L

et’s get down to business, to de-

feat the Huns!” 

I will always remember those 

summer nights I spent sprawled on my 

grandparents’ living room couch in China, 

as I passionately sang along to “I’ll Make a 

Man Out of You” from the animated mov-

ie “Mulan.” Based on an ancient Chinese 

ballad, Disney’s cartoon “Mulan” told the 

story of a young girl who disguised her-

self as a man and enlisted in the army in 

the place of her father. She was constantly 

picked on in the beginning by other fellow 

soldiers due to her physical weaknesses, 

but she eventually proved herself with her 

determination and saved China from the 

Huns.

Though I was only four at the time, in 

the early 2000s, I was fascinated by Mu-

lan’s courage and amused by her clumsy 

yet witty charm. I always laughed uncon-

trollably when Mulan spilled a pot of hot 

tea on her matchmaker’s face and had 

my eyes glued to the TV screen when she 

saved Shang (her love interest) from the 

avalanche during a battle with the Huns. 

As a little Chinese girl, it was refreshing 

for me to see a heroine who shared my 

skin color in a Disney film and inspiring 

to see my own culture being represented 

in such a positive light. She was the first 

Disney princess that I could relate to and 

look up to. 

Therefore, when Disney announced 

that Liu Yifei had been cast to portray 

my favorite Disney princess in 2017, I was 

beyond excited. I was also relieved that 

this role would be represented by a native 

Chinese actress and celebrated Disney’s 

choice for diversity. Ever since, I close-

ly followed the production timeline and 

made plans to see it with my friends upon 

its release. When I went to see “Little 
Women” at my local theatre last Decem-

ber, I saw the “Mulan” trailer play on the 

big screen. I shed a few tears as I watched 

Yifei fighting fiercely on the battlefield 

while the orchestral version of “Reflec-

tion” played in the background. I was 

so thrilled to see my childhood heroine 

being represented authentically and the 

film’s potential to make Asian American 

cinematic history.

Yet, as I settled in to watch the remake, 

I felt skepticism creeping up even from 

the opening scenes. I raised my eyebrows 

at the sight of a hakka tulou — which is 

a form of architecture unique to south-

eastern China — as Mulan’s home, which 

is known to be located in northern Chi-

na. I cringed again when Mulan’s father 

said to her: “Chi is for warriors, not for 

daughters.” Originated from Taoism, Chi 

is a vital energy that everyone is born with 

regardless of gender. I was also confused 

when writers used “abundance of chi” to 

describe the witch as powerful, because 

one does not gain power by merely having 

chi but rather through their cultivation of 

it. 

As the film went on, I became increas-

ingly angered by the obvious neglect the 

production crew showed for Chinese cul-

tural references key to the central plot. 

The film showed the Chinese character 

for filial piety, an ancient Confucian “vir-

tue,” engraved on two objects: on the “am-

ulet” (with an oriental design that did not 

resemble anything real Chinese people 

would carry) that belongs to Mulan’s fa-

ther and on the sword that was gifted to 

Mulan by the emperor. The writers clearly 

dismissed the fact that in Chinese culture, 

filial piety means more than “devotion to 

family,” as it is criticized by contemporary 

feminists for its implications of blind obe-

dience and submission to elders. It is true 

that Mulan is no modern tale, but the val-

ues that she fights for in the film are di-

rectly contradicted by the outdated notion 

of filial piety that Disney writers inadver-

tently imposed on her.

While I was infuriated by Disney’s lack 

of effort in historical fact-checking, I was 

disappointed the most by Mulan’s “flaw-

lessness” as a character. In the original 

movie, she is an ordinary girl who knows 

nothing about fighting, but through her 

perseverance and grit, she becomes a true 

warrior. In the remake, however, Mulan 

serves as a “Chinese Elsa” whose super-

powers are rejected by society because 

they do not conform to social expectations 

of women. While such reinvention of the 

folklore establishes a feminist premise for 

Mulan’s story, it rejects further possibili-

ties for her growth. What is the point of 

her story if she already fights better than 

all the men? 

This new portrayal of Mulan feels for-

eign to me, as I was unable to connect 

with her innate power and lack of vulner-

abilities. My favourite Disney princess 

used to be Mulan, not because she was an 

all-powerful warrior, but the fact that she 

felt like one of “us.” She was just an ordi-

nary girl who was both scared and excited 

about the world, who simply wanted to be 

understood, and then left alone. The way 

she clumsily finds herself through hard-

ships and betrayals was inspiring because 

it gave me hope that I could do it too. 

By drastically changing the story and 

Mulan’s motives without any explanation 

or foundation behind it, her character is 

denied agency and becomes an Asian fan-

tasy with no real identity. In the remake, 

Mulan becomes General Tso’s Chicken — 

an essentially American dish with some 

Chinese sesame drizzled on top. With the 

new film, I lost a childhood heroine whom 

I most identified with, and a generation of 

Asian American girls have been misrepre-

sented by an orientalist puppet for Holly-

wood white feminism.

Prior to “Mulan,” the only all-Asian-

cast Hollywood film that had entered 

the mainstream was “Crazy Rich Asians.” 

Though the film was a huge milestone 

in cinematic history and inspired more 

Asian faces to be represented on screen, 

I was unable to form a real cultural con-

nection to the characters and storytelling. 

Yes, the film included many Asian cultural 

references such as families making dump-

lings together and playing mahjong, but it 

failed to explore many themes key to the 

Asian American identity, such as the no-

tion of the model minority and internal-

ized racism. Rather, “Crazy Rich Asians” 

focused mainly on class anxieties, which 

was a theme universal and therefore more 

digestible for Western audiences. While 

class remains an important topic to ad-

dress, omitting themes and issues relevant 

to Asian American culture and identity is 

damaging to the integrity of such repre-

sentation.

Neither the “Mulan” remake nor “Cra-

zy Rich Asians” went deep enough to cre-

ate nuanced characters — they simply cast 

Asian actors and chose filming locations 

in Asia, as if that were enough. Niki Caro, 

the director of the “Mulan” remake, ex-

pressed, “It was incredibly important to 

us that the people in our film were au-

thentically the ethnicities they needed to 

be for the storytelling.” However, these 

principles of authenticity were obviously 

dismissed behind the scenes, as the script 

was co-written by four white writers and 

no Chinese experts were consulted for its 

historical or cultural accuracy.

What does this mean? Must Asians be 

Westernized in order to enter mainstream 

American culture? I think the answer is 

no. I still remember my excitement and 

pride when I heard BTS, a K-pop group, 

play in my local department store in To-

ronto. I still think about when the Acade-

my Award–winning movie “Parasite” was 

all people talked about; I would hear con-

versation about it while walking down 

State Street or while sitting in the East 
Quad dining hall or in the moments be-

fore class time. Both BTS and “Parasite” 

have reached huge cultural and commer-

cial successes in the United States, yet 

neither creators compromised their art 

to cater to Americans: BTS stated that 

they will not produce English albums and 

Bong Joon-ho, the director of “Parasite,” 

didn’t cut out a single Korean cultural 

reference when the film premiered in 

the U.S. Through sheer genius and hard 

work, the two were able to overcome cul-

tural barriers and accumulate global sup-

port, forcing diversity into America’s in-

sular entertainment industry.

Disney’s failure with “Mulan” sends 

a clear message to Hollywood that the 

Asian American experience is not an easy 

tale to tell. It will require more than $200 

million in budgets and four white screen-

writers. It demands the stories to reflect 

our anxieties and fears, our disconnect 

from the mainstream and our linkage to 

our homeland. The failure of the Mulan 

remake shows that the Asian American 

experience can never be represented by 

those who don’t share our identity, and 

that true representation is not only re-

flected in the cast but also through Asian 

writers, directors and producers, and a 

deep understanding of how to honestly 

portray our past and stories. So perhaps 

one day, our reflection on the big screen 

will show who we are inside.

The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
14 — Wednesday, September 16, 2020 
statement

Disney’s Mulan 
remake: General 
Tso’s Chicken

BY LOLA YANG, STATEMENT CORRESPONDENT

ILLUSTRATION BY EILEEN KELLY