DIRECTOR'S STATEMENT
One of the comments I get the most is how relevant the issues in Yellow Fever are today. Issues with being yellow. Issues with being any other color of the rainbow. Issues with racism. Issues with immigration. Issues with what it means to be American. Issues with belonging. Issues that I had as a teenage Korean American girl, growing up in New York, back in the year 2000. By now, I would think we would have progressed, but alas ... And if these issues are very much prevalent today, why, people ask, do I show the iconic image of the Twin Towers, standing proud in the year 2000? Why set the film in the past?
Sure. The year 2000 was the year when I was an undergrad at NYU, when New York was still unscarred by the tragedy of 911. So yes, I set the film in 2000 for nostalgic reasons, because that’s a New York that I loved and knew. But this alone could not, and would not, justify a period film. So it still begs the question.
To answer this, I’ll have to give you an abridged version of Korean adoption history. The Americans (and United Nations) played a big role in the Korean War in the early 50s, which would divide the nation into both the North and South Korea we know of today. For the first decade following the war, the majority of children sent overseas were bi-racial children of American military fathers and Korean women; these children were called the “dust of the streets,” outcasts of Korean society, which valued the purity of the Korean bloodline. But, in the 70s and 80s, changing social values brought about more divorces and out-of-wedlock pregnancies. However, there was still a stigma attached to out-of-wedlock pregnancies, so many women had the agencies and clinics make it so that they would never be found by the infants they gave up. Most of these children were adopted by American families, who were finding it increasingly difficult to adopt children at home. Over the years, an estimated 200,000 South Korean children were sent overseas for adoption, 150,000 of which were adopted by Americans.
The turning point in Korean overseas adoptions came during the 1988 Seoul Olympics, when journalists worldwide put Korea under a microscope, analyzing and scrutinizing the many aspects of Korean culture. That’s when the adoption story broke and the joke came out that Korea’s biggest export was its babies. This was a great embarrassment for South Korea and its policy makers, and they made a plan to phase out overseas adoptions. Thus, an Asia Bradford today would be an historical anomaly, and I’d be doing a disservice to the generation of Korean adoptees, who were an important part of Korean and American histories.
So there it is. Korean adoption history in a nutshell. When it came to casting, what I absolutely wanted was a Korean-American. Not a Chinese-American. Not a Japanese-American. A Korean-American. And yes, we can tell the difference! It was also important to me to portray an Asian American lead in a role that wasn't characterized by cliches. Asia Bradford is not a hyper-sexualized manga goddess. She does not do marshall arts. She is not the nerdy friend. In fact, she's bad at school! What she is, however, is an American kid trying to find her way and her place in the world. And when I say American, I mean American. Not Asian American. Not Korean American. American.
So, my casting director sent out a casting notice with the script included. Little did I know this would bring a deluge of emails from Koreans, Asians, foreigners, and women, who had read my script; they told me how touched they were that I was giving a voice and a lead to an under-represented female group. I also got a flood of emails from Korean adoptees themselves, who said they understood Asia’s plight, because they didn’t really feel like they belonged in America or Korea. I got letters from immigrants who moved to America and also could understand Asia’s story. This was all very heartwarming and made me feel like this was a voice that needed to be heard, because it wasn't readily heard.
When I got word that Jenna Ushkowitz, the Korean-American girl on Glee, was interested in the part, my producer and I were excited. But she wanted to meet me first. So we scheduled the meet, and one of the first things she asked me was, “Were you adopted too?” I said No. And she was surprised, because she was convinced that I was. And that was one of the biggest compliments that I could have gotten as the screenwriter. She then proceeded to tell me that she was adopted from Korea by white parents, and felt that this story was very much her own. It was literally like the stars aligned. She was the one. I knew then and there we had to cast her, and what a decision it was!
Sure. The year 2000 was the year when I was an undergrad at NYU, when New York was still unscarred by the tragedy of 911. So yes, I set the film in 2000 for nostalgic reasons, because that’s a New York that I loved and knew. But this alone could not, and would not, justify a period film. So it still begs the question.
To answer this, I’ll have to give you an abridged version of Korean adoption history. The Americans (and United Nations) played a big role in the Korean War in the early 50s, which would divide the nation into both the North and South Korea we know of today. For the first decade following the war, the majority of children sent overseas were bi-racial children of American military fathers and Korean women; these children were called the “dust of the streets,” outcasts of Korean society, which valued the purity of the Korean bloodline. But, in the 70s and 80s, changing social values brought about more divorces and out-of-wedlock pregnancies. However, there was still a stigma attached to out-of-wedlock pregnancies, so many women had the agencies and clinics make it so that they would never be found by the infants they gave up. Most of these children were adopted by American families, who were finding it increasingly difficult to adopt children at home. Over the years, an estimated 200,000 South Korean children were sent overseas for adoption, 150,000 of which were adopted by Americans.
The turning point in Korean overseas adoptions came during the 1988 Seoul Olympics, when journalists worldwide put Korea under a microscope, analyzing and scrutinizing the many aspects of Korean culture. That’s when the adoption story broke and the joke came out that Korea’s biggest export was its babies. This was a great embarrassment for South Korea and its policy makers, and they made a plan to phase out overseas adoptions. Thus, an Asia Bradford today would be an historical anomaly, and I’d be doing a disservice to the generation of Korean adoptees, who were an important part of Korean and American histories.
So there it is. Korean adoption history in a nutshell. When it came to casting, what I absolutely wanted was a Korean-American. Not a Chinese-American. Not a Japanese-American. A Korean-American. And yes, we can tell the difference! It was also important to me to portray an Asian American lead in a role that wasn't characterized by cliches. Asia Bradford is not a hyper-sexualized manga goddess. She does not do marshall arts. She is not the nerdy friend. In fact, she's bad at school! What she is, however, is an American kid trying to find her way and her place in the world. And when I say American, I mean American. Not Asian American. Not Korean American. American.
So, my casting director sent out a casting notice with the script included. Little did I know this would bring a deluge of emails from Koreans, Asians, foreigners, and women, who had read my script; they told me how touched they were that I was giving a voice and a lead to an under-represented female group. I also got a flood of emails from Korean adoptees themselves, who said they understood Asia’s plight, because they didn’t really feel like they belonged in America or Korea. I got letters from immigrants who moved to America and also could understand Asia’s story. This was all very heartwarming and made me feel like this was a voice that needed to be heard, because it wasn't readily heard.
When I got word that Jenna Ushkowitz, the Korean-American girl on Glee, was interested in the part, my producer and I were excited. But she wanted to meet me first. So we scheduled the meet, and one of the first things she asked me was, “Were you adopted too?” I said No. And she was surprised, because she was convinced that I was. And that was one of the biggest compliments that I could have gotten as the screenwriter. She then proceeded to tell me that she was adopted from Korea by white parents, and felt that this story was very much her own. It was literally like the stars aligned. She was the one. I knew then and there we had to cast her, and what a decision it was!