In the space of less than a decade, the American film industry has become obsessively revisionist. One of the first, and most notorious, remakes was Gus Van Sant's regurgitation of Hitchcock's *Psycho *in 1998. Identical to the original in every shot, Van Sant's "remake" was really nothing more than the use color film stock and the alleged sound of Norman Bates masturbating. But while *Psycho* was just the beginning of a flood of 'classic' remakes (*The Stepford Wives* and the tragic turn in Stephen Soderbergh's recent career spring to mind), the real remake paydirt is in remaking recently released foreign films. It began when Dutch film *Spoorloos *was remade in 1993 as *The Vanishing*, and since then America has re-written the cinematic map: *The Birdcage* (originally French), *Vanilla Sky* (originally Spanish), and * Insomnia* (originally Norweigan) have all been retold within the last decade.

It was the remake of Japanese film *Ringu *that marked the beginning of a more specific trend: the Asian remake. Since *The Ring*'s 2002 release, several more Asian remakes have been churned out in rapid-fire succession: *The Grudge*, *Shall We Dance?*, and now *Dark Water*. A sequel to the English-language *The Ring *is now headed towards theaters, and rumors are flying on the internet about possible remakes of Hong Kong thriller *The Eye *(with Tom Cruise) and Korean thriller *A Tale of Two Sisters *(with the Olsen twins). The rights for another Korean thriller, *Shutter*, were snapped up this year by an American production company, mere months after its cinematic debut. Simultaneously, the interest in remaking popular European films has waned. The commercial success of *Amélie de Montmarte* in the United States showed that American audiences, or rather, the people choosing the films to be shown to American audiences, are okay with those pesky subtitles as long as the actors fit the accepted American standard of beauty. That *Amélie* was criticized by many for being completely devoid of the Africans and Middle-Easterners who play such visible and essential roles in contemporary Parisian society is telling.

How and where did the interest in Asian cinema start? Although not strictly 'remakes', the films of Quentin Tarantino's career seem to have been a genesis for current trends. One of Tarantino's first acting roles was as an Elvis impersonator, which is fitting, seeing as how he has become the Elvis of cinema. Allow me to elaborate: Elvis took music from African-Americans and acted as a handsome white mouthpiece, thus making rock n' roll more acceptable to white, middle-class American audiences. Tarantino regurgitates African-American and Asian film culture into scripts for films that are more acceptable to white, middle-class American audiences. Tarantino watches Asian film so that America doesn't have to, and when he finds one that's acceptable, he either incorporates it into his own films or 'presents' it in its entirety to an American audience. Although Tarantino had nothing to do with the creation of either *Chungking Express* or *Hero*, it is only his name (as in "Quentin Tarantino Presents") that has helped ease such films into mainstream America's cinematic consciousness. Has any other director been able to make such a lucrative career out of films that he has not produced, directed, or acted in, but simply viewed and enjoyed?

The contemporary American film industry is doing Tarantino one better. Rather than simply 'presenting' a film that may be acceptable for an American audience, they are revising Asian cinema altogether to make it more 'relevant' to largely Caucasian audiences. Stories, styles, and thematic elements are lifted from Asian films and reconfigured with a white lead, an American setting, and the English language.

Although the point of remaking Asian films seems to be removing the unfamiliar from the American audience, there is often very little difference in cultural context between original and retelling. The concepts of *Ringu*(urban legends, video-technology) or *Dark Water* (painful divorce, maternal love, urban isolation) are not foreign ideas to American audiences, and therefore warrant no revision. Instead, it seems that race alone is the motivating factor. Rather than expose American audiences to scenes of other countries, sounds of languages other than English, or the risk of empathizing with foreign characters, the American film industry would rather make their own version of the same story. If not deep-seated racism, what is it that makes American audiences more comfortable with Naomi Watts' blonde, freckled, blue-eyed appearance than with Nanako Matsushima's own beauty? Why would we prefer the Celtic blue eyes of Jennifer Connelly over the brown of Hitomi Kuroki? It's not enough for a film lead to be beautiful, it seems she must be white as well.

What's more, especially where actresses like Watts are concerned, film leads must be white, beautiful and *American*. The homogenization of 'broads from abroad' is evident in the studied American accents affected by Watts and her countrywomen Nicole Kidman and Toni Collette, even when not in character. When a tearful Charlize Theron expressed her Oscar-night disbelief by crying, "I'm from a farm in South Africa!", she sounded, despite all her sincerity, like the aforementioned farm was in Idaho. Indeed, in post-Oscar interviews, Theron confided that she couldn't land acting roles until she had successfully banished her Afrikaans accent. Actors are simply not accepted by the American film industry unless it is proven they can look, act, and talk just like us; effectively, that they have forgotten their past lives in other lands and are now one of us. Case in point: Stellan Skårsgård, who is forgiven for appearing in the occasional Swedish movie, if only because he is an attractive Caucasian whose American English is so damn convincing. Not to mention the thousands of closet Canadians tucked away in the Hollywood hills.

Most large-budget American films are marketed ruthlessly in practically any country with a theater. In 2005, America's *The Grudge* was screened in Japanese theaters, where its appearance must have seemed some sort of strange and condescending *déjà vu*. It's as if American producers treat Asian films not as finished products but as pitch meetings: *I like it, but let's dump the Japanese girl. What does Sarah Michelle Gellar's schedule look like in three months?* This is most assuredly a trend that treads the well-worn racial paths of imperialism, reminiscent of the British Empire taking cotton from India only to sell woven garments back to the Indian market.

That's why it's particularly ironic that the MPAA has been so rabidly pushing its "Who Makes Movies?" anti-piracy ads in American theaters. The ads, which rely heavily on the syrupy clichés about Morality with a capital M that Hollywood loves, may be particularly ill-timed. Such ads are shown right after the filmgoer has paid a full US$9.00 for a ticket (many theaters have stopped offering student discounts) and US$12.00 for popcorn and a soda, and right before they are subjected to a predictable revision of an idea lifted from another filmmaker in another country, with more than enough preaching, taglines, plot holes, product placements, gender roles, racist stereotypes, and happy endings to adequately insult their intelligence. The American film industry appears to labor under the antiquated notion that paying money for something (i.e. production rights) leaves no question as to the moral legitimacy of its ownership. And for the American film industry, ownership is really the crux of the recent remake frenzy. By owning the idea, the script, the movie, it is no longer Japanese, or Korean, or Chinese, it's *ours*, and we did it better.

But in the end, it is also Americans who suffer. We are spoon-fed an increasingly homogenized view of the world. If there is anything of interest beyond our borders, we are told to ignore it, find fault in it, or ingest the Americanized version instead. For the majority of people who cannot travel, world cinema is a chance at escape; it is a view on other lands, other cultures, other worlds. It is chance for Americans to see the skyline of Hong Kong, to hear what the Korean language sounds like, to notice the subtle differences of Japanese body language. Take that away and we lose another link in our weakening connection to other countries and other cultures. Take it away and we risk further alienating other countries at a time when this small world is becoming smaller. Take it away and we stagnate culturally while the rest of the world carries blissfully on.