The Power of Authentic Storytelling: Why Everything Everywhere All at Once Won Big at the Oscars
Everything Everywhere All at Once’s Oscars sweep follows some recent historic wins for Asians and Asian Americans in Hollywood. In 2020 Bong Joon-ho’s thriller Parasite nabbed four Academy Awards, including Best Picture—the first movie with a predominantly Asian cast to achieve the Academy’s highest honor. The following year, veteran actress Youn Yuh-jung became the first Korean and second Asian to win an Oscar for Best Supporting Actress for her work in Minari. In 2022 the blockbuster K-drama Squid Game made Emmys history with Lee Jung-jae receiving the best drama actor nod and Hwang Dong-hyuk being awarded best director for a drama series, making them the first Asians ever to win in their respective categories.
But what do Parasite, Minari, Squid Game and Everything Everywhere All at Once have in common?
They were all directed by a person of Asian descent (Everything Everywhere All at Once was co-directed by Asian American filmmaker Daniel Kwan) and featured a primarily Asian cast. With actors and directors of Asian descent rarely getting opportunities in Hollywood, it’s perhaps not so surprising that over half of these recent accolades went to Asians, and not Asian Americans (Michelle Yeoh is Chinese-Malaysian, and the aforementioned actors and directors who earned top honors for Parasite, Minari and Squid Game are all South Korean). It’s also unsurprising that it has taken nearly a century since the launch of the Academy Awards for a person of Asian descent to win best lead actress. In her Golden Globes acceptance speech earlier this year, Michelle Yeoh alluded to the racism she’d faced in Hollywood and its bamboo ceiling that had prevented her for 40 years from winning the recognition she truly deserved. Hollywood’s acknowledgment was also long overdue for her Everything Everywhere All at Once castmate Ke Huy Quan, who was forced to step away from acting for two decades when opportunities in Hollywood failed to materialize for him.
Even today, roles in major Hollywood productions are few and far between for actors of Asian descent, and for those who are lucky enough to be chosen, their characters are often reduced to cringey stereotypes. Asians and Asian Americans are almost never cast in complex leading roles where they’re able to shine—essentially thwarting any chances of receiving public or critical acclaim for their performances. An oft-cited 2021 study found that less than 6% of speaking roles and less than 4% of leading roles in Hollywood films went to Asians and Pacific Islanders. Even veteran Asian actors like Donnie Yen—who is a revered action star in Asia—still find themselves struggling to ensure they’re represented fairly in Hollywood. In a recent interview with GQ, Yen revealed how he had to talk Disney into making his otherwise one-dimensional Star Wars character blind, funny and more interesting. Later, he spoke up again when he was cast in John Wick: Chapter 4, negotiating (successfully) with the film’s director to change his name and outfit to seem less stereotypical. “The name was Shang or Chang,” Yen told GQ. “Why does he always have to be called Shang or Chang? Why can’t he have a normal name? Why do you have to be so generic?”
In the US, anyone who is not white is essentially trying to play by white America’s rules. That means that even if you’re an Asian or Asian American actor who’s landed a role in a Hollywood movie or TV show, your ability to demonstrate mastery of your craft will likely be hampered by a story that is often told through the white gaze. But the successes of Parasite, Minari, Squid Game and Everything Everywhere All at Once prove what Asian creatives are capable of when they’re not bound by limitations imposed on them by others simply because of their race or ethnicity. When we have Asian representation both in front of and behind the camera, we’re able to showcase our full potential because we are the masters of our own narratives. We’re allowed to be full-fledged human characters and share our stories in ways that resonate with our audiences, no matter who they may be.
As an Asian American, part of me bristles at the thought of lumping Asians and Asian Americans together into one category like so many [oftentimes racist] Americans tend to do. And yet I have to admit that in recent years, I’ve generally relied on Korean films and K-dramas as a source of pride and satisfaction in seeing onscreen Asian representation. For me, these stories coming from Asia feel so much more authentic and engaging than the American TV shows and films that might have one or two Asian American characters, but usually fall flat when dealing with Asian American experiences.
Yet as the Korean culture wave, or Hallyu, continues to swell in global popularity, I’ve been feeling a strange mix of pride and sadness while observing this ever-growing phenomenon. Because even though I’m pleased to see people around the world taking an interest in the culture of my motherland, I’m simultaneously reminded of how little Asian and Asian American representation there is in Hollywood—so little, in fact, that Asian Americans like me often have to resort to content from places like South Korea—a foreign country halfway across the globe—to see people like us on screen and to show other Americans that Asians too are fully capable of powerful storytelling.
For those of us who want to help shift this paradigm and tell stories that are actually about Asian American communities (and not about people in a faraway nation that we may or may not have any ties to), the odds against us can oftentimes seem insurmountable. Sure, trying to forge a successful career in entertainment is inherently risky for anyone anywhere. But trying to do so in America when you’re of Asian descent is particularly risky and difficult. I suspect that the daunting obstacles that Asian Americans face in Hollywood due to rampant racism in the industry prevent many of us from even considering TV or film as a viable career path in the first place.
But seeing Ke Huy Quan, Daniel Kwan and Michelle Yeoh (even if she’s technically not Asian American) win at this year’s Oscars has made me cautiously optimistic that in the future, there’ll be more demand in Hollywood for authentic Asian American storytelling. I, for one, am hoping that Everything Everywhere All at Once’s string of victories on the awards circuit means that Hollywood will invest in more films and TV shows led by Asian American creatives, instead of producing awful remakes of Korean and other Asian content. And for aspiring Asian American filmmakers and actors, I’m hoping that this is a sign that they won’t have to move to South Korea, Malaysia or another Asian country to find success or even break into the entertainment industry—that maybe, just maybe, like Ke Huy Quan or Daniel Kwan, we can achieve the American Dream right here at home.