Mulan: A Forever-Hyphenated Film
Imagine it’s 2008. You’re six years old, eyes glued to the screen of the chunky TV the janitor rolled in just ten minutes ago (a shabby make-do that all elementary schools had in their storage closets). He plugs it in and your teacher pulls out a battered blue DVD, inserting it into the VCR underneath. Envision your excitement for the first time when you realize the girl on the screen looks like you, peach skin with jet black hair and warm brown eyes. Picture your shock when her parents’ firm yet familiar scolding echoes in your ears. It’s like your own parents are right there; it’s like you’re in the movie. You’re that girl: Mulan.
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been obsessed with singing “Reflection” and “I’ll Make a Man Out of You.” As my classmates were introduced to Mulan as well, they deemed her the “best Disney princess.” It was their words of praise for the only Chinese—or even Asian—Disney character that gave me a sense of validation. Finally, there was the warmth of recognition, this sliver for representation that I’d been longing for.
Perhaps my six-year-old self was too enchanted by this penny of representation—no matter how unpolished or Americanized it was—that she never recognized any of Mulan’s underlying problems. The real Mulan didn’t belong in a world of sugarcoated battle scenes or fairytale endings, so what was Captain Li Shang doing there?
Years later, my mother recites the Ballad of Mulan, the original version of Mulan’s story composed around 400 CE during the Northern Wei Dynasty. After weeping over her father’s conscription into the army, Mulan resolves to take his place, purchasing military equipment before leaving her home at dawn. Ten years later, after the death of their general, the army returns home and Mulan declines the Khan’s offer of promotion. It is only then that she reveals her gender identity, much to the shocked faces of her comrades. The ballad’s last line exemplifies Mulan’s story perfectly, one where gender and heroism aren’t over-glorified: “When a pair of rabbits run side by side, who can distinguish male from female?”
As a standard in China’s national curriculum, the poem is memorized and recited from elementary school onwards. Mulan, a national icon and pride, is, at her core, a true embodiment of filial piety—of loyalty and virtue to the family and country. But the 1998 Disney retelling paints a story that is virtually devoid of these Confucian ideals, clad instead with gendered Western individualism that drives Mulan’s every move: she insults the clumsy and empty-headed matchmaker (a figure highly respected in ancient China), chops off her hair (which Confucius said to be a gift from the parents), and disrespects authority figures (never to be done according to Confucius’ five relationships). It’s no wonder that in 1998, Mulan bombed in China’s box office, grossing only one-sixth of its expected revenue there.
In an effort to reconcile, the 2020 live-action remake of Mulan tries to better honor our beloved protagonist’s legacy. Director Niki Caro attempts to stay true to the original ballad by changing Mulan’s surname back to Hua, eliminating silly characters (we’re sorry, Mushu), and removing catchy songs, but enormous problems still remain.
If we take a look at surface controversies, it’s strikingly obvious why the film lost support: Liu Yifei, who plays Mulan, publicly supported Hong Kong police last year. When authorities used excessive force against pro-democracy protesters, she reshared an image posted by the People’s Daily of the Chinese Communist Party: “I support Hong Kong police. You can beat me now. What a shame for Hong Kong.” This hypocrisy—as the character Mulan actively fights against oppression—spurred a massive boycott not only in the democratic, densely-populated city but also around the world. Still, Mulan is more than just its lead actress: parts of the movie were also filmed in Xinjiang, where over one million Uighur Muslims have been incarcerated by the Chinese government in a mass assimilation campaign. How can Disney, the film world’s most fervent educator for a good moral compass, possibly turn a blind eye to this abuse? Yet even beyond these surface controversies, we discover that Mulan is significantly flawed.
The boycotts seem tiny in comparison to the film’s jarring historical inaccuracy, even after the removal of Li Shang and Mushu. There are fundamental problems with the setting: the Hua family lives in a tulou house—found commonly in Fujian, a province in southern China—but Mulan is set in northern China. The bagel-shaped houses are also anachronistic, built practically a millennium after Mulan’s story. Perhaps the rudest nod to her history was the presenting of qi, the vital life force, as a gendered magical power that she’d somehow suppressed through pretending to be a man. While these historical inaccuracies dominate the film, we realize it is, in fact, something else in the heart of our “Disney-fied” protagonist that truly faults this 2020 take.
Mulan faces us, her long hair perfectly blown out of her eyes even as she mounts horses and shoots arrows—she’s our perfect modern female superhero. As she transforms from her male facade into “Hua Mulan,” it’s the locks of wavy hair cascading in slow-motion that represent her inner identity—a courageous, strong woman. But that’s exactly where the problem lies; that’s what Niki Caro hasn’t fixed. The dramatic key moment when Mulan reveals her gender was never included in any of the countless Chinese adaptations—and would never have been, based on Chinese norms. As someone willing to sacrifice herself for her family, taking her father’s place in battle wasn’t at all done out of feminist desires: Mulan wasn’t trying to prove herself as a woman in any way. In fact, this move was the ultimate act of submission: offering her own body to guarantee her father’s safety.
No matter how hard the all-white producers, screenwriters, and directors try, Disney’s Mulan will never be culturally accurate. Using Chinese culture as a medium to express a generic American archetype, Disney’s “diversity” is simply for face. Forget about our humble, lovable, ordinary girl serving her country; the refined Mulan is a feminist martyr and individualist icon—just what the Western audience loves! An American perversion of an authentically Chinese story, 2020’s live-action remake didn’t do too hot in China, either.
Disney has tried for years to target China—the second most lucrative market for American film—and to perhaps become even more than just business partners. But true friendship isn’t possible when you completely Westernize and contort one’s culture. This offer of a handshake—or rather, a bow—will never be accepted if there’s always a hyphen: Mulan, a Chinese-American film.
by JOY GONG