I REMEMBER the movie scene vividly. In a dimly lit cinema amidst a sea of white faces, a young Bruce Lee was sitting at the center of it all. 

He watched in horror as the crowd laughed maniacally at Mickey Rooney in crude yellow makeup, a white man playing a bumbling Japanese American landlord in "Breakfast at Tiffany's". Rooney had slick black hair, buck teeth, and screamed profanities in broken English. Audiences thought he was the best part of the film and until his death, Rooney was very proud of his role. Out of sheer embarrassment and white-hot rage, there was no other choice left for Bruce but to storm out of the theater that night and vow to make a change in the only way he knew how: taking control of his own narrative. 

At an impressionable age of 4, I didn't quite have a grasp on the concept of identity nor did I fully understand the magnitude of that scene, and yet I still felt the weight of anguish on Bruce's face — the torment of being an outcast. The scene was from 1993's "Dragon: The Bruce Lee Story"; even now, it remains as one of the rare mainstream American films to feature an Asian American in a leading role.

I still felt the weight of anguish on Bruce's face — the torment of being an outcast.

We like to celebrate, perhaps more than ever, this idea that anyone can be a hero. We preach, nay, cry from the rooftops that it does not matter the race, gender, creed, or sexuality, but rather, their character and integrity. 

Yet, in 2016, the idea of an Asian American superhero featured front and center in a large scale, big budget studio film is still considered to be a risky proposition. It has taken a long time for Asian American stories to get to where they are today. Although there are more than a handful of recognizable films, television series, and talent that we're able to identify off-hand, it still feels like trying to find a needle in a haystack. 

Asian American Pacific Islanders represent the fastest-growing population in America. According to a consumer report by Nielsen, which was also covered by NBC Asian America, Asian American buying power in the U.S. is currently at $825 billion and expected to increase to $1.1 trillion — 6.7 percent of total American buying power by 2020. 

If executives are after money, then why aren't they fighting harder to capitalize on this untapped goldmine? 

If executives are after money, then why aren't they fighting harder to capitalize on this untapped goldmine? 

There are countless reasons as to why these issues still remain: systemic racism, lack of cultural competency in our education, and fear — the fear of something different, the fear of upsetting the status quo, and the fear of a rising competitive film market in China. According to the Los Angeles Times, China is on its way to becoming the world's largest film market by 2017. 

Honestly, did you know who Chris Pratt was before "Guardians of the Galaxy"? He was the goofy dude from "Parks & Recreation". Screenwriter Max Landis argues that there are no "A-list female Asian celebrities". I say there isn't a system in place to create one. The notion that we can't apply this same formula that cultivated the likes of Chris Pine, Chris Pratt, Chris Hemsworth, Chris Evans, and every other Chris plucked from obscurity that's not an Asian American is not only blind foolishness, but inherently racist. 

Screenwriter Max Landis argues that there are no "A-list female Asian celebrities". I say there isn't a system in place to create one.

I don't want to diminish or trivialize these guys' accomplishments, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't talk about these issues critically. Asians can't sell a film here in the U.S., but we need a chance to prove ourselves before we are written off.

origins

I grew up loving and adoring movies and comic books. Stories were my sanctuary, a universe of endless possibilities where I truly believed that anyone could be a hero. I dreamt of the day when Asian Americans were not only represented in films and television in terms of sheer numbers, but also in an authentic fashion. The beautiful part about being a young and hungry filmmaker in the most technologically advanced and accessible time is that I don't have to wait for anything or anybody. If I can dream it, I can make it. 

 I don't have to wait for anything or anybody. If I can dream it, I can make it. 

As an impatient person, I don't enjoy waiting for my turn. Much like my hero, Bruce Lee, I decided to take control of my own narrative. My recent Marvel Comics fan film, "The Immortal Iron Fist", was birthed from a place of anger, impatience, and the burning desire to create sustainable change. My biggest takeaway from the process of making this film was that I didn't want my anger to consume me, but rather, channel it into something meaningful and productive. It is one thing to create dialogue and discourse on the subject of whitewashing and perpetual orientalism, but it's another to create solutions on top of that conversation without having to lose a piece of your soul in the process.

It's a privilege to create art for a living, but it's also a responsibility to create art ethically. We need to hold ourselves and others accountable for the way we portray human beings. Having an Asian or Asian American speak with an accent or perform martial arts without acknowledging their culture, heritage, or upbringing is not only insulting, but it is appropriation. This idea of stripping a human being of their voice, agency, and talents solely to make money off of their "exoticism" is sickening.

My father was born to a tailor and a homemaker in Bạc Li'u, a small province in Southern Vietnam. My mother was born into a middle-class Vietnamese family living in Laos' picturesque countryside. By the 70s, both of my parents' lives changed dramatically when the war stripped them of everything. They both fled to the States by necessity. They lost their home, family, friends, life as they knew it, and yet still contribute to a country that didn't fully understand them and their plight. 

Must they somehow earn the right to call themselves Americans? 

We may never hear these stories in mainstream American media, but that doesn't mean they don't exist. I'm here to prove that not only did they live, but that they also lived for a bigger purpose than to be reduced to puppets and servants for our enjoyment.

feature presentation

Iron Fist was a tricky character to adapt. The micro picture is that the original Iron Fist, aka Danny Rand, is a white, male character. Now, the macro picture, something that many have a difficult time with, is where does the martial art that Danny adopts come from? Here lies the problematic concept of the "white savior" entering a foreign country and culture, adapting and perfecting said culture, and then using it to better himself, rather than the people he uprooted it from. Asian people and culture in this narrative are used as tools that only benefit the non-Asian characters. 

Asian people and culture in this narrative are used as tools that only benefit the non-Asian characters. 

Race-bending and gender-bending a character could be game-changing if it's done with the right intentions: not for the sake of filling a diversity quota, but having it make sense culturally and adding another dimension of authenticity. Enter my Iron Fist: Sông, a fiery Asian American teenage girl.

In the writing process, I struggled to figure out how to justify an Asian character who knows martial arts, and avoid falling into stereotypical trappings and clichés. The most important fact I had to acknowledge as a writer is that martial arts in media has been adulterated for a long time — now a spectacle for show. 

I struggled to figure out how to justify an Asian character who knows martial arts, and avoid falling into stereotypical trappings and clichés

We must remember that the martial art is actually a form of storytelling. It is a physical expression, a legacy that's been passed down from generation to generation as a way to honor a culture, and was created to celebrate the stories and triumphs of the human condition, particularly for and of those of Asian descent. This made me more appreciative of the martial arts than I have ever been before. Of course, making the fight scenes as epic, brutal, and theatrical as possible is always a goal, but more importantly, I wanted to portray it respectfully and with the intent of celebration and not exploitation.

Filmmaking, at the end of the day, needs to be fun. Heck, we staged an enormous fight scene in the middle of a restaurant with an actor who had zero martial arts experience and only six hours to shoot the scene. I embraced these challenges to overcome the larger obstacles that inhibit me from acquiring the power to tell stories on a larger scale, and am overwhelmed with joy to have accomplished "The Immortal Iron Fist" with my dedicated cast and crew. It wasn't created solely out of spite; I wanted to honor my Vietnamese Chinese American heritage with something that is fun, pulpy, thrilling, dramatic, and truthful. I want folks to believe in these characters; they could be your family, friends, and neighbors. They're not just anybody, but they can be everybody. 

To fix something broken is to first acknowledge that it's broken. From there, we must build our own systems. Do not wait for handouts, table scraps, or a potential "shot" given to you by others. It's never going to happen. Now is the time for Asian America to no longer stand for being punchlines, the over-sexualized plaything, or a docile stepping stone for someone else's success. We must cultivate our own homegrown talents and empower those whose similar backgrounds are being used against them.

To fix something broken is to first acknowledge that it's broken.