Interior Chinatown
Page 5
Look—
Miles turns to see who Sarah is looking at: an OLD ASIAN MAN, maybe 70 (although, honestly, if you said anything between 48 and 88 we’d believe you—it’s hard to tell with Asians. If black don’t crack then yellow just kind of mellows).
Old Asian Man has an upright bearing, and despite a softness in and around his midsection, in his posture and the precision of his movements there is the sense of an acquired discipline, something that suggests a deep awareness of his body and surroundings earned through a lifetime of focused training.
Green looks at Turner, who now looks less sure of himself.
TURNER
Go ahead. You talk first.
GREEN
Really? Why?
TURNER
He might be scared of me. A lot of older Asians are pretty racist.
(off her look)
Sorry. It’s true.
Green steps to Old Asian Man.
GREEN (CONT’D)
Hello sir.
(quick flash of badge)
Have a second? We’d like to ask you a few questions.
Turner has a hand on his weapon. Green looks at Turner as in: come on dude. Really?
Turner looks at Green like: what?
Green looks at Turner like: the gun?
Turner rolls his eyes like: fine.
He reluctantly stands down. Clenches his jaw muscle. It looks awesome when he does this. People like the clenching, so Turner clenches a lot.
TURNER
The dead Chinese guy. Did you know him?
Old Asian Man doesn’t answer, the physiognomy of his exotic Eastern features, as exacerbated by the repressive conditioning of his Confucian worldview, turning his face into an emotionless mask. Foreign, unknowable even to the trained eye of these Western detectives, the titular Black and White not sure what to make of this strange little yellow man, trying to discern what he’s feeling inside.
TURNER (CONT’D)
Hey. You. I’m talking to you.
Turner’s playing the tough, so Green can counter with tact. She softens, her body language, her tone. The light shifts, and it’s tight on Green, her face center-frame, beauty shot. Her hair shimmers.
GREEN
(sensitive, sincere)
What my partner’s trying to say is, did you have any relationship with the deceased?
Turner stands down. He clenches again, to show annoyance. Sexy, sexy annoyance.
Old Asian Man looks down at his feet. Turner shifts his weight, nervous.
GREEN (CONT’D)
Sir?
TURNER
(to Green)
I don’t think he understands you.
Turner turns toward Old Asian Man, stoops down a little.
TURNER (CONT’D)
(little too loud)
Do you understand her?
GREEN
Sir? Do you understand?
(to Turner)
We need a translator.
TURNER
He knows something.
GREEN
Even if he could understand us, I’m not sure he’ll talk.
TURNER
Maybe he’ll be more talkative after a ride downtown.
Turner goes for his handcuffs.
Watching Old Asian Man there with nothing to do but suffer silently. To give Black and White something to react to.
You’re so deep in the background, you’re almost out of frame. The script doesn’t give you anything to say, your only action to sweep the floor. And watch your father get talked to like that. It’s his reaction that breaks something inside of you. Or his nonreaction. That this is who he is, Old Asian Man. Nothing more. His acceptance of the role. You have to do something. You step
into focus.
Green turns to look at you. Turner draws his weapon.
TURNER
Hands where we can see them.
GREEN
(to Turner)
Will you stop it with the gun?
Turner lowers his firearm slowly. Green approaches, gets close enough to your face that you can smell her expensive perfume, see how good her bone structure is.
She looks into your eyes.
GREEN
And who are you?
(slowly, a little loud)
Sir, please identify yourself.
GENERIC ASIAN MAN
I’m no one. But I might be able to help you.
Green and Turner look at each other.
GREEN
(to you)
Excuse us for a minute.
They sidebar.
TURNER
Can we trust him?
GREEN
Not sure we have a choice. We need someone to help us get around this place.
(then)
Chinatown is a different world.
TURNER
Sarah.
GREEN
What?
TURNER
You know I was an East Asian Studies minor—
GREEN
At Yale. Yes I know, Miles.
Look, it’s cool that you can order dim sum. But with all due respect a semester of Cantonese isn’t going to cut it. This is a tight-knit community. They’ll close ranks, protect their own.
(then)
If we want the real story, we need someone on the inside.
Green turns to look at you. It’s one of her signature moves, a piercing, investigatory gaze at the subject of her attention. This is what makes her the best cop on the force. Her ability to see right through to the heart of things. To make suspects wither, to give witnesses the courage to tell the truth. Also, her skin tone is so even. It’s like she doesn’t have pores at all.
GREEN
(turns to you)
You speak English well.
GENERIC ASIAN MAN
Thank you.
TURNER
Really well. It’s almost like you don’t have an accent.
Shit. Right. You forgot to do the accent.
TURNER
So can you help us or not?
GENERIC ASIAN MAN
(slight accent)
You want me—to be policeman?
GREEN
We want your help.
(then)
The victim’s brother, his older brother, has gone missing.
This is your chance.
You turn to Green and Turner. You say your line, remembering to do the accent.
GENERIC ASIAN MAN
Okay. I help you.
Oriental music plays as we
SMASH TO BLACK
…built with an architect, a set designer, and a construction superintendent from the Paramount lot. It featured rickshaw rides for tourists and numerous curio stalls that employed Chinese merchants in costume.
Bonnie Tsui
ACT III
ETHNIC RECURRING
In the morning, you do the cop show.
In the afternoon, you do the cop show.
You get your envelope.
Ninety bucks for being Generic Asian Man.
You train. You stay in shape. You get ready for your next role.
Slowly, you climb the ladder:
Generic Asian Man Number Three.
Generic Asian Man Number Two.
You practice the words you will have to say.
“I did it for my family’s honor, officer.”
“I have disgraced
my family, and now I must pay the price.”
“Without face, I have nothing.”
“Honor means everything in my culture. You…wouldn’t understand.”
You climb the ladder. Generic Asian Man Number One. You say the words. You train. You stay in shape. You do the cop show. You’re close now. Close enough to imagine a different life.
INT. UNMARKED POLICE CAR
Monday morning. A new week. Black and White up front. You in back. Special Guest Star.
TURNER
Let’s recap.
GREEN
You don’t have to say that.
TURNER
Don’t have to say what?
GREEN
“Let’s recap.”
TURNER
Recapping is important. People like to be sure of where they are.
GREEN
I’m not saying recapping isn’t important. I’m saying you don’t have to say “let’s recap.”
TURNER
What should I say?
GREEN
Don’t say anything.
TURNER
(to you)
Can you believe this?
No, you think. You can’t believe it. How much fun they’re having. How little they care. An Asian guy is dead, and these two are flirting. It’s easy to squander your lines when you know there will always be more tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after that.
GREEN
Fine. To recap:
Dead Asian Guy is dead.
TURNER
Could be gang-related.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
(that’s you!)
No. He would never doing a crime.
GREEN
Some kind of honor killing then.
TURNER
Those are common in Chinatown.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
They are not. None of this sound like him. Not possible.
TURNER
Why? Because you say so?
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
If you no need my help, I go back to restaurant.
TURNER
Yeah, why don’t you do that. While you’re back there, get me a lunch special. Number five, beef broccoli.
GREEN
Miles! What the hell.
(to you)
I’m sorry about that.
Turner looks chastened. Maybe a little embarrassed. It feels good to have WHITE on your side.
TURNER
(to you)
I don’t know why I said that, man. That’s not really who I am.
You pause to consider this. Green snaps you out of it.
GREEN
Patrol’s sweeping the area for eyewitnesses.
TURNER
All these eyes.
Someone saw something.
GREEN
(to you)
Did he have any enemies? Someone he had trouble with?
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
No way.
Green gives Turner a meaningful look.
TURNER
Are you trying to give me a meaningful look?
GREEN
This is my thing. My thing is this look.
TURNER
You should consider getting another thing.
GREEN
Look who’s talking.
TURNER
What’s that supposed to mean?
GREEN
(sultry)
I’m Miles Turner. My jaw is so strong and sexy.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Should we focus here? Dead guy still dead. And now Older Brother missing.
Uh oh. They both turn to look at you.
TURNER
Older Brother? You knew him?
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Everyone knew him. Everyone look up to Older Brother. He was number one. No one could ever beat him.
Green looks at Turner. Turner looks at Green. They both look at you. You look at them. Green looks back at Turner. Turner looks back at you.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
What?
TURNER
What what?
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Why you guys keep giving each other looks?
GREEN
You said no one could ever beat Older Brother.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Yeah. So?
TURNER
Sounds like possible motive to me.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
What motive?
GREEN
If someone were to knock him off—
TURNER
There’s suddenly an opening. An opportunity.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
For who?
GREEN
Every other Asian man in Chinatown.
ATTRACTIVE OFFICER
(approaches)
Haven’t gotten an address yet.
GREEN
Well what did you get?
ATTRACTIVE OFFICER
(hands her slip of paper)
Last known contact was with Ming-Chen Wu.
Green looks at the name, then looks at you.
GREEN
Wu. Any relation?
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
We’re not all related.
TURNER
Don’t lie to us. Do you know him?
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Okay, yes. In this case, I happen to know him. But my point still stands.
TURNER
Shut up and take us to him.
And then there’s the GONG SOUND again. You look around but can’t tell where it’s coming from.
INT. GOLDEN PALACE—FRONT OF HOUSE
You enter the restaurant, a step behind Black and White, your eyes still adjusting to the low light. Soft music plays. Attractive extras nibble on beef chow fun. You look around, don’t see anyone you know. Green and Turner look to you. You motion toward the kitchen.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
In the back.
INT. GOLDEN PALACE—KITCHEN
As you push through the swinging door, a wave of grease hits first, followed by curse words in seven different dialects. The staff all turn and look. Your friends and neighbors, rivals and fellow kung fu students, dressed as prep cooks and dishwashers, looking at you with a mixture of envy and pride. This is the moment you’ve dreamt of. Coming back here, not as one of them, but as a star. Okay not a star yet. But someone on the rise. An Asian Man who gets to talk.
Old Asian Man is in the corner. You go to him quickly, to have a word in private before Green and Turner catch up.
“Ba,” you say, under your breath. He’s manning the deep fryer, in a stained undershirt, hair pulled back and tucked under the edges of a white paper hat. As if this were the most natural thing in the world. As if this were all he’d ever done for half a century. As if he hadn’t been a dragon, once, not that long ago, hadn’t fought epic battles on the streets of Chinatown, and above its rooftops. None of that matters now. None of that counts toward the final tally. Now he’s this: a leading man trapped in the body of an extra. He looks tired. He is tired. He spent decades in this place, in the interior of Chinatown, taking the work he could get. Gangster, cook, inscrutable, mystical, nonsensical Oriental.
Now trapped in the back of the house, speaking lines that need subtitles. Thousands of hours of
work at something and then in a moment, the work gone. Kung fu master to fry cook, the easiest transition in the world. Change wardrobe, hair, a career forgotten. A lifetime repurposed. A kind of amnesia that he has internalized, a fog of amnesia that hangs over this whole place.
Keng-chhat u bun-te, you say, under your breath, probably mangling it, but he knows what you mean, can decipher your clumsy pronunciation. The police have questions. You say it not in Mandarin, but Taiwanese. The family language, the inside language. A secret code.
He acknowledges this with the smallest shift in his eyes.
The kitchen staff run interference, getting in the way of Black and White, giving you just a few extra moments with your dad. He says something you don’t quite follow. You hear it, you catch most of the individual words, and yet somehow—you don’t understand. This gap, always there. Somehow unbridgeable, whether it’s across a wide Pacific gulf of language and culture, or just a simple sentence, father to son, always distance. The texture of everyday actions, simple movements and gestures, is harder than it looks. The great shame of your life that you can’t speak his language, not really, not fluently.
“Have you eaten yet, Dad?”
“Yes yes. Are you okay, Willis?”
“Why?”
He flits his eyes toward Green and Turner.
“I’m working with them now. This could be good.”
“Happy for you,” he says. He looks skeptical. Worried.
Turner and Green, pushing past all the Chinamen, finally reach you. They look suspicious.
GREEN
What were you saying to him?
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Nothing. I am saying nothing.
TURNER
Didn’t look like nothing.
SPECIAL GUEST STAR
Okay, okay. I was asking old man if knowing something.
Old Asian Man looks at you, a look of disappointment flickering across his features with each accented word. You playing this part, talking like a foreigner. The son who was born here, raised here, a stranger to his own dad for what. For this. So he could be part of this, part of the American show, black and white, no part for yellow. The son who got As in every subject, including English, now making a living as Generic Asian Man.