineteen films that aimed to show American Asians in a more positive light. Haworth films, as Joseph Worrell argues, w ­ ere “crossover” fantasies in which Asian char­ acters could hope to achieve the American Dream and white Americans dis­ played racial tolerance and social accommodation.78 Hayakawa also founded the Hayakawa Feature Play Com­pany; he was a producer in name only, how­ ever, and, despite his star power, was ­under the control of Robertson-­Cole, the American division of a British import-­export com­pany for which he produced films.79 Reportedly, Hayakawa’s films made for Haworth Pictures w ­ ere also pro­ ductions for Robertson-­Cole.80 Therefore, despite the fact that Hayakawa had formed two production companies, he was still beholden to the conventions of Hollywood filmmaking and the desires of white companies. Stardom for Asian American actors came, it would seem, with only limited privileges. Although they did not achieve the same level of stardom as Hayakawa, other Japa­nese American actors found regular work playing Chinese characters in

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  29

the late 1910s and early 1920s, including the actors Jack Yutaka Abe, Toyo Fujita, Sôjin Kamiyama, Goro Kino, Tetsu Komai, George Kuwa, Frank Seki, Misao Seki, Frank Tokunaga, and Tôgô Yamamoto and the actresses Tsuru Aoki, Hatsu Kuma, Toshia Mori, and Iris Yamaoka. By 1924, the majority of t­ hese actors had left Hollywood and returned to Japan, and even Hayakawa’s films began to perform poorly at the box office. While 1919 had been Hayakawa’s best year, 1921 marked the turning point in his c­ areer, and in 1924 he took a break from Hollywood. Scholars have argued that, with the advent of sound in the late 1920s, studios became concerned about accents and let many Eu­ro­pean actors go; however, the Japa­nese American actors abandoned Hollywood five years before sound became the industry standard. Instead, Daisuke Miyao blames the new sociopo­liti­cal discourse that had arisen out of World War I, one that embraced American nationalism (or nativism) and rejected the “un-­ American.”81 In the case of the Japa­nese, this anti-­“other” sentiment was compounded by the media coverage of imperialist activities in Japan, and a specifically anti-­Japanese message was spread across the United States. The result was the passing of the Immigration Act of 1924, which denied Japa­nese immi­ grants citizenship.82 In this new era, Japa­nese American actors w ­ ere not desirable, and the majority of Chinese roles ­were played by white actors in yellowface. Broken Blossoms (Griffith 1919) has been regarded as an antidote to the per­ vasive racism of American film in the 1910s, including The Birth of a Nation (Griffith 1915), which infamously cast the Ku Klux Klan as the heroes and Afri­ can Americans as violent. In contrast, Broken Blossoms pres­ents a Chinese man as the sympathetic protagonist. The impact of focusing on a “yellow man,” as the hero is identified in the film, however, is tempered by the fact that he is presented as weak, passive, and effeminate and is played by the white actor Rich­ ard Barthelmess in yellowface.83 As Eugene F. Wong explains, Hollywood had a segregated system for Asian/American characters and actors: Asian Ameri­ can actors could not play roles designated as white, but white actors could play Asian/American characters.84 This was the result not only of Hollywood’s star system, in which main roles (no ­matter what the color of the character) had to be played by recognizable Hollywood actors who w ­ ere predominantly white, but also of the racial hierarchy of American society in general. For Hollywood, changing the shape of an actor’s eyes to mimic an epicanthic, or eye, fold was considered the simplest and most impor­tant marker of race necessary to facili­ tate a convincing per­for­mance and was accomplished in a variety of dif­fer­ent ways.85 The caption on the back of a photographic still for the film The Willow Tree (Otto 1920) explains how the actress Viola Dana was made up for her role as a Japa­nese w ­ oman: “More torture: Drawing the eyes into Japa­nese slits by means of strands of hair, tied with string and then drawn back from the forehead and securely tied together.”86 Similarly, a still for The Hatchet Man (Wellman 1932)

30  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

shows the actress Loretta Young being made up for her role as Sun Toya San: transparent tape attached above her ears pulls her eyes into a squint, and a makeup artist adds heavy eyeliner to the outer corner of her eyes to accentuate the slanted effect.87 More common, especially for men who had short hair, was the use of adhesive tape to change the shape of their eyes, especially when used in combination with dark eyeliner, prosthetics, and/or a squint (Figure 2.1). As Cecil Holland, head of the makeup department at Metro-­Goldwyn-­Mayer, explains in an article in American Cinematographer, to turn “occidentals into orientals,” the makeup artist must contour the actor’s face, alter their hair, and color the skin “to give the impression of yellowness.”88 Holland decribes how he transformed Karloff into Fu Manchu for The Mask of Fu Manchu (Brabin 1932) over the course of three hours: First of all, ­there ­were the eyes. In addition to being set in the head at a peculiar ­angle, a Chinaman’s eyes are usually somewhat prominent. Karloff’s are, naturally, normal Eu­ro­pean ones, and inclined to be receding u­ nder his heavy, straight brows. Therefore, in addition to suggesting the celestial slant, we must build the eyes up to suggest a greater prominence. This we did by carefully filling in the hollow between the eyelid and the brow. For this we used thin layers of cotton, which we ­shaped by saturating with collodion; a­ fter the desired thickness had been achieved, we finished it off with a surface made of nose putty, which we w ­ ere able to mould into the contour. . . . ​To suggest the necessary Oriental slant, we drew the eyebrows slightly up, and, shaving off a bit of the outer ends of each, drew in a shape which gave us both the oriental slant and the “mephisto-­effect” necessary for so malign a characterization. The next consideration was the nose. Karloff’s nose is naturally more slender and delicately-­chiselled than is normal for orientals; accordingly, we distended it with tiny plugs, placed in the nostrils, and likewise built up the outside a trifle with nose-­putty. We next built up the ears with the same material, adding considerably at the tops, and making them rather pointed.89

Holland explains that some white actors have a “somewhat more oriental cast.” An example was Myrna Loy, for whom yellowface makeup was restricted to adhesive tape “­under the hair, to draw the eyes and eyebrows slightly upward” and lining pencils to “elongate the eyes,” alter the “contour of the eyebrows a trifle,” and “make the lips somewhat fuller.”90 According to the Paramount press sheet for the film King of Chinatown (Grinde 1939), the actor Sidney Toler, who was playing Charlie Chan at the time, thought that “Occidentals make the best Orientals!” Toler explained that ­there ­were two reasons for his view: “Chinese actors and actresses are handi­ capped when performing for American audiences b­ ecause their plays are so vastly dif­fer­ent in construction and technique from our own. More impor­tant,

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  31

FIG. 2.1  ​Yellowface—­With the assistance of makeup and prosthetics, Boris Karloff played a

Chinese detective in five Mr. Wong films between 1938 and 1940. Photo from author’s collection.

however, is the fact that sectionalism is very strong in China. A Chinese actor may be portraying a character typical of his part of the country and yet totally dif­fer­ent from what we expect one to be.”91 Despite the fact that King of Chinatown featured two of Hollywood’s best-­known Asian American actors, Anna May Wong and Philip Ahn, the author of the film’s press sheet did not ask e­ ither of them to comment on the subject.

32  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

Hollywood justified yellowface as necessary to facilitate romance between the lead characters, since a monoracial c­ ouple could kiss without offending anti-­ miscegenation laws or attitudes. Eugene F. Wong argues that the practice also allowed the industry to have “a ­free hand in racially portraying Asian charac­ ters.”92 Unfortunately, yellowface casting would continue, even if infrequently, ­after World War II, including Fred Astaire in the “Lime­house Blues” number in Ziegfeld Follies (Minnelli 1946), Marlon Brando in The Tea­house of the August Moon (Mann 1956), Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany’s (Edwards 1961), and Peter Ustinov in Charlie Chan and the Curse of the Dragon Queen (Donner 1981). As the title of a 2015 article in the Huffington Post declared, “Yellowface Is Still a ­Thing in Hollywood and ­Really Needs to Stop,” refer­ ring to the casting of Emma Stone in Aloha (Crowe 2015) as a ­woman who is part Hawaiian and part Chinese.93 As Gunning argues, yellowface is a prac­ tice that “protects the Caucasian audience from a direct contact with the eth­ nic Other” and reassures them “that their identity is the acceptable one.”94 Relatedly, Ed Guerrero argues that mainstream film suppresses any threat that the “otherness” of African American protagonists might imply by employing a variety of “strategies of containment,” including the denial of sex­ uality and community.95 I concur that ­these and other strategies have been similarly employed in films featuring Chinese American characters to nego­ tiate what was, and perhaps is still, regarded by the industry as a potentially problematic repre­sen­ta­tion: cross-­racial audience identification. While Japa­nese American actors had a toehold in ­silent film, Chinese Amer­ ican actors started to appear with ­great frequency in the 1930s. A 1932 article in Variety explained that b­ ecause of the recent war in China, Hollywood was producing more films about that country—­thus putting “more than $200,000 into the coffers of [Los Angeles’s] Chinatown” and seeing “more than 30,000 days’ work” go to local Chinese residents.96 A “Preview Postscript” article in Modern Screen explained how casting for Chinese extras worked for the film Chinatown Squad (Roth 1935): “The Chinese gentleman who hires all of the Chinese extras for t­ hese tales of the distant Orient on Set 12 at the studio, Mr. [Tom] Gubbins has an office in Chinatown, where he rounds up from one to sixteen dozen Chinamen, with or without pigtails, for background in stu­ dio emergencies. Mr. Gubbins’ work is not ended h ­ ere—­not by a long shot. For, ­every direction given while working must be translated for the ‘extras’ into their native chop-­suey.”97 As is evident from the article, ­there was ­little re­spect for the Chinese actors, who are not regarded as equal to white extras (hence the use of quotation marks around “extras”) and whose language is regarded as “chop suey.” However, some Chinese Americans found regular employ­ ment as secondary characters, including the actors Benson Fong, Willie Fung, Chester Gan, Eddie Lee, Richard Loo, Keye Luke, and Victor Sen Yung and the actresses Bo Ching, Etta Lee, Bo Ling, Bessie Wong, and Olive Young.

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  33

Some of their roles ­were stereotypical—­yellow peril villains, pidgin-­speaking ­house­boys, and submissive lotus blossoms—­but their presence marked a challenge to their secondary social status and offered audiences alternatives to Hollywood’s yellowface construction of Chinese/American identity. Cer­ tainly by 1935 Hollywood was increasingly accepting of Chinese American actors, and that did not go unnoticed by Chinese American groups. For example, Ching Wah Lee, coeditor of the Chinese Digest (published by the Chinese Cultural Society of Amer­i­ca), wrote in 1936, “Hollywood is more tolerant of foreign talents and less snobbish of country green horns than the average church or community college.”98 The moment of change in terms of the advancement for Chinese American actors and the reconfiguration of Chinese American characterization came at the expense of the Japa­nese, as the Second Sino-­Japanese War began in 1937 and the United States entered World War II in 1941. Chinese characters ­were presented more sympathetically as hardworking and innocent victims of Japa­ nese imperialism in China in films such as The Good Earth (Franklin 1937). The film was critically acclaimed but had white stars in yellowface in the leading Chinese roles. As David Henry Hwang argues, “In the historical context, ­there was something progressive about The Good Earth and impor­tant in that it was trying to portray a Chinese ­family as completely ­human, as complex, as sym­ pathetic.”99 Anna May Wong had hoped to land the leading role in The Good Earth, but as the writer Amy Tan argues, that expectation was unrealistic: “The audience needs to identify with the characters. How are they g­ oing to identify with somebody who looks Chinese? This is a movie that was supposed to appeal to a Western audience, and so if you have an audience that is all white, you have to take that into consideration.”100 Similarly, the actress Lisa Lu comments: “It’s not just an art; it has to be commercial—­you have to get the money back. And in t­ hose days, I d­ on’t think any Chinese would have the power. Luise Rainer at the time was a big star and, I think, studied very well. All her actions, even the lift of her eyes, is Chinese.”101 At the time, The Good Earth was praised by Chinese American groups. An editorial note in the March 1937 issue of the Chinese Digest argued that the film, like the novel it was based on, ­will “do an immea­sur­able amount of good in eliciting western understanding of and sym­ pathy for China and the Chinese.”102 In the wake of the popularity of The Good Earth, Hollywood began pro­ ducing some films with Chinese Americans as the lead characters and Asian American actors as the lead actors, including ­Daughter of Shanghai (Florey 1937) and King of Chinatown, both of which featured the Chinese American star Anna May Wong and the Korean American actor Philip Ahn. According to Eugene F. Wong, ­these films represented an increasingly “favorable depic­ tion of American Chinese” and “an extraordinarily in­ter­est­ing filmic attempt to develop Asian American characters.”103 Indeed, ­Daughter of Shanghai ends

34  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

with the protagonists speaking Cantonese, and their exchanges are not trans­ lated for the mainstream audience—­which privileges their Chinese heritage over American assimilation. The presence of Asian American actors and char­ acters in Hollywood stories offered, even if only occasionally, a re­sis­tance to hegemonic discourses about national identity. While The Good Earth may have been a bigger hit with white audiences and a romanticized depiction of tradi­ tional China, ­Daughter of Shanghai offered leading roles to Asian American actors and exposed audiences to modern Chinese American life. When pres­ent in American film, Asian American actors helped redefine mainstream conceptions of Asian Americans, even if their characters w ­ ere used to validate nationalist fantasies like the American Dream and assimilation into the melting pot. As Negra explains, ethnic stars “symbolized the promise of American pluralism and proved the desirability and reliability of the Ameri­ can Dream,” and the “Americanization” of t­ hose stars reflected “many of the ideological cornerstones of American life”—­including hard work and sacri­ fice.104 In terms of Asian American actors, this Americanization occurred not only in terms of the characters they played, but also in their role in the film industry. For example, while the press sheet for ­Daughter of Shanghai suggested that exhibitors capitalize on the “Asianness” of the film, it emphasized the American backgrounds of Ahn and Wong.105 The “personality briefs” in the press sheet explained that Ahn did not even speak Chinese, and that Wong had gone to school in Los Angeles. Of course, what the press sheet did not explain was that it should not be surprising that Ahn did not speak Chinese, since he was Korean American. In general, Wong—as an actor who had achieved a cer­ tain level of stardom—­had some control over how she presented her Chinese characters: she chose her own wardrobe, wearing modern Chinese clothes and challenging American perceptions of China as old-­fashioned and traditional. For Hollywood two impor­tant distinctions determined the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese p­ eople: first, class (rather than race); and, second, the ethnicity of the character (rather than that of the actor). Chinese characters who ­were pre­ sented as positive, progressive, or heroic w ­ ere never coolies or peasants; they ­were clearly of the merchant class, ­r unning respectable businesses in China­ town. Chinese peasants could be positive only if they w ­ ere obviously located in China, most famously in The Good Earth and Dragon Seed (Bucquet and Conway 1944). In t­ hese films, uneducated but hardworking peasants repre­ sented traditional Chinese culture and the attempt to preserve it in the face of Japa­nese invasion; as such, they could be sympathetic and even admirable. In contrast, lower-­class Chinese in the United States w ­ ere unskilled laborers and ­were seen as competing with whites for working-­class jobs; as such, they ­were harmful and unwanted. Films set in Chinatowns clearly distinguished between undesirable Chinese (coolies, criminals, and prostitutes) and desirable ones (merchants and their ­children who shared American morals, values, and upward

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  35

mobility). ­Those merchants with a grounding in Confucian philosophy, a ten­ dency ­toward pacifism, and a desire to raise ­children in Amer­i­ca w ­ ere tolera­ ble; t­ hose who ran businesses that contributed to Amer­i­ca’s economy, provided ser­vices to white Americans, and did not compete with white businesses w ­ ere more appealing. Their c­ hildren, who w ­ ere depicted as embracing Western ways and abandoning Eastern traditions, w ­ ere the most easily embraced as assimi­ lated Chinese Americans. By the late 1930s, Chinese American characters could not only be tolerable or agreeable but, fi­nally, could be bona fide American heroes, including t­ hose played by Wong and Ahn in ­Daughter of Shanghai and Keye Luke and Lotus Long in Phantom of Chinatown (Rosen 1940). In both films, Asian American actors play Chinese American detectives or agents, and what their repre­sen­ta­ tion confirms is that it was not the race of the actor that was regarded as potentially problematic, but rather the race of the protagonist. Importantly, Hollywood’s Charlie Chan, is a Chinese detective, not a Chinese American one. Relatedly, Wong was considered and rejected for Chinese roles that ulti­ mately went to white actors performing yellowface, for example in The Good Earth and The Son-­Daughter (Brown and Leonard 1932).106 Most scholars say that the reason Wong did not get the parts was that she was not famous enough or that the role required the performer to kiss a white costar in yellow­ face. I argue, however, that Asian American actors in the sound era ­were typi­ cally cast only as Chinese American characters, rather than as identifiably Chinese characters. It is for this reason that Hollywood’s distinction between Chinese (Chinese-­born foreigner) and Chinese American (American-­born citizen) is so significant in the 1930s and 1940s: while Asian identity could be worn like a costume by a white actor, Asian American identity was recog­ nized as requiring authenticity—­and an Asian American actor to embody it. The 1940s saw a new ac­cep­tance of the Chinese, in the United States gener­ ally and Hollywood film specifically. Between 1947 and 1954, over 60 ­percent of the Asian characters with prominent roles in Hollywood films ­were pre­ sented sympathetically and seriously, not negatively or comically.107 The Mag­ nuson Act of 1943 repealed Chinese exclusion, increasing the quota of Chinese immigrants from none to 105 a year and allowing American-­born Chinese to be naturalized.108 During World War II, employment opportunities for Chi­ nese Americans increased—on the home front, in vari­ous professions and skilled crafts; and in the military, with over 15,000 serving in ­every branch.109 Following the war, Chinese American veterans took advantage of the GI Bill to get college educations (which in turn opened up new sectors of the l­ abor mar­ ket) and to buy homes, often outside of ethnic ghettos.110 In the film industry, Chinese Americans like Loo and Korean Americans like Ahn found new work playing Japa­nese villains in war­time and postwar dramas in films such as Back to Bataan (Dmytryk 1945).111 In the postwar years, Hollywood became

36  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

more socially conscious, exploring such impor­tant issues as racism and anti-­ Semitism—­for example, in Gentlemen’s Agreement (Kazan 1947). However, not ­until the early 1960s, as a result of the civil rights movement, did Asian Americans appear in an increasing number of leading roles in films. Stardom continued to be the key f­ actor in determining casting in postwar films, but by the late 1950s, ­there ­were enough Asian Americans of note work­ ing in Hollywood for stories of Asian American life to be depicted on the screen. The Crimson Kimono (Fuller 1959) explored racism against Japa­nese Americans through its protagonist, played by James Shigeta—­who would become Holly­ wood’s second Japa­nese American star. In Walk Like a Dragon (Clavell 1960), Shigeta and the Japa­nese Canadian actress Nobu McCarthy helped bring to light the Chinese experience in Amer­i­ca’s old west that had been omitted from classical westerns. And Flower Drum Song (Koster 1961), the film adaptation of the popu­lar Broadway musical by Richard Rod­gers and Oscar Hammerstein II, broke new ground by having an all‒Asian American cast, including Shigeta, Benson Fong, James Hong, Nancy Kwan, Ching Wah Lee, Reiko Sato, Jack Soo, Kam Tong, and Victor Sen Yung. Fi­nally, with the passing of the Immi­ gration and Nationality Act of 1965, Asian immigrants ­were treated on a par with immigrants of other nationalities, as race, national origin, and ancestry ­were no longer determinants for immigration.

Protest and Regulation The negative portrayal of Chinese characters did not go unnoticed and was pro­ tested by Chinese communities regularly. In 1916, T. L. Li, president of the Chinese Students’ Club of Iowa University, protested the depiction of Chinese Americans in an article in Moving Picture World: “So far as known, what they display about the Chinese may be fairly summed up in a few words—­smoking opium, gambling, fighting, robbery, murder, arson, rape, or any combination thereof. . . . ​But, unfortunately, more than this, their very frequency and monot­ ony profoundly mislead the American public to think that such are all the Chinese.”112 A few years ­later, Chinese American audiences objected to the screening of The Tong-­Man, which presented two Japa­nese American actors (Hayakawa and Abe) as Chinese American heroes but, in the same breath, tied them to tongs, opium dealing, and murder. The Marin Journal reported that the man­ag­er of a cinema who was planning to show the film had received a let­ ter from the secretaries of the Chinese Presbyterian Mission and the Chinese Students Christian Association that read: “While t­ here has been much criti­ cism and comment upon the film  elsewhere, we cannot help but feel that the film ­will do more harm than good ­towards the friendly relations between us and our American friends. We feel that we are badly misrepresented by Mr. Hayakawa in this film and it was certainly not of an educational benefit. . . . ​

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  37

We hope you w ­ ill be able to see from our side; although we understand that you have no intention to disturb our friendships. Having always known you to have respected the Chinese with good ­will and kind friendship, we make this appeal to you with the same spirit.”113 The man­ag­er ignored the request, explaining to the Marin Journal that he had already paid to rent it and could not cancel its showing. As the Pacific Film Archive program for a 1988 screen­ ing of the film explains, “the questionable depiction of their culture caused an uproar in the Chinese community and an injunction was sought against the film’s exhibition. The presiding judge in the case denied the injunction, claiming, ‘This is a picture that shows action in real life. Th ­ ere is nothing misleading about it. It is entertaining, gripping and instructive.’ ”114 The judge’s decision in the case of The Tong-­Man reflected the racial bias of the judicial system of the time, which Hollywood practices evidently echoed. ­A fter years of complaints made by social and religious groups mainly over the depiction of sex and vio­lence, Hollywood created its own system of self-­ censorship out of fear that other­wise films would be subjected to government censorship. In 1927, William H. Hays, president of the Motion Picture Produc­ ers and Distributors of Amer­i­ca (MPPDA), created “The ­Don’ts and Be Care­ fuls,” a list identifying problematic content to avoid in films. In 1930, the list was replaced by a formal system of self-­censorship—­the Motion Picture Pro­ duction Code, overseen by Col­o­nel Jason S. Joy. The first general princi­ple of the Code declared that “no picture s­ hall be produced which w ­ ill lower the moral standards of t­ hose who see it.”115 The Production Code Administration (PCA) was in charge of enforcing the Code and reviewed copies of scripts and films, informing producers of content that would likely be cut or banned by state and national censors. In 1934, a­ fter increasing pressure from the Catholic Legion of Decency and other social and religious groups, Joy was replaced by Joseph Breen, and the enforcement of the Code became more rigorous.116 In terms of race, however, the Code did not offer extensive guidance on how Hollywood should represent foreigners, only that “the history, institutions, prominent ­people and citizenry of all nations s­ hall be represented fairly.”117 What exactly “fairly” meant seemed to be open to interpretation by both producers and the PCA, but the Chinese government and its international representatives felt that Hollywood required guidance. Nevertheless, as Susan Courtney argues, an examination of the PCA pro­ vides “unique glimpses of the racial work the filmic medium was marshaled to do as it negotiated racial terms in the wider culture and helped to shape popu­ lar conceptions of racial meaning.”118 The Code has been mainly examined by scholars in terms of its impact on the repre­sen­ta­tion of sex and vio­lence. Schol­ ars who have discussed it in terms of race include Courtney, Thomas Doherty, Francis Couvares, and Ellen C. Scott; however, their focus has been on the repre­sen­ta­tion of African Americans and/or miscegenation.119 In terms of the

38  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

repre­sen­ta­tion of the Chinese, the discussion has been limited to a handful of scholars and films, including Vasey on West of Shanghai (Farrow 1937), Doherty on The ­Bitter Tea of General Yen (Capra 1933), and Hye Seung Chung on Shanghai Express (von Sternberg 1932).120 As Chung explains, examining the regulation of films in terms of race “challenges a simplistic race-­based reading of Orientalist ste­reo­types as both the PCA and OWI [Office of War Informa­ tion] made sophisticated interventions, urging producers to seek technical advice from Chinese authorities and to eliminate or counterbalance negative images of the Chinese.”121 Indeed, the concern of domestic associations about the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese p­ eople in film held ­little sway over decisions made by the PCA, in contrast to the loss of potential overseas revenues. When the PCA made efforts to improve the repre­sen­ta­tion of the Chinese in Hollywood films, it was not for moral reasons but for economic ones. As the film scholar Dorothy Jones demonstrates, the dissatisfaction of the Chi­ nese government with American repre­sen­ta­tions of Chinese ­people could have serious ramifications: the government might demand substantial editing, pro­ hibit the film from being distributed in China altogether, or close the Chinese offices of some American studios.122 Jones argues that this is why by the mid1930s “the industry itself had consciously begun to re-­examine and reappraise its own portrayal of Chinese themes, locales, and characters.”123 Certainly, the PCA showed a concern with the ste­reo­t yped repre­sen­ta­tions of Chinese/ Americans and recognized that they would be offensive to Chinese audiences. However, most producers continued to submit scripts to the PCA that offered ste­reo­types of, and negative language in reference to, Chinese characters. For example, in a letter to Henry Henigson at Universal, John Wilson at the PCA explained how the film East Is West (Bell 1930) was in violation of the Code: “The portrayal of the traffic in ­women and the attitude of the Chinese ­toward his ­women, we believe ­will be very offensive to modern China and we are cer­ tain that the portrayal of life in the Chinese colonies in Amer­i­ca, with their Tong wars as it is done in the story, w ­ ill create such resentment that the Chi­ nese government ­will take action that ­will not only be quite dangerous to your com­pany but a reflection on the industry as a w ­ hole.”124 Wilson informed Henigson that Welcome Danger (Bruckman and St. Clair 1929), starring Har­ old Lloyd, had been banned in China ­because of scenes that ­were similar but “mild in comparison to reflections cast on Chinese civilization by the treatment of it” in East Is West. Lastly, Wilson explained that one point that would be “especially offensive” to Chinese p­ eople was that it is an American who comes to the aid of the heroine “against t­hese so-­called Chinese customs and institutions.” Wilson was right to be apprehensive about East Is West. The British Colum­ bia censor board initially rejected the film ­because it depicted the trafficking of Chinese w ­ omen, it included Eurasian romance, and its “half-­caste” villain

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  39

boasted about having multiple w ­ omen.125 A ­ fter an appeal, the film was allowed to be shown in British Columbia, but it was rejected in France, and the Chi­ nese consul general in Havana persuaded the Cuban government to ban the film.126 Even some U.S. censors took issue with the film, including t­ hose in Chicago who gave the film a “pink ticket” (an “adults only” classification) ­because they objected to the “mixing of the white and yellow races.”127 T. B. Fithian at Universal explained that ­there had been protests against the film: “The Chinese students and citizens of our country are offended at the por­ trayal of such films dealing with this Yellow Slavery. It has been brought to our attention that such films as EAST IS WEST and similar stories have been strongly objected to in China, and from business and po­liti­cal reasons should not be shown.”128 In 1935, Breen received a request from Universal to the PCA to remake East Is West; however, a­ fter consulting with Col­o­nel Frederick  L. Herron at the Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca (MPAA), Breen informed Harry Zehner at Universal that they considered the story “a very dangerous one from half a dozen ­angles” and explained that it had met with “considerable protest” from the Chinese government.129 In 1937, Zehner took another shot at capitalizing on the story and applied to reissue the original 1930 film; Breen again reiterated that the film was problematic for its suggestions of miscegenation and illicit sex.130 In the end, t­ here was no remake or reissue. Despite this new self-­consciousness at some studios and the desire to appease the Chinese government, other producers still presented scripts and films to the PCA that met with disapproval. As Fred W. Beetson at the PCA warned Warner Bros. regarding The Hatchet Man, the Chinese government had “evi­ denced a deci­ded objection to any pictures portraying Tong activities.”131 In the coming years, the PCA had to write to both Major and Poverty Row studios, reminding them that the terms “Chink” and “Chinaman” ­were offensive to the Chinese, specifically in regards to the films I Cover the Waterfront (Cruze 1933) and Border Phantom (Luby 1936).132 A film that proved particularly problem­ atic from the PCA’s point of view was Outlaws of the Orient (Schoedsack 1937). Breen informed the film’s producer, Larry Darmour, that the Chinese laborers should not be referred to “in a derogatory manner” or as “Chinks” and “yellow dogs.”133 ­Later that year, Breen wrote to Herron in the MPPDA’s Foreign Department, reporting that T. K. Chang, the Chinese consul in Los Angeles, had approached Darmour some months earlier “to protest against the making of the picture” and ­later made some recommendations for the script.134 Breen felt that “Darmour had done more than he should have done, in his efforts to placate the Chinese viewpoint”; however, Chang was adamant that “the picture would never do” and “would give ­great offense to his ­people.” Exasperated, Breen left his meeting with Chang with the impression that Holly­ wood would “not be able, at any time, to use a Chinese in any characterization” and meet with China’s approval and that, in the f­ uture, “the studios ­will simply

40  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

throw up their hands and pay no attention, what­ever, to him or his protests.” Therefore, despite the PCA’s seeming desire to appease the Chinese govern­ ment in terms of the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese ­people in film, it is apparent that the PCA did not agree with what the Chinese government considered offensive—or, as the Code described it, “fair.” Interestingly, Breen concluded his letter to Herron by noting that Chang had explained that he had “no authority in the ­matter,” that his opinion was “purely personal and unofficial,” and that he was simply ­doing “the best he [could], in the hope that the picture may be acceptable, when exhibited in China.”135 Breen did not seem to appreciate the irony in the fact that Chang was basically d­ oing the same job as he was: just as Breen advised producers on what alterations ­were needed to improve the odds that films would pass vari­ ous censor boards, Chang was ­doing the same to help move films into the Chi­ nese market. In the end, Chang “unofficially advised Darmour not to pres­ent the picture to the Chinese censors” and not bother to try to exhibit it in China.136 Breen’s final comment in the letter demonstrates that, while frus­ trated with the consul’s vari­ous concerns, he understood that they had to be respected. Breen wrote: “As I view it—we can be ‘­free, sovereign, and in­de­pen­ dent’ and tell every­body to go to hell, and make all the pictures we want, with Chinese, German, French (or anybody ­else) characterized in ­every way pos­si­ ble. On the other hand, if we want to continue to maintain our very lucrative foreign fields, we s­ hall have to be, possibly, less ‘­free, and sovereign—­and less in­de­pen­dent.’ ” ­W hether or not Breen or producers appreciated any other impact of the characterizations of Chinese/Americans, they did appreciate the financial one. While one side of the question was the issue of a respectful repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese ­people, Breen confessed to Herron, “I realize, of course, the other side of the question hovers near to the business of selling American pictures to China.”137 The potential loss of box-­office profits, unsur­ prisingly, helped drive more “thoughtful” repre­sen­ta­tions of national “­others” in Hollywood film of the time. As the letter regarding The Hatchet Man explains, the experience with Welcome Danger and East Is West had con­ vinced the PCA “that it is not eco­nom­ically sound to make a picture of this kind without first securing official Chinese approval.”138 Certainly, many studios appeared to try to improve their films’ chances of Chinese exhibition by working closely with the Chinese consul and Chinese technical advisors. As Breen explained to Herron, “I think you know that the Chinese consul is quite active among the studios at the pres­ent time. He is now at work with Fox on a Chinese picture which Sol Wurtzel is to make, and is also working with Paramount on a picture for Anna May Wong.”139 The film The Good Earth was both critically acclaimed and popu­lar at the box office, but it was problematic in terms of race ­because it had two non-­Asian actors in the leading roles. However, the film was made with the consultation of a Chinese

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  41

technical advisor, as publicity stills reveal. Captions on two stills explain that the advisor, pictured working with the star, Luise Rainer, was also an extra in the film: in one, he wears traditional Chinese dress as an extra, but, in another, he is seen in his own clothes—­a Western suit and tie with an overcoat and fedora.140 The caption for a third photo explains that the “Chinese interpreter, microphone in hand, stands beside an American production assistant, relay­ ing his directions in sibilant Cantonese to the Oriental crowds.” Similarly, Harold Lloyd wanted to avoid “an outbreak” of rioting in China over The Cat’s Paw (Taylor and Lloyd 1934), like the one that had occurred over “what the Chinese regarded as insults in” Welcome Danger.141 The studio press sheet for The Cat’s Paw explained that Lloyd worked with Lew Chee, a physi­ cian and technical expert, to direct the several hundred Chinese extras and also teach Lloyd some Mandarin and Cantonese. A ­ fter meeting with the Chinese vice-­consul, Yi-­seng S. Kiang, Lloyd agreed to speak Mandarin in the scenes set in China, to please the Chinese government, and Cantonese in the scenes set in the United States, to please Chinese American audiences. Despite Lloyd’s best efforts, the film was protested by the Chinese Diplomatic Ser­vice in Italy, as reported by Frank Harris, the general man­ag­er of Harold Lloyd Corporation.142 Harris reported that with some “slight changes,” the film had been approved in Italy; however, he concluded a memo with the comment, “truly, ‘the ways of the Chinese are a mystery’ ”—­unfortunately demonstrating the exact attitude that the Chinese consul and government w ­ ere struggling with in Hollywood.143 Although the film’s release in China was anticipated to be delayed but not forbidden, it was banned in Nanking in 1936.144 As noted above, the Chinese consul in Los Angeles was proactive in approaching studios in relation to potentially problematic films. For example, in relation to Torchy Blane in Chinatown (Beaudine 1939), Chang expressed to Jack Warner at Warner Bros. his desire to be advised on the repre­sen­ta­tion of “Chinese life and customs” in upcoming films: “In view of the differences unpleasantly experienced by us in the past with reference to motion pictures of similar characters, I write to you to offer our friendly co-­operation in order that any objectionable features inadvertently contained therein may be elimi­ nated to our mutual satisfaction.”145 In response, the publicity department at Warner Bros. put out two dif­fer­ent statements attesting to the lengths that the studio went to be au­then­tic in its depiction of Chinese culture in Torchy Blane in Chinatown. The first statement explained how the Chinese characters for notes shown in the film had been written by Ching Lee Wong; and the second explained that more than $200,000 worth of rare Asian art pieces had been borrowed from a collector.146 What the studio—­like many other film producers at the time—­failed to understand was that using au­then­tic Chinese art, décor, costumes, and language did not mean that the story and its characterization of Chinese culture and ­people was unproblematic.

42  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

During World War II, in addition to the PCA, studios faced push back from the OWI, which vetted productions for war­time messages. As Scott explains, while the PCA’s actions ­were driven by fear of protest, the OWI’s ­were driven by progressive politics, including eradicating misinformation about dif­fer­ent racial groups.147 For example, an OWI reviewer could not recommend the film Charlie Chan in the Secret Ser­vice (Rosen 1944) for overseas distribution b­ ecause of its problematic repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese p­ eople.148 And, as Chung confirms, the OWI’s “national and po­liti­cal agendas often superseded the religious and moral mandates of the Production Code.”149 The PCA soon a­ dopted the OWI’s stance in its recommendations for alterations in repre­sen­ta­tions of the Chinese. For example, in the case of Rubber Racketeers (Young 1942), the PCA warned Franklin King at K-­B Productions about issues with the character played by the Chinese American actor Kam Tong: “The words ‘dirty yellow’ and ‘yellow’, referring to the Chinese valet, Tom, (a sympathetic character) should be changed, inasmuch as they may give offence to the nationals of one of our allies in the pres­ent war. This also applies to the expression ‘heathen Chinee’, even though spoken by Tom.”150 Similarly, in reference Nob Hill (Hathaway 1945), Breen wrote to Joy (who ironically had been the person writing such letters before Breen) at Twentieth ­Century Fox, “We urgently recommend that you drop this business of the pigtailed Chinese, occasionally seen, since this char­ acterization seems highly offensive to our allied Chinese, in that it symbolizes their servitude.”151 Breen then recommended that Joy obtain a Chinese tech­ nical advisor for the film. In 1946, in an article in the Hollywood Reporter, the director Arthur Lubin wrote, “Hollywood’s sole mission is to produce pictures which gross huge sums of money and of course this cannot be accomplished if you go around sticking out your tongue at ­people and calling them nasty names.”152 However, “nasty names” are exactly what some producers continued to use right up into the 1950s. The scripts for both Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture (Friedman 1949) and The Breaking Point (Curtiz 1950) contained the ethnic slur “Chink,” despite the fact that in 1939 the Code had specifically listed the term as one to be avoided as “obviously offensive to the patrons of motion pictures in the United States and more particularly to the patrons of motion pictures in foreign coun­ tries and, therefore, should be omitted.”153 During the war, Chung argues that the PCA and OWI, despite having differing motivations (the former’s being financial and the latter’s po­liti­cal), found their interests converging in terms of the repre­sen­ta­tion of foreign nationals and racial minorities.154 However, Hollywood producers seem to have retained their racist attitudes despite the war, as the PCA continued to write letters of warning in regard to their depictions of Chinese/Americans into the 1950s. The question is, if the repre­ sen­ta­tions of Chinese/Americans ­were so problematic, why did Hollywood attempt them at all? Without having to leave American shores, Chinatowns

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  43

offered an exotic locale—­a locale that attracted tourists from around the country. From film’s beginning, producers realized that film could offer a vir­ tual tour of Amer­i­ca’s Oriental and modern city spaces.

Modernity and the Orientalist Gaze Despite its tendency ­toward mythification—­namely, representing Chinese immigrants in terms of ste­reo­types tied to China’s traditional past—­Hollywood could not contain the fact that the presence of Chinese/Americans in both film and real­ity was inextricably tied to American modernity. As David Palumbo-­ Liu explains, “The very shape and character of the United States in the twen­ tieth ­century—­specially, in the imaginings of modern American development in the global system—is inseparable from historical occasions of real contact between and interpenetrations of Asia and Amer­i­ca, in and across the Pacific Ocean. The defining mythos of Amer­i­ca, its ‘manifest destiny,’ was, a­ fter all, to form a bridge westward from the Old World, not just to the western coast of the North American continent.”155 Amer­i­ca’s colonialist encounters with the East w ­ ere the product of modern and imperialist expansion: in other words, Americans just kept heading West u­ ntil they hit the Far East. As Colleen Lye argues, for American writers, it was the relations formed between China and Amer­i­ca that changed the Western perception of the East, with “the Pacific Rim at last overtak[ing] a fin de siècle sense of California as a barricaded West­ ern outpost.”156 The modern era was the result of technology, from the industrialization of manufacturing to the increase in rapid communication with the invention of the telegraph and telephone. As Gunning suggests, modernity can be regarded in part as “a collapsing system of previous experiences of space and time through speed.”157 Transportation was a key component of modernization: the inter­ continental railroads that connected North Amer­i­ca’s coasts facilitated the movement of goods, industries, and population westward. Importantly, the transportation network that the railroads created was the product of immi­ grant (especially Chinese) l­ abor, and transportation, ­whether by steamship, train, automobile, or plane, facilitated Chinese immigration—­legal or other­wise. As Gor Yun Leong reported in 1936, “it is an open secret that the Chinese are smuggled in by way of Mexico, Canada or Cuba. . . . ​­Today the won­ders of transportation, automobiles and airplanes, bring them speedily in—­and just as speedily out.”158 This connection between h ­ uman trafficking and modern traffic is unavoidable, as Kristen Whissel explains: “ ‘Traffic’ initially identified the circulation of goods between ‘distant or distinct ­ ­communities’ and thereby implied the development of new forms of spatial, temporal, economic, and social intercourses around emerging commercial practices. It came to include not only the commodities but also the vehicles,

44  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

bodies, and disembodied communications that move, in one form or another, through the landscape, as well as the rate charged for such circulation and the profits derived therefrom.”159 Chinese bodies, moving across the Pacific to build the transcontinental railroads and then moving via them or other modes of transportation down the coast and across the country, contributed to the modernization of Amer­i­ca. It would seem fitting, then, that another key product of modernity—­the cinema—­would offer narratives of modern urban environments that included Chinese immigrants, from melodramas concerned with the impact of Chinese immigration on white Americans to films aimed at ferreting out Chinatown crime. The cinema not only circulated images as part of the modern traffic of ideas, but it also offered experiences pos­si­ble only in the modern age—­from the magical transformation of ­people and t­ hings through editing (for example, in Georges Méliès’s The Vanishing Lady [1896]) to the vicarious “phantom rides” on trains (as in the Lumière B ­ rothers’ Leaving Jerusalem by Railway [1897]). Many Chinatown films unconsciously highlighted the conflicting discourses about Chinatown. For example, while Dinty (McDermott and Neilan 1920) includes all of the ste­reo­typical trappings of nineteenth-­century Chinatown, including subterranean passages, opium smuggling, abduction, murder, and tor­ ture, as a reviewer at the time explains, the directors John McDermott and Marshall Neilan also brought “all the old meller [i.e, melodrama] tricks up to date and polished his thrills with modern appliances such as the seaplane, motor car and wireless.”160 In s­ ilent film, Chinese p­ eople represented a paradox, as they ­were tied to tra­ ditional notions of China’s imperial past while at the same time their presence in Amer­i­ca was the result of modern traffic. As Shirley Lim explains, the Ori­ entalist postulates that “colonial subjects do not understand modernity; they cannot rule themselves or their own p­ eople.”161 As an example, Anna May Wong’s character in The Toll of the Sea (Franklin 1922) is marked through her physical traits and traditional Chinese clothes as a “colonial subject” and “nonmodern.”162 It would seem that while colonial subjects can exist in the modern era, they are unable to be modern themselves and, thus, betray an Orientalist understanding of the place of both the West and East in the mod­ ern and global world of the twentieth ­century. The Chinese ­were not only the exotic aliens brought by modern traffic but also potentially dangerous prod­ ucts of modernity as immoral or criminal, using modern modes of transporta­ tion to traffic in other goods, including opium and illegal immigrants. For American film, Chinese characters and Chinatown settings offered a wealth of story lines—­from romantic melodramas to gritty crime films—as well as unfamiliar images—­from Oriental costumes to Chinatown street scenes. The visual plea­sure ­these Chinatown films gave the viewer invokes the idea of

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  45

what Anne Friedberg identifies as the “fundamental paradigm of the subject in modernity, the flâneur.”163 Walter Benjamin regarded the flâneur as a symbol of the modern experience, a man of leisure who strolls through the city with the sole goal of observing.164 Early film viewers ­were invited to be flâneurs, enjoying the spectacle of moder­ nity as it was projected for them onto a screen. To be a flâneur, however, was to be an essentially passive viewer—­and specifically male. As Elizabeth Wilson notes, “It is this flâneur, the flâneur as a man of plea­sure, as a man who takes visual possession of the city, who has emerged in postmodern feminist discourse as the embodiment of the ‘male gaze.’ He represents men’s visual and voy­eur­ is­tic mastery over w ­ omen. According to this view, the flâneur’s freedom to wan­ der at ­will through the city is essentially a masculine freedom. Thus, the very ideas of the flâneur reveals to be a gendered concept.”165 The identification of the modern observer as male is echoed in film as a product of a patriarchal cul­ ture. Cinema as a product of that culture, Laura Mulvey argues, offers two types of spectatorial positions, both for the male spectator: one offering the plea­sure of identification through narcissism, identifying with the male pro­ tagonist as an ego ideal; and the other offering the plea­sure of looking through voyeurism, objectifying the ­woman on screen.166 The voy­eur­is­tic look can be a sadistic voy­eur­is­tic gaze, as a “preoccupation with the re-­enactment of the orig­ inal trauma (investigating the w ­ oman, demystifying her mystery)” or a fetishistic scopophilic gaze as the “complete disavowal of castration by the substitution of a fetish object or turning the represented figure itself into a fetish.”167 While the aim of Mulvey’s article is to explore questions of gender in the cinema, I argue that the idea of a socially determined, empowered gaze is equally applicable to questions of race. In terms of gender, Chinese male immigrants raised questions for white Americans about gender bound­aries and assigned characteristics as they seemed to be physically feminized and worked as servants, cooks, and laundrymen. However, Chinese immigrants also repre­ sented threats of castration—­although ones evoked not just by gender, but also racial and cultural differences. Historically, yellow peril fears ­were often dis­ tilled down to the image of a floating Chinese man’s head or his disembodied hand—­the “yellow claw”—­which evoked “an Orient with fantastical body parts.”168 In American films, the fetish objects could be similarly unpleas­ur­able or pleas­ur­able (such as a close up of the lotus blossom’s face and hair) but they included Chinatown as an object that often stood in for Chinese immigrants in their absence. Mulvey argues that film form is structured by “the unconscious of patriarchal society.”169 However, Western society is not only patriarchal but arguably classist, racist, and Orientalist. What Mulvey identified famously as a “male gaze,” James Moy considers to be an imperialist one. Moy argues that nineteenth-­century stage depictions of

46  •  Hollywood’s Chinese Amer­i­ca

Chineseness helped define mainstream American notions of Chinese immigrants—­whether t­ hose depictions ­were intended to be exploitative, such as the American Museum’s exhibit Chinese Lady (1834), or au­then­tic, such as Bret Harte and Mark Twain’s protagonist of the play Ah Sin (1877).170 Film­ makers copied ­these constructions of Chinese identity from the stage. As Moy states, “such displacing, travelogue-­like touristic looks at Asianness ­were imme­ diately inscribed into the popu­lar cinematic and photographic texts of the early twentieth c­ entury as snapshots and films of San Francisco’s Chinatown became staged repre­sen­ta­tions of the Chinese in Amer­i­ca.”171 Moy argues that two types of authorial gaze w ­ ere established by the m ­ iddle of the nineteenth ­century: the “survey,” which offered “the viewer an almost god-­like option to look at or ignore the efforts up on stage”; and the “voy­eur­is­tic,” which imbued the viewer with authority “generally at the expense of the object—­which in turn was often reduced to ste­reo­t ype” (Figure 2.2).172 Moy argues that the survey offered an empowering “dismissive” gaze and the voy­eur­is­tic a “reductive” one, as the object can be fetishized—­echoing Mulvey’s voy­eur­is­tic and scopophilic gazes. As Leong summarizes, Ella Shohat and Robert Stam have demonstrated that “the heteronormative gaze structures masculine/feminine, white/nonwhite relations onscreen as meta­phors for national and racial hierarchies of power and inequity.”173 The imperialist gaze also saw the Chinese in Amer­i­ca made the objects of regulation, including visual identification and surveillance. As Anna Pegler-­Gordon explains, with the Chinese exclusion laws came the “formal emergence of visual regulation” within immigration policies, including the documenting of immigrants’ bodies through medical examinations and photography—­although the use of photography for identification was used spe­ cifically for Chinese immigrants.174 Such “visual regulation” reflected and reinforced white assumptions about Chinese ­people: first, that they all looked alike, since using photo­g raphs implied a need for a method to distinguish between ­people; second, that they ­were inscrutable, since the visual component of registration implied that immigrants w ­ ere entering the country illegally; and third, that they w ­ ere inherently criminals, since prior to the registration of Chi­ nese laborers demanded by the Geary Act in 1892, photographic identification was most strongly associated with the mugshots of criminals.175 The San Fran­ cisco Police Department compiled identity photo­graphs of p­ eople arrested into the first “mug books”; notably, from the 1860s through to the 1940s, images of Chinese criminals (­whether American-­or Chinese-­born) ­were kept in separate books.176 This discrimination based on race was the result of nineteenth-­century medical and juridical discourses that linked physical appearance to morality. As Gunning notes, both real-­life policing and crime stories w ­ ere driven by the need to pin down an identity (specifically, the criminal’s) to a specific body; and by the twentieth c­ entury, the modern (especially the criminal or deviant)

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  47

FIG. 2.2  ​An Imperialist Gaze—­A street scene from Chinatown Nights (1929) illustrates

how American films aligned the viewer’s gaze with t­ hose of the white characters instead of the Chinese characters—­who, as exotic and “other,” are the object of the gaze. Photo from author’s collection.

body became identifiable, classifiable, and distinguishable from ­those of the masses.177 Newspapers both commented on and encouraged the use of an Orientalist tourist gaze.178 The words of a writer from the early 1850s are recounted in a 1929 article in the San Francisco Chronicle: “The Chinese in San Francisco make an extraordinary feature of the city. They are seen in e­ very street, passing qui­ etly along. The white immigrant involuntarily stops and gazes curiously upon this peculiar ­people, whose features are so remarkable and whose raiment is so strange yet useful.”179 Even in 1940, the theme of the sightseeing tour contin­ ued in newspaper stories, often explic­itly. For example, Bill Simons, who wrote the “In the Neighborhood” column in the San Francisco Chronicle, began one piece: “This is Chinatown: Let’s take a walk down Grant ave­nue and see Chi­ natown as a tourist might,” ending with “well, fellow tourists, this is China­ town.”180 And when images or photo­graphs of Chinese ­people ­were presented in the papers, it was for the plea­sure of the white reader. For example, a multi-­ page article in the San Francisco Call in 1911 began with a full-­page illustration titled “Seeing Chinatown” (Figure 2.3). The image is divided into panels, with

FIG. 2.3  ​“Seeing Chinatown”—­A full-­page image of an i­ magined Chinatown street scene

aligns the reader with the upper-­class white ­people at the center. From the San Francisco Call, June 18, 1911, courtesy of California Digital Newspaper Collection, Center for Bibliographic Studies and Research, University of California, Riverside (http://­cdnc​.­ucr​.­edu).

Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze  •  49

a dragon at the top, an open-­top tour bus at the bottom, and two street scenes—­ one showing a Chinese man looking across the street, and the other showing a white man seemingly returning the Chinese man’s look.181 While ­these last two panels suggest some equality between the two men, the large central panel priv­ ileges white characters: in the background, a well-­dressed white c­ ouple stands so that we share in their gaze as they look at a Chinese man, who bows in re­spect; in the foreground, another white ­couple is shown close up as they walk by, their gaze stretching beyond the frame and falling on the small Chinese girl who appears at the bottom of the side panel. The entire image gives a sense of the bustling energy of Chinatown with its many won­ders to see, but it firmly aligns the reader with the upper-­class white ­people in the ­middle panel adorned with furs, feathers, and stylish hats rather than the three most prominent Chi­ nese ­people. Another article in the San Francisco Chronicle from 1929 high­ lights a “rare old picture,” showing two men in an opium den—­one reclining on a bed and the other smoking.182 The article encourages the reader to view the image as a snapshot of exotic and illegal activities, explaining that “this and other flashlight pictures ­were taken, at some risk, during a notable raiding of old Chinatown’s underground mysteries and hazardous labyrinths by a party of five nervy men.”183 In terms of Chinatown films, t­ hese regulatory gazes allowed viewers to derive Orientalist plea­sure from looking at Chinatown as an exotic and mys­ terious, if perilous, place. Chinatown films offered audiences the plea­sure of being a voyeur, gazing at the spaces and ­people of Chinatown as alternatively fetishized and investigated, depending on the genre. Part 2 of Criminalization/ Assimilation explores crime films, with their white male protagonists acting as an ego ideal for the male viewer and using their sadistic voy­eur­is­tic gazes to investigate and demystify Chinatown and its culturally castrating associations. Part 3 examines social melodramas, the majority of which had female leads and aligned viewers with a fetishistic scopophilic gaze that fixated on Chinatown as exotic, thus ignoring its potential threats. Part 4 highlights films that broke with yellow peril ste­reo­types and Orientalist preconceptions by casting Asian Americans in roles as American citizens and heroes who could deflect the Ori­ entalist gaze, direct an empowered look back at American authority, and even offer audiences a cross-­racial ego ideal. Chinatown films offered audiences the opportunity and plea­sure of being a virtual tourist in Amer­i­ca’s most exotic spaces.

3

Imperiled Imperialism Tong Wars, Slave Girls, and Opium Many classical Hollywood films used Chinatown crime as the focus of their stories yet pushed Chinese characters to the periphery, highlighting instead the danger that Chinatown—­and, by association, Chinese immigration—­posed for white Americans. Chinatowns had appeared across the United States in the nineteenth c­ entury, from Arizona to Wyoming, with the largest being t­ hose of New York City and San Francisco.1 As Min Zhou explains, “New York’s Chi­ natown emerged as a direct result of the anti-­Chinese campaign on the West Coast and the Chinese Exclusion Act. It was not ­until the 1880s that a signifi­ cant number of Chinese added the long transcontinental trip to their trans­ pacific voyage.”2 In 1870, ­there w ­ ere only 120 Chinese immigrants in New York City; by 1880, t­ here w ­ ere 2,559. In the twentieth c­ entury the popula­ tion increased dramatically, reaching 12,753 in 1940, but the ten-­block ethnic enclave was still a bachelor society, with 603 men for e­ very 100 w ­ omen.3 Cali­ fornia had the most Chinatowns of any state, hosting a dozen—­the largest of which was San Francisco’s, with a Chinese population of 10,582  in 1910 and 23,215 in 1940.4 Physically, San Francisco’s Chinatown evolved over time, and for a long time it was truly a ghetto. In 1934, the ratio of residents to room was appalling—­about 2.4 rooms per f­amily, 12.3 p­ eople per kitchen, and 20.4 ­people per bathroom—­and in 1940, Chinatown’s 15,000 residents lived in an area of only five blocks by four.5 53

54  •  Chinatown Crime

According to an article in the San Francisco News, Chinatown was founded when Wah Lee hung a sign in front of his home at Washington and Dupont (now Grant), advertising his laundry business.6 The consolidation of San Fran­ cisco’s Chinatown was partly involuntary, the direct result of the Chinese exclusion laws as Chinese immigrants sought comfort, protection, and com­ munity from each other. As Zhou argues, despite the insulation of residing in Chinatown, immigrants ­were subject to “exploitation, harsh taxation, racial discrimination, and social injustice.”7 As early as 1854, Sucheng Chan explains, ­t here was a desire on the part of white citizens and lawmakers to remove Chinese prostitutes to less central locations, and by the 1870s, t­ here ­were attempts to segregate all Chinese immigrants.8 With the rapid modern­ ization of medical science, ­there was a new obsession with sanitation and hygiene, and as Selma Siew Li Bidlingmaier explains, Chinatown was the “undomesticated antithesis of the new and improved sanitized United States,” with rumored rat eating, cholera, and smallpox.9 In 1906, San Francisco was struck by a power­f ul earthquake, with an estimated magnitude of 7.8. Dam­ age from the earthquake was compounded by a series of catastrophic fires and, when the ash had settled, over 80 ­percent of the city had been destroyed. At the time, only around 400 deaths w ­ ere reported, but ­today it is estimated that ­there ­were likely more than 3,000—­the discrepancy due in part to that the fact that the hundreds of deaths in Chinatown ­were ignored and not reported.10 Chinatown was rebuilt, and the poor conditions of the quarter w ­ ere improved.11 At first, city officials explored proposals to relocate the Chinese community altogether, but Chinatown’s residents had no desire to abandon their leases, and white property ­owners w ­ ere more than pleased to continue to receive high rents.12 However, as Ronald Takaki explains, the rebuilding of the quarter replaced Chinatown’s “Oriental atmosphere” with “cream-­colored nonentities,” and residents complained.13 In the end, further reconstruction included intentionally Oriental buildings, the most famous example of which is the pagoda-­style Chinese Telephone Exchange. The Chinese Six Companies (discussed below in this chapter) promoted the rebuilding of Chinatown, pub­ lishing a guidebook in 1909 that provided tourists with information about the new respectable, but still au­then­tic, spaces of Chinatown—­including t­ emples, shops, restaurants, and theaters—­while dismissing the version of Chinatown touted in white guidebooks—­including underground opium dens and sites of white slave traffic and rat eating.14 The mainstream media echoed the Chinese Six Companies’ efforts to attract tourists, r­ unning a series of articles on historical Chinatown that described the quarter as possessing “exotic atmo­ sphere” while also being “thoroughly modern,” and the Chamber of Com­ merce produced an illustrated promotional campaign advertising Chinatown

Imperiled Imperialism  •  55

as “the chief jewel in San Francisco’s starry diadem of tourist attractions.”15 By World War II, one-­fi fth of San Francisco’s tourist dollars ­were being spent in Chinatown. The Police and Peace Officers’ Journal of the State of California carried two articles about San Francisco’s Chinatown in 1931—­one detailing the history of the “Old Chinatown” and the other about the “New Chinatown.” In the first, Police Commissioner Jesse B. Cook attempted to pres­ent an accurate history of Chinatown, dispelling some myths, including the most famous: Cook explained that guides tricked tourists into thinking that t­ here was a network of underground passages by taking them to Grant Ave­nue, where a series of buildings had interconnecting cellars.16 In the aftermath of the 1906 earthquake and fire, it became apparent that nothing but “customary and prosaic base­ ments” existed u­ nder Chinatown.17 Yet the myth endured, and entrepreneurs created “Underground Chinatown” attractions for regional fairs in the 1910s in Redondo Beach and San Diego.18 Similarly, American films would perpet­ uate the myth of Chinatown basement dungeons, subterranean passages, and tunnels for smuggling.19 As Charles Dobie explains, the myth of “Under­ ground Chinatown” is the “greatest and most per­sis­tent of the old legends” associated with Chinatown, one implying that “the ‘heathen Chinee’ . . . ​bur­ rowed down, down, down like ground-­squirrels.”20 Crime in Chinatown—­whether ­running opium dens or gambling h ­ ouses, slave trafficking, or smuggling illegal immigrants—­was most often attributed to the activities of the notorious tongs, secret socie­ties that sometimes func­ tioned as gangs. In American films, Chinatown was a haven for criminals, ­whether led by Oriental villains or white social leaders. With de­cades of films depicting Chinatown as the center of big-­city crime, it is l­ ittle won­der that American Chinese ­were regarded by mainstream American society as crimi­ nal and their culture was seen as in need of policing. As Peter Stanfield argues, “what­ever the real­ity of Amer­i­ca’s Chinatowns, their primary function in fiction was to act as a symbolic space where issues of national and interna­ tional identity can be dramatized.”21 In Hollywood, and American society in general, ­there was ­little appreciation of the fact that the exotic aspects of Chi­ natown stemmed from its foreignness, yet the foreigners who brought their exotic culture with them w ­ ere deemed undesirable. In other words, Amer­i­ca wanted the Chinatowns but not necessarily the Chinese immigrants who cre­ ated them. As Ruth Mayer confirms, American Chinese ­were regarded with equal amounts of apprehension and fascination, indicating that “orientalism is as much about attraction as it is about repulsion.”22 As this chapter w ­ ill demonstrate, the attraction and repulsion white Americans felt for China­ town was first depicted in film with slumming tours and then the narrativiza­ tion of such tours’ key ele­ments, including tong wars, slave girls (prostitutes),

56  •  Chinatown Crime

and dope fiends, in an effort to define the borders between West and East and between moral and immoral.

Slumming Tours As Takaki argues, although Chinatown was depicted as a slum and full of “unhealthy, unassimilable, and undesirable immigrants,” it was also regarded as a tourist “gilded ghetto”—­“quaint,” “mysterious,” and “foreign.”23 As early as the 1890s, New York’s Chinatown had become the location of “a consider­ able slumming craze,” commodified for middle-­class white tourists who visited it in “rubberneck automobiles” guided by “a megaphone man.”24 As Scott Sim­ mon explains, “Slumming parties ­were frowned on by many, and the New York Times editorialized against the practice in 1905: ‘The social reformer, the practical philanthropists, and the representatives of the law can justify their invasions of the slum and their careful study of its inhabitants, but ­those who go ­there simply to get a sterile thrill from the spectacle of crime, degradation, and misfortune are . . . ​immoral perverts. . . . ​To view with cold won­der the vic­ tims of cruel poverty is nothing less than fiendish.’ ”25 Tour guides not only presented the obvious attractions of Chinatown but also arranged with Chi­ nese residents “to put certain backstage activities and areas on display”—­ including opium dens, dank cellars, underground passages, and characters who plotted kidnappings and bartered slave girls.26 According to Chad Heap, Chinatown’s dance halls and opium dens appealed to white Americans “­because of their unabashed association with illicit sex and ­because of the entrée such spaces provided to the new realm of commercialized public leisure.”27 The slumming tour craze was not limited to New York’s Chinatown, and San Francisco’s white entrepreneurs encouraged similar repre­sen­ta­tions of their Chinatown as exotic but also dangerous, which w ­ ere well aligned with the new tourism industry.28 Surprisingly, slumming was not just a male activity, and middle-­and upper-­class white ­women joined their husbands or boyfriends in it. Unfortunately, such interest was often mistaken “as a sign of their sexual availability—if not by their white male escorts then by the Chinese men they encountered.”29 Through the lens of Orientalism, Sabine Haenni argues, slumming parties “helped to stabilize the middle-­class, imperial nation” by “othering” Chinese immigrants.30 Importantly, however, she explains that the Chinese represented “new, rather than old, and mobile, rather than static, subjectivities”—in other words, “the commodification of Chinatown and the filming of Chinatown ­imagined new kinds of vision, and new ways of engaging the racialized metrop­ olis.”31 In film, travelogues offered audiences voy­eur­is­tic access to faraway Chinatowns. For example, a Ford Motor Com­pany short titled A Visit to Los Angeles (1916) offers a virtual tour, including the downtown, the Pueblo, the

Imperiled Imperialism  •  57

University of California, and bungalows in new subdivisions—­however, the longest sequence is dedicated to Chinatown.32 In the film, Chinatown is com­ posed of a dirt road with two-­story apartment buildings and shops, with a title card saying, “Curios and odd wares from the Orient are sought ­here by tour­ ists.” San Francisco’s Chinatown received a more focused treatment in the feature-­length travelogue Chinatown Pictures (Lewis 1916). A review in Moving Picture World explains: “The production is ­really a personally conducted tour. . . . ​Captain Lewis has endeavored to film the district so that the specta­ tor of his picture sees just about what he would see if brought through the Ori­ ental quarter of the coast city.”33 According to the review, Lewis claimed to have filmed places and activities that had never been filmed before—­including the interior of the Chinese Six Companies building and an old Chinese man smoking opium. ­These visual tours sold Chinatowns as in­ter­est­ing places in which to play tourist. In contrast, narrative films of the time used slumming-­tour scenes to highlight the supposed dangers of Chinatown. An ad in Variety for Deceived Slumming Party (Griffith 1908) explains this point: “For some time it has been a fad to form a l­ ittle party, mount a ‘rubber-­neck’ caboose, and with rak­ ish, reckless abandon, plunge into the ‘near-­devilish’ sports to be experienced in a journey through the labyrinthian byways of the slums. So it was that old Esra Perkins and his wife, Matilda, ­were induced by a glib-­tongued bally-­hoo to investigate the mysteries of that famous section of our g­ reat Metropolis. . . . ​ They all mount the ‘rubecart’ and are soon let down in Chinatown. H ­ ere their experience defies description, but results in a stern resolution ‘Never Again.’ ”34 Another review of the film in Moving Picture World confirms that the China­ town residents in the film are aware of the tourists, and t­ here is a “pecuniary benefit” for them to put on a show: “­Every eve­ning the stage, as it ­were, is set for this ­great comedy, and the characters all made-up and ready for their parts when the ‘easy-­marks’ arrive.”35 The tour group is forced to pay handsomely to avoid the police being called in when they witness a supposed suicide in a “Chi­ natown opium joint” and when they are accused of upsetting a tray of valuable china in a “chop suey emporium.” More than half of the films featuring slum­ ming tours revealed that the criminal activities ­were faked.36 Many feature-­length films of the late 1910s featured Chinatown tours, which ­were promoted as key attractions for the films even if their stories did not focus on Chinatown. As the press sheet for Checkers (Stanton 1919), a film about a gambler addicted to h ­ orse racing, explains, “A complete Chinatown district was built at Fort Lee, including even the pavement of the street. Scores of China­ men w ­ ere engaged for the scenes to give the exact local color and atmosphere. Sightseeing automobiles and parties pass through the district, while drug addicts, opium fiends and hangers-on loll about the doorways.”37 Similarly, an article about Wing Toy (Mitchell 1921) in Exhibitor’s Herald explains that

58  •  Chinatown Crime

William Fox “figured that the locale of an American Chinatown, so long a goal of big city slumming parties and curiosity seekers, would be particularly attractive to the theatre-­going public.”38 The film depicts “life in Chinatown’s gambling dens and haunts of the illicit dealers in habit-­forming drugs, and plenty of melodramatic action in the way of fights between almond-­eyed deni­ zens.”39 A Tale of Two Worlds (Lloyd 1921) begins with a group of well-­dressed white tourists taking a tour of San Francisco’s Chinatown.40 Their guide indi­ cates a building, informs them that “five murders w ­ ere committed t­ here in one night,” and then points out a white “dope fiend” outside a shop. Immediately ­after the group passes, however, the be­hav­ior of the purported dope fiend changes, and he shares a laugh with an el­derly Chinese man, calling the tour group “suckers.” A title card follows that reads, “But no mere tourist w ­ ill ever see the real life of Chinatown.” However, the film—­like many o­ thers at the time—­promised a tour of the “real” Chinatown. Paths to Paradise (Badger 1925) exposed the cons used to extort money from tourists in a plot that is reminiscent of that of Deceived Slumming Party. The film opens in a gang’s basement headquarters in San Francisco’s Chinatown, where Molly (Betty Compson) serves breakfast. Suddenly, a member of the gang announces that a group of tourists are on their way. In a comic rush, their meals are hidden, a variety of Chinese costumes are donned, vari­ous props are spread about the room, and someone lies down in a bunk with a bamboo pipe to smoke. As a scenario for the film explains, “The place now looks exactly like the average sightseer’s notion of an Oriental underground dive.”41 A mem­ ber of the gang tells the tourists that this is the toughest dive in the city and where counterfeit money is produced. The charge to the tourists is $5 to see the den, $10 to see “a real hophead,” and $20 to meet “the Queen of China­ town,” who is Molly in yellowface. While the faked tour might pres­ent Chi­ natown residents as con artists, at least the supposed dangers of Chinatown ­were proved to also be fake. In contrast, Chinatown Charlie (Hines 1928), based on a 1906 Broadway comedy-­melodrama by Owen Davis, a Pulitzer Prize winner, is a step back­ ward.42 In the film, Chinatown’s wax museum, “chop suey” restaurants, and curio shops are used by a crime lord to smuggle in immigrants and to kidnap white w ­ omen as slave girls. A guide named Charlie (Johnny Hines) must come to the rescue of one of his tourists when a Chinese-­led gang wants to steal her ring—­which, according to Chinese superstition, has special powers. The fact that this film is comedic accounts for its inclusion of some over-­the-­ top ste­reo­t ypes, such as having a villain peer through the eye holes of a Chi­ nese mask on the wall and hidden passages in the wax museum. More insult­ ing, as Variety’s reviewer explains, is the mysterious ring: “It’s one of t­ hose rings, with a strange inscription, commanding the subjugation of all China­

Imperiled Imperialism  •  59

men who believe in it.”43 The film exploits yellow peril fears and then reduces them by suggesting that the district is safe and improving with the presence of the police and a camaraderie between the Chinese and white locals like Charlie. Surprisingly, despite its yellow peril story line, the film featured three Asian American actors: Anna May Wong, George Kuwa, and Sôjin Kamiyama. The Chinatown tour seemed to die out just as sound arrived in Hollywood. Chinatown Nights (Wellman 1929) was one of the last films (­until the revival of the trope in the late 1940s) to offer an extended slumming-­tour scene. The tour, as the guide explains, “takes you through Chinatown—­the mystic, mys­ terious regions of the Orient. See the dens of sin, the sacred joss h ­ ouses, and the inner t­emple of the Six Companies, ancient secret o­ rders of the g­ reat Tongs. See Chuck Riley, the boss of Chinatown, in his palace of plea­sure, where East meets West in raucous revelry.” Joan Pride (Florence Vidor), a New York socialite, wants to join the tour for a cheap thrill, but her date reminds her that “Chinatown’s all a fake.”44 Hideo Yanagisawa refers to the “slum­ ming gaze” that the white American can use to regard a Chinese American ­today “with the same curiosity and excitement of slummers longing for exoti­ cism from Chinese in Chinatowns.”45 In Chinatown Nights, this “slumming gaze” is enabled by mounting the camera at the back of the open bus to pres­ ent the view of the passenger. The guide points out Chinatown’s attractions: “On the right is the famous Port Arthur—­known from coast to coast for its Chinese herbs and its fancy dishes,” followed by “the den of Un Wong, the poppy king, the Rocke­fel­ler of the mysterious Orient you are passing through.” In a herbalist’s shop, two Chinese men converse; when the herbalist spies the tour nearing, he dons a traditional Chinese skull cap with a fake queue attached and apologizes in Cantonese that he must go. As he appears in the street, the guide explains: “­There is a broken victim entering the den, right now! In fifteen minutes he ­will be buying Chicago, St. Louis or New York!” ­A fter the herbalist dashes into the supposed opium den, he reemerges through the back of his shop and says in En­glish to his customer, “Americans very dumb.” The men share a laugh at the tourists’ expense. Outside, the tour con­ tinues, and the guide explains, “we are approaching the boundary line between districts of the two g­ reat tongs: when they are at war, no Chinaman may cross that line.” The tour is then interrupted, when a body is seen in the street (Fig­ ure 3.1). Although the scene begins by suggesting that the stories about China­ town’s crimes are faked, Joan soon finds herself entangled in a tong war, and the film becomes a kind of slumming tour itself, perpetuating the pervasive, if erroneous, myths about Chinatown. Although the tour in I Cover Chinatown (Foster 1936) covers many high­ lights of San Francisco, Eddie (Norman Foster), a tour guide, is able to attract

60  •  Chinatown Crime

FIG. 3.1  ​Slumming in Chinatown—­Chinatown Nights (1929) functions as a slumming tour

for the film audience. ­Here the white American tourists come to a stop in Chinatown when they spy the body of a tong member. Photo from author’s collection.

the interest of an el­derly c­ouple from Iowa b­ ecause the tour includes Chinatown: BEUL AH:  ​Oh, you go to Chinatown? EDDIE:  ​We ­don’t miss a single chopstick! HERBER T:  ​­Wouldn’t you rather go to a movie, Beulah? BEUL AH:  ​Shoot, no! We can do that in Muscatine. I want to see something

exciting!

EDDIE:  ​I’ll show you scenes that’ll make your blood run cold. BEUL AH:  ​The main ­thing I want to see is one of them opium dens. EDDIE:  ​Well, I ­can’t promise you one for a dollar, but I can put you in touch

with a good hatchet man. Step right in—­that’ll be two dollars. HERBER T:  ​I ­don’t know, Beulah. It ­don’t sound safe. BEUL AH:  ​Pshaw, Herbert! If we ­don’t see a ­little wickedness when ­we’re away

from home, when w ­ ill we see it? Come on!

Notably, by 1936, the somewhat morbid desire of the Midwestern tourist is played for laughs rather than as confirmation that Chinatown is a place of

Imperiled Imperialism  •  61

“wickedness.” The film acknowledges both the misconceptions that ­people had of Chinatown and how that reputation was used to attract tourists—­and film audiences—to Chinatown. Slumming parties w ­ ere popu­lar b­ ecause of their promise of seeing not just Chinatown’s alien spaces (such as joss ­houses) and ­people (for example, men with queues) but also, and more importantly, its criminal spaces (like opium dens) and ­people (including hatchet men and slave girls). American films featuring slum­ ming tours capitalized on the same desire—to tour the exotic and the criminal. Karen Lynch argues that in film, Chinatowns ­were “sites of fetishized spatiality” that the voy­eur­is­tic gaze must return to again and again “to crack the code of the Orient.”46 Chinatowns offered a fetishized space, and the tourist was invited to crack that code through an empowered, Orientalized gaze. While Chinatowns ­were fascinating to look at for both the characters in I Cover Chinatown and its audiences, other films suggested that Chinatown’s evils ­were dangerous for ­people who left the tour bus and entered its mysterious spaces. While sound films periodically offered scenes of slumming tours, the majority of them replaced the tours completely with the formal inclusion in the narrative of the immoral activi­ ties seen on tours. In other words, rather than showing a tour scene as part of a melodrama or mystery-­comedy, crime films offered stories about tong wars com­ plete with hatchet men, slave girls, and opium dens. And while slumming tours exposed the voyeurism of their viewers, Chinatown crime films allowed voyeur­ ism while masking it ­under the pretense of a moralizing story informed by Orien­ talist attitudes and a desire for the containment of the immoral “other.”

Tong Wars One man who had a profound impact on San Francisco’s cultural climate was the successful businessman and politician Fong Ching, known as “­Little Pete” in Chinatown but as “The Evil King of Chinatown” in mainstream San Fran­ cisco.47 ­Little Pete helped his f­ ather run his legitimate business by day and the tongs run their criminal activities by night. He was educated at the Methodist Chinese Mission and, with his excellent En­g lish, became the official inter­ preter for the Sam Yup Com­pany. At twenty-­one, he borrowed money to start a shoe com­pany, and a­ fter becoming successful, he moved into gambling, pros­ titution, and opium. At twenty-­five, he became a tong leader. His success, how­ ever, would prove his undoing, as rival tongs placed a bounty on his head. By thirty-­three, ­Little Pete walked the streets only with bodyguards and guard dogs, and he wore chain-­mail armor and a steel helmet. He was assassinated when he visited a barbershop to have his hair washed and removed his helmet. His funeral was a massive spectacle observed by the majority of Chinatown’s residents. Despite his fame as one of Chinatown’s most notorious criminals, ­Little Pete was never the subject of a Hollywood film, likely ­because he was too

62  •  Chinatown Crime

successful. American filmmakers ­were not seeking to celebrate accomplished Chinese immigrants but to pres­ent them as criminals to be brought to justice. Many films did feature Oriental villains who w ­ ere guilty of all manner of sins. For example, in Dinty (McDermott and Neilan 1920), a wealthy opium smuggler and tong leader, Wong Tai (Noah Beery in yellowface), kidnaps the ­daughter of Judge Whitely a­ fter he sentences the tong leader’s son (Young Hipp) to serve time in prison.48 In Driven from Home (Young 1927), a “Chinese chop suey magnate” and opium den proprietor (Sôjin Kamiyama) desires a young socialite (­Virginia Lee Corbin) to serve “his villainous purposes” (to be a sex slave).49 In Ransom (Seitz 1928), the head of a crime racket (William V. Mong in yellowface) kidnaps a young boy to exchange for a deadly gas formula that a chemist (Edmund Burns) has created for the government.50 While individual Oriental villains w ­ ere popu­lar, especially in the sound era, tongs captured the public’s imagination with the idea of or­ga­nized crime and ­were frequently the subject of films even ­after the real-­life tong wars w ­ ere over. In the nineteenth ­century, Chinatowns ­were formed as “bachelor socie­ties,” since t­ here ­were no more than 5,000 Chinese w ­ omen likely to be in the United States at any one time.51 As Chan explains, “such a social configuration charac­ terized non-­Asian immigrant communities during their early years as well, but it lasted far longer in Asian ones ­because exclusionary laws prevented ­women from coming” to the United States.52 The discrimination against Chinese immigrants led them to remain isolated in Chinatowns and to found community organ­ izations, the most impor­tant of which w ­ ere the regional associations—­consisting of ­people who came from the same districts (huiguan) or clans.53 Based on t­ hese clans, six companies w ­ ere founded: Sam Yup Com­pany, Yeong Wo Com­pany, Kong Chow Com­pany, Ning Yung Com­pany, Hop Wo Com­pany, and Yan Wo Com­pany. In turn, the Chinese Six Companies (as they became known collec­ tively) w ­ ere motivated by the Exclusion Act of 1882 to form a confederation called the Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association. Although often conflated with the tongs, the Six Companies had a positive primary function: to facilitate immigrant employment, ­settle minor disputes, promote local education and cul­ ture, protect the community from discrimination and vio­lence, and fight anti-­ Chinese legislation. In contrast, tongs and other fraternal organ­izations w ­ ere not based on geographic origins or clans, but w ­ ere secret socie­ties. As Clare V. McKa­ nna Jr. explains, “No m ­ atter what city t­hese immigrants moved to, they could always find a Chinatown with Chinese organ­izations that would provide hous­ ing, food, employment, medical treatment, and l­egal defense”—­ including tongs.54 Initially tongs, like the Six Companies, w ­ ere established as mutual assis­ tance groups, but ­later they evolved into criminal gangs that controlled the gam­ bling, prostitution, and supply of opium in Chinatown. In the 1860s, the criminal class in San Francisco’s Chinatown was small and held in check by the Six Companies; in the 1890s, however, when that organ­

Imperiled Imperialism  •  63

ization suffered a partial collapse, the tongs seized control of Chinatown, and criminal activities flourished.55 The strong w ­ ere preying on the weak, and many ­family associations formed tongs to protect their members: the feuds between ­these associations led to what w ­ ere called the tong wars.56 In Douglas 20, Police Journal, John Manion, the inspector who headed up the famous Chinatown Squad of the San Francisco police department, explains the history of the tongs: Then the smaller tong members or­ga­nized what is known as highbinder tongs for the purpose of curbing the larger f­ amily tongs . . . ​which claim to exist for social and benevolent purposes. . . . ​In real­ity they are associations of the criminal class of Chinese or­ga­nized for the express purpose of promoting and committing such crimes as commercialized gambling, traffic in young girls, opium smuggling, blackmail, extortion, private revenge and murder, for the protection of ­those engaged in such pursuits. . . . ​The word “Highbinder” is a phrase once used by a New York policeman in referring to a certain Chinese hoodlum, and ever since that time it has been applied to that class of Chinese. In the year [sic] between the fifties and late eighties, their men w ­ ere called hatchet-­men [­because] they used a lather’s hatchet. . . . ​In ­later years they have discarded the hatchet and now use large caliber pistols.57

However, Manion comments that American-­born Chinese rarely become members of the highbinder tongs and that “they compare most favorably with their white b­ rothers.”58 The first tong war is often identified as an 1875 clash between the Suey Sing Tong and the Kwong Duck Tong over a prostitute—­a tong war that left four ­people dead and a dozen wounded. As Kevin Mullen explains, however, tong wars began as early as the mid-1850s, not long a­ fter the arrival of the first Chi­ nese immigrants during the Gold Rush.59 Manion pointed to prostitution and gambling rackets as the ­causes of the tong wars.60 The typical scenario involved a prostitute’s eloping with a man of a dif­fer­ent tong and that tong’s refusing to pay a sum of money to compensate the first tong for its financial loss. The three big­ gest and most bloody tong wars, according to Manion, w ­ ere the 1917 war that involved six tongs and left fifty-­seven p­ eople dead; the 1926 war between the Hop Sing and Bing Kong Tongs, which lasted four months and left twenty-­six ­people dead; and the 1925–1926 war in the Eastern states between the Hip Sing and On Leong Tongs.61 While the last two wars ­were attributed to grievances over gambling issues, another cause of such conflicts—­although rare, according to Manion—­was trafficking in narcotics.62 The last tong war in San Francisco occurred in 1922, ­after which the tongs created a peace committee and declared a truce.63 In contrast, in New York and Chicago, the wars continued ­until 1930. Anyone who read con­temporary lit­er­a­ture, followed the newspapers, or watched films soon became familiar with tong wars, highbinders, and hatchet

64  •  Chinatown Crime

men. Writing in 1936, Gor Yun Leong confirmed that the tongs w ­ ere infamous beyond Chinatown: “Perhaps of all ­things Chinese in American, the best known are the Tongs. The slightest hint of the outbreak of a Tong war is front-­ page news. And whenever a Chinese, whoever he may be, meets with foul play, it is linked with the Tongs by American newspapers.”64 The foregrounding of tongs in American newspapers and films was often more the product of myth and overreporting in the press than a reflection of real-­life crime. Certainly, in both the press and on screen, almost all altercations, petty crimes, and mur­ ders w ­ ere attributed to tongs even a­ fter most of the tongs had lost their influ­ ence.65 Some of the best known tong war films featured well-­k nown white actors in yellowface, including William Wellman’s Chinatown Nights and The Hatchet Man (1932), featuring Warner Oland and Edward G. Robinson, respec­ tively.66 While the majority of the main characters, w ­ hether white or Chinese, ­were played by white actors in yellowface in the 1930s, in s­ ilent film, Asian American actors found visibility playing key characters—­even if they most often w ­ ere villains. While the title of The Flower of Doom (Ingram 1917) suggests a plot focused on opium, it is actually the symbol of a New York City tong, and the film is about a tong war.67 It begins with the Hop Sing Tong assassinating a rival and the police arresting Charley Sing (Frank Tokunaga) ­because, as the review in Moving Picture World explains, to the police “one Chinaman is as good as another.”68 The leader of the tong is Ah Wong (Goro Kino), who is also an opium dealer.69 His wife, Tea Rose (Yvette Mitchell in yellowface), is planning to run off with one of his customers—­Paul Rasnov (Nicholas Dunaew), a sculp­ tor and dope fiend. ­Little sympathy is evoked for Ah Wong as a cuckolded husband, since he kidnaps a cabaret dancer named Neva (Gypsy Hart). When the police are unable to locate Neva, the heroic Charley Sing helps retrieve her by kidnapping Ah Wong’s wife to trade for Neva. She is returned to her love, the reporter Harvey Pearson (M. K. Wilson), but Ah Wong kills Tea Rose before she can leave with Rasnov, and the sculptor is left with only opium to console him. The film is significant in that its two key Chinese characters w ­ ere played by Japa­nese American actors as opposed to white actors in yellowface. However, the role of Tea Rose was played in yellowface to allow for the romance with Rasnov to be depicted in accordance with American anti-­miscegenation laws. While the film identifies the tong as the source of crime in Chinatown, the tong war—as is often the case in Chinatown films—­functions less as the focus of the story and more as a background to generate tension for the love triangle.70 The War of the Tongs (Davis 1917) was notable at the time for being written by a Chinese author and featuring an all Chinese cast. A reviewer for Moving Picture World praised the film for its treatment “of Chinese life in Amer­i­ca” and said that it “shows for the first time the inside workings of the famous Chi­

Imperiled Imperialism  •  65

nese tongs,” adding that “insight into Oriental life [is] impossible to attain when the actors are Americans.”71 In contrast, the reviewer for Wid’s Daily complained that most of the titles appeared in Chinese before En­g lish, “cater[ing] to the Chinatown of ’Frisco and New York and to the two of three Chink laundrymen in each small town.”72 The film follows the Chinatown tea shop clerk Wong Wing (Lee Gow), who wishes to marry Suey Lee (Lin Neong)—­who is also desired by Chin Ting (Tom Hing), a leader of a dif­fer­ ent tong.73 Suey Lee’s ­father (Hoo Ching) agrees to the marriage if Wong Wing can produce a dowry of $900. Wong Wing attempts to win the money in Chin Ting’s gambling h ­ ouse, but the tong leader cheats him out of his life’s savings. This sparks a war between the tongs, which in turn allows Wong Wing to dis­ pose of Chin Ting and win Suey Lee’s hand. It is in­ter­est­ing and unfortunate that even a Chinese writer hoping to offer insights into life in Chinatown felt it necessary to include tong wars to attract mainstream audiences. This experi­ ment was one not repeated by Universal or attempted by many other studios. Audiences and producers seemed to want less authenticity and more of the salacious ideas associated with the myths of Chinatown.74 According to a reviewer, the appeal of The Tong-­Man (Worthington 1919) was “its strict adherence to the Chinese atmosphere,” including “a number of interior views displaying idols, dragons and richly carved furniture, draperies and costumes pertaining to the land of the Oriental” as well as locations like an opium den, smuggler’s cellar, and “murky streets.”75 This echoes descriptions of a slumming tour, and the film does capitalize on the fetishization of Chi­ nese culture through its focus on tongs, opium, and crime rackets. However, unlike slumming films, The Tong-­Man places Asian Americans in the key and heroic roles, emboldening them by giving them a gaze equal to that of white authority. By d­ oing so, the Orientalist gaze is challenged, and space is provided for Asian American subjectivity. As Mayer argues, The Tong-­Man “aim[ed] at fostering new modes of communication and exchange, and at familiarizing its audiences with a world that is dif­fer­ent, yet more abstractly fascinating than personally threatening.”76 The film begins, as the first title card explains, “in the heart of Chinatown” with a ste­reo­typical Chinatown crime: a Chinese man is shot dead in the streets by another Chinese man. The second title card explains that the shooting is linked to “the Bo Sing Tong, the most power­ful and dreaded of Chinatown’s secret socie­ties; dealing in blackmail and assassination.” Ming Tai (Marc Robbins in yellowface) runs the Royal Pekin Club, where illegal activities such as gambling and opium smoking are enjoyed. He is also head of the Bo Sing Tong and “the Spider of Chinatown.” At the tong’s ­temple head­ quarters, Ming Tai issues “a blood-­call” to his tong ­brothers to decide the fate of Louie Toy (Toyo Fujita), a merchant “who has grown rich trafficking in curios—­and smuggling opium” but who refuses to pay tribute to the tong.77 Ming Tai’s judgment of Louie Toy is clouded since he also desires “Louie Toy’s

66  •  Chinatown Crime

most prized possession,” his ­daughter Sen Chee (Helen Jerome Eddy in yellow­ face). The tong’s needs clash with personal desires when Luk Chan (Sessue Hayakawa), “the Bo Sing Tong’s most feared hatchet-­man,” also professes his love for Sen Chee. While Chinese men may be presented as criminals in the film, importantly only the one portrayed in yellowface, Ming Tai, is evil. Th ­ ose played by Japa­nese American actors—­Luk Chan, Louie Toy, and Lucero (Yutaka Abe)—­may initially be presented as criminals, but they prove to be moral and good men.78 The presence of Asian American actors and protagonists sets up a conflict between the usual voy­eur­is­tic gaze offered in the Chinatown crime film and an empowered gaze possessed by the Chinese protagonist. Contrary to the ste­ reo­type of working-­class Chinese men as subordinate and meek, Lucero is introduced as tough: when a white gangster cheats him at dice, Lucero throws a knife into the cheater’s back. While the police give chase through the streets of Chinatown, Lucero convinces Louie Toy to provide him with sanctuary. With Lucero safely hidden, Louie Toy smokes casually in his shop doorway as a cop, giving chase, stops to won­der in which direction Lucero might have gone. The camera, rather than offering us a close-up of the police officer or his gaze, instead provides one of Louie Toy, eyeing the officer before he sends him in the wrong direction. Louie Toy says to the officer, “Him lun up Dupont, down Saclamento; you no like stop dlinkee tea?” The title card captures how Louie Toy plays to a ste­reo­type to gain the upper hand in the situation; the police officer assumes that the merchant is harmless and goes off in the direction indicated. While Louie Toy is able to deflect the visual interest of the police, Luk can possess it. Initially, as Luk walks down the street, the man whose gaze is empow­ ered and whose face is shown in close-up possessing the gaze is that of an undercover police officer, Sergeant Bray (uncredited). As a close-up shows, Bray’s voy­eur­is­tic gaze witnesses Luk accepting a message passed surreptitiously from another tong member. As Bray walks away, however, it is Luk (in a close-up) who looks, and it is his voy­eur­is­tic gaze that sees through Bray’s disguise and identifies him as a police officer. ­Later, Luk also confounds the investigative gaze of the police officer by donning a disguise as an incense vendor. This allows him to move freely about Chinatown with his tins of opium, right u­ nder the watchful gaze of the police.79 When a suspicious Bray stops the vendor, Luk offers him a package of incense; satisfied, Bray moves along. Similarly, when Luk takes Louie Toy to a storeroom u­ nder the pretense of selling him opium, the hatchet man is able to mask his true mission to kill Louie Toy, who does not recognize Luk in his disguise. In the end, however, Luk chooses his love for Sen Chee over his duty to the tong and does the moral ­thing—­sparing her ­father’s life—­even though it means the end of his own in Amer­i­ca. With the ste­reo­t ypes of Chinatown so well engrained by the late 1920s, many films offered parodies of yellow peril fears, and Hollywood’s comedians

Imperiled Imperialism  •  67

took a turn in Chinatown. This included getting caught up in tong wars, as did Harry Langdon in the short Feet of Mud (Edwards 1924), Hoot Gibson in Arizona Sweepstakes (Smith 1926), and Johnny Hines in Chinatown Charlie. One of the best known of the Chinatown comedies is the Buster Keaton film The Cameraman (Sedgwick and Keaton 1928). According to the press sheet for the film, “a replica of a Chinatown street in New York with two blocks of four and six-­story buildings” was built, and the tong b­ attle scene featured “five hundred oriental actors.”80 Buster (Keaton) dreams of becoming a newsreel cameraman and falls in love with Sally (Marceline Day), who works for MGM’s newsreels office. When a reporter (Bert Moor­house) covering the Chi­ natown parade sees a gun being passed from one man to another outside a chop suey restaurant in Chinatown, he notifies Sally that “this Chinese cele­ bration may be in­ter­est­ing.” She sends Buster with his camera to capture the action. As the parade is about to begin, some tong members brandish their guns, and their leader tells them, “If the Wung Fa Tong starts anything . . . ​ you know what to do!” Both white and Chinese Americans line the streets for the parade as Buster sets up his camera and starts filming. While the costumes of the tong men may be traditional, members of both tongs brandish modern revolvers, tommy guns, and even a machine gun rather than hatchets. Buster films the action, somehow avoiding bullets even as he stands directly in a machine gunner’s line of fire. The film cleverly draws a parallel between the machine gun’s rapid firing and Buster’s turning the camera’s crank ­handle—­both taking shots at or of the scene. While at first Buster is upset that tong shots have broken off all of his tripod’s legs, this soon proves to have been propitious, as sitting on the ground places him beneath the next spray of bullets. In an attempt to escape the fray, Buster climbs up a ladder only to have it collapse beneath him and leave him in the m ­ iddle of a brawl in the street. Buster is spotted by mem­ bers of one of the tongs as he films, and vari­ous hatchet men are sent out to try to dispatch him—­but luckily not before the police arrive to prevent his demise in Chinatown. Rather than portraying a Chinatown tong war as bloody and frightening, the film, like many other comedies, pres­ents it more as a good fight sequence and comical, as the hero navigates it unharmed.

Slave Girls Tong wars w ­ ere often reported by the newspapers to be the result of conflicts over w ­ omen referred to as “slave girls.”81 As Lucy Salyer explains, the most prof­ itable type of illegal immigration was that associated with Chinese prostitutes, ­because Amer­i­ca laws so strictly limited the entry of Chinese ­women.82 The 1875 Page Act prohibited the immigration of prostitutes and criminals, mean­ ing that Chinese ­women ­were subjected to questioning by U.S. officials about their morality.83 The result was that the law reduced all female immigration,

68  •  Chinatown Crime

not just that of prostitutes. Between the passing of the Page Act in 1875 and the passing of the Exclusion Act in 1882, the number of Chinese w ­ omen enter­ ing the United States declined by 68 ­percent, compared to the previous seven-­ year period.84 Immigration became even harder for Chinese ­women in 1921 with the passing of a new law stating that the foreign-­born wives of American citizens could not gain American citizenship.85 Even for men who had wives, bringing them to the United States was not always financially pos­si­ble and not necessarily culturally acceptable: a ­woman’s place was considered to be in the home, and the majority of men ­were not planning to stay in Amer­i­ca.86 The lack of Chinese ­women in the United States for men to marry meant ­there was a g­ reat demand for prostitutes in Amer­i­ca’s Chinatowns. In California in 1852, ­there ­were reportedly only seven Chinese ­women com­ pared to 11,794 men.87 At that time, a Chinese w ­ oman named Atoy estab­ lished her prostitution business in San Francisco’s Chinatown.88 However, Atoy’s in­de­pen­dence was aty­pi­cal, and most Chinese w ­ omen and girls w ­ ere tricked into becoming prostitutes with the promise of quick marriages to suc­ cessful merchants. ­Others ­were kidnapped and forced into sexual slavery, and ­those who willingly entered the profession often found that their employers would break the terms of their contract. ­There ­were two types of prostitute: ­those who w ­ ere enslaved and ­those who w ­ ere ­under contact. As Lucie Cheng Hirata explains, “the contract system offered very ­little advantage over the out­ right sale or slave system and was, in a number of ways, more brutal ­because it raised false hopes.”89 According to Richard Dillon, prostitutes had only two ways out: death or finding sanctuary with a mission.90 In 1865, San Francisco’s Board of Supervisors passed an “Order to Remove Chinese W ­ omen of Ill-­Fame from Certain Limits in the City,” and in 1866, the California legislature approved an act for the “Suppression of Chinese Houses of Ill-­Fame.”91 In the 1870 census, 61 ­percent of the 3,536 Chinese ­women in California listed their occupation as prostitute.92 Prostitution was regarded by white Americans as proof of the amoral nature of Chinese ­people and their repression of ­women u­ nder their patriarchal sys­ tem of values—in spite of the fact that several Chinatown brothels catered to white as well as Chinese men.93 This purported evidence of Chinese immoral­ ity was used to support attempts to place more restrictions on Chinese immi­ gration ­after the Exclusion Act of 1882. It was also partly responsible for the efforts of the Methodist Episcopal Church and the Presbyterian Mission Home to rescue Chinese ­women from prostitution. In the 1920s, Manion worked closely with Donaldina Cameron of the Presbyterian Mission Home to pro­ tect and rehabilitate the ­women found during raids. Cameron’s nickname in Chinatown was Lo Mo, meaning “beloved m ­ other.” According to Cameron, approximately 1,500 ­women and girls ­were rescued by the mission in the first thirty years of the home’s existence.94 The impact of the anti-­Chinese prosti­

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tution legislation and the mission was a dramatic reduction in the number of Chinese prostitutes: in 1880, only 24 ­percent of California’s Chinese w ­ omen declared their occupation to be prostitute.95 The lasting legacy of the laws and their enforcement by the police in the nine­ teenth ­century linked Chinese ­women with prostitution and corrupting the moral fabric of American society. As Judy Yung explains, Chinese prostitutes ­were accused of “disseminating vile diseases capable of destroying”—as an 1880 municipal report declared inflammatorily—­“the very morals, the manhood and the health of our ­people . . . ​ultimately destroying w ­ hole nations.”96 Leong says that, compared to the 2,600 Chinese prostitutes reported to be in San Fran­ cisco in the 1880s, by 1936 ­there ­were prob­ably no more than 100. However, wealthy Chinese men continued to pay well (from $1,000 to $10,000) to have ­women smuggled in to be their sex slaves. Leong explains that “before the immi­ gration laws, the girls often came voluntarily as immigrants, but [they] now are brought in as ‘­daughters’ or ‘wives’ of Chinese merchants. Some prostitutes are American-­born.”97 In 1930, an act was passed that allowed entry into the United States for the Chinese wives of American citizens who had married before passage of the Immigration Act of 1924. The ratio of Chinese men to ­women then improved to three to one by 1940 (compared to seven to one in 1920), and Amer­i­ca’s Chinese started to conform to white Americans’ ideas of respectability.98 The twentieth-­century fascination with nineteenth-­century prostitution in San Francisco was reflected in the coverage of stories of slave girl smuggling, rescues, or escapes in newspapers up and down the West Coast.99 Newspapers dwelled on cases of white misadventures in Chinatown, including Elsie Sigel’s brutal murder in 1909, allegedly at the hands of her Chinese lover.100 Ironically, neither Sigel nor the chief suspects in her murder ­were residents of Chinatown, yet her murder was known as a Chinatown mystery b­ ecause her lover was Chinese.101 Even in 1929, films like Chinatown Nights aroused fears of white slavery: a review of the film in the San Francisco Chronicle commented, “Many white girls dis­appear each year in Chinatown.”102 As Mary Ting Yi Lui explains, in New York City suffragettes and missionary ­women ­were concerned with “white slavery”—in other words, the coercion of young white ­women into prostitution; in contrast, in California the primary prob­lem was Chinese ­women being trafficked into the country for the purposes of prostitution.103 American film producers did not discriminate, and films produced in New York in the 1900s offered tales of both white and Chinese slaves. For exam­ ple, according to a review in Moving Picture World, Kalem Com­pany’s Chinese Slave Smuggling (1907) offers a story of smuggling “young slave girls to ­either San Francisco or New York, where they are sold to wealthy Chinamen for sums r­ unning into the thousands.”104 The hero of the film is Lieutenant Manly, who saves a young Chinese ­woman from her smugglers; however, he

70  •  Chinatown Crime

does not pursue a romantic relationship with her.105 A review in Moving Picture World describes the Powhatan Film, Lost in Chinatown (1909), as “a strong and vivid picture of city life, showing the snares and allurements, which the young and innocent should understand and avoid. A young girl arrives at the metropolis and . . . ​is conducted into the slum section, and an attempt is made to imprison her in the care of a Chinese opium dealer.”106 Although the review does not confirm her ethnicity, b­ ecause the young girl is saved by a sailor who also confesses to loving her, she is undoubtedly white. In Broken Fetters (Ingram 1916), a young white ­woman (Violet Mersereau) becomes the victim of a slave trader (Frank Smith in yellowface) who offers to take her to New York a­ fter her parents are killed in the Boxer Rebellion (Figure 3.2).107 Such stories motivated social reformers, politicians, and law enforcers to pre­ vent fraternization between white ­women and Chinese men, and films pro­ moted a similar message. Two main types of slave-­girl story w ­ ere common in American film: t­ hose that centered on Chinese criminals who bought and sold ­women and ­those that highlighted the good work of the city missions to save ­women from a life of prostitution. As an example of the former, the American Mutoscope and Biograph film, The Fatal Hour (1908), focuses on a female detec­ tive bringing to justice “Pong Lee, a Mephistophelian, saffron-­skinned varlet, [who] has for some time carried on this atrocious female white slave traffic.”108 An example of latter is the Selig Polyscope film, Chinatown Slavery (1909), in which missionaries save a group of slave girls. In Moving Picture World, a reviewer expresses his dislike for films like Chinatown Slavery that centered on “proselytism” (missionary work to convert heathens).109 In the film, Lee Chang, a Chinese immigrant and convert of the Bush Street Mission, sends to China for his childhood sweetheart, San Tao. Soon a­ fter her arrival in San Francisco, San Tao is kidnapped, and Lee Chang asks the mission for help—­which in turn enlists the Secret Ser­vice, whose members discover that San Tao has been taken by a “slave dealer” to be sold to Chow Low, a wealthy Chinese merchant.110 Lee Chang attempts to rescue San Tao, but they are attacked by Chow Low’s men. The film then offers a series of clichéd repre­sen­ta­tions of Chinatown: a “joss ­house” scene, in which Lee Chang scares weak-­minded Chinese men by pre­ tending to be a “living Joss”; a Chinese restaurant occupied by a slumming party; a secret panel in the restaurant floor leading to underground passages; and Lee Chang’s using a henchman’s queue to choke him into revealing San Tao’s whereabouts.111 No cast information is available for Chinatown Slavery and the ethnicity of the actors who played the Chinese characters is unknown. In contrast, Hayakawa appeared in three Chinatown films featuring w ­ omen sold into slavery. In the two-­reel newspaper-­crime film The Chinatown Mystery (Barker 1915), the reporter Frank Sloan (Howard Hickman) hopes to solve the mystery

Imperiled Imperialism  •  71

FIG. 3.2  ​White Slavery—­In Broken Fetters (1916), the heroine (Violet Mersereau) would

have been a victim of a Chinese slave trader (Frank Smith in yellowface) if not for the help of a Chinese American (Charles Fang). From Moving Picture Weekly, July 1, 1916, courtesy of the Media History Digital Library (http://­mediahistoryproject​.­org).

of what happened to a Chinese slave girl (Tsuru Aoki, Hayakawa’s wife), but unfortunately, he becomes an opium addict and loses his job and fiancée.112 While in the opium den, Sloan overhears Yo Hung (Hayakawa) confessing to the murder of another Chinese man. Sloan strikes a deal with a police captain that he ­will hand over the killer in exchange for the scoop. Restored to “good” society, his friends help cure him of his drug habit, and he regains his job and his fiancée. In Where Lights Are Low (Campbell 1921), a Chinese prince named T’Su Wong Shih (Hayakawa) comes to the United States to go to col­ lege, leaving ­behind his love, Quan Yin (Gloria Payton in yellowface). At a slave auction in San Francisco, he sees his beloved on the block and bids $5,000 to buy her. Although he does not have the money, he is given three years to earn it. Despite winning the lottery and having the money in time, the prince must fight for his love’s freedom against a hatchet man (Tôgô Yama­ moto) who covets her. A reviewer commented, “Hayakawa has surrounded himself with a cast that is almost entirely Oriental.”113 All of the main roles feature Japa­nese American actors—­including Yamamoto, Goro Kino, Kiyo­ sho Satow, Misao Seki, and Toyo Fujita—­except one: the white actor Gloria Payton was cast in the leading female role, prob­ably to appeal to white female viewers.114 In a similar plot, The First Born (Campbell 1921) begins with a

72  •  Chinatown Crime

boatman in China, Chan Wang (Hayakawa) seeing his true love, Loey Tsing (Helene Jerome Eddy in yellowface), sold to the owner of a San Francisco gam­ bling h ­ ouse, Man Low Yek (Goro Kino).115 In turn, Wang is forced to marry Chan Lee (Marie Pavis in yellowface), and when their son, Toy (Sonny Loy), is born, they move to San Francisco where they hope to find gold.116 In China­ town, Wang runs into Loey; out of jealousy Man Low Yek convinces Wang’s unhappy wife and child to move in with him. ­These actions result in the deaths of Wang’s son and wife, leaving Wang to seek revenge on the villain before returning to China with Loey. The majority of films with slave girl sto­ ries w ­ ere intended to offer their leading men the opportunity to save damsels in distress from the evils of Chinatown and to provide their audiences a happy ending with the parted lovers re­united. While copies of the films discussed above no longer exist, A Tale of Two Worlds is available to view through Grapevine Video and offers a demonstra­ tion of the voy­eur­is­tic aspect of scenes featuring slave girls. The Chinatown villain, Ling Jo (Wallace Beery in yellowface), is a tong leader and slave dealer. Even though the trafficking strand of the story is secondary to the main plot about star-­crossed lovers, the film offers a few scenes showing the plight of slave girls. Ling Jo is introduced seated in his h ­ ouse, dressed in silk clothes, smok­ ing a long Chinese pipe (suggesting that he might be smoking opium), talking to Chinese men (played by Asian American actors), and listening to a quartet of men playing Chinese instruments in the background. Ling Jo pres­ents his “pretty girls for sale” (notably, all young Asian American ­women) to the two Chinese men. L ­ ater, as the transaction is completed, we see a close-up of one young ­woman, wearing an elaborate headdress, who turns her eyes to the floor in despair. The deal is interrupted by Ling Jo’s enforcer, who reports that one of Ling Jo’s w ­ omen, Ah Mei (Chow Young), is in the street talking to a white man.117 Ling Jo o­ rders Ah Mei punished, and in a subsequent scene, the attrac­ tive young ­woman, wearing a white fur stole over her Chinese garb, is hauled violently off the street and into an alley to be dispatched. Ling Jo says, “The fate of Ah Mei must be visited upon any Chinese girl who gives her heart to a white man,” and the young ­woman who has just been sold raises her eyes, real­ izing that this may be her fate as well. The film, unlike many ­others of the time, shows the audience the reactions and feelings of slave girls, sold against their ­will and abused at the whim of their masters. Rather than referring to the ­women in Speed Wild (Garson 1925) as “slave girls,” the ­women smuggled into the United States in this film are called “pic­ ture brides.” The picture-­bride or shashin kekkon (meaning “photo marriage”) system was a Japa­nese practice based on the established custom of arranged marriages. In the film, Jack Ames (Maurice “Lefty” Flynn), a newly minted motorcycle cop, is assigned to the vice squad to investigate a smuggling racket. As the review in Film Daily explains, “In the dusk, on the beach, is a motor car

Imperiled Imperialism  •  73

flashing signals by means of its headlights, to a ship anchored a short distance off shore. Next a flash of some pretty chinese [sic] girls apparently preparing to leave the boat.”118 Jack falls in love with Mary Bryant (Ethel Shannon) but soon discovers that her b­ rother has been dragged into the smuggling gang and that her suitor, Wendell Martin (Frank Elliott), is the head of it.119 ­Under the Pro­ duction Code, the depiction of prostitution was not allowed, and instead slave girls w ­ ere typically shown singing, playing m ­ usic, or fanning and feeding a male client. In the few films that did depict the smuggling of w ­ omen, including Border Phantom (Luby 1936), they w ­ ere referred to as picture brides. ­Under the Production Code, prostitution and white slavery could not be pre­ sented as subjects; films, however, could show the smuggling of male laborers who ­were derogatorily referred to as coolies. Ironically, it was the passing of the Chinese Exclusion Act in 1882—­a law intended to decrease the number of Chi­ nese in the United States—­that caused a dramatic increase in the number of illegal Chinese immigrants. Estimates suggest that at least 17,300 Chinese immigrants entered the country illegally by way of Canada or Mexico between 1882 and 1920.120 The films featuring the smuggling of Chinese laborers w ­ ere set in the borderlands near Canada or Mexico or offshore of New ­England or California rather than in Amer­i­ca’s Chinatowns; similarly, many films focused on opium smuggling and ­were also set in the borderlands. In contrast, films concerned with opium smoking w ­ ere set in Chinatown, and the topic also proved popu­lar u­ ntil strict enforcement of the Production Code began in the mid-1930s.

Opium In 1931, the Police and Peace Officers’ Journal of the State of California published an address given by Manion on “New Chinatown,” in which he described the “initial and gradual growth of the importation and use of opium in China­ town.”121 Manion listed the ingenious ways that smugglers concealed opium—­ for example, in fire logs, books, shoes, or clothes with hidden compartments.122 He reminded his audience that u­ ntil the Opium Exclusion Act of 1909, opium was l­egal, “opium dens ­were freely maintained,” and opium was “sold openly on the streets.”123 In fact, before opium was outlawed, the Sears Roebuck cata­ log featured it for sale in the form of laudanum.124 Opium was not always con­ sidered a social evil: ­until the last de­cades of the nineteenth ­century, narcotics ­were seen as having g­ reat value to cure certain illnesses, relieve pain, and stim­ ulate relaxation. As William O. Walker III suggests, “the control of drugs is primarily a twentieth-­century phenomenon.”125 The issue for the government was not that opium was coming into the country, but that it was coming in ille­ gally and the government was not able to collect taxes on it. The import duties on smoking opium between 1860 and 1910 equaled $27 million, and the Tariff

74  •  Chinatown Crime

Act of 1890 (also called the McKinley Tariff) levied taxes on opium but did not make it illegal.126 An 1893 article in the San Francisco Chronicle stated that more than $1 million a year was “the amount of customs duty on opium which should be paid into the trea­sury, but of which the Government is defrauded by the smugglers.”127 An article in the following year explained that a reduc­ tion in the tariff “­will drive a g­ reat deal of the illicit trade into regular and legitimate channels.”128 And two years ­later, an article in the Los Angeles Times reported that the amount of opium smuggled into the United States “decreased largely during the last year as the result principally of the reduction of the rate of duty.”129 As early as the 1860s, many American merchants, offi­ cials, and missionaries believed that the best way to control opium traffic was its legalization.130 In the nineteenth c­ entury, concerns about narcotics had to do with finances; in contrast, in the twentieth ­century, they had to do with morals. Social and ­legal movements against narcotics ­were grounded in moral debates, but both revealed a racialization of the drug prob­lem. As Jeffrey Scott McIllwain states, “When discussing the recreational use of opium in the United States, it is impossible to separate it from the issue of race.”131 One of the first official actions taken to curb the smoking of opium occurred in 1875, when the government of San Francisco banned opium dens, which ­were frequented by Chinese ­people more than any other ethnic group; and in 1887, the federal government passed a law prohibiting the importing of opium by Chinese p­ eople.132 David Musto confirms that opium addiction was associated with the Chinese immigrant population: “The Chinese and their custom of opium smoking w ­ ere closely watched a­ fter their entry into the United States about 1870. At first, the Chi­ nese represented only one more group to help build railroads, but, particularly ­after the economic depression made them a ­labor surplus and a threat to Amer­ ican citizens, many forms of antagonism arose to drive them out or at least to isolate them. Along with this prejudice came a fear of opium smoking as one of the ways in which the Chinese ­were supposed to undermine American soci­ ety.”133 Hamilton Wright, the first opium commissioner, argued in 1910 that the Chinese w ­ ere “the primary source of infection” but that addiction then spread to white Americans: “One of the most unfortunate phases of smoking opium in this country is the large number of ­women who have become involved and [are] living as common-­law wives or cohabitating with Chinese in the Chi­ natowns of our vari­ous cities.”134 The immorality of smoking opium with white ­women became linked to other questionable be­hav­iors such as living in sin with or marrying a Chinese man. Some of the earliest documentary short films offered scenes of Chinatown opium dens, including Edison’s Chinese Opium Den (1895); American Muto­ scope and Biograph’s A Chinese Opium Joint (1898), A Raid on a Chinese Opium Joint (1900), The Heathen Chinese and the Sunday School Teachers (1904), and

Imperiled Imperialism  •  75

Rube in an Opium Joint (1905); and Lubin’s Fun in an Opium Joint (1903). According to Sean Nortz, Chinese Opium Den “prefigured the quin­tes­sen­tial screen opium den,” showing two ­people reclining on their sides on bunk beds and smoking their pipes while a third person seems to be washing laundry, “pro­ viding another layer of racial stereotyping” and giving the film its alternate title, Quarrel in a Chinese Laundry.135 Similarly, The Heathen Chinese and the Sunday School Teachers shows two female Sunday school teachers entering an opium den and one lying down to next to a Chinese man who is smoking an opium pipe.136 When films became longer, with more elaborate plots and developed characters, many of them focused on white addiction due to prox­ imity of Chinatown and its smoking opium. ­Others followed the efforts of a white hero to bring down the racket, and still ­others focused on the villains (­whether Chinese or white) who imported the drug. For example, the synop­ sis of Selig Polyscope’s The Smuggler’s Game (1910) explains, “California is the country of best ­things, a semi-­tropic land of enchantment, marred only the threatening Yellow Peril, carry­ing with it that demon cycle—­opium—­that lays the weird image of death in its wake and furnishes the plot of this g­ reat picture, one that is full of color and action, inspiring in its theme, thrilling in its situations.”137 Diana Ahmad argues that “opium dens became a lasting part of the Chinese ste­reo­type” and “the image of the Chinese, at least in Hollywood, continued to link opium smoking and or­ga­nized crime” up to the 1980s.138 Michael Gerald identifies the TV movie The Poppy Is Also a Flower (Young 1966) as “among the earlier films examining the narcotic drug trade.”139 This seems to be a significant oversight since, as Jill Jonnes confirms, between 1912 and 1922 “Hollywood had churned out a ­couple of hundred ­silent movies on this sordid yet fascinating issue: illegal drugs, addiction, and the drug trade.”140 By the mid-1920s, almost ­every well-­known star of the ­silent era had visited an opium den or encountered an opium smuggling plot in at least one film, includ­ ing Blanche Sweet in The Secret Sin (Reicher 1915), Fannie Ward in On the Level (Melford 1917), Lon Chaney in Bits of Life (Flood, Neilan, and Scully 1921), Mrs. Wallace Reid in H ­ uman Wreckage (Wray 1923), Clara Bow in Grit (Tuttle 1924), Douglas Fairbanks Jr. in The Air Mail (Willat 1925), and even Westerns stars like Tom Mix, Richard Dix, and Hoot Gibson.141 Selig Polyscope advertised The Smuggler’s Game (1910) as an “extremely fas­ cinating picture—­dealing as it does with the g­ reat opium industry that our government is striving so hard to eliminate.”142 And a review in Variety com­ mented on the attempts at authenticity on the part of the producers: “Several Chinamen are used as actors, lending something of a novelty to the scenes. Opium smuggling is the subject of this par­tic­u­lar crime film [with a] tug char­ tered to get the plunder. . . . ​A Chinese opium den is pictured for the benefit of the ­women and c­ hildren: and the methods of transacting in smuggled goods are shown.”143 In the film, Tom Lawton heads the “gigantic organ­ization in the

76  •  Chinatown Crime

unlawful traffic of opium, with quarters in the notorious Joss House of King Yen Lo of Frisco.”144 Despite being married to a loyal wife, Lawton set his sights on Margarie Ward and has her suitor, John Mason, confined in the Smugglers’ Den at Ponca Island, in San Francisco Bay. However, Lawton reneges on his deal to pay the sea captain who smuggled the opium for him, and in revenge the captain helps Mason escape. Together they lead the police to the smuggler’s den to arrest Lawton and f­ ree his wife. Ward, now aware of Lawton’s true nature, falls in love with Mason. While The Smuggler’s Game identified a power­ful white man as the head of the film’s smuggling ring, other films featured Oriental villains. For example, in “Hop,” one of the four stories in Bits of Life, Chin Gow (Lon Chaney in yel­ lowface) is identified as the villain.145 Growing up in China, Chin Gow watched his ­father kill his baby ­sisters. When he was older, he ran away and worked in an opium factory before making his way to Amer­i­ca. In San Fran­ cisco, he became rich as the proprietor of chain of “hop joints.” However, like his ­father, Chin Gow treats his wife cruelly when she bears him a d­ aughter and not a son. His criminal be­hav­ior (opium dealing) and immoral be­hav­ior (abus­ ing his wife) are presented as connected, and Chin Gow receives his comeup­ pance when he is killed by the nail of a crucifix being hammered through the wall ­behind his head while he smokes opium. Through the symbol of the cross, the film also suggests that the way to stamp out the evils brought by Chinese immigrants is converting them to Chris­tian­ity. In the two-­act drama The Dream Seekers (Horne 1915), the villainy of Ling Foy (Thomas Lingham in yel­ lowface), the owner of an opium den, is revealed when he takes a violin from Martin (William H. West), a musician and addict, in lieu of money owed him for drugs.146 A plainclothes detective, Drake (True Boardman), investigates the den and falls for Martin’s ­daughter, Annie (Marin Sais), before Ling Foy takes her captive ­after getting “fired up by the girl’s beauty.” Drake kills Ling Foy in a fight to save Annie, and her ­father vows to never touch the drug again. A review in Motion Picture News explained how the filmmakers had approached the government for permission to use a “complete outfit” (den) that had been confiscated and was being h ­ oused in a ware­house; however, they then strug­ gled to find a Chinese resident to help arrange the set, since no one “would admit to having any knowledge of how an opium joint appeared when in full operation.”147 The review also stated that “the federal and state governments have had the Chinese quarter ­under control, and practically have stamped out all of the vice that made its ill-­repute,” suggesting that the opium prob­lems depicted in the film w ­ ere t­hose of “the days of San Francisco’s world famous China­ town”—in other words, the past.148 Nonetheless, in the years 1915 to 1917, American filmmakers offered a rash of films about Chinatown dens and white addiction, including The Secret Sin, On the Level, Queen X (O’Brien

Imperiled Imperialism  •  77

1917), and Hop, the Dev­il’s Brew (Weber and Smalley 1916). Th ­ ese films ­were aligned with real-­life government efforts to end the trade and ­were sold as educational rather than salacious stories. An article in Moving Picture World stated that “the progression of restrictive legislation . . . ​which prohibited further imports of opium, has resulted in a nation-­wide crusade against habit-­forming drugs”—­including the production of Hop, the Dev­il’s Brew, which was “expected to greatly stimulate the efforts being made to suppress the traffic.”149 According to the American Film Institute (AFI) Cata­log, the film was made with the assistance of the U.S. Customs Ser­vice, and an announcement in the copyright description explains that “­every episode of smuggling and distribut­ ing opium shown in this picture is based upon a­ ctual happenings since the law of 1909 went into effect.”150 The film began with a preface, explaining how, before the law’s implementation, opium worth $2 million was being smuggled into the country annually and that a five-­tael tin (less than half a pound), which used to fetch $15, was now selling for $90.151 According to Moving Picture World, Rufus Steele provided the scenario for the film; however, according to Shelley Stamp, it was the film’s codirector and star Lois Weber who penned the script, based on Steele’s series of articles in the Saturday Eve­ning Post about the government’s war against the opium trade.152 The film’s producers stressed its authenticity, as it was shot on location in San Francisco and reportedly in Chinatown opium dens. In the film, the opium is smuggled ashore from a ship by hiding it inside the bodies of fish and then sold in packs of playing cards in Chinatown. A review in Moving Picture World praised the film, stating that “no highly colored newspaper story ever gave the reader so complete an idea of how opium smugglers operate and how government inspectors work to check them.”153 And as the title of a review in Variety aptly sums up, Hop, The Dev­il’s Brew represented a “Timely Film Showing,” b­ ecause, just as the film was released, news broke that customs officials had killed J. B. Gray, the reported head of opium traffic on the West Coast, and found $6,000 worth of the drug in his h ­ otel room.154 Some films linked two heinous crimes—­opium smuggling and white slave trafficking—­together. A five-­page story version of The Breaks of the Game (Nowland 1915) appeared in Picture-­Play Weekly, describing how the girl reporter Marjorie (Maxine Brown) investigates the disappearance of a young ­woman from a slumming party tour.155 In Chinatown, Marjorie is assisted by Jim Kirk, “a rat-­faced young man with the sunken eyes and white, emaciated face of a confirmed opium smoker,” who informs her that shop­keeper San Fong is infamous in his taste for white girls.156 Unfortunately, Marjorie soon finds herself the prisoner of San Fong and requires rescuing by her editor (Augustus Phillips), who loves her. San Fong is identified as “big-­time opium buyer” who is sending five or six of his men to meet a steamer that is carry­ing a large smug­ gled shipment of the drug. Similarly, in The Money-­Changers (Conway 1920),

78  •  Chinatown Crime

Hugh Gordon (Robert McKim) is the head not only of a large drug and chem­ ical corporation but also of a drug and white slavery racket. The story is broken by the reporter Allan Martin (Roy Stewart), who also finds out that Gordon is living in sin with a ­woman (Audrey Chapman) but is engaged to Lucy (Claire Adams), a socialite. An ad in Motion Picture News featured the China­ town connections of the film, specifically how the white characters “came together in the room above the Chinese restaurant” and how “only in the nick of time did the . . . ​reformed crook and the police break through the ring of fiercely fighting Chinamen and gangsters!”157 The reviewer for Wid’s Daily admitted that while many of the film’s tropes—­“oriental environment with its story of opium, white slave traffic and the ‘men higher up’ ”—­were “not entirely new,” the film “furnishes a new thrill.”158 Other films linked all manner of white crime in New York City to China­ town and the vice of smoking opium, including two of the Tex, Elucidator of Mysteries, series starring Glen White and produced by William Steiner. In The Wall Street Mystery (Collins 1920), the murder of a broker eventually leads Tex to visit Chinatown in disguise, where he finds the broker’s Japa­nese valet in an opium den. Although Tex suspects the valet, who vowed revenge a­ fter his boss treated him poorly, in the end the killer is revealed to be an office clerk who stole some bonds.159 In The Scrap of Paper (Collins 1920), Tex exposes a con­ spiracy among milk producers to keep the price of milk high when he investi­ gates the murder of the head of the milk trust. The hero “traces the crime to a resident of Chinatown, and with some helpers ­causes a rough h ­ ouse in an opium den, and brings out his prey.”160 The release of Chinatown opium films continued into the 1920s, as a review in Exhibitors Trade Review of Tearing Through (Rosson 1925) confirms: “Sto­ ries dealing with dope peddlers always possess a certain news value b­ ecause the fans read about such ­things in the daily papers and like to fancy they are get­ ting a look b­ ehind the scenes, so to speak, when the stuff is spread out on the screen.”161 In Through Thick and Thin (Nelson and Eason 1927), Don Davis (William Fairbanks) is a Secret Ser­vice agent on the tail of a gang of opium smugglers. He works undercover as a gangster in the Green Dragon Café for a white crook, Morris (George Periolat).162 Don falls in love with Ruth (Ethel Shannon), the ­daughter of Morris—­who luckily in the end is revealed to be another Secret Ser­vice agent and not a crook. In Purple Dawn (Seeling 1923), a young sailor named Bob (William E. Aldrich) gets caught up in an opium smuggling plot when the skipper he works for makes him deliver a package of “hop” worth $120 to a tong leader, Wong Chang (Edward Peil Sr. in yellow­ face).163 On his second delivery, Bob is attacked by members of a rival Chinese gang, the opium is stolen, and he is ­later brought to Chinatown for punishment. Wong Chang’s d­ aughter, Mui Far (Bessie Love in yellowface), falls in love with Bob and decides to save him by reporting her f­ ather’s actions to the law. As a

Imperiled Imperialism  •  79

still from the film reveals, federal agents take both Mui Far and the girl that Bob loves, Ruth (Priscilla Bonner), on a boat—­arriving just in time to save Bob from being strangled to death by the tong enforcer.164 Film Daily advised exhib­ itors to attract audiences e­ ither though highlighting the “Oriental romance” or the “dope smuggling a­ ngle” of the story.165 Films with plots about opium dens, addiction, or smuggling came to an end with the implementation of the Production Code in the 1930s. In the 1910s and 1920s, however, opium was a popu­lar topic ­because of audiences’ familiarity with it through newspaper and film stories about Chinatown crime. Opium dens and smuggling rackets ­were a shorthand in American film to connect Chinatown residents to immorality and criminality, as well as to provide white characters with the opportunity to perform heroic action to bring down Chinatown crime rings, as the next chapter on Chinatown crime explores.

4

The Whitening of Chinatown Action Cops and Upstanding Criminals The previous chapter on Chinatown crime films explored how Chinatowns ­were spaces identified in American films as the hub of Chinese criminal activ­ ity, from tong wars over slave girls to criminal rackets dealing with opium. In contrast, this chapter focuses on how Chinatowns offered a space for white heroes to fight Amer­i­ca’s seemingly foreign criminals in a reflection of main­ stream society’s desire to police Chinese immigrants. In addition, however, this chapter illuminates how Hollywood gradually replaced Chinatown’s Chinese villains with white ones and China-­related crime with white-­run rackets. In other words, t­ here was a whitening of Chinatown: it remained associated with crime, but Asian American characters and actors ­were displaced by the white heroes who brought them to justice or the white criminals who took over Chi­ natown. While ­silent crime films ­were guilty of villainizing Chinese immi­ grants, they at least presented them as key characters who most often ­were played by Japanese American actors, including Yutaka Abe, Toyo Fujita, Goro Kino, Frank Tokunaga, Tôgô Yamamoto, and Sessue Hayakawa. With the passing of the Immigration Act of 1924, the majority of t­ hese actors returned to Japan, and with the coming of sound in the late 1920s, other Asian Ameri­ can actors w ­ ere rejected for Chinese roles b­ ecause their accents w ­ ere consid­ ered problematic.1 While in the 1920s, the famous Chinese detective Charlie 80

The Whitening of Chinatown  •  81

Chan was played by Japa­nese Americans, including George Kuwa in The House without a Key (Bennet 1926) and Sôjin Kamiyama in The Chinese Parrot (Leni 1927), in the sound era, he was played predominantly by white actors in yellowface—­notably Warner Oland, Sidney Toler, and Roland Winters. In the first sound film in the series, ­Behind That Curtain (Cummings 1929), Chan was played by the Korean American actor E. L. Park with an En­glish accent; how­ ever, Chan was not the protagonist of the film and appeared only in its final act. Hollywood increasingly pushed Asian American actors to the background to cast white actors in yellowface for significant Chinese characters and to offer more “half-­caste” Eurasian characters as roles that white actors could play more convincingly. By the end of the 1930s, the association between Chinatown and crime was so well established that Chinese characters and crimes connected to China w ­ ere no longer necessary to shape the story. Instead, Chinatown itself represented the exotic and provided an exciting space for white heroes to police and in which yellowface villains could evade justice.

White Heroes ­ ilent Action Heroes S With mainstream conceptions of Chinatown as a crime-­ridden ghetto popu­ lated by heathens and tongs, it is not surprising that the San Francisco Police Department established the plainclothes Chinatown Squad in 1878—­the “first-­ ever specialized force to combat ethnic crime in any American city.”2 The squad’s formation was rumored to be the direct result of a deadly tong war in 1875; it was, however, actually the result of a ­labor dispute, with Chinese labor­ ers feared to be stealing jobs from white Americans. In July 1877, several thou­ sand white Americans gathered in the sandlots in front of San Francisco’s new city hall to voice their support for striking railroad workers in the East. Fear­ ing trou­ble, all 150 members of the police department w ­ ere called to duty and prevented 500 anti-­Chinese demonstrators from marching into Chinatown. Despite the efforts of the police, however, rioters attacked Chinese wash­houses, and Chinatown residents ­were forced to flee. The realization that the police department was inadequate led to passage of the McCoppin Act, which ordered the tripling of the department’s size and the creation of the Chinatown Squad.3 However, members of the squad ­were “notoriously corrupt,” and officers reportedly accepted bribes from illegal businesses to leave them alone.4 In 1895, visitors to Chinatown w ­ ere often guided to “vice resorts” by police officers, which suggests that many of them ­were on the payroll of ­those opium dens, gambling ­houses, and brothels.5 In 1901, a legislative committee investigated the charge that police w ­ ere accepting kickbacks from “Chinese gamblers or other coolie offenders.”6 In 1904, Chief of Police George Wittman was accused of instruct­ ing Sergeant Ellis to permit certain Chinatown gambling h ­ ouses to remain in

82  •  Chinatown Crime

operation.7 During the trial that followed, Ellis and two patrolmen confessed to taking such bribes, but Wittman insisted that he had not been party to the crime.8 The ­grand jury did not hold Wittman complicit but did conclude that he should be, as the headline in the San Francisco Call reported, “suspended on charge of incompetency.”9 At the same time as officers w ­ ere accused of being on the take, the squad in general had developed a reputation for its “extra-­legal, brutal methods”—­including not obtaining warrants to search ­people or premises—­under the leadership of “hard-­nosed sergeants” like Bill Price in the 1890s and Jesse Cook in the 1900s.10 Newspapers reported that the squad’s main focus was gambling, but American s­ ilent films w ­ ere fixated on tongs, slave girls, opium, and smuggling.11 Change came in 1921, however, with Jack Manion’s coming to the helm: the squad improved its methods, and Manion won the support of the Chinese Six Companies. Chinatown residents refereed to Manion as Tao Yen (“head man”) and Mau Yee (“the cat who chases the rats”).12 Manion’s goal was to end the tong wars and quash the gambling, opium, extortion, and prostitution rack­ ets. In 1922, ­after the bloodiest year of tong vio­lence in San Francisco and using the threat of deportation, Manion got the tongs to sign a peace treaty, pledg­ ing that ­there would be no more tong killings. Manion’s campaign was success­ ful, and the 1921 tong war was the last that would take place in San Francisco’s Chinatown. The turning of the tide, however, was also driven by Chinatown merchants who had lost more than $1 million during the tong war and wanted to keep the quarter safe to attract tourists.13 In 1939, ­there was a failed attempt by progressives to oust Manion in an effort to bring Chinatown into line with San Francisco’s liberal image.14 Manion retired in 1946, and in 1955 the days of the Chinatown Squad came to an end. As the New York Times reported, the “fabled police squad . . . ​born in a day of tong wars and tribute murders” was disbanded, following protests that it represented discrimination against San Francisco’s 25,000 Chinese American residents.15 It was not u­ ntil a de­cade ­after the Exclusion Act was overturned that Chinatown residents w ­ ere treated as American citizens rather than Chinese aliens. The heroes of American Chinatown films, however, ­were not members of the Chinatown Squad but individual action heroes. The amateur sleuth had been pop­u­lar­ized in classical British detective fiction and was presented as the intellectual superior to bumbling or inept police officers in fighting crime. However, s­ ilent films updated the amateur sleuth for modern urban crime, and the heroes of Chinatown films w ­ ere depicted as decidedly American (in other words, men of action), while the films foregrounded stunt work.16 For exam­ ple, for The Girl in the Dark (Paton 1918), the director Stuart Paton warned the star, Ashton Dearholt, that he would have to do his own stunts since Paton wanted three done in close-­up.17 The first consisted of “climbing to the roof of a porch, kicking in a heavy latticed door, knocking out three Chinamen and

The Whitening of Chinatown  •  83

rescuing the girl by taking her down the way he had come up.” The girl in ques­ tion is Lois Fox (Carmel Myers), who has a mysterious ideogram on her neck that “bore a magic significance to any Chinaman who saw it.”18 Brice Ferris (Dearholt) takes Lois to his home, where his Chinese servant, Ming (Frank Tokunaga), attempts to steal her ring and the tong leader Lao Wing (Frank Deshon in yellowface) kidnaps her. With the help of the chief of police (Alfred Allen), Brice f­ rees Lois, and the mystery is solved: Lois was born in Tibet and left at an orphanage with the ring—­“the sign and symbol of authority in the land of the Lama.”19 The film is evidently guilty of conflating dif­fer­ent Asian cultures and also of connecting all manners of crimes to the tongs. However, its main focus is on its action hero’s rescuing the damsel in distress. Similarly in Pell Street Mystery (Franz 1924), George Larkin plays a reporter, “Tip” O’Neil, who investigates the murder of a wealthy man in New York’s Chinatown by working undercover for a notorious gang.20 When his cover is blown, the gang kidnaps Tip’s sweetheart, and he comes to her rescue “fight­ ing and chasing a flock of thugs and Chinks,” as one reviewer explained.21 Speed Wild (Garson 1925) offers a picture-­bride smuggling racket; the focus of the film, however, is the series of action heroics performed by Jack Ames (Maurice “Lefty” Flynn), who joins the police department as a motorcycle cop for the adventure.22 ­A fter rescuing Mary Bryant (Ethel Shannon) from a car accident, Jack falls in love with her but then discovers her connections to the racket: her ­brother, Charles (Ralph McCullough), has been dragged into the gang, and her suitor, Wendell Martin (Frank Elliott), is the head of it.23 Jack combs China­ town for Charles, and meanwhile Wendell kidnaps Mary, keeping her aboard his yacht. N ­ eedless to say, Jack fights Wendell and his henchmen valiantly, keep­ ing them at bay u­ ntil the police arrive to arrest them. Jack, who initially joined the police department for action and thrills, comes to appreciate the job for the ser­vice he provides society as a law enforcer—­namely, protecting the cultural borders of American society. Kenneth MacDonald stars in both In High Gear (Bradbury 1924) and Shadows of Chinatown (Hurst 1926). The former was described as a “stunt melodrama” in which “Alice (Helen Lynch) is kidnapped and thrown into Chinatown den where Jack (MacDonald) rescues her ­after a series of thrilling fights.”24 In the latter, MacDonald plays a navy lieutenant who has been assigned the “task of exterminating” a gang operating in Chinatown and who is “aided by friendly Chinese.”25 Unfortunately, the hero and a female agent—­disguised as Chinese—­are both captured by the gang and require saving by the police. The press sheet for the film promised audiences “thrilling situations” and the “irre­ sistible appeal of the mysterious underworld, secret passages, sliding panels, incense, pagan gods and lurking death.”26 The cover of the press sheet shows MacDonald in his naval uniform on a flight of stairs, raising a large Chinese vase to fight off the Chinese and white crooks surrounding him.

84  •  Chinatown Crime

Like MacDonald, Richard Talmadge appeared in more than one China­ town action film: The Cub Reporter (Dillon 1922), Tearing Through (Rosson 1925), and The Fighting Pi­lot (Smith 1935).27 According to a reviewer, The Cub Reporter “­doesn’t amount to much other than serving as a vehicle for this new athletic star.”28 In the film, Marian Rhodes (Jean Calhoun) is kidnapped by a tong in an effort to retrieve a Chinese jewel, and a San Francisco reporter (Tal­ madge) comes to her rescue. As the Moving Picture World reports, “Harvey, of the Morning Times, is called upon to do one daredevil stunt ­after another in his efforts to recover the Sacred Jewel of Buddha. . . . ​He dives head first through a skylight into the den of the Tong and gets away with the Jewel. Then he braves the underground passages of the Chinese underworld to rescue the girl stolen by the Tong and held as hostage for the return of the jewel. He proves too much for a ­whole squad of Chinamen and escapes with the beautiful girl.”29 In Tearing Through, while District Attorney Johnson (Herbert Prior) strug­gles to rein in a gang of dope smugglers, his assistant, Richard Jones (Talmadge), pursues the investigation on his own.30 The girl he loves (Kathryn McGuire) has a ­brother who is a drug addict and at the mercy of the gang; in addition, Rich­ ard’s rival (Frank Elliott) for her hand owns an opium den in Chinatown. A review in Moving Picture World sums up the film’s focus on action: “[Talmadge], in breaking up a drug ring and sensationally disclosing the identities of its chief­ tains, masquerades as a Chinaman, outwits and single-­handedly thrashes a mob of Orientals, leaps from one racing auto to another, jumps from tenement roof to roof, saves a young man from degradation, rescues a girl and then marries her.”31 Importantly, the hero reveals that the district attorney is also corrupt and is being bribed by the dope peddlers. In addition to offering action heroes, ­silent Chinatown films offered offi­ cial ones. As Ernest Mandel argues, the police officer eventually became the crime-­fighting hero of the twentieth ­century in a reaction not only to the increasingly or­ga­nized nature of crime but also to a change in middle-­class val­ ues, as the police came to be regarded less as a necessary evil and more as a protector of middle-­class values and lifestyle.32 Detective fiction reflected this social shift, with the amateurs of the interwar period replaced by official law enforcers a­ fter World War II. S­ ilent Chinatown films, however, did offer law enforcement heroes. This deviation from the broader generic convention con­ firms that Chinatown was regarded as an exception—­a place that required policing no m ­ atter what society in general felt about police competence and necessity. Unlike the amateur hero, the police detective in film had the power to bring the criminal to justice, w ­ hether through arrest or death.33 Often in Chinatown crime films with an official law enforcer hero, the head criminal is identified as a high-­level white politician. For example, The Midnight Patrol (Willat 1918) pres­ents the criminal dealings of Chinatown’s under­ world, from gambling h ­ ouses to slave girls; the film, however, ties the success

The Whitening of Chinatown  •  85

of the opium smuggling organ­ization to its enlistment of politicians—in other words, the real criminals are white men with po­liti­cal power. As a review of the film details, the Chinatown underworld is ruled by Wu Fang (Goro Kino) through the aid of a corrupt politician, Jim Murdock (Charles K. French), who protects Wu Fang for a cut of his profits.34 Wu Fang has his highbinders kill Sergeant Duncan, which means that Patrolmen Terrence Shannon (Thurston Hall) has to take his place to bring down Wu Fang. The villain kidnaps a China­ town mission worker, Patsy O’Connell (Rosemary Thelby), threatening to do her harm if the police interfere with his business. As a still from the film shows, Patsy bravely tries to fight off one Chinese gangster, while a white slave girl dressed in Chinese clothes strug­gles with another. A synopsis of the film confirms that the slave girl is Minnie (Marjorie Bennett), “a fatherless waif of the quarter” whom Wu Fang and Murdock kidnap “for their own evil pur­ poses.”35 “Chink” Ross (William Musgrave), a white “hop-­head” that Terrence had “helped out of the depths,” informs Terrence that Wu Fang is smuggling a “­g reat quantity of opium into Chinatown.” Disguising himself as Chinese, Terrence sneaks into Wu Fang’s secret lair but unfortunately is captured. He and Patsy are saved from being thrown into a pit of rats only when Officer Michael O’Shea (Harold Holland) arrives with backup. A ­battle ensues with the highbinders in the underground lair, and in the end the Chinese villain is killed, the corrupt politician arrested, and Terrence promoted to chief of police. According to a Motion Picture News reviewer, the producer, Thomas H. Ince, “declared that [The Midnight Patrol] was written and produced for the pur­ pose of crediting the policeman with a few of his unheralded achievements” (Figure 4.1).36 At a special screening at the Tivoli Theater in San Francisco, a hundred seats ­were set aside for police officers, and Captain Dan O’Brien made a speech praising the film. O’Brien stated, “The picture emphasizes the fact that our brave soldiers have counter­parts in every-­day life in our civic heroes, the members of the police department.”37 O’Brien also explained that the life of the film’s Patsy “was actually lived by Miss Grace Cameron of the Chinese Mis­ sion on Sacramento Street, just on the edge of Chinatown,” and that she became famous for the rescue “at ­great hazard to herself of several slave girls from the dens of Chinatown.”38 The Chinatown plot proved popu­lar, with trade papers reporting that audiences for the film had packed theaters wher­ ever it played, and its run was extended by many exhibitors.39 The Park-­Whiteside production Idle Hands (Reicher 1921) offered a similar plot of po­liti­cal corruption and the day being saved by the police.40 Marjorie Travers (Nellie Burt) moves to New York City, seeking a ­career on the stage, but ends up working at the Red Spider club, where she attracts the attention of Adolph Pym (J. Herbert Frank). As an intertitle explains, Pym, “seduced by her beauty and frustrated by her re­sis­tance takes her prisoner in the Gold

FIG. 4.1  ​“Have the police in your town seen this?”—­The Midnight Patrol (1918) praised

police efforts to end crime in San Francisco’s Chinatown. From Wid’s Daily, February 2, 1919, courtesy of the Media History Digital Library (http://­mediahistoryproject​.­org).

The Whitening of Chinatown  •  87

Dragon” in the “Heart of Chinese city.” Back home, her s­ ister Gloria (Gail Kane) approaches the police and then the mayor, Henry Livingston (Thurston Hall). Henry, in turn, consults with the commissioner on vice (William Bechtel), unaware that the commissioner heads the Chinatown underworld with Pym’s Chinese servant, Mock Lee (Norbert Wicki in yellowface). Accord­ ing to a title card, the Gold Dragon offers its customers “all the genres of distraction,” including white prostitutes and an opium den frequented by the commissioner’s son, Robert (Paul M. Lane). When the commissioner finds out that his son is an opium addict, he has a change of heart, and the police raid Chinatown to save Marjorie and Robert. The foreign release version of the film I viewed had color tinting: a red tint was used for scenes of immorality and danger, and a blue tint for the rescue sequence featuring the police. The latter lasted almost an entire reel and showed the police braving the unknown and dangerous spaces of Chinatown’s underworld at ­great risk to themselves to save the innocent.

Sound-­Era Gangsterism The resurgence of the tong wars in New York City and Chicago in the late 1920s was echoed in films of the early 1930s, with a return to Chinatown tongs ­after a decade-­long absence. In the 1910s and 1920s, tongs had symbolized China­ town “otherness,” the product of an alien culture. In contrast, in the 1930s they ­were recast as or­ga­nized crime rackets, in keeping with the public’s understand­ ing of Prohibition-­era gangsterism. Andre Sennwald of the New York Times identified this trend as the result of the success of “G” Men (Keighley 1935) star­ ring James Cagney.41 “G” Men was seen as a deliberate attempt by Warner Bros. to ­counter the backlash against its cycle of gangster films, including The Public ­Enemy (Wellman 1932) also starring Cagney, which w ­ ere deemed too violent and helped usher in the Production Code.42 Chinatown films that focused on law enforcement efforts to quell tong crime rackets included Law of the Tong (Collins 1931), which finds Denny (John Harron), a government agent, working undercover in Chinatown to smash a smuggling ring. He falls in love with a dance-­hall girl named Joan (Phyllis Barrington)—­who, when down on her luck, was taken in by Charlie Wong (Jason Robards in yellow­ face) in Chinatown. Unfortunately for Joan, who cares for both men, Charlie is the leader of the Hop Lee Tong and the man Denny is assigned to bring to justice. Denny confesses this to Joan: “For months, I have been trying to locate some unknown man—­a power­ful influence in Chinatown . . . ​the brains of an organ­ization illegally importing Chinese workmen into the country.” Joan dis­ agrees with Denny and says, “I’ve been working round t­ hese ­people. ­They’re my friends. They ­wouldn’t harm anyone.” Charlie defends his actions, saying, “I’m d­ oing no wrong. Th ­ ese Chinese are my p­ eople, my countrymen. I give them the chance to live, to work. They do the tasks that your ­people must have done.”43

88  •  Chinatown Crime

Denny tells Joan: “But, Joan, it’s the law—­and the law must be enforced! . . . ​If we throw open our doors to aliens, why, ­they’ll overrun the country!” Echoing pre-­exclusion era yellow peril fears, Denny suggests that Chinese p­ eople would not only take jobs from hard-­working Americans but would also “overrun” American society. In the end, Charlie sacrifices his life for Joan, allowing Denny to have both the girl and the credit for bringing down the tong. Despite its title, Chinatown Squad (Roth 1935) does not focus on the efforts of the police force to bring down Chinatown crime. Instead, the hero of the film is Ted Lacey (Lyle Talbot), a former member of the Chinatown Squad, who now drives a Chinatown rubberneck bus. In a reflection of mainstream atti­ tudes of the time, a reviewer described the Chinatown atmosphere in the film as “murky, mysterious,” and thus “a few knives in a few backs are inevitable.”44 Another reviewer praised the use of white actors for the main Chinese charac­ ters, describing it as “a relief [that t­ here] i­sn’t a trace of pidgin En­glish in the picture.”45 In the film, Raybold (Clay Clement) goes to the Peking Café and meets its owner, John Yee (E. Alyn Warren in yellowface), before the latter is murdered. Ted’s tour group is dining at the café when Raybold’s body is dis­ covered, and Ted’s police instincts kick in, inciting him to investigate the murder—­much to the chagrin of the official investigator, Sergeant McLeash (Hugh O’Connell). Ted also falls for the suspect, Janet Baker (Valerie Hob­ son), who confesses that she was originally Raybold’s business associate and, more recently, his fiancée. In a moment of poor taste, the film shows Janet in a yellowface disguise (with a black bobbed wig, cheongsam, and angled eyebrows) as she attempts to infiltrate Chinatown and retrieve threatening letters she sent Raybold. This problematic use of yellowface is compounded when Ted encourages her to maintain it to evade the police—­passing her off as a Chinese “blossom” and explaining that she does not speak “Amelican.” At San Francisco’s famous Chi­ nese Telephone Exchange, an operator—­Wanda (Toshia Mori)—­explains to Ted that Raybold had made phone calls to China.46 Eventually, Ted figures out that Raybold stole $70,000 from a Chinese communist organ­ization planning to buy planes for China, and that he was killed by his business partner, Palmer (Bradley Page). The film ends with Ted reinstated in the Chinatown Squad. It is ironic that the one film named a­ fter the famous San Francisco police squad does not focus on the squad’s efforts or teamwork but instead, in a reflection of broader generic conventions, on an in­de­pen­dent hero. ­Daughter of the Tong (Ray 1939) attempts to make itself more than a sensa­ tional B movie by foregrounding the efforts of law enforcement in the elimi­ nation of Chinatown crime.47 This is achieved with the inclusion of a preface that claims, “­Every American, regardless of class, position, or the community in which he lives, pays monetary tribute to racketeers who direct the activities of the underworld.” The preface goes on to explain that while local law enforce­

The Whitening of Chinatown  •  89

ment can h ­ andle small-­time gangsters, it cannot adequately deal with “the big racketeer [who] rules his kingdom from a position beyond the reach of local governments,” and this was the reason for the creation of the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI). The film begins in Chinatown at night, where a Chi­ nese man observes a white gangster receiving a crate in which another Chinese man has been smuggled. The papers the next day attribute the crime to the mys­ terious gangster known as Carney. A federal agent, Ralph Dickson (Grant Withers), is sent undercover to infiltrate the gang and discovers that Carney is none other than the “­Daughter of the Tong” (Evelyn Brent in yellowface). Ralph has fallen for Marion (Dorothy Short) who hopes that Ralph can save her ­brother Jerry (Dave O’Brien). Jerry was Carney’s partner but was taken cap­ tive by the gang when he discovered their importing business was just “a blind for smuggling and other rackets.” Unfortunately, when Ralph confronts Car­ ney, he also ends up her prisoner and next in line for an “Oriental manicure” (that is, torture). At that moment, backup arrives, and a fight ensues that the FBI wins. The law enforcement organ­ization proves its effectiveness, using teamwork and undercover operatives to expose and dismantle the gang. While Chinatown crime films of the ­silent era focused on action heroes who used physical might to fight Chinese criminals, t­ hose of the 1930s recast Chi­ natown as a space for official law enforcement agents to prove their ability to police the foreign ele­ments accused of penetrating and degrading American society. Just as the kind of hero changed over time, so did the criminals of the Chinatown crime film. Films of the 1930s recast its squabbling Chinese tongs as Prohibition-­style or­ga­nized crime rackets, and its Chinese criminals played by Asian actors ­were replaced with yellowface villains, Eurasian villains, and eventually white villains. In ­doing this, Hollywood could cast better-­known white actors, avoid cross-­racial identification for the films’ white audiences, and prevent protests over its depiction of Chinese ­people.

White Villains From Oriental to “Half-­Caste” The Oriental villain is a well-­known ste­reo­type, the most infamous of which is Dr.  Fu Manchu—­featured in thirteen novels and almost fifty films. As Eugene F. Wong describes Fu Manchu, he represents “the epitome of Chinese treachery and cunning . . . ​to satisfy the apparent white racist craving for an Asian ­enemy whose avowed purpose would be the total subjugation of the white race.”48 Despite his infamy, Fu Manchu was not featured in Chinatown crime films for two reasons: first, ­because he operated in a fantasy world of intrigue and did not mesh well with the realities of Chinatown communities; and, second, b­ ecause ­there was likely a reluctance on the part of filmmakers to glamorize Chinatown criminals. Rather than Oriental masterminds like Fu

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Manchu, the villains of Chinatown crime films w ­ ere more average tong lead­ ers or highbinders, ­people who could be vicious but also brought to justice. The one example of a Fu Manchu‒like Oriental villain in Chinatown films was the titular character in The Mysterious Mr.  Wong (Nigh 1934). In the film, Wong (Bela Lugosi in yellowface) ­orders the murder of several Chinatown residents to retrieve all twelve of Confucius’s gold coins, which legend says ­will give “extraordinary powers.” The only man who tries to stop Wong is Tsung (E. Alyn Warren in yellowface), and the only man able to bring Wong to jus­ tice is the reporter Jason Barton (Wallace Ford). Seeking a scoop on the murders and proof that they are, importantly, not connected to a tong war, Barton visits the scene of the latest murder. Barton recognizes the importance on a note left on the body at a Chinese laundry, while the official investigator, Officer McGillicuddy (Robert Emmet O’Connor), does not. In search of a translation of the note, Barton visits the herbalist down the street, Li-­See (Lugosi)—­unaware that he is Wong in disguise—­and then Professor Fu (Luke Chan), whom Wong l­ ater kills.49 A comedic sequence follows, in which Barton takes the love interest, Peg (Arline Judge), to Chinatown. Th ­ ere they encoun­ ter a series of accidents and adventures, concluding with the discovery of a secret passage from Li-­See’s shop to Wong’s ­house. Unfortunately, ­there Barton, Peg, Tsung, Wong’s niece (Lotus Long), and her maid (Etta Lee) all end up captive in Wong’s dungeon.50 Luckily, Barton discovers a working telephone, and even San Francisco’s famous Chinese Telephone Exchange makes a brief appearance when he calls for help. Ultimately, the police come to the rescue, and their arrival stops Wong in the midst of his torturing Peg and sees the coins of Confucius restored to China.51 The film offers positive Chinese characters—­namely Tsung, Fu, Wong’s niece, and the maid; unfortunately, however, t­ hese repre­sen­ta­tions, including three by Asian American actors, are overshadowed by the clichéd action of the final third of the film and Lugosi’s power-­hungry villain with a predilection for torture. The impact of the final act is to reduce the overall message of the film to the ­simple one that China­ town is full of villainous activities. In The Mysterious Mr. Wong, Lugosi’s yellowface consisted of traditional Chinese clothes (including a hat and Fu Manchu‒esque mustache) but not any attempt to change the shape of his eyes through prosthetics or makeup. While Lugosi was well known for playing monsters—­most notably, the lead in Dracula (Browning 1931) and The Black Cat (Ulmer 1934)—­his Hungarian accent marred his attempt to pass convincingly as Chinese. For example, the reviewer for Hollywood Reporter commented, “Lugosi’s accent, which is the same as in any other of his mystery thrillers, fails to give the impression of an Oriental.”52 It is likely for t­ hese reasons that Lugosi’s next Chinatown villain, in Shadow of Chinatown (Hill 1936), was identified as Eurasian rather than Chinese.53 In Shadow of Chinatown, a society page columnist, Joan Whiting (Joan Barclay),

The Whitening of Chinatown  •  91

and a novelist, Martin Andrews (Herman Bix), investigate a series of terrorist attacks intended to deter tourists from visiting San Francisco’s Chinatown and discover that the perpetrators are Sonya Rokoff (Luana Walters) and a scien­ tist, Victor Poten (Bela Lugosi). The film offers a warning of the danger of mis­ cegenation, suggesting that the product of such u­ nions is evil or insane. Both Poten and Sonya are revealed to be Eurasian: Poten wants to use his scientific inventions to destroy the Asian race and start his own, while Sonya comes to see the error of her evil ways and tries to stop him. Sonya dies heroically, trying to save Martin from a trap, and Poten is brought to justice. Interestingly, however, Joan and Martin rely on the assistance of two Chi­ nese characters—­Willy Fu (Maurice Liu), a servant in a Chinatown ­house­hold, and Dr. Wu (Henry Tung), head of the Chinatown merchants. In the film, Chinatown is presented as a very welcoming safe place, full of kindly Chinese merchants and happy white tourists. Similarly, Willy Fu and Dr. Wu are pre­ sented positively according to mainstream American attitudes at the time: they have assimilated and are in tune with American ways of life rather than impe­ rial Chinese traditions. The last line of the film suggests that Americans and the Chinese are not so dif­fer­ent, as Willy comments on Martin and Joan’s engagement. He says: “Ancient Queen Liu and modern American girl have much in common: they always get what they want. Slight difference in method only.” Despite the film’s seemingly positive message about Chinese immigrants, its repre­sen­ta­tion of Eurasians as corrupt reflects fears of miscegenation. As Eugene F. Wong argues, the character of Poten is used “to emphasize the enfee­ bled and socially unacceptable character traits allegedly inherent to the off­ spring of such u­ nions.”54 Shadow of Chinatown, however, was singular in tying the villains’ biracial identity to their schemes. In contrast, both Chinatown a­ fter Dark (Paton 1931) and ­Daughter of the Tong (Ray 1939) do not clarify their villains’ racial iden­ tity, but both appear to be Eurasian rather than Chinese.55 In Chinatown ­after Dark, Madame Ying Su (Carmel Myers in yellowface), the “empress of some American Chinese underworld,” is contrasted to Lee Fong’s ward Lotus (Bar­ bara Kent)—­who, although white, dresses in traditional Chinese dress and behaves like a dutiful d­ aughter.56 Lee Fong (Edmund Breese in yellowface) explains that he made a promise to Lotus’s ­father in China to bring her back to the United States to be educated among her ­people. When Lee Fong is mur­ dered over a Chinese dagger and jewel, Officer Dooley (Billy Gilbert) inter­ views Lotus. Her disconnect from her American homeland and culture is apparent: Dooley’s use of colloquial expressions such as “bird,” “Houdini,” and “egg” to describe the suspect requires that Ming Fu (Laska Winter in yellow­ face) play translator for Lotus, who seems to be more foreign than Ying Su, the film’s Eurasian villain. As Ying Su, Myers wears Chinese dress, puts her hair in a severe bun, and employs Chinese henchmen; however, she does not wear

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yellowface makeup, prosthetics, or adhesive. And, although she speaks slowly and cryptically in a strange accent, the accent sounds more Eu­ro­pean than Asian. Lotus offers a safer and more acceptable version of exotic femininity as a white w ­ oman in Chinese dress and deferential be­hav­ior without the danger­ ous and socially unacceptable foreignness. In contrast, Ying Su is portrayed as too foreign in her be­hav­ior, and especially in her morality or lack thereof. Sim­ ilar to that of Myers’s Madame Ying Su, the race of Evelyn Brent’s villain in ­Daughter of the Tong is also not clear: she speaks with an American accent and uses urban slang like a gangster, but her bobbed dark, hair, Chinese dress, and nickname “­Daughter of the Tong” suggest that she is Eurasian. At one point in the film, the hero refers to her as “a slant-­eyed lady who looked like Mrs. Fu Manchu.” Th ­ ose reviewers who commented on her ethnicity assumed that Brent’s character was supposed to be Chinese; however, the film’s synopsis by C. R. Metzger identifies her specifically as “half-­caste.”57 Thus, the question is, does it ­matter if the villain is Eurasian or Chinese—­ and if so, to whom? Did audiences care if a villain was only half Chinese instead of wholly Oriental? In fact, it did ­matter to Hollywood producers. As Jun Xing explains, mixed-­race Eurasian characters w ­ ere one of Hollywood’s “favorite cre­ ations,” as they “obviously allow white actors and actresses, with minimal makeup, to steal major roles from Asians.”58 The majority of the films featuring Eurasian villains ­were B films, and the ability not to have to apply time-­consuming and expensive makeup fit the budget-­conscious genre well. In addition, misce­ genation was illegal in the United States at the time, so the Eurasian also functioned as a warning about the danger of interbreeding that resulted in something purportedly corrupt or monstrous. David Palumbo-­Liu argues that, for both eugenicists and American politicians at the time, “the hybrid is clearly both a diseased entity that could only perpetuate and intensify that illness, and a sign of a monstrous ­union.”59 In addition, it assisted the Produc­ tion Code Administration (PCA) in its enforcement of the Production Code. As discussed in chapter 2, the PCA received many complaints in the 1930s from the Chinese consul in Los Angeles and Chinese American groups about the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese characters in Hollywood films. While t­ oday the Eur­ asian villain seems to be a doubly racist repre­sen­ta­tion of “Orientals,” as both villainous and insane, at the time such characters ­were used to avoid offending Chinese ­people by suggesting that the characters’ villainy stems not from their Chineseness but from unsanctioned interbreeding: in other words, not from their racial blood, but from its pollution. Importantly, however, the Eurasian villain allowed an updating of China­ town crime to the pres­ent. Rather than tying the villain’s motivations back to traditional China, the “half-­caste” identity of Eurasian villains connects them to a modern, urban, and international Amer­i­ca. For example, in The Mysterious Mr. Wong, the Chinese villain wants the coins of Confucius b­ ecause Chi­

The Whitening of Chinatown  •  93

nese legend says that he ­will then become the supreme ruler of the Chinese province of Keelat: both his greed and his goal are associated with China. In contrast, in Shadow of Chinatown, the Eurasian villain’s goal is to disrupt the success of Chinatown businesses and ultimately destroy the Asian race through scientific technology. Even the idea of being “half-­caste” is tied to modernity: without the migration of Chinese ­people around the world, t­ here would be no Chinese-­white miscegenation. While the Oriental villain could be regarded as left over from nineteenth-­century ste­reo­types, the Eurasian villain was a twentieth-­century phenomenon, tied to global traffic and a modern urban iden­ tity. Other films similarly disconnected Chinatown crime from nineteenth-­ century China and tied it instead to modern crime rackets by g­ oing one step further—­displacing Chinese criminals with white Americans.

Civic Crime While some films offered Eurasian villains to excuse their white portrayers’ Eu­ro­pean looks and accent, ­others skipped the complication of race altogether and identified their Chinatown crime lords as white. This trope had its germi­ nation in ­silent films, when the seemingly empowered Chinese antagonist is revealed to be working for a white superior rather than being in charge of the criminal racket himself. In other words, the Chinese criminal could be corrupt and cunning—­but not a criminal mastermind. As in the case of the Eurasian villain, this strategy was used by filmmakers to update their film’s themes to the twentieth c­ entury by disconnecting crime rackets from imperial China and linking them instead to American po­liti­cal corruption. A few s­ ilent films dab­ bled in this formula. For example, in The Smuggler’s Game (1910), it is revealed that the rich and respectable Tom Lawton is the head of a “gigantic organ­ization in the unlawful traffic of opium, with quarters in the notorious Joss House of King Yen Lo of Frisco.”60 Similarly, in Hop, the Dev­il’s Brew (Smalley and Weber 1916), Ward Jansen (Phillips Smalley) discovers that his father-­in-­law (Charles Hammond), a respected city councilman, is the head of the smuggling operation and that “­there are confederates among the city officials and in the Chinatown district.”61 Similarly, in The ­Woman with Four ­Faces (Brenon 1923), Elizabeth West (Betty Compson) works with the district attorney, Richard Templar (Richard Dix), to bring down the leader of a dope ring—­who, it turns out, is a respected but corrupt judge (George Fawcett).62 As the script explains, the opium is smug­ gled in five hundred bags of rice shipped from Shanghai on a steamer.63 The film was advertised as an anti-­dope film, and in addition to identifying corrupt city officials as involved in the racket, it highlighted the dangers of addiction. Richard, the district attorney, says to Elizabeth, “To make you understand I must show you one of the greatest tragedies in modern life—­a ghastly play per­ formed by millions of helpless souls.” He takes Elizabeth to an insane asylum

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as, according to the film, taking drugs makes you go insane. ­There Richard tells her: “Only a year ago that boy was as healthy and sane as you or I. . . . ​­There are thousands more like him right in this city! . . . ​This sort of t­ hing w ­ ill go on ­until the traffic in drugs is stopped—­and you and I can stop it!”64 While the con­ nection between the film’s plot and Chinatown may be minimal, a review in the Los Angeles Times noted that “­those who have a taste for the oriental, and especially the Chinesey kind of oriental, w ­ ill be considerably thrilled.”65 The other connection to Amer­i­ca’s Chinese community was that the film’s direc­ tor of photography was Hollywood’s only Asian American cinematographer at the time, James Wong Howe. Although Welcome Danger (Bruckman and St. Clair 1929) offered a comic take on the opium prob­lem in Chinatown, it also identified the head of the racket as the civic leader and reformer John Thorne (Charles Middleton).66 Dr. Gow (James Wang), a Chinatown physician, complains to Police Captain Walton (William Walling) that all the good he does with his clinic in San Fran­ cisco’s Chinatown is undermined by the criminal activities of “the Dragon.” The newspaper reports that the “unknown, sinister figure ‘the Dragon’ ” is directly responsible not only for Chinatown’s dope peddling but also for tong murders in Chinatown, while the “police seem helpless to cope with the situa­ tion.” Thorne threatens Walton that if the police do not take drastic action, Walton w ­ ill be replaced. Walton has taken mea­sures to deal with the situation by calling in Harold Bledsoe (Harold Lloyd), the son of the former and suc­ cessful police chief. However, unbeknown to Walton, Harold is not a chip off the old block and instead is interested only in botany. Harold, true to Lloyd form, brings not the order desired but only chaos: he leaves the police station in a mess of papers and fingerprint powder; similarly, he incites a brawl in Chi­ natown among patrons of a chop suey restaurant. Eventually, Harold solves the mystery of the crime racket but only by accident and, ironically, b­ ecause of his love of plants: he sees Chinese men unloading plants, and when they refuse to sell him one, he steals it. When the plant accidentally falls and its pot smashes, a package of opium appears that had been buried in the soil. The victim of com­ edy in the film is Chinatown, represented in ste­reo­typical fashion with hidden passages, basement lairs, hatchet men, eyes peering through holes in the walls, candles that turn out to be fireworks, and Chinese men who—­according to Harold—­all look alike. In the end, Harold is able to prove that “the Dragon” of Chinatown and leader of the drug smuggling racket is Thorne, and he does so using his newly acquired knowledge of modern fingerprint analy­sis. Walton does not believe Harold, and it is only when Gow literally points the fin­ger at Thorne that Harold is acknowledged as a hero. Importantly, it is the testi­ mony of the Chinese man that brings the villain to justice and the white hero’s accomplishments to light.

The Whitening of Chinatown  •  95

Welcome Danger was praised by American critics and was popu­lar with American audiences.67 The film, however, was decidedly not welcome in China. As the title of an article in the Los Angeles Times explained, “Lloyd Film Not Funny to Chinese.”68 At a screening in Shanghai, 350 Chinese students pro­ tested the film “for having offended the dignity of the Chinese ­people” with its depiction of San Francisco’s Chinatown as an underworld full of opium smugglers.69 The film was shown in China only in foreign settlement theaters and only with a police presence. To avoid similar prob­lems with the Chinese consul in Los Angeles and audiences in China, Lloyd took more care with the production of The Cat’s Paw (Taylor and Lloyd 1934), including working with Lew Chee to learn some Mandarin and Cantonese to speak in the film.70 In The Cat’s Paw, Ezekiel Cobb (Lloyd) is taken advantage of by a corrupt politi­ cian, Jake Mayo (George Barbier). Raised in China by missionary parents, Eze­ kiel has come to the United States to find a wife, with whom he plans to return to China. He is shocked by American slang and rudeness ­after Chinese politeness and restraint, and due to his naïveté, he is convinced to run for mayor by Mayo. When Ezekiel is elected, however, Mayo is frustrated to find his sup­ posed “cat’s paw” (unwitting pawn) difficult to manipulate and Ezekiel works hard to improve the city, including ridding it of corruption. He ­orders all the crooks in town arrested and taken to the cellar of his friend in Chinatown, Tien Wang (E. Alyn Warren in yellowface). As Ezekiel explains to the criminals, “I have failed to accomplish anything with your American methods; therefore I am g­ oing to adopt the ancient Chinese system”—­namely, beheading the city’s criminals. Ezekiel and Tien Wang make it appear that they are beheading each crook one at a time in the room next door. However, the illusion is soon revealed to the audience: each crook is knocked unconscious, his suit placed on a fake body on a stretcher, and the crook is laid under­neath with only his head stick­ ing out the top in a bowl. Fearing for their lives, the other crooks readily offer to sign confessions. Having been successful, Ezekiel decides to remain in the United States as mayor rather than return to China to be a missionary. The final joke of the film is that Amer­i­ca needs po­liti­cal reformation more than China requires religious conversion. The Cat’s Paw was Lloyd’s apology to Chinese and Chinese American audi­ ences offended by Welcome Danger, but while it goes far to turn the repre­sen­ ta­tion of Chinese Amer­i­ca from mainly negative to mainly positive, it still pres­ents Chinatown and Chinese Amer­i­ca as stuck in a traditional Chinese past rather than a modern American pres­ent. Even though humor is generated from the exposure of some of ­those myths as myths, ­there remains an asso­ ciation between twentieth-­century Chinatown and the days of nineteenth-­ century racism and exclusion. The film demonstrates three prob­lems when it comes to depicting Chinese Amer­i­ca: first, ste­reo­t ypes, w ­ hether upheld or

96  •  Chinatown Crime

debunked, linger past the conclusion of the film; second, having the key Chi­ nese character played in yellowface and having a white protagonist keep the focus on whites rather than Chinese; and last, the tone of the film as comedic diminishes the impact of its positive message about Chinese immigrants.

Eu­ro­pean Villains While the criminals ruling Chinatown in crime films of the late 1920s and early 1930s ­were typically white Americans, by end of the 1930s they ­were once again foreign gangsters—­but, importantly, not Chinese. In a reflection of the world’s gearing up for World War II, Hollywood films projected an international men­ tality. Of Armenian descent, Akim Tamiroff was born and raised in Rus­sia but had a successful ­career in Hollywood as an ethnic actor. In Dangerous to Know (Florey 1938), he plays a gangster whose rule extends across the ­whole city, while in King of Chinatown (Grinde 1939), his gang lord rules only Chinatown, as the title suggests. Both of Tamiroff ’s gang lords, however, are linked to Chineseness through the presence of the Chinese American actress Anna May Wong—­and the foreignness and corruption that Chineseness implied. In Dangerous to Know, Wong’s Madame Lan Ying is elegant but foreign, with a reputation for being intelligent, level-­headed, and most of all stoic; she does not reveal her feelings ­until the final scene. Recka (Tamiroff) has become obsessed with a white society ­woman, Margaret Van Case (Gail Patrick), whom he barely knows and who despises him. To bend her to his ­will, Recka threat­ ens to frame her fiancé, Phil (Harvey Stephens), if she does not run away with Recka. Lan Ying has been with Recka for many years, not just as his mistress but also as his business advisor. Feeling betrayed by the man to whom she has devoted her life, Lan Ying hatches a plan: first, she pours herself and him drinks and plays the song “Thanks for the Memory” on the phonograph; then, as he turns his back to her, she pulls out a knife, menacingly raising it ­behind him before plunging it into her own torso.71 In the end, the person who is “dangerous to know” is not Recka, as the audience assumes, but Lan Ying. Although over the years Lan Ying had helped Recka acquire the power he enjoys as a criminal, she proves herself moral by bringing Margaret and Phil back together and by providing the police with a crime (her supposed murder) they can use to put Recka away. In this film, Wong’s character is isolated from Chinatown; through her presence as a Chinese American, however, Recka—­ and his criminality—­are linked to it. A year l­ ater, King of Chinatown re­united Tamiroff and Wong, this time in San Francisco’s Chinatown. On Chinese New Year, Frank Baturin (Tamiroff) arrives at his club and exchanges words with a Chinese American ­lawyer, Bob Li (Philip Ahn), about Dr. Mary Ling (Wong), one of the finest surgeons at the hospital.72 Bob articulates the concerns of many Chinatown merchants—­ including Mary’s ­father, Dr. Chang Ling (Sidney Toler in yellowface)—­about

The Whitening of Chinatown  •  97

FIG. 4.2  ​Guilt by Association—­The King of Chinatown (1939) is foreign (Akim Tamiroff)

but not Chinese. Instead, Anna May Wong provides the association with Chinatown, even though she is a surgeon at a city hospital.

being forced to pay Baturin for protection. Baturin’s bookkeeper, “the Profes­ sor” (J. Carrol Naish), informs his boss that many merchants are refusing to pay b­ ecause Chang Ling, an influential man in Chinatown, is holding out. Baturin’s other prob­lem is Mike Gordon (Anthony Quinn), another gangster, who has his eye on being on the next king of Chinatown.73 The Professor betrays his boss to his ­enemy, and instead of allowing Baturin’s henchman to shoot Gordon, he facilitates Gordon’s shooting of Baturin in exchange for a partner­ ship. As a montage demonstrates, Gordon and the Professor extort money by destroying the businesses of t­ hose who refuse to pay or killing them.74 At the hospital, Mary saves Baturin’s life b­ ecause she is u­ nder the mistaken impres­ sion that her f­ ather had shot him. Hearing that his former boss is u­ nder Mary’s care (Figure 4.2), the Professor approaches Chang Ling to convince him to have Mary put Baturin out of commission permanently. Taking his ­lawyer’s advice, Chang Ling goes to the district attorney (Pierre Watkin) to bring down the gangland empire—no ­matter who is in charge of it. While Gordon confesses to shooting Baturin, the Professor takes one last stab at being the king of Chinatown and ­orders the deaths of Chang Ling and Baturin. He suc­ ceeds in killing Baturin but is arrested by the district attorney.

98  •  Chinatown Crime

The shift from Chinese villains to white ones is linked not only to racism but also to the attempt to avoid being accused of racism. In ­silent films, Chi­ nese tong leaders could be depicted as ­running opium dens, trafficking in slave girls, and conducting tong wars, but they ­were not regarded as having the sophis­ tication to run elaborate and international crime rackets. If the criminal rack­ ets ­were intricate and international in scope, then the Chinatown criminals ­were depicted as low-­level accomplices, typically working ­under white politi­ cians. However, it could also be argued that the increasing appearance of white crime leaders in films in the 1930s was a result of the Production Code. From 1934 onward, the PCA had repeatedly received complaints from the Chinese consul about the depiction of Chinese characters, such as t­ hose in Welcome Danger, and newspapers reported protests by Chinese American groups. By assigning the role of the head of the criminal racket to a white character and by including additional positive Chinese characters, Hollywood studios ­were able to avoid complaints about their pre­sen­ta­tion of Chinatown villainy.

Case Study: The Purple Cipher The rise of Eurasian and white villains taking over Chinatown crime was not the only example of the whitening of Chinatown crime. Paramount remade The Cheat (DeMille 1915) sixteen years ­later with the same title (Abbott 1931), star­ ring Tallulah Bankhead as the wife whose gambling leads to her being indebted to a villain. Importantly, the remake replaced the original Oriental villain (played by Sessue Hayakawa) with a white American (played by Irving Pichel) but retained his occupation as an Oriental art dealer. In other words, his apartment had the exotic trappings of Asia but the Asian American was removed from the center of the story. Similarly, Paramount’s remake of Paths to Paradise (Badger 1925), titled Hold That Blonde (Marshall 1945), starred Eddie Bracken and Veronica Lake and omitted the Chinatown setting entirely. The shift from Asian American characters and Chinatown settings in s­ ilent films to white Americans and mainstream society in sound-­era films demon­ strates that the popularity of using American Chinatowns to provide thrills in crime stories was waning by World War II. This shift is illustrated through the three dif­fer­ent film versions of the 1920 story “The Purple Hieroglyph,” by ­Will F. Jenkins, which Vitagraph and then Warner Bros. produced over a twenty-­year period.75 All three versions of the story—­The Purple Cipher (Bennett 1920), Murder ­Will Out (Badger 1930), and Torchy Blane in Chinatown (Beaudine 1939)—­ focus on a man being blackmailed by p­ eople whom he believes to be Chinese. Instead, they are revealed to be white men who purposefully use the pretense of being Chinese to strike terror into their victims’ hearts. Only the first film version of the story, however, offers Chinatown connections and settings. In The Purple Cipher, Leonard Staunton (Earle Williams) owes gambling debts

The Whitening of Chinatown  •  99

and “poppy money” to a tong, who then threatens his life.76 Along with friends, Staunton tours the underground dens of Chinatown, and his sweetheart, Jeanne Baldwin (Viola Vale), is kidnapped by a Chinese villain. In the end, the blackmailers are revealed to be his white friends, Fitzhugh (Allen Forrest), Bald­ win (Ernest Shields), and Condon (Henry A. Barrows), as well as two Chi­ nese men, Hop Lee (Goro Kino) and Wang Foo (Frank Seki).77 According to a review, the film’s director, Chester Bennett, planned to take his com­pany to San Francisco to spend two weeks “obtaining colorful Chinatown scenes” while other scenes ­were filmed on Vitagraph’s permanent street set, “redone into a Chinese atmosphere.”78 According to a review in the Exhibitors Herald, The Purple Cipher was sold on the basis of its depiction of an exotic Chinatown: “The most mysterious, the most dreaded of secret socie­ties—­the Chinese tong—­cast its baleful shadow over the group of white men and w ­ omen who have incurred its dis­plea­sure, an offense which never goes unpunished. Strange adventures and intrigues, the glamor of ancient China debased, leaving only cruelty and amazing craft, weave through the fascinating tale. The death sym­ bol on the tongs glows for each, and the tong sinks its fangs into victims despite e­ very precaution.”79 Another review mentioned that Chinese actors appeared in the early scenes in “picturesque Oriental settings.”80 A de­cade ­later, the remake Murder ­Will Out takes place in and around New York City, but as a scene list shows, no scenes are set in Chinatown.81 The script does show the Chinese servant, Soo Nam (uncredited), of Leonard Staunton (Jack Mulhall), but only in a few scenes. One of the few scenes to feature Chi­ nese characters is dinner scene in the Baldwin estate’s garden, the entertain­ ment for which consists of a Chinese orchestra, “a half-­naked Chinese slave girl” pursued by a Chinese man, Chinese sword fighters, a Chinese magician, and Chinese acrobats.82 In addition, Chinese girls in “native costume” wait on the ­tables throughout dinner.83 As in the previous film version of the story, the friends of Staunton go missing, his fiancée (Lila Lee) is kidnapped, and he is blackmailed. In this version, a submarine crew comes to the rescue of Staunton and his fiancée, and the “Chinese” blackmailers are revealed to be Fitzhugh (Claud Allister), Mansfield (Tully Marshall), and Condon (Noah Beery). Almost another de­cade ­later, Torchy Blane in Chinatown retells the same story, but this time the crime is related to the theft of priceless jade tablets from China. Senator Baldwin (Henry O’Neill) had sent three adventurers to China to retrieve the tablets—­Condon (Patric Knowles), Mansfield (James Stephen­ son), and Fitzhugh (Anderson Lawlor). The tablets are subsequently stolen, and a note written in Chinese is delivered to the adventurers, warning them of their impending doom if a ransom is not paid. Torchy Blane (Glenda Farrell), a reporter, joins her boyfriend, the police lieutenant Steve McBride (Barton MacLane), who is charged with guarding the three men. Midnight rolls around, and the threat seems to have been a false alarm. However, soon afterward

100  •  Chinatown Crime

Fitzhugh is gunned down in his car, and ­later Mansfield dies from smoking a poisoned cigarette. When Dick Staunton (Richard Bond), the fiancé of the sen­ ator’s d­ aughter, is ordered to deliver the ransom to a buoy out in the harbor, Torchy and Steve stake out the drop in a submarine, surfacing in time to save Dick and prove that the murders ­were faked to extort money from the senator. Despite the title of the film, the film has no Chinese characters or connections to Chinatown. As a reviewer for the New York Times noted, “One of the incon­ sistencies of ‘Torchy Blane in Chinatown’ . . . ​is that it has absolutely nothing to do with Chinatown.”84 Similarly, the reviewer for Variety pointed out that the “title is misleading, only Chinatown background being stock shots for opening.”85 Torchy Blane in Chinatown eliminated the Chinese villains and Chinatown settings of The Purple Cipher in a reflection of Hollywood’s broader move away from Chinese immigrants and Chinatown communities. With China as Amer­ i­ca’s new ally in the East and Amer­i­ca’s Chinese population becoming increas­ ingly vis­i­ble outside of Chinatown, the yellow peril version of Chinatown came to be seen as outdated and certainly not novel. Part of the fascination with Chi­ natown in ­silent film was ­because audiences could actually see it, and the films could fetishize its exotic streets and characters while demystifying its criminal, often literal, depths. In contrast, in the 1930s, the idea of Chinatown was so firmly associated with a criminal past that films no longer needed to connect their plots to Chinese or­ga­nized crime, tongs, opium, or slave trading or to fea­ ture Chinese criminals to evoke Chinatown crime. As a reviewer of Murder ­Will Out explains, “the Oriental stalks through this film like a threatening cloud. ­There are mysterious messages, daggers bathed in blood, opiate druggings and much gunplay, all supposedly by Chinese villains. At the conclusion of the photoplay it appears that the Chinese had nothing what­ever to do with the sup­ posed murders. But an illusion regarding the Oriental remains.”86 By 1939, just a suggestive title was needed—­such as ­Daughter of the Tong, King of Chinatown, and Torchy Blane in Chinatown—to conjure up the well-­entrenched myths of Chinatown.

Conclusion Films such as Chinatown Squad and ­Daughter of the Tong w ­ ere not concerned with exploring questions of Chinese immigration, culture, or identity, but rather with glorifying law enforcement agents’ ability to police crime in Chi­ natown. In films of the 1910s and 1920s, Chinatown was a ghetto filled with heathens and tongs; in films of the 1930s, it is an isolated quarter where sophis­ ticated criminal rackets—­often u­ nder white control—­could be operated without raising the suspicions of the police; and, in films of the late 1940s, it is an exotic space for white tourists to enjoy in safety, supposedly thanks to the

The Whitening of Chinatown  •  101

efforts of the Chinatown Squad to eradicate Chinatown crime—­and the prom­ ise made by films such as Chinatown at Midnight (Friedman 1949). Like other postwar procedurals, including Call Northside 777 (Hathaway 1948) and The Naked City (Dassin 1948), Chinatown at Midnight features a semi-­documentary style, including a voice-­over that introduced the viewer to San Francisco’s most notorious quarter: San Francisco, one of Amer­i­ca’s twelve ­great cities, covering forty-­t wo square miles with over 800,000 ­people living between the Pacific and the Bay. A metropolis grounded upon vehicles, networked by cable cars that link the shore level with the heights, and turn at busy intersections where the force of machinery is replaced by manpower. The cars slide down 45-­degree slopes, leaving the Western city b­ ehind—­entering another world, an Oriental community, small in area and long identified with mystery and superstitions. A quaint, colorful tourist mecca with undercurrents of intrigue and vio­lence: San Francisco’s Chinatown.

Despite the identification of Chinatown as part of this modern city and a tour­ ist mecca, the preface still associates the quarter with “mystery,” “supersti­ tions,” “intrigue,” and “vio­lence.” The preface ends with the commission of a crime: Clifford Ward (Hurd Hatfield) is convinced by his lover to steal a white jade vase worth almost $2,000 from Wing’s shop in Chinatown. Ward steals the vase and shoots Wing’s son, Joe (Benson Fong), for setting off the alarm, and his fiancée, Betty Chang (Barbara Jean Wong), for calling the police. Before making his escape, Ward takes the phone receiver from Betty’s hand and reports the robbery in Cantonese. Since Ward spoke Cantonese, the police assume that their suspect is Chinese. As the film’s narrator explains, “This was something new in disguises: concealment not by change of physical appearance nor of dress, but by learning a foreign language.” When Captain Brown (Tom Powers) asks a detective, Sam Costa (Ray Walker), who called in the robbery, Costa replies, “I ­can’t seem to find out, Captain. ­They’re scared of cops in Chi­ natown. I figure, whoever found them tipped us off and scrammed.” The film’s narrator describes the efforts of the film’s police heroes: “The search for the unknown killer now moved into high gear. Squads of police combed the nar­ row, twisting streets of Chinatown . . . ​north and south from Broadway to Sut­ ter, east and west from Kearny to Powell. Known criminals ­were apprehended and questioned. All pos­si­ble alibis checked and rechecked. E ­ very conceivable tip and lead explored. And dozens of persons ­were stopped, searched, and taken into custody.” The break in the case, however, is supplied by a Chinese Tele­ phone Exchange operator, Hazel Fong (Maylia).87 When the police search Ward’s apartment and discover his set of language recordings, Hazel listens to them and is able to identify Ward’s voice.

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While one reviewer argued that Chinatown at Midnight merely repeated a “long-­familiar cops and robbers theme,” another praised “the climactic moments . . . ​as the killer goes racing over ’Frisco’s Chinatown roof tops with the cops in blazing pursuit.”88 Another applauded the producer, Sam Katzman, for including Chinese American actors in the cast.89 Importantly, unlike in films of previous de­cades, in Chinatown at Midnight the crimes are commit­ ted not by the Chinese American residents of Chinatown but against them by white Americans—­and it is a Chinese American who helps bring the murderer to justice. Thus, Chinatown at Midnight demonstrates an impor­tant shift in American film from criminalizing Chinese immigrants to presenting them as valued American citizens. It was only pos­si­ble to pres­ent Chinatown at Midnight’s story and message following the repeal of the Exclusion Act in 1943, which allowed American-­born Chinese to be naturalized as American citizens and to play heroes in Hollywood films—as I ­will explore in chapter 7.

5

The Perils of Proximity White Downfall in the Chinatown Melodrama While Chinatown crime films featured salacious tales of tong wars and crime rackets and focused on Oriental villains and white American heroes, China­ town melodramas centered on white ­women and their brushes with Chinatown and its residents. In the film industry trade papers of the 1910s and 1920s, any film that centered on Chinatown characters and/or adventures was labelled a “Chinese melodrama.”1 In the ­silent film era, Ben Singer argues, the term “melo­ drama” was used to describe films with “action, thrilling sensationalism, and physical vio­lence.”2 Therefore, a “Chinatown melodrama” could refer to a male-­ centered crime film (as discussed in chapters 3 and 4) or a female-­centered drama. The former focused more on exciting scenes of action and the latter more on emotional scenes of tragedy. For this book, however, I w ­ ill use the term “melodrama” as we understand it ­today, to indicate films that feature height­ ened emotions and aimed at female audiences. While Chinatown-­set films of the 1930s ­were most often B films rather than A dramas or prestige pictures, in the ­silent era Chinatown melodramas often featured famous stars from Lillian Gish to Blanche Sweet. The Chinatown melodrama was concerned less with explor­ ing Chinese characters than it was with highlighting the danger of Chinatown—­ and, by association, Chinese immigration—­for white p­ eople. In t­hese films, Chinatown is presented as exotic and attractive but also hazardous, as the place where white Americans often discovered and became addicted to opium. 105

106  •  Chinatown Melodrama

While Chinatown melodramas flourished in feature films in the late 1910s and through the 1920s, audiences would have been familiar with such stories warning of the dangers that Chinatown held for w ­ omen from popu­lar stage plays—­including Queen of Chinatown (1899), King of the Opium Ring (1899), A Night in Chinatown (1900), and Chinatown Charlie, The Opium Fiend (1906)—­and salacious stories in the press, including the murder of Elsie Sigel by her Chinese lover.3 Mary Ting Yi Lui argues that such accounts of life and crime in New York City’s Chinatown revealed the importance of con­temporary gender relations in terms of defining that physical and imaginary space, spe­ cifically by portraying white womanhood as being u­ nder attack.4 In t­ hese sto­ ries, men could move through Chinatown unharmed and unhindered, while unchaperoned white ­women in Chinatown w ­ ere placing themselves at “grave risk to their person at the hands of Chinatown’s predominantly male laborer population.”5 In other words, such stories in lit­er­a­ture, newspapers, plays, and films connected social mobility—­both that of middle-­class white w ­ omen and Chinese immigrants—­and danger and thus functioned as cautionary tales for their readers. While some films—­for example, The Breaks of the Game (Nowland 1915)—­ did offer plots in which white ­women ­were abducted and turned into white slaves, the majority of films concerned with the downfall of white Americans centered on drug addiction. Addiction was seen as a crime of weak white w ­ omen seeking thrills. Tied to similar themes w ­ ere films about gambling as a vice that, although seemingly innocent, could lead to terrible consequences. As Gary Hoppenstand argues, “Stories featuring the yellow peril ­were arguments for racial purity. Certainly, the potential ­union of the Oriental and white implied, at best, a form of beastly sodomy, and, at worst, a Satanic marriage. . . . ​The Oriental rape of the white w ­ oman signified a spiritual damnation for the ­woman, and at the larger level, white society.”6 While films like The Cheat (DeMille 1915) threatened its fallen white socialite with rape at the hands of an Oriental villain, the majority of Chinatown melodramas presented such associations more obliquely. Addiction to narcotics and gambling could be read as a meta­phor for miscegenation, with white ­women being seduced by a supposedly vice-­ridden Chinese culture. Th ­ ere was a sensuality to opium smoking—­reclining on silk-­dressed beds, inhaling sweet-­tasting smoke, and drifting off into blissful oblivion. In direct contrast to the plea­sure associated with the illicit habit, the films about opium addiction ­were sold to audiences as social prob­lem films, highlighting the habit as a national prob­lem. This veneer of reform was just that—­a veneer, which was applied to deter criticism from social groups whose members might other­wise demand the film’s ban. Chinese immigration is identified in t­hese Chinatown melodramas as the potential downfall of American culture through the meta­phor of the downfall of the most innocent and upstanding of Americans—­the well-­bred white w ­ oman.

The Perils of Proximity  •  107

Gambling While the heroine’s downfall in The Cheat is also due to gambling, it is a film that has been much discussed by scholars and its villain is not Chinese. Instead, I ­will focus on Mandarin’s Gold (Apfel 1919), which had a similar plot: a social­ ite protagonist’s gambling addiction leads her into debt to a man who desires payment in sexual form. The film begins by connecting old China to modern Amer­i­ca: in China, a young boy reads a fairy tale about a mandarin who w ­ ill be destroyed by someone unknown to him, and the film then cuts to present-­ day Amer­i­ca where this unknown person is identified as Betty Cardon (Kitty Gordon)—­a New York City socialite with a gambling prob­lem (Figure 5.1). At the country club, Betty plays cards with Geoffrey North (George MacQuar­ rie), who warns her, “If you keep on losing, Betty, you’ll have to steal the Man­ darin’s gold.”7 North then recounts the story of the Mandarin, telling Betty how if you press a stone in his garden, you can bring about his death and keep his fortune. North asks her if she would cause the “heathen blighter [to drop] dead.” Betty ponders and replies, “I think t­ here’d be a Chinese funeral!” Her fellow cardplayers laugh, but the choice is one that she w ­ ill soon face. The film’s attitude t­ oward Chinatown is revealed in the title card: “China­ town, a touch of mystery and languor from the East amid the city’s squalor.” Betty’s gambling prob­lem horrifies her best friend, Susan Pettigrew (Marguerite Gale), who is the head of a Chinatown mission. Susan takes Betty to Chinatown and says, “You need to have your eyes opened. . . . ​Maybe a glimpse of misery ­will sober you.” At the shop of Ah Foo (Charles Fang) in Chinatown, Betty takes a necklace, promising to pay him l­ ater, but then needs North to loan her the money. Back at home, a society gambler, Mrs. Reginald Stone (Marion Barney), pres­ents Betty’s husband, Blair (Irving Cummings), with Betty’s IOUs. Blair assumes his wife racked up the debt playing bridge, but Mrs. Stone suggests something more nefarious when she replies, “She called it Bridge. It looked like Tiddledy-­Winks to me!” The fact that Mrs. Stone is implying that Betty is having an affair with North is confirmed when Blair says, “­After all, she has not committed a crime—­Other wives have done worse.” Betty has not cheated on her husband yet, but when she asks North for more time to pay off her debt, he suggests that t­ here are other ways to pay. The film also pres­ents a drama in a Chinatown ­house­hold. Ah Foo, the Chi­ natown shop owner, has caught his ­daughter, Cherry Blossom (Veronica Lee), in “a long, lingering kiss” with his clerk Wu Sing (Joseph Lee). To complicate ­matters, Li Hsun (Warner Oland in yellowface)—­the Mandarin of this story—­ desires Cherry Blossom and offers three sacks of gold for her. When Betty first meets the Mandarin, she whispers to North, “I won­der if he brought his gold!” Betty and North’s joking ­will soon be replaced with horror when they discover the lengths to which Li Hsun ­will go to attain what he desires—­possessed with,

108  •  Chinatown Melodrama

FIG. 5.1  ​Innocence Endangered—­The negative impact of Chinese immigration on an

innocent socialite (Kitty Gordon) is explored in Mandarin’s Gold (1919). From Moving Picture World, February 15, 1919, courtesy of the Media History Digital Library (http://­ mediahistoryproject​.­org).

as the script says, “an old man’s gloating lust for a beautiful maiden.” His immo­ rality is confirmed in the next scene when he smokes from a long pipe, sug­ gesting that he is smoking opium, and has several Chinese ­women in his ser­ vice, suggesting that they are slave girls. Fascinatingly, Mandarin’s Gold compares the situation of two ­women, one white and the other Chinese: the fates of both are held in the hands of repre­ hensible men who wish to buy the w ­ omen, and the ­women seem powerless to determine their own f­ uture happiness. The film intercuts between the two

The Perils of Proximity  •  109

­ omen, as the white one accepts that she must pay off her debt through sex to w prevent her husband from discovering her vice, and the Chinese ­woman is sold by her ­father to a greedy old man. The film implies that in both worlds—­those of wealthy whites and middle-­class Chinese—­women can be purchased against their ­will. By this point, Blair assumes that his wife is having an affair and says to her, “It i­sn’t that I ­don’t trust you, Betty, but ­people are beginning to talk. You must give that fellow up!” Meanwhile, Cherry Blossom defies her f­ ather, and he whips her across the shoulders, leaving her on the floor beaten—­a scene similar to that in The Cheat. Cherry Blossom seeks refuge with Susan at the mission school, and Susan in turn takes her to Betty and her husband. Unfor­ tunately, a Chinese student at the mission is an in­for­mant for Li Hsun, and two Chinese men arrive at the Cardon home to retrieve Li Hsun’s “property.” When Betty says that no court would force them to return Cherry Blossom to her ­father, Li Hsun offers a heavy bag of gold and reminds Betty that “gold ­will buy anything! It gratifies any desire.” Knowing that she could use the gold to pay off her debts to North, a title card reads, “She shows surprise, greed, at the sight of the money—­There is a brief strug­gle within her, which ends when she indicates that she rejects the money.” ­A fter a few days, however, and with pressure applied by both North and Mrs. Stone, Betty decides to sell Cherry Blossom to Li Hsun, and in her living room, she pours the gold into her palm—­reminding the audience that t­ hese could be thirty pieces of silver, as Judas received for betraying Christ. Luckily, Betty changes her mind and enlists the assistance of Cherry Blossom’s true love, Wu Sing, to face Li Hsun. At Li Hsun’s, the two ­women are attacked, and Li Hsun ­orders his two henchmen to cut the throats of Wu Sing and Cherry Blossom. As he explains to Betty, “You have paid and w ­ ill continue to pay for my gold!” Hearing the ­women’s screams, the police break into the h ­ ouse and bring down Li Hsun. As he lies d­ ying he says to Blair, “Your wife—­loves gold! She sold—­Cherry Blos­ som!” Blair could have lived with the truth of her gambling and even an affair with North, but he cannot stand by her now that her greed has led to the mur­ der of innocent young p­ eople. The murder of Wu Sing and Cherry Blossom is shocking and unexpected. However, the film takes the easy way out by explain­ ing that some of the story has been only a bad dream of Betty’s as she naps in an armchair. In her hand is a note from Li Hsun, and instead of making a deal with the film’s Chinese devil, she confesses her financial woes to her husband. Of course, he understands, and when a big deal goes through at work, he is able to pay off her debts and offer the young Chinese c­ ouple a nice wedding at the Cardon home. A title card explains that “Cherry Blossom, all smiles, takes the hand of each of them and places them to her forehead, in token that she is their slave henceforth.” Kitty Gordon was the main draw for the film, but some reviewers also praised the film for its “unusual atmosphere” and “au­then­tic” Chinatown scenes

110  •  Chinatown Melodrama

(filmed on-­location in New York’s Chinatown).8 Some reviewers described the story as “novel and out-­of-­the-­ordinary,”9 but o­ thers ­were critical of its use of the tired trope that the climax was just a dream.10 The description of Oland’s yellowface villain as “the silken clad Mandarin, with fin­ger nails long and encased in jeweled tips,”11 betrays the film’s exoticization, feminization, and vili­ fication of the Oriental “other.” The threat that the Mandarin poses, however, is exclusively to the Chinese ­woman, not the white one—­unlike the case in The Cheat. Both films nonetheless link their white ­women’s downfall to the pres­ ence of Oriental “other” in American society.

Escaping Modernity Unfortunately, the purported dangers of Chinatown could not deter bored white socialites from seeking its exotic attractions. Like Mandarin’s Gold, Chinatown Nights (Wellman 1929) offered a tale of the downfall of a white ­woman, although in this case it was due to addiction to a man rather than gam­ bling or drugs. The film is significant in that it offers most of the key tropes associated with Chinatown, both in crime films and melodramas: slumming tours, tong wars, underground passages, white downfall, an Oriental villain in yellowface, and a white criminal r­ unning a tong. By using the trope of the white criminal working within Chinatown, Chinatown Nights could offer a romance while evading the issue of miscegenation or the use of yellowface for its leads. Joan Pride (Florence Vidor) is a New York City socialite who, bored with upper-­ crust life, takes a slumming tour to Chinatown to experience a thrill.12 In Chinatown, she meets Chuck Riley (Wallace Beery), the leader of one of two warring Chinatown tongs, and when shooting breaks out, Chuck takes Joan to safety. Joan soon discovers the apparent complexities of Chuck’s character: he embraces his Chinese business as part of his lifestyle while also maintain­ ing the superiority that his white blood apparently affords him. For example, his apartment is luxurious and decorated with Chinese motifs, furniture, and art objects, but it also contains his collection of Shakespeare plays. Joan asks him, “Why do you choose this life? Why is a man with your personality, a man of education, a man of apparent possibilities, satisfied to be the white boss of a yellow underworld rabble?” He offers her the same reply he gave a police offi­ cer earlier that eve­ning, “No spleek English”—­using an accent as if he ­were a Chinese tong leader. Chuck looks down on w ­ omen like Joan and tells his assistant, “I’m sick of ­these uptown w ­ omen that come down h ­ ere for a thrill.” When Joan and her friends appear at the Chinese theater for another night of cheap thrills, Chuck is depicted strong and masculine—­more like the Chinese tong leader, “Boston” Charlie (Warner Oland in yellowface), than Joan’s effeminate, uptown man.13 Joan’s friends call Chuck “a gorilla” and he calls them “perfume babies,” wav­

The Perils of Proximity  •  111

ing one of the gentleman’s handkerchiefs in front of his nose to indicate that it is scented. Chuck says accusingly to Joan, “You and ­those dumb friends of yours down ­here looking us over like animals in the zoo . . . ​Just a ­couple of bored uptown ­women and their cake-­eaters who’d faint if anybody slapped them in the jaw.”14 Joan’s friends debate leaving her alone, but they fear that Joan w ­ ill “turn native,” as they put it, if left with Chuck. Unexpectedly, the theater soon becomes a shooting gallery as tong conflicts erupt, and Chuck is wounded in the crossfire. He says accusingly to Charlie while holding a wounded arm, “You ­wouldn’t have had the nerve to plug me if t­ hese rubbernecks h ­ adn’t got in the way of my monkeys.” Although Charlie is presented as Chinese in contrast to Chuck, his being played in yellowface by a white actor means that Chinatown in this film is effectively run by white Americans. With Chuck wounded, Joan finds herself of use, tending to him. The attraction that Chuck holds for Joan, it is revealed, is that he is an old-­ fashioned man. She says, “I’m ­here ­because you are the only real man I’ve ever known. For once in my life, I wanted to be a . . . ​a real ­woman.”15 It seems that the money and freedom that comes from belonging to the leisure class results in feminized men and masculinized ­women. Joan’s integration into Chuck’s world is signaled when she dons Chinese-­style silk pajamas. Chuck is confused by her transformation: “I was just thinking. Head Uptown; body Barbary Coast. Which are you?” She replies, “Uptown.” Although she loves him, Joan is a realist and knows that her place is in her own world. She explains, “I’m too used to the other [life] to stay h ­ ere. This has been perfect but we’d only spoil it by prolonging it.” Chuck wants her to stay and yells, “All right—go on and get out! ­You’ve had your fun, you hit-­and-­run thrill-­hunter, you! But put this among your souvenirs. I think y­ ou’re yellow, that y­ ou’re a quitter!” Outside the door, Joan runs into a well-­dressed w ­ oman heading down the stairs from a liaison in one of the upstairs rooms. “Goin’ my way?” the young w ­ oman asks, suggesting that she is heading back uptown.16 Chuck laughs and says, “Sure she is! She came your way and she’s ­going out your way. ­You’re both alike!” Joan is upset and stares at him with tears in her eyes, but his plan works. Standing in front of the now closed door, she slips off her coat suggestively, letting it fall to the floor, and says, “I’ve changed my mind, Chuck. I’m g­ oing . . . ​your way.”17 And so begins their relationship and Joan’s downfall. Initially, Chuck’s manliness makes Joan feel feminine in contrast to the gender-­bending confusion of modern uptown life and its effeminate men. As she soon discovers, however, being with Chuck means belonging to him and obeying his o­ rders, and Joan soon chafes u­ nder the restrictions of being a tra­ ditional ­women. When he heads out to the funeral for his henchmen killed in the theater clash, she pleads with him to take her. He explains: “You belong to Chinatown now. No decent ­woman ever goes out of ­here except on feast days.” Outside Chuck greets the ­people on his doorstep, offering flowers for the funeral

112  •  Chinatown Melodrama

from the Chinese Benevolent Society, and then climbs into his open-­topped car to join the funeral pro­cession. A ­ fter he leaves, Joan tries to head out, but Woo Chung (Tetsu Komai) is guarding her door and tells her that Chuck has said not to let her leave.18 Defeated, Joan retires to the room and consoles her­ self with drink. As Chuck’s attempts to control her continue, so does her drink­ ing. Their relationship ends when Joan undermines Chuck’s authority during truce negotiations between the tongs and gives Charlie information he can use against Chuck—­namely, that none of Chuck’s tong members have citizenship papers, and they can all be deported. When Chuck shows a drunken and dishev­ eled Joan the door, she offers her parting comment, “Chuck, I tried to save you in spite of yourself. ­Because I love you.” His response is to attack her: the cam­ era drops down to reveal only the bottom half of their bodies as they strug­gle, and then he tosses her out the door and she lands on her backside in the hall­ way. Through the closed door, she says: “I stayed ­here hoping that I could get you away from all of this—in time. . . . ​To make you go my way.”19 Interestingly, during her heartfelt speech, the camera focuses not on Joan in the hallway but on Chuck’s reaction in his room. He paces and seems swayed by her words, but ultimately he ignores her banging on the door and her sobbing u­ ntil it is too late, and she has given up and gone. As an intertitle card informs the audience: “She had made it impossible to go back. He had made it impossible to go for­ ward. ­There was no way left . . . ​but t­ oward oblivion.”20 The man who saves Joan and l­ ater Chuck is, ironically, a teenage boy (Jack McHugh). The boy witnesses Chuck’s rejection of Joan and then her humilia­ tion when a bartender gives her a long speech about why he refuses to serve her another drink. The boy takes Joan home, giving up his h ­ umble bed for her and tending her as she lies ill. Unfortunately, when Chuck and Charlie’s war inevi­ tably erupts again, it is the boy who gets caught in the cross fire. He had come to plead with Chuck to take Joan back, but as he walks down the street, one of Charlie’s men shoots him from his vantage point on a roof. Chuck is horrified to see the boy struck and ­orders the police to bring him to his apartment. Just as the boy had given his bed to Joan, so Chuck gives his to the boy. Meanwhile, Charlie kidnaps Joan and throws her out of the car onto the sidewalk for the police to find. She is brought into Chuck’s apartment just as the doctor pro­ nounces the boy dead. Chuck comes out to see what is ­going on and is handed the note from Charlie that was attached to Joan’s blouse, which reads, “Hon­ orable Chuck, a few minutes ago, I found this forgotten trea­sure of yours. I brought her only to remind you that while you wait to pick me, the fruit from your own tree falls to the ground—­and rots!” In the end, Chuck is convinced to go Joan’s way a­ fter seeing how his action brought about the death of an inno­ cent boy. Chuck rushes into his club and says to his customers, “Now, listen, you bunch of bums! This joint’s closing down for good—­and Chuck Riley’s closing down with it! Gone nuts, have I? No, just getting sane. I’m wise to myself

The Perils of Proximity  •  113

at last and I’m through with Chinatown forever!” He ­orders every­one out and, alone in his club, gazes at his reflection in the mirror before smashing it with a candlestick. Heading upstairs, Chuck stares at Joan sleeping on his divan u­ nder his map of Amer­i­ca—­the one that shows the extent of his empire. He kneels by her side and promises her, “­You’re all right now, dear. ­We’re g­ oing your way.”21 She is happy, and he seals his promise with a kiss. Throughout its r­ unning time, Chinatown Nights offers the titillation of a Chinatown melodrama; with its conclusion, however, the film confirms a mor­ alizing message that Chinatown is no place for good (read: white) ­people. The film ends with a new slumming tour snaking through Chinatown, but it is now Charlie who is identified as the “boss of Chinatown.” While Chinatown offered an escape from feminizing modernity for the white socialite and a return to traditional gender roles, its environment is too toxic for a moral person to sur­ vive ­there: Chuck and Joan must leave Chinatown to have their happy ending.

Opium Addiction While gambling debts and love for a criminal could bring about a w ­ oman’s downfall, the most common fear was that the white innocents of upstanding society would be exposed, and become addicted, to smoking opium—­a drug specifically tied to Chinese immigration and Chinatowns. Chinatown crime films, as discussed in previous chapters, offered opium smuggling plots and views of opium dens, but it was Chinatown melodramas mainly aimed at female audiences that presented upstanding Americans as victims of the so-­called Chi­ nese invasion through an addiction to smoking opium. The reasons for char­ acters’ addiction varied: some films exploited the assumption that addicts are weak or villainous ­people, while o­ thers capitalized on fears that good ­people could become addicts ­under the influence of Chinese villains. In the United States, ­there ­were a few state but no federal regulations related to medicinal narcotics in the nineteenth c­ entury, mainly b­ ecause such laws w ­ ere regarded as unconstitutional.22 In February 1909, Congress passed the Opium Exclusion Act, which banned the importing of opium for smoking and was the first federal law to ban the non-­medicinal use of the opium.23 The law success­ fully halted the importation of smoking opium through ­legal channels, but it did not solve the prob­lem of ­people smoking opium. In January 1914, Congress passed an amendment to the 1909 law that imposed a high tax ($300 per pound) on opium prepared for smoking. The new legislation, which increased the cost of opium, created a few unwanted side effects: first, some addicts switched from opium to cocaine, heroin, or morphine; and second, t­ here was a surge in smug­ gling over the Mexican border and into West Coast ports.24 In 1914, the Har­ rison Narcotic Act was passed; it would stand as the basic federal law for more than fifty years. As Rufus King explains, “the Harrison Act was not in any sense

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a prohibition statute, but rather a mild regularity mea­sure consisting of regis­ tration and record-­keeping requirements to which a modest federal tax was added in 1919.”25 Importantly, physicians ­were exempt from the law, and opium could still be prescribed to assist addicts with their addiction. Anthony Saper argues that by the time that the Harrison Act was a­ dopted, cultural attitudes ­toward narcotics had shifted: addiction was no longer regarded as “a personal eccentricity” but “a reprehensible and condemnable act.”26 As David Musto points out, “the law simply turned respectable drug users into criminals” and forced “addicts to steal to buy drugs.”27 In 1919, the Supreme Court took another step, ruling that using opium was “a criminal act” and that an addict who maintained the habit was a criminal. For example, a story in the San Francisco Examiner detailed an Internal Rev­ enue Ser­vice raid on the office of a doctor named G. W. O’Donnell, which turned up $5,000 worth of opium and led to charges being laid against the doc­ tor and his assistant.28 The article explained that the doctor’s office “was a ren­ dezvous for white persons addicted to the drug habit” and that, when the raid was carried out, “fumes of the drug came through the closed doors of the doc­ tor’s apartment.” The doctor admitted to have just finished “smoking a pill” and to having been an addict for over thirty years. The article also revealed that the doctor was the son of a former candidate for San Francisco mayor, suggesting that even members of the upper echelons of American society could fall vic­ tim to the drug. As Kevin Mullen explains, much of the push for antidrug leg­ islation was fueled by the stories of respectable ­women being lured into opium dens; however, the truth was that they often got hooked on opium through the use of patent medicines for menstrual pain and then sought out Chinatown dens to feed their habit.29 The new opium laws of the twentieth ­century reflected changes in society’s attitude ­toward the drug from the nineteenth ­century. Junie McCree wrote a piece for Variety in 1907 while touring with the play “The Man from Denver,” in which the actor played a “dope fiend.”30 McCree regarded the prob­lem of addiction as one that was more common in the West ­because of the “freedom of the new county” but also ­because of the lack of amusements other than opium smoking, drinking, and gambling. As Saper argues, while t­ oday opiate addic­ tion may carry “moral, ­legal, social, or cultural stigma,” at the turn of the twen­ tieth ­century, injecting morphine was regarded as a habit somewhere between cigarette smoking (unhealthy and unpleasant to some) and chewing tobacco (a “dirty habit”): in other words, it was regarded with “slight disapproval but no condemnation.”31 King agrees: “Nineteenth-­century Americans ­were for the most part relaxed about personal indulgences,” including opium—­which was regarded more positively than cigarette smoking.32 Importantly, and perhaps ­because of that “relaxed” attitude t­ oward the drug, opiate addicts w ­ ere predom­

The Perils of Proximity  •  115

inantly members of the m ­ iddle and upper classes and more likely to be female than male. Significantly, however, t­ here was a social and cultural distinction made between drinking laudanum and injecting morphine (the habits of wealthy w ­ omen) and smoking opium (a habit associated only with the Chinese). The former be­hav­iors w ­ ere acceptable b­ ecause they w ­ ere t­ hose of “good p­ eople,” but the latter was viewed as “a growing menace.”33 Smoking opium was closely associated with Chinatowns ­because, as Diana Ahmad explains, white Amer­ icans could acquire medicinal opium from a physician, but they had to visit Chinatown to attain smoking opium.34 The irony was that smoking opium contained less morphine than medicinal opium.35 By the mid-1910s, however, as Eric Schaefer explains, drug addiction was no longer seen as an unfortunate habit that a user could manage, but as a burden on society that was “a threat to productivity and po­liti­cal vitality.”36 Between 1913 and 1917, American filmmakers produced a group of films that focused on white victims who become addicted to opium ­because of the proximity of Chi­ natown to “good” society.37 As Ahmad explains, “first, the Chinese smoked the drug, then the Anglo-­A merican underworld, followed by the so-­called respectable class of men and ­women, and fi­nally the habit reached the c­ hildren of the community.”38 However, ­these films differentiated between Chinese immigrants and white Americans who smoked opium: the former ­were mor­ ally degenerate, but the latter could be saved from their addiction due to their moral superiority. Thus, the main thrust of t­ hese films was to hammer home clear moralizing messages about the strength of character of white Americans in comparison to irredeemable Chinese smokers and the dangers of China­ towns for white Americans. Films about white addiction used a few key themes in terms of what c­ auses their characters’ addiction and ­whether they can be rehabilitated. While the majority of films affirm that the proximity to Chinatown of well-­bred and innocent ­people was the cause of addiction for many, only a few suggested that Chinatown’s presence was the only cause. For example, The Dragon’s Breath (Weber 1913) begins with Phillip (Phillips Smalley), the newly elected presi­ dent of a college, and his new wife, Lois (Lois Weber), returning from their honeymoon.39 Lois is Phillip’s ideal ­woman, and he admires her for visiting Chinatown to nurse their Chinese servant, who has fallen ill. Unfortunately, while in Chinatown, Lois smells opium and smokes some out of curiosity. She becomes addicted to the drug, and to save her husband’s reputation, she pretends to drown herself in the river. Phillip remains devoted to her memory, working hard to become governor of the state and rejecting the advances of Lois’s s­ ister, Grace (uncredited). One day Grace spies Lois in a crowd and follows her to an opium den. Then, to shatter Phillip’s illusions about his supposedly dead wife, Grace leads him to the filthy place. T ­ here,

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however, Phillip declares his unwavering love for Lois, and she dies in his arms. This film is anomalous among Chinatown melodramas in that it does not focus on the rehabilitation of the wife, nor does it seem to provide her with a worthy reason (for example, illness) to try opium. Instead, the film appears to focus on Chinatown as the cause of the destruction of this perfect ­couple. In contrast, other films—­for example, The Spell of the Poppy (Browning 1915), The Sign of the Poppy (Swickard 1916), Queen X (O’Brien 1917), and Tearing Through (Rosson, 1925)—­offered stories of innocent ­people who fell prey to opium ­because of the influence of o­ thers. In The Spell of the Poppy, the concern is not for the man addicted to opium but for the young innocents that he intro­ duces to the drug.40 The film begins with Manfredi (Eugene Pallette), a piano player in a Chinese café and a habitual user of opium, being offered the oppor­ tunity by a wealthy tourist to study m ­ usic aboard. Manfredi promises his common-­law wife, Zuletta (Lucille Young), that he w ­ ill marry her when he returns, but when he does return five years ­later, he is infatuated with a society girl, Margery (uncredited). Through her teacher, Margery has developed a taste for opium and her love, John Hale (Joseph Henabery), is determined to save her from Manfredi. John, it turns out is a Secret Ser­vice agent, and he discov­ ers from vengeful Zuletta that Manfredi operates an opium joint. John arranges a raid on the opium den and saves his love. An ad for the film explains what the film’s appeal would have been: “A thrilling society and Chinatown melo­ drama, telling how a young society girl was lured into the opium habit and saved from the dreaded fate.”41 The feature-­length film The Sign of the Poppy had a similar title and a simi­ lar plot.42 According to a reviewer for Photo-­Play Journal, the film’s story was “hackneyed” and “reminds you of a dozen ­others which have been visualized before.”43 The titular flower is the death sign from a Chinese tong, and when Alvin (Hobart Henley) and Edith Marston (Gertrude Selby) return from their honeymoon, they discover that Alvin’s f­ ather has been a victim of the tong. To complicate m ­ atters, unbeknown to Alvin, he has a twin b­ rother who was kid­ napped by a Chinese man, Hop Li (Garland Briden in yellowface). Hop Li renamed the young man Chang (also played by Henley) and has controlled him through his addiction to opium. When Hop Li hears of the Marston f­ amily fortune, he sends Chang to make a claim on it. Chang abducts Alvin, takes his place, and mistreats Edith. When he tries to shoot his b­ rother, however, he real­ izes the extent of his corruption and commits suicide. Chang rejects his “pro­ gramming” by Hop Li and opium, revealing his true Marston (read: white) breeding by trying to do the moral ­thing in the end. The positive message of the film is that the evil effects of Chinatown culture cannot completely eradi­ cate the innate morality of a white American, and he can be rehabilitated if rescued from Chinatown.

The Perils of Proximity  •  117

Another group of films—­including Lights and Shadows of Chinatown (1912), Idle Hands (aka The Scarlet Dragon, Reicher 1921), Java Head (Melford 1923), and Harbor Patrol (1924)—­attributed addiction to unsympathetic p­ eople whose drug use reflected their weakness of character and immorality.44 An ad for Lights and Shadows of Chinatown noted that the alternative title of the film was The Yellow Peril and it should not be confused with the Selig Polyscope film The Lights and Shadows of Chinatown (1908).45 The three-­reeler is set in San Francisco and centers on Maud Nelson, a wealthy w ­ idow who is pursued by fortune hunters ­until she meets William Wright. Maud’s ­brother, Charles, is an opium addict who happily lives off the ­family money; however, he recog­ nizes that Wright is a serious prospect for his ­sister, who ­will likely cut him off. Unlike her ­brother, Maud wants to work and so joins the mission to help convert Chinese immigrants. One of her students, Chin Chen, falls in love with her, and when she rejects his proposal, he coerces Charles into helping destroy her f­ uture happiness by getting Wright arrested for involvement in an illegal scheme. Chin Chen then tries to take Maud prisoner in Chinatown, and when she pulls out her revolver to defend herself, opium is blown into her face from a tube in the wall. Hearing that his s­ ister is in danger, Charles informs the police of the swindle, clearing Wright’s name and implicating Chin Chen. A ­battle breaks out between Chin Chen’s guards and the police, and Charles is shot before Maud can be saved by Wright. The review in Billboard sums up the mes­ sage of the film when it states that Charles’s “weak character was wiped out by death.”46 Other films provided their protagonists with valid reasons, such as illness or a ­great loss for becoming addicts. Th ­ ese films include The Chinatown Mystery (Barker 1915), The Secret Sin (Reicher 1915), Hop, the Dev­il’s Brew (Smalley and Weber 1916), Worlds Apart (Crosland 1921), H ­ uman Wreckage (Wray 1923), and Driven from Home (Young 1927).47 In the two-­reel newspaper crime film The Chinatown Mystery, the reporter Frank Sloan (Howard Hickman) imbeds himself in Chinatown in the hope of getting the scoop on what happened to a Chinese slave girl, Woo (Tsuru Aoki), who has gone missing.48 The review in Motography suggests that Sloan starts smoking opium due to the pressure of pursuing the mystery: it c­ auses his “nerves [to] become unstrung.”49 His addic­ tion ­causes him to lose his job and fiancée. While in the opium den, Sloan overhears Yo Hung (Sessue Hayakawa) confessing to the murder of another Chinese man. Sloan strikes a deal with a police captain that he w ­ ill hand over the killer in exchange for the scoop on the story. Restored to “good” society, Sloan finds himself “shanghaied,” as the reviewer describes it, by his friends to help cure him of his drug habit by isolating him on a long cruise. Once cured, he regains his job and his fiancée. A review in Moving Picture World explained that shifts in legislation to block the importation of opium sparked “a nation-­wide crusade,” and as part of that

118  •  Chinatown Melodrama

the film Hop, The Dev­il’s Brew was intended “to greatly stimulate the efforts being made to suppress the traffic.”50 Like other films on the subject, includ­ ing Queen X, Hop begins with a “leader”—­a preface that informs audiences of the passing of the act in 1909 to prohibit the importation of opium and the efforts of customs officials to enforce the act.51 In the film, a customs official, Ward Jansen (Phillips Smalley), is sent to China to investigate an opium smuggling racket, leaving his wife, Lydia (Lois Weber), alone in San Francisco to mourn the loss of their child. On his return, Ward notices his wife’s strange be­hav­ior but does not suspect it is due to drug addiction. When Ward raids Lee Gow’s opium den, he finds Lydia ­there among the addicts and also discovers that her ­father, William ­Waters (Charles Hammond), a respected city councilman, is actually the head of the smuggling operation. Her f­ ather commits suicide when he discovers that his actions have brought about his ­daughter’s addiction to opium, and Lydia is able to conquer her habit. Fighting Destiny (Scardon 1919) begins on the eve of the wedding of the reform politician Larry Cavendish (Harry T. Morey) and Caryl Rundlege (Betty Blythe), the d­ aughter of a former governor.52 That night, Caryl dis­ appears, and Larry goes undercover as a beggar to penetrate Chinatown. He finds Caryl at the den of a one-­armed crook, Dan Levarro (George Majeroni), and in the chase along the rooftops that ensues, Caryl is accidently shot. Larry is eventually captured in a Chinatown opium den and requires saving by the police. It is only then that Larry discovers that the dead ­woman is not his fian­ cée but her twin ­sister, an opium addict whom Caryl was trying to help. Stills from the film indicate that several scenes set in Chinatown featured opium smoking. In one photo, Caryl’s s­ ister, wearing a cheongsam, sits on a low bed with her pipe beside her in a room richly decorated with Chinese silks, wall hangings, cushions, and rugs.53 Another pres­ents a scene from the film’s cli­ max, with the police arriving at the Chinatown opium den to find a group of ­people standing over the dead body of Caryl’s ­sister, in Chinese dress, while her s­ ister in contrast is in modern American clothes. The reviews do not offer a reason for the girl’s addiction or the attempt to rehabilitate her; instead, the film appears to use the girl’s addiction and demise to highlight the good­ will of the addict’s ­sister, the desire of Larry to enact po­liti­cal reforms in the city, and the Chinatown setting to fascinate audiences. A review in Wid’s Daily tells exhibitors, “­Don’t be afraid to let folks know that the scenes lead into Chinatown dens, for ­these haunts of New York’s lower East side have a certain fascination.”54 The reviewer also suggested using the catch line, “If you want to see the real Chinatown, take a trip with Harry Morey in ‘Fighting Destiny.’ ” Addiction melodramas w ­ ere advertised as educational but used their Chinatown settings as both an attraction for and a warning to main­ stream audiences.

The Perils of Proximity  •  119

Case Studies: Secret Sins and Chinatown Queens While I have been unable to locate copies of many of the ­silent films noted above, I was able to view 35 mm copies of both The Secret Sin and Queen X at the Library of Congress, so I ­will discuss them in greater detail. Set in San Fran­ cisco, The Secret Sin stars Blanche Sweet as, thanks to split screen cinematog­ raphy, twin ­sisters—­Edith and Grace Martin—­who work as seamstresses to makes ends meet in a f­ amily with an unemployed f­ ather. Grace is a sickly young ­woman who strug­gles with the demands of the work at the factory. One day she is offered money from an opium addict to go around the corner to China­ town and buy him some smoking opium. Chinatown is presented as bustling and modern, with both Chinese and white ­people ­going about their business. Some of the Chinese ­people are dressed in more traditional clothing, includ­ ing two ­women in pale silk tunic-­and-­trouser ensembles with their hair worn up, but o­ thers are in Western-­style clothes, including men wearing suits and hats with short hair. In the ­middle of this block is the staircase leading to the basement opium den of, as the title informs the audience, “Lin Foo—­the hop joint proprietor” (Sessue Hayakawa). Lin Foo is depicted as a more traditional Chinese man, dressed in a silk tunic with mandarin buttons and a silk cap. ­Behind him lays a white man smoking on the lower of two bunk beds, as Lin Foo offers Grace a puff of his pipe (Figure 5.2). Innocent and curious, Grace takes one puff and declares, “It makes every­thing seem like a dream.” Her one taste of opium ­will, unfortunately, prove her undoing and she becomes an addict. Just as Grace’s fortunes fall, t­ hose of her ­father, Dan Martin (Hal Clements), rise when he is offered a job in the oil fields by Jack Herron (Thomas Meighan). When the two men stop by the ­house to collect Dan’s belongings, Jack falls for Grace’s s­ ister, Edith. A title then explains, “­A fter six months Jack’s money gives out” and all of the workers abandon him—­except Dan, whom Jack prom­ ises to make a full partner if the venture pans out. Their f­ ather had promised to send money home ­every week, but he has failed to do so, and the ­women are forced to work more hours at the factory to make ends meet. One day at the sewing factory, Grace collapses, and their boss warns that she ­will be fired if she does not return to work the next day. At home, “the drug tempts,” and Grace steals money to head to the Chinatown hop joint and buy a package from Lin Foo. Back home, alone and demonstrating skill and experience, Grace adeptly wads the opium into a ball on a long matchstick and warms it on the light before she lays back on her bed and smokes her long pipe. Interestingly, the film then cuts from an iris close-up of Grace smoking her pipe to a shot of her f­ ather smok­ ing his tobacco pipe in the oil field. Although a subtle connection ­here, a simi­ lar point w ­ ill be made more forcefully in Queen X that some forms of smoking are more socially acceptable but equally as habit-­forming. The shot that follows

120  •  Chinatown Melodrama

FIG. 5.2  ​“Pretty Drug Fiend”—­The Secret Sin (1915) is that Grace (Blanche Sweet) has

become addicted to opium thanks to a ­free taste from a den proprietor (Sessue Hayakawa). From the Eve­ning Mail, October 16, 1915, courtesy of the Billy Rose Theatre Division, New York Public Library Digital Collections (http://­digitalcollections​.­nypl​.­org).

is one that is beautifully lit and noirish in tone: Grace is seated on her bed at the left of the screen, with the door and her back in shadow—­but her face looks angelic, lit from the side. The mood darkens as she moves to hide her gear b­ ehind the painting on the wall just in time to avoid detection as her ­mother (Alice Knowland) and Edith enter. A doctor is called to attend to the ailing Grace, but as a title explains, “an ignorant doctor completes the mischief,” giving her a shot of morphine and also a package of grains of morphine to take l­ ater. When Edith goes to pay the doctor from their jar of coins, she is shocked to find it empty, unaware that Grace has been using the money to feed her habit. While Edith and her ­mother won­der where the money has gone, Grace pops a grain of morphine and tucks the rest of the stash u­ nder her pillow. In true melodramatic fashion, the ­women’s lives are at their lowest when their f­ ather becomes rich from striking oil. The film suggests that morphine and oil are both ­things with which ­people can become obsessed by purpose­ fully intercutting scenes of the discovery of the oil and Grace’s addiction. For example, Grace tries to purchase morphine from the pharmacy but is informed that she requires a prescription; she returns home, sweating and fussing, and

The Perils of Proximity  •  121

pulls out her pipe and gear. In the following scene, Dan shows Jack the spot where oil is flowing into the stream. Back in the city, Edith and her ­mother receive a message from Dan that they are rich. A year l­ ater, Jack and Dan have managed to drill many wells, and in San Francisco the w ­ omen have moved to a better address. Their move means that they are no longer near Chinatown, and Grace calls Lin Foo to ask for an uptown connection. Lin Foo assures her—­ but likely horrifies the audience—­when he says, “Plenty hop uptown place I tell you.” Grace heads to an “uptown place” where a Chinese man in a Western-­ style suit answers the door and introduces her to the dealer—an older white man. He pres­ents Grace with a small cigarette box in which is hidden a syringe needle and opium disguised as hand-­rolled cigarettes, and he gives her a fake prescription that she can fill, writing in her own amount. Soon enough “Edith discovers the truth” when she finds Grace passed out in bed and her parapher­ nalia lying on her bedside t­ able. With her pipe replaced by a b­ ottle of liquid morphine and the needle, the film confirms that Grace has progressed from smoking opium to injecting heroin. Edith, infuriated and shocked, throws all of her ­sister’s gear into the fireplace and then crushes a syringe underfoot. When Grace finds her gear missing, Edith offers to help her fight her addiction. Grace, however, is not ready to give up the drug and sends their maid to fill her fake prescription. When Jack arrives back in San Francisco with flowers for Edith, Grace decides to have revenge on her ­sister for destroying her gear: she tells Jack that Edith has a drug prob­lem, and when Edith tries to dispose of Grace’s drugs, Jack sees her and is convinced that she is the one with the prob­lem. In the next scene, the police raid the uptown dealer’s home and a title explains, “One ave­ nue of supply closed,” leaving Grace to plot how to get back to Lin Foo’s in Chinatown. Grace suggests to Jack that he take them sightseeing in China­ town, where they can keep an eye on Edith’s movements. As Grace dresses for dinner, she experiences withdrawal pangs: a title explains, “The Drug Commands.” Jack and the ­sisters dine at an upscale Chinese restaurant, while outside tourists come to sightsee. As in other Chinatown-­set films, well-­to-do white ­people come to Chinatown to slum, and as a title explains, Lin Foo has “an exhibition den run for morbid tourists” next door to the real opium den. Lin Foo and his assistant are interrupted by a tour group whose members watch a white ­woman passed out on the lower bunk and a Chinese man smok­ ing in the upper bunk. Immediately ­after their departure, a young Chinese man rushes in and warns Lin Foo that a raid is imminent. Lin Foo shakes the two smokers and says, “Police come allee same to­night. Better go!” Immedi­ ately alert, they jump up immediately and head upstairs, while Lin Foo reaches into small wood-­burning stove and removes tins of drugs. He then passes through revolving panel in the wall into the real den, leaving b­ ehind the tourist attraction.

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Back at the restaurant, Grace has the opportunity to sneak away from din­ ner and heads to Lin Foo’s real den for a smoke. When Edith goes in search of her ­sister, she ends up in the exhibition den with the next tour group just as the police enter for the raid. Jack arrives just in time to think the worst of Edith, and one of the cops magnifies his fears by saying, “Since w ­ e’ve closed the uptown joints, lots like her come ­here.” ­A fter conducting a thorough search, the police find the secret panel in the wall and head into the real den, but Lin Foo and the unconscious Grace are gone. In the street outside the shop, Edith and Jack are put in the back of a paddy wagon and taken to the police station. Back in the den, Lin Foo comes out of hiding, lays Grace on a t­ able, and then robs her of her jewels. When Edith eventually returns home, she tells her parents about her s­ ister’s addiction; however, still misinformed, Jack c­ ounters her confession and says, “Morphine fiends always lie. What she says about her s­ ister is true—­ about herself.” Edith begs for them to help her find Grace, and w ­ hether they believe her or Jack, they all head to Chinatown. Lin Foo realizes he must get rid of Grace, and he dumps her (still unconscious) on the stoop of her old h ­ ouse. Luckily, Edith won­ders if Grace might return to the old h ­ ouse in an opium haze, and the ­family arrives ­there to find a paramedic who declares Grace “doped.” He advises the loved ones (as ­will o­ thers in Queen X) to “take her to the country. Fight it gradually. She’s young enough to win out.” The fear that the film capitalizes on is that Chinese immigration brings evil ­things into Amer­i­ca—­notably opium, which can be the downfall of even the most innocent and good of society. Queen X delivers the same message but jus­ tifies its salacious story of a society w ­ oman gone wrong with a preface that frames its story as a call for action: The alarming increase in the use of NARCOTIC DRUGS during the past fifteen years, even within the confines of our own nation, has brought about the development of a condition so terrible, so vicious, that it threatens to undermine and destroy, not only the princi­ples of our sacred home life but of our po­liti­cal and national life as well. The eradication of this condition can be brought about only by a strict ENFORCEMENT of our anti-­narcotic laws, coupled with the individual and concerted effort of e­ very one of YOU, to aid in this enforcement. Statistics could be quoted showing the extent of this insidious business and its vicious and deterrant [sic] effects; but the following authoritative statement by Mr. Palmer is timely and significant. “It is admitted by dealers in cocaine, heroin, morphine and opium that the use of habit-­ forming drugs is increasing at the rate of fifteen per cent per year. And in the year 1920 we had upwards of a half-­million drug ‘fiends’ in the United States alone. What the number w ­ ill be, even within ten years, is terrible to conjecture, ­unless prompt action is taken to curb the spread of this menace.” LET US

The Perils of Proximity  •  123

HAVE PUBLICITY, PUBLICITY PITILESS AND WIDESPREAD TO HELP WIPE OUT THIS EVIL.55

This preface is also likely the result of the fact that the story on which the film is based was written by Edwin M. Stanton, the assistant U.S. district attorney for New York who conducted the government’s fight against Chinese drug smugglers. The film begins with District Attorney Somers (William Wolcott) issuing an order to raid a den in New York’s Chinatown. The raid is well or­ga­nized, with several officers placed on the street and on the roof of the tall building. When a policeman knocks on the door, the Chinese man on the other side rushes to warn the occupants of the den: three Chinese men chatting and two white men in bunks. Every­one in the room makes a break for it, except for a young white ­woman (Edna Goodrich), laying on a chaise longue in the fore­ ground in a dope-­induced haze. In the meantime, a thrilling action scene ensues with men attempting to escape on the roof or down the fire escape, but policemen appear everywhere and apprehend them. In the street, a big crowd gathers to watch the criminals being hauled away, and as the white ­woman is handcuffed, we see an “X” birthmark on her hand. The officer in charge of the raid calls the district attorney and reports: “Followed your ­orders out to a T . . . ​and we landed Queen X, too!” Somers replies, “That’s ­great! Now we may be able to get at the bottom of this Opium business.” In prison, the young w ­ oman scratches at her throat and wrists, and a title explains: “As it neared the hour of dawn the fiendish torture caused by an intense desire for the drug.” Next, “in his endeavor to secure information regarding the opium ring, Somers puts Queen X through a racking ‘Third Degree.’ ” Somers insists, “­Unless you give me the names of the ringleaders and their plan of operation you’ll go to prison for the limit.” Somers goes as far as to offer the ­woman a hit of opium in exchange for information, asking: “Why not come through with the information? Why torture yourself?” Despite her longing for the drug, she knows the penalty for ratting on her dealer: her thoughts (indicated through a shot) shows a man’s hand holding a dagger up in the air to be driven down into her heart. Her eyes grow wide in horror, and she slumps back into silence. Her fears are confirmed when it is revealed that ­there are “­others interested in the girl’s arrest”—­namely, the heads of the drug ring: a white man, Henry Burton (uncredited), and a Japa­nese man named Sato Yamaro (P. Tamato).56 Burton says, “I’m afraid the girl ­will squeal,” but Yamaro reassures him: “She better not squeal, if she knows what’s good for her!” And he raises and lowers his dagger twice over the t­ able in a threatening motion. At his f­ amily’s home, the assistant district attorney, George Evans (Hugh Thompson), pours over the Queen X case papers as his widowed ­mother (Dora

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Adams) and s­ ister, Miriam (Lucille Taft), keep him com­pany. His ­sister, read­ ing the paper, asks George, “You are conducting this Queen X case, a­ ren’t you?” A shot of the newspaper article reveals the story: “The girl known as Queen X, arrested in a recent raid in Chinatown at the instigation of the District Attorney, ­will be tried in the Federal Court to-­morrow. It is hoped that the District Attorney w ­ ill be able to learn from the girl the names of the men who are lead­ ers of the drug traffic in this country. The Anti-­Drug League has been making strenuous effort.” At the trial, Queen X is convicted of her drug offenses, but Miriam recognizes her and explains to her b­ rother who she is: “Her real name is Janice Waltham though on account of the birthmark we called her ‘Ex’ at school—it is some years ago—we attended Stanton Acad­emy together and w ­ ere ­great chums. . . . ​She was a brilliant essayist, and perhaps the most popu­lar girl in the school. . . . ​She spent her weekly allowance on the poor of the village.” This backstory, also revealed to the audience through a flashback, promotes sympathy: Janice is not just a drug addict but a good person worth rehabilitating. Miriam continues, “She was always a good girl, and if it would not be asking too much, I wish you would give her a chance to become her old self again.” While Miriam hopes to cure Janice, Somers hopes that George can extract from her the names of the criminals he seeks to bring down: “Now its [sic] up to you to take her up in the country, endeavor to cure her, and do every­thing pos­si­ble to get that information.” On sentencing day, the judge puts Janice in the custody of George, and he and his ­family take her to the country to “the sheer openness, the ­wholesomeness of nature’s sun-­painted sanitarium.” Despite her finding peace in the country at Seneca Lake with the Evans ­family, “To con­ quer the habit is no easy task. It was a hard strug­gle for Janice.” In her room, Janice pulls out her paraphernalia and is caught by George with her pipe in hand. He reminds her, “You have had your share to-­day.” Just as in The Secret Sin, a commentary is offered on the similarity between opium smoking and cigar smoking. While out for a walk with Janice, George lights up a cigar: GEORGE:  ​­There is no mistaking it—­cigars do afford one a lot of comfort. JANICE:  ​I notice that you get an over abundance of comfort from them. GEORGE:  ​Yes—­for years I have been an inveterate smoker—­without coffee and

cigars I ­don’t know what I would do. JANICE:  ​Then it is not so easy to give up something to which you are

accustomed. GEORGE:  ​However, smoking is simply a habit—it is only a question of ­will

power to break myself of it.

As a title card suggests, it is all just “a question of w ­ ill power.” George strug­gles but eventually gives up both coffee and his cigars, and Janice reports: “I have conquered the habit through ­will power and I ­will never use the drug again. . . . ​

The Perils of Proximity  •  125

I intend to write a book about opium: it may save other girls from the horrors that I have gone through.” George and Janice fall in love, and as a title explains, “with the advent of true love, came the disclosure of the sealed chapter of her life.” A series of scenes in flashback and titles explain how Janice came to fall so low and also how to bring down the drug ring: ­ fter dinner someone suggested we visit Wung Tung’s. That night marked the A beginning of my downfall. I started innocently enough as most o­ thers by trying to live up to the name of being a good fellow! The usual ­thing happened. Several other parties followed and fi­nally I cultivated an intense liking for the drug and felt that I had to have it. Fi­nally I became what is generally known as a fiend. Increased vigilance on the part of the police caused me to seek China­ town to satisfy my cravings. A ­ fter a while I was taken into the confidence of the ring-­leaders—an American named Henry Burton and a Japa­nese named Sato Yamaro. They took quite a liking to me, and used me to distribute the drug. ­Later realizing that I knew their plans of operation, they threatened to kill me if I ever divulged any of their secrets. . . . ​It is ­because I love you that I have told you every­thing. The drug is being brought to Burton and Yamaro by some of the crew of the Asiatic Steamship Companies.

Janice’s rehabilitation is twofold, the film suggests. Not only does she find the willpower to overcome her own addiction, but she also assists the district attor­ ney in stopping the opium trade to prevent other innocents (read: well-­bred white Americans) from becoming victims of dope—­even at the risk to her own life. With Janice’s information, the police are able to raid a boat on which Chi­ nese men are making packages of opium. The police also seize a letter that explains when and how the next shipment w ­ ill be moved from the S.S. Hong Kong to Chinatown. On the night in question, six Chinese men on the ship are shown making up packages of opium in tins and paper as the police come aboard to seize them. ­Later in Chinatown, two undercover policemen deliver the packages to Burton and Yamaro before attempting to arrest the criminals. While the white American is taken into custody, the Japa­nese villain makes a break for it before he is shot dead by police. The police call George and Somers to announce, “We have landed the ­whole gang.” The film ends with Janice finishing her book, which begins with the fore­ word, “Let my experience be a warning to all ­people—­never use a drug, not even in jest or experiment—it brings naught but misery, suffering, and ruin.” She ends the book with the statement, “To the unfortunates who use drugs—­I say you can be cured, as I was cured—by the building up of that ­great force within all of us called ­W ILL POWER.” While both The Secret Sin and Queen X seem progressive in suggesting the comforting and habit-­forming nature of all

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smoking (even of tobacco), they seem regressive in their insistence that willpower is all that is required to quit using narcotics. Queen X is one of several films in which Asian and white criminals use Chinatown as a base for their criminal activities and connections to China to supply ­those activities, but the focus of the film is on the impact that ­these Chinese-­related crimes have on well-­bred white p­ eople—­especially the impressionable and supposedly weaker sex. Films like The Secret Sin and Queen X w ­ ere presented as warnings to pre­ vent drug addiction, but of course at the same time they capitalized on the scan­ dalous topic to attract audiences. As a review for The Secret Sin in Moving Picture World explains, “The scenes in Chinatown opium dens populated by drug fiends of all stations in life, the inner workings of the high class dealers in forbidden drugs and the schemes resorted to by the victims to secure the opi­ ates are all graphically shown.”57 One in­ter­est­ing point to note about t­ hese films, including Queen X and The Secret Sin, is how strange, if not disturbing, it is to see young w ­ omen adeptly using drug paraphernalia—­from preparing their hits to h ­ andling their pipes—no doubt b­ ecause such images of leading ladies is absent from films made in the era of the Production Code. ­These films are fas­ cinating in that they can pres­ent their heroines as falling so low and yet remaining redeemable—­because they are white. In contrast, any Asian char­ acters in the films are presented as evil for attempting to ruin the lives of such ­women.

Conclusion The topic of white socialites becoming addicted to opium in part due to the proximity of Chinatown was popu­lar throughout the 1910s. An ad in Exhibitors Herald in 1917 offered details about a film called Ashes of My Heart, pro­ duced by Harry Berg and starring Barbara Castleton: “A sensational expose of the drug evil. Revealing the grim ­battle waged by a physician against the use of opiates by the girl he loves. Scenes laid in Chinatown.”58 Similarly, a review in Motion Picture News reports, “Some of the biggest action of the story is laid in a Chinese opium den in the old Chinatown of San Francisco.”59 Films like H ­ uman Wreckage ­were labeled “Anti-­Narcotic films,” and a review in Motion Picture News explained that the film “treats the evils of drugs, pointing out the disasters which visit several figures. . . . ​The husband is an attorney who suffers a ner­vous breakdown. Becomes addicted to morphine and his efforts to shake off the habit are fruitless ­until he realizes that his wife is encouraged to take up the habit ­because of his weakness and the futility of trying to cope with it.”60 The importance of the message of antinarcotic films was promoted by the indus­ try as well as the police. As an article in Motion Picture News explains, Phil­ lip T. Smith, the chief of police in New Haven, Connecticut, and president of the International Association of Chiefs of Police, sent out letters and tele­grams

The Perils of Proximity  •  127

to other chiefs of police to help support the making of H ­ uman Wreckage. His actions mark “the adoption of the film as the official one of this world-­wide association in the fight against drugs.”61 The 1923 film, unlike t­ hose of the 1910s, does not connect its character’s addiction to Chinatown. Melodramas focused on white addiction to Chinatown opium had all but dis­appeared by the early 1920s, and the smuggling and supplying of opium was relegated solely to Chinatown crime films. Chinatown-­set melodramas moved on to the other key fear related to the proximity of Chinatown to innocent, young white ­women—­miscegenation.

6

Tainted Blood White Fears of Yellow Miscegenation As Emma Teng explains, “At the heart of the Chinese Question was this—­ could the Chinese in time become assimilated, and patriotic, American citi­ zens, or did their ‘racial traits’ render this impossible, warranting their exclusion from the nation?”1 The question did not dis­appear with the passing of the Exclusion Act in 1882 and seemed to become more pressing by the late nine­ teenth ­century, with the pervasive visibility of mixed-­race ­children in e­ very Chi­ natown. ­Because of the restrictions on the immigration of Chinese ­women to the United States, many Chinese men married Eu­ro­pean w ­ omen. In New York City before the exclusion era, one-­quarter of Chinese men w ­ ere married to Irish wives, and many had ­children.2 The majority of journalists at the time who raised the topic of “mixed” ­children saw them as indicative of a prob­lem.3 In contrast, in 1888 the pioneering Chinese American journalist Wong Chin Foo wrote in Cosmopolitan that “half-­breed ­children” w ­ ere examples of successful Chinese assimilation and f­ uture “Americanized Chinese”: they w ­ ere young ­people who spoke En­g lish, wore Western clothes, and “adopt[ed] American ways.”4 The issue for whites was that mixed-­race ­children could not be catego­ rized, and their place in Amer­i­ca’s social and racial hierarchy was difficult to determine. The term “miscegenation” was first used during the Civil War by journal­ ists who ­were against abolition: they argued that one danger of abolishing slav­ 128

Tainted Blood  •  129

ery was the potential for white and black intermarriage. As David Palumbo-­ Liu explains, “it was feared that miscegenation would bring about the dilution of the American blood and lead to the eventual demise of the nation. Coupled with a declining birthrate among the elite stock, ‘interbreeding’ with the lower social and racial o­ rders would lead to a ‘race suicide.’ ”5 The fears of “interbreed­ ing” resulted in the establishment of laws in vari­ous Western states in the 1860s prohibiting interracial marriage, cohabitation, and sex between whites and Chinese p­ eople as well as Native Americans, African Americans, and ­people of mixed white and black ancestry.6 In 1880, the California legislature followed suit, prohibiting marriage between a white person and a “negro, mulatto, or Mongolian.”7 ­These statutes ­were not only a response to the increased immi­ gration from Asian countries but also, Deenesh Sohoni argues, “a reflection of per­sis­tent concerns regarding racial purity and the nature of American citi­ zenship.”8 In the late nineteenth c­ entury, medical and juridical discourses linked race to the idea of an indivisible identity and related physical (that is, racial) appearance to morality. For example, Cesare Lombroso’s theory of anthropological criminology claimed that criminals ­were distinguished by ape-­like physical anomalies, indicating a reversion to the primitive.9 The bias that underpinned theories like Lombroso’s was that the features identified as “criminal” w ­ ere t­ hose of nonwhite races. Social conceptions and scientific the­ ories affected lawmakers, who in turn affected social conceptions and scien­ tific theories with the passing of new laws.10 Fears of miscegenation also led to an impact on who ­women could marry in the United States. The Married W ­ omen’s In­de­pen­dent Nationality Act of 1922 (aka the Cable Act) declared that a female American citizen could be stripped of her citizenship if she married an immigrant who was ineligible for citizenship—in other words, she could retain her American citizenship if she married a foreigner only if he was not Asian. At the time, the only other act that could result in the loss of one’s citizenship was treason, and therefore, in the eyes of the government, miscegenation was tantamount to treason as a betrayal of Americanness. Gary Hoppenstand explains that nineteenth-­century dime novels used yellow peril stories as “arguments for racial purity,” with warn­ ings about potential rape, miscegenation, and the difficulty of eradicating the seeming threat that Chinese men represented to American w ­ omen.11 Relatedly, Teng argues that the Eurasian embodied concerns over “racial amalgamation” and represented a threat to the nation’s pro­gress as “a locus of anxiety and desire in an age of increasing global interpenetration and migration.”12 In early Hol­ lywood feature films, as Susan Koshy explains, “miscegenation narratives offered the primary narrative construct for articulating and mediating the anx­ i­eties generated by the Asian presence.”13 Gina Marchetti finds it in­ter­est­ing that American filmmakers returned again and again to the tales of white and Asian romance, considering that the Asian population of the United States was

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small at the time. She argues that the goal was not to appeal to Asian American audiences but to use Asians as signifiers of racial otherness when other relation­ ships of whites (­those with African Americans or Native Americans, respec­ tively) w ­ ere too contentious or guilt-­ridden.14 According to Marchetti, tales of white-­yellow miscegenation w ­ ere popu­lar in American film ­because they explored the contradiction in American culture between the liberal ideal of the melting pot and the conservative ideal of homogeneous white American identity—­and they appealed to audiences.15 Film producers used dif­fer­ent strategies to mitigate the potential impact that a miscegenation narrative would have on white audiences: first, the Chinese character was played by a white actor in yellowface; second, many films bypassed the unhappy ending and complied with the anti-­miscegenation laws by reveal­ ing that the seemingly Chinese character was, in fact, also white; and, third, through an Orientalist gaze the film could fetishize or investigate the Chinese “­others,” removing any threat they might pose to white superiority. Through denying the repre­sen­ta­tion of some types of miscegenation (namely, African American‒white) and the inauthentic depiction of the other kinds (namely, Asian-­white), Hollywood and the Production Code Administration (PCA) revealed and reflected the racial biases of American society of the time. For white audiences, t­ hese Chinatown melodramas confirmed broader cultural myths about the dangers of Chinese immigrants and the potential “pollution” of the purity of the white race through miscegenation.16 The fear of miscege­ nation was explored and exploited through two themes in American films: the Eurasian as criminal and the romance between a Chinese immigrant and a white American. In the crime film, the Eurasian was depicted almost exclusively as a villain, and his identification as “half-­caste” (as it was called at the time) suggested that his depravity was the product of miscegenation (as discussed in chapter 4). The only positive trait such a character might possess was intelli­ gence, but even that intelligence was perverted for use in a life of crime and to satisfy the desire for power. Ruth Mayer argues that the majority of the critical work on ­silent China­ town films has focused on the films that pres­ent Chinatown “as cauldrons of crime and perversion,” whereas she explores t­ hose silent-­era films—­for exam­ ple, The City of Dim ­Faces (Melford 1918) and A Tale of Two Worlds (Lloyd 1921)—­that feature Chinatown curio shops and merchants as positive spaces and ­people.17 The aim of this chapter, like Mayer’s article, is to explore China­ town stories that attempted to offer benign repre­sen­ta­tions of Chinatown and its residents, exploring their presence as part of modern Amer­i­ca. This chapter examines Chinatown melodramas centered on the romance between interra­ cial—or at least seemingly interracial—­couples. The films featuring an inter­ racial c­ ouple often presented the pair as a Romeo and Juliet, star-­crossed ­because their love was deemed unnatural and, ultimately, would be shattered by social

Tainted Blood  •  131

convention.18 Other films presented a romance between a white American man and a supposedly Chinese w ­ oman—­what I term “mistaken-­race” romance films—­but ­were able to offer their ­couple the happy ending that the interra­ cial romance denied. Through dif­fer­ent but related strategies, the interracial romance and the mistaken-­race romance deny the successful u­ nion of mixed-­ race ­couples, being films that flirted with the idea of attraction between white men and Chinese w ­ omen without committing to miscegenation.

Interracial Romance The interracial romance demonstrated the perceived dangers of cross-­racial love by depicting Asian men as cruel or the mixed-­race offspring of the u­ nion as damaged. According to Mary Ting Yi Lui, “popu­lar narratives of Chinese-­white sexual relations came couched in the language of the ‘white slavery evil’ in Chi­ natown and more often portrayed ­these young girls and ­women as victims of predation.”19 For example, as Darrell Hamamoto explained in an interview about the Oriental villain in film, “Asian men, and usually it was in yellow­ face . . . ​, w ­ ere seen as having t­ hese preternatural powers, especially over white ­women. They could induce them to all manner of indecent acts through drugs, and through Asian mind control.”20 In real life, many white w ­ omen fell in love and chose to live with Chinese partners, but, in the popu­lar imagination, ­these interracial relationships w ­ ere regarded as the product of predatory men prey­ ing on vulnerable ­women. Certainly, the newspapers dwelled on salacious tales of interracial love gone wrong—­including, most famously, the 1909 murder of Elsie Sigel by a man she had met in New York’s Chinatown and the 1913 dou­ ble hom­i­cide of Charles Sing and his white wife, Alice Davis, in Chicago’s Chi­ nese quarter.21 As Marchetti argues, “one of the most potent aspects of t­ hese yellow peril discourses is the sexual danger of contact between the races.”22 Indeed, the two most famous s­ ilent films dealing with interracial rape are Cecil B. DeMille’s The Cheat (1915) and D. W. Griffith’s Broken Blossoms (1919). Even though the protagonist of The Cheat is not Chinese, the role made Sessue Hayakawa a star and defined his f­ uture roles, including his Chinese ones. In The Cheat, Edith Hardy (Fannie Ward), a socialite, complains to Hish­ uru Tori (Hayakawa), a Japa­nese curio dealer, that it is “the same old story—­My husband objects to my extravagance—­and you.”23 She and Hishuru both belong to the upper echelon of Long Island society and share a taste for a life of leisure and extravagance. The Hardys’ marriage is suffering: Edith’s husband (Jack Dean) works long hours as a stockbroker to pay for his wife’s lifestyle, and his neglect of his wife drives her to gambling. When she steals $10,000 raised by the Red Cross through a ball for charity and loses it gambling, Hishuru offers to bail her out with the unspoken idea that her repayment w ­ ill be of a sexual nature. In true melodramatic fashion, just minutes a­ fter she repays the Red

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Cross with Hishuru’s check, her husband arrives home with the good news that an investment paid off and that they are rich. Hishuru demands the agreed repayment, and when Edith refuses, he brands her shoulder in a shockingly vio­ lent scene. Edith shoots and wounds Hishuru, but her husband takes the blame and stands trial. Edith is horrified when her husband is found guilty of attempted murder, and she confesses the truth, revealing her branded shoul­ der to corroborate her story. The ­couple are happily re­united, and the film warns its female audiences to heed Edith’s lesson: not to dally with the Oriental “other.” Although Hayakawa’s villain in The Cheat is not Chinese, he demon­ strates the “white slavery evil” relationship that Lui described.24 Just as The Sheik (Melford 1921) would catapult Rudolph Valentino to sex symbol status six years ­later with the film’s rape “fantasy” of a foreign man tak­ ing a reluctant, white ­woman, The Cheat did the same for Hayakawa. In sev­ eral films that followed, Hayakawa reprised the role of the callous foreigner in pursuit of a white ­woman. The films included The City of Dim ­Faces, notably directed by George Melford, who also directed The Sheik. Despite social fears about miscegenation at the time, Hayakawa could be cast opposite a white actress in the romantic leading role ­because of his star status and popularity with white female viewers. The fact that miscegenation was an impor­tant ele­ ment of The City of Dim F ­ aces is highlighted by Frances Marion, the author of the film’s script, who labeled the script as an “East-­vs-­West” and “Miscegena­ tion” type film.25 The film begins with a Chinese merchant, Wing Lung (James Cruze in yellowface), and a white ­woman, Elizabeth Mendall (Marin Sais), marrying and having a son named Jang Lung. A soothsayer warns that Wing’s son ­will “inherit the strength, physical beauty, and power of the white race—­ and the intellect and cunning of the Oriental.”26 Wing informs Elizabeth that their child must be raised Chinese; when she protests, he locks her in the cel­ lar, and she goes mad. Jang is, thus, raised unaware that his ­mother is white. Years ­later, at college, Jang (Hayakawa) meets and falls in love with a white ­woman, Marcel Matthews (Doris Pawn). Wing expresses his disappointment that his son’s “accursed white blood dominates,” with “his American clothes” and “his American slang.” Marcel accompanies Jang back to San Francisco, intending to marry him, but ­after she visits Chinatown, which she finds “unro­ mantic and squalid,” she breaks off their engagement. Marcel’s rejection ­causes Jang to mirror his f­ ather’s cruelty by selling Marcel to a Chinese mar­ riage broker (Tôgô Yamamoto) “like a cargo of rare silk—­waiting to be stamped with the brand ‘Chinese property.’ ” That Jang embraces his Chinese heritage is signified by his shedding of his Western apparel and adopting traditional Chi­ nese clothes.27 When Jang finds out the true identity of his ­mother from his servant, Lee Willie (George King in yellowface), Jang recognizes his own cru­ elty and rescues Marcel from the wealthy mandarin (James Wang) who had purchased her. The c­ ouple is reconciled; unfortunately, however, Jang was

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injured during the rescue. Just before he dies, he takes his ­mother’s cross, places it to his lips, and murmurs about being re­united with Marcel in paradise. Since his Chinese f­ ather was a cruel man, the film does not seem to blame Jang’s bira­ cial blood as the reason for his own mistreatment of his fiancée; rather, it blames solely his Chinese blood, which it seems has been tempered by his ­mother’s apparently better white blood and his embracing of Chris­tian­ity. As a subtitle explains, “Call of the Aryan. . . . ​The heart of the white man in its body of yellow.” The film avoids the contentious ending of a happy u­ nion between the mixed-­race man and the white w ­ oman by having him die heroically as a result of saving her. Films featuring Hayakawa in interracial romances ­were designed to capital­ ize on the star’s popularity with white ­women and evidently inspired other films featuring dif­fer­ent Japa­nese American actors at the time, including An Oriental Romance (Lessey 1915) and Pagan Love (Ballin 1920). Both of ­these films presented stories similar to that of the Hayakawa film Li Ting Lang (Swickard 1920): a young man from China comes to study at an American uni­ versity and falls in love with a white American girl. In both An Oriental Romance and Pagan Love, the w ­ omen return the Chinese men’s love. In the former, Hop Kung (King Baggot in yellowface) falls in love with his college friend’s ­sister, Clara (Arline Pretty), and she returns his affection. Dick (Ned Reardon), Clara’s ­brother, however, disapproves, despite the fact that Hop is the friend who helped him get out of trou­ble over gambling debts. Hop fi­nally agrees that Clara would be better off with a white man and pursues other ­women at a party to break Clara’s heart.28 In Li Ting Lang, the titular Chinese prince (Hayakawa) falls in love with a socialite named Marion (Doris Pawn), who—­mainly to defy ­those who protest—­agrees to marry him. When he real­ izes that she ­will become a social outcast, Li releases her from the engagement, and his aunt, the empress of China, sends an envoy to bring him home. A few years ­later, while on her honeymoon in Hong Kong, Marion tries to visit Li, now a commander in the army of the new republic, and is kidnapped by his enemies. Li protects her u­ ntil her husband and a group of American sailors are able to rescue her. The film ends with her remaining with her white husband. In Pagan Love, Tsing Yu-­Ch’ing (Tôgô Yamamoto) falls in love with Kathleen Levinsky (Mabel Ballin), an Irish Jew who is blind. When a doctor restores her sight through surgery, Kathleen discovers that Yu-­Ch’ing is Chinese, and she flees from him in fear. Brokenhearted, he returns to China and commits sui­ cide, believing that ­after death he ­will be re­united with her for eternity. The reviewer for Wid’s Daily commented that the film would face the same “objec­ tions” as Broken Blossoms—­namely, “this very idea of a Chinaman loving a white ­woman.”29 The difference between the two films, the reviewer went on to explain, was that Griffith’s featured “one of the greatest characterizations the screen has ever known” (Richard Barthelmess in yellowface), and that of

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Yamamoto in Pagan Love was not of the same caliber—­revealing a common bias among reviewers that Asian American actors ­were not as good as white ones.30 Importantly, The City of Dim ­Faces, Li Ting Lang, and Pagan Love iso­ late their Chinese heroes at universities (rather than placing them within a Chinatown community) and then return them to China (rather than present­ ing their ­future in American society)—­thus maintaining their Chinese iden­ tity and avoiding questions of their Americanness.31 The interracial romance starring an Asian American actor died with the popularity of Hayakawa and the return of the ­silent era’s Japa­nese American actors to Japan by 1925. In its place appeared the mistaken-­race romance that featured white actors in yellowface as the supposedly Chinese lovers. A sole example of an interracial romance ­after the institution of the Production Code is Klondike Annie (Walsh 1936). The film’s “romance” is depicted as unhealthy, however, and is replaced with an apparently better match (read: between two whites) by the end of the film. In San Francisco in the 1890s, Rose Carleton (Mae West), known as the “San Francisco Doll,” lives with the Chinatown gang lord Chan Lo (Harold Huber in yellowface).32 Rose is one of Chan Lo’s objects of fascination for the rich clients who visit his gambling h ­ ouse: they come to view his personal art collection, including a kris to dispatch ­women who do not obey cultural laws, and Rose—­his “Lotus Flower” and “Pearl of Pearls”—­ who performs musical numbers on the stage. In the film, an audience of both Chinese and whites watches as, dressed in a cheongsam, she sings a number that includes the lyr­ics “I’m an Occidental ­women in an Oriental mood for love.” A continual source of tension between the c­ ouple is Chan Lo’s jealousy over Rose’s flirtations with white men. She claims that he has kept her “caged up” for over a year and has forbidden her to fraternize with men of her own race. A man whom she has befriended arranges passage for her to Alaska to escape Chan Lo, but Chan Lo intercepts a message between the two and, in a shock­ ingly brutal scene, tortures Rose’s faithful servant for information.33 When Chan Lo spies the smudge of a man’s kiss on Rose’s lips, he is enraged. The scene that followed was cut out of most prints of the film to please the censor boards, but as the release dialogue script shows, Rose kills Chan Lo in self-­defense.34 In the scene, Chan Lo says threateningly: “Prepare the lime which burns to nothingness the eyes of the one who looks with contempt upon the face of your master! . . . ​Give me the strength to destroy this creature who has dishonored my h ­ ouse. . . . ​Remove from me the evil temptation of her beauty that I may pursue the honorable task of avenging her insult to the noble House of Chan. Make her suffering unendurable, that atonement may be complete.” Before Chan Lo can dispatch her, Rose stabs him with the kris that he had declared was for punishing disobedient w ­ omen. By showing that Chan Lo honors what American regarded as cruel and outdated Chinese customs, the film depicts him as an Oriental villain and Rose as a sympathetic victim. The story then

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abandons its Chinatown locale as Rose escapes to Alaska, winning the heart of the ship’s captain, Bull Brackett (Victor McLagen), and then impersonat­ ing a settlement worker, S­ ister Annie Alden. The film ends with Rose decid­ ing to return to San Francisco to stand trial for Chan Lo’s murder. According to the American Film Institute (AFI) Cata­log entry for Klondike Annie, the majority of local censors deleted not only the scenes of torture and murder but also ­those in which Rose engages in amorous activities with dif­fer­ent lovers.35 The Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of Amer­i­ca (MPPDA) came ­under fire from vari­ous organ­izations for approving the release of the film, and newspapers launched campaigns against its promotion. News­ papers that ­were owned by Paul Block published an editorial arguing that the MPPDA would “serve the American public as well as the w ­ hole film industry to better purpose if they ­were to outlaw indecent and immoral pictures such as the film Klondike Annie.”36 Similarly, newspapers owned by William Ran­ dolph Hearst banned all advertisements for the film. The National Legion of Decency published a proclamation against the film in several publications.37 And lastly, Paramount received a letter from the president of the San Francisco Motion Picture Council condemning the film b­ ecause “it pres­ents its heroine as a mistress to an Oriental, then as a murderess, then as a cheap imitator of a missionary—­jazzing religion.”38 It is difficult to determine which of t­ hese sins the letter’s author deemed the most severe, but certainly miscegenation was regarded as indicative of a character’s immorality. ­Needless to say, the depic­ tion of miscegenation in Code-­era films was deemed problematic and led to the creation of the mistaken-­race romance.

Mistaken-­Race Romances Hayakawa’s production com­pany, Haworth Pictures, had a­ dopted a “no kiss” policy for Hayakawa so that he could appear in interracial romance films and star opposite white actresses but, importantly, avoid arousing fears of miscege­ nation.39 In contrast to interracial romances, mistaken-­race romances seemed aimed at white male viewers with their tales of romance between white men and seemingly Chinese ­women. While the interracial romance film ended with the hero’s death or return to China, thus setting the white w ­ oman f­ ree, the mistaken-­race romance film offered the ­couple a deus ex machina moment, with true racial identity revealed at the eleventh hour. The myth that the mistaken-­ race romance relied upon was that white p­ eople could somehow pass success­ fully as Chinese—­even in Chinatown. While white Americans feared that Chinese immigration would pollute Eu­ro­pean blood with Chinese, Hollywood had paradoxically convinced itself—no doubt through the predominance of yellowface casting—­that Chinese identity was only skin-­deep and more the product of nurture than nature. In Hollywood films, Chinese identity was

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reducible to dress, hairstyle, speech, and comportment and thus could easily be exchanged, in Hollywood’s mind, for a better identity. Mayer describes the focus on Chinese décor and objects in films of the 1910s and 1920s as an example of what Vachel Lindsay argues is the pro­cess of “orna­ mentalization” in modernity with “­things and p­ eople merg[ing] into ambigu­ ous arrangement”: in other words, p­ eople are displayed like ­things, and t­ hings have agency like p­ eople.40 The focus of Mayer’s discussion is on s­ ilent films that feature Chinatown store settings and Chinese merchants. I would add that this “ornamentalization” is equally impor­tant in films that featured Chinatown homes with an intensive focus on ­things—­Chinese wall hangings, furniture, musical instruments, curios, objets d’art, religious statues and shrines, gardens, and especially clothes and hair ornaments. ­These objects invite a fetishistic gaze that lingers on the objects as much as the actors and action, providing a feast for the eye that is less familiar and more exciting than the objects of white American homes. More importantly, however, it is through the use of Chinese ornaments that the ­mistake of the mistaken-­race film can occur: white ­women dressed as Chinese ­women are interpreted in American society to be Chinese ­women. In other words, in the modern era and with the rise of consumerism, objects defined p­ eople, and the accumulation of objects could redefine them. In contrast to Eu­rope, Amer­i­ca held out the promise of social mobility: one did not need to be highborn to achieve ­great heights; in contrast, one merely required the desire and work ethic to accumulate the objects of social success. While social mobility was seen as a positive t­ hing for hardworking, working-­ class, white ­people, it was seen as potentially negative in terms of immigrants, as their foreign identity became no longer readily identifiable. While stories of the racial “other” passing as white caused anxiety for white American readers and audiences, t­ hose of white Americans mistaken for the racial “other” pro­ vided audiences with fantasies of miscegenation but with socially acceptable endings. Susan Courtney discusses the “interpretive confusion” that a film like Imitation of Life (Stahl 1934) caused at the time of its release, with its biracial pro­ tagonist who attempts to pass as white.41 ­There ­were a handful of plays and films that offered a similar theme of confused racial identity in relation to Chi­ nese immigrants. As Krystyn Moon explains, from songs and musicals about Chinese lovers, t­ here ­were Orientalist spin-­offs that presented a Eu­ro­pean or American man falling in love with a non-­Western ­woman—­the most famous example of which is Giacomo Puccini’s opera Madama Butterfly, which pre­ miered in the United States in 1906.42 While the opera ended with the death of the Asian ­woman, Moon argues that the Tin Pan Alley songs it inspired instead united their star-­crossed lovers in the end, ­because songwriters believed that listeners would prefer a happy ending.43 The fact that “Amer­i­ca’s sweet­ heart,” Mary Pickford, played the Japa­nese geisha character in Madame But-

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terfly (Olcott 1915) shows that the storyline was popu­lar with filmgoers. One of the most famous plays offering an American-­Chinese love story was the 1918 East Is West, by Samuel Shipman and John B. Hymer.44 It was not a musical, but it did feature the number “Chinese Lullaby”—­sung by the heroine, Ming Toy, first in Chinese, then in broken En­glish, and a final time in good En­glish.45 The play ended with the revelation that Ming Toy was the child of an Ameri­ can missionary and his Spanish wife, thereby removing any threat she might have presented to her fiancé’s reputation or the purity of the white race. The character of Ming Toy and her love story w ­ ere so well known that she was the subject of many songs, musical revues, and two films—­East Is West (Franklin 1922), starring Constance Talmadge, and East Is West (Bell 1930), starring Lupe Vélez. It also inspired other mistaken-­race romances, including Shame (Flynn 1921), A Tale of Two Worlds, Wing Toy (Mitchell 1921), and Son of the Gods (Lloyd 1930).46 Ming Toy and her imitators exposed American anx­i­eties of being attracted to Asian ­women although American society (and law) deemed that to be unnatural. The Ming Toy myth allows the American male to fantasize about the exotic “other” without feeling guilty, b­ ecause the “other” is revealed to be white. At the same time, the myth also demonstrated that the innocent white girl can be exoticized through her exposure to Chinese customs and life. Although Ming Toy is the name most associated with what I am calling the mistaken-­race romance, the story actually predates the popu­lar 1918 play and 1922 film. The film Broken Fetters (Ingram 1916) was based on a plot similar to the films Mignon (Guy 1912) and Mignon (Beyfuss 1915), which w ­ ere based in turn on a popu­lar opera.47 In the Mignon opera and film, baby Mignon is sto­ len from her ­father, a nobleman, and raised as a gypsy. When she turns sixteen, she discovers her true identity and is able to marry the young nobleman whom she loves. In contrast, the film Broken Fetters changes the young w ­ oman’s ­adopted ­family from Romany to Chinese and portrays her as the victim of a white slave trader.48 In the film, Captain Ferrers, an En­glish officer, is murdered in China during the Boxer Rebellion, and his orphaned ­daughter, Mignon, is raised by a Chinese friend of the f­ amily and renamed Ming-­Ti. In East Is West, it is imperative for the dramatic tension that Ming Toy not learn of her ances­ try u­ ntil the end of the film. In contrast, in Broken Fetters, Ming-­Ti (Violet Mersereau in yellowface) is told of her past when she becomes an adult, thus following the story line of Mignon.49 In the film, Ming-­Ti wishes to see her “native land” (the United States), and a slave trader, Foo Shai (Frank Smith in yellowface), offers to take her by smuggling her into New York in a barrel of rice. Foo Shai treats Ming-­Ti terribly and attempts to sell her for $5,000, and, in the meantime, she falls in love with the artist who paints her portrait, Law­ rence Demarest (William Garwood). Kong He (Charles Francis in yellowface), a Chinese man who has also been deceived by Foo Shai, informs the police that the slave trader has taken a white girl. When he receives no offers for Ming-­Ti

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and discovers Demarest’s plan to hide her away, Foo Shai tries to take Ming-­Ti for himself, chasing her through an opium den and a joss ­house. Th ­ ere Foo Shai’s servant (Charles Fang) sacrifices his own life to save hers by killing his master. No impediment now stands between Ming-­Ti and her happy ending.50 Also predating the first East Is West film is Wing Toy.51 As in Mignon and Broken Fetters, Wing Toy (Shirley Mason in yellowface) learns of her parent­ age on her sixteenth birthday; unlike Ming-­Ti, who is told that she is white, Wing Toy, however, discovers that she is the child of a Chinese man and a white ­woman. She has been pledged in marriage by her Chinese guardian Wong (Edward McWade in yellowface) to Yen Low (Harry S. Northrup in yellow­ face), a power­ful underworld leader in New York’s Chinatown. Yen Low tells Wing Toy that she “­will be the envied Queen of Chinatown—[with] servants—­ riches and position,” but that she ­will be forbidden to visit Wong. Yen Low is already married to a white w ­ oman, but “White Lily” (Betty Schade) explains to Wing Toy that she was kidnapped and forced to marry him. When the reporter Bob Harris (Raymond McKee) falls in love with Wing Toy, he tells his detective friend, “I tell you I know she is white,” and he goes in search of evidence to prove his feeling.52 A judge reveals to Bob that the man who deliv­ ered Wing Toy to Wong as a baby is a convict called “the Mole” (Scott McKee). Bob visits the Mole and begs, “If you know [Wing] Toy is white—­for God’s sake, ­don’t let her marry a Chink!” In the end, the Mole confirms that Wing Toy is actually the judge’s ­daughter, and in the final scene she is dressed, as the script says, “as an American.” A reviewer at the time suggested that the scriptwriter for Wing Toy had been inspired by watching Leonore Ulric’s yellowface per­for­mance in the 1919 play The Son-­Daughter, in which a Chinese girl falls for a Chinese man who turns out to be a prince.53 The reviewer noted, “However, Miss Bell has made her her­ oine a white girl, a fact that is disclosed just about the time ­you’re beginning to think Miss Mason’s makeup is very poor if she is r­ eally meant to be a Chinese girl.” According to an article in the Exhibitors Herald, the film was shot in the Chinatown of Los Angeles and featured many Chinese actors in minor roles. The article reports that “James Wang, the Chinese entrusted with the se­lection of Oriental players used in the production, scoured the nearby Pacific Coast for several weeks prior to filming and gathered a corps of players embracing all the most experienced and intelligent of the Chinese mummers.”54 The reviewer for Motion Picture News, however, argued that ­there is “none of the plum-­ blossom pomp and ceremony of a straight Oriental picture,” b­ ecause Wing Toy is “of the Chinese-­A merican variety”—in other words, the reviewer pre­ ferred romances to be set in China rather than Chinatown.55 Nonetheless, Fox officials assured the public that the film was “100 ­percent Chinese subject done in 100 ­percent Chinese style.”56

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A Tale of Two Worlds announced its connection to the play East Is West at a screening with “a stage setting representing a scene in the picture” reproduced on the theater stage and “a girl in Chinese costume sing[ing] the cradle song from ‘East Is West.’ ”57 The film begins in China, where the Carmichaels, an American collector of Chinese antiques and his wife, become victims of the Boxer Rebellion. Years ­later in San Francisco’s Chinatown, Ah Wing (Fred Warren in yellowface), once the faithful servant of the Carmichaels’ in China, has become a merchant and is raising his ­daughter Sui Sen (Leatrice Joy in yel­ lowface).58 Robert Newcomb (J. Frank Glendon), an American who studies Chinese lit­er­a­ture and art, comes to Ah Wing’s shop in search of the highly-­ prized Scepter of the Mings, which was lost during the Boxer Rebellion. When he stops to talk to Ah Wing’s servant, “the Worm” (Yutaka Abe), Sui Sen spies the white American from her balcony and is intrigued. Elsewhere in China­ town, Ling Jo (Wallace Beery in yellowface), the Carmichaels’ murderer, is now “a gambler, a tong leader, and a slave dealer.” Ling Jo places a low value on ­human life: when one of his slave girls is reported to have been seen talking to a white man, Ling Jo send his highbinder, Yung Kee (Tôgô Yamamoto), to punish her; and when an emissary, Ju Fong (an uncredited Asian American actor), reports that he has found the Scepter of the Mings, Ling Jo ­orders him killed so that Ling Jo can retain the scepter and the money he paid for its delivery. Ling Jo’s cruelty is highlighted when he offers the young man his death of choice—to be crushed by the ceiling in a torture chamber or shoot himself. Ju Fong’s last act before ­dying is to burn the money Ling Jo paid him, to have some vengeance on the Oriental villain. Ling Jo then laments that his only regret is that he did not pay the man in gold so that the payment would have remained ­after Ju Fong was gone. Since the film is a melodrama, it is inevitable that Ah Wing is forced to promise Sui Sen to Ling Jo. Ling Jo confronts Ah Wing with his newly acquired scepter and taunts him, saying “no doubt when you demanded the Scepter of the Mings in exchange for Sui Sen, you thought you had placed her safe beyond my reach.” Ah Wing is devastated that Ling Jo has performed what he had thought was an impossible task and begs Ling Jo not to hold him to this “unspeakable bargain.” Ling Jo, however, sets the wedding date for Chinese New Year, when “all honest Chinamen pay their debts.” The Worm loves Sui Sen but soon realizes that she has fallen for the “foreign devil,” Robert. Her “dream ends,” as a title card suggests, when Ah Wing confesses that she has been promised Ling Jo. She pleads with her ­father, demanding to know how she had failed him as a d­ aughter, and he can only explain with “remorse and regret” that his promise cannot be broken b­ ecause of tradition. He explains: “It is for me to prove our national reputation for honesty. It is for you to obey.” ­Here the “old ways” of China are presented as too restrictive and antiquated in

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a modern American world of self-­determination and freedom. Following his argument with his d­ aughter, Ah Wing returns to Ling Jo, explaining that he cannot marry Sui Sen ­because she is white, the child of the Carmichaels whom he rescued from the Boxers. Ling Jo is not dissuaded by the revelation; on the contrary, he finds the match even more appealing. Although Ling Jo believes that death “must be visited upon any Chinese girl who gives her heart to a white man,” he does not hold himself, as a Chinese man who desires a white w ­ oman, to the same standard. Sui Sen knows that she cannot continue her romance with Robert ­because of her duty to her ­father and explains: “If I ­were a white girl and you cared for me, I would follow you to all the ends of the world. But I am Chinese. Between us two are all the barriers of race and custom.” What is impressive about A Tale of Two Worlds is that the true hero of the film, the one who takes American-­style action to save the white heroine and hero, is the Worm—­a Chinese American. When Chinese New Year comes, the Worm is tormented by the fact that he knows the truth about Sui Sen’s race, and even though he loves her himself, he decides to help her find happiness with Robert. He visits the Newcomb mansion and tells Robert about Sui Sen’s impending marriage to Ling Jo and her secret. Robert then confronts Ling Jo, promising him the scepter in return for Sui Sen, but Ling Jo threatens Robert not to attempt any “interference with our racial manners and customs.” Ling Jo is surprised when Robert retorts, “Your own customs forbid you to marry a girl who is wholly white.” Ling Jo sets his henchman on Robert and o­ rders him placed in the torture chamber to await his death, by his own hand with a gun or by being crushed by the ceiling. Meanwhile, the guests gather for the wed­ ding, and Ah Wing fetches the bride—­who, although reluctant, wants to fulfil her duty (Figure  6.1). The Worm arrives at Ling Jo’s to dispatch the henchman in charge of Robert’s death, but unfortunately he cannot f­ ree Rob­ ert from the chamber. When Ling Jo comes to gloat over Robert’s death, the Worm knocks the Oriental villain down. ­A fter sending Robert to leave with Sui Sen, the Worm is left alone with Ling Jo and submits him to his own torture chamber. This ending suggests that the Worm’s Chineseness gives him e­ ither the moral right or the necessary cruelty to commit the immoral act of killing Ling Jo in cold blood, something that the white protagonist could not do. As the reviewer for Wid’s Daily commented, A Tale of Two Worlds has “an original story, but it ­isn’t very dif­fer­ent from some other Chinese stories with a white girl heroine. The situations in the main are almost identical with [Broken Fetters] starring Shirley Mason.”59 Similarly, the reviewer from Variety said that the story “compares in theme to ‘East Is West.’ ”60 The first film version of East Is West was released in 1922 and takes as its source the Shipman and Hymer play. As noted above, the play was regarded by many as the archetype of the mistaken-­race romance story; however, by the time the 1918 play made it to the big screen in 1922, the story was already seen as overdone. One reviewer

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FIG. 6.1  ​“Customs Forbid”—­In A Tale of Two Worlds (1921), Sui Sen (Leatrice Joy) is dressed in traditional Chinese finery on her wedding day, but her face betrays her true feelings about having to marry the “Oriental villain” (Wallace Beery). She is in love with a white man (J. Frank Glendon) but knows that customs forbid their marriage.

remarked, “The role of Ming Toy, which [Talmadge] assumes in this picture, is a foolish one at best—­and one that is decidedly lacking in novelty. Almost ­every movie actress has to play it one time or another. As a result, the theme is known in advance to ­every spectator who has kept his eyes open.”61 The reviewer for Billboard felt that Talmadge was the weakness of the film, as she was “too tall” and “not mak[ing] up well as a Celestial.”62 The reviewer for Variety agreed, commenting that “much of the piquant charm and naïve delicacy which [Fay] Bainter achieved with the [role] on the stage has been lost in the transition to celluloid.”63 Nonetheless, the film was sold based on the appeal of Ming Toy. For example, as explained in a letter to the Exhibitors Herald, Frank L. Browne promoted the film at his theater in Long Beach, California, by having his “usher girls and cashiers dress in Chinese uniforms” and decorating his lobby “with Chinese flags, lanterns, draperies and other atmospheric articles.”64 Browne concludes that while “specials” like this film cost more money in rentals and promotion, “­they’re worth it.” Other reviewers agreed that the film was a “sure fire success” and “should make a barrel of money.”65 ­There are many similarities between the 1922 and 1930 versions of East Is West, with the majority of the scenes, action, and dialogue being the same—­and

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E. Alyn Warren playing the same character in both. I w ­ ill, however, focus on the 1930 version of the film, since the 1922 version that exists ­today is missing a significant amount of footage.66 The film begins in China with a notice about “Charlie Yong’s Enchanting Love Boat” being circulated in the streets. While two young ­sisters are excited at the prospect of finding a husband, another young ­woman begs her ­mother to let her stay home. Ming Toy (Lupe Vélez in yellowface) is introduced as a country girl, with a skip in her step and a song on her tongue, before she is given by her ­father to a man for the “love boat.”67 Lo Sang Kee (E. Alyn Warren in yellowface), a Chinese man from San Francisco, takes his American friend, Billy Benson (Lew Ayres), to the love boat to watch the ­women on display for prospective buyers. Billy remarks that he assumed “a ­woman market” would be illegal, but Lo Sang Kee reminds him that so too is bootlegging back in the United States. Billy also assumes that all of the “customers” would be bachelors, but Lo Sang Kee explains that married men are “the best customers of the love boat” ­because they can purchase new wives and return ­others to their ­fathers without “the annoyance of the Ameri­ can divorce court.” The young w ­ oman who pleaded with her m ­ other to stay home is sold for $20, and the two ­sisters who ­were ­eager to get married now realize unhappily that they ­will be separated. Last to be displayed is Ming Toy, whose beauty and operatic song (sung in En­glish) hush the crowd. She explains to Billy that her ­father wants to sell her ­because he has too many ­daughters (sixteen) and not enough pigs on the farm. Billy explains to Ming Toy that “Americans just ­don’t buy ­women, that’s all.” She replies, “Too bad you Americans not civilized like Chinese.” While Billy believes it is immoral to buy Ming Toy, even if it means saving her from a terrible fate, Lo Sang Kee cannot allow Ming Toy be sold and buys her to raise as a ­daughter. In San Francisco, Ming Toy tries to be more American and copies the man­ nerisms of a white American ­woman she sees on a Chinatown balcony, includ­ ing chewing gum and calling down to men in the street—­not realizing that the w ­ oman is a prostitute. Ming Toy’s own balcony catcalls soon land her in trou­ble when she solicits the wrong man, Dr. Fredericks (Charles Middleton). Fredericks explains to Lo Sang Kee that as a civic leader, he w ­ ill arrange to have Ming Toy sent back to China for “attempting to commercialize her sins”—­ unless she is made respectable through marriage within twenty-­four hours. Someone who is enchanted by Ming Toy’s balcony be­hav­ior is the power­ful but corrupt Charlie Yong (Edward G. Robinson in yellowface), whom Lo Sang Kee entertains as a suitor only to prevent Fredericks from deporting Ming Toy. When Ming Toy finds out that Charlie already has three w ­ omen, she demon­ strates “American” morals when she explains that she does not like “love spread around everywhere.” While her ground rules center on fidelity, Charlie’s are tantamount to slavery: he expects her to wait on him hand and foot and not sit by win­dows or look at other men. While at first Ming Toy seems intrigued

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by the idea of being Charlie’s, ­a fter he kisses her, she looks both fearful and ashamed and prays, instead, for Billy. As if on cue, Billy appears at the apart­ ment, having just returned from China, and is horrified to find out that Ming Toy has been promised to Charlie. Lo Sang Kee expresses his dismay, since if he had known that Billy had returned, he would have made a dif­fer­ent decision to secure Ming Toy’s ­future. Working together, Lo Sang Kee and Billy smug­ gle Ming Toy out of the apartment in a rug to keep her safe from Charlie. Complications now arise for Billy and Ming Toy b­ ecause of Amer­i­ca’s racial divide. Billy’s parents concede that Ming Toy is “cute” and a darling,” but Mrs. Benson (Mary Forbes) grows concerned that the “China doll” is “dan­ gerous” for Billy’s ­future. Meanwhile, Charlie enlists the help of Fredericks to get Ming Toy back, knowing that the doctor ­will disapprove of the interracial romance. At the Benson home, Charlie declares that Billy has “no right to love Ming Toy” b­ ecause she is “China girl.” Ming Toy retorts that she is an Ameri­ can: “Ming Toy got nothing China; d­ on’t think China, d­ on’t feel China, d­ on’t know why God put in China.” Notably, being with the Bensons has brought out Ming Toy’s Americanness: she dresses now in modern Western clothes and tells the butler to “throw this Chink out!” At this point, however, Billy’s par­ ents are in agreement with Charlie and plan a “coming out” party for the c­ ouple, knowing that Billy’s friends w ­ ill shame him into giving Ming Toy up. When the party is a disaster, Ming Toy feels guilty and says: “It is all my fault. God made me Chinese girl. . . . ​Oh why did God make yellow ­people bad? Why did he not make all p­ eople white?” Billy tries to reassure her: “Yellow p­ eople a­ ren’t bad. Only a few white p­ eople think so.” Ming Toy decides that she must set Billy f­ ree, explaining that even if their love could survive, it would be unfair on their c­ hildren—­who would be of mixed race. Meanwhile, Charlie rediscov­ ers his Chineseness: he complains that he has been playing “the white man’s game” and says that on this night he ­will show “how Charlie Yong run Amer­i­ca.” In the Bensons’ garden, he attempts to take Ming Toy, and when Billy comes to her rescue, Ming Toy joins the fight, biting Charlie’s leg and making him scream. Ming Toy is now revealed to be white by none other than her Chinese ­father, whom Charlie brought over from China. He confesses that he is not ­really her f­ather but raised her a­ fter her real f­ather, a Christian missionary called Johnson, was killed. In other words, Ming Toy is actually white by blood and Chinese only in dress and accent. Lo Sang Kee is overjoyed, and Ming Toy says that she hopes someday he w ­ ill turn “out white too.” But Lo Sang Kee is wise, explaining that it is not the color of a man’s skin that determines his morality. Charlie Yong and Ming Toy are played by white actors in yellowface argu­ ably to allow Ming Toy to kiss both Charlie, a Eurasian man, and Billy, a white man, and observe Amer­i­ca’s anti-­miscegenation laws. It is in­ter­est­ing, nonethe­ less, that ­these two Chinese characters are played by non‒Anglo Saxon actors:

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Robinson was a Jew born in Romania, and Vélez was born in Mexico. The film attempts to excuse Robinson’s yellowface per­for­mance by describing Charlie as “50/50 Chinaman: half American, half Chinese.” Of course, the revelation that Ming Toy is white ultimately helps excuse the assumed yellowface per­for­ mance by Vélez. The film offers a very modern image of a “Chinese” w ­ oman in Ming Toy: she is not a polite and quiet “China Doll” but an irreverent, fun-­ loving girl who wants to dance to jazz ­music and laugh heartily. As Renee Tajima argues, the Lotus Blossom and China Doll ste­reo­types embodied “utterly fem­ inine, delicate and welcome respites from their often loud, in­de­pen­dent American counter­parts.”68 A reviewer noted Ming Toy’s deviation from the ste­ reo­type, writing that “her earlier association with a Chinese f­ amily in the Ori­ ent should have curbed her sparkling vivacity to some extent.”69 Indeed, Mayer argues that the yellowface per­for­mance of white actresses evokes “a mix between orientalism and chic new womanhood—­this Chinese girl is a flapper.”70 Films like East Is West conflate white w ­ omen’s sexuality with that of Chinese ­women, as Karen Kuo argues, suggesting that white ­women can only “indulge in ‘wild’ sexual be­hav­ior” or sexual autonomy when aligned with the exotic “Oriental”—­ evoking the idea of “a Chinese prostitute in the white American home.”71 With the revelation of her true ethnicity, the film pres­ents Ming Toy as an American girl who was attempting to escape from the restrictions of her Chi­ nese masquerade. According to Alicia Rodríguez-­Estrada, this characterization was very much in keeping with Vélez’s public persona as a “Mexican Spitfire”—­ which saw her “aggressive personality and sexuality meshed with her ethnic­ ity.”72 However, much of the plea­sure of East Is West for the viewer and its uniqueness is this depiction of a modern Americanized w ­ oman defying her supposedly Chinese heritage. The fact that the Ming Toy story was a perva­ sive myth is confirmed in Chinatown Squad (Roth 1935), when the heroine (Valerie Hobson) dresses up in yellowface and the hero (Lyle Talbot) calls her “Ming Toy.”

Reversing the Sexes Despite the generally positive reviews of Wing Toy and A Tale of Two Worlds, Shame, also released in 1921, was criticized for rehashing the same plot. The reviewer for Wid’s Daily wrote, “The question of racial inter-­marriage has been used as the fundamental situation time and again, and Max Brand’s version is as absurd as it is old.”73 Shame, however, was novel in switching the sexes of the interracial ­couple and delaying the possibility of racial difference u­ ntil a­ fter the ­couple is married and have a baby.74 In the film a widower, William Fielding (John Gilbert), and his young son, David, live in Shanghai. A trader named Foo Chang (George Siegmann in yellowface) loves the Chinese ­woman (Anna May Wong) who cares for David. To evade Chang’s unwanted advances, the

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young w ­ oman claims to be Fielding’s mistress and the m ­ other of David. Enraged, Chang kills Fielding and brands the boy. Fielding’s secretary, Li Clung (William V. Mong in yellowface), takes David to his grand­father in San Fran­ cisco, where he grows up and inherits the Fielding estate and marries. Unfor­ tunately, Chang finds the now-­grown David (also played by Gilbert), and in an attempt to force him to smuggle a cargo of opium into the city, he tells David that he is the product of miscegenation. David panics that this revelation would ruin his ­family, and he takes his infant son with him to Alaska to dis­appear. Li Clung follows and reveals the truth of David’s ancestry to both David and his wife—­meaning that none of them ­will have to live in shame, as the film’s title suggests. In a tele­gram to Sol Wurtzel about the production (then called Clung), William Fox wrote: “Clung in my opinion should make one of the greatest pictures of the year. It deals with an international subject that of ­whether yellow could intermarry with white. . . . ​The line that is drawn between the white, red, black, and yellow is so marked that any picture based on inter­ marriage amongst any of t­ hese four has tremendous possibilities.”75 Fox goes on to explain that the film is timely, given “the fact that in California t­ here has been more legislation discussion and controversy with reference to marriage between the Chinese, Japa­nese, and white ­people than any other place on earth.” It would be almost a de­cade before another film would offer a male version of the Ming Toy myth—­Son of the Gods, based on a short story published in Hearst’s International-­Cosmopolitan in 1928 and 1929.76 As the reviewer for Variety wrote, on “the delicate subject of a Chinaman in love with a white girl, and vice versa, realism is sacrificed to an obvious device in order to convert the Chinaman into a white man for the final clinch.”77 Son of the Gods begins with Sam Lee (Richard Barthelmess in yellowface) at college, playing polo with his white friends. A ­ fter the game, Kicker (Frank Albertson) invites Sam to go out with the gang that eve­ning, as they have an extra “dame” on their hands and the girls have been admiring Sam’s “petting wagon” (car). At this point in the film, Sam’s ethnicity has not been revealed to the audience or the young w ­ omen. Sam takes the group to an exclusive club, where he is recognized and welcomed by the maître d’, but within minutes the girls are in tears and pull Spud (James Ea­g le) aside for a word. One of the girls (Barbara Leonard) says accusingly, “How dare you bring us out with a Chinaman!” Spud explains, “We d­ on’t think of Sam as a Chinaman. Why, he’s a high-­class gentleman.” The girls demand to be taken home, since they would “die” if a “Chinaman” asked them to dance. Spud explains that no one at the club knows the truth about Sam ­because he does not look Chinese. When the group leaves, Spud offers the excuse to Sam that one of the girls is not feeling well. When Sam offers his sympathies, Spud replies, “Gee, that’s white of you, Sam!” The irony is not lost on the audience. It turns out that Sam’s presence in good society is perhaps more tolerated than

146  •  Chinatown Melodrama

welcomed and is due only to his f­ ather’s wealth as a successful merchant in New York’s Chinatown.78 As Marchetti argues, while Sam’s race is an issue, his class is used to argue that he “should not be excluded from the international fellow­ ship of the bourgeoisie.”79 Sam’s negative experience at college sends him back home to Chinatown. A street scene contrasts tall buildings, modern cars, and well-­dressed white ­people with Chinese p­ eople talking on the sidewalk and selling vegetables from baskets. Similarly, Sam and his ­father, Lee Ying (E. Alyn Warren in yellowface), are contrasted: Sam wears a Western suit, while his ­father wears traditional Chi­ nese dress; and Sam is clean shaven, while his ­father sports a mustache and long beard. They speak to each other at length in Cantonese and then in En­glish. Sam explains, “The only friendships I could make w ­ ere t­ hose that I bought with your money. I have been insulted and ostracized, looked down upon, treated as something unclean.” His f­ ather replies, “Race prejudice has always existed, my son. . . . ​The only weapon one can use to defeat it is tolerance.” Sam adds that it did not m ­ atter what kind of person he was inside, only “the fact that [he] was Chinese.” His ­father reminds him of the long history and accomplish­ ments of the Chinese: “We are dif­fer­ent but not inferior.” Sam retorts that white men are “liars and hypocrites” and that “their religion teaches love and brotherhood and equality, but they worship money and prejudice!” The film suggests that the wisdom of Chinese philosophy can help a Chinese man tol­ erate American intolerance; however, Sam just wants to run away. His f­ ather suggests that he “travel like a prince and see it all,” but Sam explains that he has leaned on his ­father too long and needs to earn his way. Lee Ying’s secretary, Eileen (Mildred Van Dorn), gives Sam a parting gift, a Catholic token, to keep him safe. She tells him, “I ­don’t know if my religion is any better than yours and Lee Ying’s, but it w ­ on’t do any harm to mix them.” As Sam muses about wearing a Catholic token “on a Chinese breast,” the film foreshadows similar questions of religious and ethnic blending that w ­ ill face him in Eu­rope when he falls in love with Allana Wagner (Constance Bennett) in the French Riviera. Sam fears that if Allana knew of his heritage, she would leave him—so he tests her. He mentions that a married ­couple they have just spoken to are of mixed race: the man is American and the ­woman Native Amer­ ican. He explains that they are an “extraordinary love match” ­because “most ­people have such strong racial prejudices.” Allana seems to assuage his fears when she responds that “­there’re no taboos among ­people of our class.”80 When Allana informs her ­father (Anders Randolf) that she and Sam are engaged, her ­father blurts out his news: “I found out that he’s a Chinaman! It seems every­ one in his set knew it; it’s so accepted that no one speaks of it. That’s how we ­didn’t know.”81 A look of horror slowly creeps over Allana’s face, and the audi­ ence knows that she lied when she said that she was not prejudiced. She con­

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fronts Sam on the h ­ otel veranda and cries out: “You cur! You liar! You cheat! You dirty rotten Chinaman!” Then she beats him with her riding whip, cut­ ting his face. While in The Cheat it is the Asian man who enacts vio­lence on the body of a white ­woman, in Son of the Gods it is the white ­woman who treats the Chinese man that way. Therefore, while Hayakawa’s curio dealer embodies the sadistic Oriental villain as sexually threatening to white ­women, Sam, as Marchetti argues, affirms the opposing stereotype—­“that Asian men are passive, effeminate, impotent eunuchs.”82 Devastated that his worst fears have been realized, Sam leaves. It is up to his employer, Bathurst (Claude King), to confront Allana about her own prej­ udice. Bathurst says accusingly: “I think you are the most arrogant, the most ruthless, the most selfish creature I have even known. . . . ​Sam Lee is a fine, clean boy who held you are arm’s length just as long as he could. . . . ​A nd now ­you’ve wounded a proud, sensitive nature.” He reminds her that the Chinese ­people she saw growing up in California w ­ ere “coolies,” while in contrast Sam is “gen­ tleman of breeding.” While the film h ­ ere seems noble, offering a positive image of Chinese immigrants in Amer­i­ca and decrying racial prejudice, it falls short by relegating the issue to a question of class rather than one of race and thus misses the opportunity to offer a truly progressive message. When Sam returns to New York, he discovers that his ­father has died, and this news, compounded with Allana’s rejection, ­causes Sam to reject his cur­ rent ethnic and cultural identity. Sam tells his f­ ather’s secretary, Eileen, that he regrets that he has not honored many Chinese customs. Eileen replies: “Well, you c­ ouldn’t, Sam dear. ­You’re American.” Sam muses over the contradiction and says: “No, I had hoped to be an American. I tried to become one but ­there ­were forces too g­ reat opposing it. I’ve discovered that t­ here are voids between the races too deep to span and I was a fool . . . ​that all ­things are ordered by the gods. . . . ​I am Chinese, Eileen, and from now on I ­shall live as one.” Sam is as good as his word and gives up his Western ways to dress and live as the “China­ man” that he has been treated as. Sam discovers, however, that living solely as a “Chinaman” creates prob­lems for his ­father’s business: he is criticized by a white businessman for destroying Lee Ying’s reputation and good works within only a few months. To cheer him up, his servant, Moy (King Hoo Chang), takes Sam to a taxi dance hall where white ­women are paid to dance with Chinese men. In this modern space where ­people dance to modern ­music, racial preju­ dice does not appear to exist, but Sam can only bring himself to watch, not to join in. The turning point in the film comes when it is discovered that Sam is not Chinese but white. Eileen’s ­uncle, Dugan (Robert Homans), was a cop in San Francisco’s Chinatown, and he recalls, in a sepia-­toned flashback, the day of the funeral of Lee Ying’s wife. Years earlier, Dugan had found Sam as a baby,

148  •  Chinatown Melodrama

and that thinking he was Chinese, offered him to the Lees to raise. However, Ying Lee never legally a­ dopted the boy, and as he grew up, it became apparent that he was not Chinese. With the gossip circulating in Chinatown, Dugan advises Ying Lee to take the boy to New York or he would likely be taken away from Ying Lee. Now Ying Lee’s statement from earlier in the film makes sense—­ that Sam was “a son of the gods, for they sent [him] in an answer to prayer.” Both Eileen and Dugan assume that the revelation w ­ ill make Sam happy. Instead, Sam explains that he is proud of his ­family and wants the truth sup­ pressed—he wants to remain Chinese. When Eileen says that he should think of Allana’s feelings, Sam insists that love should know no bound­aries. Mean­ while, Allana has been told by her ­father to forget Sam, that he is not even a good Chinese businessman and frequents disreputable places like the taxi dance hall. Allana, however, is not dissuaded and shows that love knows no bounds when she turns up at Sam’s apartment to profess her love to him. In turn, he then confesses his true heritage to her. Barthelmess was well-­known to audiences as the actor who played the Chi­ nese protagonist of Broken Blossoms, in which he wore Chinese clothes, spoke pidgin En­glish, and wore yellowface makeup. In contrast, in Son of the Gods, he speaks perfect En­glish, wears mainly Western clothes, and has no adhesive tape to narrow his eyes. The lack of yellowface makeup is, of course, in part due to the fact that the character he plays is revealed to be white, but the rest—­the character’s dress and language—­demonstrates a sense of re­spect for Chinese culture. Indeed, while Broken Blossoms was intended as an apology for Griffith’s racist depiction of black p­ eople in The Birth of a Nation (1915) by presenting Chinese ­people as benign, it merely offered a dif­fer­ent kind of ste­ reo­type. Broken Blossoms was based on Thomas Burke’s 1916 short story “The Chink and the Child,” and while Barthelmess’s “Chink” hero is honorable and sweet to the film’s “Child,” Lucy (Lillian Gish), he is also presented as effeminate, weak, and tied to Chinese traditions rather than modernity. The film ends with his killing Lucy’s abusive ­father and then taking his own life in front of a shrine to Buddha. In contrast, Barthelmess’s Sam Lee in Son of the Gods is a modern man: well-­educated and well-­spoken, and respectful of his ancestry but assimilated into American life and attractive to American w ­ omen. Sam is contrasted to his loud-­mouthed “dame”-­chasing friends with nick­ names like Spud and Kicker: he is quiet, contemplative, and kind and desires to be a better man. On the one hand, the film abandons a progressive message of offering a strong Chinese hero by revealing Sam’s white parentage in the end. On the other hand, it does offer a positive Chinese character in Sam’s adoptive ­father. Despite his traditional clothes and home, Lee Ying does not have the negative associations with traditional China, most notably an insis­ tence on clinging to the old ways in the face of the new. Instead, Ling Yee is a successful Chinese American merchant who is respected by white business­

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FIG. 6.2  ​“We are dif­fer­ent but not inferior”—­A lthough the focus of Son of the Gods (1930) is the white man raised to believe that he is Chinese (Richard Barthelmess), it is his adoptive f­ ather (E. Alyn Warren in yellowface) who proves to be the superior, and more in­ter­est­ing, character: a Chinese man who is depicted as positive despite not being assimilated.

men without having to be assimilated. He is one of the few Chinese characters in classical Hollywood film who is able to maintain his cultural traditions— in other words, not assimilate into mainstream culture—­and yet be regarded by mainstream society as positive (Figure  6.2). The film confirms that for Amer­i­ca at the time, class was more impor­tant than ethnicity in many ways, despite the fact Amer­i­ca was built on the promise of the American dream and in opposition to Eu­ro­pean ideals of lineage and birthright. A happy ending for an interracial ­couple could be achieved in Hollywood film only through the revelation of a matching ethnic identity, as a reviewer of Son of the Gods confirmed: “Anglo-­Saxon conventions prob­ably render[ed] this race metamorphosis necessary . . . ​even though the ­whole work is weakened thereby.”83 The reviewer continued: “Miscegenation in its more romantic aspects has been flirted with a number of times by Hollywood. It offers fertile areas for dramatic conflict and power­ful race prejudice scenes, but ­there is no hon­ est solution amenable to the required happy ending.” Indeed, the mistaken-­ race romance films only flirt with interracial love rather than challenging Amer­i­ca’s racist attitudes and laws—­undoubtedly out of fear of offending white audiences.

150  •  Chinatown Melodrama

Conclusion Like the Eurasian villain in Chinatown crime films, the Chinese protagonist in the interracial romance and mistaken-­race romance reflected racial attitudes at the time—­namely, the fear that interracial sex and marriage would lead to the “tainting” of Eu­ro­pean or American blood. The interracial romance offered two repre­sen­ta­tions of the Chinese lover: one who turns cruel when rejected in f­ avor of a white lover, and one who honorably f­ rees the beloved to find hap­ piness with someone white. In contrast, the mistaken-­race romance offered a seemingly progressive story of a positive Chinese protagonist and cross-­racial love between a Chinese immigrant and a wealthy white American, only to abandon it with the revelation that the Chinese character was actually white. More interestingly, Hollywood’s repre­sen­ta­tion of Eurasian miscegenation exposed American anx­i­eties of being attracted to Asian w ­ omen while Ameri­ can society and law deemed that illegal and unnatural. The interracial romance allowed white female film-­goers to enjoy the fantasy of an Asian lover without qualification, while the mistaken-­race romance film removed any guilt the white male film-­goer might have about being attracted to the exotic “other” by revealing the ­woman to be white in the end. By the mid-1930s, however, the topic of miscegenation proved less popu­lar with film-­goers—­specifically, The B ­ itter Tea of General Yen (Capra 1933) about the relationship between a Chinese man (Nils Asther in yellowface) and a white ­woman (Barbara Stanwyck) did not do well.84 ­Under the Production Code, “miscegenation (sex relationships between the white and black races) is forbid­ den,” but Ellen Scott explains that the depiction of marriage between white ­people and Pacific Islanders, Asians, or Native Americans was permissible.85 At the PCA in the early 1930s, Col­o­nel Jason Joy demonstrated a liberal attitude to miscegenation, with his only concern being w ­ hether “whites are amenable to such realism.”86 Joy was replaced in 1934 by Joseph Breen, who was known for his staunch Catholicism and hard-­line attitude ­toward the enforcement of the Code. Joy’s view was that as long as immoral characters met with punish­ ment by the end of the film, the threat they posed as a negative influence on viewers was neutralized. According to Ruth Vasey, “Joy remained committed to securing a place for ‘adult’ material on screen.”87 In contrast, Breen believed that immoral characters and their actions should not be shown at all. Yet despite his more rigorous enforcement of the Code, Breen still allowed interracial romance between whites and nonblack racial groups. As Courtney explains, “while some interracial fantasies w ­ ere filtered out entirely, o­ thers persisted”—­ although not necessarily in identifiably “American” spaces and instead in jun­ gles and opium dens.88 By the mid-­twentieth c­ entury, emerging ideologies in the sciences and social sciences moved t­ oward severing biology and culture, and by the 1960s, a con­

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scious “nonrecognition of race” or call for “color blindness” arose.89 In 1967, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled unanimously in Loving v. ­Virginia that anti-­ miscegenation laws w ­ ere unconstitutional. As Pascoe argues, the decision demonstrated a radical shift from thinking of race as the “all-­encompassing phe­ nomenon nineteenth-­century racialist thinkers had assumed it to be” to accepting the divisions between culture and biology that modern social scien­ tists had established.90 As Courtney argues, by the late 1940s, Hollywood echoed this shift in racial epistemologies by presenting fantasies of the body, instead of blood, as the determining f­ actor of race.91 Certainly, repre­sen­ta­tions of Eurasian miscegenation seemed outdated by the 1940s, with the repeal of the Chinese Exclusion Law in 1943 and the growing visibility of a Chinese American population that could potentially be assimilated into Amer­i­ca’s melting pot. It was not ­until 1954 that the long-­standing U.S. laws banning interracial marriage between Asians and whites w ­ ere struck down.92 ­A fter that, Hollywood felt ­free to sexualize Asian American ­women for white American men and no longer required the trope of the mistakenly raced heroine to pro­ vide a happy ending.93

7

Assimilation and Tourism Chinese American Citizens and Chinatown Rebranded A nostalgia for the old Chinatown of the nineteenth c­ entury with tong wars and slave girls was apparent in many Hollywood films of the 1930s and 1940s, but at the same time other films attempted to proj­ect the image of a modern Chinatown with Chinese American citizens. Writing in 1939, Charles Dobie argued that since the majority of Chinatown residents w ­ ere native born and being educated in public school, their Chinese traditions would likely be replaced with “Western ideals.” He warned that “undoubtedly t­ here w ­ ill come a day when the Chinese of San Francisco ­will be absorbed into the general stream.”1 Certainly, with modernization and Americanization came the poten­ tial loss of Chinese customs. As an article in the San Francisco Chronicle explained in 1936, “the ease with which this modern generation sheds ancient traditions is a source of grave concern of the Chinese government.”2 Another article from 1936 discussed how “modernity [was] creeping” into “New Chi­ natown” in the form of phones, cars, and clothes.3 As Rose Hum Lee explained in 1960, “To the American-­born Chinese, China is as much a foreign country as it is to other Americans; the only way of life they know is American.”4 It was this modern Chinese American generation that Hollywood began to explore in the 1930s as an antidote to earlier Oriental villains and Chinatown tong men. Christina Klein argues that in the 1930s and 1940s, “racialization gave way to ethnicization,” with biological difference being replaced by social and cultural 155

156  •  Chinese American Assimilation

difference, and that during and a­ fter World War II, the diversity of Amer­i­ca’s immigrant population was used as a propaganda tool to pres­ent Amer­i­ca as the most qualified leader for the new international world.5 A ­ fter World War II, questions of racial tension focused on Japan as the new Asian ­enemy and Afri­ can Americans as the American citizens who demanded their civil rights—­and Chinatown settings all but dis­appeared from Hollywood films. In the 1930s, however, questions of Chinese American assimilation dominated Chinatown films. On the one hand, films such as The Hatchet Man (Wellman 1932) and The Son-­Daughter (Brown and Leonard 1932) concluded that assimilation was an impossible desire; on the other hand, however, films such as The Secrets of Wu Sin (Thorpe 1932) and Captured in Chinatown (Clifton 1935) celebrated its possi­ bilities. The key to successful assimilation, according to Hollywood, was the impor­ tance of nurture instead of nature, and nurture was determined by the nation of one’s birth: Chinese-­born immigrants ­were depicted as clinging to Chinese tradition, while American-­born Chinese fully embraced American culture and American society, in turn, embraced them—at least, in the movies.

Modernization and Re-­Orientalization The nineteenth c­ entury, Kirsten Twelbeck argues, was marked by a discourse of, using Amy Kaplan’s term, “manifest domesticity,” which included linking the proj­ect of imperialism to civilizing the world.6 The efforts to “civilize” San Francisco’s Chinatown through missionary work led to “the Christian convert from Chinatown [coming] to embody Amer­i­ca’s ideal Asian citizen, destined to leave the United States as their ultimate ‘gift’ to Asia.”7 The assumption that the mi­grant would return to Asia represented the deflation of white fears about miscegenation and growing Asian populations in Chinatowns. Mary Ting Yi Lui explains that by the mid-1920s, with the borders closed to almost all Asian immigration, social thinking turned to the question of how best to absorb or assimilate Amer­i­ca’s Asian population.8 It is not clear when or what propor­ tion of mainstream Amer­i­ca changed its standpoint on Chinese immigrants from desiring their exodus to hoping for their assimilation. By the early 1920s, however, ­there was a shift in the rhe­toric in West Coast newspapers from reporting crime stories to publishing ­human interest stories about Chinese “Americanization”—­both its challenges and successes. In terms of the perceived prob­lems with assimilation, a 1920 article in the San Francisco Chronicle quoted the commissioner of immigration, Edward White, as saying, “The young Chinese find it cheaper to make the long voyage back to China, spend some time selecting a wife and then bringing her back to California than taking as a lifemate a California Chinese girl who has acquired expensive habits.”9 The Americanization of Chinese ­women—­for instance, their “spending money on dress and other Occidental habits”—­was identified

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as the reason why Chinese men ­were returning to “the land of the poppy” to marry ­women whose sense of style reportedly included “deformed feet” and “a lovely pajama suit.”10 While the desire of Chinese w ­ omen to assimilate was seen as negative in this article, two years ­later it was seen as positive in two articles on “Americanized” weddings. The first featured a wedding photo of the bridal party in Western clothes next to the headline “Chinese Drop Traditions to Marry U.S. Way.”11 The article explained that “traditions older than present-­ civilization w ­ ere shattered” b­ ecause the c­ ouple ­were American-­born and had “not been bred” to feel obligation to their venerated ancestors. A second arti­ cle described how another Chinese wedding a­ dopted “American custom,” including flower girls, the latest wedding gown, and a car with tin cans tied to it.12 This wedding took place at the Chinese Methodist Episcopal home, and the bride was given away by the former superintendent of the home, suggest­ ing that the young c­ ouple w ­ ere converts to the church. Two articles from 1933 commented on changing customs, including polygamy—­which the author explained the “modern Chinese w ­ oman ­will not put up with”—­and the expec­ tation of bound feet.13 Nearly seventy-­five years a­ fter the gold rush had brought sojourners to California, mainstream Amer­i­ca realized that American-­born Chinese had dif­fer­ent and more modern attitudes, compared to their Chinese-­ born parents. Mainstream Amer­i­ca’s reevaluation of its Chinese citizens coincided with a reevaluation of Amer­i­ca’s Chinatowns. By the end of the 1920s, San Francis­ co’s Chinatown was regarded as a community instead of a crime quarter, as it had been in the nineteenth c­ entury. A series of San Francisco News articles in 1933 discussed Chinatown’s “metamorphosis” through modernization and Americanization. The last article in the series began, “Ghosts of a spine-­tingling mystic past . . . ​[in] old Chinatown . . . ​shuffle down narrow, foggy alleys . . . ​ painted sing-­song girls, scowling hatchet men . . . ​old Chinatown is no more.”14 In the article, T. Y. Tang of the Chinese Chamber of Commerce explained that for the “average American,” Chinatown is famous for its exoticness, with Chi­ nese architecture, style, and festivals. Tang, however, reminded readers that it was also home to businesses, a hospital, and schools. In the article, Tang clari­ fied that Chinatown wished “to develop a new civilization, a combination of the best that can be assorted from the Occident and the Orient,” including Chinese philosophy and Western science. Another article noted that while Chinatown was “once notorious as a tough battleground and the cynosure of slumming parties, it is now architecturally the most in­ter­est­ing part of San Francisco and socially peaceful, the Mecca of tourists.”15 Similarly, another explained that the Chinese Six Companies had made an appeal to the city’s art commission to help preserve Chinatown’s “Oriental atmosphere.”16 The American media ­were interested in figuring out not only China­ town’s place in American culture but also the impact of American culture

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on Chinatown’s residents. For example, an article titled “How Chinese Change” explained how Chinese photog­raphers ­were hired to photo­graph Chinatown residents as part of a federal relief proj­ect to “determine how American environment changes the ­actual appearance of Chinese born and nurtured ­here from the facial and coloring characteristic of their race in Asia.”17 Grounded in the discourse of eugenics, this proj­ect evidently hoped to prove that Chineseness was a product of China and that American-­born Chinese would be not only socially but also physically Americanized. Since miscegenation was illegal in the United States at this time, breeding out racial characteristics was not pos­si­ble; instead, the researchers hoped to prove that being raised in Amer­i­ca could erase p­ eople’s “otherness.” At the same time that Amer­i­ca was reevaluating the role that Chinese Amer­ icans could play in society, so too w ­ ere Chinese Americans. In 1935, the Chi­ nese Cultural Society of Amer­i­ca began publishing the Chinese Digest, a news magazine written in En­glish and aimed at American-­born Chinese.18 The first issue explained that the publication was “not just a hobby or a business” but also a “­battle” being fought on five fronts: first, to dispel the myth of the Chi­ nese person as a “Celestial” and instead promote the image of a “normal being who drives automobiles, shops for the latest gadgets, and speaks good En­glish”; second, to print the truth about events in East Asia “fearlessly and directly”; third, to inform “Young China” in Amer­i­ca about Chinese language and culture; fourth, to connect Chinese Americans with each other, espe­ cially t­hose who lived in smaller, more isolated Chinatowns; and fifth, to connect young Chinese Americans with businesses that employed Chinese ­people.19 One myth that an early issue attempted to dispel was that of “slave girls.” An article reported that as recently as 1934, Midwesterners embarking on a tour of Chinatown expressed their concern that they might be kidnapped and forced to be “sing-­song” girls.20 In terms of Hollywood, the Digest pub­ lished updates on films connected with China or Chinese American life. One article described how Hollywood was employing “hundreds of Chinese” in its motion pictures; another explained that MGM was making sure its The Good Earth (Franklin 1937) was not derogatory to China; and a third recounted Mae West’s efforts to locate Chinese musicians for Klondike Annie (Walsh 1936).21 Most importantly, the Digest offered articles on current issues for modern Chinatown, including the Works Pro­gress Administration program to boost employment and the redesign of Chinatown to help increase tour­ ism.22 As an editorial from 1936 explains, “Old San Francisco Chinatown passed out of existence with the fire. . . . ​‘New China’ is in the s­ addle and the reins are held by American born Chinese, many of whom are gradu­ates of our high schools and universities.”23 A turning point in the mainstream’s conception of San Francisco’s China­ town came as the city prepared to host the world at its Golden Gate Interna­

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tional Exposition in 1939. In 1937, an article in the San Francisco Call argued that Chinatown was the city’s most “colorful asset.”24 The article explained that “wherever San Francisco is talked of, be it Chicago, New York, London, Rome or Capetown, Chinatown is mentioned. Outside of China, ­there is no other Chinatown to compare with it. Visitors from the East and ­Middle West rave over it; world travelers praise it; only San Franciscans are complacent about it.” The article also reported the suggestions of the city’s downtown association to “render [Chinatown] more attractive by making . . . ​it more Oriental in char­ acter” with the addition of facades.25 Around the time of the exposition, the columnist Bill Simons produced two series—­“In the Districts” and “In the Neighborhood”—­for the San Francisco Chronicle: both often covered China­ town and discussed its p­ eople and sights positively. Simons wrote that China­ town is “new and progressive in the spirit of the youthful Western world” and “one of this country’s most inspiring Americanization dramas.”26 William Hoy of the California Chinese Pioneer Historical Society was guest author of one of Simon’s column items and wrote, “Beneath the outwardly Oriental facades of Chinatown, u­ nder the surface social currents, this Amer­ icanization is proceeding apace . . . ​particularly of the American born genera­ tion, who constitute the better part of the population ­today.”27 Hoy points to examples of this Americanization, such as young ­people speaking “U.S. En­g lish,” the appearance of nightclubs with dancing, the adoption of sports like tennis and golf, and the Chinese Theater Guild’s putting on American plays. Chinatown residents ­were conflicted over the ­future of Chinatown: some, on the one hand, desired its Americanization and modernization while ­others, on the other hand, preferred its “re-­Orientalization.” In a 1948 article, Kevin Wallace expressed this contradiction: “Although the Chinese-­ Americans have been speaking En­glish for generations now, the tourist lit­er­ a­ture is still busy working up a case for Chinatown as something rich and strange—if not a Casbah, then a rather suspiciously regenerated one. Nowa­ days, of course, this outlandish curiosity is disguised in a sort of reverse method, which keeps harping on the way Chinatown’s population of 18,000 is getting ‘Americanized.’ ”28 Wallace explained that since the earthquake of 1906, “New Chinatown” had arisen from the old but “historians have been mostly nostalgic” and “[betray] an in­ter­est­ing infatuation” with the old leg­ ends they w ­ ere supposed to be debunking. What ­these articles make clear is that while Chinatown residents and main­ stream San Franciscans may once have been at odds about Chinatown as a quarter, they w ­ ere on the same page about its f­ uture as a tourist attraction. Ironically, Chinatown’s culture, which had once led to Chinese immigrants being rejected from mainstream culture, was now regarded as something that needed protecting and expanding for the benefit of all of San Francisco. More importantly, however, ­these articles articulate a shift in American society’s

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understanding of Chinese immigration to an appreciation that American-­ born Chinese w ­ ere indeed American. Hollywood echoed that shift, differen­ tiating between Chinese immigrants who clung to an ancient culture and American-­born Chinese who embraced Amer­i­ca’s modernity: in films the former ­were punished for their cultural autonomy and/or returned to China, while the latter ­were rewarded for their desire to assimilate. Foreign-­born Chinese protagonists w ­ ere played in yellowface, presumably to aid in the cast­ ing of well-­known stars and cross-­racial identification for white audiences, while Chinese American characters w ­ ere played by Asian American actors. All of films described in the next section of the chapter used a romance plot in the hope that the universality of a Romeo-­and-­Juliet love story would help white audiences negotiate the ethnic and cultural bound­aries of Chinese Amer­i­ca.

The Strug­gle of Assimilation The Hatchet Man, The Son-­Daughter, Secrets of Wu Sin, and Captured in Chinatown all pres­ent American Chinese as positive and assimilable. Their protagonists, however, must gladly abandon their Chinese traditions to find happiness in the American mainstream—­other­wise they must return to China. William Wellman’s The Hatchet Man highlights its protagonist’s strug­gle to both be loyal to his Chinese traditions and adapt to Amer­i­ca’s mod­ ern life; ultimately, the film determines that Chinese immigrants can adopt modern American ways, but to do so may lead to their downfall. The film begins in the 1910s with the Lem Sing Tong council calling in a hatchet man from Sacramento, Wong Low Get (Edward G. Robinson in yellowface).29 The council ­orders Wong to kill the silk merchant Sun Yat Ming (J. Carrol Naish in yellowface), Wong’s blood ­brother since childhood. He pleads with the council to assign the task to someone ­else, but the camera’s pan past each coun­ cil’s stern face confirms that the hatchet man must obey his oath to the tong. Thus, the film sets up the protagonist’s dilemma: should he honor the tradi­ tions of his Chinese heritage or embrace American morals and culture? A seri­ ous and saddened Wong explains to Yat Ming why he is in San Francisco. His friend not only accepts the news with dignity and forgiveness but also bequeaths to his assassin his business and his ­daughter, Sun Toya San (Loretta Young in yellowface), to marry when she is of ­legal age. The film moves to the pres­ent and a title informs the viewer that “San Francisco’s Chinatown of ­today is a far cry from that which we have just seen. Gone are the warring tongs—­gone are the queues and chop-­sticks.” While the film’s beginning sug­ gested that it would be a tong war film, now it becomes a melodrama con­ cerned with questions of love between young Toya and her guardian, who is old enough to be her f­ ather.

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While Wong began the film dressed as a traditional Chinese man, complete with a queue, in the pres­ent he is distinctly American and contrasts with more traditional Chinese men, including Nog Hong Fah (Dudley Digges in yellow­ face). When Nog visits Wong’s store, he wears traditional Chinese clothes, but Wong sports a Western-­style suit. When Wong offers Nog a leather armchair, Nog prefers a Chinese “straight-­back chair.” And when Nog is shocked to see Wong’s Chinese secretary (Toshia Mori) in a revealing skirt, Wong explains: “Chinese girls have legs, you see, just like their white ­sisters. That is a fact that we of old China hardly knew before.” Nog snaps open his fan and fans his face furiously before saying: “Amer­i­ca has taught us many other ­things, equally as foolish. Our ­women are being spoiled by indulgence and freedom.” Wong smiles and explains that he has ordered an “indulgence” from the jewelry store to help seal his engagement to Toya. Nog is shocked that Wong would require consent “from a ­woman” and says, “In the old days, Toya would have been taught to bind her feet and stay at home.” Wong c­ ounters: “Times have changed for us, you see. Typewriters and adding machines replace the old paintbrushes. . . . ​But now her days are spent learning more useful t­ hings . . . ​at school.” Wong is not the only one who has become Americanized; Toya has also been enjoying her American freedom, including dancing with a young Chinese American, Harry En Hai (Leslie Fenton in yellowface). While Wong and Toya may seem fully Americanized in public, at home they wear Chinese-­style clothes, and their home boasts an opulent Chinese décor. On the eve­ning of her birthday, Toya admires a moon butterfly in the garden ­until her nurse, Wah Li (Evelyn Selbie in yellowface), tells her that it is an omen of marriage. Her reluctance to marry a man old enough to be her f­ ather—in fact, the man who raised her as a f­ ather—is apparent. Wong pres­ents Toya with his ­mother’s betrothal ring and offers her a choice, explaining that “­things are dif­fer­ent since your ­father dictated his wishes concerning your ­future.” Never­ theless, Toya agrees to marry him, confirming that “American ways ­haven’t made me forget my duty to my ­father.” Although she is not in love with Wong, she is truly fond of him. When he tries to kiss her in his office, Wong says, “I find the newer customs far more refreshing than the old ones.” Toya, sound­ ing very American, responds: “Oh! You are a honey!” Wong may enjoy his American freedoms, but he still honors his Chinese obligations—­including to the tong. On his wedding day, the tong war flag is lowered, and Wong is called into the council to discuss how to bring down another tong, which is engaged in racketeering. Wong tries to dis­ suade the council from declaring war—­“ let me remind you that times have changed”—­a nd suggests that they try arbitration rather than vio­lence. He warns the council: “Such a war, as you plan, would spread to ­every China­ town in ­every American city. It would bring disgrace to the glory and honor of China. Just ­wholesale murder with paid killers to profit by it. You

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­ ill change our honorable tong into a gang with gang rule instead of the w righ­teous laws of ancient China. Let us negotiate with Sacramento before we do this horrible ­thing.” The council members, however, have already brought in their kind of “arbitrators” from the East Coast, who use “bullets for their arguments”; some of them ­will protect the council members as bodyguards. Wong finds it amusing that he, as a former hatchet man, would require “a nursemaid.” Wong’s assigned “nursemaid” is Harry, the young man whom Toya met at the dance, and—of course, in true melodramatic fashion—­the man with whom Toya ­will fall in love. The film suggests that compatibility trumps duty—in other words, Harry and Toya belong together ­because they are young and American-­born. With the tong war flag eventually rolled up, Wong returns from Sacramento, hoping fi­nally to enjoy time with his new bride; unfortunately, he finds Toya and Harry together in her bedroom. While Toya wore beautiful but modest Chinese clothes to please her husband, Wong now finds her dressed in a low-­cut, Western-­style gown, no doubt to please Harry. Wong marches Harry to the garden shrine to kill him with his hatchet, arguing that it is the only way to restore honor to the marriage. Harry exclaims, “You ­can’t take the law into your own hands like this—­we’re in Amer­i­ca!” Wong retorts, “To­night, we three are in China.” Toya pleads with Wong, crying out, “You promised me nothing but happiness!” In the end, Wong agrees to “give” Toya to Harry but demands that Harry swear an oath to Buddha to make Toya happy. While Wong believes that he has done right by his love, his actions cost him the re­spect of his countrymen, and he is accused of “act[ing] in a manner unworthy of the g­ reat Lem Sing Tong.” No one in Chinatown ­will rent to or buy from Wong, and he is soon forced out of Chinatown. Some years pass before Toya’s nurse finds Wong working as a farm laborer and delivers a letter from Toya. Toya writes that before she died, she wanted to tell him that he was the one she always loved. Wah Li explains that when Harry was deported to China for selling opium, Toya was also deported b­ ecause she did not have a birth certificate proving that she was American. Determined to save his beloved, Wong works on a ship to gain passage to Shanghai, where he finds the “key h ­ ouse” (brothel) where Toya works and Harry smokes opium. When the brothel’s madam, Si-­Si (Blanche Frederici in yellowface), demands payment from for Toya, Chinese tradition helps Wong win her freedom. He asks: “Is it stealing to take one’s own? A w ­ oman is the property of her husband ­under the ancient Chinese law.” When Si-­Si accuses him of being a liar, he replies coolly, “An honorable hatchet man does not lie.” Now his skills honed by the tong serve him: he chooses a target—­a banner bearing a dragon on the wall—­and throws his axe true, proving he is who he says he is. As the ­couple walks away together, the audience discovers that Wong has unintentionally killed Harry, who was sleeping with his head resting against the wall b­ ehind

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the dragon banner when Wong’s hatchet struck. The film suggests that both Wong and Toya lost their happiness when they strayed too far from the tradi­ tions of their heritage and embraced too much of Amer­i­ca’s modernity; in China, they are able to be re­united and live happily. The Son-­Daughter follows the pattern of The Hatchet Man as a larger-­budget “special” with big-­name stars and a story of attempted assimilation. The film opens with a title: “China ­under Manchu Emperors . . . ​three centuries of unspeakable oppression . . . ​then . . . ​rebellion of the wretched, starving mil­ lions.” Shots of crowds in the streets and buildings set on fire are followed by a shot of San Francisco at night. A second title reads: “­Here in San Francisco, sympathizers worked and starved that they might send weapons to their coun­ trymen, while Imperial hatchet men, hirelings of the tyrant, watched and sprang from furtive corners.” Sin Kai (H.  B. Warner in yellowface) owes $100,000 to pay for a shipment of such weapons and sends out an appeal across Chinatown for additional funds. Unfortunately for Sin Kai, Fen Sha (Warner Oland in yellowface) wants to stop the shipment. Although neither Fen Sha nor Sin Kai are identified as tong leaders, the rivalry between their two groups—­ Sin Kai’s sympathize with the rebellion and Fen Sha’s support the emperor— is presented like a tong war. And Fen Sha’s greed and pro-­imperial politics w ­ ill lead to the unhappiness of the film’s Romeo and Juliet, Tom Lee (Ramon Novarro in yellowface) and Lien Wha (Helen Hayes in yellowface).30 Fundamental to the question of assimilation is the upholding of, or break­ ing with, Chinese custom. Lien Wha’s ­father, Dr. Dong Tong (Lewis Stone in yellowface), disapproves of Tom for communicating with his ­daughter directly. The Tongs’ ­house­keeper, however, Toy Yah (Louise Closser Hale in yellowface), insists that, since Tong has raised his d­ aughter in Amer­i­ca, he should expect her to have ­adopted some American customs. As Toy Yah says to young Tom at lunch one day, “In China, you know that a wife does not eat with her hus­ band, but we are in Amer­i­ca and I am chaperone.” Eventually Tong supports the ­couple’s desire to marry. Nonetheless, complications arise: Sin Kai demands that four “faithful men,” including Tong, produce $25,000 each by marrying off their beautiful ­daughters to wealthy prospective suitors. Unfortunately for Toy Yah, Fen Sha is the richest man in town and wants to marry her. Mean­ while, Tom’s true identity as a prince is revealed, and he is expected to return to China to take his place as the rebellion’s “illustrious leader.” Tom and Lien Wha agree to honor their respective duties and give up their chance of happi­ ness together. Lien Wha forces her suitors to bid for her hand and secures the full $100,000 needed for Tom’s cause; her ­father, bursting with pride, calls her his “son-­daughter.” Of course, Fen Sha has no intention of giving up the $100,000 and murders Tong to retrieve his money. Luckily, Lien Wha and Tom overhear Fen Sha’s plot, and Tom is able to steal the money back—­but not with­ out being fatally injured. Fen Sha’s dedication to the emperor literally proves

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his undoing, as in revenge for the murders of her ­father and lover his bride uses his queue to strangle him in their bridal bed.31 Lien Wha’s attempt to enjoy the freedoms afforded her in Amer­i­ca bring her no more happiness than obey­ ing Chinese traditions, and she recommits herself to China with a prayer to a joss before sailing with the shipment of weapons for the rebellion. Both The Hatchet Man and The Son-­Daughter begin with a positive mes­ sage, suggesting that the assimilation of Chinese immigrants into Amer­i­ca’s melting pot is pos­si­ble. By their conclusions, however, both have overturned that sentiment and suggest instead that only by adhering to Chinese traditions and culture can Chinese immigrants thrive—­even in Amer­i­ca. Despite acting like American heroes and sacrificing their own happiness for the w ­ omen they love, the Chinese protagonists of t­ hese films are not American enough to be able to thrive in Amer­i­ca. In contrast, The Secrets of Wu Sin and Captured in Chinatown move beyond the desire of Chinese immigrants to be American and instead pres­ent Chinese Americans already successfully assimilated to Ameri­ can life. Both of ­these films compare Chinese and American ­couples to illus­ trate that American-­born Chinese are equally American. While The Hatchet Man and The Son-­Daughter use tong wars to break their ­couples up and high­ light the incompatibility of Chinese values with American ones, The Secrets of Wu Sin and Captured in Chinatown use tong wars to bring their c­ ouples together. Importantly, however, the films make a clear distinction between Chi­ nese immigrants (the parents), who are bound to Chinese traditions such as tongs, and American-­born Chinese (the young lovers), who embrace Ameri­ can life. ­These B films, unlike the big-­budget A films The Hatchet Man and The Son-­Daughter, cast Asian American actors in all of the leading Chinese roles. As a review of Captured in Chinatown noted, “More than half of the charac­ ters are Chinese and speak their native tongue.”32 Unlike The Hatchet Man and The Son-­Daughter, however, The Secrets of Wu Sin and Captured in Chinatown focus their narratives on the white c­ ouple; thus better-­known actors are needed to play the white ­couple, not the Chinese American one. The Secrets of Wu Sin begins with a street scene of San Francisco’s China­ town, offering snapshots of Chinese immigrants, from vendors working to gam­ blers playing. At a nearby pharmacy, the managing editor of The Tribune, Jim Manning (Grant Withers), asks the owner why he does not have a news tip for him. The owner explains, “With t­ hese tongs on the warpath again, and all ­these gangsters, and the Chinks being run in the way they are, the guy that keeps his mouth shut is the one that lives the longest.” At the pharmacy, Jim meets Nona Gould (Lois Wilson), who is down on her luck and feeling suicidal. When he finds out that she is a struggling writer, Jim offers her a job on the paper. Hearing a report of a smuggling ring in Chinatown, Jim assigns one of his estab­ lished reporters to investigate; however, having grown up in Chinatown, Nona decides to investigate herself. While the beginning of the film suggests

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that Nona and Jim ­will be the focus of the story, an equal amount of screen time is dedicated to Nona’s Chinatown friends, Miao Lin (Toshia Mori) and Charlie San (Richard Loo).33 The Chinese American c­ ouple wishes to marry, but Miao Lin’s guardian, Wu Sin (Tetsu Komai), refuses since Charlie does not have the $20,000 that Wu Sin demands for her hand. Nona encourages Miao Lin to pursue her desires, saying, “You remember, this is Amer­i­ca—­not China.” Charlie uses the same argument with Wu Sin, saying vehemently: “This is the twentieth ­century! W ­ e’re living in Amer­i­ca. Buying wives, forc­ ing young girls to submit to insults by decrepit old men i­sn’t being done! Your gods ­wouldn’t condone that.”34 It is at this point that the film suggests a cultural divide between Chinese immigrants and American-­born Chinese: while Wu Sin worships the gods of his ancestors, Charlie implies that he is a Christian; while Wu Sin sports traditional Chinese garb, Charlie wears a Western-­style suit and fedora; and while Wu Sin upholds traditional Chinese practices such as obeying the tongs, Charlie feels the influence of American culture and longs to assimilate. Charlie’s loyalty to the Chinese community is tested when Wu Sin, as head of the tong, informs him: WU SIN:  ​You have been greatly honored, my son. The brethren have selected

you to perform an impor­tant ser­vice. A gentleman by the name of Man­ ning is making war on your countrymen. He seeks to drive them from ­these shores or ­behind prison walls. His weapon is not sword but the printing press. He must be silenced. CHARL IE:  ​I ­can’t do that! I’m not a hatchet man! Why, I ­don’t even approve of the methods ­you’re using! . . . ​But ­those ­things ­aren’t done anymore! They dis­appeared along with the queue and other traditions. . . . ​No, but d­ on’t you see? I have a respectable place in life . . . ​a good job. This would make me an outcast. WU SIN:  ​So, you think only of yourself. The fate of your countrymen is of no consequence. CHARL IE:  ​I ­will not be a killer! WU SIN:  ​You desire the hand of Miao Lin. CHARL IE:  ​You know I do. WU SIN:  ​That is the price. CHARL IE:  ​But the price is too ­g reat.

Ultimately, Charlie follows Wu Sin’s ­orders, hoping to win Miao Lin—­but luckily he only wounds Jim. When Nona explains the position Charlie was put in, Jim forgives him for the attempt on his life. The secret that Wu Sin is hiding is that, as Jim theorized, “some Chinese merchants and some big shots in this town are working together, r­ unning t­ hose

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coolies in somewhere along this coast.” Nona confronts Jim about his desire to publish the scoop on the smuggling story: NONA:  ​That Chinese story—­those men who may be sent to prison. A scoop for

you means disgrace for their families. JIM:  ​­You’ve got to be hardboiled in this game, Nona. “All the news that is

news”—­that’s been my policy ever since they stuck me in this office, to give this rag some pep. And our circulation proves that it’s a pretty good motto. NONA:  ​You’ll print every­thing? No ­matter who it hits? JIM:  ​Certainly. That’s my job.

Unfortunately, Jim does not know that the person who is ­going to be “hit” is himself. His fiancée’s ­father—­the American millionaire Roger King (Robert Warwick)—is revealed to be one of the “big shots” involved. King’s ship, The Hirondelle, is used to smuggle in the illegal laborers. Jim puts duty to the paper ahead of his personal life and prints the story about King’s involvement in the smuggling racket, even though his fiancée w ­ ill leave him. Luckily, over the course of the investigation, Nona and Jim have fallen in love. In the end, Miao Lin and Charlie are rewarded for their desire to assimi­ late: Wu Sin is killed, and the young c­ ouple is f­ ree to marry. To underscore its message that all Americans, no ­matter what their ethnicity, are equal, the film ends with the intercutting of the two weddings: the American and the Chi­ nese American. In addition, the Chinese American wedding ceremony mixes ele­ments of Chinese tradition with American modernity: the c­ ouple drink Chi­ nese tea as part of the ceremony and wear traditional clothes, but they have a white justice of the peace perform their ceremony in En­glish.35 As “The End” appears on the screen, the last shot of the film is not of the white American ­couple but of the Chinese American one. The Secrets of Wu Sin offers an in­ter­ est­ing defense of the younger generation of Chinese Americans who have abandoned what they regard as outmoded Chinese traditions and embraced compatible American ones. Importantly, all of the key Chinese roles in the film are played by Asian American actors, making the story about the dilemma facing young, modern Chinese Americans more convincing and effective. The film was better than the average B film set in Chinatown, and the reviewer for Variety suggested that it “might have climbed into the A division.”36 Secrets of Wu Sin is certainly one of the most significant films of the early 1930s set in Chinatown, in terms of its progressive depiction of Chinatown and Chinese Americans. Like The Secrets of Wu Sin, Captured in Chinatown pres­ents two ­couples, one American and the other Chinese American. Joy Ling (Bo Ling) and Tommy Wong (Wing Foo) are in love, but their families have been feuding for generations, and their ­fathers forbid them to marry. The film begins with a mur­

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der reported with the front-­page headline “Ling-­Wong Feud Renews Vio­ lence” and the news that “four Chinese [­were] murdered last night—­Police baffled at outbreak.”37 L ­ ater, another story in the paper explains that “the hatred between the two families is older than the country in which many of them now live and even t­ oday, in China, the feud rages between their countless b­ rothers and cousins.” Joy and Tommy discuss their dilemma. Tommy wants to speak to Joy’s ­father, but she insists: “It’s no use. . . . ​The hatred between our families is just too deep.” The film suggests that one of the negatives of traditional Chi­ nese culture is that ­there is no room for forgiveness for injustices committed a long time ago. As if on cue, one of Joy f­ ather’s henchmen enters the room and raises his arm to dispatch Tommy with a knife. Luckily, Joy’s screaming attracts her ­father’s attention, and he ­orders the assassin to stand down. Ling (Paul C. Fong) may not want Tommy dead, but he does refuse to allow his ­daughter to marry “the son of [his] e­ nemy.” Joy pleads with her f­ ather to reconsider since it “means [her] happiness,” and Ling reluctantly agrees to meet Tommy’s f­ ather, Wong (James B. Leong). While Ling and Wong discuss the m ­ atter vehemently in Cantonese, Tommy and Joy slink away to share their feeling that an understand­ ing is not likely. A newspaper headline, however, confirms that a “Ling-­Wong peace” w ­ ill “be sealed by valuable gift”—­a jade necklace worth $50,000—to be presented at the wedding. Two white criminals, Harry (Robert Walker) and Zamboni (Paul Ellis), offer to make a recording of the wedding and peace pact for the families to send back to China, in an effort to end the feud t­ here; the pretense of making the recording ­will give them an opportunity to steal the necklace. While the embracing of modern communications technology demonstrates that even the Chinese-­born heads of the families are adapting to American life, not all of the film’s Chinese characters are presented as assimilating and posi­ tive. ­A fter Zamboni steals the necklace and stabs Tommy when he tries to stop him, the Wong ­family meets to discuss retaliation. The men sit in richly carved chairs around a long t­ able, casting huge shadows on the wall high above them, as Wong hands out weapons to each highbinder. The lighting effect is dramatic and ominous, and once again the film reminds the audience that Chinese tra­ ditions can be in keeping with the Old Testament, with its demand for an eye for an eye. In contrast, Ling and his men are portrayed as concerned and thoughtful as they huddle in the well-­lit space of Ling’s shop to try to figure out who would have committed such a crime. The differing depiction of the two families suggests that the Lings are more willing to assimilate and, there­ fore, more sympathetic and admirable. A happy ending is facilitated by the reporters covering the wedding—­A nn (Marion Shilling) and Bob (Charles Delaney)—­and Bob’s dog, Tarzan (played by the canine star Tarzan, the Police Dog). Ann spies Zamboni in disguise and trails him, only to be locked up by the villain. When she sees the recording

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device, she makes a short message to Bob on a small rec­ord, which she tosses up through a win­dow onto the roof to Tarzan. ­Until Bob receives the message, however, both Ann and Joy are in danger, the former from Harry and the lat­ ter from Wong’s hatchet man. By intercutting the two scenes, the film depicts the two dif­fer­ent w ­ omen—­one American and one Chinese American—as equals. Tarzan eventually fetches Bob, and Bob saves Ann by jumping down through the win­dow from the roof and beating the two criminals in a fistfight. ­Until the police arrive, Tarzan manages to keep the necklace away from Zam­ boni and trap him in a Chinatown cellar. In the end, the two c­ ouples are safe and in love, with the film promising two weddings—­one American and one Chinese American. Secrets of Wu Sin and Captured in Chinatown are impor­tant for paying equal time and attention to the Chinese American c­ ouple as they do to the white American one and for presenting many of the Chinese characters as positive and progressive. Ultimately, the two films suggest that Chinese immigrants and their American-­born ­children can put aside Chinese customs and the past for American values and the ­future. While the older, more traditional generation of Chinese-­born immigrants are regarded as foreign and still potentially dan­ gerous, films like Secrets of Wu Sin and Captured in Chinatown promise that the next generation are in sync with American culture and values and w ­ ill bring an end to feuds and tong wars. The films’ producers, however, w ­ ere unlikely completely altruistic in greenlighting t­ hese films: both of the films confirm that stories about exotic Chinatown make good copy for newspapers and equally good fodder for Hollywood.

Operating in the Mainstream As Karen Leong explains, government and private efforts in the United States at the time ­were being made to improve American perceptions of China, result­ ing in China having “a surge of popularity with the American public” and being represented as a young democracy following in the footsteps of the United States.38 In March 1938, a popu­lar daily adventure comic, Terry and the Pirates, presented a dramatic change in its antagonist, the Dragon Lady, from an Ori­ ental villain to a Chinese nationalist who rallies her Chinese bandits to support China, which was ­under siege by Japan.39 Madeline Hsu argues that the cartoon’s new story line not only mirrored recent headlines in the newspa­ pers but also invoked the “long-­simmering strands of China and Amer­i­ca’s ‘special relationship’ and expressions of mutual admiration that had coalesced through Chinese strug­gles to rejuvenate and modernize.”40 The late 1930s saw a similar shift in the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese Americans in Hollywood films and a coinciding elevation of better-­known Asian American actors to the center of their narratives. In the case of crime films, actors like Anna May

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Wong, Philip Ahn, and Keye Luke played Chinese American detectives and government agents who are victorious in bringing white American crimi­ nals to justice. ­These films tie their Chinese American heroes to Chinatown-­ related crimes and ­will be discussed in chapter 8. In contrast, Wong and Luke ­were also cast as Chinese American doctors, trained in American medical schools and working not in Chinatown but in mainstream American hospi­ tals. While only certain kinds of Chinese American professionals—­notably, detectives and doctors—­could operate in the mainstream, the presence of such characters and the Asian American actors who portrayed them mark an ac­cep­tance of Chinese Americans as valued citizens. However, while the Chinese American detective could help solve Amer­i­ca’s prob­lems and remain an American, the ultimate goal of Hollywood’s doctors in films of the late 1930s and early 1940s was to leave the United States to support China in its strug­gle against Japan’s imperialistic designs. This message may seem rem­ iniscent of films from the early 1930s like The Hatchet Man and The Son-­ Daughter, which insisted that Chinese immigrants would find happiness only back home in traditional Chinese culture, but the doctors of King of Chinatown (Grinde 1939) and Dr. Gillespie’s New Assistant (Goldbeck 1942) hope for a modern China in line with American sensibilities. King of Chinatown opens in San Francisco’s Chinatown during New Year’s cele­brations. Firecrackers explode and Chinese m ­ usic plays as crowds gather to watch the parade wend through the district: Chinatown is both a place where Chinese ­people live but also where white ­people come as tourists. The “King of Chinatown” is Frank Baturin (Akim Tamiroff), who is forcing Chinatown merchants to pay him protection money or face retaliation. Bob Li (Philip Ahn), a Chinese American ­lawyer, visits a Chinese herbalist, Dr. Chang Ling (Sidney Toler in yellowface), to discuss the prob­lem with Baturin’s gang.41 The modern Chinese American, Bob, is contrasted to the Chinese immigrant, Chang: Bob wears a Western-­style suit and fedora, while Chang wears tradi­ tional Chinese clothes with a pillbox hat and has a long thin beard; and while Bob speaks without an accent, Chang speaks broken and philosophical En­glish, not unlike Charlie Chan, Toler’s more famous Chinese role. Chang’s living quarters ­behind the shop are elegantly appointed, with Chinese décor and wood panels, and meals are served by a Chinese servant—­importantly, not his ­daughter, who is a respected surgeon. The Chinese space of Chang’s home and herbalist shop are contrasted to that of Dr. Mary Ling (Wong), the modern and mainstream hospital. When Mary arrives home from work, her ­father explains that he did not mind sending her to college to become “a modern, up-­ to-­date doctor,” but he does object to her greeting him with “Hello, Dad!” as an American child would. Mary wants to quit her job as a surgeon to raise money for a Red Cross unit in China and aid her f­ather’s homeland, at this time u­ nder attack by

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imperialist Japan. It is this desire to help China that embroils Mary in Chi­ natown’s criminal world, and she agrees to nurse Baturin for a large fee. Baturin falls in love with Mary, and although she turns down his romantic overtures, he honors his promise and gives her $5,000 t­ oward outfitting the Red Cross unit. In the end, Baturin is shot by his former second-­in-­command who also wants to be the “King of Chinatown.” Luckily, the police are able to prove that he murdered Baturin and bring down the criminal empire. With Chinatown safe, Mary and Bob marry and fly to China to help the war effort; as American professionals with established c­ areers, however, it seems likely that their support of China ­will be just for the duration of the war and that they w ­ ill return to the United States when the conflict concludes.42 While Chinatown melodramas focused on the romance between the two main characters, King of Chinatown does not. One reviewer seems to have wished that the film was such a romance, complementing its “intelligent ­handling of the east and west marriage prob­lem.”43 Instead, as the reviewer for Motion Picture Daily explains, the focus of the film is “gangsterism versus Chinese honesty, patience and charity.”44 While traditional Chineseness, as represented by Chang, may be foreign, it is presented as philosophical and moral. And while modern Chineseness, as represented by Mary and Bob, may be Americanized, it is shown to be dedicated to modern China. The Paramount press sheet for King of Chinatown highlighted Ann May Wong’s dual identity as “a famous Chinese actress” and someone born in Los Angeles—in other words, both exotic and Americanized.45 The press sheet attempted to tie Wong firmly to her character: it comments that she, like Mary, was concerned with the conflict in China and had “recently auction[ed] off her valuable Oriental art collection for the benefit of China’s war victims.” Report­ edly, Wong also donated most of her salary at the time to China, supported associations like the Chinese Benevolent Association of California, and pub­ licly attended relief fund-­raisers.46 For her leading roles in the Paramount films ­Daughter of Shanghai (Florey 1937), Dangerous to Know (Florey 1938), and King of Chinatown, Wong was promoted as a modern ­woman of the world: modern in terms of being in­de­pen­dent and career-­minded and worldly in having ties to China but also having been born in Amer­i­ca. Casting Wong as a doctor in King of Chinatown established her character as intelligent, educated, articulate, and middle-­class and thus made her much more palatable to white audiences. It likely for t­ hese same reasons that the Chinese American actor Keye Luke was cast as a doctor in the Dr. Gillespie series, beginning in 1942. Also, as a 1942 article in the fan magazine Hollywood states, Luke was the “screen’s leading Chi­ nese actor.”47 When actor Lew Ayres joined the U.S. Medical Corps in 1942, much of his last film in MGM’s Dr. Kildare series was reshot and became Calling Dr. Gillespie (Bucquet 1942), starring Lionel Barrymore as a curmudgeonly, wheelchair-­

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bound doctor. In Dr. Gillespie’s New Assistant, interns compete for the cov­ eted position as Gillespie’s permanent assistant and are assigned patients with medical mysteries to solve. The themes explored in the film echoed war­time film messages more broadly. For example, as Jeanine Basinger explains, war­time combat films followed a group of men from “varying ethnic and socioeconomic backgrounds” who undertake a mission, and at some point “conflict breaks [out] within the group itself [that] is resolved through the external conflict brought down upon them.”48 Relatedly, Thomas Doherty argues that in war films, “with an inclusiveness remarkable for its time, more exotic and hereto­ fore invisible ­peoples—­Hispanics, Asians, Native Americans, and blacks—­also appear, and not always as expendable tokens.”49 Such inclusivity was not ­necessarily Hollywood’s own but, arguably, encouraged by the Office of War Information (OWI). As Ellen Scott explains, “with an eye t­ oward broad inter­ national diplomacy, OWI staffers censored Hollywood’s racial and national ste­reo­types.”50 It was in this era of new tolerance that the Gillespie series brought a Chinese American character to the fore as one of the interns who must work together to overcome evil—­whether Axis enemies or disease.51 The series offered a positive and nuanced repre­sen­ta­tion of a Chinese American; however, ­there was a shift in the repre­sen­ta­tion of the doctor as the series progressed from high­ lighting his embodiment of Chineseness to his increasing Americanness and ­there was a corresponding shift in terms of the commentary on the war. In other words, the racial politics of the Chinese American doctor that Luke plays decreased proportionally to the emphasis on the war effort in the series. In Dr. Gillespie’s New Assistant, forty young interns vie for the position of Gillespie’s new assistant, and only, as Gillespie explains, ­those among “the poor, deluded nincompoops” who can answer a medical question correctly ­will move on to the next round. Only three of the forty can answer Gillespie’s question correctly: Dr. “Red” Adams (Van Johnson) from Kansas City, Dr. Dennis Lind­ say (Richard Quine) from Australia, and Dr.  Lee Wong How (Keye Luke) from Brooklyn. Importantly, all three of them want to do war work: Adams wants to join the U.S. Medical Corps, Lindsay the Australia Medical Com­ mission, and Lee the Chinese-­A merican Medical Commission.52 Gillespie offers a patriotic speech to the interns that connects the war effort to fighting disease on the home front: Now, a­ fter ­you’ve been working ­here for a week, you’ll be too tired to stand up—­except for two t­ hings: the Star-­Spangled Banner and the red-­headed nurse on the third floor. Well boys, I ­don’t think it ­really ­matters as much which one of our two wars ­you’re destined to fight in. The second war of course is the longer war: the more ­bitter war, the never-­ending war to relieve pain, conquer disease, and prolong h ­ uman life. I’ve been fighting on that front for thirty-­odd years. And, as doctors, you must never forget that we are looking ahead to the

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time when no man ­will ever lose a day’s pay through illness and no shadow of poverty ­will ever be cast over any ­house­hold ­because of an untimely death.

To choose which of the three young men w ­ ill be his intern, Gillespie assigns them each a patient to cure. Only Lee solves his case immediately and without assistance. As Lee says at the end of the film: “Oh, you c­ an’t fire me—­I’m ter­ rific! I prepared my patient splendidly, assisted on the operation successfully!” Luckily, Gillespie’s decision is simplified when Lindsay announces that he has been given o­ rders to head back to Australia. The next film in the series, Dr. Gillespie’s Criminal Case (Goldbeck 1943), begins with pitting the two remaining doctors—­Adams and Lee—­against each other. Gillespie increases the level of competition when he tells Adams, “Son, it’s ­going to be a genuine plea­sure to have you as my assistant. Only I think I’ll take the Chinese boy—­he’s got more brains than you have.” Lee needs the job as Gillespie’s assistant so he can be sent to work in China: “I’ve got to have it! What that’ll mean to the Chinese-American Commission.” The dedication of the two interns is demonstrated and the competition dissipated when the two work together to save a young girl’s life. This incident makes the two interns realize that they can, and should, be friends instead of rivals. Notably, however, Lee proves to be the superior doctor when he is able to convince a veteran who lost his legs in the attack on Pearl Harbor to have an operation and use pros­ thetics. In the next film in the series, Three Men in White (Goldbeck 1944), Adams and Lee demand that Gillespie make a choice soon, so they can con­ tribute to the war effort. Lee explains, “When I become your assistant, I could talk turkey to the Chinese-­American Medical Commission about getting me to China. . . . ​I’m so anxious to be your assistant, I’d pretty near give a blood transfusion to a Jap!” The last comment is punctuated as Gillespie jerks, stunned at the thought that the young Chinese American doctor would aid China’s archenemy.53 With Japa­nese Americans in internment camps at the time, ­there was apparently no fear of offending audiences with such a comment. At the end of the film, Gillespie arranges with the Chinese-­A merican Medical Commis­ sion for Lee to become a lieutenant in the Medical Corps of the Chinese National Army but be attached to Gillespie’s staff for special research. Thus, the official assistant’s position is left open for Adams, and both doctors are retained for the next film (Figure 7.1). Although ­today we would describe Luke’s character as a Chinese American, at the time identity was aligned with race, not ethnicity, and Luke and his char­ acter are identified as “Chinese” in the films and by reviewers. The character of Lee was progressive by Hollywood’s standards at the time: he is from Brook­ lyn, a doctor of Western medicine, and speaks only En­glish. Interestingly, none of the reviews of Dr. Gillespie’s New Assistant commented on the pres­ ence, or lack thereof, of Chinese Americans in the medical profession, most

Assimilation and Tourism  •  173

FIG. 7.1  ​“­They’re smart, ­those Chinese!”—­Dr. Lee Wong How (Keye Luke) proves as

American as Dr. “Red” Adams (Van Johnson) in Three Men in White (1944), including being uninformed about Chinese traditions.

likely b­ ecause Lee was played by Luke—an actor well-­known to audiences as “Number One Son” in the Charlie Chan series. Indeed, a reviewer for The Exhibitor described the character as “assistant No.1, Keye Luke.”54 In the Chan films, Luke’s Lee Chan was distinguished from his f­ ather—­a reserved and polite Chinese man who spoke halting and heavi­ly accented English—as an ener­ getic, athletic, and out­spoken American youth. Luke’s familiarity to audiences would have normalized the idea of a Chinese American being a professional. Despite the fact that Lee is from New York, in Dr. Gillespie’s New Assistant he represents China in the series’ allegory of Allied cooperation. For example, Gillespie refers to Lee as “our Oriental friend.” Despite this, the jokes about foreignness are reserved for Lindsay as an Australian. In one scene, Lindsay uses Australian slang, and Lee says to the o­ thers, “Boys, I ­don’t know what language he’s speaking, but I think it’s Chinese!” When Lee is the butt of the joke, the comedy is often mixed with a serious message about racial stereotyping. Lind­ say asks Lee, “­Can’t you help me out with an old Chinese proverb? ‘Confucius say?’ ” Lee replies politely, “We d­ idn’t study Confucius in Public School No. 47.” In a conversation with Superintendent Molly Byrd (Alma Kruger), Lee prom­ ises to “give up all my outside activities—­except the eight hours a week with my language teacher.” Molly says: “Language teacher? Why you speak En­glish perfect.” Lee clarifies, “Yes—­but I’m learning to speak Chinese” in preparation

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for working with the Chinese-­A merican Medical Commission. A more seri­ ous message about racism is offered when a drunken husband does not want Lee to examine his wife ­because Lee is Chinese. While the husband may have had some objection to Lee’s race, the film confirms that it has no impact on his abilities to be a skilled doctor. As Molly explains, “What the United States of Amer­i­ca needs t­ oday is more young fellas . . . ​born in Brooklyn.” In Three Men in White, t­ here is more emphasis on Lee’s Americanness than on his Chineseness, as he is now referred to by the nickname “Brooklyn” and ­because he proves more ignorant of his heritage than Gillespie is. Gillespie says to Lee: “Why ­don’t you take Mary in ­there? Tell her how in China they only pay the doctors when t­ hey’re well. When t­ hey’re sick, they d­ on’t collect a cent.” Lee replies, “Do they do that? Say! ­They’re smart, t­ hose Chinese!” Impor­ tantly, the series stresses that Lee’s home is Brooklyn, not China, and he speaks of Chinese ­people with the same distance as he uses to discuss other nationalities. Interestingly, a c­ ouple of reviewers of Three Men in White devoted much of their reviews to the fact that the Chinese American doctor proved superior to the white American one. For example, Milton Livingston wrote in Motion Picture Daily that “Luke ­really masters both cases.”55 Lee’s importance as a character was also highlighted by the author of the original screenplay. In his handwritten “Case Suggestion” notes, Martin Berkeley wrote, “We have played Dr. Lee as a wise, acute guy with warmth and g­ reat powers of observa­ tion.”56 Berkeley’s notes titled “Suggested First Gimmick for Dr. Lee” offered an extensive list of pos­si­ble medical mysteries for Lee to solve, including a sugar deficiency case and an eye case.57 It is evident from Berkeley’s research notes that he spent the majority of his time researching ideas for the character of Dr. Lee—­not that of Dr. Adams. Despite this, and perhaps due to Johnson’s greater star power, the films increasingly focus more on Adams’s love life than on Lee’s medical cases. Luke appeared as Dr. Lee in three other films—­the two last Gillespie films, Between Two W ­ omen (Goldbeck 1945) and Dark Delusion (Goldbeck 1947), and briefly in a film in another popu­lar series, Andy Hardy’s Blonde Trou­ble (Seitz 1944). The character of Dr. Lee was popu­lar or well-­known enough to see the character transplanted into another series; however, Lee and the war effort are pushed into the background in Between Two ­Women and Dark Delusion. With World War II over by the time the final film of the series was produced, Lee’s status as a lieutenant in the Chinese National Army is not mentioned. Lee appears only in a ­couple of scenes, yet the reviewer for Hollywood Reporter sur­ prisingly devoted a few lines to the “wise Dr.  Lee.”58 Overall, the Gillespie series was impressive for the time, presenting a Chinese American doctor as a central protagonist who was smart, skilled, and rarely ste­reo­t yped. As the reviewer in Hollywood suggests, Luke embodied for mainstream audiences “a

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combination of the best in old China and new Amer­i­ca—­a g­ reat tradition with a new perspective.”59

Postwar Inclusion Whereas in the nineteenth ­century, tourists came to Chinatown for slumming tours, by the 1940s they w ­ ere coming for guided historical tours. As an article in the San Francisco Chronicle explains, “the average San Franciscan knows less about Chinatown than the outsider who pays to be professionally shown,” and that Chinese American professional might be a sophomore from Stanford Medical School.60 The article explained that the only ­thing that sounded omi­ nous in Chinatown at the time was the Gray Line Sightseeing bus tour called “Chinatown ­after Dark”; however, the tour was not restricted to Chinatown and included North Beach, Telegraph Hill, and Fisherman’s Warf.61 As Klein confirms, even celebrated literary works by Chinese Americans at the time had “a touristic quality . . . ​motivated by an educational and so­cio­log­i­cal impulse.”62 According to Ching Wah Lee, an art dealer and tour guide at the time, the number of paying tourists in Chinatown increased from 50,000 to 75,000 annually a­ fter World War II.63 Following the war, Hollywood echoed the new touristic interest in the quarter with a reprisal of the Chinatown tour that had been abandoned by the film industry about twenty years earlier. In two films in 1949, the director Seymour Friedman presented Chinatown tours. In Chinatown at Midnight (Friedman 1949), the bus guide explains, “Ladies and gentlemen, you are now entering one of the most unusual sec­ tions in Amer­i­ca: a small rectangle of only twenty square blocks, each block with over a thousand h ­ uman beings, the most densely populated area in the United States—­San Francisco’s Chinatown! For the next half-­hour, you w ­ ill be guided through some of the ornate shops, the intricate passageways, and hidden chambers of this curious city within a city.” In Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture (Friedman 1949), the tour guide, Les (Don McGuire), offers to show visitors the “real” Chinatown: “Now you have just seen the usual aspects of Chinese life, but however, ­t here is another side to Chinatown known only to a few favored Occidentals like myself. . . . ​For one dollar, I ­w ill show you thrills that ­will haunt you for the rest of your days. . . . ​Now, who amongst you has the courage to accept this challenge of adventure?” The tourists follow Les down an alley to the entrance to Chinatown’s sup­ posed underground passages, inside of which is a series of staged scenes. In the first room, Les explains, “This is a Chinese gambling den. . . . ​­They’re playing fantan,” and in the second, he says, “Chinese slave girls working their way to freedom and a full life.” Suddenly, two Chinese men rush past them, one carry­ing a hatchet threateningly. Feigning alarm, Les says: “We better get out of ­here—­apparently the tong wars are still on! What you just

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saw is one of the hatchet men wrecking his vengeance!” Reviving the theme of Deceived Slumming Party (Griffith 1908), Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture exposes for its audience the real­ity ­behind the deception. One of the fantan players says, “All right, fellas, let’s pick up the bridge game where we left off.” Similarly, one of the slave girls says, “Relax, ­they’re gone,” and returns to the story she was telling about Marge riding the subway. Like a Chinatown tour, Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture capitalized on Chinatown to attract audi­ ences, as did Half Past Midnight (Claxton 1948), Impact (Lubin 1949), and Key to the City (Sidney 1950). Importantly, while t­ hese films returned to Chinatown as a setting, they did not resurrect the associations with crime. Instead, they recast Chinatown as an attractive space that was home to modern, assimilated Chinese Americans and safe and inviting for tourists. Indeed, the “Analy­sis of Film Content” form from the Production Code Administration (PCA) for Chinatown at Midnight identifies the three main Chinese characters as U.S. citizens—­not foreign-­born Chinese.64 In Half Past Midnight, Wade Hamilton (Kent Taylor) arrives back in Los Angeles a­ fter being across the Pacific for five years. During a night on the town, Wade meets Sally (Peggy Knudsen). She is being blackmailed ­because of let­ ters that her ­sister supposedly wrote to a dancer, Murray Evans (Damian O’Flynn), which are now in the hands of his former partner, Carlotta (Jane Everett). When Carlotta is shot and Sally is found standing over the body, she is accused of murder and Wade, believing her to be innocent, takes her to Los Angeles’s China City.65 Inside a Chinese restaurant, Wade is greeted warmly by the owner, Lee Gow (Richard Loo), and his ­daughter, Blossom (Jean Wong). The Gows are modern Chinese Americans who speak perfect En­g lish, and when Wade asks them for help, they are happy to oblige. At the restaurant Wade also meets an old friend, Lieutenant Josh Nash (Joe Sawyer), whom he con­ vinces to work on the case with him—­much to the chagrin of Detective MacDonald (Walter Sande), the official investigator. Wade spends the night following up his suspicions, which take him to the h ­ otel where Carlotta and her current dancing partner, Cortez (Martin Kosleck), have been staying. ­There he is assisted by the ­hotel porter, Sam (Victor Sen Yung), who is also Blossom’s fiancé.66 When someone shoots at Cortez, he claims that it was Evans acting out of jealousy over Cortez’s relationship with Carlotta. In the morn­ ing, with MacDonald on their tail, Wade and Sally accept Blossom’s help. She guides the ­couple through the seeming maze of China City, then onto the roof­ tops of Chinatown, and fi­nally into a ware­house. Sally escapes to meet with Evans, who explains that Cortez is the one who murdered Carlotta—­and then Evans is shot and killed. While MacDonald thinks that Sally is guilty of both murders, Nash figures out the truth, leaving Sally and Wade ­free to get mar­ ried. Chinatown is not necessary for the plot about the dancers, blackmail, and murder, and none of the Chinese American characters are connected to the

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crime plot. Instead the quarter is shown as attractive, friendly, ­free of crime, and full of Chinese American allies. For Hollywood, the postwar return to Chinatown capitalized once again on its exoticism but did not pres­ent Chinese immigrants as morally inferior. Instead, Chinese Americans w ­ ere cast as allies and sometimes crucial helpers to white investigators in solving the criminal case. For example, in A Tragedy at Midnight (Stanley 1942), the amateur detective (John Howard) requires help from his Chinese American butler, Ah Foo (Keye Luke), to escape when he is wrongfully arrested. And in The Falcon Strikes Back (Dmytryk 1943), the Fal­ con (Tom Conway) asks his Chinese American servant, Jerry (Richard Loo), to pose as the Chinese trade commissioner to trap a suspect. Like Ah Foo and Jerry, the h ­ ouse­maid Su Lin Chung (Anna May Wong) in Impact is the only person who can help save her boss; unlike A Tragedy at Midnight and The Falcon Strikes Back, however, Impact places its Chinese American hero in China­ town instead of isolated in mainstream society. At the beginning of Impact, Walter Williams (Brian Donlevy), a San Francisco industrialist, is ignorant of the fact that that his wife, Irene (Helen Walker), is plotting his murder with her lover, Jim Torrence (Tony Barrett). Torrence tries to kill Walter but instead ends up dead in a car crash. The police and Irene, however, believe the charred remains to be t­ hose of her husband. Walter starts a new life in a small town in Idaho and falls in love with Marsha (Ella Raines), but when Torrence’s body is eventually identified correctly, Irene accuses Walter of his murder. Irene claims that she asked Walter for a divorce, causing an argument about which the Wil­ liams’ maid, Su Lin, can testify. Trying to prove the innocence of the man she loves, Marsha convinces Lieutenant Quincy (Charles Coburn) to seek out Su Lin to corroborate Walter’s version of the story. First, Marsha and Quincy track down Su Lin’s point of entry card from when she emigrated from China, and the address on the card leads them to her ­uncle, Ah Sing (Philip Ahn), in Chinatown. Ah Sing’s round glasses, beard, and silk tunic lead Quincy to ask if the Chinese man speaks En­glish, but Ah Sing defies the ste­reo­type and explains, with a smile, that he also speaks French, Italian, and Hebrew. While Su Lin believes that her testimony would harm Walter, Ah Sing advises her, “Untruth is not good for soul, and not wisdom when told to policeman.” Her guilt drives her to attend the trial in disguise, and Marsha rec­ ognizes her and follows her back to Chinatown. A ­ fter talking with Su Lin, Marsha fi­nally has the evidence that proves Irene and Torrence had planned Walter’s murder. When Marsha says that they got the “miracle” they needed to prove Walter’s case, Quincy says it was “a special ­little Chinese” miracle. The freedom of an upstanding white man and the happiness of a white ­woman depend on the knowledge of a Chinese American servant. Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture begins in New York’s Chinatown, where Boston Blackie (Chester Morris) and “the Runt” (Sid Tomack), his buddy, are

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accused of murdering Charlie Wu at his Chinatown laundry. Inspector Far­ raday (Richard Lane) assumes that Charlie, being a Chinatown resident, must be engaged in something illegal—­such as the lottery or a tong. He asks: “What about this tong war business? That still goes on, ­doesn’t it?” Offended, Char­ lie’s niece Mei Ling (Maylia) retorts, “Chinatown’s rec­ord should be your answer to that.” He quickly concedes: “Yah, ­you’re right. Nothing ever happens down ­here. One case of juvenile delinquency in two years!” Mei Ling and Charlie Wu are not only members of dif­fer­ent generations but also dif­fer­ent kinds of Chi­ nese. Mei Ling is a modern Chinese American, who speaks perfect En­glish and dresses in Western-­style clothes. In contrast, Charlie is described as “hard enough to understand normally, but over the telephone, excited as he was, it was next to impossible.” Mei Ling works at Club Cathay, and the club’s man­ ag­er, Bill Craddock (Luis Van Rooten), informs the police that she and her ­uncle fought about her working t­ here, suggesting that t­ here may have been a personal motive for his murder; the newspapers, however, go with the lottery ­angle, and a front-­page headline reads, “Laundryman Victim of Gamblers’ Feud.” With the police convinced that Charlie was caught up in a lottery feud and seeking a quick conviction, Mei Ling asks Blackie to look into Craddock and a mysterious package of laundry that was to be picked up at the club. The Runt and Blackie tail first Craddock in Chinatown and then his girlfriend, Red (Joan Woodbury), who rounds up customers for a Chinatown tour. The tour, it turns out, is a cover for Red to move stolen jewelry to a jewel cutter. The tour ends in Wong’s Curio Shop, where the tourists can buy from Wong (Philip Ahn) or his assistant Ah Hing (Benson Fong) “a suitable gift for the folks back home” (Figure  7.2).67 ­Here Les (Don McGuire) buys a “special blend” of tea, and Blackie swaps packages, discovering jewels buried in the tea. For the most part, Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture offers a thoughtful repre­ sen­ta­tion of Chinese Americans, marred only by a scene in which Blackie and the Runt don yellowface to take the place of two tong men on the underground portion of the Chinatown tour. Their disguises lead to several comic moments as they successfully evade the police. When they try to hide in the local cinema, however, they discover that the head of the jewel racket is the cinema’s man­ag­er, “Pop” Gerard (Charles Arnt). Luckily, the cinema’s Chinese American usher (Victor Sen Yung) informs the police that the white men in yellowface are inside, and the police arrive in time to prevent Gerard from making his escape. Blackie then leads the police to Wong’s Curio Shop to find Red dropping off a package. Ah Hing takes responsibility and vows that his boss was ignorant of the scam, and Red confirms that Ah Hing was also ignorant of the stolen con­ tents of the packages. Thus, all of the Chinese characters are exonerated from being involved in the racket, leaving Chinatown guilty only of attracting white criminals. Notably, the audience is left with the impression that Chinatown is safe for tourists, and Chinese Americans are good citizens.

Assimilation and Tourism  •  179

FIG. 7.2  ​“A suitable gift for the folks back home”—­In Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture

(1949), Chinatown may be the setting for a crime racket, but the Chinese Americans—­ both modern American (Benson Fong) and traditional Chinese (Philip Ahn)—­are not the criminals. Instead, they are part of the tourist attraction of San Francisco’s postwar Chinatown.

The fact that Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture offered a thoughtful repre­sen­ ta­tion of modern Chinese Americans and exposed ste­reo­types as false and old-­fashioned did not go unnoticed at the time. As a reviewer for Hollywood Reporter suggests, the film is “noteworthy chiefly for the intelligence with which it approaches San Francisco’s Chinatown. Rarely has a major feature treated the Chinese so sympathetically and realistically. The film proves that the pub­ lic can be educated painlessly in a production which never loses sight of basic appeal.”68 It seems that the film did not start out that way, however. In a letter to Harry Cohn at Columbia, Stephen Jackson describes the PCA’s issues with the film, including the use of the word “Chink”—­which Jackson explains “­will undoubtedly prove offensive to Chinese.”69 He also questions a scene in which a police detective is shown “shoving” a Chinese man, which suggests that “he is brutalizing the Chinese.” The original script featured a fake opium den with Chinese men smoking, and Jackson suggests that Columbia substitute a fake gambling den. Evidently the film could easily have ended up rehashing old ste­ reo­types of Chinese Americans and Chinatown life; instead, the final released film is an impressive shift.

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Key to the City also presented Chinese American characters in a positive light and Chinatown as a safe place for white tourism—­even if it was mainly back­ ground for a white story. The film follows the initial clash and eventual romance between two mayors, Cla­ris­sa (Loretta Young) and Steve (Clark Gable), who are in San Francisco for a convention. One night, they hold an informal meet­ ing at the Blue Duck nightclub in Chinatown. The club is presented as some­ what racy for Cla­ris­sa, as a Harvard-­educated small-­town mayor, but as excit­ ing to the audience. The film introduces the club through a shot panning down from the disco ball to the band. The musicians are Chinese American, but the ­music they play is fast-­paced, modern, and Western. The club’s staff members are dressed in patterned silks, but beneath their Chinese jackets, their West­ ern shirts and ties are vis­i­ble. The eve­ning’s show is introduced by the emcee (Victor Sen Yung), who speaks first in Cantonese and then in perfect En­glish, welcoming the audience to the Blue Duck and introducing the band. The dance floor is soon filled with a group of Chinese w ­ omen who perform a synchro­ nized routine, and while their hair is worn in buns pierced with flowers, their costumes are Western, revealing their long stockinged legs and bare midriffs. A young Chinese American w ­ oman (Maria Sen Yung) approaches the mayors’ ­table and offers to take photo­graphs: she is also dressed in a Chinese costume but speaks perfect En­glish.70 The scene ends when a fight breaks out and the police arrive. At the police station, when Sergeant Hogan (James Gleason) finds out that they have mayors locked up, he anticipates trou­ble and says, “Oh, for the calm, peaceful days of the tong wars.” The scene at the Blue Duck is a long one and injects Chinese characters into the story about the mayoral conflict. While the film still relegates Chinese American characters to the world of Chinatown, they are presented as sympa­ thetic, positive, and enriching American life, and their presence offers a contradiction to the exoticism of the traditional Chinese dress and décor. Sig­ nificantly, they w ­ ere identified by the PCA reviewer of the film in the “Analy­sis of Film Content” form as American citizens, not Chinese nationals.71 Unlike Chinese characters in Hollywood’s past, ­these Chinese Americans are played by Asian American actors, and while they may not be the main focus of t­ hese films from the late 1940s, they are at least no longer omitted from Hollywood’s frame.

Conclusion: Racism Exposed The Big Hangover (Krasna 1950) is an impor­tant film despite the fact that it does not focus on Chinatown, ­because it raises the question of racism against Chinese Americans. The film follows David Maldon (Van Johnson), a law stu­ dent who gets a job at a prestigious law firm. At the office, David is introduced to Carl Bellcap (Leon Ames), the city attorney, who discusses a situation with

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John Belney (Percy Waram), the representative of a development com­pany. Carl explains that Dr. Lee (Philip Ahn), “a Chinese doctor from San Francisco,” had subleased an apartment in one of the development com­pany’s buildings but came home one day to find himself and his pregnant wife locked out. Carl says, “He happens to be a cultured, charming man—­but ­whether he’s cultured and charming or not, I’m afraid that ­you’re g­ oing to have to let him into that apart­ ment.” The fact that the building man­ag­er’s actions ­were based on racist atti­ tudes is boiled down to the euphemistic expression “cultured and charming.” While Belney sees no prob­lem with a Chinese doctor being allowed in the building, the development com­pany is concerned that “if you make one excep­ tion you ­won’t know where to stop.” As his colleague, Charles Parkford (Gene Lockhart), sums up for the law firm’s partners: “Our client d­ oesn’t want a Chinaman in the m ­ iddle of twenty million dollars’ worth of real estate.” David decides to meet with Dr. Lee a­ fter his wife loses their baby, due to the stress over their eviction. Dr. Lee is presented as well educated, well spoken, and well dressed; his class, the film suggests, overrides his vis­i­ble difference and makes him a sympathetic figure. When David approaches the building man­ag­er, he asks David if he is t­here “about the Chinaman.” Significantly, David corrects him: “A Chinaman is a man born in China. Dr. Lee is an American of Chinese extraction, which puts him on equal footing with you and me, ­unless one of your ancestors was called Pocahontas, which I doubt.” Even though Ahn appears in only two scenes, The Big Hangover marks an impor­ tant turning point in Hollywood films with the acknowl­edgment of American-­ born Chinese as Americans who deserve to be treated with the equality that their citizenship demands. In the “Analy­sis of Film Content” form, Ahn’s role is listed as “minor,” “sympathetic,” and—­under the column asking if the char­ acter is an American citizen—­the PCA reviewer says “yes.”72 None of ­these postwar films connected the crimes they depicted to China­ town, and Chinese Americans could easily have been excluded from the story altogether with l­ittle alteration. Instead, their inclusion is used to add a layer of exoticism to the films. Importantly, however, their inclusion also functions in a positive way by normalizing the presence of Chinese Americans in Amer­ ican society and presenting them as part of the fabric of postwar Amer­i­ca. Chi­ nese Americans are shown to be friendly, moral, and helpful—­a far cry from the criminals they embodied in ­silent and early sound films. They are also pre­ sented as hardworking citizens who help support the tourist industry (for exam­ ple, ­running respectable restaurants, nightclubs, and shops) and help white Americans out of trou­ble related to white crime. Most of t­ hese films nonethe­ less keep Chinese Americans almost exclusively in Chinatown, suggesting that their assimilation into American society is not complete and that their “other­ ness” compels them to live and work in the Chinese community. ­There ­were

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exceptions, however. As Amer­i­ca redefined its national and ethnic bound­ aries in the face and aftermath of World War II, American-­born Chinese—­ particularly educated professionals such as doctors and detectives—­were identified as contributing and valued citizens, and unlike their Chinatown cousins, they ­were shown to be living in and part of mainstream American society. In real­ity, Chinese American professionals had been kept out of the mainstream workforce for the most part before World War II, but in the post­ war years, government agencies and American companies alike changed their hiring practices to include Chinese Americans. As Chalsa Loo explains, “no other period was witness to such a reversal in the perception and status of Chinese Americans. The ‘aliens’ became ‘citizens.’ ”73 The following chapter explores the handful of films of the late 1930s and early 1940s that centered on Chinese American protagonists played by Asian American actors and shows how both w ­ ere presented as full-­blown American heroes.

8

Assimilating Heroism The Chinese American as American Action Hero Detective Charlie Chan is one of the rare examples of a Chinese character at the center of a classical Hollywood film and the protagonist with whom the mainstream filmgoer was aligned. Chan appeared in forty-­seven Hollywood films in the 1930s and 1940s, as well as a handful of Spanish-­and Chinese-­ language remakes, and his popularity led other Hollywood studios to produce series featuring imitators—­James Lee Wong, a Chinese detective, and Kentaro Moto, a Japa­nese agent. ­There has been much debate among scholars about ­whether Chan represents a positive image of Chinese masculinity: the detec­ tive is a hero, unlike the infamous villain Dr. Fu Manchu, and works to rein­ state social order on the side of the law; however, he is si­mul­ta­neously presented as a servant to Western interests and is played in yellowface by a white actor. Chan, Wong, and Moto are notable for being among the few Asian detectives to be featured in Hollywood film and particularly for being popu­lar enough to sustain series. Indeed, ­there has been only one Hollywood series about a Chi­ nese detective since the classical era, the Rush Hour films (Ratner 1998, 2001, and 2007) starring Detective Inspector Lee (Jackie Chan)—­and Lee notably is a Hong Kong detective, not a Chinese American one. While much scholar­ ship has addressed the prolific but problematic figure of Charlie Chan in terms of his embodiment of Chinese subjectivity and Hollywood’s racial politics, far less attention has been directed to the Chinese American detectives inspired 183

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by the Chan series who w ­ ere played by Asian American actors. Importantly, Hollywood filmmakers, w ­ hether consciously or not, made a distinction made between “Chinese” (a racial and national category) and “Chinese American” (an ethnic one). While members of the former group tended to be criminal­ ized for their cultural autonomy, members of the latter ­were lauded when they assimilated into mainstream culture. Asian and Chinese American detectives ­were still associated with crime, although they w ­ ere its investigators rather than its perpetrators, bringing typically white criminals to face American justice. As Shirley Lim explains, “The worth of Chinese American cultural citizen­ ship ha[d] heightened in the 1930s.”1 This facilitated not only the rise of cer­ tain Chinese American actors to leading roles in the 1930s but also, as this chapter discusses, the shift of Chinese American characters from the mar­ gins of the film narrative to the center. Roger Garcia argues that “­there are two Chinese Amer­i­cas—­natives and immigrants. . . . ​Native Chinese Ameri­ can cinematic heroes ­were few and far between, and mostly forgotten.”2 From the Chinese heroes portrayed by Sessue Hayakawa in the late 1910s to the Chinese American detectives played by Anna May Wong, Keye Luke, Philip Ahn, and Lotus Long in the late 1930s and early 1940s, casting of Asian Americans in leading roles and the foregrounding of Chinese American subjectivity ­were impor­tant, if uncommon, examples in de­cades when both ­were all but absent from the screen. While the character of the detective pro­ vided a space for the repre­sen­ta­tion and exploration of Chinese American subjectivity, the ethnic detective was required to sublimate their bicultural status in ­favor of their profession and its alignment to the interests of main­ stream Amer­i­ca. While classical Hollywood’s Chinese American detectives (like its Asian detectives) ­were considered most appealing and/or less threaten­ ing when assimilated, they (unlike Chan, Wong, and Moto) ­were aligned with decidedly American ideals of heroism, including sexuality and action.3 By the late 1930s, Chinese Americans, unlike foreign-­born Chinese, ­were depicted as assimilable, heroic, and therefore fi­nally American.

Asian Detectives in Amer­i­ca In 1925, the Saturday Eve­ning Post launched a series written by Earl Derr Big­ gers that featured Charlie Chan, an acculturated Chinese detective in the Honolulu Police Department, who would prove to be “arguably the first non­ white popu­lar detective in literary history.”4 Biggers was surprised by the pop­ ularity of Chan, as he had been concerned about the response on the part of Americans to the benign portrayal of a Chinese character.5 Chan appeared in Hollywood films soon ­after his debut in fiction; he was, however, only a minor character played by the Japa­nese American actor George Kuwa in the ten-­part Pathé serial The House without a Key (Bennet 1926), by the Japa­nese American

Assimilating Heroism  •  185

actor Sôjin Kamiyama in the s­ ilent feature The Chinese Parrot (Leni 1927), and by the Korean American actor E. L. Park (with a British accent) in the early sound film ­Behind That Curtain (Cummings 1929). It seems that while films ­were ­silent, and so too their Asian heroes, they could be played by Asian actors; however, once sound had become the new industry standard, Chan would be recast in yellowface. Two years l­ater the detective was promoted to lead investi­ gator in Charlie Chan Carries On (MacFadden 1931) but this time he was played by the Swedish-­born Warner Oland. Oland played the Chinese detective in six­ teen films u­ ntil his death in 1938. Sidney Toler then played Chan in twenty-­two installments u­ ntil his death in 1947, a­ fter which Roland Winters played Chan in the last six films. Chan was characterized as ste­reo­typically Chinese through his quiet and controlled manner, halting En­glish, and tendency to offer pearls of Confucian wisdom during his investigations. For example, in Charlie Chan at the Circus (Lachman 1936), Chan allays a police detective’s fear that the criminal might strike again by saying: “No cause for hurry now. E ­ nemy who misses mark, like serpent, must coil to strike again.” He applied his aphorisms—­which became known as “Chanisms,” “Chanograms,” or “Biggerisms”—to ­human nature and also criminal investigation.6 “Facts like photographic film,” Chan explains in Charlie Chan at the Opera (Humberstone 1937). “Must be exposed before developing.”7 The Chinese detective flourished on the screen during the 1930s as part of a wider proliferation of B film detective series. Each series had a specific star attached to the role of the detective protagonist, and often ­those stars would carry on as other detectives for the studio if a par­tic­u­lar series came to an end. For example, William Powell played Philo Vance and Nick Charles, and George Sanders played the Saint and then the Falcon. ­These prenoir detectives repre­ sented an adaptation of the British-­style sleuth (wealthy, suave, and witty) to the American urban environment.8 For Hollywood, ­there was an association between “un-­Americanness” and villainy (which persists even ­today) and, before being cast as detective heroes, both Powell and Sanders found themselves play­ ing Hollywood villains. Similarly, before playing Hollywood’s Asian detec­ tives Chan, Wong, and Moto, the actors Warner Oland, Boris Karloff, and Peter Lorre had played Hollywood villains.9 Oland had played Asian villains in the serials Patria (Wharton, Wharton, and Jaccard 1917) and The Lightning Raider (Seitz 1919) and then Fu Manchu in four films for Paramount. Karloff had played Fu Manchu in The Mask of Fu Manchu (Brabin 1932), and Lorre had played a psychopathic child killer in the internationally renowned M (Lang 1931). For ­these stars, a history of playing villains did not associate them with traditional notions of American heroism, and their Asian detectives w ­ ere regarded as “Oriental” versions of the En­g lish sleuth Sherlock Holmes. For example, a review of Think Fast, Mr. Moto (Foster 1937) describes Mr. Moto as “the Japa­nese super-­sleuth,” and a review of Mr. Moto in Danger Island (Leeds

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1939) comments, “Lorre is again the suave, calmly-­calculating Sherlock Holmes.”10 As was the case with Holmes, the Asian detective’s status as a foreigner explained and disguised his superior deductive skills and suggested that the sleuth had acquired his wisdom from his “other” culture. Impor­ tantly for Hollywood, while the Asian detective’s “otherness” functioned to distance the viewer from the detective’s m ­ ental pro­cesses, that distance also functioned to prevent an apparently problematic overidentification with his being “other.” Oscar Rimoldi explains that for white audiences, Chan had “erudition with­ out arrogance, impeccable manners, perfectly tailored suits and a progeny of Chinese Americans totally in tune with the American way of life.”11 For Chinese American audiences, however, Jun Xing argues that Chan was “institutional­ ized as the nonthreatening Asian (read: a physical wimp, a sexual deviant, and a po­liti­cal yes-­man).”12 While Chan’s expertise as a detective may be a result of his Chinese understanding of h ­ uman nature, his appeal to white audiences was the fact that he was a polite, soft-­spoken, well-­groomed ­family man who had ­adopted middle-­class American values. Indeed, Chan is regarded as just as much a ste­reo­type as the yellow peril villain Fu Manchu, although the two embody opposing values: Chan was the “model minority,” a successfully assimilated immigrant.13 As Karla Rae Fuller argues, “the archetype [of the ‘Oriental detective’] survives as a cinematic depiction that is si­mul­ta­neously novel and yet deeply conventional. ­These movie characters served the cultural status quo while appearing to modify it.”14 In other words, through the Asian detective, Hollywood could si­mul­ta­neously proffer the on-­screen repre­sen­ta­ tion and characterization of the “other” and neutralize any supposed threat that the repre­sen­ta­tion might create through vari­ous strategies of containment. Referring to African Americans on screen, Ed Guerrero argues that “Hol­ lywood has deployed a variety of narrative and visual ‘strategies of containment’ that subordinate the Black image and subtly reaffirm dominant society’s tra­ ditional racial order”—­including the denial of sexuality, community, and the ability to perform actions.15 Similarly, any potential cross-­racial threat that clas­ sical Hollywood’s Asian detective might be feared to invite was contained through the employ of ­these strategies. The model minority detective as embod­ ied by Chan and Wong was nonassertive, the opposite of what was tradition­ ally considered masculine or American. So despite his wife and brood of ­children (beginning the series with eleven and ending it with fourteen), Chan—­ like Moto and Wong—­was denied romantic moments with w ­ omen. Impor­ tantly, this asexualization and containment also denied the detectives the opportunity to be men of action—­and action (then and now) is a key determi­ nant of American heroism.16 The Asian detective’s impeccable manners and appearance, deferential be­hav­ior, intellectualism, and lack of sexuality marked

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him as un-­A merican. Nonetheless, he was intended by film producers to be, and to be recognized by audiences as, a hero—­just an exotic one. Critics and scholars have questioned w ­ hether the positioning of a member of an ethnic minority group in a mainstream heroic role constitutes a positive repre­sen­ta­tion. Gina Macdonald and Andrew Macdonald suggest that ­these Asian detectives represent “faux ethnicity”—­a “ste­reo­typed exploitation of the exotic rather than being serious explorations of the experience of the Other.”17 On the one hand, it can be argued that the detective is portrayed as a hero: he occupies the center of the narrative, his investigation drives the narrative for­ ward, he solves the mystery, and he brings the criminal to justice. On the other hand, his repre­sen­ta­tion is color-­blind: t­ here is no consideration of the charac­ ter’s ethnicity or exploration of the racism that he would encounter as a mem­ ber of a minority group in mainstream society. For example, the original script for Charlie Chan at the Opera reveals that it was not intended to be a Chan picture: the film, originally called Murder in the Opera, initially featured a white American detective called Craddock.18 The first two Monogram films starring Roland Winters as Chan—­The Chinese Ring (Beaudine 1947) and Docks of New Orleans (Abrahams 1948)—­are remakes with few alterations of Mr. Wong in Chinatown (Nigh 1939) and Mr. Wong, Detective (Nigh 1938), respectively. Sim­ ilarly, when Oland died suddenly in 1938, the next script in the Chan series, Charlie Chan at the Ringside, was reworked into Mr. Moto’s G ­ amble (Tinling 1938), retaining many “Chanisms” and also Chan’s “Number One Son” (Keye Luke).19 Such interchangeability between American (Craddock) and Chinese (Chan), or Chinese (Chan) and Japa­nese (Moto), detectives highlights Holly­ wood’s lack of re­spect for the specificity of dif­fer­ent racial subjectivities. One of the criticisms leveled at Hollywood by scholars is that Asian detec­ tive films did not make a serious attempt to acknowledge the racism that such characters would have met with in American society at the time. Ken Hanke argues that Chan was allowed much more agency in Biggers’s novels than he was in the films—­including making a cutting comment when someone casts him a hostile look: “The mere idea of Warner Oland’s Charlie Chan speaking that line is ludicrous in the extreme. It is far too ­great a liberty to even con­ sider.”20 Hanke argues that at Monogram and played by Sidney Toler, however, Chan “began to be openly contemptuous of his suspects and superiors. The ­later Toler films featured a Charlie Chan that could, frankly, border on being down­ right offensive, though always in a slightly self-­effacing manner.”21 However, I would point out that even the earliest Oland films acknowledged that Chan—­ although a famous detective—­often was treated with ignorance and disre­ spect. For example, in Charlie Chan at the Opera, Chan’s meeting with the police is used to highlight Inspector Regan’s re­spect for Chan—­and Sergeant Kelly’s contempt:

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REGAN:  ​Kelly, you stay h ­ ere. It might do you a l­ ittle good to meet a real

detective. Ask Mr. Chan to come in.22

K EL LY:  ​Wait a minute! You ­haven’t called “Chop Suey” in on the case, have

you, Chief? REGAN:  ​No . . . ​but it’s not a bad idea. And take your hat off. You can learn a

­little politeness from the Chinese, too. CHAN:  ​[entering and bowing] Thank you so much. Honorable f­ ather once say,

“Politeness, golden key that open many door.”

An early outline for the film demonstrates more insight in terms of Chan’s reac­ tion to this situation, as Chan meets with Inspector Collins and Sergeant Kelly: “He is greeted with plea­sure obviously tinged with re­spect on the part of Collins, who pres­ents him in turn to the faintly amused detective, Kelly. Chan gives him a second look. He is quite aware that in Kelly he meets one who is not quite prepared to give the usual respectful attention he receives. Chan, in his usual ­humble fashion, explains that his visit is merely social—he is calling to pay his re­spects to his old friend, Detective Collins.”23 The inspec­ tor proceeds to praise Chan on his success with his last notorious case, and Chan replies “with humility.” Such access to Chan’s inner thoughts is absent in the final film, but it is in­ter­est­ing that the screenwriters note Chan’s aware­ ness of o­ thers’ reactions to him. Similarly, in Charlie Chan Carries On, a scene appears in an outline that highlights not only the issue of race but also that of racism in American society: MRS. LUCE:  ​You know, Mr. Chan, the Chinese are my favorite race. CHAN:  ​­A fter your own, of course. MRS. LUCE:  ​[shaking her head] Not at all, I’ve just been cooped up in close

quarters with my own for four months and I repeat—­they are a ­grand ­people—­the Aristocrats of the East—­but you know all that. CHAN:  ​[smiling] All I know I do not speak. Appreciation such as yours makes ­music to my ears. We are always so highly valued in United States, where we are appraised as laundrymen, or maybe villains in the lit­er­a­ture of talkative films.24

This speech, however, does not make it to the “First Draft” of the screenplay, and the w ­ hole scene between Chan and Mrs. Luce has been axed by the “Sec­ ond Draft.”25 It is in­ter­est­ing that some scriptwriters wanted to address issues like racial injustice and ignorance, even if producers and studios did not. The scenes about racial prejudice that did remain in the films w ­ ere used to make audiences sympathize with the detective. For example, in The Mystery of Mr. Wong (Nigh 1939), Captain Street (Grant Withers) assumes that the but­ ler is guilty of something b­ ecause he is Chinese. Street remarks, “I won­der how

Assimilating Heroism  •  189

much that Chinaman ­really knows.” Mr. Wong, the detective, draws attention to Street’s presumption about the Chinese with his reply, “The ways that are dark and tricks that are vague.” Street looks somewhat abashed at having insulted Wong by extension and mutters awkwardly, “You know what I mean, Wong.” Interestingly, in Charlie Chan in Shanghai (Tinling 1935), Chinese cul­ ture is privileged over American. At the banquet held in honor of Chan’s arrival in China, the speech of the white mayor is given in En­glish, but that of the Chinese elder and Chan’s lengthy reply are not translated or subtitled. A group of white journalists on the sidelines ask the only Chinese reporter what they missed. He replies that Chan’s lengthy reply was the equivalent of “thank you.” The film substantiates the white presumption that Chinese is a “flowery” language that takes many more words to express a ­simple phrase than En­glish does; the joke, nevertheless, is ­really on the Western characters and audience who lack the ability to access this other culture. By not offering a translation of the elder’s speech or Chan’s response, the film denies the mainstream audi­ ence information and, in d­ oing so, makes them aware of Chan’s other—­but, in China, privileged—­perspective. While ­these moments suggest recognition on the part of Hollywood pro­ ducers of American racism against Chinese, the lingering cultural conception of Chan is that he was a racial ste­reo­type. Indeed, a Charlie Chan film festival was planned for the Fox Movie Channel in the summer of 2003 but was almost canceled a­ fter complaints ­were received from Chinese American groups and civil rights organ­izations about the films as perpetrating racist ste­reo­types and casting white actors in Chinese roles. The festival was sal­vaged through the addition of wraparound commentary segments that featured panel discussions on racial insensitivity in film.26 Critics, however, remained critical of Chan, and as Herman Wong argues, “the ultimate racial taunt is still Charlie himself, right ­there on the screen, played by whites in yellow-­face, and with all t­ hose ludicrous mannerisms. No, Charlie Chan was never our role model. He remains an incredulous screen token.”27 Despite concerns of racism, some film historians have defended Chan as a positive repre­sen­ta­tion b­ ecause he appeared in an era that was other­wise devoid of Chinese protagonists. Even the Chinese Ameri­ can actors who played Chan’s sons in the series have defended the character. In 1977, the Chinese Historical Society of Southern California honored the actors Benson Fong, Keye Luke, and Victor Sen Yung for their achievements in the film industry, and the three w ­ ere asked to reflect on their c­ areers, includ­ ing playing Chan’s sons. Luke explained: I had the ­great plea­sure and honor of working with Warner Oland. I never thought of him as being non-­Chinese. He was Swedish and Finnish, and . . . ​ told me his ­whole ­family had this Chinese appearance facially, and that they got it by way of the Mongolian invasions! . . . ​In fact, he spoke his Chinese

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dialogue himself in the Chan films. . . . ​I felt the Chan pictures w ­ ere a credit to the Chinese p­ eople. Before this, only menacing pictures of Chinatown w ­ ere shown—­opium dens, slave girls, hatchetmen, climaxed by the arch-­villain Fu Manchu. Charlie Chan came along and erased that image and spread through­ out the world a much better picture of the Chinese.28

Importantly, however, in 1986 Luke argued that the character of Chan was “dated and cannot be revived.”29 Yung also defended the yellowface per­for­ mances of Chan: “As for my personal opinion—­I ­didn’t think that ­there was an actor of Chinese ancestry who was capable of d­ oing the role as well as War­ ner Oland, Sydney [sic] Toler, or Roland Winters. ­These three actors had a name and identity which the studios could capitalize on by starring them in other roles. I had no objection to them being Caucasian. To me, they ­were portray­ ing a ‘Chinese role.’ ”30 Indeed, stardom was cited by the producer Jerry Sher­ lock as the reason for the controversial casting of white star Peter Ustinov in Charlie Chan and the Curse of the Dragon Queen (Donner 1981).31 As Hanke argues, “the fact that Charlie was always portrayed (in the series proper) by a white man is another sore spot, but one that is part and parcel of the star system.”32 While stars’ appeal to film-­goers may have been the reason for casting whites in Chinese roles, it did not excuse the systemic racism that yellowface casting indicated. And if stardom is the reason why Asian American actors could not be cast as Asian detectives like Chan, Wong, and Moto, then how could Asian American actors have been cast as Chinese American detectives in D ­ aughter of Shanghai (Florey 1937), When ­Were You Born (Mc Gann 1938), and Phantom of Chinatown (Rosen 1940)? I argue that it was not b­ ecause Wong, Ahn, Luke, or Long had achieved a certain level of stardom, but ­because the detectives they played ­were not Chinese (in other words, foreigners) but Chinese Americans, and therefore citizens.

­Silent Precursor: Sessue Hayakawa Sessue Hayakawa’s ­career began with The Cheat (DeMille 1915), and he even­ tually became as popu­lar as Charlie Chaplin, William S. Hart, and Douglas Fairbanks Sr., making him one of the few nonwhite actors to achieve stardom at the time.33 The Tong-­Man (Worthington 1919) was produced by Haworth Pictures, the production com­pany that Hayakawa had cofounded, as a star vehi­ cle for him, and all reviews of the film highlighted his per­for­mance in the lead role as Luk Chan, an opium smuggler and tong hatchet man. The film intro­ duces Luk as he enters a gambling h ­ ouse: he peers around slyly, with a cigarette between his lips, before he suddenly aims his hatchet and throws it at a man sleeping in a chair by the door. His aim is true, and the hatchet lands where he

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intended: next to the man’s head to wake him up, not harm him. Luk laughs heartily at the man’s fright; the film, however, does not just pres­ent Luk as a skilled assassin with a sense of humor. By the end of the film, Luk is presented in terms typically used only for white American heroes—as a romantic lead and man of action who follows his moral compass rather than his o­ rders. In other words, he is a Chinese immigrant who attempts to take advantage of Amer­i­ ca’s possibilities and become a self-­made man, transgressing the social and racial limitations typically imposed on Chinese immigrants. Two other Chinese char­ acters in the film are also played by Japa­nese American actors—­Lucero (Yutaka Abe) and Louie Toy (Toyo Fujita)—­and both undergo similar trans­ formations from criminals to moral (in other words, American) men. Louie, a merchant who has accumulated his wealth from ­running a curio shop and participating in the opium trade, gives Lucero sanctuary ­a fter he murders a crooked gambler and then employment at the behest of his ­daughter, Sen Chee (Helen Jerome Eddy in yellowface). Lucero abandons his life of crime and works hard to earn the re­spect of Louie, as well as to help Sen Chee and Luk have a happy ending. The film firmly contrasts the young Chinese Americans—­Luk, Sen Chee, and Lucero—­with old-­fashioned Chinese like Louie and corrupt Chinese like Ming Tai (Marc Robbins in yellowface). Sen Chee and Luk have fallen in love, and to explain their relationship to a mainstream audience in familiar terms, a title card identifies Sen Chee as the “Juliet of Chinatown” (the two also ren­ dezvous on her balcony). The lovers are star-­crossed ­because the head of the Bo Sing tong, Ming Tai, has informed Louie of his desire to marry the merchant’s ­daughter. Meanwhile, Luk is working on a deal to make him rich enough to “go to China, where [he] w ­ ill no longer be Luk, tong-­man and outcast, but a merchant prince”—­and he wants to take Sen Chee with him. Unfortunately, Ming Tai discovers the young lovers’ relationship. He ­orders Louie’s death and then rigs the se­lection of the assassin, choosing Luk to ensure that Sen Chee ­will not want to marry him ­after he kills her f­ ather. As an honorable Chinese man and tong member, Luk tries to fulfill his duty; however, as a modern and moral American, he has to refuse the order. This forces Ming Tai to hatch a new plan: he informs Louie that Luk plots to kill him, but, in exchange for Sen Chee’s hand in marriage, Ming Tai would spare Louie and arrange Luk’s death. When Sen Chee discovers that she has been promised to Ming Tai, she attempts to commit suicide by inhaling poisoned incense. Luckily, Luk arrives just in time to save her and, when her ­father sees what his actions have caused, he swears to renege on his deal with Ming Tai. By the ­middle of the film, the film shows Luk abandoning Chinese tradi­ tion and adopting the morals of modern Amer­i­ca. In the final act, the film goes a step further, presenting Luk as an American action hero who can save Sen Chee and see justice served against Ming Tai. ­A fter Luk defies his ­orders from

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the tong, he becomes a target, and a Bo Sing member fires shots at him in the street. Luk leaps into action, taking two Bo Sing members by the neck and keep­ ing them between him and the shooter. Then, Luk climbs up a fire escape, exchanging fire with Bo Sing members before ­running over the rooftops of Chi­ natown, dodging bullets from both tong members and the police. When he runs out of rooftop with the cops hot on his tail, Luk jumps down a story and takes cover ­behind a skylight. While the jump deters the initial group of police from following, two ­others approach from below, forcing Luk to beat a hasty retreat through an access hatch into the tong headquarters. Down in the t­ emple room, Luk finds himself ­under fire once more, and he would be shot if it ­were not for the arrival of Lucero, who dispatches the ­enemy. The next day, Louie also finds the courage to defy Ming Tai, but “the Spider” murders Louie and kidnaps Sen Chee. Scaling the rooftops again, Luk—­this time accompanied by Lucero—­locates Ming Tai and Sen Chee and literally leaps into action once again, this time smashing through the skylight using his tong hatchet. Although Ming Tai soon gets the upper hand and threatens to kill Sen Chee ­unless Luk signs a confession for Louie’s murder, Luk proves fast and clever, managing to escape. When the police show up, Ming Tai sends them onto the rooftops a­ fter Luk and Lucero, but Luk uses the same route as before, this time taking Sen Chee to hide in the tong’s ­temple. While the ­couple await Lucero’s return with tickets for a boat to China, Ming Tai discovers their hiding place in the dragon statue. Just when it seems the ­couple w ­ ill perish at the hand of their ­enemy, Lucero comes to the rescue and shoots Ming Tai. The film ends with the lovers and their ally, Lucero, leaving Chinatown for China. While Luk’s ability to take physical action against injustice and save the damsel in distress indicate that this Chinese man is a true and moral American hero, he is unable to stay in Amer­i­ca b­ ecause of the enemies he has made in his Chinatown tong.34 The depiction of Luk as an action hero as a deviation in the repre­sen­ta­tion of Chi­ nese Americans onscreen did not go unnoticed at the time, and one reviewer identified Hayakawa as “an Oriental Douglas Fairbanks”—­thus, aligning the Japa­nese American actor with a white American icon.35 The Tong-­Man is an impor­tant film for its repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinatown and Chinese immigrants. While other films depicted San Francisco’s Chinatown as a rabbit warren of crowded and dirty alleys, shops, and passages, The Tong-­ Man pres­ents it as a bright and lively space where Chinese immigrants have thrived—­even if by breaking American laws. The ­temple of Bo Sing, the shop of Louie, and the home of Ming Tai are all opulent spaces, decorated with rich silks, hardwoods, objets d’art, and shiny metals. Only Ming Tai’s gambling club and the street by daylight appear rough and s­ imple. According to one reviewer, “Chinamen transplanted prove to be as Oriental as nature intended them to be, and all the glamor and tinsel of the bizarre settings and customs makes ‘the Tong Man’ one of the most in­ter­est­ing of photoplays.”36 While the reviewer

Assimilating Heroism  •  193

might be correct about the “bizarre settings and customs,” he is wrong about the repre­sen­ta­tion of all of the “Chinamen.” The film does depict tongs and Chinatown residents who adhere to the traditional ways of Chinese culture as immoral, heathen, and criminal, but it also pres­ents immigrants who embrace American values. Despite being an opium dealer and an assassin, Luk is pre­ sented as a romantic and honorable hero, willing to risk his life both for love and a chance at becoming a self-­made, in­de­pen­dent, and modern man and achieving the American Dream. This is in direct contrast to the kind of leading Asian man Hayakawa had played in The Cheat, a role he is often most associated with t­ oday. Interestingly, at times, in his Mandarin-­collared tunic, fedora hat, and carry­ing a gun instead of a hatchet, Luk resembles another heroic figure of the time—­a Canadian Mountie. Certainly, he is depicted as an American-­style hero, a man of action who wields a gun and uses his fist as readily as a Chinese hatchet, and one who is permitted to perform an extended and exciting action sequence to confirm his abilities. Similarly, although to a lesser extent, Lucero is depicted as an honorable and action-­type hero who uses his skills to help his friends. Hayakawa’s Luk and Abe’s Lucero would remain the exceptions for almost twenty years, u­ ntil the actors Luke and Ahn played action-­oriented Asian American heroes in the late 1930s and early 1940s. While Luke and Ahn would play Chinese American detectives working to uphold white laws, Luk is a crim­ inal hero in the The Tong-­Man. While casting Luk as an opium smuggler and tong hatchet man might be regarded by some critics and scholars as an exam­ ple of a negative ste­reo­type, ­others would argue that it is a more empowering role than Charlie Chan—­a physical wimp, sexual deviant, and po­liti­cal yes-­ man. For example, the Japa­nese American actor Cary-­Hiroyuki Tagawa had this to say about his playing Asian villains in films such as Mortal Kombat (Anderson 1995): “I’ve been criticized for playing bad guys by dif­fer­ent p­ eople within the Chinese/Chinese American community b­ ecause they feel that it puts us in a bad light. In Hollywood . . . ​you had a choice of playing wimpy busi­ nessmen or evil bad guys. The worst ­thing I could do is play a bad guy and be a wimpy bad guy, which is what I grew up with. And my intention was, if I am ­going to choose between a wimpy businessman and playing a bad guy, I’m g­ oing to play a bad guy b­ ecause I got balls. . . . ​A nd I want kids to grow up to know that Chinese men got balls.”37 Hayakawa’s Luk and Abe’s Lucero may have been criminals, but, importantly, they are empowered. And Luk abandons his crim­ inal ways to become an American hero. Th ­ ere is of course an added irony that one of the few films to attempt to offer meaningful subjectivity to its Chinese characters did so using Japa­nese American actors. In the ­silent era, the Ameri­ can film industry had more and better-­known actors of Japa­nese descent than of Chinese, and with Hayakawa being a bona fide film star, it is not surprising that he should be the film’s leading Chinese character. In addition, since the

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star (Hayakawa) and the director (William Worthington) produced the film, the casting choices w ­ ere made not out of ignorance but by design. It is intriguing that Hayakawa knew he might have success playing Chinese characters, with Chinatown crime films being popu­lar at the time.38 In Amer­i­ca, the Chinese ­were the most vis­i­ble of the Asian populations, and b­ ecause they offered a space of physical and cultural protection for Chinese immigrants, China­ towns w ­ ere the focus of white American anxiety about Asian immigration. A reviewer for Motion Picture News seemed to sum up the public’s general reaction to Hayakawa’s Chinese roles by writing about Li Ting Lang (Swick­ ard 1920) that “Hayakawa [is] at his best as [an] Americanized Chinaman.”39 Hayakawa’s star persona provided a strong foundation for the message of Luk’s Americanization in The Tong-­Man. As Daisuke Miyao explains, Jesse L. Lasky at Paramount Pictures had employed a strategy of “Americanization and gen­ trification” in terms of Hayakawa’s image by focusing on his ­family life and life­ style as a star.40 Hayakawa’s persona, however, also included his image as an American action hero. For example, he was one of Hollywood’s stars who was repeatedly called upon to help promote patriotism during World War I. As the documentary The Moving Picture Boys in the ­Great War (Ward 1975) shows, ­after a screening of films featuring anti-­German sentiment, Hayakawa came out on stage, in uniform and with the American flag ­behind him, to congratu­ late the audience for supporting the successful war effort. Hayakawa said to the audience, as a subtitle in the footage of the screening reveals, “I am not talking to the man near you—­but to you—­the real American.”41 He was also enlisted, along with “Amer­i­ca’s sweetheart,” Mary Pickford, to sell war bonds. Hayakawa was clearly associated with the modern in his films. For exam­ ple, the cover of Picture-­Play showed two stills from Where Lights Are Low (Campbell 1921) and the title “Jazz and Jujutsu.” The caption for the cover read, “Our Griffiths and De Milles may scour the seven seas and ­every obscure coun­ try encompassed by them in search of strange contrasting effects for their screen paintings—­they have nothing on Sessue Hayakawa. Into a picture that breathes the very spirit of the Orient . . . ​he has put the most Occidental of all Occidental institutions—­the jazz orchestra, with real Chinese musicians, by the way.”42 One of the stills depicts a group of five Chinese musicians in tradi­ tional Chinese dress playing brass instruments; the other shows Hayakawa in an action sequence, standing on a win­dow ledge. According to Peter Stanfield, “Jazz represents both an ultra modernity in its headlong rush into a ­f uture devoid of tradition . . . ​and an attachment to the premodern world signaled in the idea of jungle rhythms in the slave ­music of the southern United States and, still further back, to Africa.”43 Despite having been born in Japan, Hayakawa is firmly associated with modern American m ­ usic and exciting American action in Where Lights Are Low. While the message of The Tong-­Man was that Chi­ nese immigrants could be modern Americans and act heroically by breaking

Assimilating Heroism  •  195

with Chinese tradition, the film ends with its hero returning to China rather than remaining in the United States, implying that assimilation could not guar­ antee happiness. Hayakawa left the United States along with the majority of other Japa­nese American actors in the mid-1920s ­after the passing of the Immigration Act in 1924. He returned, however, just as Hollywood transitioned into the sound era and, once again, appeared in Hollywood films as a Chinese man. In D ­ aughter of the Dragon (Corrigan 1931), Hayakawa plays a detective who is identified as Chinese but not Chinese American. Although the film’s story could easily have taken place in an American setting, ­there is no exploration of his position in society other than presenting him as a detective—­with the assumption that his profession makes him respected and accepted. At the beginning of this book, I explained that its focus was on American films set in, almost exclusively, American Chinatowns. H ­ ere, however, I make an exception, since my discus­ sion of Asian American detectives would be incomplete without addressing Hayakawa’s detective hero. ­Daughter of the Dragon is a typical murder mystery set in an En­glish manor ­house and London’s Chinatown. Since ­there is noth­ ing specifically British in terms of the film’s themes, it could just as readily have been set in American mansion and American Chinatown. Indeed, the China­ town in the film bears all the hallmarks of San Francisco’s, with a basement lair leading to a hidden gambling h ­ ouse, a dungeon, and a series of subterra­ nean passages and chambers. The film stars Warner Oland as Dr. Fu Manchu in yellowface, but also Anna May Wong as his ­daughter, Princess Ling Moy, and Hayakawa as Ah Kee, a Chinese detective determined to bring the Orien­ tal villain down. Although no longer a big film star or producer, Hayakawa brings to his Chinese detective the same traits that had made The Tong-­Man’s Luk such a groundbreaking character: like Luk, Ah Kee is intelligent, attrac­ tive, and a man of heroic action.44 While Ah Kee is on-­screen for much of the film, he has surprisingly few lines of dialogue, likely ­because Hayakawa’s accent was deemed too thick for audiences to interpret easily. The preface to ­Daughter of the Dragon explains that Fu Manchu became “demented” ­after the accidental death of his wife and son in the Boxer Rebel­ lion and that he now seeks revenge by wiping out the entire ­family of the man he holds responsible, General Petrie. Princess Ling Moy, an aristocrat and “cel­ ebrated Oriental dancer” (as her promotional poster at the theater declares), meets the general’s son, Ronald Petrie (Bramwell Fletcher), and is invited to the Petrie manor. Meanwhile, Ah Kee informs Scotland Yard that although Fu Manchu was believed to have been killed twenty years earlier, he is in London to exact his revenge on the Petries. Ah Kee and Scotland Yard’s Sir Basil Court­ ney (Lawrence Grant) arrive at the Petries’ in time to see Fu Manchu appear on the upper landing with the ­family patriarch, Sir John (Holmes Herbert), ­under the Oriental villain’s mind control. Ah Kee is quick to act, drawing a

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gun on Fu Manchu, but the villain warns Ah Kee that the loud report of a pis­ tol could scare Sir John to death, given his drugged state. The cruel Fu Man­ chu then claps his hands together loudly, causing Sir John to collapse and fall down the stairs, dead. When Fu Manchu pulls a dagger from his sleeve to strike Ronald, Ah Kee reacts immediately and shoots Fu Manchu in the chest. While the f­ amily tends to Sir John’s body in the living room, Ling Moy’s man­ag­er, Morloff (Nicholas Soussanin), helps the wounded Fu Manchu escape through a secret passage to Morloffs’ home next door, where Ling Moy awaits her ­father. Ah Kee leads the group next door, and when he sees Fu Manchu poised over Ling Moy with a dagger drawn, the Chinese detective coolly fires one shot, fell­ ing the Oriental villain. While it would seem that the yellow peril evil has been quashed, Ling Moy now hatches a plan whereby she, as Fu Manchu’s “man-­daughter,” can regain the ­family’s honor. In the meantime, Ronald has fallen in love with Ling Moy and begs her not to leave for South Amer­i­ca to continue her tour. He does not seem to mind that she is Chinese; rather, it is she who seems concerned about their racial difference. She asks, “If I stay, would my hair ever become golden curls and my skin ivory like Ronald’s?” Ronald’s fiancée, Joan Mar­ shall (Frances Dade), is aware of his attraction to Ling Moy. When she announces to Ronald that tea is ready, she adds, “Of course, it’s the unspiced En­g lish variety”—­implying that Ling Moy’s Chineseness makes her seem “spicier” than Joan. When Fu Manchu’s advisor, Lu Chung (E. Alyn Warren in yellowface), asks Ling Moy if she is torn between her heart (Ronald) and her duty (Fu Manchu), she assures him that she is just putting on an “illu­ sion” to hide her true goal. Nevertheless, the viewer won­ders if she is con­ vinced by her own words. Adding to the love triangle, Ah Kee has also fallen for Ling Moy and hopes that they can deepen, what he terms, their “friend­ ship.” Love, the film suggests, offers Ling Moy the opportunity to abandon her traditional Chinese ways, including revenge, and assimilate to main­ stream life—­whether with white Ronald or assimilated Ah Kee. Ah Kee becomes suspicious of Lu Chung a­ fter the advisor visits the Lime­ house District. ­There, Ah Kee visits a Chinese grocer and receives a note, warn­ ing him to watch the Petrie ­house that night. ­Under the cover of darkness, Ling Moy is guided by Lu Chung through the secret passage between the Morloff and Petrie h ­ ouses and sneaks into Ronald’s room, planning to kill him. Her love for him is evident as she first strokes his hair, but her duty to her ­father apparently wins out, and she raises a dagger to strike. She leaves Ronald’s room just as Lu Chung spies Ah Kee and knocks him unconscious. When Ah Kee wakes, he discovers that Ronald is still alive: evidently, Ling Moy’s heart has won out over her sense of duty. Back at the Morloff ­house, however, she expresses disappointment in her inability to act and attempts to commit suicide. Lu Chung stops her, and she renews her vow to pursue her ­father’s

Assimilating Heroism  •  197

cause, including to seduce Ah Kee to lure him away from Ronald. For their date, Ah Kee is informed that Ling Moy would like him to wear a robe suitable to his rank back in China. When she sees him resplendent in his silk robe, she declares, “Your heart still bears the soft elegance of China.” In contrast, he explains, “I kneel, not to our customs, but to your beauty.” Ling Moy sings and plays a Chinese song for Ah Kee, who—­temporarily ­under her spell—­ begs her to return to China with him. The detective in Ah Kee, however, is observant enough to notice a hole in a painting, through which he then over­ hears Ling Moy and Lu Chung discussing ­whether Ah Kee needs to be killed. When Ah Kee accuses Ling Moy of poisoning his wine, she confesses that she is the d­ aughter of Fu Manchu and has a duty to her f­ ather. In turn, Ah Kee reminds her of his duty to punish murderers and then spectacularly swings back his Chinese robe to reveal his Western suit under­neath—­indicating that the assimilated detective is once again in charge and the Chinese lover has been cast aside. Ah Kee attempts to escape, and although he fights valiantly against Lu Chung’s henchmen, he is eventually subdued and taken prisoner. When Ah Kee fi­nally manages to loosen his bonds and open a win­dow, the pouring rain drowns out his cries of warning to the Scotland Yard men below. In a last-­ditch and very heroic attempt to stop the police from leaving, Ah Kee throws him­ self out of the top floor win­dow, sliding down the roof and coming to rest temporarily on the eaves before tragically falling two stories to the ground. Although injured, he informs the police that Ronald and Joan have been taken captive by Morloff in his Chinatown basement lair. Fu Manchu’s cor­ rupt blood now completes its takeover of his d­ aughter, and Ling Moy gives Ronald the choice of letting her burn away Joan’s face with acid or killing Joan himself with a knife. The police arrive in Chinatown just in time to save Ron­ ald from taking Joan’s life, but Lu Chung and Ling Moy escape through the secret passage. Back at the mansion, despite being mortally wounded and barely able to stand, Ah Kee is able to perform one last act of heroism: Ling Moy raises her arm to stab Ronald when his back is turned, but Ah Kee shoots the w ­ oman he loves. He slumps to the floor, and as he lies next to her, he declares his love for her before ­dying. ­Daughter of the Dragon was notable for having two leading Chinese char­ acters played by Asian American actors. Unfortunately, some reviewers pre­ ferred the yellowface casting of Oland and Warren. For example, the reviewer for Variety wrote, “Anna May Wong and other Orientals ­will find the g­ oing tough in talkies, b­ ecause they c­ an’t synchronize action with the white man’s tongue. Sessue Hayakawa [is] also d­ oing a comeback, but so far as the picture proves the white actors impersonating Orientals [Oland and Warren] seemed more the Chinese type than did the two principal Oriental players.”45 Luckily, other reviewers appreciated the rarity of having two Asian Americans in

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leading roles. For example, the reviewer for Hollywood Reporter wrote: “On the strength of its novelty alone, an exhibitor should have no trou­ble in putting over this one. Hayakawa still has a following among the older screen fans and Anna May Wong can be sold as one of the most startling and dif­fer­ent of exotic personalities.”46 More recently, a piece from Film Archive in 2000 summed up ­Daughter of the Dragon’s legacy: “ ‘Yellow Peril’ tropes are full-­blown in this fantasy of threat: wafting incense, luxuriant silks, subterranean tunnels, the knife clutched ­under ample Chinese sleeves. But ironically the film is best remembered ­today for its Asian American actors Anna May Wong and Sessue Hayakawa who bring migrating grace, subtlety and gravity to their ste­reo­ typed roles.”47 Indeed, the film was remarkable for the time, offering two key Chinese characters played by Asian American actors—­something that had not been seen since the early 1920s in Haworth films and would not be seen again ­until late in the 1930s. Despite its two Chinese protagonists, however, this typical murder mystery did not address issues of race or citizenship, unlike the films that followed at the end of the de­cade. In contrast, films like ­Daughter of Shanghai and Phantom of Chinatown explored questions about Chinese American assimilation as their stories of criminal investigations unfolded—­ investigations that ­were led by Chinese Americans and, importantly, not in pursuit of them.

“A Modern Copy”: Anna May Wong As Karen Leong explains, in the 1930s, Amer­i­ca began to see China in a new light—­“no longer as an alien and distant culture and land, but as a demonstra­ tion of the promise held by American democracy and culture to transform other nations.”48 American ideology ­imagined this new China through a “romanti­ cized, progressive, and highly gendered” lens—­what Leong dubs a “China mys­ tique.” Anna May Wong, as a modern Chinese American w ­ oman and film star, represented but also ­shaped the American public’s idea of the changing identi­ ties of both China and the United States (Figure 8.1).49 As Lim explains, the majority of scholarship on Wong, Hollywood’s only bona fide female Asian American star of the studio era, has focused on her roles as the dragon lady stereotype—­foreign and evil.50 In contrast, in King of Chinatown (Grinde 1939), Wong plays a surgeon offered a prestigious appointment who remains proud of her Chinese heritage, and Lim argues that the film “pioneered Chinese Amer­ ican ­women’s film roles.”51 King of Chinatown, however, was not the only one in which Wong played a leading role and a positive and groundbreaking character. In both ­Daughter of Shanghai and When ­Were You Born Wong plays Chinese American ­women who solve crimes where white male authority figures fail to. According to Leong, it was the development of Chan’s Chinese American sons as investigative assistants in the Charlie Chan series that inspired War­

Assimilating Heroism  •  199

FIG. 8.1  ​“Between Two Worlds”—­A nna May Wong, classical Hollywood’s only Chinese

American star, constructed her image as a modern Chinese ­woman—­exotic but, impor­ tantly, American. Photo from author’s collection.

ner Bros. to cast Anna May Wong as the investigator in When W ­ ere You Born.52 The film opens on an ocean liner traveling from China to San Francisco. An astrologer, Mary Ming (Wong), proves the validity of astrology by offering pas­ sengers readings and correctly identifying ­people’s character traits by their birth date or, alternatively, their zodiac sign by their physical and character traits.53 In one reading, Mary predicts the death of Phillip Corey (James Ste­ phenson), a man who runs an Oriental importing business with his Chinese

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business partner, Frederick Gow (Leonard Mudie in yellowface). Although Chinese American detective films like When ­Were You Born differed from Asian detective series by offering the main roles to Chinese American actors, their producers still felt it necessary to justify the involvement of Chinese Amer­ icans in the criminal cases in t­ hese films, and they did so by identifying t­ hese detectives as having knowledge of Chinese culture or Chinatown business. In other words, their expertise and success as detectives was dependent on their ethnicity as Chinese Americans. Inspector Gregg (Charles C. Wilson) explains to his sergeant that he wishes to question Mary about Corey’s murder, not ­because she is an astrologer but ­because she “is a Chinese girl . . . ​and Phillip Corey dealt in Chinese art.” Gregg thinks that Gow’s business is a front and asks Mary if she knows anything about her “countryman,” since he assumes that all Chinese Americans must know each other. Mary explains that although she and Gow live on the same block in Chinatown, she does not know him well. In the end, Gregg allows Mary to sit on interviews and review evidence, since she can assist “on the Oriental a­ ngle.” Importantly, Gow is played in yellowface, and since all the other Chinese characters in the film are played by Asian American actors—­including the ship’s waiter (Beal Wong), Corey’s h ­ ouse­keeper (uncredited), Gow’s manservant (uncredited), and Mary’s h ­ ouse­keeper (uncredited)—­this, in addition to the fact that his first name is Frederick, suggests that Gow is supposed to be Eur­ asian rather than specifically Chinese. Prob­ably to avoid prob­lems with the Pro­ duction Code Administration or Chinese consul, the film’s producers deci­ded to make the villainous Gow Eurasian, thus attributing his immoral nature to his being a product of unsanctioned miscegenation rather than Chinese eth­ nicity. Corey’s murder is followed by Gow’s, and the police suspect a Chinese killer ­because of the weapons used: Corey’s Chinese pistol and an air gun that can fire a sliver of jade. This leads the police initially to treat Mary as a suspect, but she is soon excluded as such and then proves useful by assisting the police in their investigation. The plot of When W ­ ere You Born is similar to that of a previous film from Warner Bros., From Headquarters (Dieterle 1933), except with astrology sub­ stituted for forensic science as the method used to solve a crime. When ­Were You Born goes to g­ reat lengths to establish the legitimacy of astrology as a simi­ lar kind of science, beginning with a lecture by a real-­life expert, Manley P. Hall, on whose story the film’s screenplay is based. Hall explains that many books prove the validity of astrology, including the history of ­Mother Shipton—­ who predicted the invention of planes and cars, the discovery of Amer­i­ca, and that ­women would one day cut their hair short and wear trousers. Hall then goes through the signs of the zodiac and the character traits associated with each sign. He ends the lecture explaining how astrology can help to solve crimes: “The story that follows is an example of one of the practical applications of

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astrology. A crime has been committed. Astrology can solve crime. It has solved many crimes in the past. Astrology is the strangest of the sciences, but it is a science.”54 Similarly, ­later in the film, a Chinese merchant tells a San Francisco police inspector: “You would do well to consider astrology yourself, Inspector, as an aid to crime detection. In China, it has officially been recognized for centuries. You would be amazed at what can be foretold.” Of course, t­ oday, astrology is not considered a science but, in the 1930s, it was the subject of a renewed interest and provided a novel premise for the film. When ­Were You Born pits the expertise of the astrologer against that of the police forensic scientist, Dr. Merton (Maurice Cass), who contributes impor­ tant information about stomach contents, fingerprints, hair samples, ballistics, and the crime scene. It is difficult to decide which of the two “sciences” solves the case, since many of the forensic results inform Mary’s solutions, and her results are as dependent on her personal history with the victim’s fiancée, Doris Kane (Margaret Lindsay), as they are on her ability to read astrological charts. Ultimately, however, Mary proves that the knowledge of h ­ uman nature can solve the crime, along with her knowledge of Chinese writing—­which leads her to discover that Gow’s letters in Corey’s safe are in a code and, like Chi­ nese writing, should be read from top to bottom (not left to right). The decoded letters reveal that Corey and Gow w ­ ere smuggling “Indian hemp,” or, as the police sergeant explains, they ­were “in the dope racket.” Mary also determines that the murderer of both Corey and Gow was a foreigner, Corey’s En­glish valet (Eric Stanley)—­but, importantly, not Chinese. Reviewers at the time ­were not surprised by the film’s featuring of a Chi­ nese American w ­ oman detective; instead, they saw her presence as an attempt to capitalize on the popularity of Hollywood’s Asian detectives. As Mildred Martin wrote in her review for the Philadelphia Inquirer‒Public Ledger: “With all due re­spect to Anna May Wong, we wish s­ he’d leave the solving of murder mysteries to Mr. Moto and Charlie Chan. ‘When W ­ ere You Born?’ new at the Stanton on Saturday, turns the beauteous Miss Wong into a lady sleuth with an astrological complex, a loquacious tongue and a habit of lecturing the audi­ ence and the film’s characters almost into a state of collapse.”55 Similarly, Archer Wisten commented in the Eve­ning Post, “Before she is through the police department of San Francisco is willing to call her papa, Philo, Charlie and Mr. Moto all in one breath.”56 By aligning with Mary with the pseudoscience of astrology, When ­Were You Born reduces her to an exotic, ce­re­bral, Asian detective like Chan, Wong, and Moto. Significantly, like Chan, Wong, and Moto, Mary was intended to be a series detective: Wong signed a contract with Warner Bros. in 1938 to play the star in an Oriental detective series, but When ­Were You Born was the only film made.57 More in­ter­est­ing, however, is D ­ aughter of Shanghai, in which Wong’s Chinese American protagonist is firmly identi­ fied as an American detective hero.

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­Daughter of Shanghai features not one but two Asian American actors in the leading roles. Surprisingly, reviewers at the time did not regard the lack of a white lead as problematic. In fact, the reviewer for Variety suggested that the film’s ties to current events could be used to attract audiences, describing the film as “ste­reo­type crime meller, with the Shanghai label pasted on as a sop to current interest in the Sino-­Jap fracas.”58 A Paramount studio memo from Har­ old Hurley confirmed this ploy: “I have talked with the Chinese consul regarding the Anna May Wong story, Across the River, and have received his approval on it. We wanted to use the title, ­Daughter of the Tong, on it, but the consul ­won’t go for it. We ­will need an action oriental type title for the pic­ ture.”59 Certainly the Paramount press sheet suggested that exhibitors should compare exotic Shanghai to “Blanktown” (that is, the exhibitor’s town).60 ­These suggestions are in­ter­est­ing, since the film’s action takes place in San Francisco and a fictional Central American island, Port O’Juan (a play on Puerto Rico and its capital San Juan)—­not in Shanghai. The press sheet also stressed the exposé ­angle in the film, regarding the fact that thousands of Chinese aliens ­were smuggled into the United States annually. In contrast, it also stressed the Americanness of Ahn and Wong, including the facts that Ahn did not speak Chinese (not mentioned is the fact that he was Korean American) and that Wong was born and went to high school in Los Angeles. Indeed, as the article pointed out, rather than use her Chinese first name, Liu Tsong, Wong went by an American name—­A nna May. Notably, at this time, Wong had achieved B-­level star status, as the production information for the film confirms: she was paid $4,167, while Charles Bickford got $1,750 (the second highest pay), and Ahn received $1,000.61 ­Daughter of Shanghai was based loosely on a story that had appeared in the Los Angeles Times in 1934 about an international smuggling ring, whose mem­ bers threw Chinese immigrants overboard to their deaths when the criminals saw that the Coast Guard was closing in on them.62 The film focuses on the investigation of an international smuggling ring by the d­ aughter of a China­ town merchant, Lan Ying Quan (Wong), and a government agent, Kim Lee (Ahn).63 Lan Ying’s ­father (Ching Wah Lee) has evidence of a smuggling racket, and to prevent him from handing it over to government agents, the smugglers seize the Quans and load their car, with the Quans in it, into the back of a trans­ port truck. When the criminals initially open fire, Mr.  Quan is shot and killed, but Lan Ying ducks and survives. Lan Ying proves herself to be an intel­ ligent young w ­ oman as she observes the villains and anticipates their moves. She realizes that their plan is to roll the car into the bay, so she slips out of it and hides. Then, while the villains watch the car sink below the surface of the ­water, she heads straight to the h ­ ouse of Mrs. Hunt (Cecil Cunningham), where her ­father was supposed to meet with Lloyd Burkett of the Immigration Bureau and Kim Lee of the Department of Justice.

Assimilating Heroism  •  203

Earlier, Lee had explained to Mrs. Hunt and Burkett that “the trou­ble with nearly every­one” in Chinatown is that “­they’re afraid to talk.” Lan Ying proves herself braver than “every­one” when she bursts in to Mrs. Hunt’s home and reports what has happened to Burkett. Importantly, Lan Ying is not only will­ ing to talk, but she is also willing to act: she decides to investigate the criminal racket on her own. Her bravery and ingenuity are tested as she travels around the Ca­rib­bean trying to locate the smuggler’s contact, Otto Hartman (Charles Bickford), and she eventually works undercover as a dancer at Hartman’s night­ club in Port O’Juan. Lee also arrives in Port O’Juan, working undercover for the smugglers, and is horrified to find Lan Ying ­there and in potential danger. He begs her to return home and promises to locate Hartman’s ledger, which they need for evidence, before returning to San Francisco on the smugglers’ ship. However, Lan Ying refuses to quit the case and also gets a job on the ship, disguised as a young male coolie. The two eventually discover that the head of the smuggling racket is none other than Mrs. Hunt—­notably, a wealthy white American. Both Lee and Lan Ying are presented as assimilated into American society: Lee is a government agent living in Washington, D.C., and Lan Ying makes a point to describe herself as an American. The film begins with Lan Ying mod­ eling an antique Chinese ensemble for Mrs. Hunt at the Quans’ Chinatown shop. Her appearance is so traditional that Mrs. Hunt assumes she is a man­ nequin and asks if the figure is “also antique.” Coming to life, as it ­were, Lan Ying turns to face her and answers, “Only a modern copy.” Mrs. Hunt suggests that Lan Ying would “make a perfect princess,” but the young ­woman replies, “I would rather be Lan Ying Quan, thank you”—in other words, a modern Chi­ nese American ­woman rather than an antiquated ideal of Chinese femininity. Indeed, as the film progresses, Lan Ying’s clothes become increasingly modern and Western. The film concludes with her ac­cep­tance of Lee’s proposal of mar­ riage, meaning that she w ­ ill leave b­ ehind her Chinatown community and ­father’s business to live in mainstream Washington society. Any threat that Lan Ying might represent to white men or audiences as an adventuress is contained through marriage to a Chinese American man. As Hye Seung Chung argues, “Ahn placated the mainstream spectatorial anxiety about white-­yellow misce­ genation by containing Anna May Wong’s sexuality within same-­race coupling.”64 Overall, the film is transgressive in terms of its repre­sen­ta­tion of race. As Lim explains, “Wong’s star persona on-­and off-­screen established a tension between a modern Western image and a ‘primitive’ or ‘de­cadent Chinese or Asian identity’ ” by deploying hybridity—­that is, blending Chinese and Amer­ ican traits.65 While Lim sees this hybridity as mainly being through Wong’s adoption of Eu­ro­pean manners, gestures, and speech patterns, Sean Metzger sees it in her wearing modern Chinese dress in her films: “Wong could fabri­ cate a vision of China that was, at times, wholly consistent with the U.S. drive

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for capital gain and the racial inequities such a drive might entail, while si­mul­ ta­neously articulating a pattern of re­sis­tance to the hegemonic system that so often abused her.”66 While Chinese detectives like Charlie Chan and Mr. Wong could embody a new modern kind of Chineseness through Western dress, they could not offer a subversion of the ste­reo­types they embodied b­ ecause the actors playing them ­were whites in yellowface. In contrast, Anna May Wong could, ­because she was Chinese American. In addition, while completing their sepa­ rate undercover investigations, Lee watches Lan Ying perform an exotic dance number, and they exchange what Chung calls the “gaze of recognition”: “The reciprocating, bilateral gaze mediates an ethnically codified ocular transaction that allows each to penetrate the ‘veil of the other,’ to see through the other’s role-­playing and masquerade.”67 In other words, t­ here is racial per­for­mance, but it is knowingly enacted to dupe the ignorant white villains. Lastly, t­ here are two key moments in ­Daughter of Shanghai in which the protagonists speak Cantonese, but their exchanges are not translated or subtitled for the main­ stream audience. This suggests a recognition and privileging of a Chinese/ American audience. The “Release Dialogue Script” provides an En­glish trans­ lation of the final exchange in Cantonese: L EE:  ​How would you like to live in Washington? L AN Y ING:  ​Perhaps the change of climate is just what I need. L EE:  ​Then it’s settled. L AN Y ING:  ​Does that mean ­you’re asking me to marry you? L EE:  ​[in Cantonese] What do you think? L AN Y ING:  ​[in Cantonese] I am very happy you love me.68

As the final two lines of dialogue would be incomprehensible to the film’s assumed mainstream audience, their inclusion could be argued to undermine the suggestion that Lee and Lan Ying are fully assimilated into American cul­ ture. Rather than belonging firmly to one side or the other, they are mediators between East and West, the traditional and the modern, and Asia and Amer­ i­ca. According to Chung, “in ­Daughter of Shanghai, Ahn and Wong disman­ tled Oriental ste­reo­types.”69 I argue that Keye Luke and Lotus Long do so too in Phantom of Chinatown.

A Dif­fer­ent Generation: Keye Luke Three years ­later, Luke, who played Charlie Chan’s “Number One Son” in eleven films, took over the lead role as the amateur sleuth, Mr. Wong, for Phantom of Chinatown, the last film in the Wong series.70 Unlike Karloff, who played the “Chinese” detective in yellowface, Luke was Chinese American. Ironically, however, Luke’s younger version of the detective is actually presented

Assimilating Heroism  •  205

as less “Chinese” by Hollywood’s ste­reo­typed definition than Karloff’s older version. Gone is the calm, reserved manner and slow, meditative way of speak­ ing with an En­glish accent of the Oxford-­educated James Lee Wong. Instead Jimmy Wong, much more like Chan’s “Number One Son,” is an energetic, phys­ ically active, out­spoken American youth. As Fuller explains, the archetype of the “Oriental” detective is created through the interplay of several ele­ments of per­for­mance, including “distinctive and distinguishable styles of speech” (namely, the heavy accent, poetic speech, and reliance on pidgin En­glish); the “formality in manner often expressed as politeness and courtesy ­toward the other main characters”; and body language, “the most racially and culturally identifiable component of [which is] bowing.”71 Luke’s per­for­mances as Lee Chan and Jimmy Wong offer major departures from the archetype: his Chi­ nese American detectives are presented as fully acculturated rather than “oth­ ered.” Undoubtedly, the appeal of Luke in the lead role (as opposed to another Chinese American actor), and the reason why Monogram felt comfortable hav­ ing a nonwhite actor play Wong, is that Luke was already an established and well-­liked actor thanks to his role in the Chan films. In fact, following Oland’s death in 1938, Luke was tested for a series tentatively titled Son of Chan, but Fox executives argued that Oland was too closely associated with the detective to introduce another actor in the role.72 Less than a year l­ater Fox would cast Toler as Chan, so the issue was not the audience’s attachment to Oland as much as its attachment to a white actor. Phantom of Chinatown begins with an archaeologist, Dr. Benton (Charles Miller), giving a lecture on his recent expedition to China, including the discov­ ery of an ancient scroll that tells the secret of the ­Temple of Eternal Fire. He, however, collapses in the ­middle of the lecture, and the scroll is stolen. Jimmy Wong (Luke), an amateur detective and a former student of Benton’s, arrives late at the lecture but in time to try to investigate the archaeologist’s murder with Ben­ ton’s secretary, Win Len (Lotus Long). Phantom of Chinatown contains many scenes in which t­here are moments of racial awareness and attempts to debunk many white misconceptions about Chinese Americans—­more so than is the case in films like ­Daughter of Shanghai or When ­Were You Born. For example, during the lecture, Benton shows film footage of the expedition, including a scene of locals dancing. When his audience laughs at the strange­ ness of the dancing, Benton reminds them that ­under Genghis Khan, ­these ­people once ruled the world—­a nd exchanges an appreciative look with Win Len. A similar moment of cultural correction occurs ­later in the film, when Benton’s butler, Jonas (William Castello), speaks dismissively of the sarcophagus recovered from a Chinese tomb. To make clear the importance of the artifact, Jimmy replies with dry sarcasm, “They tell me that a Chinese archaeological expedition is digging up the body of George Washington in exchange. . . . ​Well, it gives you a rough idea.” Ironically, it is Captain Street

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(Grant Withers) of the Hom­i­cide Division, a figure of American authority, who represents the average American in terms of racial intolerance: at first, he dem­ onstrates the most ignorance of Chinese culture, but in the end, a­ fter his inves­ tigative work with Jimmy, he demonstrates the most growth in understanding and re­spect for Chinese Americans. At the beginning of the film, when he dis­ covers that both Jimmy and Win Len are “Chinese” (as they identify them­ selves), Street asks if the two work together.73 In unison, Win Len and Jimmy explain, “I never saw him/her before.” Then Street asks Jonas what Benton had for lunch. JONAS:  ​Des hors d’œuvres, filet mignon, des pommes de terres juliennes, des

petits pois, et du café. S T REE T:  ​That’s fine. Did every­body ­else have the same ­thing? JONAS:  ​Every­body . . . ​except for Miss Win Len. S T REE T:  ​What did she have? Chop suey? JONAS:  ​No, sir. She had a cup of coffee and a piece of apple pie. She has had the

same lunch ­every day for a month.

Street seems confused by the integration of the Chinese “other” into Ameri­ can society, with Win Len’s decidedly American lunch in comparison with Ben­ ton’s French one. It is moments like t­hese that align the audience, w ­ hether white or Chinese American, clearly with Jimmy and Win Len—­not with Street. Importantly, it is Jimmy’s intimacy with San Francisco’s Chinatown commu­ nity that gives Street the knowledge to uncover vital information in the case to which the police would other­wise not have access (Figure 8.2). Jimmy calls on a Chinatown “revered elder” (uncredited) for information about Win Len, refer­ ring to her as a “­daughter of the moon flower” and asking if “she is known to the friends of China.” For Street, the seemingly poetic and coded language of the conversation might well have been Chinese for all that he understands. He retorts, “Look, I’ve got trou­bles enough without having to worry about figuring out Chinese proverbs.” Interestingly, ancient China is brought into the twenti­ eth c­ entury for the audience: while the mystery seems to be about a ­temple whose location is described in the ancient scroll, the ­temple is actually the location of the largest oil deposit in the world and, thus, of interest to modern China and her enemies. And it is also only through Jimmy that Street is able to extract a confession from a Chinatown suspect, with Jimmy sending Street to the suspect with a note presenting “a l­ ittle Chinese threat about the bones of his ancestors.” The Chinatown community may prove to hold the answers to the mystery at hand, but it also serves to make Jimmy more identifiable as an American hero. Jimmy is contrasted to the community’s revered elder; Charley One (Victor Wong), who runs a chop suey parlor that is the front for the white villains’ oper­ ation; and Foo (Lee Tung Foo), who is Jimmy’s ­house­boy.74 ­These three men

Assimilating Heroism  •  207

FIG. 8.2  ​“Figuring out Chinese proverbs”—­In Phantom of Chinatown (1940), Jimmy Lee Wong (Keye Luke) proves useful to Captain Street (Grant Withers) as a cultural mediator ­because of his ties to San Francisco’s Chinatown, including the famous Chinese Telephone Exchange.

exemplify two dif­fer­ent Hollywood ste­reo­types of Chinese identity: the revered elder is a quiet, stoic, and wise man whom community members consult for advice; and Charley One and Foo are feminized men who prepare food and tea for other men and fly into a tizzy, spouting incomprehensible Cantonese, when ­under stress. In contrast, Jimmy is a well-­rounded character rather than a two-­dimensional ste­reo­type, and he is as American as he is Chinese: not only does he speak En­glish without an accent or stilted delivery, but audiences are reminded that he grew up and went to school in San Francisco. Thus, Jimmy is presented as a mediator between East and West—­living and working in white mainstream society but retaining his ties to his other culture. In regard to the missing scroll that both the Chinese and American governments want, Jimmy explains, “Naturally, my sympathies follow my heritage—­but, ­after all, I am an American.” Of note is the fact that Luke is not the only Asian American actor cast in a major role in this film; Lotus Long is the sec­ ond. By the end of the film, her character is revealed to be an agent for the Chinese government working undercover in an attempt to retrieve the scroll. Notably, she is presented as neither a villainous dragon lady nor a submissive lotus blossom, but as an intelligent and resourceful w ­ oman who is entrusted with the f­ uture of China.

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The film is unique in having a Chinese American actor play one of the popu­ lar series’ detectives and attempt to expose American ste­reo­types of Chinese American culture. However, the film was evidently not popu­lar enough with audiences for Luke to continue in Karloff’s place, as this is the last film in the series.75 ­Daughter of Shanghai and Phantom of Chinatown w ­ ere the only attempts to cast Asian Americans as Hollywood detectives, ­after which Hol­ lywood employed white stars in yellowface for the rest of the Chan series throughout the 1940s. What the two experiments seem to prove is that the Chi­ nese American detective was not as popu­lar as the Chinese detective. Impor­ tantly, however, the Chinese detective was never aligned with the one aspect that defines American heroism—­action. In contrast, the Chinese Americans that Ahn and Luke played w ­ ere identified by Hollywood’s own conventions as American action heroes.

American Action Heroes While When ­Were You Born, ­Daughter of Shanghai, and Phantom of Chinatown explore the specificity of marginal experience in mainstream culture and bring it to the center of the narrative, ultimately they offer a message similar to that of Hollywood’s yellowfaced Chinese detective films: namely, that otherness is desirable only when assimilated into mainstream culture. To Hollywood assimilation was positive, as it signaled ac­cep­tance of the “other.” Although regarded ­today as merely token repre­sen­ta­tions, even Hollywood’s faux Chinese detectives ­were considered at the time to ­counter the racist ste­reo­t ypes that had preceded them. Jon Breen argues that “to call [Charlie Chan] a ste­reo­type falsifies history. . . . ​In fact, Chan was conceived as an anti-­ stereotype, but even that label is unfortunate, since it diminishes his stature as a complex, individual, and fully-­developed character.”76 The majority of Asian American studies scholars would disagree with Breen’s assertion about Chan. However, they would likely agree that the Chinese American detectives played by Wong, Ahn, and Luke are “complex, individual, and fully-­developed characters.” I argue that it was Chinese American characters played by Chinese Ameri­ can actors that ­were firmly aligned with ideals of American heroism, includ­ ing Charlie Chan’s sons—­played by Edwin Luke in one film, Benson Fong in six, Keye Luke in ten, and Victor Sen Yung in eigh­teen.77 As Jenny Cho argues, the Chan films ­were “among the first to explore intergenerational dynamics between immigrant Chinese parents and their American-­born offspring.”78 The film historian Stephen Gong agrees: “[The Chan series] is ­really about the Chi­ nese in Amer­i­ca. And you can trace, in some ways, the rising social mobility of the Chinese community in the Charlie Chan films. His sons are college edu­ cated, they stand in both worlds. What I think the most impor­tant ­thing to

Assimilating Heroism  •  209

look at is ‘Number One Son,’ Keye Luke. He can speak Chinese; he speaks En­glish. He’s on the U.S. Olympic team.”79 Lee Chan (Luke) may be young and inexperienced compared to his ­father, but it is he who is allowed to be the man of action and romance and is thus aligned with American ideals of hero­ ism. While his f­ ather’s engagement with vio­lence tended to be reduced to draw­ ing a gun and rarely firing it, Lee literally leaps into action. In Charlie Chan in Shanghai, for example, Lee kicks the gun out of one villain’s hand, smashes a chair over another, and jumps from the top of a flight of stairs onto a third to rescue his f­ ather from kidnappers. Also unlike his f­ ather, Lee is sexualized: he flirts with young Chinese/American w ­ omen and plans dates with them, even if t­hose dates usually get canceled ­because of the case at hand. Similarly, although Mr. Wong as portrayed by Karloff was denied sexuality, Luke’s Jimmy enjoys a budding romance with Long’s Win Len. Tied to their roles as cultural mediators, Ahn’s Kim Lee and Luke’s Jimmy Wong prove to be (like Chan) ce­re­bral sleuths who use their intelligence to out­ wit the villains, but (unlike Chan) they are also physical fighters of crime who use bodily skills to combat the e­ nemy. For example, early in ­Daughter of Shanghai, Lee is denied two opportunities to act heroically. In Port O’Juan, he attempts to retrieve Hartman’s ledger, and when discovered in the act by Hart­ man, Lee is prepared to fight; however, an e­ nemy of Hartman’s who is watch­ ing their exchange beats Lee to the punch, as it w ­ ere, when he shoots Hartman dead before Lee can land his first blow. Likewise, on the ship, when Lan Ying’s identity is revealed and a fight erupts, Lee attempts to save her from the crew but is knocked unconscious; it is the ship’s captain who comes to her rescue. It is in the film’s climactic fight sequence that Lee is fi­nally given the opportu­ nity to save Lan Ying as an action hero. At the beginning of the film, two of the smugglers are flying a small cargo of illegal aliens into San Francisco when they spot a government plane tailing them. Rather than be caught in the act, they choose to dump their “cargo,” opening the cargo hatch and letting their six passengers fall to their deaths in the ocean below. When Lan Ying and Lee are discovered working undercover, the smugglers decide to dispose of them in the same manner. But rather than sit passively, transfixed by terror, and d­ oing nothing—­like the group of illegal immigrants—­Lee takes action: he evaluates the layout of the cargo hold and then instructs Lan Ying to brace herself in a specific spot. When the villains open the hatch, Lee holds onto the inside of the plane and, when Lan Ying loses her grip and is forced to cling to him, supports both their weights. A ­ fter the plane lands on the w ­ ater and the villains leave, Lee punches their way out of the hold into the cockpit and disables the plane to prevent the villains from getting away before he helps Lan Ying swim to shore. On shore, they go to a ­house, not realizing that it is Mrs. Hunt’s, and find themselves captured once again. Lee proves his ingenuity when, although he is tied up, he manages to

210  •  Chinese American Assimilation

make a call for help by convincing an operator to assist him. When he discov­ ers his boss’s criminal dealings, the Irish American chauffeur Kelly (Frank Sully) helps Lan Ying escape. While Lan Ying watches, Lee and Kelly engage in a drawn-­out brawl with Mrs. Hunt’s henchmen. Lee’s equation with Kelly, the son of an Irish cop, aligns Lee with traditional notions of American hero­ ism but also another immigrant group who have been derided in American culture. Similarly, in Phantom of Chinatown, Jimmy proves to be as much a man of action as he is a skilled sleuth. Certainly, while Captain Street and another police officer literally sit ­doing nothing, Jimmy puts his hunch to the test and searches the university grounds at night for the glass with which Dr. Benton was poisoned. And unlike his Chinese/American predecessors—­including ­Daughter of Shanghai’s Kim Lee—­Jimmy carries a gun and, more significantly, uses it. He shoots open the door to the hideout but saves his bullets when the villains, fleeing in a boat, are too far away to hit—­unlike the impatient Street, who fires off several rounds into the distance. Jimmy then lays a trap to draw out Benton’s killer: announcing in the newspapers and over the radio that Mason (John Holland), the missing pi­lot of the Benton expedition, has been found, Jimmy then poses as Mason in the hospital. It is only a ­matter of time before the killer makes an attempt to kill the person he thinks is Mason, but Jimmy has laid a double trap: not only does Fraser (John H. Dilson), Benton’s cameraman, show up to kill Mason, but Mason also comes out of hiding to kill Fraser, his partner in crime who double-­crossed him and left him for dead in the desert. A strug­gle ensues, and Jimmy fights valiantly with Mason, landing several punches, directing Mason’s gunshots harmlessly into the air, and then pinning him to the ground u­ ntil the police arrive to apprehend the criminals. Even though Jimmy may have conducted the investigation alongside Street for the majority of the film, the final—­and physical—­victory is that of the Chi­ nese American detective.

Conclusion Hollywood did not offer Chinese American actors many leading roles, instead relying on white actors in yellowface to portray its Asian detectives. Even t­ oday Hollywood continues to offer few, and often only ste­reo­typed roles, for Chi­ nese American actors. As Tagawa explains, it can take time to see repre­sen­ta­ tions evolve, and the impor­tant t­ hing is to keep participating in the industry to help push that evolution forward: “To me, it’s about how to effectively cre­ ate change. If it means we have to pass through this to get t­ here, then I am will­ ing to go that far with it. I have a purpose: it is to make change. And if it means playing ste­reo­types at this moment, I’ll do it. And ­we’re ­going on; w ­ e’re not stopping. Cary Tagawa’s not g­ oing to end up with a star on Hollywood

Assimilating Heroism  •  211

Boulevard—­that’s not my goal. My goal is to effect the change of our images.”80 Similarly, Benson Fong said that he felt that the achievement of Chinese Amer­ ican actors in the 1930s and 1940s was to “pave the road for ­others to walk on.”81 Impressively, Sessue Hayakawa, Anna May Wong, Philip Ahn, Keye Luke, Lotus Long, and other Asian American actors did effect change. The Tong-­Man, When W ­ ere You Born, ­Daughter of Shanghai, and Phantom of Chinatown are impor­tant interventions, presenting Chinese Americans at the cen­ ter of the story and in alignment with ideals of American heroism, as opposed as to being portrayed as exotic “­others.” In his book on Charlie Chan, Yunte Huang argues that “the stories of Earl Biggers, Warner Oland, Sidney Toler, and Anna May Wong, among o­ thers, ­were all part of the cultural mélange that Gertrude Stein called ‘The Making of Americans.’ ”82 While I would agree that the vari­ous incarnations and aspects of the Chinese detective have all had an impact on American popu­lar culture, the aim of this chapter has been to demonstrate that the Chinese American detective represents a dif­fer­ent kind of policing of the bound­aries between Chi­ nese and American. ­These films demonstrate that Hollywood producers ­were concerned less about race and more about cultural or national difference: the Chinese American detective is regarded as less “other” and less threatening to the American way of life than the foreign-­born Chinese detective played by white actors. And, importantly, while Hollywood producers hired white p­ eople to pass as Asian in yellowface, they did not cast them as modern Asian Ameri­ cans. Asian identity was regarded as an old-­fashioned ste­reo­type that any actor could slip on like a costume; in contrast, Asian American identity was recog­ nized by Hollywood as modern, con­temporary, and au­then­tic. As Fong explained about his role in the Chan films, “I ­really felt fortunate that during ­those years we enjoyed parts where we could speak En­glish and not make with the accents. It was more fun to be able to speak your own language in films, and I think the Chan pictures ­were the only films where we ­were able to play ourselves.”83 Similarly, Luke stated, “I never felt ste­reo­typed. I’m an American citizen and proud of it.”84 By the end of the 1930s, Hollywood recognized that ­there ­were significant differences between Chinese-­born immigrants and American-­born citizens and that while the former might have ties back to China, the latter w ­ ere undoubtedly the products of Amer­i­ca.

9

Epilogue

Hollywood in the studio era began to decline in the 1950s, a­ fter the Supreme Court declared the industry an illegal mono­poly in 1948 and ordered vertically integrated studios to sell off their exhibition holdings—­thus divorcing produc­ tion from exhibition. The industry then experienced a slow decline, and the studio era was arguably over by the 1960s. In that de­cade the industry was restructured and the Motion Picture Production Code replaced by the Ratings System. Hollywood’s interest in Chinatowns and Chinese Americans, however, had dissipated with the end of World War II and the rise of the civil rights movement. The resulting shift saw Chinatowns and Chinese Americans dis­ placed as the differences to which mainstream Amer­i­ca could compare itself and through which it could define its own identity. By 1950, Chinatown and its residents had been recast from mysterious and alien to assimilated attrac­ tions, and American anx­i­eties about race and ethnicity turned from immigrants to African Americans. Along with films that explored African American‒white relations, some mainstream films at the end of the studio era did explore the place of Asian Americans in American history and society, not only challenging the ste­reo­ types that had been perpetuated by classical Hollywood films but also offer­ ing Asian American subjectivity. For example, The Crimson Kimono (Fuller 1959) interrogated mainstream attitudes ­toward Japa­nese Americans through its focus on a detective hero (James Shigeta) who begins a relationship with a white w ­ oman (Victoria Shaw). Walk Like a Dragon (Clavell 1960) revised the genre of the Western by including the perspective of nineteenth-­century Chinese 212

Epilogue  •  213

immigrants (Shigeta and Nobu McCarthy). And Flower Drum Song (Koster 1961) invited mainstream audiences to revel in assimilated Chinese Ameri­ can culture through its all Asian American cast, which included Shigeta, Nancy Kwan, Benson Fong, Kam Tong, and Victor Sen Yung. Ironically, of the three films, two focus on Chinese Americans but all three star the Japa­nese American James Shigeta. In this aspect, Hollywood replicated its production practices of the late 1910s and early 1920s, conflating two Asian cultures and ­peoples and casting Japa­nese American actors as Chinese American characters. While this handful of films attempted to advance the repre­sen­ta­tion of Asian Americans, other mainstream films continued to offer ste­reo­types that harked back to the nineteenth c­ entury, including Confessions of an Opium Eater (Zugsmith 1962) and 7 ­Faces of Dr. Lao (Pal 1964). On the negative side, ste­ reo­types like ­those in Opium Eater continued to appear at the end of the stu­ dio era; on the positive side, however—­and unlike during the days of classical Hollywood—­Chinese Americans now had an effective and respected voice. In the case of Opium Eater, Variety reported that a Chinese American group in Los Angeles was protesting the film, arguing that its story “defames the Chi­ nese.”1 The film’s director, Albert Zugsmith, ended up having a two-­hour meet­ ing with the Los Angeles Chinese Committee against Defamation, ­a fter which he reported: “One or two points that they brought up w ­ ere valid and I’m g­ oing to go along with them. The other points w ­ ere without validity.”2 In contrast, the committee’s official response about the meeting was “no com­ ment.”3 A review of the film confirms that the committee was right: “This crude piece of claptrap has to be seen to be believed: it is a hotchpotch of Chi­ natown melodrama (circa 1920 vintage) with rival tongs, starved girls captive in cages, secret panels, sliding doors, sewer escape routes, opium dens and nightmares.”4 While Roman Polanski’s 1974 film Chinatown similarly, and famously, depicted Chinatown as mysterious and unknowable, the 1980s would see an impor­tant intervention with the rise of Asian American in­de­pen­dent film in general, and specifically with the release of Wayne Wang’s 1982 film Chan Is Missing. The Chinese American in­de­pen­dent film was critically acclaimed for offering a revisioning of Hollywood’s conception not only of Chinese Ameri­ cans but also of the Chinese detective. The film’s detectives are two cabbies—­Jo (Wood Moy) and Steve (Marc Hayashi)—­who investigate the disappearance of their business partner, Chan Hung, with their $4,000. The title of the film and the name of the missing character directly refer to Hollywood’s Charlie Chan films. Rather than presenting a Chinese detective who investigates crimes that affect white, mainstream society, however, Wang offers heroes who engage with the p­ eople and politics of San Francisco’s Chinatown. Similarly, rather than offering an infallible sleuth who unravels the mystery and pres­ents its solu­ tion as the conclusion and highlight of the film, Wang’s investigators solve

214  •  Criminalization/Assimilation

nothing by the end of the film (although they recover their money). Like Orson Welles’s 1941 Citizen Kane, to which the film has been compared in terms of narrative structure, the film’s mystery is the identity of the titular character, which in turn questions the identity of Hollywood’s famous detective—­which that character’s name evokes. Rather than pinning down one idea of who Chan is through the interviewing of vari­ous ­people related to the case, the detectives are left with multiple and differing perspectives on Chan. As Jun Xing notes, “Whereas the typical classical Hollywood detective drama is characterized by a relentless narrative acquisition of clues that eventually climaxes in the solu­ tion of the mystery, Chan offers no solution to Chan Hung’s whereabouts. Each clue that develops in the film only raises more questions.”5 Rather than focus­ ing on crime in mainstream society, the film explores the experience of Chi­ nese Americans in American society. Through Jo and Steve’s questioning of Chan’s relatives and acquaintances, tensions between F.O.B. (fresh off the boat) Chinese and A.B.C. (American-­born Chinese), between Taiwanese and main­ land Chinese, and between t­ hose who f­ avor assimilation and t­ hose who prefer cultural specificity are explored. The hunt for Chan Hung is actually a quest to discover what it means to be Chinese American in modern Amer­i­ca—­a theme that classical Hollywood never pursued in its Chinatown films.

Filmography 1894 Chinese Laundry. Prod. Edison Manufacturing Co. 1895 Chinese Opium Den. Prod. Edison Manufacturing Co. 1896 The Vanishing Lady. Dir. Georges Méliès. Prod. Star Film Co. Perf. Georges Méliès and Jehanne d’Alcy. 1897 Arrest in Chinatown, San Francisco, Cal. Dir. James H. White. Prod. Edison Manufacturing Co. Leaving Jerusalem by Railway. Dir. Auguste Lumière and Alexandre Promio. Prod. Lumière Studios. 1898 A Chinese Opium Joint. Prod. American Mutoscope Co. Parade of Chinese. Dir. James H. White. Prod. Edison Manufacturing Co. 1900 Chinese Rubbernecks. Prod. American Mutoscope and Biograph Co. A Raid on a Chinese Opium Joint. Prod. American Mutoscope and Biograph Co. Scene in Chinatown. Prod. American Mutoscope and Biograph Co.

215

216  •  Filmography

1903 Fun in an Opium Joint. Prod. Lubin Manufacturing Co. San Francisco Funeral. Prod. Edison Manufacturing Co. 1904 Chinese Laundry at Work. Prod. American Mutoscope and Biograph Co. The Heathen Chinese and the Sunday School Teachers. Prod. American Mutoscope and Biograph Co. 1905 Rube in an Opium Joint. Prod. American Mutoscope and Biograph Co. 1906 Ruins of Chinatown. Prod. Edison Manufacturing Co. 1907 Chinese Slave Smuggling. Prod. Kalem Co. Smuggling Chinese into the U.S.A. Prod. Goodfellow Film Manufacturing Co. 1908 Deceived Slumming Party. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Prod. American Mutoscope and Biograph Co. Perf. Edward Dillon and D. W. Griffith. The Fatal Hour. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Prod. American Mutoscope and Biograph Co. Perf. George Gebhardt and Harry Solter. The Lights and Shadows of Chinatown. Prod. Selig Polyscope Co. The Yellow Peril. Dir. Wallace McCutcheon. Prod. American Mutoscope and Biograph Co. Perf. D. W. Griffith and Anthony O’­Sullivan. 1909 Chinatown Slavery. Prod. Selig Polyscope Co. Lost in Chinatown. Prod. Powhatan Film Co. 1910 The Smuggler’s Game. Prod. Selig Polyscope Co. 1911 The Opium Smuggler. Dir. Allan Dwan. Prod. American Film Manufactur­ ing Co. Perf. J. Warren Kerrigan and Pauline Bush. Venom of the Poppy. Prod. Edison Co. Perf. James Gordon and Herbert Prior.

Filmography  •  217

1912 From the Submerged. Dir. Theodore Wharton. Prod. Essanay Film Manufac­ turing Co. Perf. E. H. Calvert and Ruth Stone­house. Lights and Shadows of Chinatown (aka The Yellow Peril). Prod. New York Film Co. Mignon. Dir. Alice Guy. Prod. Solax Film Co. Perf. Marian Swayne and Blanche Cornwall. The Opium Smugglers. Dir. William Duncan. Prod. Selig Polyscope Co. Perf. William Duncan and Myrtle Stedman. 1913 The Dragon’s Breath. Dir. Lois Weber. Prod. Rex Motion Picture Co. Perf. Phillips Smalley and Lois Weber. 1914 The Chinese Lily. Dir. Arthur W. Rice. Prod. Rice and Einstein. Cocaine Traffic; Or, the Drug of Terror. Prod. Lubin Manufacturing Co. Perf. Edwin DeWolf and Joseph Kaufman. The Derelict. Dir. George Melford. Prod. Kalem Co. Perf. Douglas Gerrard and Marin Sais. The Drug Traffic. Prod. Éclair American. Perf. Alec B. Francis and ­Will E. Sheerer. The Exploits of Elaine. Dir. Louis Gasnier, George Seitz, Leopold Wharton, and Theodore Wharton. Prod. Wharton, Wharton, and Seitz. Perf. Pearl White and Arnold Daly. The Opium Smoker. Prod. Nordisk Film. The Opium Smugglers. Prod. Société des Etablissements L. Gaumont. 1915 The Birth of a Nation. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Prod. David W. Griffith Corp. Perf. Lillian Gish and Mae Marsh. The Breaks of the Game. Dir. Eugene Nowland. Prod. Edison Co. Perf. Augustus Phillips and Maxine Brown. The Cheat. Dir. Cecil B. DeMille. Prod. Jesse Lasky Feature Plays Co. Perf. Fannie Ward and Sessue Hayakawa. The Chinatown Mystery. Dir. Reginald Barker. Prod. Broncho Film Co. Perf. Howard C. Hickman and Leona Hutton. The Dream Seekers. Dir. James W. Horne. Prod. Kalem Co. Perf. William H. West and Marin Sais. Just Jim. Dir. O.A.C. Lund. Prod. Universal Film Mfg. Co. Perf. Harry Carey and Jean Taylor.

218  •  Filmography

Madame Butterfly. Dir. Sidney Olcott. Prod. Famous Players Film Co. Perf. Mary Pickford and Marshall Neilan. Mignon. Dir. Alexander E. Beyfuss. Prod. California Motion Picture Co. Perf. Beatriz Michelena and House Peters. An Oriental Romance. Dir. George A. Lessey. Prod. In­de­pen­dent Moving Pictures Co. of Amer­i­ca. Perf. King Baggot and Arline Pretty. The Sable Lorcha. Dir. Lloyd Ingraham. Prod. Fine Arts Film Co. Perf. Tully Marshall and Thomas Jefferson. The Secret Sin. Dir. Frank Reicher. Prod. Jesse L. Lasky Feature Play Co. Perf. Blanche Sweet and Hal Clements. The Seventh Noon. Prod. Than­houser Film Corp. Perf. Ernest Glendinning and Winifred Kingston. The Spell of the Poppy. Dir. Tod Browning. Prod. Majestic Motion Picture Co. Perf. Eugene Pallette and Lucille Young. 1916 Broken Fetters. Dir. Rex Ingram. Prod. Bluebird Photoplays, Inc. Perf. Kittens Reichert and Violet Mersereau. Chinatown Pictures. Prod. Captain Lewis. The Curse of Quon Gwon. Dir. Marion E. Wong. Prod. Mandarin Film Co. Perf. Marion E. Wong. The Dev­il’s Needle. Dir. Chester Whithey. Prod. Fine Arts Film Co. Perf. Tully Marshall and Norma Talmadge. Hop, the Dev­il’s Brew. Dir. Phillips Smalley and Lois Weber. Prod. Bluebird Photoplays, Inc. Perf. Phillips Smalley and Lois Weber. The Sign of the Poppy. Dir. Charles Swickard. Prod. Bluebird Photoplays, Inc. Perf. Hobart Henley and Gertrude Selby. A Visit to Los Angeles. Prod. Ford Motor Co. 1917 Flower of Doom. Dir. Rex Ingram. Prod. Universal Film Manufacturing Co. Perf. Wedgwood Nowell and Yvette Mitchell. On the Level. Dir. George Melford. Prod. Jesse L. Lasky Feature Play Co. Perf. Fannie Ward and Jack Dean. Patria. Dir. Leopold Wharton, Theodore Wharton, and Jacques Jaccard. Prod. International Film Ser­vice and Wharton. Perf. Irene ­Castle and Milton Sills. Queen X. Dir. John B. O’Brien. Prod. Mutual Film Co. Perf. Edna Goodrich and Hugh Thompson. The War of the Tongs. Dir. H. O. Davis. Prod. Universal Film Manufacturing Co. Perf. Tom Hing and Hoo Ching.

Filmography  •  219

1918 The City of Dim F ­ aces. Dir. George Melford. Prod. Famous Players‒Lasky Co. Perf. Sessue Hayakawa and Doris Pawn. The Girl in the Dark. Dir. Stuart Paton. Prod. Universal Film Manufacturing Co. Perf. Carmel Myers and Ashton Dearholt. The Midnight Patrol. Dir. Irvin Willat. Prod. Thomas H. Ince Co. Perf. Thurston Hall and Rosemary Thelby. The Snail. Prod. W. H. Clifford Photoplay Co. Perf. Shorty Hamilton and Ethel Grey Terry. 1919 Broken Blossoms. Dir. D. W. Griffith. Prod. D. W. Griffith Productions. Perf. Lillian Gish and Richard Barthelmess. Checkers. Dir. Richard Stanton. Prod. Fox Film Corp. Perf. Thomas Carrigan and Jean Acker. Fighting Destiny. Dir. Paul Scardon. Prod. Vitagraph Com­pany of Amer­i­ca. Perf. Harry T. Morey and Betty Blythe. Forbidden. Dir. Lois Weber and Phillips Smalley. Prod. Universal Film Manufacturing Co. Perf. Mildred Harris and Henry Woodard. The Lightning Raider. Dir. George B. Seitz. Prod. Astra Film. Perf. Pearl White and Warner Oland. Mandarin’s Gold. Dir. Oscar Apfel. Prod. World Film. Perf. Kitty Gordon and Irving Cummings. The Red Lantern. Dir. Albert Capellani. Prod. Metro Pictures Corp. Perf. Alla Nazimova and Wallace Beery. The Tong-­Man. Dir. William Worthington. Prod. Haworth Pictures Co. Perf. Sessue Hayakawa and Helen Jerome Eddy. 1920 The Cyclone. Dir. Clifford Smith. Prod. Fox Film Corp. Perf. Tom Mix and Colleen Moore. Dinty. Dir. John McDermott and Marshall Neilan. Prod. Marshall Neilan Productions. Perf. Wesley Barry and Noah Beery. Li Ting Lang. Dir. Charles Swickard. Prod. Haworth Pictures Co. Perf. Sessue Hayakawa and Allan Forrest. The Money-­Changers. Dir. Jack Conway Prod. Benjamin B. Hampton Productions. Perf. Robert McKim and Claire Adams. Pagan Love. Dir. Hugo Ballin. Prod. Hugo Ballin Productions, Inc. Perf. Tôgô Yamamoto and Mabel Ballin. The Plea­sure Seekers (aka Idle Hands). Dir. George Archainbaud. Prod. Selznick Pictures Corp. Perf. Elaine Hammerstein and James A. Furey.

220  •  Filmography

The Purple Cipher. Dir. Chester Bennett. Prod. Vitagraph Co. of Amer­i­ca. Perf. Earle Williams and Vola Vale. The Scrap of Paper. Dir. Tom Collins. Prod. William Steiner Com­pany. Perf. Glen White and William Frederic. The Wall Street Mystery. Dir. Tom Collins. Prod. William Steiner Com­pany. Perf. Glen White and Jane McAlpine. The Willow Tree. Dir. Henry Otto. Prod. Screen Classics Inc. Perf. Viola Dana and Edward Connelly. The W ­ oman Gives. Dir. Roy William Neill. Prod. Norma Talmadge Film Corp. Perf. Norma Talmadge and John Halliday. 1921 Bits of Life. Dir. James Flood, Marshall Neilan, and William J. Scully. Prod. Marshall Neilan Productions. Perf. Wesley Barry and Rockliffe Fellowes. The First Born. Dir. Colin Campbell. Prod. Hayakawa Feature Play Co. Perf. Sessue Hayakawa and Helen Jerome Eddy. Idle Hands (aka The Scarlet Dragon). Dir. Frank Reicher. Prod. Park-­ Whiteside Productions. Perf. Gail Kane and Thurston Hall. Lotus Blossom. Dir. Francis J. Grandon and James B. Leong. Prod. Wah Ming Motion Picture Co. Perf. Lady Tsen Mei and Tully Marshall. Number 17. Dir. George Beranger. Prod. Fox Film Corp. Perf. George Walsh and Mildred Reardon. Outside the Law. Dir. Tod Browning. Prod. Universal Film Manufacturing Co. Perf. Priscilla Dean and Wheeler Oakman. Shame. Dir. Emmett J. Flynn. Prod. Fox Film Corp. Perf. John Gilbert and Michael D. Moore. The Sheik. Dir. George Melford. Prod. Paramount Pictures. Perf. Rudolph Valentino and Agnes Ayres. The Swamp. Dir. Colin Campbell. Prod. Hayakawa Feature Play Co. Perf. Sessue Hayakawa and Bessie Love. A Tale of Two Worlds. Dir. Frank Lloyd. Prod. Goldwyn Pictures Corp. Perf. J. Frank Glendon and Leatrice Joy. Where Lights Are Low. Dir. Colin Campbell. Prod. Hayakawa Feature Play Co. Perf. Sessue Hayakawa and Tôgô Yamamoto. Wing Toy. Dir. Howard M. Mitchell. Prod. Fox Film Corp. Perf. Shirley Mason and Raymond McKee. Worlds Apart. Dir. Alan Crosland. Prod. Selznick Pictures Corp. Perf. Eugene O’Brien and Olive Tell.

Filmography  •  221

1922 The Cub Reporter. Dir. John Francis Dillon. Prod. Phil Goldstone Produc­ tions. Perf. Richard Talmadge and Jean Calhoun. East Is West. Dir. Sidney Franklin. Prod. Constance Talmadge Film Co. Perf. Constance Talmadge and Edmund Burns. Pals of the West. Dir. Edwin Middleton. Prod. Film Art Productions. Perf. Lee Hill and William Lowery. Shadows. Dir. Tom Forman. Prod. B. P. Schulberg Productions. Perf. Lon Chaney and Marguerite De La Motte. The Toll of the Sea. Dir. Chester M. Franklin. Prod. Technicolor Motion Picture Corp. Perf. Anna May Wong and Kenneth Harlan. 1923 The Cheat. Dir. George Fitzmaurice. Prod. Paramount Pictures. Perf. Pola Negri and Jack Holt. Haldane of the Secret Ser­vice. Dir. Harry Houdini. Prod. Houdini Picture Corp. Perf. Harry Houdini and Gladys Leslie. H ­ uman Wreckage. Dir. John Griffith Wray. Prod. Los Angeles Bureau of Drug Addiction and Thomas H. Ince Corp. Perf. Mrs. Wallace Reid and James Kirkwood. Java Head. Dir. George Melford. Prod. Famous Players‒Lasky Corp. Perf. Leatrice Joy and Jacqueline Logan. Purple Dawn. Dir. Charles R. Seeling. Prod. Aywon Film Corp. Perf. Bert Sprotte and William E. Aldrich. The Shock. Dir. Lambert Hillyer. Prod. Universal Pictures. Perf. Lon Chaney and ­Virginia Valli. The W ­ oman with Four ­Faces. Dir. Herbert Brenon. Prod. Famous Players‒ Lasky Corp. Perf. Betty Compson and Richard Dix. 1924 Feet of Mud. Dir. Harry Edwards. Prod. Mack Sennett Comedies. Perf. Harry Langdon and Florence Lee. Grit. Dir. Frank Tuttle. Prod. Film Guild. Perf. Glenn Hunter and Helenka Adamowska. Harbor Patrol. Prod. F.C.F. Feature Corp. Perf. Al Ferguson and V ­ irginia Abbott. In High Gear. Dir. Robert N. Bradbury. Prod. Aywon Film Corp. Perf. Kenneth MacDonald and Helen Lynch. Pell Street Mystery. Dir. Joseph Franz. Prod. Robert J. Horner Productions. Perf. George Larkin and Frank Whitson.

222  •  Filmography

1925 The Air Mail. Dir. Irvin Willat. Prod. Famous Players‒Lasky Corp. Perf. Warner Baxter and Billie Dove. Ben-­Hur: A Tale of Christ. Dir. Fred Niblo. Prod. Metro-­Goldwyn-­Mayer. Perf. Ramon Novarro and Francis X. Bushman. Paths to Paradise. Dir. Clarence G. Badger. Prod. Paramount Pictures. Perf. Betty Compson and Raymond Griffith. Soft Shoes. Dir. Lloyd Ingraham. Prod. Stellar Productions. Perf. Harry Carey and Lillian Rich. Speed Wild. Dir. Harry Garson. Prod. Harry Garson Productions. Perf. Maurice “Lefty” Flynn and Ethel Shannon. Tearing Through. Dir. Arthur Rosson. Prod. Richard Talmadge Productions. Perf. Richard Talmadge and Kathryn McGuire. 1926 Arizona Sweepstakes. Dir. Clifford Smith. Prod. Universal Pictures. Perf. Hoot Gibson and Helen Lynch. The House without a Key. Dir. Spencer Gordon Bennet. Prod. Pathé Exchange. Perf. Allene Ray and Walter Miller. A Man of Quality. Dir. Wesley Ruggles. Prod. Excellent Pictures. Perf. George Walsh and Ruth Dwyer. Shadows of Chinatown. Dir. Paul Hurst. Prod. Bud Barsky Corp. Perf. Kenneth MacDonald and Velma Edele. A Trip to Chinatown. Dir. Robert P. Kerr. Prod. Fox Film Corp. Perf. Margaret Livingston and Earle Foxe. 1927 The Chinese Parrot. Dir. Paul Leni. Prod. Universal Pictures. Perf. Marian Nixon and Florence Turner. Driven from Home. Dir. James Young. Prod. Chadwick Pictures. Perf. Ray Hallor and ­Virginia Lee Corbin. Through Thick and Thin. Dir. Jack Nelson and B. Reaves Eason. Prod. Camera Pictures. Perf. William Fairbanks and Ethel Shannon. 1928 The Cameraman. Dir. Edward Sedgwick and Buster Keaton. Prod. Metro-­Goldwyn-­Mayer. Perf. Buster Keaton and Marceline Day. Chinatown Charlie. Dir. Charles Hines. Prod. First National Pictures, Inc. Perf. Johnny Hines and Louise Lorraine. Ransom. Dir. George B. Seitz. Prod. Columbia Pictures Corp. Perf. Lois Wilson and Edmund Burns.

Filmography  •  223

Yellow Contraband. Dir. Leo D. Maloney. Prod. Leo Maloney Productions. Perf. Leo D. Maloney and Eileen Sedgwick. 1929 ­ ehind That Curtain. Dir. Irving Cummings. Prod. Fox Film Corp. Perf. B Warner Baxter and Lois Moran. Chinatown Nights. Dir. William A. Wellman. Prod. Paramount Pictures. Perf. Wallace Beery and Florence Vidor. The Drifter. Dir. Robert De Lacey. Prod. Film Booking Offices of Amer­i­ca. Perf. Tom Mix and Dorothy Dwan. Masked Emotions. Dir. David Butler and Kenneth Hawks. Prod. Fox Film Corp. Perf. George O’Brien and Nora Lane. Welcome Danger. Dir. Clyde Bruckman and Malcolm St. Clair. Prod. Harold Lloyd Corp. Perf. Harold Lloyd and Barbara Kent. Where East Is East. Dir. Tod Browning. Prod. Metro-­Goldwyn-­Mayer. Perf. Lon Chaney and Lupe Vélez. 1930 East Is West. Dir. Monta Bell. Prod. Universal Pictures Corp. Perf. Lupe Vélez and Lew Ayres. Murder ­Will Out. Dir. Clarence G. Badger. Prod. First National Pictures, Inc. Perf. Jack Mulhall and Lila Lee. Son of the Gods. Dir. Frank Lloyd. Prod. First National Pictures, Inc. Perf. Richard Barthelmess and Constance Bennett. 1931 Charlie Chan Carries On. Dir. Hamilton MacFadden. Prod. Fox Film Corp. Perf. Warner Oland and John Garrick. The Cheat. Dir. George Abbott. Prod. Paramount Pictures. Perf. Tallulah Bankhead and Harvey Stephens. Chinatown a­ fter Dark. Dir. Stuart Paton. Prod. Action Pictures Inc. Perf. Carmel Myers and Rex Lease. ­Daughter of the Dragon. Dir. Lloyd Corrigan. Prod. Paramount Pictures. Perf. Anna May Wong and Warner Oland. Dracula. Dir. Tod Browning. Prod. Universal Pictures. Perf. Bela Lugosi and Helen Chandler. Law of the Tong. Dir. Lewis D. Collins. Prod. Willis Kent Productions. Perf. Phyllis Barrington and John Harron. M. Dir. Fritz Lang. Prod. Nero-­Film AG. Perf. Peter Lorre and Ellen Widmann.

224  •  Filmography

1932 ­Behind the Mask. Dir. John Francis Dillon. Prod. Columbia Pictures Corp. Perf. Constance Cummings and Boris Karloff. Frisco Jenny. Dir. William A. Wellman. Prod. First National Pictures. Perf. Ruth Chatterton and Louis Calhern. The Hatchet Man. Dir. William A. Wellman. Prod. First National Pictures. Perf. Edward G. Robinson and Loretta Young. The Mask of Fu Manchu. Dir. Charles Brabin. Prod. Metro-­Goldwyn-­Mayer. Perf. Boris Karloff and Lewis Stone. The Public ­Enemy. Dir. William A. Wellman. Prod. Warner Bros. Perf. James Cagney and Jean Harlow. The Secrets of Wu Sin. Dir. Richard Thorpe. Prod. George R. Batcheller Productions. Perf. Lois Wilson and Grant Withers. Shanghai Express. Dir. Josef von Sternberg. Prod. Paramount Pictures. Perf. Marlene Dietrich and Clive Brook. The Son-­Daughter. Dir. Clarence Brown and Robert Z. Leonard. Prod. Metro-­Goldwyn-­Mayer. Perf. Helen Hayes and Ramon Novarro. 1933 The B ­ itter Tea of General Yen. Dir. Frank Capra. Prod. Columbia Pictures Corp. Perf. Barbara Stanwyck and Nils Asther. From Headquarters. Dir. William Dieterle. Prod. Warner Bros. Perf. George Brent and Margaret Lindsay. I Cover the Waterfront. Dir. James Cruze. Prod. Edward Small Productions. Perf. Ben Lyon and Claudette Colbert. 1934 The Black Cat. Dir. Edgar G. Ulmer. Prod. Universal Pictures. Perf. Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi. Blossom Time. Dir. Joseph Sunn. Prod. Grandview Film Com­pany. Perf. Sin Lang Dew and Wu Dip Ying. The Cat’s Paw. Dir. Sam Taylor and Harold Lloyd. Prod. Harold Lloyd Corp. Perf. Harold Lloyd and Una Merkel. Imitation of Life. Dir. John M. Stahl. Prod. Universal Pictures. Perf. Clau­ dette Colbert and Warren William. The Mysterious Mr. Wong. Dir. William Nigh. Prod. Monogram Pictures. Perf. Bela Lugosi and Wallace Ford.

Filmography  •  225

1935 Captured in Chinatown. Dir. Elmer Clifton. Prod. Consolidated Pictures Corp. Perf. Marion Shilling and Charles Delaney. Charlie Chan in Shanghai. Dir. James Tinling. Prod. Fox Film Corp. Perf. Warner Oland and Irene Hervey. Chinatown Squad. Dir. Murray Roth. Prod. Universal Pictures Corp. Perf. Lyle Talbot and Valerie Hobson. The Fighting Pi­lot. Dir. Noel M. Smith. Prod. Reliable Pictures Corp. Perf. Richard Talmadge and Gertrude Messinger. “G” Men. Dir. William Keighley. Prod. First National Pictures. Perf. James Cagney and Margaret Lindsay. 1936 Border Phantom. Dir. S. Roy Luby. Prod. Republic Pictures Corp. Perf. Bob Steele and Harley Wood. Charlie Chan at the Circus. Dir. Harry Lachman. Prod. Twentieth ­Century Film. Perf. Warner Oland and Keye Luke. I Cover Chinatown. Dir. Norman Foster. Prod. Banner Pictures Corp. Perf. Norman Foster and Elaine Shepard. Klondike Annie. Dir. Raoul Walsh. Prod. Paramount Productions, Inc. Perf. Mae West and Victor McLaglen. Shadow of Chinatown. Dir. Robert F. Hill. Prod. Victory Pictures Corp. Perf. Bela Lugosi and Bruce Bennett. Sum Hun. Dir. Frank Tang. Prod. Cathay Pictures. Perf. Bill Nolte and Frank Tang. 1937 Charlie Chan at the Opera. Dir. H. Bruce Humberstone. Prod. Twentieth ­Century Fox. Perf. Warner Oland and Boris Karloff. ­Daughter of Shanghai. Dir. Robert Florey. Prod. Paramount Pictures Inc. Perf. Anna May Wong and Charles Bickford. The Good Earth. Dir. Sidney Franklin. Prod. Metro-­Goldwyn-­Mayer. Perf. Paul Muni and Luise Rainer. Hollywood Party. Dir. Roy Rowland. Prod. Louis Lewyn Productions. Perf. Elissa Landi and Charley Chase. Outlaws of the Orient. Dir. Ernest B. Schoedsack. Prod. Larry Darmour Productions. Perf. Jack Holt and Mae Clarke. Think Fast, Mr. Moto. Dir. Norman Foster. Prod. Twentieth ­Century Fox. Perf. Peter Lorre and V ­ irginia Field. West of Shanghai. Dir. John Farrow. Prod. Warner Bros. Perf. Boris Karloff and Beverly Roberts.

226  •  Filmography

1938 Dangerous to Know. Dir. Robert Florey. Prod. Paramount Pictures, Inc. Perf. Anna May Wong and Akim Tamiroff. Mr. Moto’s ­Gamble. Dir. James Tinling. Prod. Twentieth ­Century Fox. Perf. Peter Lorre and Keye Luke. Mr. Wong, Detective. Dir. William Nigh. Prod. Monogram Pictures. Perf. Boris Karloff and Grant Withers. Six-­Gun Trail. Dir. Sam Newfield. Prod. Victory Pictures Corp. Perf. Tim McCoy and Nora Lane. When W ­ ere You Born. Dir. William C. McGann. Prod. Warner Bros. Perf. Margaret Lindsay and Anna May Wong. 1939 A Chinese Gains a Fortune in Amer­i­ca. Prod. Grandview Film Com­pany. Perf. Yip Foot Yuk and Wai Gim Fong. ­Daughter of the Tong. Dir. Bernard B. Ray (as Raymond K. Johnson). Prod. Metropolitan Pictures Corp. Perf. Evelyn Brent and Grant Withers. King of Chinatown. Dir. Nick Grinde. Prod. Paramount Pictures. Perf. Anna May Wong and Akim Tamiroff. Mr. Moto in Danger Island. Dir. Herbert I. Leeds. Prod. Twentieth C ­ entury Fox. Perf. Peter Lorre and Jean Hersholt. Mr. Wong in Chinatown. Dir. William Nigh. Prod. Monogram Pictures. Perf. Boris Karloff and Marjorie Reynolds. The Mystery of Mr. Wong. Dir. William Nigh. Prod. Monogram Pictures. Perf. Boris Karloff and Grant Withers. Torchy Blane in Chinatown. Dir. William Beaudine. Prod. Warner Bros. Perf. Glenda Farrell and Barton MacLane. 1940 The Drums of Fu Manchu. Dir. John En­glish and William Witney. Prod. Republic Pictures Corp. Perf. Henry Brandon and William Royle. Phantom of Chinatown. Dir. Phil Rosen. Prod. Monogram Pictures. Perf. Keye Luke and Lotus Long. 1941 Citizen Kane. Dir. Orson Welles. Prod. RKO Radio Pictures and Mercury Productions. Perf. Joseph Cotten and Dorothy Co­min­gore. Ellery Queen’s Pent­house Mystery. Dir. James Hogan. Prod. Larry Darmour Productions. Perf. Ralph Bellamy and Margaret Lindsay. Golden Gate Girl. Dir. Esther Eng. Prod. Golden Gate Film Co. Perf. Tso Yee Man and Wong Hok Sing.

Filmography  •  227

1942 Calling Dr. Gillespie. Dir. Harold S. Bucquet. Prod. Metro-­Goldwyn Mayer. Perf. Lionel Barrymore and Philip Dorn. Dr. Gillespie’s New Assistant. Dir. Willis Goldbeck. Prod. Metro-­Goldwyn-­ Mayer. Perf. Lionel Barrymore and Van Johnson. Rubber Racketeers. Dir. Harold Young. Prod. K-­B Productions. Perf. Ricardo Cortez and Rochelle Hudson. A Tragedy at Midnight. Dir. Joseph Stanley. Prod. Republic. Perf. John Howard and Margaret Lindsay. 1943 Dr. Gillespie’s Criminal Case. Dir. Willis Goldbeck. Prod. Metro-­Goldwyn-­ Mayer. Perf. Lionel Barrymore and Van Johnson. The Falcon Strikes Back. Dir. Edward Dmytryk. Prod. RKO Pictures. Perf. Tom Conway and Harriet Hilliard. 1944 Andy Hardy’s Blonde Trou­ble. 1944. Dir. George B. Seitz. Prod. MGM. Perf. Lewis Stone and Mickey Rooney. Charlie Chan in the Secret Ser­vice. Dir. Phil Rosen. Prod. Monogram Pictures. Perf. Sidney Toler and Mantan Moreland. Dragon Seed. Dir. Harold S. Bucquet and Jack Conway. Prod. Loew’s Inc. Perf. Katharine Hepburn and Walter Huston. The Purple Heart. Dir. Lewis Milestone. Prod. Twentieth ­Century Fox. Perf. Dana Andrews and Richard Conte. Three Men in White. Dir. Willis Goldbeck. Prod. MGM. Perf. Lionel Barrymore and Van Johnson. 1945 Back to Bataan. Dir. Edward Dmytryk. Prod. RKO Radio Pictures. Perf. John Wayne and Anthony Quinn. Between Two ­Women. Dir. Willis Goldbeck. Prod. MGM. Perf. Lionel Barrymore and Van Johnson. Hold That Blonde. Dir. George Marshall. Prod. Paramount Pictures. Perf. Eddie Bracken and Veronica Lake. Nob Hill. Dir. Henry Hathaway. Prod. Twentieth ­Century Fox. Perf. George Raft and Joan Bennett. 1946 Ziegfeld Follies. Dir. Vincent Minnelli. Prod. Metro-­Goldwyn-­Mayer. Perf. Fred Astaire and Lucille Bremer.

228  •  Filmography

1947 The Chinese Ring. Dir. William Beaudine. Prod. Monogram Pictures. Perf. Sidney Toler and Warren Douglas. Dark Delusion. Dir. Willis Goldbeck. Prod. MGM. Perf. Lionel Barrymore and James Craig. Gentlemen’s Agreement. Dir. Elia Kazan. Prod. Twentieth C ­ entury Fox. Perf. Gregory Peck and Dorothy McGuire. 1948 Call Northside 777. Dir. Henry Hathaway. Prod. Twentieth ­Century Fox. Perf. James Stewart and Richard Conte. Docks of New Orleans. Dir. Derwin Abrahams. Prod. Monogram Pictures. Perf. Sidney Toler and ­Virginia Dale. Half Past Midnight. Dir. William F. Claxton. Prod. Sol M. Wurtzel Produc­ tions. Perf. Kent Taylor and Peggy Knudsen. The Naked City. Dir. Jules Dassin. Prod. Mark Hellinger Productions and Universal-­International Pictures. Perf. Barry Fitzgerald and Howard Duff. 1949 Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture. Dir. Seymour Friedman. Prod. Columbia Pictures Corp. Perf. Chester Morris and Maylia. Chinatown at Midnight. Dir. Seymour Friedman. Prod. Columbia Pictures Corp. Perf. Hurd Hatfield and Jean Willes. Impact. Dir. Arthur Lubin. Prod. Cardinal Pictures. Perf. Brian Donlevy and Ella Raines. 1950 The Big Hangover. Dir. Norma Krasna. Prod. MGM. Perf. Van Johnson and Elizabeth Taylor. The Breaking Point. Dir. Michael Curtiz. Prod. Warner Bros. Perf. John Garfield and Patricia Neal. Key to the City. Dir. George Sidney. Prod. MGM. Perf. Clark Gable and Loretta Young. 1956 The Tahitian. Dir. James Knott. Prod. Crane-­Knott-­Long. Perf. Ana and Vahio. The Tea­house of the August Moon. Dir. Daniel Mann. Prod. Metro-­Goldwyn-­ Mayer. Perf. Marlon Brando and Glenn Ford. 1957 The Bridge on the River Kwai. Dir. David Lean. Prod. Columbia Pictures Corp. and Horizon Pictures. Perf. William Holden and Alec Guiness.

Filmography  •  229

Sayonara. Dir. Joshua Logan. Prod. Pennebaker Productions and William Goetz Productions. Perf. Marlon Brando and Patricia Owens. 1959 The Crimson Kimono. Dir. Samuel Fuller. Prod. Columbia Pictures Corp. and Globe Enterprises. Perf. Victoria Shaw and Glen Corbett. 1960 Walk Like a Dragon. Dir. James Clavell. Prod. Paramount. Perf. Jack Lord and Nobu McCarthy. 1961 Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Dir. Blake Edwards. Prod. Jurow-­Shepherd. Perf. Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard. Flower Drum Song. Dir. Henry Koster. Prod. Universal International Pictures. Perf. Nancy Kwan and James Shigeta. 1962 Confessions of an Opium Eater. Dir. Albert Zugsmith. Prod. Photoplay. Perf. Vincent Price and Linda Ho. 1964 7 ­Faces of Dr. Lao. Dir. George Pal. Prod. George Pal Productions. Perf. Tony Randall and Barbara Eden. 1966 The Poppy Is Also a Flower. Dir. Terence Young. Prod. Comet, Telsun Foundation Inc., United Nations, Wiener Stadthalle-­Station Betriebs-­und Produktionsgesellschaft, and Xerox Corp. Perf. Senta Berger and Stephen Boyd. 1967 Thoroughly Modern Millie. Dir. George Roy Hill. Prod. Universal Pictures and Ross Hunter Productions. Perf. Julie Andrews and James Fox. 1974 Chinatown. Dir. Roman Polanski. Prod. Paramount Pictures. Perf. Jack Nicholson and Faye Dunaway. 1975 The Moving Picture Boys in the G ­ reat War. Dir. Larry Ward. Prod. Post-­ Newsweek Productions and Blackhawk Films.

230  •  Filmography

1981 Charlie Chan and the Curse of the Dragon Queen. Dir. Clive Donner. Prod. American Cinema Productions and Jerry Sherlock Productions. Perf. Peter Ustinov and Lee Grant. 1982 Chan Is Missing. Dir. Wayne Wang. Prod. New Yorker Films and Wayne Wang Productions. Perf. Wood Moy and Marc Hayashi. 1995 Mortal Kombat. Dir. Paul Anderson. Prod. New Line Cinema and Threshold Entertainment. Perf. Christopher Lambert and Robin Shou. 1998 Rush Hour. Dir. Brett Ratner. Prod. New Line Cinema and Roger Birnbaum Productions. Perf. Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker. 2001 Rush Hour 2. Dir. Brett Ratner. Prod. New Line Cinema, Roger Birnbaum Productions, and Salon Films. Perf. Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker. 2006 The Slanted Screen. Dir. Jeff Adachi. Prod. Chinese American Media Mafia. 2007 Hollywood Chinese. Dir. Arthur Dong. Prod. Center for Asian American Media and DeepFocus Productions Inc. Rush Hour 3. Dir. Brett Ratner. Prod. New Line Cinema, Roger Birnbaum Productions, Arthur Sarkissian Productions, and Unlike Film Produc­ tions. Perf. Jackie Chan and Chris Tucker. Trea­sures III: Social Issues in American Film, 1900–1934. Prod. National Film Preservation Foundation. 2015 Aloha. Dir. Cameron Crowe. Prod. Regency Enterprises, LStar Capital, RatPac Entertainment, Scott Rudin Productions, Vinyl Films, and Sony Pictures Entertainment. Perf. Bradley Cooper and Emma Stone.

Acknowl­edgments First and foremost, I gratefully acknowledge that I received financial support for this research from a grant partly funded by Wilfrid Laurier University oper­ ating funds and partly funded by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada’s institutional grant awarded to Wilfrid Laurier University. ­These funds gave me the opportunity to complete invaluable research at vari­ ous libraries and archives in the United States. This book relied heavi­ly on archival research—to find copies of hard-­to-­find films and the materials surrounding the films, including reviews, production files, scripts, and stills. In many cases, such materials survive while copies of the relevant film do not. On that note, I would like to thank Jenny Romero and Faye Thompson of the Margaret Herrick Library, Mark Quigley of the UCLA Film and Tele­vi­sion Archive, and Ned Comstock of the USC Cine­ matic Arts Library for being so patient with my many requests over many years. Thank you also to Josie Walters-­Johnson at the Library of Congress, Cassie Blake and Melissa Levesque at the Pickford Center for Motion Picture Study, Eve Goldin and Kristen MacDonald of the Film Reference Library in Toronto, and the EYE Film Institute in the Netherlands. Additionally, a special thanks to David Pierce and Eric Hoyt for creating the Media History Digital Library: it is freely available, easily searchable, and offers access to many impor­tant film periodicals. Without ­these resources, a book like this would not have been pos­si­ble. I would also like to thank Robert J. Read for his contributions at the early stages of the proj­ect, during his time as a postdoctoral fellow at Laurier; and Mike McCleary, my doctoral research assistant, and Mynt Marsellus, my under­ graduate research assistant, for their work on the proj­ect. In addition, I would like to thank Karla Rae Fuller, Josephine Lee, and Julia H. Lee for their suggestions for revisions of vari­ous aspects of the proj­ect. Lastly, I thank my 231

232  •  Acknowl­edgments

editor at Rutgers University Press, Lisa Banning, whose support for this book was unwavering from the beginning. On a more personal note, I would like to thank my friends and colleagues at Laurier—­especially Jing Jing Chang, Ute Lischke, Tanis MacDonald, Mar­ iam Pirbhai, Katherine Spring, and Eleanor Ty—­for their friendship and sup­ port. I credit my parents, Micaela and Philip Gates, for initiating my love for classical Hollywood and my husband, Rob Gracie, for encouraging it to con­ tinue. Through the many years of research trips and writing, Rob’s support made this book pos­si­ble, including the time he offered to drive to Washing­ ton, D.C., on In­de­pen­dence Day to rescue me when all the flights ­were grounded. Lastly, I am grateful for the permission to reproduce se­lections from the fol­ lowing copyrighted material:





• An earlier version chapter 8 appeared as “The Assimilated Asian American as American Action Hero: Anna May Wong, Keye Luke, and James Shigeta in the Classical Hollywood Detective Film,” in Canadian Journal of Film Studies 22, no. 2 (2013). Copyright © 2013. Used with permission of the Canadian Journal of Film Studies. • An earlier version of some sections appeared as “Objects of an Orien­ talist Gaze: Chinese Americans in American ­Silent Film,” in Asian American Lit­er­at­ ure in Transition, vol. 1: 1850–1930, ed. Josephine Lee and Julia Lee (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018). Copyright © 2018. Used with permission of Cambridge University Press. • An earlier version of some sections appeared as “Asian Americans in Pre‒World War II Cinema,” in the Oxford Encyclopedia of Asian American and Pacific Islander Lit­er­a­ture and Culture, ed. Josephine Lee (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018). Copyright © 2018. Used with permission of Oxford University Press.

Notes Chapter 1 Introduction 1 David Henry Hwang, interview in Hollywood Chinese (Dong 2007). 2 Chinatown Film Proj­ect, Museum of Chinese in Amer­i­ca, accessed August 11, 2018, http://­w ww​.­mocanyc​.­org​/­visit​/­events​/­chinatown​_­fi lm​_ ­project. 3 Rose Hum Lee, The Chinese in the United States of Amer­i­ca (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1960), 68. 4 Ruth Mayer, “Introduction—­A ‘Bit of Orient Set Down in the Heart of a Western Metropolis’: The Chinatown in the United States and Eu­rope,” in Chinatowns in a Transnational World: Myths and Realities of an Urban Phenomenon, ed. Vanessa Künnemann and Ruth Mayer (New York: Routledge, 2011), 1. 5 Mayer, 2 and 6. 6 That newspapers overreported crime linked to Chinese immigrants is suggested by the fact that police statistics demonstrate how many fewer crimes w ­ ere committed by Chinese residents than by white, African American, or Mexican ones. For example, in a 1934 breakdown of crime from the police departments of 583 cities, whites accounted for 247,753 of the arrest rec­ords; African Americans, 80,618; Mexicans, 10,418; and Chinese, 1,040 (Federal Bureau of Investigation and United States Department of Justice, Uniform Crime Reports for the United States and Its Possessions V, no. 4 [Washington: Government Printing Office, 1935], 32). 7 Chinese immigrants far outnumbered other Asian immigrants, the second most numerous of which w ­ ere Japa­nese. For example, in 1880 ­there ­were 148 immi­ grants from Japan compared to 105,465 from China; in 1890, 2,039 compared to 107,488; and in 1900, 24,326 compared to 89,863 (Bureau of the Census, “Chinese and Japa­nese in the United States 1910” [Washington: Government Printing Office, 1914], https://­w ww2​.­census​.­gov​/­prod2​/­decennial​/­documents​ /­03322287no71​-­80ch6​.­pdf). 8 Tom Gunning, foreword to Hollywood Goes Oriental: CaucAsian Per­for­mance in American Film by Karla Rae Fuller (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 2010), xiv. 9 David Palumbo-­Liu, Asian/American: Historical Crossings of a Racial Frontier (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999), 1 (emphasis in the original). 233

234  •  Notes to Pages 7–10

10 Peter X Feng, Identities in Motion: Asian American Film and Video (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2003), 18. 11 Census Bureau, “2010 Census Shows Black Population Has Highest Concentra­ tion in the South: ­People Who Reported as Both Black and White More Than Doubled,” September 29, 2011, https://­w ww​.­census​.­gov​/­newsroom​/­releases​ /­archives​/­2010​_­census​/­cb11​-­cn185​.­html; Pew Research Center, “The Rise of Asian Americans,” June 19, 2012, http://­w ww​.­pewsocialtrends​.­org​/­2012​/­06​/­19​/­chapter​-­1​ -­portrait​-­of​-­asian​-­americans​/­. 12 Sucheng Chan, Asian Americans: An Interpretive History (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1991), 45. 13 K. Scott Wong, “Cultural Defenders and Brokers: Chinese Responses to the Anti-­Chinese Movement,” in Claiming Amer­i­ca: Constructing Chinese American Identities during the Exclusion Era, ed. K. Scott Wong and Sucheng Chan (Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press, 1998), 6. 14 Dana Y. Takagi, The Retreat from Race: Asian-­American Admissions and Racial Politics, rev. ed. (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1998), x. 15 Christina Klein, Cold War Orientalism: Asia in the Middlebrow Imagination, 1945–1961 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 224. 16 John Kuo Wei Tchen, New York before Chinatown: Orientalism and the Shaping of American Culture, 1776–1882 (Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1999), xv. 17 Robert G. Lee, Orientals: Asian Americans in Popu­lar Culture (Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press, 1999), 5. 18 The director of A Chinese Gains a Fortune in Amer­i­ca is not known. 19 K. Scott Wong, “Chinatown: Conflicting Images, Contested Terrain,” MELUS 20, no. 1 (1995): 4. 20 Jun Xing, Asian Amer­i­ca through the Lens: History, Repre­sen­ta­tions, and Identity (Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press, 1998), 20. 21 Taro Iwata, “Rethinking Asian American Agency: Understanding the Complex­ ity of Race and Citizenship in Amer­i­ca,” in Asian American Studies a­ fter Critical Mass, ed. Kent A. Ono (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, 2005), 177. 22 See Lisa Lowe, “Heterogeneity, Hybridity, Multiplicity: Marking Asian American Differences,” Diaspora 1, no. 1 (1991): 39. 23 Lowe. See also Timothy P. Fong and Larry H. Shinagawa, “­Future Directions in Asian American Studies,” in Asian Americans: Experiences and Perspectives, ed. Timothy P. Fong and Larry H. Shinagawa (Upper S­ addle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 2000), 410. 24 Kent A. Ono, “Asian American Studies in Its Second Phase,” Asian American Studies ­after Critical Mass, 1–2. 25 Xing, Asian Amer­i­ca through the Lens, 21 (emphasis in the original). 26 Karla Rae Fuller, Hollywood Goes Oriental: CaucAsian Per­for­mance in American Film (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 2010), 2. 27 As Min Hyoung Song explains, the term was coined by a German phi­los­o­pher for ­people from the Caucasus mountains whom he regarded as superior and ­today is linked to nineteenth-­century “scientific racism” (“Writing about Race,” June 27, 2017, https://­minhyoungsong​.­com​/­2017​/0 ­ 6​/­27​/­writing​-­about​-­race​/­). 28 Gary Y. Okihiro, Margins and Mainstreams: Asians in American History and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1994); Lisa Lowe, Immigrant

Notes to Pages 10–12  •  235

Acts: On Asian American Cultural Politics (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1996); Lee, Orientals. 29 Sucheng Chan, Chinese American Transnationalism (Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press, 2006); Christian Collet and Pei-te Lien, The Transnational Politics of Asian Americans (Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press, 2009); Kent A. Ono and Vincent N. Pham, Asian Americans and the Media (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2009). 30 Peter X Feng, Screening Asian Americans (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers Univer­ sity Press, 2002) and Identities in Motion; Xing, Asian Amer­i­ca through the Lens. 31 Homay King, Lost in Translation: Orientalism, Cinema, and the Enigmatic Signifier (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010); Jane Chi Hyun Park, Yellow F ­ uture: Oriental Style in Hollywood Cinema (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2010). 32 King, Lost in Translation; Gina Marchetti, Romance and the “Yellow Peril”: Race, Sex, and Discursive Strategies in Hollywood Fiction (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993); Michael Richardson, Otherness in Hollywood Cinema (New York: Continuum, 2010). 33 Fuller, Hollywood Goes Oriental. 34 Marchetti, Romance and the “Yellow Peril.” 35 I pay re­spect h ­ ere to Colleen Lye’s Amer­i­ca’s Asia: Racial Form and American Lit­er­a­ture, 1893–1945 (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2005), which in turn refers to Edward Friedman and Mark Selden’s edited collection Amer­i­ca’s Asia: Dissenting Essays on Asian-­American Relations (New York: Pantheon Press, 1971). 36 Fuller, Hollywood Goes Oriental, 1. 37 Ella Shohat and Robert Stam, Unthinking Eurocentrism: Multiculturalism and the Media, reprint ed. (London: Routledge, 1998), 1–2. 38 Gunning, foreword to Hollywood Goes Oriental by Karla Rae Fuller, x. 39 Hye Seung Chung, Hollywood Asian: Philip Ahn and the Politics of Cross-­Ethnic Per­for­mance (Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press, 2006); Graham Russell Gao Hodges, Anna May Wong: From Laundryman’s ­Daughter to Hollywood Legend (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 2012); Daisuke Miyao, Sessue Hayakawa: ­Silent Cinema and Transnational Stardom (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2007). 40 Iwata, “Rethinking Asian American Agency,” 181. 41 Clark Collis, “Was It Racist, or a Breakthrough?” Entertainment Weekly, July 22, 2016, 59. 42 Gunning, foreword to Hollywood Goes Oriental by Karla Rae Fuller, x. 43 Robert Stam and Louise Spence, “Colonialism, Racism, and Repre­sen­ta­tion,” in Movies and Methods, ed. Bill Nichols (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985), 634. 44 Richard Rushton and Gary Bettinson, What Is Film Theory? An Introduction to Con­temporary Debates (New York: McGraw-­Hill, 2010), 92. 45 Feng, introduction to Screening Asian Americans, 5. 46 For example, Chinese/American characters and actors also appeared frequently in American westerns; the focus of this book, however, is on American Chinatown communities, not isolated characters in western settings. For more on Chinese/ Americans in westerns, see Philippa Gates, “Crossing Amer­i­ca’s Borders: Chinese

236  •  Notes to Pages 12–16

Immigrants in the Southwesterns of the 1920s and 1930s,” Journal of Film and Video 69, no. 4 (2017): 3–17. 47 Nick Browne, preface to Refiguring American Film Genres: History and Theory, ed. Nick Browne (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1998), xi. 48 Quoted in Ken Hanke, Charlie Chan at the Movies: History, Filmography, and Criticism (Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Co., 1989), xv. 49 Jeffrey Richards’s China and the Chinese in Popu­lar Film: From Fu Manchu to Charlie Chan (London: I. B. Tauris, 2017) offers a wider range of topics on Asian Americans; being more historical in focus, however, it does not engage with the issues that are the focus of Asian American studies. 50 Lye, Amer­i­ca’s Asia, 4. 51 Paul Harris, “Library of Congress: 75% of S­ ilent Films Lost,” Variety, December 4, 2013, http://­variety​.­com​/2­ 013​/­fi lm​/­news​/l­ ibrary​-­of​-­congress​-­only​-­14​-­of​-­u​-­s​-­silent​ -­films​-­survive​-­1200915020​/­. 52 The scene outline and Selig brochure are available in the file for Lights and Shadows of Chinatown (1908), William Selig Special Collection, Margaret Herrick Library, Los Angeles, CA. The plot summary is repeated verbatim u­ nder the title A Celestial Maiden in Billboard, October 1908, 8. 53 Charles Merewether, introduction to The Archive: Documents of Con­temporary Art, ed. Charles Merewether (London: Whitechapel, 2006), 10. 54 The earliest fan magazines, including Motion Picture Story and Photoplay, ­were founded in 1911 to capitalize on the increasing popularity of films and stars. By 1918, both had circulations of over 200,000. The first trade papers, including the New York Clipper and Variety, began covering short films in 1907. The Moving Picture World (1907–1927) was the most impor­tant ­until around 1920, when the Motion Picture News (1913–1929) supplanted it. Other impor­tant trade papers included the Exhibitor’s Trade Review (1916–1926) and the Exhibitor’s Herald (founded in 1915)—­the latter of which merged with the Moving Picture World in 1927 to form the Motion Picture Herald (1927–1950). Wid’s Daily became Film Daily in 1922. See Richard Koszarski, History of the American Cinema, vol. 3: An Eve­ning’s Entertainment: The Age of the S­ ilent Feature Picture 1915–1928 (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1990), 193–197. 55 Media History Digital Library home page, accessed August 11, 2018, mediahisto­ ryproject​.­org. 56 Review of An Oriental Romance, Moving Picture World, February 6, 1915, 808. 57 Jan Olsson, Los Angeles before Hollywood: Journalism and American Film Culture, 1905 to 1915 (Stockholm: National Library of Sweden, 2008), 15. 58 ­Until 1929, San Francisco had three after­noon papers (the Call and Post, the Bulletin, and the Daily News) as well as two morning papers (the Chronicle and the Examiner). William Randolph Hearst, who owned the Examiner and the Call and Post, bought up the failing Bulletin and merged it with the Call and Post in 1929 to create the Call Bulletin. Other papers that came and went included the San Francisco Journal and Illustrated Daily Herald, but the paper that “dominated the San Francisco population’s thinking and was the City’s most influential newspaper throughout the Twenties and Thirties” was the San Francisco Examiner (Jerry Flam, Good Life in Hard Times: San Francisco in the ’20s and ’30s [San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 1999], 21, see also 8–10).

Notes to Pages 16–20  •  237

59 For example, a headline in the Sacramento Bee in June 1892 declared: “The City Prison Filled with Murderous Mongols” (Clare V. McKanna, Jr., Race and Hom­ic­ ide in Nineteenth-­Century California [Reno: University of Nevada Press, 2002], 38). 60 For more on film history as a field, see Robert C. Allen and Douglas Gomery, Film History: Theory and Practice (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1985).

Chapter 2  Yellow Peril, Protest, and an Orientalist Gaze 1 Roger Garcia, introduction to Out of the Shadows: Asians in American Cinema, ed. Roger Garcia (Milan, Italy: Olivares, 2001), 13. 2 Pew Research Center, “The Rise of Asian Americans,” June 19, 2012, http://­w ww​ .­pewsocialtrends​.­org​/­2012​/­06​/­19​/­chapter​-­1​-­portrait​-­of​-­asian​-­americans​/­. 3 Ronald Takaki, Strangers from a Dif­fer­ent Shore: A History of Asian Americans (Boston: ­Little, Brown and Com­pany, 1989), 31. 4 “FAQs,” Chinese Railroad Workers in North Amer­i­ca Proj­ect at Stanford University, accessed April 12, 2017, http://­web​.­stanford​.e­ du​/­group​/­chineserailroad​ /­cgi​-­bin​/­wordpress​/­faqs​/­. 5 John Powell, Encyclopedia of North American Immigration (New York: Facts on File, 2005), 41–60. 6 Timothy P. Fong, “The History of Asians in Amer­i­ca,” in Asian Americans: Experiences and Perspectives, ed. Timothy P. Fong and Larry H. Shinagawa (Upper ­Saddle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 2000), 14. 7 Warren S. Thompson, Growth and Changes in California’s Population (Los Angeles: Haynes Foundation, 1955), 76. 8 Gina Marchetti, Romance and the “Yellow Peril”: Race, Sex, and Discursive Strategies in Hollywood Fiction (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993) 2. 9 Sucheng Chan, Asian Americans: An Interpretive History (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1991), 45. 10 “New and Startling Phase of the Chinese Question,” San Francisco Call, Novem­ ber 15, 1896. 11 Thomas Nast, “The Chinese Question,” Harper’s Weekly, February 18, 1871, 149. Although the title of Nast’s image pop­u­lar­ized the phrase, it had appeared in print before. See, for example, “The Chinese-­A merican Question,” New York Times, July 14, 1870. 12 “ ‘The Chinese Question,’ 1871,” TagArchives, February 13, 2016, https://­ thomasnastcartoons​.­com​/­tag​/­the​-­chinese​-­question​/­. 13 “Widen Street of Chinatown and Purge Place of Its Evils,” San Francisco Chronicle, July 1, 1900. 14 Joyce Kuo, “Excluded, Segregated and Forgotten: A Historical View of the Discrimination of Chinese Americans in Public Schools,” Asian American Law Journal 5 (1998): 188–189. 15 David M. Brownstone, The Chinese-­American Heritage (New York: Facts on File, 1988), 37–44. 16 Anna Pegler-­Gordon, “Chinese Exclusion, Photography, and the Development of U.S. Immigration Policy,” American Quarterly 58, no. 1 (2006): 56. 17 Mae M. Ngai, Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern Amer­i­ca (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2004), 3 and 27 (emphasis in the original).

238  •  Notes to Pages 20–23

18 Deenesh Sohoni, “Unsuitable Suitors: Anti-­Miscegenation Laws, Naturalization Laws, and the Construction of Asian Identities,” Law and Society Review 41, no. 3 (2007): 593. 19 “Reverse U.S. Judge Who Raps Chinese as Untrustworthy,” San Francisco Examiner, May 29, 1917. 20 United States Senate, Report of the Joint Special Committee to Investigate Chinese Immigration (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1877), vii. 21 Willard B. Farwell, The Chinese at Home and Abroad (San Francisco: A. L. Bancroft and Co., 1885), 4. 22 This unwelcoming attitude is highlighted by a 1902 article that included this right-­wing statement: “the Chinaman is an unfair competitor of American workingmen, [and] . . . ​he is unfitted for absorption into the American race” (“Chinese and Crime,” San Francisco Call, January 24, 1902). 23 Krystyn R. Moon. Yellowface: Creating the Chinese in American Popu­lar ­Music and Per­for­mance, 1850s–1920s (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2005), 56. 24 Gary Y. Okihiro, Margins and Mainstreams: Asians in American History and Culture (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1994), 137–138. 25 Edward Said, Orientalism (New York: Pantheon Books, 1978). 26 S. R. Moosavinia, N. Niazi, and Ahmad Ghaforian, “Edward Said’s Orientalism and the Study of the Self and the Other in Orwell’s Burmese Days,” Lit­er­at­ ure and Language 2, no.1 (2001): 104. 27 Okihiro, Margins and Mainstreams, 138. 28 Karen Leong, The China Mystique: Pearl S. Buck, Anna May Wong, Mayling Soong, and the Transformation of American Orientalism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 156. 29 Michael Richardson, Otherness in Hollywood Cinema (New York: Continuum, 2010), 13. 30 Andrew Gyory, Closing the Gate: Race, Politics, and the Chinese Exclusion Act (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1998), 17–18. 31 Cheng-­Tsu Wu, Chink! A Documentary History of Anti-­Chinese Prejudice in Amer­i­ca (New York: World Publishing, 1972), 6. 32 Gary Hoppenstand, “Yellow Devil Doctors and Opium Dens: The Yellow Peril Ste­reo­t ype in Mass Media Entertainment,” in Popu­lar Culture: An Introductory Text, ed. Jack Nachbar and Kevin Lause (Bowling Green, OH: Bowling Green State University Popu­lar Press, 1992), 283. 33 Ella Shohat and Robert Stam, Unthinking Eurocentrism: Multiculturalism and the Media, reprint ed. (London: Routledge, 1998), 100. Homay King identifies this tendency as the “Shanghai gesture” (Lost in Translation: Orientalism, Cinema, and the Enigmatic Signifier [Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2010], 50). 34 Nick Browne demonstrates how the Orientalization of film aesthetics in the 1910s and 1920s spread beyond the screen to inform the design of film theaters, including t­ hose built in a Chinese style in Chicago (1926), Seattle (1926), and Los Angeles (1928) (“Orientalism as an Ideological Form: American Film Theory in the ­Silent Period,” Wide A ­ ngle 11, no. 4 [1989]: 26 and 29). 35 Diane Negra, Off-­White Hollywood: American Culture and Ethnic Female Stardom (New York: Routledge, 2001), 17. 36 Sohoni, “Unsuitable Suitors,” 614.

Notes to Pages 23–26  •  239

37 James Snead, White Screens/Black Images: Hollywood from the Dark Side (New York: Routledge, 1994), 2. 38 Gina Marchetti, “From Fu Manchu to M. Butterfly and Irma Vep: Cinematic Incarnations of Chinese Villainy,” in Bad: Infamy, Darkness, Evil, and Slime on Screen, ed. Murray Pomerance (Albany: State University of New York Press, 2004), 188. 39 Sax Rohmer, The Return of Dr. Fu Manchu (New York: Pyramid Books, 1965), 7. 40 Colleen Lye, Amer­i­ca’s Asia: Racial Form and American Lit­er­a­ture, 1893–1945 (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2005), 13 and 15. 41 James Oliver Curwood, The River’s End (New York: Cosmopolitan Book Corp., 1919), 76. 42 Eugene Franklin Wong, “The Early Years: Asians in the American Films Prior to World War II,” in Screening Asian Americans, ed. Peter X Feng (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2002), 59. 43 Sue Fawn Chung, “From Fu Manchu, Evil Genius, to James Lee Wong, Popu­lar Hero: A Study of the Chinese-­A merican in Popu­lar Periodical Fiction from 1920 to 1940,” Journal of Popu­lar Culture 10, no. 3 (1976): 535. 44 Karen Lynch, “Orientation via Orientalism: Chinatown in Detective Narratives,” Popu­lar Culture Review 11, no. 1 (2000): 14. 45 Chung, “From Fu Manchu, Evil Genius, to James Lee Wong, Popu­lar Hero,” 538–539. 46 Quoted in Gloria H. Chun, “ ‘Go West . . . ​to China’: Chinese American Identity in the 1930s,” in Claiming Amer­i­ca: Constructing Chinese American Identities during the Exclusion Era, ed. K. Scott Wong and Sucheng Chan (Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press, 1998), 168. 47 Karla Rae Fuller, Hollywood Goes Oriental: CaucAsian Per­for­mance in American Film (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 2010), 73. 48 Okihiro, Margins and Mainstreams, 141 and 145. 49 Jane Chi Hyun Park, Yellow F ­ uture: Oriental Style in Hollywood Cinema (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2010), 3. 50 Lisa Lowe, Immigrant Acts: On Asian American Cultural Politics (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1996), 11–12. 51 David L. Eng, Racial Castration: Managing Masculinity in Asian Amer­i­ca (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2001), 1; Doobo Shim, “From Yellow Peril through Model Minority to Renewed Yellow Peril,” Journal of Communication Inquiry 22, no. 4 (1998): 390. 52 Laura Hyun-­Yi Kang, “The Desiring of Asian Female Bodies: Interracial Romance and Cinematic Subjection,” Screening Asian Americans, 74–75. 53 Tom Gunning, “The Cinema of Attraction: Early Film, Its Spectator, and the Avant-­Garde,” in Early Cinema: Space Frame Narrative, ed. Thomas Elsaesser (London: British Film Institute, 1990), 57. 54 Stephen Gong, interview in Hollywood Chinese (Dong 2007). 55 For early film shorts, the director’s name is often unknown but, at the time, also regarded as unimportant as it was the production com­pany’s name that was capitalized on to sell the films. Some of t­ hese early shorts are viewable online, including Arrest in Chinatown, San Francisco, Cal. (Library of Congress, 1897, https://­w ww​.­loc​.­gov​/­item​/­00694412​/)­ and Chinese Laundry, which is also known as Robetta and Doretto, no. 2 Chinese Laundry Scene (Library of Congress, 1894, https://­w ww​.­loc​.g­ ov​/­item​/­00694137). Rube in an Opium Joint is sometimes

240  •  Notes to Pages 26–28

incorrectly referred to as Ruben in an Opium Joint. “Rube” was a common word at the time, meaning an unsophisticated person who was usually from the country. 56 Charlie Keil, Early American Cinema in Transition: Story, Style, and Filmmaking, 1907–1913 (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2001), 4. 57 Tom Gunning, D. W. Griffith and the Origins of American Narrative Film: The Early Years at Biograph (Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1994), 37–38. 58 Eileen Bowser, History of the American Cinema, vol. 2: The Transformation of Cinema, 1907–1915 (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1990), 54. 59 Gunning, D. W. Griffith, 89. 60 Lary May, Screening out the Past: The Birth of Mass Culture and the Motion Picture Industry (New York: Oxford University Press, 1980), xii. 61 May, xii–xv. 62 Ruth Mayer, “The Glittering Machine of Modernity: The Chinatown in Ameri­ can S­ ilent Film,” Modernism/Modernity 16, no. 4 (2009): 662. This popularity is evident, since many film serials had at least one episode involving Chinatown settings and crimes, and t­ here ­were many short films (­those u­ nder forty minutes in length) that offered Chinatown-­centered plots. The focus of this book, however, is on feature-­length films, and thus I ­will mention serials and shorts only when they are the only texts in their period for which materials (for example, scripts, stills, or reviews) exist. 63 The gradual decline of the studio era began in 1948, when the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that the major studios must divest themselves of their theaters, thus eliminating the guaranteed exhibition of their product. 64 ­Whether or not a film was categorized as a B film was not always determined in advance of its release, and sometimes reviews in trade publications would argue that a film intended as a “dualer” or “programmer” was good enough to be the top half of an eve­ning’s bill. However, ­there was an expectation that a B film would be of lower quality and use lesser-­k nown talent. 65 Brian Taves, “The B Film: Hollywood’s Other Half,” in ­Grand Design: Hollywood as a Modern Business Enterprise, 1930–1939, ed. Tino Balio (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1993), 337. 66 Wheeler Winston Dixon, The “B” Directors: A Biographical Directory (Metuchen, NJ: Scarecrow Press, 1985), 3. 67 Ruth Vasey, The World According to Hollywood, 1918–1939 (Exeter, UK: University of Exeter Press, 1997), 11. 68 The first sound film was made in 1927, but the adoption of sound by the industry was not completed u­ ntil 1930. 69 Part of the film can be viewed in Hollywood Chinese. 70 Jenny Cho and the Chinese Historical Society of Southern California, Images of Amer­i­ca: Chinese in Hollywood (Mount Pleasant, SC: Arcadia Publishing, 2013), 7. 71 Gong, interview in Hollywood Chinese. 72 Howe must have had a good deal of influence off the set as well. Undated publicity stills show him with T. K. Chang, then the consul general of the Republic of China and with Hu Shih, China’s ambassador to the United States in 1938–42. Chang represented the voice of the Chinese government in Hollywood, and as Production Code Administration rec­ords show, he lobbied for Hollywood to improve its repre­sen­ta­tion of Chinese p­ eople. The stills are available in the James Wong Howe file, Core Collection—­Biography Files, Margaret Herrick Library, Los Angeles, CA. The rec­ords are available by specific film file, Motion Picture

Notes to Pages 28–32  •  241

Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 73 Gong, interview in Hollywood Chinese. 74 Review of The Lights and Shadows of Chinatown, Billboard, October 17, 1908, 8. 75 Review of The Chinese Lily, Motion Picture World, June 27, 1914, 1842. Unfortu­ nately, no other information about the film is available. 76 Leslie Bryers, “The Gentleman from Japan,” Motion Picture Magazine, March 1922, 55. 77 Review of The First Born, Wid’s Daily, February 6, 1921, 5. 78 Joseph Worrell, “Sessue Hayakawa,” accessed May 1, 2015, http://­w ww​.­silentera​ .­com​/­people​/­actors​/­Hayakawa​-­Sessue​.­html. 79 Daisuke Miyao, Sessue Hayakawa: S­ ilent Cinema and Transnational Stardom (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2007), 223–234. 80 “Haworth Takes Over Old Griffith Studio,” Exhibitor’s Herald, December 20, 1919. 81 Miyao, Sessue Hayakawa, 214–215. 82 Miyao, 215–218. 83 I do not discuss Broken Blossoms in detail in this study since it is set in London’s Lime­house District and does not explore the themes related to Chinese immigra­ tion and assimilation. Instead, the film is more interested in the contrast between white, working-­class life and Eastern philosophy. The film tells the story of Cheng Huan (Barthelmess)—­who, as a title card explains, “dreams to spread the gentle message of Buddha to the Anglo-­Saxon lands.” While the harsh realities of London’s Lime­house District threaten to disillusion him, his purpose is achieved when he discovers the “broken blossom,” Lucy Burrows (Lillian Gish). Lucy suffers beatings at the hands of her ­father, a boxer named Battling Burrows (Donald Crisp), and Cheng takes Lucy into his h ­ umble home to nurse her back to health. Lucy’s ­fathers eventually learns where his ­daughter is and drags her home to punish her for both ­running away and living with a Chinese man. Cheng arrives too late to save the w ­ oman he loves; her demise, however, arouses him to action, and when Burrows lunges at him with a hatchet, Cheng shoots him dead. Cheng then returns to his home with Lucy’s body and, a­ fter building a shrine to Buddha, he commits suicide. 84 Eugene Franklin Wong, On Visual Media Racism: Asians in the American Motion Pictures (New York: Arno Press 1978), 11–12. 85 The consensus among Hollywood makeup artists was that the so-­called “slanted” eye (epicanthic fold of the eye), not the color of their skin, identified characters as Asian. See Wong, 41. 86 Photo of Viola Dana in The Willow Tree. File for The Willow Tree (1920), Museum Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 87 Photo of Loretta Young in The Hatchet Man. File for The Hatchet Man (1932), Perc Westmore Papers, Margaret Herrick Library. 88 Cecil Holland, “Orientals Made to Order,” American Cinematographer 13, no. 8 (1932): 16. 89 Holland, 16. 90 Holland, 48. 91 Quoted in press sheet for King of Chinatown (1939), Paramount Press Sheets, Margaret Herrick Library. 92 Wong, “The Early Years,” 56.

242  •  Notes to Pages 32–37

93 E. Oliver Whitney, “Yellowface Is Still a ­Th ing in Hollywood and ­Really Needs to Stop,” HuffPost, August 3, 2015, http://­w ww​.­huffingtonpost​.­com​/­entry​ /­hollywood​-­yellowface​-­east​-­asians​_­us​_­55bfaa11e4b0d4f33a0382ad. 94 Tom Gunning, foreword to Hollywood Goes Oriental: CaucAsian Per­for­mance in American Film by Karla Rae Fuller (Detroit: Wayne State University Press, 2010), xii. 95 Ed Guerrero, “The Black Image in Protective Custody: Hollywood’s Biracial Buddy Films of the Eighties,” in Black American Cinema, ed. Manthia Diawara (New York: Routledge, 1993), 237–238. 96 “Chinese Story Cycle,” Variety, June 21, 1932, 4. 97 “Chinatown Squad,” Modern Screen, August 1935, 97. Although the article identifies Gubbins as Chinese, according to his g­ reat grandnephew who has written the biography of Gubbins for IMDb​.­com, “Gubbins was ethnically En­g lish, and he went to Hollywood and became not just a prop supplier and adviser for movies concerning China, but also was a champion for Chinese and Chinese-­A merican actors and actresses” (tm37gl, “Tom Gubbins Biography,” IMDb, accessed August 13, 2018, http://­w ww​.­imdb​.­com​/­name​/­nm0345532​/­bio​ ?­ref​_​­=­nm​_­ov​_­bio​_ ­sm). Born in Shanghai, Gubbins was the stepson of Sir Wei Yuk, one of the first Chinese politicians in colonial Hong Kong. A photo of Gubbins appears in Cho and the Chinese Historical Society of Southern California, Chinatown in Los Angeles, 77. 98 Ching Wah Lee, “Hollywood,” Chinese Digest, June 12, 1936, 9. 99 David Henry Hwang, interview in Hollywood Chinese. 1 00 Amy Tan, interview in Hollywood Chinese. 1 01 Lisa Lu, interview in Hollywood Chinese. 1 02 William Hoy, “Editorial Note,” Chinese Digest, March 1937, 23. 1 03 Wong, On Visual Media Racism, 136–137. 1 04 Negra, Off-­White Hollywood, 3. 1 05 Press sheet for ­Daughter of Shanghai (1937), Paramount Press Sheets, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 06 Fuller, Hollywood Goes Oriental, 25 and 54. 1 07 Dorothy B. Jones, The Portrayal of China and India on the American Screen, 1896–1955: The Evolution of Chinese and Indian Themes, Locales, and Characters as Portrayed on the American Screen (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1955), 28–30. 1 08 Chalsa M. Loo, Chinatown: Most Time, Hard Time (New York: Praeger, 1991), 46–48. 1 09 Fong, “The History of Asians in Amer­i­ca,” 19. 1 10 Chan, Asian Americans, 139. 1 11 Sessue Hayakwa also played a Japa­nese col­o­nel in David Lean’s acclaimed 1957 film, The Bridge on the River Kwai. 1 12 T. L. Li, “A Plea for Truthful Portrayal,” Moving Picture World, October 14, 1916, 240. 1 13 Quoted in “Chinese Protest ‘Tong Man’ Rim,” Marin Journal, February 12, 1920. 1 14 Quoted in program for The Tong-­Man, 1988, Pacific Film Archive, Berkeley, CA. 1 15 Anthony Slide, The New Historical Dictionary of the American Film Industry (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 1998), 164. 1 16 It is not necessarily that Joy was less than rigorous in his enforcement of the Code, but rather that it might appear that way b­ ecause of changes that occurred when the Studio Relations Committee (SRC) was reconstituted as the PCA in 1934. As

Notes to Pages 37–39  •  243

Vasey explains, u­ nder Joy’s leadership at the SRC, producers did not have to submit their films, and from May 1930 to April 1931, two-­thirds of the industry’s output was not submitted. In 1934, the MPPDA agreed that none of its members would release any film ­until it had been approved by the PCA and bore its seal. See Vasey, The World According to Hollywood, 122 and 131. 117 Thomas Doherty, Hollywood’s Censor: Joseph I. Breen and the Production Code Administration (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), 223. 118 Susan Courtney, Hollywood Fantasies of Miscegenation: Spectacular Narratives of Gender and Race, 1903–1967 (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2005), 107. 119 Courtney, Hollywood Fantasies of Miscegenation; Doherty, Hollywood’s Censor; Francis Couvares, “So This Is Censorship: Race, Sex, and Censorship in Movies of the 1920s and 1930s,” Journal of American Studies 24, no. 3 (2011): 581–597; Ellen C. Scott, Cinema Civil Rights: Regulation, Repression, and Race in the Classical Hollywood Era (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2015). 1 20 Vasey, The World According to Hollywood, 175–179; Thomas Doherty, Pre-­Code Hollywood: Sex, Immorality, and Insurrection in American Cinema, 1930–1934 (New York: Columbia University Press, 1999), 272–273; Hye Seung Chung, “Hollywood Diplomacy and The Purple Heart (1944): Preserving War­time Alliances through Film Regulation,” Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Tele­vi­sion (2017), 3–4 (https://­w ww​.­tandfonline​.­com​/­doi​/­f ull​/­10​.­1080​/0 ­ 1439685​ .­2017​.­1369669). Jeffrey Richards also briefly mentions The Drums of Fu Manchu (En­g lish and Witney 1940) in China and the Chinese in Popu­lar Film: From Fu Manchu to Charlie Chan (London: I. B. Tauris, 2017). Chung also examines The Purple Heart (Milestone 1944), but in terms of the influence of the Office of War Information on the PCA’s practices during World War II. 1 21 Chung, “Hollywood Diplomacy and The Purple Heart (1944),” 17. 1 22 Jones, The Portrayal of China and India on the American Screen, 38. 1 23 Jones, 39–40. 1 24 John V. Wilson to Henry Henigson, May 23, 1930. File for East Is West (1930), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 25 T. B. Fithian to John V. Wilson, December 4, 1930. File for East Is West (1930), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 26 Frederick L. Herron to Col­o­nel Jason Joy, January 15, 1931; Jason Joy, memo, May 6, 1931. File for East Is West (1930), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­ Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 27 “East Is West,” Variety October 29, 1930, 5. 1 28 T. B. Fithian to John V. Wilson, December 4, 1930. File for East Is West (1930), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 29 Joseph Breen to Col­o­nel Frederick Herron, August 29, 1935; Joseph Breen to Harry Zehner, August 30, 1935. File for East Is West (1930), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 30 Joseph Breen to Harry Zehner, May 13, 1937. File for East Is West (1930), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library.

244  •  Notes to Pages 39–41

131 Fred W. Beetson to Daryl Zanuck, October 28, 1931. File for The Hatchet Man (1932), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administra­ tion Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 32 James Wingate to Edwin Small, February 15, 1933. File for I Cover the Waterfront (Cruze 1933), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. Joseph Breen to William Berke, December 14, 1935, and Joseph Breen to A. W. Hackel, November 9, 1936. File for Border Phantom (Luby 1936), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­ Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 33 Joseph Breen to Larry Darmour, February 2 and 3, 1937. File for Outlaws of the Orient (1937), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 34 Joseph Breen, Letter to Col­o­nel Frederick L. Herron, MPPDA, June 4, 1937. File for Outlaws of the Orient (1937), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­ Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 35 Evidently some producers did not know that Chang’s opinion was unofficial, as Harold Hurley suggests in an internal Paramount memo about ­Daughter of Shanghai: “I have talked with the Chinese consul regarding the Anna May Wong story. . . . ​We wanted to use the title, ­Daughter of the Tong, on it, but the consul ­won’t go for it.” See Harold Hurley to A. M. Botsford, July 14, 1937 Two months ­later Breen wrote to John Hammell at Parmount that “­there ­will be no objection to the showing of this picture in China. In this connection, we note that the script has had the approval of the representative of the Chinese government.” See Joseph Breen to John Hammell, September 13, 1937. File for ­Daughter of Shanghai (1937), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 36 Joseph Breen to Col­o­nel Frederick L. Herron, June 11, 1937. File for Outlaws of the Orient (1937), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 37 Breen to Herron, June 4, 1937. 1 38 Beetson to Zanuck, October 28, 1931. 1 39 Joseph Breen to Col­o­nel Frederick L. Herron, September 13, 1937. File for ­Daughter of Shanghai (1937), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­ Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 40 Publicity stills for The Good Earth (1937). File for The Good Earth (1937), Core Collection—­Production Files, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 41 “The Cat’s Paw,” Variety, April 2, 1934, n.p. 1 42 Frank Harris to William R. Fraser, December 4, 1934. File for The Cat’s Paw (1934), Harold Lloyd Papers, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 43 Frank Harris to William R. Fraser, December 6, 1934. File for The Cat’s Paw (1934), Harold Lloyd Papers, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 44 L. Paulson to W. J. Hutchinson, February 11, 1936. File for The Cat’s Paw (1934), Harold Lloyd Papers, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 45 T. K. Chang to Jack Warner, July 20, 1938. File for Torchy Blane in Chinatown (Beaudine 1939), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 46 Arthur Janisch, untitled internal report on Torchy Blane in Chinatown, n.d., and “Vital Statistics: Torchy Blane in Chinatown,” n.d. File for Torchy Blane in Chinatown (1939), Warner Bros. Archive, Los Angeles.

Notes to Pages 42–46  •  245 1 47 Scott, Cinema Civil Rights, 42. 1 48 Scott, 42. 1 49 Chung, “Hollywood Diplomacy and The Purple Heart (1944),” 5. 1 50 PCA to Franklin King, May 8, 1942. File for Rubber Racketeers (1942), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 51 Joseph Breen to Col­o­nel Jason S. Joy, Twentieth C ­ entury Fox, March 14, 1944. File for Nob Hill (1945), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 52 Arthur Lubin, “Life among the Censors,” Hollywood Reporter, September 23, 1946, n.p. 1 53 Joseph Breen to Jack Warner, March 17, 1950, File for Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture (1949), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. Stephen S. Jackson to Harry Cohn, March 15, 1948. File for The Breaking Point (1950) Motion Picture Associa­ tion of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. The Code Amendment was instituted November 1, 1939. Hayes, “The Motion Picture Production Code,” 2000–2008, April 16, 2018. https://­ productioncode​.­d hwritings​.­com​/­multipleframes​_ ­productioncode​.­php​=. 1 54 Chung, “Hollywood Diplomacy and The Purple Heart (1944),” 16–17. 1 55 David Palumbo-­Liu, Asian/American: Historical Crossings of a Racial Frontier (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999), 2 (emphasis in the original). 1 56 Lye, Amer­i­ca’s Asia, 254. 1 57 Tom Gunning, “Tracing the Individual: Photography, Detectives, and Early Cinema,” in Cinema and the Invention of Modern Life, ed. Leo Charney and Vanessa R. Schwartz (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 16. 1 58 Gor Yun Leong, Chinatown Inside Out (New York: Barrows Mussey, 1936), 130–131. 1 59 Kristen Whissel, Picturing American Modernity: Traffic, Technology, and the ­Silent Cinema (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2008), 4. 1 60 Review of Dinty, Variety, November 26, 1920, 34. 1 61 Shirley Jennifer Lim, A Feeling of Belonging: Asian American W ­ omen’s Public Culture, 1939–1960 (New York: New York University Press, 2006), 54. 1 62 Lim, 54. 1 63 Anne Friedberg, Win­dow Shopping: Cinema and the Postmodern (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 3. 1 64 Walter Benjamin, The Arcades Proj­ect, trans. Howard Eiland and Kevin McLaugh­ lin (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1999). 1 65 Elizabeth Wilson, “The Invisible Flâneur,” in Postmodern Cities and Spaces, ed. Sophie Watson and Katherine Gibson (Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1996), 65. 1 66 Laura Mulvey, “Visual Plea­sure and Narrative Cinema,” Screen 16, no. 3 (1975): 9–10. 1 67 Mulvey, 13–14. 1 68 John Kuo Wei Tchen and Dylan Yeats, “Epilogue: U ­ ncle Sam and the Headless Chinaman,” in Yellow Peril! An Archive of Anti-­Asian Fear, ed. John Kuo Wei Tchen and Dylan Yeats (London: Verso, 2014), 344–347. 1 69 Mulvey, “Visual Plea­sure and Narrative Cinema,” 6. 1 70 Afong Moy, the first Chinese w ­ oman to enter the United States, was put on display in cities around the country as the Chinese Lady exhibit. James S. Moy,

246  •  Notes to Pages 46–54

“The Anthropological Gaze and the Touristic Siting of Chinese Amer­i­ca,” Modern Drama 35, no.1 (1992): 82–83. 171 Moy, 83. 172 Moy, 82. 173 Quoted in Karen Leong, The China Mystique, 5. 174 Pegler-­Gordon, “Chinese Exclusion, Photography, and the Development of U.S. Immigration Policy,” 53. 175 Pegler-­Gordon, 54–58. 176 Pegler-­Gordon, 58. 177 Gunning, “Tracing the Individual,” 20 and 32. 178 The San Francisco Chronicle had a reputation for supporting exclusion and anti-­Asian activities. See Jules Becker, The Course of Exclusion 1882–1924: San Francisco Newspaper Coverage of the Chinese and Japa­nese in the United States (San Francisco: Mellen Research University Press, 1991), 7. 1 79 Quoted in E. G. Fitzhamon, “The Streets of San Francisco: Washington, No. 29,” San Francisco Chronicle, February 5, 1929. 1 80 Bill Simons, “In the Neighborhood: Where to Stroll, Eat, Drink, Exercise and Play in Chinatown,” San Francisco Chronicle, June 30, 1940. 1 81 “Seeing Chinatown,” San Francisco Call, June 18, 1911, 36. 1 82 E. G. Fitzhamon, “The Streets of San Francisco: Clay, No. 20,” San Francisco Chronicle, March 1, 1929. 1 83 By “flashlight,” Fitzhamon means that the photos ­were taken in a dark space using a flashbulb.

Chapter 3  Imperiled Imperialism 1 The Chinatown in Portland, Oregon, was the second largest from 1880 to1910. See “Chinese American Portland,” Travel Portland, accessed August 14, 2018, https://­w ww​.­travelportland​.­com​/­collection​/­chinese​-­american​-­ portland​/­. 2 Min Zhou, Chinatown: The Socioeconomic Potential of an Urban Enclave (Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press, 1992), 6. 3 Ronald Takaki, Strangers from a Dif­fer­ent Shore: A History of Asian Americans (Boston: ­Little, Brown and Com­pany, 1989), 250; Min Zhou and Mingang Lin, “Community Transformation and the Formation of Ethnic Capital: Immigrant Chinese Communities in the United States,” Journal of Chinese Overseas 1, no. 2 (2005): 266. 4 Fifteenth Census of the United States: 1930, vol. 3, part 1: Population 1930 (1932; repr., New York: Norman Ross Publishing, Inc. 2003), 266; Sixteenth Census of the United States: 1940, vol. 2: Population (1943; repr., New York: Ross Publishing, Inc. 2005), 664 and 679. 5 Takaki, Strangers from a Dif­fer­ent Shore, 246. 6 “Wah’s Laundry Sign—­Start of Chinatown,” San Francisco News, October 14, 1935. 7 Zhou, Chinatown, 32–33. 8 Sucheng Chan, Asian Americans: An Interpretive History (Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1991), 56–57. 9 Selma Siew Li Bidlingmaier, “Spaces of Alterity and Temporal Permanence: The Case of San Francisco and New York’s Chinatowns,” in Selling EthniCity: Urban

Notes to Pages 54–57  •  247

Cultural Politics in the Amer­i­cas, ed. Olaf Kaltmeier (Surrey, UK: Ashgate, 2010), 278–279. 10 Richard Gonzales, “Rebuilding Chinatown a­ fter the 1906 Quake,” National Public Radio, April 12, 2006, http://­w ww​.­npr​.­org​/­templates​/­story​/s­ tory​.­php​ ?­storyId​=­5337215. 11 Raymond W. Rast, “The Cultural Politics of Tourism in San Francisco’s China­ town, 1882–1917,” Pacific Historical Review 76, no. 1 (2007): 53. 12 Christopher Yip, “San Francisco’s Chinatown: An Architectural and Urban History” (PhD diss., University of California, Berkeley, 1985), 173–175. 13 Takaki, Strangers from a Dif­fer­ent Shore, 247. 14 Rast, “The Cultural Politics of Tourism in San Francisco’s Chinatown,” 54. 15 Quoted in Takaki, Strangers from a Dif­fer­ent Shore, 247–248. 16 Jesse B. Cook, “San Francisco’s Old Chinatown,” Police and Peace Officers’ Journal of the State of California, July 1931, 32. 17 Charles Caldwell Dobie, San Francisco: A Pageant (New York: D. Appleton-­ Century Com­pany, 1939), 203. 18 “Underground Chinatown,” Billboard, May 11, 1918, 72. 19 Films with scenes in Chinatown’s supposed subterranean passages included The Secret Sin (Reicher 1915), The Midnight Patrol (Willat 1918), Shame (Flynn 1921), The Cub Reporter (Dillon 1922), Chinatown Nights (Wellman 1929), Welcome Danger (Bruckman and St. Clair 1929), Frisco Jenny (Wellman 1932), and even Confessions of an Opium Eater (Zugsmith 1962) and Thoroughly Modern Millie (Hill 1967). 20 Dobie, San Francisco, 203. Although Dobie was white, his books w ­ ere regarded positively by the Chinese American community. See William Hoy, “San Fran­ cisco’s Chinatown,” Chinese Digest, November 13, 1936, 14. 21 Peter Stanfield, “ ‘American Like Chop Suey’: Invocations of Gangsters in Chinatown, 1920–1936,” in Mob Culture: Hidden Histories of the American Gangster Film, ed. Lee Grieveson, Esther Sonnet, and Peter Stanfield (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2005), 240. 22 Ruth Mayer, “The Glittering Machine of Modernity: The Chinatown in Ameri­ can S­ ilent Film,” Modernism/Modernity 16, no. 4 (2009): 662. 23 Takaki, Strangers from a Dif­fer­ent Shore, 246. 24 Sabine Haenni, “Filming ‘Chinatown’: Fake Visions, Bodily Transformations,” in Screening Asian Americans, ed. Peter X Feng (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2002) 21–22. 25 Scott Simmon, “From the Submerged (1912),” Notes on the film from the supple­ ment included with the DVD Trea­sures III: Social Issues in American Film, 1900–1934 (National Film Preservation Foundation 2007), 45–47. 26 Simmon, 47. 27 Chad Heap, Slumming: Sexual and Racial Encounters in American Nightlife, 1885–1940 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 101. 28 Rast, “The Cultural Politics of Tourism in San Francisco’s Chinatown,” 29–32. 29 Heap, Slumming, 133. 30 Haenni, “Filming ‘Chinatown,’ ” 23. 31 Haenni, 24. 32 I viewed A Visit to Los Angeles at the University of California, Los Angeles, Film and Tele­vi­sion Archive’s Research and Study Center (ARSC). 33 Review of Chinatown Pictures, Moving Picture World, November 4, 1916, 679.

248  •  Notes to Pages 57–63

34 Advertisement for Deceived Slumming Party, Variety, July 25, 1908, 31. 35 Review of Deceived Slumming Party, Moving Picture World, August 1, 1908, 87. 36 Other films that featured slumming parties include From the Submerged (Whar­ ton 1912), The Secret Sin (Reicher 1915), Forbidden (Weber and Smalley 1919), The Purple Cipher (Bennett 1920), A Trip to Chinatown (Kerr 1926), and Arizona Sweepstakes (Smith 1926). 37 Quoted in review of Checkers, Motion Picture News, June 21, 1919, 4182. 38 Article on Wing Toy, Exhibitors Herald, February 22, 1921, 71. A script of the film is available at the USC Cinematic Arts Library, Los Angeles, CA. 39 Article on Wing Toy, 71. 40 I viewed Paths to Paradise at UCLA’s ARSC. 41 Scenario (undated) for Paths to Paradise (1925), based on the play “The Heart of a Thief,” by Paul Armstrong. File for Paths to Paradise (1925), Paramount Scripts Special Collection, Margaret Herrick Library, Los Angeles, CA. 42 A part of the film (about fifteen minutes long) is available at ARSC. A detailed, multipage synopsis for Chinatown Charlie is available (see Bound Vol. 3 [1928], 2328–2339, ­Silent Film Synopses Collection, Margaret Herrick Library). 43 Review of Chinatown Charlie, Variety, June 13, 1928, 13. 44 Although the American Film Institute (AFI) Cata­log identifies the protagonist as “Joan Fry” (accessed September 7, 2018, https://­catalog​.­a fi​.­com​/­Catalog​ /­moviedetails​/­1398​?­sid​=­6ee80a3b​-­a060​-­486f​-­a58c​-­2a32985e1760&sr​=­4​.­530655&cp​ =­1&pos​=­0), the credits of the film identify her as “Joan Pride.” 45 Hideo Yanagisawa, “Harry Morgan’s Identity Crisis: Orientalism and Slumming during the ­Great Depression in Hemingway’s To Have and Have Not,” Hemingway Review 34, no. 1 (2014): 56. 46 Karen Lynch, “Orientation via Orientalism: Chinatown in Detective Narratives,” Popu­lar Culture Review 11, no. 1 (2000): 13 and 26. 47 Charles F. Adams, Murder by the Bay: Historic Hom­i­cide in and about the City of San Francisco (Sander, CA: Word Dance Press, 2005), 92–93. 48 According to the AFI Cata­log, Marshall Neilan directed the scenes in Chinatown and John McDermott directed the scenes in Ireland (accessed September 6, 2018, http://­catalog​.­a fi​.­com​/­Catalog​/­MovieDetails​/­2057). 49 Review of Driven from Home, Variety, May 25, 1927, 21; review of Driven from Home, Film Daily, February 6, 1927, 12. 50 Review of Ransom, Film Daily, August 26, 1928, 5. 51 Chan, Asian Americans, 103–105. 52 Chan, 63. 53 L. Eve Armentrout Ma, “Chinatown Social Organ­izations and the Anti-­Chinese Movement, 1882–1914,” in Entry Denied: Exclusion and the Chinese Community in Amer­i­ca, 1882–1943, ed. Sucheng Chan (Philadelphia: T ­ emple University Press, 1991), 148–149. 54 Clare V. McKanna Jr., Race and Hom­i­cide in Nineteenth-­Century California (Reno: University of Nevada Press, 2002), 50. 55 Richard H. Dillon, The Hatchet Men: The Story of the Tong Wars in San Francisco’s Chinatown (New York: Coward-­McCann, Inc., 1962), 17. 56 Thomas W. Chinn, Bridging the Pacific: San Francisco Chinatown and Its ­People (San Francisco: Chinese Historical Society of Amer­i­ca, 1989), 8. 57 John J. Manion, “Tongs and Tong Wars: Part I,” Douglas 20, Police Journal, November 1927, 7.

Notes to Pages 63–66  •  249

58 John J. Manion, “Tongs and Tong Wars: Part II,” Douglas 20, Police Journal, December 1927, 52. 59 Kevin J. Mullen, Chinatown Squad: Policing the Dragon from the Gold Rush to the 21st ­Century (Novato, CA: Noir Publications, 2008), 56–57. 60 Manion, “Part I,” 25. 61 Manion, “Part II,” 50–51. 62 Manion, “Part II,” 7. 63 Stanton De La Plane, “Tong Tales—­No. 2,” San Francisco Chronicle, April 9, 1941. 64 Gor Yun Leong, Chinatown Inside Out (New York: Barrows Mussey, 1936), 66. 65 William Hogan and William German argue that “­there is l­ ittle evidence that the real ­causes and cures for the vio­lence in Chinatown ­were ever sought out by the press” (in The San Francisco Chronicle Reader, ed. William Hogan and William German [New York: McGraw-­Hill, 1962], 31). 66 Other s­ ilent films about tongs and tong wars include The Girl in the Dark (Paton 1918), Dinty, The Midnight Patrol, Number 17 (Beranger 1921), The Cub Reporter, ­ ere featured as Purple Dawn (Seeling 1923), and Arizona Sweepstakes. Tong wars w the backdrop in the sound films Chinatown Nights, Law of the Tong (Collins 1931), The Hatchet Man, The Secrets of Wu Sin (Thorpe 1932), Captured in Chinatown (Clifton 1935), and ­Daughter of the Tong (Ray 1939). However, ­these films focus on romance and/or assimilation, which I discuss in subsequent chapters. 67 In The Sign of the Poppy (Swickard 1916), the flower also features as a symbol of a tong—in this case, as “the death sign,” as an ad explains (ad for The Sign of the Poppy, Moving Picture World, December 2, 1916, 1259). 68 Review of The Flower of Doom, Moving Picture World, April 21, 1917. Tokunaga appeared in a dozen American films; from the mid-1920s ­until the 1950s he lived in Japan, where he directed twenty-­five films. 69 In the credits for this film, Kino’s name is misspelled as “Gordo Keeno.” Kino appeared in over fifteen American films. 70 This is true of other tong films, including Purple Dawn, Chinatown Nights, The Hatchet Man, and The Secrets of Wu Sin. 71 Review of The War of the Tongs, Moving Picture World, February 10, 1917, 15. 72 Review of The War of the Tongs, Wid’s Daily, February 13, 1917, 877. 73 The Chinese actors in The War of the Tongs, including Hoo Ching, Lee Gow, Tom Hing, and Lin Neong, did not appear in other mainstream films. 74 The Midnight Patrol was also noted for presenting the Japa­nese Americans Goro Kino and Tôgô Yamamoto in major roles. The reviewer for Variety states, “Two new Oriental actors of rare dramatic ability are brought to light in this, the latest Select Pictures’ attraction” (review of The Midnight Patrol, Variety, December 27, 1918, 182). Stills for the film also reveal that all of the Chinese characters, even minor ones, ­were played by Asian actors (see file for The Midnight Patrol [1918], Thomas H. Ince Collection, Margaret Herrick Library). 75 Marion Russell, review of The Tong Man, Billboard, December 1919, n.p. The film is sometimes listed without the hyphen as The Tong Man. 76 Mayer, “The Glittering Machine of Modernity,” 681. 77 Toyo Fujita was born in Japan and appeared in about a dozen American films. 78 Yutaka Abe (aka Jack Abbe) was born in Japan and appeared in about ten American films before returning to Japan, where he directed over forty films. 79 As Tom Gunning explains, disguises w ­ ere a key component of mystery films of the 1910s since their nature as ­silent films meant that they had to “rely more on the

250  •  Notes to Pages 67–69

power of visual transformations than on the unraveling of carefully crafted enigmas” (“A Tale of Two Prologues: Actors and Roles, Detectives and Disguises in Fantômas, Film and Novel,” Velvet Light Trap 37 [Spring 1996]: 35). 80 Press sheet for The Cameraman (1928). File for The Cameraman (1928), Core Collection—­Production Files, Margaret Herrick Library. 81 Dobie, San Francisco, 196. The term originally included indentured domestic workers, but it eventually came to be associated exclusively with prostitutes in the American imagination. 82 Lucy E. Salyer, Laws Harsh as Tigers: Chinese Immigrants and the Shaping of Modern Immigration Law (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1995), 44. 83 Anna Pegler-­G ordon, “Chinese Exclusion, Photography, and the Development of U.S. Immigration Policy,” American Quarterly 58, no. 1 (2006): 55–56. 84 George Anthony Peffer, “Forbidden Families: Emigration Experiences of Chinese ­Women ­under the Page Law, 1875–1882,” Journal of American Ethnic History 6, no. 1 (1986): 29. 85 Madeline Y. Hsu, Dreaming of Gold, Dreaming of Home: Transnationalism and Migration between the United States and South China, 1882–1943 (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 2000). 86 Takaki, Strangers from a Dif­fer­ent Shore, 37. 87 Ronald Takaki, A Dif­fer­ent Mirror: A History of Multicultural Amer­i­ca (Boston: ­Little, Brown, and Com­pany 1993), 191. 88 Mullen, Chinatown Squad, 29. 89 Lucie Cheng Hirata, “­Free, Indentured, Enslaved: Chinese Prostitutes in Nineteenth-­Century Amer­i­ca,” Signs 5, no. 1 (1979): 12. 90 Dillon, The Hatchet Men, 224–227. 91 Judy Yung, Unbound Feet: A Social History of Chinese ­Women in San Francisco (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1995), 32. 92 Takaki, A Dif­fer­ent Mirror, 194. 93 Jerry Flam, Good Life in Hard Times: San Francisco in the ’20s and ’30s (San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 1999), 90. 94 Yung, Unbound Feet, 35. 95 Takaki, A Dif­fer­ent Mirror, 194. 96 Yung, Unbound Feet, 32. 97 Leong, Chinatown Inside Out, 222–223. 98 Chalsa M. Loo, Chinatown: Most Time, Hard Time (New York: Praeger, 1991), 46–48. 99 See, for example, “How a Chinese ­Woman Escaped from Slavery in San Fran­ cisco,” San Francisco Call, April 9, 1899; “Chinese Slave Girls Being Landed as Native ­Daughters,” San Francisco Call, May 3, 1900; “The Bloodiest Tong War Ever Waged,” San Francisco Sunday Call, January 5, 1908; “The Price of a Slave Girl,” Los Angeles Times, July 17, 1910; “Clever Raid Ends in Capture of Slave Girls,” San Francisco Chronicle, March 13, 1911; “Rescue of Chinese Girls from Den,” Seattle Star, September 21, 1912; and “Stolen Chinese Slave Girl Case Settled,” Los Angeles Times, May 20, 1925. 1 00 For the story of Sigel’s murder, see William Brown Meloney, “Slumming in New York’s Chinatown,” Munsey’s Magazine, September 1909, 818–30. Newspapers also covered the case (see “Murderer of Elsie Sigel in Vast Trap,” San Francisco Call,

Notes to Pages 69–72  •  251

June 29, 1909; “Sigel Declares Chinese Corpse Is Not the Slayer’s,” Los Angeles Herald, July 3, 1909). 101 Mary Ting Yi Lui, The Chinatown Trunk Mystery: Murder, Miscegenation, and Other Dangerous Encounters in Turn-­of-­the-­Century New York City (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2005), 16. 102 Review of Chinatown Nights, San Francisco Chronicle, March 22, 1929. 103 Mary Ting Yi Lui, “Saving Young Girls from Chinatown: White Slavery and ­Woman Suffrage, 1910–1920,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 18, no. 3 (2009): 395–96. 1 04 Review of Chinese Slave Smuggling, Moving Picture World, October 5, 1907, 492. 1 05 The fact that the character is Chinese is confirmed by the review of the film. 1 06 Review of Lost in Chinatown, Moving Picture World, March 27, 1909, 381. 1 07 Review of Broken Fetters, Moving Picture Weekly, July 1, 1916, 12. 1 08 Review of The Fatal Hour, Moving Picture World, August 22, 1908, 142. The last two minutes of The Fatal Hour are available on YouTube, accessed September 6, 2018, https://­w ww​.­youtube​.­com​/­watch​? ­v​=­rpdTM7FtX4A​.­The clip depicts the female detective rescued by the police from the place where the Chinese man has held her captive. 1 09 Review of Chinatown Slavery, Moving Picture World, May 8, 1909, 593. The story outlined in the review was evidently supplied by Selig Polyscope, as the identical story appears in the com­pany’s “Supplement No. 153” of May 6, 1909. The scene-­by-­scene script outline and the Selig Polyscope supplement are available (see file for Chinatown Slavery [1909], William Selig Papers, Margaret Herrick Library). 1 10 Merchants ­were often exempted from the 1882 Exclusion Act and w ­ ere allowed to bring their families to American. See Judy Yung and the Chinese Historical Society of Amer­i­ca, Images of Amer­i­ca: San Francisco’s Chinatown (Mount Pleasant, SC: Arcadia Publishing, 2006), 33. 1 11 Another film that featured a slave girl story was The Snail (1918), a short in a series of Shorty Hamilton comedies but the only one labeled a “Chinese-­A merican film” (review of The Snail, Moving Picture World, December 29, 1917, 1975). Despite its label, it focuses on a wealthy white man (Hamilton) who falls in love with a Chinese ­woman (Ethel Grey Terry in yellowface). When she is sold and trans­ ported to Amer­i­ca to be a slave girl, Shorty follows and enlists the help of a Chinatown tong. He is betrayed by an older man who wants Shorty to marry his ­daughter; the twist, however, is that the Chinese w ­ oman is also his d­ aughter and agrees to their marriage to keep his secret from being exposed. While a copy of The Snail does not seem to exist, the Moving Picture World review supplies a detailed plot summary. 1 12 For a detailed summary of the film’s plot, see review of Chinatown Mystery, Motography, February 13, 1915, 263. Aoki was a Japa­nese American actor who was featured in forty-­three American films between 1913 and 1924. 1 13 Review of When Lights Are Low, Motion Picture News, July 9, 1921, 407. 1 14 Yamamoto was born in Japan and appeared in a dozen American films before returning to Japan to act in over twenty-­five Japa­nese films. Kiyosho Satow only appeared in one American film, but Misao Seki appeared in seven between 1918 and 1922. 1 15 Several reviews identify Goro Kino’s villain as “Man Low Yek,” the wealthy owner of a gambling ­house. See review of The First Born, Wid’s Daily, February 6, 1921, 5.

252  •  Notes to Pages 72–75

In terms of the characters’ names, I use them h ­ ere as they are presented in the film and/or scripts and reviews. As is typical in Hollywood film, the protagonists are referred to by their first names and villains by their last. The exception is the newspaper crime film in which the reporter-­hero is often referred to by his last name to sound more masculine. 116 Sonny Loy was credited as “Sonny Boy” Warde and was featured in twelve films between 1921 and 1927. 117 Chow Young appeared in two American films. 118 Review of Speed Wild, Film Daily, May 10, 1925, 9. 119 Review of Speed Wild, Moving Picture World, May 23, 1925, 449. 120 Erika Lee, “Enforcing the Borders: Chinese Exclusion along the U.S. Borders with Canada and Mexico, 1882–1924,” Journal of American History 89, no. 1 (2002): 54. 1 21 John J. Manion, “San Francisco’s New Chinatown,” Police and Peace Officers’ Journal of the State of California 9, no. 6 (1931): 6. 1 22 Manion, 7 and 35. 1 23 Manion, 7. 1 24 Yung and the Chinese Historical Society of Amer­i­ca, Images of Amer­i­ca, 29. 1 25 William O. Walker III, Drug Control in the Amer­i­cas (Albuquerque: University of New Mexico Press, 1981), xi. 1 26 Anthony Saper, “The Making of Policy through Myth, Fantasy and Historical Accident: The Making of Amer­i­ca’s Narcotics Laws,” British Journal of Addiction to Alcohol and Other Drugs 69, no. 2 (1974): 184. 1 27 “Smugglers of Opium,” San Francisco Chronicle, November 26, 1893. 1 28 “Traffic in Opium,” San Francisco Chronicle, February 10, 1894. 1 29 “Chinese and Opium: Figures from the Report of Special Agent Crowley,” Los Angeles Times, November, 20, 1896. 1 30 Arnold H. Taylor, American Diplomacy and the Narcotics Traffic, 1900–1939: A Study in International Humanitarian Reform (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1969), 14. 1 31 Jeffrey Scott McIllwain, Crime in Chinatown: Race and Racketeering in New York City, 1890–1910 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Co., 2004), 58. 1 32 McIllwain, 59. 1 33 David F. Musto, The American Disease: Origins of Narcotic Control, expanded ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 5–6. 1 34 Quoted in Musto, 43. 1 35 Sean Nortz, “Could You Spare Me a Nightmare? The World of Confessions of an Opium Eater (1962),” Bright Lights, May 27, 2014, http://­brightlightsfilm​.­com​ /­spare​-­nightmare​-­world​-­confessions​-­opium​-­eater​-­1962​/­#identifier​_­0​_1­ 1801. 1 36 Part of the film can be viewed in Hollywood Chinese (Dong 2007). 1 37 Synopsis (January 3, 1910) for The Smuggler’s Game, File for The Smuggler’s Game (1910), William Selig Papers, Margaret Herrick Library. 1 38 Diana L. Ahmad, The Opium Debate and Chinese Exclusion Laws in the Nineteenth-­Century American West (Reno: University of Nevada Press, 2007), 25. 1 39 Michael C. Gerald, “Drugs and Alcohol Go to Hollywood,” Pharmacy in History 48, no. 3 (2006): 116–138. 1 40 Jill Jonnes, Hep-­Cats, Narcs, and Pipe Dreams: A History of Amer­i­ca’s Romance with Illegal Drugs (Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press, 1999), 60. 1 41 Films that featured opium smuggling and/or dens included The Lights and Shadows of Chinatown (1908), The Opium Smuggler (1911), Venom of the Poppy

Notes to Pages 75–78  •  253

(1911), Lights and Shadows of Chinatown (1912), The Opium Smugglers (1912), Just Jim (Lund 1915), Flower of Doom, The Midnight Patrol, The Tong-­Man, Dinty, Shame, Haldane of the Secret Ser­vice (Houdini 1923), Yellow Contraband (Maloney 1928), The Drifter (De Lacey 1929), Welcome Danger, and ­Behind the Mask (Dillon 1932). Some Eu­ro­pean films on the topic ­were released in the United States, including the Danish film The Opium Smoker (1914) and the French film The Opium Smugglers (1914). 142 Synopsis for The Smuggler’s Game. 143 Review of The Smuggler’s Game, Variety, January 8, 1910, 13. 144 Synopsis for The Smuggler’s Game. The still on the cover features a group of four Chinese men with queues; two are eating, one is drinking tea, and the fourth is smoking an opium pipe. Unfortunately, no cast information is available. 1 45 Lon Chaney, known as the “man of a thousand ­faces” b ­ ecause of the range of characters he portrayed, also played Chinese men in other films: Ah Wing, a Chinese servant, in addition to the main white role, in Outside the Law (Brown­ ing 1921); Yen Sin, a Chinese laundryman in a seaside village, in Shadows (Forman 1922); and a disabled white “dope-­peddler, safe-­cracker, gun-­man” who operates out of Chinatown, in The Shock (Hillyer 1923). 1 46 “The Dream Seekers,” Kalem Kalendar (November 1915): 17 (Periodicals, Margaret Herrick Library). 1 47 Review of The Dream Seekers, Motion Picture News, November 6, 1915, 65. 1 48 Review of The Dream Seekers. 1 49 Article on Hop, The Dev­il’s Brew, Moving Picture World, February 12, 1916, 964. 1 50 “Hop, the Dev­i l’s Brew,” The AFI Cata­log, accessed September 6, 2018, https://­ catalog​.­a fi​.­com​/­Catalog​/­moviedetails​/­2364. 1 51 Review of Hop, The Dev­il’s Brew, Variety, February 4, 1916, 29. 1 52 Article on Hop, The Dev­il’s Brew, Moving Picture World, February 12, 1916, 964; Shelley Stamp, Lois Weber in Early Hollywood (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2015), 94–95. 1 53 Review of Hop, The Dev­il’s Brew, Moving Picture World, February 26, 1916, 1308. 1 54 Review of Hop, The Dev­il’s Brew, Variety, February 18, 1916, 29. 1 55 Morton P. Hobes, “The Breaks of the Game,” Picture-­Play Weekly, July 17, 1917, 16–20. Unfortunately, no cast information is available for the Chinese roles. 1 56 Hobes, 17. 1 57 Ad for The Money-­Changers, Motion Picture News, November 27, 1920, 4107. The three main Chinese characters are played in yellowface by the white actors Edward Peil Sr., Harvey Clark, and Harry Tenbrook. 1 58 Review of The Money-­Changers, Wid’s Daily, October 31, 1920, 15. 1 59 Review of The Wall Street Mystery, Exhibitor’s Herald, March 13, 1920, 57. Unfortunately, no cast information is given for the role of the valet to determine the actor’s ethnicity. 1 60 Review of The Scrap of Paper, Moving Picture World, February 2, 1920, 1292. 1 61 Review of Tearing Through, Exhibitors Trade Review, May 23, 1925, 70. 1 62 A plot summary for Through Thick and Thin is available through the AFI Cata­log. “Through Thick and Thin,” AFI Cata­log, accessed September 6, 2018, https://­ catalog​.­a fi​.­com​/­Catalog​/­moviedetails​/­12697​?­sid​=­b3dca315​-­9ee5​-­4ece​-­8b0b​ -­9dfe0295ecd2&sr​=­4​.­7374086&cp​=­1&pos​=­0. 1 63 Review of Purple Dawn, Variety, May 17, 1923, 26.

254  •  Notes to Pages 79–82

164 The still from Purple Dawn shows an inspector in a large fedora at the back of the boat and the two w ­ oman, one white and one Chinese, in the foreground, holding tight to one another and fearing that they may be too late to save the man that they both love. 1 65 Review of Purple Dawn, Film Daily, April 15, 1923, 18.

Chapter 4  The Whitening of Chinatown 1 The prob­lem with accents affected not only Asian actors but also Eu­ro­pean ones, including Vilma Banky from Hungary and Olga Baclanova from Rus­sia. 2 Richard H. Dillon, foreword to Kevin J. Mullen, Chinatown Squad: Policing the Dragon from the Gold Rush to the 21st ­Century (Novato, CA: Noir Publications 2008), 6. 3 Kevin J. Mullen, Chinatown Squad: Policing the Dragon from the Gold Rush to the 21st ­Century (Novato, CA: Noir Publications 2008), 43–47. The Act was named ­a fter the state senator, Frank McCoppin, who had been San Francisco’s first Irish-­born mayor (see Peter D. O’Neill, Famine Irish and the American Racial State [New York: Routledge, 2017], 205). 4 Raymond W. Rast, “The Cultural Politics of Tourism in San Francisco’s China­ town, 1882–1917,” Pacific Historical Review 76, no. 1 (2007): 45. 5 Rast, 45–46. 6 “Wittman Pleads for His Reputation and Makes a Futile Effort to Capture a Chinese Accuser,” San Francisco Call, February 9, 1901. 7 “Ellis Refuses to Be Made the Scapegoat,” San Francisco Call, December 23, 1904. 8 “Corruption of Police in Chinatown Laid Bare by G ­ rand Jury,” San Francisco Call, February 7, 1905. 9 “Chief Wittman Suspended on Charge of Incompetency,” San Francisco Call, February 16, 1905. 10 Dillon, foreword, 7. 11 For example, the only crime mentioned in the following articles is gambling: “Still the Wrong Way,” San Francisco Call, August 6, 1900; “What Is G ­ oing on in Chinatown?,” Los Angeles Herald, July 15, 1903; “San Francisco’s Chief of Police Dismissed,” Los Angeles Herald, March 25, 1905; “Chinatown Squad Again Placed in Existence,” San Francisco Call, August 26, 1907; and “White Must Answer at Once,” San Francisco Call, September 4, 1913. 12 Stanton De La Plane, “The Decline of the Tongs,” San Francisco Chronicle, April 8, 1941. 13 Mullen, Chinatown Squad, 142 and 146. 14 Jerry Flam, Good Life in Hard Times: San Francisco in the ’20s and ’30s (San Francisco: Chronicle Books, 1999), 92. 15 Lawrence E. Davies, “Coast Chinatown Loses Tie to Past,” New York Times, August 7, 1955. 16 In Haldane of the Secret Ser­vice (Houdini 1923), the story’s supposed connections to China and New York’s Chinatown are somewhat tenuous, with only a ­couple of scenes set in ­either location before the action moves to E ­ ngland and then France—­therefore, I ­will not discuss the film in ­great detail ­here. Despite its setting being mainly in Eu­rope, Houdini’s American government agent pursues a gang who are responsible for, as a title card confirms, “the crime of narcotic smuggling” in addition to “counterfeiting and murder.”

Notes to Pages 82–85  •  255

17 18 19 20 21 22

23 24 25 26 27

28 29 30 31 32 33

34 35 36 37 38

39 40

Press sheet for The Girl in the Dark, Moving Picture Weekly, February 23, 1918, 18. Press sheet, 19. Press sheet, 18. Review of Pell Street Mystery, Motion Picture News Booking Guide, April 8, 1925, 63. Review of Pell Street Mystery, Variety, January 21, 1925, 36. A Man of Quality (Ruggles 1926) also featured a white hero (George Walsh)—­a secret ser­vice agent who poses as a motorcycle cop to bring a gang of silk smugglers to justice. The head of the gang is revealed to be white (Brian Donlevy), and his crimes include kidnapping the hero’s sweetheart (Ruth Dwyer). While a review notes that the smuggling action takes place on Long Island, it also confirms that the gang headquarters is a Chinese opium den, as the “Chinatown dive setting” (review of A Man of Quality, Motion Picture News, November 6, 1926, 1778). Review of Speed Wild, Moving Picture World, May 23, 1925, 449. Review of In High Gear, Motion Picture News, February 8, 1925, n.p.; review of In High Gear, Motion Picture News Booking Guide, October 7, 1924, 29. Review of Shadows of Chinatown, Motion Picture News Booking Guide, October 11, 1926, 47. Press sheet for Shadows of Chinatown. File for Shadows of Chinatown (1926), Bud Barsky Papers, Margaret Herrick Library, Los Angeles, CA. Unlike his other Chinatown-­set films—­which tied Talmadge’s action exploits firmly to Chinatown crime, including tongs and opium—­The Fighting Pi­lot shows a white criminal ­running his headquarters out of the district and employing Chinese henchmen along with white ones. Review of The Cub Reporter, Film Daily, September 24, 1922, 14. Review of The Cub Reporter, Moving Picture World, September 30, 1922, 396. Review of Tearing Through, Exhibitors Trade Review, April 4, 1925, 42. Tearing Through was originally titled Yellow ­Faces. Review of Tearing Through, Moving Picture World, May 9, 1925, 147. Ernest Mandel, Delightful Murder: A Social History of the Crime Story (London: Pluto Press, 1984), 53–54. Although not necessarily the main characters of the story, the police are the ones who bring the criminals to justice and save the hero and/or his sweetheart in The Sable Lorcha (Ingraham 1915), The Flower of Doom (Ingram 1917), Mandarin’s Gold (Apfel 1919), The Cyclone (Smith 1920), Dinty (McDermott and Neilan 1920), Number 17 (Beranger 1921), Soft Shoes (Ingraham 1925), and Ransom (Seitz 1928). The Midnight Patrol, Moving Picture World, December 21, 1918, 1372. Julien Josephson and Denison Clift, Synopsis (undated) for The Midnight Patrol (1918), Thomas H. Ince Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. Review of The Midnight Patrol, Motion Picture News, December 28, 1918, 3909. Quoted in review of The Midnight Patrol, Motion Picture News, March 15, 1919, 1639. Although the review in Variety suggests the film’s story is about Los Angeles (see review of The Midnight Patrol, Variety, December 27, 1918, 182), other reviewers confirmed that the film’s action was inspired by activities in San Francisco (see other reviews cited). Review of The Midnight Patrol, Moving Picture World, February 8, 1919, 797. Idle Hands was also released as The Scarlet Dragon and overseas as Poker. Copy of Poker (Idle Hands, 1921), Pickford Center for Motion Picture Study, Los Angeles,

256  •  Notes to Pages 87–91

41 42

43 44 45 46 47

48 49 50

51 52 53 54

CA. While the copy of the film was too damaged to be screened, an archivist kindly and laboriously cranked the film by hand so that I could view frames through a loupe. I had to view the reels in reverse and translate the titles from French (they ­were in French and German). This copy of the film for overseas audiences is titled Poker, and the characters have dif­fer­ent names from t­ hose in the American Film Institute (AFI) Cata­log (accessed September 7, 2018, https://­ catalog​.­a fi​.­com​/­Catalog​/­moviedetails​/­2085​?­sid​=­9dac016b​-­fd97​-­43a3​-­9b40​ -­ff88d94432b1&sr​=­3​.3­ 232727&cp​=­1&pos​=­0). This film is not the Selznick production Plea­sure Seekers (Archainbaud 1920), which is also known as Idle Hands.The producers advertised to the trade papers that “the big feature of the production ­w ill be a lavish scene in the Chinese cabaret” (quoted in review of The Scarlet Dragon, Moving Picture World, March 13, 1920, 1784). Andre Sennwald, review of Let ’Em Have It, New York Times, May 30, 1935. The film, although not a critical hit, was reissued in 1953. Other films that featured tong-­like gangs and law enforcement heroes include Chinatown a­ fter Dark (Paton 1931), Captured in Chinatown (Clifton 1935), Chinatown Squad, Mr. Wong in Chinatown (Nigh 1939), and Chinatown at Midnight (Friedman 1949). Emphasis in the original. Review of Chinatown Squad, Modern Screen, August 1935, 97. Review of Chinatown Squad, Hollywood Reporter, May 13, 1935, 3. Born in Japan, Toshia Mori made over twenty films in Hollywood between the late 1920s and the late 1930s. Reviewers found ­Daughter of the Tong typical B fare: one described it as “shoddy” with “poor photography” (review of ­Daughter of the Tong, Film Daily, August 28, 1939, 7) and another said it had “enough action to hold together an inept plot” (review of ­Daughter of the Tong, Variety, August 16, 1930, 16). Eugene Franklin Wong, “The Early Years: Asians in the American Films Prior to World War II,” in Screening Asian Americans, ed. Peter X Feng (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2002), 56. Canadian-­born Luke Chan before moving to Los Angeles and appearing in almost forty films, although mainly as uncredited. Lotus Long (aka Karen Sorrell) was born in the United States of Hawaiian and Japa­nese parents. She appeared in nineteen American films from the late 1920s to the late 1940s and also wrote and coproduced The Tahitian (Knott 1956). Etta Lee was born in Hawaii of Chinese and French descent. She was featured in sixteen American films between the early 1920s and the mid-1930s and was described by Motion Picture Classic in 1923 as a “lovely peach blow half-­caste girl” and “the only Eurasian girl” in the industry (quoted in Jenny Cho and the Chinese Historical Society of Southern California, Images of Amer­i­ca: Chinese in Hollywood [Mount Pleasant, SC: Arcadia Publishing, 2013], 20). While Wong’s other victims, like Tsung, are left for hours attached to stocks, Peg is subjected to the insertion of heated incense ­under her fingernails. Such shots of torture grate against the film’s comic tone in previous scenes. Review of The Mysterious Mr. Wong, Hollywood Reporter, January 18, 1935, 3. Shadow of Chinatown was first released as a serial in 1936 (originally known only as Chinatown) and then reedited into a feature film in the same year. Wong, “The Early Years,” 59.

Notes to Pages 91–93  •  257

55 Bernard B. Ray directed ­Daughter of the Tong ­under the name Raymond K. Johnson. 56 Myers had a strong ­career in the 1920s, propelled by her role in Ben-­Hur (Niblo 1925) as the Egyptian vamp who attempts to seduce Ramon Novarro’s Ben-­Hur. 57 C. R. Metzger, Synopsis (February 6, 1939) for The D ­ aughter of the Tong. File for The D ­ aughter of the Tong (1939), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­ Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. One reviewer commented that “amateurish makeup adds a ludicrous touch to her ­ aughter of the [Brent’s] role as the sinister Chinese gang leader” (review of The D Tong, Boxoffice, August 26, 1939, 53), and another referred to the character as “a ­ aughter of the Tong, Monthly Film Bulletin, Chinese girl” (review of The D January 1, 1939, 203). 58 Jun Xing, Asian Amer­i­ca through the Lens: History, Repre­sen­ta­tions, and Identity (Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press, 1998), 75. Eurasian villains appeared in films whose settings place them outside of the scope of this book: The Red Lantern (Capellani 1919) and Shanghai Express (von Sternberg 1932), set in China; Pals of the West (Middleton 1922) and Six-­Gun Trail (Newfield 1938), set in the Wild West; and The Sable Lorcha and Masked Emotions (Butler and Hawks 1929), set in New E ­ ngland coastal communities. In The Sable Lorcha, the smuggling operation is connected to Chinatown, and its “Chinese half breed” villain, John Soy (Tully Marshall in yellowface), is a member of a New York City tong. Soy exacts his revenge on man whom he believes is responsible for the deaths of a hundred of his countrymen, Robert Cameron (Thomas Jefferson), by holding him captive in a Chinatown cellar. Soy soon discovers, much to his dis­plea­sure, that it is not Robert whom he seeks but his twin ­brother, Donald (also played by Jefferson). Accompanied by a flashback, Donald explains, “Six years ago . . . ​smuggling Chinese to this country was more profitable.” Donald then confesses how “that night, while waiting for the steamer, and fearing capture, I saw a way by which I could escape and keep all the passage money for myself.” He lit some dynamite below the ship’s floorboards and took off in a dinghy while his ship—­and the hundred Chinese men aboard—­sank. Copy (incomplete) of The Sable Lorcha (1915), The Library of Congress, Washington, D.C. Although his name does not appear in the credits for The Sable Lorcha, the Japa­nese American actor Kuran Kotani was “prominent” in the film (review of The Sable Lorcha, Motion Picture News, April 15, 1916, 2179). 59 David Palumbo-­Liu, Asian/American: Historical Crossings of a Racial Frontier (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999), 27. 60 Synopsis (January 3, 1910) for The Smuggler’s Game. File for The Smuggler’s Game (1910), William Selig Papers, Margaret Herrick Library. 61 Review of Hop, the Dev­il’s Brew, Moving Picture World, February 26, 1916. 62 A 1941 synopsis for The W ­ oman with Four ­Faces confirms that Paramount was considering a remake of the film; however, a comment on the back of the synopsis read, “A synthetic crook melodrama that has become hackneyed formula during the past fifteen years.” Gerald Davidson, Synopsis (April 8, 1941) for the remake of The W ­ oman with Four ­Faces. File for The W ­ oman with Four F ­ aces (1923), Para­ mount Scripts Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. No doubt it was for this reason that the film was not remade.

258  •  Notes to Pages 93–101

63 “Title Continuity Script” (undated) for The W ­ oman with Four F ­ aces (1923). File ­ oman with Four F ­ aces (1923), Paramount Scripts Collection, Margaret for The W Herrick Library. 64 “Title Continuity Script,” 8. 65 Edwin Schallert, “Celestial Program,” Los Angeles Times, March 28, 1921. 66 Welcome Danger was released in both s­ ilent and sound versions; I viewed the sound version at the University of California, Los Angeles, Film and Tele­vi­sion Archive’s Research and Study Center (ARSC). 67 As a review explained, Welcome Danger was “held over,” and “rec­ord crowds are expected” at the Granada Theater (review of Welcome Danger, San Francisco Comedy, November 16, 1929, 11). 68 “Lloyd Film Not Funny to Chinese,” Los Angeles Times, February 24, 1930. 69 Paul K. Whang, “Boycotting American Movies,” World Tomorrow (August 1930): 339. 70 “The Cat’s Paw,” Variety, April 2, 1934, n.p. 71 The song title is confirmed by a review (Frank S. Nugent, review of Dangerous to Know, New York Times, March 11, 1938). 72 Born in the United States, Philip Ahn was the first Korean American film actor to receive a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame. He appeared in over 185 American films and tele­vi­sion shows between the mid-1930s and the late 1970s. 73 In King of Chinatown, Gordon’s ethnicity is ambiguous but in the script, he was identified as “Ming Gordon,” the man­ag­er of a Chinese fighter and “a Eurasian” (Stuart Anthony and Robert M. Yost, Script (June 6, 1938) for King of Chinatown. File for King of Chinatown (1939), Paramount Scripts Collection, Margaret Herrick Library). 74 The montage in King of Chinatown includes footage of a Chinese man being shot on the sidewalk, thrown rocks destroying Chinese merchandise, a Chinese man being struck in the face, smoke bombs thrown into a Chinese store, and a Chinese man falling a­ fter being shot. The original plan was to find such shots from RKO stock footage, but this was too expensive. Instead Paramount, shot the footage for approximately $1,000 (see File #1190, King of Chinatown, Paramount Special Collection, Margaret Herrick Library). 75 ­Will F. Jenkins, “The Purple Hieroglyph,” Snappy Stories, March 1, 1920, 3–28. 76 Review of The Purple Cipher, Variety, October 29, 1920, 42. 77 Frank Seki appeared in three American films (no other biographical information is available). 78 Review of The Purple Cipher, Moving Picture World, June 5, 1920, 1351. 79 Review of The Purple Cipher, Exhibitors Herald, August 1920, 25. 80 Review of The Purple Cipher, Motion Picture News, September 18, 1920, 2256. 81 J. Grubb Alexander, Screen Play and Dialogue (September 28, 1929) for Murder ­Will Out, File on Torchy Blane in Chinatown (1939), Warner Bros. Archive, Los Angeles, CA. 82 Alexander, 17–18. 83 Alexander, 35. 84 Review of Torchy Blane in Chinatown, New York Times, February 3, 1939. 85 Review of Torchy Blane in Chinatown, Variety, December 28, 1938, 13. 86 Review of Murder W ­ ill Out, New York Times, April 14, 1930. 87 Maylia was an American-­born Chinese American who appeared in six films.

Notes to Pages 102–113  •  259

88 Review of Chinatown at Midnight, Motion Picture Herald Product Digest, November 26, 1949, 98; review of Chinatown at Midnight, New York Times, November 18, 1949. 89 Review of Chinatown at Midnight, Hollywood Reporter, November 18, 1949, 4.

Chapter 5  The Perils of Proximity 1 The term “Chinese melodrama” appeared, for example, in review of The Tong Man, Motion Picture News, December 13, 1919, 4286; Thomas C. Kennedy, “Sessue Hayakawa in ‘The Tong Man,’ ” Ser­vice Paper, December 20, 1919, 275; and review of Wing Toy, Variety, March 11, 1921, 32. 2 Ben Singer, “Female Power in the Serial-­Queen Melodrama: The Etiology of an Anomaly,” Camera Obscura 22 (January 1990): 95. 3 For the story of Sigel’s murder, see William Brown Meloney, “Slumming in New York’s Chinatown,” Munsey’s Magazine, September 1909, 818–30. 4 Mary Ting Yi Lui, The Chinatown Trunk Mystery: Murder, Miscegenation, and Other Dangerous Encounters in Turn-­of-­the-­Century New York City (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2005), 6. 5 Lui, 6. 6 Gary Hoppenstand, “Yellow Devil Doctors and Opium Dens: The Yellow Peril Ste­reo­t ype in Mass Media Entertainment,” in Popu­lar Culture: An Introductory Text, ed. Jack Nachbar and Kevin Lause (Bowling Green, OH: Bowling Green State University Popu­lar Press, 1992), 280. 7 Philipa Longeran, Final Script (May 9, 1918) for Mandarin’s Gold. File for Mandarin’s Gold (1919), Warner Bros. Archive, Los Angeles, CA. 8 Review of Mandarin’s Gold, Motion Picture News, April 12, 1919, 2364; review of Mandarin’s Gold, Motion Picture Magazine, May 1919, 92. 9 Review of Mandarin’s Gold, Exhibitor’s Trade Review, February 8, 1919, 775. 10 Review of Mandarin’s Gold, Moving Picture World, February 8, 1919, 805. 11 Review of Mandarin’s Gold, Motion Picture News, February 8, 1919, 929. 12 Although the American Film Institute (AFI) Cata­log identifies the protagonist as “Joan Fry” (accessed September 7, 2018, https://­catalog​.­a fi​.­com​/­Catalog​ /­moviedetails​/­1398​?­sid​=­6ee80a3b​-­a060​-­486f​-­a58c​-­2a32985e1760&sr​=­4​.­530655&cp​ =­1&pos​=­0), the credits of the film identify her as “Joan Pride.” 13 Although the AFI Cata­log identifies the antagonist as “Charley,” the credits of the film identify him as “Charlie.” 14 The term “cake-­eater” refers to someone who is well off and indulges him-­or herself—in other words, ­people who can have their cake and eat it, too. 15 Emphasis in the original. 16 Emphasis in the original. 17 Emphasis in the original. 18 Japanese-­born Tetsu Komai appeared in over seventy films and tele­vi­sion shows between 1925 and 1964. He played the villain Wu Sin in The Secrets of Wu Sin (Thorpe 1932). 19 Emphasis in the original. 20 This is the only intertitle card left in the sound version of the film. 21 Emphasis in the original. 22 David F. Musto, The American Disease: Origins of Narcotic Control, expanded ed. (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 9.

260  •  Notes to Pages 113–116

23 The Pure Food and Drug Act of 1906 required that contents of food and medicines be listed on their labels, thereby preventing the manufacturing, transportation, or sale of adulterated or mislabelled goods. Notably, however, the 1906 act did not ban the sale of opium or its derivatives; the 1909 act, however did. 24 Diana L. Ahmad, The Opium Debate and Chinese Exclusion Laws in the Nineteenth-­Century American West (Reno: University of Nevada Press, 2007), 83. 25 Rufus King, The Drug Hang-­Up: Amer­i­ca’s Fifty-­Year Folly (New York: W. W. Norton, 1972), 21. The Harrison Act included three major provisions: anyone engaged in the production and distribution of narcotics must be registered and give the federal government access to all of his or her rec­ords; anyone involved in the ­handling of narcotics was required to pay a tax; and narcotics could be supplied to consumers only with the prescription of a physician for legitimate medical reasons. 26 Anthony Saper, “The Making of Policy through Myth, Fantasy and Historical Accident: The Making of Amer­i­ca’s Narcotics Laws,” British Journal of Addiction to Alcohol and Other Drugs 69, no. 2 (1974): 188. 27 Musto, The American Disease, x–xi. 28 “Doctor Held as Opium Smoker,” San Francisco Examiner, July 31, 1917. 29 Kevin J. Mullen, Chinatown Squad: Policing the Dragon from the Gold Rush to the 21st ­Century (Novato, CA: Noir Publications, 2008), 154–155. 30 Junie McCree, “Dope Fiend,” Variety, December 14, 1907, 23 and 81. 31 Saper, “The Making of Policy through Myth, Fantasy and Historical Accident,” 184–185. 32 King, The Drug Hang-­Up, 15–16. 33 Saper, “The Making of Policy through Myth, Fantasy and Historical Accident,” 185. 34 Ahmad, The Opium Debate and Chinese Exclusion Laws in the Nineteenth-­ Century American West, 3. 35 Ahmad, 22. 36 Eric Schaefer, “Bold! Daring! Shocking! True!” A History of Exploitation Films, 1919–1959 (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1999), 220. 37 Other films that focused on addiction—­but not necessarily Chinatown—­ included Cocaine Traffic; Or, the Drug of Terror (1914), The Derelict (Melford 1914), The Drug Traffic (1914), and The Dev­il’s Needle (Whithey 1916). The United States was not the only country making films about American Chinatowns: foreign films released in the United States, included the French film The Opium Smugglers (1914) and the Danish film The Opium Smoker (1914). 38 Ahmad, The Opium Debate and Chinese Exclusion Laws in the Nineteenth-­ Century American West, 32. 39 Moving Picture World offered a detailed plot synopsis (review of The Dragon’s Breath, Moving Picture World, April 19, 1913, 308). 40 Plot synopses of the film are offered in vari­ous trade papers. See review of The Spell of the Poppy, Motography, May 8, 1915, 763; review of The Spell of the Poppy, Reel Life, April 24, 1915, 14. 41 Ad for The Spell of the Poppy, Reel Life, May 1, 1915, 23. 42 Moving Picture Weekly offered a detailed plot synopsis (review of The Sign of the Poppy, Moving Picture Weekly, December 2, 1916, 16–17 and 42). 43 Bert D. Essex, “The ­Silent Trend,” Photo-­Play Journal, January 1917, 18.

Notes to Pages 117–126  •  261

44 The feature-­length film The Seventh Noon (1915) does include a drug addict, but its focus is on a bankrupt l­ awyer who plans to commit suicide u­ ntil he meets the addict’s ­sister. According to reviews of the film, its moral was not centered on the addict or his recovery but on the l­ awyer’s finding a reason to live. In addition, the reason for the addict’s habit is given as a hereditary weakness (“the curse of several generations”), rather than a personal failing. See review of The Seventh Noon, Moving Picture World, November 6, 1915, 1202 and 1204; review of The Seventh Noon, Variety, October 29, 1915, 23. Similarly, neither the one-­page brochure produced by Kalem for The Dream Seekers (Horne 1915) nor a review in Motion Picture News offers a reason for the ­father’s addiction (“The Dream Seekers,” Kalem Kalendar [November 1915]: 17, Periodicals, Margaret Herrick Library, Los Angeles, CA; review of The Dream Seekers, Motion Picture News, November 6, 1915, 65). 45 Ad for Lights and Shadows of Chinatown, Moving Picture World, August 17, 1912, 693. I was unable to locate a copy of the film or any production information on the film (including a cast list or the name of the film’s director); Moving Picture World, however, offered a detailed plot synopsis (review of Lights and Shadows of Chinatown, Moving Picture World, July 13, 1912, 182). 46 Review of Lights and Shadows of Chinatown, Billboard, July 13, 1912, 47. 47 The ­Woman Gives (Neill 1920), starring Norma Talmadge, features a man who grows despondent and becomes addicted to opium. Although the AFI Cata­log entry for the film lists “opium dens” as a subject of the film, the description does not offer details of how much the story is connected to Chinatown, so I do not discuss it in this book (accessed September 7, 2018, https://­catalog​.­a fi​.­com​ /­Catalog​/­moviedetails​/­17986​?s­ id​=­2cdd6d12​-­35e4​-­41ce​-­8127​-­f9d37bcee4f2&sr​=­2​ .­4368389&cp​=­1&pos​=­0). 48 A detailed plot synopsis is available in file for The Chinatown Mystery (1915), T. H. Ince Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 49 Review of Chinatown Mystery, Motography, February 13, 1915, 263. 50 Review of Hop, The Dev­il’s Brew, Moving Picture World, February 12, 1916, 964. 51 Review of Hop, The Dev­il’s Brew, Variety, February 4, 1916, 29. 52 Motography offered a plot synopsis (review of Fighting Destiny, Motography, April 5, 1919, 38). 53 This and other photos are available; see file on Fighting Destiny (1919), Core Collection—­Production Files, Margaret Herrick Library. The photo discussed is also reproduced in Motography, April 5, 1919, 38. 54 Review of Fighting Destiny, Wid’s Daily, March 28, 1919, 3. 55 Emphasis in the original. 56 In the AFI Cata­log Tamato’s character in Queen X is named “Togo” (accessed September 7, 2018, https://­catalog​.­a fi​.­com​/­Catalog​/­moviedetails​/­1905​?­sid​ =­d8067d9a​-­5364​-­40e4​-­8734​-­71e3496a5893&sr​=­3​.­506456&cp​=­1&pos​=­0). Other than his playing a role in this film, no information about the actor is available. 57 Review of The Secret Sin, Moving Picture World, October 30, 1915, 815. 58 Ad for Ashes of My Heart, Exhibitors Herald, November 10, 1917, 5. L ­ ittle informa­ tion exists about the film, and it may have been announced but not released. 59 Article on Ashes of My Heart, Motion Picture News, November 17, 1917, 3458. This short article reports hype evidently passed to the writer from the production com­pany rather than a review of the film. 60 Review of ­Human Wreckage, Motion Picture News, July 14, 1923, 194.

262  •  Notes to Pages 127–131

61 Article on ­Human Wreckage (then titled The Living Dead), Motion Picture News, March 24, 1923, 1472.

Chapter 6  Tainted Blood 1 Emma J. Teng, “ ‘A Prob­lem for Which Th ­ ere Is No Solution’: Eurasians and the Specter of Degeneration in New York’s Chinatown,” Journal of Asian American Studies 15, no. 3 (2012): 272. 2 John Kuo Wei Tchen, “Quimbo Appo’s Fear of Fenians: Anglo-­Irish-­Chinese Relations in New York City,” in New York Irish, 1625–1990, ed. Ronald H. Bayor and Timothy Meagher, (Baltimore, MD: John Hopkins University Press, 1996), 128. 3 Teng, “ ‘A Prob­lem for Which Th ­ ere Is No Solution,’ ” 275–276. 4 Wong Chin Foo, “The Chinese in New York,” Cosmopolitan, March‒Octo­ ber 1888, 297–311. 5 David Palumbo-­Liu, Asian/American: Historical Crossings of a Racial Frontier (Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 1999), 26. 6 Diana L. Ahmad, The Opium Debate and Chinese Exclusion Laws in the Nineteenth-­Century American West (Reno: University of Nevada Press, 2007), 53. Several state anti-miscegenation statutes had loopholes up ­until the early 1900s, meaning that some mixed-­race marriages ­were l­ egal (Chinese in Northwest Amer­i­ca Research Committee, “Intermarriage,” October 16, 2015, http://­w ww​ .­cinarc​.­org​/­Intermarriage​.­html#anchor​_­62). 7 Quoted in Timothy P. Fong, “The History of Asians in Amer­i­ca,” in Asian Americans: Experiences and Perspectives, ed. Timothy P. Fong and Larry H. Shinagawa (Upper S­ addle River, NJ: Prentice Hall, 2000), 17. 8 Deenesh Sohoni, “Unsuitable Suitors: Anti-­Miscegenation Laws, Naturalization Laws, and the Construction of Asian Identities,” Law and Society Review 41, no. 3 (2007): 587; see also 596. 9 Cesare Lombroso, L’uomo delinquent (Torino: Bocca, 1876). 10 Peggy Pascoe, “Miscegenation Law, Court Cases, and Ideologies of ‘Race’ in Twentieth-­Century Amer­i­ca,” Journal of American History 83, no. 1 (1996): 47. 11 Gary Hoppenstand, “Yellow Devil Doctors and Opium Dens: The Yellow Peril Ste­reo­t ype in Mass Media Entertainment,” in Popu­lar Culture: An Introductory Text, ed. Jack Nachbar and Kevin Lause (Bowling Green, OH: Bowling Green State University Popu­lar Press, 1992), 280. 12 Teng, “ ‘A Prob­lem for Which Th ­ ere Is No Solution,’ ” 273. 13 Susan Koshy, “American Nationhood as Eugenic Romance,” Differences 12, no. 1 (2001), 52. 14 Gina Marchetti, Romance and the “Yellow Peril”: Race, Sex, and Discursive Strategies in Hollywood Fiction (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993), 5–6. 15 Marchetti, 5. 16 I use the term “pollution” as defined in Robert G. Lee, Oriental: Asian Americans in Popu­lar Culture (Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press, 1999), 2–3. 17 Ruth Mayer, “The Glittering Machine of Modernity: The Chinatown in Ameri­ can S­ ilent Film,” Modernism/Modernity 16, no. 4 (2009), 662. 18 The intention to refer to William Shakespeare’s play was highlighted in several films through the invocation of the balcony scene, for example in A Tale of Two Worlds, The Tong-­Man (Worthington 1919), and East Is West (Bell 1930).

Notes to Pages 131–135  •  263

19 Mary Ting Yi Lui, “Saving Young Girls from Chinatown: White Slavery and W ­ oman Suffrage, 1910–1920,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 18, no. 3 (2009): 402. 20 Darrell Hamamoto, interview in Hollywood Chinese (Dong 2007). 21 Chad Heap, Slumming: Sexual and Racial Encounters in American Nightlife, 1885–1940 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2009), 127. 22 Marchetti, Romance and the “Yellow Peril,” 3. 23 Members of the Japa­nese Association of Southern California filed a protest against the showing of The Cheat with the Los Angeles City Council, and when the film was reissued in 1918, the villain was renamed Haka Arakua and described as a “Burmese ivory king,” American Film Institute (AFI) Cata­log, accessed September 12, 2018, https://­catalog​.­a fi​.c­ om​/­Catalog​/­moviedetails​/­1815​?­sid​ =­939d233f​-­1c2c​-­4ea5​-­a42d​-­3e58bb8fb488&sr​=­0​.­9947824&cp​=­1&pos​=­0. 24 The Cheat was remade twice (Fitzmaurice 1923 and Abbott 1931), first with Pola Negri and then with Tallulah Bankhead, but the villains (Charles de Roache and Irving Pichel, respectively) ­were white, not Asian—­suggesting that the popularity of the narrative was due to the fear of rape rather than miscegenation. 25 Frances Marion, synopsis (undated) of The City of Dim ­Faces (1918). File for The City of Dim ­Faces (1918), Paramount Scripts Collection, Margaret Herrick Library, Los Angeles, CA. 26 Frances Marion, script (undated) of The City of Dim ­Faces (1918). File for The City of Dim ­Faces (1918), Paramount Scripts Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 27 In a still from earlier in The City of Dim ­Faces, captioned “Old Lung’s Son a Surprise,” Jang looks out of place in a top hat and tails in a group of a dozen Chinese men wearing traditional silk robes. A still from ­later in the film, captioned “When East Meets West,” shows Jang in traditional Chinese dress. File for The City of Dim ­Faces (1918), Core Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 28 Review of An Oriental Romance, Motography, February 20, 1915, 303. 29 Review of Pagan Love, Wid’s Daily, December 26, 1920, 9. 30 Unlike the majority of the films discussed h ­ ere, Broken Blossoms does not go so far as to offer a ­union between its Chinese man and white ­woman: while the “Chink” (Richard Barthelmess in yellowface) clearly falls in love with the girl (Lillian Gish), it does not seem that her feelings go beyond gratitude. 31 Purple Dawn (Seeling 1923) reverses the sex of its romantic protagonists, with a Chinese girl (Bessie Love in yellowface) falling in love with a white hero (William E. Aldrich). He does not, however, return her affection, and the film concludes with her walking away into the morning light to e­ ither commit suicide or return to her Chinese fiancé. 32 In the script, the c­ ouple is married. See Mae West, Release Dialogue Script (February 15, 1936) of Klondike Annie. File for Klondike Annie (1936), Paramount Scripts Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 33 While Chan Lo may be evil, Klondike Annie’s other Chinese characters are portrayed as kind: Ah Toy (Mrs. Wong Wing) withstands torture for her mistress; Chan Lo’s manservant, Wing (Philip Ahn), helps Rose escape; and Rose’s young maid, Fah Wong (Soo Yong), accompanies her mistress on the ship. Notably, Rose speaks Cantonese more than once with Wing and Fah Wong. 34 West, release dialogue script. 35 Klondike Annie, AFI Cata­log, accessed January 26, 2016, https://­catalog​.­a fi​.­com​ /­Catalog​/­moviedetails​/­981​?­sid​=­89f4a960​-­117f​-­4d71​-­a191​-­ca66d7c29069&sr​=­6​ .­3090186&cp​=­1&pos​=­0.

264  •  Notes to Pages 135–140

Klondike Annie. Klondike Annie. Klondike Annie. Daisuke Miyao, Sessue Hayakawa: S­ ilent Cinema and Transnational Stardom (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2007), 185. 40 Mayer, “The Glittering Machine of Modernity,” 664. 41 Susan Courtney, Hollywood Fantasies of Miscegenation: Spectacular Narratives of Gender and Race, 1903–1967 (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2005), 171. 42 Krystyn R. Moon, Yellowface: Creating the Chinese in American Popu­lar M ­ usic and Per­for­mance, 1850s–1920s (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2005), 125. 43 Moon, 125. 44 The play of East Is West was well enough known for a Spanish-­language version, Oriente es Occidente, to be filmed si­mul­ta­neously. The story is set in 1910, according to Arthur Fitz-­R ichard, Playscript (August 28, 1935) for East Is West (1930). File for East Is West (1930), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 45 Moon, Yellowface, 126. 46 A reviewer of Java Head (Melford 1923) commented on the popularity of the interracial romance, with a “plot as old as Kipling’s ‘East is East and West is West and never the twain s­ hall meet.’ ” However, Java Head is not a mixed-­race romance ­because, as the reviewer states, the “Chinese heroine does not turn out to be a white girl a­ dopted by a Chinaman in infancy” (review of Java Head, Film Daily, February 11, 1923, 15). 47 The original French libretto of Mignon was written by Jules Barbier and Michel Carré and first performed in 1866. 48 The working title for Broken Fetters was Yellow and White. A plot synopsis appeared in Moving Picture Weekly (review of Broken Fetters, Moving Picture Weekly, July 1, 1916, 12). 49 Review of Broken Fetters, Variety, June 23, 1916, 20; review of Broken Fetters, Billboard, June 24, 1916, 61. 50 The film did pres­ent Chinese actors in smaller roles, including Charles Tang and Charles Fang (confirmed by the credits and photos), and exteriors w ­ ere shot in New York’s Chinatown. See Leonhard H. Gmuer, Rex Ingram: Hollywood’s Rebel of the Silver Screen (Berlin: Druck und Verlang, 2013), 135–136. 51 In the script, Wing Toy is called Chin Toy, and Bob Harris is called Bob Hunter. Thomas Dixon, Scenario for “Chin Toy” (November 16, 1920), file for Wing Toy (1921), USC Cinematic Arts Library, Los Angeles, CA. 52 Emphasis in the original. 53 Review of Wing Toy, Wid’s Daily, February 13, 1921, 7. 54 “Wing Toy,” Exhibitors Herald, February 22, 1921, 71. A “mummer” is an actor in a pantomime. 55 Review of Wing Toy, Motion Picture News, February 12, 1921, 1387. 56 Quoted in “Wing Toy,” Exhibitors Herald. 57 Review of A Tale of Two Worlds, Wid’s Daily, March 20, 1921, 21. 58 Leatrice Joy also plays a Chinese ­woman in Java Head. 59 Review of A Tale of Two Worlds, Wid’s Daily. 60 Review of A Tale of Two Worlds, Variety, April 22, 1921, 41. 36 37 38 39

Notes to Pages 141–146  •  265

61 Review of East Is West, undated, Scrapbook #17, page 116, Audrey Chamberlin Scrapbooks, Margaret Herrick Library. 62 Review of East Is West, Billboard, December 9, 1922, 54. 63 Review of East Is West, Variety, October 20, 1922, 40. 64 Frank L. Browne, letter to the editor, Exhibitors Herald, February 3, 1923, 50. A photo from Browne’s theater shows seven white w ­ omen dressed in Chinese costume and wigs. Scrapbook #2 (1922–1931), Frank L. Browne Papers, Margaret Herrick Library. 65 “Consensus of Published Reviews” of East Is West, Moving Picture World, September 23, 1922, 295. 66 The EYE Film Museum of the Netherlands has produced a beautiful restoration of the 1922 film, which features aty­pi­cal exterior shots filmed on location in San Francisco in Chinatown and near Union Square. Unfortunately, the restoration is missing about ten minutes, mainly from the beginning and many of the signifi­ cant scenes from the end. Interested parties can request a link to view the film via the website (https://­w ww​.­eyefilm​.­nl​/­en). 67 Vélez was one of the most successful Latin American actresses in Hollywood. Often cast in ethnic roles, she typically played Mexicans but also Asian ­women—­for example, in East Is West and Where East Is East (Browning 1929). The plot of Where East Is East is similar to that of East Is West in that Vélez plays Toyo, who is the child of a white man (Lon Chaney) and presumably a Laotian ­woman and who falls in love with Bobby Bailey (Lloyd Hughes). In the end, however, Toyo’s f­ ather reveals that her ­mother is the mysterious femme fatale Madame de Sylva (Estelle Taylor). 68 Renee Tajima, “Asian W ­ omen’s Images in Film: The Past Sixty Years,” in In Color: 60 Years of Images of Minority W ­ omen in the Media, 1921–1981, ed. Pearl Bowser (New York: Third World Newsreel, 1983), 26. 69 John Scott, “Vivacious Star Plays Ming Toy,” Los Angeles Times, November 15, 1930. 70 Mayer, “The Glittering Machine of Modernity,” 674. 71 Karen Kuo, East Is West and West Is East: Gender, Culture, and Interwar Encounters between Asia and Amer­i­ca (Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press, 2013), 2. 72 Alicia I. Rodríguez-­Estrada, “Dolores del Rio and Lupe Velez: Images on and off the Screen, 1925–1944,” in Writing the Range: Race, Class, and Culture in the ­Women’s West, ed. Elizabeth Jameson and Susan Armitage (Norman: University of Oklahoma Press, 1997), 477. 73 Max Brand was the author of the original story “Clung” on which the film is based. Review of Shame, Wid’s Daily, August 7, 1921, 7. 74 A multipage synopsis of Shame is available; Bound Vol. 4 (1928), 2441–2452, ­Silent Film Synopses, Margaret Herrick Library. 75 William Fox to Sol Wurtzel, October 13, 1930. File for Shame (1921), Correspon­ dence 1917–1920, Charles G. Clarke Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 76 Rex Beach, “Son of the Gods,” Hearst’s International-­Cosmopolitan, October 1928, and March 1929. 77 Review of Son of the Gods, Variety, February 5, 1930, 19. 78 Although the AFI Cata­log plot summary for Son of the Gods says that Sam’s ­father is a merchant in San Francisco’s Chinatown, in the film Sam explains that although he was born in San Francisco, the f­ amily left that city when he was too

266  •  Notes to Pages 146–156

young to remember it and that he is from New York City. His f­ ather’s address on a tele­gram is Chatham Square, New York, and one of Sam’s friends explains that his ­father is “the richest Oriental in New York” (Son of the Gods, AFI Cata­log, accessed March 15, 2017, https://­catalog​.­a fi​.­com​/­Catalog​/­moviedetails​/­1696​?­sid​ =­e14096ea​-­ea01​-­433f​-­9cd2​-­8482348b1996&sr​=­2​.­8966513&cp​=­1&pos​=­0). 79 Gina Marchetti, “ ‘They Worship Money and Prejudice’: The Certainties of Class and the Uncertainties of Race in Son of the Gods,” in Classical Hollywood, Classic Whiteness, ed. Daniel Bernardi (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press, 2001), 74–75. 80 Emphasis in the original. 81 Emphasis in the original. 82 Marchetti, 86. 83 Review of Son of the Gods, Variety, February 5, 1930, 19. 84 For more on the film’s poor per­for­mance, see Palumbo-­Liu, Asian/American, 61–64. 85 Ellen C. Scott, Cinema Civil Rights: Regulation, Repression, and Race in the Classical Hollywood Era (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2015), 15. 86 Quoted in Scott, 18. 87 Ruth Vasey, The World According to Hollywood, 1918–1939 (Exeter, UK: University of Exeter Press, 1997), 108. 88 Courtney, Hollywood Fantasies of Miscegenation, 104. 89 Pascoe, “Miscegenation Law, Court Cases, and Ideologies of ‘Race’ in Twentieth-­ Century Amer­i­ca,” 48. 90 Pascoe, 67. 91 Courtney, Hollywood Fantasies of Miscegenation, 190. 92 Jun Xing, Asian Amer­i­ca through the Lens: History, Repre­sen­ta­tions, and Identity (Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press, 1998), 60. 93 For example, a publicity still for the “East-­West love story” Sayonara (Logan 1957) features Marlon Brando’s female costar, the Japa­nese American actress Miiko Taka. The caption on the back of the photo describes Taka as a “shapely Japa­nese beauty” and pres­ents her “modelling the new ‘Sayonara’ knit swim suit, featuring a cerise obi.” The caption also gives Taka’s mea­sure­ment “from the bottom up!”—­ which the caption explains is how they are given in Japan. This type of explicit sexualizing of a Japa­nese w ­ oman for a white audience was unthinkable before the 1950s. Photo, file for Sayonara (1957), Core Collection—­Production Files, Margaret Herrick Library.

Chapter 7  Assimilation and Tourism 1 Charles Caldwell Dobie, San Francisco: A Pageant (New York: D. Appleton-­ Century Com­pany, 1939), 230–231. 2 “Chinese Elders Seek to Revive Old Traditions,” San Francisco Chronicle, August 17, 1936. 3 Henriette Horak, “New Chinatown,” San Francisco Chronicle, July 19, 1936. 4 Rose Hum Lee, The Chinese in the United States of Amer­i­ca (Hong Kong: Hong Kong University Press, 1960), 1. 5 Christina Klein, Cold War Orientalism: Asia in the Middlebrow Imagination, 1945–1961 (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2003), 224.

Notes to Pages 156–160  •  267

6 Kirsten Twelbeck, “The Donaldina Cameron Myth and the Rescue of Amer­i­ca, 1910–2002,” in Chinatowns in a Transnational World: Myths and Realities of an Urban Phenomenon, ed. Vanessa Künnemann and Ruth Mayer (New York: Routledge, 2011), 135. 7 Twelbeck, 143 and 146. 8 Mary Ting Yi Lui, The Chinatown Trunk Mystery: Murder, Miscegenation, and Other Dangerous Encounters in Turn-­of-­the-­Century New York City (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2005), 223. 9 Quoted in “U.S.-­Born Chinese Maids Ruin Marriage Chances,” San Francisco Chronicle, March 3, 1920. 10 “U.S.-­Born Chinese Maids Ruin Marriage Chances.” 11 “Chinese Drop Traditions to Marry U.S. Way,” San Francisco Chronicle, March 17, 1922. 12 “Americanized Wedding Held in Chinatown,” San Francisco Chronicle, Octo­ ber 19, 1922. 13 “Few Polygamists Left in Chinatown,” June 30, 1933; “Many Old Customs Stay in Chinatown,” June 27, 1933. Clippings from unidentified papers, File on “China­ town,” San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library, San Fran­ cisco, CA. 14 Ernest Lenn, “Chinatown Tomorrow,” San Francisco News, August 26, 1933. 15 “Chinatown Buildings,” August 28, 1933. Clipping from an unidentified paper, File on “Chinatown,” San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library. 16 “Preservation of Chinatown’s Old Charms Sought,” August 24, 1933. Clipping from an unidentified paper, File on “Chinatown,” San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library. 17 “How Chinese Change,” February 1, 1935. Clipping from an unidentified paper, File on “Chinatown,” San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library. 18 Six volumes of the Chinese Digest ­were published from 1935 to 1940. From 1935 to the end of 1936, it was published weekly; from 1937 on, it was published monthly. 19 “Why the Digest?,” editorial, Chinese Digest, November 15, 1935, 8. 20 William Hoy, “ ‘Secrets of Chinatown,’ ” Chinese Digest, November 22, 1935, 9. 21 “Chinese Gone Hollywood,” Chinese Digest, December 13, 1935, 2; “M-­G-­M to Screen Good Earth,” Chinese Digest, November 15, 1935, 12; “ ‘­Here We Are, Mae,’ ” Chinese Digest, November 15, 1935, 12. 22 “The W.P.A. and Chinatown,” Chinese Digest, January 10, 1936, 10; “What Other ­People Think of Us,” Chinese Digest, April 10, 1936, 8. 23 “A Tribute to Chinatown,” editorial, Chinese Digest, April 24, 1936, 8. 24 “For a Greater Chinatown,” San Francisco Call, February 26, 1937. 25 Other suggestions made by the association included adding Chinese lights and globes in the district, having all shop employees wear Chinese costumes, and importing “rickshas” to transport tourists. 26 Bill Simons, “In the Districts: A New Chinatown Arises from the Ruins of the Old City,” San Francisco Chronicle, June 23, 1940. 27 William Hoy, “In the Districts: Chinatown Keeps Step with Amer­i­ca, Says Guest Writer,” San Francisco Chronicle, July 1, 1940. 28 Kevin Wallace, “How Unseeing Eyes ‘See’ Chinatown,” San Francisco Chronicle, October 18, 1948. 29 In The Hatchet Man, many secondary characters are played by Asian American actors, such as Willie Fung, Toshia Mori, James B. Leong, Otto Yamaoka, Miki

268  •  Notes to Pages 163–170

30

31 32 33

34 35

36 37 38 39 40 41

42

Mo­rita, and Anna Chang. However, all of the main Chinese characters are played by white actors in yellowface. Neither Novarro’s nor Hayes’ yellowface makeup is convincing. Lien Wha, unlike the warring merchants, speaks with an American accent, indicating that she is American-­born; the effect, however, also limits Hayes’s ability to pass as a Chinese character as she rattles off her lines at a fast pace. Ironically, the portrait that her ­father paints of her, and which he l­ ater uses to attract her suitors, depicts a Chinese ­woman who looks nothing like Hayes. Men loyal to the emperor did not cut their hair but grew it long and worn in a queue. If a Chinese man living in the United States cut off his queue, he could not return to China. Review of Captured in Chinatown, Motion Picture Daily, July 31, 1935, 12. For the reviewer, the Chinese-­speaking characters are a prob­lem: “the action in the first reel or so is meaningless except to ­those who understand the jargon.” Richard Loo was born in Hawaii of Chinese ancestry and moved to California as a teenager. A ­ fter attending college, he worked in business u­ ntil the stock market crash and then moved into acting. He had a prolific c­ areer, appearing in over 170 American films and tele­vi­sion shows between the early 1930s and the early 1980s. Emphasis in the original. The trope of the Americanized wedding seemed to have been popu­lar in earlier ­silent films. A reviewer discussing Selig Polyscope’s Chinatown Slavery (1909) suggests that the plot would have been familiar to audiences, with its conclusion of “the usual marriage of the Christianized Chinaman and his sweetheart” wearing Western clothes supplied by the mission (review of Chinatown Slavery, Moving Picture World, May 8, 1909, 593). Review of Secrets of Wu Sin, Variety, February 28, 1933, 39. The f­ amily feud, while not explic­itly a tong war, has all the hallmarks of one. Indeed, Film Daily labels the conflict a “tong war” (review of Captured in Chinatown, Film Daily, July 30, 1935, 8). Karen Leong, The China Mystique: Pearl S. Buck, Anna May Wong, Mayling Soong, and the Transformation of American Orientalism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 166–167. Madeline Y. Hsu, The Good Immigrants: How the Yellow Peril Became the Model Minority (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2015), 81. Hsu, 83. Wong had top billing in King of Chinatown and the top salary by far, earning $9,999.99 (compared to Sidney Toler’s $1,250 and Philip Ahn’s $933.34). File #1190, King of Chinatown, Paramount Special Collection, Margaret Herrick Library, Los Angeles, CA. Anna May Wong also appeared in Ellery Queen’s Pent­house Mystery (Hogan 1941) as a Chinese American trying to help the Chinese war effort. In this film, Gordon Cobb (Noel Madison) is commissioned by a rich man in China (Richard Loo, uncredited) to take jewels to New York where they can be turned into cash that, in turn, can be used to aid the Chinese cause. Upon arriving in New York, Cobb calls his Chinese American contact, Lois Ling (Wong) but then dis­appears. Cobb’s d­ aughter (Ann Doran) begs the criminologist Ellery Queen (Ralph Bellamy) to help her find her f­ ather, but he is soon found murdered. Undertaking her own investigation, Queen’s secretary, Nikki Porter (Margaret Lindsay), goes to Cobb’s apartment. She finds Lois sneaking around and, assuming she is a thief

Notes to Pages 170–175  •  269

looking for the lost jewels, strug­g les with Lois u­ ntil the police take Lois in for questioning. The police believe Lois’s story a­ fter corroborating it with the Chinese embassy in Washington and the consul in New York City. Lois explains that they ­were not trying to smuggling the jewels into the country but did not think a public carrier could have gotten the jewels out of China. The jewels ­were left at the customs ­house in San Francisco for her to claim, ­a fter paying the $300,000 in duty “with money raised ­here by Chinese sympathisers.” The fact that Lois is Chinese American rather than a Chinese immigrant is confirmed when she explains, “I was born in New York; I have never been to China.” 43 Review of King of Chinatown, Hollywood Reporter, March 15, 1939, 3. 44 Review of King of Chinatown, Motion Picture Daily, March 21, 1939, 6. 45 Press sheet for King of Chinatown (1939), Paramount Pictures Press Sheets, Margaret Herrick Library. 46 Leong, The China Mystique, 95. 47 Frank Cunningham, “Son of Chinatown,” Hollywood, September 1942, 34. 48 Jeanine Basinger, “The World War II Combat Film: Definition,” in Hollywood and War: The Film Reader, ed. J. David Slocum (New York: Routledge, 2006), 176. 49 Thomas Doherty, Projections of War: Hollywood, American Culture, and World War II (New York: Columbia University Press, 1993), 139. 50 Ellen C. Scott, Cinema Civil Rights: Regulation, Repression, and Race in the Classical Hollywood Era (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2015), 42. 51 As Doherty notes, instructional magazine articles like one in Life helped white Americans tell Chinese and Japa­nese ­people apart (Projections of War, 141–142). 52 The name “Chinese-­A merican Medical Commission” is written with a hyphen in the scripts for the series. 53 In Dr. Gillespie’s New Assistant, Lee makes a similar comment: “I’m so tired, I’d almost sleep in the same room with a Jap!” 54 Review of Dr. Gillespie’s New Assistant, The Exhibitor, November 18, 1942, n.p.. 55 Milton Livingston, Review of Three Men in White, Motion Picture Daily, May 2 1944. See also Frank Leyendecker, Review of Three Men in White, Film Bulletin, May 15, 1944, n.p. 56 Martin Berkeley, “Case Suggestion” (February 22, 1943). File for Three Men in White (1944), Turner/MGM Script Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 57 Martin Berkeley, “Suggested First Gimmick for Dr. Lee” (March 6, 1943). File for Three Men in White Case (1944), Turner/MGM Script Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 58 Review of Dark Delusion, Hollywood Reporter, April 8, 1947, 3. 59 Cunningham, “Son of Chinatown,” 35. 60 “Chinatown ­Today,” San Francisco Chronicle, January 28, 1940. 61 A Gray Line booklet begins with a section titled “Chinatown is dif­fer­ent” (emphasis in original) before listing the vari­ous Chinatown highlights of the tour: Grant Ave­nue, the Waverly Place ­temple, a Chinese art studio, and the Chinese school on Sacramento Street. The rest of the tour includes “Old Barbary Coast,” Telegraph Hill, Nob Hill, North Beach, and Fisherman’s Wharf. See the booklet (undated). File on “Chinatown,” San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library. 62 Klein, Cold War Orientalism, 227–228.

270  •  Notes to Pages 175–184

63 Judy Yung and the Chinese Historical Society of Amer­i­ca, Images of Amer­i­ca: San Francisco’s Chinatown (Mount Pleasant, SC: Arcadia Publishing, 2006), 83. 64 “Analy­sis of Film Content.” File for Chinatown at Midnight (1949), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 65 Los Angeles’s nineteenth-­century Chinatown was destroyed to make way for Union Station, and Christine Sterling, who headed the conversion of Olvera Alley into the Mexican-­themed Olvera Street, was hired to create something similar for the new Chinatown a few blocks away. China City opened in 1938—­a walled group of Oriental-­style buildings including restaurants, shops, and a ­temple, with a lotus pond and rickshaw rides. It caught fire several times and was fi­nally destroyed in a fire in 1949 and not rebuilt. The area occupied ­today by New Chinatown was once the city’s L ­ ittle Italy and features a Hollywoodized section called Central Plaza not unlike Sterling’s China City, with ornate storefronts and pedestrian streets with Chinese-­sounding names like Gin Ling Way. This touristy part of Chinatown is distinct from the lived-­in—if less exotic—­larger Chinatown that surrounds it. The film includes a brief scene in which the hero and his love interest evade the police by hopping on a tour bus heading to Chinatown. The guide attempts to round up customers with the usual spiel: “It’s just like taking a trip to the Orient itself. It’s exotic, it’s thrilling!” The tour is never shown, and the next scene shows the hero ­going into a Chinese restaurant. 66 Victor Sen Yung was a Chinese American actor. Born in California, he appeared in 159 films and tele­vi­sion shows between the late 1930s and the early 1980s. 67 Benson Fong was a Chinese American actor. Born in California, he appeared in eighty-­six films and tele­vi­sion shows between the mid-1940s and the late 1950s. 68 Review of Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture, Hollywood Reporter, January 4, 1949, 3. 69 Stephen S. Jackson to Harry Cohn, March 15, 1948. File for Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture (1949), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 70 Maria Sen Yung appeared in four films in the early 1950s. 71 “Analy­sis of Film Content.” File for Key to the City (1950), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 72 “Analy­sis of Film Content.” File for The Big Hangover (1950), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 73 Chalsa M. Loo, Chinatown: Most Time, Hard Time (New York: Praeger, 1991), 49.

Chapter 8  Assimilating Heroism 1 Shirley Jennifer Lim, A Feeling of Belonging: Asian American W ­ omen’s Public Culture, 1939–1960 (New York: New York University Press, 2006), 74. 2 Roger Garcia, “Outside Looking In: Notes on Asian Amer­i­ca,” in Out of the Shadows: Asians in American Cinema, ed. Roger Garcia (Milan, Italy: Olivares, 2001), 76. 3 One could argue that Chan is technically Chinese American, as he is a resident of Hawaii (Hawaii was annexed by the United States in 1898 but was not officially a state u­ ntil 1959). According to Hollywood conventions, however, Chan is presented as Chinese in terms of his birth, speech, and mannerisms. His c­ hildren,

Notes to Pages 184–186  •  271

4 5 6 7

8

9

10 11 12 13 14 15

16

on the other hand, are presented as American-­born Chinese in contrast to their more traditional Chinese-­born ­father. Charles J. Rzepka, “Race, Region, Rule: Genre and the Case of Charlie Chan,” PMLA 122, no. 5 (2007): 1465. Oscar Rimoldi, “The Detective Movies of the 30s and 40s: Part I,” Films in Review 44, nos. 5–6 (1993): 170. Howard M. Berlin, The Charlie Chan Film Encyclopedia (Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Co. 2000), 15. Scott Darling and Charles S. Belden, “Second Outline” (July 11, 1936), file for Charlie Chan at the Opera (1937), USC Cinematic Arts Library, Los Angeles, CA. Darling and Belden leave sections of dialogue unwritten and simply write “Chan speaks in proverbs” or “offers a typical Chanism.” See Philippa Gates, “Softboiled Heroes: Investigating En­g lishness in the Classical Hollywood Detective Film,” in Heroines and Heroes: Embodiment, Symbolism, Narratives and Identity, ed. Chris Hart (Kingswinford, UK: Midrash Publica­ tions, 2008), 98–111. The caption on the back of a publicity still for Charlie Chan at the Opera confirms this point: “When Bogeymen get together. Boris Karloff and Peter Lorre, the screen’s two best men at frightening p­ eople, talk over scare-­secrets between scenes of their 20th Century-­Fox pictures.” (File for Charlie Chan at the Opera [1937], Core Collection, Margaret Herrick Library, Los Angeles, CA.) James Francis Crow, review of Think Fast, Mr. Moto, Hollywood Citizen, Novem­ ber 22, 1937, n.p.; review of Mr. Moto in Danger Island, Variety, March 22, 1939, 20. Rimoldi, “The Detective Movies of the 30s and 40s,” 170. Jun Xing, Asian Amer­i­ca through the Lens: History, Repre­sen­ta­tions, and Identity (Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press, 1998), 61. Yuko Kawai, “Stereotyping Asian Americans: The Dialectic of the Model Minority and the Yellow Peril,” Howard Journal of Communications 16, no. 2 (2005): 109–130. Karla Rae Fuller, Hollywood Goes Oriental: CaucAsian Per­for­mance in American Film (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 2010), 73. Ed Guerrero, “The Black Image in Protective Custody: Hollywood’s Biracial Buddy Films of the Eighties,” in Black American Cinema, ed. Manthia Diawara (New York: Routledge, 1993), 237. Guerrero uses the term “strategies of contain­ ment” as defined in Frederic Jameson, The Po­liti­cal Unconscious: Narrative as a Socially Symbolic Act (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1981). In light of the vilification of the Japa­nese in Hollywood, Mr. Moto was presented differently from Chan and Wong. Lorre portrays Moto as a quiet, seemingly meek, detective who drank milk when o­ thers had scotch. Beneath a veneer of Asian politeness and in spite of his small stature (Lorre was five feet five inches tall), however, Moto was a calculating, intelligent, and sometimes menacing man—­ unlike Chan and Wong. What differentiated him from the Chinese model minority detectives was his proclivity t­ oward vio­lence. He was an expert in the martial art of jujitsu, and with the help of a stunt double, Lorre as Moto engaged in many exciting fights. While presenting Moto as a physical fighter of crime could have aligned him with more American notions of heroism, Moto knocked his enemies about like a whirling dervish—in other words, something foreign. In ­these films, his martial arts skills w ­ ere presented as exotic and “other,” compared to more typical American demonstrations of might in fistfights, for example.

272  •  Notes to Pages 187–193

17 Gina MacDonald and Andrew MacDonald, “Ethnic Detectives in Popu­lar Fiction: New Directions for an American Genre,” in Diversity and Detective Fiction, ed. Kathleen Gregory Klein (Bowling Green, OH: Bowling Green State University Popu­lar Press, 1999), 60. 18 Bess Meredyth, “Revised Outline” (January 23, 1936), file for Charlie Chan at the Opera (1937), USC Cinematic Arts Library, Los Angeles, CA. 19 Charles P. Mitchell, A Guide to Charlie Chan Films (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1999), 175. 20 Ken Hanke, Charlie Chan at the Movies: History, Filmography, and Criticism (Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Co., 1989), xii. 21 Hanke, 170. 22 Emphasis in the original. 23 Darling and Beldon, “Second Outline.” 24 Philip Klein, “Outline” (undated), file for Charlie Chan Carries On (1931), USC Cinematic Arts Library. 25 Philip Klein and Barry Conners, “First Draft” (November 17, 1930), file for Charlie Chan Carries On (1931), USC Cinematic Arts Library; and Philip Klein and Barry Conners, “Second Draft” (December 6, 1930), file for Charlie Chan Carries On (1931), USC Cinematic Arts Library. 26 Andrew Wallenstein, “Discussions Added to Chan Fest,” Hollywood Reporter, September 2, 2003, 3. 27 Herman Wong, “Charlie Chan: Denying the White Man in Yellow Face,” Los Angeles Times, October 22, 1983 (emphasis in the original). 28 Quoted in Mary Yee and Chuck Yee, “The Pioneer Chinese American Actors,” Los Angeles Chinatown 1979 Souvenir Book (Los Angeles: Chinese Chamber of Commerce, 1977), 26. 29 Quoted in Henry Ong, “Keye Luke—­Beyond the Ste­reo­t ype,” Los Angeles Times, March 9, 1986. 30 Quoted in Yee and Yee, “The Pioneer Chinese American Actors,” 24–26. 31 Richard Goldstein, “The Chan Syndrome,” Village Voice, May 5, 1980. 32 Hanke, Charlie Chan at the Movies, xv. 33 Daisuke Miyao, Sessue Hayakawa: S­ ilent Cinema and Transnational Stardom (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2007), 3–6. 34 Similarly, in The Swamp (Campbell 1921), Hayakawa plays a heroic character—­but in this case, not a romantic lead. The swamp of the title is New York City’s Lower East Side, a slum where Mary (Bessie Love) and her son strug­g le to live ­a fter being abandoned by her husband Spencer (Harland Tucker). When she cannot pay her rent, Wang (Hayakawa), a Chinese vegetable peddler, sells his ­horse to give her money, and when Mary’s husband tries to marry another w ­ oman, Wang reveals Spencer’s past to his fiancée, thus ending the engagement. Mary then officially divorces Spencer and marries her childhood sweetheart. Wang gets his money back, reclaims his ­horse, and decides to go back to China to marry a girl who is waiting for him t­ here. 35 Thoman Nunan, “ ‘The Tong Man’ Photoplay of Chinatown,” San Francisco Examiner (undated), file on “Chinatown,” San Francisco History Center, San Francisco Public Library, San Francisco, CA. 36 Thomas C. Kennedy, “Sessue Hayakawa in ‘The Tong Man,’ ” Ser­vice Paper, December 20, 1919, 275. 37 Cary-­Hiroyuki Tagawa, interview in The Slanted Screen (Adachi 2006).

Notes to Pages 194–202  •  273

38 Hayakawa played Japa­nese characters as well as Mexican, Hindu, and Arab ones in Haworth films. 39 Review of Li Ting Lang, Motion Picture News, July 24, 1920, 857. 40 Miyao, Sessue Hayakawa, 136. 41 Emphasis in the original. 42 Cover, Picture-­Play Magazine, August 1921. 43 Peter Stanfield, “ ‘American Like Chop Suey’: Invocations of Gangsters in Chinatown, 1920–1936,” in Mob Culture: Hidden Histories of the American Gangster Film, ed. Lee Grieveson, Esther Sonnet, and Peter Stanfield (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2005), 255 (emphasis in the original). 44 The film also features other Asian American actors in minor roles, including Oie Chan, Tetsu Komai, and George Kuwa. Born in the United States, Oie Chan appeared in seven films in the 1940s in addition to ­Daughter of the Dragon in 1931. 45 Review of ­Daughter of the Dragon, Variety, August 25, 1931, 14. 46 Review of ­Daughter of the Dragon, Hollywood Reporter, July 28, 1931, 3. 47 Review of ­Daughter of the Dragon, Film Archive, July 30, 2000, n.p. 48 Karen Leong, The China Mystique: Pearl S. Buck, Anna May Wong, Mayling Soong, and the Transformation of American Orientalism (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 1. 49 Leong, 2. 50 Lim, A Feeling of Belonging, 49. 51 Lim, 48. 52 Leong, The China Mystique, 184. 53 Some sources list the character’s name as “Mary Lee Ling,” but a newspaper story in the film prints her name as “Mei Lei Ming”—­“Mei Lei” being her Chinese first name and “Mary,” the Americanization of it. 54 Emphasis in the original. 55 Mildred Martin, review of When W ­ ere You Born, Philadelphia Inquirer‒Public ­ ere You Born (1938), Motion Picture Association Ledger, July 11, 1938. File for When W of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 56 Archer Wisten, review of When W ­ ere You Born, Eve­ning Post, n.d. File for When ­Were You Born (1938), Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca—­Production Code Administration Rec­ords, Margaret Herrick Library. 57 Leong, The China Mystique, 66. 58 Review of ­Daughter of Shanghai, Variety, December 29, 1937, 17. 59 Harold Hurley to A. M. Botsford, 14 Jul 1937. File for ­Daughter of Shanghai (1937), Paramount Special Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 60 For example, “Shanghai’s men smoke ­these exotic pipes, but men in ‘Blanktown’ also smoke pipes.” Press sheet for ­Daughter of Shanghai (1937), Paramount Pictures Press Sheets, Margaret Herrick Library. 61 Production file for ­Daughter of Shanghai (1937), Paramount Special Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 62 ­Daughter of Shanghai’s script was developed from “Honor Bright,” a 1937 story by Garnett Weston that was based, in turn, on a June 4, 1934, article in the Los Angeles Times. Garnett Weston, “Honor Bright” (April 17, 1937), file for ­Daughter of Shanghai (1937), Paramount Scripts Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 63 The American Film Institute (AFI) Cata­log lists Wong’s character as “Lan Ying Lin” (accessed September 14, 2018, https://­catalog​.­a fi​.­com​/­Catalog​/­moviedetails​ /­842​?­sid​=­053fc7a3​-­f030​-­4cfe​-­8bce​-­3fc27ad1cce9&sr​=­2​.­8517246&cp​=­1&pos​=­0).

274  •  Notes to Pages 203–211

However, she clearly states her name as “Lan Ying Quan” at the beginning of the film. 64 Hye Seung Chung, Hollywood Asian: Philip Ahn and the Politics of Cross-­Ethnic Per­for­mance (Philadelphia: ­Temple University Press, 2006), 73. 65 Lim, A Feeling of Belonging, 50. 66 Sean Metzger, “Patterns of Re­sis­tance? Anna May Wong and the Fabrication of China in American Cinema of the Late 30s,” Quarterly Review of Film and Video 23, no. 1 (2006): 11. 67 Chung, Hollywood Asian, 81. 68 “Release Dialogue Script” (December 8, 1937), file for ­Daughter of Shanghai (1937), Paramount Scripts Collection, Margaret Herrick Library. 69 Chung, Hollywood Asian, 10. 70 As Fuller explains, some scholars reported that the film was never released by Monogram ­because the studio feared that audiences would reject a film featuring a Chinese American detective played by a Chinese American actor. However, many trade papers feature information about the film’s release—­including Motion Picture Herald, which lists the date of the film’s release as November 19, 1940. See Fuller, Hollywood Goes Oriental, 118. See also “The Release Chart,” Motion Picture Herald, April 12, 1941, 65. 71 Fuller, Hollywood Goes Oriental, 84 and 91. 72 Jon Tuska, In Manors and Alleys: A Casebook on the American Detective Film (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1988), 176. 73 Notably, Lotus Long was not actually Chinese American but of Hawaiian and Japa­nese descent. 74 Born in California, Victor Wong was a Chinese American actor who appeared in thirty-­seven films between the early 1930s and the mid-1940s. Also born in California, Lee Tung Foo was a Chinese American actor who appeared in seventy-­three films between the early 1930s and the early 1960s. 75 I argue that this might have had less to do with the casting of a Chinese American actor in the lead role and more to do with the mediocre quality of the film in general. Poor scripting, somewhat wooden acting, and uninspiring cinematogra­ phy and editing make this film often slow and uninteresting to watch. 76 Jon L. Breen, “Charlie Chan: The Case of the Reviled Detective,” Mystery Scene 82 (2003): 27. 77 Keye Luke played Lee Chan in eleven films, but only ten ­were in the Chan series. His b­ rother, Edwin Luke, was also a Chinese American actor born in California. He appeared in nineteen films between the mid-1930s and the mid-1980s. 78 Jenny Cho and the Chinese Historical Society of Southern California, Images of Amer­i­ca: Chinese in Hollywood (Mount Pleasant, SC: Arcadia Publishing, 2013), 32. 79 Stephen Gong, interview in Hollywood Chinese (Dong 2007). 80 Tagawa, interview in The Slanted Screen. 81 Quoted in Yee and Yee, “The Pioneer Chinese American Actors,” 29. 82 Yunte Huang, Charlie Chan: The Untold Story of the Honorable Detective and His Rendezvous with American History (New York: W. W. Norton and Co., 2010), 296. 83 Quoted in Yee and Yee, “The Pioneer Chinese American Actors,” 27. 84 Quoted in J. E. Albert, “Keye Luke,” Film Fan Monthly, May 1973, 28.

Notes to Pages 213–214  •  275

Chapter 9 Epilogue 1 “L.A. Chinese Group Protests Zugsmith Filming ‘Opium.’ ” Variety, January 26, 1961, n.p. 2 Quoted in review from unidentified trade paper (January 27, 1961), file for Confessions of an Opium Eater (1962), Core Collection—­Production Files, Margaret Herrick Library, Los Angeles, CA. 3 Quoted in review from unidentified trade paper (January 27, 1961). 4 Review of Confessions of an Opium Eater, Monthly Film Bulletin, 1963, 145. 5 Jun Xing, Asian Amer­i­ca through the Lens: History, Repre­sen­ta­tions, and Identity (Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press, 1998), 48.

Index Page numbers in italics represent figures. Abe, Jack Yutaka, 11, 29, 66, 80, 139, 191, 193, 249n74 Adams, Claire, 78 Adams, Dora, 123–124 AFI. See American Film Institute A films, 10, 27, 105, 164 African Americans: attitude of white Americans, 8; civil rights, 7, 156, 212; depicted in films, 29, 148, 171, 186; miscegenation, 129; “otherness,” 32; racial identity, 7–8; repre­sen­ta­tion of, 23, 37 Ahmad, Diana, 75, 115 Ahn, Philip: Back to Bataan, 35; The Big Hangover, 181; Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture, 178, 179; ­Daughter of Shanghai, 209–210; high-­profile actor, 11, 169, 184, 190, 208, 211, 258n72; Impact, 177; King of Chinatown, 31, 33–34, 96–97, 169, 268n41; Klondike Annie, 263n33 Ah Sin (Harte and Twain), 46 Air Mail, 75 Albertson, Frank, 145 Aldrich, William E., 78, 263n31 alien smuggling. See immigrant smuggling Allen, Alfred, 83 Allister, Claud, 99 Aloha, 32 American Cinematographer, 30

American Dream, 34 American Film Institute (AFI), 77, 135 American Museum, 46 American Mutoscope and Biograph Com­pany, 25, 26, 70, 74 Ames, Leon, 180 Andy Hardy’s Blonde Trou­ble, 174 anthropological criminology, 129 “Anti-­Narcotic films,” 126–127. See also drugs Aoki, Tsuru, 29, 71, 117 A pictures, 27. See also A films Arizona Sweepstakes, 67, 248n36, 249n66 Arrest in Chinatown, 26 Ashes of My Heart, 126 Asian Americans: actors, 13, 28, 33–34, 66, 80, 202, 249n74; as action heroes, 191–193, 208–210; depicted in films, 28, 151, 171; heroism, 183–211; in leading roles, 10; racial identity, 8, 10; studies, 13; term defined, 7; use of term, 10. See also Chinese Americans; Japa­nese Americans; Korean American actors assimilation: ­children, 35; Chinese recast in film, 5; Chinese regarded as less assimilable, 8, 20–21; mainstream Chinese, 168–175; modernization and re-­Orientalization, 156–160; patriotism, 34, 128; postwar inclusion, 175–180, 212;

277

278  •  Index

assimilation (cont.) racism exposed, 180–182; strug­g le, 160–168; tourism, 155–182 (see also tourism/tourists). See also Asian Americans; Chinese Americans; Chinese immigrants; Japa­nese Americans Astaire, Fred, 32 Asther, Nils, 150 Ayres, Lew, 142, 169 Back to Bataan, 35 Baclanova, Olga, 254n1 Baggot, King, 133 Bainter, Fay, 141 Ballin, Mabel, 133 Bankhead, Tallulah, 98, 263n24 Banky, Vilma, 254n1 Barbier, George, 95 Barclay, Joan, 90 Barney, Marion, 107 Barrett, Tony, 177 Barrington, Phyllis, 87 Barrows, Henry A., 99 Barrymore, Lionel, 169 Barthelmess, Richard, 29, 133, 145, 148, 149, 263n30 Basinger, Jeanine, 171 Bechtel, William, 87 Beery, Noah, 62, 99 Beery, Wallace, 72, 110, 139, 141 Beetson, Fred W., 39 ­Behind That Curtain, 81, 185 Bellamy, Ralph, 268n42 Ben-­Hur, 257n56 Benjamin, Walter, 45 Bennett, Chester, 99 Bennett, Constance, 146 Bennett, Marjorie, 85 Berg, Harry, 126 Berkeley, Martin, 174 Bettinson, Gary, 12 Between Two ­Women, 174 B film, 10, 27, 92, 105, 164, 166, 185, 202, 240n64 Bickford, Charles, 202, 203 Bidlingmaier, Selma Siew Li, 54 Biggers, Earl Derr, 24, 184, 187, 211 Big Hangover, The, 180–181

Billboard, 117, 141 Birth of a Nation, The, 2, 9, 148 Bits of Life, 75, 76 ­Bitter Tea of General Yen, The, 38, 150 Bix, Herman, 91 Black Cat, The, 90 Block, Paul, 135 Blossom Time, 8, 27 Blythe, Betty, 118 Boardman, True, 76 Bond, Richard, 100 Bonner, Priscilla, 79 Border Phantom, 39, 73 Boston Blackie’s Chinese Venture, 42, 175–176, 177–179, 179 Bow, Clara, 75 Bracken, Eddie, 98 Brand, Max, 144, 265n73 Brando, Marlon, 32, 266n93 Breakfast at Tiffany’s, 32 Breaking Point, The, 42 Breaks of the Game, The, 77, 106 Breen, Jon, 208 Breen, Joseph, 37, 39–40, 150, 244n135 Breese, Edmund, 91 Brent, Evelyn, 89, 92 Briden, Garland, 116 British Columbia, Canada, 38–39 Broken Blossoms, 29, 131, 133, 148–149, 241n83, 263n30 Broken Fetters, 70, 71, 137, 138, 140 Brown, Maxine, 77 Browne, Frank L., 141 Browne, Nick, 12 Bryers, Leslie, 28 Burke, Thomas, 148 Burlingame Treaty, 20 Burns, Edmund, 62 Burt, Nellie, 85 Cagney, James, 87 cake-­eater, 111, 259n14 Calhoun, Jean, 84 California, 4–5, 18, 53, 68 California Chinese Pioneer Historical Society, 159 Calling Dr. Gillespie, 169 Call Northside 777, 101 Cameraman, The, 67

Index  •  279

Cameron, Donaldina, 68–69 Cameron, Grace, 85 Canada, 73 Cantonese. See language Captured in Chinatown, 156, 160, 164, 166–168, 249n66, 256n42 Cass, Maurice, 201 Castello, William, 205 Castleton, Barbara, 126 Cathay Pictures, 8 Catholicism, 150 Catholic Legion of Decency, 37 Cat’s Paw, The, 41, 95 Caucasian. See white Americans Chan, Jackie, 183 Chan, Luke, 90, 256n49 Chan, Oie, 273n44 Chan, Sucheng, 8 Chaney, Lon, 75, 76, 253n145, 265n67 Chang, Anna, 267n29 Chang, King Hoo, 147 Chang, T. K., 39–40, 41, 62, 240n72, 244n135 Chan Is Missing, 10, 213 Chan series, Charlie, 213–214, 271n16: actors portraying, 80–81, 173, 193, 208, 211 (see also specific actors); as model minority, 24, 35; heroic character, 5, 11, 183–190, 208–210; Western dress, 204. See also specific Charlie Chan films Chaplin, Charlie, 190 Chapman, Audrey, 78 Charlie Chan and the Curse of the Dragon Queen, 32, 190 Charlie Chan at the Circus, 185 Charlie Chan at the Opera, 185, 187 Charlie Chan at the Ringside, 187 Charlie Chan Carries On, 185 Charlie Chan in Shanghai, 189, 209 Charlie Chan in the Secret Ser­vice, 42 Chase, Charley, 13 Cheat, The, 98, 106, 107, 109, 110, 131–132, 147, 190, 193, 263nn23, 24 Checkers, 57 Chee, Lew, 41, 95 Chesterfield-­Invincible studio, 2, Chicago, Illinois, 63, 131 China: concern of shedding ancient traditions, 155; consul, 14, 202; Guangdong

region, 18; imperialism, 44; objection to pictures, 39–41, 95, 98, 244n135; relations with Japan, 5; valorization of peasants, 7 Chinatown, 3, 5, 213 Chinatown: characteristics, 3–4; dangers, 53–79, 194; defined, 3–4; depiction in films/stage plays, 9, 10, 16, 22, 26–27, 43–49, 99, 240n62 (see also specific films); evolution, 5; image of, 5; life, 4–5; locations, 3–4, 15, 53 (see also specific cities); “new,” 155; rebranded, 155–182; ste­reo­t ypes, 22–25 44; whitening of, 80–102. See also crime; opium den/ smoking; slave girls; slumming tours; tongs/tong wars; tourism/tourists; villain Chinatown ­after Dark, 91–92, 256n42 Chinatown at Midnight, 101–102, 175, 176, 256n42 Chinatown Charlie, 58–59, 67, 106 Chinatown Film Proj­ect, 3 Chinatown Mystery, 70–71, 117 Chinatown Nights, 47, 59, 60, 64, 69, 110–113, 249nn66, 70 Chinatown Pictures, 57 Chinatown Slavery, 26, 70, 268n35 Chinatown Squad, 32, 88, 100, 144, 256n42 Chinese American Museum, 15 Chinese Americans: actors, 32–33, 98, 102, 138, 168–175, 184, 193–194, 200, 208, 213 (see also specific actors); attitude of white Americans, 8; constructions of, 18–22; culture shifting, 155–160, 203; difference between traditional Chinese, 7, 10, 35, 179, 208, 211; ethnic category, 184; fetishization, 45–46, 49, 61, 65, 100, 130, 136; filmmakers, 3; Hollywood industry, 25–36; identity, 7; mainstream Chinese, 168–175, 181–182; modernity and Orientalization gaze, 43–49, 156–160; postwar inclusion, 175–180; professionals, 168–175, 182; protests and regulation of portrayals, 36–43; racism, 180–182, 205 (see also racism); repre­sen­ta­tions in film, 8, 9, 25–36, 210–211 (see also specific films); technical advisors, 42–42; term defined, 7; use of term, 10; yellow peril ste­reo­t ypes, 22–25. See also assimilation; race; racism

280  •  Index

Chinese at Home and Abroad, The (Farwell), 20 Chinese Benevolent Association of California, 170 Chinese Consolidated Benevolent Association, 62 Chinese Cultural Society of Amer­i­ca, 158 Chinese Digest, 16, 33, 158 Chinese Diplomat Ser­vice, 41 Chinese Exclusion Act, 20, 73, 151. See also Chinese immigrants Chinese Gains a Fortune in Amer­i­ca, A, 8 Chinese Historical Society of Amer­i­ca, 15 Chinese Historical Society of Southern California, 189 Chinese identity: bachelor society, 4, 53, 62; culture, 4, 13, 19, 22, 35, 45, 68, 100, 148, 155–160, 193, 205–206, 211; dress, 25, 92, 148, 263n27; identity, 135–136 (see also racial identity); physical differences, 22, 45, 158; racial/national category, 184; religion, 4 Chinese immigrants: anti-­Chinese movement, 19–20; anx­i­eties prompted by, 27, 130; constructions of, 18–22; depiction in films, 10, 25–36, 96, 100, 105–110, 108, 120 (see also specific films); difference between Chinese Americans, 7, 10, 35, 184, 208, 211; exclusion, 4–5, 19, 20, 23, 35, 46, 54, 62, 128 (see also specific exclusion laws); gender, 4, 45, 128; impact of transportation, 43; laborers, 4, 18–19, 43–44, 73, 81; modernity and Orientalist gaze, 43–49; most numerous Asian immigrants, 7, 233n7; restrictions, 8, 20, 67–69; segregation, 54; significance of Chinatown, 3, 56; yellow peril ste­reo­ types, 22–25. See also immigrant smuggling; crime; race; racism Chinese Lady (museum exhibit), 46 Chinese Laundry, 25 Chinese Laundry at Work, 25 Chinese Lily, The, 28 Chinese melodrama, 105–127, 136, 213, 259n1 Chinese Methodist Episcopal Church, 157 Chinese Mission (San Francisco), 85 Chinese Opium Den, 74, 75 Chinese Opium Joint, A, 25, 74

Chinese Parrot, The, 81, 185 Chinese Presbyterian Mission, 36 Chinese question, 19–20 Chinese Ring, The, 187 Chinese Rubbernecks, 25 Chinese Six Companies, 54, 57, 62–63, 82, 157 Chinese Slave Smuggling, 26, 69 Chinese Students Christian Association, 36 Chinese Telephone Exchange, 54 Chinese Theater Guild, 159 Ching, Bo, 32 Ching, Fong, 61–62 Ching, Hoo, 65, 249n73 “Chink and the Child, The,” (Burke), 148 Cho, Jenny, 208 Chung, Hye Seung, 38, 42, 203 Chung, Sue Fawn, 24 “cinema of attractions,” 25, 26 Cinematograph, 25 citizenship, 4, 10, 19, 20, 29, 68, 129, 169, 181, 184, 198 City of Dim ­Faces, The, 130, 132, 134, 263n27 civil rights movement, 7, 10, 36, 156, 212 Clark, Harvey, 253n157 class (socioeconomic), 7, 114–115, 146, 147, 181 Clement, Clay, 88 Clements, Hal, 119 “Clung” (Brand), 265n73 Clung. See Shame Coburn, Charles, 177 cocaine, 113 Cocaine Traffic; Or the Drug of Terror, 260n37 Cohn, Harry, 179 colonialism, 11, 23, 43, 44 Columbia Pictures, 27, 179 comedy/comedians, 66–67 Compson, Betty, 58, 93 Confessions of an Opium Eater, 213 consumerism, 136 containment, strategies of, 32, 186, 271n15 Conway, Tom, 177 Cook, Jesse B., 55, 82 coolies, 7, 34, 73 Corbin, ­Virginia Lee, 62 Cosmopolitan, 128 Courtney, Susan, 37, 136, 150

Index  •  281

Couvares, Francis, 37 crime/criminalization: anthropological criminology, 129; Chinatown connection, 4–6, 12, 55, 80, 126, 240n62; Chinese immigrants, 12, 233n6; civic, 93–96; films, 10, 53–79, 81–102 (see also specific films); incarceration, 19. See also prostitution; tongs/tong wars; villain; yellow peril: ste­reo­t ypes Crimson Kimono, The, 36, 212 Cruze, James, 132 Cub Reporter, The, 84, 249n66 culture. See Chinese identity Cunningham, Cecil, 202 Cummings, Irving, 107 Curse of Quon Gwon, The, 27 Curwood, James Oliver, 23 Cyclone, The, 255n33 Dade, Frances, 196 Dana, Viola, 29 Dangerous to Know, 96, 170 Dark Delusion, 174 Darmour, Larry, 39–40 ­Daughter of the Dragon, 195–198, 273n44 ­Daughter of Shanghai, 33–34, 170, 190, 198, 201–204, 205, 208–210, 211, 244n135, 273n62 ­Daughter of the Tong, 88–89, 91, 92, 100, 202, 249n66, 256n47 Davis, Alice, 131 Davis, Owen, 58 Day, Marceline, 67 Dean, Jack, 131 Dearholt, Ashton, 82–83 Deceived Slumming Party, 26, 57, 58, 176 Delaney, Charles, 167 DeMille, Cecil B. 131 Derelict, The, 260n37 de Roache, Charles, 263n24 Deshon, Frank, 83 Dev­il’s Needle, The, 260n37 dialogue. See language Digges, Dudley, 161 Dillon, Richard, 68 Dilson, John H., 210 dime novel, 22, 129 Dinty, 44, 62, 248n48, 249n66, 255n33 Dix, Richard, 75, 93

Dixon, Winston Wheeler, 27 Dobie, Charles, 55, 155 documentary films, 74–75 Docks of New Orleans, 187 Doherty, Thomas, 37–38, 171 Donlevy, Brian, 177, 255n22 Doran, Ann, 268n42 Douglas 20, Police Journal, 63 Dracula, 90 Dragon’s Breath, The, 115 Dragon Seed, 34 Dream Seekers, The, 76 Dr. Gillespie’s Criminal Case, 172 Dr. Gillespie series, 170–175 (see also specific Dr. Gillespie movies) Dr. Gillespie’s New Assistant, 169–173 Driven from Home, 62, 117 drugs: control of, 73, 74, 93–94, 106, 114–115, 126, 260n37; in films, 57, 71, 75, 76–78, 84, 93–94, 100, 106, 110, 116–126, 131. See also opium den/smoking Drug Traffic, The, 260n37 drug trafficking. See drugs; opium den/ smoking “dualer,” 240n64. See also B Film Dunaew, Nicholas, 64 Dwyer, Ruth, 255n22 Ea­g le, James, 145 East Is West, 38–39, 40, 137, 138, 139, 141–144, 265n67 Eddy, Helen Jerome, 66, 72, 191 Edison, Thomas, 25 Edison Manufacturing Com­pany, 25, 74 Ellery Queen’s Pent­house Mystery, 268n42 Elliott, Frank, 73, 83, 84 Ellis, Paul, 167 epicanthic. See eye fold Essanay Film Manufacturing Com­pany, 26 ethnicization, 155–156 eugenics, 158 Eurocentrism, 11 Eve­ning Post, 201 Everett, Jane, 176 exclusion. See Chinese immigrants Exclusion Act, 62, 68, 102, 128, 251n110 Exhibitor’s Herald, 57, 99, 126, 138, 141, 173, 236n54 Exhibitors Trade Review, 78, 236n54

282  •  Index

Exploits of Elaine, The, 24 eye fold, 29–30, 241n83 Fairbanks, Douglas Jr., 75 Fairbanks, Douglas Sr., 190, 192 Fairbanks, William, 78 Falcon Strikes Back, The, 177 Fang, Charles, 71, 107, 138, 264n50 Farrell, Glenda, 99 Farwell, William, 20 The Fatal Hour, 70 Fawcett, George, 93 Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI), 89 Feet of Mud, 67 Feng, Peter X, 7, 12 Fenton, Leslie, 161 Fighting Destiny, 118 Fighting Pi­lot, The, 84 Film Archive, 198 Film Daily, 72, 79, 236n54 First Born, The, 28, 71–72 Fithian, T. B., 39 flâneur, 45 Fletcher, Bramwell, 195 Flower Drum Song, 10, 36, 213 Flower of Doom, The, 28, 64, 255n33 Flynn, Maurice “Lefty,” 72, 83 Fong, Benson, 11, 32, 36, 101, 178, 179, 189, 208, 211, 213, 270n67 Fong, Paul C., 167 Fong, Timothy, 19 Foo, Lee Tung, 206, 274n74 Foo, Wong Chin, 128, 166 Forbes, Mary, 143 Ford, Warren, 90 Ford Motor Com­pany, 56 Forrest, Allen, 99 Foster, Norman, 59 Fox, William, 58, 145 Fox Movie Channel, 189 Fox studio. See Twentieth ­Century Fox France, 39 Francis, Charles, 137 Frank, J. Herbert, 85 Frederici, Blanche, 162 French, Charles K., 85 Friedberg, Anne, 45 Friedman, Seymour, 175 From Headquarters, 200

From the Submerged, 26 Fujita, Toyo, 11, 29, 65, 71, 80, 191, 249n77 Fuller, Karla Rae, 10, 11, 24, 205, 274n70 Fu Manchu (character), 11, 23–24, 89–90, 183, 185–186, 195. See also villain; specific Fu Manchu films Fung, Willie, 11, 32, 267n29 Fun in an Opium Joint, 75 Gable, Clark, 180 Gale, Marguerite, 107 gambling, 4–5, 19, 55, 63, 82, 98, 107–110. See also crime Gan, Chester, 11, 32 gangster films, 87–89 Garcia, Roger, 18, 184 Garwood, William, 137 gaze: imperialist, 45–46, 47; male, 45; Orientalist—­and modernity, 43–49, 56, 61, 130; of recognition, 204; regulatory, 49; slumming, 59; survey, 46; tourist, 47, 48, 49; voy­eur­is­tic, 45–46, 61, 66, 72 Geary Act, 20, 46 gender, 24–25, 45, 105–127, 151, 266n93. See also slave girls Genghis Khan, 19 Gentlemen’s Agreement, 36 Gerald, Michael, 75 Ghaforian, Ahmad, 21 GI Bill, 35 Gibson, Hoot, 67, 75 Gilbert, Billy, 91 Gilbert, Jack, 144–145 Girl in the Dark, The, 82, 249n66 Gish, Lillian, 105, 148, 263n30 Gleason, James, 180 Glendon, J. Frank, 139, 141 “G” Men, 87 Golden Gate Film Com­pany, 8 Golden Gate Girl, 8 Golden Gate International Exposition, 158–159 Gold Rush, 63. See also Chinese immigrants: laborers Gong, Stephen, 25, 27–28, 208 Good Earth, The, 33, 34, 35, 40, 158 Goodfellow Film Manufacturing Com­pany, 26 Goodrich, Edna, 123

Index  •  283

Gordon, Kitty, 107, 108, 109–110 Gow, Lee, 65, 249n73 Grandview Film Com­pany, 8, 27 Grant, Lawrence, 195 Griffith, D. W., 131, 148 Grit, 75 Gubbins, Tom, 32 Guerrero, Ed, 32, 186, 271n15 Gunning, Tom, 7, 11, 12, 25, 26, 32, 43, 46, 249n79 Haenni, Sabine, 56 Haldane of the Secret Ser­vice, 254n16 Hale, Louise Closser, 163 “half-­caste,” 38–39, 89–93, 130. See also miscegenation Half Past Midnight, 176–177 Hall, Manley P., 200–201 Hall, Thurston, 85, 87 Hamamoto, Darrell, 131 Hamilton, Shorty, 251n111 Hammell, John, 244n135 Hammerstein, Oscar II, 36 Hammond, Charles, 93, 118 Hanke, Ken, 187 Harbor Patrol, 117 Harper’s Weekly, 19 Harris, Frank, 41 Harrison Narcotic Act, 113–114, 260n25 Harron, John, 87 Hart, Gypsy, 64 Hart, William S., 190 Harte, Bret, 46 Hatchet Man, The, 29–30, 39, 40, 64, 156, 160–163, 164, 169, 249nn66, 70, 267n29 hatchet men, 22, 61, 63–64. See also crime; villain Hatfield, Hurd, 101 Havana, Cuba, 39 Haworth Pictures, 28, 135, 190 Hayakawa, Sessue: The Cheat, 98, 131–132, 193; Chinatown Mystery, 70–71, 117; ­Daughter of the Dragon, 195–198; film producer, 28; The First Born, 28, 71–72; high-­profile star, 11, 16, 28–29, 36, 80, 133–134, 184, 190–198, 211; The Secret Sin, 119, 120; Son of the Gods, 147; The Swamp, 272n34; The Tong-­Man, 66, 190–195;

Where Lights Are Low, 71. See also Haworth Pictures Hayakawa Feature Play Com­pany, 28 Hayashi, Marc, 213 Hayes, Helen, 163, 268n30 Hays, William H., 37 Heap, Chad, 56 Hearst, William Randolph, 135, 236n58 Hearst’s International-­Cosmopolitan, 145 Heathen Chinese and the Sunday School Teachers, The, 25, 74, 75 Henabery, Joseph, 116 Henigson, Henry, 38 Henley, Hobart, 116 Herbert, Holmes, 195 heroin, 113 heroism: Asian Americans, 183–184, 190–193, 208–211; Asian detectives, 184–190 (see also Charlie Chan series); high-­profile stars, 198–208; ­silent movies, 81–87, 190–198 Herron, Frederick L., 39–40 Hickman, Howard, 70, 117 highbinder, 63, 90. See also crime; tongs/ tong wars; villain Hines, Johnny, 58, 67 Hing, Tom, 65, 249n73 Hipp, Young, 62 Hirata, Lucie Cheng, 68 Hispanics, 171 Hobson, Valerie, 88, 144 Hold That Blonde, 98 Holland, Cecil, 30 Holland, Harold, 85 Holland, John, 210 Hollywood: censorship, 171 (see also Motion Picture Production Code); classical, 26–27; distinction between Chinese-­born and Chinese American, 35; industry, 25–36; move from Chinese villains, 100; protest and regulation, 36–43; racial and national ste­reo­t ypes, 9, 171, 181, 269n51; self-­censorship, 9, 37; Walk of Fame star, 258n72 Hollywood (fan magazine), 169 Hollywood Party, 13 Hollywood Reporter, 42, 90, 174, 179, 198 Homans, Robert, 147 Hong, James, 36

284  •  Index

Honolulu, Hawaii, 15 “Honor Bright” (Weston), 273n62 Hoppenstand, Gary, 106, 129 Hop, the Dev­il’s Brew, 77, 93, 117, 118 House without a Key, The, 81, 184–185 Howard, John, 177 Howe, James Wong, 27–28, 94, 240n72 Hoy, William, 159 Hoyt, Eric, 15 Hsu, Madeline, 168 Huang, Yunte, 211 Huber, Harold, 134 Huffington Post, 32 Hughes, Lloyd, 265n67 Hume, Fergus, 22 ­human trafficking, 38, 43, 77. See also immigrant smuggling; prostitution; slave girls ­Human Wreckage, 75, 117, 126–127 Hurley, Harold, 202, 244n135 Hwang, David Henry, 3, 33 hygiene. See sanitation Hymer, John B., 137, 140 I Cover Chinatown, 59–61 I Cover the Waterfront, 39 Idle Hands, 85–86, 117, 255n39 Imitation of Life, 136 immigrant smuggling, 5, 44, 55, 73. See also ­human trafficking; slave girls immigrants/immigration, 7, 9 20, 35. See also Chinese immigrants; Irish immigrants Immigration Act, 5, 20, 24, 29, 69, 80 Immigration and Nationality Act, 36 Impact, 176, 177 imperialism: civilizing the world, 156; Hollywood portrayal, 29, 33, 34; Japan’s designs, 169; modernity and Orientalist gaze, 43, 44; opium, 73–79; slave girls, 67–73; slumming tours, 56–61; tong wars 61–67; yellow peril ste­reo­t ypes, 22, 23, 24 Ince, Thomas H., 85 in­de­pen­dent films/filmmakers, 9, 10, 27, 213 In High Gear, 83 interbreeding. See miscegenation Internal Revenue Ser­vice, 114

International Association of Chiefs of Police, 126 Iowa University, Chinese Students’ Club, 36 Irish immigrants, 19, 128 Italy, 41 Iwata, Taro, 9, 12 Jackson, Stephen, 179 Japan, 5, 33, 34, 169 Japa­nese Americans: actors, 28–29, 32, 36, 64, 71, 80–81, 133, 134, 191, 193–194, 213; attitudes ­toward, 212; immigrants, 29, 233n7; internment camps, 172; racism, 36, 156 Japa­nese Association of Southern California, 263n23 Java Head, 117, 264n46 jazz, 144, 194 Jefferson, Thomas, 257n58 Jenkins, ­Will F., 98 Johnson, Van, 171, 173, 174, 180 Johnson-­Reed Act. See Immigration Act Joint Special Committee of the Senate and House of Representatives, 20 Jones, Dorothy, 38 Jonnes, Jill, 75 joss ­house, 4, 14, 59, 61, 70, 76, 93, 138 Joy, Jason S., 37, 42, 150 Joy, Leatrice, 139, 141 Judge, Arline, 90 Kalem Com­pany, 26, 69 Kamiyama, Sôjin, 11, 29, 59, 62, 81, 185 Kane, Gail, 87 Kang, Laura Hyun-­Yi, 25 Kaplan, Amy, 156 Karloff, Boris, 24, 30, 31, 185, 204–205, 208, 209 Katzman, Sam, 102 K-­B Productions, 42 Keaton, Buster, 67 Keil, Charlie, 26 Kent, Barbara, 91 Key to the City, 176, 180 Kiang, Yi-­seng S., 41 Kinetoscope, 25 King, Claude, 147 King, Franklin, 42

Index  •  285

King, George, 132 King, Rufus, 113, 114 King of Chinatown, 30–31, 33, 96–97, 97, 100, 169, 170, 198, 258nn73, 74, 268n41 King of the Opium Ring, 22, 106 Kino, Goro, 11, 29, 64, 71, 72, 80, 85, 99, 249n74 Klein, Christina, 155–156, 175 Klondike Annie, 134–135, 158, 263n33 Knowland, Alice, 120 Knudsen, Peggy, 176 Knowles, Patric, 99 Komai, Tetsu, 29, 112, 165, 259n18, 273n44 Korean American actors, 81, 202, 258n72 Koshy, Susan, 129 Kosleck, Martin, 176 Kotani, Kuran, 257n58 Kruger, Alma, 173 Ku Klux Klan, 29 Kuma, Hatsu, 29 Kuo, Karen, 144 Kuwa, George, 29, 59, 81, 184, 273n44 Kwan, Moon, 27 Kwan, Nancy, 36, 213 Kwong Duck Tong, 63 Lake, Veronica, 98 Landi, Elissa, 13 Lane, Paul M., 87 Lane, Richard, 178 Langdon, Harry, 67 language: accent, 80, 254n1; body language, 205; Cantonese, 8, 27, 41, 95, 101, 204, 263n33; Chinese-­speaking characters, 164 189–190, 209, 268n32; as disguise, 101; Mandarin, 41, 95; negative/positive, 38, 39, 42, 148; pidgin-­speaking, 22, 33; racist, 15; styles of speech, 205 Larkin, George, 83 Lasky, Jesse L., 194 laudanum, 73, 115 law enforcement films, 87–100 Lawlor, Anderson, 99 Law of the Tong, 87, 249n66 Lee, Ching Wah, 33, 36, 202 Lee, Eddie, 11, 32 Lee, Etta, 32, 90, 256n50 Lee, Joseph, 107 Lee, Lila, 99

Lee, Robert G., 8 Lee, Rose Hum, 4, 155 Lee, Veronica, 107 Lee, Wah, 54 Leonard, Barbara, 145 Leong, Gor Yun, 43, 46, 64, 69 Leong, James B., 27, 167, 267n29 Leong, Karen, 21, 168, 198 Lewis, Captain, 57 Li, T. L., 36 Library of Congress, 14 Life, 269n51 Lightning Raider, The, 185 Lights and Shadows of Chinatown, The, 14, 26, 28, 117 Lim, Shirley, 44, 184, 198 Lime­house (district), 7, 32, 196, 241n83 Lindsay, Margaret, 201, 268n42 Lindsay, Vachel, 136 Ling, Bo, 32, 166 Lingham, Thomas, 76 Li Ting Lang, 133, 134, 194 Liu, Maurice, 91 Livingston, Milton, 174 Lloyd, Harold, 38, 41, 94–95 Lloyd Corporation, Harold, 41 Lockhart, Gene, 181 Loew’s studio, 27 Lombroso, Cesare, 129 London, E ­ ngland, 7, 241n83 London, Jack, 23 Long, Lotus, 11, 90, 184, 190, 204, 205, 207, 209, 211, 256n50, 274n73 Loo, Chalsa, 182 Loo, Richard, 11, 32, 35, 165, 176, 177, 268nn33, 42 Lorre, Peter, 185, 186, 271n16 Los Angeles, California, 15, 32, 56–57, 138, 255n38, 270n65: Chinese Committee against Defamation, 213; City Council, 263n23; Public Library, 16; Union Station, 270n65 Los Angeles Times, 74, 94, 95, 202 Lost in Chinatown, 26, 70 Lotus Blossom, 27 Love, Bessie, 78, 263n31, 272n34 Loving v. ­Virginia, 151 Lowe, Lisa, 9 Loy, Myrna, 30

286  •  Index

Loy, Sonny, 72, 252n116 Lu, Lisa, 33 Lubin, Arthur, 42, 75 Lugosi, Bela, 90, 91 Lui, Mary Ting Yi, 69, 106, 131, 156 Luke, Edwin, 208, 274n77 Luke, Keye: Andy Hardy’s Blonde Trou­ble, 174; Between Two ­Women, 174; Charlie Chan in Shanghai, 209; Charlie Chan series, 13, 173, 187, 204–209, 274n77; Dark Delusion, 174; Dr. Gillespie’s Criminal Case, 172; Dr. Gillespie’s New Assistant, 171–173; Dr. Gillespie series, 170–175; high-­profile actor, 169, 184, 189–190, 204–209, 211; Mr. Wong series, 204–208; Phantom of Chinatown, 204–210, 207; secondary character, 32; Son of Chan series, 205; Three Men in White, 172, 173, 174; A Tragedy at Midnight, 177 Lumière ­Brothers, 25 Lye, Colleen, 13, 43 Lynch, Helen, 83 Lynch, Karen, 24, 61 Lyons, H. Agar, 24 M, 185 MacDonald, Andrew, 187 MacDonald, Gina, 187 MacDonald, Jack, 83 MacDonald, Kenneth, 83 MacLane, Barton, 99 MacQuarrie, George, 107 Madam Butterfly, 136–137 Madison, Noel, 268n42 Magnuson Act, 5, 35 Majeroni, George, 118 Major studio, 27, 39. See also specific studio makeup/makeup artist, 29–30, 31, 92, 241n83 Mandarin. See language Mandarin’s Gold, 107–110, 108, 255n33 Mandel, Ernest, 84 Manifest Destiny, 8, 43 “manifest domesticity,” 156 Manion, John, 63, 68, 82 Man of Quality, A, 255n22 Marchetti, Gina, 19, 23, 24, 129–130, 131, 146, 147

Margaret Herrick Library, 14 Marin Journal, 36–37 Marion, Frances, 132 marriage, 20, 72. See also miscegenation “Married W ­ omen’s In­de­pen­dent Nationality Act, The,” 129 Marshall, Tully, 99, 201, 257n58 Martin, Mildred, 201 Masked Emotions, 257n58 Mask of Fu Manchu, The, 30, 185 Mason, Shirley, 138, 140 May, Lary, 26 Mayer, Ruth, 4, 26, 55, 65, 130, 136, 144 Maylia, 101, 178, 258n87 McCarthy, Nobu, 36 McCoppin, Frank, 254n3 McCoppin Act, 81, 254n3 McCree, Junie, 114 McCullough, Ralph, 83 McDermott, John, 44, 248n48 McGuire, Don, 175, 178 McGuire, Kathryn, 84 McHugh, Jack, 112 McIllwain, Jeffrey Scott, 74 McKanna, Clare V. Jr., 16, 62 McKee, Raymond, 138 McKee, Scott, 138 McKim, Robert, 78 McKinley Tariff. See Tariff Act McLagen, Victor, 135 McWade, Edward, 138 Media History Digital Library, 15 Meighan, Thomas, 119 Melford, George, 132 melodrama, 10. See also Chinese melodrama Merewether, Charles, 14 Mersereau, Violet, 70, 71, 137 Methodist Episcopal Church, 68 Metro-­Goldwyn-­Mayer (MGM), 30, 158, 169 Metzger, C. R., 92 Metzger, Sean, 203 Mexico, 73, 113 MGM. See Metro-­Goldwyn-­Mayer Middleton, Charles, 94, 142 Midnight Patrol, The, 25, 84–85, 86, 249nn66, 74 Mignon, 137, 138

Index  •  287

Miller, Charles, 205 Minor studio, 27. See also specific studio miscegenation: interracial romance, 130, 131–135, 263n24; mistaken-­race romances, 131, 135–144; mixed-­race ­children, 128; modernization and re-­Orientalization, 156, 158; popularity in films, 32, 130; protest and regulation, 37, 39; reversing the sexes, 131, 144–149; statutes, 64, 262n6; term defined, 128–127; white fears of, 23, 91–93, 106, 128–131, 150–151 missionary efforts, 4, 68, 70, 85 Mitchell, Yvette, 64 Mix, Tom, 75 Miyao, Daisuke, 29, 194 Modern Screen, 32 modernization, 43–49, 110–113, 156–160, 198–204 Money-­Changers, The, 77–78 Mong, William V., 62, 145 Monogram Pictures, 27, 205, 274n70 Moon, Krystyn, 21, 136 Moor­house, Bert, 68 Moosavinia, S. R., 21 morality issues, 21, 22, 24, 46, 67–68, 74, 79, 87, 116–117, 129 Morey, Harry T., 118 Mori, Toshia, 11, 29, 88, 161, 165, 256n46, 267n29 Mo­rita, Miki, 267n29 morphine, 113, 115 Morris, Chester, 177 Mortal Kombat, 193 Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca (MPAA), 39 Motion Picture Classic, 256n50 Motion Picture Daily, 170, 174 Motion Picture Herald, 236n54 Motion Picture News, 78, 85, 126, 138, 194 Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of Amer­i­ca (MPPDA), 37, 135, 242n116 Motion Picture Production Code: enforcement, 37–43, 92, 242n116; impact, 9, 14–15, 73, 98, 126; implementation, 79, 87; interracial romance, 134, 150; restructured, 212 Motion Picture Story, 236n54 Motography, 117

Moto series, Kentaro, 183, 186, 190, 271n16. See also specific Mr. Moto films Moving Picture Boys in the G ­ reat War, The, 194 Moving Picture World: biases of the time, 15, 36; reviews, 15, 28, 36, 57, 64–65, 69, 70, 76, 77, 84, 117; trade publication, 236n54 Moy, Afong, 245n170 Moy, James, 45–46 Moy, Wood, 213 MPAA. See Motion Picture Association of Amer­i­ca MPPDA. See Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of Amer­i­ca Mr. Moto in Danger Islands, 185–186 Mr. Moto’s ­Gamble, 187 Mr. Wong, Detective, 187 Mr. Wong in Chinatown, 187, 256n42 Mudie, Leonard, 200 Mulhall, Jack, 99 Mullen, Kevin, 63, 114 Mulvey, Laura, 45, 46 Murder in the Opera. See Charlie Chan at the Opera Murder W ­ ill Out, 98, 99, 100 Museum of Chinese in Amer­i­ca, 3 Musgrave, William, 85 Musto, David, 74, 114 Myers, Carmel, 83, 91, 257n56 Mysterious Mr. Wong, The, 90, 92–93, 188 Mystery of the Hansom Cab, The, 22 Naish, J. Carrol, 97, 160 Naked City, The, 101 Nast, Thomas, 19 nationalism, 21, 29, 34 National Legion of Decency, 135 Native Americans, 129, 171 nativism, 29. See also nationalism naturalization, 8, 35, 102 Negra, Diane, 22–23, 34 Negri, Pola, 263n24 Neilan, Marshall, 44, 248n48 Neong, Lin, 65, 249n73 New Haven, Connecticut, 126 New York City, New York: Chinatown, 15, 26, 78, 99, 106, 110, 118, 131, 254n16; Chinese immigrants, 53; interracial

288  •  Index

marriage, 128; prostitution, 69; slumming tours, 56; tong wars, 63 New York Clipper, 236n54 New York Film Com­pany, 26 New York Times, 56, 82, 87, 100 Ngai, Mae, 20 Niazi, N., 21 Night in Chinatown, A, 22, 106 Nob Hill, 42 Northrup, Harry S., 138 Nortz, Sean, 75 Novarro, Ramon, 163, 257n56, 268n30 Number 17, 249n66, 255n33 O’Brien, Dan, 85 O’Brien, Dave, 89 O’Connell, Hugh, 88 O’Connor, Robert Emmet, 90 O’Donnell, G. W., 114 Office of War Information (OWI), 38, 42, 171 O’Flynn, Damian, 176 Okihiro, Gary, 21, 24 Oland, Warner, 24, 64, 81, 107, 110, 163, 185, 187, 190, 195, 197, 205, 211 Olson, Jan, 16 O’Neill, Henry, 99 Ono, Kent A., 9–10 On the Level, 75, 76 opium den/smoking: Chinatown connection, 4–5, 9, 22, 23, 55, 61, 82, 100; Chinatown melodramas, 113–118; class and—­, 114–115; criminal act, 114, 118; culture and perceived evil, 19; films, 73–79, 98, 213; impact of transportation, 44; import duties, 73–74, 113; smugg­ ling, 73. See also crime Opium Exclusion Act, 73, 113, 118 Opium Fiend, The, 106 Opium Smoker, The, 260n37 Opium Smugglers, The, 260n37 “Order to Remove Chinese ­Women of Ill-­Fame from Certain Limits in the City” (San Francisco), 68 Orientalism/Orientalist: apprehension/ fascination, 55; approach, 11; culture, 4; gaze, 43–49, 56, 61, 130; gendered, 24–25; re-­Orientalization, 156–160; ste­reo­t ypes, 38; use of term, 21

Oriental Romance, An, 133 “ornamentalization,” 136 other/otherness: Asian detective films, 186–187, 208, 211; concept of, 21–23; contact with, 32, 137; Japa­nese as, 29; slumming parties, 56; vilification of the Oriental, 110, 130, 132, 136 Outlaws of the Orient, 39 Outside the Law, 253n145 OWI. See Office of War Information Pacific Film Archive, 37 Pagan Love, 133, 134 Page, Bradley, 88 Page Act, 4, 67–69 Pallette, Eugene, 116 Pals of the West, 257n58 Palumbo-­Liu, David, 7, 43, 92, 129 Parade of Chinese, 26 Paramount Pictures, 27, 30, 40, 98, 135, 170, 194, 202, 257n62, 258n74 Park, E. L., 81 Park, Jane Chi Hyun, 24 Park-­W hiteside Productions, 85 Pascoe, Peggy, 151 Pathé serial, 184 Paths to Paradise, 58, 98 Paton, Stuart, 82 Patria, 24, 185 Patrick, Gail, 96 Pavis, Marie, 72 Pawn, Doris, 132, 133 Payton, Gloria, 71 PCA. See Production Code Administration Pearl Harbor attack, 5 Pegler-­Gordon, Anna, 46 Peil, Edward Sr., 78, 253n157 Pell Street Mystery, 83 Periolat, George, 78 Phantom of Chinatown, 190, 198 204–208, 207, 210, 211 Philadelphia Inquirer-­Public Ledger, 201 Phillips, Augustus, 77 “photo marriage” system. See “picture brides” Photoplay (fan magazine), 236n54 Photo-­Play Journal, 116 Pichel, Irving, 98, 263n24 Pickford, Mary, 136, 194

Index  •  289

“picture brides,” 72–73, 83 Picture-­Play Weekly, 77, 194 Pierce, David, 15 “pink ticket,” 39 Poker. See Idle Hands Polanski, Roman, 3, 213 Police and Peace Officers’ Journal of the State of California, 55, 73 po­liti­cal disenfranchisement, 19 polygamy, 157 Poppy Is Also a Flower, The, 75 Portland, Oregon, 246n1 Poverty Row studio, 27, 39. See also specific studio Powell, William, 185 Powers, Tom, 101 Powhattan Film Com­pany, 26, 70 prejudice. See racism Presbyterian Mission Home, 68 Pretty, Arline, 133 Price, Bill, 82 Prior, Herbert, 84 Production Code. See Motion Picture Production Code Production Code Administration (PCA), 15, 37–43, 92, 130, 150, 176, 179–181, 240n72, 242n116 “programmer,” 240n64. See also B film proselytism, 70. See also missionary efforts prostitution, 4–5, 9, 54, 63, 68, 82. See also missionary efforts; slave girls Public ­Enemy, The, 87 public health, 4 Puccini, Giacomo, 136 Pure Food and Drug Act, 260n23 Purple Cipher, The, 98–100 Purple Dawn, 78, 249nn66, 70, 254n164, 263n31 “Purple Hieroglyph, The,” (Jenkins), 98 Quarrel in a Chinese Laundry, 75 Queen of Chinatown, 22, 106 Queen X, 76, 116, 118, 119, 122–126 queue, 25, 32, 164, 268n31 Quine, Richard, 171 Quinn, Anthony, 97 race: class versus, 7, 146, 147, 181; culture/ national difference versus, 211; equality,

7–8; hierarchy, 21, 29; pollution, 130 (see also miscegenation); relations, 7, 12; repre­sen­ta­tion, 40, 198, 203; re­sis­tance against, 13, 16; suicide, 129. See also racism racial identity, 7–8, 10, 21, 45, 91, 135–136, 184 racial purity, 129 racial repre­sen­ta­tion, 13–14. See also yellowface racialization, 8, 74 racism: biases of the time, 15, 44, 130, 156, 187–190, 213; exposed, 180–182; in films, 29, 36–37, 148; prejudice, 16, 19, 206; “scientific,” 234n27; social issue, 9; ste­reo­t ypes, 9, 11, 12, 38, 95–96, 208, 210–211; systemic, 11, 12. See also race rackets. See crime Raid on a Chinese Opium Joint, A, 25, 74 railroads. See ­labor Rainer, Luise, 33, 41 Raines, Ella, 177 Randolf, Anders, 146 Ransom, 62, 255n33 rape, 36, 106, 129, 131, 132, 263n24 rat eating, tales of, 4, 22, 54 Ratings System, 212 Reardon, Ned, 133 Red Lantern, The, 257n58 Reid, Mrs. Wallace, 75 Republic Pictures, 27 Rice, Arthur W., 27 Richardson, Michael, 21 Rimoldi, Oscar, 186 River’s End, The (Curwood), 23 RKO Pictures, 27, 258n74 Robards, Jason, 87 Robbins, Marc, 65, 191 Robertson-­Cole (import-­export com­pany), 28 Robinson, Edward G., 64, 142, 144, 160 Rod­gers, Richard, 36 Rodríguez-­Estrada, Alicia, 144 Rohmer, Sax, 23 romance films, 130–151 Rooney, Mickey, 32 Rubber Racketeers, 42 Rube in an Opium Joint, 25, 75 Ruins of Chinatown, 26 Rush Hour series, 183 Rushton, Richard, 12

290  •  Index

Sable Lorcha, The, 255n33, 257n58 Said, Edward, 21 Sais, Marin, 76, 132 Salyer, Lucy, 68 Sande, Walter, 176 Sanders, George, 185 San Diego, California, 15 San Diego Chinese Historical Museum, 15 San Francisco, California: Board of Supervisors, 68; Chamber of Commerce, 54; Chinatown, 15, 19, 47, 53–55, 58–61, 76, 82, 95, 101, 119, 192, 202, 255n38; Chinatown Squad, 81–82, 101; Chinese Center, 16; earthquake and fire, 54, 55, 159; film location, 8–9, 16; Historical Photo­graph Collection, 16; History Center, 16; modernization and re-­Orientalization, 155–160; Motion Picture Council, 135; opium dens, 74–77; Police Department, 81–82; prostitution, 68–69; Public Library, 16; “Report of the Special Committee of the Board of Supervisors,” 20; slumming tours, 56–61; Tivoli Theater, 85; tong wars, 61–67; “Underground Chinatown” attractions, 55 San Francisco, Cal., 25 San Francisco Call and Post, 19, 47, 82, 159, 236n58 San Francisco Call Bulletin, 236n58 San Francisco Chronicle, 16, 47, 48, 69, 74, 155, 156, 159, 175 San Francisco Examiner, 114, 236n58 San Francisco Funeral, 26 San Francisco Illustrated Daily Herald, 236n58 San Francisco Journal, 236n58 San Francisco News, 54 sanitation, 54 Saper, Anthony, 114 Sato, Reiko, 36 Satow, Kiyosho, 71, 251n114 Saturday Eve­ning Post, 24, 77, 184 Sawyer, Joe, 176 Sayonara, 266n93 Scarlet Dragon, The. See Idle Hands Scene in Chinatown, 25 Schade, Betty, 138 Schaefer, Eric, 115

Scott, Ellen C., 27, 42, 150, 171 Scrap of Paper, The, 78 Sears Roebuck, 73 Second Sino-­Japanese War, 5, 33 Secret Sin, The, 75, 76, 117, 119–122, 120, 124, 125–126 Secrets of Wu Sin, The, 156, 160, 164–166, 168, 249nn66, 70, 259n18 “Seeing Chinatown,” 47, 48, 49 segregation, 8, 19, 29, 54 Seki, Frank, 29, 99, 258n77 Seki, Misao, 29, 71, 251n114 Selbie, Evelyn, 161 Selby, Gertrude, 116 Select Pictures, 249n74 self-­representation, 9 Selig Polyscope, 14, 26, 70, 75 Sennwald, Andre, 87 7 ­Faces of Dr. Lao, 213 Seventh Noon, The, 261n44 sex, repre­sen­ta­tion of, 37, 39 Shadow of Chinatown, 90–91, 93, 256n53 Shadows, 253n145 Shadows of Chinatown, 83 Shame, 137, 144–145 Shanghai, China, 95 Shanghai Express, 38, 257n58 Shannon, Ethel, 73, 78, 83 shashin kekkon system. See “picture brides” Sheik, The, 132 Sherlock, Jerry, 190 Shields, Ernest, 99 Shigeta, James, 36, 213 Shih, Hu, 240n72 Shilling, Marion, 167 Shipman, Samuel, 137, 140 Shohat, Ella, 46 Shock, The, 253n145 Short, Dorothy, 89 Siegmann, George, 144 Sigel, Elsie, 69, 106, 131 Sign of Poppy, The, 6, 116, 249n67 ­silent films, 28: action heroes, 81–87, 190–198; depictions of Chinatown, 27, 75, 93, 98, 249n66, 130; fascination with Chinese, 10, 44, 100; Japa­nese American vs. Chinese American actors, 134, 193–194; lost films, 14; melodrama, 105 Simmons Bill, 47, 159

Index  •  291

Simmons, Scott, 56 Sing, Charles, 131 Singer, Ben, 105 Six-­Gun Trail, 257n58 slave girls: Chinatown connection, 22, 55, 61, 100; films, 67–73, 98, 213, 251n111. See also missionary efforts; prostitution slumming tours, 56–61, 65, 110, 120 Smalley, Phillips, 93, 115, 118 Smith, Frank, 70, 71, 137 Smith, Phillip T., 126 Smuggler’s Game, The, 26, 75–76, 93 Smuggling Chinese into the U.S.A., 26 Snail, The, 251n111 Snead, James, 23 social mobility, 35–36, 106, 136, 208 Soft Shoes, 255n33 Sohoni, Deenesh, 129 sojourners, 18, 21. See also Chinese immigrants: laborers Son-­Daughter, The, 35, 138, 156, 160, 163–164, 169 Song, Min Hyoung, 234n27 Son of the Gods, 137, 145–149, 149, 265n78 Soo, Jack, 36 Sorrell, Karen. See Long, Lotus sound films, 14, 29, 81, 87–89, 240n68, 249n66 Soussanin, Nicholas, 196 Speed Wild, 72–72, 83 Spell of the Poppy, The, 116 Spence, Louise, 12 Stam, Robert, 12, 46 Stanfield, Peter, 55, 194 Stanley, Eric, 201 Stanton, Edwin M., 123 Stanwyck, Barbara, 150 stardom, 9, 11, 12, 28, 29, 34, 36. See also specific actors Steele, Rufus, 77 Stein, Gertrude, 211 Steiner, William, 78 Stephenson, James, 99, 199 ste­reo­t ypes. See racism Sterling, Christine, 270n65 Stevens, Harvey, 96 Stewart, Roy, 78 Stone, Emma, 32 Stone, John, 24

Stone, Lewis, 163 studio era, 26–27, 240n63 Studio Relations Committee (SRC), 242n116 Suey Sing Tong, 63 Sully, Frank, 210 Sum Hun, 8 Sunn, Joseph, 27 “Suppression of Chinese Houses of Ill-­Fame” (California act), 68 Swamp, The, 272n34 Sweet, Blanche, 75, 105, 119, 120 Taft, Lucille, 124 Tagawa, Cary-­Hiroyuki, 193, 210–211 Tahitian, The, 256n50 Tajima, Renee, 144 Taka, Miiko, 266n93 Takagi, Dana Y., 8 Takaki, Ronald, 54, 56 Talbot, Lyle, 88, 144 Tale of Two Worlds, A, 58, 72, 130, 137, 139–140, 141, 144 Talmadge, Constance, 137, 141 Talmadge, Richard, 84 Tamato, P., 123 Tamiroff, Akim, 96, 97, 169 Tan, Amy, 33 Tang, Charles, 264n50 Tang, T. Y., 157 Tariff Act, 73–74 Tarzan, the Police Dog, 167 Taves, Brian, 27 Taylor, Estelle, 265n67 Taylor, Kent, 176 Tchen, John Kuo Wei, 8 Tea­house of the August Moon, The, 32 Tearing Through, 78, 84, 116 Tenbrook, Harry, 253n157 Teng, Emma, 128, 129 Terry, Ethel Grey, 251n111 Terry and the Pirates, 168 Tex, Elucidator of Mysteries, series, 78 Thelby, Rosemary, 85 Think Fast, Mr. Moto, 185 Thompson, Hugh, 123 Three Men in White, 172, 173, 174 Through Thick and Thin, 78 Tiffany Pictures, 27

292  •  Index

Tokunaga, Frank, 11, 29, 64, 80, 83, 249n68 Toler, Sidney, 30, 81, 96, 169, 185, 187, 190, 211, 268n41 Toll of the Sea, The, 44 Tomack, Sid, 177 Tong, Kam, 36, 42, 213 Tong-­Man, The, 28, 36–37, 65, 190–195, 211 tongs/tong wars: Chinatown connection, 4–5, 22, 55, 82, 87, 100; films, 61–67, 98, 213, 256n42. See also crime; See also specific tongs Torchy Blane in Chinatown, 5, 41, 98, 99–100 Toronto, Canada, 15 tourism/tourists, 4, 47, 54–55, 82, 101, 175. See also slumming tours Toy, Ah, 263n33 trade relations, 4 Tragedy at Midnight, A, 177 transportation, component of modernization, 43–44 Trip to Chinatown, A, 5 Tucker, Harland, 272n34 Tung, Henry, 91 Twain, Mark, 46 Twelbeck, Kirsten, 156 Twentieth ­Century Fox, 24, 27, 40, 42, 138, 205 UCLA Film and Tele­vi­sion Archive, 14 Ulric, Leonore, 138 United Artists, 27 Universal Pictures, 27, 38, 39, 65 USC Cinematic Arts Library, 14 U.S. Customs Ser­vice, 77 U.S. Medical Corps, 169 U.S. Supreme Court, 114, 151, 212, 240n63 Ustinov, Peter, 32, 190 Vale, Viola, 99 Valentino, Rudolph, 132 Vancouver, Canada, 15 Van Rooten, Luis, 178 Variety: films about China, 32; opium laws, 114; reviews, 57, 58, 75, 100,166, 141, 145, 197, 202, 213, 249n74 Vasey, Ruth, 27, 38, 150 Vélez, Lupe, 137, 142, 144, 265n67

victims/victimizers, 12 Victoria, Canada, 15 Victory Pictures, 27 Vidor, Florence, 110 villain: Chinese depicted as, 5, 23–25, 80, 92, 126 (see also specific films); Eu­ro­pe­ ans, 92–93, 96–98, 130, 257n58; protests and regulation of portrayals, 36–43; racial identity, 91; role passed to Japa­nese, 5, 7; ste­reo­t yped, 33; whites as, 89–100, 126 (see also specific films). See also crime vio­lence, repre­sen­ta­tion of, 37 Visit to Los Angeles, A, 56 Vitagraph, 98, 99 voyeurism. See gaze wah gung, 18. See also Chinese immigrants: laborers Walker, Helen, 177 Walker, Ray, 101 Walker, Robert, 167 Walker, William O. III, 73 Walk Like a Dragon, 10, 36, 212 Wallace, Kevin, 159 Walling, William, 94 Wall Street Mystery, The, 78 Walsh, George, 255n22 Walters, Luana, 91 Wang, James, 94, 132, 138 Wang, Wayne, 10, 213 Waram, Percy, 181 Ward, Fannie, 75, 131 Warde, “Sonny Boy.” See Loy, Sonny War of the Tongs, The, 28, 64–65, 249n73 Warner, H. B., 163 Warner, Jack, 41 Warner Bros., 27, 39, 98, 87, 198–199, 200, 201: Archive, 14 Warren, E. Alyn, 88, 90, 95, 142, 146, 149, 196, 197 Warren, Fred, 139 Warwick, Robert, 166 Watkin, Pierre, 97 Weber, Lois, 77, 115, 118 Welcome Danger, 38, 40, 41, 94–95, 98, 258nn66, 67 Welles, Orson, 214 Wellman, William, 64, 160

Index  •  293

West, Mae, 134, 158 West, William H., 76 Western films, 212, 235n46 West of Shanghai, 38 Weston, Garnett, 273n62 When You W ­ ere Born, 190, 198–201, 205, 208, 211 Where East Is East, 265n67 Where Lights Are Low, 71, 194 Whissel, Kristen, 43 White, Edward, 156 White, Glen, 78 White, Pearl, 24 white Americans: attitudes ­toward ­others, 8, 21, 194; comparison with Chinese immigrants, 8; downfall in melodrama, 105–127; as heroes, 80, 81–89; recent immigrants, 21; use of term, 10, 234n27; as victimizers, 12; as villain, 89–100, 110. See also miscegenation white slavery, 69–70, 71, 73, 106, 131 white supremacy, 21 Wicki, Norbert, 87 Wid’s Daily: reviews, 28, 65, 78, 118, 133, 140, 144; trade publication, 236n54 Williams, Earle, 98 Willow Tree, The, 29 Wilson, Charles C., 200 Wilson, Elizabeth, 45 Wilson, John, 38 Wilson, Lois, 164 Wilson, M. K., 64 Wing Toy, 57–58, 137, 138, 144, 259n1 Winter, Laska, 91 Winters, Roland, 81, 185, 187, 190 Wisten, Archer, 201 Withers, Grant, 89, 164, 188, 206, 207 Wittman, George, 81–82 Wolcott, William, 123 ­Woman with Four F ­ aces, The, 93–94, 257n62 Wong, Anna May: Chinatown Charlie, 59; ­Daughter of the Dragon, 195–198; ­Daughter of Shanghai, 198, 201–204; Ellery Queen’s Pent­house Mystery, 268n42; The Good Earth, 33, 35, 40; high-­profile star, 11, 16, 168–169, 184, 190, 198–204, 199, 211; Hollywood Party, 13; Impact, 177; King of Chinatown, 31,

33–34, 96, 97, 169, 170, 198, 208, 268n41; Shame, 144; The Son-­Daughter, 35; The Toll of the Sea, 44; When You ­Were Born, 198–201 Wong, Barbara Jean, 101 Wong, Beal, 200 Wong, Bessie, 32 Wong, Ching Lee, 41 Wong, Eugene F., 24, 29, 32, 33, 89, 91 Wong, Herman 189 Wong, Jean, 176 Wong, K. Scott, 8, 9 Wong, Victor, 206, 274n74 Wong series, James Lee, 183, 186, 190, 204–209, 271n16. See also specific Wong films Woodbury, Joan, 178 Works Pro­gress Administration, 158 Worlds Apart, 117 World War I, 29, 194 World War II, 5, 33, 42, 96, 98, 156, 171, 182, 212, 269n51 Worrell, Joseph, 28 Worthington, William, 28, 194 Wright, Hamilton, 74 Wu, Cheng-­Tsu, 22 Wurtzel, Sol, 40, 145 xenophobia, 23. See also racism Xing, Jun, 9–10, 92, 186, 214 Yamamoto, Iris, 29 Yamamoto, Tôgô, 11, 29, 71, 80, 132, 133, 139, 249n74, 251n114 Yamaoka, Otto, 267n29 Yanagisawa, Hideo, 59 Yee, Mau, 82 yellowface: casting, 11, 29, 135–136; justification, 32; makeup artist, 29–30, 31; miscegenation and—­, 130; showcase white actors, 23, 25, 33, 64 Yellow Peril, 26, 117 yellow peril: Chinese villains replaced by Japa­nese, 7; described, 4–5; Hollywood industry, 25–36, 59; modernity and Orientalist gaze, 43–49; protest and regulation, 36–43; social panic, 19–20; ste­reo­t ypes, 22–25; villains in films, 6, 33, 100 (see also villain)

294  •  Index

Yong, Soo, 263n33 Young, Chow, 72 Young, Loretta, 30, 160, 180 Young, Lucille, 116 Young, Olive, 32 Yung, Judy, 69 Yung, Maria Sen, 180, 270n70

Yung, Victor Sen, 11, 32, 36, 176, 178, 180, 189, 190, 208, 213, 270n66 Zehner, Harry, 39 Zhou, Min, 53, 54 Ziefeld Follies, 32 Zugsmith, Albert, 213

About the Author PHILIPPA GATES is a professor of film studies at Wilfrid Laurier University, in Waterloo, Ontario. Her publications include Transnational Asian Identities in Pan-­Pacific Cinemas (2012), Detecting ­Women: Gender and the Hollywood Detective Film (2011), Detecting Men: Masculinity and the Hollywood Detective Film (2006), and The Devil Himself: Villainy in Detective Fiction and Film (2002).