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My Chinese film friends had a shorthand for this attitude. They referred to
it as “American cultural imperialism.” And like imperialism anywhere, it didn’t
bode well for the long-term sustainability of the enterprise.
Universal heroes
In 2016, I was accused of cultural imperialism myself. But not in China. And
not for any of the Chinese movies I’d been involved with. Rather, it happened
at a film school in Los Angeles, with regard to the James Bond films I’d written.
A student declared that I was guilty of “promoting a colonialist agenda,” and
couldn’t understand “how anyone outside the U.S. or the U.K. could find those
films entertaining.” It wasn’t the first time I’d heard this accusation. But it was
the first time my answer revealed something to me about my own cultural bias
in China.
“Bond movies are spectacles,” I explained to the class. “The women, the
guns, the gadgets, the impossible stunts. That’s part of the appeal. But what
makes it resonate around the globe is that underneath it all, there’s an archetypal
character whose story exists in the mythology of every culture on the planet.
The emperor — or the king, or the president, or the tribal chieftain — sends out
a lone warrior to save the people from certain destruction. That’s what makes it
universal. You find variations on that story with Shogun warriors in Japan, Wux-
ia warriors in China, Maasai warriors in Africa, Mãori warriors in New Zealand.
Bond is only the modern-day version — with higher production values.”
As soon as I said this, I had a moment of realization. Something clicked,
“You find Shogun warriors in Japan,
Wuxia warriors in China, Maasai
warriors in Africa, Mãori warriors
in New Zealand. James Bond is only
the modern-day version — with
higher production values.”
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