The other day, I was on the treadmill, watching Showdown in Little Tokyo—an eighties action flick starring Dolph Lundgren and the late Brandon Lee.  I caught it in a climactic scene.  Lundgren and Lee infiltrate a traditional Japanese bath house filled with yakuza in nothing but loincloths and full body tattoos.

Boy do they whip some yakuza butt.  There was a moment that it looked like it was over for the pair.  A big fat sumo wrestler has been holding his breath underwater and suddenly leaps out and takes down Lundgren.  But then, the duo really pull through.  And Dolph Lundgren keeps his hair neat, even though he’s shiney and wet all over.

As an Asian American, I know I should have been outraged that all ten of the yakuza got beat up by the buff, blond white guy.  I know it should have gotten me pissed that Brandon Lee, a much better action star, had to play second fiddle–much like his old man Bruce did–to a hack.  I know that I should have been creeped out by the fact that in the final scene Dolph Lundgren has a samurai sword fight, dressed as, of all things, a real samurai…in order to save the Asian girl who is his one true lotus blossom.

But I wasn’t mad at all.  I was mesmerized.  Mesmerized by the fact that this  action flick was taking place in the same place my novel takes place.  Downtown LA.  I could name every street and shop.  I actually kept running on the treadmill until the movie was over.  Usually, I get tired and give up after a half hour.  I’m kind of a wimp when it comes to exercise.

That night I ate an extra big meal.  Research can really be tiring.