A Brighter, More Inclusive Future
Asian Women in American Sci-fi
With the excitement around The Matrix: Resurrections and The Book of Boba Fett earlier this year, I couldn’t help but notice a commonality between the two films: Asian women in starring roles. Indeed, critics have praised Jess Henwick (The Matrix) as Bugs and Ming-Na Wen as Fennec Shand (Boba Fett) for enlivening their widely-beloved respective franchises in their roles. This achievement in representation is a great leap from the American sci-fi that’s landed on screens, both big and small, in the last two decades.
As a long-time Marvel fan, this is not my first time rooting for Henwick and Wen. While I didn’t enjoy Iron Fist for various reasons and was only mildly entertained by The Defenders, Henwick’s performance as Colleen Wing was one of the highlights of Marvel’s Netflix series. Her character was fierce, complex, and arguably deserving of more screen-time (or a spin-off). The same could be said for Elektra, played by Élodie Yung in The Defenders and Daredevil. Not unlike Colleen Wing, Bugs is a strong leader and powerful fighter. Her faith in the legend of Neo and her persistence in gaining freedom are two driving forces in The Matrix.
Most known for her roles in Mulan (1998) and The Joy Luck Club, Wen first appeared in the Star Wars universe in The Mandalorian. She previously played Agent Melinda May in Marvel’s Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. from 2013 to 2020 alongside co-star and fellow Asian woman in sci-fi, Chloe Bennet (Daisy). Wen and Bennet carried the show and were my motivations for tuning in every week even when the plot got lost somewhere between seasons four and five. Wen’s Star Wars character, Fennec Shand, is a cunning and highly skilled bounty hunter and mercenary. Her dedication to her job and her unexpected compassion have made her a multifaceted, fan-favorite character.
However, while the aforementioned characters are multidimensional, not every Asian female character is written as such. In contrast to Fennec Shand’s prominence in Boba Fett, Kelly Marie Tran’s character, Rose Tico, was sidelined in Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker. She made her first appearance in The Last Jedi as a Resistance maintenance worker. By the end of the film, Tico grew as a Resistance fighter, risking her life to save others. Despite this character development, she was practically invisible in The Rise of Skywalker.
This practice of sidelining Asian female characters can also be seen in Marvel. Though she played a minor character with few lines, Shiori Kutsuna’s character, Yukio, in Deadpool 2 held little depth. She was cute and queer, yet unremarkable and forgettable. Within Marvel alone, there have been several similar instances of Asian women falling in the shadows of their white counterparts. As an X-men fan, I was thrilled when I learned of the casting of X-men: Apocalypse. However, I left the theater disappointed that Lana Condor (Jubilee) and Olivia Munn (Psylocke) had hardly any lines, compared to Hollywood icons Jennifer Lawrence (Mystique) and Evan Peters (Quicksilver), to name a few. Fan Bingbing (Blink) was given the same treatment in X-men: Days of Future Past. Though dressed to impress in their makeup and futuristic bodysuits, X-men’s Asian characters are rarely the stars of the show.
Asian women in sci-fi deserve more than a few seconds of screentime. Historically, American sci-fi films seem to favor Asian culture and aesthetics over Asian people. This borrowing of aesthetics can be witnessed in films such as Blade Runner and its sequel, and Cloud Atlas where settings appear inspired by the likes of Tokyo and Hong Kong, and characters dress in traditionally Asian-inspired clothing. Researchers David S. Roh, Betsy Huang, and Greta A. Niu describe this phenomenon as “techno-orientalism.” This concept has been explored in a Politically Invisible Asians piece by Kevin Li, which I encourage you to read. Of course, no one has forgotten the time Scarlett Johnasson played a Japanese cyborg in the live-action adaptation of anime Ghost in the Shell. In fact, this role has cemented her as a meme within the Asian American community, as many of us have dubbed her our “Asian icon.”
On par with being side-lined as background characters, is the reduction of Asian characters to stereotypes. Women in film/TV, regardless of genre, are continuously objectified. We see this in women running in skin-tight dresses and heels, positioned as damsels in distress instead of heroes. Asian women are indubitably objectified in ways white women are not. The fetishization of Asian women is deeply intertwined with our brutalization, as has been the case as far back as the 19th century. Modern media depiction of hypersexualized Asian women not only ties back to this harmful history, but also perpetuates it.
One stereotypical depiction of Asian women is that of a fierce, but one-dimensional, fighter, often with colorful hair or a blue or purple hair streak. This stereotype is so prominent that Meng’er Zhang, Xialing in Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings, spoke to the director about removing the red extensions in her character’s hair for the final cut of the film. Zhang shared in an interview that she read a Teen Vogue article about the stereotype and didn’t want her character to fall in line with the unfortunate trend.
In contrast, a character like Mantis of Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2 is more a depiction of the demure Asian woman stereotype. Mantis, played by Pom Klementieff, is an alien servant to a powerful God-like being. While seemingly self-aware of her subordinate status, she does nothing to fight against her master until the final act of the film. Film critic Anna Cabe likens this depiction of a passive Asian female servant to war brides brought to America from Japan, Korea, and Vietnam.
Being represented on screen also doesn’t protect actors and actresses from racism and harassment. A prime example is Kelly Marie Tran, who played the first prominent Asian woman (and woman of color) in the Star Wars universe. While some fans criticized the new trilogy and The Last Jedi specifically, others were deeply racist and misogynistic to Tran for simply countering their expectations for what a Star Wars protagonist could look like. The vitriol of fans was so intolerable that Tran chose to leave social media altogether for the sake of her mental health.
Sci-fi is a genre that goes beyond entertainment. Historically, sci-fi films use political themes, pulling from current events to shape their stories and worlds. After World War II, for example, the industry experienced a rise in films using nuclear technology as a plot device or central theme. One of the most popular sci-fi franchises, Star Wars, depicts rebels fighting a fascist regime. Since their inception in the early 20th century, these films represent human values, hope, and a future that we, as a society, can either fear or be inspired by. Why, then, is it such a tall ask that this future include multifaceted Asian women? While we are still several steps away from a brighter, more inclusive world of sci-fi cinema, I will continue to root for the Asian female lead. After all, what kind of future would it be without Michelle Yeoh?
To learn more:
Astria Suparak | Asian Futures Without Asians
Kevin Li, Politically Invisible Asians | “The Future of the Colonial Gaze”
Teen Vogue | “Why the Trope of Rebellious Asian Women With Colored Hair Is Problematic”
Vox | “The History of Fetishizing Asian Women” (content warning: mentions of graphic violence)
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