Anna May Wong: In Her Own Words

Playing on PBS stations during the month of May

I'm pleased to announce that Yunah Hong's fabulous documentary Anna May Wong: In Her Own Words (2010) will be broadcast nationally on PBS during the month of May.

As I mentioned in my review two years ago, the heart of the film is the reenactment of Anna May Wong by actress Doan Ly, who performs excerpts from Anna May's published interviews and personal correspondence, as well as songs from her European stage shows. Some reviewers got hung up over this approach and were unable to make the leap of imagination necessary to see beyond Anna May Wong's iconic facade. But if you can let go of the fact that Doan Ly doesn't look 100% like Anna May, then I think you'll find that she embodies her spirit with a keen sensitivity and emotional depth. (Doan Ly, by the way, has the same smile in her eyes that Anna May had.)

Yunah Hong's documentary brings new life to the story of Anna May Wong and is highly recommended to both diehard fans and curious bystanders. Check out the preview and mark your calendars!

UPDATE 5-20-13: I just noticed that PBS is now streaming the film directly from their website: http://video.pbs.org/video/2365001055/. Not sure if it's viewable for users outside the U.S.

Congrats to Chinese in Hollywood!

Victor Sen Yung and Iris Wong in Charlie Chan in Rio (1941)

In Support of the Chinese in Hollywood Book Project

Congratulations to Jenny Cho and the Chinese Historical Society of Southern California for surpassing their fundraising goal. There's still time to preorder a signed copy of the book. Many other great incentives are available at a variety of affordable donation levels. So don't be left out!

I can't wait to see the book. Hopefully, it will encourage more people to explore the history of Chinese working in Hollywood. It's not always easy tracking down their work, and their appearances are often frustratingly ephemeral. But scenes like the following from Charlie Chan in Rio (1941) — with the super charming Victor Sen Yung and Iris Wong — are proof of the treasures waiting to be found. (For example, did you know that Harry Lachman, the director of Charlie Chan in Rio, was the husband of Chinese American vaudeville singer Jue Quon Tai? Or that Iris Wong was a singer at The China Doll nightclub in New York?)

Enjoy the clip! And many thanks to all my readers who helped support the Chinese in Hollywood project.

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Once again, please help spread the word with likes, pins, tumbls, and tweets. Even though Jenny has already exceeded her fundraising goal for Chinese in Hollywood, the more money she raises, the more cool photos she can afford to license.

There's Something About Willie Fung

Robert Young, Willie Fung, and Eleanor Powell in Honolulu (1939)

In Support of the Chinese in Hollywood Book Project

"When he smiled... it was like the sun setting over Waikiki." — Henry Miller

Poor Willie Fung! Ever since the recent DVD release of Clark Gable and Jean Harlow's pre-Code sizzler Red Dust (1932), Willie has become the poster boy of old Hollywood's endemic racism. In the words of one blogger, "He’s bad comic relief and will make any viewer of the modern era cringe every time he’s on screen." And according to another, his performance as the houseboy Hoy "makes Mickey Rooney's performance as a Japanese man in Breakfast at Tiffany's feel like Takashi Shimura in Ikiru". Ouch! It's true that Willie's turn in Red Dust won't endear him to contemporary viewers. Still... there's something about Willie that is endearing.

Even though I'd seen several movies in which he appears, I never really took note of Willie before. Between 1922 and 1945 he appeared in some 130 films — probably more, considering how many of his roles were uncredited. He played mostly cooks and servants, an unfortunately common job description for Chinese American actors of that era. (At the end of her career, even screen legend Anna May Wong was cleaning up after the leading lady.)

In the course of writing these posts in support of the Chinese in Hollywood book project, I found myself trawling eBay for photos of Willie Fung and quickly noticed that he had a knack of making himself the center of attention whenever he appeared in a still. I started to become curious about him.

Searching through old newspapers, I kept coming across praise for his bit roles. In a review of the romantic comedy Honolulu (1939), the film critic for London's Catholic Herald went so far as to say that she "personally preferred Willie Fung, the Chinese valet, to the whole bunch of stars" (which included the likes of Robert Young and Eleanor Powell). In 1935, Willie was voted one of the 10 best scene-stealers of the year for his comic scenes in the ponderous Oil for the Lamps of China. And as early as 1926, he was already getting positive mentions by film reviewers.

But was Willie in fact just a Chinese "Uncle Tom", trading his dignity for a bag of chump change and cheap Hollywood glitter? Was his real role, in the words of another blogger, "to make whitey feel better" by representing the Chinese as "grinning, moronic cooks"?

I was surprised to discover the following article from the October 27, 1922 issue of the Torrance Herald. It describes how Willie Fung got his first film role and offers some interesting information that complicates our facile estimations of his career.

The Chinaman's Queue has gone the way of the barroom, the hoop skirt and the opera hat. If you don't believe it, and think you can see a pigtailed Celestial by simply peeping into a laundry of novelty shop, ask Allen Holubar what he knows about the modernized Chinese and his aversion to a plait of hair dangling over his shoulders.

It took Mr. Holubar several days to find out the Chinese queue is a thing of the past. After scouring Los Angeles and San Francisco he finally got definite information on this point from William "Fat" Fong, a San Francisco peanut vendor, whom he promptly engaged for a role in his production of "Hurricane's Gal", a First National attraction starring Dorothy Phillips, which comes to the Torrance theatre next week.

Mr. Holubar also learned from Fong that Chinese have ideas of their own about dignity in connection with reference to themselves and their country on the motion picture screen. Before Fong would accept the role proferred him by Mr. Holubar he exacted from the producer his promise that there would be nothing in the picture that would reflect upon or ridicule either Fong or his race.

Fong also told Mr. Holubar that Chinese in practically all parts of the world began discarding their queues about the time that China became a republic. With the exception of the district around Peking, it would be hard to find a pigtailed Chinaman anywhere in the world, Fong declared. He also informed Mr. Holubar that motion pictures showing Tong wars are a source of great abhorence to the Chinese. He said they frequently cause arguments that stir up bad blood and end in strife.

So what happened? Did Willie Fung sell out? Did he forget his ideals, his determination not to play any role that would ridicule or poorly reflect upon himself or his people?

It's easy to bemoan the stereotyped roles played by Willie Fung. But what's sadder to me is that we know so little about the man. What a wealth of stories he must have took with him when he passed away in 1945. (He was only 49 years old.)

In the Hong Kong film industry there's a term for those performers who specialize in bit parts, spending their lives acting the same role over and over again, long after their more illustrious colleagues have faded from the firmament. They're called licorice root actors (甘草演員). It's said that the term is an analogy carried over from the root's function in traditional Chinese medicine, where it is used to harmonize the effect of the primary ingredients as well as sweeten the formula.

Willie Fung was a Chinese licorice root actor in the American film industry, at a time when the Chinese Exclusion Act was still on the books. Who knows what kind of roles he would have played had he acted in Hong Kong rather than Hollywood? He might still have played grinning, moronic cooks and servants. But he wouldn't have been burdened with the role — one of the toughest there is — of representing the Chinese for American audiences.

Sometime during the 1930s Willie opened a restaurant at the intersection of Sunset and Hollywood boulevards. Reportedly, Paul Muni (aka Farmer Wang of The Good Earth) would drop by on occasion. In 1941, after spending nine months driving across America in a beat-up Buick, writer Henry Miller arrived in Hollywood. During his stay in "Lotos Land", Miller spent an evening at Willie's place. Here's how he described the experience in Remember to Remember (1947), the sequel to his dark portrait of America, The Air-Conditioned Nightmare:

Willie Fung, now, is a horse of another color. Willie Fung runs a saloon in Los Angeles; he also plays in the films now and then. That's how I recognized him when we walked in. Willie Fung is fond of music, any kind of music. He had three musicians, all Oakies; he had hired them more for his own entertainment, I suspect, than for that of his clients. His habit is to draw up a chair behind the piano player and sit with folded arms and the rapt expression of a devout Buddhist. Now and then he looked around to see if we were listening. When he smiled, a very broad smile, it was like the sun setting over Waikiki. It was a smile that seemed to say: "Music velly good, velly good." The piece over, Willie Fung rises and asks in a cordial, gracious tone of voice what we would like to drink. He wanted us to be happy; he didn't seem to care who bought the drinks, we or him. Just drink and listen to the music. Now and then the musicians drank with us. They were simple folk, doing the best they knew how. It seemed perfect that they should be the ones to play for Willie Fung. They belonged there.

I liked Willie Fung instanter. I liked him more and more as the evening wore on. He spoke only in choppy phrases, accompanied always by the ingratiating, inundating smile. I remembered vividly some of the roles he had played in the films, none of which had done him justice. I was on the point of telling him this several times but I wasn't sure he would understand me. So I just kept smiling at him the whole evening long, applauding the music, and saying to myself: "Music velly good, velly good. Willie Fung velly good too, velly good." I hope he understood.

There's something about Willie that Henry Miller deftly puts his finger on, something that has been overlooked in our attempts to forget or remember the wrongs of the past.

Willie Fung just wanted us to be happy.

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If you've enjoyed reading this post, please make a donation to the CHSSC's Chinese in Hollywood book project and help spread the word with your likes, pins, tumbls, and tweets. Author Jenny Cho has already surpassed her fundraising goal, but don't stop giving. The more money she raises, the more cool photos she can put in the book. Preorder your copy now and help make a difference!

Bo Ling & Bo Ching: Side by Side

In Support of the
Chinese in Hollywood
Book Project

When they've all had their quarrels and parted / we'll be the same as we started / just traveling along / singing a song / side by side

In May 1926, this photo of Hollywood actresses Bo Ling and Bo Ching ran in newspapers across the country under the headline "TWIN CHOSEN CHINATOWN QUEEN".

"A perplexing situation, worthy of the best efforts of the finest diplomats, has been created by the choice of one of a pair of Chinese twins as queen of Los Angeles' Chinatown. The situation has been saved by naming the other twin as her sister's chief maid of honor. On the left, is Bo Ching, chief maid of honor, and on the right, is Bo Ling, the queen."

It was a charming piece of fluff for the daily news mill, even if it wasn't entirely true. Bo Ling and Bo Ching weren't in fact twins, but they were sisters. Bo Ling, or Berenice Park, was born on December 18, 1908, while Bo Ching, or Winnie Park, was born on April 21, 1911. They were the only children of Edward and Florence Park and grew up in Berkeley, California until moving with their to family to Los Angeles sometime around 1926. (Their father, a court interpreter, would become the first Chinese "Charlie Chan" in 1929, when he was recruited to play the honorable detective in Behind That Curtain.)

How the Park sisters got their start as performers is not entirely clear. According to an article in The Washington Post, they had "toured the Pantages and Orpheum circuits in an act that interprets, vividly, the terpsichorean art of Ancient China" (Sept. 28, 1928). In her recollections published in Chinese America: History and Perspectives (1989), vaudeville performer Helen Wong Jean recalls meeting the two in New York, where they had moved, hoping to make it big on Broadway. They were renting an apartment in Manhattan but were unemployed and running out of food. Helen moved in with them, and the girls started a "three-gal act, singing, dancing, and playing piano and accordion". However, the act didn't last long. Without a good agent, they couldn't get enough gigs to keep going.

It was back in Los Angeles that the Park sisters ended up getting their big break. The "twins" photo that gave them national exposure originally appeared weeks earlier in the Los Angeles Times, where it was reported that the girls would be riding on a float in the dedication parade for the new City Hall building. The next day the Times announced that Bo Ling, "formerly of the Chinese Theater here", was taking part in Raymond Cannon and Fanchon Royer's independent production Life's Like That (April 27, 1928). Apparently it wasn't her first film. The publicity still shown below is proof — and the only proof I've been able to find — that she had a small role in the Bebe Daniels vehicle The Fifty-Fifty Girl, which was released in May of 1928.

James Hall and Bo Ling in The Fifty-Fifty Girl (1928)

As for Life's Like That, it has disappeared from film history, but according to news items in Film Daily, it was impressive enough that first-time director Cannon — formerly an actor and screenwriter — was given a directing contract by Fox Films. Sometime around October, he started shooting his second film, Red Wine. He must have been keen on Bo Ling, because he brought her along for the production. According to an article in the Los Angeles Times, "a role was created for her in a lavish oriental dance sequence... and in a futuristic love phantasy with the star, Conrad Nagel" (Dec. 30, 1928). In the same piece it was said that Bo Ling had "opened the eyes of Hollywood film producers" with her work in the film and was "listening to a number of tempting offers".

One of those offers was an appearance with her sister Bo Ching in Climbing the Golden Stairs (1929). Staged by the famous songwriter Gus Edwards, this early sound and color short featured four sets of twins singing and dancing their way to the pearly gates. Later that year, Bo Ling appeared on her own in Raymond Cannon's Why Leave Home? (1929) and sang a Cantonese version of the film's hit song "Doing the Boom Boom".

Although the Times article had predicted a successful screen career for Bo Ling, there must have been a glass ceiling at the top of those golden stairs. It's likely that Bo Ling was seen by the studios as a substitute for Anna May Wong, who had left for Europe in March 1928. When Anna May returned to Hollywood in 1930, she reclaimed her position as the film colony's token Chinese star.

Bo Ling and her sister Bo Ching continued performing on stage, on radio, and occasionally on film. They appeared together in International House (1933), Myrt and Marge (1933), the Los Angeles production of the Broadway show Petticoat Fever (1935), Flying Tigers (1942), and God Is My Co-Pilot (1945). But they never got another chance to climb the golden stairs.

In the course of researching this post, I came across the Vitaphone soundtrack for Climbing the Golden Stairs. Unfortunately, the film itself doesn't survive, but at least we can hear Bo Ling and Bo Ching with their performance of the 1927 hit song "Side by Side". The following excerpt is courtesy of Ron Hutchinson, co-founder of the Vitaphone Project, which has raised nearly $300,000 in private funding for the audio restoration of 47 Vitaphone shorts and features. Thanks Ron!

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If you've enjoyed reading this post, please make a donation to the CHSSC's Chinese in Hollywood book project and help spread the word with your likes, pins, tumbls, and tweets!

Bo Ling and Bo Ching photo from Picture-Play Magazine (August 1929) courtesy of the Media History Digital Library.

Searching for The Silk Bouquet

James B. Leong and Anna May Wong in The Silk Bouquet (1926)

In Support of the Chinese in Hollywood Book Project

That so little is known about Anna May Wong's lost movie The Silk Bouquet (1926) — which, thanks to the ironic hand of history, is simultaneously one of the most inconsequential and most significant films of her career — is indicative of the marginalization of early Chinese American filmmakers and how far their history has fallen into a state of amnesia.

Although the story behind the film's production remains unknown, we do know that it involved the participation of three Chinese American film pioneers: Anna May Wong, James B. Leong, and Joseph Sunn Jue — all of whom strove to counter the negative images of Chinese with positive portrayals from a Chinese perspective.

In my previous post, I mentioned that Anna May Wong had attempted to start her own production company. In the spring of 1924, San Francisco newspapers reported plans by the 19-year-old actress to head her own company, Anna May Wong Productions, as the first working unit of a new studio to be built in the city by "Hollywood producer" Forrest Creighton. On May 27, en route to Alaska (where she was playing an Eskimo in the Famous Players–Lasky production The Alaskan), she met with reporters at the Hotel St. Francis. With a naive earnestness she declared: "I am heading my own company to produce an all-Chinese play, some of the scenes of which will be laid in China. It is not for the Chinese of today; rather for the Americans. Today's Chinese are not ready to accept the idea of one of their race in the position that I hold. Some day they will have complete freedom — the Chinese women — then I shall leave the camera and become a political leader there, a lady Astor so to speak" (S.F. Examiner, May 28, 1924). Two months later on July 17, she filed a plaint in the San Francisco Superior Court accusing Creighton of fraudulently using her name in a stock-selling venture for his own benefit. Anna May learned early on that filmmaking can be a dirty business.

From Picture-Play (January, 1922)

Originally from Shanghai, James B. Leong immigrated to the U.S. in 1912 and attended Muncie College in Indiana. Sometime thereafter, he moved to California and started working in motion pictures, first as an extra and then as a Chinese interpreter and specialist on such productions as D.W. Griffith's Broken Blossoms (1919). But Leong had bigger plans and soon founded his own company with the goal of "depicting Chinese life as it really exists" (L.A. Times, June 13, 1920). His first film was Lotus Blossom (1921), starring the popular vaudeville singer Lady Tsen Mei. It premiered in Los Angeles at the Alhambra Theatre on November 27 and, according to Exhibitors Trade Review, brought in double average returns despite competition from three other Chinese-themed films playing the same week. Throughout 1922 the film played throughout the rest of country, from Bakersfield, California to Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. There was even a special screening in Washington D.C. for Chinese minister Wellington Koo, his wife, and the embassy staff. But whether Lotus Blossom was as financially successful elsewhere as it was in Los Angeles is unknown. Despite plans to produce four titles a year, Leong never completed another film.

Born in China but raised in San Francisco, Joseph Sunn Jue is one of the pioneers of Cantonese cinema. In 1933 he established the Grandview Film Company in San Francisco and produced one of the first Cantonese sound films, Romance of the Songsters, starring Kwan Tak-hing (best known for playing legendary kung fu master Wong Fei-hung in countless Hong Kong movies of the 1950s). Two years later, with the support of Chinese American investors, he moved the company to Hong Kong, where it became of the "big four" studios of early Hong Kong cinema. In 1939, after the Japanese "accidentally" bombed the village of Sham Chung on the outskirts of Hong Kong, Jue moved with his family back to San Francisco. He continued making movies in a studio on Old Chinatown Lane. These films — nearly two dozen in total — are remarkable for several reasons: they kept Cantonese cinema alive during the Japanese occupation of Hong Kong; they included the first Chinese feature films shot in color (on 16mm); and they were all contemporary stories depicting the lives of Chinese Americans. But back in 1926, before Joseph Sunn Jue had accomplished all that, he was just a young aspiring filmmaker who got his dad to invest in a film in the hopes of breaking into the industry. Sound familiar?

Given the strong ambitions of Anna May Wong, James B. Leong, and Joseph Sunn Jue, it's difficult to say who was the prime mover behind The Silk Bouquet. According to the recollections of Moon Kwan, who cofounded the Grandview Film Company with Jue, the project was conceived by a Hollywood producer as a vehicle for Anna May. Was Leong that producer? The full extent of Jue's involvement in the film is still unclear. Years later he claimed that his only Hollywood experience was "limited to several months during 1926 when he was art director for a silent film made by a Chinese studio and featuring Anna May Wong" (S.F. Chronicle, Nov. 25, 1940).

What we do know is that The Chinese Educational Film Co. was incorporated "with headquarters in San Francisco and backed by residents of that place and Oakland" (Film Daily, Dec. 18, 1925). According to historian Him Mark Lai, the company's vice president and deputy manager was Jun You Jew (father of Joseph Sunn Jue). According to the Los Angeles Times, the film was shot at the Fine Arts Studio (located near the intersection of Sunset and Hollywood boulevards and the same lot where D.W. Griffith's The Birth of a Nation was filmed).

Two months later The Silk Bouquet premiered in Los Angeles and San Francisco. It opened in Los Angeles on Saturday, February 13, 1926 at a theater near Chinatown and in San Francisco on Sunday, February 14 at the Capitol Theatre (now a parking lot near the Macy's at Union Square). While the film seems to have received scant notice in the Los Angeles Times, it was well covered in San Francisco by the Chronicle, Examiner, and Call and Post.

Although starting a day after the Los Angeles screening, the San Francisco debut was consistently referred to as the film's world premiere. And it appears to have been a pretty big deal. A special orchestral score was composed by local conductor and violinist Theolene Pohlson. In addition, the film was preceded by a live prelude featuring "a Chinese tenor, a cute Celestial flapper and three girls who do a little Charleston" on "a stage set brought down from a Chinese theater on Grant avenue" (S.F. Examiner, Feb. 15, 1926).

Advertisements for The Silk Bouquet were featured in the Chinese press, such as this one from Chung Sai Yat Po, reveal that it was adapted from the classic Chinese opera Wang Bao Chuan (王寶釧), later popularized for English-speaking audiences by S.I. Hsiung as the stage play Lady Precious Stream. (In 1973 Lyrichord released The Reunion LP, which featured Lisa Lu performing excerpts from the opera, and more recently the story was adapted as the Mainland Chinese TV series Love Amongst War.) The Chung Sai Yat Po ads also give prominence to the famous episodes from the opera that were featured in the film, such as "Tossing the Ball to Take In a Son-In-Law" and "Taming the Horse and Becoming an Official". While meaningless to non-Chinese audiences, they would have been special attractions for Chinese patrons.

How did non-Chinese audiences react to the film? One reviewer, who described the film as "a long-drawn-out fantasy... [that] unfolds its length across the screen, with the slow tempo of the dragon at festival time", seemed unable to bridge the culture gap. "To western eyes the tale is infantile, with nothing somehow right about it, the acting least of all. Tourists might find it novel and be amused with the titles, both in English and in Chinese script" (S.F. Examiner, Feb. 15, 1926). Critic George C. Warren, however, was much more empathetic and gives us a better sense of what this lost film may actually have been like (S.F. Chronicle, Feb. 15, 1926):

Capitol Presents
China Film,
'Silk Bouquet'
By GEORGE C. WARREN 

An Oriental tale uncoiled itself at the Capitol Theater yesterday, marching with the quiet dignity of old Cathay, for its plot deals with one of the most loved of Chinese legends, "The Dragon Horse." The picture at present is called "The Silk Bouquet," from one of its incidents, that wherein the daughter of the Premier of the kingdom throws a silken bouquet into a crowd of men, giving herself as wife to the one who catches it. 

This must be the origin of the Occidental bride throwing her bouquet for her attendants to catch, the lucky one being slated for the next brideship. 

BASED ON OLD LEGEND 

The legend from which "The Silk Bouquet" is taken is 1500 years old and has been made into a Chinese play, running four nights in its telling, and popular at the New Year's festival, which occurred yesterday. 

Romance, fantasy, love, intrigue, danger, courage are some of the emotions that cross the screen in the telling of the story, which was directed by Mark Goldaine. The production is lavish and much of it is beautiful. 

The primary object of the film is to show people something of the mystery and loveliness of Oriental tales, so no expense was spared in its settings and costumes to be sure they were authentic and added to the gorgeousness and beauty of the fable. There are some fine scenic bits too, and a lovely garden where the hero and heroine plight their love. 

STORY OBTAINS EFFECTS 

True to its character, the story moves deliberately, but quite definitely reaches out for its effects and obtains them. Analyzed, the story might be a tale of the cowboys today, for there is wild riding, a bucking horse, and several battles — with swords and spears, however, instead of guns. 

The story is involved and has many threads, its main theme being the love of a poor poet for the daughter of the Premier, and the efforts of one of the other dignitaries to get her for a wife. The poet rides the dragon horse and conquers it, which entitles him to honors, but his enemies plan his destruction, and only by heroic measures does he finally win his wife. 

CAPTIVATES SPECTATORS 

Anna May Wong, looking very charming indeed, plays the girl, acts with mature intelligence, and captivates the hearts of the spectators. Jimmie Leong has the herculean task of conquering obstacles to win her. He has four long and severe sword fights, does much hard riding, and does it well, and acts the part with dignity and sincerity. 

Marie Muggley plays the queen of a neighboring kingdom, in love with the hero, but spurned by that faithful swain, who remains true to his wife, despite threats of death.

The photography is excellent, and the picture one that nearly every one will enjoy, as it is different from the common run of films, and is a novelty for that reason.

The Silk Bouquet seems to have had a successful run in San Francisco, but it's not clear how well it fared afterwards. I assume it traveled to other cities with significant Chinese populations, such as Portland, Seattle, Chicago, Boston, and New York City. Records at the New York State Archives indicate that it was approved for screening in the state on June 26, 1926 and again on January 4, 1927. Three years later, as evidenced by a notice in the Trenton Evening Times (Sept. 7, 1929), the film was still being shown in theaters. Even more interesting is this ad from the Straits Times showing that The Silk Bouquet was screened in Singapore — not a total surprise given the global networks of overseas Chinese. Yet, according to Moon Kwan, The Silk Bouquet flopped and was a depressing experience for Joseph Sunn Jue.

It's probably true that the film failed to recoup its costs. On the one hand, it lacked the distribution and publicity that would have been given to a film of similar caliber from one of the big Hollywood studios. One the other, it can't be denied that most audiences, brought up on tales of "Yellow Peril", might find a true Chinese perspective somewhat alien. Even though it was a flop and has been forgotten by time, The Silk Bouquet deserves much more attention than it has received so far. Hopefully, with increasing digital access to primary source materials, additional information about the film will come to light. And who knows — maybe a surviving print of the film is out there, just waiting to be found.

Postscript: Mavericks to the End

Anna May Wong and James B. Leong and in Lady from Chungking (1942)

Despite the financial failures of Lotus Blossom and The Silk Bouquet, James B. Leong continued to develop film projects, but none of them were ever completed. As for Anna May Wong, she ended up forging her own unique path, constantly exploring avenues outside the confines of Hollywood. Although she never did produce her own movie, the two titles that she made in 1942 for "Poverty Row" studio PRC — Bombs over Burma and Lady from Chungking — come the closest of all her films to aligning with her ideals and aspirations as an actress. There's something perfect about the fact that Anna May's last film role as leading lady, in Lady from Chungking, placed her side by side with James B. Leong, this time as Chinese freedom fighters.

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The following film credits do not attempt to reconcile the discrepancies presented by the records at the New York State Archives.

The Silk Bouquet (1926)
CHINESE TITLE: 薛平貴全傳 [Xue Pinggui quan zhuan]
DIRECTOR: Mark Goldaine. PRODUCER: The Chinese Educational Film Co. Inc. (中華益智影畫公司). ART DIRECTOR: Joseph Sunn Jue. CAST: Anna May Wong, Jimmy Leong (aka James B. Leong), Fong Hang (aka Willie Fung), Marie Muggley, William Veigh, K. Nambu. RUNNING TIME: 8-10 reels. RELEASE DATE: Feb 13, 1926 (Los Angeles); Feb 14, 1926 (San Francisco).

Sources

• Chung Sai Yat Po 中西日報, Feb 12, 1926
• The Evening Star, Feb 28, 1922
• Exhibitors Trade Review, Dec 10, 17, 1921
• Los Angeles Times, Feb 12, 1926
• Picture-Play Magazine, Jan 1922
• San Francisco Chronicle, Feb 12-15, 1926, Nov 25, 1940
• San Francisco Examiner, Feb 12-15,17, 1926
• San Francisco Call and Post, Feb 13,15, 1926
• Straits Times, Aug 23-24, 29-30, Sep 1-3, Nov 2-3, 7, 1926
• Variety, Feb 10, 1926
• Becoming Chinese American: A History of Communities and Institutions by Him Mark Lai
• Hong Kong Cinema: A Cross-Cultural View by Frank Bren and Law Kar
• Perpetually Cool: The Many Live of Anna May Wong by Anthony B. Chan
• Hollywood Chinese by Arthur Dong
• "Interview with Frank and Jennie (Chong) Jue"

Stand Up and Reach for the Stars

Left to right: Lulu Wong, Bessie Wong, and Anna May Wong (1921)

In Support of the Chinese in Hollywood Book Project

A single picture can shine a bright light on the darkened corners of the past. Like this photograph, published in newspapers across the country in December 1921, showing Anna May Wong (on the cusp of stardom), Bessie Wong (who had just appeared in the two-reel short The White Mouse), and Lulu Wong (Anna May's older sister). The headline and caption described them as "Celestial Mary Pickfords", stars of an all-Chinese motion picture company recently organized in Los Angeles.

Could it have been James B. Leong's Chung Wah Motion Picture Company? The formation of the company — an outgrowth of his previous company Wah Ming — had been announced not long before, just after the November 27th premiere of Wah Ming's inaugural production Lotus Blossom (starring renowned vaudeville singer Lady Tsen Mei). The Los Angeles Times reported that patrons were greeted at the door of the Alhambra Theatre by none other than Anna May and Bessie Wong.

According to the Exhibitors Trade Review (December 10, 1921), the Chung Wah company planned "to begin production at once on a schedule of four pictures a year, all subjects to be Chinese and the first four to be from original stories by Mr. Leong, who is as clever an author as he is a motion picture technician." The first picture, evidently never completed, was to be called The Bond of Matrimony, and the second picture was to be shot on location in China.

Leong's plans were ambitious — perhaps too ambitious. Throughout the remainder of his life, he was constantly in production on one film or another, but whatever the reasons, he never managed to complete another film after Lotus Blossom.

Filmmaking is a tough business. It was even more so for an independent Chinese American producer back in the 1920s. Although the Chung Wah company didn't end up making any films, four years later James Leong starred opposite Anna May Wong in The Silk Bouquet (1926), produced by San Francisco's Chinese Educational Film Company with art direction by Joseph Sunn Jue.

Despite all the obstacles they faced, Chinese American filmmakers were determined to tell their own stories. Sunn Jue would go on to direct his very first film, The Demon's Cavern, later that same year.* Anna May Wong also aspired to produce her own movies; two years earlier she tried to start her own company in San Francisco but was nearly swindled by an unscrupulous business partner. Undaunted, Anna May continued to nurture dreams of self-determination. Six months before she left Hollywood for the greener pastures of Europe, she expressed hope of finding a producer for her pet project, "a story of American college life as lived by a Chinese-American co-ed" (The Havre News-Promoter, September 29, 1927). That's a far cry from the role of Fu Manchu's daughter, which is how she was used by Hollywood after returning from Europe a bigger star than ever.

As the history of Chinese American entertainers emerges in greater clarity and detail, the missed opportunities engendered by Hollywood's exclusionism become more and more glaring. But instead of bemoaning what didn't happen, let's celebrate what did. There are countless stories waiting to be told.

Please make a donation to the Chinese Historical Society of Southern California's Chinese in Hollywood book project. Likes, recommendations, pins, tumbls, and tweets are also appreciated!

* See Him Mark Lai's Becoming Chinese American: A History of Communities and Institutions, p. 183.

Edward L. Park: The Original Chinese Charlie Chan

In Support of the Chinese in Hollywood Book Project

Conventional wisdom credits Keye Luke as the first Chinese actor to play the character of Charlie Chan. In 1972, nearly 40 years after he made his debut as Charlie Chan's "Number One Son", he dubbed the voice of the honorable detective in Hanna-Barbera's animated TV series The Amazing Chan and the Chan Clan. It was a long overdue reclamation of the character from the sinister clutches of Hollywood's yellowface tradition as well as a tribute to veteran actor Keye Luke, who has always been a staunch defender of the franchise.

However, as Charlie Chan says, "Truth like football — receive many kicks before reaching goal." Thanks to Chinese film historian Paul Fonoroff, we know that a Chinese actor named Xu Xinyuan had in fact starred in a series of Charlie Chan movies produced in Shanghai, beginning in 1938 and ending in Hong Kong ten years later. (You can read more about these films and the popular reception in China of Hollywood's Chan series at The Chinese Mirror.)

Xu Xinyuan was considered a "dead ringer" for Warner Oland, who is regarded by most fans as the quintessential Chan. He is certainly the first actor to make the character his own and — contrary to the prevailing standard of yellowface — used no makeup, according to Keye Luke, except a "little goatee on his chin". But before Oland's debut in Charlie Chan Carries On (1931), there were three prior attempts to translate the popular character to the silver screen. The first two, The House without a Key (1926) and The Chinese Parrot (1927), aspired to a certain level of realism by casting Japanese actors George Kuwa and Kamiyama Sôjin.

And then there is Behind That Curtain (1929), which features a certain E.L. Park in a walk-on role as the Chinese detective. Like that proverbial football, several theories have been advanced about the identity of the mysterious Park. Some cite him as an English actor, others claim he was "a British fellow, possibly of Korean descent. It has even been said that he was "possibly a non-white". The truth receives many kicks indeed!

While looking for information about the Chinese American actress Bo Ling, I came across the following article from the July 8, 1942 issue of the Times-Picayune:

Remember the first Charlie Chan picture, "Behind That Curtain"? A real Chinese, Al Park (yep, that was his name), played the Oriental detective. Afterwards, the late Warner Oland took over the role.

Well, anyway, one of Park's twin daughters, Bo Ling, is playing a role in "China Girl." She may not be in the movies long. She has learned to fly and is trying to get a job ferrying bombers for Chiang Kai-Shek.

Waaa... field goal! Thanks to my earlier research, I'd already found out a little about Bo Ling's father, Edward L. Park. Born in San Francisco in 1876, he lived in Berkeley with his wife Florence (who acted under the name Oie Chan) and his two daughters Bernice and Winnie and worked as an interpreter at the Angel Island immigration station for several years before moving his family to Los Angeles sometime around 1927. (You can see pictures of the Park family in the Berkeley Architectural Heritage Association's fascinating profile of the Tapes, a pioneering Chinese American family who moved from San Francisco to Berkeley in 1895.)

Park continued working as a translator in the Los Angeles courts, while the rest of his family made their way into show biz. After his daughter Bernice (aka Bo Ling) was crowned "Queen of Chinatown", she landed a small role in the romantic comedy Red Wine (1928). The following year saw her and her sister Winnie (aka Bo Ching) performing a routine in an early color-and-sound musical short, Climbing the Golden Stairs (1929). While his daughters were singing and dancing their way to the silver screen, Park was invited to play the pared-down role of Charlie Chan in Behind That Curtain. He's no great thespian (then again, several of the other actors also sound stiff in this early talkie), but his appearance gives a tantalizing glimpse of what it might have been like to have a real Chinese Charle Chan. See for yourself!



The history of Chinese Americans in Hollywood is full of what-if scenarios like these. Frustrating glimmers of unrealized potential. It's not productive to dream of alternate pasts, but we can keep on kicking that football around until we score some more goals.

If you've enjoyed reading this post, please consider making a donation to the CHSSC's Chinese in Hollywood book project. Let's take it to the end zone!

Daisy Joe: Shoulda Been a Star

Daisy Joe (ca. 1913). Source: Tulare County Library.

In Support of the Chinese in Hollywood Book Project

Daisy Joe of Tulare, California — an agricultural town, originally founded by Southern Pacific Railroad, located in the heart of the Central Valley — was catapulted to the front pages of the national press in October 1916, when she and her beau William C. Wyatt sailed to Ensenada in Baja California for the express purpose of getting married:

"CHINESE DAN CUPID FIRES STRAIGHT AT WHITE YOUTH"

"CHINESE MAIDEN DEFIES LAW IN U.S."

"CHINESE MAID, TULARE MAN GO TO ENSENADA TO MARRY"

"CELESTIAL BEAUTY IS HALTED BY LAW;
MUST PROVE SHE IS MARRIED"

At the time, it was against the law in many states for whites to marry Chinese. It wasn't until 1948 that California's miscegenation law was overturned by the state supreme court. Because of the Chinese exclusion policy of the United States, Daisy Joe was risking deportation from the land of her birth.

The newsmen ate up the story:

An international romance which may culminate today in the marriage at Ensenada of Daisy Joe... and William C. Wyatt... was brought to light last night with the sailing of the couple on the British motor vessel Gryme... George Greer, a Los Angeles attorney, acted as guardian angel for the couple... Both Miss Joe and Wyatt were dressed in the height of fashion. The little Oriental miss is extremely pretty, and the chic manner in which she was dressed showed that she had not lived in San Francisco without observing the ways of her American sisters... Federal officials are predicting a stormy voyage for the young couple... Upon her return... she will be required by the United States immigration authorities to make good her claim that she is a naturalized American... Captain C.T. Robinson, master of the Gryme, said last night that he would not marry Miss Joe and Wyatt on the high seas in the event that the Chinese girl was not permitted to land at Ensenada. "This international romance stuff may be all right," said Captain Robinson, "but it is too deep for me." (San Diego Union, October 5, 1916)

Two days later the San Diego Union ran the following headline:

CHINO-AMERICAN MARRIAGE PERFORMED WITHOUT HITCH
Miss Daisy Joe and William Wyatt Wed at Ensenada; Governor Cantu Wires Permission for Couple to Land; Proof of Citizenship Gets Bride Through San Diego Port.

However, a week after their marriage, it was reported from Tulare that the marriage was only an elaborate hoax:

In a special delivery letter to her mother, Mrs. Ling Joe of this city, Miss Daisy Joe, Chinese girl of Tulare, denies her reported marriage to William Wyatt of Tulare, and declares that she is at present at work in the Sing Fat Chinese importing store in Los Angeles while Wyatt is enroute home to Tulare. She declares the story of her marriage was all a hoax and arranged so that she might return to the United States after having gone to Tia Juana to witness a bull fight where she discovered that under anti alien law she would not be able to return to the United States save as a wife. (The Bakersfield Morning Echo, October 11, 1916)

Was the marriage really a hoax? Or was this latest report an attempt by the Joe family to save face over their daughter's elopement? We do know that Daisy Joe and William Wyatt had some kind of relationship. Check out this photo of them taken during the Prosperity Street Festival and Fair in Tulare in September 1913. Wyatt's WWI draft registration card from June 5, 1917 does indicate that he was married — but to a "Caucasian".

On June 19, two weeks after Wyatt registered for the draft, Daisy's name appeared again in the newspapers — in the "Society Notes" column of the Bakersfield Californian:

Miss Daisy Joe of Tulare, who deservedly enjoys the reputation of being the prettiest Chinese girl in California, will become a movie star and leaves this week for a southern California studio. Miss Joe's beauty was called to the attention of a director for a southern California picture company and a contract followed. Miss Joe's beauty is a close companion for the manly good looks of Sessue Hayakawa, and studio gossip already hints at plans for starring them together in a spectacular production. The girl has lived most of her life at Tulare, attended the high school there and with her sisters and brother, the latter a university man, enjoys the friendship of many young Americans. Her father, Ling Joe, is one of the oldest restaurant proprietors of Tulare county.

I haven't found any proof that Daisy made a film in Hollywood. For now the story remains an ephemeral daydream from the faded pages of the past. Yet it's also a poignant reminder that 1917 could have been a watershed year for Chinese Americans filmmakers. Marion Wong produced and starred in, along with her sister-on-law Violet, The Curse of Quon Gwon. Sadly, she was unable to secure distribution. The War of the Tongs — which actually started out in 1914 as an independent production in Berkeley, California, under the title The Chinese Lily — was finally released under Universal's Red Feather Photoplays banner and seen as far afield as Singapore, where it was heralded for its authentic Chinese pedigree: "The entire cast composed of Chinese actors ONLY, Scenario and continuity written by Chinese, Props, sets and details all planned and executed by Chinese" (Straits Times, June 4, 1917). Its star Lin Neong was billed during the initial production as "the first and only Chinese motion picture actress in the world".

We are used to thinking of Anna May Wong as the first Chinese American actor, but there were others — equally talented and daring — who preceded her. Although they may not have been as successful, they aspired to project their dreams on the big screen. And for that, we remember them.

If you've enjoyed reading this post, please consider making a donation to the CHSSC's Chinese in Hollywood book project. Likes, recommendations, pins, tumbls, and tweets are good too!

P.S.: Daisy Joe ended up marrying Robert Fung in 1924, the year her father died. The couple lived for a while in Berkeley, then returned to Tulare where they spent the remainder of their days. Daisy lived until the age of 106.

Further information

• "Tulare's History: Ling Joe" by Derryl Dumermuth
• Photos of Daisy Joe from the Tulare County Library
• More than incidentally: Daisy Joe's brother Yow Joe performed with his wife Rosie from 1915-29 as the vaudeville duo Chong and Rosie Moey. Here's a cool pic of Daisy and her sister-in-law.
• For a sobering history of the violence against Chinese in Tulare and across California, see Jean Pfaelzer's Driven Out: The Forgotten War against Chinese Americans.

Blogging for Chinese in Hollywood

That's Maylia, "Hollywood's first Chinese starlet since Anna May Wong" (as she was misleadingly promoted), on the set of To the Ends of the Earth (1948), reading Edward H. Hume's Doctors East, Doctors West: An American Physician's Life in China as she waits for her hair to dry. She's just one of the many little-known stars to be featured in the forthcoming pictorial book Chinese in Hollywood currently being written by Jenny Cho of the Chinese Historical Society of Southern California.

It will come as no surprise that I'm very excited about this project — and it's not just because I'm contributing photos from my collection. Except for icons like Anna May Wong and Nancy Kwan, the history of Chinese Americans working in Hollywood still remains largely untold, notwithstanding the work of Arthur Dong and his groundbreaking documentary Hollywood Chinese (2007). Thanks to Arthur, we now know about pioneering filmmaker Marion Wong, who — before Anna May Wong even got her first job as an extra — produced, directed, and starred in The Curse of Quon Gwon (1917). We also know about James B. Leong, who made Lotus Blossom (1921), starring the vaudeville singer Lady Tsen Mei, and who never gave up his dream of producing films with a Chinese point of view. Heck... if it weren't for Arthur's doc, I might never have overcome my kneejerk reaction against Charlie Chan and would have forever missed out on the precious performances of Keye Luke, Victor Sen Yung, Benson Fong, and all the other young Chinese American actors in the series who were given a chance to play roles that even today remain refreshingly unburdened by stereotypes.

Hollywood Chinese does an outstanding job of presenting the big picture, but the ground covered in the film is just the tip of the iceberg. I don't want to give away any of the big surprises that Jenny and the CHSSC are preparing for their book Chinese in Hollywood, but I do want to get you excited enough that you will pre-order a copy to help them raise the money needed for image licensing fees. And if you're feeling extra generous, by all means kick in some more.

Over the next three weeks, until the end of their Indiegogo campaign on Saturday, April 20, I will be conducting a furious one-man blogathon to incite your support for Chinese in Hollywood. I can honestly say that this is going to be an amazing and important book, especially if Jenny and the CSHSC can afford to include all of the fabulous photographs that they've located so far. Please lend a hand and help spread the word — by email, post, pin, tumbl, or tweet.

Esther Eng: Golden Gate, Silver Light

Check out this teaser trailer for Louisa Wei's new documentary about pioneering female director Esther Eng. It's premiering at the Hong Kong International Film Festival on April 1st. I'm keeping my fingers crossed it will make its way to one of San Francisco's film festivals next year. Illustrated with rare photos and featuring interviews with folks who knew and worked with her, Golden Gate, Silver Light promises to be an illuminating portrait of one of Chinese cinema's most intriguing filmmakers.