Willis Wu (Jimmy O. Yang) is not the star of his own life. He plays a decidedly background character—Generic Asian Man—on a police procedural named Black & White (a play on Law & Order) starring a Black male detective and a white woman detective (sound familiar?). It’s a tried-and-tested formula that relies on racist stereotypes and familiar tropes that seem almost concrete in their expectedness. Anyway, back to Wu—he plays a waiter in a Chinatown restaurant that the show is using as its backdrop. Day in and day out, he stays in the background, whether it’s on set or in his apartment building he shares with many of the other generic Asian actors and their families.
It’s a dreary existence, and Wu dreams of something more: To take on a bigger role and play a Kung-Fu Guy. One day, he gets his wish: He witnesses a crime, and is approached by Lana (Chloe Bennet), a detective transfer who wants to work with him. She’s investigating a deeper web of crime within Chinatown, including the disappearance of Wu’s brother a few years back. That brings Wu towards the spotlight of Black & White and into the dynamics of what it means to stay on top—if you can really call it that.
Interior Chinatown is based on Charles Yu’s 2020 novel, one of the most intriguing parts of which is that it’s formatted like a screenplay. Wu’s reality and on-screen acting blur as he plays a Generic Asian Man in every aspect of his life. It’s often hard to tell which parts of the script are from the TV show, and which parts are from Willis’ own life. Any opportunity to break away from the TV show his life revolves around seems nigh impossible—even more so than rising from a waiter to a different Asian on-screen stereotype.
While the novel is already in a script format, its adaptation to the silver screen is not nearly as simple as you might expect. The novel uses its script descriptions of characters and places to insert deeply acerbic satirical observations about racist stereotypes, tired Hollywood TV tropes, and the intergenerational struggles of being Asian in America. Translating that not-so-subtle-subtext onto the screen means the show has to play things up a little. And it pulls it off, bringing the astuteness of the narrative to the screen with plenty of absurdity and quirk that executive producer Taika Waititi does so well. I can’t wait to see how the second half of the series ups the ante as the novel takes a rather intense and interesting turn.
Jimmy O. Yang makes the character of Willis much more engaging and personal, and the narrative takes on more drama than the original story. Ronny Chieng as Willis’ friend Fatty Choi also gets more of a role than in the novel—his character reluctantly plays a waiter with a snappy intensity that will make you giggle. And Chloe Bennet as Lana is effortlessly sharp, keeping the boys in check and delivering a hefty dose of reality to their lives.
The lines between reality and fiction are still very much blurred, with plenty of fourth-wall breaks (or perhaps third-wall breaks, as the actors argue with each other about lines and delivery). Whether the investigation is real or part of the police procedural really doesn’t matter; the tension is there and the commentary zings. As Wu gets deeper into figuring out his brother’s disappearance, the series explores intergenerational layers that cut deep. In between those wry nods of satire, there are very real and painful moments that come from striving for a better life in a place designed to keep the cycle going. And they will hit you in your chest—but not for long, as the oddity of the next scene will smack you in the face with comedic effect, all before you can catch your breath.
Interior Chinatown is off to a glowing start, welcoming you into its moody, glitzy embrace, ready to serve up entertainment on a silver-screen platter. The acting is poised, the intersectional commentary is on top form, and the story pulls you in with delicious intrigue. And it always feels slightly off-kilter: too bright, too polished, too…not quite right. All adding to the satirical nature of the show, kept quirky by a jaunty yet mysterious score that lets you know you’re supposed to be in on the joke, even if you don’t know why yet (and ain’t that half the fun?). As the layers peel back, you’ll find yourself trapped in a deepening web of cleverly-designed absurdity—and you won’t be able to resist finding out what could possibly happen next.
