“Twenty years ago the Italians owned forty blocks north of Chinatown. Now they own three. Five years from now, you’ll have to go to Brooklyn to get pizza.”
Reminiscent of the raw gangster films of a decade prior and layered with a poppy neon aesthetic, Abel Ferrara’s China Girl offers an impeccably crafted modernization of Romeo and Juliet. The dueling storylines of forbidden teenage infatuation and violent underworld rivalry provide emotional and physical tension as Ferrara proves himself a mature and confident director of both cast and crew. Leaving Shakespeare’s basic formula intact, Nicholas St. John transforms the familiar story into an ultraviolent exploration of generational contempt. Young and rambunctious, the junior members of rival communities come to realize the futility of hating a group of people for an unremembered slight in the distant past. Alas, this realization inevitably comes too late. Upsetting the delicate political balance between criminal factions with something as silly as young love is bound to ruffle some feathers. In this case, it causes a supremely stylish exploitation bloodbath.
The setting is the adjacent Manhattan districts of Chinatown and Little Italy. When Tye (Sari Chang) and Tony (Richard Panebianco) experience love at first sight at a club (one of two embarrassing dance scenes—in my estimation the film’s only glaring missteps), their brief romance offers a potential cultural bridge for their contentious communities. But our star-crossed lovers are young and naive. Their older brothers, Alby (James Russo) and Yung (Russell Wong), are both connected to the world of organized crime and cannot have their younger siblings galavanting about tangled in each other’s arms. Alby runs a pizzeria but is in league with mafia boss Enrico Perito (Robert Miano) and has his own small gang of low-level goons. Yung is an aspiring member of his local Tong and is actively groomed for promotion by Gung Tu (James Hong). The young couple’s little fling quickly causes hackles to rise on both sides. The situation is exacerbated by the antics of Tsu Shin (Joey Chin), Yung’s cousin and sidekick who has been extorting Chinese restaurants in Little Italy and violating a handshake agreement over territory.
China Girl is nearly devoid of romance, which makes the few instances given all the more poignant. But even when Tye and Tony’s relationship is briefly consummated, it’s undercut by an eerie ambient drone that engenders unease in a moment where one would expect tenderness. In any case, the lovebirds’ relationship is soon exposed. Thinking that they are comporting themselves righteously, Alby and Yung engage in increasingly vicious skirmishes, seeing an opportunity to carve out larger roles for themselves in their respective crime orgs. But these street fights soon get out of control and Perito and Gung Tu join forces to quash the violence, bringing peace by meting out further bloodshed. In one telling scene a thug is stabbed from the front by a Chinese boss, then from behind by an Italian one. That the young generation never grasps that the old guard profits from the simmering conflict and conspires against those who step out of line is the real tragedy. Your enemy is not those who look different than you, but those who wish to shoehorn you into an artificial race war. It almost reads like a parable.
We must never allow ourselves to be divided by war… or to be interfered with by police investigations… all because a few reckless children cannot live within our tradition of our society. Our responsibility is to control our children.
There was never a chance that Ferrara would allow his film to become mawkish, and he obliterates any chance of sentimentality by drowning his sets in blood and pushing the half-compelling romance to the sideline. As the warring factions take part in their bloodletting exercises Ferrara is in full control of the compositions. The chase and combat sequences here are a visual buffet of silhouettes, reflections, and neon lights; chain-link fences, puddles of rainwater, and edged weapons; smooth camera movements and loose choreography. It manages to feel tactile yet slickly artificial at once, with fight sequences playing out as shadows on a wall and a brief excursion into a music video-esque montage.
With Tye and Tony together only sparingly, the supporting cast carry much of the weight. I thought Russell Wong in particular was terrific. Moments before the bloodsoaked conclusion, Yung checks in on his sister and finds her sound asleep. He casually sips his beer and meanders around her bedroom. He kisses her on the cheek and thoughtfully observes how she has decorated her living space—posters of American actors and pop stars cover her walls, American fashion magazines clutter her nightstand. Despite the contemptuous rivalry between the gangs of Little Italy and Chinatown and his warnings, Tye has fully assimilated American culture. Wong’s body language and facial expressions convey his emotional turmoil better than any dialogue could.
In my junior year of high school we read Shakespeare’s original play and were then forced to sit through Baz Luhrmann’s ridiculous punk rock Romeo + Juliet because the teacher was a DiCaprio fangirl. I hereby implore teachers who feel compelled to show an adaptation in class to put on China Girl (or at least West Side Story, a classic from which St. John pilfered more than a few lines).