Breakfast at Tiffany’s: A sign of the times or racist, imperialist propaganda?
Much has been said about Breakfast at Tiffany’s since it was first released in 1961, but alongside the recurring use of the adjective “charming” in the reams that have been written, you’ll also find the word “racist”. It’s a sweet film that has been lulling people with the old romantic ideals of Hollywood ever since it aired. That is until the moment Mickey Rooney appears in the role of Mr Yunioshi and provides a portrayal so patently stereotypical that it has been snapping weak jaws with an uncontrollable cringe ever since.
This is no retrospective lookback either. Even at the time, it was largely questioned as being inappropriate. For starters, in Truman Capote’s book, Mr Yunioshi is nothing like his portrayal on screen—he is an assimilated Asian-American trying to support Holly Golightly on her liberating exploration of self and identity. This led to condemnation of the casting and even producer Richard Shephard spoke out against it. Director Blake Edwards insisted that the picture needed Rooney’s name and trademark charm to be part of it, so they persevered. Edwards has since expressed his extreme regret.
In the film, Mr Yunioshi is portrayed as an angry, screaming but affable klutz. He is depicted in Oriental outfits with extenuated features and characteristics. However, it is perhaps the substance of the character himself and how he interacts with others that proves most notable when looking back at the picture. He bumps into things like a wally and wails down the stairs with entirely futile fury. He has very few humanised interactions and little to no arc.
“Don’t be angry you dear little man. I promise not to do it again,” Ms Golightly tells him in a casual dismissal of one of his many rants. This is a line that post-colonial theorists could have a field day with. With the theory in mind, it is a line that America may well have offered up to the Asian community at large. In essence, the observation is that when a nation subjects another to a terrible act, the retributions later filter through into the art of the inflicting nation. In other words, if you drop a nuclear bomb on someone then it is bound to have reverberations in your own cultural output. It is as simple as that. How the hell could it not?
In most cases, like the Opium epidemic that the British inflicted upon China, this filters through decades later, when the dust has settled and the ethics have been assessed, as a fear of revenge. Thus, the East, in works that follow, is given a sinister threatening edge. However, in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, that wasn’t the case. It’s almost as though it was too close – only 16 years on from the nuclear bombing of Japan – and the event was too catastrophic to portray Mr Yunioshi as an evil to be wary of. That would’ve been too perilous to comprehend, thus, he is cast as “dear little man” upstairs whose daft fury can be laughed off as almost charming. His anger is merely part of his cutesy nature, like a yapping dog, and he’s far too charmed by Ms Golightly to ever bite.
Now, here’s the thing: at the time, that might not have been seen as outright racism. In fact, it is worth noting now that it probably wasn’t even intended as such – and intent really is important – Edwards may have merely wanted a slapstick character to help break up the narrative. But that doesn’t mean that post-colonial orientalism wasn’t subconsciously behind it and that such a thing remains very important to watch out for.
You see, beyond the nuclear bombing of Japan, President Franklin D. Roosevelt also set up Japanese internment camps whereby people of Japanese descent, including those of full US citizenship, were incarnated in isolated camps between 1942 and 1945. This dark practice cast a shadow over America afterwards. This also comes to the fore in Breakfast at Tiffany’s. During the film, there is a complete dissociation between Mr Yunioshi and the rest of the characters. In fact, he is barely looked at, usually just hollering down from a few floors above. The ethical quandary of Asian-American reparations would be glossed over (even subconsciously) so he remains a ranting foreigner a few floors above the main script.
In the book, Capote interpolates him into the same search for identity and belonging in a bourgeoise and prejudiced society that Golightly explores. The film, however, had light-hearted entertainment as a prerogative so this civil commentary was dropped in favour of a more traditional storyline without such a probing subtext. It achieves this with aplomb—light-hearted entertainment and that recurring word ‘charm’ are there in spades. There is nothing wrong with either of those and as such there are millions who harmlessly still enjoy the film as a beloved treat. Most, however, would still wish that the racist inclusion of Rooney was sequestered.
This serves as a portent because Breakfast at Tiffany’s is both a sign of the times and racist, imperialist propaganda. It is reflective of how moral angst can manifest itself indirectly in art and perpetuate a troubling stereotype.
