AS THE CROW FLIES ...

by Jeff Yang

By the time this magazine hits the stands, Brandon Lee's last film, The Crow, which has May 11 as its planned release date, will likely have fluttered to its cinematic perch - in the heady eyries of the hits, in the vast jungles of the just-so, or dead in the ditch of flops.

Okay, so the metaphor is an unfortunate one; certainly there is more than enough talk of death around The Crow already, in tones ranging from the sepulchrally solemn to the shrilly sensationalist.

But the tragedy that struck Brandon Lee was just that - a tragedy; talk of curses and vendettas, of blood feuds and bitter fate, does great disservice to the memory of Brandon as a man.

To be frank (as Brandon was himself), the truth about Brandon is that he was a young man of sunny disposition and ample potential; his undistinguished work had thus far kept him in the shadow of his far more famous father Bruce. The Crow, while not a drama coach's fantasy, was nevertheless a star turn in a genre not connected to martial arts. It might find its niche and succeed; Brandon would, in any case, be that much closer to escaping his father's eclipse.

Seeing The Crow now, 80 minutes of mood and shadow and agony, I wish that there were a stronger and deeper memorial for him - a swan song that truly expressed the joy of the man, who was months away from marriage, who bore a burden of pain and prefigurement without bitterness or dismay (an incorrigible practical joker, he showed up for one scene at that shoot in his full leather-harlequin Crow makeup and a giant fuzzy wig, looking remarkably like an undead Cher); a man who was caught between so many forces and worlds, yet still found the time to create intensely loyal friendships, and to love deeply.

Writers often referred to Brandon as Asian America's Hollywood hope. He didn't consider himself that - not because he rejected Asian America, but, perhaps, because he didn't fit into Hollywood's hectic tumult of meetings and lunches and deals and dissemblements.

By the time you read this, The Crow may well have flown. Brandon may have passed into memory - not as the star he could have been, but as the tragic son of a tragic father.

Yet if Hollywood is about anything, it is about dreams, in both their nightmarish and fantastic aspects. If the life of Brandon Lee inspired one future actor to strive for Hollywood greatness, it won't have been in vain. And if his death forced the industry to look at itself, and the materialist principles which in part caused the tragedy (the production was overbudget and behind schedule, and the nonunion crew was working graveyard shifts to compensate) - then perhaps that, too, will not have been an utter waste.

But the Dream Machine churns on like a silvertone juggernaut. There will always be new stars and new pictures. There is hope - as Angelo Ragaza shows in his look at young directors struggling to break through, and Philip Chung details in his investigation into the brave new world of Asian American Hollywood - and there is glory, as our first- ever Ammy Awards recognize. And always, as this issue's exclusive survey of Asian American industry insiders makes clear, there's work to be done. Let's do it.

Read on and enjoy!

A. Magazine, © June 1994