Karen Cho (曹嘉伦) is a Chinese-Canadian filmmaker known for her socio-political documentaries that explore themes of identity, immigration, and social justice. Her first film, “In The Shadow Of Gold Mountain,” explored the Chinese Canadian immigration experience, the legacy of the Head Tax and Exclusion act, and examined how legislated racism in Canada affected the Chinese side of her family while her European ancestors were rewarded for immigrating. Cho’s TV work has touched on subjects like art and identity, Indigenous health and wellness, Japanese Canadian internment, Quebecois cuisine, Vancouver’s downtown east side, and artist activists around the world. In 2018, Cho was nominated for a Best Directing Canadian Screen Award for her work on CBC’s docuseries “Interrupt This Program.”
“Big Fight in Little Chinatown” is screening at the 2022 DOC NYC film festival, which is running from November 9-27.
W&H: Describe the film for us in your own words.
KC: “Big Fight in Little Chinatown” is a film about community resistance and resilience. In the face of the news stories and films that essentially rang a death knell for the neighborhood and documented what seemed to be its inevitable erasure, I wanted to make a film that instead focused on the agency of the community and its resistance against displacement.
I wanted to examine how these historic neighborhoods can still hold such layered meaning for many. I wanted to celebrate the community connectedness and survival that is baked into the DNA of these neighborhoods. The film is essentially my love letter to Chinatown.
W&H: What drew you to this story?
KC: A lot of things have drawn me to the Chinatown story. Firstly, I have deep family roots in both Vancouver’s and Montreal’s Chinatown and connect to these spaces on a personal level. Also, the very first documentary I ever made, on the Chinese Head Tax and Exclusion Act, was partially shot in those two Chinatowns. We held screenings of the film in Chinatowns across Canada to galvanize the community in the fight for redress.
Chinatown is where I first cut my teeth as a filmmaker and found my voice as a director. These spaces and communities are very special to me. Now, to return to some of these spaces decades later and see the complex pressures and active erasure they are facing motivated me to make this film. I wanted to explore what would happen if Chinatowns were to disappear but also look at the community’s resistance – despite the odds stacked against them.
W&H: What do you want people to think about after they watch the film?
KC: I hope that audiences will look at Chinatown beyond its tourist façade and see it as a living community deeply rooted in the history of North America. The film consciously takes audiences past storefronts and into the back kitchens and family spaces that make Chinatown so special.
The film explores the intersection of racism and urban planning in places like Chinatown, and other marginalized communities, both historically and today. I want audiences to look at the development of a city as well as the choices and priorities a municipality sets out with a more critical eye. Who is the city being built for? What type of communities do we want to build?
As much as Chinatown is a neighborhood under threat, it is also a quintessential Jane Jacobs-style neighborhood that exudes all the elements urban planners dream of. From its human scale to its walkability, affordability, sustainability, and tendency to be a place where immigrants, marginalized, and low-income people can find a foothold and sense of belonging, Chinatown can serve as a blueprint for the sorts of inclusive neighborhoods we want to build for the future.
W&H: What was the biggest challenge in making the film?
KC: Filming during the pandemic was probably the biggest challenge. I began the research for the film by attending a three-day gathering of Coast 2 Coast Chinatowns Against Displacement (C2C) in New York City in March 2020. Three days after I returned home, New York and subsequently the rest of the world, shut down due to COVID.
Thankfully, during that trip, I made connections with community organizers in several Chinatowns: I visited Wing on Wo & Co, the oldest store in New York’s Chinatown, and met owner Mei Lum and her family, who ended up becoming main subjects in the film. When everything went into lockdown, I was able to continue those relationships and research online.
I’m based in Montreal so for the first nine months of making the film, I couldn’t cross the U.S. border due to the pandemic. I had to work remotely with cinematographer Nate Brown, who was based in New York and who also happened to work at Wing on Wo, so he was already in the family’s bubble and could safely film with the elderly members of the family.
Partly because of logistics around travel and lockdowns, I began looking closer at my home Chinatown in Montreal. The restrictions where I lived were quite severe – we were living under curfew and restaurants weren’t allowed to open dining rooms for over a year. I remember needing to get special “journalist” letters signed so that our crew could film in Chinatown after dark and not get fined for breaking curfew.
Chinatown is a space where you need to form relationships in person and be on the ground to build trust – this was certainly challenging during COVID, when I physically couldn’t be in so many spaces. But thankfully, I was already plugged into some Chinatown networks in Canada so it was easier for me to reach out to people online. I was able to get the ground to build those relationships in person once the restrictions started lifting
I also had to work with a reduced crew as spaces could not accommodate many people during COVID. The cinematographers and I sometimes had to work without a sound recordist, and I myself had to film certain parts of the documentary on my own with a small camera. However, I tried to use these limitations to my advantage. We were a lean crew so we could pivot quickly if the story suddenly changed, and were also less imposing on the Chinatown spaces where we filmed. In many instances, our subjects felt more at ease and the filming itself felt more intimate.
W&H: How did you get your film funded? Share some insights into how you got the film made.
KC: The film was funded through the Canadian system: two broadcasters, TVOntario and Radio-Canada, pre-bought Canadian broadcast rights, and we combined this with a minimum guarantee for theatrical rights and various sources of public equity and tax credits.
W&H: What inspired you to become a filmmaker?
KC: I was initially interested in becoming a journalist but was frustrated by how journalism often required you to just report the facts of an event and withhold your point of view. That’s when I decided to apply to film school because I felt that I had something to say with the stories I wanted to tell.
I originally intended to pursue a career in fiction filmmaking, but when I had the opportunity to make my first documentary, about the impact of the Chinese Head Tax and Exclusion Act as well as the community organization, I discovered the power of storytelling and documentary as a tool for social change.
Since then, I haven’t looked back. I am really passionate about crafting stories that bring a race and gender lens to filmmaking, elevate marginalized points of view, and uncover histories that have often been untold or ignored.
W&H: What’s the best and worst advice you’ve received?
KC: I don’t know if I can say that I was directly given bad advice – but rather as a female filmmaker working in a male-dominated industry, I think various factors and pressures can sometimes derail your career or vision if you aren’t careful.
In film school and early on in my career, women were often encouraged to take on the roles of production manager or production coordinator – the sort of logistics and “caring roles” on a film crew – rather than being mentored to take on the writer/director or cinematographer roles. It wasn’t easy, but I always tried to resist getting pigeonholed into a certain crew category. I had my own stories I wanted to tell and while I’ve certainly worked in those roles, I made sure to also pursue projects where I could drive the creative vision.
I also hated how early on in my career, any female filmmaker panel I’d participate in primarily focused on questions about how you’d be able to balance a career in filmmaking with being a mother. These sorts of questions are never asked of male directors. It shows how far we still have to go.
As for the best piece of advice I’ve received, it was to tell stories from your own point of view: this is what gives your films an authenticity that can’t be replicated.
Another wise piece of advice was to learn a little about all roles on a set so that if you had to replace someone or were in a bind, you could manage yourself. I work in documentary so we have a small crew. On this latest film, I found myself shooting sometimes, recording sound, or helping out in the edit suite: transferable skills are very useful for independent filmmakers.
W&H: What advice do you have for other women directors?
KC: Stay true to your vision and voice. The world needs more stories from different points of view and what you have to offer is likely a refreshing viewpoint from what always gets seen.
I’m also a firm believer in helping others on your way up. I am thankful to the many producers and collaborators I worked with over the years who believed in me and pushed for me to have certain opportunities. It’s my responsibility to also foster the emerging talents I see around me every day.
W&H: Name your favorite woman-directed film and why.
KC: It is a toss-up between Sofia Coppola’s “The Virgin Suicides” and Andrea Arnold’s “Fish Tank.” “The Virgin Suicides” came out while I was in film school. I loved the intricacy and intimacy of a film told from strong female points of view. I couldn’t imagine a man being able to direct that sort of film with the same authenticity. It helped me to realize the power of women storytelling and the need for these points of view.
Likewise, for “Fish Tank,” from the strong performance of the lead character to the visceral tension of that film, I was so enamored by Arnold’s directing prowess.
W&H: What, if any, responsibilities do you think storytellers have to confront the tumult in the world, from the pandemic to the loss of abortion rights and systemic violence?
KC: As a documentary filmmaker rooted in community storytelling and socio-political filmmaking, the world around me is what I draw my storytelling from. I do feel a responsibility to explore the various issues and tensions that are bubbling to the surface today, but are also new versions of generational fights from the past. My films always try to draw parallels between different struggles and the intersections these issues have within different communities.
The last film I made, “Status Quo?” is about the women’s rights movement in Canada that partly looked at the obstacles to abortion access in the country. Fast forward to today, with Roe vs. Wade being overturned, we are seeing a scary erosion of so many rights that were hard fought.
Likewise, “Big Fight in Little Chinatown” unfolded during the pandemic which played out in particularly brutal ways in Chinatowns across the continent. The impacts of that are woven into the story of the film. Racism, violence, the disparities between rich and poor – these are also issues that affect all communities and were exacerbated by COVID. My film takes a look at how this played out in Chinatowns.
W&H: The film industry has a long history of underrepresenting people of color onscreen and behind the scenes and reinforcing – and creating – negative stereotypes. What actions do you think need to be taken to make Hollywood and/or the doc world more inclusive?
KC: We really need to start asking hard questions about whose stories are being told and who has the power and privilege to tell stories. There is a real shift happening now where we’re finally realizing how much representation matters not just in front of but behind the lens too.
My first break in filmmaking came from a program that the National Film Board of Canada had called Reel Diversity. It was for emerging filmmakers of color and gave me the opportunity to make my first film “In the Shadow of Gold Mountain,” a story of the Chinese Head Tax and Exclusion Act that was, up until then, relatively unknown in the narrative of Canada.
I’m a firm believer in these types of programs that give filmmakers from marginalized communities opportunities to tell their stories and hone their craft. It isn’t because of a lack of storytellers that we don’t see inclusive voices reflected in the media, but a lack of opportunities for people on the margins.
I will also add that, as a documentary filmmaker, it’s also important to recognize when it is and isn’t your place to tell a certain story. Recognize when you need to work with others to bring forward a genuine point of view or to amplify the voices of others whose stories are theirs to tell.
