Miss Saigon Did Not Miss
Anti-imperialist undertones of the revived musical
by Renato Bolo III
Since Machiavelli believed that his advice in his guidebook worked, The Prince as his greatest work has become an unintentional exposé, a revelation, that details dictatorial patterns of behavior, warning any reader and arousing a critical viewpoint of current leaders’ similarities with the Machiavellian dictator. The book becomes a whistleblower in its detailed descriptions of ruthless political maneuvering — a “tell-all” of the moral and ethical corruption inherent in the desire for power.
And The Prince has passed on its crown of whistleblowing potential to Miss Saigon.
The Broadway-born musical has gone back to the Philippines from March to May 2024 as the Australian production. Set during the Vietnam War and its aftermath, the musical revolves around the “tragic love story” between Chris, an American GI, and Kim, a Vietnamese bar girl, during the fall of Saigon in 1975. Many of its themes align with war, love, sacrifice, and the pursuit of the American dream.
While critics have long assailed Miss Saigon for glorifying Western military presence and cementing the “White savior complex,” this controversial support for the West may ironically allow the musical to embody themes similar to The Prince. In between its well-defined lines, Miss Saigon lives and breathes an anthem of anti-imperialism under its theatrical symphony.
The Movie In My Mind
Miss Saigon’s attempt to be inclusive has blurred the line between genuine representation and tokenism and has morphed the two into a deceiving lie. Despite efforts in casting, the producers have continued to use stereotypical images of Vietnam as a setting for dramatic effect at the expense of authentic representation. An example is the exoticized wedding between Chris and Kim, which originally included gibberish words under the guide of Viet phrases. Additionally, the original Engineer was a white man performing in yellowface, a stereotypical practice where non-Asian actors portray Asian characters using makeup. Such exoticism emanates from the abuse of a chaotic Vietnamese backdrop to enhance the dramatics of American protagonists, thus luring Western audiences.
Over the decades, Miss Saigon has faced scrutiny for its past portrayals of yellowface, orientalism, gibberish Viet, the White savior complex, and other hallmarks of a racist and imperialist production. The way in which this reinforces stereotypes must be challenged, and it is exactly in the recognition of that need that paves the way for a deconstruction of the foundations of Miss Saigon. The Australian production has done its job in incorporating authenticity away from the supremacist undertones of the original Broadway show, where Americans are consistently advantaged until their eventual withdrawal from Vietnam. This deconstruction reveals the potential of Miss Saigon as a tool for revelation and discourse.
Examining the shift between the two productions shows a change in the musical’s foundations. There is a pace away from Western heroism towards acknowledging the power imbalances caused by imperial rule in Southeast Asia, such as local Vietnamese being displaced and the war economy prioritized over the local market. Miss Saigon’s reduction of a multifaceted culture to a mere backdrop for the White savior complex shows the unjust nature of the power dynamics twisted by Western superiority.
In the musical, Asian characters are portrayed as either barbaric men, hypersexualized women, or “evil” communists. These reductive portrayals reinforce harmful stereotypes that influence audience perceptions and perpetuate societal biases against Asian communities. The American tendency for racial fetishization and demonization, through parading exotic prostitutes and vilifying the leftist movement, drives their colonial legacy. Such an American affinity towards racial stereotypes was barely changed in the Australian production, but one might think of this as a sign unknowingly given by Miss Saigon that the colonial mindset runs its roots deep into society, with stereotypes unceasing even after decades of criticism. It is a glimpse into the long-standing perspectives that plague society because its perpetrator remains a global superpower due to centuries of imperialist advances.
Despite the recurring harmful stereotypes, some aspects of the show did change. Kim, previously portrayed as a sexually driven young woman, is now focused on her role as a mother. The song “I’d Give My Life For You” was given deeper meaning with the motherly responsibility that Abigail Adriano’s Kim has shown, more so than the aspect of her shown to be Chris’s “Vietnamese bar girl” lover. Although still depicted as a submissive Asian woman, Kim was able to resume control of her being by her greater dedication to her son, which showed reverence to the culture of filial piety in Southeast Asia.
Meanwhile, Chris was supposed to be portrayed as a domineering savior, and yet the Australian production has reduced him to what he actually was: a bumbling fool with the naïveté, or innocence, of a Western boy entering puberty. He was in no way fit to be the father of Kim’s son, and the production hints at this with his irresponsibility and lack of judgment — he was a slap to the White Savior complex, for he was no savior at all in the end.
The portrayal of Engineer as an opportunistic gay man who exploits women in pursuit of the American Dream further critiques the White savior complex. Representing those who would willingly become a traitor to their own countrymen, the Engineer embodies the exploitative nature of Western imperialism but fails to reap the benefits thought to bear fruit, an elusive one used by colonialists to force submission.
As a result of its troublesome depictions, Miss Saigon is more than just a problematic piece of entertainment. Its romanticism of a serious socio-political fate can expose persisting imperialist attitudes that marginalize Vietnamese and other Southeast Asian voices. Its outright portrayal of Kim’s tragic ending and the internal conflict of the Vietnam War feeds the Western mouth rooted in colonial ideology that Eastern societies are inherently chaotic and in need of saving, despite the West’s own internal upheavals due to rogue individualism.
Through its theatrical score, Miss Saigon presents a movie in everyone’s mind — a piece that reveals the lies and deceptions that allows for its viewers to recontextualize the musical in the broader anti-imperialist discourse. By examining Miss Saigon beyond its perceived flaws and into the lens of historical imperialism, there reveals a pattern of unwanted Western dominance.
I’d Give My Life For You
“It tells how a misunderstanding between two countries can tragically impact the lives of two individuals who discover love in threatening circumstances, leaving multiple scars on both sides for those who survive it and at what price?” — Miss Saigon print programme, February 2024
Boublil and Schönberg’s 2024 programme notes reflect a narrow-minded and biased view of the Vietnam War and reduced it to a mere “misunderstanding” between two nations. Inspired by a photograph of a Vietnamese woman handing her child to an American soldier, they overlooked the profound power imbalance and imperialist motives driving U.S. intervention.
The dehumanization of the Vietnamese people was a result of their social order and cultural values being disrupted by American military and capitalist ventures. While Cold War tensions offer an easy explanation, the U.S. did not wage war on Vietnam just to stop communism. The imperialist motives were deeply rooted in a desire to maintain influence on and access to Southeast Asia’s resources. Framing the Vietnam War as a mere “misunderstanding” ignores these imperialist ambitions.
Furthermore, the U.S. war economy’s imposition in Vietnam led to significant disruption, uprooting the local workforce and deepening class divides. This economic turmoil exacerbated poverty and displacement, thus profoundly affecting individuals like Kim. Her struggle for survival amid these conditions highlights the broader consequences of U.S. intervention, which the musical overlooks in favor of a simplified narrative.
At first, Kim became a wartime sex worker due to economic necessity when the American forces disrupted the local dynamics of traditional livelihood. Being an American created a false sense of stability due to the promise of the “land of the free.” Kim was trying to free herself from the distraught state of affairs in Vietnam by becoming Chris’s wife, but it was not a choice without a dilemma. Her relationship with Chris symbolized the cultural clash between traditional Vietnamese values and the allure of the American dream. It is an identity crisis intensified by growing political and economic tensions as a result of dire material conditions and limited opportunities. However, just as when Kim had accepted her future as a GI wife in the U.S., the Americans hastily withdrew from Vietnam and led to an abrupt separation between Chris and Kim.
Being one of the most carefully produced scenes, the helicopter escape sequence of the American G.I.s back to the U.S. symbolized the broken promise of the American forces to “liberate” the Vietnamese people, as well as Chris’s broken promise to allow Kim a “better” chance at life. Similar to what transpired in Philippine history, the U.S. had its share of false promises to the Filipino people, such as Douglas MacArthur’s “I shall return” and the continued hold of the American dream on migration, among others.
Being left in a volatile post-war environment, Kim was left to become a mother and provider for her son. However, the lack of support in a war-torn country and the limited opportunities for Kim as a former bar girl contributed to her staying in poverty despite the ceasing of direct American influence in the country. The withdrawal of the U.S. forces did not mean the immediate return to the pre-war state, for damage had been done. The displacement of Kim to Bangkok is indicative of another aspect of post-war Vietnam: the discrimination experienced by Amerasian children — the “Bui Doi.”
After killing Thuy to save her son, Kim and Tan migrated to Bangkok, where she struggled as a dancer facing prejudice against Amerasian families. Learning Chris had remarried and could only take Tam, Kim tragically chose to end her life, believing it was the only way to secure her son’s future.
Although her taking her own life can be interpreted as Kim giving up, through her decision she was able to liberate herself from the oppressive socio-political systems that have challenged and marginalized her and her son. She was able to control her fate by not allowing Tam to be taken away from her; instead, her decision has allowed the social obligation of guardianship to be placed on Chris and Ellen. With Southeast Asia having a culture of reverence for familial sacrifice, Kim’s decision allows her to break free from the disillusionment of the American dream and resolve her identity crisis with her native culture. Her sacrifice forces Chris to confront the responsibilities he has run away from and deal with the consequences of his actions.
Kim, like many other mothers of Amerasian children left to suffer in a post-war landscape, wields her agency and strength despite limited resources. Her choices, driven by resilience and determination, become powerful acts of defiance against systemic oppression and the human costs of imperialist exploitation in marginalized lands. Through challenging the patriarchal and capitalist structures that seek to control, Kim asserts her autonomy over her own life and demonstrates freedom — the literal manifestation of “I’d Give My Life For You.”
The power of choice shatters the absolute control that imperialism desperately tries to keep, for a choice requires the courage that empowers the marginalized to stand — the powerful agency of women disrupting and dismantling the oppressive structures that seek to dominate and dehumanize them.
The American Dream
In all the grandiosity of his musical numbers in Miss Saigon, the Engineer stands out as a driving force of the plot with his manipulation and exploitation of Kim and her son, which exemplifies how capitalist systems exploit human relationships and suffering for personal gain. He is the manifestation of a wartime opportunist, a self-serving persona without any moral backbone who is willing to befriend any force that would be beneficial to his endeavors. As such, the Engineer’s role highlights how wartime capitalism thrives on moral corruption and mirrors the systemic exploitation fostered by imperialist pursuits.
Saigon being the capital of then-South Vietnam was a hub of both economic and military activity, thus transforming it into a military-industrial capitalist complex that displaced and disproportionately marginalized the local economy. By exploiting the presence of American forces to set up his red light district, the Engineer exemplifies how capitalists commodify and degrade women, turning them into tools for profit and power. This exploitation underscores the destructive impact of Western imperialism on local economies, where capitalist interests fuel and perpetuate such abuses.
In “If You Want to Die in Bed,” the opportunist sang “Why was I born of a race that thinks only of rice and hates entrepreneurs?” Notwithstanding the presence of the colonialist army, the Engineer himself is a manifestation of colonial mentality that is treasonous against his own people. However, he completely misses the part that no ambition could ever catapult him to the social level of White Americans. He sang: “I should be American! Where every promise lands and every businessman knows where he stands.” His status as a person of color, despite him being half-French, would disproportionately disadvantage him in the White-dominated economy of the U.S. at the time, and he would have never succeeded. Behind the facade of the American Dream, there still exists a systemic racism that would have marginalized people, such as the Engineer, despite strong-willed ambitions and entrepreneurial talent.
The Engineer thus embodies a Machiavellian aspect in his relentless pursuit of personal gain, doing any means necessary to achieve his desired end. He was a driver of conflict in his dancing with multiple sides who were at war with each other — no different from the locale of the Philippine political arena where politicians are inviting the friendships of both China and the U.S. under just two successive administrations and are now in the crossfire between the two global imperialist forces.
The Engineer, as portrayed by Miss Saigon, reveals a personification of national politics that plays fire with fire in an opportunistic spree to catapult himself to a perceived higher state of socioeconomic success. In the end, he entertained the intervention of the West in Saigon with his obsession with assimilation: to become a part of the “free” that he thought to be in the U.S., which reinforces the colonialist narrative that cultural assimilation is the key to liberation.
This is The Hour, This is Our Land
Going hand-in-hand under imperialism with Western assimilation is Western intervention itself. American GIs like Chris are evident symbols of the White Savior complex, and Chris’s role as “Kim’s hero” reinforces the imperialist viewpoint that Western intervention is the East’s saving grace needed for salvation. This is still evident today, with the increase of foreign presence in the Philippines, where four new military bases were established under the Enhanced Defense Cooperation Agreement (EDCA) of the country with the U.S.
Miss Saigon depicts the nobility of the Americans in an attempt to paint them as a force of benevolence — of peace and order blessed upon societies in conflict. And yet viewers are empowered by the musical’s subtext to actually reveal the American dream of geopolitical dominance that is self-serving.
Despite their perceived power, the presence of the Americans in a sovereign country, like Vietnam, did not guarantee the visas of the Vietnamese people in the musical who betrayed their own country to help the self-serving imperialist cause of the U.S. This was embodied by Chris himself: his inability to fulfill his promise to Kim was a telltale sign of a weak foundation behind his words.
The uncertainty surrounding American G.I.s and the embassy in Saigon during its fall demonstrates how imperial control weakens as the public recognizes their deception. The chains of imperialism are weak but are held together by welds of complacency arising from the continued manipulation of capitalist forces over different people.
Complacency was reinforced through deception in military bases and red light districts, where women were misled into believing that marrying an American G.I. would lead to their liberation. Military bases like those in Subic and Olongapo have long been a hub of violence against women, much like the hubs born of the Engineer’s manipulation. The socio-political disparity has been made even more apparent in recent times with the outrageous verdict of the Jennifer Laude case, where Joseph Scott Pemberton, a U.S. marine, was given an unfairly reduced sentence for the apparent murder of Laude. This preferential treatment toward Americans, even on Philippine soil, has always been a detriment to the freeing of the country from the shackles of colonialism.
What the musical portrays — imperialism, orientalism, White Savior complex — are not meant to be taken at mere face value. They depict a truth that speaks volumes below its surface: the weaknesses of the imperialist power of the U.S. is shown by its inability to keep its promises to the Vietnamese people who aided them during the war. The people are powerful and their forces resilient against every hit. And, there is no need at all for Western interventionism, for the West has done nothing but cause chaos in the lands that it so desperately tries to grab for its benefit.
However, the presence of foreign military and the perceived need for Western intervention continue, especially from U.S. that is currently in a subtle political competition of power-grabbing with China, the theater of Miss Saigon might become the soonest reality of the Philippines. Bongbong Marcos’s bootlicking of the U.S. and his open antagonism against China, which is in direct contrast to the previous Duterte administration of being pro-China and anti-US, serves as an additional fuel on land that will probably be the forefront and playground of the two imperialist forces. Miss Saigon reveals a reality that will happen, but it still serves as an understatement from its perspective of love — the actual truth will be more disturbing, more destructive, and might signal the fall of what once was.
A Miss Saigon in the Philippines will not be a story of tragic love; instead, it will be a tragic story of how a nation’s government continued to indulge the empty promises of imperialists, leading to its own eventual demise under conditions that are far from the romanticized theater of Miss Saigon.
Much like Machiavelli’s The Prince can be read as a satirical critique, Miss Saigon transforms into a powerful critique of imperialist attitudes. Through its problematic depictions, the musical exposes the workings of imperialism — revealing how it thinks, breathes, and shapes the future if unchecked. By viewing Miss Saigon as a historical artifact that critiques rather than endorses imperialism, orientalism, and Western interventionism, it can serve as an anti-imperialist tool, highlighting the dangers of foreign forces violating a nation’s sovereignty.
Beneath its surface as a theatrical memento, Miss Saigon did not miss as a timeless piece portraying a reality that looms when imperialism and colonialism continue to run amok. It is only in the active and critical consciousness of its viewers that Miss Saigon can ever fulfill its potential of becoming a liberating exposé against imperialism.
