There's no doubt that Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon is a film with both artistic and social value, a vibrant showcase of Eastern culture.
Getting Eastern martial arts to strut confidently onto a prestigious stage like the Oscars is, in a way, a bigger boost to the prestige and depth of -language cinema than anything Bruce Lee or Jackie Chan ever did. Ang Lee's contribution here is massive.
But maybe because of the whole "artists look down on each other" thing—or perhaps due to Ang Lee's background as an elite Asian director—Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon got a lot of flak from industry folks across the strait. They sneered at it, calling it an Eastern art piece shot with Western techniques, basically pandering to Hollywood.
A bunch of fifth-generation directors weren't happy. They trashed Crouching Tiger while secretly copying Hollywood's filmmaking tricks. What did we get? A string of awkward flops like Hero, The Promise, and The Banquet—movies that tried too hard and ended up as punchlines.
Western vibes or Eastern skills, it doesn't matter—gold doesn't stay buried!
Hollywood's the global trendsetter in movies. Even Japan, with all its masterful directors, has commercial films leaning toward Hollywood's style. There's no shame in learning. The real shame is when you copy shamelessly but still strut around claiming you're "staying true to yourself."
Think about films like Monkey King: Hero is Back, Wolf Warrior, or Operation Red Sea—movies that had audiences screaming with excitement. Weren't they all borrowing Hollywood's playbook?
There's no need to cling to outdated ways. Those film industry snobs across the strait love to blame their flops on "strict national censorship." That's nonsense!
Hollywood's got a rating system and seems all free and easy, right? Think again.
That's dead wrong!
Hollywood's internal censorship is even tougher than what's across the strait!
According to modern Western social theory, individuals have full rights to expression, so art shouldn't be censored or restricted by political powers. In the U.S., every other art form—painting, music, whatever—gets by without a formal social censorship system. Movies? They're the exception.
Back on November 4, 1907, Chicago's city government passed a film censorship ordinance. Governors could ban movies deemed immoral or touching on race, religion, whatever.
Then, in 1915, the "Mutual Film Corporation v. Industrial Commission of Ohio" case went to the Supreme Court. They ruled that movies, as an entertainment industry, weren't protected by the First Amendment's free expression clause. That decision locked in federal and industry power to censor films, with full legal backing.
Later, the Motion Picture Producers and Distributors of America pushed a moral code—written by a Catholic guy from a church perspective—into an industry self-regulation standard to keep directors in line.
That's the famous "Hays Code"!
Since it's industry self-regulation, there are clear, public rules for directors and producers to follow so they don't veer off track.
It's not government censorship, and the rulings don't carry legal weight. But here's the kicker: no distributor in the association will touch a film that doesn't pass review. And since all the big distributors are members, failing the review basically kills a movie's commercial shot.
That's why this system's stuck around in Hollywood for so long!
By the 21st century, the rules had piled up. When Dunn shot Titanic, his producer handed him a restriction list with over 300 things to avoid—pretty much anything that didn't vibe with Catholic values was off-limits.
Sure, across the strait it's mostly national policy calling the shots, while in Hollywood it's industry standards. But either way, there's no escaping the limits.
If a director doesn't play by these complicated, redundant rules, they're out of the mainstream game. That's just how it works.
No director can topple Hollywood's near-century-old universal values, shaped by Catholic thinking!
It's not so different from the socialist values across the strait—both are restrictive, both choke freedom. The only difference? One's got a global audience and a hundred years of polish; the other's niche.
Plenty of artsy types across the strait blame their lousy movies on government rules, then turn around and scoff at Ang Lee's overseas success. That's just shameless!
Dunn's take on Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon? No sour grapes, no fawning, no jealousy, no hate. He just knows this: a film dripping with Eastern flair snagged 10 Oscar nominations and became the first Mandarin-language movie to turn heads in America's cultural melting pot. It hit U.S. theaters in two versions—English and Mandarin.
This year's Oscars are shaping up to be a blockbuster showdown.
Besides Crouching Tiger with its 10 nods, there's Gladiator with 11, Erin Brockovich with 9, and other standouts like Traffic, Almost Famous, and You Can Count on Me.
Dunn's sitting with the Erin Brockovich crew—Natalie on his left, Nicole Kidman on his right.
It's Natalie's first Oscar nomination, but she's way more chill than Nicole.
Her Best Supporting Actress nod? Pretty much a lock for this year's Oscars.
Her competition—Kate Hudson, Frances McDormand, Julie Walters, Marcia Gay Harden—doesn't have the fame or clout to challenge her.
Nicole's Best Actress nod, though? That's a bloodbath!
She's up against Julia Roberts in Erin Brockovich, Juliette Binoche in Chocolat, Ellen Burstyn in Requiem for a Dream, and Laura Linney in You Can Count on Me. Every one of them's a heavyweight.
Dunn's careful not to get caught on camera doing anything awkward. He covers his mouth and whispers to Nicole, "Even if you don't win, it's fine. Don't forget A Beautiful Mind is still coming! I promised you—I'll get you that Best Actress win!"
Nicole forces a stiff smile. "Thanks. You're overthinking it. I'm okay."
Dunn just shakes his head, a little helpless.
Yeah, it's the Oscars—who can really let it go?
The committee's clearly dragging out the suspense this year. Unlike past shows, they don't kick off with Best Supporting Actress. Instead, they start with the technical awards.
The big three—Crouching Tiger, Gladiator, and Erin Brockovich—sweep the first three: Best Art Direction, Best Costume Design, Best Makeup.
After those low-stakes wins, the night's first real highlight finally hits.
Robert Downey Jr. and Kate Winslet step up as presenters.
"Seen Traffic?" Robert Downey Jr. asks, his fast-talking vibe reminding you of his kid.
Kate Winslet, all grace, says, "Yeah, Soderbergh did a great job."
Robert frowns. "Is England really that wild?"
Kate looks a little exasperated. "No."
He gives her a dramatic once-over, smirking. "I think it has to be. Chaos breeds beauty, right?"
Kate grins. "Thanks, but you're no Clark Gable!"
The Shrine Auditorium erupts in laughter.
After the quick banter, Robert gets serious. "Alright, let's check out the nominees for Best Adapted Screenplay!"
The big screen behind them flashes a fast-cut reel of the five nominees: Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon, Traffic, Chocolat, Erin Brockovich, and O Brother, Where Art Thou?.
Under the table, Natalie and Nicole each grab one of Dunn's hands.
No one cares about the broadcast cameras now.
The heart-pounding moment's here!
Dunn's up for Best Adapted Screenplay for Erin Brockovich!
Compared to his Titanic Best Director nod a few years back, this is his closest shot at an Oscar yet.
This could be Dunn's first-ever Oscar win!
Robert Downey Jr. opens the envelope, glances at the name, and flashes a knowing smile. He hands it over to Kate Winslet like a gentleman.
Kate takes it, looks, and beams—a rare, radiant smile that lights up the room like spring flowers. It's a moment so stunning it could go down in Oscar history!
Her voice trembles with excitement as she announces, "Erin Brockovich, Dunn Walker!"
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