DUPONT GUYS: The Resurrection
Review by Alvin Lu
Kearny Street Workshop News, Vol.1 No.1
What sets the blood racing more? A new film by Curtis Choy?
Or a new work by Frank Chin? The value of both seems only
to be enhanced by the lengths of perseverance, felicity, or plain
connections it takes to get a glimpse of either. But considering
the fact that Chin has been steadily publishing in recent years,
though sometimes it seems the only way to stumble across a
new essay is by pure chance, while Choy's last film, as far as I
know, was 1983's epochal The Fall of the I Hotel, well, all the
better the new one is about...Frank Chin.
Choy and Chin have long served, willingly or not, as the
"terrible children" of their respective theaters of operation, with
the difference that Choy, especially in Dupont Guy: The Schiz of
Grant Avenue (1976) and I Hotel, has been the primary
documentarian of the spirit of Asian American counterculture,
while Chin, the seemingly more tormented artist of the two,
has been the manifestation of that spirit itself. This is a subject
for a much longer essay, but Chin occupies a position in Asian
America that has no analogue elsewhere. As with his camp
redress activity, he is at once the most invisible agent of and the
single individual most responsible for what we vaguely
understand to be Asian American culture. There is a very short
list of filmmakers who could examine that charged legacy
without distortions or apologies. Or would want to.
So while it is always a pleasure to see Chin in action - and here
there are plenty of opportunities, captured over the years, of the
master at his volcanic best: smoking a doobie to Flower Drum
Song, reading jazzy porn at the first ever Asian American
Writers' Conference, raving about Mike Masaoka, promising
never to come back to the David Henry Hwang theatre ever
again, and more - it is a greater pleasure, given relative scarcity,
to see Choy back in action. The weird mix; the nervous
rhythms; the snide sense of humor; the same feelings of
confusion, disgust, hilarity, and surprise one gets rummaging
through a Grant Avenue souvenir shop are all magically
An exercise in one of my film classes was to show some of
Dupont Guy with the sound turned off and ask the class to write
down what they thought they were seeing. Delight, and
recognition, occurred when the film played again with the
sound turned on. Sound didn't reflect. It persistently
commented, counterpointed, joked, or simply had nothing to
do with. One exemplary sequence in WWWFrankChin? takes
place during the darkly humorous "chapter" about Chin's
serial-killer correspondence with Maxine Hong Kingston.
(Were those actual letters Chin Wrote?) An acted voiceover of
Kingston's earnest response, in which she defends her
transferrence of Yu Fei's tattoos to Fa Mulan, runs over footage
of an utterly bewildered present-day Chin, riding an escalator
in a glitzy Koreatown mall. This cuts to King-Kok Cheung's
Cantonese narration of a Fa Mulan poem playing over a
breakneck montage of brilliantly colored Chinese childrens'
books illustrations, showier and more dynamic than anything
Choy's archival research is impressive, but he goes further,
reassembling the junk of the past into a quirky, homemade
contraption. "Assembling" is the right word: Choy's films are
more like gadgets than what we think of as documentaries,
impressing themselves with funny tricks and spewing steam in
strange spots. The sense of restless energy, which might
explode at any moment, is perfectly tuned to the film's subject
and all the more remarkable considering its narrative thread is
held together by that most deadly of devices: interviews with
writers and academics.
All the third-party testimony turns WWWFrankChin? into a film
largely about the Chin myth, the persona, not the person. For
those unfamiliar with it, it's a dead-on accurate summation of
the tangle of issues the subject has woven around itself. For
those who are, it still packs plenty of surprises (like mind-
bending footage of Chin's decidedly odd wedding ceremony).
But unlike with most writers, or even essentially literary-
theatrical personalities like Chin, one gets the sense, for all that,
there is another story here. Choy provides what he can
without descending into expose. There is enough of Chin the
person here to suggest an as fascinating story, if not more so -
and an utterly different film. We see this in a remarkable shot
that tracks our subject walking the streets of downtown L.A.,
alone at night. The shot perfectly encapsulates Chin's
fundamental disagreement with the world, an out-of-jointness
which has defined his reputation.
The best interview sequences with Chin, scattered throughout
the film, oddly enough take place inside his car, with the
seat-belt warning constantly beeping. The ride eventually
brings us to Chin's personal history, providing the ending of
the film and an unsatisfactory answer to the question of the
During the ending, I felt a sense of deja vu. After it was over, I
turned to a literary journal based out of Los Angeles, The New
Review of Literature, which I had received in the mail, unsolicited,
several months ago. In the April 2004 issue was, as far as I
know, Chin's most recently published essay, "The Road Doesn't
Know Me Anymore," which might have been a title for this
film. In it, loosely arranged around a tale of JACL treachery
and the camp resistance movement, is the story of Choy
interviewing Chin on the road to El Dorado. Chin's essay fills
in some of the gaps the film leaves out, and vice versa. It's an
excellent companion piece. Re-reading it, I realized the whole
time Choy thought he was recording Chin, Chin was actually
writing Choy. It's an old writer's trick. It's great to see the two
of them still up to them.
Summary from 23rd San Francisco International Asian American
Film Festival program (March 10-20, 2005)
by Oliver Wang
Author, activist...curmudgeon: these are just some
of the ways Frank Chin has been described. For
three decades now, Chin has distinguished himself
through rich, imaginative writings and controversial
critiques on the state of Asian American culture.
This new documentary by Curtis Choy (FALL OF
THE I-HOTEL, SFIAAFF '83) captures Chin in all his
full complexity and contradictions, unflinchingly
displaying both his literary accomplishments and his
personal controversies. Choy profiles Chin's many
accomplishments, from publishing the groundbreak-
ing Asian American literature anthology AIIIEEEEE!
to founding the annual Day of Remembrance
memorials. However, Choy is equally devoted to
examining the more contentious parts of Chin's life.
The film recounts the public battle between Chin
and Maxine Hong Kingston, letter by letter, blow for
blow, neither coddling nor condemning either
author's position. Choy builds a portrait of Chin in
full, unflinching detail, leaving it to the audience to
draw their own conclusions about the man's legacy.
Adding nuance are commentaries by luminaries
such as poet Lawson Fusao Inada, bookseller
David Ishii and professor Elaine Kim. Ultimately,
however, it's Choy's impromptu interviews with Chin
that offer the most provocative insights into the
man. The author's outspokenness may be legend,
yet he remains an enigma to most.
Review by Aram Siu Wai Collier,
Toronto Reel Asian International Film Festival - November 2006
All you "fakes", "sell-outs" and especially "bad writers" take note: there are a lot of
things wrong with Frank Chin. The Asian American writer, playwright, actor, scholar
and activist of incomparable passion has been both revered and hated - sometimes
by the same person. And he's likely to make your blood boil AND laugh out loud in
this latest feature from veteran documentarian Curtis Choy.
As part of the American Civil Rights movement of the 1960s, the political
consciousness of Asian Americans shifted to focus on multi-ethnic solidarity with an
emphasis on self-determination and (re)telling the history of Asians in America outside
the traditional racist institutions that made such a movement necessary. Frank Chin
planted himself in the eye of this storm through his exhaustive work as a playwright,
novelist and activist, quickly garnering a reputation as the veritable polemicist (his
feuds about literary authenticity with writers Amy tan, David Henry Hwang and Maxine
Hong Kingston are hilariously bitter and legendary). Although his contributions to the
Asian American movement are immeasurable, he remains widely unacknowledged.
Chin would even be a "Renaissance Man" if only more people liked him. Instead, he's
more like the embarrassing uncle of Asian America - he's family, but sometimes you
wish he wouldn't show up.
Director Choy is himself a fixture in Asian America with his seminal films The Fall of
The I-Hotel and Dupont Guy: The Schiz of Grant Avenue. What's Wrong With Frank
Chin? showcases 30 years of his community-based documentary work through
archival photos, print and film, and interviews with numerous Chin contemporaries.
Choy's sly editing creates visual and aural collages within scenes that both embellish
and contradict Chin, pushing the film beyond simple biography. It's as if Choy is in
dialogue with Chin, a compelling display in all its obstinacy, sincerity and "Frankness".
Review by Sam Chen, Artistic Programmer
San Diego Asian Film Foundation
What's wrong with Frank Chin? Frankly, even after
watching Curtis Choy's documentary about this enigmatic and
often cranky Renaissance man, I'm still not quite sure. One
thing certain is that Frank Chin can be quite insufferable.
Given the opportunity, he will ruffle anyone's feathers and do
so boisterously and ever so poetically. You're not sure
whether to love or hate him.
Though he's been vilified and deified by many that have
crossed his path, he still comes across as someone extremely
likeable if not impossible. In his often revealing and
enlightening documentary, filmmaker Curtis Choy is given
unprecedented access to his subject's thoughts, gripes, fears,
and neuroses. At times, we are allowed a fly's POV where we
sit afar and spy on Chin while he slouches in front of his word
processor, pondering seemingly forever about what to write
next. He seems spaced out when he's not spewing rhetoric.
It's those precious moments that you actually feel most
connected to this man. It's the quiet somber solitude, the
pauses between the rants and raves that ring most true.
It's too bad he's mostly known for his big mouth. Even during
a seemingly ordinary town hall meeting, Chin comes across as
captivating and charismatic, imbuing his speech with flair and
showmanship. I've come to realize that nothing seems
ordinary about Frank Chin. His life is a big show.
Like all good docs that strive to reveal certain insights and
truths about their subject matters, there's a prerequisite
respect that must exist between the filmmaker and his subject.
It's no surprise that Choy and Chin are old partners in crime.
Like his subject's persona, Choy injects his film with a frantic
and frazzled sense of editing and pacing, rising and falling
along with Chin's journey of outbursts through Asian American
History. You're never quite sure what Chin's going to do or
say next. Similarly, the film seems to twist and turn in
synchrony, almost kicking and screaming. By thoughtfully
intersplicing interviews with historical footage, what amazed
me was how far and deep Frank Chin has participated in
Asian American History, and yet, he's not a household name.
What's up with that?
Everyone's heard of Maxine Hong Kingston, Amy Tan, and Fa
Mulan and yet, who's ever heard of Frank Chin? For me,
watching "What's Wrong With Frank Chin?" was like taking a
crash course in Asian American Studies, which, I'm
embarrassed to say, I managed to ditch or avoid completely
during my five years at UCLA. I walked away with a new
appreciation and curiousity for our own history, our struggles,
our Cause, and our elusive identity.
Suffice to say that personally, this documentary has
unexpectedly turned out to be the most Asian-American film of
all the Asian-American films that I've seen in the last 5 years.
It needs to be required viewing for all Asian-American Studies
Having said all this, I'm still wondering what the heck's wrong
with Frank Chin.