University of MiamiScholarly Repository

Open Access Theses Electronic Theses and Dissertations

2010-01-01

Neutered Dragon: A Critical Look at the Career ofJackie ChanMunib RezaieUniversity of Miami, munibrezaie@gmail.com

Follow this and additional works at: https://scholarlyrepository.miami.edu/oa_theses

This Open access is brought to you for free and open access by the Electronic Theses and Dissertations at Scholarly Repository. It has been accepted forinclusion in Open Access Theses by an authorized administrator of Scholarly Repository. For more information, please contactrepository.library@miami.edu.

Recommended CitationRezaie, Munib, "Neutered Dragon: A Critical Look at the Career of Jackie Chan" (2010). Open Access Theses. 22.https://scholarlyrepository.miami.edu/oa_theses/22

UNIVERSITY OF MIAMI

NEUTERED DRAGON: A CRITICAL LOOK AT THE CAREER OF JACKIE CHAN

By

Munib Rezaie

A THESIS

Submitted to the Faculty of the University of Miami

in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Arts

Coral Gables, Florida

May 2010

©2010 Munib Rezaie

All Rights Reserved

UNIVERSITY OF MIAMI

A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of

Master of Arts

NEUTERED DRAGON: A CRITICAL LOOK AT THE CAREER OF JACKIE CHAN

Munib Rezaie Approved: ________________ _________________ William Rothman, Ph.D. Terri A. Scandura, Ph.D. Professor, Motion Pictures Dean of the Graduate School ________________ _________________ Christina Lane, Ph.D. Lindsey Tucker, Ph.D. Associate Professor, Motion Pictures Professor, English

REZAIE, MUNIB (M.A., Film Studies)

Neutered Dragon: A Critical Look at the (May 2010) Career of Jackie Chan. Abstract of a thesis at the University of Miami. Thesis supervised by Professor William Rothman. No. of pages in text. (99)

Jackie Chan has had a long and consistently successful career in the entertainment

industry, becoming the most universally recognized Chinese performer, second only

perhaps, to Bruce Lee. His rags-to-riches path to stardom has been well documented and

oft quoted. At a time when all the up-and-coming martial arts actors felt the pressure to

be carbon copies of Bruce Lee, Chan made his mark on the screen by making his persona

everything that Lee’s wasn’t. With 1978’s Snake in the Eagle’s Shadow and Drunken

Master, Chan’s revolutionary comic and realistic persona was firmly established with

audiences. Throughout the 80s and 90s, Chan remained undeniably the biggest star in the

East, demonstrating wild popularity in not only Asia, but throughout Europe and Africa

as well. After several failed attempts at breaking into the American market, Chan finally

achieved success with 1998’s Rush Hour. Unfortunately, success in the West has come

with strict limitations placed on the characters he has been allowed to play. These

limitations most often manifest themselves in the sexuality and morality of the characters,

as well as the dramatic opportunities available to Chan within the films.

In order to keep Chan’s vast filmography – which has recently seen him sign on

to his 100th leading role – I have separated it into three distinct stages. The first stage of

his career begins with his groundbreaking turn in Snake in the Eagle’s Shadow and ends

with his last Asian film before successfully breaking into Hollywood, 1998’s Who am I?.

From this point on, his career takes two distinct paths: the path in Hollywood, beginning

with Rush Hour, and the path in Asia, which begins with 1999’s Gorgeous. Each stage

features distinct characteristics and trends with rare digression.

I will provide examples from a selection of films within each stage of his career in

order to clarify the traits and characteristics of the roles he has taken in each one. The

purpose of this thesis is twofold. First and foremost, it will reveal the extent to which

Chan faces negative stereotyping in the United States by clearly offering the contrasting

positive representations he is able to achieve overseas. The second aim, which has

naturally arisen from the workings of the first, is a critical look at a career that has found

its actor bored with the kinds of films that have brought him worldwide fame.

iii

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Page

Introduction .............................................................................................................. 1 Chapter 1 PRE-HOLLYWOOD: 1978 – 1998................................................................. 14 2 HOLLYWOOD: 1998 – PRESENT ............................................................... 42 3 ASIA: 1999 – PRESENT................................................................................. 67 Conclusion .............................................................................................................. 94 Works Cited…………… ............................................................................................. 97

1

Introduction

2

Actor, writer, director, producer, editor, action choreographer, stuntman, martial

artist, singer, and even cartoon character in a regular series, Jackie Chan has had a long

and consistently successful career in the entertainment industry, becoming the most

universally recognized Chinese performer, second only perhaps, to Bruce Lee. His rags-

to-riches path to stardom has been well documented and oft quoted. At a time when all

the up-and-coming martial arts actors felt the pressure to be carbon copies of Bruce Lee,

Chan made his mark on the screen by making his persona everything that Lee’s wasn’t,

literally. As he has often been quoted as saying, “When he kick high, I kick low. When

he not smiling, I always smiling. He can one-punch break the wall; after I break the wall,

I hurt. I do the funny face” (qted. in Yuan).

With 1978’s Snake in the Eagle’s Shadow (se ying diu sau, dir. Yuen Woo-ping)

and Drunken Master (jui kuen, dir. Yuen Woo-ping) Chan revolutionized the martial arts

genre by creating “a character type that was a cross between a human livewire and a boy

next door, mostly mischievous but also capable of sensitivity” (Teo, 124). This

characterization stood in stark contrast to the invincible hard body of Bruce Lee.

Throughout the 80s and 90s, Chan remained undeniably the biggest star in the Far East,

demonstrating wild popularity in not only Asia, but throughout Europe and Africa as

well. After several failed attempts at breaking into the American market, Chan finally

achieved success with 1998’s Rush Hour (dir. Brett Ratner). Unfortunately, success in the

West has come with limitations placed on the characters he has been allowed to play.

These limitations stem not only from the many stereotypes that have surrounded the East

Asian man in film since the beginning of the medium, but also from certain constraints

Chan has placed on himself. These limitations most often manifest themselves in the

3

sexuality and morality of the characters, as well as the dramatic opportunities available to

Chan within the films.

This thesis is motivated by my personal admiration for Chan as an incredible

entertainer. Having been exposed to his films before he ever made the leap to Hollywood,

I was mesmerized by his athleticism and martial arts abilities. To me, he was

superhuman. However, even at a young age I was impressed by his ability to combine

comedy and action with drama. The success of Rush Hour increased his fan base by

millions and brought on a wave of commercial successes with its sequels and films such

as Shanghai Noon (2000) and The Tuxedo (2002). With each film released, I felt

something was missing; something that prevented me from enjoying them as much as I

enjoyed his Chinese-language films. As this thesis will show, the differences between his

Asian and American films can be found amid the varying depictions his sexual appeal,

moral codes of conduct, his relationship with women, his masculinity, and the

presentation of sexual humor.

In an interview that is one of the special features of the DVD for City Hunter,

(1993, sing si lip yan, dir. Wong Jing) Chan mentions that many Hong Kong films tend to

mix different genres so that the audience can get a little bit of everything. It is common

for his films to include some truly hilarious moments alongside more serious and darkly

dramatic beats. The scene in which his father beats him in the mostly comedic Drunken

Master II is a great example. Conversely, an edgier film such as Police Story 2 features

several fart jokes. Though he is mostly seen as a comedic actor, his films consistently

feature top-notch dramatic performances alongside his masterful comedic and physical

4

timing. Unfortunately, for most of his decades-long career, Chan has remained severely

underrated as a dramatic actor both in Asia and especially in America.

Western audiences who only know Chan from his American films may be

surprised to find certain aspects of his character they were not aware existed. I will

provide close readings from a selection of films in order to clarify the traits and

characteristics of the roles he has taken in each one. The purpose of this thesis is twofold.

First and foremost, it will reveal the extent to which Chan faces negative stereotyping in

the United States by clearly offering the contrasting positive representations he is able to

achieve overseas. The second aim, which has naturally arisen from the workings of the

first, is a critical look at a career that has found its actor bored with the kinds of films that

have brought him worldwide fame, searching, instead, for a career as a dramatic actor.

Before we move on, some of Jackie Chan’s views on his own films must be

discussed. As revealed in the DVD commentary of his film Gorgeous, he has three rules

for his films: no “bad” violence, no sex, and very moderate language. Even kissing

becomes regulated. A short kiss is fine, a long kiss or a wet kiss would require some

serious consideration of the situation and its necessity. When applied, these rules are

partly responsible for the very innocent middle-schoolish relationships he seems to have

with his on-screen girlfriends in his earlier films. The result is often a female character

who is not fully fleshed out, whose main purpose is to provide an additional and

demanding obstacle in his character’s path. While Hollywood certainly takes some of the

responsibility for keeping him within certain representational codes, it is important to

note that Chan himself instilled many of those codes as part of his persona early in his

5

career. Indeed, they are the very things that enabled him to be a family-friendly action

hero.

In order to systematize Chan’s vast filmography – which has recently seen him

sign on to his 100th leading role – I have separated it into three distinct stages. The first

stage of his career begins with his groundbreaking turn in Snake in the Eagle’s Shadow

and ends with his last Asian film before successfully breaking into Hollywood, 1998’s

Who am I? (Wo shi shei?, dirs. Jackie Chan & Benny Chan). From this point on, his

career takes two distinct paths: the path in Hollywood, beginning with Rush Hour, and

the path in Asia, which begins with 1999’s Gorgeous (boh lee chun, dir. Vincent Kok).

Chan’s pre-Hollywood roles are widely known for their innovative blend of

action and humor. What often remains overlooked are the dramatic moments featured in

many of them for which Chan gives superb performances. Understandably, the humor

and action tend to be the center of attention in these films, with audiences looking for

little else. In addition, his characters possess the qualities typical of leading men: he is

charming, commanding, appealing, and desired by women. His characters also often

exhibit an unwavering sense of morality and justice. The humor in these films,

meanwhile, is most often derived from the action scenes and situations around them. If

they involve Chan’s character, the audience is encouraged to laugh with him as he deals

with new situations in humorous and innovative ways.

Chan’s path in Hollywood features a very different set of defining characteristics.

While the action still retains some humor, most of the comedy is directed towards Chan’s

character, forcing audiences to laugh at him. “In contrast to Chan’s Hong Kong-made

action movies, where his characters are not only affable but also masculine and tough,

6

Chan’s Hollywood films…cast him in the role of the funny, desexualized, and

unthreatening Oriental male” (Ji, 163). These differences are the inspiration for the title

of this thesis: neutered dragon. In these films, Chan takes part in fight sequences and

stunts that pale in comparison with those in his Chinese-language films, a move that

“could represent Hollywood’s attempt to contain the image of Asian superheroism being

unleashed on the American screen” (Lo, 141). He has lost his leading role status, taking

co-leads with both male and female actors. Dramatic scenes are rare, and though Chan

himself has given his grasp of the English language as a main factor, his films often offer

scenes in his native tongue that fail to offer drama anywhere near the levels present in his

previous Chinese productions. His morality also takes a back seat in Hollywood, with

filmmakers often preferring a humorous line for Chan to deliver that does away with any

chance his character might have had at preserving his ideals.

By contrast, the roles he has taken in Asia since Gorgeous have been very

exciting to watch. Chan has often expressed his love for drama and his desire to make

them. In these films, we see a gradual progression of roles that lead to increasingly

dramatic turns for the actor. We see him tackling issues and characters he has never taken

on before, from the romantic lead in the fairy-tale-like Gorgeous, to the gritty and

brutally violent world of illegal immigration in Japan in his recent Shinjuku Incident

(2009, san suk si jin, dir. Derek Yee). In these roles, we see Chan challenging himself in

new and compelling ways. His dramatic opportunities are increasing while many of the

attributes from his earlier films, which are lacking in his Hollywood roles, remain: he is

appealing, his sexuality is acknowledged, and his presence commands every single frame

he is in.

7

Many of Chan’s Chinese-language films include a scene in which Chan’s

character either learns a moral lesson from someone or tries to teach his antagonists a

lesson instead. For Western audiences used to mainstream Hollywood’s tendency to

focus on “realism of detail, restraint of emotion, and plausibility of plot” (Bordwell, 19),

these moments may feel a bit awkward as they feature Chan giving what feels like a

lecture. These moments do not take away from the enjoyment of the film, giving it

instead the feeling of it trying to accomplish some good with its production.

The research for this thesis comprised of three major sources: films, interviews,

and articles.

The films themselves, I believe, will offer the most insightful examples to back up

my claims. To aid me in delineating examples from the films, I will provide select screen

shots wherever they will assist in further illustrating my argument. The moving picture is

a powerful medium and its images can carry a lot of meaning. I will be picking out

specific sequences from over a dozen films. This large number of features is necessary

for the discussion in order to establish a trend through the repetitive nature of the on-

screen depictions. In addition to the films themselves, the context in which they are made

can be equally important, which brings us to the second source of information:

interviews.

Jackie Chan is known for his openness and often-surprising honesty in interviews.

What becomes abundantly clear is that Chan is fully aware of his persona and its appeal

in different markets around the globe, often using his own name like others use brand

names. He speaks of making “Jackie Chan” films and of “Jackie Chan formulas.” He has

been known to speak badly of his own films and has repeatedly admitted to not

8

understanding a lot of the humor in his American features. Due to this honesty,

interviews with the man himself prove invaluable. Also falling under this category are

many of the wonderful features now available on DVDs and Blu-Ray discs, including

audio commentaries by experts and filmmakers as well as “making-of” featurettes.

The third source of information comes from academic articles. These sources are

mostly used to back up my own claims and offer little insight in my particular argument

since little has been written about it in the first place. This absence of information offers

validity to the importance of my claim in that it has been largely unexplored. Most of the

existing academic literature on Jackie Chan and other East Asian actors focuses on their

connection to earlier screen incarnations of Asian men, such as the characters of Charlie

Chan and Fu Manchu, and the early Hollywood practice of Yellowface by white actors

portraying Asian characters. Among them is Wai Kit Choi who states,

Anxiety over Asian men’s sexual aggression is reflected in the portrayal of Fu Manchu – who has the ability to hypnotize hapless victims, white women in particular – while the need to discipline or simply to castrate and emasculate Asian men is exemplified in the creation of numerous passive and asexual Asian characters, ranging from Charlie Chan to the more recent nerdy Asian engineers. The creation of an inept Asian male character who lusts after white females as illustrated by Long Duck Dong in Sixteen Candles is another stereotype often seen in U.S. cinemas (209). In Chinese Face/Off, Lo specifically draws similarities between Charlie Chan and

Jackie Chan, describing Charlie Chan’s depiction as “virtuous, mature, rational, and

skillful at solving crimes, while his Asian characteristics such as his speech, dress, and

appearance, are still comically maintained” (140) and connecting it to Jackie’s depictions

in his Hollywood films. These connections to the past contribute to Chan’s current

treatment in Hollywood and have justly received a lot of scholarly attention. However, it

they are ultimately not the main concern of my thesis. For one, they fall short in offering

9

a contrasting representation. By describing the positive ways in which Chan is

represented outside the United States, we can begin to see the problems he faces when

accepting roles in Hollywood; a problem that extends its reach to almost all males of East

Asian descent working – or rather, trying to work – in Hollywood today. I intentionally

left out the Asian female from that statement not because they do not face problems, but

rather that their problems are a whole different beast whose analysis goes beyond the

scope of this particular work.

A frequent concern in scholarly works regarding Jackie Chan’s sexuality relies on

his subordination to the dominant white American society and his inability to “get” a

white woman. Speaking of the romantic relationship between Jet Li and Aaliyah in

Romeo Must Die (2000, dir. Andrzej Bartkowiak) but readily applicable to Chan as well,

Walzem observes, “We arrived at a point where an Asian man can have a relationship

with a non-Asian American woman, as long as she isn’t White and the nature of the

relationship itself is deeply ambiguous” (6). Of Shanghai Noon, he goes on to say that

“although the narration gives the Chan character two love interests, significantly, neither

of them is white” (18). Lo describes Chan’s kiss with Roselyn Sanchez in Rush Hour 2

(2001, dir. Brett Ratner) as “the breaking of the cultural taboo forbidding a white

woman’s sexual attraction to an Asian man, although Sanchez is Argentine and not

exactly Anglo Saxon” (242). While these observations are certainly deserving of the

attention they have received, I believe the pre-occupation with the race of Chan’s

romantic interests to be limiting. Instead, my interest lies in comparing how logically and

realistically his romantic relationships – if and when he is given any – are established and

10

resolved within the narratives of his films in Asia and Hollywood, regardless of the

woman’s nationality.

Another topic of interest among academics in relation to Chan’s American films

involves the socio-political complexities inherent in the relationship between Chan’s

place of origin – Hong Kong – and China as depicted on screen. “In Hollywood

productions, (1) the Hong Konger’s place of origin always remains underrepresented to

the American audience, and (2) Chinese ethnicity is always emphasized over Hong Kong

cultural specificity” (128). And again, “Hong Kong stars in Hollywood films are

generally portrayed either as foreigners from China or as generic Chinese whose cultural

origin has no significance to the plot of the film” (133). The relationship between Hong

Kong and China is long and complex. While it is certainly deserving of study, especially

with China’s recent emergence as a major world player, I do not believe these matters to

weigh so heavily on his Hollywood films. As Chan himself has mentioned on several

occasions, his American films are for the American audience and American market.

Mainstream American audiences are not aware of the Hong Kong/China relationship. His

Hong Kong persona might be “eager to play his part in Hong Kong’s social

development” (Teo, 126), but that is precisely because he is in Hong Kong, and the

people are aware of the same political issues that Chan brings to the screen. Bringing any

of those political issues to mainstream American audiences would not be a very wise

commercial decision. For these reasons, I am also not interested in these views of Jackie

Chan’s films. Instead, I will take his characters’ place of origin to be whatever the film

tells me it is and treat his representations accordingly.

11

There are quite a few articles that do comment on the differences between his

Hollywood and Asian films, such as Choi’s “Post-Fordist Production and the Re-

Appropriation of Hong Kong Masculinity in Hollywood,” which says of Chan’s

American productions, “Although Chan can perform impressive stunts, because he is

juvenile, asexual and speaks only fractured English, he is still not, in the mainstream

American system of male representation, the same kind of Hollywood masculine hero as

Bruce Willis or Mel Gibson” (210). Lo describes the stunts in Rush Hour as “less

outlandish than those in Chan’s Hong Kong films” (141), and that although “Chan’s

acrobatic skills and well-choreographed action with cinematographic enlargement are

preserved in the Hollywood production…his death-defying spectacular stunts have been

largely toned down” (142). While this thesis will support the claims made above, it will

also expand on them by working past their generalizations and provide specific examples

from the individual films.

One aspect that has remained absent from all the sources I have come across is

Chan’s desire to be taken seriously as a dramatic actor. In a 2001 interview promoting the

release of Rush Hour 2 on “Charlie Rose,” the host asks Chan, “What is your dream

now?” Chan replies: “I want to be an actor. I hope the audience really treat me like an

actor, not an action star. I want to be a drama actor” (Rose, Web). For years, he has been

trying to change his image and steer away from the “Jackie Chan” formula he embraced

for so long, a goal he has accomplished in Asia with some of his recent films with

considerable success. Hollywood’s treatment of Chan, meanwhile, is best described by

Walzem: “Having a bankable star image and readily exploitable star-qualities that

Hollywood can use for profit, they have in fact ‘treated him with kid gloves’ by pairing

12

him with co-stars and scenarios that protect his image” (19). These factors validate the

need to discuss his recent Asian films in which he has increasingly strayed from his

common formulas towards his desired goal of being taken seriously as a dramatic actor in

both the East and the West.

While relatively little has been written about Jackie Chan, the topic of masculinity

in film, on the other hand, has received a great deal of scholarly attention in the last few

decades. Much of this literature describes masculinity as being performative and

comprising of multiple meanings (Tasker). Cohan, for instance, observes that, “any

figuration of manliness can never be separated from its ground in representation” (xvi).

Studlar refers to masculinity as a “masquerade” and neatly summarizes the views of

many film scholars that “masculinity is a performance, a construction of identity shaped

through a repetition of position, whether gendered, racial, or sexual” (5). In addition to its

complexities as a performance, masculinity has gone through changes in accordance with

the changing times. If there is any certainty the studies in masculinity has shown, it is that

there is no certainty in masculinity. Chan is no exception, with his masculinity taking

contradictory forms within different films.

Chapter 1 will cover the films Chan made before successfully making it into

Hollywood. I will be looking specifically at City Hunter, Drunken Master II, Crime

Story, and the Police Story trilogy. An understanding of the various positive ways his

masculinity is treated in these films is essential in order to comprehend just how

regressive most of his roles in Hollywood have been. After the trends and common

motifs in the first stage of his career are established, Chapter 2 will cover some of his

American films. In this section, my discussion will center on the Rush Hour trilogy, The

13

Tuxedo, and Shanghai Noon and its sequel as being exemplary of his Hollywood outings.

The third chapter of this thesis will discuss the roles – all in Asian productions – that

have taken Chan closer to his goal of becoming a dramatic actor, and will cover

Gorgeous, New Police Story, The Myth, and Shinjuku Incident. An explanation of these

films and roles will demonstrate the successful strides he has been able to take towards

his dream. Juxtaposed with his Hollywood films that have been running chronologically

parallel to these productions, Jackie Chan’s childlike treatment in Hollywood will be

easily identified.

14

Chapter 1 Pre-Hollywood

1978-1998

15

It is important to note that in this stage of his career, Chan enjoyed

virtually full control of his productions. Even when not directing his own films, he still

retained the power to fire or replace the director as he saw fit. The same applied to the

editing of his films, a task he would frequently accomplished on his own. In addition,

Chan was able to take all the time he needed with the action choreography, often needing

months to complete what would amount to a ten minute sequence.

The films I have chosen to examine for the first phase of his career cover the

spectrum of character types he most often embodied. The spectrum in this case has

outrageous comedy on one side and the one instance of straight drama on the other. On

the comedy extreme, we have City Hunter, a 1993 comedy directed by Wong Jing based

on a series of Japanese comic books about a womanizing private detective. The physical

comedy in the film reaches absurd levels that will be discussed in more detail later.

Moving along the spectrum, we have Drunken Master II, a period kung fu comedy that,

while featuring dramatic moments, clearly favors comedic ones. Next we get the Police

Story franchise, films with explosive action and quite a bit of dramatic tension. They are

in no way brainless action films, dealing with some dark and edgy topics like drug-lords,

crooked cops, and blackmail. Still, they all contain comedic moments that are outweighed

by the drama and action. Finally, we arrive at the opposite end of the spectrum with

1993’s Crime Story directed by Kirk Wong. This film marked the first time Chan took on

a completely serious and comedy-free role, and until recently, it was the only one.

Each film mentioned above offers a slightly different take on Chan’s masculinity,

sexuality, and morality. By describing a handful of sequences in each film that display his

16

physical prowess and moral uprightness, along with reinforcing screen captures in some

cases, it will be clear that his films consistently affirm his appeal in various ways.

City Hunter

Based on a famous Japanese comic book, City Hunter places Jackie Chan in the

role of Ryu Saeba, a womanizing private detective. He has an assistant, Carrie, who loves

him but who can’t get her affections returned because of a promise he made to her

brother on his deathbed. Ryu is hired by a Japanese newspaper tycoon to find his

daughter, Kyoko, and return her to him. Ryu’s interest in the case peaks when he finds

out how attractive she is. Kyoko, Carrie, and Ryu all end up on a cruise that is eventually

taken over by a group of foreign terrorists who mercilessly murder their hostages. Also

on the cruise are two beautiful female cops who have a tip the boat might be high jacked.

All the players join forces in defeating the terrorists and saving the day. The film is

incredibly cartoonish as it attempts to stay true to the tone of its source material. For

example, when characters fall, they are flat as a pancake,

facial expressions are extremely exaggerated,

17

and loony sound effects and music accompanies the entire film.

Ryu Saeba is a sex-obsessed womanizer. Any good-looking girl is fair game, and

the film puts plenty of them on display for Ryu and the viewing audience. He flirts with

and does not try to hide the desiring looks he gives to the women he crosses paths with.

He flagrantly stares at their bodies with comically exaggerated expressions and tries to

impress them at every turn; striking poses and trying to keep it cool for his admirers.

Whenever women talk about him, he is described as a “sex fiend” and shameless

womanizer. In one particular scene, one of the female cops tries to flirt with him and is

approached by her friend who warns her about him, saying “he’s an infamous sex fiend”

and that “he’s always flirting.” These accusations do not stop them from desiring him, as

the four main female characters all want him for themselves. Regardless of the situation,

any attractive woman is the target of seduction for his character. It is interesting to note

that a common Hollywood stereotype for Asians is the horny nerd, who is depicted as

pathetic and completely undesired by the opposite gender. However, in the case of City

Hunter the sexual humor is played out in Chan’s favor, as his character remains

undeniably desirable even though he is incredibly horny. And although we do not see him

18

get anywhere physically with any of the women on screen, it is revealed he has had

numerous girlfriends in the past.

He confirms his own insatiable desire for women after he successfully returns

Kyoko to her father. Her father is thoroughly impressed by his character and is aware that

his daughter is in love with him. He then offers his daughter’s hand in marriage along

with all of the wealth that would ultimately be transferred to her and her family. Ryu

replies with a laugh that he cannot go through with it because he doesn’t just want one, he

“wants them all.”

Ryu then pursues Carrie who runs out believing he just accepted the marriage

proposal. Though he is in a rush to find her, he still stops by the secretary on his way out

to flirt. He tries to make it up to Carrie by offering a rose and claiming that he is through

with other women. Just then the female cop from the cruise pulls up and asks if he wants

to go for a ride. He switches gears to his flirtatious self without dropping a beat and gives

her the rose instead. Carrie then absurdly strikes him with a giant hammer knocking him

unconscious, and putting him in a dream surrounded by beautiful women in a pool. The

film ends with him joyfully shouting, “Hey, this being unconscious is really great!

Yeah!” as the women surround him and shower him with kisses.

19

There is no doubt that Ryu is in possession of an active sex drive. His libido is off

the charts, and every woman who crosses his path desires him. Another reading of the

film, and indeed for many of Chan’s films from this period, is that the lack of a physical

connection with a female character may suggest a certain sexual ambiguity. This reading

would see Chan making up for a lack of sexuality or interest in women by acting overtly

sexualized.

In either case, the casting in the film tells us a lot about the appeal of Jackie Chan,

the actor. The three lead females in the film – played by Joey Wong, Chingmi Yau, and

Kumiko Goto – are thirteen, fourteen, and twenty years younger than Chan, respectively.

The age difference is never an issue in the narrative of the film. The women know that he

is a hopeless womanizer and that he is lacking financial stability, yet they continue to fall

for him because of his looks and charms.

The film also stands out with its lack of a pronounced moral message. He kills

dozens of terrorists, possibly garnering the highest body count for his character in a

Jackie Chan film. His character’s sense of morality can only be extended, perhaps, to the

fact that he does the right thing and saves the day.

20

Drunken Master II

In Drunken Master II, Chan plays the legendary folk hero Wong Fei Hung, son of

respected martial artist, doctor, and philanthropist Wong Kei Ying in a period martial arts

piece. The young Wong is a troublemaker whose behavior is constantly covered up by his

equally mischievous mother. He is a great practitioner of drunken boxing but is forbidden

to use it by his father. In order for the strikes to be powerful, one needs to drink, which

unfortunately also makes the drinker feel invulnerable and all-powerful, making its use

much too dangerous. As the elder Wong states, “Water floats the boat but also capsizes

it.”

After a mix-up leaves Wong in possession of the Emperor’s Jade Seal, he

uncovers a scheme being run by the British colonizers where ancient Chinese valuables

are being stolen under the guise of shipments from a steel factory. Needless to say, Chan

saves the day with his drunken boxing after coming to understand that there’s a time and

place for it like everything else in life. The film is loaded with action and humor, and

continues to be a fan-favorite, especially in the United States where the film was re-

released in 2000 under the title The Legend of Drunken Master.

Drunken Master II forgoes a romantic interest for Chan’s character altogether.

There is no doubt that the film is mainly concerned with the father/son relationship as

well as the relationship the Chan character has with his fellow male friends who help him

out in the adventure. These conflicts are the source of some major dramatic moments that

Chan plays out brilliantly.

One scene in particular stands out as a major dramatic moment in the film. With

his mother’s encouragement, Fei Hung uses his drunken boxing to defeat a group of

21

thieves, imbibing a large quantity of alcohol in the process. He successfully defeats all of

the thugs, much to the delight of the gathering crowd, but is discovered by his father. He

breaks up the crowd and tries to stop Fei Hung who unwittingly fights back. At this point,

Fei Hung is beyond drunk, making a fool of himself and embarrassing his father, who has

to break the bottle of wine his son continues to drink from and drag him away from the

spectacle. Back at their house, the elder Wong scolds not only his son, but his wife as

well. Mrs. Wong is able to get her husband cooled down by pretending to be pregnant.

However, he soon discovers that Fei Hung was responsible for giving a poisonous plant

to a patient instead of the ginseng he had lost in an effort to avoid paying tax on it. This

discovery pushes Wong Kei Ying over the edge. He blames his son for ruining his

reputation since he believes “Dishonesty is worse than starvation.” His anger is further

fueled by Fei Hung’s drunken insolence. Kei Ying forces Fei Hung to drink wine,

pouring a pot-full down his throat. As it goes down, Chan’s performance reveals a Fei

Hung whose drunkenness makes him want more wine as he keeps his mouth open to take

it in, but whose better judgment wants to fight it, finally breaking the pot in his father’s

hand. His father takes this as further arrogance in fighting back and utters some of the

most feared words in a patriarchal society: “You are not my son.” He throws him around

ordering him to get out of his sight. Fei Hung can barely stand on his feet and has to be

dragged out by his father. At the threshold of the door, Fei Hung physically attacks his

father, pushing him away from himself. “Get out!” his father tells him, as Fei Hung

stumbles out with a look of disappointment and shame. There is no comedy whatsoever

in this moment, with Chan revealing a subtle performance and willingness to be shown as

22

a weak and embarrassing man. This kind of drama in his early films has been smartly

described as “tragedy sweetened with maudlin sentimentality” (Teo, 124).

When it comes to his sexuality, two sequences in particular clearly affirm his

sexual appeal.

The first takes place in a teahouse – a common fighting arena for martial arts

films. Having returned the jade seal to its rightful guardian – the last Manchu officer –

the Chan character and the officer are discussing the importance of protecting China’s

heritage from foreign invaders. During this conversation, they suddenly realize that the

teahouse is completely empty except for the two of them. As they get up to investigate,

an endless throng of members of the Ax gang, called to get back the jade seal, ambushes

them. After a lengthy battle spanning the two floors of the teahouse and encompassing

axes, tables, benches, chairs, and bamboo stalks as weapons, the seal’s protector is struck

by an axe. At the same time, the bamboo stalk Fei Hung had been using as a weapon gets

splintered at one end by an attacking axe. The officer tears off some of Fei Hung’s shirt

and ties it around the stalk to turn it into a more efficient weapon. As Wong stands there

waiting for the onslaught of enemies, the officer has instructions for him. He tells him to

undress, which Wong does instantly. Wong now stands shirtless with hardened muscles

fully exposed. The officer then puts a cupful of water or tea into his mouth and spits it all

over Fei Hung who now holds a giant bamboo stalk, shirtless, with glistening muscles.

23

A powerful image, to say the least. The prowess of the Asian male body is in full display

for admirers of both genders. This is an image of Chan the West has never seen.

It calls to mind the comments of Asian American playwright Frank Chin about

Bruce Lee. A co-founder of Aiiieeeee!, a collection of essays by Asian Americans

addressing the issues of the media’s portrayal of their races, Chin has been explicitly and

often controversially outspoken about the stereotypes prevalent in Hollywood. Referring

to Lee’s role as the hero’s sidekick in the American TV show The Green Hornet (1966),

Chin states that if Lee wants to perform in America, “he has to wear a mask, drive a

white man’s car, wash it, and only gets to attack on command from the white man…If he

wants to take off his clothes and be a man, he has to go to China or Hong Kong.” Chin’s

words may seem a bit extreme at first, especially with its implication of shirtlessness

confirming one’s manliness. However, after seeing how often Chan appears shirtless in

his Chinese-language films, especially when compared to his American films, it becomes

apparent that there are different standards at work.

The most peculiar thing about the teahouse fight scene is that we never really

know why his body needs to be exposed and wet. Being shirtless seems a little much on

its own, though it can be easily argued that it would have gotten in the way of his new

24

and unpredictable weapon. Spitting water all over his body, however, appears completely

unjustified. It seems as though he could have fought everyone off just as successfully

without being shirtless and/or wet.

There is one more scene that explicitly affirms his sexual appeal in the film.

Having disobeyed his father by drinking and fighting to stop some thieves who,

unbeknownst to him, are the same people responsible for the thefts of artifacts, he is

shunned by his father who has been repeatedly disgraced by his son. Drunk and

vulnerable, Fei Hung goes to a bar and continues to drink his woes away. The gang from

the earlier scene approaches him, now accompanied by their boss. Still reeling from their

humiliating loss, they think Fei Hung’s drunkenness is just a ploy to get them beaten.

Finally, they approach the pitiful Fei Hung and beat him mercilessly. The next morning

he is found naked, unconscious, and hanging off a town gate. Around his waist we see a

banner with the words “King of Drunken Boxing” prominently – and mockingly –

displayed.

His parents arrive at the scene, which has gathered a chattering crowd, and it’s clear the

elder Wong is deeply hurt, doing his best to keep his dignity intact.

25

The next scene finds Wong resting in bed, with the house helper trying to cheer

him up. He says: “I have some good news. All the girls in town yearn to marry you now.

Are you happy?” The implication being, of course, that having seen his naked body on

display, the women now desire him. The line is said very sincerely and does not carry

much weight in the overall narrative of the film. A similar scene in an American film

would undoubtedly be the source of small penis jokes, a common sexual stereotype for

Asian men. One can easily imagine the very opposite being said, that he has lost all

potential marriage prospects.

In fact, a small-penis joke is made in one of Chan’s American films: Rush Hour 2.

Chan and Chris Tucker’s characters get in a brawl with a group of Asian men in a

massage parlor. Appropriately, they are all wearing robes and towels. During the fight,

Tucker’s character pulls the towel off of one of the men, looks at his genital area with a

look of disgust and says “No wonder you mad” before whipping him with the towel.

Though the insult is not directed at the Chan character, we can be almost certain that if

the narrative called for Carter to see Li naked, a similar joke would definitely have been

made.

Back to Drunken Master, Chan’s character goes through a very clear change from

the beginning of the film to how we see him in the end. He begins as an immature and

26

irresponsible man-child who cannot keep himself out of trouble. However, by the film’s

end, he has learned valuable lessons through the wisdom he receives from the Manchu

officer. These lessons are also the moral essence of the film. The discussion between the

Fei Hung and Fu, the Manchu officer, in the teahouse sequence described above goes like

this:

- Fu: “The jade seal is a Chinese Royal emblem, it mustn’t be taken away by foreigners.”

- Fei Hung: “There have so far been dozens of emperors of China. Missing one jade seal is not too serious.”

- Fu: “If you tolerate the plunder of a jade seal now, tomorrow he may pull down the Great Wall. Then our children will have to go abroad to see Chinese treasure…Understand?”

- Fei Hung: “Yes sir. Thank you for your guidance.” With this discussion, Fei Hung comes to understand the high stakes involved in

the situation. The fight for the jade seal is the fight for China’s dignity and future. When

the fighting in the teahouse begins, there is a resolve and force in the Chan character that

was not there before. He personally takes up the fight for China’s future, and once Fu is

killed, he becomes the British forces’ main antagonist.

The second scene in question derives its impetus directly from the one above. The

film culminates in the steel factory that is smuggling all of the artifacts out of the country.

Fei Hung and his friends attack the factory and he approaches the interior on his own.

Having come to a sort of enlightenment from his conversation with the officer as well as

making peace with his father, Fei Hung wears white and appears uncharacteristically

calm in the midst of all the fighting. The only item he carries is a white fan featuring his

father’s axiom about the boat in calligraphy.

27

He makes it further into the factory where the main antagonist orders his thugs to

attack. As they approach Wong, he stops them, saying, “Wait. Don’t you know what

you’re doing? He’s helping foreigners ship away China’s treasures. Why help him?”

The thugs look up at their boss, who nonchalantly holds a piece of ancient Jade and

replies, “State treasure? What about our empty stomachs? Others will do it if they don’t.”

While the thugs look unsure about what to do at first, they attack anyway. Wong

dispatches them quickly and efficiently. When one of the men is set on fire, he stops to

put it out, even though the others continue to beat on him.

We’ll see a darker variation to this scene in my discussion of Crime Story. Many who

commit wrongful and illegal acts in real life have used this argument. However, with

Chan’s persona, there are greater principles of honor and of doing the right thing that

28

must be upheld and which transcend physical problems such as wealth and hunger.

Additionally, he attempts to give the thugs a chance to redeem themselves by foregoing

their association with the other traitors. Even though they press on, he still bears no

grudges and does his best to neutralize their antagonism without murdering them.

These actions display some great qualities of duty, honor, and responsibility that

are often attributed to masculinity, particularly in East Asian societies. His disdain and of

murder and value for human life also add to his sense of morality. In the following

chapter we will see how some of these qualities that reinforce his principles in his

Chinese films appear to detract from it in his American productions.

Police Story

In 1985, Jackie Chan attempted to break into Hollywood with a starring role in

The Protector, directed by the American James Glickenhaus. As Chan himself has stated

in interviews, it was a humbling experience. Having brought him in to be the “Jackie

Chan” he was famous for in the East, he was given no control over any aspect of the

production. By the same time in Asia, he had achieved enough clout to have final say in

his films, often directing and editing them himself. Though it may at first seem

reasonable to want to dispose of this movie from any further discussion, it turns out it

represents quite a turning point for Chan himself. Speaking about the movie in an

interview featured on the DVD of City Hunter, Chan relates the lessons he learned.

Coming from the action cinema tradition of Hong Kong where action comes first and

everything else is second, Chan was not used to Hollywood’s emphasis on story and

character, with action being the last thing they might worry about. The Protector was a

turning point in his career, making him realize that while action is important, the story

29

and characters must also receive more attention than they usually did in Hong Kong.

Upon returning to Hong Kong with these new experiences, Chan set out to show his

bosses how a Jackie Chan film is to be made, incorporating the lessons he learned from

his experiences stateside. The result: 1985’s Police Story, a film highly regarded as one

of Chan’s best to date, spawning 3 sequels and even a spin-off.

With Police Story, we see everything Chan wanted for himself at this particular

time in his career. Shot with his own money, the entire production was under his control.

The film tells the story of Chan Ka-Kui, a model Hong Kong cop who single-handedly

captures a drug-lord in the opening of the film. He attempts to bribe Ka-Kui with a bagful

of money, but he refuses. The drug-lord frames him with the murder of another cop, who

was actually crooked to begin with. Ka-Kui then has to clear his name while keeping

himself from being arrested by his colleagues and protect the witness, all while trying to

maintain a relationship with his girlfriend (Maggie Cheung) who is often left unsatisfied

because of his devotion to his job. The action scenes in this film are like nothing that

came before it. Even today, a quarter of a century later, the film still stands out with its

intense choreography. When it comes to issues of Chan’s masculinity, there are several

lessons we can learn from Police Story.

The first lesson is one that has already been mentioned and that even Hong Kong

film expert Bey Logan humorously observes during the commentary track of the DVD:

“Jackie loves taking his clothes off in movies.” Most of his films during this period of his

career show him in some state of undress, often quite arbitrarily. In this film, we see him

get into the shower while he speaks with the witness he is protecting who sits in the room

30

next door. While he talks, we are treated to views that of most of his naked body.

As the scene continues and the two talk across the rooms, we repeatedly go into the

bathroom with Ka-Kui and get many more shots of his naked chest. In another, more

dramatic film, Heart of Dragon, he answers the door shirtless. The scenes do not linger

for too long, but they become a strong presence when his films are seen in close

succession. Clearly, Chan is seen as a sexually viable and attractive male. Similar scenes

can be found in many Hollywood films in which the male lead appears shirtless. Clark

Gable famously did this in 1934’s It Happened One Night, and today an extreme example

of this practice is Matthew McConaughey, who has received much criticism and

lampooning for his tendency to appear shirtless in his films for no apparent reason. These

are men who are considered attractive movie stars, whose shirt removals are appealing to

their audience, both male and female. Undoubtedly, Chan’s inclusion of these scenes is

for the very same reason.

The film also shows us a common kind of relationship Chan’s cop persona has

with the opposite sex. His girlfriend, May, is continuously frustrated and abandoned by

Ka-Kui due to his dedication to the force. His duty as a cop takes top priority, which

often leads to disappointment on her part. The first film in the series does not give much

31

room for her character or their relationship to develop. She misunderstands situations and

unwittingly gets in his way, making his job even harder. The sequel features her in a

more prominent role as Ka-Kui’s enemies repeatedly threaten her life. He decides to quit

the force and take her on a trip to Bali, which makes her incredibly happy. Unfortunately,

his superiors pull him out of the plane and intentionally make him miss his flight, leaving

May alone onboard. Intending to finally break up with him, she is kidnapped by the bad

guys who hold her hostage until Chan does as they say. In the third film, Chan goes

undercover, but tells May that he’ll be going on a month-long training camp that forbids

phone calls or contacts of any kind. She then disappears for most of the film, until she

runs into him while on the case and gets kidnapped once again, until Chan follows their

orders. Interestingly, in the first five minutes of this installment we see them lock lips

more often than in the first two Police Story films combined. While their relationship is

not an ideal one in any way, the fact remains that he has a girlfriend who loves him

deeply. It may be true that she is more of a plot device to create obstacles for our hero,

but all the same, he is sexually desired and deeply cared for by a female character in a

relationship that is believably established. Though her deep love for him may be regarded

as a plot device as well, it is more than he is allowed in his Hollywood films. The next

important point the film brings about: sexual humor.

Chan’s Chinese-language films often feature some sexual humor. However,

contrary to his American productions that make him the butt of these types of jokes, his

Chinese films turn the jokes to his favor. When Ka-Kui first arrives at his apartment with

the lingerie-clad witness in tow, his girlfriend greets him with a surprise birthday party.

She sees Chan covering Selina and immediately assumes the worst. The implication here

32

is that Chan is a viable partner in bed with other women, otherwise she would not have

made such an assumption.

A little later in the film Chan gets Selina to cooperate. He convinces her to reveal

all of the drug-lord’s illegal activities by tricking her into believing her former boss has a

contract out on her life. She confesses it all into his tape recorder. Meanwhile, Selina

discovers that her attacker was actually one of Ka-Kui’s friends and decides to get back

at him. We see this elaborate scene in which Selina appears to be trying to seduce him.

The exchange is transcribed below:

- Selina: “Oh you, that hurt!” - Ka-Kui: “What did I do?” - Selina: [she sits on a cactus] “You really poked me!” - Ka-Kui: [rushes over to his cactus trying to save it] “You’re breaking it! Don’t

push too hard!” - Selina: [the cactus falls over] “What an ugly thing!” - Ka-Kui: “It’s the only one I got. It’s broken.” - Selina: [as Ka-Kui bends over to pick up his cactus, she holds a cup of orange

juice over his head, which he hits and spills all over her when he gets up] “You got me all wet!”

The scene goes on for a while longer. We are not sure why she is doing this until

the following day when Ka-Kui is in court for the villain’s trial. She escapes during the

night and he is forced to go alone. Facing defeat at the hands of a berating defense

attorney, Ka-Kui produces the tape with Selina’s confession. As the tape rolls, we are

treated not to her confession, but to the audio of the night before. With no visuals for

context, the audio makes it appear as though they are having sex. Everyone in the

courtroom laughs.

Once again the humor stems from the acknowledgment that Chan not only has a

libido, but also that he can act upon those desires in a physical relationship. Though his

character’s credibility is ruined in a humorous way, the sequence does not attack his

33

sexuality. Rather, it plays on the assumption that the two characters would naturally have

a physical relationship.

His character’s morality and sense of justice are explicitly expressed in the first

two Police Story films. In the first film, after being framed for murder, he takes the

superintendent away at gunpoint in order to buy some time. Holding the gun to his head,

Chan launches into a powerful tirade, transcribed below:

While we risk our lives out there, he's sitting back thinking of chicks. We've arrested so many bad guys, but he's never satisfied. He just considers the results. You only have to open your mouth and we have to risk our lives! You got promoted at our expense. Have you ever thought of us? If any of us dies, you only need to write a report and turn up for the funeral. We have families too. If it weren’t for us, you'd never have this office and all this other crap! In the commentary, Bey Logan mentions that the superintendent represents the

colonial powers in Hong Kong, and that Chan’s words reflected the opinions of many

who were opposed to the colonials. Not only does this scene offer some incredible

dramatic chops from our actor, it also confirms Chan’s ability to speak to his audience; an

ability that has surely aided him in maintaining his box-office draw.

In the second film, the sequence in question occurs towards the end when Chan

has the three blackmailers at gunpoint in an abandoned fireworks factory. He says “stop,

or I’ll shoot,” and the conversation that follows feels particularly long. It must be noted

that English subtitles in Chinese movies often suffer grammatically, though they rarely

detract from the plot or overall experience. In the transcript of the conversation below,

the two blackmailers are B1 and B2.

- B1: You’ll have to shoot fast. There are 3 of us. - Chan: If I don’t shoot you, you’ll only spend years in jail. And then you’ll be a

reformed person. That’s better than dying in this condition. - B2: We’re ready. - B1: We want to be rich.

34

- Chan: Yes, but you are way too cruel. - B2: What’s cruel? - Chan: In this society, only if you do something good to the society, everyone will

help you. You will be repaid. Then you will be rich. - [They laugh at him] - Chan: And you will have a new outlook. That’s what you could do. Yet, now

what you have done has harmed society. This is against everyone’s benefit. - B1: What does that mean? - Chan: Look. Besides you guys, who will think you are doing the right thing? Who

would think of your purpose? - [They applaud him mockingly.] - B1: That doesn’t sound bad. We might take your advice. But we’re still young.

After we did our time, we’d all be old men. At this point, one of the men reaches for a bag. Chan shoots at the bag and

accidently sets off a box of fireworks, giving the bad guys a chance to run, giving way to

the final action piece. The conversation above would likely never appear in a Western

film. Somehow, though, it works in this movie and does not harm the film in any way.

The performances are real and the actors do not feel patronizing.

Jackie Chan is famous for his philanthropic efforts as well as his all-around

generous and loving nature. Directors have mentioned how he despises littering and sets

an example to everyone else in the crew by picking up trash he finds on the set. I believe

these qualities are in keeping with the inclusion of these moments where we feel like he’s

trying to teach us lessons based on his own moral codes. Bey Logan and Brett Ratner

state in the commentary for Police Story that in Hong Kong, the public refers to Chan as

“big brother.” When he walks the streets, they don’t swarm him like they would in the

U.S. or even China. Instead they approach him with the respect and love deserving of an

older brother who watches over the family and teaches them important lessons. Chan is

simply acting on his responsibility to his audiences, something that he has been unable to

with his Hollywood productions.

35

Crime Story

Known to personally prefer dramatic films to comedic ones, Chan offers his first

attempt at full-on drama with Kirk Wong’s 1993 film, Crime Story. Save for one bit of

slapstick that feels slightly out of place, there is not a single comedic moment in the

entire film. Based on true events, the story follows the kidnapping of a wealthy real-estate

tycoon by a group of gangsters and Hung, a crooked cop. Detective Eddie Chan (Chan),

is assigned to the case alongside Hung who tries to sabotage the case at every turn. Chan

is a cop who has some psychological issues related to stress from killing suspects in the

past. Hung tries to frame Chan for the kidnapping but he is ultimately able to prove his

innocence and solve the case.

From the opening shot, the dark and gritty atmosphere of the film is established

and it does not let up. The film does not look or feel like what one expects from a Jackie

Chan film, and yet he more than holds his own in this drama. The film includes several

other “firsts” for a Jackie Chan film, including shots of Chan bleeding, a sex scene

involving Hung and his prostitute - in a public elevator, no less, Chan wearing a suit and

tie throughout the film as opposed to his preferred white shirt and jeans ensemble, as well

as a new hair cut. As Bey Logan states in the commentary, “This is the film that proves

he has dramatic chops.” While I disagree with the implication that his dramatic acting in

previous films was subpar, the film definitely proves that Chan can be dramatic for the

entirety of a film.

36

His masculinity in this feature takes on a commanding and intimidating form. The

film does not offer Chan a romantic interest, though it appears to have intended to in an

earlier form of the film with the inclusion of an attractive female psychiatrist he is

ordered to report to. His masculine qualities arise, instead, from the determination you

feel in his body language. Contrary to many of his more comedic roles, Chan is often still

in the frame, taking in his surroundings and offering incredibly intense yet controlled

reaction shots, such as when he first begins to suspect his partner is in on the crime. The

camera stays on Chan’s face as we see his brain at work connecting the dots and coming

to a harrowing realization. He slowly stands up and looks at his partner with a powerful

stare, seen below.

37

He is a man on a mission who knows exactly what he needs to do.

His sense of duty is further enhanced by his character’s motivations. We don’t

really get the feeling that he cares about the kidnapped man in any particular way. Quite

the contrary, we sense a feeling of contempt. However, he fulfills his duty as an officer

and seems to be propelled by the fact that two fellow officers were critically injured

during the kidnapping that took place on the streets. One of them dies in the hospital and

the other remains in critical condition. Approaching one of the officers on the ground, we

see a copious amount of blood, which feels shocking for a Jackie Chan vehicle.

This sense of shock at the violation of our expectations from a Jackie Chan movie

heightens the film since it reflects the way his character feels at that very moment. As he

takes the fallen cop to the hospital with a police escort, we are treated to a heroic shot that

affirms his authority and heroic character.

38

The film still features some fight scenes, though drastically fewer and shorter in

length than his previous films. His years of experience in choreography have enabled him

to masterfully put together fight sequences that fit the story’s needs. For example, in City

Hunter, the fight scenes were particularly and absurdly humorous with exaggerated facial

expressions. In the case of Crime Story, they feel incredibly gritty and violent.

Interestingly, the actual choreography remains the same: chairs, tables, and other every-

day objects are used to much the same effect as in his other films, but with the editing

and lighting of the sequences, it feels far more violent than before.

Another stark contradiction from his more well-known and well-liked roles

includes killing. As I mentioned earlier, this film offers a different take on the scene in

Drunken Master II in which one of the bad guys is set on fire. As Wong Fei-Hung, he

39

risked injury to save the man’s life. In Crime Story, the man on fire gets shot in the face.

With all these disparities from Chan’s usual screen persona, one aspect of the

character remains the same: his high morals and incorruptible sense of justice. Two

sequences in particular attest to these qualities. The first occurs at a construction site of

the tycoon. A group of workers arrive with signs demanding higher wages and better

working conditions. Chan and his fellow cops are there to break up the unrest. While the

rest of the cops try to get them out by force, Chan steps in and tells everyone to calm

down. He’s insulted and humiliated by the workers who throw a bucket of plaster on him.

He keeps his calm and addresses the crowd on a loudspeaker. He tells them that cops

need better conditions too and would even walk beside them and that “Hong Kong is

governed by law. On the face of it, everyone is equal. Our duty is to protect each and

every citizen.” Much to the others’ surprise, he doesn’t wish to arrest anyone and tells the

crowd to disperse and approach the problem in a more peaceful way by filing official

complaints.

The second instance occurs when Chan confronts Hung in his hideout. Holding

him at gunpoint, Chan is outraged, saying, “Have you no shame? You’re a disgrace to the

40

force!” Hung replies that a good cop risks his life all the time but can’t get enough to

make a living. Chan will have none of it and cuffs him to himself. They run through the

rapidly crumbling building to find an escape. Chan stops to save a boy who has been left

behind when the ceiling collapses on Hung and pins him down. Chan puts the child down

and runs over to Hung to save him. Chan asks him for the name of the boat that the

tycoon is in, but he refuses to answer, saying he’s dead either way. Chan replies that “it’s

up to the court to decide.” Hung calls him a nut for not giving up, to which he replies,

“Call me a nut, but that’s my way of life.” Hung finally gives him a name and Chan is

forced to leave him behind in order to save the young boy.

There is an additional little moment in the film that feels like Chan might have

even improvised on the spot, unable to control his own personal feelings. Chan walks

along the sidewalk and stops by the curb. His informant drives up to give him some

information on the kidnappers. He rolls down the window and throws his cigarette out on

the sidewalk. Chan picks it up and hands it back to him before getting the information he

wants. In the next chapter we will see how even this aspect of his character had to be

sacrificed for the American market.

Needless to say, Crime Story was a rare digression for Jackie Chan during the first

phase of his career. It provides us with a glimpse of the road he might have taken if he

had continued to play more dramatic roles. After this film, Chan returned to his more

common fare with films like Drunken Master 2, Police Story 4, Mr. Nice Guy, and Who

Am I? As I will explain in more detail in the next chapter, Chan’s godfather had a lot of

say on what he was and was not allowed to do on screen. Perhaps Crime Story was a way

to let Chan try out a dramatic film in order to satisfy his desire of them. Or perhaps, since

41

the film was shot and released in the same year as City Hunter, it could maintain a certain

balance. There is no way to know for sure.

Conclusion

“The success of Jackie Chan’s martial arts movies in Hong Kong is commonly

understood as a case of a popular actor adhering to a mainstream generic formula. This

overlooks Chan’s unique way of keeping the genre interesting and relevant to audiences”

(Teo, 122). These words were published in 1997, before he ever made any Hollywood

films to offer up a comparison to his Hong Kong persona. His films in the first phase of

his career show a variety of character types, from the child-like dynamo of Drunken

Master to the more optimistic and persistent hero of films like Police Story. He even

offers up “a psychologically afflicted action hero unable to make sense of the violence

around him” (132) in Crime Story. He established himself as not only an incredible

physical performer, but a great dramatic actor as well. Unfortunately, even then, his

dramatic abilities were often overlooked, especially since they did come in relatively

small bursts within the larger narrative of the film.

I disagree with Teo’s view that “he should be admired as one of the best of the

purely physical performers in world cinema” (134) as being far too simplistic, even for

1997. By that time, I believe he had undoubtedly proven himself as not only an

unparalleled physical performer, but also a gifted actor. However, as is often the case

with action and comedy, the skill and hard work of the performer is underrated and taken

for granted.

42

Chapter 2 Hollywood

1998 – Present

43

In the 2003 documentary, Who is Albert Woo?, director Hunt Hoe explores the

images of Asian men as they are represented in Western media and pop culture. The film

features interviews with men of different Asian descent and their personal struggles in

dealing with the plethora of stereotypes that surrounds them. Hoe asks an important

question, “Why are we more comfortable with Asian men as warriors and workers than

as lovers?” Jackie Chan comfortably balances all three of these aspects in the Asian films

already discussed in Chapter 1, just as one would expect to see with any other action

hero. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for his American films.

While Chan enjoyed full access and control over almost every aspect of his Hong

Kong productions, his role in Hollywood behind the camera has been far more limiting.

Of course, this is partly due to the structure and rules of the Hollywood industry that

simply do not apply in the Hong Kong film industry. Additionally, depending on the

relationship he has with the American director he is working with, he may be given

varying degrees of control in the action scenes. Regardless, he is never allowed as much

time as may have been used to, resulting in filmmakers who expect Chan to accomplish

in a few days what would normally require weeks of work.

The Rush Hour trilogy, The Tuxedo, and Shanghai Noon and Shanghai Knights

reveal the variations in which Chan’s masculinity, sexuality, and morality are allowed to

express themselves in Hollywood.

The Rush Hour Trilogy

Rush Hour came about from director Brett Ratner’s love for Jackie Chan’s Hong

Kong films. Wanting to work with Chan, they looked at all the scripts Chan had in

development and decided that although Rush Hour was not the best script in the bunch, it

44

was the one with the most potential and that Ratner knew he could bring something new

to. For one reason or another, Chan decided that Rush Hour would be the film to bring

him into the United States market. Unlike his previous experience in America with The

Protector, Chan found in Ratner a director who not only respected his knowledge of

action choreography but also allowed him to take over the direction of the action scenes

in much the same way he would in Hong Kong, albeit on a much tighter schedule.

Hearing Chan speak of the film, it appears he expected the same miserable result

as The Protector. From an interview with the website Crave Online: “After I finished

Rush Hour 1 I said, ‘My career is finished.’ A second time I try to get in American

market and now I’m finished.” Instead, Rush Hour took the box office by storm, resulting

in a blockbuster success few could have anticipated and spawning two sequels. The films

pair Jackie Chan with American comedian Chris Tucker in a buddy action comedy. In the

first film, Inspector Lee (Chan) is personally called down to Los Angeles by a Chinese

official whose daughter has been kidnapped. Tucker plays Carter, an irresponsible and

loud-mouthed LA cop who the FBI enlist to keep Lee out of their way. They ultimately

solve the case together, saving the daughter and salvaging the large collection of Chinese

artifacts that were the source of the problem.

Much has been said about the tactics for pairing two minorities in the lead. One

advantage is that they can insult each other with stereotypes and not worry any viewers,

since neither minority has had a pronounced history of oppressing the other. “The generic

conventions and textual devices of comedy ensure viewers actively consume and derive

pleasure from racial jokes and stereotypes without critical and interrogative engagement

with them” (Ji, 174). However, even between the two characters of Lee and Tucker, it is

45

clear that Chan is viewed as the inferior of the two. Throughout all three films in the

series, Carter berates Lee in incredibly insulting and stereotypical ways. Some examples

from the series:

- “Assume I kick your little Beijing ass right here." - “Want anything? Like a cup o’ noodles?” - “You sound like a karate movie.” - “My daddy can kick your daddy’s ass all the way from here to China or Japan

or wherever the hell you from. All up that Great Wall too.” - “I’ll slap you so hard you’ll end up in the Ming dynasty. “I’ll bitch-slap you

back to Bangkok.” - “All y’all look alike.” - “When was the last time you had a date? The year of the rat?” - “I’m tall, dark, and handsome. You third-world ugly.” Lee replies that women

find him cute, like Snoopy. Carter retorts, “Snoopy is six inches taller than you.”

- “Get my partner something from the kids’ department.” - “You can’t be black. There’s a height requirement.”

Apart from these personal attacks on Lee, Carter insults other Asians in the film

in much the same way. In the first film, for example, he enters a room with some Chinese

thugs who threaten him. He says, “I’m gonna knock the yellow -- ” but is interrupted by a

kick to the face. Without a doubt the end of that sentence would have been something

like “right off your face.” The words bring to mind the turbulent history of the practice of

yellowface in Hollywood, such as Mickey Rooney’s grotesque Japanese caricature Mr.

Yunioshi in 1967’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Reversing the situation, it would be

unimaginable for a mainstream Hollywood film to feature an Asian man address a group

of black men by saying “I’m gonna knock the black right off your face.” Racial

discrimination disguised as comedy is “problematic precisely because they help validate

racial differences through humor, thus rendering them natural and unchallengeable”

(174).

46

At least in the first film of the series, Lee does not take part in any verbal

retaliation. The sequels find the two characters in much more of an exchange of insults,

though the majority of it is still directed at the Chan character. When he does decide to

fire back at Carter, it is usually just a reversal of something Carter said earlier, taking

away most of the sense of ingenuity for insults that Carter displays. For example, in Rush

Hour 2 Carter tells Lee that he will “bitch slap [him] back to the Ming dynasty.” Later in

the film, the insult is paid off as Lee tells Carter that he will “bitch slap [him] back to

Africa.”

There is another moment in Rush Hour that demands mentioning due to its

appalling stereotypical implications. Picking up Lee at the airport, Carter assumes he

does not speak any English and treats him like an idiot while Lee remains quiet in order

to size him up. Lee keeps running off, finally ending with Carter pulling him out of a cab

at gunpoint. They stand on the sidewalk with guns pointed at each other when the cab

driver suddenly pulls a gun on them both and demands an explanation. Lee answers in

excellent English that he was just teaching his fellow officer how to disarm a suspect. As

we hold on carter looking at Lee with a baffled look on his face, we hear the loud sound

of a gong being struck.

Anyone familiar with the depiction of Asian men in Hollywood will immediately

recognize this sound as the same that inexplicably accompanies every appearance of the

character Long Duk Dong in John Hughes’s 1984 comedy Sixteen Candles, a particularly

grotesque representation of the Asian male. Eric Nakamura, co-founder of Giant Robot, a

magazine that covers Asian and Asian American pop culture, describes Dong as “every

bad stereotype possible, loaded into one character” (qted. in Macadam, Web).

47

When it comes to Lee’s sexuality in the series, it is safe to say that he absolutely

has none. While Carter fulfills the black stereotype of the highly sexualized male – whose

discussion calls for its own lengthy evaluation – Lee conforms to the “model minority”

stereotype, a myth “which depicts Asian Americans as exemplary minorities because they

achieve success without demanding fundamental changes in American society” (Kim,

132). The first Rush hour finds Chan completely lacking any libido. The only girl he

cares about is the little one who’s been kidnapped, a devotion that is “conceivably

designed to eliminate any possible romantic association” (Lo, 139). In Rush Hour 2 it is

revealed that he does in fact have a sex drive as he looks on at Isabella undressing and

clearly gets turned on. This form of sexuality is not very appealing however, as it reveals

a degrading horniness in him that recalls the popular Asian stereotype of the horny nerd.

However, even in this stereotype he remains the Model Minority by looking away from

her body while Carter fulfills his stereotype of shamelessly staring at her breasts.

To provide a contrast from Police Story 2, a female interrogator unwittingly lifts her skirt

towards the two-way mirror behind which Chan and two other male officers stand. They

look on with what can be deemed a natural reaction of surprise and curiosity. They don’t

look away like Lee, nor do they stare at it with a rapacious look on their faces as Carter

does.

48

The relationship between Lee and Isabella is a curious one. At the end of the

second installment, as Lee and Isabella say their goodbyes at the airport, she kisses him.

It is a strange scene, to be sure, as there seems to be no basis for it. The narrative tries to

force a relationship by making them cross paths and having Lee repeatedly question her

motives, but nothing romantic is ever established. If anything, she appears to continually

use her sex appeal in order to manipulate him. Her character does not return for Rush

Hour 3, although she is mentioned several times. The film keeps hinting at a past falling

out between Lee and Carter involving Isabella. For some unexplained reason, Carter shot

Isabella in the neck and although she lived and even returned to work, she broke it off

with Lee.

- Lee: “She was my girlfriend!” - Carter: “It’s not like you even slept with her.” - Lee: “I was going to until you ruined it.”

While the assumption is that if you have a girlfriend, you have slept with them –

especially for an action hero – here the assumption is that he has not had sex with her. It

is an attack that Lee nonchalantly confirms. With the little information given above, there

are several possibilities as to what their relationship might have been like. One, they were

waiting until marriage to have sex. Two, Lee was deluded about the nature of their

49

relationship and never really had a chance with her. Three, they were in fact

boyfriend/girlfriend but he could not perform in bed. We might come up with more

possibilities, but what remains is a lead actor who is mocked for his lack of a sexual

relationship. He doesn’t even get the courtesy of having his complex relationship shown

on screen.

In addition, his physicality remains mostly hidden compared to his Asian films.

For the Rush Hour films, Lee wears a dark suit and tie with little exception. Before this

film, his wardrobe was quite the opposite, with a clear preference for the color white, as

well as the more comfortable and youthful look of jeans and a shirt. The wardrobe,

lighting, and makeup all seem eager to reveal the effects of ageing on his face. Holmlund

argues that Chan is made to look younger in the Rush Hour films by being surrounded by

older actors such as Tzi Ma, Max von Sydow, and Roman Polanski, among others.

However, I agree with Lo’s observation of Chan being made to look middle-aged and

unglamorous “in contrast to the boyish Beatles haircut and casual outfits he wears in his

Hong Kong films that emphasize his agility, dynamism, and vitality” (142). It becomes

especially peculiar when one watches Gorgeous, the film he makes in China after Rush

Hour, in which he appears younger and much more vibrant.

His character’s morality steadily declines with each installment of the series. In

the first film, he appears noble enough. He truly cares for the little girl’s life and does

everything he can to bring the bad guys down. His morality is brought into question in

the second installment with the extreme pleasure he derives from spying on Isabella

undressing, a particularly degrading action. However, this pales in comparison with what

is revealed in the third Rush Hour. Lee and Carter go to Paris in search of a woman who

50

is in possession of the names of the Triads’ leaders. Bringing her back to their hotel

room, they discuss what they can do to get her relaxed enough to tell them what they

need to know. Carter, unsurprisingly, suggests setting a romantic mood and ordering

some champagne to calm her down. Lee’s contribution to the discussion is: “maybe we

should put on a dirty movie. Only $9.95.” With this one bit of dialogue, his entire

character and morality are tarnished, revealing a perverse hidden sexuality that even

surprises Carter, the obnoxiously public sexual deviant who has literally tried to get in

bed with every female character he shared the frame with in all three films.

This sequence takes on even more significance to my argument when we see the

outtakes rolling during the end credits. We see Chan go through several other lines

besides “Only $9.95” with each take. Among them: “I like the ones with a shower scene,”

“I like the ones with a locker scene,” and “I like the ones with hairy women.” At one

point he looks to an off-screen Ratner and ask him if he is teaching him bad words. Chan

has stated that he does not understand a lot of the humor in the Rush Hour films. This

particular outtake reveals the filmmakers taking advantage of that fact by having him

recite lines whose implications he clearly does not comprehend. For the sake of a

humorous line, the filmmakers sacrifice Lee’s entire character and sense of morality that

Chan has consistently brought to the screen.

One aspect of the Lee character that remains in line with Chan’s previous

personas is his aversion towards killing, a quality that may affect the perception of his

masculinity for Western audiences. In a cinema tradition where the good guys kill the bad

guys without mercy and even have the wit to deliver a final punch line right before or

after the kill, Chan’s value for a human life can have opposing consequences in his

51

American films. On the one hand, the Tucker character can appear particularly cold and

heartless when he shoots one of the main henchmen in Rush Hour and proceeds to throw

a napkin on his body saying, “Wipe yourself off, man. You dead.” Tucker shoots and

brags while Lee goes out of his way to keep the bad guys he fights alive, such as reaching

out to pull them back onto a boat instead of letting them fall into the water, as he does in

Rush Hour 2. On the other hand, the Hollywood action film has a tradition of the hero

being ultimately triumphant by killing them, making Chan appear slightly less manly

than the common American hero. In fact, the total combined body count for Chan’s

character in all three Rush Hour films is zero. The deaths of the main villains in the

trilogy occur in the same manner: falls from very high heights involving but not directly

caused by Lee.

A helpful way to frame the negative representation of Jackie Chan in these films

is to imagine another action hero in the same role. Schwarzenegger, Stallone, Van

Damme, or a more recent action star like Jason Statham, are all highly sexualized and

coded as manly in their films. If they were ever paired up with another lead, they would

never be the butt of the jokes. Van Damme is of a fairly short stature, but it would be

inconceivable to have placed him in a role that called constant attention to his height in a

negative light, unless the villain who would then be triumphantly beaten did it. I believe

this is the major problem and discrepancy between Jackie Chan’s American films and his

Chinese films. The audience is consistently laughing at him instead of with him. Even

though he is the action star, the Rush Hour films subject him to grueling mockery and

humiliation by a character we are supposed to believe he would consider being like a

brother to him.

52

With the Rush Hour films we see Chan being forced into many of the stereotypes

that have existed for years. Their presence in the film may be missed at first glance

because the insults are hidden under the guise of a budding friendship that brings with it

the acceptability of inside jokes. By making Lee and Carter remain friends, the audience

takes the stereotypical and even racist jokes lightly. Indeed, it is difficult to take them any

other way when the character himself bears no hard feelings. His sexuality starts out as

nonexistent and turns into perversity by the end of the trilogy. Unfortunately, Chan’s

roles in America have not undergone much improvement, with films increasingly relying

on his otherness and inability to attract a female as the main sources of humor.

The Tuxedo

Jimmy Tong (Chan) is a cab driver notorious for his speed in getting people to

their destination. His skills are noticed by Steena (Debi Mazar), who hires him to be the

driver for the mysterious Clark Devlin (Jason Isaacs). Tong is unaware of Devlin's job as

a spy, but they form a friendly relationship as Tong quickly admires his boss's confidence

and smoothness with the ladies. The bad guy, Banning (Ritchie Coster), plans to

dominate the bottled water industry by introducing a bacteria into the country's water

supply that would make everyone incredibly thirsty. After buying up the dominant shares

of the existing water companies, he would become the only provider of bottled water in

the entire country. Devlin discovers their secret and is almost killed for it. At the scene of

the attempted murder, he gives Tong his wristwatch and tells him to wear it. Devlin lands

in a coma and Tong returns to his boss's home where the watch triggers a tuxedo with

incredible powers simply at the touch of a button. He takes on his boss's identity and is

53

partnered with scientist Del Blaine (Jennifer Love Hewitt) to solve the case. High jinks

ensues and they ultimately save the day together.

Chan's relationship with women plays a central role in the plot of the movie. With

his character's introduction, we learn that he is a taxi driver who longingly pines for a

woman who works in an art gallery. He practices lines with his fellow cab driver, who

encourages him to just ask her out. Similar to the scene in Rush Hour 3 about the dirty

movie, we get the feeling that Chan might not necessarily understand what he is being

told to say. In this case, he tells his friend that he dreamed about her before ever meeting

her. His friend tells him to use that line, so he rehearses it, except this time he says: "Hi.

My name is Jimmy Tong. When I see you, I have a wet dream. Is that what I say?" His

obliviousness to not only the English language, but to women as well is on full display.

As though talking about nocturnal emmisions was not enough, we are then treated to the

back of his Hooters shirt, which reads "Hooters girls dig me."

The words take up a large portion of the screen, and are placed inside a red frame, calling

attention to it even further. We then see him talking to the woman with disastrous results.

Defeated, he returns to his cab and reads "A Dummy's Guide to Amassing

Wealth." He sees her come out of the gallery and opens his door, accidently knocking

54

down an incoming biker. When the man physically confronts him, Tong runs away and

does nothing to fight back, opting instead to hide under his car while the man jumps up

and down on top of it to get him out. Within the first few minutes of the film, Chan's

standard signs of masculinity have already been stripped away: he is inept around women

and has absolutely no distinguishing physical talents. "Not everyone Chinese is Bruce

Lee," he tells his friend.

Once he becomes Devlin's driver, he is immediately taken with and looks up to

his boss's confidence and smoothness with women. In a jewelry store, Devlin charmingly

flirts with and invites the saleswoman to a fundraiser at his house. Tong, meanwhile,

longingly and awkwardly looks on, repeating his boss's words to himself, memorizing

them for a later time.

Exiting the store, Tong asks "How did you learn to be so smooth?" Devlin replies that the

only thing he's got that Tong doesn't is confidence. He even pats him on the chest with

his fist as he encourages him, somewhat patronizingly, that he's got it in him. By this

point in the film, audiences familiar with films, and especially character arcs, would

expect Tong to undergo a change by the end of the film and acquire the confidence he so

greatly desires. The Tuxedo, however, falls short in this, as I will illustrate.

55

He gets the tuxedo, impersonates Devlin, gets a partner in Del Blaine, who is in

constant odds with him, and they ultimately save the day together. The head of Devlin's

agency agrees to do a favor for Tong in gratitude for his service. We are then treated to

an intense mission underway. Agents are deployed along the streets, we get split-screens

showing vans pulling up and agents rapelling down buildings, streets are blocked off, and

Tong is dropped off in a truck at the front of the art gallery with an earpiece on. On the

other end are Devlin, Blaine, and Steena who speak over one another giving him advice

on what to say. He approaches the woman of his dreams and freezes. All the voices in his

ear drive him crazy and he shouts at them, freaking out the saleswoman and prompting

her to pull out her pepper spray. He gets the earpiece out and says "remember me?

Hooters?" referring to his shirt. He then runs out of the gallery and apologizes to Devlin

for blowing it. He replies: "You didn't blow it, you just outgrew her."

Blaine meets him outside and gets on his case, telling him all he had to do was ask

her out to a cup of coffee. Tong admits that he can't talk around beautiful women,

unwittingly hurting her feelings. "Unwittingly" may be inaccurate, since he simply

remains oblivious to the effects of his words on her. She walks away upset, and Tong

stops her with "Excuse me. Del Blaine. Would you have a cup of coffee with me?" After

some more banter, she accepts the invitation and they walk away arm-in-arm. It is an

interesting end to the film that recalls the end of Rush Hour 2. It is as though we know, as

the audience, that this ending is supposed to signal the beginning of a romantic

relationship based on our knowledge of other films that follow the same pattern of

dialogue and reactions from their protagonists. However, there is something about the

way it is executed by the actors and filmmakers that does not feel romantic at all. Instead,

56

it feels more like the relationship between a brother and sister who are constantly getting

on each other's nerves. Nothing in the narrative establishes their relationship as ever

going beyond that.

There is one moment that has potential in changing their relationship. After a

scuffle with the villain's thugs, our heroes are treating each others' wounds and talking

things out. Tong tells Blaine that she doesn't care about or even understand other people's

feelings. He proves his point by putting on different facial expressions and quizzing her

on the emotion behind them. She then challenges him:

- "Why don't you tell me something about me?" - "Okay. You have big crush on me and I know your name is Del Blaine." - "First of all, you wish; and my real name is Delilah."

It feels like a hearfelt scene that could have been used to further connect the two

characters. Any other film with a male and female character placed in such a physically

tight space that is further enchanced by close-ups would certainly have taken that

opportunity. Instead, Blaine completely shatters any romantic possibilities between them

with a "you wish" that sounds curiously like a disgusted "ewwish," and we cut to the next

scene. Tong, meanwhile, seems oblivious to not only her feelings, but his own as well,

telling her she has a crush on him with no apparent motivation.

There is one female character who seems attracted to him, but she is completely

drunk and coded as both crazy and dumb. Tracking down Banning to a club, Tong and

Blaine infiltrate and discover James Brown in his dressing room. Tong can't resist

approaching him, and during their conversation the tuxedo accidently knocks him out.

Tong goes out in his place, setting the tuxedo to "funk," which allows him to sing and

dance just like the godfather of soul. Banning's fiancee is drunk and not all there. If her

57

eccentric behavior and high-pitched valley girl manner of speech weren't indication

enough, Banning himself refers to her as his “vacuous fiancée.” She is smitten with Tong,

who comes to their table after the performance and asks her for a dance. They go to the

dance floor and she asks him if he knows how to mambo. He checks the watch and

selects mambo, which the tuxedo promptly begins. Blaine, meanwhile, works on

seducing Banning. He is interrupted by one of his thugs who reveals that they are agents.

During this conversation between them, we get shots of Tong and his fiancee on the

dance floor, doing the most ridiculous-looking dance imaginable.

It is not the mambo, and whatever it is, it only works against any masculinity he may

have had thus far. Regardless, tong believes he can get important information from her,

so he accompanies her to her room. What follows is a comic scene in which she

aggressively pursues him around the room, gradually takes his clothes off, repeatedly

pulls him towards as he tries to keep away, and slaps his behind, all while uttering

phrases like "I've been a dirty girl" and calling him her "Little Emperor."

As I mentioned earlier, The Tuxedo removes Chan's natural physical abilities by

making the tuxedo responsible for all his athleticism. It grants him superhuman agility,

allowing him to run alongside a speeding car, climb up the side of a building with great

58

ease, and even defy gravity; all with the push of a button. Interestingly, much of the

acrobatic abilities Tong exhibits through the tuxedo are skills Jackie Chan can

accomplish without the help of special effects. In addition, the film features no major

stunts, either with or without the help of computer generated images. One would think

that the one Chan feature where literally anything is possible would include a big stunt

combining Chan's tried and true practical methods with cutting edge technology. Instead,

the shot that receives the treatment of being shown three different times from different

angles – a technique used in Chan's Chinese films during the biggest stunt in the film – is

the final collapse of the villain. I believe this to be The Tuxedo's biggest fault. Chan has

expressed his desire to work with special effects to enhance his stunts on numerous

occasions. Anyone familiar with Chan's previous body of work in Asia is aware of

innumerable stunts accomplished without the aid of special effects that are far and away

more impressive than anything in The Tuxedo. One single example is the incredible

run/slide down the exterior of a skyscraper in Who Am I?

Besides the inhibited action scenes, the film also leaves little room for his

character to develop or display any kind of morality or dramatic tension. Instead, Tong

appears to simply go along with all the things thrown his way with little motivation. The

only instance in which we feel a definite motivation takes place in the very beginning

when Steena hires him. Initially, he pushes the offer side, claiming he already has a job.

When Steena offers much higher pay than he currently gets, Tong immediately asks

“When do I show up?” We don't know anything about his character in terms of his past or

family relationships, points that are often at the forefront in other Jackie Chan films. All

we know is that Tong is a good driver and lacks confidence when it comes to women. By

59

the end of the film, nothing has changed. He is still a good driver who is unable to speak

to women who interest him romantically. And while he is clearly not asexual, his role in

the film is still “characterized by ineptness and a lack of autonomy” (Choi, 210).

Shanghai Noon & Shanghai Knights

The films offer a similar set up as the Rush Hour films: a buddy action comedy

starring Jackie Chan. His character, however, is given much more room to breathe than in

Brett Ratner’s trilogy. I believe Shanghai Noon to be Chan’s best Hollywood production

in terms of combining his well-established persona from the East with the cinematic

conventions and expectations of the West. I believe a major factor in contributing to this

feeling is the flexibility the directors of the two films were able to afford Chan in putting

together the action sequences, frequently butting heads with the studio in favor of Chan

receiving more time to do what he does best.

When Princess Pei Pei (Lucy Liu) is kidnapped from the Forbidden City and held

for ransom in Carson City, Imperial Guard Chon Wang (Chan) is sent to bring her back.

He crosses paths with wannabe outlaw Roy O’Bannon (Owen Wilson) multiple times

until they form an unlikely partnership to save the day. Chon is honorable, traditional,

and extremely devoted to the Emperor and his duty to bring back the Princess. Roy only

enjoys the trappings of being an outlaw, like the appeal to women and romanticism

behind it all. They both share a child-like innocence and purity about them that brings

them together and creates a wonderful chemistry.

As has already been discussed, the Rush Hour films appear to place Jackie in a

supporting role to Chris Tucker, even though they are meant to be co-leads. Tucker has

all the funny lines and steals scenes away from Chan with his non-stop improvisational

60

dialogue and his signature hard-to-ignore high pitched voice. This role subordination is

clearly expressed through the placement of the opening credits. In the first Rush Hour,

both actors’ names appear on screen at the same time with Chan’s on the left (first) and

tucker’s on the right (second). The next two installments see a reversal, with Tucker’s

name on the left and Chan’s on the right, even though Chan is beyond a doubt the more

successful and popular actor of the two. In this regard, Shanghai Noon stays true to

Chan’s popularity and persona from the very beginning: Chan’s name appears on screen

first and alone. It fades out and Owen Wilson’s name fades in next. The same is true for

the sequel Shanghai Knights. This is not to say, however, that Chan takes the lead role in

a similar way as Tucker in Rush Hour. The significance of the credits is that his immense

popularity is immediately acknowledged, even next to a well-established and popular

actor like Owen Wilson, who can comfortably be labeled a more successful actor than

Tucker. Indeed, Chan and Wilson truly feel like co-leads in this feature and share a great

chemistry together.

Their relationship is not based on insults and jibes but rather a mutual respect and

admiration for one another. While they certainly get into arguments, neither character

personally insults the other in any malicious or rudely humorous way. Chon’s Chinese

origin feels exciting and mysterious to Ray as opposed to a source of discrimination or

racist jokes. Roy only makes one incorrect cultural reference, which feels more like it

stems from an innocent lack of knowledge than the blatant maliciousness one feels with

Tucker’s jabs. As they’re about to go their separate ways, Roy tells Chon, “I guess this is

what your people call sayonara” referring to the Japanese word for good-bye as opposed

to the more appropriate Chinese one. Instead, Shanghai Noon depends on comedy that

61

rises out of particular situations, such as Chon’s horse that acts like a dog, and the

cultural miscommunications that arise between Chon and the Native Americans. As

director Tom Dey mentions in the commentary of the DVD, “If we’re making fun of

anyone, it’s white people.”

Jackie Chan’s sexuality takes on a refreshingly positive form for a Hollywood

production. In fact, he is given not one but two interesting romantic relationships: one

with a Native American woman named Falling Leaves and the other with Princess Pei

Pei. Chon is given wrong directions and ends up in Crow territory where he saves a Sioux

boy by defeating six members of the Crow Tribe. The tribe holds a celebration in his

honor, during which he enjoys a generous amount of smoking from a peace pipe and

passes out. The next morning, he wakes up in a teepee with paint on his face and a naked

woman by his side. He nervously comes out of the teepee to applause and cheers from the

rest of the tribe. Chon has unwittingly married Falling Leaves. He does his best to reason

with them that he cannot take her with him, prompting his new wife to tell the tribe “He

did not complain last night.” The amount of sexuality this single sequence reveals in

Chan’s character is more than has been afforded to him in all of his Hollywood films

combined. His physicality gains him a mate, and his sexuality makes her his wife.

His relationship with Pei Pei also feels different from his other on-screen

Hollywood relationships. I believe this difference arises from the logically established

interest displayed between the two characters throughout the film. In the opening scene of

the movie, we are in the Forbidden City where Princess Pei Pei approaches on her sedan.

All of the soldiers on the ground bow in devotion with their heads down as she is carried

past them. Chon is the only one who looks up to sneak a peak at the princess, clearly

62

mesmerized by her beauty. Pei Pei meets his gaze and returns it with a humored and

sweet smile. A little later we see him inside the palace scrubbing the floors outside her

room where she is being taught English with the book “The Frog Prince.” His feelings for

her are further revealed when Roy keeps pushing Chon for more details about the

princess. Chon replies defensively that Roy is not worthy of speaking about her.

Chon’s relationship with the two women is given closure in the end of the film

when Pei Pei, Chon, Roy, and Falling Leaves stand side by side at a celebration being

held by the Chinese workers. Roy continues to hit on Falling Leaves until she grabs him

and kisses him. Chon and Pei Pei look on surprised until Pei Pei slides her hand into

Chon’s and they smile. This ending has been criticized for making their relationship

subtle, and by being insulting to Asian men for depicting them as being “not as good as

the white guy” (Chin, 18). I disagree. While holding hands may seem childish and

incredibly innocent for a western audience, it perfectly falls in line with many of Chan’s

on-screen relationships in his Chinese-language films, such as Police Story which has

already been discussed. In order for him to be with Pei Pei, Falling Leaves has to be

taken out of the picture; so why not let Roy have her so that both our heroes can have

love in their lives? As I have stated in the introduction, what matters to me is not the level

of physicality Chan reaches with a woman or his success with white women in particular,

but rather how logically the relationship is established and executed within the narrative

of the film.

Unfortunately, many of the positive aspects I described above are done away with

in the sequel, Shanghai Knights. Within minutes of the film’s opening, we learn that Pei

Pei will not be in this film. In Carson City, sheriff Chon checks the noon coach that

63

arrives every day in hopes of it carrying his princess, who he says is “married to her work

in San Francisco.” In other words, Chan has no sexuality. This idea is further explored for

comic effects when Chon joins Roy in New York looking for his share of the emperor’s

gold they had saved in the first film. Unbeknownst to Chon, Roy is a waiter/gigolo in the

hotel and has arranged for Chon and him to sleep with different women for money. When

Chon finds a woman in his room expecting sex, he storms out into the hallway absolutely

frightened and knocks on Roy’s door, demanding an explanation. He gets rid of him to

get back to the woman he’s about to bed when the girls’ father, the mayor, arrives

demanding to know where his daughters are. Roy runs out to get Chon from his room. He

opens the door and sees him and the woman in an incredibly awkward and suggestive

position, but it turns out he’s just giving her a massage.

Another way in which this film differs from the original is that “Chan’s identity as

the Other, a Chinese man, figures prominently” (Choi, 208) in much the same way that it

does in the Rush Hour trilogy and other Hollywood productions. This focus on his

otherness is displayed through the jokes made at his expense by Roy in relation to his

ancestry. After knocking down a thug, Roy tells Chon, “I call that my kung pao chicken”

recalling the scene in Rush Hour where Tucker refers to the bad guy as another Chinese

64

dish, “sweet and sour chicken.” To reach the bad guy, our heroes wear disguises to attend

his party; Chon is a Maharaja and Roy is a captain. They share this bit of dialogue before

going in:

- Chon: I look like a fool. - Roy: What?! You’re a maharaja. That’s Indian royalty. - Chon: But I’m Chinese. - Roy: It’s the same thing.

In addition, he calls Chon a “little Chinese otter” and angrily tells him “you think

you’re so cool with your karate and childlike reflexes.” Throughout the length of the

movie, we get the sense that the balance in their relationship has shifted to the same that

Chan shares with Tucker in their films together. At the same time, Roy has taken on the

characteristics of Tucker, turning into a womanizer who flirts with every woman on

screen, even at the expense of their mission. He stalls with trivial pursuits that lead Chon

to utter the phrase “We are wasting time. I must find…,” a common piece of dialogue

between Chan and Tucker in their films together.

One aspect in which the film still retains a positive representation for Chan lies in

the action scenes. As the writers’ commentary reveals, director David Dobkin

consistently fought for Chan to have a few extra days for each fight scene, enabling him

to do what he does best. Shanghai Knights features more elaborate and lengthy

choreography than his other Hollywood films, including a fight with multiple cops in a

revolving door and an innovative martial arts take on Gene Kelly’s famous Singin’ in the

Rain number, involving an umbrella and several thugs.

Overall, the Shanghai films feature a Jackie Chan that simply appears more

comfortable on screen than in his other American productions. He does not seem to be

weighed down by the tightness of the suit and tie he wears in the Rush Hour films and we

65

get the feeling that he is loving every minute he’s in cowboy clothing. Even with all of its

faults, I believe Shanghai Noon, and to a lesser extent Shanghai Knights, to be the most

successful integration of the Jackie Chan persona into a mainstream American film.

Conclusion

Jackie Chan’s films in America have seen him consistently placed alongside a co-

lead with the appearance that his screen partner is the sidekick. Unfortunately, in the

narrative of the film, his character continuously presents characteristics generally

associated with a sidekick, such as being the butt of the jokes, lacking autonomy, and

lacking authority in leading the narrative along. To top it all off, his dramatic acting is

relegated to bursts shorter than the ones in his Asian films, which by comparison can feel

like full-blown dramas. In the audio commentary for both Shanghai films, director Tom

Dey and screenwriters Al Gough and Mark Millar independently express surprise at

Chan’s dramatic talents. Dey explicitly states that he was aware of Chan’s gifts with

physical comedy but had never seen him play any emotions. My only response to such a

statement is that the director had likely never seen a non-American Jackie Chan film.

Even one of his most well known trademarks, the outtakes, suffers in his

American films. In his Asian films, the outtakes involve stunts gone wrong, with very

few of them being flubbed lines. Indeed, it is the outtakes that “create the myth of Jackie

Chan. Portrayed as a comedian, a common man in the films, Chan becomes a superhero

in his outtakes” (Lo, 97). His American films, on the other hand, feature outtakes in

which the majority feature Chan forgetting his lines or flat out getting them wrong. The

screenwriters even claim that a problem Chan faces now is that his English has improved

to the point that there won’t be anything left for the outtakes. When they do feature

66

stunts, they are truly minimal compared to those in his Asian films, where his life is

undeniably on the line. It has been suggested this may involve his increasing age, but this

idea is immediately discarded when one sees the films he continues to make in Asia to

this day; several of which I will discuss in the next chapter.

67

Chapter 3 Asia

1999 – Present

68

Jackie Chan’s audio commentary featured on the DVD of Gorgeous is quite

revealing in a number of ways. He has repeatedly been quoted in articles and interviews

in ways that make it clear he has a thorough understanding of his persona and branding.

His commentary furthers this perception of him. He has also been very upfront about how

he feels about his movies and their popularity in different markets. He is clearly a smart

businessman and is aware of what his audience wants from him in different markets. In

the commentary, he discusses the making of Gorgeous from its inception. The road the

film took from idea to finished film tells us a lot about the gradual transition Jackie Chan

has been taking.

He explains that he has always wanted to do more dramatic films since he actually

prefers the genre to comedy, but it was his godfather and Golden Harvest co-founder

Leonard Ho who would always say no. Chan would always oblige. It was Ho who

disagreed with Chan appearing as one of the leads in Chen Kai Ge’s controversial

Farewell My Concubine. When Chan wanted to kill his character off in Police Story 3, it

was Ho who told him “Jackie Chan never dies.” He would never even let him lose a fight,

which Chan greatly desired to do. He did not want Chan to be in a dramatic film because

of the limited market reach compared to his world encompassing action films.

This all changed, however, on the set of Rush Hour, when Chan got a call from

Hong Kong telling him that Leonard Ho had died. As he says himself in the commentary,

he feels that “Now [he] can change.” With no one to stop him, Jackie Chan has been able

to take on the more dramatic roles he has always desired; at least in Asia. The following

films, which I will cover in chronological order, reveal a gradually increasing move

69

towards more dramatic fare. They are: Gorgeous, New Police Story, The Myth, and

Shinjuku Incident.

In 2004 he started his own production company, Jackie Chan Emperor Movies

Limited (JCE), for which he serves as the chairman. To date, the company has produced

nine features, four of which star Chan himself: New Police Story, The Myth, Rob-B-

Hood, and Shinjuku Incident. These films follow his attempts at changing the amount of

control he has in his productions. In an interview on the DVD of The Myth, he tells us,

I used to have too much say in my movies, imprinting them with the Jackie Chan formula. But now I let the professionals decide on the costume and everything…Being innovative is hard, really. Doing a love story with no action would be innovative enough for me. But the market doesn’t allow me to do so. At the same time, I am bored with pure action movies. So I have to strike a balance. The solution is to look for a script I like, so that I can do something exciting with being a cop again. That is not easy at all. I am now trying to do that. Gorgeous

The film signals a new phase in Chan’s career with roles that go beyond his usual

action roles. The road to production says a lot about his persona and what audiences

expect from him. It should be said, however, that by saying “what audiences expect from

him” does not imply that it goes against his own will. Chan has been very upfront about

the responsibility he feels to his audiences and backers. It is a responsibility he does not

take lightly.

Having met with director Vincent Kok, Chan fell in love with the fairy tale story

of Gorgeous and joined as a producer to help fulfill the director’s vision. It was never his

intention to star in the film. However, the actress they wanted for the film was new and

nervous, and would only do it if she starred opposite Chan. After the death of Leonard

Ho, they worked it out plot-wise for Chan to be in the lead, turning the character into a

70

businessman whose hobby was boxing and fitness training. They also incorporated some

action scenes and one-on-one fight scenes. By the time all of these changes were made,

the actress had other commitments and was unable to do the film. With no one to stop

him, Chan stayed in the lead role and they were finally able to find Shu Qi for the lead

female.

From the beginning, his intention was for this to be a happy movie, a task

accomplished by everything from the music to his choreography as well as the characters.

There is no real evil villain in the film, and the action scenes are more fun and harmless

than the more violent sequences that put his character’s life at stake.

The film tells the story of Bu (Shu Qi), a country girl from a small fishing village

in Taiwan who finds a bottle in the ocean with a romantic message inside. The message

takes her to Hong Kong looking for love, but it turns out the author of the message,

Albert (Tony Leung) is gay. Through a series of circumstances, she ends up with C. N.

Chan (Jackie Chan), a womanizing millionaire businessman who owns a large recycling

company. They hit it off right away. She doesn’t want to grow up and is quite childish.

He has been too absorbed with work and competition with his main rival, Howie (Emil

Chau), who is also his best friend. As the DVD case describes it, he “battles his corporate

rival by day and wines and dines sexy women by night.” He finds her innocence

refreshing and liberating. She teaches him about the simple pleasures of life that he has

forgotten on his competitive quest for success, like the beauty of looking up at the stars

and the importance of being happy. After inevitably losing her because of his selfishness,

he realizes she taught him the importance of enjoying life and wins her back.

71

This is the first time in his career that Chan has played a businessman. He is

incredibly wealthy, athletic, and appealing to women. He’s a charming playboy and a bit

of a jerk. He has had numerous girlfriends in the past, appearing with a new one each

week on the covers of the tabloids. He has never had a lasting relationship and does not

seem to care much for women, who, like everything else in his life, are treated like

nothing more than contracts. We are told early on in the film by Chan’s butler that he

needs to settle down. Chan is so preoccupied with his business, however, that it is not

really an option for him. That is, until he meets Bu. Needless to say, Chan’s romantic

appeal is in full swing in this feature. He is incredibly charming and possesses all the

qualities of the typical romantic leading man. He has been with countless women and

unashamedly admits to dating his rival’s girlfriend right to his face.

Howie and Chan are incredibly competitive in every aspect of their lives, with

Chan wanting to buy out his friend’s company from under his nose. Yearning to

embarrass Chan, Howie hires a fighter from a lower weight class to fight him in his place

so that defeat will be extra humiliating. They wear gloves in the fight and do not use any

weapons or pull any dirty tricks. It is an honest, fair, and competitive fight with no

personal feelings on either side. The fight features some great physical acting from Chan,

who has often been compared to the silent film comedians, capable of revealing a lot

about his character without saying a word. Chan is fiercely competitive, doing his best to

keep up with the more fit Alan. After a few minutes of mostly evading Chan’s strikes,

Alan humiliates his opponents by changing his gloves for ones with more cushion in

order to make the fight more even. As the fight goes on, Chan is repeatedly struck with

visible physical and psychological effects while Alan barely seems to be trying. Alan

72

finally knocks him down with a blow to the head. Chan tries his best to get up but finally

admits defeat, with a look of absolute shame and embarrassment in his eyes.

He is utterly humiliated with defeat in their first contest, making him realize that

he has not trained in a long time due to his business preoccupations. He also admits to Bu

that he hates training alone. Bu tries to comfort him and makes him laugh, prompting her

to say, “See how nice you look when you laugh? When you were out there earlier, you

looked so grumpy and sad. That’s probably the reason you lost.” She motivates him to

start training, promising that she will join him if he takes a day off from working to have

fun. What follows is a training montage that according to Chan’s commentary accurately

depicts his personal training regiment.

Like the shirtless scenes featured in so many of his earlier films, Chan’s body is

once again on display during this montage.

While not shirtless, he wears a sleeveless shirt with openings on his lower torso. We see

him sweating profusely, his muscles once again bulging and glistening, as he does push

ups, lifts weights, and practices on his punching bag. The montage also includes glimpses

of the things they do for fun, including swimming. We see them swim around each other

with nothing but happiness in their eyes. They bring their heads together for what could

be a kiss, but the film then cuts to the next scene. Interestingly, the actual underwater kiss

73

is included as the last scene of the outtakes reel that runs over the closing credits. In the

commentary, Chan mentions that he put it there because he was still unsure about how his

audience might react to a kissing scene in his film: “Give me time. Maybe this movie one

kiss, next movie have a long kiss.”

His second fight with Alan is a bit awkward plot-wise. Chan sits in his factory;

depressed that he has lost and hurt Bu. His butler comes in to try and cheer him up.

Suddenly, his rival’s henchmen show up, saying they want revenge for Chan having

caused their boss’s bankruptcy and costing them their jobs. Just then, Alan shows up,

saying that he’s heard Chan has been training. When asked if his rival paid him, he

replies that Howie’s broke and it’s not about the money. Clearly, he just wants the

pleasure of a challenging fight. However, plot-wise, it seems odd and convenient that he

should be there at that exact moment, presumably in the middle of the night when he

wasn’t even paid to do anything.

Chan goes through the second fight more successfully than the first, and reaches a

turning point when he sees a newspaper in a pile with an ad that says, “Just smile.” This

reminds him of Bu’s earlier words and all the good times they shared together. From this

point on in the fight, Chan has a smile on his face that not only serves to distract and

confuse his opponent, but also makes him a more relaxed and therefore more efficient

fighter. As a further point of character development for Chan, he still admits defeat after

beating Alan, saying that if they were in the same weight class, he would have never

stood a chance.

Whereas their first fight is nothing short of tense and humiliating for Chan, the

second fight includes some comic moments, all of which occur after he has put a smile on

74

his face. One bit sees Chan flipping Alan around him as though they were dancers,

calling to mind an earlier scene between Chan and Bu. Another finds the pair striking

each other repeatedly, making them cross-eyed and off-balanced, exaggerated for comic

effect.

The idea of his character needing to smile and be happy in order to win seem to

be an interesting commentary on Chan’s own dilemma in his films. Chan, the actor,

yearns to be serious and successful, much like his character in Gorgeous, a role he admits

is about 60-70% faithful to his true self. However, he must realize that to be truly

successful, what really matters is being happy and smiling, even in the face of adversity.

In other words, Chan is nervous and aware that if he does not smile in his films, they will

not be as successful.

Gorgeous is a revolutionary film in Chan’s career, calling to mind the similar

importance of the original Police Story. Both films were made as a response to his poor

experiences in trying to break into the American market. Both films allowed him to do all

the things he wanted to according to his needs at the time. In the case of Police Story, he

firmly established his trademark action/comedy choreography by creating exciting

sequences that no one had ever seen before. With Gorgeous, Chan was able to make a

film that could pave the way for him to star in the dramatic films he has wanted to make.

Free of Leonard Ho’s control, Chan was finally able to lose in a one-on-one fight, play

the lead in a romantic comedy, and develop a character that displayed more dimensions

than his previous films were able to do.

The film can be regarded as the first step in changing his persona towards a more

dramatic bend while keeping some of his familiar characteristics intact. His character’s

75

morality, for example, is in full effect, reflecting much of Chan’s personal concerns. His

character’s decisions are based on the “right thing to do,” even if it goes against his

advisors’ judgments. He runs a recycling company with the noble intention of improving

the environment. In the end of the film, it is finally revealed that Chan’s motives for

shutting down his friend’s company did not stem from competition, but from their use

and disposal of Styrofoam, a material harmful to the environment. We also get a view

into Chan’s feelings towards exercise. Having dedicated his life to health and exercise, he

tells Bu that the purpose of exercise is not the ability to beat someone up, but rather the

development of a strong body and a sharp mind. Even in writing this piece on the film, it

is easy to confuse Chan the character and Chan the actor, since they are more

interchangeable than usual. Within Gorgeous, we see Jackie Chan’s struggles in wanting

to change from an action star to a dramatic actor. He tests the waters with the film and is

careful to maintain a lot of the qualities he has been known for. His intended career

trajectory, however, is undeniable.

From Gorgeous onward, we see Chan’s characters progress dramatically and

romantically in Asia, while his American films continue the comedic trend with

increasingly lowbrow fare.

New Police Story

The film marks a dramatic departure for Chan’s on-screen character. While the

title seems to refer to arguably his most well known films, this film bears no connection

to any of the previous Police Story installments in character, tone, or theme. It is also a

great example of Bordwell’s description of Hong Kong movies’ tendency to feature

happenings that may appear strange to Western audiences (19).

76

The film opens on a hard-drinking Chan. He stumbles drunkenly out of a bar and

into a cab, but the driver throws him out, saying the last time he took him, he threw up all

over his car. He ends up in an alley, throwing up and barely able to stand on his own legs.

Finally, he collapses on the floor with a bottle by his side. Needless to say, this is Chan

like we have never seen him before. Within the first few minutes of the film, he shatters

all the conventions of his most well known roles. He does not appear to have any dignity

or morality, or even shame for his current situation.

After the unsettling depiction of a disheveled and drunken Chan, we are shown

the events of a year prior, which led him to where he is at the film’s opening. We are in

an intense hostage situation and see Chan exhibiting some of his more familiar

characteristics, though with a slightly more dramatic and darker tone. He is commanding,

authoritative, and tough. He does what he needs to get the job done and is clearly

respected and admired by the other cops around him. His manliness is undeniable.

It is also made clear that he is sexually appealing with the fact that he has a

fiancée, Ho Yee, who loves him very much. Her younger brother is a member of Chan’s

special tactical team. The main plot of the film kicks in when a gang of young, rich,

spoiled, video game loving, cop-haters robs a bank. They see Chan claim on television

that his team will capture them in 3 hours, a boast they take as a direct challenge.

Approaching their warehouse hideout, it is clear the gang has been expecting Chan and

his team. They are led through a labyrinth of hallways and death traps, with members

being picked off one by one while Chan remains helpless, forced to listen to their cries

and moans. He finally finds his way back out to the main area in the warehouse where he

77

is faced with a gruesome image unlike anything we have ever seen in a Jackie Chan film.

His men hang off the ceiling, tied up, bleeding and groaning in pain.

The gang approaches him and forces him to play games for his men’s lives. They

challenge him in mounting a gun as well as hand-to-hand combat. He loses the games and

his men are dropped to the ground, his future brother-in-law among them. With each

passing second, Chan becomes an increasingly broken man, toyed with by the gang for

no particular reason. He is even forced to bow down to their leader, which he does

willingly in a mess of tears. As the gang escapes, Chan discovers bombs planted along

the base of the building. He pulls a cart and piles his men’s bodies onto it, pushing them

out of the warehouse with all his might as explosions go off behind him and bodies roll

off the cart; another powerful and unexpected image in a Jackie Chan picture.

78

Leaning against a fire truck in the aftermath of the entire incident, Chan is in complete

shock. The reason for his drunkenness is now abundantly clear.

Within the first few minutes of the film, we witness Jackie display a series of

emotions and behaviors we have never seen before. In the story’s chronological order, we

see him first as a common Jackie Chan type, minus the comedy. We then see him go

from commanding and authoritative to helpless and completely vulnerable, breaking

down in tears throughout much of the film. He loses a hand-to-hand fight and readily

admits defeat at the hands of the gang by performing the humiliating act of kowtowing on

command. Finally, he is in a state of shock and compulsive drunkenness. It is clear that

the dramatic opportunities for Chan are plenty.

As already mentioned, his sexuality is instantly acknowledged with the inclusion

of a fiancée for his character. Unlike most of his earlier films in China, including the

Police Story franchise, their relationship plays a much larger role in his character’s

development. After the incident takes her brother’s life, Chan is unable to bring himself

to see her again, convinced she would never forgive him. She wants to help him, but he

stays in bars and rinks all night, even changing the locks on his apartment so she can’t let

herself in. They are finally brought together in her apartment by Frank (Nicolas Tse)

79

forced to talk it out in an emotional scene. He realizes she has long accepted her brother’s

fate and is doing her best to move on, helping him realize that he is the one who cannot

forgive himself. Once again, he breaks down in tears, as he is reminded of the traumatic

event.

The film does share a similarity with the Police Story films of the past in that his

girlfriend is caught by the bad guys and used to strike at Chan’s character. Unlike the

other films, however, this situation is used for more than simply moving the action along.

In New Police Story, Joe (Daniel Wu), the leader of the gang, reaches her at the police

station and ties a bomb around her neck that she must keep balanced in order for it to not

explode. After evacuating the building, Chan and Ho Yee go to a safe room, where they

sit and receive instructions from the bomb squad over the intercom. They use this time to

finally speak from the heart for the first time since the terrible incident and share their

true feelings for each other. While he is nervous and scared for her life, she remains calm

and even blocks the timer of the bomb from his view so they can talk to each other. She

asks him if he loves her, to which he replies that he will always love her in this life and

the next, as tears begin to flow again. When he runs out of the room to get something to

freeze the bomb with, Ho Yee calmly lets the bomb lose its balance. Turns out it was just

a fake, with the real trigger attached to a pull-pin on her hair. As they exit the room, the

bomb’s timer counts down rapidly and finally explodes as they run out with all their

might.

Though the explosion physically scars her face, presumably for life, in the end of

the film Chan proposes and she accepts, making this film the closest he has ever gotten to

being married on screen. To provide a contrast, in Police Story 3, his girlfriend May also

80

gets kidnapped by the villains so that Chan will aid them in breaking out their colleague

from prison. Chan refuses to turn over their friend until they hand May over first. They

throw her out of a helicopter; she hits a car and falls on the road. Chan runs over to her,

tells someone off-screen to call an ambulance, and runs off to chase the escaping bad

guys. This is the last we see of her character in the series.

The sense of morality in New Police Story plays a little more subtly than in others

for the most part. We learn the lesson of the film in the final seconds as Chan realizes that

Frank was a boy he spoke to years before, as revealed in a flashback. Frank’s father had

come to some hard times and resorted to stealing food from a 7-11 in order to feed his

son. On the way out of the store, a truck fatally strikes him right before his son’s eyes.

While cops run over to kick his body and throw insults at him, Chan arrives at the scene,

tells them that thieves have dignity too and lays his jacket over the body. He pulls Frank

aside and tells him “This is the way of the world. It’s full of injustice. Many things can

make you sad. Forget the past. When you grow up, be a good man.” If the whole world

could put these words into practice, it would undoubtedly be a better place.

In addition, the film shows us the dangers of idleness and purposelessness. As I

have already mentioned, Jackie Chan is known for his love of exercise and health,

making it a major trait of many of his characters. In this film, his idleness takes the form

of dangerous alcoholism that he is only able to beat once Frank helps him find his

purpose again. This idea is also present in the gang members who are avid video gamers

and who, as Frank says, “have no purpose in life” since they have never been in want of

anything. This idleness leads them to do some terrible things that harm society instead of

improve it.

81

Even with all of these unprecedented changes from his usual formula, one can still

sense Chan’s trepidation in completely breaking new ground with the inclusion of some

familiar elements. For example, although this film is much more of a gritty cop drama

with plenty of gunfights, he still includes one-on-one hand-to-hand combat scenes with

one of the gang members on two separate occasions. Chan loses in their first encounter

but is triumphant in a rematch. Furthermore, the film includes a particularly lengthy gag

sequence that would have felt out of place in this film if it were not for Jackie Chan’s

presence and comic timing and abilities to pull it off. After identifying the ones

responsible for the murder of his colleagues, Frank and Chan’s investigation is stalled

when they are put in jail for Frank’s impersonating an office. Their friend gives them the

keys to free themselves and the comedy sequence begins. They sneak through the halls of

the police station to find a way out, but keep getting spotted at every turn. The

superintendent comes out of his office and sees them, but pretends he hasn’t seen

anything and returns inside. Further down the hall, they keep going as quietly as possible

when Frank kicks down a garbage can in the middle of a busy office. Everyone stops

what they’re doing and stares at them for a few seconds before going about their

business, pretending they didn’t see anything. It’s a humorous scene with each gag

masterfully and logically building on the last, until it quickly turns serious when they find

Chan’s main cop rival around the corner. Luckily he doesn’t stop them but offers his own

gun for the final showdown instead.

New Police Story allows Jackie Chan to reveal a more dramatic and emotional

side to his acting abilities. Crime Story had already more than proved his dramatic skills,

albeit limited to a certain intensity and stoicism. New Police Story allows Chan to play an

82

incredibly emotional and tragic hero who has completely lost his way. If there is a

negative aspect to his representation, it is that he becomes too emotional, breaking down

into tears throughout much of the film. When it comes to his sexual appeal, the film also

shows great progress in dealing with his onscreen relationship. His girlfriend’s peril is

used to develop his character in addition to moving the plot along, instead of being

exclusive to the latter purpose. These developments are logical progressions from the

foundations laid in Gorgeous, whose effects can also be seen in his next film, The Myth.

The Myth

The Myth sees Chan take on dual roles telling parallel stories centuries apart. In

the Qin dynasty, General Meng Yi (Chan) is sent to protect and escort the Korean

princess Ok-Soo, who has been given to the Emperor as a concubine for political reasons.

During her drop-off, Meng Yi and his troops are attacked by a group of soldiers led by

Ok-Soo’s betrothed. Both sides suffer heavy casualties, but Meng Yi survives to protect

and lead the princess back to the Emperor. On their journey, they suffer many hardships

together and fall in love. Meng Yi is honorable and dutiful, unable to run away with her

because of his duty. She wants to die, but he begs her to live forever. She replies that she

will live for him even thought it will be a painful and agonizing life. The Qin storyline

unveils through dreams and visions of Chan’s present-day character, Dr. Jack Chan.

Archaeologist Dr. Jack Chan has frequent dreams in which he takes the form of

General Meng Yi. William, an old physicist friend of his, comes to Jack for help with his

research in anti-gravity. William’s investigation has led him to an ancient myth Jack is

known for discovering, and the search might ultimately help Jack understand his dreams.

As they explore different tombs and areas, Jack is repeatedly faced with images and items

83

from his dreams, pushing him on to understand what appears to be a past life. They

discover the source of anti-gravity to be an ancient meteorite discovered by a Qin

emperor who killed everyone around him to keep its discovery a secret. From further

research and discovery, Jack and William pinpoint the location of the emperor’s tomb

behind a waterfall, where the presence of the meteorite has created a floating mausoleum.

Ok-Soo and one of Meng Yi’s captains are also inside. Once inside, Jack learns the

source of William’s funding, an old and corrupt colleague of theirs who Jack turned in to

the authorities in the past for unexplained reasons. He searches for the immortality pill,

but his plans are ruined when William removes a piece of meteorite and causes the cave

to come crashing down. Jack attempts to save Ok-Soo, but she refuses to go, realizing he

is not the real Meng Yi.

William, Ok-Soo, their colleague, and his thugs die in the cave-in, while Chan

successfully escapes. In the end, we see Jack completing a book about his experiences,

which he dedicates to William.

As General Meng Yi, Chan is given a full-blown romantic interest in Princess Ok-

Soo. It is revealed through several scenes just how much they love each other. He risks

his life to save hers, and she does the same. Their love is made strong by the hardships

they face and feels that much more powerful because their duties forbid them to express

it openly. He is a dutiful general who must accomplish his duty of ensuring the emperor’s

and his concubine’s safety. Ok-Soo’s duty is to maintain her role as a peace offering

between their respective countries. Their love is pure, simple, and strong. His masculinity

is affirmed by her deep love for him as well as his commanding presence as a general

who must keep his emotions in check. Chan approaches the role with a finely controlled

84

subtlety in his performance, embodying the mannerisms of a respected and disciplined

general from centuries ago.

His attitudes towards honor and duty are perhaps his most defining characteristics.

Unlike previous Chan characters, we see Meng Yi kill dozens of men in the battlefield

with a decent amount of splattering blood to boot. These acts might have questioned his

character’s morality in the present day, but in Meng Yi’s setting, they only add to it as it

furthers his honorable stature. He vigilantly stands by the princess’s side and risks his life

on multiple occasions because it is his mission and he must accomplish it. Once they

reach the Great Wall and safety, Ok-Soo expresses her desire to run away with him.

Meng Yi refuses, stating that they must remember their duties. Even in love, which

causes the princess to lose her judgment, Meng Yi is able to see that running away with

the princess would cause irrevocable harm to not only themselves, but their countries as

well.

Dr. Jack Chan shares some characteristics with Meng Yi. His appeal to the

audience is acknowledged before the general’s at only nine minutes into the film with a

shower scene in which most of Chan’s naked body can be seen.

85

He does not have a romantic interest, but does feel Ok-Soo’s love through his vivid

dreams. His most distinguishing characteristic, shared with countless other Jackie Chan

characters before him, is his incorruptible morality. Dealing with ancient artifacts and

their preservation, the film often recalls the scenes previously discussed in Drunken

Master II. Having found an ancient sword that belonged to Meng Yi during one of the

searches with William, Jack donates it to the National Museum of China with no

hesitation. William is outraged, feeling a sense of ownership to the sword since he has

put up the money for their expedition. Jack tells him: “The sword is a Grade One national

relic. It belongs to all of humanity. It’s only right we return it to the world via the

museum.” William presses on, and asks if he’d also give away the gravity-defying

meteorite once they found it. Chan’s reply is even more thorough this time around: “As

long as it’s someone else’s artifact, I’ll return them. No one can plunder relics from

someone else’s country and put them in their own museum. They call it ‘safe keeping’

but it’s theft. It’s despicable behavior.” The words are spoken calmly with authority and

no patronizing tone behind them. Only a person with a clear understanding of their own

moral codes could deliver them in such a way. In addition to his upstanding morals, we

are offered two alternative and increasingly negative codes of conduct. Their former

colleague/mystery benefactor has full knowledge of the selfish and wrongful acts he

commits and bears no remorse for them. He, too, has fully acknowledged where he stands

and how his actions are derived from that. William, meanwhile, is stuck in the middle,

unsure of his morality and seesawing between his ambitious desires to become a world-

renowned scientist and the code of ethics that he feels are keeping him from achieving his

goal. Without a doubt, it is Chan’s character that is in the right, though we do feel some

86

pity towards William having been used for such evil purposes and dying without

achieving his goal.

The film is also a good example of how to use special effects in a Jackie Chan

film. In short, the effects are used to achieve the aims of the story, instead of being used

on Jackie Chan’s body during action scenes. Obviously, the scenes involving

weightlessness called for digital effects, though it was also used in more subtle ways,

such as increasing the number of troops in wide shots during the Meng Yi segments. A

good contrast would be The Tuxedo, whose counterproductive use of special effects has

already been discussed.

The Myth gave Chan a chance to try a different genre and different characters.

With the Qin storyline, which has the potential to be its own full-length feature, he plays

in the style of epic films that many of China’s biggest stars have been producing. Hero,

House of Flying Daggers, Warlords, Battle of Wits, and Red Cliff are just a handful of

examples from the last eight years that have the same feel and tone as the sequences

featuring Meng Yi. In addition, Meng Yi also takes on the role of romantic lead. The

scenes in the present day, meanwhile, allow Chan to perform the real life stunts he is so

known and loved for, including an innovative and entertaining fight on a conveyor belt

made of rat glue. To top it all off, Chan is finally allowed the use of special effects in a

way that does not mess with his performance but rather enhances the story and helps

bring it to life for the screen. By telling two stories, he is literally able to be both heavy

and dramatic as well as a little more lighthearted and positive.

Shinjuku Incident

87

Released in Asia in 2009, Shinjuku Incident is far and away Chan’s most dramatic

role to date. The film is set in the 1990s when Japan faced an influx of illegal Chinese

immigrants. Chan plays Steelhead, a tractor repairman from a small village in China

whose girlfriend, Xiu Xiu, travels to Japan to live with her Japanese aunt. She promises

him that she will come back to get him after she has made some money. A long time

passes without any news so he decides to travel to Japan illegally to find her. He loses his

papers running away from the authorities so he can’t go back home. He meets up with a

friend from his village who lives with a group of illegal immigrants, getting odd jobs here

and there while he searches for Xiu Xiu. During a job at a restaurant, he finds her in the

arms of the Yakuza’s second-in-command, Eguchi. As one of the taglines for the film

says, “They destroyed his life. Now he’ll destroy them all.”

The film provides Chan with one of the most complex characters he has ever

brought to life, not to mention the darkest. Both his morality and masculinity are

represented in new and exciting ways. The film itself deals with grittier themes than we

are used to for a Jackie Chan film: illegal immigrants, deadly yakuza, extreme racism,

gory violence, and moral ambiguity.

Chan’s appeal is once again affirmed with a shower scene, or a public bath, in this

instance. Steelhead and his friend Jie (Daniel Wu) approach the baths with the camera

behind them, giving us a full view of their backsides. It should be said that Daniel Wu is

currently a big star in Asia and considered to be quite a heartthrob. Chan, who at 55 in

this film remains in fantastic shape, more than holds his own next to Wu who is twenty

years his junior. Additionally, Steelhead is given not one but two romantic relationships.

Xiu Xiu breaks his heart by marrying another man and becoming a mother. The look in

88

his eyes when he sees her daughter for the first time is heartbreaking. Tears swell up and

he remains speechless for some time before he lovingly picks her up and talks to her.

Once again, Chan’s dramatic talents are on display as he conveys more emotion and

feeling with his looks than many of his contemporaries. In this case, his face reveals a

man who imagines the girl in his arms to be his own daughter. As though for the few

seconds that Eguchi has stepped away and Steelhead, Xiu Xiu, and her daughter remain

in the room, he experiences the happiness he knows he could have had with her.

Despite the betrayal, he maintains strong feelings for her. In Japan he meets and

falls for another woman, Lily. They seem happy together and when things start to go very

wrong, she suggests they run away together to Brazil before anyone comes after him.

Instead, he admits to the two murders to the detective, in an attempt to right his wrongs.

She can’t believe it and realizes he’s still got it bad for Xiu Xiu, hoping her husband will

be either killed or arrested so he can be with her again. She slaps him in the face and

leaves him. Both relationships are more complex than any Chan has had on screen before.

His sexuality is further depicted through the first sex scene ever displayed in a

Jackie Chan film involving Chan himself. After seeing Xiu Xiu with another man,

Steelhead and Jie sit on the streets drinking away while two prostitutes across the street

keep trying to get their attention. Crushed, Steelhead says, “let’s go paint the town” in

reference to the prostitutes. We then cut to the inside of a dark building where Jie is

having sex with one of the prostitutes. The camera pulls back and pans to an adjacent

room where Steelhead and the other prostitute are also having sex. The camera only stays

on him for a few seconds before we are treated to some flashbacks he has about Xiu Xiu.

89

His morality also takes a new form for his Asian films. Instead of exhibiting

incorruptible morals, he fluctuates several times on where he stands, placing himself in a

large gray area between right and wrong.

He arrives in Japan illegally, meaning his entire life is illegal and constantly on

the run from the cops. Though this constant cloud of illegal status hovers above him, he

still appears to have many of the moral codes we are familiar with. When cops ambush a

group of illegal workers cleaning out the sewers, a mad chase ensues. Detective Kitano,

who chases after Steelhead and Jie, trips and falls in the rapidly flowing waters of the

sewers, screaming for help. Steelhead comes back and pulls him to safety before running

off again. His usual morality continues, as he becomes the voice of reason in the group,

telling them to be sensible and keep low so as to not draw unnecessary attention to

themselves. This all changes, however, when he sees Xiu Xiu with another man. From

that moment on, his goal is to make enough money to become a legal immigrant, no

matter what the cost. Under his leadership, they sell large amounts of illegal phone cards

and stolen goods, tamper with local gambling machines, and fight back as a group when

one of their own is attacked. He unwittingly saves the life of Eguchi who returns with a

request for Steelhead to kill two fellow yakuza leaders. As payment, Steelhead requests

legal immigrant status as well as control of the Shinjuku district where most of the illegal

Chinese live.

Having accomplished these goals through illegal means, Steelhead is determined

for him and his friends to make their living legally. He wants them to establish help for

incoming immigrants, keep drugs off the streets, and be an overall source of good to the

community. He delegates tasks to each of his friends and goes on with his own life,

90

opening a tractor shop and living happily with his girlfriend. That is, until the detective

approaches him to repay his debt for saving his life. He comes to Steelhead with

information about his friends who have all turned to illegal measures, including drug

dealing in order to make money.

He takes Kitano with him to confront his friends about their actions, asking them

“What have you turned into? All of you!” They accuse him of being too naïve. He

received a huge opportunity and responsibility but did not care to see it through all the

way, passing the task along to them. They all blame each other for what’s happened. At

the same time, unbeknownst to them, several Yakuza gangs are waiting outside the

building to ambush and murder Steelhead, his gang, and Eguchi. Eguchi is shot, but

hands Steelhead a flash drive with incriminating information against the Yakuza before

he dies. Steelhead is also shot but escapes and calls Xiu Xiu with news of her husband’s

death and instructions to meet him at the train station. The Yakuza intercept the call and

give chase along with the police. Kitano finally finds him down in the sewers on the

verge of death. Steelhead hands the detective the information and is pushed away by the

current, floating away to his death.

Throughout it all, his character’s motivation remains largely ambiguous. It starts

out simple enough since all he wants is to find his girlfriend. When that plan fails, his

goal is to attain the status of a legal immigrant and look out for his friends, though this

too is motivated by his anger. He seems to believe that the ends justify the means by

taking part in some seriously illegal activity in order to get what he wants, or at least,

what he thinks he wants. Once he achieves it, he foolishly assumes he will not have to

answer for any of his past acts. When it comes time for his judgment, he somewhat

91

redeems himself by turning over all the evidence against the Yakuza, however, his

motivations remain unclear. Lily’s discovery of his agenda to have Eguchi arrested so he

can be with Xiu Xiu raises a lot of questions the film refuses to answer. Was he

motivated by his love for her all along? Did he intend on taking down Eguchi from the

start in order to be with his sweetheart? We cannot know. What we do know is that he

maintained a phony relationship with Lily for an unspecified length of time that reveals a

lack of morality and sensitivity towards her.

Shinjuku Incident has not found release in Mainland China due to excessive

violence, including two graphic depictions of a hand being chopped off as well as some

disturbingly realistic portrayal of gunfights out in public streets. It is a Jackie Chan film

like no other, but one that makes perfect sense in the current path his career is taking. As

he states in an interview among the DVD extras of The Myth: “I don’t want to make a

movie with a Jackie Chan formula.”

Conclusion

In a 2008 interview with CraveOnline, Chan was asked to describe the kinds of

adjustments he has to make now that he is in his fifties. His reply:

“I think the last six or five years that you can tell I have changed my style. Right after, Around the World in 80 Days, then I go back to make New Police Story, The Myth, Rob B Hood, Rush Hour 3 and Forbidden Kingdom. Right after Forbidden Kingdom, I just finished a movie called Shinjuku Incident. It’s just totally, one percent action, heavy, heavy drama. The next one will be big action! Then coming [up] maybe a love story. I want to change. I want to be a real actor, not just action star” (Web). The films I have described in this chapter are not the only films he has made in

China since 1999. However, I feel they are the ones that have taken him increasingly

closer to his acting aspirations. Gorgeous established him as a romantic lead who strayed

92

from his earlier persona by possessing a selfish playboy attitude and featured a previously

unthinkable loss in a one-on-one hand-to-hand combat. The action, as well as the overall

tone of the film, is more lighthearted and pleasant than many of his other films whose

narratives repeatedly placed his life in danger. New Police Story furthered his romantic

appeal with a complex relationship that serves a more significant purpose in his

character’s development than in his earlier films, where his romantic interests often

played the role of an extra obstacle standing in his way. In addition, he plays a broken

man who loses his sense of purpose in life, offering him an unprecedented opportunity to

play an incredibly emotional character. The parallel storylines in The Myth allowed Chan

to experiment cleverly with the Meng Yi character while keeping relatively true to his

older persona with the contemporary story of Dr. Chan. With Meng Yi, he plays the type

of role that has become popular in recent years with the successes of Hero and House of

Flying Daggers, a genre he had never attempted before. Furthermore, his forbidden love

with the Princess feels passionate and true in a way that logically builds on the romantic

advancements he achieved with Gorgeous and New Police Story. The Myth also stands

out as the first film in which Jackie Chan dies, although it doesn’t quite feel that way

since it is the Meng Yi character who is killed, and not Dr. Chan. Chan is finally able to

kill his character off, but does it in a shrewd manner, making us feel like nothing has

gone wrong since his more familiar persona remains alive at the end of the film.

With the above description of a logical progression of films, the arrival of

Shinjuku Incident is entirely understandable. First, Chan is given two love interests, both

of which feature complex feelings and emotions. Second, as he mentions in the interview

quoted above, there is no action, at least not in his common style. The action is raw, gritty

93

and violent. Third, his character incontestably dies. While the other three films described

maintained a certain semblance of his past personas and narrative formulas in order to

ease audiences into significant changes, Shinjuku completely does away with them,

offering instead a dramatic film one would expect from any other dramatic actor.

94

Conclusion

95

By comparing specific sequences within the films of Jackie Chan, I believe I have

able to clearly illustrate the differences in his representation that takes place between

Asia and America. Many of these differences depend on stereotypes that historians

believe “date back 200 years…when immigrants started to arrive in the U.S. en masse as

cheap labor” (Pierson, 3). Other examinations of Jackie Chan have focused only on the

films he made before Rush Hour. However, by acknowledging his desire to be taken

seriously as a dramatic actor and including the films he has made since Rush Hour (and

perhaps more significantly, since the death of Leonard Ho) we are able to discover a

more accurate presentation of Chan’s artistic aspirations right now. His films in

Hollywood are stuck somewhere in between, with a focus on the family-friendly image of

his earlier career while Chan himself is ready to move on.

Jackie Chan has a career unlike anyone else in show business. While other careers

are made and broken with the success or failure of a single film, Chan has endured for

decades, consistently successful in all his ventures. After more than thirty years of

filmmaking in Asia, he has finally reached a point in which he feels comfortable tackling

characters, subjects, and themes that will challenge him as an actor. His American career,

meanwhile, is only twelve years old, and unfortunately appears to be regressing towards

simpler and less challenging scenarios, such as his most recent family-friendly release

The Spy Next Door (2010, dir. Brian Levant), in which he co-stars with country and

Disney Channel darling Billy Ray Cyrus and comedian George Lopez. Part of the

predicament is the lack of dramatic moments in his American films. His films in Asia

have consistently included drama within their narratives since the beginning of his career,

making the transition to dramatic actor a more fluid and successful one. His films in

96

Hollywood, however, have never established that particular side of Chan’s abilities,

opting instead to focus on the humor and action (though even that is largely toned down).

His next American release, set for June 2010, will be a remake of the 1980s

classic, The Karate Kid, wherein he takes the mentor role made famous by Pat Morita in

the original. Though we do not know all of his character’s dimensions in this film yet, it

can be safe to speculate that he will not be given any kind of sexuality or romance.

Indeed, the most important relationship in the original film is the father-son surrogacy

that develops between Morita’s Mr. Miyagi and Ralph Macchio’s Daniel LaRusso; a

surrogacy strengthened by the death of Miyagi’s wife in childbirth and Daniel’s lack of a

father figure. The trailers for the remake make it clear that the young boy moves to China

only with his mother, but they do not develop Chan’s Mr. Han character in any way.

Only time will tell what the film as well as the rest of his American career holds for him.

All we can hope for is that it does not take another thirty years for Chan and American

audiences to feel comfortable with his dramatic aspiration.

97

Works Cited

Bordwell, David. Planet Hong Kong: Popular Cinema and the Art of Entertainment. Cambridge, Massachusetts, and London, England: Harvard UP, 2000. Print.

Chan, Jackie. "Jackie Chan Is One Tough Sell." Interview by CraveOnline. Crave Online.

Crave Online, Apr. 14, 2008. Web. May 2008. <http://www.craveonline.com/entertainment/film/article/jackie-chan-is-one-tough-sell-67899>.

Chin, Tracy. "Sayonara Stereotypes: The Depiction of Chinese/Japanese Americans in

Hollywood Cinema." AlphaVISION 2.1 (2003): 14-19. Print. Choi, Wai Kit. "Post-Fordist Production and the Re-appropriation of Hong Kong

Masculinity in Hollywood." Masculinities And Hong Kong Cinema. Ed. Laikwan Pang and Day Wong. New York: Hong Kong UP, 2005. 199-220. Print.

City Hunter. Dir. Jing Wong. Prod. Leonard Ho and Raymond Chow. Perf. Jackie Chan,

Joey Wang, Richard Norton. Golden Harvest, 1993. DVD. Crime Story. Dir. Kirk Wong. Prod. Leonard Ho. Perf. Jackie Chan. Golden Harvest,

1993. DVD. Donalson, Melvin Burke. Masculinity in the Interracial Buddy Film. Jefferson, N.C.:

McFarland, 2006. Print. Drunken Master. Dir. Woo-ping Yuen. Perf. Jackie Chan, Yuen Siu Tien. Seasonal

Films, 1978. DVD. Drunken Master II. Dir. Kar-Leung Lau. Prod. Leonard Ho. Perf. Jackie Chan, Ti Lung,

Anita Mui. Golden Harvest, 1994. DVD. Gorgeous. Dir. Vincent Kok. Perf. Jackie Chan, Shu Qi, Tony Leung Chiu Wai. Golden

Harvest, 1999. DVD. Heart of the Dragon. Dir. Sammo Hung. Perf. Jackie Chan, Sammo Hung. Bo Ho Film

Company, Ltd., 1985. DVD. Holmlund, Chris. “Celebrity, Ageing and Jackie Chan: Middle-aged Asian in

Transnational Action,” Celebrity Studies (2010), 1: 1, 96-112. Ji, Hoon Park, Nadine G. Gabbadon, and Ariel R. Chernin. "Naturalizing Racial

Differences Through Comedy: Asian, Black, and White Views on Racial Stereotypes in Rush Hour 2." Journal of Communication 56 (2006): 157-77. Print.

98

Kim, Daniel Y. Writing Manhood in Black and Yellow Ralph: Ellison, Frank Chin, and the Literary Politics of Identity. Stanford, Calif: Stanford UP, 2005. Print.

Kim, James. "The Legend of the White-and-Yellow Black Man: Global Containment and

Triangulated Racial Desire in Romeo Must Die." Camera Obscura 19.55 (2004): 151-79. Print.

Lo, Kwai-Cheung. Chinese Face/Off The Transnational Popular Culture of Hong Kong

(Pop Culture and Politics Asia PA). New York: University of Illinois, 2005. Print. Macadam, Alison. "Long Duk Dong: Last of the Hollywood Stereotypes?" NPR.com.

National Public Radio, Mar. 24, 2008. Web. <http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=88591800>.

The Myth. Dir. Stanley Tong. Prod. Jackie Chan. Perf. Jackie Chan, Tony Leung Ka-Fai.

JCE Movies Limited, 2005. DVD. New Police Story. Dir. Benny Chan. Prod. Jackie Chan. Perf. Jackie Chan, Nicholas Tse,

Daniel Wu. JCE Movies Limited, 2004. DVD. Pang, Laikwan, and Day Wong, eds. Masculinities And Hong Kong Cinema. New York:

Hong Kong UP, 2005. Print. Pierson, David. "Sex and the Asian Man." Los Angeles Times. May 12, 2004. Web. Jan.

16, 2010. <http://www.latimes.com/features/lifestyle/la-et-pierson12may12,1,5142041.story?coll=la-headlines-lifestyle>.

Police Story 2. Dir. Jackie Chan. Prod. Leonard Ho and Raymond Chow. Perf. Jackie

Chan, Maggie Cheung, Charlie Cho. Golden Harvest, 1988. DVD. Police Story 3. Dir. Stanley Tong. Prod. Leonard Ho and Raymond Chow. Perf. Jackie

Chan, Michelle Yeoh, Maggie Cheung. Golden Harvest, 1992. DVD. Police Story. Dir. Jackie Chan. Prod. Leonard Ho and Raymond Chow. Perf. Jackie

Chan, Brigitte Lin, Maggie Cheung. Golden Harvest, 1985. DVD. Rose, Charlie, prod. "Charlie Rose." Charlie Rose. PBS. PBS, July 25, 2001.

www.charlierose.com. Charlie Rose. Web. Mar. 14, 2010. <http://www.charlierose.com/view/interview/3019>.

Rush Hour 2. Dir. Brett Ratner. Perf. Jackie Chan, Chris Tucker. New Line Cinema,

2001. DVD. Rush Hour 3. Dir. Brett Ratner. Perf. Jackie Chan, Chris Tucker. New Line Cinema,

2007. DVD.

99

Rush Hour. Dir. Brett Ratner. Perf. Jackie Chan, Chris Tucker. New Line Cinema, 1998. DVD.

Shanghai Knights. Dir. David Dobkin. Perf. Jackie Chan, Owen Wilson. Spyglass

Entertainment, 2003. DVD. Shanghai Noon. Dir. Tom Dey. Perf. Jackie Chan, Owen Wilson, Lucy Liu. Spyglass

Entertainment, 2000. DVD. Shinjuku Incident. Dir. Derek Yee. Prod. Jackie Chan. Perf. Jackie Chan, Daniel Wu,

Naoto Takenaka. JCE Movies Limited, 2009. DVD. The Slanted Screen: Asian Men in Film and Television. Dir. Jeff Adachi. Prod. Robert

Chan. Perf. Mako, Cary-Hiroyuki Tagawa, James Shigeta, Et Al. Asian American Media Mafia Productions, 2006. DVD.

Snake in the Eagle's Shadow. Dir. Woo-ping Yuen. Perf. Jackie Chan, Yuen Siu Tien.

Seasonal Films, 1978. DVD. Studlar, Gaylyn. This Mad Masquerade: Stardom and Masculinity in the Jazz Age. New

York: Columbia UP, 1996. Print. Tasker, Yvonne. Spectacular Bodies: Gender, Genre, and the Action Cinema. London:

Routledge, 1993. Print. Teo, Stephen. Hong Kong Cinema The Extra Dimensions. London: BFI, 1997. Print. The Tuxedo. Dir. Kevin Donovan. Perf. Jackie Chan, Jennifer Love Hewitt, Jason Isaacs.

DreamWorks, 2002. DVD. Walzem, Allen. "Asian Masculinity and Contemporary Hollywood Film." Thesis.

Southern Taiwan University of Technology. Print. Who Is Albert Woo? Defying the Stereotypes of Asian Men. Dir. Hunt Hoe. Prod.

Germaine Ying. Perf. Hunt Hoe. National Film Board of Canada, 2000. DVD. Yuan, Shu. "Reading the Kung Fu Film in an American Context: From Bruce Lee to Jackie Chan." Journal of Popular Film and Television Summer 31.2 (2003): 50- 59. Print.